Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG.

Summary: Michael is here...and not just for a visit. Langly is sick...and not just a little. Our narrator is really starting to hate November.

Spoilers: Nada.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not yours, some guy named Carter claims they belong to him. Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television.
 

"Now I let go with both hands and feet, plunging
straight into the foam beside the timbers, pulled astride,
and rowed hard with my hands to pass by Skylla."

Homer, "The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation, Book 12, Lines 565-567. Used without permission.

Ludere Cum Sacris
 

November 1, 1999

I sat with Langly for awhile as he slept. I stroked his hair and listened to him breathe his small sleeping noises, which had grown a little raspier. He seemed comfortable enough, so I snapped off the light and wandered back to the kitchen, preparing to tackle the mess.

The mess seemed to be dissipating-Byers, Frohike and a very sulky, obviously grudging Michael were cleaning up.

"Thank you." Byers and Frohike always offered to help clear after any meals they took in my kitchen, but I generally tossed them out to the offices.

"How's our boy?" Frohike inquired as he packed the dishwasher.

"Sleeping." I began to wrap the few leftovers. "By the way, there's cake."

"Wonderful," Frohike smiled. "When we're done."

"He's been like this all week," Byers commented as he scrubbed out a cooking pot.

"Yeah, I know. Not like him. He's usually a bundle of energy."

"He should get some blood work done," Byers stated.

"We've been through that. If he's still like this Monday, off he goes. Or so he says. He may just have said it to shut me up."

"Probably," Frohike nodded.

Michael had remained silent, drying the occasional handwashed item, and doing a pretty half-assed job of it.

"I'm going to need some help in a little while," I announced to Byers and Frohike.

"What do you need, my dear?" Frohike inquired solicitously.

"Langly asked me to write up some of his notes for the next issue of TMB. He gave me the files and the directory names and a pile of passwords. I think I'm probably going to get lost trying to navigate my first time around."

Byers looked rather surprised. "We'll be happy to give you a hand, Ally, but this concerns me quite a bit."

"John, I'm not going to go near anything I'm not supposed to."

"No, no, I'm not worried about that. It's that Langly is quite territorial about what he does, and the fact that he asked for your help has me very worried about him."

Frohike wrinkled his brow. "That kid doesn't take care of himself. I've warned him..." I almost had to laugh, hearing this from Frohike, who was every bit as negligent of himself as Langly was.

"Frohike, we need to talk for a few. Alone, please." I motioned him towards the spare bedroom which functioned as a photo lab. We closed the door.

"Frohike, Langly told Michael he could stay here, and although this isn't exactly what we thought the...situation would be, I'm not going to renege on that. I know that your place is very small, and Langly thought that maybe...it would be best if he didn't stay with you in the beginning."

Frohike looked embarrassed. "Of course, he's welcome to come home with me, but perhaps...as you can well see, we are not on exactly the best of terms. I'm hoping that that will improve, of course, but..."

"They say Rome didn't get built in a day, and if there's any truth to the creation story, which I seriously doubt, even God took almost a week. It's been a long time, Frohike. There's a lot of water under the bridge for you guys, and some of it's pretty dirty."

"I don't think I could impose on you that way, my dear."

"Fuck it. We owe you. And at least here, he can't take advantage of you as easily in terms of mooching. I know I sound like a bitch, Frohike, but there are...certain things he has to do in order to stay here. And I have no compunction about tossing him in the street if he doesn't comply." I hated to put it in those terms, especially to Frohike. But he nodded silently in assent.

"It's probably...a better idea, my dear. And I am most grateful to you. And to that loser who's asleep in your bed." He was joking; Frohike's affection for Langly was almost boundless, even if his patience was occasionally stretched to the breaking point.

"Fine. He can sleep in Shelby's room." Shelby had the second room downstairs. We had offered it to her when she moved in, and she made it her own with posters, clothing, and the usual teenage paraphenalia. She may not have had legal residence with us, but we wanted her to know that she had a place she could go. "Shelby'll have to park it with Miranda for a while."
I looked up grimly at him. "I don't know Michael, and I know nothing of his...proclivities, but I will warn him that he is not to hassle the girls. I think that's a fair request."

"Most definitely."

"Okay, shall we talk to him?"

Frohike nodded.
 

"Michael." I called to the short figure sifting through the fridge, probably looking for another beer. No response.

