"You'll never be fainthearted or a fool,
Telemakhos, if you have your father's spirit;
He finished what he cared to say,
And what he took in hand he brought to pass."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 2, Lines 285-288.
Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

Reading Jo's stuff is depressing. And scary.

Compelling reading, but not enough to do an article. I need backup on this.

If you think the rules of research are easy here at TMB, guess again. You've obviously never worked here and had to deal with Three Stooges raking you over the coals for everything you state.

Guess in a way, that's good. Might save your ass from printing something that will embarrass the hell out of you later. The problem is, peer review is hell. Particularly when these three guys are your peers reviewing you. They don't let anything slide.

And if I just use Jo's data, well, I'm going to be attacked full frontal. I'll get attacked anyway, might as well be armed and dangerous.

One thing's for sure: Jo knows a lot of people. You wouldn't think it to meet her, but she knows a lot of people and a lot of stuff. She stays hidden behind her quiet face and her dull clothes, and nobody knows what's going on back there. I think she likes it like that.

And while I'm at it, let me say the dull clothes are not such a bad thing. Dull isn't a word you'd use to describe the way my dad dresses. However, some of the things you would say you wouldn't print in a family publication or use in prime time television.

Like the Kevlar vest. Not a bad thing to have if you're out in combat or, say, walking the streets of southeast DC. But Dad wears them with his jammies-yes, the blue bunny jammies.

Then there's the alpaca vest. Thank God it's been too hot for that thing. Looks like a ratty sheepdog. If I thought I had half a chance of surviving, I'd toss it in the trash. However, since I'm still dependent on him for support-which I hate, but it's true-I let the dog lie.

One thing it's not too hot for is the horrible yellow hat from King's Dominion. He wears that all the time in summer. That, or the straw one that Langly and Ally got him in Manzanillo. Or the brown fedora. Or the black watchman's cap. Or his collection of Aunt Jemima bandanas he wears when he's cooking. Then there's the green fisherman's hat, and the paisley garden hat (yes! Paisley!). About the only one that's passable is his Baltimore Orioles cap. And he doesn't have it right now because I borrowed it.

Somebody needs to teach my dad to buy clothes. Hey, I'm no pro, but I don't scare small children and dogs in the street. Which I think my dad, little guy that he is, has done. I'm a little guy, too, but I think I'm a little bit taller than he is. I'll take what I can get.

He's had the same pair of Doc Martens for God knows how long. They look even worse than mine. And I don't wear mine in the hot weather. He does. Mine at least get a seasonal break.

I keep wondering why Jo doesn't take him shopping, but I guess she figures she doesn't want to be responsible for that. I asked Mom if Dad was always such a fashion victim, and that caused her to nearly fall out of her chair laughing. She assures me she didn't marry him because of his wardrobe. Although if she divorced him because of it, nobody'd wonder why.

No, sad to say, it was other things. Sadder, harder things. Bad times. Lots of bad times.

I'd rather not think about that. There's enough bad stuff in the present to deal with without making it worse.

I can't believe it. My dad. Gone and fallen for a married lady. Figures. I always have to crack up when I hear Langly or Byers or Mulder going to him for advice on their love lives, because let me tell you, it hasn't exactly been the part where Dad's shone. You'd think they'd pick someone who knew what the hell they were doing, but they keep going back to him. It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

No wonder he's flipping out. Hot for a lady, and no downloads to ease the pain. I'm not supposed to know this-hell, for what he thinks, I should be a fucking virgin. (Was that a contradiction in terms? Sorry). He's been taking out the videos late at night lately. I'm supposed to be asleep. I usually am, after I've heard about ten or fifteen minutes of non-dialogue.

Somehow, I don't think they're doing the job for him right now.

Besides, I'm not sure she'd go for him anyway, even if she was available. I mean, what kind of woman is gonna go for a guy who spends his time snooping into computer systems, considers watching porno a hobby, and dresses like he does?

You gotta wonder.

I just sort of figured, Dad struck out twice, he's not gonna get up to bat again. I would think getting your heart stomped on like that two times would be enough to put you out of the game. I can't believe he'd go back for more.

I mean, Dad likes women. Loves women. He really does. He thinks women are awesome, which is sort of weird in view of his experiences with them. But he thinks they're the better sex.

Well, I look at the guys and me...and I guess I couldn't argue with that.

