Virtuti Sis Par, Dispar Fortunis Patris
 

LANGLY:

God, this is as weird as it gets. I think.

Here I am, going to deal with 'the body' of a guy who I thought was dead over 20 years ago, who turns out to be none other than my brother, who's been alive all this time.

Which really pisses me off.

I saved all his e-mails. Well, I always knew him as 'The Thinker,' and I never thought for a moment...

Well, why would I? Guy was supposed to be dead!

And it's like, I got a problem. Supposedly, since Scott was dead, and there's a death cert on file for him-and yeah, I've seen it-now they're like, okay, if this is Scott, then who the hell got burned and tossed into wherever back in 1979?

So getting him out's not going to be as easy as I thought.

Least I don't have to deal with my old buddy Detective Munch on this one. I mean, I'm sure whoever I got to talk to will have the same warmth, charm and personality...but it's not him. Suppose I ought to be grateful for small favors.

He hasn't called me. Hasn't got anything for me, I'm sure. And probably won't. I bet they don't do jack on this.

But I mean, he did leave me something.

Patrick.

That kid is a royal pain. I swear he hardly sleeps. He's always trashing something. He never shuts his yap. He's like this little Energizer Bunny...just keeps going and going and going...

God, I love him so much, and I got no idea why. Maybe it's the bio-bond, maybe something else.

Whatever. I mean, when Scott first told me what he wanted, I was like, this is totally unfair. I just lost my own kid. My second one. And then he wanted us to take him home, like we should test-drive him or something...

I bet he knew what would happen. He knew I'd get hooked on the little monster, and I think that's what he was hoping for. I mean, even if he hadn't bought it in the street, he would've been gone soon. I mean, he looked more like a corpse than some corpses I seen.

And that annoys the shit out of me. I can count all my memories of him on one hand. I should have more.

I don't, and that's just tough.

Time to go see what I can do.
 

I guess they're gonna let me have him. I'm glad I don't have to see him. They probably chopped him up good, and he's been in the deep freeze. He got confirmed against dental records. It's him. And Scully managed to get blood from him, did a 3-way blot to see if he and me and Patrick are all connected.

We are.

They ask where I wanna send him. How the fuck should I know? It's not like I plan a lot of funerals. Bad enough I go to enough of them.

And with Joanie's, I didn't plan it. I kind of wish I'd been able to. Not because I'm good at that stuff-actually, I suck at it, but I probably could've gotten Byers to pull the dirty details together, and it would've been decent. Simple. Something she would've liked.

I just tell him, so long's you don't send him to the Church of the Bountiful Harvest, anywhere is cool. We live in Alexandria, we're gonna throw his ashes in Chesapeake Bay, so take it from there.

Guy at the morgue looks a little puzzled, but he's like, whatever, we got a few people we use regularly...probably give you a good price.

I got to laugh at this. Me, giving my brother a cut-rate cremation.

He'd probably love it. If he's anywhere watching now, what little I know of Scott, he's laughing his ass off.
 

I stick the paperwork in the glove box of the Corolla...and when I open it up, a reminder of Scott falls out on the floor.

A few J's left. From when we did shotguns. Rolled 'em myself.

No, I'm not gonna smoke 'em right now...much as I'd like that. But maybe later on, me and Ally can light up and toast him.

He'd like that. I'm sure of it.

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

Banks always suck. I don't know why, but I hate 'em. Last time I had to go in one, was when me and Ally got the mortgage.

I'm proud to say I haven't been near one since. Ally's the one that goes to the ATM even. I don't even have to do that. Works for me.

So this is like this big old bank, it's in Fairfax, and I need to get in Joanie's safe-deposit box. I got the paperwork with me that says it's cool for me to be in there. According to her lawyer, I'm supposedly the only one that's got access.

Which makes me wonder what's in it. I'm curious as hell. A little scared, too.

Which is stupid. What could be in there? I mean, I doubt she's safekeeping a nuclear warhead or automatic weapons-though considering who she was married to, don't think I could've blamed her.

So I go to the clerk who's in charge of letting people back into the box area, and she gives me this once over like what the fuck am I doing in the bank? I mean, like she's never seen a guy in shorts before or something?

And Ally says I've got good legs. I'll take her word for it.

Maybe I should've skipped the 'To Hell...and Back' DOA t-shirt, though. She gives me this look like maybe I don't wash or something.

Oh, fuck her. Bet she hasn't been laid in years.

