love, sally :)
 

INVICTUS MANEO
Part 91
 

Quae Nocent, Docent
 

MICHAEL:

I hate this. I hate funerals. All of them.

Swear to God, nobody ever better die again. At least not anybody I know.

Ally let me borrow her Neon, so I at least know the car won't die on the way to Jo's church in Fairfax.

At least this one, I'll know what I'm doing, it's in a Catholic church, so I like know the drill. Mass is like riding a bike. You get rusty, but you do it once, you pick it up again.

Kelly's kind of like nervous, she doesn't know what to do, I tell her, don't worry, it's easy, just follow along. Catholic calisthenics are easy. Sit, stand, kneel. That's all there is to it. The prayers are easy, so are the responses. I mean, how hard is, Lord, hear our prayer?

Particularly when you think if there is a God, he doesn't give a fuck anyway.

No burial at least after this one. Mom and Tracy are going to Potter's Field, where they bury people with no money.

Personally, I think that's better. I mean, what the fuck is the point of some fancy coffin? You're gonna put it in the ground, for God's sake, and the person's gonna become one with the worms.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And you do become dust, at least after a while.

From dust you came, from dust you will return. Hardly an uplifting idea. Sort of makes the whole drill in between sound sort of pointless. And if the drill in between is pointless, then what the fuck are we busting hump for?

Funerals don't bring out the best in me. I got to admit that. But I'm trying to be cool for Kelly's sake. She doesn't say anything on the way over. She just squeezes my hand once in a while, then I squeeze it back. Sort of like reminding each other we're alive, even if not everyone at the party is.

I hurt so bad for her. I didn't like her mom, and I thought her sister was a moron. But they were her family, and she just hurts so bad right now...it's like when I hold her, I can feel how bad she hurts.

I wanna take her home when this is over. I wanna take her in my arms, get in bed with her, and make love till both of us drop. I'm gonna suck each breast, kiss every inch of that gorgeous belly, probe her mouth with my tongue, run my hands over her pretty ass, and then thrust myself inside her until I'm dry and she's soaked.

Frohike, you are a sick fuck...on the way to your girlfriend's mom's and sister's funeral, and all you can think about is getting her home and having sex.

Hey, at least it's something about life, not death.
 

Jo meets us at the door. She's the first one there, which is reasonable, this is St. Brendan's, and it's her church. She hugs both of us.

"My mom came," I tell her. "With her new dude."

"That was nice," Jo says. She tells us how it will work, and it's simple, and the Mass of the Resurrection is short-maybe 45 minutes. It's not gonna be a huge crowd, and not that many people will take Communion.

God, I just have the most horrible thought.

Please don't make us come here again...because I have a feeling if we do, it'll be to bury Jo.

And that's not gonna happen.

It's not.
 

BYERS:

"John, I'm not wearing that to a funeral. It's too short."

I picked out a short navy skirt and a navy shirt, very conservative, for her to wear to Kelly's family's funeral. Yes, the skirt is short, but it's hardly strip-club variety short, and Juliet has fantastic legs. Even hobbling about, she still has the greatest legs on the planet.

"John. I need a longer skirt."

"I like this one."

"No."

It's been a trying afternoon. We have been out house-hunting for three days in a row now...and it's starting to take a toll on our nerves.

"You used to wear this to see clients."

"Yes, and I was trying to help close a deal with clients...and was willing to show some leg to do it. This is a funeral, John. It would be like you going in your jeans and a polo shirt."

I'm already wearing a brown summer weight suit. In this heat, it is oppressively warm...but she's right. There is no way I would attend a funeral wearing anything else.

She's right, of course.

The problem is, I hate funerals, and I want something to concentrate on.

Like her legs.

"John, get me the cream linen suit. I know, you shouldn't wear white to a funeral...but it's the closest thing I have to sober with me, and it's off white, not pure white."

I hate that suit. It's down to her knees and the jacket is loose. Definitely not what she wears to show off her best features, which is...all of them.

Were it up to me, she'd go in a denim mini-skirt and a tank top...but she only wears that around the house. She won't even shop in that.

