Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: More Byers torture. Enjoy.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: They're still not ours? The nerve of it all! Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television.
 

"When you pass through fire
You pass through humble
You pass through a maze of self-doubt
When you pass through humble
The lights can blind you
Some people never figure that out
You pass through arrogance you pass through hurt
You pass through an ever present past
And it's best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light."

"Magic and Loss: the Summation" by Lou Reed. Copyright 1992 Metal Machine Music. Used without permission.
 

Apodemos
 

January 31, 2000

"Hey. Bedtime." I felt a strong hand on my shoulder.

"Mmm." I didn't open my eyes. "Carry me."

"Not tonight, little redhead." The nickname he reserved for me when I was sleeping. "C'mon, it's late." He slipped his arm over my shoulders.

"Where're we gonna sleep?" I muttered. "We've got a full house."

"Michael went in to clean up his room so Scully could sleep there." Langly laughed and shook his head. "I wish we'd known his motivation sooner."

"Hope he changed the sheets. I don't think he's done that since he got here."

"If he's Frohike's son, and I think he is, he'll have that place sparkling. Anything to impress a lady."

"What do you do to impress a lady?" I yawned.

"Tonight, nothing. Let's get to sleep, girl. We've got a long day ahead of us."
 

I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window, the hard, brilliant sun of winter. It was blinding. I noticed there was an empty space in the bed next to me. Weird. I almost always woke up before Langly. I put my glasses on and padded to the kitchen, where I could hear the coffeemaker in its final throes of preparation.

Langly was at the counter, waiting for the brew to be complete. His hair was damp, and he'd gotten dressed. I'd never heard him get in the shower; I must have slept like the dead. I was still feeling thick-headed and groggy as I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his back.

"It's...alive." He imitated an old horror movie, and I giggled just a little.

"You okay?" I murmured, planting kisses on his back. He was still knotted hard.

"Couldn't sleep. We should get outta here soon."

"Just let me take a shower and wash my hair. God, Langly, do you realize it's been over a month since I washed my own hair?"

"Or took a shower without my help? I might miss that." He turned around and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Good morning." The short figure of Mrs. Scully, clad in a thick green terry bathrobe, appeared in the kitchen door. "I smelled coffee. Any news?"

"Nope. I called Mulder a little while ago. No change. He says to tell Scully he's heading back home for a while, and to drop off the baby so she can go to work. Actually, I think he needs his kid fix." We all laughed.

"Well, he may be in for a long one today. Dana's got a lot to do." She poured herself a cup. "Oh, my. This is a bit...strong." She was trying to be tactful.

"Maggie, you don't drink Langly's coffee. Not unless you have a death wish."

"It's all right. Remember, I was married to a sailor, and you haven't had strong coffee until you've had Navy coffee." She took another sip, and winced. "Still, this is powerful stuff." But she gamely drank up after dousing it with a liberal quantity of milk. "Now, the girls and I have plans today, so I don't want you worrying about them. We're going ice skating, and having lunch together, and then I thought we'd catch a movie."

"You're spoiling them," I laughed.

"It's my pleasure. It makes me feel young again," Mrs. Scully insisted. "I haven't skated in years. I used to love it as a girl in Maine. Did you ever ice skate?"

"Quite a lot, actually. You wouldn't think in California it'd be popular, but we've got tons of rinks."

"I nearly killed myself the last time I got on skates. I think I'll go for something more civilized when my time comes, like getting knocked off Mount Everest," Langly decided.

"Well, right now, let's try to keep as many people intact as possible," Mrs. Scully admonished, and we sobered immediately.
 

When we arrived and passed through security to get to the biohazard waiting area, we noticed that the lights in the room had been dimmed and there was a lightly snoring figure tucked under a blanket. Frohike. He looked twenty years younger, peacefully slumbering there. We tiptoed in as not to wake him, but he wasn't apparently sleeping as soundly as we believed; he woke upon our entry.

"No change?" Langly asked.

"Not in the last-what time is it?" He checked his watch. "I talked to the young ladies at shift change about an hour and a half ago. He was still unconscious. They've been able to bring the fever down about a degree, but there's some swelling of the brain and spinal cord, and they're fighting that." My heart sank into my stomach. "The young lady who goes by the name
of Gizzie, she really had her work cut out for her last night."

