"Oh, if I could only draw from the dewy spring
a draught of fresh spring water!
If only I could like beneath the poplars,
In the tufted meadow and find my rest there!"

"Hippolytus," Euripides. Lines 208-211. Used without permission. Translation by Ralph Gladstone.
 

BYERS:

September 16, 2001

The phone is ringing. Did I oversleep?

I grab my glasses and slip them on with one hand, reaching for the phone in the other.

Who the hell is calling at 5:52 a.m.?

Not many people have this number...

"Yes?" I'm trying not to be rude-there's always the off-chance it's the vice chancellor, also known as my boss, and whatever I think of him at times, he is still the person who determines if I continue to draw a salary.

"Dude." It's Langly.

Sounding chipper?!

Am I dreaming this?

"Langly, it's not even 6 a.m.!" I may want to soft pedal it with my immediate superior, but with Langly, I have no trouble inserting a heavy rebuke in my voice.

"Yeah, well, y'know, work time and all that."

I'm all of a sudden very uneasy. Langly is NOT a morning person, and for him to be awake at this hour, let alone cheerful, is very disconcerting, to say the least.

"You didn't call to play alarm clock, Langly. Make it quick. I need to get in the shower soon."

"I just called to tell ya, make sure you read your e-mail before you bail."

"You called me for that?!"

Langly knows me better than this. I ALWAYS check my e-mail before I go to work...

Well, usually. Unless I'm running really late because of...

Oh, never mind.

"Hey, it's important-" he's interrupted by a loud, harsh spasm of coughing, which is his own.

He's had it for weeks, and of course he's done nothing about it.

"Langly, get that cough checked out."

"Yes, Mother."

"And what, pray tell, is so important that you had to call me and nearly wake up Juliet for?"

"Hey, just read it, okay?" He starts coughing again.

"Langly, I'll read it, I promise. Now I need to go. The alarm's going to go off in two minutes, and I think we've already heard it around here."

"Hey, I didn't wake the old lady, did I?"

No, Juliet sleeps peacefully, snuggled into my side.

"No, not this time. But Langly?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you get a blow job before dawn, call someone who cares, all right?"

There's a raucous burst of laughter as he hangs up.
 

ALLY:

Oh God. Not only am I not having to pry him out of bed with a crowbar, but he's...

Smiling.

In a way, this is more difficult to handle than his usual morning misery.

Maybe it was the blow job I gave him. If that's the case...

I'm going to have to do this more often.

On the other hand, he's been this upbeat since last night, when he came back from Frohike's. He was in a happy mood all day, and I was nervous that when it moved near dusk, he'd fall back into his slough of despond.

But it didn't happen. And now, I'm nervous because I'm wondering what the hell he's got up his sleeve. He has this look on his face like, I know something you don't. Smirking, for God's sake.

Oh, Allison, quit being so suspicious. He's probably just happy that he saw Frohike. I think it was reassuring for him to be face to face with him again.

He even skips the morning argument with Miranda. This really weirds me out. It's almost like a day without a brittle remark to each other is like a day without sunshine. Instead, he and Patrick are spelling out words with Alpha-Bits on the kitchen table.

Allison, don't question it. Just go with it. You wanted your husband to be happy again.

He's happy. Leave it alone.

He heads into the bathroom to begin the morning pin and tuck ritual with his hair, which takes roughly half an hour and is generally accompanied by a great deal of cursing and dropping the mousse container several times.

And no, I don't wonder why he doesn't just cut it. I don't even ask.

Besides, I love his hair. And there's something about the way he lets it down when he gets home and shakes it around his shoulders, like a lion's mane, that I find intensely seductive.

Even if he does leave all the hairpins lying around. I think of the Clint Eastwood movie, "A Fistful of Dollars."

Langly honey, they make one of your life, it's going to be, "A Fistful of Bobby Pins."

Miranda's ready to hit the bus stop, and stops to say goodbye. Then gives me a look that can only be described as intensely puzzled.

"Mom? What drugs did you put in his coffee?"

"What are you talking about, sweetie?"

"Mom, whatever you gave him, I want some." She heads for the door.

Yeah, me too, honey.

What's really bizarre is hearing Langly...

Singing.

While he's doing his hair. This is not a normal part of the ritual.

I recognize the tune and lyrics as the Clash's 'Magnificent Seven.'

Well, at least he's somewhat in character here.

He seems to be hooked into Clash tunes this morning. 'Magnificent Seven' gives way to 'Guns of Brixton' and 'Julie's Been Working for the Drug Squad.'

If Miranda were here, she'd be groaning that this was so 80s.

Patrick starts to grow impatient as he Langly's into a chorus of 'Jimmy Jive', but before I can distract him, the phone rings.

"Good morning," I say, not sure if I mean it or not.

"Hey, Ally, it's me."

"Mulder, don't you ever sleep?" This is, of course, a rhetorical question.

"C'mon, Ally, you know me better than that!" He chuckles. "Your old man still around?"

"In the middle of the beauty routine. You need to talk to him?"

"Think so."

