"With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover and yet prove an ass."

William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream," Act 5, Scene 1, Lines 327-328. Used without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

I would have never believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes.

Byers Senior, on the dance floor, with his daughter-in-law.

The song is by James Taylor, "Shower the People." An affirmation for Juliet. And maybe some advice to Mr. Byers.

This wedding is turning out to be an intensely emotional affair-the last quality in the world I might have imagined for a wedding where one of the principals is John Fitzgerald Byers.

Speaking of emotional, I feel a light tap on my arm, and turn to look at the lovely Martha next to me.

"Mel." Her voice is quiet and soft, but serious. "Let's go outside for a minute."

"Are you warm?" It is hot in here.

"I think we need to talk."

Now, if you're male, that six-word sentence is the scariest combination of words you can hear.
 

MARTHA:

What is going on here?

I never said anything about marriage to Mel. He's never breathed a word to me.

So why does everyone else seem to have us walking down the aisle together? What has he been saying to everyone except me?

The sun is long gone now, and the October night air is cool and clear. Stars light up the sky, sharp bursts of white and gold on navy.

"What is it?" His voice is soft, concerned. "Did I do something?"

I shake my head as I touch his arm. "I don't know. I have to say I'm confused."

"Confused about what?" He looks as baffled as I am.

"Mel, twice today, people have married us off. Yet you've never talked about this with me. I just need to know if you're telling tales out of school behind my back."

He looks horribly injured when I say that, and I immediately chastise myself.

But I need to know.

"Martha, I've said absolutely nothing to anyone. I think you know that I don't discuss personal business like that with people."

I know he's not inclined to discuss them with me. I was under the impression that in general he is a discreet man, not given to confidences, and then when placing them, does so with the appropriate individual first.

"Martha, I swear to you, I've said nothing to anyone about our future together. Not even you."

That much I know.

"Then what is it with everyone making comments like this? I'm sorry, Mel, but it is a bit strange, particularly at this point in our relationship."

"Well, you have to consider the parties involved. Michael has all the subtlety and discretion of a backhoe, and Genie, well...Genie is...a most unusual woman."

"How so?" I bristle mildly, and I don't even know why, but if she is a former...lover, I don't really want to know.

"Genie...I've known Genie almost as long as I've known her son, Mitch, our favorite bartender. Genie's from Kentucky, she's hillfolk."

"I gathered that from the accent."

"She was born into a Pentecostal family, deeply religious people. And she claims-with substantial supporting evidence, by the way-that she was given two gifts. One is her ability to cook."

"No argument there." Dinner was absolutely fantastic.

"Her other gift...well, Genie sees things that other people can't see. She can see into the future, and sometimes she sees things."

I'm a nurse. My grounding is in the basic sciences. This is a totally outrageous claim for a person of my orientation.

"And you believe her? You don't think she's a fraud?"

"Her track record's too damn good to overlook."

"You don't think she's just making this stuff up as she goes?"

"Anyone else, I might think that. But not Genie."

"Why?"

"Because she's always right."

"Well, she was right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"That if you don't start looking out for yourself better, you're not going to be around for things."

"Martha, I am-"

"No. You're not eating right-today doesn't count, I agree. But you race out to work in the morning, without your walk and without a decent breakfast, you worry about everyone-"

"I can't just turn that off, Martha love."

"Mel, you're going to have to start setting some limits. Those limits involve eating properly and getting enough rest, which you're not. I know how tired you are."

He smiles at me softly. "Martha, once this is over, I promise, I'll go back on the program. I will."

He looks at me pleadingly. He can look like such a little boy sometimes.

"Boy Scout honor?"

He gives me the salute.

"I'm sorry, Mel, it's just...when people start marrying us off like this-"

"Do you want to?"

This takes me completely by surprise. I need a moment to recover my bearings.

"I won't say I haven't thought about it."

"Neither will I. I'm...it's too soon, Martha."

"I'll say. You haven't even met my father yet."

Did I just see a flash of terror across his lovely features?

"I do...I would...like for you to be there always, Martha."

"And I want the same with you, Mel." And I do. I place my hands on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm just a bit overwrought here...this is a very emotional occasion, and I admit I'm tired."

