Title: The South Shall Rise Again Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Category: S, M/S UST Rating: NC-17 (this is iffy, folks. It's more for theme, than content. I just know that if I had kids, I'd rather they not read it. So, if you're under 17, listen to your Auntie Gina and read her story, "Harold," instead.) Spoilers: This story is set in the Kersh shit duty era. General knowledge of the types of assignments he gave Mulder and Scully is helpful. Summary: Mulder gets injured in a karaoke bar and does not want Scully's help. Disclaimer: CC and Company own all legal rights to the X-files. So it is written. So be it. Archive: Sure Special Thanks: To Sybil. I've been working without a beta for quite a while. Amazing what these darling people do for us--all for the love of fan fiction. And Sybil sure loves her fan fiction! Thank you for your help with this story and for the tireless cheerleading. You truly make a wonderful contribution to the "community." "Oh, such are the dreams of an everyday housewife. You see ev'rywhere any time of the day An everyday housewife who gave up the good life for me." Mulder tried not to laugh. Scully's expression seemed to be stuck midway between a grimace and a full-fledged scowl. He supposed it was safe to assume that she wasn't a fan of late sixties Glen Campbell music. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Just look at it this way, Scully--you're not just getting karaoke--you're getting a fucking floor show." Truer words could not have been spoken. Kokomo Karaoke divided their evening's entertainment into two distinct sections. The first hour was a free for all. Anyone was welcomed to walk in and choose a song from their vast selection of music. The other half was the showcase hour. It featured professional karaoke singers--an oxymoron if ever there was one. And the featured performers of the showcase were now on stage: Rocco Chantal and Rebecca Rivers. They were the ones that drew in the rather sizable Friday night crowd. And they were the ones Mulder and Scully were there to arrest. Not for their sad lack of talent but for selling warehouses full of weapons that eventually wound up in the hands of highly unsavory people. At least this assignment was more entertaining than the fertilizer detail Kersh usually subjected them to. Mulder sat back and enjoyed the show in front of him. Not the one on the stage but the one taking place on Scully's face as she beheld the phenomenon that was Rocco and Rebecca. The changes in her expression were subtle--probably not apparent to the general public--but he could read them like a book. Rocco was a tall, beefy guy dressed in jeans, a red plaid shirt and cowboy boots. Rebecca was playing her part of the dreamy "everyday housewife" to the hilt. She did a more than passable imitation of Donna Reed in her heyday. Toes to head: sensible pumps, a salmon colored dress cinched at the waist, a simple strand of pearls, and shoulder length hair held away from her face by a wide salmon-colored headband. In her hand, a turquoise feather duster completed the look. She cluelessly walked about the stage, lightly dusting anything and everything as Rocco crooned with a wistful expression on his face. The last chorus was Mulder and Scully's cue to pay attention. Things should be happening rather quickly from that point on. "An everyday housewife Who gave up the good life for me. . ." The song faded and was replaced by a pulsing beat. By the end of this number, they should be getting the signal to close in on the suspects. Until then, they were just patrons of the bar. Rebecca threw her feather duster to the audience and grabbed the front of her dress. It broke away to reveal a red vinyl bustier and matching panties. To the beat of Donna Summers' "Hot Stuff," she sashayed across the stage to the hapless Rocco--grabbing the front of his shirt--which neatly broke away and was tossed to the right side of the audience--and then his jeans--which flew into the arms of a waiting audience member on the left. If their sources were right, the shirt pocket contained an address and the seam at the cuff of the jeans contained a warehouse key. The lights went down and were replaced by a strobe light. Judging by the slight tightening of Scully's lips, she had just had her first full view of Rocco in his near naked glory. The lucky recipients of Rocco's discarded clothing had made a quick exit as soon as the lights went down and there was now nothing to do but wait for the final signal. Wait and try not to fall on the floor laughing as Rocco gyrated his hips in his too- large leather thong, right in front of Scully. To Rocco's credit, he spotted a challenge when he saw one and was determined to have her panting along with the rest of the club's rather severely