FROHIKE:

I've got to get out of here.

This whole situation is making me crazy. And the fact is, I'm not even a participant, but a very peripheral spectator.

I need to go somewhere where I can clear my head. Jo can do it in church, but I cannot. All it seems to do is complicate things for me.

I'll check on Byers first, and then, I'll go to where I always go to seek refuge.

The Wall.
 

Byers is awake, and amazingly, so is Juliet. She's still very groggy and obviously very uncomfortable, but she seems happy to have him near. I stand in the doorway, not wishing to disturb them, and they are happily oblivious to my presence. Byers is murmuring to her in a fashion that is unintelligible but apparently comforting to her; I see her squeeze his hand gently.

And watch as he pulls something from his pocket.

It's her ring.

Oh my God. I didn't even think...through all this...about her ring.

Even her uninjured hand is slightly puffy from all the fluids in it, but she seems to want him to put it on, and with some gentle force, he is able to work it on to her ring finger.

And I think I hear him ask her again if she'll marry him.

I don't hear anything, but I do see her nod in the affirmative.

They'll be fine. At least for now.

I slip out utterly unnoticed, just the way I like it.
 

BYERS:

She's trying to smile. I know it must have been uncomfortable for her to have me place the ring back on her finger, but when she woke up this time, the first thing she asked was, "Where's my ring?"

Thank God for caring nurses...apparently one of them slipped it into my pocket at one point. I don't remember it, but obviously, someone took notice.

And when I put it on, I ask her again if she'll marry me.

And she can't smile well with her lip still cut and swollen, but she tries, and she nods yes as enthusiastically as a person with a raging headache-and raging pain everywhere else in her-can.

And she does hurt. I ask her if she's in pain and she says, "Yes...a lot."

I check her chart. She's already on a lot of morphine, but perhaps now that her concussion is somewhat relieved, they could possibly increase her dosage, just so that she might rest more comfortably.

And she has a lot more discomfort coming. Her hip is shattered...and that probably means a replacement. I haven't seen an orthopedic surgeon around here yet, but then again, I haven't really observed much of anything lately...everything around me is as if I weren't wearing my glasses-it's blurred, out of focus, indeterminate.

Of course, maybe if I put them on, I might get somewhere. Fortunately, they're still in the same pocket I always leave them. I don't know if I slipped them there by instinct or if a guardian angel in the form of Frohike performed this feat.

I suspect that the reason I'm even able to function right now is because of Frohike. It's as if the last thing I remember clearly is the phone call...from then on out, I'm not certain what actually transpired, and what was a figment of my own addled brain.

And Juliet knows none of this. She doesn't know that she'll need a hip replacement, months of therapy, pain for who knows how long to come.

And worst of all, she doesn't know about her father.

I hesitate on that one.

"Your mom's here," I tell her.

She looks puzzled. "I don't see her."

"She's...out for a little while." I hate lying to her, but right now, I need to ease into this gently. "She'll be here soon."

That seems to relax her. "And Dad?"

Oh Christ. What do I say?

"He's not here...but he's worrying about you."

"Why didn't he come with Mom?" Now she's really baffled.

"Caliban came with her...try and get some sleep." More for my sake than hers, I realize.

Fortunately, she's out of it enough, and in need of rest badly enough, that she complies. "Okay. But don't go."

I have no intention of doing so.
 

Caroline comes later-I have no idea how long. I have no concept of time right now. It's utterly elusive, like invisible soap in imperceptible water.

"How is she?" She's whispering so as to not wake her daughter.

"She's lucid when she's awake."

Caroline looks even more troubled and exhausted than when she entered the room. "That makes this all the harder, doesn't it?" She says sadly.

And sits next to me, and takes my other hand. I haven't let go of Juliet's hand yet. I have no idea how long I've been holding it.

Caroline looks at her daughter's left hand, and smiles. "You put her ring back on. John, it's such a lovely ring...I'm so grateful she didn't have to lose it..." She stares down at the tiny diamond, set in white gold, that graces her own hand. "I remember when Jeff gave me this one...we were so broke, both of us in graduate school, eating Kraft Macaroni and Cheese every day...and I nearly cried when he gave me this. To me, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. And it still is." Her eyes are wet, her smile wistful. 

"I was so looking forward to retirement with him...we'd planned to travel-it's our passion. We've never been rich, John, but we've always loved to travel, and we were thinking after we'd retired, we'd make a career out of it." This makes her smile, broadly, happily.

"I'm sorry, Caroline."

She waves her hand. "I still haven't made a decision...and I'm not going to right now. Not until I've had more sleep...and until I've talked to my daughter, and I'm satisfied that she understands the implications of this." Her face drops a little. "I have decided that Juliet should be part of this."

"She asked for him a little while ago."

"I'm not surprised. She loves her dad. They've always been close."

"I know. She's told me. It's obvious that she adores him."

