At Secura Quies et Nescia Fallere Vita
 

BYERS:

This is by far the strangest set of circumstances I've ever encountered, at least in doing what should not be a terribly complicated job.

Downloading data from one computer to another is usually not a big issue for us. Granted, Mulder's computer lacks certain enhancements that would simplify the job, but that's not the issue here.

The data is not encrypted, and if it were, Langly would have taken care of that rapidly.

Ally says she can't copy anything to external media. We've taken her through a number of different configurations, with no results.

The lab manager, Peter, gets on with us. He is more knowledgeable than Ally, but no more successful. The other lab rats have left for the day, with the exception of Scully, and she is probably less computer literate than either Peter or Ally.

Frohike might know what to do...but he's not here right now. Michael says he and Mulder went to check something out early this afternoon.

And by now, they've probably hit Mitch's. I ask if anyone's tried there. A resounding chorus of 'no's.'

Talk about overlooking the obvious.

Michael tries Mitch's, and apparently Frohike and Mulder put in an appearance late this afternoon, but left shortly thereafter.

"He says try this number," Michael's scratched out what I think is a phone number on a Post-it.

Thank God for computers. If that kid had to go through life depending on his own handwriting, he'd be in serious trouble.

I ask him to go through what he did initially, thinking that there might have been a problem in the setup.

That doesn't appear to be the case...and Michael seldom makes mistakes in that regard. His handwriting is horrible, and he can't spell to save his life, but he does a clean, solid hack.

I ask Langly what sort of communications setup he was attempting. Doesn't appear that the problem is there, either.

The real difficulty seems to be coming from the computers in Scully's lab.

Michael's trying the phone number he was given, asking for Melvin Frohike.

"He was there, but they took off like half an hour ago," he shakes his head in disgust. "Probably cruising another bar." He looks desolate.

We could all use Frohike's expertise right now, but when Michael needs him, and he's not there, it's personal for him.

This leads to one inevitable conclusion.

We are screwed.
 

LANGLY:

Something's wrong here. I tell Ally to stay there till we figure out what's going on. She says, they're not going anywhere till they can get their data.

And she says, there's lots of it. And we need to get into the Cray, which, while doable normally, is not a piece of cake.

And the little ones are screaming that they're hungry. I tell Junior to get these kids something to eat so they'll be quiet. He does it, but not before he flips me off.

He can be such a little fuckrag sometimes.
 

MICHAEL:

Okay, what's to eat? For Sarah, that's obvious, give her another bottle (and this time, I don't overcook it. I do learn, you know). Luckily, the Mulders seem to be king and queen of the microwave-there's a lot of boxed food in the freezer. Decent stuff, too-heavy on the Stouffers and Marie Callenders. (Hey, you ever lived on your own and you can't afford anything and you can't cook? You learn the difference between Swanson and Stouffers real fast).

Patrick sees Chicken and Noodles, he starts screaming that's what he wants. Fine. Like I give a fuck. I stuff the tray into the microwave and start feeding the baby.

I am not ready to have kids.

This dish takes twelve minutes-twelve minutes of listening to Becca and Patrick argue and scream when's their dinner going to be ready. Christ.

I think I'd rather be upstairs trying to figure out what the hell is going wrong. I may know what's going wrong down here, but I can't say I like it.

Four minutes to go on the microwave, kids arguing over some Sesame Street toy where you press certain shapes to get certain sounds, it's like one of them has something, the other one has to have it. Christ. Did Les and me do that?

If we did, then we gave our parents hell.

Speaking of parents, just about the time these kids are working my last nerve, Dad and Mulder walk in the door.

I don't know whether I'm more relieved or pissed off, but I before I decide that, I hand Sarah to her dad and tell my dad we need him upstairs. Mulder looks like, what the hell, but I tell him, just feed the kiddies, for Christ's sake!

He sort of shrugs in that Mulder way and starts dishing out microwave special to the appreciative audience.

Dad's like, what's going on?

"We're trying to download the data from Dr. Scully's lab computers...her stuff's getting all fucked up, she wants us to get it."

"So what's the problem?"

"We can't."

"Langly should be able to figure out an encryption algorithm in a hurry."

