Disclaimer: Don't own 'em (man this is the worst part!).
Searching, Finding, and Everything in Between
Ages. He'd been down in this hell of a basement for ages. He'd lost track of time after the first few days. He huddled in his corner. He prayed fervently his uncle wouldn't come back down, even if it meant forgoing food for a little longer. Food meant nothing if you weren't alive to enjoy it. Still, the thought of the small amount of sustenance set his mouth watering.
He shifted slightly. The once broken leg had knit badly. It hurt, even in the relative warmth of this particular corner. So he moved every so often to keep warm enough to avoid the pain. His eyes caught a glimpse of something as he moved. Could it be? He braced himself for disappointment. Without his glasses, he couldn't see much. Even if the lenses hadn't been shattered, his long hair would still have been in his face obscuring his vision.
His eyes didn't deceive him. A trickle of water slid down the wall. He licked it off, relishing the sweet taste and refreshing liquid. He was allowed a glass of water every few days. Usually it was tainted with a strong sedative to force him to be quiet. He was quiet a lot anyway. Making a fuss took too much energy.
He tried to quit thinking. It was an impossible task. He wondered sadly why his friends hadn't found him yet. They didn't want him anymore, like his uncle said. It was because of the – no. He wouldn't allow himself to think that way. His uncle was a liar. But a thread of doubt still ran through his head. He tried to stifle the sob, but it came anyway, and was quickly followed by others. Realizing that restraint was futile, he broke down, and emitted soft sobbing sounds, shaking as they erupted from deep within. Soon, Richard Langley had cried himself to sleep against the cold cement floor.
Byers poured over the notes again. He was looking for something, some minuscule bit of information to help them find Langley. He shifted his gaze to the calendar on the wall. Eight weeks. Langley had been missing for eight weeks.
Langley's disappearance had taken a toll on all of them. Jimmy no longer laughed or joked about anything. His face had taken on the grim appearance of a mourner. Frohike even ignored most of the conspiracy theories they came across. Byers himself had turned his focus to finding Langley, but found himself under the impression that Langley was dead.
Then, breaking the silence for the first time in two months, there was a strangely cheery whoop that startled all of them. It had come from Frohike.
"I have a lead!" He shouted, slamming down the phone excitedly. Byers didn't dare hope.
"Are you sure? Where did you get it?" He asked cautiously.
"Don't be such a nark, Byers. Of course I'm sure." Frohike replied, annoyed. "Remember the surveillance video we found where Langley was being dragged into the van?" Frohike asked. Byers couldn't help but remember. It was the first evidence that had shown that Langley had been kidnapped. Yves had shown it to them after it had been discovered. Langley had backed up against a wall. The angle couldn't show the man who grabbed him, but Langley had been scared. The man had grabbed him, and dragged him, struggling, to the van. The camera had a good view of the van, but not of the license plate. Only a few numbers had been seen. It was an in state plate, and the van was common in the area. Byers had watched the video over and over to try and get something else out of it. The only thing that happened was that the images haunted him at night.
"Yeah, I remember it." Byers said.
"Well I ran the numbers that we had with the make and model. A friend of mine found an identical van with the same numbers in Mulder's part of town." Frohike said, excitedly. Byers felt his heart jump, but willed it to remain calm.
"Frohike, we can't be sure…"
"Yeah, but it's a better lead than we've had in a while. Byers, it's worth investigating." Frohike finished. Byers sighed in defeat.
"Go get Jimmy. I'll start the van." He said.
A short drive later, Byers found himself staring at a crumbling rent house. The paint was peeling, the grass was brown, and there was garbage everywhere. The house was falling apart, and was clearly being lived in. Byers led towards the front door. There was a crash and a small yelp from inside. Jimmy backed up.
"Hey, guys, I don't think the folks living here will be too fond of us knocking on their door…" Jimmy said cautiously.
"Yeah, Byers, we should just go investigate," added Frohike, slowly backing away.
Byers looked up at the door, then down at the dilapidated garage. He turned and headed toward the garage. He ran his finger under the door. It moved slightly. No automatic door opener. Still, bordering on the overly cautious, he didn't want to be seen with the door wide open. He headed around the side of the house. There was a side door into the building. Byers motioned to Frohike and Jimmy to look around the outside of the house. They slowly slipped past.