"Dr. Ying been here?" Langly inquired of him.

"Not yet. She'll be here soon. She had two of her residents down here overnight. I think the lovely Miss Gizzie worked their tails off."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Double macchiato." I handed Frohike a Starbucks container. I'd forced Langly to stop on the way; unlike Mrs. Scully, I don't really care to start destroying my stomach lining so early in the day. "And some biscotti."

"Thank you, my dear. After the vending machine variety, this is fruit from the gods." He sipped appreciatively.

"I thought the stuff here tasted better than at GWU," Langly observed.

"Langly, you wouldn't know good coffee if it came up and bit you on the ass," Frohike chided. "Fortunately, I can count on your young lady not to poison me."

"Why don't you go home for a while, Frohike?" I advised him. And I meant it. He looked destroyed. Not to mention that he needed a shave in the worst possible way. Some men can carry off the Miami Vice look. Frohike's not one of them.

"Let's see if Martha comes out shortly, I'd like to talk with her before I go. But I am going home to take a shower, if nothing else."

"Get some sleep, Frohike." Langly spoke at him. "We don't wanna visit you in the hospital again."

"Believe me, Blonde Boy, I don't want you visiting me in the hospital, either," Frohike reminded him severely. "Did Michael get home at anything resembling a respectable hour?"

"Michael never went," I informed him.

"Good," Frohike said gruffly. "He needed to be there last night."

"Hey, he even cleaned his room," Langly told him. "Well, Scully needed a place to sleep-"

"Ah, the lovely Dana Scully. Sleeping in my boy's room. Some guys have all the luck," Frohike mused, smiling enigmatically.

"Where did he end up?" I asked Langly.

"Why do you think I couldn't sleep? Little fucker pulled up a sleeping bag on our floor. His snoring kept me awake!" I had to giggle. "You mean you didn't notice him?"

"Must've been on your side of the bed," I chuckled.

"He was, and I damn near killed myself with him there!" Frohike couldn't help it; he was smiling slightly. I was actually giggling.

"Good morning." Female voice, gentle, with a soft Carolina drawl to it.

"Good morning, Martha. How's our boy?" Frohike asked her. "By the way, this is Allison, and her fiance-you'll have to forgive her lapse of sanity there-and his name is Langly. She, however, is a very nice woman."

"He's still not better, but he's not worse. I'd say that's a positive," she assessed. "Dr. Ying is probably, I would guess, going to start him on a course of heavy steroids to get the brain and spinal swelling down. It doesn't say in his chart that he has an allergies to steroids."

"I don't believe he does," Frohike contemplated.

"He's still out of it, though." Langly was hoping for a negative answer, as we all were.

"You know, I'm not sure, but I think he may have woken for a moment or two. I saw some activity shift slightly, but then he lapsed back. I'm keeping an eye out for these sorts of indicators."

I studied Martha. She was somewhat short and slightly plump, with a rather plain face-but all she had to do was flash that brilliant smile of hers, and the world was a warmer place. She didn't have the crackling fire of her partner, but she exuded calmness and light and warmth, like sunlight on a spring day. And both women obviously possessed a high degree of
professional skill and intelligence. I felt comforted knowing they were responsible for the moment-to-moment care of Byers.

"Do you have any questions for me? I do need to get back and climb into my astronaut costume," she said softly.

"Not right now. Just take good care of him," Frohike was nearly pleading.

"We'll do that," she reassured us. "And so seldom do we get ones that look like him. He is majorly fine." She smiled that killer smile and vanished into the portal that transported her into the world of the quarantined. It was hard to believe that Byers was only a short distance away. It seemed more as though he was in another galaxy.
 

Dr. Ying showed up after a couple hours, which seemed more like a couple of years. Fortunately, there was a TV, and we were able to get Kids WB and watch Animaniacs, Pinky and the Brain, Freakazoid, and Earthworm Jim, which killed most of the two hours.

"Why'd they cancel "Biker Mice from Mars"?" Langly whined. "I loved that show."

"Because it sucked?" I challenged.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"You have no taste, woman."

"Chose you, didn't I?"

