I do not own The Biker Mice from Mars in any way, shape or form. This is purely written for fun, and for the enjoyment of others. Cheers.
She heard the yells before the roar of their motorbike engines echoed in the distance.
"Great," thought Charley. She had hoped that Limburger would be able to keep the boys distracted a little while longer. Once again, they had denied her request to go and stop his latest scheme. This time, he had created a device that jammed all the radio stations in the city of Chicago, in the hope of luring out the mice. And without Sweet Georgie Brown's heavy metal tunes to cool his temper, Vinnie had gone before you could say 'mammajammer,' causing his bros to take off after him in hot pursuit.
So while they took care of him, Charley tried to get some work done for some customers, trying to take her mind off things.
She could hear them getting closer now, the yelling more intense. But it didn't sound like a victory cry.
It sounded more like...pain.
Maybe it was worse than she first thought.
And it was.
Throttle rode into the Last Chance Garage first, followed by Modo. Then in came the source of the screaming, in the form of Vinnie.
Charley took one look at him and her mouth dropped open.
Both his arms were twisted and bent past what nature would allow, his left bicep had a scorch mark on it from a laser and the right side of his jeans were torn and shredded, blood oozing from many gashes along his leg. Sweetheart was damaged as well; scratched all along her right side, her headlight was smashed and her twin lasers on her left side were bent, which meant they couldn't be retracted into the main body.
"Vinnie!" Charley exclaimed as she ran over to him.
The white mouse barely even grunted at her. His teeth were gritted together so tightly they looked like they were going to break. And the fact he didn't make some charming or sarcastic reply meant that it really was bad. Even when he was seriously hurt, he always had some sort of one-liner to lighten the moment.
Modo grabbed the first aid kit and set to work trying to stop the bleeding from his leg. As soon as he pressed some gauze against the wound though, Vinnie hollered loudly again.
"He needs professional help! We can't fix this," said Charley, almost breaking down.
"We can't. We'll get busted!" replied Throttle, a hint of annoyance in his voice, his patience wearing thin after seeing his bro in so much pain.
*
An hour later, they had gotten Vinnie off his bike and into Charley's room. The mice had given her some vials of the Martian equivalent of morphine after crash-landing on Earth, ready to use if any of them got hurt. And after using an obscene amount on Vinnie, he was essentially pain free, unless he moved his arms. And, of course, since he was now pain free, he was back to his usual, joking self.
"Charley-girl, you always take my breath away, and now you take my pain away too," he said, a smirk emerging on his face.
Charley sighed and rolled her eyes.
A quick rundown from Modo revealed he had been shot by one of Limburgers goons and then skidded out of control into a wall, using his hands to take the brunt of the force. They managed to get him out, before the remaining two mice trashed the tower and reduced it to a pile of rubble.
"I thought nurses wore a short white dress with a veil on Earth," Vinnie said.
"It was too cold in the winter," replied Charley, shaking her head.
"Good thing it's the middle of summer then."
"It also shows the blood of my patients too easily after I beat them into a pulp," Charley squinted.
Vinnie made a hurt face, trying to do puppy-dog eyes.
Then the phone rang, and Charley went to answer it. Throttle and Modo sat beside their war-wounded comrade.
"I think you've had too much of that happy juice, Vincent Van Wham," said Throttle.
"Yeah, yeah. Happy being the operative word," chimed Modo.
"Hey, the baddest mammajammer from Mars can take any amount of vulkan liquid and still be able to have the ladies find him irresistible!"
Throttle chuckled. "Yeah, we can see that."
By this time, Charley had returned. "I was just talking to Chef Andy. He said he is friends with an orthopaedic surgeon on the outskirts of town, who doesn't ask questions. If we mention his name, then he will know how serious he keep it quiet."
"I'm ready for my sponge bath, doll!" called Vinnie.
"You keep that up and I'll make it an ice bath," the mechanic-turned-nurse said, smiling.
Throttle pursed his lips. They didn't really have much choice on getting Vinnie's arms fixed. All they could do was trust that this guy could keep a secret. A very big secret.
*
After riding along the highway until it became a two-way road, the bros saw a small office just off to the side. While Modo and Throttle rode Lil' Hoss and Lady respectfully, Charley had the rare opportunity to pilot Sweetheart with Vinnie riding on the seat behind her.
They turned off onto the gravel driveway and parked their bikes. Charley dismounted first, before offering a hand to Vinnie.
"Oh Charley-girl, this mouse doesn't need any help," the white-furred anthropomorph said as he slid gingerly off his bike.
Charley fumed inside her helmet. If she hated anything the most, it was chauvinism. Making out he could do anything, he wouldn't be able to help himself for weeks now...
"Not being able help himself. Wait..." thought Charley, an evil glint in her eye formed that Throttle and Modo could see."Oh, this will be good."
She crept up behind Vinnie, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and in one swift movement, yanked them down to his ankles.
"Hey. HEY!" Vinnie yelled, trying to pull them back up, but not being able to because of his fractures.
Charley took one look at the now-dakked Vinnie and started crying with laughter.
He was wearing pink boxer shorts with white polka-dots on them!
Charley was on the ground now, kicking and screaming in a fit of giggles, with Throttle and Modo not far off. Now Vinnie was the one fuming.
"Charley-girl!" he yelled, before his ears drooped with embarrassment. "That's not funny..."
"Yes...it...is!" squealed Charley between laughs.
"It's laundry day!" complained Vinnie.
"Yeah well, at least you didn't go commando, bro," said Throttle.
The white mouse sighed. "Well, at least today can't get any worse," he said as he cast his eyes up the road they had just come along. And then, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
It was a red convertible, the top down and five bikini-clad beauties sitting in it, their hair catching in the wind, and coming towards him. Coming towards him with his pants around his ankles, pink boxers shorts on, and no way in Hell of getting them up in time.
"Oh, man..." he wailed.
The End.