After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

 

AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

 

VILLAGE OF THE TWICE DAMNED

 

“Can you sit up for me?  I want to burp you.”

 

Rita was in seventh heaven.  Making love to Ian for the first time had been everything she had imagined, and then some.  His thick cock had kept her constantly on edge, and his stamina and self-discipline had been astonishing.  He had followed her lead without question, and as a result her orgasms had come in rapid fire succession.  They had been intense, but it was the aftermath-- his easy transformation from sensitive lover to infant in arms-- that had made the experience infinitely sweeter. 

 

The sensual had surrendered to the maternal so swiftly that it had left her reeling emotionally.  Her hands, normally so still, had taken on a life of their own as she cradled him, nursing him on the twin bottles of breast milk.  She had drawn lazy circle after lazy circle on his tummy, the gesture at once comforting yet a continual reminder of her presence.

 

Without anything to grip onto, Ian struggled to sit upright, but he got there, and Rita switched to gently patting his back.  It didn't take long for him to let out a satisfying belch.

 

“You're getting good at this,” she smiled; “I mean, the bottle feedings.  You suck just like an infant, and the breast milk seems to agree with your tummy.  But it's an acquired taste.  Have you acquired it?”  Rita's laugh was heartfelt.

 

“Most of the time, I'm simply tolerating it.  But I'll admit that there have been moments when it tastes really good.  I guess not all breast milk is the same.”

 

“True enough, but your taste buds are sensitive to your mood.  Everything tastes better when you're happy.”

 

“Good point.  At the moment, I'm really happy because I thought that I was going to lose you, only to learn that you're here to stay.  Maybe that's why these two bottles tasted so good.”

 

In response, she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

 

“And Rita?  I'm sorry about the house out on Lake Minnetonka.  I know you had your heart set on it, but waterfronts are very difficult to secure.  Think you'd be okay with a big house surrounded by open fields … maybe a barn or two … our own private pond?  Someplace for Toby to wander around, foot loose and fancy free?  Toby … well, Toby is really good with kids.”

 

“And what about Pete?”

 

“Oh, he'll keep the barns clean.”

 

“How about a bunkhouse for the security team?”

 

“Works for me.”

 

“Imagine that ours would be the only place in Minnesota where the kids have an elephant and a python for pets.”

 

“Our liquor bill would be enormous.  I'm not exaggerating when I say that Pete can out drink any guy on this planet.”

 

“We'll put Pete on the payroll.  An unarmed security guard.  Course, we'll have to put up signs … TRESPASSERS WILL BE HUGGED TO DEATH!”

 

“Speaking of hugs ...”

 

Ian wiggled around until he was facing Rita, who was still leaning with her back against the desk.

 

“Have I mentioned that I love you?”

 

Rita frowned, pretending to think about it.  “Not in the last ten minutes or so … thought it might have slipped your mind.  Do you?  Do you really, really love me?”

 

“I do, and if I don't collapse first, I intend to prove it at every diaper change.  And when you start lactating?  That suction cup attached to your teats is gonna be me.”

 

“Can't wait!  I'm already using a breast pump, but I'll redouble my efforts … which, reminds me … we need to go back to the store and buy a couple of pumps for Priscilla!  Sorry, baby, but with four of us breast feeding you, there won't be any space in your tummy for regular food for a long, long time … maybe years.”

 

“Oh, the horror ...”

 

“I can just see it now.  The five of us will be at Murray's, and four of us will be dining on steaks and baked potatoes piled high with all the trimmings.  But our little baby boy will be slurping down his breast milk.  Maybe we can get a private room where the four of us can take turns nursing you.  Wouldn't that be great fun?  Being passed from one set of heavy, milky teats to the next, and having to drink it all!  You'll turn into quite the little chubster!”

 

Rita reached out to pat Ian's tummy.  “And you definitely could use a few extra pounds,” she added.

 

“Hard to gain weight when everything you eat runs right through you,” he lamented.

 

“Actually, unless the reflex comes with so little warning that you need to race to the toilet, pooping after every meal is healthy.  But all five of us need supplements; that's high on the agenda for this weekend.”

 

“But I'm creating so much work for you,” he protested.  “I don't like being a burden.”

 

“Oh, Ian, you're not a burden.  Have you ever heard one of us complain about having to change you?  Have you?”

 

“No … no, I guess not.”

 

“And you won't.  First, your stool is so mushy that the cleanup is a breeze.  So, don't worry about it.  But more importantly, I relish being your mommy as much as I enjoy our lovemaking-- and our first time was incredible!  You are my little baby Ian, and I don't want that ever to change.”

 

“And Princess Poopy Pants?”

 

“If Sarah had her way,” Rita laughed, “Ian would be dethroned, and the Princess would take her place.  And every once in a while, it's going to happen.”

 

“Sorry … don't follow.”

 

“Let's say that we summon the Princess, and leave her in control of your mind and body for a couple of weeks.  Ian, she does not have your doubts, nor your anxieties.  Where you distrust, she trusts absolutely.  How do you think your body would respond to going fourteen days without worry or stress?  Think of it as the ultimate vacation!”

 

“Complete with wearing all the baby dresses you've been buying me.  Thank God I wouldn't remember any of it.”

 

“There you go.  How about a week as an eight month old?  Crawling around the house, unable to speak a single word, not even 'Mama'.  Then, in the second week, you graduate to being a toddler.  A few simple words, plus you can stand upright … even walk.  Therefore onesies the first week, and baby dresses the second!  It would be the ultimate vacation-- a holiday from yourself!”

 

“You know, Rita, you really are one hell of a salesperson.”  Ian had a large grin on his face.  “First it was Don and Phil, and now you're making a totally bizarre pitch actually sound appealing!”

 

“Glad you're good with it because it's going to happen, maybe as early as next week.  Vic is ready to proceed, but how we do this going forward very much depends on what you are about to tell me.  So, get back down here; once you're safely cradled in my arms, we'll proceed.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Good afternoon, Sir.  It's Robert.  Can you give me a few minutes?”

 

“Is this high priority?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Proceed.”

 

“Songbird has had a very busy and very public day.  He appeared in court this morning to defend forty-one girls from a local sorority who have been running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches.”

 

“The usual fraternity hi-jinx?”

 

“It would appear so.  I was in the Student Union for an early lunch when a bus brought the girls home.  There was a huge crowd waiting, including crews from all of the local stations.  One of the newshounds accosted Songbird when he got off the bus, and asked him straight out if he was a CIA agent.”

 

“You have got to be kidding me!”

 

“Sir, this went out live on every local station.  The potential reach is over two million viewers.  I expect this segment to be replayed at five, six, and possibly ten.”

 

“Oh, wonderful … just wonderful.  What did Songbird say?”

 

“He denied being on the payroll, but conceded that he does favors for his friends at Langley-- the kind of favors that involve travel to exotic ports of call worldwide.  When he left for class, the students were hailing him as Secret Agent Man.  I'm afraid it's going to stick.”

 

Mister Black sighed deeply.  His budget was already stretched thin, but he realized that it was about to be stretched a good deal more.

 

“It gets worse, Sir … a lot worse.  First, everywhere you go on campus, people are talking about Songbird's wife and daughter … about what happened out there.”

 

“So, the cat is well and truly out of the bag?”  Black shook his head in despair.  It was easy to calculate where this would go next.  On one level, he considered himself lucky that the story had taken so long to break.

 

“Yes, Sir.  There was one odd feature in the morning's events.  When they got off the bus, all but a handful of the girls were wearing blue scrubs, and one of them was sporting one of those flimsy hospital gowns.  Playing a hunch, after class I drove over to the hospital.  There's a bulletin board down in the cafeteria, and someone has mounted a photo of Songbird's family.  He's cradling the baby in his arms, and she's very small, so the picture must have been taken not long after Linh's birth.  There's a note accompanying the photo.  It reads: 'wife murdered'.  Stop.  'Daughter stolen'.  Stop.  “Village massacred'.  Stop.  'Search ongoing'.  Full stop.”    

 

“Shit.  Is the press on it?”

 

“Uncertain, but the hospital is in a state of collective shock … and tonight the shock wave is going to roll across the Cities.  So, it's only a matter of time.”

 

“And the locals will run it by their networks, and someone will bite.”

 

“No chance of shutting it down?”

 

“None.  Oh, when it goes public the Agency will probably blame it on the South Vietnamese pacification program in the highlands, but after Watergate and My Lai everybody in the business is chasing Peabodies and Pulitzers.  Too many people know about the Phoenix Program, Robert, so no one is going to pass on the cover-up of a massacre, especially when the tragedy involves a decorated war hero and his family.  The photo will probably end up on the cover of Time.”

 

“Sir, with all due respect, none of this makes any sense.  What are the odds that Songbird would show up in the Twin Cities, and lease an apartment directly above Owl?  Is it possible that Raven has been compromised, and someone is running a back door operation against us through her?”

 

“That is the question, isn't it?”

 

“The way I read it … someone is trying to flush us out.”

 

“The possibility does have to be considered.”

 

Mister Black really didn't like where this was going.  Sofia Haikonnen wasn't on STD's payroll, but she was a critical piece of the agency's structure.  Retired agents had to be housed somewhere, especially the ones exhibiting early signs of Alzheimer's or dementia.  The secure psychiatric ward of a small regional hospital in a remote and sparsely populated region of the country was ideal, especially when the community in question was snowbound for five to six months a year.

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Yes, Sir.  Two things.  First, the diaper service that was being ripped off?  It's a Mafia front-- the property of one Vincent Belmondo.  'Spats', as he is known up here, is a protege of Tony Accardo, so we're looking at the Outfit.”

 

“Wonderful.  FYI, Robert … Songbird is tight with the Mafia, both here and in the old country.  Odds are that he's offered some kind of deal to this Belmondo character to get the girls off the hook.”

 

“Could it involve us?”

