Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: Christmas Eve...it's not what you think. If you're looking for a good party, you should have been here at Hanukkah, but if you're in the mood for some sweet, quiet Christmas joy...read on.

Spoilers: Nope.

Disclaimer: Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television, at least until they come to their senses and surrender quietly.
 

"I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one's lifetime..."

Ecclesiastes 3:12, New American Standard Version
 

Eudaimoon
 

December 20, 1999

At least my mother had been in a good mood. I don't know how I would have dealt if she'd forgotten her meds and gone off on me. Any speech I have that even comes close to resembling wit-and it usually doesn't even get in the ballpark-is lost on me when my mother starts in.

My impulse was to call Langly. I picked up the phone to dial his voice mail-he never picked up-and clicked off the talk button. No. I should tell him, I thought. You kept secrets in your last marriage, I chided myself. You dealt with everything yourself. Eric never even knew how much money you had, or didn't have. I was going down the same path, and it alarmed me, but I can rationalize myself out of damn near anything.

If I called him, he would freak, and I was not up to dealing with him freaking out. Then, since Byers and Frohike were unavailable, he'd call Mulder, and Mulder would freak, and he'd be breathing down our necks. And freaking was about all that would come out of it. This bastard could find us anywhere on the planet. Fuck, he could probably find us on another
planet, if we could have gone there. Plus, I'd be forced to tell him about the incident the night before Thanksgiving, and not only would Langly freak, he'd be pissed big time.

No, I'd deal with it myself. I was a big girl now. I mean, at 44, you'd better be.

I checked my e-mail and was delighted to find a message from Ellen. She'd been traveling a great deal, and we'd not spoken since sixth night of Hanukkah. She had no idea that my car had suffered its demise, and that I - well, I didn't come close, but my mortality was much confirmed in that incident.

Girlfriend! How goes it? Heard you're on the disabled list. (I'd forgotten how rapidly news travels in this circle. Of course she'd know). Sorry haven't had a chance to call, but you know how it goes...Alex got in trouble at school-nothing new, just time-consuming. Marsha is here. I'm glad and I'm not. I went out to Utah for a few days-we might be on to something. When I get more info, I'll fill you in. I hope we figure it out soon, because I don't ever want to travel somewhere where you can't get a fucking drink. We need another girls' night of drinking. Soon.

Ellen

I typed her back a short note-typing with my nondominant hand was a slow, miserable process, but I managed. I dispensed with niceties such as capitalization and told her that I figured I'd be the next e.e. cummings.

There was other e-mail waiting for me-a note from my former student Rick, who was waiting to hear where he would do his residency. He informed me that GWU was one of the places he was waiting to hear from, and that warmed my heart. It'd be great to have Rick and Jennifer nearby. Robyn wrote that she hoped to make a trip out in the springtime and check out the DC area and wished me well, asking about Miranda and Langly and all the animals and the house.

I pulled up a letter from my brother Jason. To my surprise, he'd included his travel arrangements for him and Anne-they would be in DC the end of next week. I'm getting really bad, I thought. That's the second out-of-town guests you've spaced on, I chided myself. I needed to carry a planner somewhere other than in my head, because lately, I was suffering from a major case of CRS (Can't Remember Shit) disease. The cerebral day planner just wasn't hitting it. At least this time I could recall the conversation I'd had with him about coming out, and I distinctly remember getting Langly's seal of approval on the deal. I looked forward to seeing him and Anne, but I feared I wasn't going to be much of a hostess with my arm not in prime condition.

The last one was from Langly. I could tell because of the name "Abednego," the mythical man in the Bible who walked through a wall of fire and survived. He's about as anti-religious as one can get, but he liked the concept apparently.

Hey-Never thought a woman in a cast could be so sexy.

I cracked up. He didn't send stuff like this often, and when he did, I always saved it. I had a few, some of them not suitable for public presentation. His version of a love letter. Not that I can say anything; I send e-mail, but for reasons even I don't understand, I am strangely averse to writing letters in the traditional format. I always feel so exposed. I don't have the same sensation when I send a typed e-mail.

