"A Feeling of Strange Privilege" Written by Surreal Feedback: surreal666@hotmail.com Rating:PG-13 (language) Category: Angst, humor Spoilers: "Unusual Suspects", "Three of a Kind", "Memento Mori", gizzie and Marthas' "Messenger" universe (read their work! It's inspiring, and may help explain some events in this story.) Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Lone Gunmen list. Disclaimer: The bodies belong to the actors, the names to the writers, but their minds belong to me!. Oh, and the title was taken from an Elvis Costello song. Tuesday, 4:47pm Mulder's apartment "I'm telling you, there's a story here!" Ringo Langly loudly protests as Fox Mulder unlocks the door to his apartment. 'Why even bother locking it,' he thinks; 'These guys probably have copies of all my keys anyway.' Before Mulder could open the door all the way, all three Lone Gunmen push their way past him to proceed with their ritual; every time they come to Mulder's apartment, they spread out and immediately close all the blinds to the windows. Melvin Frohike goes for the window closest to the entrance, while John Byers and Langly continue into the living room. Frohike picks up the argument with Mulder; a habit that the agent found amusing, yet sometimes annoying, like they were ganging up on him. "Our contacts in New Mexico informed us that they have documented proof that there is more than just testing going on with the Defense Department's high energy laser systems. Nellis is suddenly locked down tighter than..." Langly, satisfied that the argument could be continued by Frohike, strolls over to close the blinds on the living room window above Mulder's desk. Listening intently to the conversation, he leans over the desk, not noticing the black Sedan parked across the street. "Guys, we've been over this be--" Mulder begins to counter, but is stopped in his tracks by the shot that rings out, the sound of breaking glass and the dull thump of a body hitting the wood floor. "Shit!" "Get down!" Byers and Mulder yell at the same time. Mulder pulls his gun from the holster, and clumsily dashes toward the window. He leans over the desk to look out, but the street is empty. He lets his focus come back to the window in front of him; there is a small hole in the glass. Byers was already in the living room, but doesn't even notice Mulder's presence. His eyes are locked on Langly, who is lying on his back in front of the desk. Blood is beginning to pool above the hole in his chest, disappearing into the black cotton of his Metallica t-shirt. "Oh, god," Byers whispers as he kneels down beside the unmoving form. He presses a hand to Langly's throat, then onto his chest. "Mulder," he looks up helplessly. "He's not breathing...." The three men freeze in shock for no more than a second, and then everything happens at once. Byers frantically throws off his suit jacket and begins CPR on Langly. Frohike yanks the phone off the desk and calls for paramedics. Mulder runs to the hall closet and came back with a handful of towels. He places a towel over the wound in Langly's chest and presses hard, trying to control the bleeding while not getting in the way of Byers, who is working hard to breath life back into the unresponsive man. "Come on, Langly, damn it. Don't do this...." Byers quietly chants. The paramedics arrive in record time, less than five minutes after Frohike made the call. Still, it seemed like an eternity to the three men in Mulder's apartment trying to save their friend. The male EMT took one look at Byers still doing chest compressions while Mulder had taken over rescue breathing, and knew they were running out of time. "We'll take it from here, sir," he tells Byers gently. He turns to his partner, "Bag him! We've got to get him out of here now." They gently pick the young man up and place him on the gurney. As the female EMT places a mask over Langly's nose and mouth and begins artificial respiration, her male partner turns back to Byers. "I want you to come with us, we need to know what's happened so far." Byers nods numbly, and starts to follow the medical crew out the door. He glances back toward Frohike and Mulder, his face tight and extremely pale. "The car keys are in my jacket..." he mutters, to Frohike, voice choked and unsteady. The Gunmen had come in Byers' car. After they disappear down the hall, the two remaining men in the apartment stand in stunned silence. Mulder drops the soaked towel onto the patch of blood on the floor. Frohike picks up Byers' jacket and Langly's glasses where they had fallen and they bolt out the door to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 5:20pm George Washington Memorial Hospital Frohike and Mulder sprint down the hall in the emergency ward of Washington Memorial. Despite the difference in their size, Frohike is doing a fair job of outpacing the much taller FBI agent. They ignore the nurses telling them to slow it down; they'd already caught sight of a ruffled head of red hair. Byers was leaning with his back to a wall, eyes closed. Frohike stops so quickly that Mulder nearly knocks him over, he is following so closely. "Byers?" Frohike said breathlessly, putting his hand on the younger Gunman's shoulder. "How is he? What's happening?" His large blue eyes slowly open and take a moment to focus on the shorter man. He didn't know what to say. "I...the last thing I heard was that he was taken upstairs for emergency surgery," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The bullet went into his lung..." Frohike closes his eyes for a moment and takes a short, halting breath. Usually Byers is the one to remain calm and professional in frightening situations, but this time, the older Gunman knows that his stoic comrade is very upset. He looks down; Byers' hands and sleeves were still covered in Langly's blood. