"Who the hell are you," Chris Carter demanded, not looking up from the pile of
royalty checks on his desk. Ah, it was sweet. Royalties from the dolls, the
videos, that ghastly comic book— money, money everywhere. He could finally
afford to pay his hairdresser. "And by the way, he's my Ratboy."
"I'm Ellen Feldman, you blow-dried jerk and Ratboy belongs to me!"
"Feldman?" Carter hit the 'total' button on his adding machine and looked up
at the petite woman in the expensive designer suit who was pointing a gun at
him. "Oh. You must be one of the Mary Sues."
Feldman pulled back the safety of the gun. "I'd watch my language if I were
you, surfer-boy."
"Get out of my office before I sic the Fox lawyers on you for copyright
infringement."
"Bring 'em on, tough guy. I'm a lawyer, too."
Why? Why him? Why couldn't they bother Bochco or the guy who invented
'Family Matters?' He sighed. "Ratboy is my character. I invented him."
"Not all of him. Those eight inches are mine," Feldman argued. "And that
thing he does with his tongue. And the stuff we do to Foxboy—"
"Hey!" Carter stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over his flip-flops.
"Nobody slashes my characters but me!"
Feldman snorted at him. "You wish you and Shiban were that good."
"We are, Feldman. After all, Foxboy and Ratboy are my property. I
copyrighted 'em and I have the right to kill off anybody I copyright."
"Funny you should mention that, Carter. I copyrighted you just this morning
and wrote you in my very first slash story. You do some awfully interesting
things with Spender."
"Ewwwwwwwww!" Carter reached for his San Pellegrino and drained the bottle.
Clearing his throat, he attempted once more to show this incredibly bitchy
Mary Sue who was boss in his universe. "You can't blackmail me. If I want to
kill of Krycek, I will. People hated him for years until he kissed Mulder—"
"Not me. Well, I wasn't too crazy about him kidnapping me "
"I never wrote that!"
"You should've, considering how bad the last half of Season Five was."
"Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and criticizing my work,"
Carter exploded, years of Zen training flying out the window, thanks to the
obnoxious little lawyer holding a gun on him. "If whoever created you had any
talent, you'd have had your own series by now."
"Whoever created me? You are one screwed up guy, Carter," Feldman said,
wrinkling her nose. "Anyway, you're missing my point. You can't kill Ratboy
in 'One Son'. We don't mind if you off Spender because he's annoying or Kersh
well, Kersh could be fun if he seduced Mulder in his office to the soulful
music of Barry White "
"Why can't you slash Urkel and leave me the hell alone?!"
"They canceled that show and Urkel just isn't slash-able. Besides, he didn't
look hot in leather, like my Ratboy."
"My Ratboy."
"No, he's mine. You lost your claim to him when you mistreated him the way
you did. You think that chintzy little kiss was enough?" Feldman waved the
gun for emphasis. "We wanted to see some wild animal lust. But did you give
us that? No, you gave us Alien rip-offs and Star Wars rip-offs and plot holes
you could drive a Mack truck through."
"Oh, and your stories are that much better? A one-eyed cat and sex with taco
sauce—?!"
"I thought you didn't read fan fic," Feldman said, smugly.
Think fast, Carter. Think! Think. "I don't. My staff reads it to me while
I count my residuals."
"You like those residuals, don't you," she purred. "If you kill off Ratboy,
you're going to lose viewers. And worse, you'd alienate all the men and women
who want their very own anatomically correct Ratboy doll to bend and pose and
play with."
"A Ratboy doll?"
"In black leather." Feldman leaned forward and spoke so softly he had to
strain to listen. "Think of all the money you'd make from that."
It had potential. Lots of potential. All he had to do was get rid of Feldman
and claim the idea for his very own, just like he did with Morgan and Wong.
"Okay, okay, you've got a deal. I won't kill off my Ratboy. Now will you get
the hell out?"
Feldman shook her head. "No."
"What?! Why the hell not?!"
"You don't deserve Ratboy," she decided. "He's underused and abused. I mean,
really, every time he shows up, he gets beaten, tortured, taken over by
oiliens and you even took away his arm. Did you think how that would affect
his sex life, you selfish bastard?!"
Carter gritted his teeth. "Well, Feldman, when Ratboy's with you, he gets
kidnapped, tortured by ex-Nazis, taken over by oiliens and performs sex acts I
can't even think about!"
"Give him to me!"
"No! He's mine!"
The fight that ensued was ugly. Furniture got broken. Carter's hair got
mussed. Feldman's suit got ruined. Luckily, the Fox lot was saved from being
blown up by Richard Dean Anderson— TV's MacGuyver— who proved he learned a
lot on his show by putting out the fire before it spread by using one of the
bright red fire extinguishers right outside Chris Carter's office.
Did Feldman manageto save her Ratboy?
We'll find out in February 1999.
I Heard a Rumor
by Ms Brooklyn
"Don't you dare hurt my Ratboy."
