"Nor had I seen
The worst of it: for now the west wind
Dropped, and a southeast gale came on-one more
Twist of the knife-taking me north again,
Straight for Kharybdis."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 12, Lines 544-548.
Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

August 25, 2001

I had to spend the night with Dad. I had to.

For one thing, I couldn't sleep. Even with Kelly, I couldn't do it. Finally she says, why don't you go over and stay with your dad? I wanted her to come with me, but she says she should stay here, watch the house, feed the kitties, and I should be alone with him.

It's after midnight when I creep into his room. Took some maneuvering to get a pass to stay over, but finally, a bored security guard who really didn't give a fuck about anything but the Star Trek rerun he was watching hands me one, and I'm in.

God, he looks bad still. He's still getting oxygen, he's white as a sheet, which looks even worse in the backlight of the little room, and he's still got a bunch of tubes snaking out of him.

And he really, really needs a shave. He keeps this up, he'll have a full beard by Monday. Part of the Frohike legacy. Heavy facial hair.

Speaking of which, need to do something about my own...I didn't bother to shave today. Kelly brought my clothes and my glasses but not my shaving stuff.   Oh well. Two out of three ain't bad.

Christ, I can't go to school on Monday when he's like this. But he'll kill me if I don't. And Jo'll probably shoot me, too.

Like I'm really gonna be good for it. I don't know how I'm gonna concentrate on anything. I can't deal with anything right now.

I need my dad...only he's the reason I'm like this in the first place!

I could use a little help from the prof, or Langly, or even Mulder. But Langly and Byers don't even know, and I bet Dr. Scully told Mulder to keep his ass away till Dad feels better. Jo would be good, but she needs to get better herself, and she's like, she knows Dad doesn't do good with people around when he's sick, and she stays away as much as possible.

I'd like to think I'm not just people...but maybe when Dad's sick, that's all I am.

A nuisance.

He hates me. I'm sure of it. He probably thinks this is why he got sick in the first place.

Let's face it, he probably never got sick till I came. Then he had a heart attack like a month or so after I got here. Probably my fault. Now this. And it's probably because I drive him crazy.

I feel like shit. I thought coming here'd make me feel better, but instead, I feel like scum.

Maybe that's all I am. Pond scum.

He's right. I'm a total loser. I just fuck everything up. No way I'm ever gonna get it right. Why do I even bother?

Why does it matter so much that he thinks I'm good? Why is this such a big deal to me?

I think about this till my brain hurts and I can't stay awake. I finally fall asleep in a real bad chair, and once again, I wake up stiff as a board. And it's hot in here. God, why do they keep this place so damn warm?

So I'm a little surprised when I wake up and see he's awake. He's not ready to get out and dance the night away, but he's awake enough to know that some nurse just came in and stabbed him in the arm. I don't have my glasses, but I know what red looks like. They're sucking some blood out of him. He's not happy about this, I'm sure.

"Hi." He doesn't have his glasses, but he knows what I sound like.

People say I sound like him, a lot on the phone.

I feel around till I find my glasses-I might never be awake enough again to pop my lenses in-and when I see his face, he's glaring at me.

"I told you to go home."

"I did."

"What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Don't you have work to do?"

He still sounds so tired, but I guess he's never too tired to bust my chops.

"I fixed my car yesterday."

"Good. Are you ready for school? When do you start?"

"Tomorrow's Monday." He probably doesn't even know what day it is. I know I didn't when I was sick. "Going back then."

"Good. Then you won't hang around here and act pathetic."

This is too much. I've had like no sleep, I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm worried out of my mind, and he's like, get the fuck out of here!

I don't believe this!

"Fine." I grab my keys and stomp out. "I'm going." Under my breath, I mutter, 'fuck you, Melvin.'

And when I get to the car, I cry my eyes out.

He's right. I'm so fucking pathetic.

Which I might not be if he wasn't such a bastard!
 

MELVIN (still on heavy drugs, and in a really bad mood):

Why the hell did I just do that?

That was so goddamn stupid. Not to mention cruel.

I know my son was trying to show he cares, in the only way he knows how...and I turned him out.

I know why I did it.

I did it because I'm a total coward, that's why.

