Cadit Quaestio
 

FROHIKE:

Air conditioning is a wonderful thing.

By the time Allison has left for work, I can feel the sweat dripping from the back of my neck...and it's not even 10 a.m.

I hate this weather. I have visions, unbidden, unwanted, of days in the jungle, with air so heavy you could barely breathe...of feeling constantly damp...of the smells of sweat and blood and ammunition tainting the tropical air. I'd always disliked summertime to some extent. But after 'Nam, I wondered why I never relocated to a cooler climate.

Simple, Frohike. You're from here. Your roots are here. And like it or not, they are important to you, at least in some form.

I think roots are necessary to all of us. There's something in the human psyche that needs to know from where it came, how it evolved...a system to make sense of the chaos that is frequently our lives.

I enjoy these times, when the offices are my own. I can concentrate sans interruptions. I thoroughly enjoy the company of the others, and would be lost if I were to have to be on my own all the time...which makes me wonder how Michael has borne up during the last month and a half or so, when basically, he's been in charge of the operation.

I've glanced over the editions he produced on his own, but haven't really read them yet. I think it's time I did.

And after an hour of hard reading and analysis, I'm almost in tears.

I'm so proud of my boy. I almost can't believe this was his production...the writing is so mature and developed, the style grounded, and the mechanics in place. (He must have run Spellcheck about 50 times).

And I think I need to tell him. My tendency is to criticize him when he's wrong-and he does need it-but sometimes I fall short in the compliments department. I need to correct that. I've had high expectations for him, and frequently have lay awake nights wondering if I'm being unrealistic.

No, I haven't. I haven't, for once, been totally wrong.

I'll be going home to check on him later. He's going to be one unhappy boy...perhaps letting him know what I think of what he's done might make him feel a little better.
 

The pleasant solitude of the morning ends with the arrival of Byers. No, Byers is not a noisy man-quite the contrary. Unlike Langly, who bursts into a room, virtually announcing, 'here I am, look at me!', Byers appears more like a shadow-silent, but unmistakably present.

At first I am slightly taken aback. He's dressed in khakis and a golf shirt-not his normal working attire. However, had he appeared in a suit on a day like today, I would have had to question his sanity in droves.

He is so thin, so exhausted, and getting grayer all the time. In the few short weeks that have transpired, I've noticed a heavy prominence of gray cropping up in both the beard and the hair.

On the other hand, he HAS all his hair, and he ought to be grateful for small favors. Some of us are not quite so lucky.

"How goes it?" I ask him as he sits down and boots up his system.

"All right."

Yeah, Byers, and I'm six-feet-ten. Sure.

"Juliet is doing well?" I inquire.

"She's dogged about her therapy...still sad about her father."

"And Caroline?"

No response.

"How is Caroline doing?"

He hesitates. I am concerned. I move over towards him to get a better look at him.

To my surprise, mild horror, and supreme amusement, the pale facial skin, which normally boasts no more than a light dusting of freckles, is covered with acne...and I notice a number of hives breaking out on his arms.

There is justice in the world, after all.

Langly and I both suffered horribly from acne when we were younger. Langly is young enough that he was able to enjoy the benefits of Accutane, but in my case, I'm stuck with the memory in the form of various pits and scars.

I feel terrible for having such sentiments, but somehow, it seemed unfair that Byers would never have to know the agony of a bad breakout.

Acne seems to be such a trivial thing, but when I had it, it was anything but. And Langly feels the same way. All you want to do is hide. Mostly from yourself. Which is difficult.

I'll have to tell Michael, who unfortunately has acquired my DNA in that regard. In his mid-20s now, the situation is improving, but I notice he still has spells where he breaks out like crazy. It will make his day.

"I asked how Caroline was doing," I repeat to Byers.

"Well...she's there." Emphasis on the 'there.'

"How long is she staying?"

"No idea." He shakes his head miserably.

"I thought you liked her."

"I do."

"So what's the problem?"

God, trying to get this boy to talk...hand me the fucking crowbar, would you? That's about what it takes to get past that WASP restraint.

He looks guilty. "She's driving me insane."

"Well, it's a small apartment." They only have a one-bedroom...the lack of privacy alone would be stressful.

"It isn't just that."

"What is it, then? She seems like a very caring woman."

"She is."

"But?" There's always a 'but' in there.

"It's as if she's totally taken over. She makes me feel...as if there is no way Juliet and I could deal with this ourselves."

Right now, boy, there probably isn't...but I'm not going to say that. Yet.

"Meaning?"

"Well...she does everything. I haven't been allowed to clean a single thing, cook a single meal, or even take Juliet to therapy without her tagging along."

"Okay. Well, she's probably very depressed over her husband...she needs to keep busy right now. And her daughter does need her."

