Rating: PG

Summary: It's ten days till the election...and some people have had it already.

Spoilers: Nah.
 

October 27, 2000

ALLY:

I am so sick of paid political advertising I could scream.

I always hated it, but not the way I do now.

I don't know if Langly et al love it, but they definitely get wrapped up in it. Every ad is analyzed, every campaign scrutinized, every candidate researched until we know what position he does it in and how often.

I'll tell you what I miss about my old life. I miss my faith in the system. I never had a lot, but I used to be fundamentally optimistic about how things would turn out.

I'm a lot less sanguine these days, at least about our political and economic systems.

At least life in the private sector is good, for the most part. I feel strange having lost my mother, but I'm getting used to the fact that she's no longer in this world.

She does not visit me in my dreams. I don't know if I'm sad or relieved.

At least nobody's suffering from oddball viruses this fall, with the exception of Michael, who appears to be suffering from nothing particularly exotic, but he's definitely gotten worse this week.

I know Frohike is worried about him.

I have to say that I'm proud of Michael. He's still a royal pain in the ass most of the time, but he's really working his butt off. He's been very conscientious about work and school, almost too much so. He's got a terrible cold and the cough he's developed is wet and angry sounding. I know he was a brat at Frohike's birthday dinner, but I couldn't even bring myself to be pissed off at him, and I know Frohike was more concerned about him than annoyed with him. Usually it's a combination of both, but when the poor kid was out for the count on our sofa by 9:00, concern won out big time.

I still want the red fuzzy blanket back, though.

I'm surprised Michael's not here yet. Usually he's back on Thursday nights about ten minutes before ER starts. We usually watch it together, since we're the only ones who get into it, although his focus is Kellie Martin and mine is Noah Wyle. What can I say? I like 'em young.

I'm grateful Langly doesn't feel the same way. I'm eight years older than he is, although on grey hair count, he's winning.

This does not make him happy. For once, I think he'd like to come in last.

We're all getting a little grey. Frohike, of course, is already there. I've acquired at least half a dozen new grey strands since our wedding, and Langly's got a lot more than that, but he's blonde so it's not so obvious with him. Byers has gotten a few since he was sick last winter. At least he gained the weight back, and even a tiny bit more since Juliet's been here. Looks good on him, I have to say.

Michael's not grey, but I noticed that after he cut out the dyed portions of his hair for the wedding-at his father's insistence-he didn't bother to put it back in. And I noticed that the eyebrow rings are gone most of the time.

He's actually sort of cute. Not in any kind of boring, conventional way, but uniquely adorable.

I still have calc problems to deal with. I'm not Langly, but I'm doing it.

And when I get stuck, I have plenty of expert assistance.

I'm working on a delta notation problem when Frohike wanders in.

"Have you seen my son yet?"

"Not yet. He's usually here by now."

"I'm aware of that," Frohike responds tartly.

He's upset, and he's worried. Maybe he's upset because he's worried.

"If he comes in here first, I'll tell him to get his sorry ass outside to you ASAP."

"You do that." He takes a sip from his Corona and retreats.

Tetchy, aren't we?
 

MICHAEL:

Kelly's stressing totally.

I drive her to Warrenton-Christ, it's dark out this way! I don't see so great at night.

Warrenton is west of Anniston, Alexandria's north and east.

Might as well be two different planets. Alexandria's this big bedroom for the suits in DC (and a few fringe elements with trust funds). It's like just so suburban.

Not Warrenton. This is rural Virginia. Redneck bars and Pentecostal churches. Rundown houses. Trailer parks.

She tells me where to stop. It's in front of a real shabby looking diner along County Road 24, which I guess is the main drag through beautiful downtown Warrenton.

"I have to talk to my mom and see if I can use her car," she explains to me, as if she needs to.

"This is where you work?"

"Yeah, it is." She slings her backpack over her shoulder. "Thanks for the ride. Here." She digs into her purse and pulls out a few dollars.

I tell her to keep it. I may have actually found someone broker than me in the world.

"Uh, you know," God, I'm so horrible at this, "I do know how to fix cars, you know."

"No, I didn't." She's got the passenger door open.

"Well...we could try and get the part this weekend, cruise some of the junkyards, maybe get it real cheap, and I'd fix it for you."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"I offered."

She chews on this for a while. She really hates having people help her, I can tell.

"I'll pay you for it."

"Just pay for the parts."

"You're sure."

"Yeah, you pay for the parts, I'll do the labor."

"You don't mind?"

"Nah." Actually, I don't love to work on cars, but I can do it, and for Kelly...

Well, if she asked me to run down the street naked in winter, I'd do it.

In a heartbeat.
 

ALLY:

Langly comes in to join me.

"Let me guess. The prodigal son has returned."

"Ah, yeah." He has two Coronas in hand, and I accept one gratefully. "How'd you guess?"

"Because you hate ER and it's still on."

"Well, it was either that or watch dueling Frohikes."

"Scary thought."

The credits for ER come on, and we settle back into the sofa. I close my calc book.

"Lemme see your work." He grabs the book and starts perusing my stuff.

"You could ask first." For some reason, I don't appreciate it when people feel they're entitled just to look at my things just because they're an expert.

Or because he happens to be my husband.

"Hey, it's just math."

"Yeah, but it's my math." He scans my work, shakes his head.

"Well, you've got the correct answer, but the way you did it...it's really weird."

"Works for me."