He looks at me, puzzled. "Too tired to dance?"

"Never."

We race back inside like a couple of kids-a couple of kids who can't run too fast, but suddenly, we're young again.

Maybe that's the real magic of occasions like this.
 

ALLY:

All this clean air in here is getting to me. I need to get outside and pollute my lungs a little. Some peace and quiet wouldn't hurt, either. I've told Miranda to keep an eye on Patrick for five minutes and make certain he doesn't cause any costly destruction. She's not happy about the idea of not having a dance (she's danced every one), but then Michael and Kelly come to her rescue, and they already have two Mulderchildren in tow, plus some various and sundry other young ones from Juliet's side of the family whose names I couldn't even hope to remember, and they scoop up Patrick like a pair of benevolent Pied Pipers.

Those two are going to be GREAT parents.

I stroll over to the ledge overlooking the golf course-not that you can see much this time of night, but it's beautiful and quiet out here, a sharp contrast to the overflowing noise and emotion inside. I'm having a great time, but I'm starting to feel overwhelmed, not to mention severely in need of nicotine.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" A familiar, slightly nasal voice, and a cough that's become far too much of his repertoire comes up behind me.

"Satisfying a nic fit." I wrap my arm around his waist. "You having fun?"

"Yeah, this is pretty cool, but I was looking for you so we could dance, and you weren't there."

"Just needed to get out for a few. It's a pretty amazing wedding, but you know me and crowds."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get a little tired of the press of flesh. Got a spare?" He points to my lit Marlboro Light.

"Not for you. You're still hacking."

"Hey, I'm better. Gotta be, I have to be back in prison on Monday."

"Getting used to working in bed?"

"Not really. But I like being around. Hey, wouldn't it be great if I could work at home all the time?"

Oh God. Not all the time, please.

I'd kill him.

"One drag," he begs, and I reluctantly hand him my cigarette. He takes a long hit, and promptly launches into a coughing spasm.

"That was bright," I laugh at him.

"So why'd you let me do it?"

"So you could see how stupid it was."

"Yeah, well, I'm the king of stupid stuff. Except I chose real good in the girl department." He flashes me that smile he has that he knows makes my kneecaps dissolve. "Hey, Ally, when we get home, you wanna pretend it's our wedding night all over again?"

"Mmm. I think I could handle that."

"I mean, why should Byers and Juliet have all the fun?"

"I don't see-Langly, are you barefoot?" It's cold out here. He's been sick.

"Been barefoot since we got here."

"Langly, are you planning to be sick all winter, because if you are, I'm joining a monastery!"

"Nah, not me."

"Get back inside!"

"Only if you come with me. And we get to dance."

Okay, I can live with that.

Easily.
 

MICHAEL:

You know, I like kids a lot. They're very cool. They ask way better questions than adults do. I mean, let's face it, 'Can I have a snack? Why's the sky blue? What does a kitty say?' are way better questions than 'Where's your assignment?' 'Why isn't your article finished?' and 'Who's your probation officer?'

Lucky for me, Kelly's cool about this. I was hoping to dance with her more-not that I really know how, but I like to, anyway-but seems like we're the unofficial babysitters of the Byers-Parker wedding.

I don't really mind. They're fun. Kelly and me dance with all of them, at once, and they can't do much more than flap around the floor, but it's cool. They make me laugh.

"I really think you should do something with children," Kelly says to me.

Well, I'm thinking about it.

"I dunno...I mean, this is gonna sound crazy, Kel, and like I don't want you thinking I'm stealing your thunder and stuff-"

"Yeah?"

"But I was thinking, I might like being a pediatrician."

She opens her eyes real big. I'm waiting for the inevitable are you nuts-you can't do that-how are we going to get both of us through medical school-

"I think you'd be great at it, Michael."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You're not just saying that."

"No, I'm not, Michael. You're great with kids. Dr. Johnson is really pushing you in biology-and she doesn't try to push too many people to be majors unless she really thinks they're good. She's a nice lady, but she only puts time and effort in people she thinks are really worth it."

"So you don't think I'm out of my mind."

