Classification: TRHA

Rating: Okay, make it an R-there's some not terribly explicit sex in here.

Summary: Who does this woman think she is, Martha Stewart?

Spoilers: We don't have any here.

Disclaimer: Still not ours. 1013 Productions and Fox Television still claiming ownership...but in the state of California, we do have squatters' rights. So hang in there.
 

"Seems to me we're really living way too fast
Oh when we should let the story of love last,
Sometimes I just want to go and drift away...
And move on to some forty mile town."

"40 Mile Town," by Eric Johnson. Copyright 1990 by Amerita. Used without permission.
 

Rekeb
 

December 26, 1999

If Christmas Day had been less than merry, the day following was downright insane. The day opened by Langly oversleeping, forgetting he had an 8:00 meeting, and racing out the door, unshowered, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and screaming that he couldn't find the car keys. We finally unearthed them in Michael's room, and Langly let Michael know in no uncertain terms what he thought of this development. After several minutes of invectives, Michael finally was aroused enough to mutter "fuck you," and went back to sleep.

Shelby had been a mess when we picked her up. She seemed to be in shock; I was almost tempted to take her to the emergency room, but we decided that perhaps just letting her be in our home would be better therapy. She hadn't been able to sleep when I went to bed; Langly was sitting up with her, talking softly with her, and trying to get her oriented, which was probably the explanation for his sleeping through the alarm. She woke up when she heard Langly in Michael's room, and her prospects for getting back to sleep didn't look promising. Miranda managed to sleep through the whole thing, however, which utterly amazed me.

The phone rang at 7:30 a.m., just as Langly was wailing out the door; it was Ellen, Mulder, Dana and Jeffrey Spender, not to mention Rebecca; all of them were headed for Sacramento to meet with Lydia and Emma. They promised they'd call later.

"I didn't think Dana was allowed to go out in the field," I said to Ellen.

"Yeah, and just try to keep her away from this one," Ellen groaned. "Anyway, she's actually our most valuable resource; gonna be interesting how she does this with Becca in tow."

"Where's your partner?"

"Off somewhere with Fowley." She hissed the words out.

"Anyway, Ellen, I really appreciate this."

"Hey, it's our job. Call you later."

Michael finally woke up, grabbed some coffee, and asked where the car was. I was astonished that he'd forgotten Langly's diatribe from a short time earlier. He wanted to get to his father's place, but unless he was walking-probably not a wise idea in the 5-degree weather outside-he wasn't going to get far. He sulked and then asked me to let him in the office, which I did; I wasn't up to coping with anyone else's bad mood this morning.

Byers landed at National at 11:30; could Langly come get him, he asked? I told him to call his voice mail and hope for the best. If Langly picked up messages before lunch, he might have a shot. Juliet was arriving later that day, and Byers wanted to be able to come and get her himself, and he was hoping to clean up his apartment before she arrived. I almost laughed out
loud. Byers was the last person who needed to clean up his place. It was also telling that she was staying with him, but I didn't point this out.

My mother called to inform me that she was playing a tournament in Philadelphia in about a week and a half; could she come by for a day and see her granddaughter? I said yes. She asked if we'd set a date. I told her to talk to my wedding consultant.

Jason and Anne were due to arrive the following day; it was going to be interesting to have guests while disabled. Anne, a chef and restaurant manager, however, graciously offered to cook, so we were likely to be in for some delicious treats. As for the house being a mess, I suspected they'd deal okay. The question was if I would.

Mu, my oldest cat, seemed to be under the weather. I wasn't sure if it was something that should be seen by her vet, but that wasn't an option today. Tiny had gotten hold of some office furniture that had been placed outside the offices and managed to destroy it. Miranda complained that she was catching a cold and felt lousy. Byers called back at 1:00 to inform me that
Langly had never answered his voice mail.

Emma and I talked for a while; Lydia was still in a zombie-like state, and she was hoping that discussions with the FBI agents would jar her out of it. Emma sounded exhausted, and was reluctant to go back to work with Lydia being like she was, so she'd been taking sick days.

"I'd be less tired if I went to work," she commented sardonically. I laughed. I felt the same way.

