Rating: PG

Summary: Kids. They'll make you insane.

Spoilers: None here.
 

October 29, 2000

"My car's in Anniston," Kelly sounds utterly panicked as we pass the exit for the college.

"Sweetie, putting gas in my car is as much as I ever do for it. If you want it fixed, we need to find you some people who know how to do it."

"Do you know a mechanic that would do it cheap? I'm so broke."

"Well, not a mechanic, exactly. But he can probably help you."

"Who is it?"

"My husband."

"Where is he?"

"Working. Let's go see him."

I've truly lost my mind.
 

"This is really a nice place," Kelly's looking around at our property, utterly amazed.

And it's a nice middle-class piece of property, and we love it, but it's hardly palatial. And the motion-sensor fence around the parameters...well, I never thought of it as a castle moat...

To this child, the place probably looks like a mansion. If she lives where I think she does, and if these have been her lifelong circumstances, then we're pretty damn rich in her book.

I invite her inside the house first. Shelby's eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes and drinking coffee in the kitchen. I introduce her to Kelly.

"Is that your daughter?" she asks me as we head back outside.

"After a fashion. We have legal custody of her. My actual daughter is probably still asleep."

"How old's your daughter?"

"They're both 15." I slip my keys into the office door and punch in the security code. I know that the guys don't like visitors, but I doubt Kelly is going to present much of a problem.

"Hey," I sidle up to Langly and kiss the top of that lovely vanilla-colored hair. He's typing away, and he doesn't look up, but he does slip one arm around my waist.

The hair's grown out since the wedding. It was cropped up to his shoulders for the occasion, but now it's about four inches longer, and waving at the bottom. The bangs have grown out as well, and he's got it parted down the center.

Disguises the receding hairline better.

"Hey, I've got company," I tell Langly as I rub his shoulders.

"Keep doing that," he admonishes, not looking up.

"Uh, babe? Earth to Langly! Hello!"

He glances up. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Langly, this is Kelly Martin, a classmate of mine. Kelly, this is Langly, my husband."

He eyes her skeptically, nods, and says hi.

"And this is John Byers." I point to the redhead at one of the other workstations. He's typing furiously, and he barely acknowledges us.

Uh-oh. Somebody's not happy.

"Langly," I'm trying to get his attention again, he's returned to the screen. "Langly." He mumbles something like "Mmm-hmm" and keeps typing.

"LANGLY!"

He's lost in space, but he does look up.

"Langly, Kelly's car died near school the other night. Michael was going to fix it for her today, but he's more or less out of commission. Any possibility of giving her a hand?"

Langly mulls this over, shrugs his shoulders, and says, sure, why not.

"You know what's wrong?" he asks her.

"Michael says it's the starter."

"Well...as much as it pains me to admit it, Michael's car kung fu is pretty fucking good. Byers!" He shouts over to the thin, redheaded man with the pissed-off expression on his face.

"What?!" Jesus. I've never heard Byers snap like that.

"Byers. Road trip. Let's go."

"Where're you going?"

"WE'RE going to check out Kelly's car here."

"I don't work on cars, Langly. Frohike works on cars."

"Fro's home playing daddy. Today you work on cars." Byers mumbles something, and it might even be an obscenity, the way he's feeling today, but he stands up, shoves in his chair-harder than usual, I may add, and gives Langly a look that suggests homicide as a possibility.

"Do you have the part with you?" Byers addresses Kelly, and he's a little more civil this time.

"Well-uh, no. Michael and me, we were going to go hit the junkyards and see-"

"Maybe we should check out the database of local shops," Byers suggests.

"Fuck that. We'll just call Jaleel." Langly heads for the phone.

"Jaleel doesn't carry parts," Byers protests.

"Jaleel has at least 5000 relatives, and at least one of 'em's got a shop, guaranteed," Langly reminds him.

This is probably true.

"Jaleel, my man," I hear Langly call into the phone. "It's Langly. Yeah, how's the family and all that? Listen, that's why I'm calling you, man. We need a starter for a-" he covers the receiver-"what kind of car you got, Kelly?"

