By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Summary:  Happy Birthday, Mulder's Refuge!  A
little homage piece -- a conversation between the
author and Fox Mulder about the nature of MT.
Rating:  PG
Category:  V, H
Disclaimer:  You might own the character, but I
have the Refuge.  No copyright infringement.
Archive:  yes
Dedication:  To all the 234 (as of this posting)
member of Mulder's Refuge.  What a wonderful
bunch of crazies.  Thanks for a fantastic year and
many more to come!
Comments: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Blood Transfusions Among Friends
by Vickie Moseley

I smelled his leather jacket even before I heard his
footsteps behind me.

"Vic, we gotta talk."  In the dim light of my
computer screen, I saw him brush our cat, Carmel,
out of Brian's desk chair and sit down behind and
slightly to the right of me.

"Mulder," I said, turning around.  "Long time no
see!"  I really was happy to see him.  DVDs are
nice, but they just aren't the real thing.

"You've been at it again, haven't you?" he asked, the
blue glow casting him in a ghostly pallor.  Hmm,
hypothermia.  I hadn't used that one lately.

"Stop that!" he demanded.

I didn't even try for innocence; we both knew why
he was there.  "Look, I've been really good lately," I
told him.  "You only had smoke inhalation in the
last VS episode I wrote."

"Scully thought I was dead," he shot back.

"For a couple of hours, not that long," I reminded
him.

"So just because you haven't had me give birth to
alien triplets, I'm supposed to forgive and forget?"
he asked, crossing his arms.  Oh, yes, the sound
leather makes when just in from the cold.  Now,
when was the last time I used hypothermia?

He tapped me on the shoulder.  "Pay attention here,
we don't have all night."

I sighed and sat straighter, trying to give the
impression that he had my full attention, which he
did.

"It's about that board."

"Mulder's Refuge?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Refuge?  HA!  Some Refuge.  Try a loonie bin of
sadists!"

"Hey, that particular 'loonie bin' is the only thing
keeping you from total annihilation!" I shot back.
"Look at the other boards.  You don't get half the
attention elsewhere.  You have to share, with
Scully, with Skinner, with what's his name . . ."

"Doggett," he interjected quietly.

"Whatever!  At MR, you are King!"

"An intubated King," he groused.

"Hey, better to rule from a hospital bed than never
to rule at all," I misquoted.

His downcast look took on an air of affection.
"They do like me, don't they?"

"Like?  Like?  How about love, adore, worship,
hell, _drool_over you, man!  You are everything
there!"

"So you're saying that I shouldn't mind the gunshot
wounds, the broken bones, the subcranial
hematomas . . ."

"What's major surgery among friends?" I asked
sagely.

He nodded, smiling.  "As long as I don't end up in
one of Scully's autopsy bays, I guess I can't really
complain."

"And there's Scully's great smile when you come
out of the coma," I pointed out.

"She does smile brighter when I've been
unconscious for a while," he agreed wistfully.
"Well, I guess I should be going."

"Button up.  It's get's pretty cold in the midwest in
February," I reminded him.

But then again . . . hypothermia?

"I know what you're thinking!  Now stop that!"

I grinned and went back to my writing.  In just a
few mouseclicks, I had WebMD up on first aid for
extreme cold.

the end