"It's not encrypted." I'm running up the steps and I'm annoyed at Dad for taking so damn long.

"Then what's going on?"

"We can't get it!"

Dad sort of rolls his eyes and sighs. I lead him into Mulder's room where Langly and Byers are trying something, Langly's on the phone with Ally and he's trying to tell her to hang tight and not to lose it.

"Come on, children, out of the way," he tells Langly and Byers.

"Where the hell've you been, Doohickey?" Langly's really irritated with him.

"Langly, calm," Byers is telling him this while he hardly looks calm himself.

Byers just looks tired.

Dad takes the conn, as would be said in Star Trek parlance. He starts whacking away at the keys-I've got no idea what he's doing. I'm trying to watch, we all are.

A few minutes later, the download starts. Phone rings. Ally's on it, she sounds like she's almost crying with relief, wants to talk to Langly. He gets on the phone and he's like purring to her now instead of screaming, tells her it's okay, it's gonna be all right.

And to our amazement, it is. Tons of data starts flowing into Mulder's computer, Byers starts backing stuff up.

I can hear everybody breathing again. It's weird.

Like everyone forgot to for a while.
 

Ally and Dr. Scully and Peter, who's in Dr. Scully's lab, drag their asses in a little while later. They look totally wiped.

Peter is so fucking tall. He's even taller than Mulder and Langly. I feel like a fucking dwarf.

Mulder's ordered a shitload of takeout Japanese from Sushi on Wheels. I'm sorry, I got to be skeptical of any place with that name. I bet all those years on the road in the Fibbies ruined his taste buds...I think he'll pretty much eat anything.

Delivery guy finally shows up with about a million takeout containers of sushi, sashimi, tempura, teriyaki, rice, udon noodles, and a case of Kirin. The Kirin sounds mighty good right now. Not a lot of talking while people are trying to stuff their faces. Everybody looks like they had the day from hell.

I know I did.

I'm not a big fan of Japanese food, particularly third-rate Japanese food, so I figure some noodles should be safe.

Even noodles hurt to eat. Christ. I can't deal with this.

I go for the Kirin. I need it tonight.

Oh God, what the fuck time is it?

Langly's next to me, stabbing away at a chunk of sashimi. "What's the matter, Junior? You're not eating. You got a problem with fishies?"

"I don't eat them raw."

"Wimp." He does, however, manage to drop the mess before he can get it to his mouth.

"Langly. Try a fork."

"Fuck you, Junior."

Not that I have room to talk. I cannot use chopsticks to save my life. I just can't get it. Mulder and Dr. Scully can do it. Dad and Byers can do it. Ally can do it. Even Langly can do it, sometimes.

I wonder if Kelly can eat with chopsticks. I doubt it. She never had Chinese food until she met me...

OH FUCK.

Kelly and me were gonna get together at six, go hot tubbing at Chateau Langly, hang out.

What time is it?

It's 8 fucking 30.

I am so fucked.

I slap the half-drunk Kirin down on the table, jump up, and head for the door.

"Michael? Where're you going?" Dad sees me leave.

I don't answer him.
 

BYERS:

This should be just a typical suburban gathering of friends.

We're sitting around the dining room table at the Mulder residence, finishing off the rest of the takeout-which was admittedly pretty terrible, but better than most of what I've eaten lately. I don't know that I've eaten much. The clothes are pretty damn loose.

I think I've forgotten some of the basics. Like eating and sleeping.

Juliet will be home tomorrow, and I hope to have some of that back. I have a feeling it will be a long while before the sexual part of the relationship comes back.

As I mentioned, I need to get back to the basics.

The problem is, this isn't a party. It should be, but it isn't. Everyone is so worried and tired and confused. Things are going to hell all over the place, and no one knows why, or who-or what-is responsible.

Scully is cradling her younger daughter and nursing her, so she's fairly quiet except for some smacking sounds.

Trust me, little girl. I'm envious. I'll trade places with you.

Rebecca is crawling all over her father, demanding that he pay attention to her-and he's not really obliging, which is irritating her. And she isn't the sort of child to suffer in silence. Like her father, if she's suffering, we will all suffer with her.

