Nihil Est Quod Studio et Benevolentia Vel Amore Potius Effici Non Potest
 
 

BYERS:

I'm just about ready to pack it up in my office at AU when I hear a rap on my door. It's open, but whoever knocked, I'm impressed. Most people just barge in here.

It's the vice chancellor, who happens to be my boss.

"So what did you think of your candidate this morning?"

He is my boss...I need to be diplomatic about this.

"I was...I feel that there might be potential candidates that would fit in better with our environment."

He simply nods. "I see."

"Her credentials were fine. I just...I simply felt we would not be able to sustain a comfortable working relationship."

"I understand." He turns around. "Are you leaving for the day?"

"I am. My fiancee, as you know, was seriously injured a few weeks back, and she's still very much in a therapy situation."

"Very difficult." He nods again. "Have a nice day."

I then remember he came to us from UCLA.

Hence the 'have a nice day.'

This makes me laugh a little. Native Easterners make no pretense about wishing you a pleasant day. Most of them don't care if your day is as miserable as it can get.

I laugh especially because I, as an East Coast native, have actually thought this, particularly when meeting with a particularly disagreeable individual.

It's a bit odd for the vice chancellor to visit my office. Ordinarily, I would be summoned to his. There is most assuredly a pecking order in academia, and for the vice chancellor to appear in the office of a department chair is unusual. You're even summoned if you're going to be fired.

But this is summertime, and things are more relaxed.

I don't think any more of it.

What I am thinking of, however, is this evening. It's Langly's birthday, and the celebration will be held in our simple neighborhood eatery. What makes this day special for me is that Juliet has indicated that she wants to get out, and she will do it, no matter if it takes her an hour to get to and from the car.

That will be the easy part. The hard part will be Caroline. I think she will be hurt if we don't invite her. However, I really need this brief time alone with Juliet and my friends...our friends. I love Caroline, and I appreciate her. But there are some things I just don't care to share with her.

She's met everyone, of course. And they seem to like her. But this is...I'm not sure what it is.

It's rather like Juliet's entrée back into public life, and I want to be there for it, without her mother.

Not to mention that it wouldn't hurt us to lose Caroline for a couple of hours. Juliet, in particular, loves her mother dearly, but she also becomes impatient with her, and then feels guilty for not fully appreciating her.

I can relate.

What strikes me as odd is that in spite of my father's treatment of me, I'm the one that feels guilty.

Caroline, bless her heart, has assured me that I have no reason to feel that way. I stuck behind my convictions with him. I've made the effort to be in touch with him. I've held out the olive branch.

Yet my conscience is not so clear as I would be comfortable with. Then again, it never is.

I wonder if this is unique to me, or if it's just the result of being an uptight WASP.

I almost laugh at the image.
 

FROHIKE:

Dana Scully allowed herself a few brief hours of sleep, then woke up, still exhausted, to return to her lab, where she will labor by herself. She has given her staff the day off, which no doubt will please Michael, since Kelly is part of her staff now.

Hair pinned up, wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt and white sneakers with no makeup, she looked about 15 years old when she left. All I could think was, she is so hot.

Mulder better goddamn appreciate her.

He slept long this morning, long after the morning was heralded by the calls of two tiny girls. Sarah, of course, has to content herself with whining in her crib until she is retrieved, but Rebecca has no such constraints on her mobility, being 19 months old and totally automated. I briefly dozed off this morning and nearly suffered a second heart attack when a small, slightly soggy bundle started to pull on my arm.

"Unca Fwoiky!"

I'd forgotten that they become self-propelled early on. Both Leslie and Michael were very adept at escaping from their own cribs as soon as they were able to walk.

Having Rebecca pulling on my arm and calling for me takes me back to when Michael and Leslie were little...on Saturday mornings, when I really wanted to sleep in, but at the crack of dawn, they'd be there, all over me, thrilled that I was there, two little bundles of energy at an hour when blood pressure for adults is optional...

And I feel a little wistful. If only we know then what we know now. They are so small for such a short time. The days that you think lasted forever, they're over before you even know what happened.

You turn around and all of a sudden, they're adults. Or damn near it.

I'm still getting used to the idea.

Rebecca demands cereal, and I succeed in locating a box of Life Cereal in the cupboard (Mikey likes it, remember?) and milk in the fridge.

Watching her as she eats her cereal, spilling half of it on the table and the floor, I think of my own daughter. I have not heard from her since our ill-fated encounter on Father's Day weekend.

