"O miser cum re, tum hoc ipso, quod non sentis, quam miser sis!" (O wretched man, wretched not just because of what you are, but also because you do not know how wretched you are!)

Cicero, "Phillipica," XIII, xvii, 34. Used without permission.
 

LANGLY:

"So...would you help me?" Charles isn't even making a pretense of munching on his burrito anymore.

And he's killing my appetite. I've still got two tacos and a burrito left. What'd I get all this food for, anyway?

"Why're you asking me?"

Sorry, I can't just take stuff at face value. Sue me.

"Well...I think...I don't know...I heard you were from the Pentagon's crypto department. I thought you might know Bryce. And you seem...well, you're not like a lot of them."

Thank God for little favors. "In what way?"

"Well, you're not stuffy."

Thank you for acknowledging that. I leave stuffy to Byers and Frohike. They do it so much better, anyway.

"And you're the only one that talks back to Zupancic."

"Yeah, well, he needs a good talking back to."

Actually, reminds me of this murder trial in Oklahoma, where the prosecution asks this guy why he shot this other guy. He says, well, I reckon he needed a good killing.

Sounds as good as any reason to me.

Zupan-prick probably could use a good killing, but short of that, a good butthole surfing contest with him as Barbie would do it.

This makes me laugh.

Charles looks pissed, a little, but mostly, he's like confused. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, just had an amusing image."

"Of what?" I think our boy Charlie is low in the sense of humor department.

"Nothing, nothing." Hey, how do I know Zupan-prick didn't send our boy Charlie here to spy on me? "Speaking of our boss boy, where is he today?" Not that I really give a fuck, or want him back. I don't. Be nice if somebody said he's in Leavenworth, being a girlfriend to some of the nation's nastiest criminals. The nation's biggest, ugliest, nastiest criminals.

"I don't know. I think I heard something about how he was supposed to speak at some prayer breakfast, some family values thing, but that's just scuttlebutt."

And oh, how I live for scuttlebutt. What fun is work with no gossip?

"God, I should've guessed he'd be into that."

Charles gives me this eye. "I take it you're not."

Oh Jesus fuck. If he's into it, I'm like totally fucked...or will be.

"Uh, no."

He seems like he's a little more relaxed. "I didn't think so. You just didn't seem the type."

"What type do I seem?"

"I don't know. But not like that. Zupancic says you're a major smartass."

"Whew, a compliment!"

"I don't think he meant it like one."

"Yeah, but I'll take it. Credit where credit is due, y'know?"

"You don't take anything seriously, do you?" He seems kind of upset now.

"Yeah, I take stuff seriously."

"Like?"

"Like my wife, my kids, my friends."

"And that's it?"

"You mean that's not enough?" Jesus. I thought I had it covered.

"You don't take work seriously?"

"Well, no more seriously than I should." Which, by the way, in general is not a lot. "Hey, I do my job. I do it right. What my perspective is on it, hell, that's nobody's business but mine."

"I think Zupancic would disagree."

"Which only reinforces my position that I'm right."

He studies me for a few minutes, then chews on his fingernails-nasty habit, some day I should think about trying to stop myself.

"He is an asshole."

"Whew! Charlie speaks!"

"I prefer Charles."

"Whatever." I prefer Langly. Damned if I'm gonna start giving out my first name. Says R.P. Langly on my nameplate. Works for me.

"He's such a dick."

Whew, the boy knows at least two dirty words! Give him snaps for his daring!

Charles has an opening, though, and he's gonna take it.

"I feel humiliated working for him. I'm not-well, I'm not very good with people, and I'm not very quick-witted-"

Hmm, I sort of noticed that.

"And he's always pointing it out to me. And when we used to work for Ruby-"

"Ruby?"

"Jack Rubenstein. Our old boss. He was good to work for. I never had any problems with him."

"How long's Zupan-pri-I mean, Zupancic been around?"

"Only about six months."

"No kidding. Thought he'd been here forever."

"He really doesn't have many technical skills, relative to the jobs we do."

"That's why I figured him to be a lifer."

Hey, that wasn't lost on Charlie-oops, Charles. What kind of wussy guy wants to be called Charles?

Hey, to each his own. Whatever.

"He was in some other division before, he's ex-military."

"That could apply to about ninety percent of people working here."

"You ever in?"

"Me? Are you kidding? Do I look like I was in the military?"

"Uh, no. Prison, maybe."

Now that's the most accurate insight Charlie boy has had all day.

Sad for him, I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's right.

"All right, so you want me to help you find your bro."

"I do, yes."

"So what is it you want me to do?"

"Well, didn't you ever do things together?"

"Away from work? No. He's been to my house one time, after he got bopped on the head during the tornado."

"He was out during the tornado?"

"We were going to lunch. Shit, we weren't planning on being sideswiped."

"What were you going to lunch for with a tornado going on?"

"Hey, we got hungry. Same reason I'm sitting here with you."

"So you wouldn't know his girlfriend."

"Well, I know her. But not well."

Truth in that statement.

"I wish I knew how to check up on her. I know where her apartment is, she gave me her address, but I don't really know anything about her."

