LOYALTY AND SEDITION by tm
Part 57

Rating: PG

Summary: Sunday should be a nice, relaxing day...HA!

Spoilers: Allusions to Scully's cancer, but indirect.
 

January 20, 2001

ALLY:

I can't believe I'm getting up at 4:45 on a Sunday morning.

I should try to do my hair, but fuck it. I'm only going to the hospital. I pull it into a jaw clip, eschew my contacts for my glasses, and 86 the makeup.

And now for the hard part: waking up my husband.

Who fell into a sound sleep approximately an hour and a half ago. He was restless all night.

Nerves, and a major case of indigestion.

I suppose that's what happens when you have eight waffles, half a melon, somewhere between 20 and 100 cups of coffee, six Snickers bars, four pints of Cherry Garcia, a full Italian dinner complete with beer and dessert, and God knows what else he downed when I wasn't looking.

If I ate like that, I'd weigh 400 pounds.

He might, too, but more than likely, he'd just be in pain most of the time. When he'd been sick the previous winter, he'd lost 18 pounds, and it took major effort, time and money to put those 18 pounds back on him.

He did, however, assure me that all of it was delicious.

The things he can get away with just by smiling and saying something sweet.

He's a charmer, no question about it.

However, at this hour, his charm is somewhat lacking as I attempt to arouse him from the dead. He's definitely not cooperating.

"Don't wanna get up." He mumbles this into the pillow and pulls the comforter over his shoulders.

"You have to, babe."

"No."

"YES. We've got less than an hour until we have to make an appearance. Get moving."

"I'm tired." He pulls the covers over his head now.

"So? You can sleep all day. Up, Hairboy."

"Don't wanna."

"Joan is waiting. Remember? C'mon, babe, we're playing beat the clock here."

"Let 'em start without me."

"I don't think so. I think you're the guest of honor this morning."

"Lemme have five more minutes, okay?"

"Langly. It's 5:20. You haven't taken a shower yet. Get moving."

"I don't wanna."

5:20 a.m. is not prime time for me, and since he didn't sleep, I didn't sleep. Hence, my patience is running on empty.

I rip the covers off him, exposing the bare legs to the chilly air. He bolts upright and scowls at me.

"What'd you do that for?"

"Sweetheart, hello? Do you know what today is? Do you know where you have to be?"

He scrunches up his face. "Oh, yeah, right. What time's it?"

"Almost 5:25."

"Fuck! Why'd you let me sleep so long!"

Men.
 

"Do I need anything?" He whines as he's pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He did the Cliff's Notes version of the shower, which he hates, so he's really crabby now, and he hasn't done his hair, which will irritate the hell out of him, even though it's going in a ponytail as soon as we arrive at the hospital.

"No, you're coming home tonight. You can just wear what you have on."

"Tell 'em to give me GOOD drugs."

Believe me, babe, I say to myself, I WANT them to give you good drugs like you wouldn't imagine.

And then they could give me some.

"Where're my sneakers?" He's still whining.

"Just wear your Docs."

"They're too hard to lace up when I'm out of it."

You won't be the one doing the lacing, so shut up, I want to tell him. But I bite my tongue.

"I gotta dry my hair," he fusses.

"No, you don't. You know you're going to have to pull it back and up when you get there, so forget it, and we're going to be late."

"Where's my coffee?" He demands this as he watches me sip from my commuter mug.

"You don't get any."

"So how the hell'm I supposed to wake up?"

Let me get this guy to the hospital before I smack him.

And knock him out, quickly.
 

"I'm driving," I inform him.

"What, you want to kill me on the way?" He is in a VERY disagreeable mood.

"Look, they're going to take your glasses from you, just leave them home, okay? Besides, I've driven you before, and you're not dead yet."

"Yet is the operative word here," he mutters.

I know he's nervous as hell, and I'm trying to be sympathetic. I really am. But one of his defense mechanisms is to carry on like a five-year-old, and right now, it's wearing mighty thin.

I concede him the keys for this leg of the trip; I don't need him reminding me that directionals are not optional and other such helpful driving hints.

It's not my fault he didn't learn to drive in the Golden State.
 

Dr. Walker is there, but she's a medical, not a surgical, oncologist, so she's not performing the surgery. She quickly introduces us to the surgeon, whose name I really didn't catch. He's quiet, at least.

