Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: Angsty, but fun. I'm not sure why.

Spoilers: Don't have any.

Disclaimer: Taking them hostage. Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television, but I'm ready to demand a ransom to give them back. When I'm good and ready, that is.
 

Is it the sound of the leaves
Left blown by the wayside
That's got me out here on this spooky old highway tonight
Is it the cry of the river
With the moonlight shining through
That ain't what scares me baby
What scares me is losing you..."

Bruce Springsteen, "Valentine's Day. Copyright 1987. Used without permission.
 

Akatastasia
 

November 21, 1999

The previous two weeks of my life had been sheer and utter misery. It did not pass unnoticed by me that at the same time last year, my life had also been sheer and utter misery. Perhaps in the future, I will sleep through November, at least through Thanksgiving.

The first week after Langly had been admitted was more frightening than anything else. He actually got worse for a time, and I almost succumbed to his begging to take me home. I think the only thing that kept me from acting on this impulse was a firm warning from Byers and Frohike that if I did it, I was on my own, and they were not going to assist me in any form of nursing care.

Langly had been miserable, being pumped full of strong antibiotics, and when those failed to produce results, being force-fed powerful antifungals. That had no effect, either. Finally, Dr. Ying decided that large doses of anti-inflammatories were the way to go, and on the ninth day after his admission, he dipped below 101.

The good news was that there was nothing that appeared to be cancerous. The bad news was, Dr. Ying, a brilliant woman with impressive credentials, was utterly stumped. She prowled the Net and consulted with specialists online from the CDC and WHO, and she was still baffled.

She was a tiny, quiet woman, shorter than me, but she had the heart of a warrior, and I could see that she was making a monumental effort to figure out what the hell had gone wrong. My first impression of her, that she was rather cool and clinical, had turned out to be utterly wrong. In spite of my fiance's poor manners, she was very dedicated to him, and she
affectionately referred to him as 'the patient from hell,' always with a smile on her face.

And that was during the first nine days, when he was still reasonably quiet.

I was immensely grateful to see him getting better, but unfortunately, it had some unpleasant side effects. I had forgotten-at least temporarily-just how nasty my sweet beloved could become. And the better he got, the nastier he became.

We did try. The sore throat had improved, and when he could swallow again, I began to bring in respite from what he referred to as 'concentration-camp cuisine.' Frohike brought him two laptops from the office, which I thought would amuse him, but he still had the drip in one arm, and he couldn't type very well. I offered to do it for him, and got a tongue-lashing that I didn't deserve. He had me running out in tears. Byers provided reading material and Starbucks on an everyday basis, and we smuggled in one of the VCR's from the house. Frohike even offered to loan him his some of his videos, which earned him a hurled water glass from across the room. Frohike wisely decided to vacate for a couple of days, and even Byers was looking fed up and strained. Any good humor I'd had was now an historical artifact. I began to dread the visits I made after work, since they largely consisted of Langly complaining at me for something I had nothing to do with, accusing me of things I didn't do and never would, and making me feel guilty for not fixing it. I went home two nights with killer migraines.

After a particularly unpleasant encounter one night, I was sitting at the kitchen table, my face buried in my hands, and sobbing my little red head off. I didn't notice when Michael entered the kitchen.

"You okay?" he asked rhetorically.

His fault for asking. I was in no mood to be diplomatic.

"No, I'm not okay! My fiance reams me out verbally every time I walk into his room. My house is a mess. I'm behind on my preparation. My daughter accuses me of neglecting her, Shelby's mother accuses me of corrupting her daughter, John and your dad don't want to deal with this anymore, and I HAVE HAD IT!" I don't have the right voice for shrieking, but this time, I
forced it.

"Whoa. Bummer." He sounded nonchalant, but he came over and put a hand on my shoulder. "Sorry about all that."

I began to cry afresh, but this time I was more relieved. He put a pot of coffee on for me, grabbed a beer for himself, and sat down with me.

"You look tired. Thought you'd better stick with the coffee."

"Thank you."

"Wanna talk about it?" Michael asked. I damn near fell out of my chair. I had to be hallucinating at this point-surly, self-centered Michael Frohike, asking me if I wanted to talk about things? I was more tired than I thought, I suspected.

