Rating: PG

Summary: Another really long day for a lot of people.

Spoilers: Nah.
 

I'm feeling pretty wrecked. And Langly knows that when he's pushed me like this, he'd better leave me alone for a while.

I retreat to the shower, where I can have privacy in all measures. I lock the door so as to insure that I have no unexpected visitors.

This is a solo flight this morning.

I can't stand it when I start crying like this...because once I do, it's almost impossible to stop. I turn on the hot water, and I cry until I swear my tear glands have gone dry.

I feel drained, spaced out when I'm done.

And strangely enough, somewhat lighter.

It's as if something that I wasn't even aware of that was there has been lifted from my shoulders.

It occurs to me that this is the first time I've cried over my mother since she died.
 

Langly's sitting on the bed when I come in to get dressed, watching CNN.

My anger at him has evaporated. I sit down next to him, still wrapped in a towel, and he snuggles me close to him.

"Feel better?" He asks, kissing my damp hair.

"I don't know."

"Think you needed that."

I'm not going to respond to that. I'm not sure if it was beneficial or not. I feel a peculiar emptiness...and a sort of freedom that I can't define.

"Are you going to work this morning?" I ask him.

He nods in the affirmative. "Yeah, I oughta put in part of the day, anyway...and tell the truth, I don't think I could handle being there when they do that to Joanie...she knows what it was like for me."

"What did she tell you?"

"To go to work. What about you?"

"I'm going to work. God knows what'll happen next, and how much time we'll have to take off." As soon as I say it, I could slap myself. It was really a callous thing to say.

But Langly relaxes a bit. It's as if his own fear has been acknowledged. And since somebody else said it, he doesn't have to be responsible for sounding like a brat.

The honor is all mine this morning.

But he's calmer now. "Yeah. I keep thinking...God, how much time are we gonna be off this time? Isn't that horrible? I mean, it's my sister, and I'm scared to death I'm gonna lose her and all, and I'm such a shit, I keep worrying about how much vacation time I got..."

"You mean, how are we going to keep life moving forward in spite of all this?"

"Something like that. Something like that."
 

Since we're down to one car-pending transfer of title, of course-we drive into DC together. It's the most we've talked since Joan collapsed Sunday night.

And we're both oddly calmer. Langly's still terribly frightened. But he's putting it into words, trying to make sense of it all.

He feels guilty for not being with his sister this morning, and relieved, and guilty that he's relieved...I think the boy was Jewish in a past life. I tell him this and he giggles a little, which he hasn't done in days.

And angry. But some of the anger comes from a very unlikely source.

"I bet you anything Roy tries to show up, and when he does, he'll tell Joanie this is God's way of telling her she's flying all wrong. Betcha."

"Roy has a restraining order."

"Then he'll send over his goons."

"You talk to Julie before we leave?"

"Yeah. She and Joan were getting ready to go over there."

"Is she hanging okay?"

"Julie?   Yeah, Julie's tough."

"Any unwanted visitors?"

"None she couldn't chase off, so far. Of course, Jules has credibility now...since she's rejoining the flock." The thought of this amuses Langly.

I'd like to be so amused by the idea, but mostly, I'm worried.

She's going to be found out. It's just a matter of how long it takes.

And from what I can tell, her father is the vengeful type. Of course, he'll couch it in terms of the wrath of the heavens pouring down, and God getting justice, but the fact is, he's mean, and petty, and small.

And dangerous. That temper gave my husband the most beautiful purple nose in our wedding pictures.

We laugh about it now, Langly with an enlarged, bruised nose, me with my flaming hair...we figured the pictures would be a disaster, but somehow, these human elements have made them all the more cherished and precious. There are funny touches everywhere...Langly in his Baltimore Orioles cap because he didn't get a yarmulke, me having a giggle fit at the altar, Frohike in top hat, tails and white gloves, grinning like a proud father, the whole collection of Elvis impersonators, Ellen looking like a high-priced hooker wearing an ankle holster, the motley crew of guys running around in their boxers during the pants optional segment, straight-laced Fibbies in suits dancing with leather-clad, body-pierced convicted felons, the shock of my daughter looking like a grown woman instead of the little girl I think of her as...these images float through my mind, and they make me smile.