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up, then we'll try to get an update." Byers looks at his hands, but his shock keeps him from processing what he sees. He numbly obeys as Frohike leads him toward a men's room to wash the blood off his hands. Mulder watches them go, and sits down heavily in a nearby chair. He reaches for his cell phone; it was time to make a call. 5:30pm Scully's apartment "Scully," she answers her phone reluctantly. "Scully, it's me," came the familiar answer. 'This better be good, Mulder,' she thinks. She had finally found some interesting articles in a recent medical journal. "Mulder, what is it?" A pause. She can hear him breathing in short, gasping puffs of air. "I'm at the hospital. There's been a shooting...at my apartment..." "Mulder, are you okay??" She jumps out of her chair, her evening's reading instantly discarded. "Yeah, I'm fine...but Langly was shot...it's bad, Scully...." his voice was shaking now. "Oh, god, Mulder...all right, I'm coming, I'll be right there." 8:46pm GWM hospital Scully was quietly discussing Langly's condition with the ER surgeon near the waiting room door. Mulder watches her reactions for any answers. Frohike and Byers sit in chairs nearby, silently studying the pattern on the carpet. The doctor nodded in Mulder's direction before he left, a small reassurance. Scully walks back toward the remaining Gunmen. Placing a hand on Byers's shoulder, she quietly explains that the surgery had gone well, that they'd managed to repair the damage caused by the bullet. Langly was in recovery at the moment, in critical but stable condition. As soon as he was moved to the ICU they would be informed. Frohike nods thanks to Scully, as does Mulder. Byers didn't react outwardly, but Scully thought she felt his tight shoulders relax slightly under her hand. 11:30pm Byers sat in the chair next to Langly's bedside, now in the ICU. He is leaning forward, gently holding the unconscious man's hand and listening to the monitors. A small respirator tube was helping Langly breath, and the IV lines stuck in his arm were replacing the blood he had left on Mulder's floor. Scully enters the room after checking Langly's charts. He is doing better, but still requires a watchful eye. She pulled a chair up next to Byers and sat with him. He has not said a word since right after Frohike and Mulder arrived. She places a hand on his arm, and quietly tries to break his silence. "Mulder said you saved his life." Byers is still for a moment, then closes his eyes. Tears begin streaming down his cheeks as hours of shock and fear finally take their toll. Scully wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him tightly. At first he tries to pull away, then stops struggling and lets her hold him. She can feel him trembling, breathing in short little gasps. She has never seen any of the Gunmen cry before, but she knows that despite his usually strong demeanor, Byers needs her support now as much as their fallen friend. She strokes his hair gently, but doesn't try to stop his crying. Outside the room, Frohike could see his friend break down. He and Mulder had taken seats outside the room, but now he stands and sighed heavily. He turns to Mulder; "I've got a phone call to make," and walks down the hall toward the green exit sign. Mulder didn't know exactly what Frohike meant by that, but decides to leave it alone. He goes back to staring at the floor, but is interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching feet on the tile. He looks up to see the last person he expected in this situation: Assistant Director Walter Skinner. "Mulder, what the hell happened? Are you all right?" Skinner calls to his agent. 