Classification: TRHA

Rating:

Summary:

Spoilers:

Disclaimer: Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television. For now.
 

February 1, 2000
 

Frohike nodded at her. The rest of us were silent.

Martha slipped into the room and softly asked Juliet to roll up her sleeve. The girl was shivering visibly now. Fortunately, Martha knew how to locate a vein on the first try, and she spoke soothingly to Juliet as she worked.

"I think we're gonna go at shift change, if you don't mind," Langly informed Frohike. "Ally's gotta go back to work tomorrow, and we got a bunch of shit to get done. Plus at some point, we gotta work on getting February out. Our readers are not gonna be happy campers, and they're not quiet about it, either."

"I've got some stuff on the system back in the office," Michael volunteered. "You can read it over."

"Kat? Your plans?" Frohike inquired of her.

Kat leaned back, snuggling Juliet. "I'll be here. I think you should get some sleep, Frohike."

"I need some. And I need to call Jo. She needs to know."

"I'll be here. I'm working on something," Michael announced to no one in particular.

"Michael, you don't need to stay," Kat told him.

"I'm staying. My dad should go. You oughtn't to be here alone, you know." There was hope, after all. Michael had inherited some of his father's courtliness, after all.

"She's right," Frohike concurred.

"My father is coming," Kat reminded everyone.

Frohike passed a look to his son. Michael apparently understood.

"I'm staying." Michael was resolute. Frohike was satisfied.
 

Gizzie came on. Nothing subtle about that woman's movements; she burst into the room with her usual exuberance.

"Hello, people, I hope you're not all planning to spend the night, because the accommodations suck."

"Some of us are leaving soon as we hearabout Byers," Langly told her.

"All right, all right, don't get your shorts in a knot. Least let me go assess him and talk to Martha, for Christ's sake." She rolled her pretty dark eyes. "God, I hope they send me some residents who their asshole from a syringe!" She swore under her breath as she went into the tube.

"That woman's got a serious 'tude," Langly commented. But there was also admiration in his voice.

"I suspect if you do this kind of work, attitude helps you get by," I mused out loud.

"What's the score?" Frohike asked Michael, referring to the perpetual basketball game on TV.

"Crimson Tide's carrying. 87-76."

"I think NC State is the team to beat. They're going all the way," Langly opined.

"They got game, definitely," Michael agreed. A rare moment when they concurred.

"Katherine?" Male voice, soft, modulated, cool. We all hushed and looked up. It was an older, male version of Kat.

"Dad. You're here." Kat got up from Juliet for a moment, and walked over to her father, embracing him awkwardly. "Dad, I'd like you to meet Frohike. This is his son Michael. This is Juliet, John's girlfriend. This is Ally, and this is her fiance Langly. Frohike and Langly are John's...business associates." I thought Langly was going to crack up. I elbowed him gently to make sure he didn't. "This is my father, James Byers."

"I'm sorry about your son, sir," Frohike said gently.

"Thank you." Mr. Byers's manner was stiff, ill at ease. He appeared to be the sort of man who was in control of situations. This was not one of those situations.

"We're all pulling here for him," Langly added.

Mr. Byers was expensively dressed, the upscale version of his son's customary suits. His had obviously been tailored to fit him precisely. The coat he wore probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, including the Doc Martens. He looked around us as though we were a totally motley band. Which we were. Frohike was clad in his sheepskin vest, a 70s throwback that
we all wished he'd lose, but never would. Michael's hair was now maroon, he had acquired several cartilage pierces since arriving, including in his chin, and his clothes looked more suited to a rave club than a hospital quarantine waiting area. Langly was clad in jeans that had seen better days (way better days, but when I mentioned this to him, he'd complain, "They're just getting comfy now!"), a Jacked-Off Skunk T-shirt, and a grey thermal shirt under the T-shirt. He hadn't been able to blow dry his hair, and it went in all directions. Kat and I, in jeans, henleys, and heavy sweaters, were easily the most conventional looking in the group.

