LOYALTY AND SEDITION
Part 77

Rating: PG

Summary: Michael's post-op experiences are autobiographical...and I really did consider pulling my own staples.

The scenario taking shape is one of my own devising, it reflects some of my nightmares.

Spoilers: A tiny one for 'Triangle.'
 

MICHAEL:

March 5, 2001

Dad ought to be home soon, and Mom's getting ready to bail.

I mean, in a way I'm sort of relieved she's going, but it wasn't as bad as I thought. Mostly she let me sleep, which right now is all I wanna really do. It's like I'm awake for maybe a couple hours, and then I want another nap. And she didn't bitch at me.

Plus she got me real good pain meds before we left the hospital, so when I start hurting, I've got decent stuff.

"Baby, is there anything else you need? I have to leave soon." She's said this about five times so far.

"I'm fine. Got everything I need."

Dad's keys turn in the locks-yeah, we've got multiple locks, were you expecting otherwise?-and Mom's got her gear ready to go. He offers to take her stuff, and she's like, thanks.

She leans over and kisses me on the cheek before she leaves.

I actually thank her for coming down.

I mean, she did take care of me and all. And she didn't have to come.

I didn't really want her to, and it's been weird being around her...but I guess I don't hate her so much right now.

I don't think my dad will kiss her goodbye. I'd be totally freaked if he did.

Probably so would she.
 

I'm on the sofa when Dad comes back up. He sits down by me and asks me if I'm okay.

I'm fine. I'm mostly just tired. I can't believe I'm this tired. But I don't hurt so bad right now.

Dad covers me up with a blanket and tells me to sleep now, and I don't have any problem with those instructions.
 

ALLY:

March 8, 2001

We're in Dr. Shalad's office again, this time as actual patients as opposed to prospective ones. The regime is now in order.

Langly's with me. We're starting to get the schedule for what's going to happen and what we have to do.

I need to keep my eyes on the goal here. If I start concentrating on the process, I'm going to get very, very depressed.

Starting immediately after my next cycle, I get to start taking massive hits of hormones in order to get ovulation to kick into high gear. Just the word "hormones" scares the hell out of me.

I know what I'm like when I have PMS, and I remember what I felt like during my first pregnancy.

I'm not looking forward to this part.

Dr. Shalad says something to the effect that I might feel more emotional than usual.

She has no idea.

Langly crinkles up his brow. "Like, does this mean I can't calendar the cry versus no-cry days?"

I'm going to smack him.

Start the hormones, and then start checking-daily-to determine when I'm ovulating. Then, as soon as I find out I am, I have to race in and have my eggs harvested.

And that's just month one.

I get a small measure of revenge when Langly finds out the first 'donation' he made is far from his last. I do notice him wince a little.

Then comes fertilization. She'll try and fertilize as many eggs as possible. Once she determines that she has viable embryos, then, following ovulation the following month, she'll implant them directly into the uterine lining. She does indicate that the procedure is 'uncomfortable,' which is medicalese for hurts like hell.

And this gets done monthly, for up to six months, until I either have a viable pregnancy or I scream no more.

And we can't have sex for 48 hours before or after she does the implantation, so that's at least four days each month-minimum-that we're out of commission. Plus we have to keep track of when I ovulate and how often we do it and when and blah blah blah.

Welcome to the wonderful world of high-tech medicine.

And it doesn't come cheap. Each implantation is $7,200...this does not include bloodwork, which I'll be having every week (!), office visits (lots of them), and the workups we had (which fortunately our insurance covered, because each one had a comma in the total).

Yes, I can write a check this large. But I have a feeling the first time I write out a check for this, my hand is going to shake. Insurance covers some things-but not the implantations themselves. Of course, they cover the cheaper stuff. Cheaper being relative in this case.

I do some fast math in my head...six implantations, plus the portions of the lab work that insurance won't cover...this baby could easily cost over $50K. And that's before it's even born.

