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Title: Chef Langly Author: Anton Edward Moon E-Mail: darkmoon@speakeasy.org Category: Gen/Het Rating: PG Summary: Langly can cook... he just requires the proper stimulus! Disclaimers: The usual, I guess... the lads, along with Scully, are the property of 1013 Productions, yadda yadda... (Fill in the blanks please, Mistress Eve?) Tina is the actual property of Amazon X, who bears sole responsibility for all restraint marks. Notes All Thanks and Praise to Linda for giving to an unworthy world (and to a bunch of deserving gunfen), the First (and so far, the Only) Lone GunWoman! Long may she rave! "So where the hell is he, Byers?" The tall bearded man looked around again -- futilely, as before, since they'd already searched the warehouse from top to bottom. "I don't know. He's supposed to be here, Scully said she checked on him last night and he was still too weak to go anywhere." "Yeah. But not too weak to refuse to let her check him back into Bethesda General." The short man scratched absently at his stubbly chin, swore almost unaudibly. While Byers went back upstairs again, Mel Frohike idly flipped the cover of his cell phone open, pushed the first button on his speed dial. The phone on the other end rang once, and a sultry contralto voice answerd "Scully". "He's not here, Scully. Are you sure he wasn't in shape to go out?" As he spoke, he felt stupid. This woman would not, could not be mistaken. He trusted her as a doctor even more than he trusted her as a friend, and that trust, forged by years of deadly missions, was absolute. If she said Langly was in no shape to travel, well... "Never mind, Scully. It's... I'm..." She cut him off, gently. It's alright, Melvin. I know you're worried about Langly and, frankly, so am I. He should be in his bed. I would have bet he'd be doing well to get to the bathroom and back. I even left him some packaged meals, stuff he could put in the microwave, to keep him going until I could get back tonight. I wasn't expecting you and Byers home until Friday, and with Jimmy off again chasing Yves..." her voice tailed off. Before either could break the silence, Byers called out from the sleeping quarters at the top of the building. "Scully, I'll call you back, okay?" He started for the stairs, phone still pressed to his ear. He could hear the woman's breathing at the other end of the call... he savored every faint exhalation. "Okay, Melvin. Let me know as soon as you have anything." She rang off and only then did Frohike cut the connection. He found Byers standing at the desk in Langly's room. Like its owner, the room was unbelievably messy, the desk even worse. Byers' discomfort at being in the sty was obvious, but he held a piece of paper gingerly between two fingers of one hand, with as much zest as if it was one of the grungy sweat socks littering the floor under the unmade bed. He held it out to Frohike. "It's a recipe. I think." The older man took the paper, not nearly as disgusted as his friend (but making a mental note to wash his hands before he went back downstairs) and looked it over carefully. It was a recipe, alright; in fact, several recipes, apparently from one of his "special" cook books. He looked more carefully, noted Chicken Kiev, Lobster Bisque, even Chocolate Blueberry Cheesecake. Yup. He chuckled as he remembered that this was the menu he'd prepared for Langly's last birthday dinner. Prepared with the expert assistance of... At the bottom, there was a small lightly pencilled notation. Three letters: CAB. Frohike smiled. "I know where he is." Byers stopped at the door, a quizzical look on his handsome, bearded features. "You know?" "Cee Aye Bee... Christina Angela Bellini." "Tina? He's with TINA?!" Incredulity was slightly tinged with wonder and, yes, a certain pleasure as the realization stole across his mind. "TINA!" "Okay, Byers, settle down. And do NOT let on to Jimmy. You know what happened after that last run -- he still thinks she's dead and buried somewhere in Iowa and dammit, we can't let him know she's not. We promised Tina that we'd help her disappear." They both thought for a moment of their first -- and so far, their only -- Lone gunwoman. Tina: one part domestic Goddess, one part Tomb Raider, one part Langly slut... She'd turned up one day with Langly, took over the cooking and raised the level of the diets almost immediately; soon, she'd raised everything about their domestic existence, even encouraging Langly to clean up his act... and his room. She had also saved their butts when a poach had turned into a 3AM 70 mile-per-hour shootout on the Beltway. They had been stunned when her friend at the NSA had been killed trying to break up a robbery at his bank -- shot through the head by a stray police round, at that. Ironically, it had been Langley who had realized that she could no longer remain with their little crew. "Listen, guys, she's hot and you know it. Her buddy could keep her out of the "wants list", but now, well, the next time she turns up on a surveillance tape..." He'd needed to say no more. Within a few days, Tina Bellini was dead, all appropriate papers were filed in the necessary governmental databases, and "Ann Roberts" was a fully-documented second cook at a suburban Virginia halfway house for ex-junkies. for the past six months, no one had known any different. Frohike's sardonic smile became a face-splitting grin as he realized something else. He