Byers crept forward. There was a tiny window in the floor in front of him. Byers crouched down in front of the window and peered in. The angle was too poor to see much, but from what Byers could see, the room within was tiny, maybe about twelve square feet. The light was dim, and the walls and floor were concrete. The only light appeared to be from the window. Then something grabbed him from behind.
"What do you think you're doing?" A large man snarled. Byers cowered in his grasp. The man shook him violently. Gripping Byers by the back of the neck, he steered him roughly towards the house.
They went through a filthy hallway, and then a kitchen that looked as if the only inhabitants were cockroaches. They stopped momentarily in front of a door only to have it unlocked and yanked open. The door opened over a concrete staircase. Byers was dragged down the stairs, and then thrown to the floor. Slightly muddled, Byers pushed himself to his knees. He caught a glimpse of another, smaller figure. The man hit him again, and Byers' head cracked against the hard ground. He saw black.
Langley was crying. Byers stared at his friend. Langley was in his favorite Ramones t-shirt, huddled on the ground. Byers looked around. They were in a dark forest.
"Langley, hey. It's okay. Don't cry. I'm right here." Byers said, soothingly. Langley looked up slowly.
"It's your fault." Langley said darkly. Byers was surprised to hear him so angry.
"What? I've been worried…"
"It's all your fault." Byers hadn't noticed before that the ground was visible behind him.
"Langley, I can see through you." Byers said, confused.
"It's all your fault! I'm dead! It's all your fault!" Langley shouted from his spot on the ground. Byers kept staring at a tree through Langley. Two more figures approached from behind Langley. They were clearly menacing.
"Byers, how could you? It's your fault. He's dead now." Jimmy's voice.
"You didn't do anything. You could have done more." Frohike glared at him.
"I tried! I did everything I could! Langley, please! Guys!" Byers protested desperately. Still, the world around him seemed to spin. He could hear the accusing voices. They were everywhere.
"Your fault."
"Could have done more."
"He's dead."
"No, please…" Byers begged.
"Didn't do anything." Fading
"Your fault." Darker
"All your fault." Black.
"All your fault."
Byers jerked out of his nightmare with a start. He tried to stretch, but found that he couldn't move his arms. He shifted slightly, and then realized his arms were cuffed to the wall above him. He looked around. To his left, Frohike was similarly cuffed, and farther down the wall, Jimmy was also captured. Both were unconscious.
He gazed around the room, his eyes finally resting on a small, emaciated figure huddled in a corner in front and to the left of him. The figure was clad only in a pair of ragged pants, and its long stringy hair was in its face. Since it was shirtless, Byers guessed the figure to be male. In his frightened sleep, he was clearly in pain. His chest was covered in bruises and cuts, he held his right arm closely to his chest, and he was wheezing badly. The little guy coughed suddenly, and woke up.
"Hi." Byers said, involuntarily. The young man began trembling.
"Byers?" He asked. Byers' heart caught.
"Langley, is that you?" Langley nodded, and brushed the hair out of his face. He crawled over, dragging his left leg pitifully. Then, he rested against Byers' legs.
"I'm sorry." Langley said, his voice cracking as he did so.
"What? What are you sorry for?" Byers asked, confused.
"I'm sorry about the argument." Langley said, beginning to cry. "Is that why you waited so long? Were you mad? I-I-I'm s-so s-sorry." The sobs came faster now.
"Langley, I didn't even remember we had an argument. We've been looking for you for ages. No one knew where you were. All we had as a lead was a bad surveillance video. We couldn't see much of the van's license plate, or the man who kidnapped you, for that matter. You shouldn't have had to been down here. We'll get you out. I promise." Byers said. Langley looked up at him with fear filled eyes. Byers shuddered. The look in them was a haunted one. As if all the bad memories were stored in one place.
"You won't get out. He'll kill us all first." Langley said. He sighed. "I've tried. He almost killed me the last time I tried to escape." Byers stared at Langley in shock. "Yeah. I-I think he broke some ribs. That was also when he broke my leg. So I couldn't run. He hit me around, and then he started choking me…" Langley was starting to cry again. He looked at the floor, ashamed.
"Langley, Langley please look at me." Langley looked up at Byers. "It's okay to cry. There's nothing wrong with crying." Byers said. There was a groan from behind. Frohike shook his head, trying to clear it.