I hit the reply button and typed, "Say things like that and the cast is all I'll be wearing tonight. A." I hit send.

I laboriously typed a response to Jason, and when I'd sent it, I noticed I had a new e-mail from Abednego. Very short.

Wench!

That was it. I laughed. When you're head over heels in love with a conspiracy theorist-computer geek-math genius, it's amazing what passes for romance.

I had an incoming from Joanna. I brought it up and read it.

Dear Allison-I hope you're feeling better. I had the opportunity to have dinner with my friend Cecilia, who, as it turns out, is the nurse in charge of your friend Frohike's case. She says he is not married. Does he need any nursing support after his discharge? Let me know. JEG

I was going to have to show this one to Langly.
 

December 24, 1999

We did get our Christmas gift. Frohike was released.

I had invited him to come join us. We were planning to make the photo lab a comfortable place for him to stay, but he was insistent upon going home to his apartment. Michael offered to sleep on the floor. Frohike informed him that if he made any attempts to move in, he would be shot. Frohike doesn't keep guns, but Michael may not have known that. He elected to keep his room in the dungeon.

Langly and Michael had gone to retrieve him. I had expected that they would be gone much of the day, but they were home within a couple hours. And neither of them came back happy.

"I don't get it," Langly said as he came into the living room, where I was translating some Juvenal. "You'd think he'd be happy to be out, but he's like, he's really bummed. He would've probably bodily removed us if he was able."

"Maybe he's just really tired and dealing with people is more than he could take right now."

"I told him you were making dinner. He said no."

"Well, I may be supervising dinner, but making it, no. I'm still pretty useless in the kitchen."

"Yeah, but you make up for it in other rooms of the house." I was treated to a wink and a leer. I had to smile back. One of the unexpected side benefits of my arm was that we had to experiment with various positions in order to crush it or bend it. This was turning out to be highly entertaining, not to mention stimulating.

"I had no idea having to give up the missionary position would be so much fun," he had murmured the night before, right before he had drifted off to sleep. Not everything we attempted was successful, but no one couple ever had more fun trying.

Shelby had gone to her parents' house, so it was just the four of us, Langly, Miranda, Michael and me. The house actually felt quiet. The girls had decorated the tree the night before after a hastily-made trip to Target; we'd been so busy we hadn't gone for trimmings. We had to more or less take what was left, but the result was...enchanting. I'd seen plenty of Christmas trees, but never had had one in my home. I rather liked it. Especially the smell. Miranda and Shelby insisted on candles as well, and they cleaned out the candle bins. They ended up with enough to torch the place.

We were a bit light in the gift department. We'd done it up big time at Hanukkah, and the Visa was still screaming from being stretched so hard. There were a few small packages under the tree-videos for Frohike, a Java programming manual that Langly had asked for, some T-shirts for Michael, earrings for each of the girls, CD's for everyone. It was a modest haul, but colorfully wrapped.

I could get behind all this cross-cultural stuff, I thought. It was fun.

"I'll call Frohike later. Maybe he'll change his mind," I told Langly.

"Maybe." He didn't sound optimistic.

"Where's Michael?"

"Went down in the dungeon."

"He okay?"

"Probably not, but he's not gonna say anything."

"How do you know?"

"He's a guy, for Christ's sake!" He looked at me as though I were dense.
 

"Place is quiet. You remember it ever being this quiet?"

I was sitting on the sofa, and Langly was stretched out with his head in my lap. We were watching "Jurassic Park" with the sound off and listening to the Violent Femmes on the stereo. Don't ask.

"I think this is the smallest number of people we've had in this house since we moved in."

"Kinda nice to have some privacy, isn't it?"

"As much as we'll ever get. At least until Michael moves out and Miranda goes off to college."

"Long way off."

"Not. She's in the ninth grade."

"That's four years."

"And it gets faster all the time."

"You ready for a beer?"

"Always."

"I suppose I gotta get them."

"Pop the tops, too."

"You're loving this."

"Not really, but I'll take it where I can get it."

He finally maneuvered off my lap and moved out to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone and punched in the speed dial for Frohike.

He took several rings to answer.

