Langlytorture
by Surreal
Feedback? Sure!: surreal666@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13 for a few pain-induced, absolutely 
necessary naughty words
Spoilers: none, just the newsletter-arc (hehe new genre!)
Disclaimer:  What are the odds that anyone even remotely
involved with the production of the X-Files or the Gunmen
series will ever see this?  Well, let's find out.  I claim these
characters in the name of SURREAL!!  Bwahahhaha!!!
Summery:  Langly has a bad day, thanks to his unsympathetic
roommates.


Georgetown University Medical Center
6:15pm
    Byers and Frohike exchange a wary glance from opposite
sides of Langly's hospital bed.  As they listen to the steady 
rhythm of the heart monitor and the slow, shallow breathing
of their sleeping roommate, they rerun the day's events in
their minds, wondering how they had ended up here.  
    The day had started innocently enough with...

Lone Gunmen Headquarters
7:30am

    "Ow!" Langly yelps as he whacks his knee on the edge of 
his desk, which he could have sworn was another foot further
away from his bed last night.  "Damn it, Frohike, if I find out 
you've been moving my stuff again I'll kick your ass!"
    John Fitzgerald Byers smiles secretly to himself at his 
computer, checking another day off his mental calendar and
marking another successful day of Langlytorture off his list.  
Why should Frohike get to have all the fun?
    From his own computer, Frohike barely raises his head to yell
back, "Stop complaining.  If you'd bother to put on your glasses 
before you start stumbling around your room, you wouldn't have 
these problems."  Turning to Byers, he mumbles, "I swear to god,
that kid is blind as a masturbating bat with glaucoma."
    Byers stifles a giggle as Langly finally emerges from down
the hall, glaring at his roommates and mumbling something about
'too early' and 'coffee'.  He rakes a limp hand through his morning
hair (always a frightening sight, especially at this time of day) and
shuffles toward the kitchen.
    After ten minutes of silence, the other two begin to wonder if 
Langly had fallen asleep standing in the kitchen.  He had done it 
before...
    "Langly?" Byers calls out.
    There is a significant pause before he receives an answer.  
"What do you want?"
    "Nothing, just checking to see if you were still alive in there."
    "Yes, John, I'm still alive," Langly replied sarcastically.  "No
thanks to you and your deadlines."
    "Yeah, well, we do have a business to run here," Byers says
defensively.  So easy to fall into these early morning sniping 
rhythms on deadline days.  Someone had to make sure this paper
got out on time, and somehow that job always fell to Byers.
    "Don't we have any coffee?" Langly calls back.
    "Umm...I don't think so.  Just find something to eat fast and 
get you ass in here and finish your articles!" Frohike answers.
    Another few minutes pass before they once again hear sounds
from the kitchen.  "Yow!  Damn, shit, shit, fuck..." Langly cries 
out.
    "What did you do now?"  Byers asks, only half-concerned.
    "Damn freaking toaster oven..." is the only answer he gets.
    Frohike and Byers exchange a smile as they turn back to their
computers to continue writing.  
    Five minutes later Langly comes back into the office, a burnt
bagel in his mouth, his right hand holding a plastic bag of ice 
against his left wrist.  "There's something wrong with that thing; 
the outside isn't supposed to get so hot..." he whines, raising his 
left wrist for the others to see the dark red burn mark.
    "Maybe you just got confused and stuck your hand on the inside,"
Frohike offers helpfully.  
    "Funny," Langly sneers at him as he switches his laptop on, 
dreading the start of a long workday.  
    "Langly, the deadline isn't until two.  Go take a shower, comb 
your freaking hair, and for Godsakes, put some pants on!"  Frohike 
orders his younger partner.
    Langly glances down, realizing he is still wearing the t-shirt 
from the day before, boxers, and nothing else.  Grumbling, he 
stuffs the last of the blackened bread into his mouth and thumps 
loudly down the hall toward the bathroom.