 

“Hmm … I think not.  The Big Tuna has a problem with local law enforcement … the kind of a problem that Songbird can make go away with a single phone call.  I'll repeat what I said this morning: Songbird knows everybody.  He's the fixer, doing favors here and there, and storing up the IOU's.  There's nothing secret about your Secret Agent Man, Robert.  He's out in the open, operating above the fray, our one reliable point of contact with the Soviets.  You wouldn't believe some of the people that he's recruited, not to work for us but to moderate their government's sometimes paranoid policies.  Hell, even the North Koreans talk to him, and they don't talk to anybody!”

 

“So, I take it there's no plan in the works to sanction him?”       

 

“Good Lord, no!  He's untouchable, especially now that he's out in the open.  And he's not a threat.  If you want to worry about anyone, worry about Irina Orlov.  Odds are that she'll be the first to figure out that this was an inside job.”

 

“Which brings us to the second thing.  Songbird is challenging a police precinct to a drinking contest.  A cop bar is hosting, and they're going to play by Hong Kong Rules.  It's tonight, and everybody involved figures to get so drunk that driving home would be an accident waiting to happen … a fatal accident.”

 

“Not going to happen, Robert.  I repeat: for the moment at least, Songbird is untouchable.”

 

“You like him, don't you, Sir?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do.  Ian invented Hong Kong Rules, but he did so for a purpose.  He's rather strongly of the opinion that you shouldn't trust any man until you see what he's like when he's drunk.  In this town, that bit of homespun wisdom has served me well-- and I will lay odds that, tonight, Street Racer is targeting somebody!”

 

“Yes. Sir.  I'll get back to you when the massacre reaches the local news outlets.”

 

“Thank you, Robert.  By the way, how's the Japanese coming along?”

 

“You wouldn't believe it, Sir.  I'm actually getting good at it!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Tell me about your family.”  Rita had wrapped her arms around Ian, not simply cradling him but holding him tight.  She wanted him to know that he was safe.

 

“Which one,” he countered.  “As of today, I appear to have five.”

 

“Do you think of us as family?”  Rita was smiling, thinking to herself that Ian's heart was indeed the bottomless pit that Suzie Marshall had described.

 

“I do … and right now by far the most important one of all.”

 

“A work in progress.  But for the moment, I want to talk about your family in Viet Nam.  How did you meet Nguyen?”

 

“I think about that, sometimes … the heavy hand of Fate.  It all goes back to that last day in Hue, and the round that almost killed me.  Donnie and I ended up in a military hospital in the Philippines, which is where I met Elaine and Jennifer.  They flew in from the States, and I spent a fair amount of time looking after Jenny so that Elaine and Donnie could have some time alone.  Jen was seventeen months, this wonderfully happy bundle of pure energy, and I fell in love on the spot … not just with her, but with fatherhood.  I left the hospital hoping that one day I would meet the right girl, marry, and have a family of my own.”

 

Rita squeezed Ian's arm, his words washing over her, reminding her once more that her refusal to settle over the long and sometimes lonely years had set the stage for this moment.

 

“When we got out of the hospital, neither of us could pass the army physical, so we ended up going home … Donnie to be recruited by the CIA, myself to enlist in the Studies and Operation group, a shadowy outfit if ever there was one.  And soon enough, we were both back in Viet Nam.  I was tasked to assemble an elite, all volunteer unit without regard for nationality-- professional soldiers who, for one reason or another, wanted a piece of the action.  Minh and Quy were combat veterans with solid records, and as an added bonus they hailed from a village in the Highlands that was close enough to Laos and Cambodia to serve as a convenient base of operations.  We set up shop on the perimeter, and one Sunday morning, after Mass, Minh introduced me to his little sister, Nguyen, and his wife Anh.  Their daughter, Thu, is my goddaughter.”

 

Rita hugged Ian still closer.  For the first time, she was beginning to grasp the scale of the tragedy that had consumed his life.

 

“Nguyen was beautiful, smart … quick, and she had this incredible sense of humor.  She loved the Three Stooges!  And I was this twenty-two year old kid from far away who felt like he had actually come home.”

 

“Home is where the heart is,” Rita murmured.

 

“Yeah,” Ian agreed.  “Very much so.”

 

Rita leaned down to kiss his forehead.

 

“When we set out on a mission, I always left a rear guard to secure the perimeter, but I didn't think it through.  I never left Minh and Quy behind because in battle they always kept their heads.  I had one officer, Reggie Grissom, who was charged with bringing up the rear, but Minh and Quy always took whichever flank was most exposed.  On that last day, they were holding our right flank, but Minh went down.  When I got to him, he said that his legs were gone, but when it came to the fireman's lift, we were all old hands.  Don't know how, what with my left leg looking like shredded meat, but I got him onto my shoulders and was limping back to where the choppers were landing when a round tore up my rib cage.  Quy stopped a round that killed him instantly, but I managed to get a grip on his fatigues, and was dragging him along.  I could actually reach out and touch the chopper when the round came in that shattered in my spine.  I went down, losing my grip on both of them.  One of the guys … don't know who … one of the guys leaped out of the chopper, scooped me up and manhandled me aboard.  I remember him yelling to the stick jockey that they were dead, and it was time to go.  That's the last thing I remember before being medevaced to Japan.”

 

“But you're not sure about Minh, are you?”  Rita could hear the doubt in Ian's voice.

 

“No.”  Close to tears, Ian reached out to grip Rita's arm hard.  “I never saw the wound.  He didn't react when Quy went down, and he was looking right at him.  He didn't react when I dropped him.  He probably bled out, but I don't know … it's just a guess.  What I do know is that they were left behind-- the one sacrament I vowed never to violate, and I  broke it.”

 

“I broke it,” he whispered again.  “I broke it.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You okay?”

 

Priscilla slid into the seat beside Amos, who was vacantly staring into space.  In mid-afternoon, the cafeteria was quiet, a few visitors and staff taking a break from the joyless atmosphere that defines any urban hospital.

 

“Thinking about the Major,” he said in a monotone, his eyes not registering her presence.

 

“I know two guys who got married out there … jumped the hurdles that the army put in their way.  One managed to get his wife out; they live down in Arkansas … got three kids now.  The other ...”

 

Amos shook his head, unable to continue.

 

“We're going to find his daughter, and we're going to bring her home.”  Priscilla had reached out to take Amos' hand, and she was squeezing it encouragingly.

 

“We okay for tonight?  Diapers, baby pants, locking covers?”  She wanted to change the subject.

 

“Yeah, we're good.”  Amos finally looked at her, but there was bafflement written all over his face.  “I don't know how he does it,” he went on.  “I mean, I saw him on TV from the sorority house, in total command.  He's a good officer, but how does he keep going?  In his shoes?  By now, I would have drunk myself to death.”

 

“Funny you should say that.  The consensus of opinion up on the seventh floor seems to be that Ian is an alcoholic.  He denies it, of course, but that merely means that he's 'in denial'.”

 

“The Major an alcoholic,” Amos snorted.  “Give it a rest.  And what the hell are we doing tonight if he's supposed to be an alcoholic?”

 

“Lots of things going on tonight.  We're upholding the honor of the Third.  Giving Ian and my Dad a chance to get acquainted without the usual 'invite him over to meet the parents' bullshit.  It's a chance for the two of you to relive Hong Kong in all its glory, and fill the rest of us in on the gory details.  And last but not least, Rita intends to prove that he's an alcoholic, get him to admit it, and then start drying him out.”

 

“Sounds like I need to summon reinforcements.  Otherwise, we're gonna be outnumbered and outgunned.”

 

“Not to worry.  You do you, and let my Dad keep the lid on.  You good with tequila shots?”

 

“Not my top choice, but I'll go with it.”

 

Ian favors rotgut, but Vickie and I like the high-end stuff.  So, do me a favor, will you?  Vote for Don Julio Blanco.  Just between you, me, and the fence post, I was on the phone with the bar a few minutes ago, making sure that we have enough reposado on hand to get us through the night.  We're good to go.”

 

“Dinner at seven?”

 

“Dinner at seven,” Priscilla agreed.  “My treat.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Nine months in hospitals … surgeries … rehab … learning that you will probably be wearing diapers for the rest of your life.”  Rita was slowly running her hand up and down the top of Ian's thigh.  She knew that the light, rhythmic massage would help him to remain calm.

 

“It was a lot to cope with, and to be so completely cut off from your wife and child …”

 

“Actually, for the first couple of months, things went surprisingly well.  I exchanged letters with some of the guys, which is how I learned that the unit was being dismantled.  It took about ten weeks for everyone to retire or transfer out, but I was repeatedly told that the village was carrying on, everybody pitching in to help Nguyen, Anh and their parents ...”

 

Ian choked back a sob.  “And there were photos.  In one, Nguyen is sitting, and holding Linh upright to face the camera.  She looked so serious.”

 

“I'd like to see it,” Rita whispered.

 

“Donnie has it.  The Agency has forensic artists who use a technique called age progression to work up a sketch of what Linh looks like as she gets older.  I sit down with the team once a year so that they can study how I'm aging, and they know what Nguyen looked like when she was twenty-one.  The sketch is updated every year, and it goes worldwide.  I keep hoping that Irina will strike gold in Hanoi or Saigon.”

 

“Ask him to bring it to the wedding.”

 

“No need.  I have a complete file in my office.”

 

“Bring it to the bar.”  Rita clutched his arm a little harder.  “Please.”

 

“Sure, but may I ask why?”

 

“Because I don't want her to be an abstraction!  When I think about your daughter, I want to see her in my thoughts … not imagine her … SEE HER!”

 

“And now you know why I fell in love with you,” Ian sighed.  “You've got a good heart.”

 

“So, you resigned your commission and returned home to find the village ...”

