"You feel the pain yourself. You share in my sorrow."

"The Medea," Translated by Rex Warner. Line 1361. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

Home in bed, warm in her arms, getting an all-over massage...heaven. With baby oil, no less.

On my way out from Mitch's, I suggested to Michael that staying at Kelly's tonight wasn't such a bad idea. He said, "Let me know when I'm allowed to come home again, okay?" I said, it's not like that, and he said, yes it is, and went back to what seemed to be kicking Mulder's ass at pool. At least I hope he was. No son of mine should ever lose to Mulder at pool. Especially not after losing to one-armed Langly, who made a point of gloating to me that he had kicked my little boy's ass, and with a cast on one arm.

When this wedding is over, I think my little boy and I need to sit down and talk. I'm not sure that the issues are anything new, but my perspective on some of them is somewhat different now.

I miss some of the closeness we had before. I keep wondering if it really need be a casualty of my new relationship. We continued to share closeness after he and Kelly got together...although as the relationship intensified between them, things became more strained between us.

I'd like to change that. I don't know how I'm going to accomplish it, but I would like it to be different.

"Oh God that's good." She's working a bundle of tendons in my lower back...I didn't even know it ached until she began to work it.

"You've been skipping your walks in the morning," she reproaches.

"I have not."

"Mel, you've been heading out to your offices without walking first. If you walked more, your back would hurt less."

"I don't miss them every day."

"You miss them at least twice a week-more this week, if I'm not mistaken."

"I've been busy."

She works the a triangle above my ass, a small, spectacularly sensitive area. I shiver as she runs her magic fingers over me.

"Mel." Her voice is soft, but serious. "Granted, this week has been insane, what with my birthday and the wedding and all. But you have to promise me, next week, you'll walk every morning, and you're not going to skip out without something healthy in your stomach."

"I promise." At least as much as I'm able.

"Mel." Her voice is no longer reproachful, but tender. "It's important. You have to do these things."

"I know, I know."

"Mel. Look at me."

She moves herself off me and to my side, and I flip over on my back, and do as milady commands.
 
"I love you," I tell her. And I mean it, with all my heart.

"Mel, I love you so much...and I keep having this horrible vision of you having a heart attack here in bed with me..."

"Well, I have to admit the sightseeing excursion we had tonight...jumpstarted my heart a bit. Not that I'm complaining, mind you." It was positively delightful, in a high-schoolish sort of way. "Tell me, did you ever do that when you were in high school?"

She laughs. "No, I did not!" Then she turns contemplative. "You have to understand, I only had one boyfriend in my entire life...till now, anyway." This idea, me as the boyfriend, makes her giggle a bit. A 56, soon to be 57, year-old boyfriend. "And yes, Daniel and I used to go parking...but it was...well, when we were first married, the only way I would have sex was with the lights out and under the covers. You'll probably laugh, but I was a virgin when I got married."

"I wouldn't laugh. It wasn't as if I'd had a broad range of experiences. That Catholic upbringing, you know."

"I remember the first time Daniel insisted that the lights be on. I was so scared, I thought that once he saw me in the light, he wouldn't...well, desire me anymore."

"If he didn't, then he was a fool." How could she not be desirable? She's so positively sensual, and sensitive, and kind, and caring, and beautiful...

"After that, he always wanted the lights on. Eventually, I not only got used to it, but began to like it. But we'd been married three years before I finally agreed to let it happen...after I'd started nursing school and had had some exposure to real life. I was always nervous about my body...but once you start nursing school, you either get over it in a hurry or you don't last. Granted, I don't see you the way I see my other patients-"

"And that makes me very happy," I remind her.

"-but I've gotten to where naked skin is not a problem, and hasn't been, for quite sometime. Of course, I was more at ease with everyone else's skin before I got comfortable in my own."

"When would you say that happened?"

"About a year before Daniel became ill." She turns wistful. "Things were looking so great. He was going to stop being assigned to these missions and work stateside, as an instructor. We'd bought a house. I'd be able to cut back on my hours, maybe go back to school, study accounting, make a career change...and then it all went to hell."

She's sitting on the bed next to me, naked, her arms wrapped around her knees and her chin resting on them. She looks like a young girl right now, her face scrubbed of makeup, her expression wistful.

"What about you, Mel? Did you ever go parking in high school?"