She has the other key, so I have to go with her. She keeps looking at me like I'm gonna blow the place up or something. Christ.

She rented one of the monster boxes. And according to her sig card, she rented this box in...

1985.

She's had this thing a while. Wow.

The clerk opens her side, I've got the other key, and I give her this look like get the fuck out of here. She gives me an ugly face, but she leaves.

Some people just hate their jobs, I guess.

This thing is STUFFED. There's about a million things in here, and I'm kind of surprised 'cause it's not real well organized. I mean, if you knew Joanie, her house was always real clean, she kept stuff in order, so this is strange.

Maybe she was always in a hurry when she was putting stuff in here.

First thing I pull out is a roll of 50s. Must be her mad money.

I'll take that, thank you. She did say the stuff in the box was for me. And since she can't use it, I might as well.

I count it out. $15,250. Not exactly a fortune for someone who lived like Joanie, but not exactly chump change, either. Plus, trying to hide this stuff from her asshole husband...had to be something of a challenge. I bet she would take like 50 bucks a week and stuff it in here, or something.

Next thing, it's a bunch of bank statements. Only they're not her bank statements. They're Xeroxes of the Church of the Bountiful Harvest's bank statements.

This could be good...but they're dated like 1985, 1986, and then they stop in 1987.

Fuck. Statute of limitations already ran out on these guys. Too bad. Still, might be something in them...So I'll keep them.

Glad I remembered my backpack. I could read them here, but then I'd be here all day, and I'm kind of paranoid in this place. Plus, I'm on candid camera.

I wave and smile.

Next thing, fat manila envelope...full of newspaper clippings. Nothing in any kind of order. Most of them are yellow and crunchy.

Let's see what big sister thought was important to clip out. I don't think it was grocery coupons.

I see Scott's obit...the one he had back in '79. I guess she didn't know about him not really being dead. I'm kind of relieved about that. If she knew and she didn't tell me, I'd be kind of pissed, and it really sucks being pissed at dead people, because it doesn't do any good to yell at them.

And the obits for his various wives (I think they were girlfriends actually)...and his four kids.

'Accidental death,' my ass.

Pictures of Scott's kiddies. I barely knew them, but they were pretty cute from what I remember. They look cute in the pics. Not as blonde as he and me, but looks like he had a thing for brunettes, which has a habit of cancelling out the blonde genes. That's cool. It's not like there's something real special about being a blonde.

I always wondered if they all just went underground. If he was kidding about this.

Nope, he didn't make this one up.

I sort of wish I'd trusted him a little more, but it was kind of hard, you know, when a guy who's supposed to be long gone sort of rises up from the dead...

Only to be dead again.

If there's a god, I think he likes fucking with me. It's like, here, I'll give you back your brother and sister for a little while, just long enough so you can get attached to them again, and then I'll pull them right out from under you, so you can feel like shit again.

At least I got Patrick. Patrick's real. And nobody better fucking try and take him out from under us, because I will fucking kill anyone that even thinks about trying, and I will sleep well at night because I did.

That goes for Ally and Miranda, too. I've had enough of my family fucked over and ravaged and stolen out from under me. So much as a hair on their heads gets toyed with, and I will murder without discrimination.

I mean it.

Another manila envelope. This one's real heavy and full of cassette tapes. They're dated, but nothing indicates what's on them.

All I can say is, hope it's not country music. Joanie was into country...I mean, my own sister, into country! Sick, sick, sick.

Then again, if it was George Strait and Hank Williams Jr., why would they be dated?

Looks like some easy listening for later. I bag those up in my backpack, which is getting real full. And there's still more shit down here.

There's this huge stack, two of them actually, banded with elastics. They look like letters. They're written in this handwriting which isn't as bad as Junior's (worst handwriting in the world, even worse than mine), but this dude did not get A's in penmanship.

I take out the letter on top. It's dated 1984...wow.

I read through it, and I realize why she kept these so long. They're love letters.

But they're not from Roy. Well, duh! I bet he never wrote her a love letter.

Course, I never wrote Ally one, either. I do send her dirty e-mails once in a while...does that count?

She seems to like 'em. At least, when I send them to her, we always end up in bed later.

I can live with that.

These are like, they're partly just letters, you know, what's going on and all that, but they're also like, these are really really mushy in parts...wow.

But the big surprise is the sig. It's signed, "All my love, Walter."

Walter...I only know one Walter...