"Juliet and I need to do this together."

"Byers, you ARE doing it together...but let's face it, it's a big job. You can use the help."

There, I said it.

"I realize that...but it's worse."

"In what way?" I must have hung around Mulder too long. I'm starting to sound like a shrink here.

"Well, Juliet is getting very irritated with her...but instead of telling Caroline about it, she complains to me...and I feel stuck in the middle."

"If she's upset with her mother, she should deal with that, not expect you to do it."

"I don't know that that's possible."

No, it's hard to separate the boundaries sometimes.

It makes me realize why I value Jo's friendship so much. Jo needs, and respects, people's boundaries.

And watching Langly and Allison, I understand why things are getting so complicated...neither can separate their own anguish from the other's. Essential in couplehood, probably, but a real pain in the ass for getting through the day.

I am seeing glimmers of it happening with Michael and Kelly as well.

"There are...other things." He's blushing crimson, and this tells me what the 'other things' are.

"Mother-in-law putting a kink in your sex life?"

I couldn't resist that. Sorry.

"I don't think Juliet's comfortable...trying...with her mother in the next room."

Somehow that seems reasonable. And makes me wonder how much of this is related simply to the fact that Byers is no doubt incredibly horny. He seems to know that I know, and he's almost violet now.

He's such a WASP. It's almost entertaining.

"And she won't lay off...about my father." This is spoken with a surprising amount of bitterness."

"You tried. He didn't want to talk. What else does she expect?"

"She hassles me about trying again...this has been going on since Jeffrey passed on, and she brings it up constantly...and I'm ready to throttle her." Combination of guilt and extreme irritation has moved into the cultured voice.

Still, whatever I think of James Arthur Byers...and it's not much, believe me...he's still his father...and maybe he should make the attempt again.

Just as I should with my own daughter. Now I've got my own sea of guilt swallowing me up.

"Maybe you should," I suggest.

He looks pained. "Et tu, Frohike?" Borrowing a line from 'Julius Caesar.'

I look at him. "I know how it is with my own kids, Byers."

He shakes his auburn head vigorously. "I need to get some work done."

In other words, this conversation is over, Frohike.

Speaking of children, I should go see how my boy is doing.
 

MICHAEL:

"Michael. Sit up slowly."

Huh? What?

"You're done."

I am?

It's like everything is unreal...like I was asleep but I wasn't...I got no idea how long it's been...where the fuck is Kelly?

I can't see anything. That's right, they made me take my glasses off.

I try to talk...my whole face is like numb...and when I try to talk, there's this stuff in my mouth...feels like bowling balls...no, wait, it's gauze...lots of it...

I try to pull on it, it's got blood on it...

"You need to leave the sponges in."

"Kelly." That came out like something that doesn't sound much like Kelly, but I guess they're used to this.

"We'll get her now."

I hope she's still there...Kelly be there...

A blurry blonde vision...she is so hot...

"Try to help him stand up."

She takes my hands and tells me, get up slowly. She kisses my cheek, I think, but I can't feel it...

"Glasses." I'm trying to talk to her and it's not working, but she gets it, puts them on my face.

Yep, it's her...she's holding me.

I feel sick. Oh Christ, how can I feel sick...I don't have anything in my stomach...

I can't get sick.

Then I puke all over my shoes.

I may be out of it, but I'm still so fucking pathetic.
 

This is one of those times you're glad your girlfriend wants to be a doctor. She doesn't get grossed out. She just pulls my shoes off, throws them in her trunk, and says we'll go home and then she'll get me some pain meds and Coke.

Whatever. Just get me out of here.

I don't remember getting home, but I know my bed when I see it, and I just want it now, but Kelly pulls the rest of my clothes off...guess I did some residual damage when I hit my shoes.

"Can't feel my face," I complain to her. And I can't. It's like I don't have a nose anymore.

My neck hurts.

She pulls the gauze out, and as dazed and confused as I am, I know blood when I see it...oh gross. How can she do this?

Thank God she can.

She puts new chunks of gauze in. This is not really what I want her to do with my mouth, but I guess right now eating her out is out of the question.

"Michael. I'm going to Walgreen's."

"No." I don't wanna be alone right now.

"I need to get your prescriptions. And some soda."

"Don't leave me." I hope she understood that.

"It's all right, I'll stay with him while you do it." Dad's voice. Where'd he come from?

"Hi, Mr. Frohike." It's so weird. She still calls my Dad Mr. Frohike.

"How's the patient?" I assume he's referring to me.

"He's fine."

That's what you think.

I'm cold. It's like a hundred and fifty degrees outside and I'm cold.

I just wanna go to sleep.