"'86 Mazda 323."

"4 or 6 cylinder?"

"4, I think."

Langly spits this information back to Jaleel, who is apparently rattling off names and addresses faster than even he can write-"Jesus, Jaleel, slow the fuck down!"

He hangs up finally, after about ten minutes of conversation about I have no idea what, and promises him something in exchange-with Jaleel, there's always a quid pro quo.

"I thought you were going to be on all day," Byers snaps at him.

"Hey, you talk to Jaleel, you know, you gotta ask about the family and get the scoop and yada yada yada."

"Jaleel is Ethiopian," I explain to Kelly.

She looks at me like, so what?

"I'm just telling you to be aware of your cultural context, that's all."

Oh God. I've been in academia WAY too long.
 

Jaleel, friend of the family that he is, is willing to have the part delivered to him in Silver Springs, and this will take about an hour or so, so Kelly and I wander back into the house.

Langly follows us in, in search of decent coffee, apparently. They have a coffeemaker in the office, but they still seem to hit the kitchen an awful lot.

"What's with Byers?" I ask him. "Little tetchy this morning, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, uh, let's just say, I think the fair Juliet has cut off the supply lines to the front."

Ah-ha. I think the weekend fuckfest was cancelled last night.

I hope her plan doesn't backfire, if this is what it is.

Or even worse, that she doesn't back down. I know how much she craves him. He's like her cocaine, her heroin, her Godiva liqueur and Pepsi...how anyone can drink that, I have no idea, but she likes it.

She's probably feeling about as pleasant as he is right now.

And it's ten days till the election.

Maybe I should go visit my brothers in San Francisco...no, wait, can't do that.

Or take Juliet for a girls' night out.

Now that I could do.

And I haven't had a good girls' night out since before the wedding.

I'm way overdue.

"So like, Kelly, how do you know Frohike Junior?" Langly asks her.

"From my astronomy class. And he's my math tutor."

"Math is easy," he says shortly, looking puzzled.

"Easy in your universe, babe. Not all of us are equally gifted," I tartly remind him.

"If you'd do what I told you, it'd be easy."

"Langly, don't start." I'm not in the mood. I've got a ton of stuff to do and I'm sitting here in my kitchen with a child I barely know who has played into my sympathy, and, apparently, into Langly's and Byers's.

I am totally hopeless.

"What's your major?" Langly asks her.

"Pre-med," she responds, proudly. "I'd like to get into Johns Hopkins eventually, but right now, I'm doing ACC because it's cheap. Where'd you go?"

"William and Mary for undergrad, got my grad degrees at UVA."

"What'd you major in?"

"Applied math."

"No wonder it's easy for you. I mean, I did okay in high school, but I've got to keep a 4.0 to get into med school, and Michael's really good, I've gotten a hundred on all my tests so far."

"What'd you get, Ally?"

"Shut up, Langly." He's pissing me off. I got a 94 and a 96, respectively, and I hardly think those are worth scorning, but I'm going to get so much shit about the questions I missed, and he's going to insist on going over it in excruciating detail.

I need a 90 or better to satisfy my conditional acceptance, and that's what I'm going to worry about. I'm not 20 anymore. I don't have time for this shit.

Why is this even an issue between us? Since we don't have parents-in-law, is this the substitute?

"Do I need to check the calendar or something?" Langly looks at me nonchalantly.

"Babe, how serious are you about making it to your 38th birthday?"

"Hmm. Maybe I should pencil those days in in red..."

"Langly. Out." I flick my thumb at him and give him a Look I picked up from Dana Scully.

Hey, works for her.

And fortunately, he's a bright boy, and he knows when to bail.
 

"He just wants you to do really well. I think he's trying to help you."

Great. I now have the wisdom of the ages being espoused by an 18-year-old-God, I hope she's 18, since they're taking her over the state line in a little while.

Juliet and I are definitely having a girls' night out.
 

"How well do you know Michael?" she asks me.

"I've known him just about a year. He's the son of one of our dearest friends. He lived in our house for a few months."