Too bad. She's a feast for the eyes.

Then again, just as well. That way, only I get to enjoy her...attributes.

"And the cream flats."

I personally would have preferred a pair of what she refers to as fuck-me-quickly pumps...but she isn't able to wear heels right now.

There is a tiny bit of compensation here. She chooses a tight black silky T-shirt to go under it. It's got a scoop neck, almost enough to hint at cleavage.

Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll take off her jacket.
 

"Did you see anything you liked?" I ask her. We looked at six houses today. I saw one that I considered a possibility.

"Not really."

We've seen 16 houses so far. Juliet has not particularly liked any of them, for one reason or another.

"What is it you haven't liked about these houses?" They have all been basically very nice pieces of property.

She sighs as we head out to Fairfax. "I don't know. The houses I grew up in...they were just so much...homier. They weren't as upscale, professors don't make that much money, you know-"

"I'm aware of that." But we're shopping with the trust fund, not my academic salary.

"-but they were warm, and earthy, and in friendly neighborhoods. John, in all of the places we've seen, I haven't seen another human being so much as going to the mailbox!"

I didn't think there was anything particularly odd about that.

"John, look at Ally and Langly's house."

"Nobody's ever out in that neighborhood."

"Yes, but...the house has a sort of rustic...charm. And it's warm, and I feel welcome there."

Personally, I think their house is a disaster area...but they like it.

"And the neighborhood is very wooded, and natural looking, and with all the hills...it just has a better feel to it."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, John, that I'd rather shop on your salary than on your trust fund. I'm sorry. I didn't grow up with maids and housekeepers and gardeners and chauffeurs. I want to live in a place where humans talk to each other. Where kids play outside with each other. I do want to have kids, John, and when I do, I don't want to be stranded out in the middle of synthetic upper classville. And no, while I like the Langlys' house, I wouldn't want to be that far out."

They are out on the edge of town, in the oldest part of Alexandria. And since we have the offices there, this is advantageous. And Ally doesn't seem to mind that no one is around.

But this is Juliet. And she does mind.

"You said the neighborhood had to have good schools...these are considered to be some of the finest school systems in the country."

"John, that's more a reflection of the economics of the community, not of the academic standards. I went to great schools, and they were all public schools. I'm sorry, John, but I don't want private school for our kids. I don't believe in it. At least not when they're young. And from what you've told me, you didn't like it, either."

This is true. I considered prep school a form of torture.

"I loved school, John. I had friends. It was fun. And do I strike you as uneducated?"

"No, of course not." She is a brilliant woman.

"Then I think you know what I want."

"You want to go...downscale?"

"Exactly."

This is a bit confusing for me. I figured by making the funds in my trust fund available, I could offer her the finest house she could dream of...

But apparently, she thinks a fine home is something else.

Maybe she has a point.

I'll go with it.

I read a few years back that if you wanted to have a successful marriage, you would do what your wife wanted.

We should have a very successful one indeed.
 

LANGLY:

Oh man. I fucking hate doing this!

Nobody should die when it's hot. There has to be a law somewhere.

Ally at least gets to wear a cotton skirt and a T-shirt. So she's not gonna die.

Fuck it. I don't care what anyone says. I'm dressing for comfort today, folks.

I find my black shorts and a black T-shirt with nothing on it (I have a couple, really I do). And my new glasses match. I got them today. I went back to the black ones. I liked my wire ones okay, but they kept getting bent and I had trouble finding them on my night table, so I went for the old style ones. This time, however, I did go for rhinestones in the corners. The Birkenstocks are beige, but fuck it. I'm not gonna make my feet swelter, too.

Ally gives me the once over. "That's what you're wearing?"

"Got a problem? It's hot."

"I don't. Frohike might."

"Fuck Frohike."

"I don't think you want to do that," she laughs.

"No, but he better not give me any shit...fuck, Ally. I'm sick of funerals. And we got to do two of them today." Tonight, after this gig is over, we're heading out to Chesapeake Bay and scattering Scott's ashes. We been putting it off and putting it off, mostly because I don't wanna deal with it. But we really gotta get that box of ashes off the dining room table.