"What kind of truck hit me? Man, when my head hurts this much I want it to be a hangover." Frohike moaned. He looked over at Byers, and then down at Langley. "My god." He gasped. "Byers, is that -?" He stopped, questioning. Byers nodded. Langley was staring, wide eyed, at Frohike. "Hey, little buddy. Are you hungry?" Langley nodded cautiously. "I have a candy bar in my right jacket pocket if you want it." Langley looked tempted. Then he backed up.
"No-no. I'll get in trouble. He'll hurt me again." Langley started backing away.
"He won't know. I promise." Frohike said calmly.
"He knows everything." Langley whispered. "He'll know. He knows me so well."
"Who is 'he', anyway?" All three jerked their heads around to see Jimmy awake. Langley stared and backed up further.
"Jimmy, how long have you been awake?" Byers asked.
"A little before Frohike." Jimmy replied casually. "Who is this guy, anyway, Langley?"
"M-my Uncle Martin." Langley whispered, afraid. Then, he curled up in a ball, and went to sleep.
"We have to get him out of here. He'll be dead in a few days if we don't save him." Byers said, concerned.
"Well, first we have to figure out how to get us out of these cuffs." Frohike stated. He looked over at Langley. Langley was almost childlike. He shivered in his sleep.
Then the door banged open. All of them turned to face their captor. Langley was instantly awake.
"Good morning, children." The large man said, mockingly. He strode over to Langley and gave him a kick to the ribs. Langley fell back against the floor, whimpering.
"Leave him alone!" Jimmy shouted. The man, presumably Uncle Martin, grabbed Langley by the neck. Langley dangled from his grasp, choking and begging for air. Martin smirked at Jimmy.
"What are you going to do about it? Fight me? Like that?" he laughed and shook Langley violently. Then, he tossed the young man aside like a limp dishrag. Langley hit the wall and slumped to the floor, unconscious. Byers gasped, afraid for Langley's life. He stared hard, looking for a sign of life. Langley coughed suddenly, and began a slow, but ragged breathing.
"I can do just about anything I want." Martin said, breaking Byers' concentration. Byers was suddenly horrified to realize Martin was headed towards him. Then he felt a blow to his midsection. The blood pounded in his ears. He heard the sound of flesh on flesh to his left, and turned to see him hit Frohike, hard. Then, he walked toward Jimmy.
"I can beat up your little friends here as much as I want. I know you were looking for the little moron over there. Unless you want him dead, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself." Martin sneered, grabbing Jimmy's shirtfront. Then Jimmy kicked him, pulling himself up by his arms. Martin let out an "oof" and staggered backward.
"I warned you. I'll be back down, but next time it'll be for the idiot's execution!" Martin shouted. Then he left the way he came.
"Execution, oh my gosh. I've killed him!" Jimmy gasped, horrified.
"Not if we can figure a way out of here." Byers said.
"Any ideas, genius? It's not like we can really do anything. Not without a lock pick or the key." Frohike snapped. His left eye was swelling already. Byers didn't answer. He turned his attention to Langley's motionless body.
It was hours before Langley stirred, then groaned. He shifted a little to make himself more comfortable. Then, he rubbed his eyes, and looked at the little window. His eyes grew wide, and he dragged himself over to a spot on the floor, staring at the window intensely.
"Langley, what are you doing?" Jimmy asked, trying to stay calm.
"The sun is coming." Langley murmured. Sure enough, within a few minutes a shaft of sunlight poured in through the window. It moved as the sun did, and for a few short minutes, the room was brightly illuminated. Then the shaft of light was resting on Langley's spot. Langley closed his eyes. He looked almost happy. Byers stared at him with pity. To take joy in something like that was amazing. It also said a lot about the conditions down in the cold basement.
"Do you sit there every day?" Byers asked.
"If I haven't missed it." Langley responded, quietly.
They waited until the room was dark again before talking. Langley had sidled up next to Byers again, and had even consented to take Frohike's candy bar after a little prodding. He was closing his eyes sleepily when Frohike spoke up.
"Langley, wait. We need to figure out how to get you out of here. We'll carry you if we have to. Do you remember anything about an escape?" Frohike asked, gently, not wanting to startle Langley too much.
"No." Langley said. "He locks the door behind him when he comes in, and keeps the keys with him."
