Title:  A Graveyard for Lunatics
 
Author:  Darkstryder
        >upyours1013@rock.com<
 
Category:  S, A, extremely mild Spender/Diana UST
 
Summary:  According to Quantum Physics, everyone's
reality is an alternate dimension. Spender and Diana 
once again prove that they are nothing more than Mulder's 
and Scully's evil -- and far more annoying -- twins. 
Sequel to "A Star Went Burning Down the Sky." 
 
Disclaimer:  Leave me alone.
 
Please note that unlike the previous vignette, 
this is one story instead of several small scenes. 

++++++++++ 
a graveyard for lunatics
darkstryder 
++++++++++

Any means in your horizon
Every mink walks two by two
We gamble to be born again
You know I never wanted to
With expert levitation forward
Polished to the n'th degree
It takes it's smile from every children
You take the beating 
 
placebo
"allergic ( to thoughts of mother earth )" 
+++++

Mayfield, Missouri was, perhaps, the most God-forsaken place
on the face of the Earth. 
 
I could handle "aliens." I could face serial killers and 
ax-weilding psychos. Hell, I could even face my mother's 
homemade meatloaf. ( Mommy! ) 
 
But Elvis-impersonating murderers?
 
Cha, whatever.
 
Fowley's thin lips curved downwards in a frown, cat-like eyes
narrowing to slits. "Tell me, Spender, what's the point of 
this?" 
 
I shrugged. "Mulder and Scully would have checked out something
like this -- " 
 
"Of course."
 
" -- And we have to look official," I continued. "If they throw
X-Files at us, we have to do more than toss them in the trash." 
 
"Not all of the X-Files are a waste of our time, you know," she
said, flexing her claws. 
 
I brushed a lock of hair out of her face. The smile she sent
me was predatory. 
 
"Yes, they are," I replied coldly, backing away. She wanted 
to play, and I wasn't a chew toy. 
 
My leg ached suddenly, and I reached down to rub it soothingly.
 
"Let's meet back at the hotel in a couple of hours," Fowley
said abruptly. 
 
I looked up, surprised. It was rare that she wanted to separate
during a case. Except for that one time in Arizona . . . 
 
Her gaze was focused on something in the distance. Smoky brown
hair flowed to her shoulders like a waterfall, moving with a
small gust of wind; her painted red lips were slightly parted,
as if she were concentrating on that object I could not see. 
 
Ten years ago she must have been beautiful. 
 
I watched, slightly fascinated, as her eyes changed from 
amber to coffee. 
 
"Whatever," I answered.
 
She dashed off, leaving me alone and confused in the middle of 
the sidewalk. 
 
+++++
 
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
 
Legs moving, muscles pulling at each other, weak leg
burning. 
 
Shit, that hurts. Why did I have to get shot? Why didn't 
she take me to the hospital? 
 
Keep moving, keep going, don't think about it. That way
you can manage to look her in the face without throwing 
up. 
 
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
 
Legs moving, muscles pulling at each other, weak leg
going numb. 
 
Pulled out the bullet with her damn tweezers . . .
 
Keep moving, keep going, don't think about it. That way
you can manage to walk without limping, knowing that your
leg never healed properly but not letting anyone else 
find out. 
 
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
Legs moving, muscles pulling at each other, weak leg
almost gone. 
 
I want to think about Mom. Mom was kind, even though 
she was crazy. I don't want to think about Fowley.
Fowley is crazy, but she isn't kind. 
 
Keep moving, keep going, don't think about her.
 
Forget the look on her face when she tried to kiss
you, that look of hunger and recklessness; forget
her lust for power that rivals your own, and how
she thinks you can give it to her. 
 
That way you can go a night without drinking, you 
greedy bastard, hating yourself for letting Them
use you and loving it for the power it brings. 
 
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
 
Legs moving, muscles pulling at each other, weak
leg -- where did it go? 
 
Aw, dammit.
 
f
a
l
l
i
n
g

+++++ 
 
"Where the hell were you?" I shouted.
 
"Me?" she cried. "You're the one who shot the man."
 
Local cops buzzed around me like flies, trying to gather all
the information they could before moving back to their hive.
They were all nameless, faceless worker bees, so I tried
to ignore them. 
 
Fowley sniffed the air -- it smelled like blood, I 
noted -- before twisting her mouth into a frown. Her 
lipstick had faded, so the look wasn't as dramatic as
she wanted it to be. 
 
"Think of all the paperwork," she sighed.
 
"I caught him, didn't I?" I snapped. She questioned me too
much. "And where were you? I could have used you when this
freak decided to use me as a human pin cushion." 
 
I lifted the evidence bag that contained the knife.
 
She peered at it for a second before raising an eyebrow.
 
"We have a new case," Fowley said. Her eyes were dark, and
I didn't think I liked the look in them. 
 
I blinked. "Now? Already?" My leg throbbed again and
I rubbed it, grimacing. 
 
She stared at me for a second. "What the hell happened to
you?" she demanded. 
 
**I was thinking of you, bitch.** 
 
I would have said it, had I been suicidal.
 
"I was running," I replied, gesturing towards my sweat-stained
clothing. Casual!Jeffy in full detail, I thought dryly. "I
fell, and then Mr Prestly over their decided that it would be 
the perfect time to get rid of me. Apparently he had been 
tailing me for several blocks." I shook my head. "And to think,
I actually *like* Elvis." 
 
She studied me from behind the cool mask of her face.
"Then why did you get angry at me not being here?" 
 
**I was running because I was starting to think that 
you were pretty.** 
 
"If you hadn't have left, I never would have started to run.
Instead we could have actually *investigated* the case and
found this guy without any of us getting hurt." 
 