But he was sitting passively and expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to pull the words together-not rushing, just hanging until it happened. He looked...just like Frohike.

"I'm just having a major attack of feeling sorry for myself. I'll get over it." I sniffed.

"Whaddya take in your coffee?"

"Milk. One splash." He went to the fridge, and instead of setting the carton on the table, he splashed one serving into the cup he'd poured for me.

"That okay?"

"Perfect. Thank you." I sipped and lit a cigarette.

"You shouldn't smoke those things, you know."

"Michael, spare me the lecture, please? I'm majorly stressed right now."

"Obviously."

"I just want this shit to be over. I want my fiance to get well. I want my sister-in-law back. I want my daughter to be happy. I want us all not to be at each other's throats. I want..." I lapsed into tears again. He patted my head.

"Hey, hang in there. Anything I can do?"

I looked up sharply. He'd never offered to do anything before. He'd been complying more or less willingly, but of his own volition...this was a first.

"Actually, Michael, it would reduce my stress level significantly if you and the girls could do more work around the house. I don't have time or the energy right now, and looking at this mess...my life is such that I'm raging for any kind of order. I'd settle for domestic order right now."

"Shoulda said so," he said, shrugging. "Maybe me and the girls...we can figure out how to split it up."

"That would be very helpful. Thank you. And Michael, I really appreciate your helping with the animals. I've really neglected them lately, and it's nice to know they're being cared for well."

He looked at the floor, embarrassed. "Ah...me and Tiny, we're buds. And the cats are pretty cool."

"Miranda means well, but she forgets. Thank you for not forgetting."

"No problem."

"And I appreciate you looking after the girls while I'm at the hospital."

"Hey, it's not like I know anybody else around here. Maybe when I start school in January."

I perked up. "You're going to do it."

"Yeah. Melvin's got me doing stuff, but I need...well, y'know. I need a life."

"Where?"

"JC in Anniston. My grades...they're not the best." I suspected that that was an understatement.

"Well, Michael, I was desperately in need of some good news today, and you're the only one that brought me some."

"Whatever." He shrugged. "So's you want me and the girls to do some stuff now?"

"When they're done with their homework, see if you can get them to do something. I am so beat." I slumped at the table again. "And if you can, please call Domino's and get enough for everybody. John and your dad are out there, and I suspect they're hungry." I pulled some cash from my purse, and I did it in under two minutes. A new land speed record.

"'Kay." He wandered down the basement stairs, and I heard him having a discussion with the girls. There appeared to be some disagreement, but they must have come together at some point. I didn't catch the specifics. I didn't care about them.

He came back up and began to gather some cleaning supplies from under the sink. I was surprised he knew where they were.

"How's your old man?" he asked.

"He's being the king of total bastards," I admitted freely.

"Yeah, I know how that works. You should see my mom in action. 'Course, she and I don't talk, so I don't have to put up with her anymore." He didn't sound happy about that, though. "When's he coming home?"

"When he's had a normal temp for 24 hours, he can go. I suspect that the entire staff is waiting with baited breath and will celebrate with a sustained bender when he leaves."

"That bad, huh?"

"He's really obnoxious. At least he's better, though."

"Melvin said he threw something at him the other day."

"He did."

"He better not do it to you."

"He doesn't throw objects at me. He just hurls invectives."

"Like that's much better," he muttered sarcastically. "Listen, if he's gonna be a jerk to you, I'll take him out, okay?"

I laughed. "No, you're not going to take him out. No fucking way."

"Why not?" He was puzzled.

"Because that's my job, dammit."

He laughed.
 

November 22, 1999

A breakthrough. Langly was now at 99.5, and had been holding for six hours, according to the nursing staff. I tiptoed in his room and was shocked to find him asleep. Normally when he knew it was visiting hours, he saved up his bile to spew all over us.

And he was sweating. The fever was finally breaking. He seemed to be resting comfortably for a change. He was breathing his familiar noises, and when I smoothed his hair, he murmured appreciatively without waking up.

I grabbed some coffee and decided to wait in his room. He might not wake up for a time, but it was a major relief to see him looking more like himself, and I intended to drink in the sensation. It'd been a while, and I needed the therapy.