"We should probably get moving," she says as she lights up a Marb.

"Hand me one, will ya?" She lights one off the one she's got going, and hands it to me.

A small white head pops in the door of our room. "Where you going?"

"To a funeral," Ally tells him.

"Wha's that?"

"Where you say good bye to dead people."

"Oh. I wanna go."

"No, you stay here with Miranda." God knows we had to bitch at her enough to make her stay with him tonight. And Ally's like almost apologizing.

It's her fucking responsibility, and she damn better get used to it.

I don't get it. Sometimes she's like so crazy about him...other times, she's ready to kill him.

I tell Ally this. She smokes and shrugs.

"Sounds about normal to me."

"Bet you didn't feel like that about your brothers."

"Bet you I did." She grins. "And I bet Joan got sick of you sometimes, too."

"No way."

"Yes, way. Little siblings are a pain in the ass, no matter how much you love them. But losing them...like Kelly did...I know Miranda gets mad about this, but she does love him, Langly."

"She sure doesn't act like it sometimes."

"How can you expect her to? She's 15 going on 16!"

"Joanie was always good to me."

"Somehow, Langly, I bet Joanie had moments where she would have just as soon dropped you on your head...which I'm not convinced she didn't, by the way." She seems to think this is amusing. "You've never been an older sibling, Langly. Just as I was never a younger one. So try to cut Miranda a little slack, okay?"

"Ally, you cut her so much slack-"

"Because nobody ever cut me any, babe. And I'm not going to have her do a repeat of my younger life." She smokes a couple more drags. "Besides, Langly...she did offer to watch him while we go to Cozumel."

"What?"

"She said she'd take care of him while we go to Cozumel for four days and three nights, which I think is pretty decent. And a lot of responsibility."

"You paying her?"

"Just in wardrobe. I didn't ask her, Langly. She offered. And she didn't bring up the subject of payment until I did."

I don't know. Wardrobe for Miranda can be pretty heavy duty.

But still, she did say she'd do it.

"Langly, you saw her when Patrick was so sick last week...she was flipping out, right there along with us. And he adores her." She crushes out her smoke. "You know, I'm a big sister, you're a little brother. I think we overidentify with the respective children in this case." She laughs a little.

"You really think it's okay to leave these kids?" I feel kind of weird about it...Patrick's so little...

"Langly. Vacations without kids are wonderful. And necessary. They'll be fine. Frohike and Byers and Michael and Kelly and Juliet are all within reach, as are Dana and Mulder and Jo and Mrs. Scully..."

"Okay, okay, I get the picture." I turn to her. She's slugging down a beer in preparation to head out. "You think we should take Patrick with us tonight?"

She shakes her head. "Langly, he doesn't get it yet. When he's older, we'll give him the blow by blow...but right now, he knows his daddy's gone. And he thinks you're his new one."

"Yeah, sometimes he calls me that."

"Well, maybe it means he knows you're the person that he trusts and will always be there for him. That's why he calls you that. He asks about his daddy sometimes."

"What do you say to him?"

"I say he can't come back. But he loves you very much. I borrowed that one from Miranda. They talk about it a lot."

"Really."

She laughs. "You need to pay attention, Langly. Just because I'm in charge during the day doesn't mean you don't have to listen up."

"Yeah, guess I do a pretty lousy job, don't I?"

"No, babe, you do a terrific job. You just sometimes have a tendency...to miss the obvious." She smiles when she says it, though, and her voice is gentle. "But you're a great daddy, Langly. He loves you so much. He can't wait for you to get home."

"Really."

"Really. Every day, around three o'clock, the drill starts. 'When's Daddy coming home? When's Langly coming home?' He's nothing if not predictable in that regard." She polishes off her beer.

Wow. That is so cool.

She grins at me. "Okay, babe, I think I'm drunk enough to do some funerals. Do we have beer for the beach?"

"That we do."

"And?"

