Rating: PG

Summary: Election 2K, it's coming. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Spoilers: Not today.
 

MICHAEL:

November 1, 2000

Yesterday was Halloween?

That's what Miranda and Shelby told me.

I missed the whole thing. Not that I get into it or anything, but it's like I wasn't even aware of it.

I probably shouldn't have given Casey a bogus e-mail. That way I would've gotten the message that she was gonna be out for the rest of the week for a family emergency, whatever that is for her. And I could've slept a hell of a lot longer.

Well, it's not like I can't use the time. I didn't finish my Java program yesterday, and I've still got a pile of calc problems to do. It's not gonna take me that long, but I got to get it done.

I feel better than I did last night, but I can't believe how tired I am. At the age of 24, I can't stay up past 6:30 at night.

And my dad says that even when I was a baby I made it to 8:30.

God, he remembers it like it was yesterday, and he talks about it like that, too.

Just so long as he never tells anyone else this stuff. Particularly someone like Kelly.

That would just be way too embarrassing for words.

At least he keeps the photos in his room. I was sort of surprised, but he's got pictures of me and Leslie when we were little in his room. There's a big one of him and me when I got baptized. This photo scares the hell out of me, because the guy in the photo looks exactly like me, and I'm not talking about the baby in it.

I have seen my future, and it looks a hell of a lot like Melvin Frohike.

I fear for my hair.
 

I finish my homework in the computer lab. God, I hate this lame equipment. This is why I'd rather do my stuff at the office. At least there we get decent toys.

I hate techno-luddites.

I hate stupid people, too. It's not politically correct to call somebody stupid, but let's face it, when you live in a world where the average IQ is 100, somebody out there is pulling it down.

I'm so fucking tired.

I need caffeine.

Doesn't the student center do room service?

I finally drag my ass over to Java Centrale on campus. I hate the concept of franchising, but there is something to be said for knowing what you're getting. I order a double vanilla mochaccino. While I think Ally's daughter is a brat, she did turn me on to these, which I think covers a multitude of her sins.

I should probably eat something, but I'm not hungry. I haven't been hungry in a while. My dad keeps stuffing soup into me, but it's about all I can stand.

And the clothes are getting kind of loose. Great. Now I can look like a 97-pound weakling geek, instead of just a geek.

It's cold outside, but there's sun, and I let it run over my face. It's good. I just wish the wind would stop. It's not blowing hard like on Sunday, but right now, it just makes me freeze.

I want to be home and sleeping on the sofa, with my dad right there, and the cartoons on the tube, and Kelly rubbing my back...

Wait a minute. My brain is gone. Something is wrong with this picture.

Okay, maybe Dad can be at work.

Picture now in focus.
 

I finish up my mochaccino-you can't take munchables into the tutoring center. It's stupid. The school has this policy of no food in class, but the only one of my teachers that enforces it is my Java teacher, and that's because, as lame as the equipment is, he knows if it gets wrecked, he's not gonna get new stuff. Casey and Luke and my calc teacher don't care as long as you pick up your trash.

I'm heading for the tutoring center. My backpack weighs about a thousand pounds-I have the calc book today-and I'm looking at the ground and I almost
knock somebody over.

Shit, it's Kelly.

I tell her I'm sorry, and she says it's cool, she's fine, no harm, no foul. She asks me if I'm better and I say yeah, I'm fine.

She asks me what's wrong and I tell her I have pneumonia but I'm okay now.

She says I'm a liar. She also says I look like hell and I should go home.

Do I need this abuse?

I ask her if she's coming to tutoring today and she says yeah.

Then she asks why I didn't call her back.

Is she like sort of miffed?

I think so.

Good.
 

Maybe Dad didn't look in my room this morning. He told me I HAD to stay home today.

He's got to be kidding. This is Tuesday. I get quality Kelly time on Tuesdays.

She comes at the usual time. She's so cute, normally I could just swallow her whole.

Today I think more about how nice it would be if she'd be my doctor.

She looks real tired, and she says she missed school yesterday, so she really needs me to go through her assignment from yesterday.

I'm shocked. Kelly miss school? Fuck no.

So I ask her what's up. "Family problems," she tells me.

"Yeah, had plenty of those." I'm trying to be sympathetic. I mean, I don't have the right DNA to be a sensitive kind of 90s guy, but I'm trying.