"Well, I always think you're out of your mind, Michael. But not about this."

She's looking serious as a heart attack.

"I think you should talk to Dr. Scully about it, too. I think she'd be very encouraging. When I first worked for her, I was sort of nervous, because she's so to herself, but once you get to know her, she's so nice, and she'll really help you."

"Should, shouldn't I? I was gonna talk to Bergman, too, but it's like, after he lost his wife, he sort of crawled into the woodwork, he's not at work anymore-"

"I know. I'm worried about him. I think next week, if we can get a little bit of time, we should try to find him, see if he's okay."

"Kel, if he was okay, he'd be out working, doing medicine, not holed up in his house. So we assume he's not okay. I think we should scope him out, too."

Sarah Mulder has climbed on me, again, and I lift her up.

"Were you serious when you said I was out of my mind?"

"Of course! Why do you think I love you so much?"

Ah, that's my girl.
 

FROHIKE:

Back inside, they've been playing Chubby Checker's 'The Twist.' I'm more of a slow dancer, so Martha and I pass on this one, instead opting to watch the kids, and there are a lot of them at this wedding. I notice my son and Kelly seem to have an entourage of them.

Now that they've winded everyone, they announce that the next one will be slower. I stand up beside Martha, who is for the moment seated.

"May I have this dance?" I extend my hand to her.

"Of course." She takes my outstretched hand and rises up.

And the opening notes of 'I Don't Want to Miss a Thing' fill the air.

I wrap my arms around her, and slip my hand up the back of her sweater. She has a wonderful ass. I half-expect her to tell me to behave myself, but I notice she slips her hand under my tails in similar fashion.

Should I just ask her to marry me, right here and now?

It's not as if we're getting any younger, that's for certain.

I want to. I truly do. I do want to wake up next to her, every morning. I want to fall asleep next to her every night. And share all the details of life, day in and day out with her.

Why can't I just ask her?

Because she's newly widowed, if you think about it. Granted, she and Daniel were not able to have any sort of relationship beyond patient and caretaker for a long period, but the fact remains that he has not been in the ground very long. She doesn't live in the past, but she may not be ready to take that giant plunge into the future.

And I may not be, either. I want to, with all my heart. Yet I'm utterly terrified that I would make the commitment again-and fail. As Michael has so tactlessly, yet truthfully pointed out, my track record is nothing to write home about.

I want her, and I want her forever. Yet I can't say it. Not yet.

Will I ever be able to?

I hope so.

Because I really don't want to miss a thing.
 

The bouquet and garter toss is announced. I know I'm a dirty old man, but I hope Juliet was more daring in her placement of the garter. Allison left hers very close to her knee-hardly an opportunity for naughty viewing.

Plus, it would embarrass the hell out of Byers, and it'd be worth it just to see him react.

The bouquet toss is first.

I'm surprised and delighted when Martha joins the single ladies for it.

I don't know that she'd be the lucky winner-there are a number of young single ladies here, some of whom would probably murder to catch it.

And Martha is not a superstitious woman. Not catching it is not likely to diminish her enjoyment of the evening in any way.

Juliet turns her back to the cluster of women behind her, and with her long, sturdy arm, gives the nosegay a sharp toss. Where it lands...

Straight into Martha's arms. It all but fell on her-she was near the back of the cluster, and not scrambling to catch.

Loud applause for her, and when I try to sneak a glance at her expression...

It's flushed with pleasure.

Well, perhaps not catching it wouldn't have diminished her enjoyment, but catching it just may have enhanced it.

***********************************************************************************************************

"You go, girl!" Miranda gives Martha a hug upon her victory.

"That is sooo cool!" Kelly's also thrilled for her. Kelly, as an engaged lady, did not get in line, and neither did Miranda, probably in view of her age.

Both young girls turn to me. "Guess you're gonna have to marry her, Mr.-uh, I mean, Frohike." Kelly smiles brightly.

I smile back at her, and then at Martha. "Maybe someday. When we grow up."

Martha bursts into a gale of giggles, and we kiss.
 

The garter toss is next.

"Well?" Martha smiles at me broadly.

"Well, why not? I am single."

Legally, anyway.

