Disclaimers in part 01
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"Love is all we have, the only way
Each can help the other."
~~Orestes -- Euripides, Arrowsmith translation~~
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TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2000
GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DEBORAH'S ROOM
10:00 A.M.
LANGLY:
Deb's doing better. I feel like I can breathe again when I walk in her room and the nurse says, "She's improved a lot over night." Of course, that was after I had to do everything but get strip-searched by the FBI Nazis at the door. Yeah, it's for Deb's protection, but you'd at least think Skinner'd have the decency to tell them who I was. Okay, no, he wouldn't. He loves making me sweat, the bastard.
She's still really pale, but when I lean over and kiss her and say "Hey babe," she opens her eyes and blinks at me and gives me a ghost of a smile.
"Sweetie." Her breathing is still a little rough.
"Hey. I'm gonna pick up your folks in a while."
"Mom and dad? They're coming?" She blinks at me again.
"Well, duh! You really think I wouldn't call 'em?" I won't going to tell her I almost didn't.
"Ringo, you're so sweet." She closes her eyes again and falls back to sleep. I see we'll be having a real stimulating conversation. Oh well. She's still real sick and I have to be patient. I'm just glad she's doing okay.
I sit down by her bed and hold her hand. Sometimes I brush her hair off her face, and if she wants ice I bring it to her. They're still not letting her drink anything, the bastards. She's dying of thirst. I swear to God, as soon as I can, I'll bring her the biggest bucket of root beer on the planet. She loves the stuff.
Nurses and respiratory therapists come in and out so much I hardly notice that Sari's come into the room.
"Hey, Sari. I thought Byers wasn't letting you drive around." I heard him talking to her about it last night before dinner. He was getting pretty angry.
She shakes her head. "John's heart is in the right place, but I still have to live my life." She sounds kind of annoyed about it, but goes over to Deb and strokes her cheek. "How is she?"
"Doing better. She's still awful tired."
"She will be for a while."
"So they tell me."
She turns to me and squeezes my hand. "How are you doing today, Ringo?"
"I'm... I feel like somebody drugged me last night. I mean, I slept like the dead. Makes me think Frohike put something in my soup."
She smiles this Mona Lisa smile, but doesn't say anything. Of course, if Fro did drug me, she's probably in cahoots with him. I wouldn't put it past her. She's sneakier than Byers, and keeps a straighter face when she's up to no good.
"When are her parents due in?"
I check my Palm Pilot. "About 11:40 at Dulles. I need to go get them pretty soon."
Sari looks at Deb. "Ringo, she needs some lip balm. Her lips are all chapped."
"Oh, man, I forgot." I feel like such a moron. It's not Sari's fault or anything, I just am. My hands are shaking while I slide a little on with my finger, but it makes Deb open her eyes again.
"Sweetie," she whispers with a tiny smile, "thank you." She falls back to sleep. Three words is about all she can manage right now. I'm lucky if I can do that at the top of my game.
I check my watch -- 10:07 a.m. I'll have to bail in less than an hour if I'm gonna catch Deb's folks. Shit, I'm sweating. There's no antiperspirant in the universe that could fight what I'm going through right now.
"Are you off today?" I ask Sari. I don't think so, she's got a suit on.
"No, but I came by to see Deborah and to help you get ready."
"Get ready?" Believe me, nothing can get me ready for meeting my girl's parents. Oh God, they're gonna hate me. Then they'll make Deb think I'm a screw up and a jerk and she shouldn't hang with me. They'd be right.
"Here." She's got a bag I didn't notice when she came in. "Once again, my emergency shopper is at your service." She pulls out a shirt. It's blue with white stripes and it's got a collar. It actually feels nice. Guess sometimes you do get what you pay for. I hope she charged it to Byers, or maybe Mulder. Mulder would never notice a shirt on his card. I'm a little embarrassed to strip off in front of her, so I slip into Deb's bathroom to change. Sari nods when I come out.
"Very nice. Now for your hair."
"I washed it." Deb says she likes the way my hair smells.
"Deborah's parents are from New Orleans. Long hair isn't generally considered respectable there, but I think if we just brush it and pull it back in a ponytail, you'll be fine. Sit."
I get back in the miserable excuse for a chair I'd been sitting in, and Sari brushes my hair and pulls it back. Deb brushes my hair, and I always like it. It's kind of relaxing. Byers should have Sari do that for him sometime. I don't know what the hell he's waiting on.
"You look very nice, Ringo," Sari tells me. "Now relax. You'll do just fine."
Oh, not even.
DULLES AIRPORT
11:25 A.M.
