From: Erynn Date: 3 Nov 2003 16:35:47 -0800 Subject: [all-xf] Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops 1/20 by Sally & Source: atxc It's been close to 3 years since our last fic. Life intervened. Illness, surgeries, divorce, and other bad craziness flowed. But here, undaunted, is the new story in the Things Undone series. Our apologies for it taking so bloody long! Hope you'll enjoy! Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 01 of 20 Authors: Erynn and Sally Email: inisglas@seanet.com, sallyredhead@surfcity.net Website: http://gadsogunmen.tripod.com/index.html Archive: LGM Fanfic Bunker, Ephemeral, Gossamer, LGM, FLO, all others ask. Rated: R for grownup stuff Spoilers: We assume you've seen the X Files series. Teensy bits from the Gunmen series may be mentioned in passing. Disclaimers: We don't own these guys, but if we did, Langly'd get laid! They belong to the Usual Suspects: Carter, Morgan & Wong, John Gillnitz, Fox, 1013, and the actors who portray them. Category: Gunmen romance, angst, adventure, humor Keywords: Lone Gunmen Summary: Black ops, assassins and 'rents, oh my! Author note: Awesome Beta by Kickin' Kateswan and Mags the Magnificent. Consulting physicist: our beloved bi-boy Sean. Stories in the Things Undone series: TU 1: Things Undone by Erynn TU 2: Mending the Tears, by Sally TU 3: To Carry On, by Erynn TU 4: Alchemy of the Word, by Erynn and Sally TU 5: Snipe Hunt, by Erynn and Sally TU 6: Road Trip, by Erynn and Sally If you haven't read them, you'll be confused. Go do it! ______ "Someone who keeps aloof from suffering is not a lover" ~~Sanai, translated by Coleman Barks -- The Hand of Poetry~~ ______ MONDAY, JUNE 26, 2000 DEBORAH'S STUDIO, GEORGETOWN 3:30 AM LANGLY: "Ringo, honey, I have to go." Well, that's what I dreamed I heard. "Mmm... uhmuh?" What time is it, anyway? Feels like it's the middle of the night. There's a soft hand shaking my shoulder. "Sweetie, I have to go to work." "Right now? We just went to bed!" "That was hours ago. It's 3:30, and I'm on at 4." "3:30?" Okay time to go to bed, but to get up? Oh, man, I have no clue how she does it, but she does it all the time. I mean, I'm tired just being on her schedule, and I can always go back to the house and crash. "Um, like, when you gonna get off again?" "Your guess is as good as mine," Deb says. Ah the joys of dating a doctor. Is it worth the aggravation? Oh yeah. Deb's so awesome I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming her. But I'd rather be dreaming right now than dealing with her schedule. "Lights, Ringo." She turns on the light as I squinch my eyes closed. "C'mon, babe. Tell you what. Drive me to work and you can have my car today." "You sure?" Sounds a hell of a lot better than walking or taking the Metro. Usually I drive the van to Deb's, but right now it's spewing oil all over the place, so I'm sorta stuck. "It's no problem, babe. It's not like I'm going very far during my shift." That could be forever. Sometimes she ends up being there two or three days straight. I won't have much to do except work on those files Byers found and downloaded last week. Weird shit, some sorta experimental aircraft or UFO information that we gotta dig into more. "Remember, I'm gonna be on at least 24, since I had to bargain hard to get Wednesday off." "Wednesday?" "Your birthday, you idiot!" She laughs at me. Okay, so I deserved that one. "Oh... um... senility setting in." "It never ceases to amaze me how men can forget all the important things," she giggles. "C'mon, babe, let's hit the road." We stop at 7-11, so she can have the first of her god-knows-how-many caffeine fixes of the day. I could go for some, but then I wouldn't get back to sleep for a while... oh fuck it. When in doubt, do the caffeine. We're both pretty sleepy still. Deb says she's used to it, that she's almost forgotten what it's like to be awake. I'm starting to understand, but that doesn't mean she doesn't give one hell of a kiss goodbye when it's time to go. Tired as I am, I can still appreciate how good she makes me feel. Course, I'd like it better if we were home kissing, and then... but hey, she's gotta work. It's important. She's real focused and if I can't support her in that, I got no business being with her. "I'll call you when I'm off," she says. "Make sure you're really off, okay?" We've got this rule that she can't call and say she's done until she's actually out the door and headed home. If she's still inside the hospital, she's fair game, and I've already seen what happens with that. She giggles. "I will, babe." She winks at me before kissing me one last time. "Drive careful. I worry about my car, y'know." She giggles again. Deb is such a gigglepuss. Frohike says it drives him nuts, but I love it. "Have fun sloggin' through people's guts," I tease her. She laughs, gives me one more kiss, and dashes off; only got a couple minutes before she has be on the clock. Man, think about it, at least 24 hours of digging your hands in people's innards. Ewww. Well, at least I have the car. I wouldn't want to be walking home at this hour. It's not what you see, it's what you don't that's creepy. I head south so I can get back home. CRACK! What the fuck? Sounds like somebody threw a rock through the window. Shit. I pull over and look at the damage. It's the rear passenger window, but that was no rock. Rocks usually shatter the glass into a bunch of pieces. This is a small round hole, and the glass is veined. Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck is someone shooting at Deb's car for? I mean, it's an Escort, for Christ's sake. *Nobody* kills for an Escort. I pull into a 7-11 parking lot; they're lit up, and open 24 hours a day. I start feeling a little lightheaded 'cause I forgot to breathe there for a while. Well, your car gets shot at, you figure, what's a little thing like breathing? What the fuck is someone going after Deb for? I mean, she's been here two weeks. Yeah, she had some patients die on her, but those, they sounded like they were gone before she even got her hands in them. Oh, man, she'll freak when she finds out. But I'm not gonna tell her. She's on 24, which usually means she's on longer. That gives me plenty of time to fix the glass. She'll never have to know. While that's happening, I can figure out who the fuck is after her. Maybe I should tell her; maybe I oughta call her, tell her what's going on. Byers is always on about the honesty thing with the people we care about. What if somebody's got something out for her? Problem is, I don't want to make her paranoid. I got enough paranoia for both of us. Maybe it's just a driveby. That would really suck, but least then it's just somebody with an attitude problem, not a grudge. People with grudges scare the shit out of me. We know way too many people with grudges, and some of them have 'em against us. What's even worse is, they have the means to act on them. This is very uncool... and then it hits me. I'm such a fucking dork: that bullet wasn't for Deb at all, maybe it was meant for me -- maybe they went after her to get to us. Well, they succeeded. Now to find out who the fuck it is and what they want. Byers and Frohike are crashed when I get in. That figures. When I need them, they decide it's time to dance with the sandman. Why couldn't they have insomnia tonight? Any other night of the week and one of them would have been up doing something. Meanwhile, my major debate is, what the hell do I tell Deb? I don't know. Is someone after her or me? The driveby thing looks remote. Carjackers go for somebody who looks like they got money, shoot up a Benz or something. What can I do to keep her safe? So far she's been a real sport -- all the shit that went down in April didn't scare her off, but somebody coming after her? Maybe Pennsylvania in winter doesn't look so bad after all. It's a hell of a lot less creepy than DC any time of the year. I can't sleep, and I don't even know where to start making an enemies list since we've got so many, so I turn on the tube; 500 channels of nothing on. I flip to Technology Tonight, because it's a hair more exciting than the Weather Channel. Maybe it'll help me calm down. A beer might help too. I go to the kitchen, reminding myself to breathe, and pop a longneck. At least it's quiet; nobody's shooting at me here. When the phone rings, I about hit the ceiling. Fuck! Who the hell'd be calling us this hour? Oh man, I don't like this. Mulder, if your ass is in trouble again, you deal with it. "H'lo?" I don't much like answering the phone, but I put the tape on like always. "May I speak with Richard Langly, please?" Some woman I don't recognize. I look at the Caller ID, and it looks like a GWU number, but it's not Deb's. And she's using my legal name -- that's never good. "Uh, yeah, that'd be me." "You're listed as the local emergency contact for Dr. Deborah SaintJohn?" "Uh, yeah, why?" Suddenly, I'm freezing, even though it's 88 degrees in here. "She okay?" "We had a shooter come in. She was injured in the incident. She's okay, but it looks like a bullet punctured her lung..." "She's got a ripped up lung and you're saying she's okay?!" I'm shrieking and I don't care who hears me. God no, not my Deb. Oh man, shit, I should have called her, I should have told her. This is so my fault. "When can you get here?" the lady asks me. "Uh, like, right now!" "Her parents are in New Orleans. Should we contact them?" I don't even know them. The room's starting to spin, and the only reason I don't hit the ground face down is 'cause Frohike grabs my arm, and he's asking what the hell's going on. "I don't know yet," I bellow. "Mr. Langly?" the chick on the phone asks. "Uh, no. I'll do it." I won't, but the hospital doesn't have to know that. I mean, how will her folks feel about their kid getting shot up? I mean, like, mine wouldn't care. They'd probably figure I did something to deserve it, but Deb's folks, they'd be all 'see what you get hanging out with that loser'... assuming she told them what I do. I bet she didn't. She's tight with them, but there's always stuff you don't say. She doesn't tell them about all the cases she gets, for instance; she says they'd freak. Well, I bet they'd really freak if they knew what was going on with her now. "I gotta go, man," I tell Frohike, and then I notice Byers is there, too. "It's Deb, she's all messed up." "What happened?" Byers asks. I snap at him. "Some fucker came and shot her up, right after they shot out her car window." "Put some pants on, Frohike. There's already enough violence in the world," Byers says. Good call. Really, that's too much information. "Since when did you become such an asshole?" Frohike snarls back. "Just give us a minute, Blondie." "I don't have a minute!" I shriek. Oh God, please, don't let Deb die, pleasepleaseplease. We all jump in the Chrysler, and Frohike decides to be Mario Andretti, but he's still going way too slow. Byers keeps telling me to take it easy, breathe -- yeah, sure. Like I could breathe right now. I've got to calm down. Next thing I know, I'll be having an asthma attack, and he knows it. "Her car got shot up?" Byers asks as he hands me an inhaler. I take a quick puff, then cough and try to catch my breath. "I drove it home. She said I could take it if I picked her up later. I was just leaving GWU and BAM!" I slam my fist against my other hand and Byers hits the back seat flat. We've been shot at too many times, I guess. "It's parked on the street." There's no room in the driveway for anything but the van and Frohike's gunboat. "It could have been a driveby." I think Byers is trying to make me feel better. It's not working. "Doesn't sound like it." Frohike, unlike Byers, isn't still an optimist at heart. "If they went for the car, then for her, it's probably someone really mad at her." "Or at us." I mumble. "Man, if this has something to do with me, I'm gonna kill myself." "Just find out how she is. We'll worry about everything else later. Go on, I'll meet you," Fro says. Frohike drops me and Byers at the ER entrance, then goes to park. I just about cream the security guard. I don't really come here much, and the only time I was here for very long was one slow night. Deb said come on over, we can do the wild thing in the on call room. We did, and it was kind of cool. But she didn't tell me we'd have company. Nobody caught us in flagrante delicto, but we'd just finished and if we smoked it'd be the time you'd have a cigarette. So this other resident walks in, sees us in bed, says 'hi,' and walks out like nothing's out of the ordinary. I'm freaking, but Deb didn't think it was big deal. It's a common room. That explained the sofa and two sets of bunk beds. There's a TV in there too, and lots of empties. Not unlike my room. You'd think it'd be quiet this time of morning, but there was a shooting here, so they got cops and media and people screaming all over the place. I gotta just about kill someone to get information about Deb. The person who called me doesn't work down