LOYALTY AND SEDITION by TM
Part 18

Rating: PG

Summary: It's the most wonderful time of the year...not.

Spoilers: Nope.
 

I do not believe this.

My own father thinks I'm nothing but a sex-crazed maniac.

He should talk.

Whose video collection is it, huh?

At the rate I'm going, I'm gonna end up just like him.

And he probably wouldn't even will his collection to me!

Bastard.
 

November 23, 2000

Turkey day. Dad says I'm well enough to go to Ally and Langly's.

This is the first time he's let me do anything but lie around all week. Of course, I get all the usual dad directives before we go-I'm not supposed to run around with Tiny, I've gotta take it easy, blah blah blah.

If he thinks I'm better, that's cool. I'm just not gonna say anything about the awful gnawy feeling I have in my throat again.

Turkey day isn't the right way to talk about Thanksgiving at Ally and Langly's. For one thing, Ally doesn't do turkey. She's tried a couple times, but she says she just wasn't meant to make turkey in DC. And Langly hates turkey, anyway. I think we're having Italian food.

This is cool. The only un-cool thing about it is that it always reminds me my mom's half Italian. However, I think this is a lame reason to give up my favorite food on the planet.

Dad cooks okay, nothing fancy and it's not bad, but food at Chateau Langly is always good. Particularly on holidays. And there's lots and lots and lots of beer. I hope they got some Sam Adams. Usually on holidays they do.

When was the last time I had a beer? I don't even remember.

Christ. This is pathetic.

It's a big gathering this year. It's Langly and Ally and the kids, of course, and Joan, Langly's big sister, who's actually real nice to me, and Jo, my dad's friend. Jo usually goes away to her brother's she says, but this year she has a lot to do and she decides to stay here and celebrate local. I'm real surprised to see Byers and Juliet. Dad says that Byers usually goes to his sister's house.

I wonder what Kelly's doing today.

Of course we watch football-it's the best football-watching day of the year. Jo watches with us, she's big into the game, and Joan sits by her little bro. She's not so into the game as Jo, but she can follow along and she doesn't ask stupid questions and I think she just likes to be near Langly.

I bet he was such a brat of a kid brother.

My sister always said I was such a bratty little brother, but she should take a look in the mirror sometime.

Ally and Juliet aren't with us. Of course, this isn't the UCLA-USC game, which is the only football game that Ally cares about, or Michigan playing Ohio State, which is Juliet's game. They're probably getting smashed in the kitchen, which is what Ally usually does on holidays. She and Juliet said something about Cadillac Margaritas and about not sharing, but that's as much as I caught.

I've got a Sam Adams-at least Langly remembered. He's actually way ahead of me. Believe it or not, I'm still sucking on my first beer.

It hurts like hell to swallow, so I take real small sips of everything.

Actually, everything's starting to hurt again. But I'm sick of being in the house and I don't want Dad to know how crummy I feel, because he'll just drag my ass out of here and stuff me back in bed.

I remember Ally's usually got the large economy size Advil in the bathroom. Good for all those hangovers. After the fifty-mile trek to their bathroom-I didn't remember this house was so big, for Christ's sake-I locate my quarry and pop about four of them, which I can barely get down, but I do.

Dad asks me if I'm okay and I tell him yeah, and I settle back in to watch NC State play UNC. By halftime the pills have kicked in and I don't feel so bad. And besides, they've got all these cute girls in real short skirts out their kicking it up on the field. My dad likes this part almost as much as he likes the game.

I must've fallen asleep, because I don't remember the rest of the game...
 

ALLY:

Juliet and I are enjoying a pitcher of Cadillac Margaritas, which we refuse to share with anyone right now, as we prepare dinner. Juliet is one-quarter Italian, which I wasn't aware of, but she fills me in on this as we put lasagna and baked mostaccioli together. It may seem bizarre that we're cooking Italian food on Thanksgiving day, but since I moved east, it's become a new tradition.

I can hardly believe that this is my third Thanksgiving in DC.

