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Fic -- Baked, Boiled, or Fried?
Title: Baked, Boiled, or Fried?
Rating: PG
Word Count: 371
Characters: Alvin Desmond, Digger Harkness, Len Snart
Summary: Digger + anything = trouble
Warnings: One bad word.
Notes: For those not familiar with Dr Alchemy, his Philosopher's Stone has often looked ridiculously like a potato. (Or sometimes a turd, which is even more worrisome.)

A scream of rage reverberated throughout the Rogues' HQ, and Len looked up to see Digger run past in his footy team colours.

“Chill out, mate!” he protested, but there was a huge shit-eating grin on his face as he spoke. He was obviously enjoying whatever was happening.

“The Philosopher's Stone is an object of unbelievable power, a wonder of science!” Alvin shouted as he ran after the other Rogue. “It is not a ‘potato’, and you cannot turn it into curly fries!”

“Chips, mate, chips,” Digger corrected him genially, though he had to dodge a blast which turned a nearby lamp into gold. Mick picked it up with an expression of delight, but Mark reminded him that most objects reverted back to their base elements not long after Alvin left the vicinity.

“If I catch you trying to poach the Stone again, I'll turn you into a pillar of salt,” Alvin vowed furiously, although Len cast him a stern look.

“You'll have to clean that up,” the boss reminded him sharply, and Alvin nodded.

“Of course, of course. I remember the house rules.”

Digger stuck out his tongue at Alvin, and set about finding himself a new snack for the soccer game. However, he first put little Owen in front of the television to be watched by his ‘uncles’, and soon the other Rogues were engrossed by the cute toddler’s antics. James gave him a tangle-proof Slinky to play with, and Alvin fondly watched the child try to pull it apart. It reminded him of his own childhood history of scientific curiosity and experimentation, and brought a broad smile to his face.

“I’ll turn that cheap toy into an even more malleable metal so he can -- hey, where the hell’s my Stone?!”

“Chips for everyone!” Digger announced triumphantly, holding aloft a tray of curly fries. They were store-bought and the Stone was cunningly hidden in his back pocket, but he didn’t tell that to Alvin. The poor man’s apoplectic expression was worth the ensuing chase and attempted strangulation, and Len reflected to himself that it wouldn’t be so bad if Alchemy followed through with his threat about the salt. At least they could use it to season the fries.


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