Patrick has grown restless, and Langly's and Ally's admonitions to cease and desist are going unheeded. He's not a cooperative child under the best of circumstances, and his current circumstances are hardly ideal.

I feel bad for the little boy, but at the same time, he is setting my teeth on edge. Not that it takes much to set my teeth on edge these days. I'm wired so hard I could snap.

I try to down another Kirin-there are only a couple left. Personally, I prefer Sapporo, but I didn't pay for this meal, and I'm not going to complain.

I may, however, explode if Patrick does not quiet down soon. Ordinarily, I enjoy the cheerful chattering and goings-about of small children. However, he is hardly cheerful, and his goings-about are of the sort that lack a particular charm.

Ally and Langly try repeated threats, cajoling, pleading and out and out yelling. Nothing seems to be taking effect.

Frohike has been extremely quiet. The only thing I've heard him utter throughout the entire meal is when he asked his son where he was going. Michael appears to have left.

Not that I blame him. I understand he's spent the better part of the day with these little darlings.

So I'm very surprised when Frohike, very quietly, goes over to Patrick, gently grabs him by the shoulder, and bores a deep green gaze into Patrick. Frohike is not a big man, and he has a gentle expression by nature. But I've noticed that with his own son, it's not necessary for him to do anything other than give him a Look...and Michael buckles under pretty rapidly.

And Michael is much older than Patrick, and presumably hipper to his father's machinations.

Whatever it was, it seemed to shock the child into silence. Patrick looks terrified.

YES!

After a few moments, and a few murmured words from Frohike that I can't make out, Frohike releases the little boy, who contritely heads over to Langly and crawls into his lap.

Frohike walks over to Langly. There's no expression on his face.

"Say it," he tells Langly.

"Huh?" Langly looks baffled.

"Say it!"

Langly looks as if he's going to choke. Then he says, in a low, pained voice, to Frohike:

"Your kung fu is best."

If that doesn't kill Langly, I don't know what will.
 

MICHAEL:

I head right for Chateau Langly. This takes a while; Mulders live up in Maryland, Chateau Langly's in Virginia. At least the 'Stang has a few guts where it counts; I get it up to 90.

And soon as I do, I notice red lights behind me.

SHIT!

Like I really need a ticket. My insurance already costs a fucking fortune.

I am so screwed.

I feel like I've been butt-fucked seven ways to Sunday today. This just tops it off.

I know I don't have any illegal substances on me. (Damn). I don't have an open container of liquor.

I'm panicking, anyway.

Cops have always been trouble for me...and they make me real nervous.

Especially when I don't have a good way to get out of this one.

And now I'm gonna be even later to see Kelly...who's probably gonna kill me, or at least kick my ass.

And I'm not in the mood for it. I feel real bad about forgetting, but I'm also not in the mood to take any shit. I've had way enough today.

I've heard that women can cry their way out of tickets, but I don't think it works for guys. So I pass on that.

And I try real hard not to antagonize the VHP officer who's pulled me over. I mean, I'm short, my hair's real long right now (Miranda's GOT to cut it), I've got my nose ring in (least I left the eyebrow rings out), and my Reservoir Dogs T-shirt. Yeah, the one that says, "I don't give a fuck what you don't know. I'm going to torture you anyway."

And I had a beer at Mulder's. Okay, half a beer...I hope he can't smell it.

He asks me if I know how fast I was going.

I lie and say no. I think it was around 90...but since I don't know exactly, I'm not going to admit to anything.

He says I was going 88. In a 55-mile zone.

Story of my life right now.

Complete with the $200 fine.

My dad is gonna kill me.
 

When I get to Chateau Langly, I'm greeted by two very pissed-off girls.

I fear pissed-off women. All sane men do. Even ones whose sanity is other wise in question, fear pissed-off women.

"Where the hell are my parents?!" Miranda of course jumps first, spitting nails from across the room where she and Kelly are watching some horrible sitcom.

"At Mulder's," I tell her in a real tired voice. I'm not in the mood to deal with Kelly, forget about Miranda.

Kelly's not yelling. She's got her arms crossed and she is glaring at me with the look of death.

