Rating: PG (only for the words, no sex yet-sorry) There are some references to Jewish American Princesses in here, so if you're offended, don't go there.

Classification: TRHA

Spoilers: In there.

Summary: Scully's gone deaf, and her interpreter tells all. This is really
the Gunmen's show, though.

Latin Lives!

"Magician Magician take me upon your wings
and...gently roll the clouds away
I'm sorry so sorry I have no incantations
only words to help sweep me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
I want some magic to sweep me away
I want to count to five
turn around and find myself gone
Fly through the storm
and wake up in the calm"

"Magician" by Lou Reed Copyright 1992 Metal Machine Music BMI. Used
without permission.

Okay, let's all sing the disclaimer jingle! Not mine. Never were. Don't
bother suing me. Property of 1013 Productions and Fox.

Nulla Dies Sine Linea

The J. Edgar Hoover Building
November 21, 1998

"So she is here."

"She is."

"How has Ms. Scully responded to her thus far?"

"She seems to be positive so far."
 

Offices of the Lone Gunmen
November 22, 1998

"Oh, my God...it's ALIVE!"

"Huh?" I was still addled from sleep, and rather confused about everything. After a moment, I did recognize the voice as Langly's.

"Hey, we were ready to pour cold water on you if you didn't get your butt up soon," Langly sat down next to me.

"What...the hell...time is it?" I could barely string a sentence together.

"That depends on your location, but here in the DC area, I'd say about 8:30 in the morning."

"Oh, my God. I have to get Miranda to school! I am so fucking late! Jesus!" I hate these kind of wake up calls.

Langly laughed. "Take it easy. It's not a school day."

"The hell it's not! Thanksgiving isn't until Thursday."

"Allison, it IS Thursday."

"WHAT?!"

"You slept all the way through yesterday. I was gonna wake you up, but Frohike and Byers outvoted me."

"Shit! How did Miranda get to school?"

"Hey, we drove her, don't worry. It's not like we couldn't find the place or anything. She's pretty cool, you know. We stayed up and watched MST3K most of the night. She thought you oughta sleep, since you've sort of given it up lately." He got up and began rummaging through a collection of T-shirts and God knows what else flung carelessly over the floor. "You oughta sleep more often. You're gonna get like Mulder if you don't."

"Hey, Mulder's been pretty decent to us so far."

"I'm not saying he's not decent, I'm saying he's pretty fucking weird."

That made me laugh. "Langly, I would like to point out that I don't consider you in a position to call anybody 'weird.'"

"Hey, why do you think we like him? He's even weirder than us."

I sank back down on the pillow. I wasn't quite ready to get up yet.

"Langly, you're not shitting me about this being Thursday, are you? Because if you are, I'm not going to have a cow, I'm going to have a fucking herd of them."

He laughed and pulled off the Ramones T-shirt he had been wearing. He had apparently found one in the disaster covering the floor that he deemed reasonably nonfragrant. Yeah, he was a real blonde. The chest hair was blonde. (Jesus, I really have been out of it, haven't I?)

"Allison, it's really Thursday, scout's honor. And for those of you who don't find Republican holidays offensive, it's Thanksgiving."

"So what's Miranda up to?"

"She's still sleeping. We stayed up pretty late. Said to wake her at noon when the X-files marathon came on."

I closed my eyes for a moment. My clothes looked as if they had been through the obstacle course at Quantico, and I wasn't exactly inoffensive. It was time to hit the shower in earnest.

"Hey Allison. Why'd you fall asleep in my bed?"

***

"For anybody that's not offended by the mention of a government-mandated holiday, happy Thanksgiving." I wandered downstairs after making myself presentable. "And thank you for taking care of Miranda while I lapsed into a coma up there."

"Oh, not a bother. She's a delightful young lady," Frohike assured me.

"Very articulate for her age," Byers commented.

"Yeah, I do have her to be thankful for. She's a great kid."

Byers put down what he was working on and looked me over. "Are you all right?"

I shrugged. "Well, I certainly can't complain about being tired, can I?" I tried to laugh. "Yeah, I guess I'm all right. I just sort of wish that if I was going to sleep through an entire 24 hours, it would have been today, not yesterday. This was always a special day for Eric and Miranda and me, and it's just...I don't know."

