Title:  A Star Went Burning Down the Sky
 
Author:  Darkstryder
            >upyours1013@rock.com<
 
Category:  V, A, extremely mild Spender/Diana UST
 
Summary:  Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is 
spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a 
table; let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 
the muttering retreats of restless nights in one-night cheap 
hotels and sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:  streets 
that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent 
to lead to an overwhelming question... oh, do not ask, 
"what is it?" Let us go and make our visit. 
 
( From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot. )
 
Disclaimer:  Don't sue! I'm a starving artist!
All herein belong to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen
Productions unless created by my own twisted mind.
I also borrowed one widdle sentence from Barbara
Hambley's "Children of the Jedi." 
 
Please note that this takes place after Diana
and Spender have been with the X-Files for a few
months. This also runs over a couple of weeks, 
a while after "The Beginning." 
 
++++++++++
 
.a star went burning down the sky.
.darkstryder.
 
++++++++++
 
I found Spender passed out in his motel room.
 
The smell of alcohol was suffocating.
 
Touching his cheek, I whispered his name. "Spender."
 
Black eyes stared at me blankly. 
 
"Whaa?" he mumbled, as if his lips and tongue were swollen numb.
 
God, he looked like Fox if I squinted and turned my head 
ever-so-slightly . . . 
 
"Spender," I repeated, louder this time.
 
Recognition flared in Spender's eyes and straight brows tweaked 
over the bridge of his nose. 
 
"Fowley?"
 
He ran a hand over his face, and then clamped it down on mine. 
His skin was like ice. "Jesus, Fowley," he growled, eyes
flashing, "what're you doing in here?" 
 
"Checking on your drunken ass," I hissed, drawing away.
Spender's eyes slid shut again. "What time is it?"
 
A car drove up into the parking lot, the light shining through
the open blinds. The cold glory of light carved deep lines of 
exhaustion and bitterness into Spender's face. 
 
"Late." I paused. "Go back to sleep."
 
As I left, I felt him watching me.
 
+++++
 
Huge stars stared from the absolute black of the sky with the 
wide-open glare of mad things, not concerned with the lives
of two FBI agents waiting beneath them. 
 
Spender's voice was brittle. "Do you really believe that what
we killed tonight was an alien?" 
 
I tore my gaze from the heavens to meet his eyes, throwing
him a tight smile. "You have to be a little more open-minded, 
Agent Spender. Not everything is bound by our current
knowledge of our world. After all, isn't science the search
for man's status in the universe?" 
 
He snorted, glaring at me darkly and wrapping his hands around the 
steering wheel tightly, as if he wished it were my neck. "I still 
have a difficult time believing that little green men are running 
around." 
 
His smile was a flash of sharp, white teeth. A cold snake of 
uneasiness wrapped itself around my spine. 
 
A star danced across the sky, falling towards the Earth in
a brilliant flash of light. 
 
"Spender, why did you join the Project?"
 
I watched as his jaw twitched, eyes narrowing into glittering
slits. "It's like a drug, you know," he said after a length.
 
"The more you have, the more you want, the harder it is
to resist." 
 
Power.
 
<"And the woman said unto the serpent, 'We may eat of
the fruit of the trees of the garden:  But the fruit
of the tree which *is* in the mist of the garden, God
hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye
touch it, lest ye die.' "> 
 
His starlit eyes met mine. "What about you, Fowley?"
 
<"And the serpent said unto the woman, 'Ye shall not
surely die:  For God doth know that in the day ye eat
thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall
be as gods, knowing good and evil.' "> 
 
I remembered the first time I killed a man.
 
The cold feel of the gun against my hand.
 
The whisper of temptation.
 
The weight of the trigger.
 
The rush, the warmth, the hunger.
 