'Why do they keep asking me that?' Mulder thinks. "I'm fine, sir. What are you doing here?" "I got a call from the office saying there'd been a shooting at your apartment. Who was shot?" "One of the Lone Gunmen, sir. Langly," Mulder replies. "Someone fired through the front window when he went to close the blinds...they must have thought he was me." "Jesus, Mulder, I'm sorry. I know those guys are your friends." Skinner responds quietly to the news. He had met the Gunmen on a few occasions; he still didn't know what to make of them, but he knew that they must be something special if Mulder trusted them with his and Scully's lives so many times. "How is he?" "Stable, but still critical." Mulder didn't know what else to say. He can't describe the emotions surrounding him and the others as they watch their friend fight for his life. Skinner nods absently. He understood what was happening, and didn't want to interfere. "I'll have someone look into this. You two stay here with the guys until we can get some answers." Mulder gave his boss a small smile. They'd been through these things enough times for it to become routine. Skinner turns and walks away. Wednesday, 4:27am Scully sat silently next to Byers, who had regained his composure and was again holding Langly's hand. Suddenly, Byers jumps in his seat. He thought he felt something... "What? What happened?" Scully asks him, her attention riveted to the skinny blond lying in the bed in front of her. "I think...I mean, he moved his hand...." Byers responds in amazement. "Probably involuntary..." Scully tells him, not wanting to sound too discouraging. Byers nodded absently. "I guess...wait, there! He did it again!" Now Byers was very alert, jumping out of his chair to watch for any more signs of regaining consciousness. Langly whimpers softly and starts to cough. Scully can tell he really is coming around; he is fighting the respirator tube in his throat. "I'll get a doctor; if he wakes up, keep him calm until we get back." Byers nods and smiles at her as she runs out the door. He gently presses his free hand against Langly's shoulder to keep him from moving too much. Mulder and Frohike saw Scully come running out of the room; they look at each other and run in to find out what was going on. Frohike's heart started racing when he saw Langly coughing, but Mulder, not a stranger to the medical field, realized that Langly was just trying to breath on his own. He caught Byers' eye and the two men smiled over Frohike's head. "Hey, easy, Langly..." Byers quiets the struggling young man. Langly blinks his eyes open hesitantly and he tries to focus on whoever was talking to him. He looks up at Byers, who smiles at him. He realized he couldn't focus on the people around him because he wasn't wearing his glasses. 'Shit,' he thinks to himself. 'Must have gotten really drunk this time...' Then he remembered what had woken him up; he had something stuck in his throat and couldn't breath very well. "Calm down, dude. Don't fight it, it's just an oxygen tube to help you breath. The doctor will be here in a second to help you out..." Frohike reassured him. Scully returned just then with a doctor in tow. The doctor ran to the other side of the bed to check the monitors. Langly was more alert now, and watches the physician closely. He was still trying to figure out what was happening to him. "Hello, Mr. Langly," the doctor says in that annoyingly cheerful tone that doctors always seem to take. "I see you're feeling better. Do you think you can breath all right if I take the tube out?" Langly glares at him, and nods hard. His friends stifle their laughter; they could tell he was frustrated at such a dumb question. "Okay, I want you to take a deep breath, and release it when I pull out the tube, all right?" Again, blond hair nods approval. The doctor gently placed one hand behind Langly's neck and pulled the respirator tube out in one fluid motion. Langly did what he'd been told, but began coughing again from the irritation of the tube being pulled through his throat. Byers squeezes his hand tighter, letting him know that he's not alone. The doctor waited a moment for Langly to catch his breath, then placed a thin, clear oxygen line under his nose. Satisfied that his patient was in good hands, the doctor left the room to update his charts. Langly turns his head back to the guys standing next to his bed. "What.." he begins, then coughs. He starts again, his voice hoarse. "What's up, dudes?" The four people standing look at each other in amusement. Obviously Langly's attitude hadn't been affected by this ordeal. "Do you remember what happened?" Frohike asks him. Langly thought for a moment. "Last thing I remember was trying to talk Mulder here into giving us a hand with some DOD research..." Mulder took a deep breath. "Just after we walked into my place you went into the living room. There was a sniper down on the street and he shot you through the window." The room fell silent. Langly took his hand and smoothed back his tangled hair as realization set in. Now he could vaguely see mental images of leaning over Mulder's desk, and hearing a loud pop and glass breaking. There was nothing after that. The others could tell what he was thinking despite his silence. They had all been through so much together, words were not always necessary. Langly finally broke the tense silence. "Hey, Byers? Do me a favor..." "Yeah?" "Go home and change your shirt." Byers looks at his sleeves; they were still bloodstained. He blushes, and looks back at Langly. "Oh, god...sorry...I forgot...." Langly gives him a smile. "Just add it to my tab." "All right, it's late, and you guys look terrible." Scully kicked into doctor