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Title: The Land of the Living 
By: Jessica Harris 
Disclaimer: All things X-Files belong to CC and friends. 
Notes: PG 13. No sex at all, but please bear with me folks, I needed to get 
this one out of my system. Mortality warning. No beta - this was a quickie, 
so any mistakes my fault. 
Feedback: Please! lumpj@hotmail.com 
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The Land of the Living 
Jessica Harris 
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We're watching the computer screen when Byers' chest bleeps. He excuses 
himself, and disappears into the kitchen with a rattle of pills. The 
drug-minder appeared around his neck a couple of months ago - he's on one of 
the new drug cocktails, three, maybe four drugs, plus all the others, the 
prophylaxes for the infections he's survived. 

"My human Tamagotchi," Langly calls him now, mockingly, but hope and fear 
wage war in the eyes behind his glasses. Byers' viral load is down, Langly 
tells us, but his T-Cells remain stubbornly low. 

The drugs make him tired, and upset his stomach, to his own hideous 
embarrassment. Sometimes he can't control the nausea, and Langly holds his 
shoulders as he vomits into whatever's handy, holds his shoulders and glares 
balefully at anyone who dares to stare. 

Byers hates it, just as he hates the way his suits sit oddly on him now, his 
arms and legs still too thin but his shirts straining over a small hard 
paunch. "It's the drugs," Scully tells me when I ask her privately, worried 
that it's some strange new problem. "Crix belly.It's just one of the side 
effects." 

Byers has never been a vain man, but he's always been thin and tidy, and I 
know he finds it hard. We were walking down the street one day and he caught 
sight of himself in a window. He stopped and stared, his face appalled. 
Langly came up behind him and hugged that round little belly hard, and Byers 
turned to look at him with an expression I had to turn away from, there was 
so much naked emotion in it. They're neither of them demonstrative men, not 
usually. 

I'm ashamed at how relieved I am it's not me. Byers and I spent some nights 
together in the past, comfort mostly, nothing serious. I was happy when he 
and Langly hooked up - they're a strange couple, but you can tell they have 
something really solid. 

And we were always safe, but still... the first thing I did when he told me 
was hug him tight for a long time. The second thing I did was run to the 
clinic and have myself tested again. It hadn't been that long since my last 
test, but I couldn't help myself. When the results came back negative, I was 
so relieved I cried. 

And then I cried some more. Jesus christ, why *wasn't* it me? I was always 
safe with Byers, but that's more than I can claim with Alex, and god only 
knows where *he* puts his dick when I don't safely have ahold of it. I cried 
for Byers and Langly, and for myself and Alex, and for all the stupid 
fucking things we do for love. None of this should carry a death sentence, 
none of it. 

And me, I've not been sentenced to death, but sometimes I feel I've been 
sentenced to life, a life of fear and mistrust and precautions, a life of 
watching my friends die. 

Scully got angry at me when I said that. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, 
Mulder!" she snapped, and I winced, thinking of her cancer. "Be grateful for 
what you have. And it's not like Byers is dead already - he could have years 
left, he still has a life. If you want to do something about it, call him 
up, see if you can help." 

But she hugged me tight before she left that day, said, "Take care of 
yourself, Mulder. Stay safe." Once she was gone, I dissolved into tears 
again. It's a responsibility, you see, having people who love you. It took 
me a long time to learn that. 

Then I picked up the phone, and dialed. "Byers? Hey, it's Mulder. 
Anything you guys need?" 

That was a few years ago now, and we've all pitched in since. I dropped by 
one morning and found only Frohike there. "Miss Scully's taken Byers and 
Langly to the hospital," he reports. "She thinks his 
shunt is infected. We've concealed this address so well that we can't get 
home care for him, so she's been by to take care of the IV for his drugs." 
She hadn't even mentioned it to me. 

Now Byers returns from the kitchen, sipping grapefruit juice, and stands 
beside me. I put an arm around his shoulders and squeeze a little. He looks 
surprised, but leans into me, accepting the affection. I pull him closer, 
hug him long and hard like the day he told me. He rests his face on my 
shoulder. No one comments. I get the feeling we've all been doing this to 
him lately, all his friends, all the people who now make up his family. 
Putting our arms around him and squeezing, as if by holding on tight enough 
we can bind him here, keep him with us just that much longer. 
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