Classification: TRHA

Rating:

Summary:

Spoilers:

Disclaimer: Jesus, Carter, give it up already. They belong to the cybermuses! Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television.
 

"Preserve my life from dread of the enemy.
Hide me from the secret counsel of evildoers,
From the tumult of those who do iniquity,
Who have sharpened their tongue like a sword."

Psalm 64, V. 1b-3a, New American Standard Version.

Ekkaio
 

November 2, 1999
 

Getting Langly out of bed, into some sweats, and into the car was no easy trick. Even with both Frohike and me working with him, he protested every inch of the way. On the drive, he was pretty much out of it, which worked to my benefit, since if he'd been able, he'd have been hurling insults and invectives in my general direction. In his current condition, he had to settle for occasionally glaring at me.

At the Alexandria Hospital, after being asked what insurance he had prior to asking what was the problem, we then waited for four and a half hours. There had been a major accident involving several vehicles and apparently a fair quantity of alcohol, and while I am in total agreement with the triage method, waiting was miserable. There were practically no empty  chairs, and he ended up leaning against me, wrapped in two blankets that I'd taken from the house, and my shoulder was growing numb. After two hours, though, we lucked out; one of the sofas emptied out, and he stretched out, head in my lap, and I stroked his hair and murmured to him, which seemed to appease him somewhat. I wondered if his sister had done this with him when he was little. It was a gesture that always worked to comfort him.

I must have fallen asleep, for when he was finally called, I startled. I walked over with him and took the blankets from him. I walked outside for a while, grabbed a cup of dreadful coffee from one of the vending machines, and smoked two cigarettes. After another half hour of waiting, one of the nurses told me I could be with him, and told me where I could find him.

He was shivering when I found him, and since I was still lugging around the blankets from home, I had no problem with covering him up.

"I wanna go home," he protested, barely able to speak.

"Soon." I hoped.

"Not soon enough. I'm gonna kill Frohike."

"You'd probably have to get in line behind Michael, from what I hear."

"What'd the little shit do now?"

"Well, apparently he and Frohike drove up to Baltimore last night, and Michael got pissed off at him for something, and Frohike spent the balance of the night trying to find him. He just pulled in around 5:30."

"Little fucking bastard." This short exchange seemed to have exhausted him, and he closed his eyes. I smoothed his hair and ran my fingers over his cheek, which was still extremely hot.

"Thas' nice," he murmured. I continued with the soft gesture.

"Baby, I need some more coffee," I yawned heavily.

"Don't go."

"Okay, but I really do need some coffee soon." And another cigarette would be nice, too, I thought to myself.

"Not now."

"Okay, not now." I resumed playing with the strands of his light hair, which seemed to relax him the most.

I had no idea how much time had elapsed when the physician finally strolled in. He looked at least as tired as we were. I got up to hit the vending machines and the parking lot for a smoke.

"Your wife can stay, if you'd like," he told Langly. Neither of us bothered to correct him, but I did take advantage of the few minutes to get caffeined and nicotined. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I came back a short time later. Langly did not look too happy. The reason became obvious: a patch of gauze on his arm revealed that a vampire, probably in the form of a phlebotomist, had gone sucking for blood.

"I hope they left some for you," I teased gently.

"Ally, you're not funny," he croaked. He'd thrown off the covers; apparently he was in one of the melting phases that interspersed his freezing ones.

"Do you want some water?"

"Yeah."

I returned to the vending machines and was ripped off $1.00 for a small bottle of water. Nothing like a captive audience to increase profits. And I managed to sneak in another cigarette and procured another cup of coffee, which almost-but not quite-rivaled Langly's for dreadful quality.

He'd gone back to freezing. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head, a gesture he normally would purr in appreciation for, but this time, he gave a small cry of pain.

"Sorry...everything hurts," he whispered.

"Okay. You want me to stay here?"

"Don't go." He turned to look at me where I had taken a seat on top of a supply cabinet; guest comforts are not a big priority in emergency rooms. "I hate this place."

"Well, babe, I wasn't thinking of it for a honeymoon suite."

"Yeah. Go someplace nice instead."

"Maybe to Manzanillo. I love Mexico. I think you'd like it."

"Anywhere but here."

"We'll be out of here soon." At least within the remaining months of the current century, I hoped.

"I wanna go home."

"Babe, I'll take you home when we find out what the fuck is going on." At least I hoped I could take him home.

"Don't care. I wanna get out."

"Be quiet, now, you'll lose what little voice you have left." He closed his eyes again. And sometime later, when I had dozed again and gotten marginally comfortable, the physician came in and announced that Langly seemed to have a bad case of the flu. White count was very high, so he was prescribed antibiotics in the event a secondary infection was developing.