I know if Langly drew a surgeon who was cheerful in the morning, there would have been blood shed. Both of us would have killed the guy.

Langly asks Dr. Walker when he can have some drugs.

She arches an eyebrow at him, but tells him to get changed, then somebody will come and IV him up, and then he can have some Valium.

We're alone, and he's studying the blue smock that's been designated as his for the day.

"I've done this style before, and I don't think it's my best one," he observes.

"Ah, yes, but it does reveal what a marvelously cute ass you have." I grin wickedly at him.

"Now I know, you only married me for my body."

"It didn't hurt." I smile as I tie him up in back. "C'mon, Hairboy. I'll tuck you in."

"Come up here with me." He pats the side of the bed next to him. There's not much room, but I've done this drill before, and I'm small, so I manage.

He's trembling big time. I wrap an arm over his chest, and he sinks his head into my shoulder.

A few minutes later, we get the anesthesia staff making their entrance, and they chase me out of his arms. Apparently, they're using him as a teaching device this morning-there are about four interns in tow, all of whom appear to be about nine years old-and one of them is attempting to insert an IV line, and mostly succeeding in torturing my poor husband, who doesn't like
this procedure to begin with.

Finally, after four attempts, the resident in charge slips it in his arm, which is already developing some bruise marks. Langly's a pretty unhappy camper by this point, but then the resident shoots an injection of something into the line, presumably Valium or a related substance, which the resident promises will make him sleepy.

After about a minute or so, it seems to be working its magic.

I take his free hand in mine-I can barely get my hand around half of his, but he clutches back. He's not shaking so much now. Better living through chemistry-never discount the value of it.

I smooth the blonde strands, shot with grey here and there now. Not that it matters; he looks like a five-year-old right now, watching me with steady, if somewhat drug-laden, pale blue eyes, which are beginning to blink.

We have another visitor. It's Julie.

She comes in, looking like a war refugee. I wonder when the last time she slept was.

"Wanted to see how you guys were, and anyway, Chris is there right now, and I'm afraid if I stick around him too long, I'll lose my ability to put up a good front. How're you doing there, Uncle Ringo?" She bends down and plants a very quick kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Jules." The voice is sleepy now, very soft, childlike.

"I really appreciate you doing this...and you know that Mom does, too," she tells her uncle.

"How's Joanie?"

"Mom's okay. She's asleep right now. She loves you, Uncle Ringo. She said for me to tell you."

"Cool." He's really starting to float now.

"Anyway, I have to go, but I'll see you later on, okay? Good luck, Uncle. You too, Ally." She gives me a quick hug, and she dashes out.

He's about to fall asleep, but turns to me with those tired eyes and he's smiling sweetly.

"Love you."

God, I love him so much.

And I tell him so.

"You're so cute, Ally." He's smiling that spaced-out smile you get when you're really flying on sedatives. "Is Joanie gonna be okay?"

I don't know how to answer that one, mainly because I don't know.

"Well, you're doing all you can for her. Can't ask for more than that."

"Gotta work." He's almost in dreamland now. "Can't lose her."

I just squeeze his hand and smooth his hair.

"Don't worry about it right now, sweetheart." I kiss him softly on the mouth. This elicits me a smile.

"You'll be here, right?"

"You know I will!"

"You take good care of me, Ally."

"I try."

"You do."

"I'll remind the nursing staff you want Demerol when it's over."

"That's my girl. Always looks out for me."

One of the nurses wanders in and tells me to pull his hair back.

It's time.
 

MICHAEL:

I actually stayed up and watched the whole movie with Dad.

I don't remember when I last was up this late.

I guess nobody ever said anything to him about me or Kelly, because he didn't say anything, and he would have.

And it was actually a real funny flick.

I could sleep after that, and I slept okay.

But I wake up and my stomach is in knots.

Great. I have not only inherited my dad's lack of height, but his unhappy stomach as well.

God help me if my hairline starts moving south.

I really want to see Kelly. I really want to get this straightened out.

I really hope she wants to see me.

It's ten by the time I wake up, and she's usually up studying by then, so I dial the number, praying I don't get Princess Miranda.

It gets picked up before the first ring finishes.

And it's Kelly. Thank God.

