From: Amatia Date: Thu, 28 Jan 1999 16:55:45 -0600 (CST) Subject: Jeffrey Spender's Anti-Happy Life (1/1) Title: Jeffrey Spender's Anti-Happy Life Author: Amatia Email: violinst@pitnet.net Disclaimer: Jeffy-boy isn't mine, but it sure is fun to play with his head! Spoilers: "Patient X", "The End", "Fight the Future" Archiving: Gossamer is cool, all others please email to say you're archiving. Category: V,H Rating: PG-13 'cuz Jeffy knows lots of naughty words. And he uses them, too! Summary: Spender whines about life, Mulder, his mother, Star Wars, and the "Flying Motherwheel". Note: Anyone remember when I said I had to write Spender a nice whiney vignette? Well, here it is folks! I sem to be writing a lot of Spender lately. It's subconsious retaliation for all the MSR... *** "Jeffrey Spender's Anti-Happy Life" by Amatia Sometimes I feel like a character out of one of those teenage angst movies that my mother never let me watch when I was a kid. Mainly because she was so busy taking me to see the hypnotherapist, the psychotherapist, the past-life regressionist, and the chairperson of her "Flying Motherwheel" cult. My name's Jay Spender, and I am one fucked-up FBI agent. You see, I had a pretty ordinary life until I was ten. I remember my parents getting along pretty well, except Mom didn't like the fact that Dad smoked, and the fact that he was home maybe twenty-five days out of the three-hundred-and-sixty-five days that made up one year of my almost normal childhood. I say almost normal because my mother believed she was an alien abductee, even before Dad left us. But she didn't talk much about it, it was never a big issue at our house. Then two weeks after my tenth birthday, my father left on a business trip, and never came back. I saw him again for the first time in almost twenty years about a month ago. I swear, it was like something out of Star Wars. Well, I'm no Luke Skywalker, I'll be honest, but everyone's seen the part in the movie where Darth Vader says, "Luke, I am your father." That's what it was like. This....old guy....with a cigarette in his hand (that should have been my first clue) was walking down the hallway in an authorized-personnel part of the Hoover building without an ID, and I asked him what he was doing. Out of nowhere, he says, "I'm your father." Then all the fire alarms went off, and I knew that my father was Darth Vader in every way possible. He was the one that Mulder had accused me of working for in front of a dozen agents. Mulder...that's another story. I think that as far as fucked-up late childhood goes, Mulder and I have more in common than we like to admit. His sister, my mother, aliens everywhere...the list goes on. Except now Mulder has disappeared from the hospital where he was admitted after being shot in the head. Well, the bullet "grazed his temple". And I find myself the unofficial head of the X-Files in his absence. In the basement, which still smells like smoke. It's horrid! What did I do to get stuck with this shit? It wasn't my fault that Mulder insinuated himself into the Chess Tournament investigation. I would have caught the fact that the boy moved out of the way of the bullet after I'd watched the tapes a couple of times. Damn him. Damn him for runing my investigation. Damn him for disappearing when he should really be lying on a cold slab in the morgue, waiting for his partner to do an autopsy. Ouch, that was rude. And Scully couldn't do the autopsy anyway, she seems to have disappeared as well. Maybe they decided it was time to quit and go live somewhere warm. Like the Yucatan. Or better yet, South Africa. That's pretty far away, far enough away that Mulder won't be messing around in my investigations. Or lack of. See why I said I felt like a character in a teenage angst movie? I suppose that should be teenage bitterness movie, it's more a correct term for me. I told you I was messed up. I don't know how I passed the psych evaluation for the Bureau. Maybe good old Darth Vader pulled some strings for me to get in, it wouldn't surprise me. Not much surprises me. Not since my mother joined the "Flying Motherwheel" cult. It really did have a name other than "Flying Motherwheel", but I like saying it better than the huge "Something Something Abductees Something Something Anonymoys Something Flying Something Motherwheel Association." No, really, I'm not being serious. It was the alien version of Triple A. "Alien Abductees Anonymous", or somesuch shit like that. Mom dragged me there all the time, and all the old ladies who liked to moan about aliens probing them would pinch my cheek and say how much I'd grown in the twelve hours since they'd seen me last. I hate my life. Or better yet, I hate my lack of life. Oh well, I suppose not everyone can say they have their own regression therapy session which "proves" they were abducted by aliens on video tape. I'd rather have some of Mulder's porno movies. Feedback worshipped at violinst@pitnet.net Flames will be used to toast my little Spender-shaped marshmallows. Aw, darn, it's on fire... violinst@pitnet.net Site X - http://personal.pitnet.net/london