"But her love shall not remain aimless and unknown.
I will reveal the matter to Theseus and all will come out."

Euripides, "Hippolytus," Lines 42-43. Translation by David Grene. Used without permission.
 

MARTHA:

Our posture is not unnoticed by Mulder.

"Frohike, you old dog, you!" He grins lopsidedly.

"What, you think I didn't have it in me? I'll have you know I was working on romance when you were still in diapers, boy."

I think he started sooner, if how he looks at me and touches me is any indication, which I think it is.

"So what's up, Mulder? What've you done this time to fuck up my life?"

"Frohike, you wound me." He gives a look that can be best described as spurned puppy. "When have I ever fucked up your life?"

"Only every time you come near it. What can I do for you, you useless scum?"

I've lived within the confines of the military and had enough experience with male bonding to know that this constitutes affectionate concern.

"I came to see your smiling face, Frohike."

"You're gonna be sadly disappointed then." He winks at me furtively-and I feel my knees turn to gelatin.

Something about the way he does it is just so damn cute-and seductive.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but right now, we're a temperance zone," Mel says to him.

"No, no problem."

Upon closer examination, Mulder looks-well, exhausted. Actually beyond exhaustion.

Well, he does have two small children, and another on the way. Which he may or may not know yet, according to Mel.

"Practice going okay?" Mel asks him conversationally.

"That depends on how you define okay. If you mean, do I have a shortage of clients, the answer is no. If you mean, do I have a shortage of interesting clients, the answer would have to be yes."

"Not crazy enough for you, eh?" Mel and I both laugh.

Mulder gives a wince and a groan. "Neurotics. Give me a break."

"So why're you doing it, then?" Mel asks him pointedly. I've been told that Mulder certainly does not need the cash.

"Because there's something wrong when your wife is working her ass off and you're hanging around the house having fun with the kids all day."

"Taking care of children is work," I remind him. I may not have had children of my own, but I've been around them enough to know that they're the hardest job in the world-and it doesn't get better as they get older.

"And it's about to be more work." He looks almost despondent now. "Scully finally owned up and told me she's expecting again."

Mel looks slightly relieved. Just a small change in demeanor, but I'm getting better at reading those subtleties.

He continues. "At first I thought, nah, she's got the flu, but when it persisted, I began to think back to...well, what we did...and if we were always careful...and there was the night of Ally's birthday party and we were pretty drunk..." He gives a rueful laugh. "I swear, I'm never going to any drinking parties with them again. We got pregnant after their wedding, we got pregnant after Ally's birthday..."

"You could do something about that," I remind him gently.

The look of sheer horror on his face is so genuine that I have to steel myself not to laugh.

It's not lost on Mel. "Well, you could, you know."

"You first, Frohike."

I watch Mel grimace. Men are such cowards about some things.

"When hell freezes over," Mel retorts to him. "How's Dana feeling?"

He's got his face in his hands and looks like a sad ten-year-old. "Lousy. And worried. She's got so much work to do, and we're so busy with Becca and Sarah...and she feels worse this time than she did with them, and you know how bad it got with them."

"Her research project seems to have been more than she bargained for," Mel nods to him.

"A lot more. Particularly since..."

"Since what?" Mel bores a deep gaze into him.

"Nothing."

"Mulder, quit lying, this is me you're talking to." Mel takes the same paternal tone with him that he takes with the others.

"She's got a lot of...extra work that she hadn't anticipated."

"I see."

"I wanted a lot of kids...but I was hoping, maybe in a couple of years, we'd try for another one, see if we got a boy this time-"

"You don't know. You might get your son yet." I'm not sure what the thing about having a son is-my father has three daughters and couldn't be happier-but I guess for these two, there's something about it that strikes a primal chord.

Mulder shrugs. "I don't know."

Mel allows him a few moments of self-pity, and then proceeds to get in his face.

"Mulder, you're carrying on like this is the worst thing that ever happened to you. Face it. It's not."

"I'm aware of that."

"You don't act like you are. C'mon, Mulder. You've seen stuff that no one should have to see, and in spades, and you've made it. And you know and I know that once this baby makes its debut, you'll be as nuts for this kid as you are for your others."

Mulder continues to sulk.

"I don't know...my first one in particular is a handful."

"That's because she's you through and through. But better looking."

"Thanks, Frohike. I needed that."

"They're both charming young ladies."

"My firstborn is cursed. Just as I was." Mulder's definitely on a woe-is-me roll tonight.

"Oh, get over it." Mel snorts at him. "She's a lovely child. And you adore her."

"She's got the memory. I was hoping she wouldn't. But I observed the signs of it months ago...and the older she gets, the more obvious it becomes."