And I think of one of my favorite shots...it's Langly dancing with Joan, both of them laughing, faces full of tenderness and devotion, forgetting all the lost years and living in the moment with a vengeance.

Weddings are a lot more than just the joining of two people.

I'm lost in thought, and I realize he's still talking as we near Georgetown.

"I'm gonna leave around 2. Pick you up?"

"Yeah," I tell him. And I lean over and hug him, hard. "Behave yourself today, Blonde Boy."

He looks affronted. "Don't I always?"

"No."

We're both laughing as I start walking and he pulls away.

It feels good to laugh. It may be awhile before it happens again.
 

MICHAEL:

I cannot concentrate to save my life today.

I've got a four-hour programming class, which is normally no sweat, but today I just can't keep my mind on it. And I've got tutoring hours until 9 tonight. And Kelly has classes and then she has to work and while she's at work she gets tests done...and I'm sweating it.

Oh God. What if it's bad news?

I can't think about that. But I can't stop thinking about it.

I could use a beer right now. Maybe a few beers.

How about a lot of beers?

I am not in the mood to write code. And definitely not in the mood to deal with people too stupid to live, which I seem to be getting a lot of lately.

I want this day to be over with. Now would be fine.

Oh God...please don't let anything bad happen to Kelly...please...

I will kill that bastard if he did anything even worse to her.

Swear.
 

ALLY:

I'm glad I don't have classes today. They're more nervewracking than the ones I had last semester.

I only have them three days a week, and that's plenty. My physics class particularly causes me anxiety. It's not my strong suit, and I need 90 percent or better for my conditional acceptance to be satisfied. O-chem seems to be coming back, but physics is a bitch.

I'm having a hard enough time with the batches of figures Peter has fed into my system and wants analyzed.

I wish Dana were here right now. I could use someone both clinical and sympathetic wrapped up in one body.

I miss her being here...for one thing, even though Peter works his ass off, it's hard not to have your principal investigator around. She e-mails us constantly-I think she's bored-but it's not the same.

I mention to Peter that I miss her, and he nods in agreement. Peter looks like shit. He pretty much lives here. And his wife is pregnant. When he announces this, I first ask whose it is, and he tries to laugh, but it's pretty weak.

I also issue myself a reminder not to drink the water around here.

Who am I kidding? Those days are over for me. For good.

Why am I even thinking about this now?

Anything not to be worrying about Joan, and by intimate association, Langly.

He was calmer this morning...but we haven't been to see Joan yet today.

I'm setting up a scatter plot when Azid, one of the lab assistants, tells me there's a phone call for me. I feel my chest clutch and my breath stop.

So when I hear Juliet's voice on the other end, I sigh audibly.

"What's the matter, disappointed?" She teases.

"More like relieved. What's up, old lady?"

"Just calling to see if you're doing okay. John's been keeping me posted...so she's having a bone marrow draw today?"

"Yeah. And we're all sort of freaking. Each of us in our own unique way."

"Ah, yes. Well, anyway, I've been putting in hours around here like they're going out of style, but today I'm saying fuck it and leaving early. How's about you and Langly pack up the daughter and bring your asses over for some dinner?"

"Can I bring my appetite along with my ass?"

"Good idea. I plan to make plenty. Whatever it is I finally decide to cook." She laughs a bit.

"Julie, I had no idea you were so domestic."

"Ah, you'd be amazed...I never figured myself to be all that domestic, but being here with John..."

"And how's the baby?"

"Tivvy? She's wonderful. She is the most affectionate cat-you really haven't seen her since I got her, have you? I know you came over the day we moved in, but she was at the pet hotel..."

