Bactine
by Pares

Langly's elbow was raw, and his shirtfront was brown with mud.

But he was grinning.

"Where are your glasses?" Byers heard himself ask, but Langly waved him away and reached into the mini fridge for a bottle of Rolling Rock.

"I broke 'em when I slid home."

"You can't be telling me that your team actually won?"

This got a heads up from Frohike, who shook his paper out and folded it in half before saying, "You're kidding! Your girls won?"

Frohike had been amused when Langly had signed on as first baseman for the local softball team, and Byers had been frankly baffled. Even he was not blind the sexual leanings of the team, so trolling for dates couldn't have been Langly's ulterior motive.

"We did." He slammed the cap off the bottle on the counter's edge and took a swig, knocking his hat off.

The team insisted that Langly braid his hair for games... another command that confused Byers. Or perhaps just the idea that Langly would follow orders. And play on a *team*.

Frohike was up and pounding Langly's back so hard flakes of dirt were falling to the floor. Langly's single yellow braid swayed with every cheerful congratulating motion.

"That's fantastic! Why aren't you out celebrating with the girls?"

Langly's eyes were a little glassy, and it became clear that Langly had already celebrated quite a bit.

"Shiela just dropped me off. We took over Sadie's Tavern for about three hours. Jeez, those ladies drank me under the table."

"Well, bully for you, Langly. Glad you won." Byers put on his best smile, but was distracted by the smear of mud cracking on Langly's cheek. Without his glasses, Langly's eyes looked soft and dark, rather then the bright, hard glass blue they seemed to be behind his lenses.

Frohike clapped Langly's shoulder again, and the younger man swayed dangerously.

"There's coffee on inside," the shorter man said, tugging a watch cap on. "I'm going out. If I'm not back by 9 AM--"

"Send Mulder 'The Envelope'. Yes, Frohike."

Frohike gave Byers a little two fingered salute and slammed the door behind him on his way out.

Langly was still swaying, and gazing at the bottle in his hand as if he wasn't quite sure where he'd gotten it.

"I need a shower," he stated. His voice sounded like it always did, but Byers wasn't sure he'd ever seen Langly so... relaxed. In all the years they'd known each other, Langly hadn't been much of a drinker, although he and Frohike had been known to swill Margaritas 'til dawn on the anniversary of JFK's assassination, while Byers looked on and meekly sipped his single birthday Tom Collins.

"Do you need a ride back to your apartment?"

"I think... yeah." Langly set the bottle carefully on the counter and turned to nod at Byers.

Langly followed Byers out to his Volvo, and even deigned to use the seatbelt when Byers asked him too.

It was a short drive to Langly's apartment, and when they got there, it was discovered that Langly had left his housekey at The Ranch.

As Byers had a copy of it on his keychain, he turned off the engine and followed a loose jointed Langly up three flights of stairs to the shabby door of Langly's apartment.

"Well, there you go," he said inanely, as the door swung open.

"You wanna come in or something? There's some coffee... somewhere." Langly waved vaguely, and stumbled over the doorjamb.

He fell heavily, and Byers leaned over him anxiously, tugging his arm.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. I just need some coffee."

"I'll make some. Why don't you take a shower?"

He heaved Langly to his feet, surprised by how heavy and solid Langly was.

Langly stumbled again, and threw an arm around Byers' shoulders to steady himself.

"Sorry..." he mumbled. Stepping away, he brushed at Byers' shirt. "Didn't mean to get you dirty."

Byers found himself paralyzed; Langly's hands were clumsy, but heavy and warm against his shirt front. Spinning on his heel, Langly swung his braid, brushing Byers' eyes.

Langly lurched toward the bathroom, and Byers stood in the middle of his living room wiping at his tearing eyes.

"Coffee," he murmured to himself, when he heard the shower run.

He found a pot and a rolled up bag of coffee, nearly empty, but enough for two cups at least.

By the time it was ready, Langly had appeared in the doorway of his bathroom, yellow hair brownish with water, dripping on the shoulders of his fresh white T-shirt. He was wearing red sweat pants with a hole at the knee and his spare pair of horned rims. He was Langly again.

Byers poured the coffee into two cracked mugs and offered one steaming cup to Langly.

When Langly reached for it, Byers saw the angry red patch of Langly's skinned elbow.

"You should put something on that."

"Nahh. It's fine," Langly shrugged, taking a noisy sip of the too hot coffee. "It's good. Thanks."

"Oh, it was no bother. Are you sure you shouldn't put something on it?"

"I don't think I have anything. It's no big deal."

"I have a first aid kit in my car," Byers volunteered. He set his mug down on a counter that was littered with screws and empty plastic bags.

"I'll be right back."

Once downstairs, Byers allowed himself to wonder what he was doing playing nursemaid to his friend. Langly had never been one for a fuss. But when he found the first aid kit, he merely shrugged and climbed back up the stairs.

"You're in luck," he informed his companion, as he unpacked the kit. "There's some Bactine. Sit down."

Langly dropped into his battered green vinyl LayZBoy and folded his arm, offering up the bare, gooey looking patch for Byers' inspection.

Gingerly, Byers touched the skin around the wound and Langly stared at him.

"Well, it looks clean... so... so I'll just put some Bactine on it, and then we'll bandage it up."