"I'm sorry. What memory?" I'm a bit confused as to context here.

"Mulder is the owner of an eidetic memory-and it appears that his DNA has been passed on to his first child."

"And that's a curse?" I certainly could have used it in college-and it wouldn't hurt in my working life, either.

"Runs in my family. Everyone who was similarly endowed-dead by the age of 40. Suicides."

And Mel tells me Mulder is less than a week away from turning 40.

No wonder the man is so depressed.

"You weren't planning on offing yourself this week, were you?" Mel keeps his tone light, but his concern is seeping out like water from a plastic bag with a pinhole.

"If I thought it'd do anyone any good, I might."

"Oh, Mulder, shut up!" Mel shakes his head at him in disgust. "What would Dana do without you? Your daughters? What would we do for amusement, for Christ's sake?"

Mulder gives another lopsided, rueful smile. "There's always your son."

"Who is giving me a lot more headaches than entertainment right now. That boy-oh, Christ."

"Oh, Mel, give it up," I chide him gently.

"He thinks he's getting married," Mel explains in his best what-have-I-done-to-deserve-this tone.

"Right now?" Mulder looks baffled.

"No, when they graduate," I clarify.

"Hey, that's great. Congratulations, Frohike."

"Oh, shut up." Mel hasn't reached the point where he can accept his son's new status with equanimity.

I'm thinking somewhere around the birth of his second grandchild, he might begin to soften.

Stubborn little man. I shake my head at the thought.

Mel rolls his eyes. "You think your kids are tough now? Wait till they get older. Make your hair fall out." He unconsciously runs his hand over the bald portion of his head.

I'm a bit on the perimeter here, never having been a parent, and never will. I like children well enough. I simply could not see them as part of my own life. Children seem to be an intrinsic part of this small, unusual world. And if you're a child, it looks like a mighty good place to be-lots of adult attention, an abundance of love-and probably some chafing on the part of the kids. I've noticed that all of these people are protective in the extreme of the young'uns, even more so than most people I've met. The kids are deeply adored and cared for, but I notice that they tend to be very cloistered. When I was growing up, I rode my bike everywhere, I traveled on and off the base at a very early age, I would stay out in summer till midnight playing kick the can or dodgeball with the other base kids. These kids have none of that freedom, at least from what I've seen of them. And
I'm wondering what the implications of that are.

Mulder tosses back his head of dark hair-only a few strands of gray highlight it.

Wait till your daughters start dating, I think, and giggle to myself.

"Please, Frohike, don't tell me this gets harder."

"It gets harder."

"I'm sorry, you didn't phrase that in the form of a question, that's going to cost you." Obviously a Jeopardy fan. "We're gonna have three kids all less than three years old. Jesus."

"You've got a nanny-how's that working out?" Mel asks him.

"Maricia's great. Oh, and speaking of which, think you might be able to help me on that one? She's not exactly here legally."

"Not a problem," Mel responds quickly-and my ears prick up.

Not a problem to arrange legal residence for a woman who came into the country undocumented?

As far as I know, Mel is not an immigration lawyer.

What's going on here?

What have I stepped into?
 

This topic is dropped rapidly, as if it were a simple side note, and reverts to the point-counterpoint of their earlier discussion, Mulder's midlife laments being the point, Mel's chiding him to grow up the counterpoint.

It's actually entertaining, if the truth be told.

There's a few moments of silence which signals to me, not without relief, that we're about to lose our impromptu guest, at least if Mel has anything to say about it.

"Mulder, go home, kiss your wife and little girls, and quit whining," are Mel's summation of the whole conversation.

"Frohike, I come to you for a little moral support, and what do you do? You go harsh on me," Mulder's doing the puppy-eyes thing again.

"You come here because I go harsh on you. You know you're starting to sound like your patients."

"Oh, God, anything but that," Mulder rolls his eyes. "This is why I like serial killers so much more. They've got a better sense of humor."

Mel flicks his thumb at the door. "Mulder. Out. Now."

But I notice that Mel gently places a hand on the younger man's shoulder as he exits. And the look on Mulder's face is one of gratitude.

Men. The most alien of species.
 

"Sounds like midlife crisis," I say to Mel after Mulder has exited.

"With Mulder, it's always a crisis. Only the context changes." Mel shakes his head, somewhat bemused and irritated in the same breath.

"Have you know him long?"

"Mulder? Been a dozen years now."

"Long time. How'd you meet?"

Mel looks uncertain, then smiles a little. "Remember I told you all this was his fault?"

"You did say that, yes."

"Well, I wasn't kidding."

