By the way-- I have midterms. And some sort of generalized running off at the mouth disorder, so, like, feedback is cheaper than drugs, so could I please have some? jstoy@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
Pretty Fly For A White Guy #1B
"That's going to leave a nasty scar, Agent Spender," the doctor said sympathetically. "You were lucky to escape with your life! What were you doing when you got shot?"
Special Agent Jeffrey Spender, FBI, looked down at the ground sadly. It had been a difficult few months, handling terrorists, felons, and crazed family members. He had been forced to get down and get dirty.
"Well, Doctor Ciappelleto," the gruffly handsome agent said. "I had to stop extraterrestrial colonization, and make one last stand against my extraordinarily evil but also extremely intelligent father."
His mind drifted back to that horrible night, the night he had rescued Marita Covarrubias from almost certain death at the hands of the Consortium. He had been working undercover, building trust with his father--
"OWW! That hurts! That huuuurts!" Jeff shrieked suddenly.
"If you don't clean the wound every day, it gets encrusted with filth and germs," Alex Krycek told him. "And don't bitch, you spoiled brat. I had my ARM sawed off in Siberia without even a swallow of VODKA to reduce the pain."
Jeff refrained from rolling his eyes, but he'd heard it before. Krycek had been amputated, indoctrinated, and had barely escaped with his life. All of this, and now he lived in a van down by the river. Literally, even, though Jeff was the first to admit that the van was nicer than many studio apartments in New York.
"Okay, okay," Jeff said. "So, where are we going?"
"Fabulous Las Vegas," Marita said from the driver's seat. She didn't sound very enthusiastic about it, either. Then again, when Marita sounded enthusiastic, it was usually a bad thing.
"Yeah, we're going to see if you and Marita can get work in a freak show," Krycek replied, rebandaging Jeff's leg.
"Fabulous Las Vegas, huh?" Jeffrey asked as he realized Dr. Ciappelleto was waiting.
"You had to stop extraterrestrial colonization?"
Special Agent Spender nodded. "And it was no easy task, let me tell you. I had to seduce Assistant Director Kersh's blonde confidential secretary. It took days and days of seduction, but after one particularly fulfilling-- shall we call it a tete a tete?-- she was my confidential anything. I discovered my father had plans for the aliens to begin colonization in Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada, during a New Year's Eve extravaganza. The first alien was supposed to appear as Barbra Streisand and tell everyone how they came in peace. Then they were going to start shooting."
"My GOD, man! Barbra?" Doctor Ciappelleto asked in horror.
"Well, it had originally been Joan Rivers, but no one doesn't believe she's not an alien already."
"So then what happened?"
"Well, Agent Scully and I had to think fast. To my rapidly increasing horror, I'd discovered that my partner at the FBI, one Diana Fowley--"
Doctor Ciappelleto made a face. "Even her name sounds like a repulsive den of filth!"
"You're not wrong, my good man," Spender said tersely. "She was my father's go- to as well as his give-it-to girl and she had seduced Special Agent Fox Mulder under her devilish, wicked spell."
"When will Fox Mulder learn?" Scully asked. "I know he's my partner and has saved my life numerous times, but Jeff-- he's an incompetent psychopath who wouldn't know the truth if it ran up and bit him on the ass."
"Don't be so hard on him. The boy has good instincts. He's just not particularly bright," Spender said, dreaming of his wild ride to Vegas with the sleekly clad Agent Scully, who had been wearing knee-high black leather boots, skintight ass- hugging denim shorts, and a top-- well, Heather Graham could have done no better, especially during the bit with the striptease to American Woman--
"JEFF!" Marita yelled, dropping all traces of her ennui-dripping, heroin-chic mystique. "We're at a 7-11. Wakey-wakey. I'd get out and take a piss if I were you. And get me some Doritos, a Slurpee, um, let's see, uh, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey, some Evian, a pack of gum, and a burrito."
"Clogging your arteries much?" Krycek asked.
"Go to hell, van-boy," Marita replied curtly. "Jeff? Go get my stuff."
Jeff left the bickering pseudo-couple in the car as he wandered into the neon wasteland of the 7-11, much as he had in a small desert town outside of Las Vegas with Scully those weeks ago. She had been pert and enthusiastic, even after miles of traveling cross-country.
"Oh, Agent Spender!" she'd sighed, picking up a bag of barbecue Lay's and some Twizzlers. "Are you sure that you can defeat this vast intergalactic conspiracy all by yourself? You're the greatest special agent who ever lived, but this may be too much for one man to handle."
"Have some faith in me, Agent Scully. I've defeated my father before, and I'll defeat him again."
She'd given him a darkly seductive smile. "I'm sure about *that*, Agent Spender. I was just wondering if--" and she'd pressed her breasts up and together ever so slightly-- "You could handle me."
"Sir?" the clerk asked. "Hey, you! Person with the nasty smelling sneakers!"
"What?" Jeff asked. He had been just about ready to save the world, get the girl, and dance on the grave of his SOB father, and he had not wanted to be interrupted.
"Are you going to buy something, or did you just leave so your friends in the van could set it a-knocking?"