"He's a really good tutor."

"Nice to know the child has a talent for something other than pissing off everyone in a 50-mile radius." God, I did wake up bitchy. Maybe I should check the calendar...

"What's that supposed to mean?" She looks mildly affronted-why, I'm not sure, but she does.

"It means, that, while I love Michael dearly, he can be...irritating." A lot like you, sweetie pie. "But he's good to my animals and he does help us out sometimes."

"I met your dog the other day. Where is she?"

"Sleeping on our bed."

"I really love animals. I've never had a pet."

"We have the Costco model of animals. Buy in bulk. Three cats, a dog, bunch of fish, and a fucking rodent." I really hate the rat. The girls adore Jonathan.

I don't get it. But at least they mostly keep him downstairs, which is all I care about.

"Someday I'm not going to have to worry about money."

Oh God. Where have I heard that one before?

"Sweetie, you always worry about money, no matter how much you have."

"Well, I'm not going to be poor. That's for sure."

"As a physician, I suspect not." It's not as lucrative as it once was, but you can still have a decent standard of living. "What kind of medicine are you interested in?"

"Well, I'm not sure what specialty I'll choose, but I want to do patient care, mostly. I'd like to eventually be Chief of Staff of my division."

Girl shoots high, I'll give her that.

"Well, you've got a long road ahead of you, but you'll make it down."

"Yes, I will." She looks up from her coffee cup. "You said you worked for a doctor."

"I work in her lab, yeah. She's a researcher. She's not much into clinical practice except for family and friends. She used to work for the FBI and did forensic pathology, but she's veered off into biochemistry and virology studies. I think when she had her first daughter, she decided she'd had enough of law enforcement."

"She's got a kid?"

"Expecting her second one in February."

"And she can still do all that?"

"Well, she didn't have her first daughter until a year ago, but it hasn't seemed to have slowed her down." Okay, maybe a little more strategic planning needed, but Dana works like a dog. I don't think kid number two is going to change that, either.

"Wow. I don't know if I'll ever have kids. I'll have to see if it fits in with my life. Right now, there's no time for anything but school and work."

"Yeah, well, I know that feeling, but just don't forget that it's the people around you who make it worth your while to do those things."
 

MICHAEL:

What the hell was in those pills they gave me?

I still hurt. I still can't breathe. And now I feel sick at my stomach.

And they were HUGE. Jo hands me two of them last night, tells me to swallow them, and I damn near gag. They looked like these blue monster bullets. And the syrupy stuff was nasty, but at least I'm not coughing so much now.

What time is it, anyway?

I grope for my glasses and check the alarm clock. Says 11:47. The bottle of blue pills is there, too. I read the label, it says Ceftin. Antibiotic of some kind, probably, I think. Last time I had antibiotics was when an old girlfriend managed to give me the clap.

I found out she got it from my ex-best friend.

So when does it start working, anyway?

The syrupy stuff says Hydrocodone on the bottle. I have no idea what that is, but it does keep me from coughing, so I don't give a fuck.

Dad had to stay with me a long time last night. I couldn't sleep, I felt so shitty. But he rubbed my back when I'd wake up and then I'd go back to sleep for awhile.

And he didn't wear the blue bunny pajamas.

He had on the pink satin ones instead.

All of a sudden, it occurs to me: these are women's pajamas.

Oh God.

I'm going to have to ask him about that one. In the meantime, it's not fair to do things like that to my brain when I feel like this.

Where is my brain? I feel like it's drowning in oily slime and can no longer even carry on menial functions.

What day is it? Oh, yeah, it's Saturday, I think. So I don't have to be at work or school.

Unless I've lost track of time, which is possible right now.

I feel like total shit.

Maybe if I take a shower I'll feel better.

First I have to find a way to get out of bed.
 

I finally make my way to the shower. As soon as I stand up, though, I start coughing again. I'm coughing so hard it cramps up my back.

I stay in there a long time. Dad must know I feel like hell, because he's not pounding on the door and telling me to shut the fucking water off already. It helps a little. One of the nastier things it does, though, is seem to loosen all the glop out of my chest, and it's green-grey and looks like alien slime.