 

“Still largely standing, but abandoned.  My first thought was that everyone had been forcibly relocated to somewhere in the Delta; Saigon's Strategic Hamlet Program was displacing villages in the Highlands as early as sixty-two, so this would have been nothing new.  But I couldn't find anyone in Saigon, Vietnamese or American, who would own up to it.  I literally crashed into a wall of silence, which makes sense because after My Lai no one dared acknowledge that both sides were committing atrocities with merry abandon.  I badgered spooks from the Delta to the DMZ, but I got nowhere until I caught up with Donnie in Hue.  He knew what had happened-- the Agency had a thick file bulging with black and white photos-- but he didn't know who, and he didn't know why.  Langley was nominating the Viet Cong for the role of boogie man, but Donnie said that he couldn't make the pieces fit the narrative.  There were no babies or very small children among the dead, and that simply did not jive with the VC's modus operandi.  That's when I told him that I had left a wife and baby in the village ...”

 

Ian closed his eyes, the memory of that moment still sharp and clear more than eight years after the fact.

 

“I'll never forget the look in Donnie's eyes … the same dawning comprehension that he saw in mine.  Rita, WE BOTH KNEW!  Someone aware of my gift for languages … someone who knew that I had a child, but little else … raided the village, stole the children, and murdered everyone else to muddy the waters.  And so we went to work ...”

 

Rita tensed.  She had visited the morgue during her residency, and she had taken the measure of death's aftermath.  Physical decay was never pleasant, but with the passage of time it inevitably became the stuff of nightmares.  And this was the tropics.

 

“The forensic team estimated that the bodies had been out in the open for six days ...”

 

Ian's voice was numb with pain.  He had studied a hundred and seventy photographs, studied them and restudied them, trying to identify the deceased so that they might draw up a list of the missing-- a list of those who had been stolen away.

 

Rita suddenly found herself struggling to breathe …

 

Six days!

 

“Oh, Ian, I … I ...”  She couldn't get the words out.  She knew what was coming, knew what Priscilla had heard, but her knowledge came from a textbook.  What she had observed in the morgue was institutionalized death, organs removed during an autopsy and then returned to the corpse, the incisions neatly sown up, the body made whole.  Even the gunshot and accident victims had been artfully sanitized, sparing loved ones a second source of trauma.

 

Six days!

 

“My poor baby,” she finally moaned; “my poor, poor baby ...”

 

“It took time.”  Lost in his own memories, Ian pushed on, talking more to himself than to her.

 

“The rounds ruptured organs … the gases … the bloating … some of the bodies were three … even four times life size.  The rats feasted on the eyes, and burrowed into the intestines … dragged some of them several feet across the ground … making nests ...”

 

'Oh, Dear God,” Rita wailed.  “NOOOOO!!!”

 

“The bodies were covered in blowflies and beetles, and the maggots … the maggots were coming out of the open wounds, the eye sockets, mouths, nostrils … everywhere.”

 

Ian's voice had fallen off to a disembodied monotone.

 

“NOOOOO,” Rita screamed, loud enough to be heard in the foyer, the once inconceivable horror that tormented her lover's soul now suddenly made all too real.  Death was no longer a textbook exercise.

 

Members of the staff looked at one another, each debating whether they needed to intervene.

 

Marge looked up from the daily summary that she was composing for Don Phillips's file.   Calmly climbing to her feet, she walked over and stood in front of the door, preventing anyone from trying to enter.

 

“It's Major Grady,” she explained in a halting voice.  “She's … Rita is learning what happened in that village all those years ago.  The policewoman told us that it's bad … really, really bad.”  

 

“Through the closed door, Marge could hear Rita sobbing.  She was thankful that Rita had had the foresight to banish Vickie from the premises.  Victoria Robinson should, in her judgment, be the last person on earth to hear what was being said in that office.

 

“It took time,” Ian repeated.  “The forensic team was worried about cholera, TB, typhus … they didn't want to handle the dead.  In the end, they brought in a bulldozer to dig a trench-- a mass grave.  It shoved the bodies into the trench, and then covered it.  No one wanted to venture into the huts … not with the rats running around.  Some of them were as big as dogs, and very aggressive.”

 

Tears were streaming down Rita's face, and she made no attempt to wipe them away.  Her mind kept returning to the photo, Nguyen so young and vibrant, so full of life, so happy.

 

Only to be murdered and dumped unceremoniously into a mass grave.  No one left to mourn.

 

Until Ian finally happened upon the truth.

 

“The youngest child was four or five,” Ian continued, nearing the end.  “I believe that fourteen were spared.  And so we search.”

 

“And so we search,” Rita echoed, in a monotone of her own.  She sniffled to clear her throat.

 

“Someone else pulled the trigger, but I killed them … I killed them all.  I was so fixated on the mission that my sense of duty … that … that I turned a blind eye to a threat that should have been obvious.  I didn't think it through, and everyone died.”

 

“Agreed.  You made a decision, and everyone died.”

 

Rita felt Ian flinch.  She knew that this was not the answer he was expecting, and she had choked on the words even as she spat them out, but turning survivor's guilt into a zero sum game was a seed that she needed to plant now for Vickie or another therapist to harvest later.

 

And do I want Vickie to go through this?  Nguyen will haunt my dreams … the mass grave …

 

Unconsciously, her thoughts far, far away, Rita continued to stroke Ian's thigh.

 

“The firefight,” she pressed; “how bad was it?”

 

“The worst.  We were out in the open, heavily outnumbered, and taking fire from three directions.”

 

“And Minh and his brother were protecting your right flank?”

 

“Yeah.  Reggie Grissom had our rear, and he was falling back toward the LZ in good order.  The Cobras were laying down heavy fire to the front, so I thinned the perimeter and drew it in tight around the LZ.  But I lost communication with the Cobra lead, and I couldn't direct covering fire to our right.  Minh and Quy were leapfrogging back to the LZ under sniper fire from the rice paddies … that's when Minh got hit.”

 

“If you had left them in the village, who would have taken their place?”

 

“Two of the guys I left there.”  Ian shook his head in frustration.  “Rita, I can't tell you what this mission was about, but I can tell you that my orders came from the President. It took months to plan the mission, and figuring out the precise number of boots that we needed to put on the ground was a big part of the calculus.”

 

“But you said that Minh and Xuy were your best.  If you had left them at home, would their replacements have made the whole operation more risky?”

 

“I see where you're going with this,” Ian sighed.  “And you're right.  From a tactical perspective, you're right.  My mistake was strategic.  I just didn't think it through.”

 

“And you still aren't.”  Rita stabbed Ian's thigh with her index finger.  “What happened to your unit while you were in the hospital?”

 

“It was dismantled; everybody moved on.”

 

“And if you had died in that firefight … would the unit have held together?”

 

“No … no.  Same outcome.”

 

“And the attack on the village … once you were dead, would it have played out any differently?”

 

“Minh and Xuy would have been there ...”

 

“To die along with everybody else.”  Rita gently but emphatically patted Ian's diaper cover.  “And your daughter and your niece … all fourteen of them would still have been taken.  Whoever did this planned it well.”

 

Rita shifted her weight, wanting Ian to sit up and face her.  When he was ready, she reached out to clasp his hands.

 

“You made a decision, and everyone died,” she repeated.  “But your mistake was not the one that has haunted you all these years.  Your mistake was building a team that could not carry out so complex a mission without you taking the lead.  And was that your mistake, or your superior's?  I don't know, but what I do know is that your unit could not function without you, and so it was broken up.  Minh and Quy weren't the critical pieces, Ian ...”

 

“You were.”      

 

Rita stood up, and without success urged him to his feet.  She knew now what had to be done.  But should either Vickie or Sarah be involved-- that was the question.

 

Defeated, leaving Ian on the floor, miserable and alone, clad only in his diaper and cover, Rita opened the door and walked out  into the foyer.

 

Walked out into dead silence, everyone staring at her. 

 

She and Marge exchanged unspoken questions.

 

Still silent, Rita walked over to a potted plant in the corner.  Calmly, she bent over, and began to vomit.  She did not stop until everything that she had eaten for breakfast and lunch was out of her system.  Then, she sank to her knees and rested her head upon the lip of the clay urn.

 

Silently at first, she began to sob, but soon her body was quaking, and she broke down and began to cry.  There was no end to her tears-- tears shed for Ian and Nguyen, for Linh, for the bright promise of so many lives cut short, for long years of misspent opportunities, for a career that no longer seemed quite as important as it had an hour earlier.

 

Marge gently rubbed her shoulder, the rivalry between them no longer commanding center stage, the Director's scheming rendered meaningless by simple human need.

 

“God, that hurt,” Rita coughed.  “I should have paid more attention when they warned us not to fall in love with a patient.”

 

“Some patients are worth it … but please don't let Vickie go near this.”

 

“I won't; I promise.  No one in this department … we're not trained for this.  Phil … Don … Ian … we're not trained for this.  Too many land mines.  We need help.”

 

Marge silently nodded in agreement.  The shelters were an avalanche waiting to bury them alive.  How were they supposed to liberate Don Phillips from the voices that mocked him in the night?

 

.  .  .  .

 

Candy entered the office, and sank to the floor at Ian's side.  At a glance, she could tell that he had been stripped bare, nowhere left to which he could run, nowhere left in which to hide.

 

She reached out for him, pulled him in, cradled him in her arms.

 

She began to rock him, and softly to sing.

 

A barely remembered lullaby, from deep in her past.

 

BOUNCING BACK

 

Vickie paused in the doorway.

 

She was not sure why she had come back to the house, and she was even less sure of how she would be received.  She had parked behind ZAP, where she would be meeting up with Ian and Priscilla, but on impulse she had made the short walk down the street to the house that she had called home for four tumultuous years.

 

Suzie was sitting at her desk.  With the first of the month only two days away, its surface was littered with bills that would soon come due.  A checkbook, a ledger and a calculator completed the scene.

 

Vickie gently rapped on the door.  “Up for a little company,” she asked.

 

Startled, Suzie looked up, and then smiled warmly at her visitor.  She gestured at a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

 

“It's good to see you, Vic.  And there's a coat rack behind the door if you want to use it.”

