Title: Wrestlemania
Author: Drovar
Rating: PG
Notes: Inspired by Lops' wrestling comment. Just a quick 
snippet, hope you all like it.

"Mulder" are you sure about this? Spender asked as he pulled 
his robe tight around him and stared across the ring at the very 
large man in orange leotards.

"Of course, don't worry, this is nothing.  You said you wanted to 
work undercover didn't you?"

"Pro-wrestling, wasn't my first choice," Spender replied. "That 
guy's bigger than Skinner and twice as Surly."

"I said, `don't worry!  I've got a plan," Mulder insisted. He 
reached over the ropes and rubbed Spender's shoulders.  "He's 
what 6' 2" maybe?"

"He's 6' 8" according to the dossier that you apparently haven't 
taken the trouble to read."

"Okay," Mulder said after a moment's hesitation. "But, you're 
like 6' 3" 6' 4", right?"

"Mulder," Spender said, looking across the ring apprehensively.  
Crusher (the killer) Crieg was warming up.   He was flexing 
muscles that Spender wasn't certain existed in normal humans. 
"I'm 6',  *only 6'"

"Okay," Mulder continued. "You're what? 190 pounds to his 
200? That's close."

"Uh . . . . Mulder?" Spender asked as he watched Killer Crieg 
(as he was affectionately called), press a pair of teenage fans 
over his head.  He gulped a breath of air, loudly. "I'm 160 
pounds wringing wet, he's 280, and all muscle."

"Ahh."

"Ahh?" Spender turned to face Mulder. "What do you mean 
Ahh??!!"

"Don't shriek Jeffrey, it's not manly."

"Neither is getting the snot beat out of you by `The Living 
Monolith' over there."

"Don't worry, I've got a plan."

Spender stared at him for a moment. 

"Mulder look at us. Me: dinky FBI guy . . Him: Hulking muscled 
machine, is this 'plan' of yours going to get me killed?"

Mulder looked at Spender, a lazy grin on his face, then across 
the ring at Killer Crieg, he let out a small `eep' as the color 
drained out of his face.  "Okay, plan B." He cupped his chin in 
his hand and stared placidly out into the ring.

"Plan B??!!, Spender's eyes grew wide and a line of sweat 
pooped out on his forehead. "What's Plan B?!"

"There is no Plan B."

Spender felt his muscles go slack as he turned around to face 
his doom.  He could see the announcer approaching the ring.

"I'm outta here," he said as he started to climb through the 
ropes.

Mulder put his hand on Spender's chest, holding him 
momentarily in place.

"Spender, we need this.  We have to find out who is supplying 
the wrestlers with steroids. It crosses state lines and that makes 
it the FBI's jurisdiction. We need credibility to get inside so we 
can bust up this guy. There are people dying Jeffrey."

Spender cringed at the overt `Big Brother' tone in Mulder's 
voice and sighed. They weren't really brothers, well hopefully, 
not. Actually he *really* hoped not.

"Okay, okay . . .  so what's Plan C?" He stared Mulder in the 
eyes. The ring announcer was calling out the match, they only 
had a few seconds.

"Do your best," Mulder replied and stepped quickly back. 

"Do my best?!" Spender shouted. He began to climb through 
the ropes as the match bell rang. The sound of charging feet, 
*large* charging feet, froze him in his spot.

"Oh  . . .  no."

"M . . . u . . .l . . . d . . . e . . . r . . . !!"

*thud* *bang* *squeeze* *toss* *slam*

"Mulda -- I cnt breth, hs breking mi nec!"

"No offense there Jeff." Killer Crieg said as he picked up the 
stunned agent and lifted him over his head. "Maybe we can do 
lunch again tomorrow."

"Nne tekn." Spender managed to squeak out. "Lnch is goot."
 
Crusher Crieg delivered a stylistically perfect and exceptionally 
painful body slam. Spender bounced and lay still.

"Jeffrey get up!" Mulder yelled from the sidelines.

Spender moaned once and twitched.  He opened his eyes and 
blinked.  All he could see was a big hand reaching down . . . . 

"Ack . . . " Spender scuttled toward the ring side, keeping just 
ahead of Crieg.

"Sorry Jeff, a job's a job," Crieg said apologetically as he 
rushed forward.

At the last moment Spender curled into a tight ball, making 
himself as hard to grab as possible.  He felt Crieg's feet slam 
into his back and for a moment thought the wrestler was going 
to kick him to death. But, with a windmill of arms and a 
timbering crash, Crieg fell head first into the turnstile, bounced 
off, fell back over Spender, and lay still.

Spender raised one eye from his fetal tuck as the crowd grew 
suddenly silent.

"I won? . . . . I'm alive?"

"Pin him!" he heard Mulder yell from ringside.

Slowly and painfully Spender crawled forward and threw 
himself over the man's shoulders.  The next few minutes were a 
half-conscious blur.  He found himself being helped down the 
hallway toward the showers.

"You did good Jeff, real good.  It was like you were born for this 
sport."

"Mulder," Spender shook his head wearily. "I ran for my life, it 
was pure luck that I won.  All I want now is a shower."

"Sure thing 'Champ', I'll give you a hand."

Suddenly Mulder leaned close to Spender, his voice low. "Who 
knows, I might even drop the soap."

[END]