"Michael, the lady is talking to you," Frohike said a bit more loudly.

He glanced up, a surly look on his face. "Yeah?"

"Michael, you're welcome to stay in our home for the time being," I announced. "I don't think your father has enough room, but he's here every day, and you'll have plenty of opportunities to see him."

He was silent. "Michael, are you listening to me?" I was a bit sharper than I had intended.

"Yeah." He popped the top from his Dos Equis.

"You can have Shelby's room for now-that's Miranda's best friend, and she has the second room downstairs. She can stay in Miranda's room for now.

"You can only stay here until you find work and a place to live, which I assume will be as soon as possible, and you're not to hassle the girls in any way. Do you understand?"

"Are you gonna impose curfew, too?" He was snarling.

"No, I'm not. Beyond getting work and a place to live, I don't give a flying fuck what you do. I'm not a babysitter. But you'd better treat every one that lives and works here with some measure of respect, or you can check into Chez Cardboard Box as soon as possible." Frohike seemed to blanch, but he held his tongue.

Michael turned to him. "You gonna let this bi-uh, lady, tell us what to do? God, you're whipped."

"Michael, which word didn't you understand in my last sentence? I said everyone, and that includes your father."

"Michael, I really think it would...be for the best if you stayed here for the time being. We really don't know..."

"Fine." He assented unhappily. "Once again, Melvin manages to get someone else to pick up after him."

"Michael, that's uncalled for," Frohike reprimanded him gently. But my redheadedness began to flare up.

"You can start by treating your father with a little more respect," I told him coldly. "Michael, you can make this pleasant, or you can make it difficult. Just remember it's my house, and you're my guest, and I call the shots here. Got it?"

"Y'know, I don't have to take this shit," he snarled at me.

"Fine. Then you can find another place to stay. Good luck getting the same quality for the same price." I looked apologetically at Frohike.

"I'll talk to him," Frohike said softly. "Michael? We're going out."

"What if I don't feel like going out with you?" Michael sneered back.

Frohike was quiet, but decided it was time to assert some parental fiat, whether he was entitled to it or not. "This is not a request, Michael."

"Listen, you bail out on us, you're gone for 17 years, and you start telling me what the fuck to do? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Michael," Frohike began gently, "you came down here of your own accord. Yes, you were invited, and you are always welcome. But you came down here apparently with no means of support and nowhere to live. These people have graciously offered to put you up."

"If she's gracious, then-"

"Michael, Allison simply is letting you know what will and will not work in her home. I don't think that's unreasonable."

Michael was muttering something unintelligible. Frohike walked over to him and tried to put his hand on the kid's shoulder. Michael drew away as if he had been slapped, but Frohike stayed calm and nonplussed.

"Let's go." He steered the recalcitrant youth towards the door.
 

Langly's instructions for moving around in his system had not been particularly clear to me, and even Byers swore under his breath a few times at trying to maneuver. I finally did get to where things were, and made the decision to print hard copy. I could destroy it later.

While I was waiting for Langly's copious quantities of notes to spool and print, I noticed a large sketchbook sitting on his workstation. He had always drawn me lots of little cartoons, which were surprisingly good, and even Miranda had a number of his caricatures in her bedroom. But I really was shocked when I opened it up and began perusing the contents.

There were some cartoon sketches, of course-amusing caricatures of friends and foes, real and imagined, but behind some of those were some absolutely astounding pencil and charcoal sketches. And I seemed to be the subject of most of the sketches. I felt my face turning very pink. In my next life, I want to be a brunette.

He had apparently started sketching me almost from the day I met him, and since I'd never seen him work publicly, I assumed he did these from memory. There was a sketch of me seated in the Gunmen offices in Southeast DC, sipping a beer, a sketch of me playing cards, sketches of me reading, and then a few that were...well, art portraits would probably be a good euphemism here. There were a couple sketches of us together, very tender portraits that made my eyes pool with tears. He'd done several studies of Miranda, and she looked beautiful in all of them. It was amazing looking them over how much Miranda had grown up since we'd arrived in DC.

"John, did you know that Langly could draw like this?" I asked.

Byers got up and walked over to Langly's workstation. "You know, he never mentions it, but a long while back I accidentally discovered some drawings he had been working on, and when I asked him to do a portrait of Susanne, he drew one that is now among my most prized possessions. I offered to pay him for it, but he wouldn't listen."

