From: Pyrephox18 Date: 10 Nov 1998 00:20:03 GMT Subject: NEW: Cat's Paw (1/1) (SPOILERS) Title: Cat's Paw Rating: PG-13 for language Spoilers: The Beginning season 6 Disclaimer: Spender ain't mine, so don't blame me. Oh, and he doesn't die in this one. Keywords: V, A. Summary: Spender reflects on life. :P Feedback: Pyrephox18@aol.com Just hit reply. Archive: Yes, yes, anywhere! ---------------------------------- What a bargain. I look around the newly painted basement office, still perfumed with the scent of burning paper, and grimace. Damn it, all I really wanted was a nice, sane life, with nice, sane cases, with an eventual nice, sane promotion to a desk job somewhere. Instead, I get the "X-Files". Whoopty-fucking-do. Not to mention that creepy psycho, Mulder, breathing down my neck every time I set foot outside. You'd think he'd lost his entire life in that fire. Of course, from what I hear, it *was* his entire life. If so, I probably did him a favor. I mean, jeez, get a hobby or something- some fish, perhaps. I across the cramped room, absently slapping that silly looking plant Fowley insisted on bringing down here, and sit heavily in the chair behind the desk. Technically, it's Diana's desk. I don't have one, the people who refurnished the place said there wasn't enough room. What a gyp. How the hell did Mulder and Scully get by with only one desk? Speaking of Fowley, I'm not too pleased with her, either. In fact, she's the entire reason I'm down here in UFO Hell. If she hadn't used her own connections to keep the X-Files open, I'd be upstairs where I belong, not chasing little green men. But she did, and now that bastard who calls himself my father has put a condition on Mulder's humiliation: put my career on hold, and baby-sit Fowley while she indulges her little pet project. It still amazes me how such a sensible woman can insist on believing in this paranormal crap. Much less actually spend taxpayers' money on it. She makes it sound like some sort of *adventure*. Obviously, the woman never spent the first ten years of her life being dragged around by her fruitcake of a mother, listening to the weighty pronouncements of whatever assortment of flaky gurus had found this week's Grand Truth. Trust me, that'll put you off "adventure" for a lifetime. I mean, give me a break. My eyes linger on the blank spot where that stupid poster used to hang. "I Want to Believe", my ass. The only thing you can believe in is yourself, I learned that a long time ago. Anybody who thinks anything else is living in a dreamworld, and I'll have no sympathy for them when it crumbles down around their heads. And that includes *you*, "Father". I pull up his smog-shrouded image in my mind, and feel my scowl deepen. That expression has become a constant companion to my face since the first time I met Mulder and Scully. So has the smell of smoke. I bow my head, and run both hands through my hair. I *know* the deal I made was wrong. Hell, it's a violation of every oath I ever took to protect the public and preserve justice. But ... he made it sound so damn *reasonable* at the time. I know that Mulder is dangerous, deluded and violent; coddled and indulged in his insane fantasies by A.D. Skinner and Agent Scully, for reasons that I can't even begin to comprehend. Maybe they get a kick out of watching him make everyone else's lives miserable. So, when F... when *he* began telling me how Mulder's delusions had endangered the lives of countless people, my mother among them, it was easy to believe that my antipathy against him was grounded in more than jealousy of his "Golden Boy" status. Easy to believe that I had seen the truth when the others around me had been fooled by the lies about "brilliance". For that matter, it still *is* the truth. Mulder is completely nuts, and shouldn't be allowed anywhere a gun or a badge. And yet ... the way my "patron" spoke about breaking his spirit, the glee that lurked under that deadpan expression, has made me wonder is maybe, just maybe, I've sold my soul to the wrong person. Am I on the wrong side, after all? I don't know. And even if I did, if the side of the angels accepts people like Mulder, and asks for me to believe in ghosts and goblins ... well, maybe I belong on the side of the devils, after all. ------------------------------- Feedback happily panted of at Pyrephox18@aol.com "What Dreamer lies beneath, The lies and loneliness of humanity? What Sleeper in our souls, Bound by preconceptions and prejudice?"