"Frohike. It's Ally."

"Hello, my dear." He sounded very dispirited. His greeting was lackluster, empty of its usual charm.

"Frohike, feel like coming over for Christmas Eve?"

"No, dear, I don't think so."

"I think Michael would like it if you did." I don't care what Maggie Scully says; nobody can guilt you like a Jewish mom.

"I know, but I'm...I'm not up for it, my dear. You do understand, don't you?"

"Sure. If you need anything, call us, okay?"

"All right."

"Love you, Frohike."

He cut the connection. This was so unlike him, but then, he was recovering from a major illness. He deserved a little slack.

"Mrs. Scully invited us to come up to her house tonight," I reminded Langly when he returned.

"Whaddya think about going?"

"Me? How often is this house this quiet? I think I'd rather just hang here, if you don't mind."

"Considering I don't even wanna get off the couch, let alone drive to Annapolis, I can deal with that."

"I'll call her shortly and let her know. I didn't really promise we'd come."

"Cool. Wanna watch "The Lost World" when this one is over?"

"Do we really need the dinos?"

"Course we need the dinos. You like dinos."

"I'd rather watch "The Grinch.""

"You can't play tunes when you watch the Grinch. You have to listen to the story."

"So what musical accompaniment did you have in mind for "Lost World"?"

"I was thinking about some Rancid."

I laughed. "Langly, I'm not much into Christmas music, but I don't think Rancid comes even remotely close."

He shrugged. "Gonna have to do. We don't have any Christmas music."

"True. But I do have some Segovia and some Parkening. Classical guitar stuff."

"That stuff's cool, but not with the dinos."

"I was thinking about later on."

"Oh, yeah. I knew that."

"You did not." I giggled and mock-slugged him with my cast. He pretended to roll over and wince in pain. "So what'd you get me for Christmas, babe?" I teased him.

"You don't do Christmas. So I didn't get you anything."

"I'm celebrating it right now."

"Ally, you'd celebrate Ramadan if it meant you could have a beer," he laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, and you'd turn one down. Right." We were both in a silly mood, just relaxing, hanging out, not doing anything productive. He stretched back out and returned to his previous position of having his head in my lap.

"You should be careful," I warned him. "I possess a deadly weapon right on this arm." I raised my cast a bit.

"I'm still bigger than you," he reminded him.

"Yeah, but if I tickle you, you're doomed."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"I'd have to tickle you back."

"No fair tickling an injured woman half your size!"

"Bet me."

"I will."

"Didn't you say something about in Jewish marriages, you get some kind of contract?"

"Yeah, it's called a ketubah."

"Well, in that, I want a no-tickling clause."

"Does that cover both of us?"

"No way. Only me."

"Fine. Then I want a clause that says you'll do the dishes every night." That earned me an are-you-mental? Look.

"You want a promise I won't tickle you, you have to agree to some form of payback."

"I pay you back."

"Uh-huh."

"I do!"

"Langly, your aversion to domestic chores is understandable, but it's not particularly charming."

"I don't know how to do 'em."

"Babe, it's not brain surgery."

"I seriously don't."

"Lame excuse. Try again."

"You do 'em better than me. And faster."

"Lamer still. You'll have to do better than that."

"It's BORING!"

"Well, duh!"

This highly intellectual discourse was interrupted by the arrival of Miranda from the dungeon. She looked at the sofa, glared at Langly, and sprawled herself on the carpet.

"You always hog the sofa," she pointed out to him.

"Do not," he shot back. "And we do have chairs."

"I prefer the sofa."

"Too bad," he grinned at her. "I was here first."

"No, Mom was there first. She had to 'cause you're on top of her."

"You lonely for Shelby, so you gotta pick on me?" he teased her.

She turned serious. "Actually, I'm sorta glad Shelby went to her parents for a couple days. It's been real hard sharing the room. How long's Michael gonna stay?"

"I have no idea," I told her honestly.

"Well, it's a real pain having him down there. And you guys-" she shifted her gaze to Langly-"using our bathroom all the time, it's really annoying. Why can't you just go upstairs?"

