Okay, I've repeated the top stuff 62 times, and I think everyone gets the idea. From now on, it's the rating, the summary, and if I threw in any spoilers. Note: any characters that don't belong to 1013 or Fox, you can borrow them you can kill them, you can even mutilate them. (Note to Gizzie: please don't kill Becca yet).

Rating: PG. These guys must be getting really horny-we haven't had any sex for what, three chapters now?

Summary: Family feuds and a small miracle.

Spoilers: Not here.
 

"His son discovered me
exhausted and half dead with cold, and gave me
a hand to bear me up till he reached home..."

Homer, "The Odyssey," Book 14, Lines 368-370, Fitzgerald Translation. Used without permission.
 

Mars Gravior Sub Pace Latet
 

February 5, 2000

"I really don't wanna do this," Langly whined as we approached the intensive care area.

"Well, I don't either, but I can't deal with this anymore. And neither can you."

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"But what?"

"Let's just say that the balance of payments is a bit uneven here. And I think I've got the bigger balance owing."

I stopped in my tracks. "Langly, I like the kid. I honestly do. But we have enough problems already. I think putting Michael up for three months at no charge to anyone but ourselves tips the balance a bit more in your favor."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced, and he clearly looked uncomfortable about the prospect of discussing this with Frohike. "I wanna talk to Frohike first. Alone. You can stay with Michael."

"Thank you, babe, that's so kind of you." I dripped sarcasm.

Now he turned to me, and the expression on his face was harsh. "Look, Ally. Frohike's been really good to me, even when I've been an asshole. And you don't know the half of it, 'cause you weren't there. Now leave me alone about it, okay?"

Michael was sitting in the waiting area, typing away into one of the laptops. He didn't look up when we came in. Langly made the getaway and I sat down by Michael.

"Michael, what're you doing?"

He jumped; I think I startled him. "Huh? Oh. Hi." He returned to typing.

"Michael, I need to talk to you."

"Yeah? So talk." He was still in a foul mood from the earlier argument with Langly and Miranda.

I snapped down the clamshell on the laptop. "Look at me when I'm talking to
you."

"All right, already, I'm looking. Whaddya want?"

"Michael." I was searching for a kind way to phrase what I was going to say. "Michael, you've been at our house for what, three months now?"

"Yeah."

"I think...I think it's time for you to move on, Michael. You're clearly not happy living there, and quite honestly, Miranda's getting pretty stressed out over the situation with the bedrooms and the bathroom passageway being her room."

"Miranda's a spoiled brat."

"Excuse me, Michael, but that happens to be my daughter, and I know damn well she's not perfect, but you're not going to talk about her that way. Is that clear? You can think what you like. Just don't verbalize it around me. Got that?"

"Yeah. Clear as crystal," he muttered angrily.

"We do realize...that you're not in a position to support yourself, and Langly's talking to your dad about the possibility of you moving in with him."

"He's got even less room than you do."

"I suspect he could get a larger place."

Michael looked up at me, wearing a strange expression of anger and grief. "How come he hasn't asked me himself? Huh? Don't you get it, Al'son? I don't think he wants me here."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"No, you don't know it. He's always bitching at me for something. Like this thing with the phone bill-I said I'd work it off and all, but my dad just keeps-"

"Maybe he'd like for you not to keep making the same stupid mistakes over and over again. And let's face it, Michael. You're financially in no position to make the amount of phone calls you do. And neither am I. Langly and I are running on empty here, and it's not just emotion, it's cash. Which we do not have unlimited amounts of, by the way."

"Your mom does."

"And Langly's already tapped her, against my wishes, by the way."

"How come you don't ask your mom for help?"

"How come you don't ask your dad?"

"'Cause he's never been there, and I have no idea how!" Michael exploded. "I'm so sorry I've been such a fucking drain on you guys! I'll get my shit outta there tonight!"

"I didn't say tonight, Michael, I said soon.   And where the hell would you go?"

"I've lived on the streets before. I'll do it again."