"We've got that, too."

I mean, we got to send Scott off properly.
 

FROHIKE:

I think everyone is here.

Dana Scully looking resplendent in a black summer suit. It's odd to see her in a suit again, hair pinned primly up. She pretty much stopped wearing suits when she left law enforcement. Mulder is wearing one as well, but I noticed that the tie is already loose and the top button undone. And no children, thank God. I love their little girls, but this is not the place for them.

Several young people, mostly in their mid-20s to early 30s, are seated near them. These must be Dana Scully's lab rats, Kelly's coworkers.

Allison and Langly are sans children. I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn't feel up to the antics of young Patrick Langly, and the acerbic wit of his older half (quarter? Remote? What would you call her, anyway?) sister, which I normally enjoy, but is definitely out of place at times like these.

Langly showed up in shorts and Birkenstocks, hair still beaded and braided...Allison let him out of the house like this?

I notice her hair, instead of its normal pale apricot shade, is now the color of a new penny. She must have had Miranda give her a dye job; her gray has been coming in with a vengeance lately.

What do you want? She lives with Langly. And now, with the miniature version of him as well.

Not only did it hurry me along in turning gray, but expedited the loss of a significant amount of my hair.

Byers and Juliet look very tired. They've been house-hunting for three days straight. I hope they find something soon, because although I love them dearly, I'm not going to be able to handle their presence much longer. They're just too damn organized and too damn clean. I feel like a slob every time I leave a tumbler on the desk or the counter.

I join Michael, Kelly, and Jo up front. They asked me to sit with them. Jan and Carl are behind me.

I notice that nobody from Warrenton is here. I wonder if Kelly didn't want it known.

The priest is almost ready to ascend to the altar when I notice a small figure entering quietly from the nave of the church. A woman.

Not just any woman.

It's Martha.

I think my heart just skipped about three beats.

She's wearing a black short-sleeved turtleneck and a long black skirt. She sits several rows behind the rest of us.

I turn to her. She smiles very slightly, nods, and bows her head.

She's here. Oh. My. God. She's really here. I can feel my cheeks grow warm.

She came out. How did she find out where this was being held? I gave no indication as to the location or time.

I didn't call her with the intention of having her be here. I'm not even sure why I wanted her to know...I just did.

I feel 16 again. What am I going to say to her? What should I do?

Right now, I think the thing to do is pay attention...

"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit..." like a mantra, the words begin the Mass.

I know the Mass of the Resurrection by heart.

But when I hear that the Mass is ended, go in peace...I realize I have not paid a single iota of attention.

And I feel guilty for that.
 

We file out. Michael and Kelly are first. He holds her up and murmurs to her.

Jo follows them, and then I do. Then Allison and Langly, Byers and Juliet, Dana Scully and Mulder, and the lab rats. Finally, Martha falls into line.

"Melvin?" Her voice, with its Carolina drawl, is soft but unmistakable.

"Martha. Thank you for coming down."

"Well...when I got your message, I felt it was the proper thing to do." She looks down, a bit shyly. "It's just the way I was raised up, you know."

"I understand. And I very much appreciate it. How are you?"

"I'm all right." Her smile is beautiful, but sad and weary at the same time.

"And your husband?"

She shakes her head sadly. "Daniel...is having a difficult time. He's in so much pain...and I can't get any more medication for him. At least not legally."

"It's hard to watch one you love suffer so much." I should know.

"Yes."

"Do you have time for something to eat?" I ask her.

She shakes her head again. "I'm on at 7, and I need to get to work. I'm on the graveyard this week. Gizzie says she needed something resembling a normal schedule for a while. I offered to trade." Then she looks up at me, and I could swear she's blushing. "But I'll take a raincheck."

"I'd like that."

"I need to be going now," she says, leading herself down the steps to the church. I find myself following her. Magnetic forces, pulling me towards her.

"Um...it was good to see you." I find myself stammering as she leaves.
 

I'm about to get into my own car when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Mel? That was her, wasn't it?"

It's Jan.

All I can do is nod.

END OF PART 91