Langly nodded once, and propped his elbow up with his other hand. Byers leaned closer than was perhaps strictly necessary and could smell Langly's shampoo: it smelled cheap, a little like dish detergent. For all Byers knew it *was* dish detergent. Although it was probably Suave.

Byers found himself wondering Langly was a soap on a rope kind of bather. //What difference does it make? You're obsessing about the man's hygiene practices! Focus, John!//

Byers uncapped the Bactine and spritzed it evenly across the livid areas of Langly's tender skin.

Langly bit his lip involuntarily and Byers sprayed the wound again.

"That stuff is chilly," Langly complained.

"Yes. Well. There's a... there's an anaesthetic in it, you see."

"Okay."

Byers felt unable to look away from Langly's mild, thorough stare.

"Byers?"

"Y-yes, Langly?"

"Can you let my elbow go now? Or are you gonna blow on it so it feels better?"

Horrified, Byers realized that he *was* indeed holding Langly's elbow, was in fact rather *tenderly* cupping his hand over Langly's, who was still propping his own elbow.

"Oh, my." And he hastily retrieved his hand. "Of course. Of course. Does it feel any better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Byers straightened up and gripped the lapels of his own sensible sports jacket.

"Well, good."

"And thanks for the coffee," Langly continued.

"Glad to help."

There was a curious silence, and then Langly gestured to his wound.

"So are you gonna bandage it or what?"

"Oh, yes. Yes." And Byers reached for the tape and the gauze, and knelt beside Langly's chair.

He taped a pad in place and was about to get to his feet when Langly's right hand closed on Byers' shoulder.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"You're a good friend."

"Thank you." John felt obscenely flattered, felt a flush stain his cheeks. "So are you."

"Do you ever think...?"

"Think what?"

"Never mind. Uh, could you hand me my coffee?"

Byers got to his feet and retrieved his companion's mug.

"So your team won."

Langly nodded.

"What are you called again?"

"The Blue Stockings."

"Hmmm. So you've never won a game before?"

"Nope. Our first."

"And it was thanks to you." Byers fidgeted with his cup, and Langly stared into the black depths of his own coffee.

"Yeah. It was just luck. It was really Jeannie. She's got a killer eye, and she was just whaling on the ball. She hit two of them outta the field tonight. You should have seen her. You should come some night. You know. Sit in on a game."

Byers again felt himself flattered, and tried not to smile too much and give away his pleasure.

"I'll do that," he promised. "Can I ask you..." Byers felt daring. "Can I ask you why you play with them? On the Blue Stockings?"

Langly surprised him by smiling.

"You mean why do I play softball for a dyke team?"

"Uh... well..."

"They're the closest local team. And I kind of have my eye on these two-- Susan and Perry...? They've been known to let third parties sit in, if you know what I mean. And my sister plays for them."

"You have a sister?" The other reasons he'd long ago worked out for himself. Langly didn't drive, and he hated to take the bus. It would have to be a field he could get to on his bike.

"Jeannie. Yup. My big sis. She's three years older than me. She's the assistant coach.

Byers was amazed.

"I never knew you had a sister."

"Where did you think I was going all those Christmases?"

"Well, you spent every year at the Thanksgiving Poker game... I thought... I thought..."

"You thought I was lying when I said I was visiting my family."

Byers nodded slowly. "Yes. I suppose I did."

"Frohike and his Aunt Kate have spent a few Christmas Dinner's at Jeannie's. Her girlfriend Rose is a hell of a cook."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I guess you weren't the only one who had doubts about holiday arrangements. Do you really visit Margot every Christmas?"

Byers nodded. "I do. I've always gotten along very well with her side of the family. I... I still do their taxes."

Langly laughed then, and Byers felt a smile curve his own lips.

"I guess it does sound odd."

"It's not any weirder than dinner at the Casa de Langly. Jeannie's great, but there's only so many times you can express admiration for the Susan B. Anthony Dollar, you know?

"She usually has a posse of riot grrls and sometimes they wanna take me on just because I happen to have a dick. Usually they're a lot of fun though. You haven't lived until you've played strip poker with a bunch of Iron Rose finalists. Lesbians *love* Ripple."

"Sounds... interesting."

"It is." Langly was nodding sleepily. "It is. Frohike thinks he's died and gone to heaven every time. And Aunt Kate's great. She's like everybody's grandmother."

Byers wondered if he'd ever had such a lengthy and extensively personal conversation with Langly. Frohike was full of war stories, but Langly tended to talk bluestreaks strictly on the technical aspects of their relationships.

"Well. I guess I'll let you go to bed. You should drink some water, you know."

"You don't have to leave. It's still early. We could... watch a little TV, hang out. You hungry?"

"I--" He'd fixed himself a tuna on white around six. "I haven't yet. Do you have anything on hand, or should we order something?"

"There's a Thai place on the corner that delivers. Beef Satay with peanut sauce. Killer." Langly made an odd kissing gesture, spreading his hand as if to say "c'est manifique!".

"Sounds good."

"My treat."

Byers felt the now familiar flush of pleasure warm his cheeks.

"That's very thoughtful."

Langly tucked his still damp hair behind his ears and waved away the compliment impatiently, vaulting out of the recliner to cross the room. Shoving a stack of trade manuals aside to find the phone, he bent his head to flip through the Yellow Pages. His hair was so fine at the crown that Byers could see the pink of his scalp.

As Langly ordered, Byers made up his mind to beg off Margot's seasonal family throng, and try dinner at another family's table.

END