Miranda jumps up for the phone, dials the Mulder residence, asks for her mom, and then begins screeching into the receiver.

"I'm sorry," I tell Kelly.

She has this voice that could crack ice. "You could've called."

"Look, I was kind of busy-"

"That's how it always is with you, Michael, you're busy, that's your excuse for everything! You just expect me to wait until you get it together-"

"Look, it was a shitty day, lots of stuff happened, I didn't have a lot of choice-"

"You could be a little considerate of me!"

"And what about you, Kelly? During school, it's like, whenever YOU'RE not busy, then it's okay, but if I got stuff to do, then that's different, I'm just supposed to drop everything-"

"I didn't tell you to drop everything! I asked you to let me know what's going on!" Now she's screaming as loud as Miranda, and it's not pretty on her.

I've never seen her this mad.

"Look, I had to watch Mulder's kids, and Patrick, and we had some problems with a hack-"

"Michael, I'm not asking for much, I just want to be called! You know, I had a shitty day, too! You weren't the only one!"

I look over at her. "No luck on the job front yet?"

She's really tetchy. "No, and it's gonna be hard, because I don't have much experience, and trying to get lab jobs without connections is really hard-"

"Maybe we could ask Dr. Scully again-"

"I feel bad enough having had to do it once! I'm supposed to do this on my own, not lean on everyone-"

"You're wrong, Kelly! If you didn't have all the rest of us, it wouldn't happen! And it doesn't happen for any of us!"

"Look, it's hard, I'm trying to stay focused, I need to do these things-"

"I know it's important to you, it's important to me, too! Jesus Christ, Kelly! Everything I try to do, I try to do it for you, I'm doing the best I can, I can't be everything to everyone-" I can hear my voice crack, and I don't like it. "I better go."

She looks sort of scared now. "No, don't, stay here, c'mon, let's go downstairs. We need to talk about this."

This means, she talks, I listen. Probably.

But I follow along anyway.
 

"Maybe you ought to try saying no once in a while," she suggests.

"Yeah? I'm supposed to say no? To who, Kelly? If I say no to you, you get mad!"

"That's not true and you know it, Michael!" And she probably is right...

"I can't say no to my dad."

"Yeah, but you don't say no to anyone! Everyone runs your ass ragged, Michael, and they never say thank you or anything, and you just put up with it, and it's pissing me off, and I have to suffer for it!"

"Look, I'm sorry you think I'm such a fuck-up-"

"You are NOT a fuck-up! I just need a little more attention, that's all!"

"I try to give you attention, I do the best I can-c'mon, Kel, I feel like shit, my face hurts-"

"So see a dentist!"

"I took today's kid-watching job in trade for a dental appointment. I'm making Mulder pay for it."

"He can certainly afford it."

I sink down on the edge of her bed. "Kel, I'm sorry, I'm so busy, I don't even know my ass from my elbow anymore, I'm trying to do so much and keep it together-"

I'm shocked when she seems to finally back down a bit. "I know. And you don't take care of yourself, and you don't let me take care of you, and you're a mess!"

Thank you, Kelly. I needed that.

Not.

But she comes over and puts an arm around my shoulder. I don't want to give in to her. I don't want to let go of being mad. It's all I got right now.

But when she touches me, it's like...I just melt.

It's totally pathetic.

I mean, I shouldn't have to take this kind of shit from her...but I do...just like I do from everyone else.

She's right. I don't say no to anyone.

I'm trying so hard to prove I'm okay. That I can do it. That I'm not a fuck-up.

And I end up fucking up everything anyway.

I'm totally depressed.

And my face hurts like hell.

And I could use a little comfort here.

She smooths my jawline with her thumb-even her gentle touch hurts. It's that tender.

"Do you want some ice?" She asks me.

"Yeah."

She goes upstairs to the freezer.

Christ, I haven't even told her about the traffic ticket yet.

200 bucks. And traffic school. My dad is gonna shit.

I'm so goddamned miserable.

All the times I wasn't even trying, I was miserable, but I figured, okay, I'm a screw-up, I deserve it.

Now, I'm busting my balls, and I'm still a screw-up...

Still totally pathetic.

END OF PART 57