"What's all his fault?"

He sits in his chair-and if I hadn't guessed that right off, Michael let me know in no uncertain terms that that is the Papa Bear chair, and NOBODY else sits in it.

"Long story. And aren't you on at 7 tomorrow?"

"Mel, I'm more used to being awake than asleep. Believe me, the last few nights have been the exception, not the rule, for me."

And let me tell you, I've never slept so well.

He looks at me steadily, but there is a certain nervousness in his eyes. "I'm not sure you'd believe it. Hell, I'm not sure I believe it, and I was there."

"Try me."

I had a husband in Special Forces and a father who was a Marine weapons instructor. I've been a critical care nurse for nearly eighteen years. I think I've seen and heard some fairly unbelievable things, some of them true.

"Well...a long time ago..."

"In a galaxy far, far away..."

"Baltimore, March of '89, to be exact."

"Luke Skywalker meets Obi-Wan Kenobi and Han Solo."

This makes Mel laugh. Fortunately, we've both seen and enjoyed 'Star Wars' many times over.

"I'd gone into business for myself."

"What kind of business?"

"Bootleg cable television unscramblers."

"Oh. Okay." Where was this man when I was complaining about monthly cable bills?

"I was living in...well, to tell the truth, at this point, I was living in a flophouse in Baltimore."

He's alluded to this before. I don't say anything, nod for him to go on.

"Let's just say things had not been going especially well for some time."

"I rather got that impression."

"While living in the Roach Palace, I had the chance to become acquainted with one of the other residents. You know him to be Langly."

"Okay."

"I met him by accident-literally. He was, unbeknownst to me, operating a similar venture out of his room, and while testing one of his newly constructed devices, he managed to start a fire."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Middle of the night. Kid hadn't learned the fine concept of heat-sinking at this point. Fortunately, only his room suffered some damage, but he did manage to scare the crap out of everyone there."

"So did you become friends after that?" I'm imagining that Mel, with an engineering background, would be able to pass on some helpful information to a young protégé-seems to be what he does best.

He snorts. "Hardly. We were in competition. Fact was, I'd seen him around the place, and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was at a point in his life where he was very angry and mistrustful...Langly had done about 2 years at Lompoc Country Club, aka Lompoc Federal Prison in California. 20 months, I think he was in. I don't think he considers it one of the more sterling
experiences he's had."

"Well, I hate to say it, but with that hair, he's something of a pretty boy...at least I bet he was when he was younger."

"He was. Nice looking kid, really. And while Lompoc is considered to be a high-rent joint, it's still a prison, and I have a feeling he was something of the belle of the ball. I can only speculate there, but I have noticed that jokes about it don't tend to fly well with him."

"I'm not surprised." And I'm not.

"I did try periodically to connect with him, after all, he did just live down the hallway two rooms after the fire, but he made it rather clear that human contact was not much of a priority with him at that point in his life. In fact, it appeared that he was actively avoiding it for the most part. After a few tries, I pretty much left him alone. I didn't know at that point that he was a recovering convict as well."

"Not the friendliest sort."

"Surly, rude, irritable, touchy, and viciously sarcastic are the words that come to my mind about him in that time of life. So I'd found out that I could get floor space at the Baltimore Electronics Convention relatively inexpensively, and it would be a chance to get the product exposed more-I was getting a small amount of business via mail order, but I really needed to expand. I needed the cash, and badly.

"So I get there, and who should have booth space next to me but the Blonde Boy. And I figured, I had the better product, and I wasn't in the habit of starting hotel fires, and I wasn't taking long breaks to join in an ongoing game of Dungeons and Dragons, which he would do-2, 3 hour breaks for gaming. I couldn't believe it. Actually, I'd learned from the gossip around the hotel that he was formidable at computers, but I hadn't had the opportunity to watch his kung fu in action. And I later learned I'd been talking to him on line for sometime." He laughs gently. "To think he was down the hall and hated my guts-on line, totally different gig."

"Really."

"He was still touchy and rather nasty on line, but there was also something almost whimsical about the way he wrote. As if to say, someone rescue me before I launch another full-frontal attack. And on line, anyway, I seemed to able to get through to him-neither of us realized that we were the other."

"Living two rooms apart."

"Living two rooms apart. Incredible. So we were at this electronics convention, and quite honestly, it wasn't particularly good. Well attended, but pretty low rent in terms of merchandise. While I was there, I had the opportunity to talk to another young man, this one working as a public relations rep for the FCC. Polite kid, shy, working his way through grad school in public policy, paying tuition at Georgetown with this job. You know him, it's Byers."

"So that's where you met him."