"Hang on, he's been through most of the 'London Calling' album, so he's probably just about done."

He's got one stray tendril hanging when I indicate that Mulder wishes his presence.

"Hey Ally, pin that up for me, would ya, no, not like that, like that, thanks." He takes the cordless. "Hey asshole. You got my message."

What message?

What the hell is going on here?

"So you think you can check that out?" Langly asks him.

Check what out?

Oh Christ, don't tell me they're planning another road trip.

And I'm not drinking right now.

"Coolness. No, I do not owe you, you bastard! I already do way more of your dirty work than you'll ever do of mine! No, I don't think so! Hey, catch ya." He ends the conversation.

I'm hoping this isn't a field trip. I hate to sound like such a wimp, but these things scare me a little. I try to stay calm about it, but I'm not always successful.

"Langly, what's going on?" I'm finishing the loose ends of his hair, shoving them into position with mousse and bobby pins. No wonder this takes so long-he's got such fine hair, no sooner does he slip one tendril in, another tumbles out.

"Ah, just some stuff. Hey, Ally, like do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"You working for Scully today?"

"Nope. That's Wednesday."

"Cool. Need you to head out to Jaleel-"

"Langly, you know how I feel about Jaleel." I think he's a chauvinistic prick, thank you.

"Look, I'm not asking you to sleep with him, for Christ's sake."

"Good. I'm a one-man woman."

"I knew that, thank God. He's gonna have some stuff for me. 'Kay?"

"What kind of 'stuff' are we talking about, Langly?"

The playful expression leaves his face. "Ally. Just get the envelopes from him, okay? Don't open 'em."

"Langly..."

"Ally." The expression's gotten serious. "Can you just do it? Please? It's important."

"But I shouldn't ask questions." I look him in the eyes, two shades of blue and glasses meeting one another.

"Ah, she can be taught!" Then he turns serious again. "Seriously, Ally, don't ask. Please."

And am I imagining it, or does he look a little frightened?

"Okay. Okay. Okay." I finish with his hair. "Close your eyes."

"What're you doing, Ally?" Now he looks worried.

"Aqua Net, babe."

"You mean hurricane hair spray."

"Langly, I don't know what kind of anarchy you have planned for today, but at least your hair'll look good."

He grins at me. "That's my girl."
 

MICHAEL:

One thing I'll say about celebrating getting engaged:

It's tiring.

I stayed up WAY too late last night.

And you know what was really sad? We studied.

Well, most of it, anyway. We did take time out for some extracurricular activities.

I got in real late. When I got there, Martha was sacked on the sofa, and thank God Dad didn't wake up, or I'd have gotten a lecture about being out on a school night.

Dad's still in bed when I get out of the shower, but Martha's up. And she's got coffee going.

It's kind of weird having her here-I sort of feel like women don't belong in the cave around here, in a way, but she's really not that bad. Even if she heard me, she didn't wake up and start in on me about making my dad worried and all. Which sometimes when he was in the hospital, she'd do. That hacked me off.

"Good morning," she says, real quiet. She's reading the paper.

"Uh-huh." I can't really talk in the morning. I'm just not there yet, especially before coffee. And especially when my throat hurts this much. I woke up feeling it. Yep, Langly was so nice, he shared. I've got his goddamn cold.

And I don't have time for this shit.

"How's Dad?" I ask her, and my voice comes out like this nasty little rasp. Shit. Got laryngitis on top of it.

"He slept well, but are you all right?"

"I'm cool. Just got a sore throat."

"Warm water and salt. And some aspirin." She's used to just dictating this stuff.

Still, same thing Bergman always tells me.

Wonder when the dude's gonna come out of his house. I hear he hasn't come out since his wife got killed. He took it real bad.

Don't blame him.

I gargle some salt water and spit it in the kitchen sink-hell, she's a nurse, not like it's the grossest thing she's ever seen.

Hey, she's seen Dad naked. How much worse does it get?

"Michael, are you going to be here for dinner?"

I'm trying to get my brain in gear...let's see, it's Monday...

"I got a class till seven, and Kelly works late on Monday and she's got a paper and I got a midterm in bio, so yeah, I'm gonna be here."

I think that bummed her out a little.

Too bad. It's my house, dammit.

"Good, then I'll make enough."

"You cooking again?" That stuff she made for lunch was rad.

Maybe she could just do catering?

"Yes, I am."

"Lunch was good yesterday."

"Thank you." She actually blushes a little. "Too many hours watching the cooking shows."

"You and Dad both."

"He needs to eat more. He's way too thin right now."

"Give him time. Dad loves to eat." This is true.

And I inherited that from him. I wasn't eating too good while he was laid up, but I made up for it this weekend. Me and Kelly ended up pigging out at Chateau Langly last night, Ally made this bow tie pasta with Alfredo sauceand spinach and carrots...probably not something I'm gonna get around here for a while, since it's nicknamed heart attack on a plate. I just ate and ate until we cleaned out the serving bowl...which Ally kept filling up.

Probably how I got this damn cold, Langly was coughing all over the place.

"Does he have any particular favorites?" She asks me.