"Wait. What if Langley could get the keys out of Martin's pocket? If he got them on the ground near me I could use my feet to get them up to my hands. Then I could get myself unlocked, unlock you guys, and we'd get out of here." Jimmy said, suddenly excited.
"Yeah, well, what happens when Martin starts beating Langley again? Then what?" Frohike said.
"I'll do it." Langley said, suddenly.
"No, Langley. It's too dangerous, and you're not in a good way right now. Our first priority is keeping you safe." Byers replied.
"Have you got any better ideas? There's no other way out but the door. The window's welded shut. You can't break it, either. It's the only chance." Langley said, quietly.
"You could get killed." Frohike said. "We just got you back. We don't want to lose you again."
"I'll be dead either way. At least this way I'll go out fighting." Langley joked softly
"We love you, Gangly." Frohike teased. Langley hugged him around the legs, and then pulled himself over to Jimmy, to wait.
They didn't have to wait long. The door banged open again, and Martin swaggered downstairs. He made a beeline for Langley. Langley sprang. He grabbed at Martin's pockets, and then there was the distinct sound of metal on concrete. The keys were on the ground.
With a yell of rage Martin grabbed Langley, and threw him to the middle of the floor. Langley landed on his stomach. He tried to push himself up. Martin kicked him, and Langley hit the ground again. Then, Martin grabbed Langley by his shoulders, and started shaking him. Langley let out a wail of despair. There was a crash, and Langley hit the ground. Two more kicks were landed.
All the while, Jimmy was gripping the keys with his feet. Using brunt strength, he lifted his legs to his hands above his head. He caught the keys with his right hand. Then, he tried each key he could. There were about five to reckon with. The first three didn't work. Then the cuffs swung open. Jimmy stuffed the keys in his pocket while he ran toward Martin.
Martin may have been big, but he was mostly fat. Jimmy was all muscle. The fight was rather one sided. Jimmy soon had Martin pinned on the stairs.
"This is for Langley." He snarled, and slammed Martin's head against a step. Martin was out cold. Jimmy hurried back and unlocked the cuffs on Byers and Frohike. Then he turned to Langley. Langley was on his right side with his back to the Gunmen. He was very still.
"Langley, please don't be dead!" Byers begged. It certainly looked as if he were so. Byers dashed around to Langley's other side. Blood was trickling out of the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were closed very tightly. Byers felt Langley's neck.
"Is there a pulse?" Frohike asked, quietly. Byers shook his head slightly.
"I can't find one. Wait. Yes. He's alive." Byers could feel a small, weak pulsing against his fingers.
Langley was still frightfully cold to the touch. Byers began pulling at his long trench coat. "Guys, help me get this under him." Working gently, Frohike and Jimmy carefully lifted a bit of Langley at a time, careful to keep his body as still as possible, and Byers slid his coat under him. Jimmy pulled off his sweatshirt, rolled it into a sort of headrest, and slipped it under Langley's head. Frohike draped his jacket over Langley's upper body.
"Please be okay." Jimmy murmured, tears trickling down his cheeks.
"We have to call the police." Frohike said, somewhat frantic.
"No need." Said a sultry female voice from the stairs.
"Yves! What- How –?" Jimmy started.
"You weren't home and haven't been for three days, and Frohike picked up the phone late. I checked your answering machine and found the address." She explained. "I've called the police already. How is he?" Byers shook his head and reported their findings. Yves gazed sadly down at the dying form. "He's been through so much. He shouldn't have to die."
"He won't die." Frohike said with conviction. Clattering could be heard from upstairs.
"Frohike, he's in bad shape. I doubt he'll live much longer." Yves tried to convince him. "We're down here!" She called upstairs. Two EMTs carried a stretcher down the stairs.
"Be careful with him. Please." Jimmy said to the workers.
"Don't worry." They tried to assuage his fears.
"I need to go with him." Byers said quietly.
"I don't think that's possible." One of the EMTs told him.
"Really. I need to. I don't want to lose him yet." Byers pleaded quietly. One nodded to the other.
"Come on. Let's go." One of them motioned to him. Byers got up from the floor, and followed the stretcher to the ambulance.
It was a week later. Langley had been surviving so far, but his coma was disheartening. He hadn't woken up since his last beating. He was hooked up to several IVs that were pumping nutrients, painkillers, and various antibiotics into his emaciated body. He had nasal and oral respirators, and was covered in bandages.