Things are better between Byers and Juliet. They're not where she'd like them to be right now, but they seem to be moving in a more positive direction, at least from her point of view. They're talking about moving in together, and Juliet's debating this with herself. She's not sure exactly if this is the right thing to do. It's not a morality issue with her-she's got no problems from that perspective. She just wants to assess if it's the right thing for their relationship.

All I can tell her is that I lived with both of my husbands before I married them and things were fine. I do know people it didn't work out for, but I don't want to tell her this; I'm sure she has plenty of acquaintances in that circumstance.

I hate ambiguous answers. I suspect that Juliet, being a programmer by nature as much as by occupation, hates them as well. Unfortunately, I can't provide her with anything definitive. I'm tempted to call on Miranda and ask her to look into it, but Miranda and Shelby are deep into the X-files marathon in the dungeon and have requested no disturbances for the afternoon.

I don't know if Byers and Juliet are sleeping together again, and I didn't ask. A few more drinks and she'll probably tell me, anyway. At least the tension between them seems to be abating somewhat. For a while there, it was so thick when they'd come in a room that you could slice it right down the middle. That didn't happen today. Both of them seemed pretty cheerful when they arrived, and even after three Caddy Maggies, Juliet's not getting maudlin or pissed off. And Byers in the office has pretty much become civilized again.

This is good, because while there is plenty of weirdness in my life, I think the weirdest thing of all was when Juliet started refusing to sleep with him, and he started jumping down people's throats. Byers doesn't do that sort of thing. At least when he's getting regular sex he's not.

I have to be a little sympathetic here. I know how I'd feel if Langly cut me off. We had a couple tense months there, and the sex wasn't great when it did happen. That, I am happy to report, has changed. He's still unenthusiastic about my endeavors, but he's trying. And he actually has helped me a lot.

Like restoring all my lost data. He finally did track it and restored it, encrypted it, stowed it like a Russian doll, and showed me what to do. That took an entire weekend, and he didn't bitch the whole time. Considering how neglected he feels at times, I considered this a real mea culpa on his part.

And I'm trying to make more of an effort to let him know how much I need him and appreciate him. I'm not great in that arena, and I know it, but I try. It's worth the effort, because he responds so well.

Thinking about last night...

Okay, stop that, Allison. You've got company.

"At least he stayed here with me instead of going to Kat's," Juliet is saying. "She invited us up, but I work for the only nonretail company that's working tomorrow, and I couldn't go. I told him he could, but he said he'd stay down here with me."

"Well, there's a victory. I think that deserves another drink." I pour the remains into each of our glasses. I think I'll wait until we finish these before I whip up another batch; I'm already wobbly and I've got dinner for 9 people to serve.

"He's trying, and I'm trying to be patient. I know he needs time. It's hard, though. He's a difficult man to reach in some ways."

"John's pretty complicated."

"He's so gentle, and he's so kind, but he is so damn insecure sometimes, I want to scream!"

"What about?"

She rolls her eyes and gives me the are-you-insane look that's usually exclusive from Miranda. "Let's keep it short and go over what he's not."

"Well, what not about?"

"Nothing. I told you it'd be short and sweet. I swear, Ally, he sweats everything, and I do mean everything!"

"Such as?"

"Well, he worries that he wouldn't be able to support a family without my income."

"I think that's pretty standard these days. Were you thinking about retiring when you had kids?"

"Maybe for a while, but not permanently. And I know he's got money put away, from his grandfather, but he says that he keeps that in case we'd ever have to leave the country."

"You're joking." This is extreme even by my standards. And my standards have gotten a lot broader.

"I'm telling you, he worries about it."

"That's paranoid even for a Gunman."

"Well...you never know, Ally."

"Hey, I'm not saying he's wrong. I just think the likelihood of that happening is statistically a small probability."

"As do I. But he feels it's important to be prepared."

"What else?"

"Well...okay. Ally, he is, without question, the most magnificent lover in the world. I know, you'll beg to differ, but hear me out. He is so worried that I'm not going to be satisfied, it's...I just wish he'd relax a little and enjoy himself and not worry about me! It'd be one thing if he was totally wretched in bed, but the fact is, I don't know where he learned it, but that man has technique and style like you wouldn't believe."