Only the swankest one in the greater DC area, I found out from Langly. Apparently Byers researched all of the kennels and catteries and pet hotels in the area, and finally found one that met with his approval...Langly cracked up over this for hours.

"And she's growing like a weed, and you should see John with her. He treats her like she is a baby. I mean, John's not the sort of guy you think of saying sweet nothings. Well, he doesn't. Not to humans. Cats are another story." She laughs that laugh I recognize so well, that vaguely exasperated, consummately tender laugh women reserve for the men they love and the amusing antics they perform.

"You sure it's not a problem?" It is a weeknight, after all.

"Excuse me, but I've been locked up at my desk like I was under house arrest, and I want to do some cooking, and you guys need a break, so come on over after you get done visiting Joan. See ya." She clicks off before I can even thank her.

I dial Langly's number, then realize that that's an exercise in futility-he keeps it on voice mail and he's pretty half-assed about picking up messages.

So I damn near fall on the floor when he actually answers.

He's worried as hell. Oh, yeah.

"It's me," I tell him.

"Hi, me."

"Byers and Juliet invited us to dinner. Juliet's cooking. We're going."

"So long as we don't have to do dishes, that's cool."

"Langly, you never do dishes."

"It's a talent I've worked hard to cultivate."

"I've noticed. Talked to Joan yet?"

"Nope. Talked to Julie, though. Julie says she did okay on the bone marrow test. She's just real tired right now."

"Joan or Julie?"

"Both. Julie oughta take a break. Told her we'd be there this afternoon. You still game to get out of there early?"

"How about around 9 a.m.?"

"It's already 11:30."

"My point exactly." We both laugh. "I have some Cray time tomorrow, so I have to be here for at least part of the day, but Peter says bailing out's no problem today. You?"

"Well, Sheridan's not here, we're not sure what's up with him, but he's not around, so I have to wait to talk to him."

"No big hardship there. He's pretty cool about stuff."

"Yeah, Sheridan's good. I wasn't sure how I'd do working for somebody, but Sheridan keeps it pretty painless."

You have no idea, Blonde Boy.

"Well, you could always work for Lu." She offered him a job New Year's Eve, which I took with a large grain of salt-attached to a margarita-but since then she's been sober and she's e-mailed him a couple of times, mentioning she's still interested.

"That would be ironic, don't you think?" He laughs.

"Ah, consider it poetic justice. She made your life hell for a few years...sounds like it's the least you could do."

"I'm pretty comfy here right now, but hey, if it ever gets ugly, I could always torture Lu. I sorta like that concept." I can feel him grinning wickedly across the phone lines.

"Doesn't Lu actually have to go and meet people occasionally?"

"Yeah, but she wouldn't make me do that."

Not if she expects to keep her clientele, anyway, I say to myself.

As if reading my mind, he's turned to pouting. "Hey, I got more social skills than Renegade."

"Honey, our cats have more social skills than Renegade." And they're not the friendliest cats on the planet, either.

"Anyway, I suppose I gotta do some work...this day is lasting forever..." I can hear a tinge of weariness in his voice again. Then, very softly, I hear, "Love you."

And a soft click.

He doesn't say it often, but goddammit, when he does, my knees turn to gelatin.

I'm useless the rest of the day.
 

MICHAEL:

I wish she knew already. I wish she'd call me. I wish this day would end.

I just want to hear that things are cool. I just want to hold her.

I want to be with her when it's happening.

Not in that way, but I just want her to know I'm there.

I'd hold her hand if she needed me to.

I hope it's not painful...I mean, getting tested for the clap is no big deal, but I hope they're not gonna do anything to her that hurts...

I hate this day.
 

ALLY:

I didn't think 2:00 would ever get here. It's actually not here yet, it's only 10 minutes till, but a tall blonde figure enters our lab and heads towards my workstation. I'm answering one of Dana's numerous e-mails to us-I think she's being slowly driven mad, between having to stay in bed and having Mulder hovering over her and a toddler racing around. They've got an au pair, but I suspect she'd rather be playing with Rebecca herself.