8:02am

    "Holy.  Fucking.  Shit!"  
    Byers doesn't even bother to hold back his laugh at Langly's 
screech from the shower.  
    Frohike glances curiously at the usually stoic redhead.  "What?"
    "Nothing...guess the water hasn't had a chance to warm up yet," 
he answers, avoiding eye contact.
    "Uh...huh," Frohike responds, unconvinced.


8:36am

    Langly finally returns from the shower, his hair still 
dripping.  He has managed to clean up, though, putting on a clean 
t-shirt and jeans.
    "I.  HATE.  cold showers," he hisses through clenched teeth. 
    "Sorry to hear that," Byers sounds less than apologetic.  "As 
soon as you're finished whining, you've got two articles to finish.  
And this time, *please* spell check them before we start the 
printing.  Al Gore is *not* one word."
    "Bite me."


9:57am

    *choogh*
    *ah-chooph!*  
    *sniff*  "Damn it, when was the last time someone dusted behind
this thing?"  Langly's head pops out from behind the printing press,
where he had been checking the ink and setting the plates for 
printing.  Well, at least trying to between the sneezing.
    Byers and Frohike choose to ignore him.
    *chooph* "Shit."  Langly ducks back behind the machine.


11:15am

    "Finally," Langly mumbles as he saves his first article.  "One 
down, one to go."
    As he waits for a preview copy to print out, he puts his legs up 
on the desk and pushes his chair back so he can stretch his long 
limbs.  His chair runs into the unsteady bookshelf behind him, 
and...
    "Oww!" he yelps as several hard cover books fall from the upper
shelves, one hitting his head rather hard.
    "Damn it, Langly, would you stop screwing around and focus?"
Frohike barks at him.


1:55pm

    Langly snatches the warm pages from his printer to preview his 
second article...a little too hastily.
    "Ow, ow. OW!"  
    "What now?" Byers asks reluctantly.
    "Paper cut."


3:22pm

    "Well?  Are you thoroughly pleased with the results, Sir Byers?"
Langly asks sarcastically from behind his laptop.
    "Not bad.  But you did misspell your own name at the top of the
second article."  Byers informs him, extending a fresh copy of the
new 'Lone Gunman' newsletter for Langly to inspect.
    "WHAT?!  I did NOT!"  Langly leaps up from his chair and runs
over to snag the paper out of Byers' hand.
    Face buried in the paper, Langly paces restlessly as he searches
for the error.  He doesn't notice the loose wire on the floor 
until...
    "Whoa!" he exclaims as he trips on the cord and crashes into a 
table with his chest.  The edge of the table struck him awkwardly,
knocking the wind out of him as it hit his ribs hard.  
    Byers sighs.  "Langly, are you okay?"
    Gasping, Langly nods slightly as he leans against the table, 
trying to force air back into his lungs.
    After a few minutes he regains his composure and stands upright.
"That's IT.  I've had it.  I'm not touching anything else today..."
Langly announces as he backs slowly away from the table, hands 
raised in defeat.
    However...
    "Shii--" he hisses as his foot slips on the newspaper he had just
been admiring, which he had dropped on the floor in his panic.
He looses his balance and falls backwards.
    Byers jumps and closes his eyes at the sharp crack of Langly's 
head hitting the edge of a second table.  When he opens them, he
sees Langly sprawled on the floor on his back, not moving.
    "Shit.  Langly, are you okay?" he asks again.  
    Langly still doesn't move.
    Kneeling down beside his friend, he shakes Langly's shoulder
lightly.  "Ringo, damn it, this isn't funny.  Come on," he says, 
starting to think that maybe this time the younger man might really 
be hurt.
    "Frohike, come here," Byers calls for the older man.
    Frohike emerges from the dark room, where he had been working
on photos for the next issue.  "What happened?" he asks as he kneels
on Langly's other side.  
    "He hit his head on the table," Byers explains.  He puts his 
hand under Langly's neck, searching for signs of an injury.  As his 
hand moves a little higher, he gasps at the sudden warm, wet 
feeling.  Withdrawing his hand, his eyes widen at the sight of blood 
on his fingers.  "Oh, god," he whispers, looking up at Frohike.
    "Damn," Frohike mumbles.  He too shakes Langly's arm;  "Langly,
wake up," he says, not really expecting a response.
    Byers swallows hard.  "We need to get him to the hospital," he
says shakily.
    Frohike nods, then helps Byers carry the unconscious man out to
the van.