I'm showing her the work, and after a while it occurs to me that she's yawning as much as me. Usually Kelly's real quick, but today, she's just not into it.

I ask her if she wants to talk about anything.

She looks at me like I'm nuts at first. But we're both falling asleep here, and I ask her if she'd like to go and get a caffeine jolt.

She must really be beat, because she said yes.

We're just sitting on the wall near Java Centrale, not saying anything. I'm trying to let the caffeine do what it does best, but I keep coughing and yawning and snuffling.

God, she must think I'm so disgusting.

"My sister had a miscarriage last night." She sounds bummed.

"This your little sister?"

"Only sister I have. Yeah, she's sixteen and she lost her baby."

"Sorry about that." I mean, what the fuck do you say to somebody in this type of situation?

They really need to publish a book of Things Guys Should Say.

"It's my fault." She's gonna cry, but she sucks in her breath real hard, sort of like Ally does when she's gonna burst.

"I doubt it." And I do.

"I don't. I wasn't working last night. I was at home, and so was my sister, her name's Tracy. Anyway, Tracy started cramping up and she said she was bleeding a little-I'm sorry, this is probably grossing you out."

"Nah, it's cool." Not that I really like this kind of stuff, but if she wants to say it, it's cool.

"So I tell Tracy to call her ob-gyn. She doesn't have a regular one, she goes to the clinic at St. Theresa's in Arlington, it's the charity hospital. We call the service, but we have to wait for somebody to call us back.

"So we wait for like an hour and a half, and finally the nurse-midwife there calls back, and she says that Tracy needs to get to the hospital, and she'll meet us there.

"So I take Tracy to the hospital, and it's kind of a drive to Arlington, and I need gas, so I stop and get some and she's bleeding but it's not so bad. But by the time I get off the county road she's bleeding really bad, and I realized I FUCKED UP!

"My mom doesn't know this is going on, she's closing at work, so she doesn't know, and we get there, and they say they need my mom's permission to treat her because she's still a minor, and we call work but she's already left, probably with this guy she's seeing right now. A real first-class jerk, by the way. So we don't know where she is, I try Foote's, that's the bar she goes to sometimes, but she's not there. So we try this other bar she goes to, and we call her and tell her and she yells at me and says why didn't I call 911?" She's getting all weepy now.

I hate to see girls cry. Mostly because I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do.

"So'd your mom come to the hospital?"

"Yeah, she comes, and she brings Dopey with her-I swear, each new guy she picks up is stupider than the one before-and she's all mad at me, says what kind of doctor am I gonna make if I can't even help my own sister?"

Oh shit. Now she's really crying.

"I mean, she told me she was sorry this morning and everything, but it's like she blames me for EVERYTHING! She always says I'm the responsible one and when I do the wrong thing it's bad for everybody."

I should probably do something at this point, and I do.

I cough my lungs out.

"You should take care of yourself better."

"That's my dad's line. I'm not even supposed to be here today. I hope he didn't look in my room. He's usually still working by the time I get home, so I'm just gonna head home after work and hide out in my room and pretend like I was a good boy all day."

"What does your dad do?"

"He runs the magazine I write for sometimes. He does a lot of weird stuff. He's kind of a weird guy, but he's okay."

"How's he weird?"

"Well, there are the hats..."

"Hats? He's weird because of hats?"

"You haven't seen his hats." I'm not even going to bring up the pajamas.

"What else?"

"Well...he's really good with computers and stuff." I don't think Dad will appreciate it if I start spreading the word on what he REALLY does.

"So're you."

"I do all right."

"Are you a lot like him?"

"I look like him." Oh great. Now if she meets him, she knows what I'll look like in 30 years...fuck.

"Well, I don't look like my mom, and I hope to God I'm not like her." Tell us what you really think, Kelly. "I mean, she's got blonde hair, but that's about as far as it goes."

"What's she like?"

"My mom? Sweet, good-natured, and not terribly bright. Sorry, but that's the truth. I mean, except for like this morning, when she was a real BITCH, but usually, she's just kind of...lost in space, know what I mean? What about your mom?"

"Haven't spoken to her in years. She hates me." And me her.

"I haven't seen my dad since I was eight." She sounds kind of sad about this.

"Yeah, I didn't see my dad for seventeen years. I only came down here from NJ last year, and I moved in with him about six months ago or so."