I am so frightened right now. I can't think straight, between the medications and the pain. I don't know what day or time it is (although judging from what Michael said, I think it's Sunday). I can't sit up, I can't turn over without feeling as if my guts are going to split open, I can barely move my head.

And I'm terrified that my son will see how frightened I am. How vulnerable.

How truly pathetic I am.

It's easier just to stay alone and feel sorry for myself, lying here in this confused fog. Instead of just telling my son I feel like shit, I'm scared as hell, and letting him come over and hug me (gently, I hope, considering how I feel right now), which I know he would do. I also think there would be tears, and that would cause me to break, and right now, I just can't do that.

How long will I feel like this? I can't do anything for myself...and I hate it.

And I know Michael would have done anything he could have...but instead, I close myself off to him.

Just as I end up closing myself off to everyone when I really need them. I've always done it. Why should now be any different?

Frohike, when are you gonna stop making the same stupid mistakes over and over again?

I can't think anymore...someone put some morphine in my line, and it's beginning to send me back to dreamland now...
 

MARTHA:

I barely slept last night. I paced the darkness and turned Joanna Gilfillan's words over and over in my mind, at least a thousand times. And each time I'd turn those words over, I'd run my own thoughts in parallel with them.

Melvin, as I have found out, is terribly ill. This in and of itself would be enough to alarm me. Not so much the illness-I've certainly seen worse, although he is in serious shape. But he can recover from this.

The difficulty is, he's not going to be able to do a lot of things for himself for quite some time.

Jo has requested my assistance. She said that ordinarily she would do it herself, having had nursing experience, but unbeknownst to me, she just had surgery herself only a week and a half before. She did not indicate what it was for, and I didn't ask. She doesn't strike me as the sort of person who is comfortable speaking about herself with people she doesn't know well.

My first thought is, oh God no. I just nursed my husband into his grave...and I'm going to have to keep working the rest of my life in this profession if I expect to keep on eating and living indoors. I don't know if I can take this.

Were it someone else, I might jump at the chance. I certainly need the money. Even declaring bankruptcy will not relieve all of my financial pressure; I need a thousand dollars, which I don't have, just to file. I owe on our taxes from the previous two years. I'm working with the IRS and I've been lucky in that my contact agent is sympathetic and supportive...but I do have to start paying back. Property taxes on my house are delinquent, and they just went up. In Baltimore, you always pay more and get less each year. And property values are in a slide. I could make enough to pay off the mortgage, but not enough for a down payment on a new home...and where would I move? The idea of moving right now, of making any more changes, is overwhelming. I can't think that far ahead right now.

No, the money would come in very handy right now. I should do it for the money, and leave it at that.

But it wouldn't be for the money.

I can't stop thinking about this man. I haven't been able to since the night he bailed me out of the East Baltimore lockup. I've called his answering machine just to listen to that soft, soothing low voice. I'll bet he sings beautifully.

I wonder about my own motivations here. It's been so long since I had sex-forget that. It's been so long since anyone held me and wanted me. I keep telling myself that I've been away from affection for so long that I've gone and fallen for the first man who was nice to me...

And then I wonder if I'm just making excuses for my own lack of courage, and I also wonder if it really matters what my motivations are...

This internal dialogue never sleeps, and it refused to let me do so last night.

I finally decided a long, hot shower would give me some peace. I can let my mind be quiet in the shower. For years, it's been the only place, other than Giz's and my 'office.' Without these two enclaves, I'd have gone crazy years ago...

And what makes you think you're not, Martha?

Out of the shower, I examine myself in the mirror.

And I decide: there is no way this man-any man-would want me.

I'm 43 years old, and when I don't have my makeup on, I feel as if I look every day of it, and then some. I'm not thin-in fact, I'd have to say I'm rather on the chubby side, at least from my point of view. My hair, which used to be more auburn than dark, has shifted in the other direction, and the gray is beginning to seep in. I've been told I have a great smile, but lately, I doubt anyone has seen it much. And there's the bane of my existence-my chest. It's huge. If I had the money and the time, I'd go for reduction surgery. I'm not a tall woman, and carrying a 40DD on me is hard on my back, particularly when you consider what a strenuous occupation I have. Nursing is hard physical labor. Believe me, come the end of your shift, you're exhausted. And it isn't just the physical aspect of the work, which would be sufficient to wear you out. Nursing is emotionally and mentally draining as well. You don't notice it for a long time because it's so insidious, but whether you're aware of it or not, it takes its toll.

