From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Sat, 5 Aug 2000 03:32:51 -0500
Subject: Waiting by Alison
Source: direct

Reply To: xalison@hotmail.com


Title:  WAITING by Alison
Feedback to:  xalison@hotmail.com
Category:  Langly/Byers slash (well, just implied)
Disclaimer:  They're not mine, etc
Spoilers:  slight for Unusual Suspects, Momento Mori
Summary:  Post Momemto Mori- Langly waits up for Byers

Author Notes:  I see the Langly/Byers relationship as being a 
comparatively recent development, i.e. not something that has 
been going on since they met.  And I see Momento Mori as a 
pivotal episode for so many people, it seemed like a good place 
to start.


WAITING

LG Headquarters
12.20 am

It's gone midnight, and he's not back yet.

Mel went to bed an hour ago, as soon as we got back.  He said 
he'd had enough excitement for one day.  Don't know if he was 
kidding or not.  I said I'd wait up and let John in.  Usually I 
can sleep anywhere, anytime, and I wanted to see if there had 
been any fallout from our little escapade.  But there's nothing 
yet.  Nothing on the police band, and nothing yet about the 
break-in at the Research Facility.  I went straight back again 
into their mainframe but there was no evidence that we had been 
there. Surprising, since we know the police were there before 
we left, but they must have put the pressure on to get all the 
evidence removed.  Big surprise.

We'd been been left hanging in the breeze by Mulder at the 
Institute.  Left us on our own to get out and back to the van. 
 What he found in the Institute, we still don't know. He didn't 
have time to tell us, but we know that he had to get out of 
there in a hurry.  We heard shots over the radio link before he 
finally told us he was clear.  Told us not to wait for John, 
that he'd asked John to go see Scully with an important 
message.  Just like that, and just like always we jump whenever 
he snaps his fingers.  God knows why - and who's the bigger 
fool - Mulder, or us for jumping to his every whim. What is it 
about this guy that makes us stick our necks out and nearly get 
ourselves killed.  Lay our lives on the line every time he says 
"I need your help, boys".

I'm worried.  Something is wrong.  Something about John and the 
way he's been tonight.

We don't usually worry about each other.  Or we don't show it. 
 It's not part of the image.  Not cool. Not part of our usual 
offhand cynical backbiting relationship.  But tonight . . .

He was tense right from the start, even before we met Mulder.  
Obviously uncomfortable in that high necked sweater, he was 
fidgeting in the van on the way to the rendezvous, fiddling 
with the headset he would be using.  At the time I put it down 
to our Narc's customary tight-ass reluctance to step over the 
line intio outright criminality.  He's always been the straight 
arrow;  given his history that's no surprise.  He's had a 
longer journey to follow than either Mel or me.  

Well, I was nervous myself.  This is the first time we've ever 
gone out quite so far for Mulder.  Well, for Scully really.
Let's face it, there was no way we could turn him down.

One a.m - for Godsake, Byers, where are you?  Haven't we had 
enough to worry about today?  And we sure as hell can't ask 
Mulder for any help at the moment.  

Mulder should have asked me to go see Scully.  John's learnt a 
lot from us in the last few years, but he's still too *narc*.  
He doesn't walk on the dark side as easily as I do.  If he's 
been stopped by the cops -

The buzzer sounds and I check the front door monitor.  A dark 
shadow, head bowed - but it can't be anyone else at this time 
of night.  When I open the door he pushes past me without a 
word - unusual for our mannerly John.  It's been raining and 
his coat is wet, his hair and beard dripping.  I lock up and 
follow him.

He's dumped his coat in a heap on the couch - another first.  
Usually it would be hung up carefully in the passageway.  He's 
in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee pot with one hand and 
wiping at his hair with a towel in the other.  The top of the 
coffee pot flies off and lands on the floor, and he curses 
fluently as he bends after it.  I'm impressed - I didn't think 
he had it in him.  Then I see his hand is shaking.  

"Hey, you're shivering" [Yes, I can so be diplomatic when 
necessary].  "Why don't you go and sit down in the back, it's 
warmer in there, and I'll bring the coffee"

He acquiesces, still without a word.  His face is pale and taut 
as he brushes past me.  I make the coffee and grab the bottle 
of whiskey from the pantry shelf.  Take it all in and sit down 
opposite him, tilt the bottle over his mug - he nods.  Reaches 
for the coffee and takes a long swallow.  Shuts his eyes and 
lets out a long breath.