I so need to talk to her. Right now, though, I am not certain how receptive she would be.

She used to be the little girl in front of me, eating cereal, babbling on a mile a minute about everything and nothing.

Sarah's mild complaining is escalating, so we head upstairs and retrieve her from her crib. She is no doubt hungry and in need of a change of clothes.

I may be out of practice, but once you learn, you don't forget.

God, how many diapers did I change in my lifetime? How many bottles did I heat up, how many bowls of cereal did I serve?

At the time, it seemed endless. In retrospective, I know how terribly brief that time was.

I'm experiencing an odd déjà vu as I head back downstairs with Rebecca holding my one hand and Sarah in my other arm. This was me, 20-some odd years back, with Leslie and Michael.

Now I'm reaching the point where it's entirely conceivable that I could be a grandfather.

Just please God, not now.
 

I do make good coffee. And Mulder knows it. I start brewing a pot, and when I do, he pads out to the kitchen.

He looks like hell. He hasn't changed clothes since yesterday, and his hair-well, I remember how Michael's hair used to look. And it was a look he strove for. In Mulder's case, I suspect this isn't the Look he had in mind.

And I notice he is trembling. His gait is somewhat unsteady, his eyes are heavily glazed, and his hands won't steady themselves.

The girls don't care. They're delighted to see him. Rebecca charges at him, which, in view of his behavior yesterday, makes me uneasy, but he seems thrilled to pick her up. She plants a sloppy kiss on his unshaven face, tells him he's all scritchy (her word), and he smiles, weakly but genuinely. He then gently removes his younger daughter from my arms and cuddles her, then hands her back to me. He seems unsure at this point of his ability to safely cradle the smaller child. Well, with children, best to err on the side of caution.

The girls are seemingly unaffected by the circumstances of yesterday. Thank God.

He pours himself some coffee and offers me a mug as well, which I'm going to need if I'm going to get through this day with open eyes. I barely slept. A few minutes after Scully left for work I think was all I worked in.

"How're you feeling?" I ask him. And he'd better not give me any of his 'I'm okay' crap.

Fortunately, he seems to understand, you don't lie to Papa Frohike. No point. I was, after all, heir to his extensive-and eclectic-video collection.

"Truth? Like shit." He mouths the last word softly so that the girls don't hear it. Or so he thinks.

I know better. They hear EVERYTHING. And Rebecca is at the age where she imitates it, too.

Scully will love this. She's chanting her father's sentiments, and his gentle admonitions don't seem to be taking effect.

Truly, she is her father's daughter.

He's trying to be patient with her, I can tell. And normally, his patience with the kids is endless-far more than mine ever was.

"Rebecca, that's enough!" His voice is loud enough that I nearly jump out of my chair and smash my head against the ceiling. Mulder has his flaws, but his inclination to yell is not one of them.

Even Rebecca is shocked into silence. She looks at her daddy, utterly baffled and more than a little frightened. I get the distinct impression this might be the first time he's ever raised his voice at her.

Mulder immediately gets that look on his face that says, guilty of a capital crime. I am more than passingly familiar with MulderGuilt.

He looks at his older daughter. "C'mere, Punkin." His voice is soft again. She approaches him, with a little bit of hesitation in her step. He picks her up and kisses her on top of the head. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling too great. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

This satisfies the little girl, she gives him a kiss on both cheeks, and chants love you daddy over and over.

In spite of her sentiments, I sense a great deal of unease and irritability on his part. And he is desperately attempting to maintain control around the girls.

"Frohike, I'm sorry to impose on you-"

"You're not."

"I need to go back to sleep."

"So go."

He sets his daughter down, kisses both girls on the forehead, and pads back to the den. I hear the soft snick of the lock, meaning, he really isn't up for any kind of disturbances.

Well, if the house is on fire, I'll make sure I get the girls out, at any rate.
 

By eleven a.m., I am totally worn out.

I had not forgotten how much fun infants and toddlers are. I did, however, seem to lose sight somewhere along the line of the fact that they are completely exhausting.

Fortunately, salvation arrives in an unlikely form.

Michael and Kelly show up. I'm both surprised and pleased.

Michael looks a little better today; he's not as swollen, and some of the bruising is diminishing. And whatever my reservations about Kelly, I must admit, she is cute as a button. Her hair is in pigtails, making her look younger than her 19 years, and I can understand why Michael casts longing looks at her butt, which is encased (barely) in a pair of Daisy Dukes.

If she wants to torture my son, I think she has found the way. And he seems to be enjoying every moment of it.