I took out a copy of Aristophanes-same one I'd been working on for weeks without success-and actually translated about a dozen lines when I heard a soft voice from the bed.

"Hey."

I smiled. "Hey yourself. You look almost human again." I got up to kiss him, and to my surprise, he responded back with more vigor than he had in over three weeks.

"Getting there. You look pretty beat, though."

"I am."

"So why don't ya come on up and lie down with me?"

The bed was fairly narrow, but we were thin and we'd fit. "Sure."

He had to maneuver himself as to not jar the IV line, but he made enough space for me, and I curled up next to him, draping my arm over his chest. Not exactly the Hilton, but it was the best sensation I'd had in a while. Even if..."

"Sweetheart, you need a shower."

"Duh!" He laughed. "I've become the king of grunge."

I gave him an evil grin. "Wanna take one with me?"

"Here?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Well, we gotta get the line out first."

"Oh, yeah. Fuck." So much for the best-laid plans...even if they had only been about 30 seconds in the laying.

"Just stay here, Ally. I know I'm pretty gross right now..."

"No, you're not. And right now, I think they'd have to pry me off you with the jaws of life." Yeah, he needed a shower, but it was a secondary concern now.

"I wanna go home." Oh fuck. Here we go again.

"You're getting closer."

"Finally." He put his face in my hair. "I want my desk back. I want my workstation. I wanna play with Miranda and Shelby and the dog. I wanna pet the cats. I wanna go back to work, if you can believe that. I wanna eat your cooking all the time. I want my own bed."

"You'll get all of them back soon."

"Mostly, though, know what I want?" He was smiling at me.

"I can guess."

"That, yeah. But mostly, Ally? I just don't wanna be away from you. It's been like dying in here."

"Hospitals suck."

"They do. I missed ya."

"I was here every day."

"I know, but I was so out of it, and then I've been such a bastard..."

"Yes, you have."

"Wasn't trying to be," he assured me as he hugged me closer.

"Well, just let me point out that if you ever make me cry like that again, I will have to strangle you. And no jury in the world will convict me."

"Am I that bad?" He actually looked surprised.

"You have been lately."

"Sorry." And I think he really was.

"'S'okay. I'm glad you're better now." I glanced up at the monitor, which happily held the 99.5 reading. Relief.

We laid together quietly for a time; he was obviously still tired, and I think I actually went to sleep for a while.

"Am I interrupting anything?" A gruff male voice came from the doorway.

"Huh?" I jumped about thirty feet in the air. I was not very calm about the little things anymore.

"Says R.P. Langly's an inmate here."

That roused Langly a bit. "Renegade?"

"Langly, you skinny bastard. I get into town, I'm gonna look you up and we can have a few beers, but no, you end up in the hospital, and with a good-looking woman in your bed to boot. Now I tell you, is that any way to treat a friend?"

"Hey, Renegade. What're you doing in Virginia?"

I blinked my eyes in the dim light, and standing before me was a huge, burly redhead clad in jeans, a denim jacket, a red flannel shirt, hiking boots (good ones), and a large cowboy hat, which he had removed upon entering the room. He had a red beard shot with a bit of grey.

"Well, obviously I'm not going drinking with you. Langly, where are your fucking manners? Introduce the lady."

"Renegade, this is my fiancee, Ally Gerstein." He'd momentarily forgotten that I don't let casual acquaintances use my nickname, but I felt strangely at ease with this giant of a man. I let it go. "Ally, the greatest hacker of all times, a deity among us. Renegade." I sat up and shook hands with him. His strength matched his size. He could have easily picked me up with
one hand.

"Ally. Can't say much for your taste in husbands, but nice to meet you."

"And you as well. Where're you in from, Renegade?"

He smiled. "From...home. Somewhere out west." He was pleasant, but he was obviously of the paranoid mindset. He blushed a bit-another redhead, another blush. God, we were a pathetic lot. "Actually, I'm here about a lady."

"You're shitting me." Langly seemed to get a bit more animated.

"No...She came out the last time. I figured I'd better pay the fare this time."

"What's her name?" I inquired politely.

He looked at Langly, and shook his head. "You know her."

"Do I? 'Fraid I don't recall you with any ladies, Renegade. At least ones you didn't pay for."