"And he her. Tell me, John, I don't mean to pry, I know you're a very private person, and I respect that. But what of your own family? Your parents, brothers, sisters? Juliet says you have a sister, but she's met no one else. I'm not saying that to be derogatory, mind you-Juliet spoke very highly of your sister-I can't remember her name-"

"Kat. Short for Katherine. She's four years younger than I. And she's terrific. She's married to a dermatologist, has two young girls. They're beautiful."

Caroline smiles again. "Katherine. Now there's a name Jeffrey and I contemplated when I was expecting Juliet. After Kate in 'Taming of the Shrew', whom, by the way, I've always liked."

"I like her, too." I do. I always admired Katherine's spirit in 'Taming of the Shrew.' I was always somewhat sorry Petruchio was able to subdue her.

"But when she was born, well, she was so beautiful and perfect, she just had to be our Juliet." Caroline smiles at this memory as well. "Jeffrey was so delighted to have a daughter. As was I."

In spite of her anguish, here is a woman with wonderful, satisfying memories that she cherishes.

Listening to her helps me focus.

I want the same thing when I'm her age.
 

FROHIKE:

Driving from Baltimore to DC...I could do this in a coma. I probably have. I know I've done it drunk, asleep, distraught, half out of my mind...I think my car knows the way.

It's as if this site has an irresistible pull to me...rather like Skyland Mountain had for Scully at one time.

I need to be there.

It's twilight, which I am grateful for-the hordes of daytime visitors will be gone. The Wall is a quiet place at night; most people come to pay their respects during daylight hours, and the tourists come to gawk, and, perhaps in a few rare cases, try to understand.

I respect their efforts, but they never will, because they can't. It's not something you can explain to someone who did not have the experience.

There are very few people remaining when I arrive. This being Sunday, and Father's Day, there are many bouquets and flags and photos and artifacts left behind. It's been a short enough amount of time that the flowers still look fresh, and nothing is sun-weathered or windblown.

I know many of the names on this wall. You would think after so many years, memory would become soft around the edges, the faces would blur, the memories cast into a haze that time can cast.

Why has this not happened? At least, it has not happened for me.

So why do I come here?

I come here, I think, because this one site, this place, it validates what I have been through, and helps me to make what little sense of it can be made. And in that, I seem to find some reluctant peace.

I always take the same bench, before the same names-it's my way to be a creature of habit. This is my spot. I am a territorial individual. Territory involves order, system, regularity. I need that, and know so little of it.

I find it here. And I can think again.
 

Twilight gives way to dusk, and dusk fades into blue darkness. It's a fairly clear night, we've had some good high pressure over the area, and it keeps the clouds at bay. I can see some stars, which is quite a feat in a city lit up like daytime.

I begin to find myself falling together again, but I am interrupted.

A tall, large-boned figure sits on the bench at the opposite end. He does not mean to intrude, I suppose, but there is a momentary resentment that my reverie has been disturbed.

The resentment quickly diminishes, however, upon my recognition of the man at the other end of the bench.

Walter Skinner.

There is not much need for conversation between us-indeed, conversation about this matter has really never taken place between us. We have come from such different points of view and our paths diverged so much.

Or maybe not.

"How are you, Walter?" I ask quietly.

He shrugs, in a way I've not seen him do before. He's not dressed as I've seen him before, either. It's odd to see someone whom you've only seen in a uniform of one kind or another-and suits at the FBI, indeed, are uniforms-dressed in khakis and a golf shirt. And no glasses. I think the lack of glasses through me at first.

"I don't know."

I'm well aware that he is currently unemployed, still...and I am certain that this is wearing him down. Someone like Walter Skinner, who has devoted his life to the system, at least the system he thought he knew, would be at loose ends without that system to bolster him and organize his existence.

Should I say something? I'm not certain he is acquainted with Juliet...but he does know, and seems to like, Byers. Langly, I think, tends to set his teeth on edge-as he does mine sometimes-but Byers is more tolerant of authority figures, and they seem to at least not dislike one another. They have treated each other with respect.

And let's face it, Skinner has seen Byers naked, just as we have. The striptease performed in Mulder's hospital room after Scully was kidnapped was done in full view of him.

Not much left to hide after that, I suppose.

"We've had a...tragedy," I say quietly. I'm not sure I'm not overstating it, but it is most assuredly a highly distressing event.

Skinner nods. "I know. Mulder told me. Byer's fiancee. How is she?"

"Improving, but still in poor shape. Compounding the incident...her father has suffered a brain bleed...it's felt he is unlikely to recover."

Skinner was obviously not aware of this. "I'm very sorry...is she aware of her father's condition?"

"She wasn't when I left...I needed...to get away for a while."

