Rating: PG

Summary: How is Juliet going to get that boy to straighten up and fly right? And when's Dad coming home?

Spoilers: One for the movie "Armageddon." If you haven't seen the flick, or heard about this scene, well, where were you all summer?
 

October 28, 2000

Joan and the kids were talking when Juliet and I excused ourselves. We didn't bother to interrupt Langly and Byers, who were debating some aspect of the Virginia Democratic governor candidate's campaign finances.

I lit up when we were outside. The air was very sharply cold. In Los Angeles this time of year, the weather is still mild, but it had fallen into the 40s.

And these guys laugh when I break out my winter jacket when the temperature dips into the 50s. I'm sorry, the 40s are COLD.

"So Julie, what's up?"

She seemed pensive, contemplative. And nervous.

"Welllll..." she seemed as if she needed to talk, but was reluctant to do so. I didn't press her. If she wanted to say something, I'd listen. If she didn't, I'd listen to that, too.

"Okay." She stuffed her long, graceful hands into her pockets, not a gesture I'd seen on her before. "You know I'm working at Zemtech, right?"

"Uh-huh. Going okay?" I'd been under the impression she really enjoyed her new position in the commercial world.

"The work is good. No complaints there."

"Your boss a jerk?"

"No, he's fine. No...it's John."

Uh-oh.

"What's going on?"

"That's just it. NOTHING is going on. I've been here nearly six months, and he still hasn't mentioned anything about us moving in together or anything like that."

I said nothing, just nodded.

"We've been together for a while. And I'll tell you, I'm puzzled. It was like...he was so intent on winning me over, and then, once he did, it was almost as if he wasn't sure it was what he wanted. And I was hoping when I moved here, things would change. But he's said nothing about wanting to take this relationship any further."

I continued playing therapist. A role for which, by the way, I am poorly suited.

"I mean, he's as kind as ever, and gentle, and thoughtful, and in bed he's unparalleled."

I'd challenge her on that, but it would keep.

"Okay, here's the deal. I've met someone at work."

Oh, fuck.

Keep listening. Stay calm.

"And he's been making it clear he's...interested."

"Uh-huh."

"And I have to admit, he is attractive."

"So are you planning to see him?"

She leaned up against the house. "I'm wondering if I should."

"Do you want to?"

"To tell you the truth, there's nobody I want but John. But if things aren't going to progress...then I need to consider the alternatives." Juliet sniffed hard and from her hand gesture, she appeared to be brushing back tears.

"Don't know what to tell you, Julie."

"I don't know what to tell me, either." She sniffed again, then cleared her throat, and that seemed to focus her.

We stood in silence for a long time. One of the things I love about the people in my world these days is that you can talk forever-or not at all. And both are comfortable.

Then I saw her smile.

"So what do you think?" I asked her, wondering at the change in expression.

Using Bill Murray's delivery from the movie 'Stripes,' she announced, "I have a plan."
 

Juliet seemed more at ease after that, and the five 'adults'-a term I apply very loosely in this case - settled down for some seven card stud, which is ordinarily Frohike's game, but since we didn't have Frohike, at least for the moment, we stole it from him shamelessly.

The younger Frohike continued to sleep on the sofa, albeit a bit restlessly now.

"Frohike's boy's not looking too hot," Juliet commented.

"He's not, is he?" I resisted going over to check on him again; I didn't want to wake him. And for the moment, I was winning.

"Maybe we should call Frohike," Byers said as he examined the cards in his hand. You never know with Byers; he can bluff.

"I suspect they'll be back soon. And he is resting up, which is probably what he needs to do."

"Hey, I like to think of it as poetic justice," Langly quipped. "We all got sick last winter, except him. So it's his turn." I kicked him lightly in the shin.

"You're evil, babe."

"Yeah, and you love it." He laid his cards down. "Full house. Pay up, losers."

We all groaned, and handed over the money we hoped to win back from him shortly. There are sore losers, and then there are people who don't win gracefully. Langly is one of those people. Beating Byers at cards makes him nearly insufferable. One can expect a good 24 hours of gloating following any card-related competition where Langly bests Byers. It's not pretty.

"Hey Ally, where're the kiddies?" Langly asked as he collected the spoils.

"In the dungeon, where they belong."

"Whaddya mean, in the dungeon where they belong?!"

"That's their turf."

"Ally, these are teenage boys!"

"Yes. And?"

"I know what they're like! I WAS one!"

"They're good kids, Langly."

"They're high school guys!" He gives Byers this pleading look, like help me, I'm not getting through to her.

Byers shakes his head; he doesn't even want to go near this one.

Langly sets his hand down on the table. "They're going home. Now."

"Langly, they're watching TV! And they're not bugging us!"

"That's why I'm worried."

"I think you're overreacting," Joan says in a gentle, big-sisterly voice.

"I don't think so!" He opens the door that leads into the dungeon. "Hey! You guys! What're you doing down there!"

I hear Miranda's voice rise up through the stairs. "Madly screwing each other's brains out! Whaddya think we're doing?!" I can hear her come to the bottom of the stairs; she's pissed off and stalking hard. I'm assuming she's fully clothed. "If you have to know, we're watching Armageddon! You got a problem with that?!"