"I can sympathize," Byers assured me.

"Thanks. I appreciate that." I looked around the room, not really focusing on anything, until I came upon a bottle that looked like it contained something alcoholic sitting near Frohike.

"Let me guess. You guys don't do the turkey thing."

Frohike held up the bottle. "Only Wild Turkey, my dear."

Gak. Everything that little gnome drank tasted like elephant piss.

Langly had strolled back in by now. "But we did get you some Jose Cuervo yesterday. Miranda told us that's what you like."

Jose was probably a friend I should be avoiding right now, but I was rather touched that they would try and accommodate my tastes. The whole thing was strange, but I could not argue with their kindheartedness. They had been willing to take Miranda and me, sight unseen, give us accommodations, look after my daughter while I enjoyed the luxury of oblivion, and had been
nothing but generous and thoughtful. Listening to their paranoid ramblings was at times a bit disconcerting, but they obviously felt that that was no excuse for not taking in a fellow traveler. It really was a gift.

I was deeply missing my old life. I missed Eric. I missed my university job, which was looking way cushier than what I was probably going to be up against shortly. I missed my house. I missed decent weather. I missed my friends and my students. I missed all the familiar sights and sounds and tastes and smells that had made up my life until a few weeks ago.

And somewhere in the middle of it, I still had to be thankful. My daughter was with me. I had a job, one that was going to pay well. I was going to have my things tomorrow, and live in a new place. My animals would be with me. The person I was going to work with seemed to be comfortable with me. And people seemed to be looking out for us here.

It was at that point that I decided to get drunk.
 

By the middle of the afternoon, no one over 21 at Chez Mess was sober. Not even Byers, who didn't strike me as a hard-drinking type of guy. Still, he had put away a prodigious amount of Budweiser (long necks-the guy does have a touch of class). Frohike had started on his second fifth of Wild Turkey, and Langly and I had split three pitchers of Margaritas.

Miranda had been missing all of her friends in California, and Langly assured her she could call everyone she wanted and talk as long as her voice held out. When I balked at paying a long distance bill that rivaled the national debt, he was amused.

"Who said anything about long distance charges?"

I should have guessed, but being clueless by nature and drunk by circumstance, it didn't occur to me.

"Hey Allison, your husband wrote some really cool Java stuff," Langly piped up in the middle of some discussion that wasn't making any sense and was leaving all of us stupid and laughing.

It was as if I was suddenly sober.

"He was a talented guy."

"Definitely. Makes our work a lot harder, but the guy could code."

The tears came again. And this time, I was too drunk to go into another room to cry it off.
 

I didn't cry for very long, but I felt totally drained. When I uncovered my face, only Langly was still there, watching me with a mix of compassion and curiosity.

"Hey, I wasn't trying to make you cry."

"S'okay. Seems to be happening a lot lately. Not your fault."

We didn't speak but we didn't move. Finally, Langly spoke, quieter than I was accustomed to.

"Y'know, if you didn't cry about him, we'd wonder about you."

I sucked in my breath. I reached over and grabbed my cigarettes, lit one, and let myself calm down over a nicotine fit.

I couldn't speak for a long time.

"Do you know what I loved about my life with Eric?"

"No."

"I loved my life with Eric for its normalcy. I loved knowing he would be there. I loved knowing that even when we were angry with one another, we would be there for each other, and we would make it work. I loved having and raising our daughter together. I loved wandering through Fry's and checking out the computer stuff together. I miss having a dinner with him or the three of us at El Torito or Nicola's. I miss laughing with him over the funny lines in movies. It seemed like we always laughed over the same lines. I loved singing with him in the car; we were never embarrassed in the car that we sounded awful. I miss him bitching about the cats and the dog while he would sit there and pet them. Actually, I just miss him
bitching right now. I'd settle for that."

Langly looked emotionless for a minute, then curious. He tossed back that great mane of white-blonde hair.

"You talk a lot about Miranda and Eric. You did have a life before them, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I had one. My dad, as you know, was an electronics magnate and made it big in Silicon Valley. He wasn't your typical businessman. He wasn't even a typical geek. He got rich because he believed that you always had to treat people with respect, especially if you outranked them. He'd piss off a venture capitalist and sleep well, but he'd never scream at his secretary. Now his children? That was different."

