Title:Freedom, Come Midnight part 1/3 
Author: Sue 
E-Mail: susieqla@yahoo.com
Website:
Category: Gen/Het 
Rating: PG-13 (Adultish in tone) 
Summary:
Disclaimer: C. Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox 
hold the rights to what's there's. I retain 
the rights to my creations. 
Notes: Spoiler...Bond, Jimmy Bond

 

Against their duel opinions, he'd done what he'd wanted anyway, as always.  Had done what he wanted, when he wanted to do it. What made them any species of 'romance experts' in the greater scheme of things?  Byers, with his one-sided non-existent love
affair, and Frohike with his sick addiction to those overly-developed video honies?  Who were those guys trying to fool?

Certainly not him.  They, giving him dating advice?  They knew as much about the subject as he which was painfully very little...

So he had gone ahead and had asked the new hire at the neighborhood computer store if he could buy her dinner...at MacDonald's.  The subsequent turn down had set his latest land record of being rejected in less than six seconds flat.  The girl had even made a sickened face, letting him know in no uncertain terms how beneath her going there was.  Leaving the shop on a sturdy crest of dejection, he had headed for his usual haunt on his own.

What was so wrong with Mickey Dee's, he considered at his booth, the one with his name imaginarily on it; the third one from the left of the 'help yourself' condiment, soda and napkin island.  The food was good and wonderfully affordable.

Thirty bucks would have you eating like a king or queen.  There was no logical reason for her to have said, "No."  Unless there was something about _him_ she didn't dig.

But how true was that?  He couldn't have been that far off the mark decrypting her obvious signals she'd been giving since that first day she'd begun working there, and which he thought he'd read accurately.  Shaking his head, waiting for his 'Big Mac' to cool off, he sighed, and thought how he would never get women.  In both the physical and mental extension of the context.

Langly sighed again, fingering his food.  The sandwich had cooled off considerablely.  He picked it up and tore into it savagely.  He chewed the hefty hunk with a ferocity that would have rivaled a venerated sire of a pride of savannah lions.  He continued masticating well past the point of there being even the tiniest morsel left to shred.

His swallowing was perfunctory, if not 'zombiesque.'  Unblinkingly, he bit off another bite larger than his first.  No taste sensation was registering as it would have if his heart had been really engaged in his normal fare, instead of its being caught up in the maudlin exercise of his feeling sorry for himself.  He was beginning to think that his striking out with the fair sex on a regular basis was more than just a knack.  It was his way of life.

He slurped his 'super sized' Coke noisily, which was immediately followed by several prodigious burps.  He slurped a second installment of fizz and syrup with the idential sound effects afterwards, draining the waxy cup to its halfway mark.  He crammed a healthy handful of toasty fries into his mouth, chewing in the identical manner he'd inflicted on the meat, pickles, lettuce and special sauce.

His eyes fuzzed with tears when they chanced to fall upon a couple of high school sweethearts seated in a booth by the storefront.  One large soda, two straws...a lot of giggling and innocent handholding.

Langly's next breaths were long and drawn out, as though he was breathing within an iron lung.  He sniffed up what threatened in his nose and the lame wetness doing the same in his eyes.

"Why can't I have some a that?" he spoke nettlesomely to the empty seat across from him.  "Am I so big a loser that I'll _never_ have _anybody_?"  His forefinger kicked at the Coke, each rap harder than the last.  "I'm tired of bein' so alone; so minus any female companionship.  I don't wanna just do somebody ta get some.  I wanna love somebody, and I want them lovin' me back, just as much.  Is that sooooo hard?"

All of this had been said audibly enough for two burly, bearded truckers to have overheard him.  They gave each other looks, (not before having nudged each other a great deal, and snickering about the 'nutso' girly-man) which spoke volumes, and changed their eating venue to the tune of heading for the opposite side of the fast food establishment.

They could have handled Langly with both hands tied behind their backs, but eating with psychos was something they had made a pact to avoid.  The way Langly had carried on with himself, they had thought it wiser to just clear out of his way, thus avoiding his going 'postal' so close to them.

Langly set his sandwich down and stared at it as if waiting for the nourishment to supply answers to his rhetoric.  He removed his glasses and pinched the sore bridge of his nose.  Nobody understood him.