Byers called at 2:00 to inform me that Langly had still not responded, and had I heard from him? I said I hadn't, and he said that he would shuttle over from the Northwest terminal to the United terminal to wait for Juliet, who was due in around 4:30. Michael blew out one of the power supplies in the office; I couldn't wait to see Langly's reaction to that one. And Byers, although Byers most likely had other concerns right now.

"Yeah, like does he have enough condoms?" Miranda quipped.

"Why do you just assume they're sleeping together?" I asked her as I was attempting to clean up the bathroom. It wasn't working.

I was rewarded by an are-you-stupid-or-insane? Look from her. Such are the sensibilities of 14-year-olds.

Shelby stayed mostly silent. She wandered around after me, not saying anything, seeming lost. Miranda tried to coax her to listen to some music, read some magazines, watch some movies. Shelby acceded, but without much enthusiasm. I don't think her mind was on it.

With the power supply, Michael was working frantically to attempt to repair it, preferably before Langly showed up. This was punctuated by numerous trips into the house for Cokes, bandaids, tools he couldn't find in the workshop, and a great deal of swearing.

I somehow managed three loads of laundry somewhere in between; clothing was getting to be in critically short supply for Langly and me, and upon seeing me attempt to fold with one arm, Miranda began complaining that she was almost out of everything.

"So do your own damn laundry," I snapped at her. "You're supposed to, anyway."

This inspired her to sulk and mutter obscenities under her breath. Shelby silently came over and began to fold, doing a faster job of it than me, and I didn't stop her. At this point, any sort of relaxing motion for her was probably a comfort.

"These are cool," she commented as she folded a pair of Bugs Bunny boxers.

"I think Langly'd miss 'em, honey."

"Too bad." It was the most conversation she'd made with me all day.

"Warner Brothers Studio Store. At the Chain Bridge Mall."

"I've been there." She turned to me. "Al'son? D'you know what's gonna happen with my mom?"

"I really don't, sweetheart. Her arraignment was this morning, and she wasn't able to post bail."

"You think I can go see my dad?"

"You sure you want to do that, honey?"

"Yeah. They think he's gonna die, or he's gonna be like in a coma forever. I should." She sniffed slightly, coughed, and returned to folding. "It's like, I don't get along with him, but he's my dad..."

"When Langly comes home, I'll take you," I promised. When I was going to squeeze this in, I didn't know, but I owed it to her to take her. However I got her there.

"I don't get it," she whimpered, scrunching her face. "Why'd my mom do it?"

"I don't know, Shel. Were they arguing?"

"Yeah. A lot. Real loud. I think my dad was telling her he was gonna move out..." she sniffled, and I hugged her. "She got real pissed."

"Did you know she had a gun?"

"Yeah, she always had a gun. She's got three of 'em. She says since my dad's gone so much, she needs 'em for protection." There was a certain unreality about her speech, a dazed, singsong quality. The implications of the event, while she was conscious of them at the level of intellect, were still floating on the surface of her emotions.

"Did your dad ever threaten to leave before?"

"Nah, he was just never there. I mean, he travels and shit..." I knew that her father worked for the State Department and was constantly on the road. "I think he's got a girlfriend."

"You know this for a fact?"

"No...but like, I'd answer his phone sometimes...he'd get these calls, and it was this woman, and she'd always say she'd call back...I wasn't supposed to answer his phone, but sometimes it'd just ring and ring and ring and if my mom answered it, she'd probably go ballistic..." Not compared to what she did last night, honey, I thought.

"Did you tell all this to the police?"

"Uh...I don't know. I really don't remember." She was still dazed, dreamy.

"They're probably going to want to talk to you again, Shel."

"Yeah, well, it's okay, you'll come with me, won't you, Al'son?"

"Yes," I promised.
 

Byers phoned at 4:45 to tell me that Juliet's plane had been delayed due to weather, and she wouldn't be in until 6:40. The poor guy was spending his entire day in a crowded, noisy airport, and I felt for him, but I couldn't do anything about it.

"I didn't think you guys would be back here tonight, anyway." I didn't. I figured they'd go to his apartment and do...well, whatever.

"My car is still at the office."

"Oh, yeah. Well, were you planning anything for tonight?"

"Well, I was going to take her into the city for dinner. I don't have anything at home right now."