They seem calm, happy. I wonder if they took advantage of my absence last night.

"We thought you'd like a break," Kelly says. "Dr. Scully gave us all the day off...wonder why. She said we'd be paid, too, so I'm not worried about that. I just have a lot to do...so much to learn."

"I got to tutor at 1:30, but we figured we'd come by for a bit, then we'd take off, then after I get done at 3:30 then we'd come back and maybe you could crash out," Michael offers.

This is my son? And his girlfriend?

Oh. My. God. Could it be happening?

They're actually being mature and considerate?

Will wonders never cease.

"Actually, a little help would be nice," I demur. "I'd forgotten how much work it was."

"Micah, Micah!" Rebecca sees him, and I'm quickly forgotten. Michael is a demi-god to her.

"Hey, you ready to go swimming?" He picks her up. I see him wince a little.

"You okay?" I ask him.

"Just wanna get these damn stitches out. They're driving me crazy."

"You get them out when?"

"Saturday morning. We gotta go to a funeral tomorrow, Dad. Dr. Shalad's funeral's tomorrow."

Oh, really?

I'm not a fan of funerals...but maybe this is one I should attend. I'm not sure why, nor what I hope to discover.

"What time?" I ask.

"Ten a.m. Seems like standard funeral time."

More than you even know, boy of mine.

"Why? You going?" Kelly asks me.

"I might. I feel badly for Dr. Bergman."

"He's taking it hard," Kelly says gently.

"Yeah...sucks. Hey, let's get these ladies in the water already." Kelly picks up Sarah and Michael carries Rebecca up the stairs, which delights Rebecca no end.

Today, they look young, innocent, happy, untouched by the horrible things that go on around them.

Let them, I say. Tomorrow they will have to confront some of the uglier realities.

Maturity does not come cheap.

*************************************************************************************************

LANGLY:

Patrick wants back in the water. Truth? I'd rather sit on the beach and drink beer with Ally right now. I'm kind of tired.

We luck out. Miranda and Shelby are taking a break from land-sharking and actually OFFER to take Patrick in the water for a little while.

I'm wondering if Miranda has an ulterior motive and plans to drown him...but I'm not gonna worry about that right now. It's weird. He drives her crazy, but I've also seen her be real nice to him. She talks to him about her dad, and he listens.

Probably she does him more good than all the rest of us put together. In her own Miranda way.

And I sort of get the feeling that she feels she can kick the crap out of him, and she would, but let anyone else threaten a hair on his head...and they are dead meat. Miranda is nothing if not fierce.

Like to see her take on Cancer Man, I think evilly. I'd put money on her. Miranda is one mean little fucker if you toy with her.

Speaking of little fuckers, where's that loser boyfriend of hers?

"Hey Ally. What the fuck happened to what's his name?"

She looks confused. "Who are you talking about?"

"Miranda's loser boyfriend."

She looks kind of sad. "Langly, you know what finally tipped it for me...my decision to take some time off?"

"No, what?" I mean, we talked about a lot of stuff...I just figured, it was a pretty complicated decision for her...not just one thing...

Now she looks real guilty. "Langly, Miranda broke up with Jesse almost two weeks ago...and I had no idea. I hadn't noticed, and she didn't say anything to me...when I asked her finally, she said I was always too busy to notice anything."

All right! Dumped the loser!

"Langly, don't look so victorious. There will be other 'losers,' as you so charitably label them...and you'll probably hate them, too."

"For sure."

She smacks me across the knee lightly. "You're so bad."

I grin at her. "Yeah? Who was staring at whose ass earlier?"

"And you weren't staring at mine? I am sooo disappointed!"

Oh, I saw it, girl. And I wasn't disappointed.

Not in the least.
 

"What time'd you say to be at Busty's?" I ask Ally. I can see the sun getting lower. Patrick and me've gone back in the water, made two sand forts, and we buried the girls up to their necks.

It's been so awesome.

"Eight," Ally says, she's sipping another Corona.

"Yeah, well, we better get our asses in gear, it's almost seven."

She's like, what? "You're kidding."

I shrug. "Hey, time flies when you're having fun."

"I don't think we'll have time to go home first and clean up."

"Hey, it's Bustamante's. They're not gonna kick us out for coming like this. It's why we like the place!"

"That's true. I'm glad I didn't pick Le Chambord." A French place in Fairfax that -gaaak!-has a dress code. I like French food, but put on a jacket?

I did it for my wedding. Wasn't that enough?