Renegade chuckled. "You wouldn't happen to remember a Fibbie named Lu, would you?"

Langly's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You are shitting me totally, dude. Aren't you?"

Renegade smiled. "No."

Langly laughed. "This is so rich. You and the Fibbie that busted you."

"Busted your sorry ass, too, boy. And faster than she got mine." He laughed back.

I smiled. "I gather you're old...school friends?"

That got a rise from both of them. "Alumni of Lompoc Correctional Institute." Renegade laughed harder. "Love the way you phrased that, young lady."

"So when'd you guys get together?" I asked.

"Well, I helped Lu on a case last year...you remember, last October, dude?"

"Yeah, I helped your sorry butt so you could get the girl and ride off into the sunset." Testosterone had taken over now.

"Hey, I don't see you suffering," Renegade shot back at him. "At least not from that." We all laughed. "Anyway, Lu's not at the bureau anymore. She's got her own investigation firm. We're partners."

"Thought you said you didn't live around here," I was puzzled.

"Don't. We don't get to be together all that often, but we have a pretty cool 'virtual relationship' when we're not. And we do most of our work online-at least I do. She actually meets clients once in a while. Just as well. She's got a better wardrobe." I could believe that. "So I'm on my way to hook up with Lu, but thought I'd come by and hassle you for a few minutes."

"I'm glad you did. Are you staying in town long?"

"Not too long." Evasive again. Then he grinned broadly. "Anyway, Langly, Lu says hi."

"This is like so surreal," Langly closed his eyes. "Luanne Russell. She who put my ass in prison. She says hi." He laughed back. "What can I say? Tell her hi for me."

"I'll tell her you found a good woman. She'll be impressed. Anyway, Langly, we need to talk, but not here. I've got some stuff for you." I started to inquire, but I received looks from both of them that said, not now. "When you getting out of this dump?"

"Not soon enough," Langly moaned.

"He's got to stay at 98.6 or thereabouts for 24 hours and then he's sprung. And I suspect the staff prays nightly for this miraculous occurrence."

"I would. 'Course, I'd have killed him first, most likely." Renegade stood up. "Hey, dude, get better." He looked at me. "He gives you any shit, let me know, and I'll kick his skinny ass." He shook hands with both of us and was gone.

I climbed back on the bed, and we wrapped ourselves back into our previous position.

"You just met a legend," Langly informed me.

"Made flesh. So this is the Renegade."

"None other." He yawned. "I'm really tired, Ally."

"Me, too." I closed my eyes.
 

November 24, 1999

I slept late on Sunday. I was totally worn out, and I slept until 11:30. I'd have probably kept sleeping had Miranda and Shelby not kept wandering in, wondering when I was going to get up and take them to the mall. I finally dragged myself into the shower and came somewhat alive.

I was nervous about letting the girls go to the mall on their own, but I'd kept them locked up for so long. They would know people there. Miranda was suspicious of everyone. I had to let them.

Langly had a downturn-maybe more accurately phrased as an upturn-on Friday night, and he was utterly frustrated. He'd meandered over the hundred mark for several hours. He was back down in the 99 range by Saturday morning, but he was once again in a terrible mood. My attempts to soothe him were rebuffed, and Frohike and Byers gave up on him after a very short, and rather unpleasant visit. We basically told him that if he was going to be a bastard, he was going to be a lonely one.

Michael had gone out with Frohike last night; I'd heard him come in when I headed for the washroom around 3:00 a.m. Frohike had not stayed; he was now assured that his son knew where he was, and he probably wasn't as drunk as he'd been the previous weekend. I hoped. I'd had to replace one mattress already. He was still asleep when we left the house.

I gave the girls the normal plethora of parental instructions, plus a few unique to their situation, and they rolled their eyes in disgust. I then headed off for my nemesis.

One of the floor nurses stopped me. I flinched.

"Mrs. Langly, it finally happened."

"What did?"

"He's been at 98.8 for five hours now."

"YES!" I could barely restrain myself. I felt a lot lighter as I entered his room.

He looked very worn out, but he smiled when I came in.

"Feel like being civilized today?" I inquired.