LANGLY:
I think I know how people felt going to Auschwitz. My heart's in my stomach. Their flight's delayed by about 15 minutes. Not bad considering they're flying Continental. It could be worse. They could be on Northworst, and I could spend half the day waiting, only to find that the plane was misdirected and it's somewhere over Antarctica. Not that they have air routes over Antarctica, but the way things have gone since deregulation, you never know.
I keep thinking maybe they've decided not to come. Fat chance of that, though. Deb's their baby girl and they care about her. Hell would freeze over first. I think that's what I hate most about this. Meeting her folks, it makes me think about mine, and that's never a cheerful topic.
I consider going for a latte, but when I passed the cart, the line was all the way back to security. I should've brought some M&M's to munch on, for tension relief. I probably would have if Byers and Frohike hadn't decided to be such dicks this morning. You'd think they could cut a guy in my situation a little slack, but forget it.
Frohike's the one that talked to Deb's parents and got all their flight info. He said he described me, and I've got a vague description of them. I was told to look for tall. That doesn't surprise me. I just wonder what the hell Fro said to them. For all I know, they decided to take a different flight and avoid me altogether, but I couldn't get that lucky. Not this week, at any rate.
I'm trying not to fidget, and not to bite my nails, but it seems like since Deb got shot, I've reinvented the manicure. I can't have Deb's parents come and meet me with my hands in my mouth.
"Richard Langly?" I hear a guy's voice, and almost jump out of my skin. I realize I'm gnawing on my thumbnail. Crap.
"Uh, yeah, that'd be me." Wonderful. Sterling delivery. I'm sure I impressed them, but not the way I hoped. I look at the huge guy talking to me. He's standing next to a tall lady and he doesn't look too friendly. In fact, he's looking at me like I'm one of the Cardinal's hair balls. Yep, we're off to a great start. "You're... ah..."
"Mr. and Mrs. SaintJohn," he says. Well, looks like we won't be getting all cozy. I offer him my hand.
"Um, hi." I should've had Frohike wire me so Byers could read me my lines. I'm improvising, and not doing it very well.
"Richard. So nice to meet you." Deb's mom's a little friendlier, and she reaches out her hand to shake mine. "I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances."
"Yes, ma'am." Oh, you have no idea, Mrs. SaintJohn. "Do you have any checked bags?"
"No, we carried on. Damn airlines lose them every time," Mr. SaintJohn says as he hoists his up. Maybe I should offer to carry hers.
"You want me to carry that?" I ask.
I get a big smile. "Thank you." Okay, score one for me. Of course, when you're with your girl's parents, any victory's bound to be short lived. Mine lasts until we get to the parking garage.
"This is Deborah's car." Her dad turns around and looks at me like I'm some major loser. He's right, of course.
"Mine, ah, kind of needs some work right now." I gulp hard, trying to stuff their bags into the shoe box that passes for Deb's trunk. Escorts were barely designed to carry people, much less luggage.
"What kind of car is it?" he asks. Sounds more like he's asking me where I was at midnight on the 31st of January, and can anyone verify my whereabouts. If I had a lawyer I'd be tempted to call him.
"It's a '72 Microbus." I say it fast, hoping he won't notice. Frohike's always telling me I should shut up. It figures that the one time I need to have an intelligent conversation, I can't get a decent word out. Her dad gives me a weird look.
"They're not very safe." Yeah, well, he should consider what we're driving right now. Lucky for me, Byers took care of the glass problem, so at least I don't have to explain that. Maybe the narc's not such a dick after all.
"Oh, Gerard, you have no room to talk!" Mrs. SaintJohn, at least for the moment, seems to be on my side. She looks at me. "He's got a '66 Pontiac LeMans convertible. He's got no room to talk about car safety."
I start the engine and get us out of the garage. Actually, I'd really like to know about his '66, but I don't think he's in the mood for that when the next words out of his mouth are "So how did this happen?"
Shit. I knew we'd get to that. "I dropped her off for her shift, and..."
"What time?" he interrupts. He might have been a firefighter, but he's got the manners of a cop. I'm no good around cops.
"She went on at 4."
"In the morning? And you were at her apartment?" He's grilling me now. The money on the shirt's been wasted. I'm sweating like a pig, even though the AC's on.
"Oh, Gerard, stop it! Deborah's 29 years old. She's not in high school." Thank you, Mrs. SaintJohn. Then she leans over towards me. "You were with her before that, weren't you?"
"Uh...yeah."
Both her folks glare at me. If their idea of fun is making their daughter's boyfriend sweat, they must be having a blast. I tell myself they're just real worried, it's their little girl, and I'd probably be real mad if it was my -- wait a minute. Keep your eyes on the road, boy.
Her dad speaks first. "So you dropped her at work. Did you see her go in?"
"It didn't happen 'til she went on shift. That's what they told me."
"Was she treating a patient?"