"Well, nice to know he's not selfish about such things."

"I'd like him to be a little more selfish, just get lost in it once in a while. And I'd like him to quit worrying that something will happen to me, just like it did to Susanne. He's worried he can't protect me. Ally, I don't think anybody can protect anyone one hundred percent all of the time. And I'm willing to take my chances. I wish he'd learn that I mean that."

She's contemplating the foamy remains of her drink sticking to the sides of the glass. "We're totally 21st century women, Ally. And we had just the luck to fall for 19th century men."

"They're not that bad," I laugh at her.

"No, I guess I do exaggerate. But they seem to have all the traditional male worries."

"Maybe that's why we love them so much."

Time for another pitcher of drinks.
 

MICHAEL:

Ally's yelling for everyone to come and eat. She's made Italian food, lasagna and baked mostaccioli and salad and her killer garlic bread. Normally I would kill for this meal.

I'm not hungry.

But if I don't eat, my dad's gonna know I don't feel that great, so I'm gonna do it. And none of my clothes fit anymore, anyway. Everything's like really loose.

Joan's asking people what they want to drink. I ask for another Sam Adams.

I never did finish my first one. I am so pathetic right now.

I sit down near Langly. If I sit next to my dad, and I don't eat much, he'll ask me why I'm not eating and then he'll be on my case and blah blah blah...

It's not so much today I'm worried about.

It's next week. I've got to be all better to go back on Monday.

"You been quiet today," Langly says as he passes me some salad. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Fuck you, Langly."

"I was just saying how nice it was to have you shut up once in a while."

God, why does he have to hassle me? It's like having an older brother, only worse.

"Langly, it's Thanksgiving. Play nice," Ally warns him.

You don't seriously think he's going to listen to her now, do you? He never does.

She's his wife. You would think.

I'd listen to my wife. If I had one.

Jesus, where is my brain? I've been sick too long.

The food's good, as always. I think. It's hard to get it down. I feel like I've got a thousand rats nibbling away at my throat.

The annual ritual-if you want to call two years a ritual-of what you're thankful for has started.

Jo kicks off. "Good friends, good health."

Shelby. "People to take care of me."

Miranda: "My mom. People who aren't fashion victims. Oh, yeah, and you, Langly."

Joan: "Being together with my baby brother and his family."

Langly: "Ally. Joanie. And even Miranda. Sometimes."

Byers: "Being alive and well. Caring people all around."

Juliet: "Being here. And in love."

Ally: "Langly. My kids. Love. Good friends. A second chance."

Dad: "My son. Good friends."

Me: "My dad not kicking my sorry ass in the street."

That's I love you in guy talk, by the way.
 

Dinner's over, and the cards come out, but instead of settling in for seven-card stud, which I know he loves to play, Dad taps me on the shoulder and tells me it's time to go.

I grumble a little to him, but I'm sort of relieved.

I've gotten used to going to bed early these days.

I am so pathetic.
 

I cop some Tylenols when I get home and pull on my sweats. I'm definitely ready for bed here. And my dad hasn't even had to hassle me about it. He knows I know why we left early.

I'm in bed but not sleeping when he comes in. He's brought me a cup of tea, which I really wanted for my throat, even though he doesn't know I need it.

We're just talking about stuff, things about the election and why things are so haywire. It was looking better a couple years ago-bunch of Democratic governors took the state elections, they got a few more seats in Congress, people weren't giving a fuck about impeachment, Gingrich quit. There're a lot of reasons why things changed, but I know the real reason.

The Republicans went and made it personal.

And anytime somebody's out to get you and they make it personal, you're fucked.

I say this to Dad and he just nods, which is sort of Dad's way of saying, you're right. Dad doesn't come out and say you're right or wrong. You just have to sort of read his reactions.

We talk a little more, about how civil liberties and stuff like that are going to be the most likely casualties in this ugly scene. People think the Constitution will protect them, but they're wrong.

My dad is nervous about this. You can tell. But he doesn't sound hysterical when he talks. So you just sort of have to watch him. Watch his eyes, listen to little changes in the way he talks. He's just not real outward.