"Hey, come over here. Read the numbers." 98.8. B/P 127/70. Looking good. I bent over to hug him hard, and he grabbed me with his good arm.

"Feeling better?" I stroked the hair, which he'd pulled back into a ponytail; it needed a good scrubbing and it itched.

"Yeah. I do. I'm still really tired. Feel like I could sleep the next hundred years."

"You'll probably feel that way for a while."

"I'd feel better if I could get my hair washed."

"Want me to do it for you?"

"Nah. I wanna be out of here tomorrow. This'll be additional motivation."

"Sweetheart, you don't need any additional motivation to get out of here."

"No, I don't. Mostly, I want the fucking IV out of my arm." I examined both of them. The IV had been switched constantly, and he was bruised all the way up both arms, including the hands. "I wanna go home and not have anybody violate me anymore. 'Cept maybe you. You can violate me all you want." He grinned. My babe was returning to me. I cheered inwardly.

"You need to sleep, babe. I want you home tomorrow."

"'Kay." He smiled softly. "Can I have some Cherry Garcia when I get home?"

"I'll make sure we're stocked."

"And some fettucine."

"Sure."

"You made it the night I got sick, but I really didn't eat any, so I missed out on it."

"Fettucine alfredo is among life's more easily repeatable experiences."

"Miranda still dating that loser?"

"She's still seeing Kieran, if that's what you mean."

"I hate him."

I laughed. He was getting back on track. I got up next to him for a moment and just laid there. He was breathing evenly, steadily, and slowly for a change. He was still pale, but he didn't look ghastly. I brushed my hand over his face. The skin was cool and moist. I looked up at the monitor.

98.6. I could have jumped out of my skin, I was so happy.
 

November 26, 1999

Langly was fairly itchy to get back to work, but it was Thanksgiving week, and his supervisor had instructed him not to show his sorry ass up until the following Monday (his words on the voice mail). Actually, his medical release hadn't been given to him yet, but he figured he could get Byers to forge one for him. He went back to work on TMB, but it seemed that while
the spirit was willing, the flesh still got tired very quickly.

I was working on Monday, and I had no voice mail messages, so I was a bit dejected when I went to see Langly after work. I shouldn't have been. He was sitting there, ready to go home, and twitching like a fish out of water.

"Wondering when you'd show up," he commented.

"You know I work till 3:30 on Monday."

"I do?"

"Anyway, I think this is like the Hilton, they charge you extra if you stay past checkout time, so let's get the hell out of here."

"That works for me. Y'know, I bet for what I paid here, I'd have gotten a better room at the Hilton. And room service. And HBO."

"And no IV lines."

"God, I was so damn happy when they pulled the fucking thing out, and they didn't stick one back in my other arm, I thought I'd gone to heaven. I had visions of that thing growing out of me."

"It gets in the way of certain activities," I concurred.

"Yeah. Think we need to get back to some of those."
 

The novelty of being home wore off rapidly for him. He was still tired, and that did not make him happy. Michael and he argued. Kieran was over studying one night with Miranda, and he was downright rude to him.

"What do you have against him, anyway?" I demanded.

"He's a teenage guy. Ergo, he's scum."

"He is NOT scum, Langly, and you are not going to upset Miranda that way!" Miranda wasn't speaking to him since he had behaved in aforementioned fashion.

"I hate him."

"And you hate Michael. God, do you hate every guy on the planet under the age of 25?"

"No, just the ones that are pond scum."

"Which appears to include all of the ones that show up on your doorstep."

"Hey, just because I don't want some testosterone-crazed dude taking advantage of Miranda-"

I couldn't help but crack up at this. He looked at me as if he had no clue as to what I was laughing about. He probably didn't.

"Langly, in case you haven't noticed, Miranda seems very adequate to the task of deciding for herself what she will and will not put up with. She's a good judge of character, so for God's sake, cut her a little slack, will you?"

"She's fine. He's not."

And on it went. Miranda sulked, Langly complained, and Michael's temporary cooperativeness had worn off. So much for our happy home.

"I'm gonna kill all of them," I complained to Byers one afternoon, when he was the only one in the office and I was the only one at home. There was an exam in one of my student's sections, so I had some unprecedented free time.

