"What is the desperate deed you mean to do,
the deed past cure?"

Euripides, "Hippolytus," Lines 723-724. Translation by Ralph Gladstone. Used without permission.
 

MICHAEL:

Christ, what a day.

I didn't feel too bad when I started out. I mean, I had the sore throat and it wasn't that bad, but then I had two lectures, and then I went to tutoring and had to talk my ass off for five hours, I didn't even get lunch today, and by the time I got to calc, I was almost falling asleep. And what was real bad, just about the time I was nodding in my seat, I got called on.

Fortunately, I was cool, I recovered pretty fast. I think the instructor was hoping to catch me with my boxers down, but I knew the problem, and I could do it. I think I knocked him off balance a little.

Good. Pretentious assholes deserve it.

Thank God it's over, except it's really not. I got a bio midterm on Wednesday, and I really got to study, my average is only 86 in the class, and that's a B, and that's not gonna work for me. Which sounds dopey, I mean, a B in bio's nothing to turn your nose up at, but it's like, I don't get an A, I'm not gonna be macho or something. She's doing review tomorrow, that'll help, I'm definitely going, but I am gonna ace this test, or die trying.

By the time it's seven o'clock, die trying looks like more of a possibility. I'm just about crawling to my car.

Mostly, I just wanna go home and fall asleep. I wish Kelly was there to go to sleep with me, she could rub my back and stuff, I'd feel better. But if she was looking for anything else tonight, I think she'd be disappointed.

I need to come up with some time to work on TMB for October, too. It's like we are so fucking behind, all of us, and I picked up a lot of the slack in the summer, but I don't have that kind of time now. Usually I do it on Tuesday, it's the lightest day, well, that's the plan anyway. Hasn't happened yet. And it's not gonna happen tomorrow, either. I'm planning to just wail on bio and ace the sucker.

I should probably try to cut my tutoring hours, but I really need the bucks. 'Stang's been eating me alive in the money department. And I got car insurance due soon, too, and I don't think Dad's gonna pay the whole thing, seeing as I got a ticket over the summer. I'm cringing at the thought of getting that bill.

Maybe I could like get Byers's old man to adopt me? At least for paying my bills?

Since I get here so fucking early, one of the compensations is that I get decent parking. In the parking structure even.

I got the keys out and I'm just about ready to unlatch the door when I hear my name.

Oh shit. Not this bastard.

"Young Frohike." It's the guy with the horrible cigarettes. Oh Christ. Why does he do this to me?

"Y'know, I got a real bad sore throat, put that thing out." I'm not in the mood. And he should be able to tell I'm hurting, I can barely talk. Comes out like this scratch.

"Have you thought more about...what we said last time?"

I can feel my chest tighten up. Oh shit.

Do what Mulder told you to do, idiot.

"We didn't talk about anything last time." I fling my backpack, which feels like a ton of bricks, into the backseat.

"Well, I just came to let you know, the offer...is still available."

I'm about to ask, what offer, but I remember what Mulder said about this bastard. Don't even go there.

"Look, do you mind? I gotta study." I slam the door on him.

I think he sort of got the message, he's gone, I think. I can feel myself getting out of breath, but I close my eyes and go through the motions like Mulder showed me.

In a few minutes, I still feel kind of lightheaded, but I was like that anyway when I came out, so I think I can get myself the 13 miles home.

Son of a bitch. I guess Mulder sometimes has a clue what he's doing.
 

I get home and of course Martha's there. I wonder when she works next. It's like, she's not too bad, but having another person in the house, it's like I almost feel like there's an intruder there. And I'm not in the mood to be charming for company right now.

She and Dad are in the kitchen, I think they're waiting for me, because it looks like dinner's just about ready. I can't tell you if it smells good or not because I can't smell a fucking thing except that bastard's cigarettes. I hate cigarettes anyway, and this guy's are just plain putrid.

Martha serves up something that looks like a cloudy soup. I recognize it as miso soup, which I like. And it feels good going down on my throat.

"You don't look so good," Dad says to me.

Thanks a lot, Dad, I really needed that.

Like he should talk! He's not exactly the height of fashion himself tonight.

But at least he's not in the blue bunny jammies. Wonder what Martha thinks of those.