"How? You just said he took care of the squirrels."

"Ah, yes, but my dad-I am sure you know I have 3 younger brothers."

"Yeah, your youngest brother is the guitarist for the Soup Dragons. Good band."

"Yeah, my dad is probably cringing somewhere, or gloating. Maybe both. Jason studied computer science at Berkeley. Did really well. Started working and HATED it. After a couple years, he decided to bag it and take the band on the road. They've done all right. Even my mother will confess to being related to him now that he's had some success."

"Jason's a lot younger than you."

"17 years."

"Same parents, too. Wow."

"Well, Jason-my mother definitely did not plan him, but I think my dad did. They were in their 40s and I think my mother was not pleased at having to deal with a kid and be on the tournament circuit. My mother is not much into the mothering thing. She likes saying that her kids are successful and all-well, that my brothers are successful. I think my career choices baffle her, but I think anything I would do would baffle her. She and my dad wanted me to marry a rich Jewish boy and retire. She's spent pretty much of her adult life working the bridge tournaments and hanging out with her rich friends. I think she wanted the same for me. Couldn't understand why I wasn't interested."

"So you got about 50 percent revenge."

"If you want to call it that. I married a Jewish boy, but rich he wasn't. My father-in-law worked on the docks. My  mother-in-law was a nurse. One of his sisters teaches school and the other works as an animator. But you knew that," I gave him a mock glare.

"Well, yeah, that part I knew. But knowing facts, it's not really like knowing the person. Mulder's the profiler, not me."

"Yeah, but I doubt he'd waste time profiling me."

"Don't believe that for a second. If you're gonna be around Scully all the time, believe me, he took what we gave him and ran with it. If he thought you were one of Them, he'd have found ways to deal with you and get you out of the picture real quick." My face must have looked really alarmed. "If you were bad news, he'd find a way to get you away from her real quick. Mulder's not gonna let little things like legal prohibitions on killing prevent him from doing what he think oughta be done to take care of Scully." He rubbed his eyes and looked up at me, wincing. "Do you know that you oughta not smoke so much?"

"Normally, I don't," I assured him. "On the other hand, let's just say that life has been a little intense lately." I took a long drag. "In six months, if I still smoke this much all the time, hassle me all you want, but if you're going to do it now, you're risking life, limb and good health." Another drag. "You know, Dana was bitching the other day that Mulder is way too overprotective. I should have had some sympathy, but at this time in my life, it's sort of hard. Eric and I never had to go to the ends of the earth to take care of one another." Stubbed it out. Lit another. "Do you know the play "Alcestis"?"

"Greek tragedy?"

"Yeah, Euripides. The central question in the play seems to come down to, 'What kind of wife offers to die for her husband, and what kind of husband lets her do it?' Only in this case, I feel a lot more like Admetus."

"Admetus was a jerk."

"Admetus was just...ordinary. He's just a guy who doesn't want to die, and he doesn't want to lose what he has, and he just wants things to stay the way they are. Like me."

"You keep insisting on your ordinariness a lot."

"Langly, I am the most ordinary woman on the planet."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because it's so."

"What would Eric say about that?"

God, what would Eric say? I could think of a lot of adjectives he might apply, but when I thought about it...

"Okay, maybe Eric doesn't think I'm ordinary."

"Eric probably thought you were pretty cool."

"I truly believe that it was Eric and me together that made me something other than ordinary. Do you think relationships are often greater than the sum of their parts?"

"What base are we talking in here?"

That made me laugh, the first real laugh I'd had in a while. Now THAT was an Eric comment, and for some reason, coming out of Langly's mouth, it cracked me up. And while it was an Eric comment, it was also uniquely Langly's.

"So back once upon a time, you were telling me about your brothers. You said something about having 3, but I think you only mentioned 1."

"Yeah, I have two others. My first brother is Dan. He's two years younger than me, a cardiac surgeon, and richer than God. He's also something of an asshole, but we have a cordial, if distant, relationship. My mother hates his guts, but she never stops bragging about him. Can you believe he married a virgin?"

That made Langly laugh.

