Rating: PG-13.

Summary: Joan makes a decision...and it's time to get those invitations out already.

Spoilers: Tiny one for "Memento Mori."
 

"When the sky has fallen
Like a blanket on your shoulder
And the moon is like a mother
Looking over you forever
And the dawn is so familiar
You were meant to be together
Like a fog around a mountain-forever..."

"Lullabye" by J. Napolitano. Copyright 1990 International Velvet Music. Used without permission.
 

Kerusso
 

March 13, 2000

"Shit, shit, shit!" I was pacing, furiously smoking a cigarette, and it looked as if my two compadres wanted one as well, but I didn't offer and they didn't ask.

"What the hell is going on up here?" The girls emerged from the dungeon. "Oh, shit-Aunt Joan? Is that you?" Miranda raced over to her.

"Hi, Miranda," she lisped weakly. "Hi, Shelby."

"Aunt Joan, what happened to you?" Miranda looked positively appalled. "You look like you got mugged."

I was trying to think on my feet and the nicotine wasn't doing its usual job of clearing the thought processes. But I had to come up with something...Joan wasn't going back home. Not tonight, and probably not ever.

"Okay, guys...just for tonight, Shelby, you stay in Miranda's room. Just for tonight, till we figure out what's going on."

Miranda opened her mouth to protest, then thought the better of it, and clamped it shut.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Go down and fix up Shelby's room. We'll talk later."

The two were unsatisfied with my explanation and stomped off accordingly. At 14, kids can go from totally compassionate to utterly selfish in a heartbeat.

"I don't...think I can stay here. I'm sure Roy will find me." Joan had a hard time speaking with her mouth, now swelling into something atrocious, and she looked terrified.

I was about to comment on the absurdity of that...but other nuisances had found us before. I cringed.

"Joan, excuse me for a moment." I signed to Dana without verbalizing to her. "In the kitchen. Just us." Dana carried Rebecca with her into the kitchen, and we conversed totally in sign, even without vocalization motions.

"Shit, what am I gonna do?"

"She can't go back home." I was counting on Dana's logic here. "At least she can stay here for the night. And let's face it, your place is, shall we say, well-protected."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's not enough." I didn't want to go into it. Dana'd had her share of damage wreaked upon her by CSM, including, however indirectly, her deafness.

"I think you need to discuss this with Langly," she signed calmly.

"Discussing it with Langly is what's got me worried. He's not going to react well to this." Understatement of the century.

"Well, I think that's understandable. I'd worry if he wasn't upset."

"Dana, he's had it in for this guy since he was seven years old, and yeah...I know I'm probably overreacting, but I'm worried that he'll just escalate the situation."

"Well, at least he doesn't own a gun."

"No, he's afraid of them, as am I. Thank God." However, if he wanted one, and he might this time, he had plenty of sources for obtaining one. And rapidly. Insider information can be a dangerous thing.

"Allison, give him a little credit. He doesn't have the best impulse control in the world...but he's-and I'm amazed to be saying this about him-generally reasonable. He'll listen."

"He is reasonable. But he's also very, very pissed off at this guy. And this isn't going to mitigate that any."

"He's grown up a lot, Allison. I've known him for eight years now. And I know he's stubborn, but I've learned a lot about stubborn men in the last few years." She smiled slyly, then sobered. "Get Joan into bed. Fix her something to drink, preferably with a little brandy or cognac."

"She doesn't drink."

"These are a physician's orders." She was back into the power trip, I thought with some amusement.

"Is this how you get Mulder to behave?" I grinned at her.

She returned the smile. "You'd be amazed at how handy doctor tricks come in."
 

Dana packed up Rebecca and herself, urging Joan to get medical attention as soon as possible-she was very uncomfortable with Joan's refusal to go to a hospital. Joan just nodded mutely, then thanked her.

"Joan," I said softly. "I know your brother has to know about this. However, I think for tonight, it'd be best if he didn't see you as soon as he walks in. For one thing, it's NCAA semifinals and that means-"

"He'll be drunk," she finished off ruefully.

"Realistically, he'll be about three sheets to the wind. I'm going to tell him that you're here. I'll warn him about...what happened to you when he's sobered up some. Do you think you could get some sleep?"

"I...don't know."

"I have some chamomile tea left." Thank you, Byers. "Go down into the basement-we refer to it as the dungeon. With any luck, Shelby picked up her room-it's the one on the left. There's no access to that room from the outside."

"Can you get in from outside anywhere downstairs?"

"They'd have to get through Miranda's room, and they'd kill themselves getting through."

"My Julie was always a slob." She smiled a half-smile; her mouth looked worse all the time.

"I'm going to make some tea, give you some ice, and I hope you'll be able to relax."

"I really do hate to impose on you, Allison-"

"It's Ally. And it's not an imposition. There's a small linen closet off to the left of the bathroom, and hopefully the girls haven't used up all the towels." Which was a very real hazard. "Yell if they have."