We haven't even got the first prescription for hormones, and I think we're running close to $10K.

I wish I hadn't had to quit smoking, and now, drinking.

Because a margarita sounds very welcome right now.
 

We've gotten in the habit of walking around Tidal Basin after these visits, if you can call twice a habit.

"Ready to scream and run?" I jokingly ask Langly, taking his arm.

He smiles a little, shakes his head. "Nah. It'll be cool. Tough part for me is getting off work."

Yeah, there's that-and what if I'm ovulating on the day I have an exam, or I have to be harvested and there's critical data that needs analysis that day, or Miranda is sick, or our car breaks down...

"Langly? Sweetheart, I have a job for you."

"Thought I had one for you already." He winks naughtily.

"No, babe. This is a real job, and you need to do it soon."

"Okay." He grimaces-he's probably thinking it involves home repairs or domestic tasks.

"Get a damn car."

This makes him giggle. "Yeah, guess I need to do that, don't I? But it's been pretty okay, going in together, and sometimes I can just take the Metro-"

"Langly. Get a goddamn car. This weekend." I have to laugh. "I mean, we already have a vacation paid for-shit, babe. Vacation."

We'd planned to spend my spring break in Cozumel, doing some snorkeling and a lot of other things that don't involve getting a sunburn. He already has the time off from work, and so do I. It was going to be a kid-free vacation, just us, alone...God, I was looking forward to this with a vengeance.

He's contemplating this. "Why couldn't we still do it? I mean, it's not like you've got to be ready to jump every day-"

"No, sweetheart, I do have to be ready to jump every day, and that's the problem. It's the 8th of March. I'll probably cycle sometime in the next five days. After that, then it's anywhere from a week to three weeks before harvest time. This would fall right within the time we'd be in Cozumel. And getting to Dr. Shalad's office from Cozumel, well, I don't think so."

"Guess it would be kind of hard, wouldn't it? Wow. I guess we gotta stay home." He looks momentarily bummed, but he brightens in a hurry. "Hey, this might be the last chance we get to do this. And Cozumel's still gonna be there when we're done, you know. We can go another time."

I'm not handling this with as much equanimity as he is. I love Cozumel. I was looking forward to showing him the reefs, dining alone with no ringing phones or children or various and sundry adults running through our house, soaking up (a little) sun, and...other things.

Especially the other things.

"You okay?" He asks me after a while.

"I'm fine."

"I mean, really, Ally. You okay with all this? Sorry, but you seem kind of hesitant...do you not want this kid?"

Oh, fuck. I really didn't want to get into this. Not right now.

The fact is, I think I'd really enjoy having a baby with him...the idea of the two of us doing this is very intimate. And I love being a mom. I always have.

And he wants it.

I'm just not sure I'm prepared to deal with all the baggage that goes with it. And there's a lot. For some reason, this is sinking into him more slowly than it is for me.

"No. I do want to do this. It's just...Christ, this is work, babe."

"Yeah."

"But it's a chance. And I told you I wanted to do it, and I do." And it's not like I can put it off. I'm not getting any younger, as Dr. Shalad points out approximately every five minutes. She's never taken a patient over 48 years old, and I'm screeching towards that deadline with alarming speed.

Even if this worked on the first time around-a nice thought, but not likely-I'd be 46 by the time this child was born. Hell, the very earliest this baby could come into the world is January 2002. I'd have been 46 for a while by then.

And that's assuming it took on the first shot. If it took the entire six months...I could be damn close to my 47th by the time I gave birth.

I'm starting to feel my age, and I don't like it. The last time I felt old was when Eric died.

I don't like revisiting this sensation.

On the other hand, late-life motherhood might actually be a revitalizing experience. For some people, it's awesome.

He drapes one of those impossibly long arms around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.

For the moment, I push my anxieties down, way down into a place where I hope they'll stay hidden from this point on.
 