inebriated female population. He stepped closer to the edge of the stage and thrust his hips forward--causing a movement in his thong that was his dick's equivalent of a wave 'hello.' "Oh, for God's sake," Scully muttered under her breath, picking up a previously untouched chicken wing and sinking her teeth into the hot appetizer. Rocco was not fazed by her shift in attention. He looked like he considered her disdain some sort of double dog dare to win her over in spite of herself. He was more than willing to take it. He redoubled his efforts by turning his back to her, and leaning forward--grabbing the backs of his spread knees with his hands. He gave Scully and upside down grin between two extraordinarily hairy, fleshy butt-cheeks, separated by a strip of leather that was barely wider than a shoelace. The half eaten hot wing slipped from her fingers and into her mock dirty martini. Victory was Rocco's and he gave Scully a matching look of disdain as he straightened up and strutted back to Rebecca. Mulder took a mental note to suggest that Kokomo name this newly created libation the "Spicy Dirty Virgin." Then he quickly grabbed Scully's hand and wiped it free of sauce and oil. It would not do to have a greased up trigger finger, in case she needed to use her gun. His timing was perfect. Agent Walter's came up behind them. "It's a go," he said. Scully and Mulder looked at each other and nodded. She went over to the right side of the stage, while Mulder took the left. "Gotta have some hot love baby this evenin' I need some hot stuff baby tonight" And with final, quick thrusting movements, Rebecca and Rocco made their exits from opposite sides of the stage. "Rockne LaVentura?" Mulder said as the man climbed down the four steps leading to the backstage area. "Hey--it's Rocco Chantal, buddy." "Not legally, it isn't. Rockne LaVentura--you are under arrest for suspected. . ." All the air left Mulder's body as Rocco slammed his head into Mulder's midsection and dropped him like a fly. "Freeze! FBI." Mulder's brain registered the words as he tried to suck in a breath but his attention was once again diverted. Rocco was standing over him, affording him a bird's eye view of the saggiest pair of testicles he had ever seen. He stared in horrified fascination when he should have been rolling his body away from the larger man. A big tactical error- -one fully realized as he watched Rocco's hheavy cowboy boot descend on his own genitals. XXXXXXXXXXXXX When Mulder was finally able to see past the blinding red glare of pain and focus, once again, on his immediate surroundings, he found himself on a ratty old couch, with his partner crouched down on the floor beside him. They were alone, in a smaller room, presumably still somewhere in the vicinity of the backstage area. He didn't remember getting there. Scully's hands were fiddling with his own as she tried to loosen his belt buckle. Mulder was pushing them away. All he wanted to do was remain in his nice, safe fetal position until death--or some really good drugs-- took him over. "Stop it," Mulder managed to get out through teeth that were still clenched in pain. "Mulder--he stomped on you. You have to be examined." "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute." "I've given you a quarter of an hour, Mulder. We arrested Rocco and Rebecca and all four of their contacts, while you were writhing around on the floor. I have a feeling you blacked out while Agents Monroe and Kroszak picked you up and brought you in here. Now, I don't care what you said before, I'm calling an ambulance." He said something before? The thought surprised him. The pain must have caused instantaneous amnesia. "No. No ambulance. Don't need one. Where are the others?" "Right outside the door. They are finishing up and waiting to see if you need further assistance." Further assistance. No way was he going to accept help from anyone else. He tried to straighten his legs, and bit down on his lower lip to squelch the scream that was rising from his throat. Once that maneuver was completed, he took the chance and rolled over to lie flat on his back. He could stifle the scream but couldn't stop a few tears from involuntarily squeezing past his closed eyelids. "Breathe, Mulder. Deep breaths," she said, gripping his forearm. He breathed deeply and without comment. At least she was now concerned with the air in his lungs, rather than the contents of his pants. That's all he needed. For Monroe and Kroszak to walk in on them. He was sure to be the special of the day on tomorrow's gossip menu, but unlike fish tales where the fish got bigger and bigger with each retelling of the story; when a man talked about another man's dick, it didn't fare as well. He was pretty sure his more than respectable member would be reduced to the size