"Not a fucking chance, boy." I looked up at Michael, puzzled. "Most of the time, you seem to get along with him all right. Why do you think he doesn't want you?"

"'Cause he let you guys take me in and do all the dirty work, as usual for him."

"Michael, you hadn't seen him in 17 years. He had no idea how you two were going to cultivate any sort of relationship. We felt it would be best if you and he had some...space to do that."

"Bullshit. He doesn't want me around."

"Hey, where's your dad?" Langly had reappeared in the waiting area.

"He's back there," Michael replied sulkily.

"Not."

"Said he was."

"Fine, but he's not there."

"Then I don't know where the fuck he is," Michael snarled. "And right now, I don't really give a damn."

"You guys get into it on the way over?" I asked Michael. He nodded angrily.

"He's making such a big fucking deal about the phone bill, about how I gotta pay it back and how I'm irresponsible and-"

"Well, I'd say racking up charges the way you did was pretty fucking irresponsible," Langly shot at him.

"Y'know, I've really fuckin' had it with you," Michael hissed. "I try being decent to you, and all I get is shit!"

"Oh, yeah, you try being decent, right. You're a mooch and a loser!" Langly's volume and pitch were elevating right up there with Michael's, and I was afraid they'd both start doing things they'd regret, like going to blows. I didn't want to be around for this part.

"Is Kat back there?"

"No, she's not!" Langly didn't calm when addressing me, and I was becoming irritated as hell. And worried that we were about to wear out our welcome.

"Hey, cut the crap!" The authoritative voice of Gizzie streamed over the argument like foam over a fire. She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, glaring sharply at the commotion we were creating. "Now keep it the fuck down, or I'm gonna sit on you and make you feed me chocolate and peeled grapes!" Gizzie was a big woman, and she didn't appear to be the type to threaten idly. I was grateful that her regular job was critical care; she and Martha only got "banished to the suburbs," as she put it, when someone was in quarantine.

"Did you see Frohike?" I asked her.

"The older guy, glasses, bad hat? Not for a while." She left us at that point.

"Wonder where the hell he went," I murmured, only partly to myself. "It's not like him to leave and not tell anyone."

"Oh, like hell it's not!" Michael burst out furiously. "It's just so fucking typical of him to bail out on me!"

"He didn't bail on you," I reproached Michael. At least I hope he hadn't. I took Langly's arm firmly with my hand. "Okay, babe. We're gonna go see Byers. Michael, if you see your dad, let him know we're looking for him, okay? I mean, he could have just gone for coffee." I hoped.
 

It was painfully crowded in Byers's room; we had to compete with all the gear in there. Langly appeared utterly lost and dejected; he leaned his long frame forward in the small chair, resting his arms on the bed and his head on his arms. He looked at me miserably.

"Sorry. The dude just gets to me sometimes."

"He seems to get to you a lot."

"I was hoping I'd get to talk to Frohike. And he's not even here."

"Maybe he and Kat went to get something to eat."

"He'd have said something."

"Maybe he forgot."

Langly looked over at Byers, furrowing a brow. "Think he looks any better?"

"Well, he's getting oxygen, but at least he doesn't have the breathing tube anymore. I consider that an improvement."

"Looks like he's not quite so dead right now."

"He actually seems kind of restless." Which he did. It wasn't a horrible, painful type of thrashing, but a series of low moans that emanated periodically. "He's not quite as feverish, but I wouldn't say 102.8 is fantastic."

"It's better than it was."

"No argument there." Langly stretched one hand out to touch his friend's arm, which was a mass of IV tubes and bruises. "Hang in there, bud," he said in a voice barely audible. "Ally and me are here. We need ya better. I'm not gonna have a best man if you don't get your ass well." I put my hand on Langly's lower back and made small circles as he murmured to Byers,
but kept my eyes on Byers's very closed eyes. I actually thought I saw his eyelids flutter a bit, but as I've said before, I have terrible vision, and adding wishful thinking to the equation was likely to make me delusional.

After several minutes, though, the eyes actually began to blink. "Langly," I whispered, "hit the damn call button. He's waking up."