I actually go for seconds on the miso soup, I'm kind of hungry since I didn't get lunch, didn't have time.

There's soba noodles, and I love soba noodles. And these are real good. Martha can cook, I'll give her that. Even the sashimi looks good. I'm kind of skeptical about sushi, I got real sick on it a couple times, but this stuff is pretty tasty, I think. The taste buds aren't working the greatest tonight. But you can still tell that the lady can cook.

Dad'll like that about her. He's not eating a lot tonight, but then, he's not been eating much lately, and he's not a big fan of Japanese. Does seem to like her soba noodles, though.

Martha asks me how school was. I mean, this is bizarre. You'd think we were like a normal family or something eating like this.

I just kind of groan. It was a long day.

"You sound like this cold is really starting to kick your butt," she says. "You should probably head off to bed after dinner."

"Good idea," Dad echoes her.

I think I landed in a parallel universe or something.

"Can't. Got a test on Wednesday, and I'm gonna ace it."

"Michael, you're not going to ace it by being dead on your feet." Dad's back in Dad mode.

Like I said, we could almost be normal right now.

"And I'm not gonna ace it unless I jam. 'Scuse me." I let myself up. I know, I should offer to do the dishes and stuff.

But Martha is getting paid for this gig. And I really have to study.
 

I go at it for a while, I cross-reference my notes and all that, but there is just so much stuff...and after some time, my head is just swimming. I'm so tired I can't think straight. I actually contemplate going to bed.

Can't do that. Do the coffee thing. Caffeine, the salvation of students everywhere.

Unfortunately, there's only frigging decaf here...bah. That's not gonna help.

Dad's in bed. Martha's on the sofa, reading some journal and watching a movie when I start scrounging the kitchen-gotta be some real coffee stashed away somewhere.

"Michael, can I get you something?"

"Don't we have any real coffee?"

"I got decaf...your father's not supposed to have caffeine right now."

"Look, man, I know he's sick, but I gotta study! And decaf, that's like kissing your sister!" I think about kissing Les...yuck. I did not need that image.

She laughs. "Tell me about it. I prefer Italian roast myself, the real thing."

I come out in the living room. "How long's this gonna go on?" I am not in a good mood.

She looks at me dead on. "I don't know. But you're going to have to make some changes for a while. We all are."

And then I start coughing. Shit! I hate this!

I really feel like shit. I wish Dad wasn't in bed. I could really use a backrub.

I'm getting kind of woozy, so I sit down on the sofa at the other end from her.

"You really feel terrible," she says to me.

"No shit." I don't think you need a nursing degree to see that.

"Just stay there. I have just the thing."

She heads out to the kitchen, and I hear her boiling water and milling through the cabinets. Maybe she did hide some of the real thing out there.

She comes back out with this mug of brown stuff, but it doesn't look like coffee, and sure as hell doesn't smell like it.

"What's this?" She could be trying to poison me, for all I know.

"This is my dad's chill chaser. Try it."

"What's in it?"

"Darjeeling tea, lemon juice...and a hefty shot of Southern Comfort."

Oh god. I drank Harvey Wallbangers one time, and I got so fucking sick on them...I think they got Southern Comfort in them.

I sniff it again. Really doesn't smell bad, got to admit.

Doesn't taste bad, either. Kind of sweet. And after a few mouthfuls, I do feel warmer. I didn't even realize I was cold, I was so out of it.

It's not gonna help me stay awake, that's the problem.

"I think I better go back and study." I set the mug down, there's not much left, but anymore and I'm gonna be down for the count real fast.

"Michael. I went through bio, too, and I know a few tricks to make it easier. If you want, I'll help you tomorrow-on the condition that you get ready for bed right now."

I think about this. I'll pretty much do anything to get an A right now.

Including take help from my dad's girlfriend. At least he wants her to be, I know that.

She could be, for all I know. I mean, they're alone in the house all day...God knows what they're up to.

I know what Kelly and me'd be up to.
 

I take a shower-I need the hot water, everything kind of aches, and that helps a little. But I really am beat.

I go out to say goodnight to Martha-I mean, she's been pretty nice to me.

And you know what, she really doesn't have to. She just has to be nice to my dad. But she's being decent to me.

"I wish my dad wasn't sleeping," I complain.

"Hmm. Anything I can do for you?" She asks.