"Scully's pretty bored," he comments, leaning over my shoulder. "You almost done?"

"Let me attach this table and we're gone." I introduce him to Peter and Azid while I'm waiting for the note and attachment to send, and I get a kiss on top of my head. I tell Peter I'll e-mail him later tonight or tomorrow when I have some news. He knows about Joan, not in any great detail, but he's aware of the situation.

He's yawning hard, two days of barely any sleep catching up to him, and I feel the same way. I tell him I need Starbucks if I'm going to be able to face this afternoon.

Actually, I'd prefer something with tequila in it, but that's not going to help me stay awake. I don't tell him this. He knows, anyway.

We grab two ventes, a double shot latte for me, a mochaccino for him, and now it's time to deal with reality.

At moments like this, I think alcoholism is highly underrated.
 

Joan looks as if the smallest impact will cause her to break. Langly seems aware of this, and his urge to give her the world's largest bear hug is tempered with the anguish of seeing her like this.

She's covered with a red rash, her arms are bruised, and she looks as if a breeze will crush her. And amazingly enough, that perfectly coiffed hair is now flat, limp.

I give Julie a quick hug-I've discovered Julie is not the cuddliest person around, but if you make it quick, she doesn't mind-and notice the exhaustion embedded in her youthful face. She appears to have aged ten years in two days. The trademark pale blue eyes are lined with red, the skin is ghostly, and the purple rings under her eyes are experiencing a growth spurt.

"Jules, go home," her uncle admonishes.

"Ringo is here...take a break, honey," Joan says quietly to her daughter.

"You staying for a while, Uncle?"

"Looks that way. Why don't you cut out for a while?"

She doesn't like the thought of leaving her mom, but exhaustion is winning the battle right now. "Okay. But I'm coming back around six."

"We'll be here," he assures his niece. "And Jules?"

"Yes, Uncle Ringo?" There's a hint of mild exasperation in her voice. Langly has a way of doing that to people.

"Take a shower."

She doesn't say anything-this is her mom here-but she flashes the finger at her uncle, and he laughs. Fortunately, Joan is myopic enough that she doesn't catch it.

Besides, she should be hip to her baby brother's tricks after all these years. Even if she didn't see him for thirteen of them, she should by now be aware that he qualifies as incorrigible.

The smirk is missing right now, though. And I miss it.

He takes Julie's chair, and wraps his sister's hand in both of his.

"Do you want to be alone for a while?" I ask the two of them.

Joan shakes her head gently. "No, I seem to think of you and Ringo as a collective one these days. Of course, you don't have-"

I pull up a small chair and park it next to Langly. So much for that discussion.

"So how're you doing, little one?" She asks Langly, which cracks me up-I don't think he's been a little one in a long time.

But for Joan, he'll forever be her baby brother.

"I'm hanging fine, don't worry about that," he tells her. She reaches up her free hand, pushes back a strand of his light hair.

"Sorry. It's hard to undo a lifetime of habits." Her smile is forced, but she is trying. "Denial is one of my best ones. I wasn't feeling right for a while-I should have paid more attention, instead of just wishing it would go away...I seem to have a pattern of this, don't I?"

"You just gotta get better, that's all," Langly tells her. "You are gonna get better."

"We don't know that, little one. Not until tomorrow, anyway."

I just keep praying that whatever she has, it's named, identified, classified, and treatable.

Not that I ask for much.

She's scared, and he knows it.

Right now I'd do anything to take away their fear. If there was something in the world I could do...right now, I'd deal with the devil himself, in the event he exists, to make this better...

While the ancient Hebrew words mix in with this thought, I notice Joan has gone to sleep, and Langly's head is down on the bed next to her, and he, too, has dozed off. For the moment, they seem peaceful.

Make it last, I pray, in every language I know. And I know a lot of them.

Make her well. Don't let him be deserted again. Please...

Rest in peace. But wake up soon.

END OF PART 49