The Wake by  

This was written in response to a fanfic challenge about how the guys
would deal with death.

All normal FOX, 1013 Production and Chris Carter Disclaimers apply
to this.


"There was an explosion at Warped Tour 2000 today, leaving hundreds

Frohike, Byers and Jimmy snapped off the TV. They couldn't tolerate
listening anymore.

Frohike grabbed a bottle of J& B and offered to his two friends. They
accepted, and the bottle was passed around.

"I can't believe he's gone," Byers said mournfully, wincing as he tried
to swallow the bitter brew.

"He was a eucalyptus among sprouts," Frohike murmured.
He took a long sip. "Here's to you, kid."

"God, I loved that guy. And he really never yelled at me all that
much," Jimmy saluted him.

The door buzzed, and no one got up to answer. A few moments later, the
lovely face of Yves Harlow was before them.

"And what's this pity party in honor of?" She asked acidically.

"You didn't hear the news?" Byers asked her, slurring his words

"What news?" She demanded.

"There was a major explosion at Warped Tour," Frohike explained. "And
Langly's always down in the mosh pits. Guy never had a chance."

Yves stared at the ceiling for a few moments, then sat down at the
table with them. "Give me some of that, Frohike."

Frohike obligingly passed the bottle to her. Soon it was empty. The
party of mourners were forced to raid the emergency stashes.

Jimmy, in an advanced state of drunkenness, looked mournfully up at
Frohike. "Does this mean I can have his room?"

Yves, inebriated though she was, leaned over and smacked him hard,
resulting in him passing out on the table.

"Good. More for the rest of us," Frohike muttered.

"I'm going to miss him," Byers sighed. "I'll miss his whining."

"Speak for yourself," Frohike shot back, but then brushed a tear from
his eye. "Yeah. I don't know how we'll survive without him complaining
about everything."

"I rather enjoyed him, actually," Yves conceded. "And he's got a
great ass."

Frohike and Byers said nothing in response to that one.

"He truly was the king of hackers. And a good friend." Byers tried to
raise the bottle, but was too far gone to do so. He missed his mouth
on the way in. At that point, he laid his head on the table and called it a

Yves groaned. "At least you could have had single malt, Melvin."

"If I'd known the kid was gonna kick, I'd have arranged it," Frohike
said bitterly.

"I'm going to miss him. He was so easy to pick on," Yves sighed.

Yves, despite her complaints about being forced to drown her sorrows in
J&B as opposed to Glenfiddich, soon succumbed and was passed out on the
table with the others.

Frohike was the last man standing, and he allowed himself the luxury of
a few tears for the young man he had worked alongside, argued with,
suffered with, and cared for for the last dozen years. It was as if a large
hole in his heart had opened up and it would never find a way to be filled
again. It was nearly daylight when Frohike was no longer able to keep his head
up. By daylight, the table was filled with four sleeping, aromatic heads.

Around ten, the door buzzed. Buzzed again. Needless to say, no one
was in any state to answer.

"Hey, what's going on?" A nasal voice called out.

Frohike rose slightly. "Holy Mother of God, how much did I have to

Byers was startled awake. "Langly? Is that really you?" He blinked
in disbelief.

"We thought you were dead, man," Jimmy said as he yawned, grimacing at
the dreadful flavor in his mouth.

"I drank bad scotch for that?" Yves moaned, rubbing her head.

"We heard about the explosion, and feared for the worst," Byers
explained. "We're glad you're alive, Langly."

Langly smiled a huge, shit eating grin. "Yeah, I'm alive. And I'm not
a virgin anymore, either."

He sauntered out of the room, six inches of air separating his feet
from the ground, never losing his smug smile.

Frohike groaned, hard. "You know, someday I'm gonna kill that kid."