Byers sighed. They had all been taking shifts sitting with Langley in the hospital. Byers couldn't help but think about the ambulance ride.
Langley was having trouble breathing. His chest was catching when he inhaled. Then his back arched off the stretcher.
"He's not breathing." Byers murmured.
"What?" gasped the EMT. He clamped an oxygen mask over Langley's face. Moments later, Langley began breathing normally. Byers grasped Langley's thin hand.
"Not yet, Langley. It's not time yet." Byers breathed.
In the hospital, the doctors took him into surgery immediately. Byers was left in the waiting room. He'd never felt so alone.
Frohike and Jimmy soon arrived, and bombarded Byers with questions regarding Langley's condition. All Byers could do was hold his head and say, "I don't know, I don't know."
It was hours before the doctor called them. He led them down the hallway to ICU. Langley was lying in bed, still unconscious. Byers could have sworn he was sleeping.
"We took some x-rays," the doctor was saying "and it doesn't look good. There's a crack in his skull, and there may be some brain damage. Once he's stable we'll run some more tests to determine the extent of the damage. We also know that seven broken ribs punctured both his lungs.
"We also had to re-break his leg and put some pins in it. We hope it will heal, but if it doesn't start showing some progress in a couple of weeks, it may have to be amputated.
"Hopefully he'll make a full recovery. However, there is a small chance that he won't wake up. We'll talk about that if the time comes. I'll leave you alone with him for now." He said, and quietly walked out of the room.
Since then they'd all been taking shifts with Langley, desperately waiting for him to wake up…
Byers snapped back to the present as the door opened.
"Hey." Frohike stepped in quietly. He acted as if he didn't want to wake their sleeping friend.
"Remember when it was just the three of us?" Byers murmured, softly. "Jimmy wasn't here yet, and we were still doing Mulder's tech work?"
"Yeah. I remember. Remember when we all hated each other?" Frohike replied.
"When I was still working for the FCC, and you guys were selling illegal cable boxes." Byers finished. He smiled a little in spite of himself. He got up from his chair. "Call me…"
"…If anything changes. I know." Frohike finished Byers frequently used sentence. Byers walked out the door, smiling sadly.
Several days later, Langley still hadn't shown any signs of waking up. However, his leg was blessedly healing well.
Byers walked in to find Yves, not Jimmy. Yves had a comb, and was carefully brushing through Langley's matted hair. She was on what appeared the second half of his head. The hair, which had been previously pulled back and away from the tubes, was lying on the pillow. It was longer than Byers remembered it, and wispier.
"I'm trying to make it presentable…" Yves started, as Byers stared.
"Where's Jimmy?" He asked.
"I sent him out. I don't think he's slept since you guys found Langley. He looked just exhausted. For that matter, when was the last time you've slept?" She asked. Byers shrugged.
In truth, he hadn't slept since Langley had first disappeared. Since he'd been found, Byers' dreams were filled with scenes of Langley's hideous beating. Byers took up his seat by the bed, and picked up Langley's hand. Somehow, Byers prayed that Langley felt him through his coma.
"Byers, he might not wake up." Yves said softly. Byers kept staring at Langley's hand.
"No, he'll wake up. I know he will." Byers mumbled, flustered. The gunmen hadn't really gotten around to discussing what Yves had dubbed the "forbidden topic". The first time she'd brought it up, Jimmy had silenced her saying something about not wanting to jinx Langley.
"Byers. What if he doesn't? What if? You need to consider the possibility." She replied.
"No. He'll be okay. I know it. He's going to be." Byers felt tears escape his eyes. He wiped them away.
Yves continued to brush Langley's hair in silence.
It had been a month since Langley had been found. The oral respirator had been removed, and Langley's leg was almost healed. But Langley still remained stubbornly unconscious. Byers picked up Langley's hand again. He sighed.
Then he felt it. It was tiny. Almost unidentifiable. Langley's hand had moved slightly. Byers stared at Langley with rapt attention. Langley's eyelids flickered slightly. They shut again.
"Hey, come on. Wake up." Byers urged. Langley moaned slightly. He closed his eyes tighter. His hand jerked out of Byers' grasp, and flew to his face to wipe at his eyes. He rubbed, and whimpered. Byers jumped up to find a nurse.