And considering his viewing habits, I know he's still interested in the deed. At least watching other people do it, at any rate. Talk about living vicariously.

He couldn't be interested in getting it on with a real woman at this point in his life, though. I mean, he's so fucking old! (Don't let him see this. He will kill me, slowly and painfully. I don't think he likes being reminded about his age-57 in October).

I've always been real glad he and Jo are buds, not lovers. I don't think I could handle my dad sleeping with someone. I mean, it's weird enough that my mom does it now. And I don't have her in my face. She lives 200 miles away, and I don't see her that much, so I don't have to really deal with it.

But I mean, if Dad hooked up with someone...God, would she sleep over? At our place? Would they be doing the deed? In his bed?

Oh God. That is just too nasty to think about.

Plus, why does he need someone now? I mean, he's got me. And Les is coming down soon. He and she started to trade e-mails, and I think they're trying to pull it back together. And he's got to educate me. So he says. I mean, really, you think about it, he doesn't have to...but he thinks he does. And it's like, I really do have to.

I mean, look at my competition. Byers and Langly, both PhD's. Dad is ABD (all but dissertation) and plans to die that way, but you're still talking about a hell of a lot of years of schooling. Fucking Mulder's a PhD. His wife's an MD. Jo's a PhD. Juliet's one, too. I can see why Ally feels like she has to start accumulating degrees here.

I'm starting to feel the same way.

Only thing is, I'm one year into my bachelor's. By the time I get it, I'm gonna be the same age as Byers when he finished his PhD. And forget Langly. He was one of those wunderkinds, he got his PhD at 22. Graduated high school at 15. No way can I keep up with that.

I dropped out of high school at 16. I finally got my GED when I was 20. I had to to keep a job I had...which I got fired from three months later, anyway, for not showing up when I felt like I didn't wanna work.

The GED was cake. People all around me, struggling like mad with it, particularly the math part. So I helped a bunch of them, and they all passed, and they were like, Michael, man, you're so good at this.

Yeah, right.

But I started tutoring last year. And even though some of the people that come to me are too stupid to live, a lot of them are okay. They just need to have things explained better to them. I try to do that. And most of them say they do better after I help them. That makes me feel pretty good, actually. I did a little bit of tutoring this summer, but not that much. Summer budget is pretty small in the JC's.

Kelly's one of my success stories. I mean, Kelly is really, really, really smart. Way smarter than me. But math isn't her strong suit. She's okay with it, but calc, she struggled. At least in the beginning. By the time she finished second semester, she was like so good at it. She really didn't need me to help her anymore. I kind of missed that, but by then we'd started doing it together, and that was real good. Better than tutoring.

Ally keeps saying, you're so good with kids, why don't you do something with them?

I don't know. One thing to play for a few hours with someone else's kidlets and hand them over when you're done. Another to be stuck with them, day in and day out, hour after hour, trying to get through to them.

And what happens if they're like me? Jesus fucking Christ. Fate worse than death.

I have no idea.

Langly and the prof are like, dude, you can write, you should do that. Yeah, I can write. And I can do computers.

Problem is, that's just it. I can do computers. I understand them and all that. They just don't thrill me that much. I can get excited over a really cool hack, but just to fuck around programming all the time? Forget it. It doesn't have the kick for me it does for Dad and Langly. I don't think there's anything magical about computers. They're big, dumb, adding machines. Big pencils. Something you use to get something else. They kind of used to fascinate me, but not now.

Don't get me wrong. I got nothing against computers. Shit, I need them to get through the day. But just to do computer stuff for the sake of doing it, that doesn't get my juices flowing. Langly does some cool stuff, but even that, I mean, just doing math all day, cracking codes and figuring stuff out-I like figuring stuff out, a lot, but to sit there and write algorithms all the time? That'd get old real fast. He likes it-he'd have to, because working for the Feds, that has to sort of suck-but I don't think I'd be as enthusiastic.

Casey, my freshman writing teacher, thinks I should write. She says I really got the goods for it. And I like it. A lot.

Kelly says I should do whatever I want. Because I can do anything.

I think that's a stretch. And also, that's the problem. I don't know what I want to do.

What'm I good at? I mean, what can I do that's better than anything else anyone else can do? I'm not a better writer than Byers. I'm not a better programmer than my dad. I'm not a better mathematician than Langly. I can do all those things, but I don't think I stand out above those guys. Fact, I know I don't.

I couldn't be a shrink like Mulder. Crawling around in people's heads, I know how I am, and I'd be a fucking basket case in no time. I mean, he's a head case himself, but it doesn't seem to bother him. I think it'd bother me a lot.

And maybe it bugs him more than he thinks. Mulder is the migraine king. I don't think they come out of nowhere. And even though he's a head case, he's the best damn listener on the planet, and I'm not. You talk to Mulder, you got his full attention. Okay, maybe you don't, but he damn makes you feel like it.

And here's one that will kill you. I'm talking to my mom and Carl. We're eating dinner at their house, and my mom and Carl are like, you should apply to med school, along with Kelly. And Kelly's like, yeah, you'd be a great pediatrician.

Oh sure! Not.

I'm lousy at pain. I hate hospitals. I don't do blood real well. Sure, I'd be great at it.

And Kelly's like, I think you should think about it. We could do it together.

Right. That's all we need. Two of us trying to go through some of the most brutal training in the world at the same time. That'd work real well.

Trouble now is, I think Kelly's got it in her head I should try it. At least do the undergrad stuff. Do some bio and chem classes. And my mom, I mean, she's like totally hooked on the idea. This'd be like the ultimate vindication for her.

Aargh.

I haven't told Dad that one, either. I'm not sure how he'd react. Most likely he'd be like, why are you doing that? Is this what you really want? Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be? How expensive? And what about you and Kelly? And what if she gets pregnant? And where will you live and how will you live and blah blah blah...

Thank you, I can live without that, very nicely.

I brought up a literature search (prof and Casey taught me how to do this, and it's easy now) on breast cancer. There is TONS of stuff. Gonna have to refine the search. I wouldn't live long enough to get through all this stuff.

So I refine it a bit. Breast+cancer+women+Vietnam.

Nothing returned. That seems a little bizarre.

I try a few other permutations on that subject. Nothing coming back.

This has to be wrong. I check my spelling-I can't spell my way out of a paper bag, by the way.

It looks okay to me. I check it. Just to make sure.

Nope. Didn't misspell anything this time. Amazing.

But not getting search results.

Try another tack. I try breast+cancer+plus+Agent Orange. Nothing. Women soldiers, Vietnam, I try a bunch of stuff.

This is really discouraging.

Only one thing to do.

Call Byers and see if I can use his university library ID. I could hack in, but hell, why make it hard for yourself?

I luck out. He's in a hurry, they got to get to the wedding planner, but he tells me what his password is (which I know he'll change tonight-he trusts me, but having revealed his password to another mortal who was too lazy to hack it, well, he's not going to let that one go).

I search their databases at AU, which are huge.

And no dice.

Dr. Scully has access to stuff at Georgetown, and lots of classified stuff. But she won't probably let me use her account. I hate to do this to her, but...

Wait a minute. She probably lets Mulder use her account all the time. And Mulder owes me. Who else could he call and demand that I please get my ass over there because he's got the headache from hell?

I dial Mulder's office number. If he's seeing a patient, he won't pick up. So I hope he's not.

No luck. He must have someone there-or he's fucking around with the kiddies.

Got to say for Mulder, he LOVES those kids. I mean, I can't believe how intense he is about them. His daughters are incredibly lucky. Well, they will be till they're teenagers. I fear for any guy who thinks he's gonna date one of the Mulder daughters. They'll have to get past Dad first-and Dad is a black belt, trained in forensic psychology, and he knows how to use
a gun.

Well, if they warn the guys, the guys will know not to try anything funny.

It's sort of like what Miranda does. Miranda gets real pissed at Langly because he's like he hates all her dates, but first thing she says to every guy she goes out with? I'm an only daughter, and I have a nervous stepfather. So watch it.

I don't know. If I was a 16-year-old guy still, I'd probably scream and run at that point.

I think Mulder'd like to have a boy. Probably be good for him. Have a son to play ball with and stuff, which he gets into. He's trying to teach Becca to shoot one on one, and she's not even two yet. And maybe then he wouldn't be so obsessive about his little girls.

Oh, bullshit. Mulder will obsess over anything he loves. Just the way the dude is.

I leave him a voicemail. He's actually real good about returning calls.