here and the chick I talk to doesn't know jack about my being Deb's emergency contact, and she ain't gonna give me shit 'til she finds out if I'm legit. Byers is with me, though, and lucky for me, Mr. Suit knows how to massage the system. It's instinct for him. I'm just praying I can see her, and fast, but of course, I can't. They dragged her off to surgery. Somebody says Gary Waldinger's doing it, her advisor. I've never met him. All I know is, he better be good, and he better do it right, or I'll kill him myself. I'm about to start shrieking but Byers taps my arm and says ranting about killing people is a lousy idea right now. He's right, of course. Asshole. BYERS: The hospital staff tell us where to wait while Deborah's in surgery. ESPN is on, but none of us are paying any attention. I'm trying my best to calm Langly, but this hits too close to home; my memories of Sari being taken away for surgery the last time someone shot at us still make me shudder. "She'll be all right," I assure him. I say it to reassure myself as well. "We've had enough experience with the staff here to know that." Langly is about to snap at me again, but Frohike intervenes. "Did you call her parents?" Mel demands. He's not trying to be harsh, but it needs to happen soon. Langly gives him a frantic look of death. "What, do I look like an idiot? You think I'm gonna call 'em and say, 'hey, I'm your daughter's boyfriend and oh, by the way, she took a bullet tonight?' That's gonna go over good!" "You should call them, Langly," I tell him softly. "She's close to them; they need to know." "They've got a right to know," Frohike adds. "They're gonna freak!" Langly's shaking. "Of course they are, but that's no excuse not to call them," I tell him, "this is a serious matter. It would be like not calling us if you got hurt." Ringo's not ready to deal with logic yet. "They're gonna hate me!" "If they have an ounce of taste and sense, yes," Frohike says, "but you still have to call them." "Oh man. They are so gonna hate me." He's got his face in his hands and shakes his head. "Langly, I just told you, they'll hate you anyway. What do you have to lose?" Frohike says. Langly pauses. "Uh... my self-respect?" "That and $3.25'll get you a mocha," Frohike says to me. "As long as you don't have to pay for the self-respect." He's angry, and shouts, "I hate you guys! My girl got shot, I'm freaking, you want me to call her folks, and then you go and diss me? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" I look at him, trying to be supportive. His relationship with Deborah is just starting in earnest, and things are still developing between them. If Deborah survives, he may lose her anyway. "We're your friends, Ringo." He looks like he hates me for saying it, but I know he'd be lost if we weren't here for him. We sit down on the waiting room couch and he sits between us, sulking viciously. I wish I knew what to say, how to calm him, reassure him, let him know how much we both care. GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER 5:00 AM FROHIKE: I'm trying to stay calm and be supportive, reassuring. Byers and I are doing our best to be here for Langly. Even with us, he seems to feel it's important to maintain the swagger. But with Deborah seriously, potentially critically injured, his pretenses have worn down and nothing's left but his most basic elements. No wonder he's terrified. He's more exposed right now than he could ever be in a strip search. We've all had personal experience with said phenomenon, and it's not pretty. Byers is rubbing Langly's back with one hand, assuring him that Deborah is in the best hands, and that she couldn't have been in a better place when she went down than here. He's appealing to Ringo's logical side, a compassionate older brother. My role, as usual, is to be Mommy. For some reason, they've adopted me as their parental unit. Maybe it's the fact that I'm so much older than they are -- 15 years older than Byers, 17 ahead of Langly -- but the fact is, I need to be their parent as much as they need it from me. I keep wondering how I'll manage when they don't need me anymore. I'll always need them. "Byers, I think we could use some coffee." I'm hinting that I need to talk to Ringo alone. Luckily, density is not one of Byers' personal traits. He nods and tells Langly he'll be back shortly. Langly nods, barely raising his eyes. "Hey buddy," I tell him, "it's okay. You're having a reasonable response to an unreasonable situation." But as usual, I've misfired; rather than calming him down, I've elevated him to a brand new level of totally pissed off. He gets up and heads for the washroom to scrub his face. I follow. "Frohike, do you mind?" he snaps irritably, but I know what he's really saying. We both speak Guy, and if he thinks he can fool me in that language, he's sorely mistaken. "Just making sure you're okay," I tell him, laying a hand on his arm. "Oh, do I look like I'm okay?" he explodes at me. His temper has once again overridden his resolve. "How the fuck you think I am, man? I mean, Deb comes here, she's barely here two weeks and she takes a bullet; how the hell do you think I'm doing?" "It was a rhetorical question." "Save it. And get the fuck out." "Forget it." "Oh yeah? You tell me what happened then." His voice is a mix of anger and resignation, bewilderment and pain. "I can't, buddy. But I can tell you, her boss is working on her. She's in a good place here, and..." I hesitate. He stares at me, his face eager, inquiring, confused. "Yeah?" "She loves you, man." His face displays the disbelieving awe of a small child. "You think so?" "Believe me, she does." There aren't many things in the universe I can swear to, but this is definitely one of them. "I mean, there's no accounting for taste." "Okay, okay. I know I'm a dick, you don't need to drive it home, Doohickey!" Point taken. "Langly," I finally say, "you know, if we don't get out there soon, Byers is gonna be really pissed that he spent ten bucks on coffee and no one's there to drink it." "Cheap bastard." I think the boy will survive. I just hope his girl does. End part 01 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 02 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "That is the fearful part of having been near death. One knows how easy it is to die. The barriers that are up for everybody else are down for you, and you've only to slip through." ~~Katherine Mansfield -- The Letters of Katherine Mansfield~~ ______ MONDAY, JUNE 26, 2000 GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER 5:33 AM BYERS: I have to get away for a few minutes. The tension here is suffocating me, and though I'm very concerned about Langly and Deborah, right now the most pressing thing on my mind is that if someone's shot Deborah to get to us, are they going to be gunning for Sari as well? Sari isn't usually up this early, but she'll be going into the office today and should be up in about an hour and a half anyway. I desperately need to call her before she gets out the door, and not over my mobile phone that Frohike keeps swearing he's secured. I've got the pocket scrambler and security system with me, and with it, I can make a secure call from any payphone in the place. I dial; her phone rings five or six times, and with each unanswered ring, my anxiety grows. What if someone's already gotten to her? Finally though, she answers, groggy, her voice sleep-muffled. "Whoever this is, it better be good," she grumbles, yawning. My relief is immense. "Sari, it's John." She groans. "It's... uhhh..." I can hear her grope for her glasses "...5:30 in the morning, John. You never call at this hour. What's wrong?" She's still not quite awake. I wish I didn't have to wake her with news like this. "Deborah was shot about an hour and a half ago." Her voice is suddenly sharp and alert. "Deborah's been shot? Is she alive? How badly is she hurt? How did it happen?" I can hear her breath quicken. "Is anyone else hurt?" "It happened here at GWU, not long after someone shot out the window of her car. We don't know yet how badly she's hurt, but she's alive and in surgery. They said she had a punctured lung. No one else is hurt." I'm jittery thinking about it, but nobody needs to watch me freaking out. "How's Ringo holding up?" I should have known that would be her next question. I sigh. "He's badly shaken by the whole incident. So am I. Mel is too, but he's doing pretty well. Better than me and Langly, at any rate." "Just keep breathing, John, you'll be okay. But why would someone shoot Deborah?" Sari asks, her voice cautious. Perhaps she suspects, as we do, that this had something to do with our work. "I... we... we think someone shot her to get to us, but we don't know why. Not yet, anyway." I hear her sigh. "Oh Gods, why did I know you were going to say that? You don't know that for a fact John -- not that it hurts to be cautious. Look, I'll be down as soon as I'm dressed and running on more than one brain cell." That wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. It may not be safe for her to leave her apartment. I have no idea where the shooter is right now. "Sari, wait! How do we know that whoever shot at her won't be waiting for you, too?" She's silent for a moment. I can feel the tension from her end of the line. "We don't, John. I'll be careful." "No, Sari, I can't let you drive down here." Not by herself anyway. "Let me come and get you in Mel's car." It's not my favorite vehicle to drive, but I can manage it. I can hear a quiet moan from her. "Every minute that thing spends on the road brings us one minute closer to global ecological collapse." That may be true, but I'd rather go get her in Frohike's gunboat than have her risk her life alone. "It'll be easier if I just drive down. You know it's not that far." She does live near the university, but I don't want her to take the risk. "Please, Sari, just wait for me. I'll be there soon." She sighs, resigned. I think she knows I'm not giving in on this one. We're both stubborn people and, this time at least, I win. "All right. I'll be ready when you get here." "Are you sure you want to bring her here, when we don't know who's gunning for us?" Frohike asks. "It was either that, or she was going to drive herself. We don't know that whoever shot Deborah was working alone, or where the shooter is, and I'm not willing to risk Sari getting shot with no one around to help her." "Oh, yeah, Byers, that's brilliant," Langly says. "Like what if they shot both of you? Where the hell would we be then? I mean, we 'd have to do our own QuickBooks!" Despite everything, I manage a chuckle. "We'll be fine, Langly," I assure him. "You know that I generally prefer to keep my head down. Frohike, keys?" I hold out my hand. Mel proffers them to me wordlessly, then, as I turn away, he says, "Be careful. You two come back in one piece." Believe me, Mel, that's the plan. Of course, as Burns -- Robert, not George -- said, 'the best laid plan...' LANGLY: We wait. We wait some more. I don't wait good. I end up making a complete ass of myself that way. That's not what Deb needs right now; she needs me to be strong. Now there 's a joke. I 'm so pathetic it's way beyond funny. Byers got back with Sari about an hour ago. They're sitting next to each other, talking real quiet. We're all drinking coffee, except Sari has tea. I'm about to be coffee'd out and the day's just starting. Frohike is trying to distract me, talking about next week's headlines. I mean, I know why he's doing it, but I just can't get into that space. Dylan said it in 'Wonder Boys' -- 'I used to care, but things have changed.' Damn straight they have. All I can think of is Deb and how lucky I am. Man, she's the real thing, I swear. I think about stuff with her like I never did before. I used to just think about getting laid and all. Well, I still think about getting laid, but it's always with Deb, and it's not just about sex, it's the little stuff that I never thought about before. Like how nice her shoulders are. She hates 'em, says they're too wide. Why doesn't she understand how nice it feels when I rub them? How soft her skin is? How good she smells? It's like Sari and that sandalwood oil she always wears -- I mean, you kinda have to be there right next to her to smell it, but it's always there. It's totally a Sari thing; she wouldn't be Sari without it. Deb doesn't use perfume or anything; she can't, doing what she does, but she's still got her own unique Deb-smell, and I love it; I love everything about her. Why haven't we heard anything yet? It's been three hours now. "Something's bad, man. Like why aren't they saying anything?" "Langly," Byers is being Mr. Rational, which can be a good thing, but it gets on my nerves, "if the bullet penetrated her lung, you know it's going to be a lengthy procedure. She tells you about her work." Sari nods and holds Byers' hand, silent. Doesn't she have to go to work soon or something? "Yeah, but she saves the gory details for her doctor pals." We talk about her work, but she doesn't get down and dirty with me. You know, blood and guts, it can bother some people. "Buddy, you need to get in touch with her parents," Frohike reminds me. I wince. I wasn't cut out for this stuff. Jesus. It'd be easier not to tell them. What're they gonna do, come running up to DC to be with her? Okay, yeah, probably. She's tight with them and her sister. Not me. I haven't talked to my folks in ages. But if I do try to talk to her people, what am I supposed to say? 