Rating: PG

Summary: More Frohike angst...both kinds, father and son. For my queens of Gunmen angst, Martha and Gizzie. And Giz gets credit for this chapter. Dee, as mentioned in previous parts, is not my creation. She belongs to Martha, and I'm just stealing her away for my own corrupt purposes.

Spoilers: Nah.
 

I sleep the sleep of the dead. The kind you do when you're totally spent.

And I was. But I wake up, and I'm groggy, and sort of congested.

Fuck.

I gotta get out of here today.

I sit up and immediately I start coughing.

This wakes up the figure in the chair. It's Langly, looking all ratty and red-eyed. He cracks a few joints trying to get comfortable.

Dad does a hell of a lot better in the chair. Then again, Dad's a lot smaller.

Maybe there are advantages to having less real estate, as Ally puts it.

"You sleep okay?" He's yawning at me.

Dude needs some serious caffeine.

Ally wakes up to this every morning. And she'll still have sex with him?

Whatever.

"Yeah," I try to tell him, as I'm coughing like mad. And it's gross. I keep bringing up all this crap out of my lungs.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm never gonna get out of here.

"Cool. You ready to go home? Your dad's coming in a couple hours."

"What time's it?"

"Around 7. Said he was coming around 9."

I'm still coughing like mad. Shit!

"Want me to stay? Sheridan's cool about stuff like that." Sheridan's Langly's boss, and for a guy who likes guys, he's all right.

"Up to you," I tell him. I'd sort of like him to stay, in a way.

Why, I have no idea. But I do.

"I gotta get some coffee. Want some?"

This actually sounds pretty good. "Yeah."

"'Kay. I'll be back. Don't go anywhere."

"I've still got my umbilical, remember?"

He's gone out, and I flip on the TV. Cartoons are on early. I watch Robocop for a while until Langly's back with two ventes from Starbucks.

I must look like I need it.

He sure does.

"Thanks," I tell him.

"No problem. Just couldn't drink the shit they've got here. Hey, gotta use the phone. It's a fucking blizzard out there, and I wanna call Ally. We can drive into DC together."

"She still wimping about the snow?"

"Ally? She's a Cali girl. She's wimpy about everything but sunshine and 80 degrees."

"I'll tell her that."

"I already do. She tells me to go do something anatomically impossible."

He's talking to her about something, trying to convince her she should really go with him. I guess she finally caves in. He says he'll get her in a couple hours, she's not terping for Dana right now, so she doesn't have to be there at a set time.

He hangs up. "'Sides, her car's a hell of a lot better in the snow."

"You're such a liar."

"Am not. I'd rather she didn't deal with this shit. I mean, she's okay in the snow and all, but not like this. It's like white out there."

I put on my glasses and stare out. It's white all right, coming down like crazy.

I hope Dad makes it.

"Oh, cool, Robocop. I like that cartoon." He's watching TV along with me.

"Yeah, but that guy Dr. Neumeyer's got the whiniest voice in the world."

"He does, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he sounds a lot like you."

"Fuck you, Junior."

We're interrupted by Dr. Bergman, who at least always has the decency to knock before he barges in.

He looks around, sees Langly there. I forget that this guy treats Langly, too.

Poor guy. He must've been real bad in some past life.

He asks me how I'm doing. I tell him I'm ready to go home.

And then I break into coughing. Big time. And everything's coming up.

I get to breathe a sigh of relief, which I'm sure he heard, when he said this was gonna happen now for a while, that all the junk in my lungs is gonna come out.

Wonderful. Is there anything else I can do to be more appealing?

We do the drill one more time. My side hurts like hell, but I think that's because Blonde Boy had me in an armlock last night practically.

And miracle of miracles, he tells me somebody's gonna come and pull out my IV in a little while, he'll sign my paperwork, and I'm outta here.

Done. Finis.   Yay.

Unfortunately, he says, not so fast. I have to come back the end of the week, to his office. And I've still got a bunch of meds to take. And he's got a pile of instructions, mostly pertaining to lie around and watch a lot of TV and don't try to do anything productive.