"Sort of like Prince Charles. He wanted his bride to be unsullied, but maybe he should have taken a broken hymen in exchange for a better disposition. His wife Cheryl was a poor girl from Hayward, her dad was a laborer, but she makes a way better JAP than me." I stubbed yet another cigarette. "I don't hate Cheryl, I just don't particularly like her. I think she wanted my brother's prestige and money more than she wanted my brother. She likes the idea of being attached to my mother's money, too, and because she's the only one of us who has sons so far, with the Rausch name, she thinks she ought to get a bigger share of it."

"Can't blame her for not wanting to be poor, you know. Poverty sucks."

"I don't argue with anybody wanting to be comfortable. But there's stuff people need, and then...there's stuff. Cheryl thinks it's beneath her to buy anything less than 350-count Italian cotton sheets. I mean, bed sheets! I like mine to be reasonably comfortable. But I think 400 bucks for a set of twin bed sheets is pretty stupid."

"Railroad Salvage has 'em for 3 bucks."

"Hey, I don't feel the need to put on my hair shirt. But shopping at JC Penney is just fine, thank you."

"So what about brother numero dos?"

"Brother number two. That's Rob. Rob's the CFO of what was my dad's company. He's got my two nieces. Dan's got my three nephews. I like Rob's kids a hell of a lot better than I like Dan's, and Rob's wife Laurie is a lot nicer than Cheryl. Laurie's from a nice, down-to-earth, middle class family-Jewish, of course, we seem to follow that convention pretty solidly-and her family really loves Miranda."

"Except that Laurie works for the ultimate pyramid scheme."

"Well, yeah, working in health insurance is sort of embarrassing, but we don't hold it against her. My mother hates her for some reason. Well, maybe not hate. She just always says that Laurie's not her 'type.' Maybe because Laurie is fundamentally civilized, and my mother is a head case."

"That would seem to go hand in hand with being a champion bridge player."

"She's really a brilliant woman. She has an eidetic memory for cards."

"Get you kicked out of Vegas real fast."

"And Tahoe, and Reno, and Atlantic City. She's pretty much banned from the casinos except for playing the slots, which she doesn't do because she says the odds favor the house far too heavily." I smiled a bit. "She still plays in Nassau and St. Maarten's when she gets the chance to go there, though. They're not on to her yet, but that's only because she only travels
outside the country occasionally."

"So like did she do this when you were growing up?"

"All the time."

"What about your dad?"

"My dad taught her how to play. His family was really skilled at bridge, and her family didn't play cards at all. So he basically created the monster himself. He played until he died, though. They were on the regional circuits at that time. Listening to them argue strategy was an experience unto itself." The memory made me smile. "I think they had the same argument so many times that the walls in our house in Mill Valley still play it back for the current residents to enjoy."

"Your dad died in '82, and he was only 52 at the time."

"Yeah. A month after my 27th birthday. Jason was only 10. Hard times for him."

"Read that. But you knew that."

"Yeah, but you only know the data. You don't have the heuristics."

"True, true."

"So Langly, you've sat here and picked my life clean, and you had the advantage. I don't know jack about you. So give."

"Why?" He seemed honestly puzzled.

"Because, if for no other reason, paybacks are a bitch."

I think he was pretending not to get it.

"You sober enough to cook?" he asked, tossing that incandescent hair again.

"You didn't get a turkey," I said accusingly.

"Didn't say it had to be turkey," he laughed. "We do have stuff to make lasagna, though."

"Sure, we can be Italian."

A sharp shout rang down the stairs. "MOM!"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Aren't you gonna come watch the Bruins kick some Trojan butt?"

By the time I made dinner, watched the Bruins kick the shit out of the Trojans, and the five of us had actually cleaned up the kitchen, it was after 10 o'clock at night, and everyone either fell asleep or passed out, depending on the amount of alcohol in the bloodstream. And merciful God, our moving van would be at the apartment in Alexandria tomorrow. Moving day. I hoped to God I didn't have a hangover in the morning.
 

November 23, 1998

Under optimal conditions, with everything on schedule and nothing amiss, moving is a trying experience.

I was operating under what could hardly be described as optimal conditions.