'Hi, Mr. and Mrs. SaintJohn, guess what? Your little girl just got shot in the lung, and there's a good chance she got messed up 'cause of me.' Somehow, I don't think that'd go over real well. This is the last thing in the world I wanna do, but I'll do it -- for her. Frohike hands me his cell phone, the one he modified so the signal is secure. Me and Byers have our own, but mine's at home. I step out in the hall, 'cause I really need to be alone to do this. I already made an ass of myself in front of people once tonight. I'd like to do the repeat performance without an audience. I hesitate. Like, for one thing, I don't know her folks' number. I hate calling 411. I'm trying to remember where she said she was from. Covington? Something like that? Is there such a place there? I give it a shot. I think she said her dad's name was Gerard. I try that. Maybe they're unlisted and I won't have to do it. "To connect at no charge, press one," the canned voice says. I hit the button. Shit. I hope her mom picks up. Moms are easier, I think. So of course a guy picks up, and since the only people who live there are her mom and dad, it's gotta be dad. I know she's told 'em about me, but I don't know what or how much. "Hello?" He sounds kind of grumpy, like he hasn't had his first cup of coffee yet. I keep forgetting it's one hour earlier there, only 6 am right now. "Um... uh... Mr. SaintJohn?" Wow, sterling delivery. My specialty. "Yes?" He's getting annoyed; I can tell. "I'll tell you right now, I 'm not buying anything, so you can either speak up or take your business elsewhere." "Um, like, well, you don't know me but Deb's told you about me I think..." God, that's great, Langly. Keep it up and you'll be a dead man by sundown. "Who is this?" He's not sounding any happier. "Rin... uh... Richard Langly." "Her boyfriend, Richard Langly?" "Uh-huh." Boy, I'm doing great here. "Yes?" Not a real friendly guy, wonder why. "Um, like, I'm calling... I... Deb... Deb got hurt." The last three words come out in a rush, half drowned. I gotta work on my delivery. Least I don't have to say it again. "Deborah's hurt? How badly? Is she all right? How did it happen?" Oh man, he's shook up big time. I don't blame him. So am I. "Um, she, like, got shot at work." "Deborah? Shot? I told her not to work in DC, what with all the crazies up there. You did say shot, didn't you?" "Uh, yeah... y'know, with a gun." Will someone just put me out of my misery now? "At work." "Oh, my God. Sarah Jane!" That's Deb's mom's name. Well, I just ruined his day, now I get to ruin hers. "Deborah's been hurt?" I can hear her mom shriek behind him. Oh man. He gets back on. "Where is she?" My voice is all shaky. "In surgery." "How's she doing?" "Uh... I don't know yet... we haven't heard anything." "Well, find out!" he snarls. "Hold on." I run back inside. There's this tall chick standing there talking to the guys and Sari; maybe she knows something. I cover the phone. "You here about Deb?" I'm ready to choke her for some 411. Then I recognize her as one of the people Deb works with, but I can't remember her name. "This is Dr. Barbara McGee," Frohike says. "I remember you, how're you doing, Ringo?" Well, she's way ahead of me if she can remember my name. "How's Deb?" Christ, doesn't even sound like me. "She's holding her own, critical but stable." I uncover the phone again. "Uh, she's critical but stable, they say." "Where can you be reached?" her dad asks. I give him the number on Frohike's phone, and the number at the office, just in case. "We'll call when we have our flight arranged," he says -- end of conversation. Well, what was I expecting, a thank you or something? Barbara's a pretty cool chick. She's a year ahead of Deb, they work together a lot, and she's calm and all, so I feel a little less wrecked. "Can I see her?" I know I'm whining, but I don't care. She looks at the guys and Sari, then back at me. "Not yet. About two hours. They'll let you know. Did anyone call her parents?" I wave the phone at her. "Just did. They're gonna call back and tell us when they're coming up." "Oh, good, she'll like that. I gotta go, see you all later." Barbara takes off. Sari looks over to Byers. "John, I'm going to have to decide soon whether I'm going to work this morning or not." She's gotta be in about 8 am. Then she comes over and puts her arms around me. It feels real good, but I sure wish she was Deb. "Ringo, how are you holding up?" I can hear in her voice that she's worried about both of us, Deb and me. But I'm so not in the mood. "Would everybody just stop asking me that already?!" SARI: Gods, poor Ringo. He's so shaken, and very understandably so. All of us are, really. John's pacing, Mel looks like he's eaten a week's worth of things that don't agree with him, and I'm still a bit nervous myself, if you don't mind understatements. I knew when I met these men that this was what it was going to be like, but it doesn't soften the reality to be standing here with Ringo snapping at me. "It's okay," I tell him. "She'll be fine. She's in very good hands." "That's what they say at the blackjack tables," he shoots back. I think we might do well to leave him be. Obviously, trying to talk to him is only elevating his stress levels. "Richard Langly?" A tall balding man with glasses, dressed in scrubs, enters the room. "Uh, that'd be me," Ringo offers, looking as if he's about to be knifed. The man offers his hand, and Ringo takes it. "I'm Gary Waldinger, Deborah's advisor." The doctor's accent marks him as a Brooklyn native, rare outside the region these days. "Is she okay? Where is she? When can I see her?" Ringo spits the rapid-fire questions, then holds his breath waiting for answers. His face is tight with concern and fear. I'm holding my own breath, praying for no bad news. Dr. Waldinger's a no-nonsense kind of guy. "Messy but holding her own." Not big on the comfort factor, either. "When you say messy, what do you mean?" Mel narrows his eyes, hands on hips, wanting more information. John stands quietly, fidgeting, with his arms crossed over his chest. "She took three hits. Two of them entered her lung, one her abdominal cavity. The lung shots made the worst mess, but she did very well in surgery. She did lose a lot of blood, so you'll have to expect her to be very weak for a while. She'll probably be with us for about a week. You contact her folks?" We all release our held breath, holding to the earliest definition of 'conspiracy' -- to breathe together. "Yeah. I did. They haven't called back yet with their flight information, though." Ringo's still shuffling his feet nervously. Dr. Waldinger nods. "Good." "She's gonna make it, isn't she?" Poor Ringo sounds so small right now, so scared and exhausted. I wish I could find a way to talk him into resting, or at least just getting something to eat. He really needs that right now. Maybe there's some chicken noodle soup in the vending machine. "It looks promising," the doctor says. "Can't I see her now?" Ringo's whining, but I don't blame him. I would be too, if it were John, or my sister, or anyone else I cared for that much lying in there. Waldinger groans. I can see he's worn and stressed by the night's chaos. "No. Not yet. I'll catch up with you later." He hurries from the room before Ringo can give him any more of the five year old treatment. Ringo shouts, "I gotta see her!" and starts after him, so I rush over and put my arms around him again before he can get to the door. He's shaking hard and sweating. "Ringo, you'll see her soon. She's doing all right. Hold on to that." "You try it sometime, then tell me how easy it is to hold on." End part 02 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 03 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "Overland the winds of change consume the land, ... Omen-signs in the shapes of things to come." ~~Dead Can Dance -- Severance~~ ______ MONDAY, JUNE 26, 2000 GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER 8:30 AM LANGLY: Finally, Deb's buddy Barbara comes back and says she's in a room, I can go see her now. I've been waiting for this, so why the hell am I so scared? "She's going to have a breathing tube, a chest tube, and a catheter. Basically, if there's an orifice, it's got a tube, and in the case of the chest tube, we made our own hole." Barbara sounds way too cheerful, but she always does. Deb swears she's never in a bad mood, or if she is, nobody knows about it. "I'm just going to run in and see how she's doing, but I've got another surgery I need to start in half an hour, so I'm not staying." I follow her like a duckling, and Frohike, Byers and Sari all stay behind me. At least they're not asking me if I'm okay. If they haven't figured that one out by now, they're a lot denser than I ever guessed. Good thing Barbara warned me about how she'd look; I still almost faint. I barely recognize my Deb buried under all that shit. She's totally wired for sound. Her mouth's all covered up with the tape that's securing the tube she's breathing through. Oh God, I can't believe how white she is. She's always kinda pale; she's real light like me, but this is like all the blood got sucked out of her. Well, according to her boss, I guess it did. It makes sense, but it doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, I'm not feeling too good at all right now. I wish they'd all leave so I could lose it in peace, but I can't. I need to be here for Deb, gotta let her know everything's okay. "Can she hear me?" I ask Barbara. God, I've developed this pathetic little kid voice today. "Sure, but she probably won't remember anything for a while. She'll have a sense that you're here and everything's safe, though." Barbara pats my arm. "Listen, I need to bail. Ask the nurses if you're concerned about something; they'll be in here a lot for a while." I tiptoe over to where Deb is. I wanna touch her so bad, but I'm afraid to, like she'll break or something. That scares me, 'cause Deb's a tough girl. Something in me counts on that. Oh man, this is so not cool. "Uh, guys? Like, can I be alone with her a minute?" I'm not trying to be a bastard, I'm just trying to save myself from additional abject public humiliation. "Sure," Frohike shrugs. "We'll be in the hall if you need us," Byers says real soft. "Oh, and Ringo? She'll want this when they take the tape off her mouth." Sari tosses me a small container. Lip balm with beeswax. I laugh. "What's so funny?" Frohike demands. "You didn't know? Deb's a member of Lip Balm Addicts Anonymous." "There's a webpage for that?" Byers looks amazed. "Why not? They've even got webpages Frohike can enjoy." "Some of us have taste," Frohike retorts back. "I'm not even going there," Sari shakes her head. "Hey Sari. Sorry I went off on you earlier." I feel like such a dick. "Don't worry about it, Ringo. It's been a long day already." I creep back into Deb's room. Not like I'm going to wake her up or anything. She looks pretty out of it. "Hey Deb," I whisper to her. "It's me." Her eyelids flicker a bit. She mumbles something. "Sorry babe. Can't hear you." Duh. That's cause her mouth's got this tube stuck in it. She's sort of groping around by me. I take her hand, and even though she's like totally out of it, she holds mine and squeezes it real hard. Girl hasn't lost her grip, even if I'm losing mine. "Uh... like... I'm real sorry I got you into this mess. You shouldn't have a jerk like me in your life." Her eyes open a little more this time. I think she's glaring at me. She holds my hand harder. Like, she'll cut off my circulation type hard. "Y'know, like... oh, fuck it Deb. I love you. I need you." This time she doesn't glare at me. She just shuts her eyes and drifts back out. The joys of Demerol. Don't they have emotional Demerol? I wouldn't mind being numbed out at this point, not thinking about anything. Fuck it, it should be me in her place. And not because of the Demerol. She doesn't deserve this. She didn't do anything wrong. I made her think everything was cool despite what we do. I'm such a fucking loser. If she's smart, when she's conscious again, she'll tell me to get the hell away from her, preferably someplace like Mars. And I haven't even told her about the car yet. I lay my head down next to hers, listening to her try and breathe. She's all gurgly. Guess you would be if you took two hits in the lungs. I'm not sure how long it is, but some nurses come in and tell her to wake up and take a deep breath, and they pull the tape off her mouth. They yank the tube out, all this horrible crap comes out. Used to be, that'd be surefire gag for me. Instead, I just hold her while they do it. They stick oxygen in her nose instead. "Ringo." Her voice sounds like it went through a meat grinder. "Whatcha need, babe?" "Lip... balm." "You're in luck. Thank Sari for this one." I smear some on her lips. I get a smile. She takes my hand again. "Don't... go." "Hell, I'm not going anywhere." Although at some point I might have to take a leak. There's been an awful lot of coffee going down this morning. 