It had all started that morning. That bright and sundrenched morning while Apollo lounged upon the balcony soaking up those first sweet tender rays of dawn as The Midnighter busied himself with producing some more conventional sustinance. Bacon sizzled in the pan as The Midnighter thought out the plan of today’s forthcoming battle and how fresh bacon would be but the first weapon in it. That was, provided some strange and lunatic post-human, alien, human-alien hybrid or dyslexic Jewish genius didn’t choose today as the day of his glorious revolution.
And essential to this plan was bacon and mushrooms, and hash browns (some for Jenny, of course), and sausages, and something strange he’d found on the Carrier called “Genuine Lancashire Black Pudding” the origins of which he didn’t want to speculate upon. He suspected that the late Jenny Sparks had left it in the Carrier refrigerator, and that was somewhat disturbing, insofar as The Midnighter would ever admit to being disturbed, yet it seemed fresh and appealing enough and he was sure he had heard Engineer claim that the Authority’s refrigerator was actually a localised stasis field that effectively kept anything as fresh as the day it was put in.
As the thought of the Carrier refrigerator settled briefly in the tactical engine that is The Midnighter’s mind, with it came the urge to put some pressure upon the Doctor to refrain from keeping his assorted herbal baggies in it. While The Midnighter made no secret of his disproval of the Doctor’s drug habit, he knew that nobody else among his comrades in The Authority would tolerate him rescuing the Doctor from it forcibly; however, keeping interesting substances in the refrigerator where little hands might chance upon them was a step too far. The Midnighter stood confident in the assumption that the rest of the Authority, including Shen Li Min who had developed a strange and inexplicable fondness for the tripped-out Dutchman, would back in him up when it came to the possibility of the toddling Spirit Of The Twenty-First Century ending up blissed out of her mind after ingesting the Doctor’s best Amsterdam Skunk seeds.
The smell of rapidly carbonising bacon returned his mind fully to the matter at hand, as his swift reflexes took the pan off the heat and automatically turned off the hot plate. Sometimes it amazed him how swiftly he had adjusted to baby Jenny’s presence, how he and Apollo had unconciously taken responcibility for that small mewling bundle Swift bought back from Krigstein’s lair, how soon the rota that the Engineer had organised was forgotten and he had resigned himself to the bliss of sleepless nights and feeding bottles. Not that he’d got terribly much sleep before, he thought as he looked through the open french doors to his lover lying there in the dawn’s embrace.
A moment of jealousy squirmed unexpectedly in The Midnighter’s breast. He had woken up this morning alone, the exquisite creature lying upon the lounger already having left him dreaming alone to perform this day’s supplication to the life giving sun. It hurt him, sometimes, in the bright and alien day, that the sun seemed more beloved of his lover than he was; that he was but a nocturnal distraction until the sun arose once again to caress with sweet and tender strokes his lover’s long and perfect limbs. And then his love, his Apollo turned his head towards him, though he made no noise as he had stepped onto the balcony, and smiled that radiant smile that shone like a thousand suns. And with that, all jealousy was forgotten.
Almost forgotten. He wasn’t quite sure why he had done it, not when he thought about it and marvelled at his uncertainty, so strange and alien to his perfect military mind. But until that moment that plan had been certain: persuade Apollo to eat something for a fucking change. Now it had acquired a new and more sadistic aspect: torment Apollo with delicious food that he would be almost unable to eat.
He sat down at the table beside the lounger. Apollo had chosen the lounger and so it was unsurprisingly white painted wood with golden yellow cushions. While Apollo had few faults, a lack of originality when it came to interior design or clothes shopping or anything else that involved an element of choice with regard to colour. And so they dined upon yellow and white plates, slept under a yellow and white blanket and Jenny sat in a yellow and white high chair.
Suffice to say; The Midnighter had not been attracted by Apollo’s towering intellect. And he sat there munching appreciatively through the contents of his (yellow) plate. The Genuine Lancashire Black Pudding was surprisingly almost as edible as it smelled, even if he had to fight back the urge to try to identify its contents, the result of rather too much familiarity with the contents of the average human being. And now, whispered the tactical engine that nestled within his brain, now was the time to begin the battle, to make the first move.
“MMMmmm,” he sighed, “Nice stuff this is.”
Apollo’s head rose once again from the recliner and the nimbus of light around his head glew more brightly, “What’s nice?” he said, his face a picture of innocent curiousity.
“Genuine Lancashire Black Pudding, allegedly. I think Jenny left it in the Carrier fridge.”
“I didn’t think she was manipulating the fabric of reality so much. I thought she was just doing critical things like making sure the Doctor didn’t get stomped on.” Apollo’s brow furrowed in the sunlight.
“Not our Jenny, the old Jenny, the original Jenny,” said The Midnighter.
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