Miranda and I had been told before arriving in the DC area that a 3-bedroom, 2-bath townhouse, approximately 1200 square feet in size, had been rented for us. Our house in California had been 1500 square feet, but I figured that I could deal with a slightly smaller space.

We discovered that a townhouse had been reserved for us-2 bedrooms, 1 1/2 baths, and approximately 1000 square feet. This was going to be a challenge. I wasn't even sure where I was going to put the fish tanks.

"I think your place is bigger than this," I said to Frohike, Byers and Langly, who had graciously offered to come and do some of the tasks I was ill-equipped for, like sweeping for bugs and hooking up the electronics.

I hoped the night before that I was not going to have a hangover. That hope went unrequited. Fortunately Frohike was not paranoid about the curative powers of Alka-Seltzer, and was willing to share his stash. Byers, ever the gentleman, made a trip to Starbucks for us, and then we sat down to wait for the movers, whom we were informed would be arriving around 8:00 a.m.

And waited.

And waited.

Coffee and croissants turned into a burger run. I told the three that they were welcome to go anytime, but they indicated a willingness to stay, and I was appreciative.

A familiar blue Taurus pulled up, and out popped two familiar figures-one tall brunette, one short redhead, and when they opened the back seat, Ginger, our giant, lovable mutt, bounded out. They hadn't said anything about coming, let alone getting the dog.

"We figured you might need some help." Dana's consonants were thickening up more and more each time I saw her, but her face was lustrous and her step was light.

"And helping people move is a good way to get free pizza and beer," Mulder added. For a legendary insomniac, he looked shockingly well-rested. And happy. These were obviously not people who had spent Thanksgiving day hitting the bottle and hashing over times past. He turned to me and said, "I would have gotten the cats, but Scully's allergic to them, so I thought
when your car got here, I'd drive it over and pick up the house tigers."

"I really appreciate it."

"No problem. Hey, you look like you spent Thanksgiving with the Gunmen."

"That's because I did spend Thanksgiving with the Gunmen."

"Yeah, and she makes a killer Thanksgiving lasagna," Langly added.

"Wow, something other than the traditional Wild Turkey?"

"Yeah, Jose Cuervo was at the party this year." It truly annoyed me that Langly had had at least as much to drink as I had, but instead of sitting on the stoop with a headache that felt like a 17-minute drum solo at a Grateful Dead concert, he was playing Frisbee with Miranda, and not missing many catches. Irritating as hell. But Miranda, who was suffering her own private brand of misery, deserved whatever relief could be offered, and these three weirdos seemed to give solace to her in their own warped way. Byers and Frohike never seemed to mind dropping whatever it was they were doing and spend time talking with her. They respected her anguish instead of offering her pity. They spoke with her as if she were an adult, and she reacted to them in kind. They helped with homework. They may have been the strangest men on the planet, but she really needed caring adults in her life right now, and they were filling a role that right now I was dealing with very poorly.

Langly was a different matter with her. He was more somebody to kid around and play with. He teased her incessantly, and she gave it back. They played video games and watched terrible television together. I was not going to miss Nick at Nite. I had agreed with Miranda to get cable on the condition that Nick at Nite was off limits. She grudgingly agreed to the terms and conditions set forth.

"Besides, you can always watch it at our place," Langly assured her. He had stuck out his tongue at me then. "Spoilsport."

"Langly, I can barely deal with widowhood. How do you expect me to deal with Nick at Nite?"

"Hey, they've got some great stuff on."

"I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched hardly constitutes great TV."

"You know, Allison, your only saving grace is that you love Pinky and the Brain," Langly informed me.

"Hey, what do you know, a woman with taste," Mulder grinned.

"Mulder, you wouldn't know taste if it bit you on the butt," Frohike observed wryly.

"Frohike, I'm wounded! The one man I thought would appreciate my offering of such a fine collection!"

"Mulder, you know I appreciate your generous...donation. However, it really does have nothing to do with taste."

I had been interpreting the dialogue for Dana. Even if she didn't understand all of it, no time like the present. She was going to be learning a lot more very fast very soon. She certainly understood the "donation" part of the conversation.