"Me, too." Skinner laughs shortly. "Mostly, I think I need to get away from myself lately...I don't understand it...and Mulder and I keep digging, and we find nothing but blind alleyways, dead ends, darkness. And what truly mystifies me is that while I have had some organizations express interest in my...skills, they seem to lose interest fairly quickly...I've got to figure out what I'm doing wrong."

"Maybe nothing. Maybe it has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Do you think it goes back to your work on the X-files?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say...I have no idea...Mulder isn't even convinced this is related to that anymore."

"When did you last speak to Mulder?" I ask him. I actually have not spoken to him since before Juliet was injured; I assume he found out via Michael or Langly...or by other methods known only to Mulder.

"Yesterday."

"And?"

Skinner laughs harshly again. "Mulder is off celebrating Father's Day today...I don't think much of anything will get done in the world, except that Rebecca and Sarah will know how much their father loves them...and I'm envious."

"You don't have children." I know this; I probably shouldn't have said anything.

He shakes his head. "No. How are yours?"

"My boy...is doing well. My daughter...I have no idea. She was here on Friday...but she left when other events transpired. She's quite angry with me."

"I hear your boy's coming along well."

"He is." I hate to admit it, but it's somewhat gratifying that others notice and comment upon it...I'd hate to think I was the only one that could see what a wonderful human being Michael is becoming.

"He's not with you today?" Skinner seems genuinely puzzled by this.

"No...I've been with Byers all day...and Michael is helping to keep things from completely disintegrating..."

"You're very lucky."

"In spite of everything, I am."

For one thing, my name is not on the wall before us.

There but for the grace of God go I.
 

MICHAEL:

This is gonna sound stupid to all you non-cat lovers, but Tivvy is getting depressed. She's like she knows something's wrong, and she's all bummed out about it. Kelly and me came over to hang with her so she wouldn't be so lonesome.

She misses the prof and Juliet a lot. You can tell.

So me and Kelly flip on the TV-hey, only a 27-inch, but good definition, and we sit and play with kitty, trying to cheer her up a bit.

Listen, kitty, count your blessings. You don't have a three-year-old maniac chasing you, like Ally and Langly's cats do. We get out of the car, Patrick sees Motley, Motley knows this is bad news, she takes off like a shot, little monster takes off after the cat-and he is a fast little fucker. He's screaming until he sees NY Times-and NY Times hates kids. She hisses at him and takes off like a shot, and by now, Patrick's getting real bummed, and he starts screeching.

I bet Screamer took off and hid somewhere in the center of the earth.

Kelly and me also decided to come over here because it's a hell of a lot quieter here than at Chateau Langly. With the visitor, who seems to be the child from hell, the decibel level got pumped up even more than I can stand-and I've done my share of metal concerts, thank you very much.

I even felt bad for Miranda. She meets the little monster, she's there with her boyfriend, and this kid is carrying on, and Langly's like, see what you can do with him.

If she'd killed Langly right then and there, I wouldn't have blamed her.

It's Sunday night, I try calling home, see if Dad's there. I feel bad that he didn't have too good a Father's Day...but you know, shit happens.

He's not in. Probably still with the prof.

Kitty seems happier after we play with the fishing pole with the feathers on it, and throw a few jingle balls around, and pet her a whole bunch. I scratch her ears while we watch 'The Simpsons.' I swear, I've seen every Simpsons rerun at least five times, but that's okay, I never get tired of them, Kelly likes them too. And it's not real often we can just sit and watch TV.

I wonder if someday we'll be like this in our own place, petting the cat and watching TV together. That would actually be cool.

We need to get back soon and I need to get some writing done for TMB...but we haven't changed the sheets from yesterday...and I wouldn't mind checking them out again.
 

Kelly is so beautiful. She says she feels fat, but I think she's wonderful. All curves and softness. I can just lose myself in her, and that's the way I like it.

She's got wonderful tits. Massage 'em, kiss 'em, suck 'em, I love it all...and I do it all tonight, and she likes it. She's headed for my zipper pretty soon.

God. There is nothing better than being naked with Kelly. Nothing. Not even chocolate...and I love chocolate.

Speaking of which, I think there was some Smucker's syrup in the fridge...

No, the prof would kill us...

Then again, would he have to know?

Nah.
 

I never had chocolate covered Kelly before, but it's a treat I could stand to do again...and we found some whipped cream and cherries, too...this was great.

I lick all the goodies off her...she tastes so good anyway, and she makes all this sweet stuff even sweeter...

After I lick it all off her, and she's just about crying out for me, it's time to pick from the condom collection.

We go for the ultra thin ones this time...why not?

And I don't think it would matter if these guys were made like Goodyear tires...being in her, it's so warm, it's so tight, it's...

Oh man...incredible...I love her so much...listening to her moan, it just drives me crazy...

One good thing about rubbers, you can hold out a little longer...

But not much.

Loving her, it's so incredible...I am so fucking lucky...

Never thought I'd say that about myself.

END OF PART 44