BYERS:
 

Misericordia
 

She's awake.

Oh God. Thank God. If there is one, which I highly doubt...but if there is, my Juliet is awake.

And she even tries to give me a little smile when she does. Her lips are still cracked and cut, and her face bruised and sore, but I can tell when she's trying to smile.

Oh God. I love her so dearly.

And even with her injuries, she is so lovely to me.

I kiss her very gently, careful not to disturb her lines and bandaging.

I am so lucky. I cannot believe how lucky I am. She's alive.

Pinch me. I'm dreaming.

Caliban is with us; he's looking very tired, what with traveling and staying up all night with his sister. I thank him, although he brushes it off as though it were no big deal to him.

Juliet's voice is very hoarse. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Some."

"How's Tivvy?" Of course, she'd be concerned about the cat.

"She misses you." And I know she does. "But Michael is taking good care of her."

"Michael is good with animals."

"That he is."

I consider Michael...how much I disliked him when he first entered our lives. How poorly mannered he was, how ill-tempered. In the beginning, I wrote him off as a lost cause, a mere charity case for Frohike's paternal guilt.

How wrong I was. How I've come to value that boy, his intelligence and sensitive nature. I am grateful that I was wrong, and that I was able to see it.

And with Juliet. In the beginning, I was flush with passion...and then the terrible uncertainty...and then finally, some resolution.

And now it's beyond resolution. It's absolute.

I cannot live without this woman.

That she lives and breathes inspires a gratitude in me I cannot even express.

I want her there, always.

I want her to wake up where I am...I want to have children with her...I want to be old with her.

And there's something else I want. Something I need to talk to Langly about.

I want him to put his artistic skills to work.

I want a portrait of my love.

He does not know it, but I have sneaked into his drawer, where he keeps his sketchbooks, and looked at his drawings in the night. I have seen how he has captured Ally, how his love for her is reflected in the charcoal sketches he does of her...

And I ache for him today. I know he wanted to be a father in the worst possible way.

This is something I want for myself. I have been so terribly uneasy with the prospect, while, simultaneously, longing for it.

Were she not in her present condition, I would lie down on top of her, kiss her, and ask her gently to give me a child.

And I think she would.

There will be time for that.
 

She's soon asleep again. I'm grateful for this. She seems to not be able to stay awake for very long; while I would love to speak more with her, at the same time, it helps me to avoid answering difficult questions-such as where her mother and father are.

All I told her was that they were near and they would see her soon. This seemed to satisfy her, and she drifted back into narcotic slumber. I know she's in a great deal of pain.

What I wouldn't do if she could transfer it to me so that she herself could lose it.

I won't be able to avoid her queries forever, though. Sooner or later, her mother and brother and I will have to tell her the truth about her father.

I would very much like to get out of this particular upcoming event.

But if I'm any kind of man at all, I won't.
 

LANGLY:

"Ally, please stay here and sleep and get better." Once again, I've resorted to begging. I'm doing a lot of this lately. And not liking it much.

"No. I can't. I'll just worry the whole time. I have to go with you." She's gritting her teeth, I know she feels lousy, but she's fighting it. And me. "Langly...please. This time. It's really important...and I'm scared to be alone right now."

This from a woman who asks us on a regular basis to please find something to do so she can get some privacy?!

Weird.

We're on the sofa having some more coffee-Christ, I'm gonna be dead tonight-and she's snuggled into me, which is nice, but I don't like that she's not doing so great. I mean, I really don't want to leave her...but I have to go. And she's like she's determined I'm not gonna leave her here.

She wins. As always.

"Whatcha scared of, Ally?" I'm playing with her hair. I do that a lot. Another part of what makes Ally and Langly, well, Ally and Langly.

This is enough to make her cry again. Oh man. Ever since she started hormone treatments in February, she's been real easy to cry.

I wonder if that's gonna change now that she's not having a baby.

Have to say, I hope so. Sounds kind of brutal, but seeing Ally like this...well, it's hard. I got so used to her mostly being real calm and stuff, and seeing her all upset, I have a hard time dealing with that.

"I don't know." She chokes out the words between sniffs. She's breathing hard, like she does trying to control herself. Not happening real well right now. I just rub her back and try to make her feel better. "I'm just...so sad..."

Yeah, me too. Although I gotta say, Miranda gets snaps for making me feel a little better today.

"Hey, Ally. When did 'Randa start using our last name?"

She looks up. "I wasn't aware she had. Why?"

"She signed her card to me, 'Miranda Gerstein-Langly.'"