"I wish. No, I had one girl I dreamed about. Diane Cimino. She was the head cheerleader, and one of my best friends. I would have liked it to have been more...but perhaps it was better that it didn't. No, I was her buddy-the one she'd talk with when she was having problems with whatever guy she was dating at that time was giving her, when she needed help with math, which was my best subject and her worst, when she got pregnant and had to leave school to get married...I wish I could have helped her more."

"I'm sure she remembers you fondly."

"I'm not sure she remembers me at all." I wouldn't be surprised if I had become a distant, faint memory of some life that once existed for her, now coated in cobwebs and hazed by layers of time.

"Mel, if you were her friend, a male friend, believe me, she remembers you. Where I grew up, you were either a virgin or a whore...the idea of being a pal to a person of the opposite sex was unthinkable."

"Well, it wasn't common in my school...Diane went to our sister school. I went to an all-boys Catholic high school, but we had dances with the sister school...and that's how I met Diane."

"Somehow, Mel, I don't see you in an all-boys school."

"Well, it was run by the Jesuits, so it wasn't as terrible as it could have been had it been run by, say, the Benedictines...now they're tough. There was some intellectual life there, for a Catholic school, anyway."

"Base schools aren't noted for their propensity to turn out scholars," she comments.

"You got into college. You must have done pretty well."

"I had no choice. My father would have killed me had I brought home anything below a B. It was always his dream for me to go on to a major university and have a life totally different from the one I'd grown up with. I think the greatest disappointment of his life was my falling in love with Daniel, who planned on making the military his career, and doing it so young. I think it broke his heart to see me married nine days after my 18th birthday. He always said he didn't want me to have to struggle. And that's all I've ever done, ironically enough. And it was so strange-all the while I was growing up, he always went on about my not falling for the first Marine boy who looked my way. So what did I do? I went and fell for the first Marine boy who looked my way."

"Your father didn't like life in the military, I gather."

"I don't think it was that. I think he just felt it was a hard life, and he wanted different for his girls. Better was the way he put it."

"Well, you always want better for your kids. Believe me, I'd like for Michael to do better than I have. And Leslie."

"Michael will do fine. He's a bright young man."

"He's got no sense of direction."

"I don't think that's entirely true, Mel. He's chosen which way he wants his private life to go. And that's an important decision-in some ways, that will impact his life far more than any professional path he chooses."

"I worry about them. They're so damn young. They have so far to go."

"Mel, we always have so far to go. We're just not as young as we used to be."

Ain't it the truth?
 

We cuddle for a long time, just talking and relaxing. How long has it been since I've had this in my life?

"Your son's not home yet," Martha says softly.

"I suggested he stay at Kelly's. For tonight. Tomorrow night, though, I want him home."

"You miss him."

"Yeah, I do."

"Maybe you two need to spend some time together."

"I'm not sure he'd be interested. He's got other things in his life."

"I disagree. Mel, he was utterly terrified when you were ill. He wants you to be around, at least long enough to see your grandchildren grow up."

"Well, then, I'm gonna have to live a really long time, because he better not have any ideas about making me one anytime soon."

"That's right, you're going to have to live a good long time. And you're getting back on track in the morning."

"Martha, my love, we have a wedding tomorrow!"

"Yes. And the wedding isn't until 5 p.m. Tomorrow, you're getting up, we're going for a walk, and you're going to eat something healthy for breakfast."

"We have brunch in the afternoon."

"Not until 1. You have plenty of time to walk and eat right. It doesn't take that long, Mel."

"All right, all right."

"I love you so much, Mel. Please be around for a long, long time."

"I intend to be. Curmudgeons like me last forever."

"But only if they follow the program."

"I'm assuming this means I don't get to drink at the wedding."

"You're certainly allowed to have champagne-one glass, for the toast. After that, no."

She runs a soft finger over the scars on my chest and belly. These no longer hurt too much. The one on my leg is a royal pain still. And according to the juvenile who passes for my cardiologist, it's likely to stay that way for a while.

"Think of these as reminders of how close you came." Her eyes are serious.

"It's rather hard not to notice them."

"Actually, after a while, you don't. And that's the problem."

"Okay, okay, I'll take care of myself, for you." I wrap my arms around her. She's so warm, so soft.

"Thank you."

We turn out the lights and drift into blissful sleep.
 

MICHAEL:

Killed Mulder at the pool table. He finally concedes defeat.

In fact, I humiliated him so much, he packs it up and heads out. He SAYS he wants to get home to the wife...