Besides, I don't know why Ally's even thinking she's gotta get cleaned up.

She looks so gorgeous right now, that if every guy in the place doesn't drop dead from looking at her, well...

That's okay. Then I can look at her all by myself.
 

MICHAEL:

"She did say eight, didn't she?" It's ten after, Dad and the prof and Juliet and Kelly and me are all there.

Where the hell is clan Langly?

"She did. I think they had an...expedition of sorts planned." Dad looks so fucking beat. He took care of the babies most of the day. Kelly and me spelled him a little, but I had to do tutoring for a while, so we left him alone for about four hours.

Mulder looked not too bad by the time we all left. Dr. Scully just looked real tired. She told us all to go on home, we'd done enough.

Dad's still worrying over Mulder, I can tell. Dr. Scully says she'll send him e-mail later tonight. He asks her if they're coming to Bustamante's, she's like, I haven't even had time to look at my e-mail. She tells us to apologize, but they really can't make it.

Which is fine. I love the Mulderettes, but I've seen enough of 'em for a while.

Busty's has great food...most of which I'm going to have a hard time eating tonight. This sort of sucks...and I really am hungry. I haven't eaten much since Sunday night.

I still look like shit, but I feel better, and my chipmunk cheeks are going down.

First thing I'm gonna do after they go down, eat Kelly out.

Okay...maybe I'll pig out first.

We've got a table already, and we all ordered some beers, except Kelly, I think she wishes she could, but she won't.

On her 21st birthday, I'm gonna take her somewhere to celebrate big time.

Juliet's still kind of casted up, but she doesn't look bad. Her hair's getting longer, and her face isn't cut up anymore. She seems like she is so damn happy just to be out doing something normal. She and Kelly are babbling on about something while Dad and me and the prof order our second beers.

Dad asks me if I'm okay. I am. Just a little tired.

And not looking forward to tomorrow. I hate funerals.

This time, I'm not asking the prof if I can borrow a tie.
 

FROHIKE:

"Well, look what the cat finally dragged in!" The birthday boy and family have finally arrived. They appear to have come straight from the beach, at least judging from their attire.

They look terrific. All of them smiling. Even Miranda and Shelby have tossed off teenage sullenness for open looks of good cheer. They're thrilled to see Juliet, and I get a quick hug from Shelby, whom I've not seen in a while. Apparently there was a time where she and Miranda had their differences, or perhaps just an overdose of one another, but she seems to be back, just as though she had never been away.

Langly is glowing, and it's not just the light dash of sunburn across his nose. No matter how much sunblock that boy applies, he still ends up with a red nose. And Allison is the same. She's got raccoon eyes from her sunglasses, as does he, and a swatch of pink and freckles to match his running over her nose and cheeks.

He's carrying a somewhat groggy Patrick, whose hair seems even whiter against his pink skin. I did not meet the man whom I understand was Langly's older brother, but he must have carried the same coloring as Langly.

The little boy is a dead ringer for Langly.

"Nothing like keeping your own guests waiting," Byers teases, but it's gentle teasing.

"Langly, get over here. A kiss for the birthday boy." He happily obliges her as she plants one on his cheek.

"He's a birthday boy, too," Langly points out, ruffling Patrick's hair.

"Well, in that case, he gets one, too." Juliet kisses Patrick. Patrick is a little shy and turns his head when she does, but I suspect a few more kisses from pretty girls, he'll be over that.

More beers, the girls sit down to talk with Kelly, and it's a party.

Well, not quite yet...

"Hey, you were talking about what the cat dragged in," Langly laughs and points at the door.

Renegade and Ms. Russell are here. This is truly a surprise and a treat.

"Langly, you ugly fuck! Lu here says you're getting old!" Renegade slaps him on the back.

"Not as old as you, asshole," he shoots back as he shakes hands with the bigger man. Langly is not a small man, but next to Renegade, he is positively dwarfed.

"So are you gonna let us join you, or do we got to have a romantic dinner for two?" Renegade laughs as he slips an arm over Ms. Russell's shoulder.

"Hey, we'll even buy you a beer," Langly offers.

It's been a weird time. Days on end of weirdness, of sadness, of fear. Of pain and frustration.

I look at the faces around me. Tonight, they laugh, smile, and spill over with love and happiness.

I have truly been through some horrible times in my life, but I know why I never gave up.

Heaven has a way of showing itself, even in the worst of times.

And you always want more. No matter how long you have to wait for it.

END OF PART 68