"I'll hold them down," Byers offered. For Byers to make such a comment meant that he too was having his last nerve worked. "But we have to do it before 5:30."

"Why's that?"

"I'm flying out tonight."

"Going to Kat's?"

He blushed. "No, not this time."

"Let me guess. You have found the elusive Juliet."

He turned even pinker. "I did."

"And?"

"And she invited me to come out and get acquainted."

"I see. Where're you going?"

"Ann Arbor."

"University of Michigan?"

"Uh-huh."

"Tell me, does this gorgeous creature have a name?"

He was crimson now. "You won't believe it, but..."

"But what?"

"Her name actually is Juliet."

I was showing my bad manners and my even worse sense of humor, but I burst out laughing. "Tell me, in your on-line search, did you refer to yourself as Romeo?"

He was flaming, and he wouldn't say anything, which said it all for me.
 

"Mom, I want a turkey this year," Miranda insisted.

"What?"

"Mom, in two days it's Thanksgiving! Hello!"

"Oh, fuck." I had to get a day planner. This was insane.

"Somebody say something about a turkey?" Michael wandered in to grab a beer. "I haven't had turkey dinner in years."

"So what do you do for Thanksgiving?" Miranda asked sharply. She had been arguing with him as well. She felt he was too bossy and domineering, and he found her stubborn. Sad part was, they were both correct.

"Usually go to Burger King," he answered as he took in a mouthful of beer, which ran down his chin and on to the floor.

"Michael, clean it up," I said sharply.

"Hey, I'm getting there! Jesus!" The phone rang, and I jumped out of my skin.

"Michael, please get the fucking phone, and if it's for me, I AM NOT HERE!"

"Okay, okay!" He picked up. "Yeah? She's not here. I'll tell her. Bye."

"Thank you. Who was it?"

"Some dude named Mulder. Says to say that he and Scully and the baby are home."

"Oh, shit! I should've taken the call!"

"Yeah, but you weren't here."

"So Mom? Are we getting a turkey or not?" Miranda repeated her demand.

"Yes, we'll get a damn turkey! I need to get to the market!" Which was the last thing I wanted to do at this hour. It was dinnertime, which meant the market would be jammed.

"Want me to go?" Michael asked. First time in days he'd offered to do something. I hesitated. God only knows what he would come home with...

"If you could. I'll make you a list."

Langly strolled in from the offices and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "What're you doing, Ally?"

"Making a shopping list."

"For what?"

"According to my daughter, it's Thanksgiving in two days, and she has insisted that I prepare a turkey."

"I hate turkey," he sulked. "I liked the lasagna you made last year."

"Fine, I'll make lasagna, too!" I started to write the ingredients for that as well. Anything to keep people quiet. I was willing to do a lot for some peace and order at this point.

"Hey, Allison." It was Michael. "My car...sorta died. Can I take yours? I mean, I'm like going to the market for you and all..."

"Fine. Here." I pulled the key from my keyring. "Do anything to it and you're a dead man."

"YOU'RE LETTING HIM TAKE YOUR CAR?!" Langly just about screamed.

"He's going to the market for me, and if you were listening, you'd have heard that his is under the weather."

"Hey, I'm not gonna do-"

"Ally, you're insane!" Langly was screeching at me on one side, Michael on the other. My head swam.

"You go to the market, then," I said coldly.

"You hate the way I shop," he whined. Translation: No fucking way am I going.

"Look, I don't have time for this shit." I was astonished by how cold I sounded. "You two work it out, and leave me the fuck out of it!"

"Like why can't you take your dad's car?" Langly whined at Michael.

"Because he's taking Byers to the airport, that's why!" Michael shot back.

"You so much as put a fucking scratch on that car, and you are so fucked you'd wish you were dead!" Langly hissed at him.

Michael exited post-haste, grocery list and money from me in hand.
 

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded of Langly, who was now alone with me in the kitchen.

"Doing what?"

"You are being so fucking obnoxious to all of us, I could kill you and sleep well tonight!"

"Well, maybe I still feel like hell, in case you hadn't considered that!" he spat back at me.

"Doesn't give you the right to treat me like shit!" I screamed back.

"I am not treating you like shit!"