Well, hell, if my wife was Dr. Scully, I'd wanna get home to her, too. If I was him, that is.

Actually, I'm hot, and I walk outside to catch some air. I shed my tie a long time ago, and my jacket, but I worked up a pretty good sweat shooting pool. I tell Kelly I'll be right back, she and Ally and some other relatives of Juliet's are yapping away, probably about girlie stuff. Kelly's on Patrick detail right now; she's got him slung over her shoulder. Poor kid's beat. He's sleeping through all the noise in the place.

She'll be a great mom.

It's nice and cool outside, in the upper 40s tonight. Ally says it's freezing, but she's a wimp about cold. Me, I'm tough. I'm a Jersey boy.

I head out to the side of the building, there's like this pond out there, lots of trees, it's quiet, not like inside or out front in the parking lot, where you got to contend with all the Harleys starting up.

Quiet gets broken up by a couple of people laughing.

I recognize one of those laughs. It's Miranda.

Wonder if her folks know she's out here.

"Hey 'Randa!" I call to her.

No answer.

I check around the pond, see if I can see her. It's pretty damn dark out here, and my vision's not the best, but I can see her sitting there on the edge of the pond, with a guy...

And looks like they're sharing a bottle of something.

Oh yeah, it's something all right.

"Hey Randa, what the fuck're you doing?"

"Michael, get out of here!" She's totally pissed. She's sitting there with a dude who looks like he's maybe a few years older than she is. I mean, she's not doing anything with him, but still, considering what they're drinking...

Bacardi 151. Jesus Christ. Where the hell'd they get that?

She's drunk as a skunk.

"C'mon, Randa, let's go."

"Hey, we're not doing anything!" The guy she's with is like, he's bigger than me, he might take me out if he's drunk enough.

Provided he can get up on his feet, which he's having a fucking hard time doing.

"Michael, get lost!" Miranda pulls her arm away from me when I try to help her up.

"No way, little sister. You're smashed."

"And you're a nosy bastard!"

"Yeah, well, good thing I am!"

I get her on her feet finally, and she's not walking so good. Guy she's with, he gets up, but soon as he hits his feet, he's puking his guts out.

Oh Christ. That's all I need.

"You know him?" I ask her.

"That's David. He's like a cousin or something of Juliet."

"So're about half the people in this bar...you're gonna take me to his folks, if he's got any here."

"Forget it."

"Don't think so. Either that, or we leave him out here."

"Fine. I'll show you his folks."

"And then I'm gonna tell your folks."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Would. And will. Y'know, Randa, I told you about this before, but you didn't listen, no! So you go and get yourself messed up-"

"Yeah, well, you have no idea what my life is like, how much it sucks!"

"Hey, Randa, I got stories that'll make you rethink the idea of what sucks!" I shake her a little. "Now let's go."

Tell the truth, I'm not looking forward to this.
 

She can barely weave her way through the bar, but she finds David's mom, not too far from where her mom is. She says that David's outside and he's not feeling good.

I then lead her over to her mom. She taps her mom on her shoulder.

"Hi pumpkin, what's up?"

"She's wasted, Ally. Caught her and her buddy outside with a bottle of 151, and they cleaned it out pretty damn good."

"What?" Ally looks confused at first, but then she takes a real good look at her daughter...and Ally's been drunk enough times to know what it looks like. "Oh, Jesus. Michael, find Langly, we have to go. And tell him, NOW."

**********************************************************************************************************
Langly and Byers, they've moved to the bar, they're just chatting away, getting ripped, being happy...

Langly's not gonna be so happy when he finds out what's going on with his stepdaughter.

"Hey Langly. Your wife says you're going home."

"Yeah, eventually."

"No, she says now."

"What's the rush? Got at least another half hour till last call."

"Langly, get over there before she fucking kills you. Miranda's not doing so hot."

That gets his attention.

"What happened?"

"She's a little ripped. No, she's a lot ripped."

"Randa? Randa's not even sixteen."

"Oh, like that would've stopped you or me!"

"No, but Randa, she's cool, she-you better not be lying to me, fuckrag." His eyes get dark, narrow.

"Look, found her out by the pond, slugging down 151, you think I'm joking?"

"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit."

I think me and Kelly may have to go out for coffee after last call. Things are not gonna be happy at Chateau Langly tonight.
 

LANGLY:

Oh Jesus fuck. This can't be happening.