"Let's just say that "Little Miss Lollipop Does London" really doesn't fit into my décor," she proclaimed dryly. "He should count himself lucky that I haven't cut off his subscription to "Celebrity Skin."" She whispered in my ear, "If you were thinking of a thank-you gift, I'll give you a subscription card for Frohike." I laughed.

"Is she dishing the dirt on me?" Mulder pointed to Dana and then to me.

"Yeah, and from what I can tell, you richly deserve it," I smiled back.

They were different today. The tension that had been present when I had seen them before the holidays had evaporated. They were...radiant.

I was totally jealous. And sad. But happy that whatever it had been that was eating at them, it was getting a respite. Happy clients are easy clients, and easy clients don't give me migraines.

Watching them gave me a body memory of being like that with Eric. I felt both happy and sad simultaneously-happy that I could recall it, sad that there would be no more with him like it. Radiance may have been history for me, but watching it happen around me gave me the strange assurance that life would go on somehow.

I really don't handle confusing emotions well, and lately, all I was having were confusing sets of them. It would be one thing if I could just have felt totally miserable. Or totally happy, even just for a moment. It was the weird stew of emotions, like mixing tequila and wine, that made my insides slosh around.

Bad analogy right now. Thank God the plumbing was fully operational.

"Are you all right? You don't have a fever." Dana swept her small hand over my face.

"I'm just hung over, that's all. I actually feel better now."

"Waste of really nice tequila," Langly commented.

"Hey, we're small women, no cracks about lightweights," Dana warned him with a Look. She turned to me. "The holidays are hard."

"Yeah." I just nodded.

"Have you talked to your mom?" Dana asked. "I mean, she was widowed young...she's been there..."

"You know, Dana, she's my mother, but she's not my mom. We don't have that sort of relationship. She can be a lot of fun, but I don't talk about...personal stuff with her."

"That's hard. I'd be lost without my mom. I'll take you to meet her sometime. She'd love to meet you. And Miranda."

"Hey finally!" Langly cheered as the moving truck pulled up.
 

There was no way around it...some of my stuff was going to have to go into storage. I just couldn't fit it all in this small place.

I have terrible spatial perception, and I was grateful that Miranda had it in her head where everything should go. She and Dana ordered the movers around, and I noticed that nobody argued with them. When one of the movers balked about moving the sofa for the third time, Dana raised one eyebrow, shot him a Look, and he backed down like a zebra in front of a lion. I
needed to keep this in mind should I ever feel the need to argue with her.

Mulder, true to his word, sped off in my Sentra and got the cats, who were totally freaked out but obviously happy to be with Miranda and me.

"Do you know that there's been a dwarf driving your car?" He announced when he came in with the first two cat carriers. He signed something about short people to Dana, and he too was treated to a Look.

"Okay, Mulder, the short jokes are really old," she reminded him.

"Well, there's always redhead jokes." He had the second set of cat carriers with him now.

"Don't go there, Mulder. Besides, Dana's a way better redhead than I am."

"Don't tell me you're a fabulous fake."

"Would anything this drab be artificially induced?"

Mulder came in with the third and final set of cat carriers. I tapped Dana on the arm.

"Dana, Mulder says you're allergic to cats. Would you be willing to hang some pictures up in the bedroom for me? I'll keep the cats out of there for now."

"I can do that. Just show me which ones you want hung."

There was a wedding shot-Eric and I smiling, me holding my red roses, and the both of us holding each other. Eric holding a newborn Miranda. Eric pushing Miranda in her stroller at the zoo. The three of us on a trip to Mazatlan. The portrait of all three of us at the altar for Miranda's Bat Mitzvah. Miranda's last school shot. Miranda at every age. Eric typing at the computer while working over a cat in his lap. Eric with the telescope.

That seemed to get her attention. "Your husband was interested in astronomy."

"He loved stargazing. We would go out as often as we could. It was his favorite way to relax."

"It's one of mine, too."

I thought for a moment. "You know, we don't really have room here for the telescope, but I don't want to get rid of it and Eric would shriek if he knew I had it at Public Storage. Would you like to use it for a while?"

She looked mildly surprised, but pleased.

"I would love to. Eight-inch Newtonian, right?"

"You could tell from the picture."

She laughed a bit. "I've used a Meade Starfinder. It's a very user friendly telescope."

END OF PART 5