"'Cause yours is closer," Langly explained simply.

"No, really, Mommy, it's really hard. It's so crowded with all of us down there. And I like Shelby being here, but I don't think I can take having her in my room much longer."

I eyed Langly. "I suppose we could move Michael upstairs into the photo lab."

"What? Then he's gotta share our bathroom! That guy's a slob!"

"And you're not?" I gave him a hard stare.

"Well, you pick up after me."

"Only because I can't stand the disaster you create in there. Have you ever heard of hanging up towels? They dry better that way."

"I think I've heard of it," he pretended to concentrate hard. I was tempted to smack him.

"You could at least put your blow dryer away when you're done with it."

"Why? I use it every day."

"And I put it away every day."

"Yeah, and I have to go fishing for it every day. Think of how much effort we'd save if you didn't do that." His logic was flawless; it was the premise that had problems. "You leave your contact lens stuff on the counter all the time, by the way, Miss Good Housekeeping."

"In one corner, with the caps on."

"So? It's still there. What's the difference between my leaving my blow dryer out and you leaving your contact lens stuff out?"

"For one thing, contact lens stuff doesn't use electricity, and you always leave the dryer plugged in. Makes me nervous. There's water in there, you know."

"I think I'm aware of that fact."

"If you're not going to put it away, at least unplug it." I'm a reasonable woman; I'll compromise.

"Okay, okay. One point for Ally. Happy?"

"Yep."

"So can you move Michael upstairs?" Miranda whined. "Please?"

"We'll talk about it." I looked Langly dead in the eye. He gave a look of fine, I surrender.

"Thank you," Miranda stood up. "I'm going back down. What's to eat?"

"Whatever you see, that's what's there."

"Mrs. Scully doesn't cook as good as you," she complained.

"I think I'm supposed to be flattered here," I laughed. "But it's kind of hard right now, baby."

"I'll be happy when you get your cast off," she groaned in the long suffering fashion that 14-year-olds are uniquely capable of.

"She's not the only one," I muttered as she left the room.

"Yeah, but we have had some fun with it, haven't we?" I got a lecherous smile from the face in my lap.

"No argument there. Seriously, Miranda has a point. It's pretty crowded down there. Maybe we should stick Michael in the photo lab."

"Stick Michael where?" An affronted voice popped up out of nowhere, that nowhere most likely being the dungeon.

"We were talking about moving you upstairs," I explained to him.

"What, am I getting promoted or something?"

"Miranda was just saying that it's getting pretty crowded down there."

"Yeah, and she takes 10 thousand years in the bathroom. And Shelby's even worse."

"I see." I was vaguely amused. "If you come upstairs, though, you have to promise to clean up after yourself in the upstairs bathroom."

"Oh, like he does it," Michael waved his arm at Langly.

"I have privileges," he announced.

"No, you have a fiancee willing to clean up after you. Which, Michael, I will not extend to you."

"Actually, I was kinda hoping my dad would get a bigger place soon and I could go stay with him."

"Have you talked about it with him?" It wouldn't have surprised me if Frohike was the last to know of this.

"Well, no. He's kinda crabby right now. I was thinking about going over and seeing him, but he was really like he didn't want anybody around."

"Why don't you call him and see if he'll let you come over?" I suggested. "I mean, he may not be in the mood to see us, but you are his son, and I suspect he'll see you."

"Well, actually, I was gonna ask you if I could borrow your car, Al'son."

"You mean the one I have yet to drive?" I said loudly and pointedly.

I contemplated it. "Okay. The keys are...I have no idea. Langly?"

Langly reached into one pocket of his jeans and fished out his set, separating the Neon keys from the rest of his rather substantial collection. "Barf in it, and you're dead," he stated, not looking up as he held out the keys.

"Jesus! Guy does it one time and nobody ever lets him forget!" Michael whined as he departed.

"I somehow highly doubt that that was the first time he puked in someone's car," I remarked dryly when I was convinced that Michael was out of earshot.

"Yeah, he was a real pro when he did it in the Sentra," Langly remarked. "Swear to God, that loser does anything in that car-"

"Langly babe, stop being so paranoid. Frohike lives three and a half miles from here. How much damage could he do?"