of a peanut by the time all was said and done. Too bad-- with the exception of his non-gossipy partner, of course-- there were no female agents present. They knew how to give credit where credit was due. He'd let Scully pull down his pants then. Hell, he'd invite an audience. It would be nice to be a Bureau legend for something other than his spookiness. "Are you nauseous?" "No." "Abdominal pain?" "No." "Were you erect when he hit you?" Mulder stopped the deep breathing as his eyes flew open. "Just what the hell are you suggesting?" "Nothing, Mulder. I'm just trying to determine whether there is a possibility that you fractured your penis." He thought he heard a stifled snort coming from outside the door. "Scully," he crooked a finger as a gesture for her to get closer, "I respect you as a doctor. I respect you as a woman. But if you don't stop talking about broken dicks and playing with my pants while we're at work--I will not be held responsible for my actions." He pushed his teeth firmly against his lower lip and sat up. When the sparks before his eyes settled down--he hauled himself to his feet. "I'm going to the men's room. follow me," he told Scully and, before she could protest, he walked through the door and didn't stop until he found the entrance to "no woman's land." Ten minutes later, Agent Monroe joined him in the rest room. Mulder felt a good deal better, after painfully relieving himself and throwing water over his face. "You okay, Mulder?" "Don't tell me--Scully sent you." "Yes. I thought it would be better than having her come in and drag you out. You've been through enough of a ringer today, haven't you?" "I'd love to say yes but whenever I do--I find that life can dig up even uglier surprises." Monroe let out a laugh. "Yeah, well, an ice pack will help with the pain and I just wanted to let you know that--well, any stupid laughs or whatever--were only because of nerves. We were all feeling your pain. Believe me." Mulder attempted to smile. He didn't quite succeed. "Yeah. I guess a blow for one, is a blow for all mankind." "Yeah. It's a shame that only applies to the bad blows." Monroe walked out and Mulder followed in five minutes. The other agents had left the scene but Scully was waiting for him. For the first time since his encounter with Rocco, he began feeling those warm thoughts about her again. No one cared the way she did. No one ever would. "How are you?" she asked as soon as she spotted him. "Better. Really. I don't know if the south will ever rise again but the pain has subsided to a dull ache. That's progress in my book." "Good. That's good," she said, her tone lacking conviction. Something was bothering her but he just didn't have the energy to press for details. Maybe later. He didn't get the chance. By the time they got in the car, Scully had turned the tables on him and resumed her interrogation. "Were you able to urinate, Mulder?" "Yes," he answered with a sigh. Scully in doctor mode was charmingly annoying. "Comfortably?" "As comfortably as possible under the circumstances." "Any blood?" "No." "Blood in the semen is a bad sign as well." "Scully, I know I was in there for quite a while but. . ." "What color is your penis?" "What!?" "Is it bluish? Grey?" "No! It's--the normal color." "The normal color." "Yes. Mulder flesh tone #7--okay? Would you please get your head out of my. . .head? This sudden interest is disconcerting." "Mulder, I've never known you to be embarrassed by your body. And you know you should see a doctor. There are several injuries you could be suffering from that could have long term repercussions." "Such as?" "Such as things that last far longer than the potential embarrassment of a physical exam." She was right. Of course she was right. He knew it. He just had to be a good boy and listen to her. "All right," he said, finally. "You do it." XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX (End of Part 1. Continued in Part 2) Part 2 He laid back and tried to relax. This was a mistake. The pain was minimal now. There was nothing wrong with him and the examination was completely unnecessary. He felt the cool air hit his flesh at first exposure. He chose to stare at the ceiling. Count the cracks. He felt her fingers as they descended on his penis and firmly began to palpate his flesh. That yellowish stain on the ceiling had to come from water damage. Someone should really check into that before the whole thing came down in chunks of heavy plaster. "Tell me if anything hurts," she said. "Yup. I'll be sure to do that." She lifted his penis slightly and poked her finger under his left testicle. "Pain?" "No." Her fingers completely cupped each testicle and she squeezed gently. Okay. Ceiling be damned. His mind was more concerned with what was going on closer to the ground. Especially