"Well...I'm not sure what time Langly's going to get here."

"I think we'll take a shuttle from the airport to the office, then we'll pick up my car and be out of your hair. It sounds as if you have enough going on without us being there."

"You will stop in and introduce the lady, won't you?"

"Yes, of course. But we won't be staying tonight."

"You'll have to come by and see my brother tomorrow, though. He and his fiancee are coming in."

"The one who was at Black Hat?"

"Jason, yeah."

"I'll do that. Right now, I might as well head to the bar and maybe have one beer. It's getting a bit boring."

"No doubt. Hope she's there soon." I hung up. It was nearly 5:00.

Michael had finally repaired the broken power supply. He hoped. He asked me not to say anything about it to Langly, and I agreed. Let them duke it out themselves.

"You going to your dad's tonight?" I asked him.

"Well, I don't have a ride, and he wants to be alone, so guess that's no." He sounded disappointed. "What're you guys doing for New Year's?"

"Huh?" I hadn't even thought that far ahead. "I haven't got a clue."

"Well, just thought I'd ask. Some people make plans."

"People with normal lives make plans. We improvise." That got a chuckle out of him.
 

Langly finally made it back at 6:30. I grabbed him with my good arm and kissed him. He wasn't in a good mood.

"I'm taking a shower, " he announced.

"I'm joining you," I informed him.
 

Langly grumbled about having to wrap my arm, but once we got in the shower, he calmed down, and we spent a while in a full-length hug, just letting the water run over us and wash the day off, not saying anything. We still weren't saying anything when we moved on to tongue tango, but we were both feeling a lot better.

He scrubbed my hair, and then his own. "I thought I'd be done with oily hair when I got to be 20. I'm 36 and it's still the greasiest mop on the planet," he complained. "I mean, I don't wash it every day, it's nasty."

"I think the only thing that's saving me right now is that mine's not oily," I said as he scrubbed mine out. "Does feel pretty creepy after two days, though."

"Yeah, and you probably never suffered through acne, either."

"Not really. I lucked out. My brothers and both of my parents really had it. Gene must've skipped over me."

"You were lucky. I had it bad."

"You? Your skin is actually good," I marvelled.

"Accutane. The wonder drug that works wonders."

"Worked for you. I'd never have guessed." Right now I was relishing every inch of skin on him; he was wet and warm and soft. "You really are gorgeous, babe."

"You think so?" He looked at me skeptically.

"Yeah, I do." I wrapped my arms around him as best I could. "God, this is nice. Do we have to get out?"

"Eventually. Mmm," he murmured as I began to perform certain tricks on him. "That feels nice, Ally. Don't stop."

I kept at it until he threw back his light hair, moaning in ecstasy, and he grabbed on to me to maintain his balance.

"Got kinda light-headed there," he explained.

"You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Just tired."

In our bedroom, he was sprawled on the bed in sweatpants, a thermal shirt and one of his many black T-shirts.

"Can you believe I got chewed out for wearing my Dead Kennedys shirt?" he whined.

"At the Pentagon? Yes, I could."

"I oughta wear the one that says "Fuck You Fucking Fuck.""

"I think Miranda stole it."

"She can't wear that!" He was aghast.

"Well, she doesn't. Not to school, anyway. It is, however, a big hit at girls' slumber parties." I buttoned my shirt. "How're you doing? You didn't look too happy when you got in."

"Shitty day, that's all." He yawned. "You wanna come lie down with me for a while?"

"For a little while, I could do that." I climbed on to the bed next to him. He'd closed his eyes, breathing softly.

"You look like you're ready to go to sleep now," I said quietly as I stroked his hair.

"I could," he said. "I keep wondering when I'm ever gonna get up to speed again."

"You will. I mean, you were pretty sick."

"Been over a month."

"And you were sick from September all the way through most of November. Long time."

"Yeah, and..."

"And what?"

"Nothing."

He lay quietly and I smoothed his hair. It was wonderful to have peace in the midst of chaos. I closed my eyes and just basked in the quiet with him.

"How's Shelby?" he asked, not opening his eyes.

"Not great. She seems like she's lost in a fog."

"Probably is. I know the feeling."