"Well..." What, am I crazy? She's probably gonna think I'm an idiot or something, saying that when I'm sick the only way I can get comfortable is if my dad's with me. "Like whenever I get sick, my dad gives me backrubs." I'm like so embarrassed now.

But she doesn't laugh or make a big deal out of it. "I've been told I'm not terrible in that department. If you get in bed, I'll come and let you test-drive one of mine, and if you like it, fine, if not, I'll leave. Deal?"

"Okay."
 

She's got magic fingers. Lots of practice, I imagine.

I bet Dad's giving her a workout, at any rate.

And it helps. I don't hurt so much, and pretty soon, I'm falling asleep. She pulls the covers up over me when she's done and turns out the lights, and it's weird, but I feel safe and warm and comfortable.

Last thing I think about: Dad is gonna be so spoiled.
 

MARTHA:

I'm worried about this.

Mel has got to stay well right now, and now he's got a sick child, and I had to really persuade him to get into bed tonight. He wanted to stay up for the boy.

I don't think he could have. He was falling asleep in the chair right after dinner. I had to bribe him with (another) sponge bath.

These are getting harder and harder as I remain less and less clinical about the whole matter. Tonight, it took all of my willpower not to jump on top of him.

Or at least kiss him goodnight. I almost did it. I really did.

I wonder how he would have reacted had I done so.

I'd like to think he would have pulled me in closer and let that kiss last, and then move on to other things...

Martha, you are being completely unprofessional about all this, I scold myself.

I need to talk to somebody I can trust.

It's Monday night. Gizzie's night off.

I wonder if she's at home.
 

"You're lucky I answered the phone. I was just gonna let it go to the machine," she laughs when she discovers it's me. "I said, I swear, that's the hospital, that phone is going to be a deadly projectile."

I laugh at this. Gizzie does not really lose her temper often.

However, when she does, it's a serious and frightening thing.

"What's Ron doing?" I ask about her husband.

"Working, like always. Christ, I just about need an appointment to see him these days. Nope, just me and the mutts and the birds. What's up, girlfriend?"

"Not much."

"Sure, and I'm ten feet tall. You at Mel's?"

"Uh-huh."

"How's it going over there?"

"Okay, I guess."

"You guess? What's wrong?"

"Well, nothing, really-well, his son is sick right now."

"Martha, you sure know how to pick 'em." I have to laugh. "Not serious, I presume."

"No, but I really have to make sure Mel doesn't pick up anything."

"Lots of luck. Least he's not in the hospital anymore. Worst place in the world to be if you're sick, you ask me."

That sounds bizarre, but she's absolutely correct. The presence of superinfection has made our job that much more difficult. We try to clear patients out as rapidly as possible because of it.

And because we have to, due to financial considerations. It always comes back to cash. I sigh.

"He's still very tired," I try to keep the details I relate as clinical as possible.

"Well, girl, what'd you expect? He's barely home, and he's just gotten whomped by two big ones. You know that. But that's not why you called me."

"Uh...no, I guess it's not." I feel myself blushing.

"So give already."

"Um...well, if you have to know-"

"And I do, I'm the Giz."

"-This is really hard."

She cackles. "Martha, you're a critical care nurse. This assignment should be a piece of cake for you."

"The work is easy. It's...the other things that are making it hard."

"Like what other things?"

I'm sure she knows, and probably better than I do...but she's going to make me tell all.

Gizzie is ruthless that way, which is why I called her.

"Gizzie...I'm going insane."

"Of course you are. You're supposed to be a clinician with a man whose bones you're dying to jump? Martha, get real. It's why you took the job in the first place."

"I did it for the extra money."

"Bullshit."

"Well, I needed a thousand bucks to file Chapter 7."

"You done it yet?"

"Well...actually, this is where it gets weird."

"Martha, what's taking you? You're broke. Get in there and file soon as you get the check, and cash it before it bounces."

"Well, actually, I don't need to."

"What, you find a benefactor, or a sugar daddy on the side?"

"The former."

She's speechless, which, for Gizzie, is damn rare.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. I was with Mel in the hospital on Saturday morning, and you remember John Byers, don't you?"

"You mean, the good-looking redhead with the girlfriend we had in quarantine?"

"The one and the same."