Something he'd said to Frohike and Byers a month or so ago came banging back to mind. The phrasing was somewhat altered, but the sentiment behind the thinking was as biting as when he had initially uttered the idea.

'...Would anyone even care if I bought it, one day?'  In the back of his mind where all his nagging thoughts seemed to collect, he told himself, 'yeah, _right_.'  Jimmy, okay, yeah, but it was _Jimmy_.  That big overgrown 'softie' would take it as a deep personal loss if his pet frog died, and Langly was sure their ingenuous backer had had many amphibians, growing up.  His dour thoughts did not even bother to dwell on Yves and her flash-frozen sentiments; she was a foregone conclusion from that fateful day one when she had intruded into their lives.

It was nice to lull himself with the hypnotic panacea that his nearests and dearests...Fro', Bye', even Mulder and Scully would, but could they go on without him?  Not hard to answer.  Sure they would.

How many 'peeps' would show up for my funeral, he posited.  Well, Jimmy for sure.  The fab four...he nodded.  Yves?  He shrugged.  Maybe she'd attend only if to satisfy any ilk of curiosity she may have had about what sort of people had known him.  A handful of his good gaming buds, along with their wives, that at least three of them had.  Perhaps an informant from years' past, or two.

Supposing answers to these questions churned what he had already consumed into vinagre in his stomach.  He grabbed his Coke again and sipped hard until he heard the drink's rude finish, and although he did, he kept on sucking until a sedately dressed couple with a hefty number of wedding anniversaries under their belts glared at him from the adjoining table.

"Thirsty," Langly wafted over to them once he acknowledged their disapproving noticing.  He dumped the remainder of his partially-eaten order into the bag, deciding he'd finish it later back at the warehouse while troubleshooting his existing firewalls.

When he stood, he didn't feel so well, and it had registered on his piqued face.  A fleeting thought of how he should have gotten his stomach pumped at a nearby ER, instead of his downing as much Pepto as he could stand after his siphoning stunt had first happened, crossed his mind for the third time this day.

He tossed the little trash he had into a nearby receptacle, thinking that this new wave of malaise could be a way delayed reaction to multi-octane poisoning.  This time, maybe he wouldn't be walking away...

The curly-haired, wiry blonde with attentive hazel eyes took in his stricken condition not batting an eyelash.  She hesitated before saying anything, but knew she wanted to.  Heck, she had to say something.  He was one of their steady regulars.  Their cutest one at that.

Glad there was no one waiting to be waited on to interrupt with their order, she said, "Uh, are you okay?"  She frowned when she received no answer.  "Hey, guy?  Are you all right?"  '...He looks awful...'

Stumbly, scuffling steps were halted, and Langly regarded his wide-eyed (nice eyes, he was capable of noticing though) scrutinizer with a 'who me?' expression.

"You say something?"

"Yeah.  Are you _okay_?"

"You're askin' me if I'm okay?"

The girl grinned, but quickly squelched any hint that she was amused.  "Sure.  Unless you're not who you're supposed to be."

He fed her wide-eyed look back to her, and just as he was about to retort something snide, he remembered that she had 'super sized' all of his purchases except the 'Big Mac.'  She always did, without having to be asked.

"Last time I checked I was still me."  He swayed a little then, and he knew she had seen it because the concern in her alert eyes regrouped.  "I'm okay."  She pursed her lips, telegraphing how much she believed him.  "No, really.  I am.  I've been pulling too much overtime lately; need more quality sack time."

Her skepticism dissipated.  "Hey, I hear that.  No one likes the late shift, but here I am.  It works out though.  I'm a cashier at the 'plex over at Long Hills on the weekends.  Till midnight too."

Gradually, he had drifted over to the counter, not sure why he had.  "Gonna be a millionairess by the time you're twenty-three?"

The winsome girl's eyes sparked twinkles.  "Nothing like that.  And I am twenty-three.  I decided to go back to school.  I'm studying to be a physical therapist."  She began massaging her aching neck, followed up by some brief head rolling.  "I practice on myself."

They shared laughter that wasn't forced.

"Bet the next thing you're gonna ask me is do I come here often."

"Nope.  I already know you do.  You're one of billions served over and over who're making this corporation richer every day, and helping to pay what we workers laughingly call our salaries."

"I like what they've got."  He summoned up a little nerve, sensing that it wasn't going to be like pulling teeth.  "What's your name?"