Not only did I want to talk to Kelly in the worst way, I did NOT want to deal with her Highness this morning.

Maybe she wanted me to call and took the phone in her room. I hope.

"Hi." I should be able to come up with something more original than that, but I can't right now.

Lack of coffee. Or something.

"Hi." She sounds nervous.

"So what're you doing?" I ask her.

"Finishing my lab report...I didn't get much done on it last night."

"Sorta figured. Listen, I...like, I...I wasn't trying to be rude or pushy or something-"

"I'm really sorry, Michael." She sounds like she has a little sob in her voice, and, bastard that I am, I take a small measure of satisfaction in this. "It's my fault, and I'm sorry, I don't know what happened to me-"

"I don't know what happened to you either, but man, Kel...I wouldn't do anything to hurt you...don't you know that?"

"Yeah, I do." Another sob. Small, but audible. "Oh God, Michael, I am such a mess..."

"I'm trying to help you, you know."

"I know you are, and I appreciate it, and Michael, I really do care about you...I just don't know what's going on in my head right now. I feel like such a creep." She breaks.

Oh God. I don't do well with crying women.

"Hey, hey, calm down, talk to me, okay? I'm trying to talk to you."

"I know," she sobs. "I just...Michael, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

"Um...when you want to hug me, can you do it to my face? I get really freaked when you come up behind me-"

"I'll do that."

"Juliet says...I need to see a counselor." She's still crying.

"Yeah, the prof sort of suggested the same thing. Thinks I should go, too."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Something about like it really hurts you, hurts me too sort of thing?"

"I'm scared to."

"Ever been to one?"

"No."

"They're not scary. Really. I mean, I never had any good ones, but there have to be a few out there. Maybe you ought to ask Mulder. He's a shrink, you know. Probably knows a bunch of other shrinks."

"Michael, I can't afford it. Juliet says there has to be places where I can go for free."

"I think we oughta ask Dr. Scully, she worked with the Fibbies, and Mulder still works there, they should know places."

"Juliet said she'd help me, but she doesn't know the area all that well."

"So why don't we hit on Dr. Scully and Mulder? Bet they'd help us. Besides, I haven't seen the Mulderette in a while, and I bet she's big."

"You're really good with kids, you know," she's not crying as much now. "That's one of the things I like about you."

"I don't know how good I am with 'em, but I like 'em, and they seem to like me."

"Think you'd ever want some of your own?"

That was a surprise. Where'd that come from.

"I have no idea." I laugh. "Haven't thought that far."

"Me neither," she says. "I've got so many years of schooling left."

"So what're you gonna do?" I ask her.

"Well...I guess I should try and contact Dr. Scully...but I don't know her number...how do I phone her if she's deaf?"

"She's got a TTY. You just call Virginia Relay and you can talk and they type it out, and she knows what you're saying. But I got their number, I know my dad does, anyway, and I'll call them. If you promise to go."

"I guess I need to, don't I?" Her voice is really small.

"Yeah...and if you want, I can go with you...I mean, I won't if you don't want me to, but if you do-"

"I'd like that." Her voice gets real quiet. "I'm kind of nervous about doing it...I've never been to a counselor or anything like that-"

"They just talk, and you talk, and that's about it." Lots of hot air getting blown around for the most part, but I don't say that, because I really want her to get over this...

I don't need another night like last night.

And maybe she can find somebody who can help her.

"So are you going to call them?" She asks.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When we hang up...oh, by the way, Kel, I have to come by later and you have to take me home."

"Why's that?"

"You left your car here."

"Oh, my God!" Finally, she starts to laugh. "You don't mind? I mean, I can come on the bus and pick it up if it's trouble-"

"Kelly, I'm coming over later, and I'll have some info for you. Now go finish your lab report. And Kel?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Michael."

I guess she doesn't hate me.

My stomach is finally beginning to calm down, but it still feels a bit on edge.

There's the old crackers and milk thing.

I've got time enough for that.
 

I'm chowing on some milk and crackers when my dad pops out of his room, in the blue bunny pajamas, yawning.

"You feeling okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, it just sounded good." And it does settle your stomach, I will admit that.

"I'll join you." He crumbles up a few fistfuls of crackers and pours milk over them. "I could use some milk and crackers therapy this morning."

"Rough night?" I ask him.