He was quiet for most of the drive back. I'd grabbed another cup of battery acid coffee on the way out and sucked it down on the way home, and taken a Coke from the vending machine for him, which remained untouched.

"Goddamn Frohike. He's such a mother hen," he rasped.

"Langly, he was worried, okay? And I was too, in all fairness."

"You weren't gonna make me go."

"No, I wasn't, but I don't think Frohike needs any more stress than he's already got."

"Who's with the kids?"

"Frohike. He wanted to be there when Michael woke up. Or should I say, regained consciousness. Kid was totally wasted."

"What a surprise." We had arrived home, and we groped our way back into the house.
 

Byers was in my kitchen when we arrived, cooking grilled cheese sandwiches and vegetable soup for the girls.

"Langly, how are you?" he asked quietly.

"Shitty."

"Let me tuck him in, and I'll be out," I told Byers.

"Could I put on a sandwich for you?" Byers asked.

"Sounds good. Thanks."

I pulled the sweats off my miserable, feverish fiance, and tucked him in. He once again asked me not to go, but I needed to check on Miranda and Shelby, and I assured him I'd be back shortly.

The girls were listening to a ska tape and doing makeovers when I knocked.

"Mom, what's with Langly?" Miranda greeted me.

"Just a really nasty case of the flu. He should be okay soon."

"Is he home?"

"Yes, but don't bug him right now. He's not in too great a mood."

"Mom, did you know that guy-what's his name, Michael-he puked all over Shelby's bed! She's never gonna be able to sleep on that mattress again!" Miranda's facial expression indicated clearly her distaste.

"Wonderful. Where's Frohike?"

"Went to the laundromat to do the bed stuff. That quilt doesn't fit in the washer."

"Yeah, I know. Where's Michael?"

"How should I know? I'm not on Michael watch."

"I think he's watching cartoons in the living room," Shelby indicated. "God, that was so gross what he did in my bed!"

"John has lunch almost ready."

"Yeah, Frohike asked him to come over. I mean, we can stay by ourselves and all-" Not right now you're not, I thought.

"Byers is pretty cool, though. He doesn't bug us," Shelby added in.
 

Michael Frohike was sound asleep on the sofa. The VCR tape he'd popped in had long since completed, and the TV screen was bright blue. I snapped it off. He didn't move.

At least if he's asleep, he's not annoying anyone, I thought.
 

November 6, 1999

It was Wednesday, and I was getting more and more worried. Langly did not seem to be better. He still had a fever that wouldn't dip below 101.5, and that was only in odd moments. Most of the time he hovered between 102 and 103. Too high for comfort, at least on my part, and most certainly on his. He still complained about not being able to swallow, and he'd acquired a cough that was beginning to sound ominously like the one he'd had earlier in the season.

I made the decision to do something I have only rarely done in my adult life: I called in sick. This guy needed another opinion, and he was going to get one today.

"I'm staying home from work," I informed him.

"You okay?"

"You're not. Therefore, I'm not." And I wasn't. I had barely slept since Friday night, and I was growing more and more upset over the lack of improvement in his condition.

"How's that go?"

"How does what go?"

"That thing you always say in Hebrew."

"I am my beloved, and my beloved is me."

"Yeah."

"You're seeing Dana's friend today," I let him know in no uncertain terms. I wasn't going to be argued down today.

"'Kay." The lack of resistance raised up more red flags. At least on Saturday he'd been bitching all over the place.
 

I hated to bother Dana, but I was getting nowhere with the Nazi manning Darryl Bergman's reception desk. She was utterly unsympathetic even after I explained my situation and my connections to Dana Scully.

I dialed Mulder's cell, hoping he had it on, which he did, and he picked up on the third ring.

"Mulder." The voice was warm and sleepy.

"Mulder, sorry to bother you. How's Becca?"

"She's wonderful. I've got her right here. Want to say hi?" You could feel him beaming.

"Hi, Becca," I obliged the demented but so-in-love new daddy.

"So what's up, Allison?" He asked when he came back on.

"Mulder, I hate to bother you guys, but I need a favor from Dana."

"Shoot."

"I'm trying to get Langly in to see her buddy Darryl Bergman in Alexandria, and he's got this palace guard for a receptionist who is like no way, no how. I wouldn't bug you if it wasn't really important. Is she there?"

"Actually, she's sleeping right now, but I can get her up. Becca's going to start whining for food any minute now. She's nursing on her own now, you know."

"Yes, I do." I'd been told about 200 times, but I couldn't help but enjoy the pride and pleasure in his voice.

