That show
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: none
Clark cooks a meal, and Clayton admits something amazing.
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this story belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS, not me. The X-Files belongs to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox. The Maltese Falcon characters belong to Mr. Hammett, Mr. Huston, and Mr. Bogart.
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.
Warning: Don't drink liquids while reading; they may end up being snorted out your nose. (Alexandra made me put that warning in.) Also, Clark cooks. No fires ensue.
This can't be a PWP, because there's no sex, so it's an interlude in my Eclipse universe.
Please read Isilzha's TV Night before this one, if you haven't. It's excellent and fills in some of the gaps for this story.
Thanks to Alexandra, for whom I wrote this, and who beta'd an early version, and to Mandy, who read it and tried to convince me it was good enough to post. It took a while for her praise to sink in, but then I'm dense sometimes.
*****
Clark frowned at the meat. Was it done? It looked done, but the last time he'd thought that, it hadn't been. Clay hadn't said a word of blame, had even finished cooking it for him, but dammit, he wanted to do it right this time. The rice didn't have any water left in it, the green beans were done and had tasted all right when he tried one, and the bread was sliced, minus the two heels that he'd slathered with butter and eaten while Clay was in the shower. He knew that the meat wasn't supposed to shrivel up, but he was better at hamburgers. Pork chops were different.
He opened his mouth to give up and call out to Clay to help him figure out what the hell was wrong this time, if it was wrong, when he heard Clay's irritated voice.
"Where the hell is that tape?"
"What tape?" Clay got like that, assuming everyone else was up to his speed. Clark usually managed, but not this time. Not quite enough information yet. "Clay?"
"I know I had it..." His voice trailed off, and Clark frowned. Was Clay all right? Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to check. He glared at the pork chops, then shut off the heat and went out to the living room, where he found Clay on his knees, poking through a cabinet.
"What movie are you looking for?"
Clay muttered something that sounded like 'can't find the damned thing', then kept going.
Clark couldn't help smiling. Clay and his old movies. Lately he'd been renting them on nights he spent at his place, just so that when Clay showed them he knew what was going on and could watch Clay watching them. That was always more fun. Clay got into movies. If Clay could, Clark was sure he'd change places with just about any Humphrey Bogart character in a shot. And if so, that Resistance leader in Casablanca wouldn't have a chance in hell of leaving with Ilsa. Clay didn't like losing any more than Clark did. But then Clay might decide that it was best for the war, and then there wouldn't be any stopping him sending her off.
Clark sighed. It was hard dealing with someone who had such high standards, but he hadn't fucked up yet, and wasn't going to. "How about The Maltese Falcon again? I love when he tells the bitch she's going to prison. I hope she dies there. He deserves better." Like Clay, but no one was getting Clay but him. Sam Spade would have to find his own guy, if he went for guys, and Clark was sure he swung both ways. It might be wishful thinking, but movies were all about that.
Clay pulled his head out of the cabinet and gave Clark an expressionless look. "You just want that one because you don't have to pay attention."
"I always pay attention to Bogart," Clark protested, then broke into a grin when Clay kept looking at him. "All right, all right, you've got me. Listen, I think the food's ready."
"I thought that the smoke alarm had to go off first," Clay said dryly, but stood.
Clark grinned at the joke. "Not this time. Come check the meat?"
"Of course." Clay followed Clark into the kitchen and poked one of the chops with his finger. "Feels done to me."
"You touch it?"
"That's a way to tell, Clark. I'll teach you."
Clark smiled. Clay loved teaching. "All right. Sit down. I'll serve it up." He loaded the plates and brought Clay his first.
Clay smiled at him. "It smells wonderful."
Clark smiled back, trying to hide his worry. Smells were one thing. The test would be if Clay ate it all without having to hide his reactions. He was going to watch Clay really closely this time. Clay was perfectly capable of lying to make him feel better, and he wasn't going to let him get away with it this time. "Try some."
He got his plate and sat across from Clay, managing to cut his meat and get some of everything into his mouth while still watching him. So far, so good.
"So what movie is on for tonight?"