I thought Junior was pulling my leg. Well, I hoped like hell he was...but when I see her with her mom, it's like, afraid not.

"Get in the car," I tell her. She's not moving real great right now, and she almost falls over on top of Patrick, who Ally's buckling in. He's managed to sleep through all this mayhem. Go figure.

"I'm driving." Ally's had drinks, but I'm more ripped than she is. I got to admit, I had no restraint on the Sam's tonight.

I'm such a hypocrite. Here I am, screaming at my stepdaughter for being smashed, when I'm half in the bag myself...and at her age, well...

"Where did you get the liquor?" Ally is trying not to scream. But I know she's upset, her voice gets that real harsh whispery tone she gets when she's ready to lose it.

"David's mom and dad, they've got a bunch of it in the trunk of their car, they're gonna take it back to the hotel. We figured they wouldn't miss a bottle."

"Is this the first time you've been drunk, Miranda?" Ally's doing the talking right now. Well, it's her daughter. I'll let her take the lead on this one.

Miranda's like quiet for a minute. "Uh...no."

"How many times, Miranda?" Ally's voice keeps getting rougher and rougher.

"I don't know!"

"Where do you get your liquor, I'd like to know?"

"From you!"

Oh, man...

"And you guys, you booze it up plenty, where the hell do you get off talking to me like I'm some kind of criminal? Huh? Tell me you don't let yourselves get ripped! I mean, look at you, Mom, you have a bad day, you gotta have a drink!"

"Miranda, I've cut back. A lot."

"Goody for you! And how many times have YOU been ripped in your life, Mother dear?" She's got this sneer in her voice I don't like.

"Hey, you're not gonna talk to your mom like that!"

"And who the fuck are you to tell me how I'm gonna talk to her? You're not my father, you know!"

Ooh, that hurts.

"Yeah, but I got responsibility for you, and long as you live under my roof, and you're fucking underage, you're not gonna drink!"

"Oh, like you never did it, Mr. Purity Control!"

"Yeah, Randa, I did do it, and a lot of other stuff, and I ended up in jail, in rehab, and you know what? It sucked!"

And boy, did it ever. I don't even like thinking about it.

"You guys have no idea what's going on in my life! You don't care!" She's almost in tears now.

"Miranda, that's not true, and you know it."

"Bullshit. You have any idea what's going on at my school? Why I don't have friends anymore? Why people who used to talk to me treat me like I'm a social disease? Well, you know what? I don't know why, and nobody tells me why, and you guys don't listen!"

"Miranda, how are we supposed to know when you don't tell us?" Ally's a lot calmer than I am. Which is real weird.

"Because I can't! Because it's too awful!"

"Hey Randa, we know from awful...you could try telling us, you know."

"Oh, right, Langly, like I could try telling you! You're always at work, or you're sick, or you and Mom are busy with Patrick-"

"Hey, that doesn't make you less important." Ally tells her this.

"Yeah? Then why don't you start acting like it!"

Have we really been that out of it?

Well, guess I have. Hey, can't help it sometimes, y'know.

Ally sounds tired. "Look, Miranda, I'm sorry you're not the only child anymore, but-"

"Hey, it's not him! It's you!"

Ally looks like she just got kicked in the guts.

"Um, Mom? Can you pull over?"

"What's wrong?" Ally sounds like alarmed now.

"Because if you don't, I'm gonna puke all over this car!"

Believe me, we stop.

I step outside with Miranda. Believe me, I know this drill. Better than I'd like.

She's a mess.

God, I ache for this kid. I've so been there.

I let her finish up. I put my arm around her, part to hold her up, part to sort of let her know she's really not all by herself.

"Look, let's go home, sleep it off, and tomorrow, we're gonna talk about this." I give her a hug.

She starts to cry. "I'm gonna kill Michael! It's all his fault! He's such a nosy bastard!"

"Hey, Junior was just worrying, that's all." And I think he was.

"He nags me about this all the time!"

"Junior's a pain in the ass, but he means well. Really. He's like, you wanna kill him sometimes, but he cares lots for people around him. Don't be too hard on Junior."

Actually, right now, I could kiss Junior for finding her...I lose that thought in a hurry. I don't like Junior THAT much-well, not that way, anyway.

"He ratted me out to Mom! He's such a bastard."

Nah, I think this was one time where Junior was dead on. But I'm not gonna argue with her anymore about it.

"C'mon, Randa. Let's go home."

END OF PART 91