She snorted. "Yeah, *wonderful* excuse, Spender. I *so* did
want to spend an entire day couped up with *you*." 
 
An unfamiliar stinging feeling passed through my chest.
 
Unable to think of a snappy comeback, I muttered, "What's our 
next case?" 
 
+++++
 
The drive back to St Louis was hot, dry, and filled
with Fowley's incessant rambling. 
 
"There's another story of the crash. In this one, 
the ship didn't land at Roswell, but instead at a 
small town . . ." 
 
**I must have done something *really* bad in my
past life.** 
 
". . . so you see, no one can verify any of the 
'eyewitness accounts,' which is why I believe -- " 
 
"What exactly is our next case?" I interrupted.
 
I knew I had annoyed her when she made a great show
of opening and flipping through the file. 
 
"Extermination." A frown line marred the paper-thin skin 
of her forehead. 
 
"You think the government would notice that a great deal
of people in their employment have been dying lately," 
I murmured. 
 
A strange smile danced across Fowley's face, and she
chuckled softly. "We are the government." 
 
Against my will, my mouth curved upwards in a smirk.
"I think I like the sound of that." 
 
We rode the rest of the way without speaking, listening 
to Elvis on the radio. 
 
+++++
 
I awoke to soft knocking at the door of my motel
room. 
 
The red numbers on the clock burned holes through
my eyes as I staggered the door, mouth dry and
head pounding. 
 
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a-gettin'," I grumbled.
 
I wasn't very surprised to find that Fowley was
my mystery guest. After all, I had woken looking
into her face one bleak November evening, praying
that I hadn't gotten drunk and fucked her. Luckily,
it had turned out that she just found me drunk
and passed out on my floor. Either way, it had been
very embarrassing. 
 
Her eyes were huge brown pools in the dark light 
of the motel walkway. "Spender, there's someone
in my room. I need to crash here for a while." 
 
"Then why don't you just shoot him or call the
cops?" I asked. 
 
"We can't draw any attention to ourselves, idiot," 
she snapped. 
 
Well, that made sense. I moved to the side to let
her in. She brushed past me and sat on my bed. 
 
Of course the motel had to be too cheap to have
a chair. I ended up next to her on the bed, trying
not to sit too close. 
 
Fowley pinched the fabric of my sleeve and raised 
an eyebrow. "Flannel?" 
 
"It's warm," I replied, shrugging.
 
"Ah."
 
Her sharp teeth shone white in the dark. I had the 
sudden urge to flip on the light to see if she would 
turn into a pile of dust. 
 
When she started to edge closer, I said, "You put a 
move on me and I'll sue your ass." 
 
She barked out a laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it, Jeff."
 
A cold hand wrapped itself around my heart. My first 
name on her lips sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 
 
"Spender. We've discussed this."
 
"Spender," Fowley echoed. Her mouth twitched into 
something that could have been a smile. "You can call 
me Diana if you want." 
 
"I don't like to get on a first-name basis with people
who will most likely stab me in the back within the
next few months," I sneered. 
 
For a second the expression on her face froze, but the 
look vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving
an empty nothingness in its wake. 
 
She leaned back into the velvet darkness of the night.
Her whisper was like dead leaves on stone. "I see." 
 
I had expected her to deny it, to gaze at me with
wide, innocent eyes and say, "Oh, Spender, I have
no idea what you're talking about." A deceitful 
Fowley would be much easier to handle than a cold, 
calculating one. 
 
She was quiet. Fowley was never quiet. Panic threatened 
to flood me. I stared into her colorless eyes, noticing
for the first time the deep lines of age gorged into
her face as if with knives. 
 
I was the one who spoke of power in the X-Files,
but she would most likely be the only one who
would survive. 
 
After a long moment, I heard her snicker. "You're
a hell of a lot more fun than Fox ever was." 
 
My head snapped up. "What?"
 
Her fingertips brushed my face lightly. I shuddered,
pushing her arm away. Her touch was oily. 
 
Again that laugh. "C'mon, Spender. Don't you want to
play?" 
 
"How old are you anyway?" I asked coldly, grabbing
her wrists to keep her from reaching for me. "I must
be at least seven or eight years younger than you." 
 
Pain clouded her face, replaced by a dark bitterness.
Her eyes sliced right through me. "Bastard," she whispered,
shoving me off the bed with more strength than I thought
she possessed. 
 
When my leg hit the floor I had to bite back a scream.
 
"I don't think I'm the one you should be worrying
about, Jeff" she said coldly. 
 
"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" I demanded,
pushing myself up and leaning on my good leg. "Is
that a threat?" 
 
Her response was a flash of sharp teeth as she stood
and moved towards the entrance of the room. "Sweet 
dreams, Spender," she drawled. "Don't let the little 
gray men bite." 
 
The door slid shut with a *snick,* and I was alone again.
 
I sat staring at the door for several long hours, 
wondering if requesting for a new partner would be 
entirely out of line. 
 
++++++++++
 
the end
 
++++++++++
 
My birthday present to Dom Parker, Catwoman, Mo,
Megan Reilly, Cynthia Douglas, Galia, Allie, Lee Ann
Wagner, and anyone else I've missed. Am I the
only Cancer out there? 
 
Also, kudos to Sarah Prior and Catwoman for
comments. 
 
I need bodies to fill my audience.
Don't make me come and get you.
http://members.tripod.com/~Darkstryder/index-2.html
 
Feedback is not optional.
Resist or serve.
upyours1013@rock.com
littlegraymen@mindless.com
 
( so many catchy phrases, so little time )
 
++++++++++