She shakes her red hair. "She didn't say anything about it to me...but then again, I've been so wound up in trying to create this new baby...I seemed to have forgotten about the one we already have." And she starts crying again.

"Hey, 'Randa's a big girl, and she loves you."

"I know...I just...I'm still her mom...and I still need to take care of her...and I've done so lousy at it...lousy at taking care of everybody..." More tears.

You know, I sound like a real asshole when I say this, but I could really use a no-cry day.

"Hey. We decided we'd have this baby...and you had to take care of you...and him...and maybe you couldn't take care of us..." How'm I supposed to make her feel better when I feel so shitty myself?

"I know...but..." she's like off and running now. And she's real feverish, and I think she should call Scully, which she hasn't done, and I just wanna put her to bed and make it all go away for her. Which I can't, but I keep thinking, she gets some sleep, she'll feel better, maybe then we won't be so bummed.

We won't be so bummed. Christ. It's like I can't even think of myself without including her in it.

Maybe that's good. Maybe that's what being married is about.

If it is, well, we're there.

It was just so fucking hard getting there.
 

MICHAEL:

Okay, so I don't have to feed the cats today...

But that just means, more time to see Kelly.

It's like, we're always so busy, sometimes I wonder if we're ever gonna get to a place where we aren't always so jammed up the ass with stuff.

Right now, I just wanna get in bed with her. Even if it's her skinny bed.

Sleeping on the sofa last night, it was like, I just wanted to be right next to her...I remember the night I slept all night with her at the shore. It was so warm. I never slept so good in my life. I think about how she feels against me, and I go nuts. It's like I need her body to live. My own's not enough anymore.

This is good, and it's a drag. It makes me so fucking scared. It's like, what if she decides she doesn't have time for me or I don't fit in her life or she just plain doesn't like me?

I don't know why I think this. She seems so happy with me when we're together. I mean, whethere we're just having something to eat, or playing with the cats, or working on homework, or being in bed together, it's like...it just seems so nice. And she seems happy.

I wonder if I can keep making her happy.

God, I want to. I want her to be a doctor as much as she does, and I'll do whatever I have to to help her. I mean that.

But I'm so scared...it's like, everything I do, I never do it quite right...I'm so afraid of being a fuckup forever.

One thing I need to do, I need to get Miranda to cut my hair. It's getting real shaggy, and I'm sorry, I'm not Hairboy. I don't keep it real short, but I'm not gonna do a Langly. Too much maintenance. And mine's so fine, it's like when the wind blows, I get this mouthful of hair, like flossing and breathing at the same time. And I do floss every day already, thank you very much. Probably the only reason I still have teeth. Last time I went to a dentist was when I lived with my mom, which meant I had to be like 15...Christ, 10 years...

I don't wanna think about this. The teeth in the way back of my mouth hurt a lot sometimes...and I'm scared to death of dentists. Course, most reasonable people are. They're scary people. And so fucking anal. I mean, I go to one, say sorry I didn't go for 10 years because I had like no money and no insurance and they're like, they don't get it. And I don't feel like anybody chewing me out right now.

I sort of know now what Langly means by you wake up every day and you're scared. I wake up, I always got this knot in my stomach...I think I'm mostly afraid that I'm not gonna meet people's expectations. Especially my dad and Kelly, but also the guys and everybody else that depends on me.

It's so weird. People depend on me now. Never had that before. I like it...but it's like, it could be bad, because what if you fuck up?

Like today. This guy tells Langly, come by yourself, but there is no fucking way I'm gonna let Hairboy get in trouble on his own. I mean, that would just be wrong, wouldn't it?

Plus, the chance to meet The Thinker? I mean, I'd have to be crazy to pass that one up. I might not get to, but if I did, it'd be so cool.

Course, what if this guy isn't who he says he is...and we're in deep shit?

I know we don't do guns, they scare the hell out of Dad and me and the guys, we just don't keep 'em around. I kind of feel like maybe I should change my mind on the subject right now. I remember Dr. Scully saying she feels naked without her old friend, she had to give hers back when she quit being a Fibbie, but I bet she's got one of her own somewhere. Maybe not. She's got little kids now. Course, Mulder doesn't have his reg weapon...but what if he's got stuff hidden at home?

I'm like so tempted to ask if I can borrow one.

Only one problem with that. I got no idea how to shoot.

Which is good. Because if I did, I'd probably do Troy. And that would be bad.

So damn satisfying, though.
 

LANGLY:

Ally insists she wants to go. I really don't want her to. What if this goes down bad? I tell her this, and she says that's exactly why she's going.