"Try to be a little more cooperative than what's his face over there," Bergman waves a hand at Langly. Langly just gives this innocent wounded who, me? Look.

"Nice to see you, too," Langly tells him. "And hey, I did cooperate last time!"

"Only when I threatened to tell your wife you had bronchitis. All right, Michael. See you Friday." He's out now.

"Thought you just had a cold," I told him.

"Yeah, well, that's the public version. I knew if I told Ally I had bronchitis, I'd get read the riot act and I'd have to stay home and I lost a lot of time last winter and for the honeymoon and I don't have a lot of vacation time saved up. Wasn't gonna waste it on being sick."

"So what're you saving it for?"

"Trip to Cozumel. Ally and me wanna go this spring. Great scuba down there."

"You been before?"

"Nope. But Ally has. She's the diver."

"Really. Didn't know that."

"Told you, lots you don't know about Ally. Anyway, she can't go all that deep 'cause of her vertigo, but she likes the reefs and stuff. I don't scuba, but she says the snorkeling's fantastic, and she likes that 'cause she doesn't get dizzy and sick and stuff."

"Is this kids or not kids?"

"Definitely NOT kids." This makes him happy.

Make me happy, too. Sun, sand, scuba, swimming, snorkeling, and sex.

I could do that. No problem.

"So you gonna call your mom when you get out?"

Oh, Jesus, are we back on that?

"I dunno."

"Think you should. Just tell her you're home and you're okay."

"You know, maybe I should, but I don't feel like it. She's a bitch. I don't wanna deal with her."

"Michael. Listen up. When she did what she did, you were a KID, and from what your dad says, not a real well-behaved one. Admit it. You were a brat."

Okay, okay, so I wasn't perfect.

Actually, I was pretty terrible.

"Well, dude, how old are you now?"

"24." He knows that!

"Yeah. Well, Junior, guess what? Grow up. You're not a kid anymore."

"And who made you an expert on this?"

"Hey, you're 24, guy. You're a MAN, for Chrissakes. Start acting like one."

This is rich, coming from him.

He knows I'm gonna counterattack, so he's ready, though.

"Hey, I'm still trying to get there. But I'm trying. It's not a piece of cake, dude. But you gotta make up your mind you're gonna move in that direction."

He's playing around with his wedding ring. It's a big chunky thing, I'm not sure he's used to it yet. He plays with it a lot. And bites his nails like crazy, which he's doing right now.

"And Junior? You're lucky. You got a good teacher." He's still nibbling away at his fingers. "I know, he wasn't around for a long time, but you know, wasn't his fault. And he's doing it now. You got something not many people get. A second chance."

It kills me to admit it, but he might actually be right.

"I know this, 'cause your dad gave me a second chance." He says this real softly. "I was such shit. I totally sucked. But he didn't give up on me, and he's not gonna give up on you. None of us will."

My dad's here. I'm actually happy to see him. He comes over, gives me a big hug, then ruffles up Langly's hair.

"Hope you two didn't party the night away," Dad tells us.

"Oh, yeah, it was great. You missed all the naked women," Langly's giving him shit.

"You'd do that just to spite me, Blonde Boy."

"I would." Langly stands up, yawns again, and cracks his neck. "Anyway, Junior, I'll be around later to hassle you. You need it."

"Fuck you, Langly."

"Same to you, Junior."

We're both laughing as he bails out.
 

Dad and I just have to wait for somebody to come and pull my IV. Finally, the nurses come and take it out.

Fuck, if I'd known how easy it was, I'd have done it myself.

And my dad would've killed me.

Dad looks old and tired today. Maybe my being sick wore him out more than he realizes.

Maybe as I get better he'll feel better. I hope. He just looks so bleak, like the weather outside.

What's the song Ally used to always sing in wintertime when she'd look out the window? Something like all the leaves are brown...and the sky is grey...

I ask my dad if he knows this tune, and he says he does. It's 'California Dreamin' by somebody called the Mamas and the Papas.

Says he probably still has the album.

This doesn't surprise me. Dad never throws ANYTHING out.

Finally, I've got real clothes on again, and no IV, and I can more or less breathe again.

I could almost be human.

If I tried.
 