Gross.

Kelly wants to be a doctor? And have people gag this stuff all over her?

Whatever. She can be my doctor anytime.

I wish she was here. Maybe she'd make me feel better.

Give her a chance to work on her bedside manner.

Oh, fuck, Frohike, you're hopeless...
 

"I feel sick," I tell my dad, who's sitting at the computer, and Jo, who's watching the football game.

"It's probably the antibiotics. They can be hard on your stomach," Jo tells me.

"So when do they start to work?"

"Within 24 hours. Probably by tomorrow you'll feel better."

I go over to my dad, and he wraps an arm around me, pulls me towards him a bit. I don't mind. I mean, he's my dad.

And right now I really really need him.

"I'm gonna be sick, Dad."

"At the risk of pointing out the obvious, you are sick, Michael."

"No, I mean, I feel like I'm gonna puke."

"Do you have any 7-up?" Jo asks my dad.

Dad shakes his head no. We don't have much around here to drink except beer, orange juice, and J&B. And a few diet Cokes he keeps around for Jo.

Dad says he's going to the packy to grab me some 7-up, and Jo stays with me. She's in the chair, just watching the game. I take over the sofa. I've brought my blanket with me, so I wrap that around me. Feels good to lie down again.

Jo gets up and comes back in a few with my pillows. "You'll breathe better if you're not totally flat," she says, and sticks them under my head. She doesn't do anything else, though, which is cool. I'm not always real comfortable with Jo. I don't know why. She's a nice enough lady.

I wonder why she and my dad don't sleep together. I mean, I know they're just pals and all, but it seems like...oh, never mind. I'm actually kind of happy they don't. I don't get it, but I don't mind. She's a good bud to him. I guess that's what matters to him most.

She sits back down, but soon as she does, someone knocks on the door, which is weird, because we don't get much company. She checks the spyhole, then unlocks the door and in walks Dr. Dana Scully.

She's pregnant-again. From what my dad tells me about Mulder, this should be no big surprise, but I'm sort of surprised because when I saw her last, you would have had to guess if she was or she wasn't.

No question about it now. The lady is definitely having a baby. She's gorgeous, though. I don't know how a woman can look that sexy having swallowed a basketball, but she does. And I've seen how Mulder looks at her and it's almost like he's got to have his hands tied to keep them off her.

"So how's our victim this afternoon?" Dr. Scully asks Jo. "Let's have a look at him."

So it's not a social visit. Should've guessed.

Since she can't hear, she has Jo do heart and lung sounds. Jo says breathe in.

Yeah, if I could.

Still hurts like hell.

"He's crackling, all right, but so far only on the right side," she signs to Dr. Scully and says it for my benefit, I guess. "He probably should get X-rayed."

"I agree, but for now, I'm going to treat it as if it's pneumonia." She jams a thermometer in my mouth. This is painful because I can't cough while it's stuck there. After about half an eternity, she pulls it out, and announces I'm at the tropical temp of 102.8.

I wish I was on the beach in the Caribbean. Or something. Especially when I see the lovely Dr. Scully wrapping a piece of rubber around my upper arm. Oh fuck.

It's a blood draw, and I hate blood draws.

Just when I think she's tortured me enough, she pulls out ANOTHER fucking syringe. What's the matter, she didn't get enough the first time?

She sees my face, and tells me it's something called Rocephin, supposed to jump-start the antibiotics. I'm thinking, just make it quick.

She's finishing up when my dad walks back in. I think my dad has a little crush on the lovely Dr. Scully. Even though she's pregnant, he's definitely borderline drooling.

She tells my dad that she thinks I've got pneumonia, she's given me a shitload of drugs, and that I'm not supposed to go to work or school this week...

A week?! Who is she kidding?!

I'm gonna miss classes and that'll kill my 4.0. I'm gonna miss work and I won't get paid. I'm not gonna see Kelly...

SHIT!!! Kelly!!!

END OF PART 11