"Oh, you know, Langly was all nervous, and when he's nervous, he's not the sort to suffer in silence."

"Poor Ally. I don't know how she puts up with him."

"She loves him." As if it was that simple.

"She has highly questionable taste."

"I'd concur, but I am worried about Blonde Boy this morning, what with he and his sister having surgery, and I'm headed over there in a while. What're you up to today?"

"Well, I got to get Kelly's car back to her...and a couple other things." I don't really want to get into last night. The less I have to relive it, the happier I'll be. "How long's Langly stuck there?"

"He'll be home tonight, but I doubt he'll be very lively. He's gonna be one hurting bastard."

We look at each other, and both of us say, at once, "Poor Ally."

We crack up.

My dad's not a real laughing guy, and when you can get him to do it, it's great.

We munch our crackers and milk, and he gets the paper, and we read the different sections-he gets the sports section first, but I get the comics, so I'd call it a draw. Then we swap out the sections, and check out the sale ads-Dad almost never buys anything in the ads, but he's always got to check them out. I do the same thing.

Finally, he heads for the shower-I let him have dibs this morning.

I've got a phone call to make.
 

Mulder is #6 on the speed dial.

I hope he's in.

"Mulder," a monotone voice picks up.

"Uh...this is Michael Frohike..."

"Hi, Michael." He stops being flat. "What's up? You call to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage?"

"Mulder, I wouldn't marry your daughter even if she wasn't way young for me, and you know why? Because then you'd be my father-in-law, and I'd have to be related to you, and that would suck!"

"Funny, that's what everybody says!"

At least you can jive with Mulder. He can give as good as he gets, too.

"So anyway...I was calling to see if you had like some references..."

"What kind of references?"

"Nothing to do with aliens, anyway."

"Here I was going to offer you a chance to meet with editor of the Weekly World News!"

"Personal friend of yours?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah, he is."

"Must be a weirdo."

"Weirder than me." He's laughing.

"Mulder, NOBODY is weirder than you!"

"Probably not. So what do you need, young Frohike?"

"Um...well...you know what happened with Kelly, right?"

"Your girlfriend? Yeah, your dad told me. How's she holding up?"

"Well...she feels like she needs to talk to somebody..."

"And she's a dirt-poor student. Hold on. Let me get you some names and numbers." I hear him clicking rapidly away at his keyboard.

"Okay, here are your best bets. You two go to school in Anniston, right? There's a place in Fairfax, and one in Arlington, and where does she work?"

"Georgetown."

"Bunch of places in DC...there's one here not far from Georgetown, I've sent a lot of people there. Good staff. Check them out, see which ones she likes and feels comfortable with, and if those don't work out, I can probably find some other people who'd see her. And you should go, too."

What is this? First the prof, and now him?

Jesus.

"You're probably walking wounded, too."

"So Byers says."

"Byers isn't stupid. Even I listen to him on occasion."

"Why're you guys saying I should do this?"

Mulder laughs. "Welcome to the wonderful world of partnership, young Frohike."

"Speaking of which, how's Dr. Scully?"

"Scully is...miserable and pregnant and grouchy. I can't believe this baby has another month before she pops."

"Maybe it'll come early."

"Oh, Christ. After the last one...well, in another week, she won't be considered premature anymore, so anytime after that, Miss Sarah wants to make her debut, I'm ready."

"How's the Mulderette?"

"Rebecca? Big. Noisy. Entertaining. You should come see her sometime. She's probably bored with us. I know I'd be." He laughs. "Right now she's at Grandma's, so I can have Scully yell just at me and not at both of us."

"Good thing she can't hear you. You know Blonde Boy's having surgery today, don't you?"

"Langly? I heard he was being tested for bone marrow transplantation to his sister...so he came up a match?"

"Yep."

"How's he doing?"

"He's maintaining. I guess. Actually, I think he's been kind of wrecked."

"Been there. Done that. Totally sympathize."

I'd heard about Dr. Scully's cancer. It must've been hell for him.

"Anyway, thanks for the numbers..."

"No problem. Call anytime. I need to go, my wife is shouting at me for something."

"And you probably deserve it."

"Hey, I don't even ask. I just say I'm sorry. I probably did something."

I laugh as I hang up, and so does he.

Women.

END OF PART 57