mode. "Mulder, please take Byers home and both of you, get some sleep." Mulder started to protest, but she cut him off. "I talked to Skinner. I'm going to stay here tonight and keep an eye out." The two taller men nodded grudgingly and headed for the door. They promised Langly they would be back in a few hours. Scully turned to Frohike, but didn't say anything. The determined look on his face told her that he would be staying too. She sighed, told Langly to get some sleep soon and that she'd be right outside if he needed anything, then left the room. Frohike took the seat left vacant by Byers and looked at his friend. "I called Moire last night right after you were transferred here." Langly's eyes grew wide. "You what? I told you not to call her unless I was..." His voice suddenly trailed off. His anger was replaced by realization. "Jesus, was I really that close...?" Frohike had been prepared for an outburst. He knew that Langly didn't want to get his sister involved in all the dangerous activities that surrounded their work in DC He was very protective of her, even if he was nearly ten years older than she was. What he hadn't been prepared for was Langly's other question. The older man closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of how to respond. "Yeah, you were," he said quietly, then gave a short laugh. "And you nearly took Byers with you. He was still doing CPR when the paramedics got there about five minutes after you were shot. They had to give you an adrenaline shot in the ambulance to get your heart beating again. Completely flatlined, no pressure. Byers wouldn't let you go that easily, though. He wouldn't let them give up, even in the ER. But you went so long without vitals...they didn't expect you to even survive surgery." He stopped when he saw Langly cringing. He knew that the only way to explain what had happened was to tell him everything. Langly looked up at the ceiling, letting what he'd just heard sink in. He swallowed hard, ignoring the throbbing in his throat. "Shit. I...I didn't know," he finally whispers. "Guess I owe Jeff more than just a shirt..." Frohike's nod was barely noticeable. It had been a few years since Langly had referred to Byers as 'Jeff', and that was back when the punk was still drinking heavily. He stood up to leave and let Langly get some rest. "Anyway, Moire said to keep her up-to- date; I'll call her again in the morning to let her know you're doing okay. Get some sleep; I'll be outside with Scully." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the black rimmed glasses, setting them on the table next to the bed. "Hey..." the young man mutters sleepily. His initial burst of energy upon waking was quickly wearing off. He reaches out and grasps Frohike's hand. "Thank you...you guys saved my life..." Frohike smiled at his fellow Gunman. "Anytime, kiddo." He squeezes the skinny hand for a moment, then places it gently on the blanket next to its owner. Langly was already asleep. 9:15am Scully glanced up at the movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Langly had been fidgeting in his sleep all night. She had asked Frohike if that was normal; the older Gunman laughed. He told her that whenever he or Byers went to the wake their up youngest roommate, they fully expect him to be curled up on the floor or in some other equally unusual position. Apparently he had as much energy while unconscious as he did when he was fully awake. Scully enjoyed hearing about this; she never really thought about how the guys led fairly normal lives outside of their paranoid conspiracy research. "Hey, g-woman," Langly greets her sleepily. "What are you still doing here?" Scully smiles. "Hey yourself. I'm keeping an eye on you, making sure you don't get into any more trouble." He gives her an innocent, 'what, me?' look, but she knows better. "What time is it?" "Little after nine. Frohike's crashed in the waiting room, so I thought I'd hang out with you." She pauses. "Do you realize how much you squirm when you sleep? Frohike said you do it all the time." Langly rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Mr. Walking Insomnia is one to talk." Scully grins and shakes her head. "You must be a fun group to live with." He grins back, more devilishly. "Why don't you move in for a while and find out?" Luckily, Scully was saved from trying to answer that invitation by a soft knocking at the door. A young female nurse shyly stepped in, holding a small tray. "Good morning, Mr. Langly, Dr. Scully," she greets the room's occupants. Scully recognizes her; she had checked on them a few hours earlier when Langly was still asleep. The nurse looks at Langly as she approached the side of his bed opposite Scully. "I need to take a look at your stitches, make sure you're doing okay." Langly scrunches up his face at her. "That doesn't sound like much fun..." She exchanges a knowing glance with Scully. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle." Scully reaches her arm behind Langly's back to help him lean forward so the nurse could untie his gown and uncover his bandaged chest. She feels him tense in pain as he leans forward, his muscles protesting. He collapses back down, not wanting to watch what the nurse was doing. Scully recalled his reaction in Las Vegas when he was 'assisting' her with an autopsy: he ran out of the room and vomited. Now she grasps his hand and tries to divert his attention. "Hey, just keep looking at me. You'll be fine..." she tells him. She lets her eyes drift down as the nurse takes off the bandage and winces at what she sees. The line of stitches running down the middle of his chest is at least four inches in length. She quickly looks back up at his face and gives him a tight smile. He starts to match her smile, then sharply sucks in a breath through his teeth when the nurse swabs the stitched area with peroxide. He shuts his eyes and his hand tightens in hers; she knows he is in pain but all she can do is squeeze his hand. "Sorry," the nurse apologizes quietly. "Almost done..." She tapes a clean bandage over the sensitive wound. "There you go. You okay?" She asks her tense patient. He looks at her and nods slightly, trying to smile. She pats his shoulder then heads for the door. Catching the door before it could close all the way, a tired- looking Frohike enters the room. "Morning, Agent Scully," he mumbles, then looks at the other Gunman. "Hey, Langly. You look... uh..," he starts, not sure how to finish that sentence. Scully reaches up and brushes Langly's unruly blond hair away from his face. "Sure you're all right?" she asks him, her forehead wrinkled with concern. She lets her hand pause on his cheek; he felt very warm. He takes in a shaky breath and sighs. Scully had a bad feeling; his face is pale, his breathing labored. She suddenly recognizes these signs and quickly grabs the wastebasket, setting it next to the bed by her feet. Gently, she rolls Langly onto his side, removes the oxygen line, and holds his head over the can just before he throws up. She holds his hair away from his face, rubbing his back soothingly. Between the medication and the pain, his already weak stomach just gave out. "Frohike, can you get the nurse please? We need a towel and some water," Scully orders him, not turning away from the sick man in her hands. He was still coughing, but seemed to be over the worst of it. He lets his head fall back onto the bed and, purely out of habit, crosses his arms protectively across his chest, causing him to wince in pain again. Frohike returns with the nurse, who has a damp towel and a plastic container of water. Scully takes the towel and runs it over Langly's flushed forehead and cheeks. The nurse pours some of the water into a styrofoam cup and hands it to Scully. Scully appreciates the nurse staying out of her way. She carefully lifts her patient's head and puts the cup to his pale lips. He takes a sip, then immediately spits it back out into the waste-basket, coughing violently. She makes him take another drink; this time he swallows the water gingerly. "Do you want me to get a doctor?" the nurse asks apprehensively. "No, thank you, I think he's okay now," Scully replies, smiling gratefully at the nurse. The nurse nods at both of them and again heads for the door. Frohike was still standing at the foot of the bed, fidgeting with concern. Byers and Mulder arrived at the hospital together, entering the familiar room just as the nurse left for the second time within ten minutes. They stop dead in their tracks next to Frohike, not sure what was happening. Langly is still curled up on his side, Scully gently wiping his face with the damp towel as he struggles to steady his breathing. "Scully? What happened?" Byers asks quietly, his body tensing with fear as it had done the day before when all of this started. Scully finally takes her eyes off the youngest Gunman and turned to the other three men. "Hey, guys. Don't worry, he'll be okay. He just had a bad reaction to the medication," she explains. "Oh," the other Gunmen reply in unison as understanding kicks in. Byers walks around to the other side, sits down on the bed behind Langly and starts rubbing his lower back gently. "I'll get him some ginger ale...usually helps," Frohike says as he heads for the door. Scully looks up at Byers questioningly. "You guys have done this before?" Byers smiles at her. "This is a guy," he says, nodding toward Langly, "who thinks flu shots are a government conspiracy to get people to buy more over-the-counter drugs. So, almost every winter he gets the flu and we get to spend a few days taking care of him." Scully notices that Byers' method seems to be working; Langly has stopped trembling and is breathing easier. She smiles up at the man sitting across from her. "You're very good at this. Where did you learn it?" Byers hesitates for a moment, his jaw tightening. "My wife was sick from the chemo for a long time; a physical therapist taught me how to help her through her worst days." He didn't need to go on; she could tell from his avoidance of eye contact that she had not survived her cancer. Scully was stunned; this was the