What does Mighty Mouse have in mind, anyway? I mean, what could she do...I suppose with her cell, dial 911...but that's assuming she sees anything, and she's not going in with me. No fucking way.

She needs to stay home and get better. She doesn't need to be running around the goddamn city with me and Junior.

Christ, I even wonder if taking Junior's a good idea. I mean, Junior's cool and all, and I think he'll do what I tell him...but I don't know...this whole thing makes me queasy.

So far, I've tried begging, pleading, whining and finally, yelling.

If somebody has a technique they think might work, tell me quick, because so far, nothing's working here. Begging and pleading, all she says, it's such an ugly habit, Langly. Whining, I do so much of it she says that I think she ignores me. And yelling? She just yells back.

I'm tempted to try direct order...but I think the only thing that would get me is a good laugh. This might have worked in days when guys had prerogatives, but I mean, let's face it, those days have been gone a long time.

So why haven't we changed? I mean, time evolves faster than we do, and that sucks, 'cause there is like no way we can fucking keep up.

Plus, keep up with women? Ally's got this thing on her computer called the rules. First rule is the female makes the rules. Second rule, when in doubt, refer to rule number one. Rule number three, the male may not know all the rules at any time. Rule four, the female can change the rules at any time without giving notice to the male...I mean, you want to talk about being at a disadvantage?

Before Ally got pregnant, it was like, you could count on her to be reasonable...but maybe all those hormones got to her. She is like so not reasonable right now...and I need her to be.

And so goddamn clingy. I mean, I used to be worried 'cause she was like, she could so take care of herself, and now it's like she doesn't want me out of her sight...I am so fucking confused. What does this girl want, anyway?

"I want to go with you," she just tells me flat out. Okay, so that's progress, but it doesn't make my life easier.

"Ally. Dude said come alone." We've been over this already, only about a hundred times in the last hour.

"Forget it. I'm going."

"Ally, you're staying home, that's that."

Oops. Wrong tack. The fact she's a redhead is about to become way too obvious. She's flaring already...and she doesn't like being bossed around.

And I don't feel like having her tear into me. I've had enough people tear into me lately, and there isn't much of me left.

She starts screaming at me, but it's like, then she breaks down and starts to cry...oh forget it. She wins. Again.

"Okay. But you're staying with Junior. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"And take a blanket. It's 90 and I'm running the AC."

"Okay."

She looks real tired. It'd be really better for her to stay home and sleep all afternoon. She might feel better.

Nope, she's made up her mind. And unless I wanna spend the right of the day duking it out with her, I'd better give it up and move my ass, 'cause it's almost time to get out the door.
 

MICHAEL:

Ally's coming with us. Fuck.

I mean, I love Ally, she's cool and all...but she looks like she's sick, she just lost her baby, and she looks like shit. I look at Langly and he just gives me this look like, don't ask.

She crawls in the back seat, lies down, and she's asleep before we even get to the bridge.

"She's gonna be real helpful," I mutter to Langly so she can't hear me.

"Junior, don't go there, I've been there all morning." He looks pretty damn tired, too.

And nervous. We're both nervous. Meeting people you don't know...in this type of situation, it's scary.

"You think this guy is for real?" I ask Langly, trying not to show how chickenshit I really am. God, I wish I'd asked Mulder for a gun...

Except I'd probably end up shooting my own balls off or something equally moronic.

"Hope so. I mean, I hope he's what he says he is."

Traffic into DC on Sunday, you'd think it'd be light and all, but it's tourist time, so it's crowded getting there. Not so crowded, though, when we turn off to get into Southeast DC, former home of TMB.

Weird world here.
 

LANGLY:

It's so weird to be here again.

I mean, we lived here for almost ten years. And it's a crummy section of DC, yeah, probably the worst, but when we lived here, it was cool. Like we knew all the barkeeps, and the cops, and the drunks in the alley, and the dope dealers and the checkers in the Safeway and the hookers on our corner...and everybody was real cool. I mean, we didn't hassle anybody, they didn't hassle us.

Wonder if all the same people are there. I think the guy runs the cheesesteak place is still there. Have to remember to pick one up to take back to Frohike.

Assuming we all get out in one piece, that is.

There's this bodega two over from where we used to have our offices/residence. I never went there, don't think any of us did. I mean, we're not exactly the crowd for visiting Mama Lucita, who advertises herself as a fortune teller, able to solve all your problems, come in for a free reading, then lose your shirt...she doesn't say that part, but I remember there was like this scam with fortune tellers-I think they're all scam artists-and they rounded up a bunch of 'em a few years back, mostly what they saw in their future was cleaning out other people's bank accounts.

I think most of 'em were back in business by Monday.