I detected a look of faint distaste crossing his features, but soon, he recovered an expressionless mask. I was not getting pleasant vibes from this guy. I mean, there was just enough resemblance that I could tell that they were related-but whereas Byers was reserved, well-mannered and calm, this man was simply an iceberg.

I thought back and fixed on an image of my daddy. Morris had been moody, difficult, mercurial, inclined to drink to excess and become obsessive about work. But Morris also had a warm, friendly, engaging manner when he chose to, and you would never have said he was cold.

This dude was COLD. My sympathy stretched out even further to Byers.

"I'd like a report on my son. Who do I need to speak to?" No warmth, no caring, not even morbid curiosity. His voice was...empty.

"You gotta wait for the nurses to come out. And Dr. Ying. They come out every so often and make sure we haven't trashed the place." Langly's feeble attempt at humor was utterly lost on this man.

"I'd like to speak to them now."

"They were just here. They generally come at least every two hours, frequently more," Frohike attempted to reassure him.

"I don't wish to wait two hours. I'd like to speak with someone NOW."

"You can try the nurses' station from that phone over there," Frohike pointed to the wall phone. "But if they're taking care of him, they're not going to answer."

"Someone has to answer it."

"One of the NA's probably would if the nursing staff and Dr. Ying were otherwise occupied." I could see that Frohike's patience with Mr. Byers would not hold out indefinitely. I know mine wouldn't. And I hadn't even conversed with the man.
"And they won't be able to give you information; they're not authorized to do that."

"So we wait." He did not look pleased.
 

It was, to say the least, awkward to have the senior Mr. Byers there. Kat attempted to converse with him, but he apparently had little use for small talk, and her tries were thwarted. Finally, we gave up and tried focusing on the basketball game. I was wishing to God these guys preferred hockey; I can deal with bloodsport. Basketball to me is a total waste of time.

Frohike finally turned back to the laptop he had and began typing away again. I had no idea what it was he was working on; I suspected just anything would work for him right now. I could see that Langly had wished that he had one; we could at least engage in a semi-spirited contest of You Don't Know Jack. And semi-spirited was the best we could hope for right now.

We were interrupted by a tall, dark figure carrying a bundle in a Snugli pack on his chest. "Is there room at this party?" It was the voice of one Fox Mulder, daughter in tow as always. "Scully's here to check some bloodwork."

"Thought she told you not to bring the baby," Frohike eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, I wanted to stop by and see how Byers was maintaining." His normally smart-ass expression went serious. "What's the word?"

"As of last hour, he was doing okay, all things considered," Langly passed along the information. "We should be getting an update from our field reporters any minute now."

"Will there be film at 11?" At least Mulder could crack a joke. Say what you would about him, the man never seemed to lose his sense of humor, so long as Dana and Rebecca were not involved.

"And who would this be?" Mr. Byers looked around, irritated. Mulder, a gregarious sort by nature, went over and attempted to shake hands with him; he was rebuffed.

"Fox Mulder. Call me Mulder."

"And what is your relationship to my son?"

Mulder was taken a bit aback; he was used to asking the questions. "Excuse me?"

"I asked you, what is your relationship to my son and what are you doing here?"

"He's our friend," I piped up.

"But only because he pays us," Langly threw in. I elbowed him. I suspected that Mr. Byers would not appreciate Langly's sense of humor, and I suspected correctly, judging by the expression on the older man's face. God, I needed to get home, and not just because I had things that needed getting done.

We were saved by the appearance of Gizzie, Goddess of the Quarantine Area.

"Okay, here's what's happening-"

"Are you the physician overseeing my son's case?" Mr. Byers interrupted her.

Gizzie did not appreciate this lack of manners. "No, I'm one of the nurses in charge of managing this case. If you'd let me finish-"

"I'd like to speak to the physician in charge."