"Like when your dad died?"

"Yeah. Like then." He sighed heavily. "Right now...it's not too bad, 'cause she doesn't really know what happened. I mean, she knows, she just...it's not real to her yet."

"Bad time for her. Her mother's still being held. Couldn't post bail."

"Fuck. That kid's gonna be a mess."

"You sound like you speak from personal experience."

"No shit." He opened those clear, light blue eyes, but they didn't smile. "Ally...this is like really weird for me. That's all."

I slipped my right hand into his left one, staying silent. He didn't like talking about this, and I wasn't going to prod. I just stayed by, letting him know I would listen, but not ask.

He said nothing more, and I watched as he drifted off to sleep.

"Mommy! Langly! Get up!" Miranda was pounding vigorously at the door and shouting for us.

"Wha-" I didn't realize I'd dozed off next to Langly. "What's up, Miranda?"

"Byers is here with his girlfriend!" I could see Byers blushing already.

"All right, already. We're coming." I only had my shirt and undies on; I needed a few more clothes to be publicly presentable. "Langly. Babe. Wake up. We're about to meet Dreamgirl."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He didn't open his eyes.

"Langly, I need you to help me with something."

"Uh-huh." He was still dreaming.

"Langly, you need to hook my bra."

"Why do you have to?" he whined. "I like it when you don't have one." The voice was still groggy.

"Because I'm meeting Byers's fantasy woman, and I'd like not to sag, just in case the competition can kill me."

"We already know what she looks like," he yawned.

"But we don't know her."

"Well, certainly not in the Biblical sense," he agreed.

"C'mon, Blonde Boy, move your skinny white ass."
 

"We weren't interrrupting anything, were we?" Byers, ever polite, inquired as we appeared.

"Nope, just taking a nap. It's good to see you," I told him as I came over to him and hugged him, a gesture he returned.

Standing next to him was the tall, striking woman in the photograph we'd shot in Vegas-but our photo of her didn't do her justice. She was tall and slender, but not without a shape to die for. Her dark hair was cut in a sleek wedge, and she had deep, dark eyes with thick black lashes set into a honey-rose complexion. I could get a real inferiority complex hanging
around women like this, I decided.

"And you must be Juliet," I said, taking her hand. She had a firm grip that was belied by her long, delicate-looking fingers. "Welcome."

"Thank you. And you're Allison." Byers had apparently prepped her. She turned her head to Langly. "And you're Langly, aren't you?"

"Last time I checked. Hi." He waved at her in a friendly, shy manner.

"We just stopped in to say hello and get the car; we don't mean to be rude, but we have a dinner reservation," Byers explained.

"Well, come back tomorrow, we'll look forward to seeing you again. It's good to meet you," I said to them.

"Thank you. You, too," Juliet smiled. She seemed to be a quiet woman, but not unfriendly.

"Bye," Langly called out as they departed.

When they were out of earshot, I said to Langly, "Now what would Frohike say, she's so hot?"

He shook his whitish hair. "I'm not sure his heart could take it right now," he laughed. "Byers does pick 'em well."

"Well, I'd like to think you do, too." I snuggled against him.

"Hey, Byers had to take second best." I kissed him for that. He deserved it.
 

We were all in bed early that night; I hoped Shelby would sleep. I wasn't hearing any padding about in the house when we turned out the lights.

We snuggled silently, as we usually did before we drifted down. I wasn't hearing Langly starting to make his small, soft sleep noises, though, which was unusual.

"You awake?" I whispered.

"Yeah."

"Thought you were tired, babe."

"I am."

"Want the lights back on?"

"Nah." He massaged my back gently. "Just can't get to sleep yet."

"Something on your mind?"

"No. Yeah. I guess."

"Wanna tell me?"

"Yes. No. I dunno."

I giggled softly. "I think first you need to make up your mind."

Long, long pause. I felt my eyelids start to fall when he finally spoke quietly into the dark.

"Y'know, this shit with Shelby..."

"It's pretty weird, isn't it?"

"It's beyond weird. It's almost like...déjà vu."

"In what way?" Now I was awake.

"Well, you know, I told you...my dad died when I was twelve."

"Uh-huh."

"I told you the death was ruled a suicide."