"I'm here for munchies," Jeff confessed sadly. "And where's your bathroom?"
The bathroom had been where they found the would-be assassin, on their way for a little-- tete a tete. He had burst out of the stall with four AK-47's and screamingly old-fashioned job loyalty. Spender had let Scully take care of him. The guy was clearly a fourth-rate assassin, and Spender was, after all, sensitive to her low self-esteem problem. After that, it had been a chase onto the Strip, Elvis howling Viva Las Vegas, bullets flying everywhere, Scully shrieking and holding on to Spender's manly arm--
And there, standing before the big pyramid hotel, just behind a group of women bitching that no, the Flamingo Hilton was NOT where Star Trek: The Experience was, had been his father. He had emerged in a tremendous show of light with Diana Fowley at his side, and Mulder trotting along behind in sheer, mind boggling idiocy.
"JEFFREY!!!!" his father had yelled, and everything had gone into slow motion.
"FA--THER!" Spender had yelled back, pulling out his gun and accidentally killing a trained monkey named Jojo in the process.
"Hey, you tubby bitch!" Jay yelled from the sidewalk. "I think those guys are going to get into a gun duel."
Silent Bob nodded, and then gone back to trying to levitate a cigarette with the force.
Guns aimed, Spender and his father glared at each other with cold eyes. "I won't let you colonize the world with an alien force," Spender said.
"How are you going to stop me? It's already begun! They're already here!"
Scully shrieked like a girl caught in a Vincent Price movie. "NO! Noooooo!" she cried, a single tear rolling down her beautiful face.
Spender kept his cool. It was tough, especially when facing a monster like this, but Spender wasn't an Extra Special Agent for nothing. "I don't believe you. You're a purveyor of lies, a rotten filth-mongering monster of destructions and hideousness. Besides, you're evil."
"Of course I'm evil! I'm responsible for the Osmonds and the Backstreet Boys!" his father roared. "How will you defeat me?"
"Because I represent the forces of good," Agent Spender said, brandishing his maximum firepower. Which meant he started waving his gun around. The metal gun.
"Evil will always triumph, because good is dumb," Mulder said indistinctly. Everyone swiveled their heads to look at him.
"Shut up, Mulder!" everyone shouted. Mulder had whimpered and sat down.
Spender saw his chance. As his father swiveled his head back around, Spender's finger was on the trigger, pushing, and then, in front of the tourists and all, shot the old man through the heart.
"Nooooooooooooo! My love! My money!" Fowley had screamed, falling over the body. Enraged by lust and madness, she fumblingly pried the gun from the cooling hand of her dead inamorato, and streaked with his blood, she staggered up, and pointed the gun at Spender. "You'll pay for this!"
"I don't even think so," Agent Scully said. "Drop that gun, bitch."
"Who's going to make me?" Fowley asked. Scully gave the woman her best not-in- this-lifetime sneer and then spun around and kicked the gun away. It was moderately impressive.
"Silent Bob! Yo, Silent Bob!" Jay yelled. "I think there's going to be a chick fight!"
This time, Silent Bob looked as Scully and Fowley finally had the fight they were meant to have since Diana sashayed her well-kept, underwear fetishist behind back into the X-Files office. Mulder, still hurt from the entire being told to shut up experience, pouted. Spender, ever the professional, kept his eyes trained on the fight, making sure he didn't have to step in. He didn't need to-- Scully knew how to fight.
Finally, Scully placed a spectacular kick to Fowley's over-tummy-tucked middle and knocked the woman flailing over her sugar daddy's body. "Hasta la vista, Fowley," she growled.
"I'll get you, my pretty-- and your little Mulder, too!" Fowley shrieked, trying to struggle up one last time. This time, Special Agent Spender took action and used his mighty gun to put a few holes-- bullet holes-- into Fowley's chest. "No! No! I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding! Oh, what a world, what a world!"
Mulder looked over at Fowley. "You were even unoriginal in your dying words."
"Cut me some slack, Mulder. I'm a plot point," Fowley growled.
Finally, Fowley's last gush of blood stained the pavement some more, and with a squeal of relief, Special Agent Dana Scully threw her arms around her hero, Special Agent Jeffrey Spender, FBI. Mulder cheered from the corner, and then hugged them both.
As they walked away from the awed tourists into the sunset, Mulder looked at the dead bodies of Fowley and Cancerman and smiled. "Yo, Spender. Cancerman and his ho were straight-up bitches next to you. You rock my world, JEFF!"
"JEFFFFFFF! JEFF!" someone was screaming. It was Alex. "What the hell is wrong with you, man? Marita wants her ice cream and you're driving. So let's get the hell on the road already before I leave your punk ass here."
Jeff sighed, bought the considerable amount of munchies needed to supply a one- armed Russian double agent and a red-eyed non-heroin-shooting ex-UN agent, and got in the driver's seat. "Next stop, Fabulous Las Vegas."
"Just shut up and drive, Jeff."
THE END Author's Notes: Okay, um, let it just be realized that I stole numerous pop culture figures and such here, and that I make no money from them because I am only a silly girl. That said, Feedback is Schweet. Send it? Please???? And thank you, beta readers. You rule.