The drive home is 5 miles. And an hour long.

I'm exhausted when I get there.

I fall asleep almost instantly on the sofa.

I'll call my mom when I wake up.

Really. I will.
 

Dad's working at home-not just because of me, but because southern Maryland and Northern Virginia are totally snowed under. It just keeps coming down.

I wake up later and ask him what he's up to. He's posting the Christmas issue of TMB.

Which I never got to contribute to.

Fuck. The Christmas issue is cool.

I ask him if I can use the laptop and he says okay. I hook it up and log in.

I don't even remember when I last checked my e-mail.

I open the mailbox and I'm shocked as hell. I've got 47 messages in there.

I don't even know 47 people.

They're a bunch of get-well messages, mostly from the readers of TMB. Apparently Langly alerted the subscribers that one of the 'contributing editors' was down for the count, and he asked them to send a line if they had a moment.

And they did.

Lots of advice to look out for alien viruses and government experiments. But mostly just get better and come back soon.

That was decent.

Langly may be an asshole sometimes, but sometimes, he's a righteous asshole.

I ask Dad if there's something I can work on for January. There's always the next issue.

Dad says there's some stuff I can start on-after I see Bergman on Friday.

Christ, I'm only going to be sitting at the fucking computer.

I'm starting to protest when I see his face, and I stop.

He looks so old, and so tired, and so depressed.

This has been real rough for him. I mean, me, and my mom and my sister coming down, and talking about Dee...

I shouldn't have asked him about Dee.

He's been so down since he talked about her.

I'm such an asshole.

I don't know what to do for him, so I do the only thing I know how.

I go over and give him a bear hug. I sort of expect him to push me away, but instead, he just takes my arm and leans against me.

It occurs to me that my dad is being strong for everybody. And nobody's strong for him too often. We all lean on him so hard.

Maybe he needs to lean on me a little.

I mean, yeah, I'm his kid, but I'm not a kid anymore. Well, I'm trying not to be one.

I think back to catechism class. There's this one verse, I think it's St.Paul, he says, when I was a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things...

Maybe it's time to put away some of the childish things.

I have no idea how I'm gonna do this.

There's another line in that verse. It says the greatest of these gifts is love, or something like that...it's been a while since I went to catechism. Shoot me for fucking it up.

But I know while my dad owes me, I owe him, too.

Maybe love has obligations.

Maybe why it's so damn hard.
 

I answer my e-mail, and Dad makes dinner. His specialty, Campbell's tomato soup and grilled cheese.

As tacky as it sounds, I love this meal. He used to make it for me when I was little and I got sick.

Now I'm older, and I got sick, and he still made it for me.

Maybe I ought to learn to cook. I mean, Dad's not bad, but I can't do shit. I'm more useless than Langly in the kitchen, and that's saying a lot. I mean, it's not much, but it's something.

It's 7:30 and CNN is on, and I'm ready to settle down into the sofa again, when Dad tells me to go to bed.

I don't believe this. I slept most of the afternoon, and he's telling me to go to bed NOW?!

Jesus.

Then again, I've been in the hospital twice in recent history, and he's been running his ass ragged trying to take care of me.

And mostly, I give him shit in return.

I suppose the least I can do is go to bed.
 

I take a shower, throw on my sweats, the new ones from Byers and Juliet, and they're definitely quality stuff, as you would expect from B&J, take my meds, and crawl into bed.

I am tired.

And it's nice to be in my own bed. It's a lot warmer and more comfy than the one in the hospital.

I'm almost ready to turn out the lights when Dad comes in with two cups of tea.

He looks so beat. He ought to be the one going to bed.

Maybe he will soon. I hope so.

I don't want anything to happen to him.

I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have him.

I'm trying to be a grownup, but I'm still so fucking needy.

I give him a hug, and he leans against me again.

Maybe he's feeling a little needy right now himself.

I want to tell him I'm sorry for being such a shit.

Then I remember, I didn't call my mom.

I tell him I'll call her tomorrow.

He just nods. Then he starts rubbing my back, in small circles, like he always did and like he does now.

I'm gonna sleep well tonight.

END OF PART 26