"Yes, you did."

Long, long pause. "I don't think that's the way it went down."

"Well, you've always thought that, from what you indicated to me."

"I think somebody did him."

"Well, babe, if he didn't do himself, someone did."

"I've always wondered...if my mom did it."

Okay, now he really had my attention. "Why do you think it was your mom?"

"Well...she had the best opportunity to get at him."

"Ah, but did she have the means or the motive?"

"Well, she didn't...they definitely weren't happy with one another. Not that I remember, anyway."

"Most people get divorced over that."

"And a lot of people get killed over it. More than you think." That was a sobering thought, if in fact it was true.

"I thought you said your dad was really unhappy."

"He was. But I don't think he did himself."

"You mentioned he had an alcohol problem."

"Yeah. He had that, all right."

"Did you like him?"

Pause. "Yeah, I did, actually."

"Are you like him?"

"More than I'd like to be."

"You look like him?"

"Totally. Well, okay, I've got longer hair...you know what I mean."

"And you said he was left-handed."

"Yeah. Like you."

"Pretty smart guy, wasn't he?"

"Brilliant guy. Probably could've done some good stuff...maybe he did."

"What happened with your mom after he died?"

"Well, she was a teacher."

"Yeah, you said she taught special ed."

"Uh-huh. She did it for a while, but then, she stopped...she got ovarian cancer."

"You and she weren't close."

"She didn't want me and she didn't exactly make a big secret out of it."

"I gather you weren't planned."

"No, I wasn't. I think she was actually pissed off at my dad for that."

"Takes two to tango, you know."

"Yeah, well, depends on the tango, I guess."

"She must've been a very unhappy woman."

"She was a fucking miserable bitch, sorry to speak of the dead that way, but I'd say it about her if she was alive."

"So it was Joan who took care of you."

"Yeah, until...I dunno, Ally. The more I think about it, the more I think...I think she did him. And I think somebody paid her to do it."

"Did she leave anything when she died?"

"Yeah. That was the freaky part. We didn't think she had that much, particularly since she wasn't able to work for a while. So it was sort of a weird thing."

"What did you do with your portion?"

"Supplemented my scholarships. She didn't leave me as much as she did Scott and Joanie. Which was fine. I really didn't give a fuck." I think it hurt him, but he wasn't about to admit to it.

"Do you know if she...was she really depressed after she had you?"

"You mean, postpartum stuff? I have no idea."

"You might try and find out."

"I dunno if it'll help or not. Anyway, we gotta deal with the present day stuff right now. It's just like...we have ghosts here or something."

"We've all got ghosts in our minds."

"Some of 'em are just bigger and nastier than others."

"Let me ask you this: would finding out what really happened with your dad, if in fact it wasn't the way it was officially concluded, make your demons quiet down?"

"I don't know. Might. Might make it worse."

Silence. "I have to take Shelby to see her dad tomorrow. This is gonna be rough," I told him.

"He's not dead yet?"

"No. Still on life support."

"Think that's a good idea?"

"No. But she wants to. Maybe...it'll help her put all this together."

"Or blow her apart."

"Yeah. That's what worries me."
 

December 27, 1999

Langly made off with my car-which I still HAD NOT DRIVEN-so I couldn't take Shelby to see her dad. With my brother and his fiancee arriving that night, I had plenty to do, and to complicate matters, Shelby's older sister had arrived from Los Angeles and we needed to talk.

Mary Roberts was a contrast to her younger sister. Shelby was quiet, easygoing, dark, short and rather chunky. Mary was taller, blonder, and more outgoing, more nervous, and definitely more self-absorbed. While she clearly loved her little sister, she was also totally involved in her life in Los Angeles, and she made it obvious that the responsibility of caring for a traumatized younger sibling was not what she needed in her life at this point. And I appreciated her honesty-I think it would have disturbed me more had she insisted upon taking Shelby with her to LA when it was clear that she had a great deal going on in her life on both coasts. Mary was 21 and was the executor of her parents' estate, and she was going to have to deal with a lot of complicated issues while she was here in Virginia. And, I reminded myself, her adult status notwithstanding, she's still somebody's child, and this is terrible for her as well.