"Guess I don't get to do this," Langly says.

"You do, and I'll kill you," his lovely, tiny wife assures him, and they both giggle.

It's so good to see them laughing. They've been through so much in their short lives together, so much of it heartbreaking. But these days, I'm seeing a lot more smiles.

And normally, less alcohol consumption, although tonight they've made an exception.

Hell, it's a wedding. Let the kids have fun.

"We're gonna do a little variation on a theme here," the deejay announces. "Of course, the groom will remove the bride's garter, but, he has to use...his teeth."

"Yeah!" We get a shout from Mulder and Langly here.

Byers has turned ashen-pale, and the look of horror on his face is, well, comical.

"And no hands," the deejay clarifies the rules.

Byers turns to me, the anxiety in his voice palpable. "Oh no. Oh no. I can't do this."

"Sure you can. Don't want to disappoint your public now, do you?"

He turns a flaming shade of scarlet. I think if you took his pulse right now, it'd be off the charts.

The crowd has begun to chant, "Teeth! Teeth! Teeth!"

His expression turns deadly. "You better not have had anything to do with this, Frohike."

"I didn't know anything about it." And this time, I can truly claim my innocence.

He turns to Langly and Mulder. "You two. If I find out that you planned this-"

"Hey, I had enough trouble getting my formalwear together!" Mulder protests.

"But hey, nothing like a good show to make it go," Langly adds, grinning.

"Teeth! Teeth! Teeth!"

Juliet is being a sport-in fact, I think she's getting no small measure of sadistic pleasure out of her new husband's discomfort.

I know I am.

"Hey handsome," she crooks her fingers towards him. "Let's see what you can do with that mouth."

I think all the blood in his face is now on the surface. He looks as though he's about to hyperventilate.

It's great.

"Oh God, Oh God," Byers closes his eyes, winces, and kneels down beside his new wife.

Slowly, he lifts the skirt of her expensive wedding gown (Miranda, our fashion maven, has informed me that it's a Jessica McClintock, which, when I asked for a translation, she said, "Meaning more money than you make in a year.")

He's raised it to her knee. There is no garter in sight.

Mid thigh, and still no garter. He is looking utterly mortified by now, and the raucous laughter from the crowd is only increasing his misery.

Hey, what's a wedding for?

He is very slowly pulling back the beaded satin fabric, inch by inch, until the buried treasure is finally uncovered-about an inch below her sex.

I am SO glad he married someone with a sense of adventure.

And she has wonderful legs. Granted, she's not really my type, but I can't argue with a great set of gams.

He looks up at her in horror, and this causes her to burst out laughing.

Poor guy.

We're all having a laugh at his expense.

Well, as the groom, it's the least he can do for us.

Everyone in the crowd is cheering poor Byers on as he lowers his mouth to her garter, and grabs the edge of it.

It's a slow process, and we're enjoying every moment of it, at the top of our lungs.

"Byers! Didn't know you had it in you, did ya!" Langly's fairly drunk and enjoying this far too much. I say this because he's having at least as much fun as I am.

"Langly, shut up. You want him to kill you when he gets up?"

"Be worth it," Langly agrees, slugging down more Sam's.

"Hope somebody's taking lots of pictures. Blackmail is good," Mulder-cum-Elvis is smiling wickedly.

"And you should know," I retort.

Getting the garter off with teeth requires one to contort themselves into several fairly undignified positions.

Poor Byers. I hope he's over the shock enough so that he can enjoy his honeymoon.

He finally emerges victorious, garter in teeth and no longer encircling his wife's thigh. This causes wild applause and catcalls to break out, on top of the deafening noise already in place.

Byers's wedding. Who'd have thought?

Even his father applauds for him. And I think I see J.A. Byers smiling a little.

Byers prepares to turn around, and narrows his eyes at me.

He smiles wickedly, garter in teeth.

I caught the garter at Langly's wedding. I should probably let some other poor chump have a chance.

Forget it.

Finally allowed to use his hands, complete with opposable thumb, he tosses the lace ring into the air...

Where it lands, like pigeon shit, right on top of my head.

I just hope he didn't drool on it.

END OF PART 97