 

Vickie opted to do just that.  But without her coat, Suzie could hardly miss the outline of her diaper and baby pants.

 

“Bladder control,” Suzie queried as Vickie sank into the chair.  “Sorry, Vic, but the diaper is pretty obvious.”

 

“No need to apologize,” she shrugged.  “The outfit's dual purpose.  First off, it's a chastity belt.  It's locked on, and I don't have the key.  Sarah doesn't trust me to be faithful to Ian, and frankly, I don't trust myself.  I want Ian to be the last man I ever sleep with, and I want him to give me a baby, but you and I both know that I'm impulsive in the extreme … impulsive, and self-destructive.  This is for my own good, Suz, and I freely admit it.”

 

“Can't argue with that, and I applaud you for being so upfront about it.  And the second reason?”

 

“Therapy.  Sarah has become my Mommy, and while she's strict, she's also loving.  The hope is that a return to infancy … starting over … will give me a chance to escape my mother's clutches once and for all.”

 

“Good.  I'm glad to hear it, Vic, because you don't deserve all the crap that your parents laid on you.  No one deserves that kind of abuse.”

 

“Bernice mentioned more or less in passing that you speak well of me.  That came as one hell of a surprise.  Is it true, or was she just being diplomatic?”

 

“Come on, Vic!  Of course I speak well of you!  My God … just look at all you've accomplished, and all the obstacles that you've had to overcome along the way.  Whenever there's a girl sitting in that chair who's down in the dumps, giving up on herself, I use you as an example of what intelligence and determination can accomplish.  You are one of this sorority's brightest stars!”

 

“And yet, just a few days ago, in Ian's office?  I would have sworn that it was our senior year all over again.  I had a boyfriend, and you wanted to steal him away from me!”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Suzie smiled.  “For a moment there, Ian was just another scalp, and I was determined to bag him.  Our old rivalry renewed.  But the moment passed.  By the way, I want to stress that he's now off limits.  No one is going to scalp him.”

 

“And your raging hormones?”

 

“I don't know, Vic; honestly, I don't know.  Last night, cradling him in my arms, bottle feeding him?  He's hurting, Vic, and he's hurting really, really bad.  I just wanted to comfort him, but doing so touched something deep inside me.  You can add me to the list of women who want to have his baby.”

 

“You want to hear something really odd?  I'm all for it, because we're all running out of time-- and because you're driving him nuts!  Honestly, Suz; he likes you … Hell, truth be told, he likes you a lot!  You are, he says-- and this is a direct quote-- 'attractive, intelligent, and passionate'.  He falls in love so easily, and yet he hasn't fallen in love with you.  He wants to know why!”

 

“And what's the answer?”

 

“Priscilla noted that these things take time.”  Remembering the moment, Vickie laughed, and it was heartfelt.  “After all, as she rightly observed, it took Ian more than forty-eight hours to fall in love with her, and they spent long hours almost chained together at the hip!”

 

“Perhaps I should bring this up on Saturday night.”  Suzie pursed her lips, thinking about it.

 

“I wouldn't force it, but if the opening presents itself ...”

 

Vickie frowned, knowing that she needed to be honest.  “Suzie, the CIA is not going to lose another child.  Any woman who sleeps with Ian and gets pregnant is going to have men and women wearing dark suits and dark glasses camped out on her doorstep.  The loss of privacy is not something to take lightly.”

 

“And you're good with this?”

 

“I am.”  Vickie saw no need to say more.

 

“What are you doing here, Vic?  Why did you come?”

 

“At the hospital, I spent some time with the girls.  Ian unmasked the truth, Suzie: they really are a family, and they are there for one another.  Talking with them … watching them … it was suddenly all so obvious.  This house … my sisters … this is the only home I've ever had, the only family.  I miss what we had.  Did we compete with one another?  Sure, we did.  But we were also there for one another.  We were a family.”

 

“Door's always open, Vic; you can come home any time you want.”

 

“Bernice said the same thing … and Priscilla says that she thinks of me as her big sister.  She thinks that her parents would welcome me into their family with open arms.  I like her mother, and tonight I'll get to meet her father.  I hope … well, I just hope that I don't disappoint him.”

 

“You won't.  Just be you, Vic, and you'll pass with flying colors.  The only way you can get into trouble is by pretending to be someone you're not.  So just be you … okay, Sis?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Vickie smiled.  It was good to be home.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Rita staggered into the cafeteria, spotted Amos and Priscilla, and headed right for their table.

 

Priscilla leapt to her feet and, open mouthed, stared at Rita.

 

“What the Hell,” Amos growled.  He was on his feet as well.

 

“Rita, you're … you're covered in vomit!” Priscilla was gingerly pointing at her chest; the front of her smock was drenched.

 

“The potted plant got the worst of it,” she replied with a weak grin.  “I owe you an apology, Pris; you were right.  Nothing in my training prepared me for what he told me.  If anything, my training betrayed me.”

 

“Amos, get over there and grab a wet washrag and a cup of hot tea … not coffee!  Rita, you need to sit down!”  Priscilla had dealt with enough trauma victims at accident sites to know how to take control of the situation.  Still, she reached into her pocket and gripped the ampule of smelling salts.  It was there, and ready if she needed it.

 

“Ian … Pris, I left him lying on the floor in my office.  Candy is comforting him, but he needs you.  Get up there … hold him.  Don't let him spiral down!”

 

“I won't!”

 

“I've got to get to Sarah.  I don't want her anywhere near this … not her, and not Vickie.  I'll do it myself, and if there has to be a witness ...”

 

Rita was staring at Priscilla, begging her with her eyes.

 

Priscilla understood instantly.  “I'll do it, Rita; you have my promise!”

 

“Rita?  What the Hell?”  Sylvia Anderson slid into the chair next to Rita and instinctively reached out to grasp her hands.  “Please tell me that you did not have lunch here in the cafeteria!”  It was a weak attempt at humor, but it worked well enough to get Rita to laugh halfheartedly.

 

“Session with a patient … with Ian.  I'm beginning to understand why our vets shut down so completely.  What happened to his family in that village ...”

 

Sylvia stroked Rita's arm, wanting her to know that she was among friends.  Traumatic episodes were an occupational hazard in the medical profession.

 

“Give that to me,” she ordered when Amos returned and started to wipe Rita down.  “And drink,” she added, pushing the cup of scalding hot tea in front of her longtime friend.

 

“Amos, you heard Doctor Stevenson.  Get this young woman up to Seven, and help your friend.  Rumor has it,” she smiled, “that in a matter of hours the two of you are going to be defending our honor in a drinking contest.  You aren't going to let us down, are you?”

 

“Uh … no, Ma'am,” Amos sheepishly replied.

 

“Then scat!  Both of you!”

 

“Yes, Ma'am!”  Amos all but saluted as he hustled Priscilla out of the cafeteria.

 

“What are you doing here, Sylvie?”  Rita was sipping the tea while Sylvia tackled her smock with the wet rag.  “Your shift ended almost half an hour ago.”

 

“I'm working with Janis Marsden … taking a well earned coffee break while she … uh … while she christens her diaper.  And your color's looking better.  He must have hit you with one hell of a punch!”

 

“He did,” Rita agreed, “and thanks.  The tea helps.”

 

“So, you're gonna be okay?”

 

“I guess … maybe.”  Rita sadly shook her head.  “Sylvie, until today I didn't think that anything could reach me … I mean, dismantle my defenses so completely that I felt like I was drowning.  And I was wrong … boy, was I wrong!  And it's not just the horror of what happened in that village.  What Ian described wasn't simply horrific … what happened out there was obscene.  The word 'atrocity' doesn't begin to describe it.”

 

Sylvia glanced at her watch, and grimaced.  “Shit … Janis.”

 

“Is she okay?”

 

“She's not adjusting well to the diapers, and when it comes to messing, her anxiety level is off the charts.  She agreed to suppositories, and they should have worked their magic by the time I get back upstairs.  After I get her cleaned up, I'm going to give her an impromptu tutorial on skin care.  Rita, I swear, this little girl is so lost ...”

 

“She has developed a very strong attachment to Ian ...”

 

“You mean 'strong' as in knocking a newscaster on his keester when he gets too aggressive?  That kind of 'attachment'?”

 

Sylvia laughed when she saw how puzzled Rita looked.  “Every TV on Four was tuned to the homecoming,” she explained.  “Janis is very popular-- your quintessential All- American, Midwestern girl.  But nobody saw that coming!”

 

“Do you know anything about her family?  Sylvie, Janis doesn't have a schoolgirl crush on Ian; he's her father figure.  And he's all but adopted her.  I need to get a handle on what this is all about before things get out of hand.”

 

“All I know is that her Mom's a high powered businesswoman, and her Dad's an airline pilot-- senior enough to get the long haul international runs that keep him away from home for roughly fifteen days a month.  My impression is that she was made to fend for herself long before she was ready.  She needs parental guidance, and she's not getting it.”

 

“I'm going to take her under my wing.  Can you imagine it?  I want to have a baby, yet I'm old enough to have a nineteen year old as a surrogate daughter!  What a world!”

 

Sylvia bust out laughing.  “Sorry, Rita,” she choked, “but you don't have candy stripers in your department.  If you did ...”

 

“If you did,” she went on after giving it a moment's thought, “you would have boys and girls anywhere from sixteen to twenty-one underfoot-- and I mean that in a good way.  They're eager and, for the most part, cheerful, but when it comes to drama the soap operas can't compete.  A pimple is a life threatening catastrophe, and being dumped by your girlfriend or boyfriend marks the end of the world.  I have held so many adolescent hands over the years … parented so many of these kids … that I've lost count.  Janis is just ...”

 

Sylvia's voice trailed off, thinking about what she had observed on TV and in the corridor.

 

“Janis and Ian have latched on to one another,” she mumbled, an outrageous idea coming into focus.