I don't ask her why. If she wants me to know, she'll say something. And I don't feel like telling her why I didn't see Melvin for so long. So if I don't say anything, I don't open up that can of worms.

Plus I know how my dad is. He's pretty to himself and doesn't like his personal business blabbed.

She doesn't need to know that he's got a prison record, that some of the things he does are probably illegal, that he has a hard time with his drinking, and that he's got the best collection of porno tapes this side of the San Fernando Valley in California. I only know this because Ally used to live there and she said it was the major growth industry there.

The hats I can't do anything about, because those are pretty much open for public viewing.

But he'd kill me if I started telling tales out of home.

He's probably gonna kill me, anyway, if he finds out I went to school today.
 

I almost miss getting off at my stop because I start nodding off on the bus. And I forgot my pills to take at the middle of the day so I'm behind a dose and I don't feel so hot right now.

It's 6:45, which means Dad is probably still at work, so I'm probably okay, at least for a little while.

My luck has run out. He's at the computer when I let myself in.

Shit.

He doesn't look up when I come in. I'm hacking my lungs out, so it's not like I can hide the fact that I'm here.

"Sounds wonderful." He's annoyed with me, I can tell.

"I'm not doing so bad."

"Uh-huh. What did I tell you this morning?"

"Excuse me, but it's worktime and I had to go!"

"I'm aware of what day of the week it is. What did I say?"

"Dad, in case you forgot, I'm 24 years old, which is majority in every state of the union."

"And you're living under my roof!"

This is true. And in large part being supported by him.

"Look, I had-"

"Michael, go to bed." He's getting real testy now, but I've got a few things I need to do first.

"Dad, I'll go lie down as-"

"Michael. Bed. NOW."

He's pissed.
 

I throw on my sweats, it's sort of nice to be comfy, and I drag my pillows into the living room. I at least need to read my e-mail. I've sort of been out of touch lately.

I figure he's not gonna bitch at me, but I figured wrong.

He finally looks up.

"Michael, which word didn't you understand?"

"Huh? I was gonna lie on the sofa and check my e-mail."

He's rolling his eyes. "Your flaws are myriad, but I never considered stupidity to be among them. Apparently I was wrong." He thinks about going back to typing, but he's waiting for a download, probably a new picture for his collection.

This may have something to do with why he wants me to go to bed NOW.

Then again, maybe not.

I don't have the energy to fight with him tonight. I grab my stuff and start going back to my room.

I can't believe I asked him if he was coming.

Or that he came.
 

"You're going to get worse if you keep this up." He's bringing me some soup. I'm not really hungry, but I need to eat something.

"I'm okay. Gets worse at the end of the day."

"Michael, you're full of it. I heard you this morning."

"So I'm lying now." I am not in the mood for this shit.

"What are you trying to prove, anyway?"

"I'm just doing what I have to do."

"I think what you have to do is get better right now. People die from pneumonia, you know."

"Yeah, old people and babies."

"And idiots that don't take care of themselves."

He sounds mad, but he looks worried.

"Why was it so damn important that you not miss today? A test or something?"

"Dad, I work on Tuesdays!"

"There is calling in, you know!"

"Not with the desk Nazi. She'll get hysterical or something. And besides..."

"Besides what?"

Oh God. I wasn't going to tell him this.

Right now I'd like to vanish under the blankets and just die quietly.

"There's this girl-"

"Would this be the young lady you were supposed to help this weekend?"

"Yeah." I'm embarrassed now.

He doesn't say anything for a while. He's just got this look like, God, what did I ever do to deserve this?

"With this crowd, it's always something about a girl."
 

ALLY:

November 8, 2000

Election night 2K.

My living room is full of bodies.

Dana is on the sofa, looking pregnant and crabby, which she is. She's starting to have blood pressure problems and this is her last week at work before she goes on maternity leave.

She has informed Mulder several times tonight that he will never touch her again.

At least not until they get home, is the silent message that floats throughout the room.

We are all enjoying watching Mulder being bitched at. We often wish we had the license to do more of it, but doing it vicariously through Dana is pretty entertaining.

Mulder is, of course, utterly oblivious to the evil intent around him. His 13-month-old daughter is toddling about and he's so totally taken in with her, the place could crash and burn around them and as long as Rebecca Mulder was all right, no problem.

And we're all thinking, God help us when he's got two of them.

Byers asked Mulder after they got the amnio results if he was disappointed that the second one was also going to be a daughter.