MICHAEL:

I need to get out of the house. I've been in lockdown all week, under orders from Dad.

It hasn't been too hard to go along with the program. For a few days, I was so sleepy that I spent most of my time out for the count.

But I feel a lot better today, and I'm getting out.

First I have to get my staples pulled. Not something I'm thrilled about.

I got told before I left for home that I might not want to drive for a while. Seemed kind of stupid at the time.

Besides, I feel fine.

Till I hit the brakes the first time.

Christ, there're muscles there I didn't know I had.

So by the time it's time to get plucked, I'm in agony again.

I should've gone with the plan to pull them out with the staple puller on Dad's desk. I was really gonna do it.

But I wimped. Besides, it was a weird angle to try and work, and I'm right-handed, so it wasn't gonna happen.

Still, this sucks. I have to wait a long time, and if you think the above the waist stuff was bad when I had pneumonia, well, that's nothing compared to this. This is not what guys dream about below the navel.

Getting the staples pulled is a snap compared to the rest of the deal. I mean, like one minute later, they're out. And you don't even feel it.

Just everything else.

I can go back to class, but not work, on Monday-got to wait another week on that. I hope I still got a job, I got to go talk to the coordinator when this is over. Kelly says she's being cool about it. Hope she's right.

And I almost laugh out loud when Bergman suggests I might want to delay any sexual activity for another week or so.

First you have to be getting it to delay it, dude. And getting it, I'm not.

And I'm going nuts from it.

Only thing that keeps me from totally losing it is that Kelly seems to be getting closer to wanting to do it. She's definitely not afraid of being physical with me right now.

And she's seen my scar.
 

I decide I feel good enough to do some work at TMB when I'm done-Dad says take it easy, no rush, but I have GOT to get out. I will absolutely, positively lose my mind if I'm in the house one more day.

And I'm already losing my mind from things I mentioned before.

Dad and the prof are at it when I get there. They both look pretty damn upset.

I ask them what's up-I'm half ready for Dad to light into me about coming here-but he doesn't say anything about that.

Byers has on a new suit. And new wingtips. I think I killed the ones he had on the day I got sick.

And the guy is cool enough not to rat me out. If it was Langly, it'd be all over the satellite network five minutes after it happened.

The prof's been real good to me lately. And seeing him this upset, well, it's not cool.

"Is anybody gonna tell me what's going on here? I mean, I'm not exactly underage here." I like to think 25 is a milestone, makes you have more adult status, which around here, I need.

Byers looks real upset now. "13 Planned Parenthood centers around the country have been bombed in the last 24 hours."

"What? I didn't hear this on the news." And I was listening on my way over. I mean, I've seen the fucking news all week-not like I had much else to do, unless you count my homework.

"And you won't," Dad tells me. His voice is low, angry. "This is being totally buried."

"How the fuck do you bury 13 bombings? Jesus!" It's not like it wouldn't be obvious or something.

"You pass them off as fires. Accidental. And you silence the media." The prof gives the explanation in the tone he probably uses in his classes.

"How do you silence the media on that scale? I mean, no way!"

Dad looks at me, he's like in total despair. "Michael, haven't I taught you anything?"

"Well, yeah, but this just-it's too weird. And how do you know your sources are good?"

"Our sources are good. We have footage. We have proof."

"Fire departments are gonna investigate these."

"And they'll be written off as accidental blazes," Dad echoes the sentiments from the prof.

"Whoever's doing this, they're gonna pay EVERYBODY?!" I'm still having a hard time choking all this down.

"They can. They have the resources. And they have." Byers's mouth is set in this hard line, and you don't see him look like that too often.

"Who has?"

Byers looks at me, he's patient, he doesn't get rattled at me like Dad does sometimes. I'll let him talk. I think Dad's a bit too upset right now.

"The government."

"Who in the government?"

"We don't know that yet. But we know the politics of this administration...and they're not going to go through channels. They're well-funded, they're protected, and they're very morally certain."

