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.

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic