"A weary thing is sickness and its pains!
What must I do now?
Here is light and air, the brightness of the sky."

Euripides, "Hippolytus," Lines 176-178. Translation by Ralph Gladstone. Used without permission.
 

LANGLY:

God, I wanna see Frohike.

I miss the old bastard. I miss him yelling at me for this and that and every other thing. I miss him telling me I'm sloppy, I'm an asshole, I'm inconsiderate...

Amazing what you get hooked on.

Ally let me sleep a real long time. I think I sort of feel better. Didn't cough my lungs out completely in the shower, anyway.

And she got in with me, which she hasn't done in a while. It was great. She even washed my hair for me, and she didn't make any cracks about how much of it's falling out.

Ivory soap never feels so great as when you've got a pretty girl smearing it all over you. Then I got rinsed off, and after that, I got a blow job to die for. I was like choking for breath, and it was worth it. I figure, I die right now, I die a happy man. Ally's got an incredible mouth.

And to think I once made cracks that Jewish girls didn't give blow jobs.

Oh, how wrong I was!

Happily so, in this case.

Ally did do something awful, though.

She taught Patrick to roller blade.

Now Ally can blade just fine. She stays up most of the time, doesn't crash too often, and she can keep her balance.

Me? I can't skate to save my fucking life. I tried it once.

Damn near died that time, and I would NOT have died happy. I was in pain for days. And I was younger, too. Well, a couple years, anyway, which these days seems to be significant.

I'm 38 years old and falling apart! I've got the cold that won't die (sort of like the Monday that won't die, but that doesn't start till tomorrow), my hair's getting real thin these days, especially in front, and a good fall, well, it's not the falling that's the problem, it's the getting back up.

And before last night, it was like, I haven't been sleeping at all.

How the fuck does Mulder do this, anyway? Dude never sleeps...

Okay, I'm not gonna say he's fine. He's crazy as a bat.

But he seems to be able to get by. Me, I just get bummed and I can't do stuff too good.

But last night was so awesome, and I never came so damn hard in my life. Like a whole bunch of bad stuff just came out along with, well, everything else that comes out then.

And Ally let me stay in bed all morning. I couldn't believe what time it was when I got up.

I slept for fourteen hours straight, and it was good. Not like waking up every hour.

She's out in the pool with Patrick and Miranda when I get up, looks like Shelby went back to her sister's house.

"Daddy! Come in!" Patrick's like, c'mon dude!

"He can't come in. He's still sick, sweetie," Ally tells him.

"Ah, a little bit won't hurt." I haven't gone swimming with the kiddies in ages.

"Yeah, come in on Langly, and let me drown you!" Miranda's like even being nice, in a Miranda-ish sort of way.

"Hmm, is it going to be quick and brutal or slow and painful?"

"You mean I get a choice?" She's like grinning evilly.

I decide, what the fuck, I haven't been in the water a long time. And I haven't played with the kids in way too long.

And it means, I get to watch Ally in a bikini, and that's always a perk.
 

Patrick and Miranda and me are playing shark, and I'm the shark. Hey, I'm always the shark. Not a bad role. You get to eat your victims.

And after a while, they're all laughing and screeching and I'm laughing my ass off, and I haven't done that in way too long.

Ally brings lunch outside, which is nice, it's a good day, not so hot, in the 80s. Never thought I'd say a day in the 80s wasn't hot. Sad to say, I can't taste much, I'm still clogged up and I got more clogged up in the water, but still, it's like, we could be a typical suburban family on Sunday afternoon just having a good old time.

These are the good old times, that's for sure.

And Ally...oh man. You'd think after a night of incredible sex, and a blow job to boot in the shower, I'd be satiated...

All I have to do is look at her in a bikini top and her sarong, and that's it. Biology is cruel.

But man, so fun.

Sunday afternoon, it's great and all, but it's gonna be Monday soon.

And I got to figure out how I'm gonna deal with it. I'm not gonna have another week like I've had so far. I can't take it, my family can't take it.

First of all, much as it kills me to admit it, I'm gonna need some tech support. Somebody whose kung fu is even better than mine.

I only know one dude whose kung fu can beat mine...and he just got home from the hospital today.

Fuck.

I really shouldn't bug him. Fuck, I shouldn't even breathe on him.

But man, I really need his help.

Could use maybe some help from Mulder-not tech support, for Christ's sake, this is Mulder we're talking about-but as far as knowledge base...

Well, dude does have an eidetic memory. And knows a lot of shit to boot.

But it's Sunday, and if he's like me, he's probably hanging with the fam, and doesn't want to be hassled.

And tell the truth, Mulder'd be a poor substitute for talking to Fro.

I make up my mind.

I'll do my best not to breathe on him.
 

FROHIKE:

Oh Christ.

Not only do I need to hit the washroom...

I'm as bad as a sixteen year old after a Playboy dream.

I admit that I've been concerned about my...well, functioning in that area, seeing as I've been sliced and diced in myriad ways.

Apparently my only concern is getting it to behave.

And the reason becomes readily apparent as soon as I put my glasses on.

There's a small bundle near my feet, and it has the shape of a woman.

And not just any woman.

The woman I want to call mine.

Sleeping. She must be exhausted.

As soon as I move my feet, however, in an attempt to move out of bed-which, by the way, is a lot harder than it used to be-she's back in work mode.

"Do you need something?" Her voice is thick and riddled with sleep.

"Just need to use the facilities."

"Let me help you get up."

Oh, honey, you certainly know how to get me up...

I wonder if she can tell.

She helps me to my feet and walks me to the door.

"I'll take it from here," I tell her. I think I can manage this part.

I suppose there is comfort in knowing that the plumbing is still operational.
 

MARTHA:

Martha, that was stupid, and completely unprofessional.

I chide myself as I slip my glasses back on and smooth my hair and my clothes.

I didn't realize I was so tired.

And so I end up falling asleep on the job...on Mel's feet.

I wait for him to emerge from the bathroom, to help him back into bed; I don't think he's ready to get up yet, but I hear a sharp knock on the door. It's loud, it's insistent.

Probably Michael, forgetting his keys.

He's how old?

I check the spyhole, and it's not Michael at all. It's a tall blonde man I recognize as Langly.

"Langly." I open the door for him-I have no desire to be rude to him, but my patient needs to rest.

"Hey, Martha. Fro around?"

"He's very tired, Langly. I think-"

"Martha? Someone there?"

I'm tempted to tell him no, go back to sleep, but Langly yells out, "Hey Fro!" before I even get a chance to open my mouth.

And punctuates it with a hard burst of coughing.

"You've had that a while," I tell him gently. "Have you had it looked at?"

"Just a cold." Another coughing spasm. "And anyway, dude that takes care of me, sort of flipped out after his wife got killed, he's been not seeing people a while."

Daryl Bergman. I heard about this. Sad case.

Melvin walks slowly to the door, having grabbed a bathrobe, which is not completely concealing what looks like a Kevlar vest. "Dude. What brings you?"

"Whaddya think? It's the atmosphere."

"Well, are you just going to stand in the hall, or are you coming in?"

"Don't know. The guards gonna let me pass?"

I succumb. In spite of their banter, it's obvious that these two love each other deeply...and I know that Langly has been forbidden to see him.

I'm about to warn him not to get too close, but Mel wraps his arms around the taller man, who in that moment loses his bravado and sinks into Mel like a small child who's been waiting for Dad to come home. The blonde hangs on to him hard, and when I catch a glimpse of his face, I realize I've guessed right. The face is a childlike mixture of fear, anxiety and relief.

How old is this one? I've seen him on numerous occasions, but never looked at him hard.

He looks to be middle to late thirties, based on the hair and skin. Towers over Mel, thin but muscular. Arms and legs that never end. Extremely pale skin and eyes that have almost no pigment to match the hair that once upon a time, had to be white.

"Um, like Fro, how you feeling?" Langly asks him, a little nervously.

"Tired, but all right. Just had a good nap." And I swear I saw him smile ever so slightly at me.

"Um...well...like...I kind of need..."

Here we go again. They need. He is surrounded by the neediest bunch of people I have ever met in my life. It seems like every sentence addressed to Mel is prefaced by 'I need.'

What does Mel need? Seems that nobody ever asks him.

I want to. And not only do I want to know, but I want to satisfy those needs.

Whatever they might be.

"How are you and Allison doing?" Mel asks him, gently, cautiously.

"Ally and me, we're good. Had a good time yesterday, today. You told Ally we needed to go cold turkey, didn't you?" But the tone is not accusing.

"I did."

"Well, we're doing it. Course, only been a day."

"That's all you can do. One day at a time."

"Anyway, that's not what I came for, to talk about me and Ally."

I sigh with relief. I hope they don't hear me.

"Need some...on the job help."

This causes Mel to raise an eyebrow. "I see."

"You're not gonna make me say it, are you?"

Mel chuckles a bit. "I'll let you off the hook this time."

"What do you do, Langly?" I ask the question innocently enough. I really don't know what his occupation is.

For that matter, I'm not entirely clear about Mel's.

Langly looks a bit uncertain. "Uh...I...uh...work for the government."

"You and everyone else in Northern Virginia," I laugh. It's the major employer around here. Your tax dollars at work.

"You game?" Langly turns to Mel, does not look at me.

I should tell him no, he needs to rest. He still looks exhausted. He is weary; I noticed how long it took him to get to the front door.

"Yeah," Mel tells him, not hesitating.

This is not going well.

I'm doing a horrible job of this. So far, I've managed to fall asleep in Mel's bed, let in someone who claims to have a cold, but I'd bet if I listened to his lungs I'd find congestion (and he's not leaving until I do), and failed to prevent Mel from getting back to work when he's in no condition to be doing anything but resting.

Still, part of recovery is very psychological...and maybe he needs this, to a point.

I'm going to have to get better at setting limits.

Especially upon myself.
 

I listen to them talk as I prepare a light dinner for Mel. I need to get him to eat.

Chicken breasts with lemon and garlic, rice pilaf, spinach salad (no bacon).

I'm not supposed to be listening in. I'm supposed to be here in a professional capacity.

Which thus far, I've failed at miserably.

Their work is in computers.

But that's not all it is.

I'm listening to Langly talk...and I didn't grow up in the military only to be ignorant of things.

He works in cryptographic intelligence. Langly does, at any rate. I don't think Mel does, based on the questions he's asking.

But Mel seems to have more than a passing knowledge of the substance, if not necessarily the form, of the younger man's occupation.

I allow this discussion to continue for a little over two hours.

Mel is obviously intrigued, but I can tell he's tiring. Time to send the blonde home, but not before I give him a cursory exam.

He balks, but Mel glares at him, in a fatherly sort of way, and tells him he's going to cooperate.

Just as I suspected. He's got rales, not terribly bad yet, but if he doesn't take care of himself, he'll go from bronchitis to pneumonia without much effort.

"You need antibiotics," I inform him.

"Uh-huh. Got any on you?" He asks.

"No." I have nearly everything but.

"Langly, get some drugs tomorrow. I can't go through with you what I did with Michael last winter."

Langly rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah. Like I can take off."

"Don't you have medical personnel over at Langley?"

Langly tries to bark, but ends up coughing. "Oh yeah. Like I'd trust them. Not!"

"He's got a point," Mel sides with him on this. "Maybe Dana Scully'd write you up a scrip."

"I can write out my findings for her, or she can call me," I tell him.

"I'm not gonna bug him tonight, he's probably hanging with the fam."

"Fine. Do it tomorrow."

