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 heavy 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.