But he is sort of drunk. So I shouldn't be kind of surprised when he finally leans over, gives me a hug, and kisses me goodnight on the forehead. But I am, anyway.

And thankful that he loves me.
 

November 27, 2000

It's Monday. I slept the entire weekend. My dad couldn't get on my case about it because I was never awake long enough for him to. I stayed in bed nearly the whole time.

And I don't feel too bad today. I don't feel great, but I'll manage.

I have to. It's last week of instruction before finals week. I'm gonna have tutoring customers up the ass this week.

Not to mention that I have to finish my programming project, study for my calc final, write my final project for Casey's class, and do a critical reading of a paper for astronomy and study for that final.

And we do the Christmas issue of TMB in December, and our readers like it to be stuffed full of holiday goodies, so it's a big fat lot of work. And it's an election year Christmas issue, so it's REALLY gonna be huge.

Ally makes fun of our readers sometimes. She says they're a bunch of frustrated capitalists at heart.

Sometimes I think she has a point. Sometimes I think she doesn't take stuff seriously enough, though.

Anyway, I've got to put some time in on that. The guys haven't said anything, but that's only because my dad would smack them if they did.

If it was just me and not my dad, they'd probably be all over me.

I'm tired of being sick, anyway. I think I'm just gonna do what I have to do and fuck it.
 

November 28, 2000

JESUS CHRIST!!! The tutoring center is MOBBED!!!

Where did all these people come from, anyway? Did they all skip classes and decide at the end they didn't know the material?

I was gonna work on my paper for Casey's class before I started at 1, but as soon as I walk in at 11, the place is crawling and the director, who's way past a nervous breakdown, begs me to start NOW.

I've done algebra, geometry, trig, calc, and stats before I even get to run to the bathroom again.

I wish they'd turn up the heat in this damn place. I've been so fucking cold all day, and the place is full of people, so they've got to be keeping it sub-Arctic.

Then again, what do you want for 15 bucks a unit?

I'm getting a killer headache. I could use a break.

No fucking way am I getting one.

Kelly comes in, but there's also about half a dozen other people there, too, so I don't really get to talk to her, but when she's ready to leave, she asks me if tonight I could meet her in the library and quiz her for chem and bio. I tell her they're not my best subjects, but she says I just need to ask her the questions in the book.

I'm a nice guy, sort of. I tell her okay.

Besides, I didn't get to talk to her at tutoring today.
 

ALLY:

Hanukkah starts Friday night.

It's Tuesday, and I have not yet begun to shop. Nor have I cleaned my house, and my two sisters-in-law-actually, former sisters-in-law-are coming down for the weekend.

It's been a little strange between us, my ex-sisters-in-law and me. I still consider them friends, but since my marriage to Langly, they've been more distant. The relationship is still alive, and that's in part due to their being Miranda's aunts, but I think that seeing me married to someone other than their brother affected them more than they admit. They like Langly and get on fine with him, but I sense some discomfort on their part.

And since Lydia was abducted - I do believe that term is accurate for what happened to her - she's not been the same. It's been nearly a year since she was returned to us.

It hasn't been enough time for her to recover what she once was.

Maybe there will never be enough time.

So I'm driving home from Georgetown after a day in the lab. I'm actually grateful that Dana is on maternity leave; she's still slavedriving us from her remote site, but I don't have to interpret for her right now.

She doesn't know about the data file that went missing. Or any of them.

Apparently mine was not the only one. Peter, our geneticist, had a bunch of data ripped out from under him. It was restored-quietly, I will add, by my husband-which Peter does not know about. Nor will he. He still thinks it was a computer glitch. I'm perfectly happy to let him think that.

I don't think so.

My question is, why?

Who is fucking with us, and why?

Haven't they fucked with us enough already?

Screw it. I've got a shopping list a mile long. Thank God for three extra hours today.

Then I can go home, throw dinner together, help Miranda and Shelby with their homework if they need it, tackle my own homework, and then I can head to the offices and work on my contribution to the Christmas issue of TMB. It's small, but it's still one more thing that needs doing. Somewhere in there I can wrap packages and tidy up the house. And sex...

Sex? What's that?

END OF PART 18