'Til then, though, I'm here. She keeps going in and out, but she holds on to my hand. I wonder if she thinks I'm the one keeping her safe right now. Oh God, how wrong she'd be. And how hard I'm trying to be the man she expects me to be. GWU MEDICAL CENTER 11:22 AM FROHIKE: I don't know why, but for some reason I get all the glamour jobs. They frequently consist of dealing with unfriendly people, taking nasty falls, dangling from wires, tweaking tetchy circuits, and in some cases, all of the above. Once in a while, just for kicks, I get to take on something that could potentially kill me. Considering that, I shouldn't be bitching. This time, I'm just in charge of manning the phones. I say 'phones' plural because the office phones ring on my mobile line for the moment, ensuring that we will never miss a call, and be permanently chained by our electronic leash. Whoever said that technology would free us wasn't even close. I left Byers to watch Deborah, and now I need to contact Moose and Squirrel. We want them to know because they're our friends, but on a more selfish note, they might also be able to help provide protection for Langly's chickadee. I've talked to hospital security; they said that when something like this happens -- it scares the crap out of me knowing they actually need a protocol for this -- the hospital posts guards at the patient's door. I've seen hospital guards: walked right past them, in fact, toting obviously illegal devices. They miss way too much. One thing we have to be careful about is hanging out here. If someone's after our asses -- and I'm sure they are, if for no other reason than my highly developed sense of paranoia -- then we're vulnerable here. Langly should consider this if he's planning to take up residence. Thank God Sari dragged his ass out for lunch, at least. I try Mulder's cell next. All I get is the opening bars of 'Shaft' followed by him doing a bad imitation of Isaac Hayes. I hate leaving voice mail. For one thing, I have no idea why this occurred or who was involved, and let's face it, if someone wants to listen to voice mail messages, they can. I should know; I've been in Mulder's. How do you think I learned about Tiffany and Bambi and God knows how many other phone sex operators? I suspect that Mulder's proclivities are well known to the Bureau and shared by others inside as well, thus, they're ignored. There are plenty of other things they can pick on Mulder about anyway. He just begs for it. I tell him to call me as soon as he can get his dick out of whatever it's stuck in this time. My next attempt is the luscious Agent Scully. She picks up on the second ring, her bell-clear, authoritative "Scully" making a fiber optic field trip to my ear. "It's Frohike. Got a situation." "Frohike, I'm sorry, it's going to have to wait. I'll talk to you later." That's another thing that's not making me feel all warm and fuzzy. Scully won't cut you off unless the situation's bad. Now I get to worry about her, too. What if our shooter has them in the crosshairs as well? Shit. Shit shit shit. Who to call now? Well, there's the Big Man himself, Walter S. Skinner. Not that I call him for every little thing, but somehow I suspect he won't consider Langly's squeeze taking a bullet 'every little thing.' Reluctantly, I dial his office, actually hoping to get his voice mail, but instead, I get a gruff, almost unfriendly "Skinner." "Got a problem," I tell him. That's one of the things I like about Skinner; small talk isn't necessary. "Langly's chickadee went and got shot this morning over at GWU. She's finally out of surgery, and a real mess." "Frohike, can't you just call and invite me over for poker sometime like normal people do? Oh, wait. I said 'normal people.'" "You don't wanna come over for poker again. Byers ate you alive last time, and he can't play for shit." "I'll let that pass. But I will get my revenge. Now why the hell are you bothering me again?" "Langly's girlfriend took a bullet this morning. A few, in fact. And her car was shot at while Langly was driving it." "She lets Langly drive her car? I gave the girl more credit than that." "Listen, we need your help." He's silent for a moment. "And this is a Bureau matter because?" "I don't know if it is or not. I honestly don't know what to make of it." "With most people, I'd ask if there's anyone you pissed off recently, but with you guys, I'd be better off asking if there's anyone you haven't," he groans. "So what do you want me to do?" "A little help in the security department. I've seen the guards here and--" "Frohike, I can't just pull agents to do guard detail--" "I'm not asking for that, but maybe you have some... friends you could call?" "You say she's at GWU?" "She works here, on staff." He groans, more loudly this time, followed by brief silence. "I'll see what I can do. And I thought Mulder was going to be the death of me." "It's much appreciated, sir." "Don't say I never do anything for you." He hangs up abruptly. Having done that, I'm ready to throw down a few shots of my pals J&B, but they don't have liquor in the vending machines here, so I settle for the mud-colored excrescence they claim is coffee. I don't make it five feet before the phone rings. Maybe it's Moose or Squirrel calling back -- no, it's a 504 area code. "Hello." I try to sound casual, nonchalant. "Richard?" Male voice, southern, Caucasian. "As in Richard Langly?" I ask cautiously. "Yes. Is he there?" "Not at the moment. I'm his associate and friend. You are?" "Gerard SaintJohn." Oh shit, Deborah's father. Figures Blondie would be out at lunch with Sari while I get to deal with the parents. "Yes, Mr. SaintJohn?" Nothing like a little kissing up. "I can take a message for him." "We have a flight coming in tomorrow morning at 11:40 a.m. on Continental, Flight number 761. He said he would meet us." "He'll be there," I promise, as I scribble it on the back of a bar tab from God only knows when. I get a description of the parents, as well. If I have to throw Langly by his nads, he'll be there. "And you are?" "The name's Frohike." I almost add the traditional epithet 'punkass,' but something in his voice tells me not to fuck with him. Besides, his daughter's been critically injured. I don't need to make his life any worse than it already is. "I'm very sorry about your daughter. Deborah's a fine young lady." He's not interested in my opinion. "Tell Richard we'll see him tomorrow morning. And not to be late." I decide I'll cut him some slack. He's had a very, very bad day. And now, the most difficult call of all. I've debated making it at all, but I think I owe it to the lady. If this shooting was the result of our activities, then anyone in our small circle could be at risk. I've got to let her know, even at the risk of losing her, and that could happen. Mel Scarlett is a practical woman. She can take risk and be comfortable with it, but this is pushing the envelope. Reluctantly, I dial her work number. She's not at the desk, and the clerk offers to take a message. I think this is one time where it behooves me to wait until I can speak to her myself. It's not as if I don't have the minutes. We have a little 'arrangement' with the cellular carrier. Just because they don't know about it doesn't mean it's not in effect. Five minutes pass, then ten. Every once in a while the phone rings back to the desk and the clerk picks it up, asking if she can help me. I wish you could, lady. Believe me, if there was something you could do, I'd pay you all the money we made off FPS to do it, and feel it was money well spent. At twelve minutes, I'm still on hold, but when I finally hear a human voice, it's Mel. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. "Rough day?" I ask her gently. "They're all rough days." "I hate to tell you this, but it could get a lot rougher." "Mel, are you all right?" Her tone becomes concerned, gentle. "I'm fine, but... Deborah's been involved in an... an incident." "Oh my God, no. What happened? Is she all right?" "She was shot while she was suturing a patient this morning a little after 4 a.m. She's been through surgery. Hasn't come around yet. She's critical but stable and in a private room." She draws in a hard breath, but regains her composure. "Unfortunately, that happens in ER's. Even out here in the boonies, we've had it happen, although thankfully it's been a few years. Every once in a while, a patient goes crazy..." "We have reason to believe this was not a patient." She stops and there's a long silence. "Are you telling me what I think you are?" She's a perceptive woman. "We don't know for sure. All I'm saying is, watch your back. I won't blame you if you don't want to talk to me again." "Knock it off, Mel," she snorts. "This could be anything. Deborah may not even have been the target. Could've just been some nut mad at the world." Yeah, well, we seem to know an awful lot of them. "I just... I don't think I could stand anything happening to you." "Listen, I'm a tough old bird, and yes, I'll be careful, but I'm not going to run and hide just because you think you might have ticked someone off." I don't think, my lady, I know. "I'll email you later, okay?" "I'd like that." "And please, be careful." "Mel, you worry too much about what could happen. Right now, let's worry about Deborah. Call me later to let me know how she's doing." "I will." "Give my love to Deborah when she's awake. I'll talk to you soon." She clicks off without waiting to hear me say goodbye. I know she doesn't have time for anything more involved. I wonder if I'd feel more at ease if she just told me to get lost and never to bother her again. End chapter 3 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 04 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "When they think that they know the answers, people are difficult to guide. When they know that they don't know, people can find their own way." ~~Tao Te Ching, verse 65 -- Lao Tzu translated by Stephen Mitchell ~~ ______ MONDAY, JUNE 26, 2000 GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER DEBORAH'S ROOM 6:36 P.M. FROHIKE: The delectable Agent Scully has finally arrived, much to my relief. She called me back half an hour ago to find out what I had called her for this morning, and when I explained about Deborah being shot, she said she'd come. "I got here as soon as I could, guys" she says, slightly out of breath. "I've been out on a case all day." For what must be the first time in hours, Langly looks up from Deborah's face. "Hey, Scully." His voice is thin and tense. "How is she?" Scully asks, then takes the chart from the foot of Deborah's bed. "Still not talking much," Langly offers quietly. Checking the chart and the monitors, Scully does her own assessment. "She won't for a while, but the chart notes indicate that she's progressing well under the circumstances." She puts the chart back on its hook and pats Langly on the shoulder. Langly nods. "Mostly she's just asking for ice." What he doesn't mention is how many times she's woken asking for him, telling him she loves him. He tried to hide his response from me and Byers, but I caught him with a shimmering edge of tears in his eyes more than once after she'd said it. He turns back to Deborah and starts talking to her under his breath again. "That's certainly to be expected in the condition she's in. Don't worry, Langly. She'll be fine. I've talked to AD Skinner, and he's arranging for two agents to spend the night here with her." Scully looks pleased, and her breath has slowed to normal. "Who did he have to threaten?" I ask, letting a little of my relief show. The redhead of my dreams looks at me and shakes her head. It doesn't seem to matter what she does; every move she makes is beautiful. "Has this become a Bureau matter, then?" Byers asks. He's still got his brain in straight, even if Langly and I don't. "No, but half the stuff you three get mixed up in turns into a Bureau matter. I have no idea why I don't run for the hills whenever you call me." She gives me a faint frown, lightened by a twinkle in her gloriously blue eyes. "Bomb squad duty would be safer." "Because you love us?" I ask. She laughs. "Frohike, you're never going to give up, are you?" I'm about to reply when a large figure darkens the doorway. "Am I at the right party?" Skinner asks. He moves forward to join us. Langly just keeps whispering into Deborah's ear as he holds her hand, not even looking up. "Thank you for coming," Byers says, offering Skinner a hand. The two