"Gina," she said, pointing to her utilitary tag.  Matching his forthrightness, she wanted to know his.

"Richard, but I like Langly.  That's my last name," he lobbed, "that's what I like being called better."

"So your last name's more like your nickname."

"I guess you could say that," Langly addressed, keeping his true nickname under wraps for the time being.  Having started to feel a little better, he smiled more conclusively.  "Thanks for throwing in all that 'super sizing.'  It's cool of ya."

Gina performed some modest eyelash batting then.  "Can't say we-uns here at Mickey Dee's don't know how to take care of our own.  Best customers merit special attention."  She was becoming more aware of just how blue and beautiful this 'regular's' eyes were.  He wore no rings which was a good sign, but by no means one of the surest ones that he was free.

The rhythmic pulsating centered in her chest picked up several more beats.  "You're always in here alone," she stammered a bit, suddenly tongue-tied, wondering where she was heading.  "Doesn't your g-girlfriend...or..."  Suddenly, her head went swirly inside, but there was no turning back from this line of questioning.  She'd been dying to know one way or the other for the longest.  "Or your wife 'deserve a break today' along with you?"

Langly tried another 'who me' look on her for size.  Why was _he_ blushing?  He started shaking his head as though he were trying to cool himself off.  "I'm not married..."

"Oh?"

"I do the solo thing," he said evenly, watching her closely for any indication that that was what she wanted to hear.  "You?" he arched, admiring boldness he rarely possessed when it came to flirting (was that what he was doing?)  Hell, yeah, Langly thought, turning that novel thought over, with pretty young things like present company.

She had intended to sound coy, but with his intense, open stare, she offered up simply, "Free as a bird, but unlike that bird in the song they're playing to death, who's always flying away, I'm here in D.C. to put down roots.  I come from a pretty large family back in Virginia, near New Market in the Shenendoah."

"How large?"

"Seven brothers, two sisters; I'm one of the two."

The whistle he made, made her shrug.  "Me too."

"You too what?"

"From a large family."

"Where?"

"Saltville, Nebraska."

"A landlockeder."

"A Blue Ridge chick..."

"You believe in aliens?"  She pointed at his 'True' T-shirt, grinning.

"Personal experience," Langly said proudly.  He made believe he was strumming a six-string. "'Almost heaven,'" he squeaked off-key.

"That's _West_ Virginia," Gina nimbly plugged.

'...Bet she would be almost like heaven...' He scanned her with lingering eyes this time from her face down to her trim waist where the counter obstructed the remaining view.  "One earth, same sky.  Boundaries are arbitrary.  True?"

She had to think about that last conjecture.  Not taking forever to draw a conclusion, she said, "Point, yours."  It had been trimmed expressively, with an easy-goingness, and dusted lightly with a drawl that possessed the give of a bouncy three-meter springboard.  "Although, the hill people in the Smokies might be a harder sell."  She had him smiling, practically on cue now.  "So-o-ooo," she drew out, "when did you start believing in aliens?"

"How are you getting home?"

A non-sequitor kind of guy, she thought.

"Usually my roommate, Theresa, picks me up.  She works a late shift at Kentucky Fried, not far from the strip mall, but she's home sick with a bad cold, so I was gonna catch the bus."

"Let me drive ya.  On the way, I'll explain why I converted."

"Will that be in your car?  Or your spaceship?"  She raised her eyes heavenward.  "After every 'Star Wars' I've ever seen, I've always wanted to go for a test drive."

"No, I don't own the Millennium Falcon, but my Volkswagon bus has been known to leave the roadbed sometimes," Langly said, taking his time with his words.  "So, whaddya say?"  Thinking it a good idea, he added, "Don't worry, I'm not a serial killer."

"Got proof?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"What kind would you like?" he challenged.

"What kind do you have?"

Going with the flow, Langly whipped out his driver's license, handing it to her.  "Make a photocopy, tack it on the message board here with a note underneath stating that at such and such time late this night, you went off with yours truly."

Gina shook her head; her shiny ringlets jigged.  "That won't be necessary, Langly.  You look like a mighty fine upstanding citizen to me.  You've got yourself a taker," Gina accepted, then gratefully said, "thanks," handing him back one of his more accessible forms of ID.

Or a keeper, Langly thought, and snuck a peek at his watch to see how much time her shift had left.