looked up at his younger friend. "Byers, remember Langly's last birthday? When he found out she'd help me fix that fancy dinner for him, he promised to return the favor. Today's July 1st. It's her birthday..." Byers finished the thought "... and he's going to cook dinner for Tina." They took their time. Cleaning up their gear, their clothing and themselves took a couple of hours. Besides, they didn't intend to ruin supper, but there was no way they were not going to wish their friend a happy birthday. Frohike called Scully, but told her only that they'd figured where Langly had gone; dissembling slightly when she pressed him, finally getting her promise to come by after late tea with her mom. By the time the woman showed, they were ready to roll. Byers straddling the tool box between and behind the seats, Frohike ran down the evidence for Agent Scully while expertly navigating Gilgamesh through the mid-evening suburban Washington traffic. Leaving the Beltway, he drove west on Lee Highway for several miles, finally leaving the highway at the Warrenton interchange, and driving north a couple more miles on 17 before weaving through the Virginia dusk. They pulled off the road finally at a small sign which read "Cypress Glen". The sign marked the drive which was the only break in the tall hedge-and-fence which bordered the property. Frohike drove carefully along the smooth gravel road which, running through immaculately groomed cypress trees for a good half mile, finally gave on to an antebellum mansion. The drive forked here, a paved portion circling to the front of the mansion the rest circling around back through another, smaller, immaculate grove of cypress to a small well-kept cottage. Frohike noted the vintage Harley 900 courier bike with the immaculate VIP sidehack parked just to the side of the wide porch steps. He pulled the van up next to the bike, cut the engine. Aromas of chicken and cheese melded with those of lobster and cream. The flicker of candles illuminated the windows, Huey Lewis sang that he was "Happy To Be Stuck" with someone... Byers grabbed the bottle of Chablis from between the seats, then the three walked up the steps. The tall, slender woman who answered the knock looked puzzled at first, until, recognizing the people on her doorstep, her face broke into a smile. "Hey Ringo!" she yelled, "Look who's here, babe!" A blonde head peered over the back of a large old sofa; "Damn! It must be Christmas already! There's the three wise asses." He didn't seem sure whether to be happy or not, but the girl made the question moot by grabbing both men in a bear hug, then embracing Scully fondly. "What in the world... I mean, how..." Byers answered "We got done early, decided not to hang around the Springs any longer than we had to." He threw a "look" at his blond friend "You are supposed to be sick, Langly! What the hell..." Tina, for it was indeed, the lovely gunslinger, cut him off. "John, he called me from the Warrenton Mall, said he'd hopped a bus out and would I come get him?" she moved into the kitchen, dug an ice bucket from under the sink, filled it with ice and the Chablis she'd relieved Byers of. "When I got there, he was standing in front of the A&P store with two sacks of groceries and the most pitiful sweet look. He said he was just keeping a promise to cook dinner for me on my birthday." The men traded looks. It was a well-known fact, a certainty on the order of sunrise preceeding day, that Ringo Langly was the world's worst cook. The thought of him preparing a meal voluntarily was... was... Neither could put words to the concept. Yet, someone had prepared a most savory meal... the aromas still filling the small, neat bungelow were proof. Frohike followed the girl into the kitchen. There, on a small butcherblock island, were the leftovers of what smelled like a prize-winning Chcken Kiev. He stuck a finger into a serving spoon, licked. Yup. Delicious. He looked back at Tina, one eyebrow raised. "No, Melvin, I did not cook. This was all Ringo's doing..." she paused... "well, okay, I did cut the broccoli and cauliflower florets." She smiled. Frohike shook his head in wonderment. Back in the living room, Tina sat the wine bucket on the floor next to Langly before curling up at his feet. The visitors took seats around the room. Frohike broke the silence. "Okay geek-boy" a look from Tina brought a blush to his face ".. uh, Langly. Give. When did you learn to cook?" The blonde sighed, then, after a loving, encouraging squeeze from Tina, answered. "I learned when I was a kid. All us boys were expected to learn. Mom figured we'd better be able to fend for ourselves since she didn't figure any of us would likely have a girl to take care of like she did. So I learned. I wasn't very good at it, and I wasn't creative like you, Frohike, but I could when I needed to. I just never cared much what I ate when I was working, as long as it didn't interfere with me working." He gave Frohike a sheepish look. "When we got together, you were so good at it and enjoyed it so much, I guess I just took advantage. I never liked cooking, so why bother? You guys ate whatever I cooked, so why get fancy? But, " he smiled down at Tina "I promised her, so..." Frohike shook his head. "Well, no more of your pasta slop, Langly. From now on, we'll expect a little more variety when it's your turn!" A small smile curved Langly's lips. "We'll see!" The happy sound of laughter filled the room. |