Walter Skinner. And he came to her funeral.

No. No way. Couldn't be. My big sis and Walter Skinner?

No return address on any of the envelopes, from what I can tell. And the address is a P.O. box in DC. And they're addressed to Joan Langly, not Joan Renshaw.

Weird, weird, weird. I'm gonna have to read all these...and there's gotta be a hundred of them. At least.

Course, they start describing where they're boffing each other, I'm gonna have to skip those parts...there are things I can live without knowing.

Another manila envelope. Now this one is really bizarre. It's got two syringes in it...They're bubble wrapped, but doesn't say what they are.

These sort of scare me. You never know what's in there. I pack them in the front pocket of my backpack. That way, I can't get stuck accidentally by them. For all I know, they're cyanide or something.

Another fat pack of papers in a huge envelope. I'm getting kind of uneasy in here. I'll read this stuff at home. I bag it up. I'm almost out of room in here.

Last one, last envelope, it's heavy. Weird shape. I open it and peer in.

Jesus fucking Christ, it's a gun.

What the hell was Joanie doing with a goddamned gun?!

I hate guns. They scare the shit out of me. But it's not like I can leave it here. Part of my job is to close out this box.

I bag up the gun, and it's a good thing the box is empty, because anything else and the zipper on my backpack would give.

And this isn't shit I want flying all over the street. That I'm sure of.
 

I got to get rid of this shit. It's making me real paranoid having all this stuff on me. I wasn't gonna go home till I did a few more things, but I got to get this stuff in the office safe. I'm not gonna tell Ally about the gun or the syringes. The gun we'll check out for registration and whatever...the syringes, well, maybe Scully can help us. Or Byers can hit on his pals at AU. All I know is, I'm not opening 'em.

Ally's home when I get there. Where would she be? She's got a bunch of kids to take care of.

She's in the house carrying Becca Mulder when I get there. Patrick's like right behind them, and he's sort of annoyed about this, till he sees me, and he's like wow, you're home and jumps on me.

In spite of the possibility of being crippled for life, it's sort of nice to have someone so happy to see you.

"Hey Ally. We got anything for lunch?"

"Not until I get to the market. I just fed the kids."

"So when're you going to the market?" I'm starving, and we are like running on empty.

She sets Becca down. "Actually, babe, now that you're here...I'll go right now."

"But what about the kids?"

"You're here. Have fun. Bye!" She's got her purse and her car keys and she's making a run for the border before I even know what's happening.

Cruel, cruel woman she is.
 

What the fuck am I supposed to do? I mean, how do you keep these kids from killing each other and the house?

And shit, there's a baby crying, it's Mulder's little one, oh hell.

I yell for Miranda, but I think she went out. Figures!

Either that, or she's ignoring me. Can't say as I blame her.

Becca's crying, Patrick's crying, the baby's crying...

But there exists a chance at salvation.

I see the Byers-mobile parked out back.

He and J are probably gonna have kids...now's his chance to upgrade his skills.
 

I leave the little one screeching. Least she's probably not gonna go anywhere. I drag the two howling others with me out to the office-probably a bad idea, you let Patrick in there, he goes nuts-but it's not like I can leave 'em alone in the house.

"Byers, my man. Need your help."

He looks up like he's been in a daze or something. "What kind of help?"

I point to the rugrats. I see him go pale.

Tough. I didn't get a choice in this one, neither does he.

"Where's your wife?"

"Made a run for the market before I even knew what was happening."

"Smart woman." He goes back to typing.

"Listen, narc-boy, help me out here." I'm begging and I know it. I hate begging.

He looks up and gives me this real evil grin. Oh fuck.

"Sure, Langly."

Uh-oh. You got to worry when you see that look on Byers's face...

It means he's looking for payback.

And he'll get it, too.

Can't worry about that now. We got anklebiters to keep distracted.
 

Patrick likes Legos and he can do stuff with them, but Becca, she just sticks 'em in her mouth, which is real uncool, since they're small and that's all I need, take Mulder's kid to the emergency room, I might as well shoot myself now.

And the baby's even worse...she's starting to crawl, thinks her newfound mobility is the greatest, and she's discovered that an issue of Java Developer makes a great toy, you can rip it up and stick it in your mouth and drool all over the floor.

Byers keeps taking the Legos away from Becca and she's just yelling like a banshee each time he does. He asks where we keep Patrick's toys.

Where do we keep them?

All over the fucking house. They're everywhere. Good luck finding anything.