I'm beginning to get really freaked out. This is so weird for 
John.  Really out of character for our Narcboy.  Take a slug of 
whiskey-laden coffee.  Think how to begin.  Look up at him.

And it's then that it hits me like a sledgehammer blow in my 
gut.

Why did I never notice before that he's beautiful? With his 
hair damp and rumpled, huddled in the corner of the couch in 
that dark pullover, his eyes wide, shadowed and dark  - he 
looks so different, younger, much more vulnerable, scared.  It 
suddenly occurs to me that without the beard, he'd look about 
18 - and that's probably why he grew it.  It makes me feel - 
what - protective?  Usually he's the sensible one, but tonight 
I feel so much older.  Like an older brother.  Or I just want 
to find out what happened and make sure it never happens again.

"Did you get to Scully", I finally manage.

He nods.  "Yeah . . . no problem there.  You know, she believed 
me without hesitation?  I just had to say "Mulder says you have 
to do this ...." and she'd have done anything he said.  Didn't 
even ask how or why.  But  . . . ."

"What?"

"She looks bad, Langly.  I've seen people look like that before 
. . . too many people.  I don't know how much longer she can go 
on."

"She's a fighter.  She won't give up."

He nods again, and rubs his eyes as if he's seen too much 
today.  
"I've seen too many people die from cancer.  And going into 
that hospital, you know - it brought it all back.  The smell, 
the atmosphere, the lights and the look of the place - it 
brought it all back.  Made me want to throw up.  Not for the 
first time tonight."

His hands are gripping the coffee mug, turning it round and 
round, then clasping it as if for warmth.  I find myself 
fascinated by his hands.  Long sensitive fingers, strong and 
capable - I suddely wonder what they would feel like, stroking, 
gripping, wrapped round my .... no, think of something else for 
Gossake . . .

"So what else happened?"

"I nearly blew it, that's what" he snaps.

"What?"

"In the Lombard . . . when Mulder asked me to get out and go 
see Scully.  I was on my way back out when the police came in 
with that guy with the gun."

Not a good time for me to tell him I could see him on the 
monitor cowering like a frightened rabbit.  But what the hell, 
Ringo, would you have done anything else?

Now he's started talking, he can't stop.  "Jesus Langly, I've 
never been so scared since that time in Baltimore . . . I 
thought I'd shit myself.  And then I heard the shots and I 
thought they'd found Mulder . . . I didn't know what to do.  I 
got out of there, part of me was telling myself I was doing it 
for Scully and the other half was telling me I should go back 
and try to help Mulder . . . how does he do it, Langly?  How 
does he do things like that almost every day?"

Okay, time for some straight talking before our Narcboy talks 
himself into a flat spin.  "Well, how about years of training 
for a start?   And he's had years of experience. You can't 
compare your reactions with his.  He wouldn't expect you to".

"Yeah, but . . ."

"And since we're talking about Baltimore, let me remind you who 
put his life on the line then?  What you did that day, when 
that black guy put the gun to your head and you thought he was 
going to blow your head off?  But you kept challenging him, 
questioning him, even with the gun to the back of your head.  I 
tell you man, I've never seen anything to compare with that 
before or since.  Don't you tell me you're a coward."

He takes a deep breath and looks at me. God, those blue eyes . 
. . 

"Yes, but that was different.  That was for Suzanne."

"Yeah, and what Mulder did tonight . . . that was for Scully."

He starts to say something, looks surprised, then lets out a 
half sigh, half laugh.  "You may have something there".

"I'm right, aren't I."

"Maybe . . ."

We sit at the table in a companiable silence. When the coffee 
is finished he rubs his hand over his face, grimaces and says 
"Well, I ought to try and get some sleep, I suppose.  Don't 
feel much like it, though."

"Take a warm shower first, that'll help".

"Yeah, I might do that.  Thanks Langly".

But what I'd really like to happen is for me to take him back 
to the bathroom and get him out of that ridiculous sweater and 
the rest of his clothes . . . get into the shower with him 
until we're both warm and relaxed . . . and make love to him 
until he falls asleep from exhaustion.

Or put it another way, I want to drag him back to the bedroom, 
push him down onto the bed and fuck him senseless.

But that's not going to happen. 

And he goes off towards the bathroom and presently I hear the 
sound of the shower running.  I ache to follow him, and in my 
mind I do, watching him strip off and step under the warm 
running water, seeing the water streaming over his shoulders, 
down his back and over his ass, waiting for him to turn and 
face me . . 

He's right - he probably won't sleep.

And neither will I.


END

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