Only everything...but most of it, he shouldn't eat right now.

"He's not much into Thai food. Kind of spicy."

That's about the only thing I can think of right now.

"I was thinking of making some sashimi."

"You mean like in sushi?" I'm kind of worried about this...I'm not a big sushi fan.

"Something like that. Sashimi is sushi, but not all sushi is sashimi." She smiles. "I'm half Japanese, you know. On my mother's side."

"Oh." Well, maybe she knows how to do it, then.

Hell, if it doesn't eat me first, I'm usually game.

At that moment, the figure of what's passing for Dad these days shows up in the kitchen. He's moving kind of slow, but that doesn't stop him from greeting me the way he usually does in the morning.

"You. You were late getting in." He's pointing a finger at me.

"So?" It's not like I'm not doing my work and stuff.

"Be home at a reasonable hour tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"I mean it, Michael."

"I can hear, Dad."

"You wouldn't know it most of the time."

Well, at least things are getting back to normal.
 

MARTHA:

He still looks tired, but better than yesterday.

I just hope he's not planning to immediately plunge into a full day of work. If I see him overdoing, I'll have to put the brakes on, and he seems the type that won't appreciate it.

I'm not going to ask him if he's hungry. I've got bagels and blueberries and honeydew, which I serve up for him.

"Try and eat something, Mel."

"Is that real coffee?"

"It's real decaf, if that's what you mean."

He looks disappointed. He lives on rocket fuel-brand coffee, that much I do know.

"Not bad, actually. How long before I can have the real thing again?"

"Let's hold off on that till you have your first exam." Which is Thursday. Sutures come out Thursday.

I'd like to do those myself. I'm hoping his surgeon won't do the honors.

Anything to touch him.

"Need to talk to that boy," he mutters, almost as if he's thinking out loud.

"He did come in rather late." Mel already knows this; if he hadn't, well...

I might have covered for the boy. I know what it's like having a protective, possessive parent.

It's not easy. You know how much they love you, but you chafe, anyway.

At least, I always did.

"Think he's too involved with that girl."

Oh Mel, you have no idea.

I was right. He's not ready to hear the news.

"Kelly seems nice. Motivated, smart, and very much in love with your son."

"That's what worries me."

"And he's in love with her."

"Martha, you could be blind and see that." His face softens. "I'm sorry...I just worry about them. They're so young."

And getting older forms a protective barrier around your heart, I want to ask him?

"Mel, go easy on them. I went through this with my own father, when I got involved with Daniel...and believe me, if they're for each other, there's nothing you can do in heaven or on earth to make it stop."

"You sound as if you speak from experience," he says lightly...

But I think he wants me to say more.

Does he really want to hear about my life?

"I'm the oldest of three girls. And my dad's favorite." This is simply a fact. I know it, my sisters know it, my mother knows it. There's no rancor about it. "And he was so upset that I got involved with Daniel in high school. At least these kids are in college, Mel."

"But they've barely started."

"Sophomore year. And doing well, from what you've told me."

"Yes." He allows himself a proud smile.

"I got married when I was 18, nine days after my birthday."

"Kelly's only 19."

"And Michael's 25, you said?"

"Michael's still getting hair on his chest."

"But he's not a teenager anymore."

"No."

"They seem happy together."

"They're too young."

"I got married at 18...and it lasted, Mel."

"So it did." He looks at me with some awe.

I know his didn't. And I'm sorry for that...

But only to a point.

Janet Frohike's loss is my gain.

"I'm just worried that they're going to let their hormones take over and run off and do something crazy, like get married before they finish school."

I don't even go near that one.

"I think you should rest, Mel."

"I will. I've got some work to do, though."

Then he looks at me...and his look is that of a shy schoolboy.

Which melts my knees into something that's not bone.

"I'm feeling kind of grubby, if you don't mind," he says softly.

All of a sudden I feel very dizzy...
 

LANGLY:

I actually get an hour to myself before the Grand Poobah, Zupan-prick, sticks his ugly mug in my office.

I decide I'm really gonna bust on him.

So I smile at him, real big, and say good morning.

He looks at me like I've taken acid or something.

I ask him what he's got for me, and he's like, he's all confused, he doesn't know what to do if somebody's not fighting him.

This is great. I feel like laughing out loud.

I'm just kissing ass like nobody's business...yeah, it's nauseating, but it's fun, too.

And it's like totally got him off balance.

Yesss!

This is good.

I need to get him off-balance a lot if I'm gonna carry out what I got in mind.

Maybe I can drive him insane, and he'll have to leave and they'll lock him up and put him in a five-point restraint for the rest of his mortal existence.

I could get behind that-hell, it happens, I'll help hold him down.

I'm just really pouring it on thick like maple syrup, and he's just like, what the hell?

Finally, I got everything from him, and I'm the victor here.

He is totally confused.

But he is leaving, except then he pops his head back in.

"Langly, next time you get a blow job before work, take a cold shower before you get here, you're making me sick!"

God, am I that obvious?

I close the door and I laugh my ass off.

Fuck him if he can't take a joke.

END OF PART 52