I wish I had the money to return to school. I'd study accounting. Clean, quiet, and unemotional. No life or death choices staring you in the face, our after hour. No anguished faces of families. No looks of terror from the people in your care. No cries for more meds, and you can't give them another shot because the law says you can't.

No, I'm dreaming. Circumstances have forced me into this fantasy that this man would care for me as more than a friend. If that. I'm sure he'd be my friend-I think he's driven by conscience, and feels a certain strange 'obligation' towards me.

Still, I need the cash if I'm going to do my bankruptcy filing, and my checks from work barely cover what I have without that. And post-surgical patients of this nature are not usually very hard work. They sleep a great deal-I'd probably have time to nap here and there. I could do my regular shift and chances are, he won't need more than a few hours a day.

And who knows? Maybe he would notice me...

Quit acting like the love sick high school girl you once were, Martha. You're an adult. You have responsibilities.

I make my decision, and dial Joanna's number...
 

MICHAEL:

I'm calmer by the time I reach Chateau Langly. Good thing. I don't need Kelly thinking I'm a pathetic fool, too.

She's outside in the pool when I come-she is so delicious in a swimsuit. This perks my spirits up a bit. I can always appreciate wet Kelly in a couple small pieces of cloth. Or not.

Maybe that's what I need, a swim. And the family isn't back yet, so we have it for ourselves.

I tell Kelly I'm gonna grab my suit, which I keep in the bathroom at Chateau Langly, and I'll be right out.

The water's good. It's a bit too warm-the endless heat of this endless bitch of a summer has made it like bathwater-but it's light and silky on my skin when I dive in. I surface, and when I do, Kelly comes and wraps her arms around me, and we just tread water together, holding on to each other.

Casey, my writing teacher, might have said that was metaphoric.

"I didn't think you'd be back so soon," she says as she kisses me. Her kisses help me feel more human again. It's like somebody doesn't think I suck.

Wet, slippery Kelly is like one of the best feelings in the world. And a few hundred laps helps me get my ya-ya's out. I'm gonna go and knock myself out, even though I'm dead tired, in just a few.

"Yeah, well, my dad doesn't seem to want me around."

"He's probably just feeling terrible."

"I'm sure." And pretty good at making me feel the same.

Time to unleash some frustration. I pour myself into doing laps. After a while, my limbs start to hurt like they always do, but I always make myself push through it...because when I get over to the other side, I can swim forever...

Kelly does some with me-she doesn't do as many as me, not nearly, besides I just taught her to swim when we went to the shore-but she's gotten better this summer. When she's done, she sits up on deck and just watches me. I like this.

I'm finishing up, I'm like damn near out of breath so bad when I hear a car pull up, but doesn't sound like the Corolla...

"Hey, Mulder," Kelly calls. I don't have my glasses on, but I see this sea-green blur...yep, it's the Mulder minivan. And he's scooping the kidlets out. Becca races across till she gets to me, she's like, 'Micah, Micah!'

Nice to be appreciated.

Actually, seeing the kidlets is good right now. Becca's so happy to see me, her second-best guy, and she doesn't care that I get her all wet. She's lighter these days-I think they got her out of diapers.

Sarah's not so hot for me as her big sister, but she likes me fine, and she smiles at me and holds up her little arms so I can pick her up. I sit on deck with both the kiddies on me.

Once I have my glasses on, I can see Mulder's looking a little bit bummed. "Kind of hoping Langly and Byers'd be back."

"Nope. Ain't nobody here but us guys. Why, what's up?"

He purses his lips-I've seen Becca do this, too. Becca is so like Mulder.

"I've got some...findings from Scully I wanted to talk about."

Kelly looks puzzled. "We don't have any new data that I know of."

Mulder shakes his head. "No, this is on the migraine drugs."

Kelly looks confused, then she gets this look like, a-ha!

"Is that why she's been on the bench again? She's been doing a lot of wet stuff lately."