 

“Rita, do you want to help Janis?  Janis and Ian both?”

 

“Definitely!”  Rita looked at her friend closely.  “Give, Sylvie!  What is it you see that I'm missing?”

 

“Rita, I may be way outside the box on this one, but give me thirty minutes to get Janis squared away, and then I want to bring her up to Seven.  If they're both hurting … the way they relate to one another … each of them will be so concerned for the other that their pain will fall away.  They will heal each other.”

 

“Sylvie, I'm the one who's wandering through the weeds, precisely because we don't have candy stripers in the Psych ward.  I'm concerned about Janis' relationship with her parents.  Will Ian, through no fault of his own, somehow displace them?”

 

“This might be the wake up call that Janis' parents need.  Rita, I see this year after year.  We become uncles and aunts to children who are asked to grow up too early.  That's how I would expect the relationship between Ian and Janis to settle out … the only difference being that he desperately needs a child to love.  And now, he has an entire sorority.  Can you imagine it?  He has more than forty daughters … and that might not be enough!”

 

“Okay.  God, Sylvie, I'm in so far over my head that I can't even tell which way is up!  I can tap into his guilt, but to what end?  I can empower him to make decisions that he's content to leave in Sarah's hands, and right now that's all I've got.   So, I can put an end to his seizures, but that only leaves him halfway up the hill that he has to climb.  I have nothing tangible to offer him, nothing real to fight for … to inspire him to take back control of his life.  I need something concrete … a prize that I can hold out in front of him, what he wins when he tears down the wall and moves beyond it.”

 

“In short, you need a hook.”  Sylvia sat upright, the answer staring them both in the face. 

 

“Janis.”  Sylvia was gripping both of Rita's hands, gripping them hard.  “Rita, we've all seen it … seen the two of them together in the corridor, a father and his daughter.”

 

“Yes,” Rita agreed.  “In the conference room, it was the same thing. You couldn't miss it.”

 

“Work with Janis … find a way.  Ian won't lose this daughter, Rita.  Find a way!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I know the code, Miss; stand aside!”

 

Together, Amos and Priscilla had rushed up to Seven, Priscilla bursting ahead to ring the buzzer and pound on the door.  But Amos had the code, and he wasted no time letting them in.

 

Priscilla headed straight for Rita's office, Amos hard on her heels, but Marge intercepted them.

 

“Candy's got things under control.”  Marge nodded at the open door to Rita's office.  “Did Rita send you up?”

 

“She did,” Priscilla confirmed.  “And she looked like death warmed over.  Ian must have given her the unedited version.”

 

“Apparently,” Marge agreed.  “But she'll bounce back.  She has to, because Vickie is absolutely right.  We're professionals, and professionals don't abandon vets with mental health issues to the shelters and halfway houses.  We can help these men, and we will, but it's going to take some of us well outside our comfort zone.”

 

“It's damn well about time,” Amos muttered.

 

“I heard that, Mr. Waring,” Marge barked.  “I've lost count of the number of times a member of this department has invited you to sit down and talk with one of us.”

 

“And what are you doing for my friend Bob Billings,” Amos yelled, “who drinks up his paycheck in a Lake Street bar because it's the only way he can get to sleep!  What are you doing for him?  There's not one single, God damned hospital in the Cities that has a program to help vets … not one!”

 

“Master Sergeant, I could use a little help here.”

 

With Candy's help, Ian was struggling to his feet.

 

“Ian,” Priscilla cried as she raced into the room and swept him into her arms.  She kissed him and kissed him, over and over again.  It didn't stop until he held a lone finger to her lips.

 

“Clothing first, and then I need something to drink … something about two hundred proof.”

 

Smiling, Candy opened the bottom drawer on the right side of Rita's desk, and pulled out her bottle of Courvoisier.  She poured a stiff drink into a well used glass, and handed it over.

 

“For medicinal purposes,” Candy lied.

 

Grinning, Ian gulped Rita's prized cognac down in one long pull.  Blindly, his eyes never leaving Priscilla, he held out the glass for a refill.  Candy obliged, and the second glass followed hard on the first.

 

“Master Sergeant Waring.  For the record?  There will be a program in place at this hospital not later than the end of next week.  You have my word on it-- and the tape that we put together is gonna get a workout.  I'm done losing people.”

 

Amos eased the glass from Ian's hand, and poured generously.  He knew that he could lose his job for this, but he also realized that he didn't care.  “To those we lost,” he murmured; “for those we left behind.”

 

Like Ian, Amos drained his glass in one long pull.  “Hong Kong Rules,” he added; “damn, but I do like Hong Kong Rules.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Rita?  What the hell?”

 

Sarah was climbing to her feet as Rita slid into a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

 

“Getting that everywhere I go,” Rita lamely replied.  “You'd think it was the first time a session with a patient went really bad.”

 

“Ian?”  Looking at the vomit that stained Rita's smock, Sarah knew the answer before she could even pose the question.

 

“Ian,” Rita confirmed.  “Not my best day … definitely not my best day!”

 

“Let me get you a drink.”  Sarah had a bottle of her own squirreled away in a desk drawer.  It wasn't Courvoisier, but it did pack a mean punch.

 

“No!”  Rita held up her hand to object.  “Sorry.  I could use one, but I'll probably just start throwing up again.  Once is enough.”

 

“Is he in your office?” 

 

“Yes.  Candy is monitoring him; Amos and Priscilla are on the way up.  And Sylvia will be bringing Janis Marsden up as soon as she … how did Sylvie phrase it?  Something about christening her diaper.  So, Ian is in good hands.”

 

“I need to get up there,” Sarah declared.  “I've let things get out of hand, and it has to stop.”

 

“We'll go together, but first we need to clear the air.”

 

Sarah was already on her feet, but she paused, and then reluctantly settled back into her seat.  She sensed that they were at Ground Zero.

 

“We'll go ahead with the plan to condition Ian, or rather Princess Poopy Pants, to accept us as his mommies, but only to give us multiple vehicles to deal with some future crisis.  In the here and now, I don't want either you or Vickie to be involved in or even witness the act of catharsis.  Unless John Lessing countermands me, I'll walk him through it, and I don't want anyone in the control room except Priscilla when I do so.  Ian took me way outside my comfort zone, and there's no one on our staff who's any better equipped to handle this.  Sarah, you of all people should know where I'm coming from.”

 

Sarah slowly nodded, remembering how she had fled the VA years earlier.  “If we're going to get serious about treating vets, your staff will need additional training.  This goes way, way beyond alcohol and drug abuse.  Even domestic abuse doesn't come close to what these men experienced.”

 

“Agreed.  We'll need additional resources … but right now I need something tangible to offer Ian.”

 

Sarah waited for Rita to continue.

 

“All I've go to work with right now is a band aid … get him over the hurdles so that he can make big decisions for himself rather than rely upon you to do so.  But he's happy to let you call the shots, so I'm offering him a reward that he doesn't even want.  I need something that he does want.  Sylvie … Sylvie thinks that Janis is the answer ...”

 

“But what's the question?”  Sarah couldn't fathom how to make Ian's obvious affection for the girl play to Rita's advantage.

 

“That's what we have to figure out.  He has all of these surrogate daughters; how do I make them fit into his treatment plan?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Waiting impatiently outside the door, Janis reminded Sylvia of a racehorse at the starting gate.  She was all but stomping her feet in her eagerness to invade the Psych ward.  Unfortunately, Sylvia did not have the code, and at the moment no one seemed to be in the control room.

 

Janis punched the buzzer for the fourth time, and kept on punching it while she stared at the camera above their heads.  Where is everybody, she fumed.

 

When the door finally opened, Sylvia was surprised to see that Martha Benson, the second shift charge nurse, was doing the honors manually.

 

“Sorry,” she said as Janis pushed past her.  “Rita has yet to sign out, so the shift change is taking place in bits and pieces.”

 

“I saw her in the cafeteria.  Martha, whatever Ian told her got inside her personal defenses; I've never seen her so … so, stricken.  She sent Amos and Priscilla up, and then rushed off to find Sarah.  They'll be up in due course.”

 

“And the girl who just rushed past me?  I saw her on television earlier today.  One of the sorority girls that he's adopted?”

 

“Janis,” Sylvia nodded.  “She's a candy striper in my department, and when it comes to Ian, very protective.  He's her new father figure.”

 

“Awkward.”

 

“No, I've seen this episode of our daily soap opera dozens of times.  It will work out.”

 

“He's in Rita's office,” Martha added as she welcomed Sylvie to her lair.  “Marge is directing traffic.”

 

“And she let Janis pass.  Sensible as always.”

 

“Marge was in the conference room.  She appreciates what they mean to each other.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Janis stormed into Rita's office, only to brake to an abrupt halt.  She had expected pandemonium ... expected to find Ian on the floor, stricken by another seizure … expected to find nurses struggling to bring him back to life. 

 

What she saw was Ian on his feet, struggling to pull his pants up over his fully exposed diaper cover, the lock an exact match for her own.  Priscilla's hands were everywhere, much to the obvious bemusement of one of the beautiful young doctors she had encountered in the conference room.  An orderly who vaguely resembled a fire hydrant completed the tableau …

 

Well, except for the empty glass in the fire hydrant's outstretched hand, and the bottle of Courvoisier sitting atop the desk.  The scene left little to the imagination.

 

“I should have been here,”  she mumbled tearfully, speaking to Priscilla.  “I made him a promise … for both of us.  I should have been here.”

 

“Janis.”

 

Still only half dressed, Ian held out his arms to welcome her.

 

Janis rushed to him and they embraced, each holding the other tight.

 

“Janis, we have definitely got to stop meeting like this!” Hugging her, Ian was whispering into her ear.  “People are going to talk,” he gently laughed.

 

“Let them … let them; I don't care!”

 

“And you promised me that you and Priscilla will catch me when I fall, remember?”

 

“Yes … I should have been here.”