"He really can grab into the person's emotions."

"He can. He's rather an emotional sort himself." Interesting observation on Byers's part. "Not that you'd be aware of it most of the time, but he is. And he's quite easily hurt. That much I've learned about him in all the time we've worked together."

"He does get kind of sensitive sometimes."

"I'm glad he has you, Ally," Byers said gently. "Because I feel in my heart that you would not hurt him. Not ever. I listen to you two banter back and forth, and I've even overheard some of your...noisier discussions, shall we say, and I am always impressed with the tenderness with which you two care for one another. He's really needed someone who will both mother  him and respect him, and frequently it's one without the other. He's really benefitted from your levelness. I notice that he's much less volatile than he used to be."

"Thank you, John. That means a lot to me." I was touched.

"It's difficult not to notice the change for the better."

"So what about you?" I was partially joking; I figured there'd been no one since Susanne.

He surprised me by turning a very bright shade of pink. We redheads have got to stop being so damn obvious, I thought. He didn't say anything.

"John? Is there something you're not telling us?" I said teasingly.

He looked a lot more like a teenage boy than like the mature college professor and military and government systems expert than he was.

"Wellll..." if possible, he turned pinker.

"John, it's me, Ally. If you want me to keep this in confidence, it'll go no further, believe me."

"Ally, well, this is...slightly embarrassing..."

"John, I've met, mated and almost married your coworker and friend, and if you can watch that happening without embarrassment, this should be easy." That made him smile. He took a deep breath.

"There was this woman I saw at Black Hat..." he looked mortified.

"Okay, you saw this woman in Vegas. Go on."

"And she was...gorgeous."

"I hope she wasn't one of the hookers working the convention." Immediately as it fell out of my mouth, I was sorry I'd blurted it out, but he saved me from humiliation.

"No, no, she was an attendee. I saw her at several events."

"Did you meet up with her?"

"Well, no...she was always surrounded by people, and I was...I didn't want to impose on her...she seemed very busy..." i.e., he was too shy to talk to her.

"Did you get her name?"

"No. There were a number of people referring to her as "The Bee," but I never did catch the significance. I think I vaguely overheard someone say she was from Michigan."

"And you've been thinking about her ever since."

"Yes." He was no longer pink; more like crimson.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

He was about the color of blood now. "I've been...looking for her. I can't stop thinking about her. I feel as though I've become obsessed."

"Maybe you are."

"I don't want it to appear as though I'm stalking her, though. It's not exactly the way to a lady's heart."

"Did you look at the Vegas pics? Maybe she's in some of them."

"She's in one. I have it. Langly didn't notice I didn't return it. It's a shot with a number of people in it."

"Do you know anyone in it?"

"I know one person vaguely. I've been in contact with him. He's trying to help me."

"Any luck so far?"

"Not yet."

"John, I'm curious. What was it about this woman that has you lying awake nights and prowling the Net?"

He looked so young, so vulnerable in this moment. "She looked at me one time. Straight at me. And I at her. And it was as if there was this unspoken moment, but a moment nonetheless. And I can't let go of it."

"Maybe she's looking for you." Not likely, women being the more practical half of the species, but anything was possible.

"Maybe. I hope so." His look was so longing I wanted to hug him.

"Care to show me the shot?"

"Since you took it, sure," he laughed weakly. I walked over to him and examined the photo, which he had magnified a number of times. There were six people in the center of the photo and several on the perimeters. And amidst a group of what looked to be admiring males, stood a tall, strikingly pretty woman with short dark hair and a lively, intelligent face. She was
staring straight at someone, but the person in her line of vision was not anyone in the photo. She was looking at someone on the outside of the frame.

"John, was she looking at you at this time?"

"Yes, she was."

"And if you could put into words what passed between you two in that moment, what would have been said?"

He took a deep breath again. "It was almost as if...we said, we will be together." He was blushing furiously again. "I sound like a total idiot, don't I?"

Well, he sounded pretty off the wall, but I didn't want to discourage him; I'd seen too much that was too strange to have been accounted for in previous reasoning. Maybe he was correct. Who was I to say?

"No, you don't. I hope you find your Juliet, John. I truly do."

"Thank you for not laughing, Ally."