"What if it's people on the outside?"

"Then they're instruments," Dad says sharply.

This is really too intense. I'm not sure I can swallow this whole.

Then again, this is the same government that experiments on citizens without their even knowing it.

"You know, Kelly used to volunteer at Planned Parenthood. When she was in high school."

Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Did she, now?"

"Yeah, for two years."

Dad and Byers pass this look between them.

Byers finally shrugs and looks at me. "Do you think she'd mind talking to us about her experiences?"

"I dunno. She'll get home around six. Ask her."

"Coupled with Jo's network of contacts from Catholics for a Free Choice, we can probably get some useful background," Dad says.

Catholics for a Free Choice. They're like this group of religious Catholics that want abortion kept legal, which is sort of a contradiction in terms.

Particularly for Jo. I mean, Jo is way Catholic.

I didn't know this about her. But fact is, I don't know much about Jo. She's a quiet lady. I think that's one of the reasons she and my dad are such good buds. I mean, she and my dad, they can go to dinner for hours, and not say much of anything, but they just like hanging out. And Jo is real respectful to me. She never asks nosy questions about anything. And she doesn't treat me like I suck.

"So what do you want me to do?" I ask the two of them.

Dad and Byers exchange one of those looks again. I'm half expecting Dad to tell me to lay off this. He wasn't real happy the prof has me working on the virus stuff in the first place, and I get the feeling Dad might have let him know it.

So I damn near fall over when Dad hands me a list of groups to check out.

Real work.

He maybe figures I'm old enough by now.
 

Langly's back-I guess nobody puts in much overtime with the new boss he's got. Since they got to be there so damn early, and from what Langly says, the dude is a real clockwatcher. Plus, he doesn't like the guys in his group working on their own.

Wonder why.

He's looking pretty happy when he gets in, though.

"Let me guess. Your boss went into a coma and didn't yell at you all day," I tell him.

"Nah, but that'd be nice. Nope. We're in, me and Ally. It's starting up."

Meaning, they're really gonna try and have a kid.

I don't think the world is ready for a small Langly, personally, but he's totally grooving on this.

I don't know what he's gonna do if it doesn't happen. And from what everyone says, it stands a good chance of not.

He's gonna be seriously bummed.

Better enjoy him while he's in a good mood.

Which is real short-lived when Byers and Dad tell him what's going on. You can kill a good mood in Langly real easy, and they do it in less than five
minutes.

We're all just having this free for all discussion for a while, trying to figure out all the issues and how to go about them. It's noisy and everybody interrupts each other all the time and you wonder how we get anything done around here.

It's our version of an editorial meeting. We never call meetings around here, they just happen.

We're gonna pull Mulder in on the act, too. Mulder's got LOTS of contacts just about everywhere. And apparently Dr. Scully is gonna kill him if he doesn't leave the house soon. She apparently sent my dad an e-mail saying, don't you have some way of keeping him occupied? Like maybe sending him to the Bermuda Triangle? (She was joking on that one-he damn near got himself killed when he did that a while back). He's supposed to be setting up his consulting firm, but apparently he'd rather play with the kids all day long and drive Dr. Scully nuts.

So she wants to send him over to drive us nuts. Which, by the way, he's real good at.

But he's also like, when he gets going on something, he's so fucking focused it's scary. And he gets results. I got to say that for the dude.

I'm just not sure I like the idea of him hanging around here all the time. He does come over sometimes, but I've been kind of away for a while.

But he did bring a case of Sam Adams the last time he was here. And there're a few left, according to my dad.

Beer supply is running down a lot more slow these days. This is because Ally and me haven't partaken.

I think I'll have one before Kelly gets here. I won't drink in front of her, since she's underage, but I'm definitely in the mood for a Sam Adams, 24/7.

Dad says to bring one for everyone.

Jesus. Here I thought I was getting a little status in the world.

Once again, relegated to gofer.
 