"Want another Coke?  On the house."

"Nah, I had enough," Langly pitched over his shoulder as he went to sit down at a table, facing her.  When he was, two fast-walking men who had entered the restaurant were in her face, presumably all set to place their orders.

Both of the young men were wearing denim jackets, baggy jeans, and matching black bandanas on their heads, 'do-rags' under them; untied construction boots which had the uncanny ability to shod running feet, to sell 'the look.'  The taller, cagier, florid-complexioned guy was wearing sunglasses, the other was without, but he had a pair suspended from the collar of his undershirt.

"Welcome to MacDonald's," Gina politely offered to the sunglassed one, "may I take your order?"  She watched the shorter of the two make a beeline back to the doors they'd come through.  Langly's eyes darted along with him, aware of the bad vibe he was picking up.  The guy appeared to be checking out the parking lot.

"I ain't hungry," Gina's customer flung at her. 

"O-kaaay," she said, still sounding patient; service-oriented minded.  "Something to drink then?"

"Shut-up, bitch!"

Langly shot up, his greasy bag which he'd had in his lap fell to the greasy floor.  Before he made it to the scene of confrontation, the man had a pistol stuck in Gina's shocked face.  Langly glanced around and saw, to his panick, that the guy at the door had his out too, gripping the stock with both hands, and was aiming for his head.

"Easy, dude," he advised Langly, and then in a louder voice rasped, "nobody'll get hurt if you do what we say."

Langly's hands automatically shot up.

"Yo, Gina," her assailant spat at her, and seemed proud of the fact that he'd read it off her tag, "where's the Manager?"

"Right here, buddy.  Let's be reasonable, huh?  All the money's locked in a safe even I don't know the combination to."  He motioned for his three co-workers who had come running from the back of the store to the front to stay back.

"Not _all_ the money.  Hey, you think we're stupid?  We've kept tabs on this place for hours.  The registers are overflowing, so we'll start with them."  Gina's threatener ordered her to get busy cleaning them out, putting every scrap of paper money into shopping bags.  She fed her boss a questioning look, and he nodded for her to comply.  "Yeah, girl.  Do it, only you don't take orders from him.  You take 'em from me."

The pasty man at the door had since ordered the total of eight other patrons to lie on the floor face down.  Langly gulped, and seemed frozen to his position.  The man's eyes cut him down, and he warned him to hit the deck or he'd help him do it permanantly.

"Hurry up with the Benjamins, Blondie, or I start poppin' people."  Since Langly was closest to the counter than any other patron, the robber momentarily aimed his gun away from Gina, training it dead center on the sweating hacker's back. "Pop, pop," the gunman simulated, and Langly felt his heart kick before it actually felt as though it had stopped beating.  The gunmen tossed their grating laughter back and forth to each other.

While that was going on, the Manager had edged undetectedly towards the silent alarm stategically located under the ledge behind the coffee machine.  His thumb pressed three times while he rendered up a hushed prayer.

"Okay, look alive, bitch.  You better be done, 'cos I'm gettin' real impatient."

"He-here," Gina said, handing him a single bag which was a little less than half filled with bills of all denominations; a smattering of hundreds, fistfuls of fifties, torrents of twenties...etc.

"Sweet," gunman number one praised, mezmerized by all the green.  He motioned to the Manager with the gun.  "Now the safe."

"I _told_ you the safe can't be opened."  His voice was a desperate plea.

"Bullshit," gunman number one spat.

"Get it open somehow, you son-of-a-bitch.  You don't she gets it between the eyes."

Gina gave him a terrified look, as though he couldn't possibly have meant her as her eyes filled with fear.  "N-No," she gagged.

Langly sprang to his feet, and guns or no guns, lunged at the man who had yelled at the top of his lungs, much to the harrowing consternation of the MacDonald's personnel and the patrons.

His intent was firm, but maintaining sure footing on the filmy floor wasn't.  Skidding, he lost his balance, and came up short.

Out of nowhere, sharp burning pain erupted deep within in his gut.  The roar of a thousand living things filled his ears, but it was Gina's shrill scream, the loudest of everyone female, that drowned out all those other sounds.

As Langly's knees buckled beneath him, he crumpling, toppling to the floor, her deafening screams were the last sounds he heard...
 

To be continued...