first she'd heard of this piece of Byers' past. She realized then how little she actually knew about the Gunmen, both their current lives and their backgrounds. The door opens again and Frohike walks in. Scully backs away and lets the men take care of their roommate. After eleven years together, she could guess that they know how to take care of each other better than anyone. A stifled, gaspy sound draws her attention back to Langly. He's swallowed a sob as he fights for control. Frohike sits down so that he is closer to eye level with the scared young man and quietly talks to him, reassuring him. "Shh, Ree, you're okay... it's just the morphine, you know it always makes you sick..." Scully could feel her own throat tighten with emotion; she has never heard any of them call each other by anything other than their last names. She takes Mulder's arm and leads him out of the room with her. She knows that Langly is not crying out of pain, but frustration and fear. Having gone through more than her share of emotional roller-coaster rides, watching her family and friends suffer because of her own work, she feels that this is a time when she needs to step back and let someone else take control. And from what she can see, Byers and Frohike are doing a hell of a job. In the hall outside the room Scully takes a moment to swallow the lump that had developed in her throat, then turns to face her partner. "Why didn't anyone tell me Byers had lost a wife?" Mulder felt his eyes begin to sting as he recalled the night he found out himself. He crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest and sighed. 'How the hell do I even start?' Sitting down heavily, he couldn't look at his partner as he starts to explain. "Remember when you were at the cancer clinic the night Penny died?" Oh, real smooth, Mulder. Sure, she just happens to forget that time she had cancer. "When Byers found you?" Scully's knees suddenly felt weak and she had to sit down in the chair next to Mulder. She remembered that night all too well. She recalled the terrified look on Byers' face when he woke her; she thought he was going to throw up. Frohike had later told her about the sniper at the fertility clinic they'd broken into earlier that night, and she assumed that Byers was badly shaken from nearly getting himself killed trying to help her and Mulder. Now Mulder was telling her it was much more than that. "After he took me to the room you were in with Penny, he was very upset. I tried to apologize, but then he almost decked me. I've never seen him so angry, or scared. Then he told me about Monnie." Mulder had to stop; he felt himself start to choke on his words. "They were only married for a few months when she started to get sick. They found out she was pregnant, but she just kept getting sicker and near the end of the pregnancy she lost the baby. The doctors found the cancer shortly after that, and she died a few months later. This was all before any of us knew him; before Susanne." Scully stared at her partner in shock. Now she understood why Byers had been so quiet and evasive in the few months following that night. He couldn't stand to watch someone else go through what he'd been through, losing a wife and a child to cancer. Her throat had tightened again, and she hastily brushes the tears that have escaped. She looks into the room, watching Byers and Frohike as they continue to help Langly work through his pain and frustration. 'Jesus, what else have they kept from me?' "Fuck, I'm sorry," Langly sniffs, angrily swiping the tears from his cheeks. "Hey, don't. It's not your fault..." Frohike squeezes the younger man's shoulder, but Langly brushes him off. "Yes, it IS...fuck, I'm so stupid, I didn't even look out the window..." he kept mentally beating himself up. "Damn it, Ree, there's no way you could have known. We can't look over our shoulders all the time," Byers cut him off, still absently rubbing Langly's back. Langly carefully rolls onto his back so he can look at Byers. "Well, we all know what happens when we don't," he snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees Byers cringe. Fuck. His mind suddenly races with images of Susanne, from their first meeting in Baltimore to the fiasco in Las Vegas. They all knew if they'd been more selfish and cautious in both cities, Susanne would likely be dead and the three of them may be dead as well. Sometimes it pays to let your guard down. "Jeff, I'm sorry..." he says quietly. Byers closes his eyes to keep the tears that have appeared from escaping. Suddenly he stands up and quickly heads for the door. Just before he reaches for the handle Langly tries to apologize. "Byers, really...