My brain cells have suddenly all died. "She was in the suture room, doing, um... sutures."
"Right." He snorts, all annoyed. "When did you get the call?"
"About half an hour after I got home."
"You didn't call us right away?" They say nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. I knew enough to expect this one, and I'm still not prepared.
"I... look, I wasn't thinking too good. I was worried sick about her, and I wanted to make sure she was okay." That sounds so lame.
"Gerard, relax. He was doing what he thought was best, and he did call us," her mom says.
God, do not let me be alone with her dad -- make sure mom is around. Of course, if they knew what we think caused this, they'd kill me and leave my by the side of the road. "Did you want to check into your motel first?" Frohike says they made reservations. "Maybe have some lunch?"
"We can't check in until 4, and I want to see my daughter now." Her dad isn't happy with me. I think at this point it's beyond repair. He'll never like me. If he knew the truth, he'd have some damn good reasons not to.
OFFICES OF THE LONE GUNMEN
12:10 P.M.
FROHIKE:
The door buzzer sounds.
"Can you get that?" Byers says, not looking up. He's still sweating over the stealth aircraft data files. We spent the night trying to figure out what the inconsistencies were, and what to believe in these files, but no luck.
"What, do I look like the maid?" I check the video monitor. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," I say as I unlock the door for Mulder.
"You shouldn't talk about yourself that way, Frohike -- not when you have so many of us willing to do it for you," Mulder says cheerfully. I feel like decking him, but then, I almost always do.
"We've been paging you since last night," Byers snaps. "Where the hell were you?" The boy's a bit testy because Sari refused to let him drive her to work today. He made a real pain in the ass of himself about it, too. I'm surprised she didn't tell him never to call her again.
"Hey, some of us work for a living," Mulder fires back.
"Like you'd know about that," I add.
"If you're calling me to tell me about Langly's amazon, I've seen her already. Twice."
"We figured Scully took care of that. This is something else. Come see what we've got," I urge him over towards Byers' computer. He doesn't take the hint and heads for the stairs, obviously intending to raid the kitchen.
"Frohike, what do you have to eat? I'm starving."
"What, you haven't had a cholesterol fix in the last twenty minutes? You've been here often enough, you know where everything is."
"Is that how you treat all your guests?" he calls out, already up the stairs and around the corner.
"You're not a guest," I shout, "unless you consider rodents guests."
"Mulder, come down here now!" Byers is really twitchy this morning. Unlike Mulder, insomnia doesn't become him.
"Gotta eat my power lunch first," Mulder says, coming down the stairs with a bag of M&M's and a classic Coke. Sugar, fat, caffeine and chocolate, all in one tidy package -- and he's got the lowest cholesterol of anyone I know. I hate him. "What've you got?" he asks with a loud yawn, then gulps down the Coke -- noisily, I might add. Byers looks about ready to strangle him.
"Take a look at this." Byers points to the data on his screen.
"What is it?" Mulder asks, tossing another handful of M&M's down his throat.
"It's one of a series of files on stealth aircraft," Byers says, "but it's not like anything we've ever seen. There are so many contradictory data files in here that I don't have any idea where to start."
Mulder peers at the screen. "What's this got to do with me?"
"Well, Byers pulled this down from Dreamland," I explain. "Didn't you head out to Nevada a couple years back? You were supposed to meet up with someone out there."
"Area 51? I was, but it never panned out. My contact didn't show up." Mulder continues munching.
I hope Langly forgets he had those M&M's, or Mulder's going to have to face Blondie all by himself.
"Don't you remember?" Mulder asks. "We went out there, then turned around and came home."
"And Scully didn't shoot you?" I mutter. The woman should be nominated for sainthood for putting up with him. "So there's nothing you can tell us about this."
"Afraid not. Sorry, guys." He yawns again. "But I'd love to take a closer look at the files for myself. Can you burn me a disc with the info on it?"
Byers flips a zip disc in his fingers, presenting it to Mulder. "I knew you'd ask."
"Thanks," Mulder grunts, pocketing the disc.
I look our G-man up and down. "Up late again?" Mulder's insomnia is legendary.
"Actually," he mumbles, "Scully and I sent Chen and Fuller home around midnight." He seems slightly embarrassed.
"You two stayed with Deborah?" I'm pleasantly astonished.
"Well, y'know." He finishes pouring the remaining M&M's into his mouth. "They'd been working all day, and they were getting kind of tired."
So were he and Scully. They were on a miserable case at the Lorton Correctional Facility. I doubt their day was a piece of cake.
He tosses the crumpled empty bag on Byers' desk. Byers just glares. "Thanks for lunch, guys. Gotta go. I'll be in touch." He heads out, and I secure the door behind him.
You wonder why we put up with him? There's your answer.
End chapter 5