since he could now feel her breath as she moved closer to what she was examining. He could almost see Scully's intent expression. The clinical detachment of a scientist looking over "just another" body part. Her teeth biting into her lower lip as she tried to figure out whether the flesh tone was just right or something that should set off medical alert alarms. And then he'd open his eyes and she would look up from her task and meet his gaze. She'd look at her hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock and notice the texture changing beneath her fingers. "Does it hurt?" "Huh?" "Getting an erection. Is it causing you pain?" "No. A little ache but no actual pain." And he'd look at her again and this time--she would momentarily slip out of doctor mode. It was her hand that was making him hard. She would stare at her fingers as they moved upwards, swirling her index finger in the bead of moisture that had suddenly appeared. Her tongue would swipe quickly over her lips and he saw her--clear as day, as she slowly lowered her head toward his now aching-for-a-different-reason cock. . . "Mr. Mulder--there's a specimen jar in the bathroom. Since you seem. . . inclined. . . to contribute, I'd appreciate a semen sample before you go." His eyes physically flew open this time. Dr. O'Connor. She was a blonde, Amazonian woman in her early sixties who was just releasing his dick from her firm grasp and telling him to jerk off in the bathroom so she could check for traces of blood in his sample. Not dream Scully at all. Yes. That was the way all his fantasies turned out lately. Popped red balloons lying on the floor before the party even started. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Mulder settled himself in bed. He could hear Scully rummaging in his kitchen. After an exhaustive examination, Dr. O'Connor determined there was no permanent damage to his private parts. His psyche was too far from her area of expertise for her to care. He had to meet one of the few female urologists in the country. The problem was, it had been too damned long since a woman's hand had been anywhere near his dick. He really should just go to a hooker once in a while. Just so he wouldn't seem so damned pathetic. And he had given Dr. O'Connor the green light to share her findings with Scully. At the time--pre- examination--it had seemed like a good idea. He wouldn't have to play the "what color is your penis" game on the ride home. But after the exam, he felt. . .almost disloyal. Not because he had an erection due to manual stimulation by another woman, but because he had used Scully in a fantasy that really didn't even begin to encompass his feelings for her. That fantasy came straight out of porn. And not even the quality stuff. "You do realize," Scully said as she walked through the room, "that when you freeze things, you are supposed to heat them up and eat them within a ten year time span." "Don't tell me you threw out my graduation pizza?" "I threw out everything. I needed room for the ice." "Party pooper." "How can you not have ice, Mulder?" "I don't need it." "Well, you do now." She handed him a ziplock bag of ice covered by a dish towel. He did not take it. "You're the doctor. You do it." He smiled his most winning smile. He was feeling better. His urge to play was back with a vengeance. "You wore me out, Mulder. I no longer want to get into your pants." He laughed at her uncharacteristic joke. "You were trying so hard, I didn't think you'd give up so easily." "Well, you were wrong. Put some ice on yourself, hotpants." He took the ice and slipped it under the waistband of his boxers. He jerked his hips a bit and hissed. "Pain?" "No. It's fucking freezing." "Ice, Mulder." He smiled softly. "Yes, I know, it's supposed to be cold." He settled back and she sat beside him. He reached out his hand and pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "You really do look worn out." She sighed softly. "I've never seen you in such pain, Mulder. Never." "I'm all right. A little kick can't hold me down for long." "It didn't look like a little kick from where I was standing. And you weren't so cavalier earlier in the day. What with the discussion about possible sexual dysfunction. It was a very realistic fear. I saw the size of those boots." "His boots? I couldn't get my eyes off his balls. They looked like old socks weighed down by lead weights." "I know. I got a good glimpse when he mooned me. Not a pretty picture." "But I bet the leather thong did something for you." "I prefer simple navy boxers," she said quietly. Mulder looked at her with a question in his eyes. There wasjust the smallest hint of a spark in her eyes. Ah, flirty Scully was here to join him in play. "If there are navy boxers under here. . ." He made a show of lifting