"I really appreciate this. I just...I hope my brother doesn't do anything rash."

"You and me both."
 

I was reading Antigone in the original Greek when I heard Langly come in. He staggered into the bedroom, giggling.

"I won back my money," he chanted like a little kid, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

"That's nice, babe. And you probably pissed it all away on beer."

"Some of it, anyway." He laid down next to me, still giggling. He snuggled up into me and I wrapped my arm around him, drawing a beery, silly Langly close to my chest. He murmured appreciatively, then giggled some more.

"You're drunk, Langly," I laughed at him.

"Horny, too."

"So what else is new?"

"You complaining?"

"I think not," I smiled as I began to unfasten his clothes.
 

March 14, 2000

I thought I was the first one up, but Joan had beat me to it, and had put on a pot of coffee.

She looked even worse in the light of day. One side of her face was totally puffed up and bruised. Her lip had swelled to three times its normal size and had a large cut on it. I couldn't tell about the limp, since she was sitting down.

"How're you feeling? Did you sleep at all?"

"Some." Her voice was flat, without affect. "Thank you for putting me up."

"Hey, you're my soon-to-be husband's sister. It's in the job description."

She stirred her coffee. "I can't believe...this is all my fault."

"Get off it, Joan. It's not your fault if he's being irrational."

"I just...I shouldn't goad him when he's like that."

And when is he not, I thought bitterly.

"Does Ringo know?"

"Actually...we never got to talk about it last night. He was pretty drunk." But surprisingly capable, I thought evilly. Usually, when Langly's bombed, desire far outweighs performance, but he came through delightfully. "I'm going to wake him up shortly." I poured an extra mug of coffee and creamed and sugared it to death, alongside my own mug with just a splash of milk.

I was able to postpone it last night, but that time had passed.

Shit.
 

"Baby, wake up," I shook him.

"Mmm." He sank back into the pillows. "Don't wanna."

"Langly. Wake up."

"I'm sleepy." His eyes were still shut.

"I brought you coffee."

"You drink it," he mumbled.

"Not the way you take it. Langly, up. Joan's here."

"What?" He groaned.

"I said, Joan's here."

"Joanie's here?" He sat up, blinking, groping for his glasses. "Bit early to go shopping, don't you think?"

"She needs to talk to you." I handed him the mug, and he managed to slop some of the contents on to his tattered henley. I don't choose my men for their sleepwear. Or for their cheerful dispositions upon arising. Good thing on both counts.

"Cool. She's gonna leave the jerk finally." He slugged down a large hit of coffee.

"Probably. Langly...she's not looking too good."

"Define 'not too good.'"

"Uh...Roy beat the shit out of her, babe."

"FUCK!" He exploded out of bed. It was the fastest I'd ever seen him move, including missing early meetings, and he was headed for the door.

"Langly!" I stopped him.

"What!" He snapped fiercely at me.

"Uh, I don't think your sister really needs to see your boxers, babe." I tossed him his hundred-year-old sweatpants.

"Good point."

And ten extra seconds to get him to keep his cool.
 

"Oh, Jesus fuck." Langly gasped upon seeing his sister. He ran over to her, hugged her. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Ringo." Still the flat, affectless voice.

"You are NOT going back to him." He was now pacing about the kitchen angrily.

"Ringo, I can't go back to him." Her eyes welled up. "He'll kill me."

"Let him try. He's dead if he does."

"Langly, chill!" I clapped my hands together. "I don't think this is helping."

"That bastard will FRY!" He shouted.

"LANGLY!" I shrieked, which I only rarely do. Both he and Joan startled, and stared at me. I had a momentary case of stage fright, but managed to recover.

"Now chill!" I sent him a Dana Scully-Mulder she-who-must-be-obeyed look.

Hell, works for her.
 

Langly continued to mutter invectives under his breath, and I wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his temper in check indefinitely, but at least we managed to map out a plan.

Joan would stay in Shelby's room for the time being, until we could make other arrangements. Whatever those would be, I had no idea. She would see the lawyer whose name Frohike had gotten hold of on Monday, or at the first possible opportunity. She needed to be especially careful at work; her principal needed to be made aware of the situation.

She had nothing with her except what she'd worn the night before. I'd dug one of Langly's ancient but socially acceptable T-shirts from the back of our closet-I was beginning to see his wisdom in never throwing out any clothes-for her to sleep in. And none of my stuff would come even close to fitting her, either in size or style. Ellen might be able to lend her some things if worse came to worse; Ellen had a bigger frame, but it would probably work.

Byers would be back later tonight; he was supposed to be flying in from Ann Arbor. We hadn't heard how things were going; hopefully this was a Good Thing. The plan was that Langly, Byers, Frohike and Michael would go to Joan's now former house while her husband was at church and get her things. She still had keys. Hopefully he wouldn't change the locks before the guys got there. Not that that would be a strong deterrent; apparently Langly was not averse to doing what he referred to as "a little funky poaching." I didn't ask for details.