"Touche." He grinned. It felt good to be bantering with him again.

Dr. Ying bustled in, interrupting our little exchange. "Good morning. And how's my favorite couple?"

"You say that to all your patients, I bet," I smiled at her.

"Not really. At least you two are amusing at times."

"Nice to know we can be of service. What's up with Byers?" Langly turned to her, anxiety beginning to color his features again.

"I'm going in to see him right now. I'll be out to talk to you when I'm done. Have you met Gizzie and Martha?"

"Oh, yeah," Langly nodded. "Is Gizzie always that bossy?"

"No, no. She's usually much worse." Dr. Ying gave a hint of an evil smile. "And she and Martha are both terrific. You can't do better. If you're circling the drain, you want them on your side."

"So would you say Byers is circling the drain, as you put it?" asked Langly.

She turned serious. "It's too soon to say, Mr. Langly. All I know is that his condition is very critical right now. And I still don't know why, and it's frustrating me half to death." She caught herself. "Poor choice of words. Please excuse me. Dr. Scully is working very hard on the research end of this. We're doing everything we can to make him well on the clinical
side."

"Martha said something about swelling in the brain and spinal cord. That's dangerous, isn't it?" I beseeched her, hoping against hope she'd say no. Not a chance.

"I'm extremely concerned about that, and yes, it can be. We have ruled out meningitis and encephalitis, the bacterial versions, at any rate. That's the good news. The bad news is, that's the only good news we have. Now I need to see my patient. I believe the gentleman who was here before said he has family arriving."

"Oh, shit!" I jumped up frantically. "I've gotta get Kat!"
 
 

The end of January is not tourist season in DC, and the climate at National was somewhat civilized. Kat was flying in on United, and I was actually able to snag a parking space on the first pass. I hoped that was a good omen for how events would proceed.

I was nervous I would miss her; I'd spent way too much time watching cartoons with Langly and not enough concentrating on what had to be done. It was as if my brain had gone into shutdown mode as a way of protecting itself. I was probably on overload.

Fortunately for me, her flight was delayed 25 minutes, and I was waiting at the gate when the plane pulled up and the passengers began to pour out. It wasn't a large flight-NYC to DC is basically a commuter flight, and this being a Saturday, it was likely to be easy (I hoped) to spot her.

It turned out she spotted me first. She'd been told to keep an eye out for a short redhead with glasses (I was going to have to start putting in my contacts again if I was ever going to get accustomed to them). She apparently could follow directions.

She was about average height and weight. She didn't have her brother's red hair-hers was more of an ash blonde color-but she had the same bright blue intelligent eyes. And a smile to die for. Like Martha at the hospital, this was a woman who just exuded warmth and care.

"Allison Gerstein?" A sweet, well-modulated voice that I recognized from over the phone.

"You must be Kat," I said, and she did something totally unlike her brother-she embraced me fully. "I'm glad to meet you. I just wish the circumstances were different."

"How's he doing?" She was a calm woman, but clearly worried.

No use snowing her; she'd see it from a mile off. "Not good, Kat. He's in bad shape."

"Thank you for calling me as soon as you did. I would have come last night, but I needed to get Craig's mother to come and stay with the kids. Craig doesn't work weekends, but if what you told me is happening, I don't think I'll be going home on Sunday night." I found it ironic that this pleasant, charming woman was thanking ME for passing her bad news.

We picked her baggage up from the claim area-she apparently felt she would be staying for some time, or she changed clothes 5 times a day-and somehow I doubted it was the latter. Unlike her brother, who seldom went casual, she was clad in jeans and a sweater and boots, and looked totally at ease in her attire.

On the way to the car, I pulled a Marlboro Light from purse. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm jonesing for one in the worst way."

"Me too." She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack. "I gave it up in college, but when I got the news about John...I needed something. Craig would kill me if he knew." For some reason, she found that funny. "I won't smoke in your car if you don't permit it, of course."

"I don't permit smoking in my car. I brutally enforce it." She laughed. Must be in the Byers genes, keeping your head.

We tossed her myriad bags into the trunk of the Neon, which made me a bit wistful for the Sentra-the Neon was cute, but the Sentra had had a trunk that if you were ever going to take up killing people, you had a place to hide the bodies.