GUMC
6:23pm

    "*I* moved his desk last night," Byers suddenly blurts out.
    "What?" Frohike wonders, shaken out of his reverie.
    "It was me; I moved his desk so he'd trip on it this morning." 
Byers confesses.
    "Oh.  Um, well, I was the one who rewired the toaster oven, then
forgot to put the top cover back on...that's why he burned himself."
Frohike reluctantly admits, wincing as he glances at the gauze 
bandage wrapped around Langly's left wrist.  The doctor had said
it was a second degree burn, but not too serious.
    "I turned off the water heater so he'd have a cold shower."
    Frohike chuckles.  "I removed the dust cover last week because
I knew it was his turn to set up the press for this issue.  Last time
I checked there was about an inch of dust back there."
    Byers smiles at this revelation.  "I moved the bookshelf forward
so he'd run into it.  I just didn't think the books would hit him 
like that."
    Frohike grins at that confession, then sobers.  "The loose cord 
on the floor was my fault;  I forgot to tape it back in place when I 
was rewiring the lightboard."  Two bruised ribs, the doctor had 
said.  He glances back to Langly's face in time to see the tiniest 
of twitches.  Was that...
    Frohike smiles at Byers, pointing silently to the now more 
obvious attempts by Langly to hold back that smirk of his.  They 
both knew then that their younger roommate was awake, and had 
been listening to them.
    Standing up, Frohike leans on the rail on his side of Langly's 
bed.  Byers copies the motion a moment later.
    "You know, John," Frohike says calmly as they lean over their 
friend.  "As long as Ringo here is out cold and doped senseless on 
painkillers, we could take this opportunity to shave his head.  I 
mean, they only shaved that little spot where they took care of the 
gash on the back of his head, but we could easily finish the job 
right here..."
    Byers returns the mischievous grin.  "You're right;  as long as
we're here..."
    The muffled snort from Langly stops Byers from continuing his
thought.  
    "I hate you guys so much," Langly says laughing as he looks up at
his friends.
    "Well, is that any way to greet the guys who carried your ass 
down here?" Frohike grins down at him.
    "How long have you been awake?" Byers asks.
    Langly sighs.  "Since Byers decided to start confessing.  I was 
just waiting for one of you to admit to the Kennedy assassination 
yourselves."
    "Cute," Frohike smirks.
    "You feeling better?" Byers asks.
    "Better than what?  This whole day has sucked ass, and my head 
hurts like hell," Langly replies as he struggles to sit up.  Frohike 
helps him by adjusting the bed.  "Thanks," Langly tells him.
   Byers picks up the ice pack the nurse had left with them for when
Langly came around.  He presses it gently against the back of 
Langly's head.  "Ow," the younger man grunts at the contact.
    "Sorry," Byers apologizes.
    "S'okay."
    "Sorry for everything else I did, too.  I never meant for you to 
really get hurt,"  Byers tells him quietly.
    "Yeah, I'm sorry too," Frohike adds.
    Langly glances at both of them.  "I accept.  And what do you 
mean, they shaved part of my head?  What did they do?"
    "Twelve stitches;  don't worry, it's only a little spot and the 
rest of your damn hair covers it up," Frohike replies.
    "Oh.  Guess I can live with that.  As for you two...I know where 
you sleep..." Langly lowers his voice threateningly, but never loses 
the ever-present smirk on his lips.
    "Punkass."  Byers and Frohike reply in unison.

***************
End!