Mulder gave him a look as though he'd suggested something truly beyond an extreme possibility. And for Mulder, that's pretty tough.

Say what you will about Mulder, he loves his wife and daughter(s) passionately.

Things are better between Langly and me. He still picks at my work, but I try not to let it bother me.

And I have discovered that telling him I need him works wonders. I'm not sure why, but they seem to be the magic words these days.

The thing is, it's no lie. I need him like I need oxygen and nicotine.

Frohike is sitting in the recliner, just observing quietly. He looks like Napoleon holding court. This is ordinarily Langly's chair, but Langly conceded it with a quip about age before beauty.

Frohike responded with something to the effect that some are fortunate enough to be endowed with both, but otherwise, he's concentrating on CNN.

Byers and Juliet are here, holding hands-they haven't said anything to us, but I think they're talking, at least. I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Juliet was late coming over, she's been really busy at her job, so we haven't gossiped tonight.

Rebecca Mulder is threatening my living room with total destruction. She's a beautiful child, and her mother is trying to restrain her, but Daddy is hopeless. When she attempts to discipline Rebecca, Mulder just responds that "you're trying to deal with a one-year-old." His idea of dealing with a one-year-old is to let her do as she pleases. There's nothing horribly fragile or breakable in our house, but if I catch her with one more CD jewelbox in her mouth, I'm going to smack her father, who is the one that deserves it.

Maybe when he's got two he'll figure out that he's encouraging anarchy.

Of course, the idea of the inmates running the asylum may be uniquely appealing to him. This is Mulder we're talking about. The normal rules don't seem to apply here.

Joan is with us; she's working on lesson plans and only sporadically joins in the conversation. Joan is looking bad these days. She seems to get thinner every time I see her, and like her brother, there is not much there to spare. The bones in her face are so sharp that they threaten to jut through her skin.

The election returns, which are flowing in now, seem to be making her very nervous. She's on the loveseat, her baby brother at her feet, and every now and then he reaches up and pats her hand or her knee, and she relaxes for a moment or two, but she's wound like a copper coil, and it doesn't keep.

Jo's on the floor, watching intently, every now and then stopping to converse with whoever feels like talking at the moment. Jo is Irish Catholic Democrat to the bone. She is not enjoying this night. Jo and I made dinner together; I get along better with her now that I don't work for her. She really is good people, just not a great boss.

She keeps asking me to come back to work for her, but I think I'd rather have her as my friend. I have discovered that she is very good at being friends with people. I'm very lucky in that regard.   She brought her friend Cecilia with her, who was Frohike's nurse when he had a heart attack last year, and Cecilia is lots of fun. A big, no-nonsense Italian woman, she's got a great sense of humor and says I do pretty good red sauce for a redheaded JAP. I know that coming from Cecilia, this is a compliment, so I can enjoy it. Normally she, Jo and Frohike would be bouncing off one another, killing the rest of us with their interplay, but tonight, there's more sobriety than I would like. Even the beer flow is pretty moderate for Chateau Langly, as Michael refers to us.

Of course, we do all have to get up and work and/or go to school tomorrow, so hangovers aren't going to fit in well here.

The girls joined us; Miranda is really pissed about how this is going. She believes, as do the others, that this was engineered beginning a long way back, and in the tradition of most 15-year-olds, fears the worst. And she's in the right crowd to have her fears fed. Miranda was mildly paranoid as a child; she has now achieved rabidity. Being in student government and debate has not allayed this tendency.

She and Shelby are far too old, far too cynical to be 15. Their speech reflects a hardness that was utterly foreign to me at their age. It's not youthful outrage even. It's cold, hard, bitter mistrust of all institutions and systems. They question everything and believe nothing.

Michael has grabbed a few pillows and stretched himself out on the floor. He still sounds like shit. He says he finished his antibiotic therapy, but Jo and Dana still feel he's sick and needs more treatment. Frohike's been trying to keep him bedded down, but about the best he can manage is forcing him to turn in early. You can tell this is making Frohike tired as well.

A few minutes later, Michael is sound asleep on our living room floor. He's utterly exhausted.

There's an innocence about Michael that I find inexplicably appealing. And in the sea of worried faces and anxious voices that fill our home, there is something comforting in seeing this sleeping child of man on my floor. It's like this small island of calm in the midst of the storm of the century.

And the storm hasn't even made landfall yet.

END OF PART 14