"Why are you so intent on cherchez la femme?" I mean, yeah, Julie might be all what she seems to be. But I'm kind of curious about this guy's motives.

"I guess...I'm not very trusting about women."

"Bad experience?"

"Just one."

"Uh-huh." Great. I probably have a stalker on my hands. Wonderful. Either that, or he's impotent.

Either way, brother Boyd was way cooler.

Might still be. I hope.

"So will you?" He looks at me like, please?

"Yeah, I'll try and see what I can find out."

"Do you know where I could get in touch with some of the other people he used to work with?"

"Nope." I don't. And even if I did, I wouldn't share with him.

Sorry, I just don't trust him.

I'm probably being way too harsh.

Better to be too harsh than to get fucked over.

There's enough people already willing to do that.
 

MICHAEL:

I'm busy again. I think we're between flu outbreaks, and everybody's trying to get caught up, it's a nuthouse in here.

Figures, on the day I really wanna call Kelly and tell her what's happening, I get in here and I got clients stacked up my ass. Debbie looks like somebody's gonna have to put her in a clean white coat and carry her away.

Only good thing about it is I'm too busy to be worrying over Dad so much.

Wonder if Martha gave it up and decided to go see him. He'd like that.

Not that you'd know it from the way he acts, but he would like her there. I bet the staff is ready to kill him.

Hope they haven't done it yet. Maybe they just gave him some heavy sedatives. That'd work.

I really ought to call Martha, I should call the hospital, I need to call Kelly.

It's after 3 and I haven't even gotten to the bathroom yet. Which I'm gonna have to do soon, or it's not gonna be pretty in here.

And I'm so tired. I slept like shit. If Kelly wasn't there, I wouldn't have slept at all.

Hope she'll stay tonight. Probably not. She gets off late on Monday, and she goes home and studies. Monday's the day we don't usually see each other.

I hate Mondays.

Maybe I'll go over and see Jo after work. I miss Jo. Maybe she's feeling better. She's supposed to be having her last chemo this week.

And I did give her a little something I hope helped her out.

Wonder if she knows about Dad yet.
 

Finally, a lull. I've got one student sitting there, I tell her, look, I have to head out for a minute, I'll be back.

She's cool about it, thank God. Most times they're not. Like if you don't give them attention every second, you're not doing your job.

First things first. How do you spell relief?

Next, I call the hospital, see how Dad's doing. They say he's okay. They hope he can go home tomorrow. And they sound like they really hope that.

I see Dad's up to his usual tricks.

I call the house next, but nobody answers. Maybe Martha went to see him. Maybe she went home. I don't know. She's a big girl, I'll let her worry about it.

I wanna call Kelly so bad, but I know if I get on the phone with her, I'm gonna end up talking to her for a long time, so I'll wait till later. Besides, Dr. Scully goes home before she does, so if I call her later, she can talk more easily. Dr. Scully doesn't mind people getting calls, but she doesn't like it if you live on the phone. And Kelly like wants her to think she's doing a real good job, so she's playing pretty straight.

Back to my halfwit. Actually, this girl isn't so bad. She's pleasant, and not too slow on the uptake. She's no Kelly, though.

We work through some algebra problems, she seems to be getting it. I mean, come on, it's basic algebra, how hard could it be?

But she's at least working it now.

She gets up around 4, she's like she has another class.

"Michael, would you like to meet me for coffee after my class?"

What?!

This is so weird. I mean, what a weird day. You'd think I'd gotten charming or something.

"Um, like, that's nice, but I'm engaged."

She looks kind of bummed. "They say all the good ones are taken, and I believe it. Well, bye, thanks!"

I mean, she's not my type. She's okay looking, okay brains, I guess, but man, she doesn't even come close to Kelly.

Still, sort of nice to know that I'm not the ugliest fuck on the planet. Or the stupidest.

That makes it go down a little easier, this day.
 

I've got people the rest of the day, which ends at 5, and I'm packing up and getting ready to go. There're just a couple girls at the psych tutoring table. I wanna know how you could need psych tutoring. I mean, yeah, you wanna read Freud's 'Interpretation of Dreams,' that's heavy reading, but basic psych? Come on, people, this is night of the living brain dead.

"That's the math tutor!" One little Oriental girl with a squeaky voice points at me.

"He's cute," her bud says to her.

"I'd go out with him in a second."

"I'd sleep with him in a second."

This is just too, too, too weird.

Michael Frohike, honor student and sex god.

Who'd have thought?
 

MARTHA:

Jo worked part of the day-she's been maintaining as much of a schedule as she can in her current condition.

She doesn't look like Jo when I met her, but on the whole, she's not doing too badly, considering she's on high-dose chemotherapy.

I call her and ask if she'd like some company, and she says, yes, sure. And sounds like she isn't just being polite.

Her hair has gotten so thin. It's only a matter of time before it's all gone.

I wonder if she plans to get a wig. I have friends who work Onco who have contacts for good wigmakers, if she's interested.

"You're looking pretty good, Jo."

"I don't feel too badly, thanks."

That's not a sentiment you tend to hear from chemo patients.

And she looked good at the wedding.