I look at some stuff, it's only like for fifteen minutes or so, and the phone rings.

"Lone Gunmen Bar and Grill, we deliver."

"Hey, that you, Frohike Junior?" It's Mulder.

"No, it's Princess Jasmine. Who'd you think it was, Mulder?"

"Hey, that's a good movie! Just watched it with the girls yesterday."

"Yeah, Robin Williams was pretty cool in it."

"So what's up, Junior? You called me."

"And you called me back."

"Yeah, well, you get tired of hearing yuppie scum whine. So I decided to call and listen to you whine instead."" Mulder takes all kinds of clients. He likes the real crazies, but hates the neurotic yuppie types that come to lie on his couch. But hey, they pay the freight, so he takes them. Right now, anyway.

Not like he needs the money, but I think he feels like, if his wife's working her ass off and he's not, he's not doing his bit. And she is working her pretty little butt off. And everyone in her lab, too.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"Not a chance. Not when you have someone like Scully." He laughs. So do I.

More truth than fiction there. You have someone like Dr. Scully, you probably don't even think about another female, alive or dead.

He loves her so so so much. I think he'd die for her. Dad says he's nearly done it, a few times. Willingly.

"So Mulder? Any chance I can use Dr. Scully's online account at Georgetown?"

"What for?" He's not about to let his wife's resources get used by an undeserving party.

"I'm doing an article."

"On what?"

"Breast cancer. Among women who served in 'Nam."

I hear him click his tongue. "Scully wouldn't have a problem with that. Just don't do any funky poaching, okay? She won't like it."

"I wasn't gonna do any funky poaching, you dickrag! And I'm not wearing anything black and sexy, anyway."

That gets a laugh out of him.

"Not having any luck with your usual...sources?"

"I just think it's sort of weird that I can't find anything on that topic."

"So what got you interested in this?"

"You know my dad's bud Jo?"

"Jo Gilfillan. Nice lady. What's she got to do with this?"

"She's got it, Mulder."

"She's got what?"

"Mulder, you're a fucking moron! She's got breast cancer. You didn't know that?" Then I realize, like an idiot, that he and Dr. Scully bailed before she told everyone.

"No, I didn't know." He sounds a lot more concerned now, not having fun like Mulder does. "Ah man. When did she find out?"

"Couple weeks back. Had a mastectomy last Wednesday. She's home getting over it right now."

He whistles. "Wish I'd known."

"I don't think she's all that keen on the whole world knowing right now. She's kind of like my dad that way. Likes to keep being sick private."

"Speaking of which, how is Mr. Menopause?"

"You mean my dad?"

"Only one of us old enough to be there. He was a real pain in the ass last time I talked to him."

"Yeah, well, he's still a pain in the ass."

"Know what he needs? Your dad needs to get laid." Mulder says this, then cackles.

"I think he would if he could." I'm not gonna say anymore. Bad enough I told Ally. At least she can keep her yap shut. Mulder? You might as well make a public service announcement.

"I hear it's download hell, too. No goodies online. I'm glad I'm not relying on cybersex these days."

"Yeah, me too." And I am. For more reasons than the obvious one.

"But I did give him a nice video collection a few years back."

"I know. He's seen all of 'em. Again."

Mulder laughs. "Nice to know they're getting good use."

"Yeah, well, he's driving me insane. Keeps bugging me about EVERYTHING."

"That's Frohike."

"Yeah, well, at least you don't have to live with him."

"Hey, even the losers get lucky sometimes. Anyway, I'll e-mail you the account in a couple minutes. And don't do anything shady. I don't feel like sleeping on the sofa again."

Dr. Scully's favorite way to punish him is to make him sleep in his office.

"How're my girls?" I ask.

"They're great. Napping, right now, believe it or not."

"That should last about twenty minutes."

"If I'm lucky. Anyway, let me know what you find out. I'm interested. Anyway, Junior, I'd love to sit and chat with you, but I've got a neurotic lawyer on my porch, who just can't wait to tell me all about why he can'tget it up with his wife but has no problems with his girlfriend. Catch ya." He rings off.

Well, I still got no idea what I want to do.

But I do know I don't want to listen to neurotic lawyers tell me about their sex lives.

Mulder can occasionally provide a little bit of clarity, and I think he'd be amused how he provided it today.

END OF PART 4