What's for Dinner?
by Pic
Author's Notes: This is Emily's fault. She posted the item about the mysterious yam and then challenged me to write um something like this. So I guess this could be considered the first volley of the YAM CHALLENGE. I had to make up my own immortal to make this work and I haven't seen but one episode of Highlander all the way through, so please chalk up any terrible errors in lore to ignorance.
Rated: T
Pairing: Cory Raines/gen fic
Spoilers: I can't imagine any for anything relevant
Summary: Cory is making dinner when an old friend arrives unexpectedly.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, except for the immortal I had to make up - but that really doesn't matter.
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Cory Raines looked up, puzzled, as the door to his condominium burst in and off its hinges. The question of who else knew he was in Manhattan was answered as Duncan MacLeod stepped through, sword drawn. "Where is she?" MacLeod demanded, pushy and earnestly noble as ever.
Sipping a fine Cabernet, Cory widened his lively green eyes and countered, "Where is who?"
Duncan sighed in relief. "I'm in time after all."
Enjoying the smell of baking ham that was beginning to permeate the condo, Raines watched Duncan sheath his sword and survey his surroundings. Because baiting MacLeod was a sport that spanned all seasons as far as Cory was concerned, Raines asked, "In time for what? If it's dinner you want, you're even a bit early, Duncan boy."
MacLeod shook his head. "Meredith is after your head."
The tension in Duncan's voice when he spoke the name of the far too serious and homicidally volatile immortal brought a grin to Cory's face. "Really? What have I allegedly done to Her Highness this time?"
Disapproval flowing freely, MacLeod relayed what he had heard. "Word is that you tied her down, teased her for over eight hours and made her beg to come."
"Who's spreading that gospel?" When Duncan didn't reply, Cory ventured, "Amanda?" Duncan's reluctant nod drew laughter from Raines. As soon as he could speak clearly, Cory theorized, "She's just jealous."
"Be serious, Cory."
"I am." Swallowing an additional, potentially inflammatory lighthearted retort, Cory recalled his role as host. "Would you like some wine?"
Surprising Raines, Duncan shrugged. "Why not?"
"I'll get it while you do something about my door."
Whistling an upbeat tune, Cory retreated into the kitchen and checked on what was in truth an exceedingly elaborate meal for one. The scalloped potatoes were ready to go into the oven where the ham had been baking for a half an hour. Apple pie cooling on the counter and asparagus chopped for steaming, Raines regarded the finishing touch as he located another wine glass and poured the well-aged red for MacLeod.
A large yam was centered nearly perfectly on the cutting board, a chef's knife beside it. All that remained was for Cory to slice, chop or dice, but he hadn't been yet decided what he wanted to do with the yam.
Thinking that maybe Duncan might have a something to contribute in the culinary arena, Raines moved back through the living area and into the foyer. When he got there, Cory tried to stifle a chuckle. The great Duncan MacLeod had been defeated by a condominium door.
"Here, MacLeod. Let me." Handing Duncan both glasses of wine, he ordered, "You take this and sit down. No, better yet. Go into the kitchen, look in a cookbook and find me something to do with my yam."
After one last glare at the offending door, MacLeod did as he was bid. Opening the Joy of Cooking, Duncan reviewed all of the possibilities for yams and settled on the caramelized option. Seeing that he had to boil it first, Duncan located a pot, filled it half way with water, put it on the stove and started a fire beneath. The inordinately large size of the yam convinced MacLeod that it would be best to chop it in at least three to better fit into the pot.
"Leave the knife alone, MacLeod. That pleasure is going to be mine."
Surprised, Duncan took a step away from the cutting board. "You have something against yams, Cory?"
"No. Just this one."
Incredulous, MacLeod laughed. In highly uncharacteristic fashion, his amusement built and he gave into considering the ridiculous notion. "You have a vendetta against this particular yam? What did it do?"
Eyes matching Duncan's level of amusement, Raines shrugged and twisted slightly in his oversized white shirt to look over his shoulder at the yam in question. He delivered his simple message quietly. "Threatened me."
MacLeod bent over Cory's kitchen counter overcome by unaccustomed mirth.
Cory let him laugh himself out a little before clarifying, "The yam, per se, didn't do the threatening, Duncan. Meredith did."