"Not exactly a Lexus," the kids had told me what she drove. "But at least nobody's barfed in it. At least not yet." This she found amusing. Or she was just nervous. Maybe both.

I know I was nervous.
 

Frohike had come back when Kat and I arrived. I could see the anxiety mounting in her pretty blue eyes; we'd kept the conversation light on the drive, talking mostly about our kids, but when she saw where her brother was being kept, she lost some of her easygoing demeanor.

"Katherine. It's been a long time." Frohike stood up and embraced the younger woman. "I'm so sorry, dear."

"How are you, Frohike?" She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Langly, come over here." She reached over and hugged my fiance, and he gave her a small hug in response. "Congratulations, by the way."

"I see you met my Ally," he smiled.

"It was hard not to, since she brought me here." Kat flashed her winning smile again. Then her expression sobered, and she glanced around the room. "Is there anyone I could talk to about my brother?"

"Dr. Ying's the infectious disease specialist who's in charge. She's here. Also, there are two nurses, Martha and Gizzie, who seem to be very on top of things. Martha's on shift right now," Frohike verified. "They come out every so often and let us know what's going on."

"Could I see them?" Kat inquired beseechingly.

"Well, they have to get suited up and all before they go in there, so they more or less come out to take breaks and talk to us-" Frohike started, but he saw Kat's look of terror. "They'll be here soon, dear. Now come and sit down. Can we get you something?"

"Lunch would be good," Langly chimed out.

"I didn't ask you, Blonde Boy. I asked the lady here."

"But I'm starving!"

"You're always starving. You should weigh 500 pounds," Frohike chided severely.

"I don't need anything, thank you," Kat said graciously. "I'm not very hungry."

"Well, I am," Langly asserted again. "Ally? Get me some lunch? Please?" He had the expression of a whining four-year-old.

"What's your problem? Your legs don't work?" Frohike was not in the mood for the childish antics Langly was extremely capable of.

"Please, Ally? I don't wanna leave." He was positively wheedling now. The infantile behavior was a bad sign; he was intensely stressed. I decided that a little lunch might soothe the savage beast.
 

It was a relief to get out, truth be told. I'm somewhat claustrophobic, and being three stories underground was doing nothing for my sanity, or what little there was left of it.

Georgetown is full of restaurants and cafes and bars and coffeehouses, making it difficult to choose. It was a cold day, but the sun was beautiful-I never thought I'd say that about a day that registered 27 degrees. I took advantage of the time by treating myself to a long walk.

On the way back, I settled on a place that announced it served Philadelphia-style cheesesteaks. Probably wouldn't be as good as the ones from the old neighborhood, but the smell was wonderful. Grilled meat and onions and melting cheese mingled together to form a warm, heady scent in the crisp air. And they had the most fabulous fresh-brewed iced tea, a beverage I can appreciate even on a cold day. I bought one for everyone, including Kat-she'd get hungry eventually. I hoped.

After buying lunch for four people, I had less than three dollars left in my purse. I had no idea if Langly had cash; knowing him, not likely, since his usual tactic for grabbing cash was to raid my wallet, often without giving me advance notice. It was not an endearing habit of his.

There was a line at the ATM-I could see how this section of town could clean you out of cash in a hurry-and I pulled out my card and wrote down the withdrawal while I waited. I'd take a couple hundred. It might be a while before I could get to the bank again. I wrapped my hands around the bag of goodies; it was warm and enticing. I'd probably get no complaints about
them; basically, it was Langly's philosophy that if he didn't cook it, he probably wouldn't die from eating it.

I got lucky. Just as I finished withdrawing my cash, the ATM closed down, indicating that it was temporarily out of service. Please, I thought, let this be a good omen. I walked away from the line of people behind me, some of whom hissed at me as I left. Fuck 'em, I thought.

I opened my wallet and stuffed the bills into the slot, and put the receipt into the pocket where I had about a thousand of them already stuck in. I always thought about reconciling them to my statement; I never did. No wonder my purse weighed a ton.

I glanced up as I slung my bag back over my shoulder, and by accident, noticed a figure across the street. Expensively dressed figure. Smoking a cigarette.

Staring at me.

I ran.

END OF PART 56