I was thinking that maybe if Ally took some time off, this place might get cleaned up...

Okay, asshole, cut her some slack, today's her first day and she's got extra kiddies to look after...

Place actually looks worse. If that was possible.

Byers is trying to find some stuff that Becca can play with and not choke herself...you can see what he thinks of the mess around here.

Becca spots Miranda's portable CD player on the coffee table under a bunch of god knows what and she decides that's for her.

Don't think so. I try grabbing it away from her...

Who made babies so goddamn strong? Christ, she's worse than a cat with a bird!

I'm bigger, I shouldn't be having to put up with this...

OH FUCK. My stepdaughter is going to murder me in cold blood. Her CD player is now a bunch of components lying on the floor, all of which are bite size.

I hear Byers telling Sarah that she shouldn't eat the cat's food. He picks her up and she starts complaining...

And Patrick's mad now because I'm not paying him any attention and he's crying that he wants to play Legos NOW...

"Hey, Langly...this kid smells rotten," Byers announces.

"So do something about it."

"Aren't you in charge here?"

"Not by choice!"

"You're such a wimp, Langly."

"You're the one who's gonna start kids from scratch, Byers, you deal with it!"

He gives me the look of death. "You will pay for this, Langly."

"Bill it to Mulder."

He gives that wicked smile again. "You know, that's not a bad idea..."

He schleps Sarah off to the bathroom, and I hear this anguished 'Oh God!'

I'm gonna pay, but it's gonna have been worth it.

"God, how does Michael do this?" Byers groans when he comes back out with a better-smelling Mulder child.

"Dunno. Speaking of which, where the fuck is Junior?" I mean, if Junior was here, he is like, he knows what to do with kiddies...how, I don't have a clue...
 

MICHAEL:

We need to get out of Dodge for a while. Kelly needs a break, and so do I.

It takes a little while to get to the shore, but as long as the 'Stang holds together, should be okay.

You know, I love this car, but it's like a little kid...you got to take care of it and feed it and you have to do things for it all the time. Sort of like my dad has to do for me.

I'm trying to be a grownup, but it's like, more I try, more I feel like I'm still such a kid.

We find a small stretch of beach along the Bay. It's not much of a beach, but it's ours. We pull off our shoes and walk out on the rocks. We're not dressed for the beach, but so what?

Kelly snuggles up against me. It feels good. Usually I feel like, I need her so much, she doesn't need me as much as I need her. She's like usually so tough.

Not today. She took Dr. Shalad's death real hard.

She was real quiet driving here, she'd just squeeze my hand once in a while.

"You okay?" I ask her, and I kiss her hair. She's got it up today. She looks hot, and she's got a great neck. I move down to her neck.

"I think so." She's a bit sniffy, but she's pulling herself back together.

And I like her resting here in my arms.

"Michael."

"Uh-huh?"

"Michael...can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Michael...do you see us staying together...you know, like for good?"

Whoa. Never saw that one coming.

I mean...I'm hoping so...but like so much has to happen...

"Hope so, Kel. I want to."

"But you don't know."

"Kel, I don't know what's gonna happen an hour from now...I just hope we'll be together. I want to. I love you, you know."

"I love you too." She buries her face in my shoulder.

"Isn't that enough?" I mean, I don't see myself without her. I don't. But right now...I'm not sure I'm ready for this conversation.

"Well, yeah...I just...I hope someday you'll ask me to marry you, Michael."

Whoa. Twice now.

"I'd like that," I admit. "But we can't do it now, Kel."

"Why not?" she gives me that clear blue gaze...

Think fast, Frohike, or your ass is grass.

"Because. We got no money. We're still in school. I think one of us should be out of school, and should have some money, and someplace to live...we don't even know where you're going to med school, Kel. Hell, I don't even know what I'm gonna do yet!"

This is unfortunately true. If they could make undeclared a real major, and you could get a job off it, it'd be great, but that's not happening here.

"I think you need to figure out what you want to do, Michael."

Jesus, she's not the only one who thinks that. Her, and my dad...and me, too.

"I'm trying. Look, Kel, I promised you I'd help you. I try to always be there with you. Isn't that enough for now?" I mean, really. It's all I can do right now.

She gives me a little smile. "I think so."

I hope so, because right now, I can't give her anything else.

Maybe I gave the right answer, because she sinks back down in my arms...

And we watch the waves come in. Over and over and over.

END OF PART 73