"There's a TTY not far from here. How's about I get her up and have her relay you?"

"That'd be great, Mulder. I'm sorry, but he's just not getting better, and I'm worried."

"She'll call you back as soon as I can rouse her."

"Mulder, I really appreciate this. I'm sorry to impose-"

"It's no sweat, Allison. Really. She'll be glad to talk at you." He clicked off.

Dana Scully Mulder may be a tiny woman, but she has a force about her that makes grown men quiver and enemies hide. I'm not sure what she said, but I was probably happy not to hear it. Within fifteen minutes of talking with her, I received an intensely apologetic phone call from the desk Nazi, indicating that we could be seen at noon.

Joanna had not been happy that I'd called in, but that was her tough luck. If she had any questions regarding my reliability, she could call Andy Goldberg in LA and he'd put her to rights. It did mean that I would have to create transcripts from tapes later, a task I detest, but not half as much as I detested that my fiance was ill and not improving. Priorities. Forever shifting like sand battered by the tides.

I edited some transcripts and read some additional Greek. Around 10:30, Michael wandered up the steps from the basement.

"Got any coffee?" he yawned at me.

"And good morning to you too, Michael," I said sarcastically. "You know where it is."

He grabbed a mug from the cupboard, Langly's Cancer mug that Miranda had given him, and filled it up. I thought to myself, break that and you're a dead man, Michael Frohike.

He went over to where Tiny was lying down and began to stroke the dog's ears. While he drove the humans in the household insane, he'd developed a rapport with the animals. I think he preferred pets to people. I have moments where I couldn't blame him. He crooned softly to the dog. It was about the only glimpse I had of him being human, and I soaked it in.

"Michael, why don't you take her for a walk?" I suggested.

"Did it already. Got up around 7 and took her for a spin." That made me sit up and take notice.

"Thank you."

"Fed the cats, too."

"That means they conned me out of a second breakfast. Operators." I laughed.

"Yeah, they're con artists, all right." He was stroking Tiny and Tiny was eating it up.

"Michael, not to bring up a sore subject, but have you looked for a job yet?"

He looked annoyed. "I'm getting to it, okay?"

"Fine." I was skeptical about how he was actually "getting to it," but I didn't feel like alienating him any further.

"Anyway, Melvin's got some stuff that he wants me to help him with today." Michael still referred to Frohike by his given name, as opposed to acknowledging him as his father. It rankled me, but it was between them, and I was going to keep my mouth shut for a change. He looked at me critically. "Thought you'd be at work."

"Langly's still sick. He's getting seen for a second opinion."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

Langly's supervisor, unlike mine, was eminently reasonable about people calling in sick, so Langly's wails about losing his job were unfounded. Hell, it's not like one person would make the federal government collapse. Would it?

"Says he works in the Pentagon."

"Cryptography."

"That'd be so cool. Couldn't get in there, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've got two drug busts."

"I see." This was the first time he'd confided in me.

"And I got arrested for hacking into the NJ DMV, but they threw it out." He sounded rather proud of that one.

"Well..." I decided not to enlighten him regarding Langly's federally subsidized vacation. That was up to Langly. "Don't give up. Is your degree in CS?"

"Don't have a degree," he muttered, somewhat ashamedly. He knew he was in an environment where people had at least BA's, and we had a disproportionate share of PhD's in our midst.

"Did you take any classes?"

"Yeah, at the JC."

I scanned him. I did some quick financial math in my head...

"Michael, why don't you try and sign up for some classes? It'd help you a lot get your foot in the door."

"What're they gonna teach me I don't already know?"

"Probably nothing, but it's your entrée."

"Don't have any money."

"Michael, you have no source of income, you can probably get financial aid without difficulty. Now I hardly expect you to work in fast food all your life. So if you want to go to school, and you have to maintain a decent grade point average, you can stay until you're done."

"You're serious." He eyed me skeptically.

"As a heart attack."

"Why'd you do all this for me?"

"Because your father is one of my nearest and dearest friends, and I owe him."

"Oh." He sounded unimpressed, but then he began to warm a bit. "What kind of average do I have to have?"

"A 'B'."

"C's passing."

"You have to do better than pass around here, my friend. Miranda knows she's not permitted anything lower than a B. I'm not about to relax my standards." Particularly when this kid was probably capable of being a stellar student. I felt I was being generous with him.

"So that's all's I gotta do?"

"No. You will take care of the animals, you'll look after the girls from time to time, and you'll do your share of work around here. Langly and I are very busy people, Michael. We don't have time for bullshit. Either pull your own, or leave. The choice is yours."

