By Sally Bahnsen
rbahnsen@optusnet.com.au
 

Summary - In response to a birthday challenge at Mulder's
Refuge and I guess a sequel to Vickie's 'Blood Transfusions
among friends'. Happy Birthday MR!!

Rating PG 15 There is one nasty word in here.

Category - V, H, MT

Disclaimer.  Mulder isn't mine to own, but I get a lot of
mileage out of playing with him. No copyright infringement
intended.

Archive - okay

Dedication - To all my fellow torturists, especially Vickie
Moseley.

Comments to -  rbahnsen@optusnet.com.au
 
 

Meeting Mulder

By Sally Bahnsen ********************
 
 
 

"Hey! You!"

I had just stepped out of my apartment and was locking the
door when the man called to me. He was tall, and leaning
heavily on a pair of crutches.

I turned to him, and pointed to my chest. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!"

I waited while he approached.

By the time he got to my side he was sweating profusely and
looking decidedly pale.

"Are you Sally Bahnsen?" He asked, his words soft and
breathy.  Ooh, I could tell he was hurting badly.

"Yes. Who...  Mulder?" I stared at him for a second as
recognition seeped into my brain.

"Yes Mulder. Like you didn't know." He seemed angry. Or was
it just the pain. I ran my eyes over his body. Shoulders
slumped, bandaged ankle held tentatively off the floor.

"Yeah," he said, "and like you didn't have anything to do
with this!"  He shook his foot at me and gasped. Must have
forgotten how much ankle injuries hurt. Gee, you'd think he
would have learnt by now.

"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with that!" I said,
nodding at his foot. "I'm still writing my story, it hasn't
been released."

"Oh, no, no, no.  This is your handiwork, all right! I'd
know it anywhere."

Really? I wondered to myself. Had I posted anything lately
that involved a sprained ankle?

There was the story I dedicated to one of the gals on MR,
but he'd had plenty of time to recover from that.  I wracked
my brains and came up blank.

"No, I'm sorry, Mulder, but that one's not mine."

"Maybe not directly, but I know you're  involved somehow."

I studied the neatly wrapped bandage. And that's when I
realized he was actually wearing a cast under it. "Oh, I
know who did this." I smiled broadly, remembering a story I
read the other day.  "This author broke your ankle, I only
do sprains. Well, so far, anyway. Although...."

"You might not have written this injury, but it's got your
name all over it. Haven't I endured enough leg injuries
thanks to you? Now you have half the fanfic population
writing them at your request."

"Yeaaaah" I thought, happily. I do.

"What are you grinning at?! You think I like this?" He
glared at me.

"Well... no. But we don't write injuries so that you'll like
them. We write them so that we'll like them. And... you
might note, you're usually okay by the end. And..." I gave
him a knowing wink. "Most of the time your injury leads to
getting with Scully. Don't tell me you don't enjoy that
part!?"

Now it was his turn to get a wistful look on his face, but
it was short lived. "That's not the point!"

"I beg to differ. That is exactly the point. Why write MT
without SC?"

"MT?  SC?"

"Muldertorture and Scullycomfort."

"You have a name for what you do to me?"

"Of course. Quite clever when you think about. You can thank
Vickie for that."

"Oh, I've already let Mrs. Moseley know what I think of her
endeavors into my physical discomfort" He shuddered. "And I
only just escaped before she could inflict a case of
hypothermia on me."  He glanced nervously over his shoulder.
"I'm still not convinced she doesn't intend to follow
through with it."

Go Vickie! I thought to myself.

"You're looking a little uncomfortable, Mulder. Would you
like to come in and sit for awhile.  I don't have any iced
tea, but there's a couple of tinnies in the fridge."

"Tinnies?"

"Yeah. Cans. Of beer. You look like you could use one."

"Now why the hell do you think that is?"

I shrugged. "Your're in pain of course. Any fanfic writer
worth his salt wouldn't skip the pain once the injury's been
inflicted."

"Of course I'm in fucking pain. You seem to have some idea
in your head that I have an aversion to painkillers. Either
you devise some way for them not to be available or you
write me as if I'm superman and would do anything to avoid
them. What the hell is the deal with that?"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure. I guess it's just more fun to write you
as some kind of stoic macho man." I crossed my arms. "I'll
have to think about that.  Because in my next fic, you go
through a lot without pain killers."  I smiled at him
brightly. "Look, I'm not making any promises, but I'll see
what I can do about being more regular with the pain meds."

As if!

He eyed me suspiciously. "I'm not sure I can trust you."

"Well you wouldn't be you if you didn't. Now, about that
beer." I unlocked the door "Can I interest you?"

"If you've got extra strength Tylenol in there, it could be
love."

I sighed. "Must be fate. I only have regular. Now come on in
and I'll get you some."

He limped past me and I wondered idly if anyone had torn his
hamstring recently. Perhaps he could tear it in a blizzard.
Yeah, hypothermia and a torn hamstring. I made a mental note
to email Vickie at the earliest opportunity.
 

The end