shake, and Skinner bends over Deborah for a closer look. "How is she?" His face is solemn and humorless. Scully replies, "Doing well, considering what she's been through. What time will Fuller and Chen be here?" "About half an hour," Skinner answers her. He turns to me. "Mulder says he'll be by later, and Scully and I will stay until the others show up. She'll be safe." We both know that what this really means is merely 'as safe as we can keep her.' We nod at each other, knowing full well that the protection offered by the FBI often falls terribly short of what's needed. I do have some faith in him; Skinner works hard to live up to his promises. "Now I want you stooges out of here. Let us do our work." Langly snaps alert. "No! I can't leave her!" "You know you can't stay here the whole time," I snap at him. "It's not safe for all of us to be in one place." Skinner glares at Langly. One useful thing about the man is his innate talent for intimidation. Even Langly's usual whiny stubbornness can't stand up for long against it. "You're leaving, Langly. Do you really expect my agents to put up with you all night?" Langly's face grows red with anger, but it has no impact on Skinner. "You need to get some sleep, Langly," Scully says to him, taking his hand gently. "You look like shit," Skinner says, reinforcing Scully's statement. "Go home before you fall asleep and drool on the poor woman." He jerks his thumb at the door and, reluctantly, Langly rises to his feet. Ringo plants a kiss on Deborah's cheek -- about the only exposed part of her body without something taped to it -- and leaves in a huff. Byers and I follow, after thanking the Fibbies again for their help. OFFICE OF THE LONE GUNMEN 8:02 P.M. FROHIKE: We made it back to the house without incident, thank God. Langly whined and snapped all the way back, the way a sleepy five year old does when he's exhausted and doesn't want to go to bed. I can't really blame him, but I do find it extremely annoying. If I were one of Skinner's agents, you couldn't pay me enough to sit in a room all night with blondie. I do it for free instead, stupid me. The things I do for my friends. I made dinner for everyone, reheated potato leek soup from Sari's recipe. Langly wan't hungry, but Byers threatened to feed him, so Langly grabbed his bowl and sat down in the den to eat while he watched TV. He's been there for almost twenty minutes now. At least he ate. Maybe the secret ingredient I put in his bowl will help him get some sleep tonight. I'm pretty sure his taste buds aren't working at the moment, so I doubt he noticed it much. "Langly, it's about time you hauled your ass up to bed," I shout to him from the dining room. "Fuck you, Doohickey," he spits, still perched on one of the big leather chairs in front of the TV. "You have to pick up Deborah's parents tomorrow morning. Insomnia isn't going to make you any prettier or more charming." "Yeah, like you're Miss America yourself." "Look, you go to bed now, or I'm gonna kick your nads up those two flights of stairs and tuck you in myself." "Oh God, anything but that." He groans and rises slowly to his feet. His movements betray his exhaustion and the slightly drugged state he's in. I may follow him up the stairs just to make sure he doesn't fall down on the way to his room. "Do you need help with anything, Langly?" Byers asks. We both know Langly will refuse. He always does. Langly just shakes his head wordlessly as he stumbles by. Byers goes back to reading the files he's been perusing over his bowl. After Langly disappears up the stairs, I turn to Byers. "We've still got a newspaper to turn out. What do you say we get to work?" He looks up from the files and nods. "Yeah. I could use something to take my mind off the day's events." He waves the stack of paper at me. "This stuff I pulled down from Dreamland is amazing. I think we should go with this for next week's issue. I have about half of my stuff done for this week already." I take a look at the proffered papers. "Hmmm. It does look interesting." That's is an understatement. He's got about two dozen printed files here from his hack last week, about various types of new stealth aircraft in development. Everything's here, from a radar-invisible coating to things that look like they could be modified alien tech. Mulder's really going to want to read the next issue if we can run this story. "You sure we have enough info to back it up? You're usually the stickler for accuracy." Byers nods. "Some of this mess is contradictory, to be sure, but if we leave out some of the more... unearthly details, it should be an excellent story. We still need to do more research to fill in the gaps, of course, but we've got a lot to work with here. And I definitely don't want to waste the effort that went into that hack. It was miserable to get into." Well, that's true; it was a bitch. Last week, Byers spent six straight days working his way past the various layers of security at a site he'd found at Area 51 -- Dreamland. He pulled down more files than we had any hope of finding before they finally noticed him in the system. He'd gotten out ahead of their trace, but it was close... oh Christ. I look up at him. "Byers, you think today's... incident has anything to do with these files?" He turns chalky pale. "Oh my God." "What if they knew it was us, and they're trying to keep us from going with this story?" "I got out clean, Mel, I swear." Byers' voice is shaky, his normal confidence in his technical ability distinctly missing. "I'm sure they didn't get a trace on me." Doubt haunts his eyes now, and his voice is a whisper. "Oh God, what if this is my fault?" Leave it to Byers to think the entire world is his personal fault. Unfortunately, in this case, it may very well have been his hack that called down this nasty attention on Deborah, and us. Both Sari and Mel wondered if it was possible that someone was genuinely just angry with Deborah, but I can feel it in my gut; this is something else. This is... retribution, I think. Whether it's for Byers hacking into Dreamland, or something else we've done to piss people off recently, I'm sure it's us they're really trying to get to. We checked Deborah out, just like we checked out Sari -- and Mel. She's grated on a few people's nerves in the past couple of years, but we couldn't find anyone she could possibly have pissed off enough to do this to her. Nothing she's said in the last month or so would indicate that she's done anything more recently, either. The whole thing creeps me out. "Whatever it is, Byers, we'll get through this. We always do." I put a hand on his shoulder, but he's really getting into the idea that he's personally called down the lightning. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt, Mel!" He shakes his head and puts his face in his hands. "Take it easy, Byers. We don't know it was this hack that did it. It could have been anything. For all we know, Monroe's decided to come out of hiding and try to nail us for screwing up his position." "Oh, God. Not him again. It can't be Monroe. Nobody's seen a trace of him since we busted him a couple months ago." He looks up at me. "I don't even want to think about what he might do if he came up from underground." His eyes widen and he slips into his deer in the headlights look. "Have you talked to Mel? Is she okay?" I nod. "Yeah, Byers, I talked to her this morning. She was fine. You talked to Sari on the phone an hour ago, and she was fine too. Right now, everybody's about as safe as they're going to be." "Sari should be here. The security's better." His voice is shaky, and I know he's getting a little panicky. I also know Sari will tell him she's not about to run and hide every time something gets hinky around us -- she'd spend the rest of her life in hiding. "Ease up, John. Sari's fine. We put in good security at her place. It stopped a burglar a couple of weeks ago, remember?" His alarm increases. "How do we know that wasn't related to something we've done?" he asks, his breath quickening. I shake my head. "No, this was the guy they arrested three days ago for a string of break-ins in her neighborhood. It had nothing to do with us, or with her. Now are you gonna take a deep breath and calm down, or do I have to get you a paper bag?" That stops him cold. He takes a deep breath and releases a little of the tension he's holding, but doesn't say anything. I can see the little wheels in his head still whirling at light speed. I swear that boy's going to give himself a heart attack before he's 40. "It's not always about us, you know." "No," he agrees in a whisper. "I suppose it isn't. All the same, I'd feel better if I knew Mel and Sari were safe." "They are. They're as safe as any of us." I don't mention that a horde of screaming death squad barbarians could come kicking the door in at any time and leave the three of us in bloody puddles on the floor. It doesn't matter how much security you have if your enemy is big enough. "Come on, Byers," I say with a sigh, "let's get some work done on the paper. It's not going to write itself." TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2000 OFFICE OF THE LONE GUNMEN 7:14 A.M. BYERS: For possibly the first time in history, Langly is up before 8 a.m. of his own accord. I don't see him, but I can hear the shower. Frohike's sitting here next to me. We're having coffee and perusing the headlines on a stack of papers, as we do every morning when we have the time. "At least he slept," Frohike growls. "More than I did. Should've kept some of those drugs for myself." "No kidding." I finally gave up trying and got up and went back to work. I couldn't sleep at all, since my mind was full of terrible visions of Sari being shot, or Mel, or any of the three of us. I know that insomnia will hit me later, and I'm not going to get a nap. My gut says we won't have that kind of day. There are already signs that it's going to be miserable. It's not even 8 a.m., and the temperature is already threatening to hit triple digits. "I hope he doesn't do anything stupid in front of Deborah's parents." Frohike shakes his head as he loosens his Hugh Hefner robe. He's not being insulting; it's how Frohike shows his concern. "What, like tell them what we really do?" I ask, sipping my fourth cup of coffee. It's threatening to send my central nervous system into overdrive. "No, even he's not that stupid. I just hope he can be... tactful." I understand. Langly has the social grace of a five year old. He hasn't mastered the art of the social white lie. While I can do it myself when the occasion demands, I do wonder why we as a society consider it one of the hallmarks of maturity. As I check obituaries, Langly stumbles into the work area, his glasses askew as he rubs his eyes. "Is there coffee?" he asks with a yawn. He still looks terrible, but it's an improvement over yesterday. "When isn't there coffee?" Frohike snaps. I study Ringo. His face looks more gaunt than usual, and the circles under his eyes are a deep purple, but what's really jarring is the shirt. It's the orange one. It's hideous, better for traffic control than impressing people. "Uh, Langly? I don't think... you probably don't want to meet Deborah's parents wearing that," I suggest. He jerks his head up. "What do you mean? It's got a collar, just like Sari said." "Well, yes, it does, but... the color..." He could be seen a good five miles away on a hillside in that thing. "What's wrong with red?" "Langly, that shirt hasn't been red since Bush left office," Frohike growls. It's a horrible, eye-mauling shade. The cuffs are shredded along the edges, and you can see the interface poking through the collar. "I only got three collar shirts. This one's the cleanest," he whines. "It's not going to work, Ringo." I try to keep my tone matter of fact. I really want Deborah's parents to see him for the decent man he is, not the questionable fashion victim he looks like. "Let him use one of yours," Frohike calls as he brings out the coffee pot, refilling us and handing Langly a fresh mug. "He's bigger than I am," I answer. I made that mistake once. My shirt came home with the sleeves ripped and the buttons popped. The cuffs don't come anywhere close to his wrists. Langly's got big, Nordic bones. I'm a lot thinner, not to mention slightly shorter and smaller boned. "The blue one's missing a bunch of buttons," Langly grumbles. "Not that it should ever be viewed in public," I mutter. His blue shirt is Hawaiian, and tackier than usual. "What about the checkered one?" Granted, that one will never make anybody's Best Dressed List, but it's the least offensive of his three 'dress shirts.' He even has a tie that sort of matches. Sort of. "Wore it three times already. Deb says it needs washing." Deborah's been raising his standards, I see. Maybe there is hope. "Why don't I ask Sari to get one for you? She's done things like that before." There must be something that could salvage his first impression with Deborah's parents. Sari won't be thrilled with my