 

“No … no, because I didn't fall.  Janis, if Rita had a couch in here, that's where I would have ended up.  But she doesn't, so we had to make do and use the floor.  But she was cradling me … keeping me safe.  And it was hard for both of us, but it was also good.  She walked me through it, and opened my eyes in the process.  Now I know what it is that I've been running away from all these years.  Now, I can fight back.  Now, there's a chance for me to get my life back.  And you can help.”

 

“I can?  I mean, I want to … but how?”  Janis was looking up, searching for answers in Ian's eyes.  Her feelings were so raw, and yet so confusing.  All she could do was cling to the hope that Sylvie was right, and that this was all a part of the painful process of growing up.

 

“It's sort of hard to explain.  My parents were killed when I was nineteen, and I had never met any of my aunts and uncles, who were thousands of miles away.  I was on my own, and believe me, being thrown into adulthood that way shouldn't happen to anyone.  It was like … like, being thrown off a cliff into a raging stream, fighting the current that was pulling me under when it wasn't trying to dash me off the rocks.  I desperately needed someone on the shore to direct me into safe water, but there was no one there.  I made one bad decision after another, and ultimately, a lot of people paid the price for my mistakes.”

 

Ian gently kissed Janis on the top of her head.

 

“I want to be one of the people on the shore for you, Jannie … one of the people you can rely on to help you reach adulthood safely.  I can't undo the past, but with Rita's help I can confront it, learn from it, and use the knowledge to steer others away from the poor choices that can ruin our lives.  My guilt has been hard earned, but in time perhaps I can balance the scales.”

 

“I understand … at least, I think I understand.  It's like last night, when you steered us away from making a terrible mistake.  You were helping us, but it sounds like, at the same time … you were helping yourself.  Does that sound right?”

 

“It does indeed.  In fact, that's beautifully put.”

 

“So, now you're our dad.  Having over forty neurotic daughters to drive you nuts … and what am I supposed to call you?  I mean, you're Professor Grady, and that's what I'm supposed to say, but right now it doesn't feel right.  Right now, I think of you as 'Dad', only I already have a father, and he's one of the good guys.  So it also feels wrong, but Sylvie says that it's perfectly natural to feel right and wrong about something at the same time, and that we'll work it out.  Will we?”

 

“Tell you what.  You call me 'Professor Grady' when that feels right, and 'Dad' when it doesn't.  In return, I'll address you as 'Janis' when I'm in professor mode, and 'Jannie' or 'Sweetie' when Dad takes over.  Deal?”

 

“Deal,” Janis grinned.  “And I guess that makes you my Aunt Priscilla,” she slyly added as she peeked at the Batgirl over Ian's shoulder.

 

“I like my new family,” she finished, turning serious.  “I like it a lot!”

 

“Welcome home,” Priscilla said with a smile as she wrapped her arms around them both.  “And yes, I'll be happy to change both of your diapers as the situation requires.  But turn about fair play … when I start having babies, I'll expect to have over forty baby sitters at my beck and call!”

 

“Babies are wonderful,” Priscilla mused.  “Who knows?  Maybe ZAP will be the first sorority to start providing day care-- a chance to get some first hand experience that will come in handy when you all start having babies of your own!”

 

CAN YOU SAY 137,592 DIAPER CHANGES?

 

“You have had a very eventful day,” Sarah observed.

 

Fully dressed at last, Ian was sitting in Vickie's favorite chair, with Priscilla to his left and Janis to his right.  Marge had gone back to updating Don Phillips' file, leaving it to Candy and to Martha Benson to maintain order in the foyer.  Apart from keeping Amos away from Rita's prized Courvoisier, there was little else for them to do.

 

Ian climbed to his feet, and rushed to sweep Sarah into his arms.

 

“Another seven or eight hours to go,” he whispered into her ear.  “Thanks for coming upstairs; I've missed you, and I'm sorry about all the chaos that I'm causing.”

 

“Can't be helped.”  She leaned back so that she could look him in the eye.  “How are you feeling?”

 

“Surprisingly good.  Thanks to Rita.”

 

Ian looked to his right, and winced.  It was painfully obvious that Rita had thrown up at the end of their session, and he knew without asking that his graphic description of the massacre was responsible.

 

“You okay?”  Rita's smock was a mess, but he was relieved to see that her color appeared normal.

 

She nodded.  “It was a good session, for both of us.  You uncovered a huge hole in my training, and by extension that of the department at large.  If we're going to help vets, all of us will need to come to grips with the realities of the battlefield.  Amos, that's where you come in.”

 

Amos Waring snapped to attention.  If Doctor Stevenson wanted to learn about the nightmares that nightly drove dozens of his friends to camp out in Lake Street bars, he was prepared to give her chapter and verse.  It was about freaking time, he thought, for someone to hear their cries for help.

 

“Anything I can do, Ma'am.  Oh, and I think I owe you a bottle of brandy.  That stuff in your office is really good!”

 

Rita glared at Candy, who had a hand pressed to her lips in a vain effort to stifle her laughter.

 

“For medicinal purposes,” Candy finally managed to squeeze out.

 

“I'm sure … and it's cognac, Amos, not brandy.  I'm surprised you don't know the difference.”

 

“Too expensive for my taste, Ma'am.  I'm with the Major-- rotgut, and Hong Kong Rules.  Soldiers don't get much pay, so we have to stretch it.”

 

“Not tonight, Amos.”  Priscilla's smile was lighting up her eyes.  “Vickie and I both have delicate stomachs, so tonight the two of you will have to take one for the team, and drink the good stuff.  Who knows?  You might even discover that you like it.”

 

“Where is this contest taking place?”  Sarah wouldn't finish her twelve hour shift until seven, but she figured that the boys and girls wouldn't start the festivities until eight or so.  She was debating putting in an appearance, but she had no idea what watering holes the cops called home.

 

“A seedy place called The Pig Sty,” Priscilla replied.  “It's up on Central, just past the railroad tracks.  Can't miss it.”

 

“Never heard of it.  But I don't get up to Nordeast very often,” Sarah admitted.

 

“My mom and dad have been drinking there for over twenty years,” Pris proudly proclaimed.  “We have really entertaining brawls.  The owner's a retired cop, and he doesn't even charge me for the pool cues I break over the heads of guys whose hands invade forbidden territory.  I'm going to miss it,” she sighed, “but what's a pregnant lady to do?”

 

“SAY WHAT?”  Ian twisted around so quickly that his feet became tangled, and he almost landed on the floor.  “Are you …?”

 

“Won't know for another month or so,” she smiled.  The hopeful look on Ian's face made him absolutely adorable.  “But after tonight, I'm going to lay off the booze.”

 

“We all are,” she added as she stared hard at Rita and Sarah.  If she had anything to say about it, their Saturday night frolics were about to become a great deal more genteel.  She wanted all of the ladies in Ian's life to set a good example.

 

“Down in the Third,” Amos cut in, “the watering hole is called The Barf Bag.  It's on Twenty-seventh.  Pretty good bar.”   

 

“You packed and ready to go?”  Ian knew that Amos had been tasked to bring enough diapers, vinyl pants and locking covers to outfit the entire bar.  He was looking forward to seeing Priscilla in her first hospital grade diaper.

 

“Everything's in the truck,” Amos confirmed.  “I should be there by seven; Priscilla's buying dinner.”

 

“Can I use your office?”  All things considered, Sarah thought it might be to her advantage to brace Ian on somewhat neutral territory.  He would, she suspected, be far less defensive in Rita's office than in her own.

 

“Take as long as you need,” Rita grinned; “as long as you don't need more than thirty minutes!  Ian is on a very tight schedule!”

 

“Got it.  Ian?”  Sarah nodded in the direction of Rita's office and set off, leaving him to follow in her wake.  Priscilla gave him a pat on the rump as he walked by, and mouthed a hearty “good luck” when he hastily made the Sign of the Cross in response.  He was still gazing at Priscilla when Sarah closed the door to give them privacy.

 

“I'm out of here,” Amos announced.  “And if I run late, don't let those pussies from the Fifth start without me.”

 

“Sorry for the delay, Martha; can we complete the shift change in your office?”

 

“Do you want to clean up first?  Rita, I'm sorry, but you look like Hell.”

 

“Marge, you ready with the secure ward?”

 

Marge nodded, and padded one of the files in her lap.

 

“Let's put you on the board,” Rita decided.  “And why should I bother changing,” she added rhetorically, “when come Midnight I'm going to have three very lively drunks on my hands?  Someone's bound to throw up, so why bother?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Not wanting to put the desk between them, Sarah slid one of the guest chairs around so that she could reach out and hold Ian's hands.  Rita and Vickie had made it abundantly clear that she was making a mess of their relationship, and the last thing she wanted to do was dig herself into an even deeper hole.  She wanted to comfort Ian and put him at ease, not confront him.  For the time being, she decided that her long term plans for her baby husband would have to be put largely on hold.

 

“Ian, I'm at a bit of a loss here.  The plan was for us to start packing up your apartment tonight, and have a moving company show up on Saturday afternoon to put what we don't take to Rita's in storage.  Then it's supposed to be Vickie's turn, with both of you bedding down in Rita's new nursery; your cribs have already been set up … your changing table.  It's all ready and waiting for you.  Vickie's eager to get going, but what about you?  Have you changed your mind about giving up your apartment?  More to the point: have you had a change of heart about our relationship?”

 

“No, on both counts,” Ian said as he settled deeper into the chair.  “I'm looking forward to moving in, starting tomorrow night.  And all things considered, bedding down in a crib in the baby nursery sounds like a really good idea.”

 

“Really?”  Taken by surprise, Sarah leaned forward, eager for Ian to share his thinking.

 

“Yes, really.  Sarah, let me ask you a question:  what does a charge nurse do?”

 

“Well, there are three of us, one per shift.  At its most basic, we keep the unit functioning as smoothly and efficiently as possible.  I'll fill in on the floor in an emergency, but my role is primarily administrative.”