Dad helps me put on some new clothes and then all I can remember is him rubbing my back...

And I had this dream where he told me I did good on the magazine...
 

LANGLY:

This is weird. Ally's home already. Usually I'm first one home.

Maybe Miranda had a real bad day with Patrick and she had to come home so Miranda wouldn't murder him.

She's in the kitchen, having a Corona with a lime in it.

She doesn't jump up to kiss me. Like she used to do. And it breaks my heart.

Is she ever gonna talk to me again? Kiss me? Treat me like a real human being?

"Hey," I say to her, grabbing my own beer.

"Hey yourself." She barely even looks up.

This is driving me insane.

"You're home early." Duh! Talk about stating the obvious.

"Uh-huh." She sips her beer.

She has a way of making me feel like such an asshole. I don't even know what to say to her.

She looks so pretty...her hair's in curls, she's got on the blue dress that makes her look so hot. She usually does this when she wants my attention, but right now, I think my attention is like the last thing in the world she would like.

I can't deal with this.

"Ally, can't you say something?"

She's quiet there for a while. Patrick runs over, he's like happy to see me, he jumps up and hugs me. This is very cool. It's nice that somebody appreciates me.

Miranda passes through, says hi to me-in a civil tone, wow!-and says Shelby's picking her up soon. Shelby is already 16, and driving. This is a terrifying concept.

Patrick gets bored with the grownups real quick, says he's gonna go back and play Legos, can I come with him?

Might as well. It's not as if my wife is going to talk to me. Might as well talk to someone who wants me to.

Finally Ally looks up. "Wednesday's my last day, Langly."

And she leaves the room.
 

I want to talk to her all about this. How did she finally decide? Why? What made her do it?

But she's thrown up her goddamned walls again. That girl can shut me out like nobody ever could, and I hate it. Particularly since she let me in in the first place.

I mean, this is what I wanted. I needed her to do this. The kids needed her to do it.

So why do I feel like such an asshole?
 

Dinner is me and Patrick carrying on and Ally like dead silent.

Does she know she's killing me?

Either she doesn't, or she does, and that's the point.

Patrick tries to ask her a question, and she sort of smiles at him, but she says very little even to him.

Ally's a quiet woman, but this is ridiculous.

I make up my mind. Once Patrick's down for the count, that girl is going to talk to me.

Whether she wants to or not.
 

It's 9:30 at night, and it's still hotter than hell.

Ally's out on the balcony near our room. She's gone for hours and not said a word.

That's about to change, if I have anything to say about it.

I bring two Coronas, one for her, one for me, she says thank you, very softly.

"So Ally? Are you gonna ever talk to me again?"

"I do talk to you."

"No, you don't. You've been doing the silent thing for over a week."

"I have a lot on my mind."

Yeah, well, we all do, but we don't all shut everyone off just because of it.

"What made you decide?"

"Lots of things...it's complicated, Langly, and I don't want to go into it. Okay?"

"No, not okay. Tell me, Ally!"

"It doesn't matter. You got what you wanted. The kids got what they wanted. It's done. I did it. Let it ride." She takes a long pull on the beer.

"Don't think so, girl."

She looks me in the eyes for the first time in days, and it's sort of a shock.

"Langly...he's yours. So to speak."

I'm a little puzzled here...then I realize she means Patrick...

YESSS!!!

"I have the probes from it. Dana got a sample of Scott's blood from the coroner...she called in a few favors...and she ran the probes on you and Patrick with his...and he's yours. He's your nephew."

"That's awesome!"

She looks at me, steady, hard, and sad. "Langly...I'm starting to get very attached to him...and I swear to God, someone tries to take him from us, I will kill them with my bare hands."

This revelation is, to say the least, a little surprising...I was kind of concerned because it's like she's been avoiding him...like she didn't like him or something...

Maybe she's just afraid that she's gonna get attached to him, and he's gonna be gone...and I know the feeling well.

We've lost two kids together. That's a lot for people who've only been married a little over a year.

"I figured we'd have a better shot at keeping him if I was home with him...lots of things, Langly."

"Like what?" Trying to get this woman to say anything, I just about have to jump down her throat and pull it out.

She lights a smoke. Good sign. She'll usually start talking if she's smoking.

I join her.

"I swear, Langly, anyone tries to take this kid from us, I will get deadly. I'm so bummed, Langly...I didn't even know I wanted the baby, and then we lost him..."

She bursts into tears. Oh God.

And when I take her in my arms and pull her into me, she doesn't push me away, like she's done lately. She just sinks down, and she cries.

Crying women freak me out, none more than my wife. But this time, I just pull the clip out of her hair, run my hands through her curls.

And let her cry.

It's about time she did.

END OF PART 62