Clay put down his glass of water and gave him a quick look, then focused on his plate. "Tunguska, if I can find it," he muttered.
He didn't recognize the title. "A foreign film? Dubbed or subtitled?" Then he played the name back in his head. It was familiar then. "Clay?" He tried to keep the disbelief and amusement out of this voice. "That isn't an X-Files episode, is it?" He'd done some research into the show on the Internet, and there was certainly a lot of it. Sites, lists, even stories. A lot of stories. He wasn't going to tell Clay about those quite yet. Maybe when they hit a dry spell. Some of those slash ones would raise the dead.
"It's got Krycek in it. I thought you'd like to see it." Clay still wasn't looking at him, and Clark knew it was because Clay was embarrassed that he had one of the episodes of 'that show', as Clay had taken to calling it, in his house. He'd go along.
"That's really nice of you. I'd love to." He ate some more green beans before saying more. "Do you have Terma, too?"
"On the same tape. Have you seen them?" There was a sudden interest in his voice. Obviously Clay had. Hmm. Clay was watching the X-Files without him. Clark was pretty sure he didn't like that, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world. That would be Clay deciding he didn't want to see Clark at all, and he wasn't going to let Clay decide that. "Mulder just goes over to Russia like an idiot. I can't believe it. Why Skinner lets him run around like that I'll never know. You'd better not get any ideas about me letting you do that."
"Never, Clay." Like he'd go anywhere without his partner. "If anyone like Krycek comes with information, I promise I'll bring him straight to you for questioning. After I beat the shit out of him."
"No beating the shit out of anyone," Clay said with a sharp look, and Clark couldn't keep in his grin. He knew Clay would say that.
"All right." He watched happily as Clay ate more of the food he'd cooked. This was great. "I'll pay you back for the tape. I know you got it for me."
It took a minute before Clay answered. "We both know better than that. I got it for me. You can borrow it if you like." Clay's face settled into a half-resigned, half-amused look. "I hate the damned show, Clark, but I can't stop watching it. I love watching Mulder screw up, even though he always gets away with it."
"That's television for you. He'd never make it in the Company. He's not good enough." Clark grinned at Clay. "It's all right to like watching it. I won't tell anybody."
"That's what you say now," Clay retorted. "Next time you want to get me to do something, you'll hold it over my head."
"No more blackmail. I promise." Clark forgot about the food. Clay had to know that he'd never use anything against him again. He had to.
"I was just kidding, Clark. It's all right." Clay pushed aside his plate and reached out to take Clark's hand. Clark felt himself relax at the familiar touch. "It's all right now."
Clark nodded after a moment, but didn't let go of Clay's hand. "Yeah, I know." He swallowed, then spoke. "All right. Let's go watch Mulder run away with Krycek. Is this the one where they kiss?"
"They kiss?" Clay echoed. "Clark, you've got to be kidding."
"Guess it's not this one." He'd known it wasn't, but they were talking about something else now, something safe. "I'll get that one for you if you'll let me watch it with you."
"Mulder and Krycek?" Clay was definitely amazed.
"Did you think I mean Mulder and your sensible Scully? Yes, Krycek."
"I have to see that one."
"You'll see it," Clark promised and stacked the plates. "How about you go find the tape? It has to be here somewhere."
"Stop that." Clay was standing, reaching for the plates. "You cooked, so I clean up. I think I remember where I left the tape now." He didn't wait for an answer, and Clark watched him move around the kitchen.
"Where?"
"It's in my underwear drawer. I didn't want you to find it."
Clark smiled. Of course Clay had hidden it. "Mind if I go get it?"
"Go ahead. Then we'll watch it."
Clark nodded and headed into the bedroom. //I'll sit with you on the couch, get my arm around you, watch the show, even. Then I'll listen to you dissect it, and then we'll go to bed together. Life's pretty damned good now. I'm a lucky guy. Who would have known?//
Clay admitting he enjoyed the X-Files. This was more of a miracle than him managing to cook a good dinner. But a nice one.
The End
Posted 6/12/01