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that..." Byers opens the door a crack, and stares at the floor. "It's okay. I...I gotta go, there's stuff in the office I've got to take care of...I'll see you later," he says hastily. "Byers! Jeff...damn it," Langly calls after him, but the click of the door closing cuts him off. Mulder and Scully look up to see Byers rushing out of the room and practically jogging down the hall. "Byers? Hey, what's wrong?" Scully calls after him. He either doesn't hear her or, more likely, is ignoring her. She looks at Mulder, his face mirroring her own confusion. She hears Langly calling 'Jeff' from the room, and can tell that whatever is happening, it's best that she stay out of it. Langly struggles to pull himself to a sitting position, using his hands to anchor himself. Frohike tells him to be careful, and gives him a supportive hand. The younger man reaches for his glasses and puts them on, then runs a hand weakly through his tangle of blond hair. "My timing is just great today, huh?" Frohike just nods, not knowing what to say. Usually it's Byers who is breaking up a fight between the two more vocal Gunmen; this time Frohike is left standing in the ruins. "Um, I called Moire back this morning. She says she's glad you're okay." He doesn't tell him that her actual words were 'Well, it's good to know Patrick's not dead yet.' Obviously she still hasn't forgiven her brother (who she still calls by his middle name) for those years when he was drinking, calling her when he was drunk and being a complete asshole. Frohike had tried to help during that time, but she just wasn't interested. Langly nods silently, his head tilted downward staring blankly at his legs. He's got his arms crossed over his chest again, something he always does when he's upset. Frohike watches him closely as he takes his glasses off again and rubs his fist over his eye. "Hey, man...you okay?" Langly shrugs, not trusting his voice. Frohike can see he's having trouble breathing again. "Your stomach?" The younger man shakes his head, causing his hair fall in front of his face. Frohike reaches up and brushes back the clumps of blond hair, concerned. Langly's face is pale and very warm. "Want me to get a doctor?" Langly hesitates, then slowly nods. Just as Frohike stands up to get help, Langly suddenly pulls one of his arms back and catches himself with an elbow, his other arm still draped tightly across his chest. He feels light-headed, but not in the gut-wrenching way like before. Frohike quickly wraps an arm behind the younger man's back and feels him collapse against it. "Easy, kid, hold on..." He turns his head toward the window and is relieved to see the two agents still sitting out there. "Scully!" he calls. Scully is on her feet instantly and throws open the door, Mulder on her heels. "What's wrong?" she asks Frohike, then looks at Langly. His breathing is shallow and raspy, and he has one hand clutched in a fist on his chest. "Mulder, get a doctor, now!" Mulder bolts out the door, and Scully quickly strides to the opposite side of the bed. She takes one hand and covers Langly's fist, gently stroking it with her thumb. "Langly? Can you hear me?" He looks up at her, his eyes a mixture of fear and confusion. *Scully...what's happening? Shit, why can't I talk...there's no air in here...it's like breathing under water...fuck, I can't breath, my lungs are full of water...Scully? Frohike...wait, don't leave...I can't understand you...turn the light back on... it's too dark in here, can't see you...guys...please, help me... what is that...something cold...air...cold air...scully...please...* The doctor put an clear oxygen mask over Langly's nose and mouth, but he is still gasping. Scully holds his hand, feels it go limp as he slips into unconsciousness. 1:30pm Lone Gunmens's Headquarters Byers slams the door to their warehouse office, then immediately slams his fist into the steel door. "Fuck," he yells, out of both anger at Langly and pain from his sore hand. 'Great, just great, John. Breaking your hand will solve things...' He walks slowly over to the main work table and sits in front of his computer. God, this place looks like hell. He looks at the computer and decides against checking e-mail. Glancing toward the answering machine, he sees it blinking; forget it, it can wait. 'Let it go...he didn't mean anything by it. We've argued about worse things before than placing blame. He's just so damned emotional and too analytical about himself. If he wants to blame himself, fine, let him.' His mind as running on autopilot as he looks around, not sure why he came back here. He spots Langly's green backpack draped over the stool he usually sits in. Sigh. 'He'll be out of there tomorrow at the rate he's recovering.' He grabs the pack and empties it onto the table next to Langly's laptop. CDs, disks, crumpled papers, a length of telephone cord (why?), and (Jesus Christ) a pair of purple boxers. Byers can't hold back a laugh at the sight of this absurd collection. Carrying the now-empty backpack, he goes to Langly's room and looks for something that might resemble a place where clean clothes could be kept. He doesn't see anything that he can recognize. Spotting a full laundry basket shoved into a corner, a thought occurs to him. 'I can't believe I'm about to do this,' he thinks. He reaches out slowly as if reaching toward nuclear waste, and picks up a t-shirt sitting on the top. 