"Listen, pal, you wanna speak to the physician in charge or the nurse that knows what the hell is going on?" She looked righteously indignant.

"I happen to be the patient's father-"

"That's nice. Now, where were we? As of five minutes ago, temp was-"

"Young lady, did you hear me?"

"I did, and now you're gonna hear me. As I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted, temp is 103.6, which is good-not a big drop, but we take whatever we can get, right folks? BP is-"

"Young lady, I believe I asked to speak to the physician in charge."

"I do happen to be the patient's father. I have a right-"

"Listen, I don't care if you're Christ incarnate, okay? Now do you wanna know how your kid's doing or not?"

"What is the name of the physician in charge?" Power play time. I hate
this.

"Dr. Ying is her name."

"I'd like to speak to her, please."

"She'll be out when she's ready. She's in the middle of performing a procedure-"

"What kind of procedure?"

"She's doing a lumbar puncture, if you must know. With the other Dr. Ying, who happens to be her husband. Now, I think it would be really ugly all around if we stopped her right in the middle of her work, don't you?" She added a viciously saccharine note to her voice.

"When may I see him?"

"Beats the hell out of me. When he gets moved out of quarantine, like everyone else."

"Young lady, has anyone ever told you that you are extremely disrespectful?"

"All the time, and I'm damn proud of it." Her eyes lit a challenge to him. I almost wanted to stick around and see what would happen.

"I happen to know a lot of people in Washington, and I could make your life-"

"Oh, cut the crap already! Look, you got a really sick boy, and he's doing a little better, but it's still pretty touch and go for him. He hasn't stopped circling the drain yet, in spite of our best efforts, and we're really struggling here. So do me a favor and SHUT UP!" She looked much less aggravated, having let him have it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I actually have to work for a living. I won't be in tomorrow. I do have a life on occasion."

"Who's gonna cover for you?" Langly asked.

"Her name is Erilynn Crosby, and she's excellent. As if I'd settle for less on my team," Gizzie sniffed. "Okay people. Don't wear out your welcome any more than you already have." She vanished into the portal.

"I don't believe that woman's attitude," Mr. Byers proclaimed. His voice was neutral, but Byers had apparently inherited the ready blush from him every time emotion crept in. "And I intend to speak to her superiors abo."

"About what? Hello, everyone," the soft, girlish voice of Dr. Ying entered the room. "Is there a problem here?"

"Yes, there is, and I'd like to see the physician in charge of my son's case."

"Yes. What can I do for you?" She was speaking very softly, gently.

"You are the physician in charge?" He looked astonished.

"I was when I left him a moment ago," she answered in an uncharacteristically brittle tone. I think the hours and the struggle were getting to her. "I'm Dr. Lu Ying, infectious diseases. And you are?"

"James Arthur Byers the Fourth, father of the patient."

"Hello." She regarded him in such a way that I had no idea what she was thinking.

"God, you gotta hate a guy that announces himself with his name like that," Langly whispered to me. I confess I giggled.

"Are you two finding something terribly amusing in all this? Because if you do, then you have a very sick sense of humor indeed." He eyed the two of us harshly, making us laugh harder.

"Forgive them. They're not well." Frohike passed us a warning look. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggles, and Langly got the hint immediately-he'd been treated to Frohike's "don't push it" look many, many times. And no doubt he'd managed to push too far on at least one occasion.

"I don't believe I'm seeing this. You all claim to be my son's friends. I find this hard to believe."

"Why, because we actually have some fashion sense?" I couldn't contain myself this time; I just lost it and began giggling in earnest when this popped out of Langly's mouth. We were treated to another look from Frohike, this one harsher than the last.

"Mr. Byers," Dr. Ying's voice cut in again, "if you'd like, we can certainly sit and talk."

"I would appreciate that." He seemed placated enough.

"On one condition." She held up one of those child-sized hands-hands we prayed to God or whoever was on duty would make our friend whole again. Before he could speak up, she continued.