"If I recall, you got slammed two miles from the house," he said archly. "Man, when I got called and they told me what happened, I just about  freaked. I mean, I don't know what I would do..." he trailed off. I hugged him reassuringly.

"Well, I'm not dead, so you can look forward to many years of being hassled about your poor housekeeping habits," I said gently as I squeezed him.

"We're back on that? Jesus!" He shook his head. "You never let up, girl, do you?"

"Ah, you love it and you know it," I teased.

"Do I love being nagged? No. But I love you." He wrapped his arms around me.

"I love you so much, babe. I'm not good at saying it. But mean it, I do." He snuggled against me firmly, burying his face in my stomach.

"Mommy!" Miranda came racing up the stairs, a look of utter alarm on her face. I jumped, almost knocking Langly off the sofa.

"What's wrong, sweetie? What happened?"

"Mom, we never lit the eighth night candles!"

"Say what?" Langly looked utterly baffled.

"The eighth night Hanukkah candles," I explained. "God, that was the day after I got hurt, and it was sort of crazy around here...I'm sorry, honey."

"We have to do it!"

I mulled an idea over in my head. "Tell you what, honey. We'll leave the menorah out, and when Aunt Lydia comes back, we'll light the eighth night candles. What do you think?"

She contemplated this and finally agreed to the plan. "Okay. I just hope she gets back soon." Her voice had moved from near-hysteria to a marked wistfulness. She turned on her heel and headed back to her private domain, which for once actually was private.

When she was gone, Langly turned his head out and opened his pale eyes. "Ally. I just hope that menorah's not gonna sit out there forever."

"So do I, babe. So do I."
 

We fell asleep on the sofa, me sitting up and leaning to one side, getting a sharp crick in the neck which awakened me before Langly, who was comfortably dozing away, making small, contented noises. I slid myself out from under him, and he moaned a bit, but went back to sleep promptly.

The weather was still bitterly cold, but now, instead of hard, blistering sunlight, the sky was dark with moody clouds. For some reason the lyrics of "California Dreamin'" came to mind. "All the leaves are brown...and the sky is grey...I went for a walk...on a winter's day...I'd be safe and warm...if I was in LA...California dreamin'...on such a winter's day..." I found
myself singing it softly as I looked out the window.

Would I be safe and warm if I was still in LA? I wondered.

"Was that you?" Langly had awakened. I'd pulled off his glasses so they wouldn't get bent, and he blinked myopically in my direction.

"Was that me what?"

"Singing."

"Oh...yeah. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"No, no, I've never heard you sing before. Unless it's with the radio." He closed his eyes and settled back. "Sounded sorta nice. Quiet. I like that you have a nice quiet voice."

"I'm not a particularly quiet person," I laughed.

"No, but you've got a nice soft voice. I noticed that right away when I met you. You don't have to shout. I just listen to you talk, and I feel like I'm getting massaged or something." He smiled softly, eyes still closed.

I think I was blushing. It was an incredibly sweet thing to say. "The only person I know besides you who has a voice that makes me feel real calm like that is Frohike."

"Frohike does have a pleasant voice to listen to," I agreed.

"Thank God you didn't get your mother's voice." I frowned a little, but he was right; she could be very grating. She was definitely on the loud side of the volume knob, at the very least.

"I'm grateful for that," I concurred. "Now a little of her financial acumen, I could have used some of that." We both laughed, mostly because we knew it was true. "She's sending us some money for Hanukkah."

"Cool. Not like we can't use it."

"Yeah, the Visa card is getting a bit stretched," I commented.

"What do we owe on it so far?"

"Around 4K."

"Jesus! Didn't think we'd run up that much." He slipped his glasses back on. "How much is she sending?"

"I have no idea, and I didn't ask. I'm not my brother Dan. I don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"What's the credit limit on it?"

"$12,000."

"Whoa. You and Eric did all right." It'd been Eric's and my card, then mine, and then I'd stuck Langly on the account. "God, we could go 12K into debt just like that."