He seemed to soften a little. "I'll think about it."

"You do that."
 

Darryl Bergman was as apologetic as the desk Nazi had been on the second time around. He didn't keep us waiting more than a few minutes. Langly followed him and I stayed behind and translated a passage from Plato. After I'd worked up several lines from "Gorgias," I was called back to Bergman's office.

"So you're a friend of Dana's," I said conversationally.

"Dana's an old classmate. I was sorry to hear that she'd developed so many health problems, but it doesn't seem to be keeping her down. I really need to go see her new baby."

"How're you doing, babe?" I took Langly's hand. He didn't squeeze it back.

"How do you think I'm doing?" he snarled at me. This was just too much fun.

"Anyway, what I was telling Mr. Langly here," Darryl motioned to him, "was that I think he's developed a strong bacterial infection. We'll know more when I get some blood results back tomorrow-" I could see that now Langly had two bruised arms, a partial explanation for his foul humor-"but I'm concerned about the high temperature. I think he should be hospitalized."

"I'm not going," Langly snapped hoarsely. I rolled my eyes.

Bergman apparently had practice with this sort of patient. He didn't even flinch.

"I'm really not comfortable with your going home right now, but I can't force you into the hospital against your will. I will concede that you may go home today, but anything amiss in your blood work, and I'm going to become a lot more insistent. Either that, or you'll have to find another physician."

"Whatever," Langly moaned.

"Are you agreeable to this, Mr. Langly?"

"Yeah." Hardly enthusiastic.

"Fine. Take him home, Mrs. Langly." Apparently everybody thought we were already married. No point in undoing it. "And I will call you tomorrow morning, and I will call your wife, so consider yourself forewarned."

In the car, I turned to him severely and said, "If you were rude, I'm going to kill you."

He looked at me first with anger, and then just sheer misery. "Jesus fuck, Ally. Give me a break. I can't talk, I can't work, I can't fuck, I can't even swallow for Christ's sake! I am so sick of this shit already!" He closed his eyes. "I feel like I've been sick forever, and it is really, really old."

I felt a little more sympathetic. "I'm sorry, babe. It sucks. C'mon, let's get you back into bed. Want me to tuck you in?"

"Please."
 

Bergman left a message on my voice mail at work, and it was not an encouraging one.

"Mrs. Langly, I honestly cannot figure out what's going on with your husband. It looks like a bacterial infection, but I can't identify any bacteria in the blood work, so I'll say a virus, which is our way of saying we haven't got a clue. Anyway, I'd like to admit him to George Washington U. Med Center for some testing." Shit.

I was not looking forward to going home today.
 

November 8, 1999

"I wanna go home," Langly croaked for about the 1500th time that evening.

"Babe, you think it's fun spending time here? I want you home, too!" I was exhausted and I was losing patience.

"Where's the kids?" he asked for about the 20th time since I'd arrived.

"The kids are fine," I assured him.

"So where the fuck are they?"

I admitted, "They're home with Michael."

"What! Are you fucking out of your mind, Ally?" He could barely form the words, but he managed.

"Babe, he's been actually reasonably cooperative since you've been in here." Which had only been two days, but felt more like two centuries.

"And you'd leave the kids with him?!"

"Look, he's...he didn't protest when I asked him. And Byers and Frohike are here, so where the hell are they supposed to stay?"

"You could've brought 'em."

"I did that last night, and they went crazy."

"They should try being an inmate here."

"Ringo. Patrick. Langly." I gritted my teeth. "I am doing the best I can, so shut up and get off my case!" I regretted my tone of voice immediately, as well as my words. "Look babe. I just want you to get well. I'm really worried and I'm running out of resources here and I'm tired and I love you..." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, and choked down hard. I wasn't going to start crying now.

Byers silently appeared. "Are you guys okay?"

Langly opened his eyes. "Take her home, Byers. She's losing it."

"No," I said stubbornly.

Frohike came in with coffee for everyone. I thanked him profusely.

"I'm gonna go have a smoke," I announced, but I was thwarted when Dr. Bergman and a small Chinese woman appeared in the room.

"This is Dr. Ying, she's an infectious disease and hematology specialist." Shit. Not good. Now I was really jonesing for a cigarette. "This is Mr. Langly, his wife, and you all are?"

"Byers." John offered his hand.

"Frohike." He nodded. "Friends of the family."

"Dr. Ying would like to talk to you, Mr. Langly. Do you want the others to wait outside?"

"Nah, they can stay."