He mutters something, but I think Mel won this time.

I think.

"And get more sleep!" Mel barks at him.

I almost giggle at this.
 

FROHIKE:

Dinner is delicious, as was lunch, but I'm not very hungry.

"You need to eat," Martha says gently.

"I know. But it's hard."

"Just take a few more bites, then you're free."

I would ordinarily bristle at this. I can't stand being fussed over in this way...

Except by her.

With her, there is something so right, and so natural about it.

I need to work on some things for Langly, but he won't be in to work until the morning. And once again, I'm so tired.

I'm also feeling more than a little grubby.

What I wouldn't give for a shower at this point.

"I think I'm going to try a shower," I tell her.

Having her help me with that would be rather nice, don't you think?

I do.

She shakes her head. "Wrong answer, Mel. Not until you've got a little more strength and the last sutures are out."

"Which is when?"

I do a mental count of days passed. "Thursday, I'll pull the sutures. Friday, if you're feeling strong enough, you can get in the shower.

"Martha, I'm a mess."

And I am.

"You are not. Although...when you're feeling up to it...please don't take offense at this, Mel."

Oh Christ. Here we go...

"Um...I think you'd look better without the beard."

Decision made.

That was easy.
 

After dinner, I'm tired again. I think it's time to call it a night.

I'll be very happy when I'm not constantly craving sleep. I'll leave that for Mulder.

In fact, I'll be overjoyed when most of the things associated with my recovery are in the past.

There is, however, one thing I've come to enjoy.

Sponge baths.

But only when given by a very special lady.
 

MARTHA:

I've been bathing him for a while now.

Yes, I confess, I've sneaked a few peeks. But the hospital is my work environment, and in it, I'm able to maintain a certain professional distance.

I had no idea how much more difficult it would be in this man's home. I'm having a much more difficult time not seeing him as the male he is.

The male I long to be female with.

Washing him down, I think about how long it's been for me.

Since I was cuddled on the sofa...kissed goodnight...pulled close to someone's heart lying next to them in bed...

Felt his body join to mine in a blissful blast of sensation and emotion.

It's been a long time.

You'd have thought I'd have forgotten it by now.

I have to admit that for the longest time, it lurked only in the recesses of my mind. I had other, more pressing concerns preoccupying me.

But watching him, only barely covered by a towel, touching his skin, I discover that as much as I enjoy being his nurse, I want to be something else instead.

His lover.

Not forgotten, simply backburnered.

And now rising to the forefront with a blaze that is scorching.

I feel myself doing something that I haven't done since bathing my first patient as a student nurse.

I blush.
 

FROHIKE:

Thank God I'm as tired as I am.

Otherwise, she might be screaming rape by now.

As weary and weakened as I am, feeling her capable and gentle hands running along me, it took every ounce of self-control not to erupt like a sixteen-year-old having a fantastic wet dream.

This sort of gives new meaning to the term 'wet dream,' doesn't it?

I want her.

When she's finished, she helps me get back into the blue bunny pajamas.

I want her to hold my hand again.

She sits down next to me as she did earlier. I find myself brushing my hand ever so lightly against hers, a lot like you do on a first date with a girl you're dying to make out with-in high school.

And maybe I'm dreaming it-the bath drove me pretty close to the twilight zone-but I think I feel her respond to my touch.

She leans over to pull the covers up over me.

God, when was the last time I was tucked in?

I had no idea I'd even missed it.

And as she tucks me in, I notice that she's wearing a T-shirt with a V-neck.

Which, as she leans over, I can see into. She's close enough that my lack of eyewear doesn't matter right now.

Oh. My. God.

She is lovely.

And they're real.

I assumed they were-it's not as if she's working Reno and needs a silicone boost.

No, I can see mounds of soft creamy skin, dotted with freckles.

I wonder if the freckles reach her nipples.

It's the last thing I think about as I drift off to sleep.

END OF PART 51