"Shit, I'd sleep with him in a minute. I tell you I saw him a few months back? After the girlfriend got hurt. He was tying one on in a Baltimore dive."

"So what'd you do?"

"Pounded some sense into him, I think."

"He's getting married in less than four weeks, you know."

"So I did beat some brains into him. Good to know. But I'd still sleep with him in a minute. Anyway, what's this got to do with your not having to file the big 7?"

"The boy has a father, Giz."

"We all do, dear. You've been a nurse how long?"

"The daddy is very, very rich."

"Yeah?"

"And very, very guilty...you remember the old man, don't you?"

"Wait a minute, my brain's not what it used to be." Which is crap; Gizzie remembers everyone and everything. "You mean the asshole sonofabitch that tried to tell me how the fuck I was supposed to run my quarantine area?"

"That's him."

"Okay, so he's got plenty to feel guilty about. I mean, treating your own kids like that! Bastard! Makes my own father look like Jesus Christ himself, but that's for another day. So let me see if I can connect the dots here. Daddy felt bad, trying to make nice-nice with sonny boy, and he's not too good at it, so he decides he'll do something nice for one of sonny's friends. Am I following this?"

She always does. Try fooling Gizzie. You'll be sorry.

"He asked me for an accounting...paid off my debts, and paid me for the private care for Mel."

"You know for a fact he did this."

"Giz, my balances on all my accounts are zero...except for the house."

She's speechless again.

"He paid them off. And yes, I cashed the check. It was good."

She's still stunned. And it's damned hard to stun Gizzie.

I'm kind of enjoying it, in a perverse sort of way.

Finally, she speaks.

"Think he'd adopt me?"

"You wouldn't want him to, trust me. I'm grateful for what he did, eternally, but I'm grateful that part of his conditions were that I never spoke to him of it again."

"That should be easy."

"It makes me a little uncomfortable...but not uncomfortable enough that I'd have refused it."

"It's amazing what you can overlook if the price is right. Anyway, congrats, you're out of debt, and lemme tell you that's good news. Now, what about your man?"

"He's not 'my man,' Giz."

"Oh, the hell he's not! You said he's asked for how many sponge baths in two days?"

"Three."

"Hey, I never had a patient ask for three sponge baths in two days...most times, I do 'em once, they're happy to wait till they can get home."

"Which was intentional on your part."

"You got that right. So when're you just gonna bite the bullet and come out and tell him you want him?"

"Me?!"

"Yeah, you! Who'd you think I meant?"

"I'm just...I'm scared."

"No duh, sister! And what of it? You've had lots of practice being scared. From what I can tell, you do all right."

"I wish I knew...I wish..."

"You wish he'd come out on his white horse and sweep you off your feet and declare his undying love for you. Guess what, girlfriend, I got news for you. Ain't gonna happen."

"I think I'd be more comfortable if he made the first move."

"And he'd be more comfortable if you did. I'm telling you, he's just waiting for you."

"You really think so?"

She cackles again. "Martha, you gave him what, a teddy bear for a gift?"

"Yeah."

"And what'd he do with that bear?"

"Slept with it the whole time." Which, in fact, he's doing as we speak.

"Uh-huh. He's how old?"

"56."

"Martha, 56-year-old veterans do not sleep with teddy bears without a really good reason. And if you can't see the reason here, you're denser than I think you are, and I hope to god you're not."

"You think I should do what?"

"I think you should kiss him."

"What?!"

"You heard me, I think you should kiss him."

"Seems a little forward."

"Oh, get over the Southern upbringing, girl. I'm not talking about any deep tongue tango here. I'm talking about, moment is right, lean over and kiss him. Or put yourself in a position where he has to kiss you, if you're feeling too chicken to just get in there and do it."

"Any suggestions?"

"Martha, you're a smart girl. You'll figure it out. Really, you will. Now my dogs are gonna pee all over the rug if I don't get my ass up and let them out, so I'm gonna let you go, and next time you see me at work-"

"Wednesday night."

"I want to hear that you guys kissed. You hear me?"

"Your sex life that boring?" I tease her.

She snorts. "Like I said, it might be fun if I could see Ron once in a while. Anyway, gotta go. See ya Wednesday."

As I said, Gizzie is ruthless.

Which is why she's my friend.

END OF PART 54