"What?" He picked his head off the bed and watched as narrow slits of blue became visible. "Holy shit. Maybe he's coming to."

"He's woken up before, but he's always slipped back in. Langly, try talking to him, see if you can get his attention."

"Byers." Softly at first. "Byers. Get your ass up. We're tired of watching you sleep already." The blue eyes opened a bit more, staring blankly, then closed again.

"Byers. Get your sorry white ass up already. You're late." Langly turned to me. "That oughta get his attention. Byers is so fucking compulsive."

"John?" I said tentatively. "John, it's Langly and Ally. And you're late for dinner."

The eyes fluttered open again, wider this time, and stared at us uncomprehendingly.

"Hey, can you hear us?" Langly asked him, a little louder. The eyes still were dazed and clouded. "Byers, if you hear us, you know, nod or something." The eyes stayed open, but no sound or gestures came from the figure in the bed, which, to my Jewish maternal eye, was getting far too thin.

"What's going on?" Gizzie burst in, businesslike and efficient. She examined the monitors, then took his wrist and tried to get a pulse. "Mr. Byers?" The eyes blinked open and shut, but opened up again. "Aw, c'mon, guy, wake up for me already!" She looked at us. "Pulse is slow but steadier than it's been since he's been admitted. Looks like he might be coming around." She looked at him as she took her indicator readings and went about her affairs. "C'mon, guy, stay with me. This is getting so boring."

"Hey, dude, it's us. Remember?"

A slow, tentative nod of the head on the pillow. It looked as though he might be attempting to form words, but no sound came forth.

Kat came in through the door. "I was just getting some dinner, I was-John?" She looked at her brother, unbelieving. "John? Are you awake?" He nodded again.

"EEG patterns indicate he's conscious," Gizzie informed us. "God, this is great."

"Oh, Jesus, John!" Kat leaned over and hugged her big brother. "It's me, your bratty little sister!" Byers couldn't move much, but he did indicate that he at least acknowledged his sister''s closeness; it seemed to have a positive effect on the monitor readings, which were slowly becoming more rhythmic, more evenly paced.

"Keep talking to him, I gotta get hold of Dr. Ying," Gizzie announced as she moved out to the nurses' station. "Back in a moment."

"Hey, dude, how're you doing?" Langly tried to talk to him as his sister, tears streaking her tired face, rose back up, looking at him as though he might vanish before her very eyes. Byers nodded slightly, opened his mouth, and we heard a harsh, whispered word fall out.

"Susanne."

"She's not here, dude." Langly stated to him simply.

"Where's Susanne?" Byers whispered again, still not able to speak well.

"She's not coming, John," Kat said gently to him. "She can't."

"Juliet's here," I reminded him quietly.

"Juliet. Juliet. See her."

"You can't see her right now. She's sick."

"Where?"

"Here. In another room, on another floor. She's getting better, but she can't see you yet."

"Susanne. Where's Susanne? Tell her sorry." He seemed to be in agony.

"Dude, you want some ice?" Langly asked him. "Sounds like you could use it."

"None in here," I informed him. "See if it's okay for him to have it."

Gizzie reappeared. "Dr. Ying's on her way over. Wants to see our boy getting well. How're you doing, guy?" She took one of Byers's hands in hers.

"He seems sorta confused," Langly told her.

"No big surprise there." She eyed her patient. "Mr. Byers. You're at Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. You've been in a coma for nearly a week. You're very ill, but we're doing all we can to get you well. Your sister is here, and so are your friends." Gizzie could sound as reassuring as she could bossy when she felt like it. I decided that if I were ever circling the drain, I wanted Gizzie on my side, especially since I was in a terrible position to peel grapes and feed her chocolate.

"Tell Susanne sorry," Byers mumbled.

"She knows, big brother," Kat said gently, touching his face.

"Can't feel my ring."

"They took it when you were admitted," I let him know. "Frohike has it."

"So sorry. I'm sorry." He was exhausted, and although conscious, he was pretty delirious. "Susanne. Sorry." He closed his eyes again, and we all held our breath.