Dana arrived late in the morning, and Ellen followed behind her shortly; time for the Great Dress Hunt to begin. Joan had a problem, though; her ankle was apparently sprained, and icing it down hadn't helped much. Dana put an ace bandage on it, which would relieve the swelling, but it was decided that Joan would sit out the trip, and she'd go with whatever was
chosen for her to wear.

For the first time, the woman began to visibly relax. I found her a short time later, sound asleep on the living room sofa. Sitting next to the sofa, his head on her arm, was her little brother, dozing comfortably.

What can you do? I covered both of them.
 

"We gotta get Byers," Langly announced as it grew darker outside.

"You all going?"

"Frohike and me and Michael, yeah. We're taking your car."

"Is this unusual?" I asked as I entered some new vocabulary into my working dictionary.

"Hey, you've got the best car." He shrugged. "What's for dinner?"

"You borrow my car and you expect me to feed you, too?" I teased.

"Well, yeah." He looked utterly nonchalant.

"Burritos. We're doing it easy tonight."

"I can live with that."

"Baby, you can live with anything as long as there's enough of it."

"Are you implying that I have no standards?" He tried to look hurt.

"Oh, you've got standards, babe. They're low, but you've got 'em."

"Hey, not that low! How'd the hunt for the perfect bridesmaid dress go?"

"I think they're almost ready to make a decision." It had taken the four of them nearly the entire day; Ellen had even left services at Dave's temple early for the trip, and it still took hours.

A knock on the back door, and then the handle turned. Had to be Frohike or Michael. It turned out to be both.

"All right, I think your wedding invitations are ready to go," Frohike announced.

"You addressed them all yourself? Wasn't Miranda supposed to help?" I asked him.

"We're going to e-mail them. Well, not all of them. The ones for your mother's friends, those have been printed up, but for our...audience, well, a few of them barely remember what snail mail is. Here's the printed version for our more...conservative guests." He opened a stationery-sized box.

The invitations were the heart and soul of tradition; plain ivory linen paper, black lettering in a simple script style.

Simply and sweetly stated. I couldn't have done better. And the RSVP cards were neatly tucked inside, with the lined envelopes and tissue fillers, plus detailed maps, travel instructions, and hotel designations.

"Frohike, these are wonderful. They're perfect." I kissed him on the cheek.

"For that, it was well worth the effort." He smiled shyly.

"Yeah, these look decent. All right." Langly nodded in approval.

"Okay, so what about the one for our less...conventional guests?"

Frohike looked mildly embarrassed. "You have to understand...we do have to get their attention, you know."

"Well, let us read it, and we'll tell you if you need a rewrite," I laughed.

"Michael, did you print it out?" Frohike asked his son.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm supposed to remember everything. Here." He stuck a folded slip of paper in my hand.

We opened it and began to read.

SEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEXSEX

Now that we have your attention, listen up:

On Sunday, May 15, 2000, at 2:00 in the afternoon, we're pleased-not to mention pretty damn shocked-that our very own Ringo Patrick Langly (to our readers, the famous and infamous Ripple) is getting married. This is not a joke. Langly will be marrying one Allison Ruth Rausch Gerstein (you may remember her as AG, one of our guest editors).

The wedding and reception will take place at the Baltimore Convention Center, 230 River Street, Baltimore, Maryland. The bar will open at 1:30 p.m. and will stay that way until we drink the place dry, get thrown into the streets, or both of the above. This means that you will be able to bring your drink to the ceremony, lest this all get a little too real (or unreal) for you. Since one of our illustrious hosts will be the mother of the bride, Mrs. Eleanor Rausch (of Rausch Electronics-need we say more?), you can be sure that food and drink will be of the highest quality and served in copious quantities.

There are many hotels in the Baltimore area, some of which are actually safe to stay at, and we have provided a listing of ones where we have secured rooms at preferred rates. Should you need help with your travel arrangements, please don't hesitate to ask; we'll be glad to help you get the best possible airfare and auto rental rates.

We do need to know how much liquor needs to be purchased and how many people the caterer needs to cook for, so you can either hit the reply function on your e-mail, or drop a line to:

LoneG-@liberation.com

Or

SkaGi-@wastedminds.com

The courtesy of a reply is requested no later than April 15, 2000. If you don't respond, we won't throw you in the streets when you show up, but you won't be able to eat and drink, and what fun would that be? If you're a taxpayer, this should be an easy date to remember, and if you're not, well-find a way to calendar it so you don't forget!

The Baltimore Convention Center requires that shoes and shirts be worn.

Hope to see you there!

I smiled at Langly. "Babe, this is our life."

He grinned at Frohike. "Send it."

END OF PART 75