"Yep. Nice kid. Totally different from Kid Langly. Soft-spoken, serious, and naïve as hell. There would be free time, we'd talk a little. Seemed like he had a good head on him, at least on the surface. But at this convention-well, let's just say our boy Byers has an Achilles heel, and someone radared in on that."

"What happened?"

"Young lady. Hot young lady. She comes over to his booth, claims to be looking for her daughter, makes up this whole song and dance number about her daughter being kidnapped by her old, psychotic boyfriend. Says she'd really appreciate it to Byers if he could help her. Well, that's all the boy needs to hear. It's a damsel in distress, and a very, very hot damsel in distress. She hands him an Internet address-and this is more like an ARPAnet address, remember, this is '89. Asks our boy to check it for her. He obliges her, even though he could lose his job and get arrested to boot for what he's done. Hormones. Christ, now that I think about it, he was the same age Michael is now."

This causes Mel to bury his face in his hands and shake his head. "Oh Christ. Kids. See what they do to you?"

"Mel, you love them, and you know it." And so do I.

"Whatever. So Byers gets this encrypted file. And I'm not bad at decryption, but I don't have the tools to do a fast job, and I have to admit, I'm not as good as some people. Rumor was around the flophouse that Langly was a genius at this stuff, PhD in applied math, that sort of thing. So I figured, okay, if he's that good, let him prove it."

"And was he?"

Mel rolls his eyes. "God, the humiliation. He was of course off with the gamers, playing Dungeons and Dragons, which he did a lot more of than manning his booth at this affair. So I find out where the game is going on-there isn't supposed to be gambling on the premises, and they're playing in there for serious money.

"So Byers and I come to the door, and Langly comes over, and immediately, he gets real nervous, thinks I've squealed on him about something-"

"For what?"

"Hey, the boy's a bit paranoid. Anyway, he's like, what're you doing here with the narc? And I tell him, we've got something for you. All the while I'm wondering if this guy can deliver. I tell him, the coolest hack there is. And he stares at me, and says, 'say it.' And I know what he's after...

"So what'd you say?"

"I said to him, 'your kung fu is best.'"

"I'm sorry?"

"Meaning, you're a god among hackers."

I'm a little squeamish here. Now I know why Mulder asked him about legalizing their domestic help.

I don't know much about hacking, but I'm reasonably certain that not everything these boys do is, well, legal.

"Mel...can I ask you something? And please don't be offended."

"Go ahead."

"Mel...what you were doing during this...for the young woman...well, was any of this, um, illegal?"

He looks at me slowly, steadily. "Martha...I'm not sure how to tell you this...but I guess it's only fair to warn you. Yes, what we were doing was illegal...and we're still doing it."

"Do Juliet and Ally know?"

He looks serious. His voice is quiet when he speaks. "They know, but they don't know, if you get my drift. Yes, they know how we all met. They're aware of what we're up to. Now Juliet is an old hacker herself, and we've availed ourselves from time to time of her kung fu, which is, by the way, respectable, but I think Byers is uncomfortable with her flirting too closely with our work. Allison is aware, but avoids most of the specifics. She's happier not knowing too much."

"That would seem rather odd."

"Not really. Allison's not here exactly by her own choice, if you take my meaning."

"I'm not sure I do."

"Allison was recruited by the FBI back in '98. And somebody made damn sure she'd come."

"How?"

"Killed her first husband."

"Oh my God."

"He died in a head-on collision, automobile accident, but we're all pretty well convinced by now that it was no accident. And I think she knows it, in her heart of hearts, but I also think she sleeps better at night not thinking about it along those lines. And she's adamant that we not confide any of this to her daughter."

"I can understand that."

"She was recruited, then laid off by the bastards over there, after she'd lost her husband and moved herself and her daughter across the country."

"She's still here. Where's she from?"

"California, originally San Francisco area, but was living in Los Angeles at the time of her husband's death."

"Something must have kept her here."

"That something was a tall blonde."

"I suspected as much."

"And Juliet?"

"Byers, Langly and Allison attended the Black Hat Briefings in Las Vegas back in '99-are you familiar with it?"

"I've heard of it."

"Byers met the lovely Juliet while at Black Hat. But here I'm getting way ahead of myself." By about ten years. And you must be getting bored-"

"No. I want to hear it."

"Could take a long time."

"That's what coffee is for."

"Leaded fuel?" He smiles a sweet, boyish, oh-please-please-please smile.

"Mel..."

I fire up the coffee-real coffee this time.

I'll make an exception this time-looks like we're going to need it.

I just hope that whatever he tells me, I don't feel like I need a drink by the time he's done.

END OF PART 67