Nearly instantaneously serious, MacLeod finally shrugged out of his long coat and rested his hand on his sword hilt, eyes darting everywhere. "She was here, then?"
"Yes." Now it was Cory's turn to laugh. "And so was a very good friend of mine." With an exaggerated sigh, Raines mischievously proclaimed, "But they both couldn't stay for dinner."
"So Meredith is angry with you?"
"Rage was more to the point, I think."
"For?" MacLeod couldn't repeat what Amanda had told him. Only Cory would be so reckless as to dominate the dominatrix.
"It wasn't the tease that did it, Duncan. Screaming my name was what put her over the edge, in more ways than one. Threats were made in very colorful language. You'd have blushed."
MacLeod faced Cory's self-satisfied grin with a stern demeanor. "You have to stop pushing her, Cory. She's not stable."
"She is now," Raines asserted with conviction. "What are we making?" he asked, gesturing at the cookbook.
"Caramelized yams," Duncan replied absently, trying to determine how to get it through Cory's thick skull that he was playing a most dangerous game. Amanda was worried sick that Cory had finally bitten off far more than he could chew. Although why she had such a soft spot for Raines, Duncan had never been able to fathom.
"Perfect," Cory murmured after scanning the recipe. "And the water's already on. Good."
"Cory..."
Raines held up a hand for silence. "Before you start your lecture about the awesome responsibility and solemn duty of being immortal, can I ask you a question?"
"All right."
"Where do you suppose the neck of this yam is?"
Grunting noncommittally, Duncan regarded the yam that Cory was now holding up for inspection. Peeking over Cory's shoulder at the recipe, he muttered, "It doesn't say anything about yam parts."
"No." Regarding MacLeod with an appraiser's eye, Raines began. "I know this is going to be difficult for you, Duncan boy, but try to use your imagination with me. Pretend that this yam used to be a person. Say, Meredith, for example. And assume that you want to be sure she's dead before you boil her and eat her along with ham and other side dishes. Where would you cut?"
Duncan looked from Cory to the yam and back again before fiercely growling, "Cory, what have you done?"
"Nothing."
Raines' indignant air had the ring of truth, so MacLeod reviewed their conversation looking for the loophole. "You mentioned a friend. Who was that?"
"I can't pronounce his real name -- too many vowels. So I call him Eric."
Speaking slowly and carefully, MacLeod asked, "What did Eric do to Meredith?"
"Is that a trick question?" When Duncan simply frowned and snarled, Cory replied, mimicking MacLeod's slow and careful tone, "He turned her into a yam."
Eyes gazing over slightly, Duncan thought for a moment about the formidable, frightening female immortal as a yam. That was all it took. MacLeod exploded in laughter and Cory joined him. Wiping tears from their eyes minutes later, they stood side-by-side considering the yam.
"It's narrower at this end," Cory offered, indicating the left most end of the yam.
Duncan pointed to the right. "And this little cleft could be an indication of legs or something."
Placing the chef's knife at the point where the narrow portion of the yam flared out wider, perhaps indicating shoulders, Cory asked, "Here?"
"A little more to the left."
Cory moved the knife and looked to Duncan for his opinion. When MacLeod nodded, Raines swiftly and surely "beheaded" the yam. Sparks flew and the smell of cordite momentarily overpowered that of the baking ham. Cory heard the sound of a woman screaming his name and a shiver of sexual pleasure ran down his spine. Not too bad as quickenings go for an immortal yam.
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Sitting on Cory's dark blue leather couch after a huge dinner and well into their second bottle of wine, Raines and MacLeod had fallen into a rare companionable silence. Duncan broke it, asking a preliminary question to the one in which he was most interested. "How did Eric do it?"
After a contented sigh and a small belch, Cory said, "He did some witchdoctor mojo on her."
"Ok. Why?"
"Isn't that obvious. She was going to kill me."
Shaking his head in frustration and acknowledging the effects of the wine, Duncan tried again to get at the information he wanted. "But why did Eric protect you?"
The smile that had broken hearts for centuries lit up Cory's face. With a wicked gleam in his eye, Raines asserted, "Because he liked it when I tied him down." Eyeing MacLeod avidly, he asked, "You want a turn, Duncan?"
THE END (Mercifully)
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