I will be getting a visit from her later, and she will hiss and spit and mutter obscenities about her wicked stepfather.

"No animal crackers!" he yells back to her.

Byers has the grace to blush during this exchange.
 

Langly's still not happy about the situation, but we're back into the card game big time. Byers is winning, which is pretty much SOP. Juliet's a little more relaxed now; she's having a beer and she's smiling again, albeit a bit fiendishly. The woman has something up her sleeve. I don't know what, but this is probably to my advantage. If I don't know, then if the shit starts flying, I'm clean.

We're interrupted by a figure in the doorway.

"Where's my dad?" A groggy, very congested Michael is standing there, looking about half his age and clearly unhappy.

"They're not back from dinner," I state the obvious to him.

"I want him," Michael mutters sulkily.

"We have the restaurant number," Byers reminds us.

"I'm sure they'll be back soon," I try to reassure him. He launches into a spasm of coughing, and my heart goes out to him. This is one miserable kid. "Can I get you something?"

"I want my dad." He's like a stubborn little kid, and he knows what he wants. He's coughing more and more, and he looks terrible.

I want to go over and throw my arms around him.

Langly's been silent through all this, and he surprises the hell out of me when he gets up and puts an arm around Michael's shoulders.

The only thing that surprises me more is that Michael doesn't protest.
 

We set our cards down where we are; we'll probably be able to get back to this game shortly.

Langly's on the end of the sofa by Michael's feet, just sitting with him. He's popped the video version of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue into the VCR for him as well. Not that watching this video is a huge sacrifice for Langly. But I'm pleased and touched that he is there for Michael.

I hope Frohike and Jo get back soon.
 

MICHAEL:

I wake up and I can't breathe.

My head hurts. My throat hurts. My arms and legs hurt. My chest hurts a lot. My back is killing me.

I think I'm in hell, but then I remember I'm in the Chateau Langly living room. Which is usually okay, big comfy sofa, lots of blankets, decent TV.

I can hear them talking, they're in the kitchen. Maybe my dad's back and he's out there, too.

I want to get off the sofa, but I feel like I'm made of lead. I try to call my dad, but nobody can hear me. I can't get my voice above a whisper, and they're carrying on pretty good.

I want my dad real bad. I want him to take me home and make me some tea and rub my back.

He can even wear his blue bunny pajamas if he wants.
 

Langly's being cool right now. He even put the Sports Illustrated Video Swimsuit Edition in the player.

I know I'm sick, because these babes are HOT, and they're doing nothing for me.

I might as well be watching Biker Mice from Mars. They've got all the tapes from that, too.

I want my dad to hurry back.

I'm thinking, this is stupid. I'm 24 years old. People my age have their own kids.

I don't care. I need my dad right now.

About twenty years later, he and Jo come in. I'd jump up from the sofa if I had the energy, but I don't. But I don't need to, because Dad comes over to me right away.

He's real worried. You can tell.

I need my dad to be worried about me right now, because I feel like SHIT.

Jo sits down right next to me and takes my wrist and looks at her watch. I always forget she used to be a nurse. I'm not big on her touching me, but she's doing this one for my dad, and I'm too tired to make a fuss, anyway.

"I don't like the way he's breathing," she tells my dad. "Respiration's around 88, and that's way too high." She turns to Ally. "You have a thermometer, don't you?"

Ally nods, wanders off to the other end of the house. She comes back with this huge device, I'm wondering what kind of torture implement this is. Then she stuffs it in my ear. I didn't even know my ear hurt until now, but it does. At least she pulls it out in a hurry.

"103.5. I think we should take Michael to emergency."

Hey, lady, I'm right here, you can talk to me, too.

Dad's debating this, and he looks real guilty, too. He hasn't been able to buy health insurance for me yet, and this is gonna cost a fortune.

Jo's hip to my dad, so she says, "Unless we can call Dana Scully and get her to prescribe some meds for him. I know it's late, but-"

Ally's dialing the phone as soon as she speaks. She hands the cordless to my dad.

He's talking to Mulder, who's signing to Scully, so it takes a long time to get all the info to him. Then Jo gets on the phone. She thinks I've got pneumonia, she rattles off a few numbers to Mulder, I hope he's getting this right on his end.

Dad gets back on the phone and thanks Mulder big time for interrupting their evening and all. Hey, Mulder owes HIM from what I can tell. Anytime Mulder's got an idea, he's got no problem waking up half the world and letting them know about it, and expects everyone to jump right on it.

I guess Dr. Scully thinks Jo's right, she's gonna call in some meds to Rite Aid, and my dad can pick them up in a while. So I can go home and my dad can rub my back and maybe then I'll feel better.

For once I'm happy Rite Aid is open 24 hours for other than a beer run.

God, I haven't even had a beer tonight.

This is totally pathetic.