He leaned out into the hall. "Hey, um, I need someone in here. He's waking up." A grandmotherly nurse named Ms. Laurel smiled and headed in. Ms. Laurel had been in several times during Langley's coma.
"Well, it's about time isn't it?" She asked, jovially. Smiling the whole time, she checked Langley's monitors. Langley's hands went up to rub his eyes again.
"Well there's as much of a sign as any. Hello sleepyhead. Welcome back." She said. Langley opened his eyes.
"Where am I?" He asked, weakly.
"You're in the hospital. You're okay now." Byers answered softly. He didn't want to startle Langley too much.
"Oh. What happened?" Langley was very disoriented. "Where are my glasses?"
"Don't you remember?" Byers asked.
"Um, something in Uncle Martin's basement. After he got you guys. We had a plan. Did it work?"
"Yes, Langley. It did. You got the keys out of Martin's pocket. Jimmy got himself unlocked, and we all got out."
"'Kay. Where's Frohike and Jimmy?"
"I'll call them right now. They'll be here soon."
"'Kay. Can I have my glasses?"
"I'll have Jimmy bring them." Byers told him. Langley nodded, his eyes already closing.
"I'm tired." Langley whispered.
"I know." Byers replied. Byers gave Langley's hand a little squeeze before heading to a telephone.
Frohike and Jimmy were at the hospital in minutes.
"How is he? Is he okay? Is anything wrong?" Frohike was desperately asking questions, fear invading his voice.
"He's just really tired. He wants to go back to sleep, but the nurse won't let him until the final tests are run." Byers explained. Frohike nodded, bewildered. The nurse signaled them in.
"He's just fine for now. He's a little disoriented, but he'll be alright." She said, as the three approached. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief.
"Can we see him?" Frohike asked. The nurse motioned them in.
In the room, Langley was gazing at the ceiling in the dimmed light. His eyes were too sensitive to handle the light full on, and his back was too weak to sit up. Frohike took something out of his coat pocket.
"Hey, Langley. You feeling alright?" He said, softly. He slid the glasses into Langley's hand.
"Yeah. I'm just really tired." Langley replied. He slid the glasses onto his face, and smiled slightly. "It's nice to be able to see." He murmured. He was falling asleep already.
"I'll bet. You rest now. Okay?" Jimmy said. Langley nodded, before closing his eyes and falling into a deep sleep.
It was six months later, and Byers could hardly believe the change in Langley. He smiled as Langley, once again, defeated Jimmy's character at Dungeons and Dragons.
Langley had continued to stay in the hospital for another two months while he went through daily physical therapy and through the rest of his recovery process. After that two months was up, Byers and Frohike had arranged a sort of homecoming involving the four of them, Mulder, Scully, and even Skinner had consented to come and pay his regards.
Langley had steadily gained more weight until there was almost no way of telling that he had ever been in the hospital. There were only two things that refused to heal: Langley's leg, and the dreams. He had continued to limp long after his physical therapy. The doctor said it was normal because of the extensive damage that was done after the first surgery.
Langley had continued to have nightmares for weeks after he was brought home. Frohike had set up a series of monitors after the first night so someone could be in his room with him when he started to cry in terror.
Byers shivered remembering those nights. Langley had been so scared. Like he had been when he was in the basement. Mulder had finally consented to do a psychiatric evaluation after he went over his old college textbooks. His diagnosis was posttraumatic stress syndrome. He then recommended that they see a real psychiatrist. They did, and the dreams started to come on fewer and fewer nights. Now they didn't come at all.
The Lone Gunmen had actually paid for very little of the medical bill. Two of Jimmy's football buddies had gone pro, heard the story on the news, and anonymously donated money. Also, a group of high-school students from a local arts school had put on a play where all of the proceeds went to paying the bill. It turned out the student coordinators were somehow related to Skinner. Apparently it was the most successful play the school had ever put on.
After the debt was paid off, the Lone Gunmen had published a magazine about how the human race still has some good in it. It was the only issue that had ever sold out.
Byers sat back and watched as his little family sat down around the table and ate the dinner that Frohike had made. He was steadily forgetting the days where that table had been the focus of so much sorrow. He wanted to dwell on the happy times, now.
For Langley's sake.