<"And when the woman saw that the tree *was* good
for food, and that it *was* pleasant to the eyes,
and a tree to be desired to make *one* wise, she
took of the fruit thereof, and did eat . . . "> 
 
I leaned against the cool leather of the seat, smiling. "Why 
wouldn't I be interested in the Project? Think of all that it 
can teach us."
 
+++++
 
Poisoned rain speared from an acid sky.
 
"Spender!"
 
My throat was raw from screaming.
 
"Speeeeenderrrr!"
 
I was soaked to the bone and freezing, limping through the
mud looking for my fallen partner. The copper smell
of blood was sharp in the air. 
 
The dead body of the geneticist lied in a puddle of his own 
blood that was quickly being washed away by the storm. 
Growling, I kicked it roughly. 
 
Asshole. He had tried to ruin our hunt.
 
I was equally furious with Spender, who had been stupid
enough to allow himself to be shot. It would be difficult
for me to clean this mess up alone. 
 
"Spender," I shouted, "if you don't say something I'll
take all the credit for this. So help me God, I will." 
 
A groan.
 
Quickly, I moved to the left, towards some bushes.
Spender lay in the brush, clutching his leg tightly.
 
His face had turned a sickly gray, eyes clouded with
pain. Blood seeped through his fingers, mixing with the
rainwater on the ground. 
 
Gently, I touched his face, like that night in the motel.
 
"Call 911," he gasped.
 
"I can't," I hissed. "The police will be here within a few 
seconds of the call. We have to dispose of the body quietly, 
and then get back to the motel. I can pull the bullet
out and patch you up myself. 
 
His mouth dropped open, startled. "But -- "
 
I reached out and took his arm. "But nothing," I snapped.
"That's what you get for letting yourself get shot." 
 
Spender pulled his arm away roughly. "Fuck you," he 
growled. Fierce bitterness flashed like a dagger in his
voice and glinted in his dark eyes. 
 
I managed to resist the urge to slap him. "Get up."
 
I yanked him to his feet roughly. He let out a choked
cry, and I slipped an arm around his shoulders, trying
to steady him. 
 
He recoiled.
 
"Jeff -- " I started.
 
"Spender," he snapped. "Don't call me Jeff. Not
now, not ever." 
 
Quickly, we moved back to the car. I set him down in the
passanger seat and then walked back up the hill to get
rid of the body. 
 
+++++
 
Spender opened his door, mouth forming a tight frown.
I reached forward, clutching his shoulders. He flinched.
 
"Why?" I whispered.
 
He cocked his head to one side. "Why what?"
 
I brushed my hair out of my quickly, breathing fast.
"Why the X-Files? Why not one of Their secret circles?
They've got more power, it's safer. Why spend your time
in this shop of horrors?" 
 
Spender's eyes narrowed, face forming an iron mask.
 
"Funny," he spat, "you seemed to *adore* them before
now. What changed your mind?" 
 
I shook my head, moving my hands from his shoulders to the
the material of his shirt. "No, no. Today I saw you talking 
with *him*. If you're close with him, you can have anything
you want. Anything." 
 
I wanted to know that power. I wanted to taste it, to be
able to have the fate of man in my hands, just like Them.
To be a master instead of a servent. 
 
I could smell alcohol on Spender's breath, and I was close
enough to . . .  
 
As if reading my thoughts, he pushed me away, and then with
a sudden rush of strength grabbed my wrists, pulling me closer. 
 
I gasped. An unfamiliar sensation of panic fluttered in my 
chest.
 
"Do you want to know why?" he hissed against my ear. "The
X-Files drove Mulder and Scully to the brink of insanity.
There *is* power in this, and it is mine. *I* will conquer
this thing they've created." 
 
I fell to my knees as he let go, feeling the future 
slip through my fingers once more. 
 
++++++++++
 
DS
upyours1013@rock.com
http://members.tripod.com/~Darkstryder/index-2.html
 
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Kudos to my 'net sistas:  RocketMan, Catwoman, Dom
Parker, Mo, and Galia. 
 
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