"John...I don't discount any possibilities anymore. Not even remote ones."

Langly did not outline anything like I did. He was obviously a very thorough researcher, but a little short on organization. Well, organization the way I defined it; it obviously worked for him. The subject of the article was dispensation of mind-altering drugs via inhalation drugs...my inhaler! Shit! I'd never gotten it back. The two migraines I'd suffered since that time were mild enough to be treated with Excedrin, so I hadn't even thought about it again.

Going through the notes went from slightly dry to mildly fascinating to downright frightening. Apparently a variety of medications were being used to dispense psychotropics. Sumatrin was among them, and it was used for two different types of drugs: one a stimulant, the other an hallucinogen. I cringed. To think I almost clobbered Langly for taking my meds away that night. If this was in fact true, I ought to kiss him a few extra times. There had been a number of suspicious deaths reported to the FDA from use of the drug, but it had not been investigated or publicized.

"John," I inquired, "did you ever get my inhaler back from your friend at AU?"

"Your what?" He must be looking for Juliet.

"My inhaler. Little grey one. Langly gave it to you in July to give to a friend of yours?"

"Oh, that. No, I never did give it back."

"John, I'm working on the article, you can tell me what's in it."

"Yours contained a powerful hallucinogen. One that we believe has triggered a number of deaths." Shit. "And a significant population of Sumatrin users have reported severe nightmares and some psychosis has also been seen." Of course, none of this had been in the newspapers; probably even physicians were not even being informed of it. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Did you ever get Mulder's from him?" Mulder, my fellow migraine sufferer, also had been prescribed the drug.

"We did. Fortunately, he'd never used it, because the same compound came up in his. Mulder's pretty skeptical of most medications in general."

"Probably because he's been messed up on enough of them."

Byers winced. "Mulder was...an experimental subject in a number of experiments that took place in the 60s and 70s."

"Mulder's how old?"

"38."

"He would've been just a kid then!" I was outraged.

"Yes. He was." Byers grimaced. "Something to do with his father."

"His father? You've got to be kidding. No father would..."

And then I thought of what Langly had told me about my grandfather, and about Mulder's grandfather. If these allegations were true...

Shit.

My world was rocked. And not in the way Langly usually rocked it.

I went inside.
 

Miranda and Shelby were in the living room watching "Tonight with Jay Leno," and watching people fail miserably at one of Jay's man-on-the-street pop quizzes. The subject tonight was astronomy, and people's responses were embarrassingly bad. The girls thought it was hysterical.

"Mommy, you gotta watch this," Miranda giggled.

I put on the teakettle and sat down, waiting for it to boil. I needed some of Byers's chamomile tea; fortunately, he'd left a generous stash in the kitchen and was willing to share. I barely looked at the TV screen. My mind was racing, spinning over and over in a sick spiral.

"Allison, you okay?" Shelby asked me, concern on her face.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine." I lit a cigarette and noticed my hands were not as steady as they normally were.

"Langly called for you," Miranda reminded me.

"When?"

"Few minutes ago."

I got up and went into the bedroom to check on him. I was not happy with what greeted me.

He was wrapped tightly in the goosedown comforter, the spare comforter from the foot of the bed, and the blanket we kept in the closet, and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Cheeks were flushed, and his eyes, which were partially open, were far too bright. I went over to touch his face and drew back from the heat. Not a mild fever. Not by a long shot.

"I'm getting a reading. I know you'll complain, but too bad," I informed him. What was truly alarming was that he didn't protest.

When Miranda had been a baby, I'd invested in one of the in-the-ear thermometers as to save myself a lot of aggravation, and now I had another baby to use it on.

"103.6. Not good, babe."

"My throat hurts," he protested roughly.

"I'll get you some Coke." Coats the throat and helps knock down the fever.

He took a few sips, and it was obviously painful for him to swallow. He set it down.

"More," I commanded.

"Can't," he rasped. He snuggled back into the cocoon of blankets. "I'm so cold."

"Maybe we should hit the emergency room."

"No. I wanna stay here. With you. Don't go."

"Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere. Except maybe to get something to get the fever down." I went into the bathroom for some cold facecloths and Tylenol.

When I tried to put the damp facecloths on him, he almost shrieked-if he'd had any voice left, he would have. "Everything hurts," he moaned.