"If you don't mind my asking, how's your bloodwork?" We're both nurses-well, she was, but you don't forget your training.

"Well, it's improving. Not as much as I'd like, but improving. I'm going to do a round of rad therapy next."

I shudder. How can she be so calm about this?

"How's Melvin?" she asks.

"Mel is...in the hospital again."

"Oh, no." Her face drops, hard. "What happened?"

"Fortunately, we got him in in time. It was felt he had the beginnings of pericarditis. So far, he's responded well to the antibiotic therapy."

"That's good. Maybe I should drop by and see him tonight."

"No, that wouldn't be a good idea."

"Why not? I admit my hairstyle isn't the most becoming-" she's laughing, actually.

"It's not that. Mel...Mel has not been doing very well taking care of himself. He skips meds, he misses meals, he doesn't take his walks regularly."

"Why am I not surprised? That sounds like Melvin."

"Well, if he doesn't get back on track, he's going to be spending a lot more time being sick than he would like-or I would."

"I don't blame you," Jo says, shaking her head. "I love Melvin dearly, but let me tell you, to be involved with him romantically, you're a brave woman."

"I keep being told that."

"Melvin's a piece of work, that's for sure. This little quarantine-you wouldn't happen to be punishing him, by chance?" I can see the ghost of a diabolical grin on Jo's pale, gaunt face.

"Well, it wasn't my idea. It was my friend's."

"Even better."

"I don't know."

"Oh, I think this is good for him," her eyes, tired as they are and rimmed in red, are dancing. "Believe me, you shouldn't ever have to be put in the same position you were before. It's time he learned that what he does or doesn't do impacts people other than himself."

"He really is considerate, in most ways."

"Considerate? Martha, Melvin'd die for you. But that doesn't mean he'll look out for himself. He doesn't understand that part."

"He's going to have to."

"Yes, he is. I just cringe at what he'll be like when he comes home. He's going to be one unhappy person."

"Well, I'm taking him on a trip."

"You think that's a good idea? What does his cardiologist say?"

"I haven't talked to him, to tell the truth."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I booked a beach house, on the Carolina shore. I understand you've been there with him." I feel a momentary twinge of unwarranted jealousy. Even though there is nothing romantic between Mel and Jo, the fact that she got to go on vacation this year makes me a bit green around the eyes.

"Him, me and the kids. I had a terrific time. Very relaxing. I think it's a marvelous idea. Of course, you're going to have to convince him."

"I think I'm just going to pack the car while he's asleep, tell him to get in, and start driving."

She laughs. "You are well-prepared for this man, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I'm so unsure of what to do."

"Well, do what you think is right. I think getting him out of town will do wonders for him. That's my opinion, both as a nurse and a friend."

"Well, when he's here, he frets about work, and about everyone, and I'd like to just get him away from that for a few days, so he can get his strength back."

"Well, he loves the shore down there. I think you'll have a wonderful trip. And Martha, I'm glad you're not nursing him this time. I think it's too much for one person to have to deal with."

"That's what my friend says. No, on this trip, I'm going strictly as-as-"

"As a lover." Jo finishes this off, very matter of fact.

I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

I'm saved by the bell. Her doorbell chimes, a familiar eight-bell melody.

"I'll get it," I say, but she's already worked herself out of the chair and towards the door.

"Walter, come in," I hear her say, and into the living room walks a tall, balding man that I recognize from the brunch and the wedding. "Walter, do you remember Martha?"

"I do. How are you?" He leans over to shake my hand.

"Melvin's in the hospital again," Jo tells Walter.

"What'd the fool do this time?"

"Oh, you know, just being Melvin. Neglecting himself totally."

"Well, should we stop by and see him?"

Jo shakes her head. "Seems that Mel is being placed in solitary, so as to teach him not to be so neglectful of his own well being. I think it's a good idea myself."

He smiles at her. "I always figured you for a cruel woman, Jo." He laughs, and so does she.

"I had nothing to do with it." She giggles slightly.

"I should be going," I say, rising up. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Jo."

"You don't need to take off yet," Walter protests. "We're going for dinner. Stick around, come with us."

"Actually, I'm on shift in a few hours. I'm going to try and head home for some sleep."

"Let me know when Melvin gets out," Jo calls to me as I leave. "And come by again, anytime."

"Thank you."

I'm curious as to what has accounted for her well-being. She's got some energy, although less than usual. She's eating. Her spirits are good.

I'd like to know what drugs she's on. I could use some myself at times.
 

FROHIKE:

If I have to bathe myself in ice water, I'm getting out of here tomorrow. I can't stand this.

No company, no nice nursing care...this is murder.

I'm about to flip on the news when I hear a knock on my door.

"Frohike?" A familiar, East-Coast voice...

Oh God no.

"I'm not supposed to have visitors," I tell Mulder, flipping on the TV.

"I heard, but for some reason, I got special dispensation." He grins, cruelly.

"Don't you have a wife to go home to?"

"Oh, I'll get there soon. Scully knows I'm here. Anyway, Frohike, figured you'd be lonely, so I decided I'd come and cheer you up."

I really am in hell.

END OF PART 7