'Oh, man...' He cautiously lifts the shirt to his nose. (ewww...) Then he laughs. 'I thought so.' Langly keeps his clean laundry in the basket. He shoves the shirt into the backpack, and throws a few more things in with it. As he walks back into the main office area he looks around some more, his eyes finally landing back onto the laptop. 'He'll kick my ass if I don't bring it.' He starts to unplug the connections to the rest of their network, then jumps when the phone next to his ear rings. 'Shit, Langly, why do you have to sit so close to the phone? Your hearing isn't that bad.' "Lone Gunmen," he answers after the second ring, giving the machine a chance to start recording. "Byers?" It's Frohike, and he doesn't sound happy. 'Oh, god...' "Frohike? What's wrong? Is he...is he okay?" Byers' can feel his heart jump into his throat. "Um, I don't know yet...they just took him upstairs. A while after you left he started having trouble breathing and went into shock...I don't know what's going on..." his unsteady voice broke away. Byers reaches out to steady himself on the stool. 'god, no...' "Uh," he tries to answer, but his voice sounded terrible. He swallows hard, and starts again. "I'll be right there," and both men hang up. He takes a deep breath, forcing his nerves to settle down. Glancing down, he remembers what he was just doing. He quickly grabs the laptop, shoves it into the bag and heads for the door. 5:47pm ICU 'This is familiar.' Byers thinks to himself. He is gently holding Langly's hand again, watching his youngest partner sleep. He'd spent the past few hours in the waiting room with the others, waiting for information, news about what was happening to their friend. Finally about twenty minutes ago the doctor who Mulder had frantically retrieved earlier came in and explained what had happened. Langly had developed an infection, and his lungs filled with blood and fluid. They had to take him upstairs to drain his lungs, and started him on antibiotics to clear up the infection. The doctor said he should be all right, but they were obviously still concerned because of the nature of his injury. Now sitting next to his bed again, Byers and Frohike keep their emotions from showing, but both are being torn apart inside. Langly looks terrible; the part of his face not covered by the oxygen mask is ashen, the areas around his eyes bruised and sunken, his hair hanging limp and dull around his head. Byers is studying the thin hand he is squeezing. 'This kid is too skinny,' he thinks for the thousandth time. 'We're gonna have to put some weight on him, somehow...' His thought is interrupted by a small movement to his left. He looks up to see Langly tilt his head and look at him, eyes only half open. Byers smiles as the fallen Gunman squeezes his hand in return. Two days later 7:30am "How can he sleep like that without hurting himself?" Scully marvels as she walks into his room behind the other Gunmen. Langly is curled up on his side, one arm tucked next to his head and the other arm dangling gracelessly over the side of the bed. "I've seen him do worse," Frohike answers. He reaches up and nudges Langly's shoulder. "Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up. Time to go home." Langly jerks awake, squinting against the light. He rubs the heel of his hand across his eye. "Mmmm....what time is it?" he mumbles, barely awake. "Seven thirty in the morning, check out time!" Byers replies, way too bouncy for this time of day. "Jesus, there's a seven in the morning now??" came the only half-joking response. Scully smiles as she watches the three-way argument unfold. "You guys get him dressed, I'll be outside with Mulder." Langly looks at her with a big grin. "Hey, Scully--" "Don't even say it, Langly. I've already seen too much of you in your little gown." 8:45am Lone Gunmen Headquarters "What have you guys done to this place??" Langly looks at his partners in disbelief. The main office area was neatly organized, papers filed away properly, electronic equipment put back in their assigned cabinets. The floor had been swept and no one was in danger of tripping on anything. Even Scully was impressed; obviously Byers hadn't been able to sleep much these past few days whenever they insisted that he go home and rest. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will return to normal soon enough now that you're back." Byers replies. "Go sit down; you're supposed to take it easy for the next few days." He leads Langly toward the beat-up couch and makes him sit. "I'm fine," yawns Langly as he crosses his arms and leans back, fighting his exhaustion. "We'll tell you when you're fine..." Frohike starts to argue, then sees that Langly has already fallen asleep. He looks at Byers and they sigh in unison. Scully grabs a neatly folded blanket off a nearby shelf. She walks over to the couch and gently nudges Langly until he falls onto his side, not stirring at all. She pulls the blanket over him, and tenderly brushes his hair away from his face. She glances up to see Mulder and the other Gunmen smiling at her. "What?" The end.