Title: WAITING

by Alison

Feedback to: xalison@excite.com, lammasday@yahoo.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

Archive: Lone Slasher, Basement, WWOMB, anywhere else just ask

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

by Alison

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