"Mr. Langly," her voice was high-pitched but soft and soothing. "What I'd like to do is a bone marrow study. The blood results we have are not conclusive, and I'd like to rule out the possibility of any type of leukemia or lymphoma." Shit. If I didn't get a smoke soon, I was going to be in a small puddle on the floor. Fortunately, Frohike and Byers both had me on
each side, and were gently but firmly keeping a hand on me.

Langly looked alarmed; the pale blue eyes opened wide. "Get me out of here."

"Langly, take it easy," Frohike began softly, hypnotically.

"They're just trying to rule out any possibilities," Byers assured him gently. He wasn't having it.

I got up and tried to smooth his hair. He turned his head away from me. "Babe, please..."

"Ally, I wanna go home. Now." He hissed out the last word.

I wanted him home so bad it crunched my heart. I felt the tears start to rush to my eyes again.

"No. Not yet."

"Perhaps you should discuss this alone with your wife." Everybody piled out.

I took his face in my hands and made him look at me. "Look, I don't like this any better than you do." I was not succeeding in keeping the tears back any longer. "If it were me, what would you do?"

"Everything and anything," he croaked promptly.

"Right. I could protest from hell and back, and you wouldn't hear any of it. You'd set your little-okay, big feet-in the ground and make me go through with it. So don't give me this shit, okay?" I was really crying now. I hugged him, and he weakly wrapped his non-IV'd arm around me.

I finally raised my head up and he looked me over with a dazed look in his eyes, then smiled weakly.

"Go wash your face, Ally, your mascara's running."

He actually made me giggle.
 

Dr. Ying described the bone marrow harvesting, and while I am not squeamish, just the description made me feel pale.

Langly flicked his free hand in my direction. "She stay with me?"

Dr. Ying shook her head slowly. "No. It'd be better if she didn't."

He looked a bit terrified now. "This is gonna hurt, right?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It is...uncomfortable."

Translation: it's going to hurt like hell, I thought.

"However, it only takes a few minutes."

He was silent for several moments. Finally he opened his mouth.

"Okay," he said. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

He looked over in my direction. "You gonna be here?"

I forced myself to laugh a bit. "Wouldn't miss it, babe."
 

November 9, 1999

I had brought Aristophanes to translate, but I couldn't do it. I ended up pacing in and out of the waiting area, smoking way too many cigarettes and waiting for the moments to pass by.

Being slightly hung over was not helping. Being somewhat rational individuals, Frohike, Michael, Byers, and I did what anyone in the midst of problems would do-we got drunk. Not blind drunk like I'd gotten with Ellen the previous weekend, but drunk enough to have a slight headache and a bad disposition.

What is it that medical procedures take so long? Most of them are fairly quick; I've never understood what all the lead time is for, but then, I'm not a physician, and I don't know their job.

I finally was told that Langly was back in his room and I could see him.

"Is your name Ally?" the nurse walking out of the room asked me.

"That's what he calls me," I flicked my hand in Langly's general direction.

"Who is Joanie?"

"His sister."

"All right, I was just wondering. He...called for both of you during the procedure. He's fine now. You can see him."

A pale, exhausted, and somewhat frightened looking Langly blinked at me. I leaned over and kissed him on his hot forehead.

"How're you doing?" I whispered to him.

He moaned. "That...was the worst." He closed his eyes. "Should've listened when they said don't look. Not that it would've hurt less."

I noticed a patch of gauze and tape covering a section of his sternum. They had gone for a breastbone puncture. Yuck.

"I can't imagine it was the most fun you've ever had with your clothes on."

"I had 'em mostly off, and it hurt like hell." He turned in my direction. "Ally, you got any lip balm?" He was pretty dried out. I excavated my purse and found a Blistik, and handed it to him. "Size of what they drill you with, unbelievable. Like implements of medieval torture."

"You'd think they'd numb you up a bit."

"They do, on top of your skin. But once they start sucking marrow out of you-Jesus fuck, I thought I was gonna pass out. And they're telling me, don't move! Like I could anyway being drilled right through the heart!"

I silently stroked his hair, and he seemed to relax. I took a glance at the monitor. Temp was 102.8, pulse was 97. Not wonderful. I continued smoothing his hair, and actually got the pulse to drop to 95.

"I wanna go home, Ally. I wanna go back to work. I wanna kick Miranda's ass at Playstation."

"That's a good reason to get well. God forbid she ever beat you in video games."

"If I'm here much longer, she might get good enough." He winced.

"Babe, when they were...torturing you, as you put it, the nurse indicated you had asked for Joanie."

"I did?"

"So she says. Do you want me to try and contact her?"

He shook his head. "No. Don't do it. Don't make trouble with her asshole husband."

I didn't affirm or deny the request. I just held his hand until he fell asleep.

END OF PART 34