 

“Which is exactly how I see your role in our household.  You keep the household functioning as smoothly and efficiently as possible … you're the overseer.  Now, cooking and cleaning, laundry and taking out the trash … how are you going to set it up?  Do you want each of us to rotate from one task to the next on a weekly basis, or do you want the best cook to focus on cooking and let the rest of it go?”

 

“And by the way, just for the record?”  Ian's grin was positively devilish.  “I'm the best cook in this household by a country mile!  I get the impression that none of us want Vickie anywhere near the kitchen!”

 

Pounding Ian's knees with her fists, Sarah laughed so hard that she started to choke.  She loved the way the conversation was going.

 

“Vickie can't boil water,” she cried.  “She lives on take out!”

 

“Dusting and vacuuming?”

 

“You have got to be kidding!  She has a maid service come in once a week!  But Rita loves to clean; she finds it relaxing.”

 

“Problem solved.  Laundry?”

 

“Hmm.  Vickie's very good with delicates … hand washes them.  Don't know about diapers, though.”

 

“Not a problem for Priscilla.  By the way, she likes her coffee black.  Our various likes and dislikes is a whole, 'nother set of problems.”

 

“You mean like your ongoing love affair with Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin, when you should be listening to Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn?  Which reminds me ...”

 

Sarah waved a warning finger in front of Ian's face …

 

“Don't Come Home A-Drinkin' with Lovin' on your mind!”

 

“Huh?”  Ian looked as baffled as he felt.

 

“Silly.  It was Loretta's first single to top the charts.  You city boys ...”

 

Sarah reached out to grasp Ian's hands.  She looked deeply into his eyes.

 

“Which brings this heart-to-heart around to us.  Rita and Vickie both say that I'm driving you away; is that true?”

 

“Not really.  Do we have our ups and downs?  Sure.  What else is new?  But we'll get there if we keep working at it.”

 

“How can I do better?”

 

“For starters?  Bring the charge nurse home with you.  Keeping the household running smoothly won't be nearly as hard as keeping jealousy from rearing it's ugly head.  Don't let me play favorites, Sarah, and if you think it's happening, take me aside and tell me straight out.  And I like what Rita told me about that commune out in San Francisco … the way the guys rotate their partners on a fixed schedule.  I want to make love with whoever is ovulating because I want us to have babies … lots and lots of babies!  I want to have a family!”

 

“As do we all.  Thank you, Ian.”  Sarah gently patted his thighs.  “Rest assured that we're all on the same page here.  Now, what's this about sleeping in a crib?”

 

“It's neutral territory.  Ordinarily, I would not bother with a bed of my own, but simply move from one of yours to the next.  But that won't work because Vickie is going to be crib bound.  If she doesn't get all the bells and whistles, then in fairness no one else should.  So, unless you have a change of heart and give Vickie a bedroom of her own, all of you should plan on visiting my crib.”

 

“Ian, that's amazing!  When Mom and I were talking about how to make this crazy household of ours work, she stressed that we should lay you down in a crib and turn it into a cat house.  Not playing favorites was a big, big part of that conversation!”

 

“She sounds like a smart lady.  I'm looking forward to meeting her.”

 

“You'll get your chance on Saturday.  She's flying down with Bob for the weekend.  Nothing like having a boyfriend who's a pilot with a plane of his own!”

 

“Hmm … interesting ...”

 

You have no idea how interesting …

 

Settled in the chair, Ian could feel his brain slipping into combat mode.  It had happened before, when assignments had gone sideways in Algeria and Cyprus, Beirut and Balikpapan.  But it had never happened on American soil.

 

Until today.

 

And now it had happened twice.

 

He had no illusions about how his unbelievably fairy tale life would play out.  The only way to keep the women he loved and the children they would bear him safe was to track the bastards down and kill them all.  To do so, he would need to get off the grid and move around without leaving a trace of his presence.  A private plane flying down in Cherokee country would overcome a lot of logistical hurdles.

 

He had had years to think it through, and the answer never changed.  He had been betrayed.

 

Someone in his unit had betrayed him, and sold his daughter to the highest bidder.  And unless Irina told him otherwise, he was going to start from the assumption that Linh was on American soil, in American hands.  If the Chicoms had her, she was out of reach, so there was no point in going down that path.  But if they did, Ian kept reminding himself, the North Koreans didn't know about it, and their intelligence service was first class.  Giving a helping hand to one of Kim's cousins in Kuala Lumpur had opened that particular door wide.  No, it had to be someone in the intelligence community-- someone with counterintelligence capabilities.  A few individuals or an agency?  It was all one and the same.  Ian was going to kill them all.

 

Spats Belmondo was a gift from heaven, because Spats gave him entree to the Outfit, and the Outfit ran organized crime from Chicago to the Pacific, from Canada to the Gulf-- and above all else, it ran Clark County, Nevada.  It was only a matter of time before the phone would ring down in Bloomington, and Spats would place his order for a pizza graced with gorgonzola.

 

“Ian, are you listening to me?”

 

Ian looked up, to see Sarah staring at him … staring hard.

 

“Sorry.  Talking about Bob's plane triggered some odd memories, but I really am looking forward to meeting my future mother-in-law!”

 

“And she's just as eager to meet you!  And yes, she knows all about your diapers, and she's dealt with enough troubled vets to have a sense of what we're up against.  I'm hoping that she can help us smooth out some of the rough patches, because she went through this with my Dad.”

 

“Sarah, keep playing the charge nurse, and we'll be fine.  I want you to take control of my life, and if you want to dive into the details when we're together, I'll cope.  At home, for now at least, you can baby me as much you like.  Heck, Rita and Priscilla will cheer you on!  But you can't do my job for me, and you have to rely on me to make my own choices when we're apart.”

 

“Unless I get you a nursemaid … a job for which Tippi Bjornsen would happily apply.  She's just as eager to treat you as a toddler as I am … and you should have seen the way her eyes lit up when I showed her the chastity cage!”

 

“The what?”

 

“Oops … sorry; that just slipped out.”  Sarah let out a deep sigh, and then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the cage.  Hesitantly, she dropped it into Ian's lap.

 

“I went out and bought this for you after I found out about Priscilla,” she lied.  “But I've been worried about this ever since you fell in love with Vickie.  You fall in love so easily, and without apparent warning.  Only we now know that, if you act on your feelings the way you've done with Priscilla, you're putting someone in danger.  Ian this has to stop.  I can't keep you from falling in love, but this device will prevent you from acting on your feelings.  I could invoke our D/s agreement and insist that you let me lock you up, but I don't want to do that anymore than I want to browbeat you about alcohol.  I  want you voluntarily to give up booze for breast milk, just like the four of us will do.”

 

“You're ready to do that?  Seriously?”

 

“We are.  Tonight's the last hurrah, Ian; come Saturday night, all of us will be abstaining.  And believe me, there will come a day when we are all going to be nursing on one another's tits!”

 

“Now, there's a Saturday night to look forward to,” Ian grinned.  Then he turned serious.  “Have you … uh … run this by the other ladies who run my life?”  Ian was fingering the chastity device.

 

“Rita and Vickie are good with it, and will insist if you can't get past your love affair with alcohol.  I'll discuss this with Priscilla when I have the chance.”

 

“Come to the bar tonight.”  Ian was surprised to find himself almost pleading for Sarah to come along, but then he had already made his decision.

 

“I'm scared, Sarah … scared because I don't understand why I haven't fallen in love with Suzie Marshall.  And I'm scared because the logistics of guarding the perimeter get more and more daunting as the number of women involved with me goes up.  Do you understand?  It's not just a question of finding Linh; I have to find the people who did this!  It's the only way that I can keep you safe!”

 

“You're going to kill them, aren't you?”  There was no missing the haunted look in Ian's eyes, but there was steel there too.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.”  Sarah was glad to get this out in the open because she had no intention of raising their children in a gilded cage.  She wanted these people dead, and the threat eliminated once and for all.

 

“If you need help, just ask.  I've skinned deer; I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little blood.”

 

“Would Bob and your Mom feel the same way?”  Ian was thinking about Bob's plane.

 

“Guarantee it.”

 

“Familiar with wood chippers?”

 

“I've run a few.  Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?”

 

“Effective, but messy.”

 

“I'll teach you how to dress for the occasion.”

 

“Sarah Haikonnen?  Damned if I didn't go and fall in love with a bloodthirsty bitch!”

 

Sarah set the cage aside, and slid into Ian's lap; she wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned in to kiss him hard on the lips.  “Don't ever forget it,” she warned.

 

“About the cage,” Ian managed to get out when he came up for air.  “If the four of you want me to wear it, then come back to the sorority house with us and do the honors.  But it has to be a prophylactic, Sarah, not a prop in some bondage game.”

 

“It won't be.  The cage, and the locking diaper cover are both coming off in the house.  Don't you get it, Ian?  You're going to be gang raped by four women who love you and want to have your babies!  As soon as I have enough data, I'll set up a schedule.  But didn't Rita tell you?  About the 'freebies' at that commune out in San Francisco?”

 

“She did.  Now, would you please help me christen my new crib tomorrow night?”

 

“It's a date,” Sarah smiled.

 

“Finally,” Ian hooted.  “Finally!  And I'll be your baby, Sarah … for the time being.  But everything changes when one of you gets pregnant.  Let's be clear about that.”

 

“Absolutely.  There's not much point in being married to a stone cold killer when the shooting starts unless you're prepared to back his play.  But when it's all over, I want my baby back!”

 

“Ga ga, goo goo,” Ian lisped.

 

“Good baby,” Sarah murmured as she leaned in to kiss him again.  “And don't worry about Vickie.   Her mother did a lot of damage there, and with Rita's help, I'm going to fix it.  I want you not only to be good with her return to infancy, but to help us.  Play along when it's obvious that she's in baby mode.  She wants children so badly, and she will make a great mother once she is no longer haunted by her past.  In fact, none of us will be surprised if she quits her job and becomes a stay at home mom for our whole brood!”