Parking's still a pain in the ass around here, like it is in all of DC...and with Ally and Junior, I want them to be in a safe place...wonder if the old offices have new tenants, if they don't, maybe they could stay there...

Junior says they could stay at the cheesesteak place, and that's probably good, Jimmy knows us, he'll take care of 'em. It's kind of small to sit in there, but Jimmy'd look out for 'em.

Course, then they can't see anything, and I might need them to.

There's the tavern across from the old place where we used to go close up sometimes, sit and yap with Bertie, the bartender...wonder if he's still around.

We check it out.

Bertie's not only there, still got the reddest nose on the planet and the same Irish accent-he was born in Boston but he's gone to Ireland a lot, so he like does this Irish accent all the time-I think he runs guns to the IRA or something.

And he remembers me, comes out and gives me like a big hug, which is really bizarre. The guy reeks of Guinness and it's only ten to one.

I introduce him to Ally, he's like totally surprised, he must be one of the ten people left on the planet that doesn't know I got married, and he's like off and trying to charm her. She's not much in the mood to be charmed today, even I can't do it, but I tell Bertie I got an errand to run-he sort of nods like he knows what I'm talking about, and promised to take care of her. Then I introduce Junior, tell him he's Frohike's boy, and Bertie's like all happy, he and Frohike used to get on real well, they'd talk long after Byers and me were ready to give it up and go back and crash.

Plus, you can see the bodega from Bertie's real easy. And that's good. Junior says he's gonna order a beer and sit at the window table, and Ally says she wants one too-bad idea probably right now. Then again, maybe not, maybe she'll calm down.

I tell Junior to keep watching and ask Ally if she's got her cell. I won't use one usually, but she sort of needs hers, and right now I'm glad she's not a slave to total paranoia.

She looks scared and tired and sad and miserable...and I feel like such a shit...

Going out the door, that's one of the scariest moments I can remember.
 

MICHAEL:

"Ally, you sure it's okay if you drink?" I'm wondering.

"Michael, I'm not pregnant anymore..." I think I hear a little catch in her voice, but she takes a sip of her Bass ale and she's calmer. Then she pulls a pack of Marlboro Lights out of her purse and lights one up.

Christ, you'd think she'd gone this long, she'd just give it up altogether, but she's like so stressed, I don't want to piss her off. And Ally can get pissed.

This guy has like a pretty empty house, there's only four other people there besides us, so he decides he's gonna come over and talk to us. He wants to know how long Ally's been married to 'the fair-haired boy,' he calls Langly, and this makes her giggle a little. She tells him, says they went suburban and all...which sounds so funny, and Bertie thinks so too. He cracks up when Ally says they bought a place in Alexandria almost two years ago.

Christ. I've been here over a year and a half. Wow. It's like it went so fast...and it keeps going faster all the time.

Everything's so different. Sometimes it's really awful and scary...other times, it's like so great.

This afternoon could go either way, and that makes me not feel too calm.

I take a long sip of my Sam Adams. I need it.
 

LANGLY:

Door's not locked, no big surprise, since they're open for business...I say I got an appointment at one with The Thinker.

Must be the mom or something. This lady looks like she's about a hundred fifty years old and she's got glasses like double Coke bottle bottoms. There's a bunch of people sitting around this living room done up in early funeral parlor, and they're all wearing these gypsy clothes and stuff. It's weird...but it's also kind of like, there's something sort of peaceful here.

Well, that's good. I mean, these people might know how to rip you off, but they don't look violent. Course, you never know...sometimes the ones you don't suspect are the ones that nail your ass.

Mom doesn't understand English, apparently. One of the other 'kids'-and this lady must be fifty if she's a day-comes over and asks me if I want a reading. I say no, I got an appointment with The Thinker.

"Oh, you're George."

I keep hearing that name from my childhood, and it's like so weird...she leads me up the stairs and into like what seems like an apartment that's real well buried in the place, sort of like it would be a good safe house...maybe that's what it is...and I'm not feeling any less nervous.

This lady knocks on the door, sort of like in a way that she coded or something, it's a pattern she repeats over and over. I hear about six locks unhook inside.

Standing in front of me is this tall, skinny guy, losing his hair, looks like it was blonde but it's gray now, got light blue eyes...

No fucking way...I'm dreaming this.

Wait, I only had two beers last night. Honest. I can do two beers and not even get a buzz.

This guy...looks exactly like I'd look in about ten years if I ran myself into the ground and lost about twenty pounds.

But I really freak when I hear the voice.

"George, it's me."

I pass out right then and there.

END OF PART 40