Mulder comes over a little later, and we're still hashing stuff out. He's brought the bigger Mulderette with him. I don't think my dad is real happy about that, there's too much stuff she can break around here. And she's a wild woman.

But she sees me, and like I said, I'm her second favorite guy in the world, next to her daddy-okay, so she's got no taste, but she is only 17 months old. I figure by the time she's 13 she'll have figured out how insane he is and she'll ignore him completely. So I pick her up and goof around with her a little.

She is really so cute. I mean, she is a real pretty baby. And smart and fun. She talks a blue streak, and she talks real good. I mean, she can use sentences, not long ones, but she's got the subject-verb-object construction Casey talks about down. And apparently she's a great signer.

She's also pushy as hell. When Rebecca Mulder wants something, you don't stand in her way if you value your safety and sanity.

She takes after her dad in that way, that's for sure.

I got to be careful picking her up-I still am not supposed to be lifting stuff, and she's heavy now, but as long as she doesn't demand a piggyback ride, I'm okay.

Which she does. Normally, I'm a total sap for her, and I'll do whatever she wants, but I tell Mulder I can't do this today, and he knows I just got cut up last week, so he's trying to get her to calm down.

And not doing too well. She's yelling, "Daddy no! Michael! Want Michael!"

He shakes his head. "You the man, I guess."

I tell Rebecca I can't pick her up on my back today, but she can sit on my lap and we can draw on the computer. She decides she can deal with this, and we bring up Paintbox. All this time and I'm trying to catch the discussion and put my two cents' worth in.

I can't draw for shit-Langly's the only one around here that can, and he's good-but Rebecca isn't much of a critic, whatever I draw for her, she thinks it's pretty. I show her how to use the mouse, and she's got these fat little baby hands and she can't do it too well, but she won't let go of the mouse once I show her. She'll die before she gives it up. I try to tell her I'll make her another picture, but she's decided, no way, and she won't let go of the mouse. That chubby little paw is fixed on there like it was Krazy Glued.

They say apples don't fall far from their trees, and this kid is definitely her daddy's little girl.

She must be impossible most of the time.

And she can get anybody to do anything she wants, another talent she inherited from him. When I tell her it's my turn to play on the computer, she just smiles at me, real sweet, and yells "No!"

She will make some man miserable some day, I decide.

Just so long as it's her dad, I can live with that.

The work gets divided up, finally, and we're hitting it a lot of different ways. Dad's gonna take the pro-choice orgs. Byers is gonna work the anti-choice ones. Langly's gonna hit it from the angle of fertility clinics-hey, he's got firsthand experience now, Mulder's gonna talk to the law enforcement and hazard agencies in the towns the bombings occurred. And I'm going to look into the pharmaceutical firms. This was something Langly and Dad and Byers got started on back when Ally's ex-sister-in-law got taken, couple years back almost, but they kind of had to let it go for a while, what with elections and other shit going on. Ally's gonna try and
check what's happening in research labs-she doesn't have a lot of time to spend on this, but she'll help, she always does. And Dad says maybe Jo can help us, and maybe Kelly.

Langly's niece is inside her dad's organization right now. She hasn't produced much for us, but she's trying. We'll keep after her to do this. Dad says maybe Langly should talk to Joan about Roy's businesses. Langly's against this-his sister's still recovering. He doesn't want to bug her. Dad says it's important, and maybe she wants to talk about it. He finally agrees, grudgingly, to ask her when she's a little stronger. She's still going through some chemo, though, which I didn't know. Apparently her transplant got the disease from moving forward, but didn't kill it. She's a long way from out of the woods apparently.

No wonder he wants a kid so bad. He's got like no blood ties left if Joan goes.

Maybe I'm luckier than I thought. My dad is here. My friends are here.

And on the video monitor, I can see my girlfriend at the door.

Maybe it's a shitty time out there, but in my world, hey, it's not so bad.

END OF PART 77