"That's why, but what I really need is something a little different," Mulder says. Uh-oh. I've heard this before. Mulder's on a mission...and he will accept it, and the tape will self-destruct in ten seconds...

"Like what?"

"I need a larger sample. Different lot numbers. Scully can get scrips for a few of these, but she writes a scrip for thousand of these, it's gonna look mighty suspicious."

"Okay. So what d'ya want us to do?"

Mulder grins. "Done any funky poaching, Junior?"

"Not lately."

"Hmm. Well, maybe it's time to get back in practice."

"What kind of funky poaching?"

"Little trip to Jersey...maybe check out the real estate..."

Hello! He wants to do a break-in, you dope!

"But I need some...assistance that you guys have the...unique ability to provide."

"So like you want locations and stuff."

"That. And help disabling security and the like...as I said, you guys are a warehouse of unusual talents. Never let it be said I don't help you reach your potential."

"Mulder, I gotta start school tomorrow, and if I don't, my dad will kill me-"

"Whoa, relax, Junior. I was thinking of a little weekend trip, say, next Friday night...I mean, you guys have all gone suburban on me, getting you on Sunday night is useless."

"Thanks a lot, Mulder. Speak for yourself, Mr. Minivan."

He gives his shit-eating grin. "Hey, I was born for suburban life."

Oh, sure.

Well, in a way, he's like the perfect suburban dad, if you look at him. Nice house in the burbs, two kiddies, hot wife, and don't forget the minivan.

God, what would the neighbors say if they really knew?

"So you want me to do some homework for you."

"I was thinking that'd be a good place to start."

Suddenly, he notices Kelly...Mulder has a way of getting so focused, he forgets who's there sometimes. "You won't say anything about this." More of a command than a request. "Particularly not to your boss."

"Don't worry, Mulder, I think you can get in trouble enough with her on your own. You don't need my help."

He laughs at this. "But at least I won't end up on the sofa this time."

"Not so long as you leave the kiddies at home," I remind him.

"That's true. Speaking of kids, I have to get over to the hospital and trade places with Scully-"

"She's with my dad." This hurts.

"Yeah, she wanted to stop in and see him."

"Yeah, well, maybe he'll be a little nicer to her than he was to me." I'm sure. If it wears a skirt, he's usually a lot better to it.

"Why, what'd he do to you?" And he actually sounds a little concerned. Shrink school, maybe, but also, he's sort of become a friend...

"He threw me out. Says I shouldn't hang around acting like a pathetic idiot. Says he just wants to be alone."

Mulder laughs. Now I'm getting mad.

"Yeah, that's the Frohike we all know and love. But I think he really wants you there. You know how he gets."

"No, I don't!"

"Well, I think he's scared, and probably seeing you, he gets even more scared about what's happening with him...unfamiliar things in your own body are terrifying. You know this." He looks at me and I think of the other night. "But I think he really wants you to be with him."

"He's got a mighty bizarre way of showing it."

Mulder laughs. "Your dad's probably hurting and scared out of his mind right now, and when he's like that, he's a total asshole."

I have to laugh at this.

"Hey, Frohike's not an easy guy to get along with."

I'm a little surprised at this...here I thought it was just me.

"You don't believe me? Ask his two partners in crime, who spent nine years at the same address with him."

"Really."

"Believe me, they all got really good at working each other's last nerve."

"Well, yeah, but it's like-"

"The same thing. They know he loves them. But I've listened to them bitch. And particularly in the early days, I'm surprised they didn't murder him in his sleep." He grins. "Face it, Junior. Your father is a number one pain in the ass. Get over it. It's not personal. Go put on your clothes and we'll head over and see him. Kelly, you too."

"I think Michael should go alone right now," she says softly, putting her hand on my back. "And I need to take care of some things for school tomorrow and around here before they get back." She looks at me with those clear eyes. "I think you should do this yourself, Michael."

I have no idea. I don't think I should do it at all.

But I'm sort of outnumbered here.

I set the babies down-which they don't like-and start towards the house, when I hear Mulder say to Kelly, "I think what Frohike really needs is to get laid."

No, he doesn't!

Get rid of that thought, people.

Now!

END OF PART 17