presumption that she'll do it, but I think she'll at least be understanding. "It's just a fucking shirt!" Langly explodes at me. "Jesus, can't you guys ever lay off me? I mean, if I wanted to keep being hassled, I'd have stayed on the farm already!" Frohike and I pass a look to each other. Langly rarely, if ever, talks about his family. Growing up on a farm in Saltville, Nebraska in a Pentecostal family wasn't an ideal childhood for the intelligent, imaginative, freedom-loving type he must have been. He hasn't spoken to his parents in even longer than I haven't spoken to my father. That's an uncomfortable thought. Frohike steps up and places a hand on his back, and Langly jerks away. "I hope *you're* not gonna try and give me fashion advice!" he snaps. I almost burst out laughing; the idea of Frohike giving anyone fashion pointers sounds like a bad episode of the Twilight Zone. "Look, dude," Frohike keeps his voice soft. "We just want the girl's parents to give you a chance before they find out what a jerk you really are." Langly shoots us the Look of Death, grabs his backpack, and heads for the door. "Fuck you both." He slams the door behind him without another word. I shake my head and sigh. "I don't care what he says. I'm calling Sari." Frohike looks over at me. "No wonder he stayed a virgin 'til he was 32." End chapter 4 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 05 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "Love is all we have, the only way Each can help the other." ~~Orestes -- Euripides, Arrowsmith translation~~ ______ 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 05 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 06 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "Now matter which way you ride, it's uphill and against the wind." ~~First Law of Bicycling~~ ______ TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2000 GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER DEBORAH'S ROOM 1:35 P.M. FROHIKE: When we arrived in Deborah's room, I found scattered sunflower hulls around her bed; a sure sign of Mulder's presence. They remind me of rat droppings. It drives Byers nuts when Mulder spits them on the floor at our place. Once, Byers got so annoyed that he smacked Mulder with a whisk broom after sweeping up a pile of the damned things Mulder had spit on his desk. Mulder may not have entirely gotten the hint about hull spitting, but he did stop piling them on Byers' desk after that. Langly should be here any minute unless traffic is worse than usual. Deborah's been in and out; more in today than yesterday. That should please Blondie to no end. It sure pleases us. She's managed to put together a few coherent sentences in the last hour. It's an encouraging sign. Byers is still reading the files he's printed out, fretting and mumbling under his breath. I've been keeping watch over both of them. I examined the files closely. I'm convinced that something about this mess triggered the shooting. It curdles my stomach, and I've been dropping antacids the way Langly puts down M&M's. Every now and then, Byers marks or circles something with a blue highlighter, or utters a sharp, sotto voce curse. Johnny's been wound up tighter than a mummy in a watch spring ever since he talked to Sari this morning. They had a fight over him driving her to work. At one point, I could even hear her shouting at him over the phone, though I couldn't make out the words. Knowing Ms. Thomas, I'm sure it was colorful. They both dislike conflict and arguments as a rule, and he's still extremely upset over the whole thing. I know he wants to make sure she's safe, but she's spent the last three years of her life trying to hide. Now that her ex is gone, she's savoring her freedom and intends to keep it. Unfortunately, I can't blame either of them for their feelings, or their reasons for having them, and there really doesn't seem to be room for compromise. "Uuh?" Deborah moans, waking again. Byers is immediately alert and present, files momentarily forgotten, and I run a hand softly over Deborah's cheek. "How are you feeling, my dear?" I ask her. "Shitty," Deborah says with a tired almost-whine. "Ringo here?" Byers says "Not ye--" just as the door opens and Langly hurries in, followed by her parents. "Stupid Fibbies," Langly mutters. They must have hassled everyone at the door again. "Ringo," Deborah says, smiling. He's there in a heartbeat, kissing her carefully. Her parents are on his heels. "I brought your folks, like I promised," he says. I can hear the strain in his voice. He looks like he's been through the wringer. Gerard and Sarah Jane SaintJohn are shocked by their daughter's appearance, and extremely concerned. Her father is stern and angry, her mother anxious but relieved to hear Deborah's voice. They're shouting over each other, and while they don't shove Langly out of the way, it sure looks like they want to try. He stands his ground next to Deborah for a few minutes, holding her hand. When both of them give him a full-bore glare, he hurries over to me and Byers. I hear him wheezing, and it's not lost on Byers, either. John hands him his inhaler, and Langly takes two hits. I hope it helps; he can't have more for 20 minutes. "Are you okay, Langly?" Byers asks. He holds his hand out to accept the inhaler, but Langly pockets it. It's a cold day in hell when he's ready to carry his own inhaler. He must be anticipating that things are only going to get worse. Of course, they do. "What's going on?" Mr. SaintJohn demands abruptly, staring at Langly. "He has asthma. He took some Ventolin," Byers says. Mr. SaintJohn snorts, and returns his attention to his daughter. "You really know how to pick 'em, don't you?" he says to her sharply. I don't think he means it. Sniping at Langly's probably about the only outlet for his distress, but Ringo looks like he wishes someone would kill him now. Mrs. SaintJohn snaps at her husband that he's being ridiculous, but he's obviously not paying attention and goes on and on about Deborah leaving "this godforsaken cesspool." "Right. So she can go to New Orleans. Oh yeah, real safe there," Langly growls. New Orleans may not be DC, but it's still one of the cities with the highest crime rates in the US. Unfortunately, logic won't impress Mr. SaintJohn at this point. "Did you say something?" Mr. SaintJohn snaps at Langly. I need to put a stop to this right now, before Langly shoots his mouth off and Mr. SaintJohn gets completely out of control. The last thing Deborah needs is a screaming fight, and that's what I fear it'll come to in the next ten seconds. I walk over to the man, who rivals Skinner in size and bearing. "Sir, I'm Melvin Frohike." I offer my hand. He ignores it, but I'll let it slide. "We spoke yesterday. Richard was there on time, I assume." "Uh -- yes. Yes, he was." Mr. SaintJohn is off balance, but that's the idea; get him off his rant. "I couldn't help noticing your jacket. Army, I see. You were at Bien Hoa, weren't you?" He eyes me quizzically. "How did you know? Were you in country? " "Yeah. Marines. Khe Sanh. I recognized your division emblem." Khe Sanh was one of the bloodiest battles of the war. It gets a little respect from the Not So Jolly Green Giant. Finally, he extends his hand. "Mr. Frohike." At least he didn't call me Melvin. Damage control is underway, but Langly, smart ass that he is, could easily stir the waters again. "Byers, get him some lunch." "Hey, I just--" Langly protests. Byers knows what I'm staging here. "Langly, I don't care if you're hungry or not. I'm starving. Let's go." He motions to the door. Langly protests, but Byers grabs his arm and drags him out. Blondie may be pissed now, but he's gonna thank me later, assuming I can pull this off. "Mr. and Mrs. SaintJohn, I can't say how sorry I am about what happened to Deborah." I walk over to the girl's bed. She's crying silently. Her mother glares at Gerard. "It would never have happened if she wasn't here," Mr. SaintJohn rumbles. "Gerard, you don't know that!" his wife snaps. She's clearly irritated. If she's having similar thoughts, she's keeping them to herself for her daughter's sake. Her tone implies that he'd damn well better do the same. "It's true," I tell them. "GWU's in a dangerous neighborhood, but as far as security goes, it's one of the best in the country. Not that this is saying much, but it's something. The staff reacted fast, and her advisor did the surgery. He's one of the best trauma surgeons in the country." You can bet I checked out Dr. Gary Waldinger. If I thought for an instant he wasn't on the up and up, I'd have insisted that Deborah be moved to another facility. Fortunately our encounters here, while not pleasant, have been consistently high quality. "Deborah will recover just fine, and she'll get superb training under him." "And what good will it do if she keeps getting shot up?" he demands harshly. "I don't think that will happen." Well, that's what I'm hoping. As long as she's around us, there will always be the potential for other incidents. I'll be damned if I'm going to say anything about it, though. It's Deborah's choice, not his. "Are you a journalist, too?" Deborah's mom asks. She's still trying to calm her husband. I suspect she's had a lot of practice, but not with a seriously injured daughter to complicate things. "I am." Mr. SaintJohn rolls his eyes; obviously he has as good an opinion of the press as most Americans. Before he can say anything, though, there's a knock at the door. "I'll get that," I tell him. I just hope it's someone we know. Well, I know her, but she's not someone I want to see. It's Kate Sandridge of the Washington Post, Metro division. Kate is a bulldog crime reporter; she'll do anything to get a story. We had a one night stand some years ago, where I discovered she was considerably less interested in my sexual prowess than my background for a story she was having trouble researching. We've been civil since then, but barely. "Melvin. Trying to scoop me again?" she says, with barely concealed ire. "I'm not here as a journalist. I'm here as a friend." "Who is it?" Mr. SaintJohn bellows, so loud that even Kate jumps back a bit. "I'll take care of it," I tell him. I turn back to the current source of heartburn. "Listen, Kate, I know you want a story, but you can't come in." "This is news. Who the hell are you to tell me where I can and can't go?" she demands irritably. "Listen," I keep my tone low, "her parents just got here. The girl's conscious but she's still pretty shaky. I don't think your being here is going to help her." "You're just trying to get the story out from under me," she hisses. "I'm not getting any story out of this. Believe me, she'd be better off if you just leave it alone." I don't mention that my ass is in a sling too. It would only goad Kate into pushing me. She stares at me, brown eyes hard, her full lips pursed. Make no mistake, Kate Sandridge is one fine looking woman. She wasn't a bad lay, either. "Kate, if I find anything, you'll be the first to know." She knows how much she can believe that. She glares at me for a moment. "Don't make me write something else about you on the wall in the little girls' room." She turns and storms down the hall. "Who was that?" asks Mrs. SaintJohn, wiping her daughter's face with a cool cloth. Her husband is holding his daughter's hand. "Daddy, that hurts," Deborah protests, her voice weak. He's got her hand in a death grip. I understand why he's doing it, but her hand is pierced by an IV, and it's got to be painful. "A journalist. Washington Post." I don't really care to give any further details. Mr. SaintJohn doesn't miss a trick. He's sly, I'll give him that. "Sounds like you know her." "Well, you know, journalists tend to know each other." He doesn't need to know I've known her in the carnal sense. He looks unconvinced but lets it go. "Why is the FBI at her door? Why not hospital security?" I don't want to explain that, either. "We have friends at the Bureau, and we called in a few favors." He grunts. "Thank you." Mrs. SaintJohn smiles at me. "We really appreciate it, Mr. Frohike." "It's just Frohike, ma'am." I pause for a moment. "I'd be happy to stay with Deborah if you'd like to get some lunch." "We're not going anywhere." Mr. SaintJohn is firm on that, but his tone is less threatening than it was before. "Then perhaps I could bring you some of the finest cheesesteaks in DC?" I offer. I could go for a cheesesteak myself. It's comfort food. Mrs. SaintJohn smiles. "That would be lovely, thank you. And you can call me Sarah Jane." Mr. SaintJohn reaches for his wallet, but I assure him lunch is on me. As I head out I let out a long breath. Part One of Mission: Impossible is accomplished. Now for Part Two, the really impossible mission -- convincing them Langly's a great guy. I'm not exactly convinced myself. BURGER KING 2:02 P.M. BYERS: "I'm not hungry." Langly's hands are stuffed deep in his pockets. His feet are planted wide, and his jaw is set in a hard line as we wait to