 

“Priscilla thinks that Irina and I should try and have a baby … give detente something to work with.”

 

“Which brings us around to how you can do better in this relationship.”  Sarah gently tapped Ian's lips with the tip of a finger.  “I want you to make a conscious effort to be more forthcoming.  You can let us into your life without divulging state secrets!”

 

“Yeah, you're right.  I've lost my gift for gab, and I need to get it back.  How about on Saturday night I tell you about the time I flew into the wrong country, and didn't realize it until I climbed into the back seat of the only cab in Abu Dhabi with an honest driver?”

 

“Where the hell is Abu Dhabi?”

 

“Persian Gulf.”

 

“Which means that you speak Arabic?”

 

“Yeah,” Ian smiled.  “Every single dialect.  You can call me Sinbad the Sailor man.”

 

Sarah leaned in to kiss him again.  “It's a date, Sinbad,” she whispered.  “And is there a princess in this Arabian Nights tale of yours?”

 

“Now, that would be revealing state secrets,” he murmured as he closed his eyes and kissed her back.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“DADDY'S HOME,” Cindy Carlson shrieked as she jumped out of her chair.  “AND AUNT BATGIRL!”

 

“And Janis,” Geri yelled as she also jumped up.  “YOU'RE FAMOUS!”

 

For her part, Janis simply looked confused.  She turned to Missus Miller for help.

 

Bernice simply smiled, knowing that as bizarre as the day had already been, the night would be taking them into uncharted territory.

 

“Everybody, say hi to Doctor Rita Stevenson, who runs the Psych ward over at the hospital, and who will be staying with us tonight.”

 

Rita waved her hand as she slowly turned to survey the premises.  Everywhere she looked, locking diaper covers were boldly on display.

 

“I like the look,” she observed.  “Sweatshirts and diapers are a real fashion statement.  Wear that to a basketball game, grab some seats down front, and the visiting team won't stand a chance!”

 

“Aunt Vickie says the same thing,” Joyce Wiggins confirmed.  “Be bold, and make wearing diapers the 'in' thing.”

 

“But your covered in vomit,” Joyce frowned.  Then, she brightened.

 

“Don't worry.  I'll take you upstairs and clean you up when I change your diaper.”

 

“I'm not wearing a diaper,” Rita huffed.

 

“You're not?”  Joyce was clearly disappointed.  Rita was the real deal, and she wanted to explore the possibilities.

 

“Not yet,” Vickie called out with a laugh.  She expected Sarah to have everybody in diapers within a week at most.  Packing for Athens was going to be a real challenge.

 

“Janis … Ian, let me do the introductions.  Say hi to Geri Galbraith and Laura Albright, who moved in today.  Oh, and they go by Tom and Jerry.”

 

“The Secret Agent Man!”  Geri felt like she had died and gone to celebrity heaven.  “YOU'RE EVEN MORE FAMOUS!”

 

“Cathy Erickson, where are you?”  Bernice looked around until she spotted the refugee from LIP, who blushed when she stood up to offer a halfhearted wave.

 

“And then there's Slasher and Jacknife, otherwise known as Stephanie and Jackie Hanson … identical twins from Moose Jaw.  They're on the women's hockey team, and that distinguished gentleman tackling the pizza box is their coach, Reggie Dunlop.”

 

Ian gave the coach a half salute, amazed by the uncanny resemblance to Paul Newman. 

 

“I'm a big Kings fan,” he said diplomatically.

 

“Me, too,” Reggie grinned boyishly.  “Had Cowboy Flett for a few games when I was coaching Springfield.  He was on loan from the Kings.  Good winger.”

 

“Hey, look!”  Kimberly Doyle was on her feet, pointing at the TV set.  “We made the news at five!!!  AND THAT'S ME!”

 

“YOU'RE FAMOUS,” Geri shrieked.  A full D cup in her own right, Geri was bouncing up and down, her tight fitting sweater leaving nothing to the imagination.  The local newscaster was talking over still shots of Kimberly getting off the bus, casting her flimsy hospital gown aside, and fondling the lock on the diaper cover crowning her fully exposed, totally glorious legs.  The six foot three Amazon known to all and sundry as “Fraulein D Cup” was the resident superstar in …

 

“THE DIAPER HOUSE … THE DIAPER HOUSE,” Cindy screamed, the other girls jumping up and down, turning it into a chant.

 

“Is this sort of an ordinary day in Bedrock,” Rita whispered to Janis, thinking that Pebbles Flintstone would not have looked out of place in this madhouse.

 

“Pretty much,” Janis whispered back, “but nothing compared to what happens when Mom sets out the snacks at ten.  If you're here and not careful, the herd will trample you.”

 

“Thanks, Jannie; I'll keep that in mind.”  Camping out in Bernice's office until Ian and the girls staggered in sometime after Midnight was beginning to sound like a really good idea.

 

Ian waited patiently for the news to cycle, and then clapped his hands to get the group's attention.  “I need your help,” he shouted.  “Could everyone give me a few minutes before the ladies and I run off to get drunk?”

 

“I'm coming too,” Cindy yelled; “I haven't had anything to drink since last Saturday night.  I'm parched!”

 

“Oh, no, you're not, young lady … not on a school night!”  Bernice was giving Cindy the eye, and she was prepared to put her foot down if that's what it took to keep the girls from getting into more trouble.

 

“Drunk and disorderly will mean another trip to court,” Priscilla cut in.  “Do you really want to go there?”

 

The room quieted instantly.

 

“Here's the deal,” Ian explained.  “I've been working with Harriet Belmondo out at the diaper service and Jerry Cromwell at the hospital to figure out how many diapers Harriet needs to buy to service your order.  This turns out to be a lot more complicated than I expected.  What I need each of you to do is grab a pen and paper, and give me your graduation dates.  We add up the months, turn them into weeks and multiply times thirty-six diapers per week.  It turns out that the critical number is how many times the diapers can be cycled through their commercial grade washers and dryers.”

 

“We have thirteen Seniors in residence, eleven Juniors, fourteen Sophomores, and three first year students,” Bernice called out.  She knew the breakdown by heart.  “Let me get my pocket calculator.”

 

She rushed into the office, grabbed it out of her purse, and was already running the numbers when she returned to the dining room.

 

“Okay,” she mumbled.  “Assuming everyone graduates on time, we're looking at eight hundred and sixty-three months … multiply times thirty-one just to be on the safe side … gives us twenty-six thousand, seven hundred and fifty-three days … divide by seven ...”

 

She looked up.  Three thousand, eight hundred and twenty-two weeks?  At thirty-six diapers a week, that comes to … ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND NINETY-TWO DIAPER CHANGES!!  HOLY SHIT!!!  I'LL BE OLD BEFORE MY TIME!”

 

All over the room, the gasps were audible.  No one had ever heard their Mom curse before.

 

“And Jerry says that a new diaper has a life expectancy of a hundred to a hundred, twenty-five trips through the machines.  If we stay on the safe side and divide by a hundred weeks per diaper … Bernice?”

 

“One thousand, three hundred and seventy-five diapers.”

 

“But Jerry's willing to sell off his surplus stock, which would be cheaper, but the diapers would have a shorter life expectancy, so we would need more of them … possibly a lot more …

 

Ian ran some numbers in his head, and nodded thoughtfully.  “I see what Jerry means.  I thought that we'd get by with fifteen hundred, but buying used cuts the up front cost.  If they were all a year old, we'd need two thousand, seven hundred and fifty.  Maybe half and half?”

 

Ian nodded again.  “Write it all down, Bernice, and I'll phone Harriet.  We'll give her the numbers, and she can work it out with Jerry in the morning.”

 

“There's just one teeny, tiny detail that you're missing,” Tippi observed.

 

“What's that?”  Ian had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the elevator had just broken loose and was in free fall from the top of the Empire State Building.

 

“What makes you think that we're all going to graduate on time?”  The look on Tippi's face was sweetness personified.  “For example … Cindy, what's your Major?”

 

“Uh … Business Management?”

 

“I thought you were in Theater Arts,” Melanie objected.

 

“Maybe … I'm not sure.  But it doesn't matter 'cause I'm changing my Major in the morning … Premed!”

 

Ian frowned.  “Will this delay your graduation?”

 

In the background, he could hear Bernice snickering.

 

“Sure.  Maybe another year or two?”

 

“And what about me,” Kimberly interrupted.  “I'm graduating on time, but I'll stay on in the house until I get my teaching certificate.  That's a two year program.  Which graduation will the judge be looking at-- the first or the second?”

 

“Welcome to Fraternity Row,” Vickie gleefully laughed.  “Your life will never be the same … Dad!!”

 

Ian sat down, looked around the room at the sea of smiling faces, and began gently but methodically to pound his head on the table.  He couldn't get to the bar fast enough.

 

“Sarah wants me to change your diaper before you leave,” Tippi mentioned oh, so nonchalantly.  “Under aunt Batgirl's supervision, of course, but she wants me to get used to looking after you.  The plan is for me to be your primary caregiver on campus until I graduate-- and that's at least three and a half years in the future.”

 

Tippi smiled sweetly.

 

Rita gave him a pitying look.

 

Vickie and Priscilla smiled knowingly.

 

“You can use the guest bedroom,” Bernice announced.  “I've already taken the liberty of equipping it with a diaper pail.”

 

“I have his supplies in the car,” Priscilla declared.  “I'll go get them.”

 

“Tippi, it's nice of you to do this.”  Rita thought it best to be gracious.

 

“I want to have a baby of my own some day,” Tippi replied.  “This will be good practice … taking care of a baby, I mean.”

 

“Want some pizza,” Reggie called out.

 

Ian resumed methodically pounding his head against the table.  He fervently hoped that The Pig Sty had plenty of booze, because he intended to drink the joint dry.  With any luck, at closing time they would have to collect him in an ambulance. 

 

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index