"I know, but if you won't go to the ER, I've gotta get you down."

"'Kay." He grimaced but let me proceed. He could be reasonable when he wanted to be.

It took me a while to convince him to swallow the Tylenol, and when he finally did, it was a struggle. Only he wasn't going for any drama awards this time; he was really sick, and I was really worried.

The girls came in later, and Miranda almost jumped. "Jesus, Langly, what happened to you?"

"He's sick, needs to rest up. Why don't you girls head off to bed?" I didn't want to alarm Miranda unduly.

"Hope you're better." She went over to him and surprised me utterly by squeezing his hand. He held to her for a moment, then she withdrew. But that small gesture was the first one she'd made towards him in a long while.

"'Night."

I hugged both girls. "G'night. Love you."

It was going to be a long one. I grabbed a novel I'd wanted to read for ages and hadn't had time. Since I probably wasn't going to get much sleep, no time like the present.
 

November 2, 1999

My prediction that it was going to be a long night was not unfounded. Every time I'd doze off, it was as if Langly would have this internal alarm go off and wake up and need something.

I'd hoped to bring him down below 101, but no such luck, even between cold water, Cokes and Tylenol. He hovered around 102 for most of the night and shot up to almost 104 at dawn. He'd alternate between freezing and then sweltering. It was not a climate in which one could hope to get any rest, especially not the patient.

I gave up and made coffee around 5:30. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the key in the back door at that time.

Frohike walked in, or should I say, staggered in, with a very passed out Michael leaning up against him. He looked very apologetic.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, my dear. We didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I've been awake most of the night. Our boy's not doing well." Frohike's eyebrows shot up, but I just looked over at Michael. "Easiest thing to do with him is go in the door through Miranda's room and across the hall, that's Shelby's room, then you don't have to negotiate so many stairs."

"Thank you, my dear. But I'd really hate to wake the girls."

"They're not going to wake up. And if they do, tell them to go back to sleep. They'll be fine. You're welcome to join me for some coffee after you deposit him in bed."

"Thank you, my dear, I think I'll do that."
 

It took Frohike about half a month to get Michael situated-Michael was almost as large as he was, and passed out to boot. I'd actually dozed at the table when he returned to the kitchen.

"You look like you need some sleep," he observed quietly as he poured himself a mug and topped mine.

"You, too. How'd it go with Michael?"

He looked worried. "I ended up spending half the night looking for him. He became angry with me for something I said, and he took off. I finally found him near the train station, of all places."

"Here in Alexandria?"

"No, we drove up to Baltimore."

"God, that's awful. I'm so sorry."

"I have a lot of damage to undo, my dear. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to finish the job. But I will try."

"You're a good father, Frohike."

"Would it be that that were true. I'm afraid I have a great deal of lost time to make up for."

"Doesn't give him the right to diss you."

"I'm not sure what our rights and responsibilities are in this situation. I'm flying totally blind here. It feels like the jungle in 'Nam."

"How so?"

"Everything whispers. You don't know what can hurt you and what can't. You can't tell friend from foe. You don't know where the shadows are. You don't even know what the shadows are." Funny, I'd been thinking the same thing recently.

"Well, Frohike, I know one thing you've earned the right to do."

"What's that, my dear?"

"You're still walking me down the aisle on my wedding day. And don't forget it."

"My dear, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Of course, it would help if you and that boy would get busy and put it together."

"Haven't had time, and right now, he's hardly in any shape to get out of bed, let alone plan a wedding."

"What's wrong?"

"Sore throat, high fever, aches all over, hot and cold and miserable. I tried to get him down to below 102, but didn't happen."

His expression changed to deep concern. "That's quite high for an adult. Yes, while I have difficulty seeing him that way, I do have to keep in mind that he actually is one. Perhaps he should receive some professional attention."

"I suggested that. He insisted not."

"Of course he insisted not, my dear! Haven't you learned how stubborn he is?"

"Yes, and I respect it, because I can be equally stubborn, and I resent it when people press me."

"God save us from these two." He rolled his eyes upward. I giggled.

"Frohike, really, if he gets any worse, he can scream and rant and rave all he wants, but he's going to the ER."

"He can scream and rant and rave a lot. I hope you're prepared."

"I can generally deal with him. He's a pain in the butt, but he'll listen to people who care about him. After a fashion," I added.