"Looks like he's going to sleep. He's not unconscious, just exhausted." Gizzie studied all of us. "You, little sister. Are you planning to stay?"

"I was, yes." She looked like she could use a comfortable bed and a stiff drink, but I doubted she'd leave her brother.

"Okay, fine. The rest of you, beat it. Boy needs to sleep." Gizzie jerked her thumb towards the door. Langly stared at her with a confused expression on his face. Gizzie looked at him hard. "Excuse me, which word didn't you understand? I said, anybody who's not Mr. Byers's sister, beat it. I don't think you're his sister."

"He's got better hair, though," Kat joked weakly. I hugged Kat, then leaned over and kissed Byers very softly on the cheek. Langly patted him on the shoulder, and after telling Kat to call us if she needed a break, had any problems, or if there was any change in his condition, we left the room. I had to keep tugging on Langly's sleeve to get him to move.

Michael was still in the waiting room. He'd since bundled up the laptop and was staring aimlessly, not even paying attention to the TV.

"He didn't come back," Michael said dully. "I came here with him."

"C'mon, dude, let's go home," Langly sighed. Michael blinked at him. "Hey, c'mon. Let's move. Some of us gotta get up in the morning." Michael finally eased himself off the sofa, as though his limbs were made of lead.

We were in the parking structure and Langly was opening the locks on the doors. Michael all of a sudden snapped out of his automaton state, and was, of all things, crying.

"Goddamn him. It's just like him to take off when things get ugly! Guy's such a fucking coward!" Michael wasn't just whimpering now; he was sobbing deep, heaving sobs that shook his small body. I put my arm over his shoulder.

"Michael, what did you say to him this afternoon?" I didn't want to make him more upset, but I needed more information than I had. The argument they'd had appeared relatively minor.

"He told me to stop being such a screwup all the time."

"And what did you say to him?"

"I said, well, guess I came by it honestly!" And he collapsed into more sobbing.

I looked helplessly at Langly. He handed me the keys. "Ally. Take him home. I'm gonna go look for Frohike." He said it very softly as not to be well-heard by Michael.

"Langly, it's nearly ten o'clock, and this is DC, not exactly the safest city on the planet. What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna hit the old neighborhood. I think I know where I might find him." He kissed me on the forehead. "Look, I'll catch up to you later, okay?"

"Call me and let me know what's up. I'll worry if you don't."

"Go home, Ally. Take him home. And like it or not-" he slung his backpack over both shoulders-"tomorrow, we talk to Eleanor about some home improvements."

"Fine." I didn't want to argue right now; I was tired, and Joanna, who was watching the girls, was bound to be as well and probably would like to get home, preferably sometime this century. "Call me."

"I will." He vanished into the cold DC night, which, for some reason, unnerved me far more than usual. I knew that he knew his way around the city well; he was paranoid by nature and wasn't going to walk blindly into something stupid.
 

Michael calmed some on the drive home, but he promptly went to the basement, well, at least as soon as he grabbed three beers from the fridge to take with him.

"Sorry we're so late," I apologized to Joanna. "Frohike call?"

"No. I thought he was with you." Joanna had a puzzled expression.

"No, he apparently went there, and took off without telling anyone. God, I hope something didn't happen to him."

"Allison, just keep calm. He's only been gone what, maybe three hours?"

"Around that."

"Okay. Maybe he just needed to get away for a while."

"He always tells us what he's doing. He didn't say a word to anyone."

"Maybe he needed to get away, Allison. And sometimes that means you don't want to tell anyone." She eyed me squarely. "It's late, dear, and you have an 8:30 tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yeah." Although sleep didn't appear to be a likely prospect at this point.

"Allison. He'll be back. He's under a lot of pressure, and sometimes, you just need to blow it all off. I've done it. Now go take a bubble bath and have some Cabernet."

"Don't do wine, Joanna."

"It's Jo, dear, and I forgot. So take a couple Dos Equis in with you." She gave me a sharp, knowing look. "I mean it. He'll be back."

God, if only could be as calm and sure as she was.

END OF PART 63