order. Two can play at this game. "Langly, do you know why we're here?" "You're trying to make me eat." "Exactly. It's because this is my preferred diet." I'd eat almost anything before I'd eat what passes for food here. For him, the usual: two Whoppers with cheese, no tomatoes, extra large fries and enough Coke to drown in. I settle for a limp salad, chicken sandwich and an iced tea. We sit, and Langly stares at the allegedly edible grease blobs in front of him, not touching anything. "Langly, I paid for that. Eat it." He glares. "Why won't you show me what you're working on?" I almost drop my iced tea. With Deborah hospitalized and her parents here, the last thing I expected him to do was pay attention to work. "I don't even know what it is yet." "But you think it's connected to why Deb got shot." His angry blue eyes bore into me. I flinch; I suspect it's true, but I don't have proof. "I don't know." I'm sticking to my guns here. I can see the word 'liar' forming on his tongue when my phone rings. I grab it from my pocket, grateful for the rescue. "Byers." "Been trying to reach you boys. Where the hell are you?" It's Mulder. "In the Burger King on 33rd. Why?" "Well, get your asses back to the office. I have something." I want to ask him what it is, but not on the cell. I don't care how good Frohike says the security fix is, I still don't trust it. You might as well broadcast it on tv. "Give us an hour." I click off. Langly eyes me, even more suspicious now. "What was that all about?" "Not sure. We'll find out later." He groans. "Great. I'm gonna spend all afternoon with the 'rents and no moral support." "Eat something." I take a cautious nibble at the grilled chicken sandwich. It's awful, as usual. Ringo sighs and takes a bite. It's a small victory, but something tells me that they're the only kind we'll be having for a while. LONE GUNMEN OFFICES 3:20 P.M. BYERS: Mulder was adamant that we meet as soon as possible, but as usual, he's late. "Should've figured as much," Frohike grumbles. "Between him and Langly, one of them's gonna be late for his own funeral." The buzzer sounds, and it's Mulder, finally. "Where were you? We rushed back here and you don't even have the decency to arrive on time." I feel bad about snapping at people, but Mulder richly deserves it today. "I'm trying to help you guys, and this is the thanks I get?" He whispers something to Frohike. Frohike snorts. "With him, it's always that time of the month." I'd strangle them both, but I need to know if Mulder has anything. "What have you got?" Frohike asks, taking the disk from Mulder. "Took it over to a friend at the Pentagon, had him take a look at it," Mulder says, grabbing a soda from the office fridge. "You have friends?" Frohike asks, his voice thick with irony. I can't help giving a sharp chuckle. "Only when I pay them enough," Mulder says blithely. None of this should have gone anywhere, and I'm growing even more deeply annoyed with him. Most of the time he keeps the stuff we give him closer than he keeps his skin. Well, unless it gets stolen. "The fewer people that know about this, the better." "C'mon Byers, chill. This guy's righteous. He's helped me before. " "So what did this 'friend' tell you?" I demand. I should be more gracious, but the knots that started in my stomach have worked their way through my entire body. My muscles are so tight they might snap. I wish Sari had left a message for me, but of course she hasn't. I'd call her, but after this morning, I have a feeling she'd slam the phone down without even letting me speak. "Well, he says it's Air Force encryption." "We knew that," Frohike snaps at him. "What have you done for me lately?" "Boys, boys, a little patience, please. He tried to crack the algorithm." "What algorithm?" I ask, confused. "We sent over plain text." "I don't know. He started on it, but said it wasn't going to happen there. I told him to come over here. He should be here --" the buzzer sounds, "-- right about now." The sound startles me and serves only to make me more irritated. "You brought him here? You told him where we live?" I'm about ready to deck him. Things just keep going from bad to worse. "Relax, Byers. You know him." Mulder gets to the door first, with Frohike and I close on his heels. I stare at the face in the security camera. "Kimmy?" I blink. I turn abruptly to Mulder. "You two know each other?" Mulder begins singing 'It's a Small World.' Now that miserable song'll be stuck in my head all day. "I see you're slumming again, Kimmy," Frohike says to him as he enters. "Yeah, my social life's been in decline since I met you guys," Kimmy retorts. I almost laugh out loud. Kimmy's never had a social life. "Not to mention that one of these days, I'm gonna get fired." "Kimmy, if you're not comfortable with this--" He cuts me off. "I shouldn't even be here with you girl scouts. Every time I do something for you, my ass gets fried. I got no desire to end up like Jimmy." I cringe. Kimmy's twin brother Jimmy was killed last year, helping me find Susanne. "So where's Blondie? Still with the wife?" "The 'wife,'" Frohike growls, "isn't having the best day of her life, either." "Langly's a total wuss. Like last week, we were gonna game. I got the best new set of cheats around, too. So what does girly-man say? He's spending the day with her. God, he's whipped." "Kimmy, shut up and get to work," Mulder says, "or no Jolt for you." He sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. "Fine. I'll get it started. But once I break the encryption, I'm gone. I was never here. I never talked to any of you." "We broke that encryption. Mulder, you're wasting our time!" I'm utterly irate. "Not so fast, ladies. So you broke the first layer. Any pussy can do that. It's what's under it that counts," Kimmy says. "What're you talking about?" Frohike demands. "Ghost files." I shake my head. "That was plain text in there!" Kimmy smirks at me. "That's why I'm the king, and you're not." Frohike snorts. "That's why you're a virgin, and I'm not." Kimmy gives him a murderous look, but doesn't deny it. Kimmy's never been laid in his life, and it's not just women that won't have him. As he once muttered, when utterly drunk, 'being bi means getting rejected by twice as many people.' He starts working, then glares up at us abruptly. "You mind not breathing down my neck?" Frohike smiles and snipes, "Just observing the master." He motions, and we head upstairs. "Little tetchy, isn't he? You guys seem to have that effect on people," Mulder says, still calm. "Please. I'm not in the mood for anyone's PMS today," Frohike groans. "Frohike, do you have to be so offensive?" I snap. He glowers at me. "Look, I'm sorry you got into it with your chickadee this morning --" "For the last time," I bellow, "she is *not* my chickadee, and I wish you'd lay off!" "Whatever, Byers. You've had your shorts in a knot since this whole thing started." I hate today. "I'm worried about her! Aren't you even the least bit worried about Ms. Scarlett?" Frohike closes his eyes and leans back in his chair with a groan. "Mulder, you packing?" "Always." He points at me. "Feel free to use it on him." And I thought the day couldn't get any worse. End part 06 Things Undone 7: In Love and Black Ops, part 07 of 20 by Erynn & Sally Disclaimers in part 01 ______ "To fear is one thing. To let it grab you by the tail and swing you around is another." ~~Katherine Patterson -- Jacob Have I Loved~~ ______ TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2000 LONE GUNMAN OFFICES 7:40 P.M. FROHIKE: Kimmy left about half an hour ago. It took him over four hours to crack the encryption on the ghost files, even with Byers and I working with him. Belmont's usually an arrogant bastard, but he was so freaked by the file contents that he ran out the door without a single snide comment. You know it's bad when he doesn't insult your manhood for ten minutes before he leaves. Byers, Mulder and I are still looking over the contents when the phone rings. "I'll get it." The phone's next to my elbow anyway. Before I have a chance to speak, Kimmy's yelling in my ear. "You bastards, you're gonna get me killed just like my brother!" "Whoa, wait a minute. What the hell are you talking about?" Mulder and Byers look up at me. "I just got shot at, you stupid cunt!" "You little punk, don't you ever call me a--" My brain registers what he just said and I stop to regroup. "Shot at?" Byers and Mulder are both shouting now, asking what the hell's up and who's on the phone. "It's Kimmy. He says somebody shot at him," I answer, then turn my attention back to our erstwhile colleague. "Where are you, man? What happened?" "You think I'm gonna tell you where I am over the phone? You're insane! This is all your fault, you and your nutcase pal Byers. This is serious shit you got me into. I'm going underground man. Don't bother looking for me! Don't call me, don't come to my place, and don't fuckin' breathe my name again! I hope the asshole who shot at me is at your goddamn doorstep next." With that he slams down his receiver and I'm left with a dead phone in my hand. I stare at it for a few seconds, trying to get my wits together, then hang up. Byers goes dead pale. "Kimmy got shot at? Oh, no." It's not like Kimmy's never pissed anybody off himself, but this just intensifies that twist in my gut that tells me Byers is right. This has everything to do with these files, and so does Deborah's shooting. They know we have it. They know Kimmy's got better kung fu than anybody else with DoD files. They know he was here, and probably saw him leave, which means that our place has got to be under live surveillance right now. We have to find out who 'they' are, and fast. "I'll go see if there's anything going down outside here," Mulder says. "Be back in a couple minutes." He checks his pistol and hurries out. I stare at my younger colleague. "Byers, I don't think I've ever been one to back out of a story, but I'm really starting think we should leave this one alone." "We can't just leave it alone." His voice is quiet and he's got that crazed look in his eyes he gets when he's on a rip about something. "We've had two friends shot at in the last two days. We have to figure out what the hell is going on, find out who's behind it, and try to stop it." We snap to attention when the office buzzer rings and race to check the door camera. There's no sigh of relief when we see it's Sari; Byers slaps the locks, flings open the door, drags her in and slams it behind her before she's had a chance to get a single syllable out. Since his mind is elsewhere, I secure the locks. "Please, don't tell me you just got shot at," Byers says, wrapping his arms around her. He might as well be a python, from the grip he's got. "No, why would you ask that?" Sari's confusion is all over her face. "What happened? Is everyone all right?" She backs partway out of his embrace, trying to look into his eyes. "Kimmy just called, not ten seconds ago." I inform her. "He left here about half an hour ago after cracking some encryption for us. Somebody took a shot at him, and we need to find out what the hell is going on, like yesterday. He hung up just before you rang the buzzer." Her eyes widen, and she mouths an 'o' of astonishment. "Did you see anything outside?" Byers asks. "Just Mulder, coming out the driveway. There were a couple of guys at the corner. Other than that, it looked pretty quiet to me." I check the cameras that monitor the grounds around the house. Unfortunately, we don't have anything right now that covers the end of the block. We will by tomorrow. "Did the two guys at the corner look like they were... watching the house?" Byers asks. Sari shakes her head. "I wasn't paying that much attention, John. For all I know, they could have been looking to score some crack. You don't exactly live in the best neighborhood. I didn't notice them specifically watching me drive up." At that moment, Mulder enters. "What's up?" I ask. "Two guys at the corner. They disappeared when I got to the street," he replies. "I tried to follow them, but they split up. I tracked one of them a few blocks, but I lost him down an alley." He curses in frustration. "Look, I've got to go. I need to talk to Scully and Skinner about this. Those files you guys found seem to be radioactive. You need to keep your heads down for a while. Don't leave unless you absolutely have to, and if you do, don't do it alone." "No shit, Sherlock. What about Langly? And what about Deborah and her parents?" I'm getting more worried by the moment. This just keeps getting uglier with every passing hour. I'm convinced now that somebody's trying to keep us from exposing what's in these files. The more we get into them, the weirder things get. I have to know who's behind all this, and sort through our new information to find out what they're trying so hard to hide. "Believe me, nobody will be getting past the agents at the door. We'll make sure that Deborah's parents have an escort to their room, and I'll bring