I ask Langly if I can borrow his Biker Mice from Mars collection, and he says sure. He asks Ally where the tapes are, and she gives him this look like, what's the matter, you crippled or something? He gets the net and he digs up about a dozen tapes. Ally asks if I want to borrow her Beavis and Butthead tapes, and I'm like, why not? Looks like I'm going to be incarcerated for a couple days.

And Dad takes me home, and stuffs my sorry ass in bed, and Jo's gonna stay on the sofa tonight. Dad offers her his room, but she says she's fine on the sofa.

Wonder if she's ever seen him in the blue bunny pajamas.

If not, she's in for a real scare.

But at least he rubs my back and I can sleep.
 

ALLY:

October 29, 2000

I hope Michael's doing better today. He really looked bad last night. You know it's serious when Langly willingly parts with his Biker Mice from Mars collection, even temporarily.

Langly and Byers have returned to the offices, even though it's pretty early for a Saturday. Early on Saturday is defined as anything before noon.

I wonder how Byers is doing. I noticed last night when he asked Juliet if she was coming back to his place, she said no, she was going home by herself.

Oh, boy. Can't wait for the fallout on this one.

The phone rings while I'm going over pKa-pH values. I'm not quite as nervous about the phone as I used to be, but I doubt I'll ever get to the point where I don't have at least a nominal increase in pulse rate.

"This is Kelly Martin, from g-chem class."

I recognize the voice-it's the little blonde who sits one row over from me. She's a cute kid, but on the whole, I'd have to place her in the doesn't-play-well-with-others category. She's brainy, ambitious, and more than a little obnoxious.

The perfect pre-med, which is what she is.

At least she's not in the runs-with-scissors category. At least I don't think she is.

I'm mystified as to why she's calling me. She isn't the type to forget her homework assignments.

"What's up?"

"Um...I'm a friend of Michael's...I forget his last name, you know, Michael, he's sort of short and has dark hair and wears glasses-"

And whines almost as much as you do, sweetie pie. "You're talking about Michael Frohike, aren't you?"

"He tutors math, he's in my astronomy class. He says he knows you."

"He's not here right now. I don't think he's going to be here today. He was pretty sick last night and I think Dad is holding him captive."

"Shit!" She sounds almost as if she's going to cry.

"What's wrong?" Why do I do this? I'm already teenager'd out.

"Well...my car broke down the other night, and Michael was going to fix it for me today, but I don't have his phone number-"

"Kelly, did you hear me? He's sick. Only thing he's working today is the sofa. I can ask him to call you."

She begins to sniff. I don't know if she's totally stressed out or totally immature.

Probably a touch of both.

"What's wrong with your car, sweetie?" I hate to hear kids cry.

"M-M-Michael thinks it's the starter," she whimpered. "And I need it to get to class because my mom needs hers for work and-"

"Where do you live, Kelly?"

"Well, I live in Warrenton-"

"Where's that? I'm not a native."

"West of Anniston, about thirteen miles."

Which means she lives about 25 miles from here.

"But my car's in Anniston, where I left it the other night."

"Give me directions."

No question about it. I have truly lost my mind.
 

Kelly lives in a trailer park, I'm sure of it. She's waiting out front of the place, on the street, when I arrive at the address she gave me.

She's probably 18 or so, but she looks about 12 today. Her hair's in two ponytails, she's got on jeans and a blue zipper front sweatshirt and she's got her thumbnail in her mouth.

All I can think is: it's going to take a long time and a lot of work to turn this baby into a physician.

And she is a baby. In some ways, Miranda has more poise than she does, and Miranda is probably at least three years younger.

I can't fault her determination, though. From the looks of things, she's from pretty downtrodden surroundings. And she is bright.

She thanks me for coming to get her. Why I'm doing this, I'll never know.

It's not like I had nothing to do today. I have chem and calc to study, I promised the girls I'd drop them at the movies, the house is a disaster, I told Langly I'd do some proofing, Dana wants me to work on a stat model I built, there's a mountain of laundry on the wrong side of done, we need groceries, we need beer, my hair needs a dye job...

In the midst of all this, Meredith Brooks's song 'I Need' comes on the radio.

"...I need some new clothes,
A TV, a car
A trip to Nevada
The thrill of applause..."

That, and about a million other things.

"What happened to Michael?" she asks me.

Do I detect a note of real concern here, or is this just a child who can't get something done when she wants?

Stop being such a bitch, Allison. You were eighteen once.

The idea makes me wince.

"A couple of our friends think he's got bronchitis, maybe pneumonia."

"Are these medical personnel?"

"Well, one of them was trained as a nurse, the other's a physician. She's also my boss."

"Really?" Now I've got her attention.

"I work in her lab. She's in research, not clinical practice."

"Where do you work?"

"Georgetown."

"Johns Hopkins is my first choice, but I'd take Georgetown."

First they have to take you, honey.

"I'd love to work in a lab. It'd be great experience and it'd help me get into med school, and anything's got to be better than working in my mom's diner."

I think about this. I don't want to promise on what I can't deliver, but maybe Dana could use her for some low-level stuff.

She is a smart kid. I'd like to see her get a break.

Told you I'm a soft touch.
 

END OF PART 10