"You are! I feel like my head is going to split and everything's going to come flying out and hit the walls! All you do is bitch at me! Did it ever occur to you that while you were sick, I suffered right along with you? And not knowing what you had, or why it dissipated, or if it will come again-I'm losing my mind, and all you can do is aggravate me!" My voice had risen
about 3 octaves.

He stopped for a moment. "Y'know, Ally, screeching just doesn't look good on you. And you do it a lot lately."

"Yeah, well, maybe there's a reason for that!" Tears were springing up, and I didn't know if I had the energy to keep them back. I was so wiped out that when the phone rang, I didn't have the energy to jump out of my skin the way I normally do. I grabbed the cordless, which Michael had dropped on the kitchen table.

"Ally, it's Emma."

"Hi, Emma, what's up?" My sister-in-law.

"Just wanted to let you know that my plane gets in tomorrow night at 7:10. United 274 at National."

Oh fuck. I had totally spaced on inviting Emma. I'd invited her back in the early part of October, and she had left me a few voice mail messages saying she was coming, but I'd been preoccupied.

I must have been speechless longer than was polite. "Ally? Is this a problem?"

"No, no problem at all, Emma." I was actually looking forward to seeing her, but now I had to do a major shift to the left. "Emma, I have to cover a class tomorrow night for somebody 6 to 10, but -" I covered the receiver-"Langly. Could you get Emma tomorrow night at National?"

"Huh? Emma's coming?"

"Yeah. I must've told you."

"No, don't think so."

"I-look, can you pick her up? I have to work for somebody tomorrow night."

"Yeah, I'll get her."

I came back on. "Emma, I know this sucks, but my fiance has agreed to meet you at National and bring you back here, so it's covered."

"Ally, are you okay?" Emma sounded mildly alarmed.

"I'm fine, Emma. It's just been...hectic."

"Okay. Anyway, looking forward to seeing you all."

"Have a safe trip, Em."
 

"And you bitch at me when I do stuff without telling you!"

"Langly, I'm certain I told you at some point," I insisted, although I began to wonder if I actually had.

"Not," he was adamant.

"Is this going to be a huge problem with you?" I asked wearily.

"No, Emma seemed cool when I met her and all. It's just-"

"What?"

"This place is so fucking crowded sometimes."

"I don't think it's the place that's crowded, babe, I think it's our lives."

"Maybe. But the place is pretty damn full up, wouldn't you say?"

"Let's see. You and Miranda and me, and Shelby about 90 percent of the time, and Michael and the animals and Byers and Frohike cruising in and out...yeah, maybe it does get a bit insane here."

"And it's driving me nuts! I spent two and a half weeks in a fucking hospital, where I got stuck and stabbed and annoyed and had no privacy at all, and I come home and I want a little, and it's total chaos here!"

"Entropy is the natural order of things, I thought."

"I could go for a bit of unnatural order right now."

"Me, too. It's like...all I want to do is sleep for about a month, babe. I'm so tired. I know I wasn't the one that was sick, but it was hard. And the kids are helpful sometimes, but they're kids, and they don't always come through. Sometimes I think it'd be easier if they just consistently did nothing."

"They're not gonna do that," he assured me.

"No, but it's like, I never know...all the little stuff is getting to me. And the big stuff. I swear, Langly, if I don't hear something about Lydia soon..."

He put his arms around me. "Been a pretty sucky time, huh?"

"Yeah. It has." I leaned up against him. He yawned but didn't let me go.

"So," he said, pulling me into him, "seems you've been spoiling me for at least the last month, even when I've won the total bastard sweepstakes."

"Tried to."

"Ah, you do all right. Tell you what. I'll order some pizza, and later on, we can just go in our room and watch bad TV all evening. Sound okay?"

"I've got so much to do..."

"Fuck it, Ally. Play princess tonight. Play my princess tonight." He kissed the top of my head.

"What would you have your princess do?"

"Let me hold the remote."

"Langly, you always hold the remote."

"See? Then you don't have to do anything!"

I started laughing and crying all in the same breath. "Babe, I'd like to know something. How is it that one minute I'm ready to choke you, and the next you can make me feel like ice in sunlight?"

"Hey, it's a talent." He grinned. I grinned back.

END OF PART 35