the blanket from his waist and taking a peek. "Well, whaddya know." Scully looked down at her hands. "Mulder, I know you're feeling better and probably not in the mood to continue this discussion, but I should have been able to give you a cursory examination at the bar. Unless you're unconscious, I'm rarely allowed to do what I know is right. . .medically speaking. I'd just like for you to trust me enough to know when it's time for you to put your own doubts or distastes aside and let me take over." "I do trust you, Scully. When I agreed to an examination, I asked you to do it. You insisted we go to the hospital." "Because you would have said my exam was enough. And it wasn't. You needed a specialist." "And we got one." "I just want you to understand. It's not always easy for me. Responding to you on different levels. I don't want to depersonalize you as a system of organs and body parts. It would be nice to look at you through the eyes of a woman, and leave the doctor part of myself behind. But I don't always have that luxury." "I could make you promises, Scully. But I'm not sure I can keep them. I do understand what you are feeling, though." That was the politically correct, Ph.D. in psychology answer. Validate her concerns; ignore the more personal issue. He sighed. She would understand. They both did the same thing. Advance, deflect, retreat. Rome wasn't built in a day. And it wasn't torn down in one, either. But she had made her contribution to the demolition and it was now his turn. "Scully?" "Yes." "For what it's worth, the south rose just fine." "I know. Dr. O'Connor told me your semen sample was easily obtained." Her face looked more relaxed and Mulder felt the tension decrease. "Yeah, well. That's a little x-file unto itself, I guess. My mind was in a completely different place while the good Doc was examining me. Completely different." "I thought it might have been. She didn't seem like your type." He looked at her. Tired, somewhat disheveled, with concern still etched on her face. She was glorious. "No. She isn't." Scully looked down and cleared her throat. "You're not embarrassed that you. . ." "No. I know all about anatomy and the nature of the beast." "Good." "And I'm glad I found out, quite early, that I still have something to bring the table. . .sexually speaking." "Table?" she asked, the smile finally back in her eyes. "Table, chair, bed, couch, floor, trampoline. You name it." She gave him a quick hooded glance. She understood that he meant the "you" quite literally. It was her turn. Advance, deflect, retreat? "You need more ice?" She asked. Bingo. "Not yet." They had played their roles perfectly this evening. His next move was to simply let her go. The only problem was, he didn't want to. He steadfastly maintained eye contact in an act of defiance. He had learned something from Rocco. Don't back away from the fiery eyes of the redhead. "I'll leave you some in here. Do you have an ice bucket?" "In the kitchen. Third cabinet. Second shelf." She turned to leave the room. "Scully?" He didn't expect to initiate a real-life version of the fantasy his mind conjured earlier. If she ever touched him that way; when she touched him that way, he wanted there to be no confusion as to the reason. No issues of medical duty or partnerly concern. What he did want was a simple connection. On a level they both could feel completely comfortable with. As she turned back to him, he stretched his arms out to her. She walked over to him and he wrapped her in a warm embrace. He gently drew his hands up and down her spine, feeling each vertebrae with his fingers. Feeling the material of her blouse move over her silky skin. He felt her shiver slightly, as she lightly gripped her fingers on either side of his naked waist. As a teenager, he likened his sexual experiences to baseball. What base he reached. He supposed, in those terms, he hadn't even entered the ballpark. But it felt good. And it felt right. And their moments were enough, each time, for the south to rise again and again. . . in preparation for the day when she would want to share in that simple victory. The End. Lyrics quoted are "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife" by Chris Gantry and "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer. Apologies to all the men out there. The internet provided useful information on male genital injuries and I asked a few questions but still, I'm not a guy. This was written for the IWTB mailing list birthday challenge. I've only been a member for a few months but it's such a warm, wonderful place to be. . .and I wanted to give a little back for all the enjoyment they've given me. The elements were: Salmon Pearl Karaoke Leather thong Dirty martini Double dog dare Hot wings Thank you, Jay, for the technical expertise.