"We're already $95,000 in debt on the house," I reminded him.

"Yeah...but that's the house. It's not like it just got pissed away. I love this house."

"I do, too. Feels like home."

"You ever miss LA?"

"Sometimes. Mostly in winter," I laughed. "It's so damn cold here."

"It's not usually this cold. Usually it's more like it was last winter."

"And that was cold enough."

"You're such a wuss, Ally." He laughed, but tenderly.

"And proud of it. Gets cold in the Bay Area, though."

"Define 'cold in the Bay Area.'"

"Goes down into the low 40s, maybe upper 30s. I was really glad when I moved to LA because I'd freeze in winter." He laughed heartily this time.

"So that's why you've got a down parka on at 50 degrees."

"You've got it."

"Come back over here," he beckoned. I got away from the window and moved back to the sofa. He sat up and I sat myself down next to him, and he pulled me gently into him.

"Arm still hurt a lot?" he asked as he kissed my hair.

"Not too bad. I haven't had a Vicodin in nearly a week. The headache starts up when I get really tired, though. I can't believe how tired I've been, babe."

"Takes more energy for repair than maintenance, and right now, you've got repairs going on."

"How about you? You don't seem as tired as you were."

"I'm not, but I still...it's hard to explain. I still feel sometimes like I'm dragging. Like I still have to catch a catnap to get by sometimes."

"Well, you were pretty sick. Speaking of which, did you ever go back to your appointments with Dr. Ying?"

"Haven't been in the mood to have my blood sucked yet. I'll let you know when I do."

"I think she'd be interested in following you up, since she's still working on figuring out what the hell happened to you."

"I know, I know. I just...I don't ever wanna go through that again, Ally. I'd wake up when I was really sick, and you'd be at work, but I wouldn't remember you were at work, and I'd think you were gone, and then I'd just..."

"I came every day when I finished working."

"I know, but it's like my head would get so messed up, I don't know, maybe from the fever or something, but I'd like forget what time it was or when you were gonna get there and stuff like that. I didn't even know what day it was almost the whole time I was there, you know?"

"No, I didn't. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. I'm just still sorta figuring out why it was so bad. I mean, it's not like what happened to Frohike or something."

"We don't know that, babe. That's what was so scary for me. I remember thinking one night while I was sitting there, and you were sleeping, and not real well, and I said, God, if you're out there, I've already buried one husband. I'm not giving a repeat performance."

"You never said you were that scared," he said in a slightly accusing tone.

"Not much point in it. Wouldn't have helped anybody. Least of all you."

"Hell, Ally, I didn't even know you were scared. You just kept, like, you'd come and you'd talk to me all nice and quiet and it'd be like everything was gonna be okay. It's like you were totally calm the whole time."

"Believe me, babe, I was anything but. I was up to a pack a day and running on caffeine. I think I cried every night when I got home."

"Really." He looked genuinely surprised. "I mean, I've seen you crying, but not all that much, really. Not compared to some girls." He moved his arm a bit so as not to put pressure on my casted one. "So how come you don't tell me this stuff?"

"Because when someone's sick, I think the most important thing is to let them know they're going to be okay and not get them more shaken up than they already are."

He didn't speak for several minutes. "Well, anyway...thanks. Guess it was better you didn't freak out all over the place."

"Believe me, I freaked."

"Yeah, but you took real good care of me while you freaked."

"I think it's in the job description."

"They give women job descriptions for this? No wonder we're at a disadvantage."
 

The afternoon had taken on a dreamlike quality that I'd not experienced in...I couldn't remember. I recalled that after Eric died, there was a sense of unreality about the way the days ran together, but it wasn't this groggy, trancelike state of just being there. I snuggled in Langly's arms, not even noticing at first that Miranda had sneaked back upstairs. We popped in the Grinch tape and the three of us sat back on the sofa. I was amazed when Miranda sat down next to Langly, not me, and she leaned against his other arm, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Their relationship was not an easy one, but if anything, it seemed to have been durable. It looked now as though they were treading tentatively into the area of genuine affection.

I don't think I could have asked for a better Christmas gift.

END OF PART 44