"You will treat my staff with respect at all times. You will treat the guests with respect at all times. These people have been here round the clock, they care deeply for your son, it's obvious, and I will not have any sorts of manipulations by anyone, even someone in your position."

"And how would you know my position, ma'am?"

"The name, Mr. Byers. You own a railroad line, do you not?"

"I've long since sold the concern."

"Well, that will be good news for some people, although for a lot of them, it's far too late."

"Meaning?"

"Mr. Byers, my grandfather was one of the Chinese immigrants who died working in your business. Now, if you'd like to come with me, we can talk privately." There was no rancor in her voice. But she was definitely digging in the knife. I wanted to cheer her.

He eyed her carefully. "If you could just give me some information, I'd be grateful."

"Fine." She read him-and all of us-her current findings. He acknowledged her with a barely perceptible nod. "I'll be leaving soon-I desperately need some sleep. I have two residents on duty, and my husband is here, and he'll stay tonight. If you have any questions, address them to any one of them or to Gizzie."

"May I ask, ma'am, what sort of name is Gizzie?"

Dr. Ying smiled shyly. "The one you'll use if wish to live a long and healthy life."
 

Juliet continued to shiver inside her blanket, and Kat didn't leave her. Byers's father never said a word to her; of course, her relationship to Byers had not been explained.

The next face that appeared was not Dr. Ying or Gizzie, but that of Dana Scully-Mulder, Dr. Scully in her professional life. She walked over to Juliet and knelt down next to her, which really wasn't necessary-Dana's only a bit taller than I am.

"Ms. Parker," she said, very gently in her smoky contralto. "Ms. Parker, I'm sorry. You're going to have to be quarantined with Byers as well. I need to take care of your admissions paperwork.

Juliet looked up, terror widening her reddened eyes. "What?!"

"Ms. Parker, you have some of the same virus markers as we found present in Byers's bloodwork. Please, come with me."

"Oh my God what is going on?" Juliet's words slurred together in a raspy string. Dana turned to me, puzzled.

"Allison. Please. What did she say?" she signed to me.

"She's scared out of her mind," I paraphrased.

"As we all are," Dana signed back to me.
 

"Jesus fuck. Can you believe what an asshole that guy was?" Langly shook his vanilla-colored hair in disbelief. "I mean, can you believe that this stiffassed fuck is Byers's biological progenitor? I hesitate to use the word father in this case."

"There is a bit of a visible difference," I concurred. We were headed for the bridge into Virginia.

"I'm sorry, what does this asshole think he is, that he can walk into a place, be rude to everyone who's there, and threaten the staff with all kinds of shit?"

"He thinks he's rich. In fact, he knows it."

"Does your mom pull this shit?"

"All the time. You haven't seen Eleanor in full asshole mode."

"No, but I have talked to her when she's been. Least with Eleanor, you hang up on her and next time, she makes nice. Can't imagine this fuckrag doing that!"

"That's 'cause my mother knows you won't put up with it."

"See, Ally, it's simple. Just tell her to fuck off and she'll leave you alone."

"Langly, it's not the same. She's my mother."

"So? She's somewhat trainable."

"Langly babe, I believe that's the first time I've ever heard that word used in reference to my mother." I giggled. Then I sighed. "Langly, it makes me wonder what Miranda says about us when we're not listening."

"I know what she says to me about you."

"Okay, give."

"She thinks you're pretty cool. For a mom, that is."

"I guess that's what passes for a compliment from a 14-year-old."

Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, friends, lovers, sons and daughters. It was so complicated. No emotion existed that wasn't colored with shades of a contrasting one. It was like drowning perpetually in a soup of conflicting feelings, trying to get along with everyone, trying not to hit their hot buttons. And sometimes you hit them anyway, when you
weren't even trying. Usually especially when you weren't trying.

END OF PART 61