Their mother was currently charged with assault with a deadly weapon and aggravated assault-which could be elevated to a murder charge if their father didn't survive-and from the looks of things, he probably would not. She had been ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation.

Mary needed to deal with bailing her mother, putting in DNR orders for her father, arranging for treatment for her mother, talking with lawyers for both her mother's case and her father's estate, and for making financial arrangements for Shelby. I felt the least I could do was care for Shelby, whom I loved like a second daughter.

To her credit, Mary did take Shelby to lunch, where they could talk privately, and Shelby seemed more alive, less dazed when they returned. I think it did Shelby good to see Mary, and I hoped that Mary would make a serious effort to keep close to her, even if she was living on another coast.

In the meantime, Langly and I both needed to petition the state for guardian ad litem status, an arrangement whereby we could make legal decisions for her, and while we didn't expect to be contested on it, we would have to attend a hearing to determine our suitability.

"That's it," I told Langly. "The parent police are going to find out that all these years I've been corrupting Miranda and her friends all over the place." This made him laugh.

"Ally, if you're a bad mom, then we don't have any decent parents left in the world." He was laughing, but I was touched by the compliment.
 

Jason and Anne's flight was late getting in. Once again, Langly was doing taxi service, and it was close to 10 at night when they finally arrived. It was wonderful to see them. It helped that Langly and Jason seemed to think well of one another.

"You didn't go to the market, did you?" Anne asked, hugging me firmly. Anne's Italian. She's exuberant.

"Seeing as I'm still not allowed to drive my own car-" I glared at Langly, who stuck his tongue out at me-"I haven't been anywhere!"

"Good," she said firmly. "Because I'm gonna treat you all. Starting tomorrow."

"Would you settle for takeout pizza right now?" I asked ruefully. "I can dial the phone right-handed.

"East Coast pizza? My reward for cooking while I'm here," she grinned.

Miranda was delighted to see her uncle and almost-aunt, as she called Anne, and Shelby seemed to warm to them, as much as she was capable of warming to anything at this point. And Michael recognized Jason from Black Hat, and there seemed to be no animosity there.

Sitting in our living room, munching pizza and drinking beers, with people laughing and telling entertaining stories-Jason had plenty of road stories about traveling with his band, and Anne had a nonstop supply of tales about the clientele, help and suppliers that populated her restaurant-was warm and delicious. I felt myself unwinding in a way that hadn't happened since I
sat by the pool in Vegas.

"So Mom tells me you guys are doing it this spring," Jason said to both Langly and me. "What's the date?"

"We're not sure. Our consultants'll let us know. I hope," I smiled at Miranda.

"Hey, not my fault. I'm waiting on Frohike," she complained.

"Oh, honey, we're kidding. We know you'll get it together."

"Yeah, speaking of which, Jason dude, you gonna be in the wedding party?" Langly inquired in his typically offhanded way.

"Sure, why not, that'd be cool," Jason accepted.

"Okay, cool. I've got Byers, Mulder and Jason now," Langly announced. "How many you got, Ally?"

"Miranda and Shelby so far."

"Ha! I'm ahead of you!"

"You usually are, babe."

Michael was watching this with an uncertain expression. While he was certainly not one of Langly's intimates, I think he'd hoped, as the son of one of Langly's best friends, that he might be asked.

I guess Langly clued in on this, because he turned to Michael and said, "Okay, since you're gonna put my car back together, you wanna be in it, too?"

Michael looked disbelieving. "Uh-yeah. Sure. Thanks." He was in the middle of a mushroom-black olive-extra cheese slice.

This was a major mea culpa on Langly's part, and I smiled warmly at him. He shrugged and blushed a little.

"Mommy!" Miranda's voice was chiding. "Aunt Lydia's back! We still didn't light the eighth night candle!"

"Aunt Lydia's back? Where is she? Who is she?" Anne looked baffled.

"Long story," I said. "Whaddya say, guys? No time like the present?"

"I can go with that," Langly agreed.

The menorah was still on the coffee table. I went to the kitchen and got the candles and matches. Since I was one-handed, I let Miranda light, but I said the words in Hebrew, and then it was quiet. It was a Moment.

I felt like the Maccabees when their one night of oil lasted eight nights.

END OF PART 47