Langly home myself if I have to," Mulder says, stone determination in his hazel eyes. "Yeah, well you and Scully should keep your own heads down too," I tell him. "It's not like you're unrelated to this issue, and if somebody's trying to shut us down, you're likely targets as well." He laughs. "And this is different from my everyday life how?" I shake my head. "Just be careful. You take good care of that goddess of a partner of yours." "She's a better shot than me, remember?" He has a rueful half-smile on his face. I pat him on the back as he leaves, and lock up tight. Time for me to start setting up some surveillance cameras from Langly's attic windows that will angle down toward each end of our block. BYERS: I'm so relieved to know Sari's safe that I can barely speak. We've moved from the office into the den, away from windows and doors, and are sitting together on the leather couch. I know we installed bullet proof glass on the house, but it doesn't increase my peace of mind as much as I'd like, particularly under the current circumstances. "Everything will be fine, John," she says. She squeezes my hand. "You know, I actually came by to see you this evening because I have good news. I know you're upset right now, but can I at least tell you about my day?" I consider it for a moment. I could use a little good news myself, really. "Of course, Sari. What's up?" She smiles. She lights up when she smiles, and it always makes me feel better too. "I got promoted today," she says. "They're moving me from my lobbying position, and giving me the job as international coordinator of our lobbying offices." "That's great," I tell her, truly pleased for her. She sounds as though the promotion is a mixed blessing, though. "What will that entail?" "Well, I'm kind of wondering if the Peter Principle hasn't struck, and they're moving me to the level of my incompetence. I'll be the International Lobbying Director, instead of doing the legwork and research myself. I'll be traveling more, doing training at regional offices, speaking at national and international conservation symposiums and political conferences, and representing the Sierra Club as an NGO to groups like the World Trade Organization and the World Bank." Suddenly, I'm not so happy with the situation. If she travels more, particularly internationally, it'll be that much harder to keep an eye on her and make sure she stays safe. This is a very bad thing. "You're not going out of town anytime soon, are you?" She sighs. "No, they're giving me a couple of weeks to settle into the office and take care of some other things. After that, though, I'm going to be in Paris for a week presenting a talk on the current state of illegal whaling for an environmental law summit." I have to broach the subject with her. "What are you going to do about your personal security while you're traveling?" "If I'm going into a 'politically unstable' area, I'll be provided additional protection." She doesn't get it. "This might not be the best time to be exposed in public," I say softly, at the risk of making a vast understatement. "The files we found contain a lot of conflicting information, but we pulled it down from the mainframe at Area 51. I'm beginning to suspect it may have something to do with UFO's." "John," she says with a frustrated sigh, "you know as well as I do that 'U.F.O.' simply stands for 'unidentified flying object.' It doesn't mean it has anything to do with all these little green men you guys talk about." "We're talking some very strange system designs here. It doesn't look like anything I'm familiar with, and I've seen an awful lot over the years." "I'm not willing to believe this is alien technology. Human beings are sufficiently creative that I wouldn't put it past some government agency to come up with a unique, off the wall system all on their own." "I'd just feel better if you'd keep your head down for a while." Her face contorts with impatience and irritation. "John, do you have any actual proof that the files and these incidents are connected, beyond the fact that you know both people and the shootings have been in the last two days?" "Well, no." "Until you do, I'm not ready to just assume that they are." "But Frohike and Mulder said--" She shakes her head and interrupts me. "If you can find me one shred of proof that there's a genuine connection here, I'll reconsider, all right?" It's a concession, at least. It doesn't ease the stone in my stomach, but it's better than nothing. I nod. "That'll do," I tell her. "But I'd really rather you stay here tonight. It's much safer." She raises an eyebrow. "I don't think so John." She sighs. "I suppose this means that the dinner I'd planned on inviting you out for is unlikely to occur." I shake my head. "I don't think it's a good idea, Sari. I don't want either of us getting shot at." She opens her mouth to protest, but I have more to say. "I know you don't believe me right now, but please, at least acknowledge that two of my friends have been shot at in the last two days and that it's not unreasonable for me to consider that it might be more than a coincidence." Sari's mouth closes and she nods. A deep breath, and she says, "All right. It's not unreasonable for you to consider it might be more than a coincidence, but I'm not willing to rearrange my life because of that. Besides, my parents are going to be in town tomorrow. They'll be here until Monday." This is new. "Your parents?" "Yeah, dad got a last minute invitation to be the surprise guest at an Asian Arts conference. He's doing a presentation on Hindu and Sikh mystic poetry. You might actually enjoy it, if you're not feeling too paranoid to poke your nose out of the house. Devi's hosting a party for them at the consulate on Friday evening. Everyone's going to be there; all our friends, and all of mom and dad's friends as well. I'd really like it if you and the guys could come, at least for a little while. I know that Ringo's not likely to want to, with Deborah in the hospital, but maybe he'll want a break by then." Sari has always spoken very lovingly of her parents. She seems genuinely excited that they'll be here, and at least this is a safe topic for the moment. I probably won't go to the lecture, but I'm fairly sure the party at the Sri Lankan consulate will be safe enough for her. "That might be nice," I tell her. I'm not much of a party person, but she's been introducing me to her friends for the past several months. Most of them have been very nice people; intelligent, thoughtful, and often very talented in one art or another. I've started to feel, if not exactly safe, at least reasonably comfortable around many of them. "If the situation isn't still in crisis by Friday, and we've figured out whether these shootings are connected to the files I've found, then I'll certainly consider going," I tell her. I'm fairly sure Frohike would like it, too. Maybe by that time, we'll know what's going on, and the situation will be resolved. Sari smiles again, and I can feel a relaxation of some of the tension between us as she leans back into me. I'm starting to feel a little warm, so I loosen my tie slightly and unbutton the top button of my shirt. With a sigh, I put my arms around her again. "So would you like to come to dinner with me to celebrate my promotion?" she asks. The knot in my stomach appears again. "I don't think that's wise this evening," I tell her. I can feel her stiffen in my arms. This has not been a good day, and it really isn't getting better. "John, could you please at least try to put aside some of what you're worrying about?" "I'm trying, but it's pretty overwhelming. My stomach's churning anyway, and I'm not sure I can eat anything at all right now." She turns slightly and looks up at me. "Have you eaten anything today?" "A little. I had some breakfast," I tell her. If you consider coffee and an English muffin breakfast. "And a few bites for lunch with Langly." She tilts her head and examines my face. "You've got those dark, owly circles under your eyes again, John. Have you been sleeping at all in the past couple of days?" There's worry in her voice, but a certain amount of annoyance as well. If I tell her the truth, it's going to upset her, but lying to her is only going to make things that much worse. She doesn't like it when I try to hide these things from her. Some days she's worse than Frohike. "No, not really. I've tried, but I've been too worried about Deborah and Langly." At least she'll understand that. I know she has been too. She may be after me right now, but I can tell she hasn't been sleeping well either. It's made both of us irritable and snappish. "I know you're worried, but you can't go around acting like this, not eating or sleeping. It's just going to make everything worse. You're going to start making mistakes in your research, and if you really believe we're in that much danger, you're going to slip and end up getting yourself hurt one way or another." I know she's concerned, but all I can feel right now is irritation: hers and my own. I can't take it any more. "And you're tired too, Sari. Your judgment isn't the best right now." She stands, and I stand with her. "It's not safe. You saw two people surveilling the place when you drove up. How do you know the guys who were watching the place won't be back, just waiting..." I can't say anymore. The thought of her being hurt, no matter how angry I am with her stubbornness, is too painful to contemplate. She leans in toward me and starts raising her voice. "And how the hell do you know they weren't just dealing drugs? Why does everything on earth that goes wrong have to be your personal fault? Isn't it remotely possible that your friends might end up getting in trouble through random acts of violence, or through their own involvement in something you don't know about?" "I don't know," I reply, trying to keep my own voice down. The last thing I want right now is Frohike to hear us fighting. "And neither do you. I'd rather err on the side of caution here, considering that people are being shot at!" I don't want to be angry with Sari. I don't want to fight with her. "Your life could be in danger, and I don't want to see you hurt, or worse. I can't have anything happen to you because of something I've done." She's still mad, but at least she doesn't shout when she counters me. "John, I appreciate your concern for me, but where the hell do you get your martyr complex? Who died and made you the center of the universe, able to contort reality with a single leap of logic? I thought that was Mulder's job." That hurts. "That's not what I'm saying, and you know it. All of this started within a day of my downloading those files. Somebody wants that information kept secret, and I don't want you to be next on their hit list. I care too much about you to let that happen." "You said you don't even know what you have," she says. "Isn't it possible that someone is feeding you a bunch of crap to get you upset and off balance? It's happened to me before, believe me." She crosses her arms and her face stills into that calm, rooted expression she gets when she's not going to be moved. When she's like this, not even the Golden Horde led by Genghis Khan himself could sway her. It's one reason she's a successful lobbyist. Right now, it's the most annoying thing in the world. "Some of what Kimmy found seems to add more pieces to the puzzle. They're shooting at us, for God's sake!" I take her by the wrist, wanting to force her to pay attention, but the startled flash of fear in her face makes me realize my mistake -- the gesture is an aggressive one. "No!" she yelps, and steps back from me a couple of paces, jerking her arm away. Her anger is broken, replaced by a lightning charge in the air between us. "I'm sorry!" I say quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you, Sari. I'm not going to hurt you. God, I'm sorry." She's quivering a little, nervous. I never want her to be afraid of me, and now look what I've done. "Sari," I say gently, "please, don't be afraid." I hold my hands out to her, palms up, hoping that she'll take my hand, but her fear is turning to anger again. "Damn it, John!" Her voice is quiet but intense. I can tell that her temper is about to leave her entirely. "You know better than that." "I'm sorry," I tell her again, "I was just trying to get you to listen." I need to patch this up now, and fast. "You have my complete attention." Her voice is icy. I use my most conciliatory voice. "I'm just... Sari, I'm just very worried right now. Maybe I am going a little over the top, but please try to understand where I'm coming from." I offer a hand to her again, and she takes it, finally starting to calm. She sighs, trying hard to let the anger flow away. I've seen her do it before, and it always impresses me that she's able to do that. "Yes, John. I do understand that you're worried about me. And I promise that I'll be more observant, all right?" Before I can answer, there's a knock on the door. End part 07