"Yes. Michael is not so different from that." He poured himself another cup of coffee.

"How so?"

"Michael is...very wounded. And very alone. But like your boy, he craves contact. He wants people to care for him." He sipped some coffee. "Now if he would only realize it."

"Probably not going to happen overnight."

"No, it won't. But I hope that someday..." his thoughts trailed off. "Allison, my dear, I have a favor to ask of you. I know, I've imposed on you already-"

"Shut up, Frohike, and tell me what you want. You know you've got it."

He was mildly taken aback at the unintended abruptness in my tone-lack of sleep does not bring out the best in me, but he continued.

"I would...like to be here for Michael when he wakes up. Would it be all right if I slept on your sofa for a while?"

"Of course. Don't be silly, Frohike. You know you're always welcome here. I can't promise total peace and quiet, but-"

"Allison, I feel a great comfort in the...noises that fill your home. And it is a home. It's full of people and animals and children and affection and good food and an almost endless supply of Mexican beer."

"Well, I'd have to agree that the Mexican beer is very important," I smiled.

"When did you stop drinking tequila, my dear?"

"I didn't, but Ellen and I had something of a bender last weekend, and I'm having a little trouble looking at Jose right now."

"I know how that one goes," he nodded. "The lovely Agent Ellen Sternberg. That woman is so hot...if she weren't married..."

I laughed. "Ellen is gorgeous, true. Can't blame you for wanting."

He smiled ruefully. "I seem to never get beyond that point, do I?"

"Ah, Frohike, someday there'll be a woman who appreciates your unique virtues."

"This lifetime would be good."

"Why don't you go lie down, Frohike? I'm going to go and check on our boy, see how he's holding up."

"I'll come with you, my dear. If you don't mind, of course."

"No, it's fine."

We silently entered the room. Langly was not looking good, but he was dozing. I didn't want to wake him up.

Too late. He blinked at us. "Ally," he whispered.

"Yes? Frohike's here, babe. Just wanted to see how you are."

"Feel like shit," he murmured.

"And you look it, too," Frohike assured him.

"Thank you," he rasped back. Frohike leaned over to touch his face. He shook his head at me.

"Allison, my dear, it's time for you to exercise your spousal prerogatives."

"Meaning?"

"Take him to the emergency room. Now."

"No!" Langly pleaded hoarsely.

"Yes," we chorused.

"No, no," Langly muttered. "Just wanna stay here with Ally."

"Frohike, I'm going to take a reading. Okay, babe, here's the deal. Less than 103, you're golden. Over 103, you're gone. Got it?"

"Don't wanna go."

"Tough." I grabbed the ear thermometer. It made its electronic signal a few seconds later.

"103.4. Sorry. You lose."

"Ally, no," he begged.

I looked up helplessly at Frohike. Frohike gave me the look that said, feet down, girl.

I hate hospitals every bit as much as Langly does, and I didn't want to press him.

"Frohike, he really doesn't want to go."

"I think that's beside the point."

I was trying to make a choice here. I looked at Frohike finally and said, "Look, I'll stay by him and keep an eye on him and if he gets worse, I'll make him go."

"How much worse does he need to get?" Frohike gave me the sternest look I'd ever gotten from him. I had the impression I might be trifling with sacred things.

"Not much."

"My dear, take him now and make certain he's okay. If he checks out okay, and you want to bring him home, then do it."

"No." Langly was out of it, but still insistent.

Frohike walked over and took his hand. "You'll do it." The voice was a lot harsher than the gesture.

I turned Frohike away from him for a moment and whispered, "Frohike, if you recall, I have kids downstairs sleeping. I can't just leave them."

"I'll be here."

"You have to take care of Michael."

"I had two children, and I managed," he reminded me a bit tartly.

I could have said, not for a long time you haven't, but I bit my tongue. This was one of my dearest friends, and I was standing here, half asleep, arguing with him, and he was not only half asleep but probably mildly hung over. In short, we were getting nowhere in a hurry.

I turned to the ailing figure bundled up in a pile of covers. I hated to move him...

Frohike put his hand on my shoulder. "Allison, my dear. Please. I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to him. Or to any of you. Please."

I have a hard time resisting a plea. Anybody's plea. Especially my fiance's, but this time...

"Okay, Langly babe, up. We're out of here."

END OF PART 33