"Yeah, but don't you remember the way I showed you how to do it?"

"I tried it that way, but it actually took me longer."

"Wouldn't if you practiced."

"But I can visualize it better this way."

"Hey, whatever works for you, I guess."

"Is there something intrinsically wrong with my methodology here?"

"No, not that...it's just...okay, here, show me how you solve x for y."

"You mean, just do a basic algebra problem."

"The first algebra problem everyone ever does."

"Okay, you pick the variables."

He picks two variables, nothing complicated. It takes me roughly thirty seconds to solve the problem. For him, the longest part is just the writing. He probably had it solved mentally in under ten seconds.

He's looking utterly mystified.

"I don't get how you do it this way."

"It's easy for me. And I got the same answer as you."

He's been like this lately. When I told him I was planning to change careers, he was neutral about it-"Fine, whatever you want."

When I first went back to school, he was helpful and supportive. But once I gained my momentum and things began to come back to me, he began to challenge me on everything. He quibbles at me over small stuff. Things like this, and things that never seemed to bug him before we were married, before I inherited money, before I returned to pursue more education.

I don't get it. What's the deal here?
 

MICHAEL:

My dad is real pissed off at me about the car.

"How'd you know it was me and somebody just didn't come and steal it?"

"Because car thieves don't take the keys from the dining room table."

I really need to work on my technique.

Maybe I'd just better take the bus tomorrow.
 

Dad wants to watch Nightline, and it's already 11:30, so we go inside at Chateau Langly. Ally and Langly are on the sofa. She's looking kind of irritated with him.

If I was her, I'd be irritated at him all the time.

Hell, I'm not her and I'm usually irritated at him.

They're arguing over some stat model she built in Dana's lab. He's always bitching at the way she does math. I don't know what his problem is. She knows what she's doing. I've seen her work. It's going on. It's like if she doesn't do it the exact way he thinks it ought to be done, he's on her case. I know he's the math major and all, but she's not stupid.

I don't think he likes her exercising her brains. It's the one thing he can always have over her, he thinks. I mean, let's face it, she's got all the money now. She's cool and she shares it with him and all, but it's her money. She's the one that got named in the will, and under Virginia law, at least according to my dad, it's hers.

I think it bugs the shit out of him. My dad says it makes him insecure. Like she'll get up and leave or something.

Which is totally stupid. She's crazy about him. Even when she's mad as hell at him, you should see the way she looks at him.

He's a moron not to see it.

For a bright guy, he can be pretty stupid sometimes.
 

ALLY:

October 28, 2000

Friday night. Frohike and Jo decided to go eat Chinese food together, but Byers and Juliet are here, and I'm happy to see them. I haven't really spoken to them all week, and I missed them. Joan's here, too.

Joan looks like hell. She's trying to divorce her miserable excuse for a spouse, but he's contesting. She's been deposed three times since filing, and in addition to challenging her in court, he's been harassing her, both in person and through members of his camp or right-wing aides. She had to be moved to a new school in her district because there was so much disruption by people in his entourage, entering the school and disrupting her classes and generally making life hell for her. So far she hasn't been located by them, but it's only been a few days, and she's pretty upset. She teaches special ed, and she feels that breaking up teacher continuity at this point in time is especially hard on her students. She's trying to get used to her new class, and they're trying to adjust to her.

She didn't have a good week.

She's been with Jo since before our wedding in May. It was only to be a temporary arrangement, but the two of them get on well, and so far, she hasn't been harassed at Jo's. Her home is hard to find, and Joan has taken to varying her routes and routines as much as possible, although with her job, her life is pretty circumscribed.

And she needs the job, because it looks like she won't see anything from her ex.

At this point, she doesn't care. She just wants him-and his cronies-to leave her alone.

I'd like that, too. They've been to our house a few times.

I'm seriously beginning to rethink my position on assault weapons.

Miranda is not always on the happiest of terms with the man she refers to as "O Wicked Stepfather," but she's always happy with Joan. She and Shelby both click with her.

This is a good thing to have tonight, Aunt Joan hanging with us, because both boyfriends are here, Jesse, who's seeing Miranda, and Kevyn, who's currently attached to Shelby. They're perfectly nice kids, as 16-year-old boys go.

Langly hates them. And he normally won't pass up a chance to bust on them. He tends to go a little lighter when Joan is here, though, and that's helpful.   Less bloodshed later on.

Michael's here as well. He's pretty damn quiet. I don't think he's feeling well; he hasn't even gone for a beer yet. On a normal Friday night, he'd be well on his way to feeling no pain by now. He'd at least have picked an argument with someone by now. I check in the living room and he's lying on the sofa, snuffling and coughing away.

I ask him if he wants anything and he says no. He's got the dinosaur blanket pulled up around him, looking as though he died and someone forgot to bury him.   I'd go over and sit by him, maybe see if he's feverish, but he doesn't like to be touched. At least I know he doesn't like to be touched by me.

Byers, Juliet, Joan, Langly and I are all hanging at the kitchen table, our usual spot. Why do people gather in my kitchen? It's not that big, and when the crowd is more than Langly, the girls and me, we have to eat in the dining room. But while I'm cooking, or just standing around before dinner, everyone seems to crowd into here. Only after dinner will people generally
venture into the living room, which has better light, more comfortable seating, and a hell of a lot more space.

Must be the second shelf in the fridge. That's the beer shelf. And from almost anywhere in the kitchen, it's easy to reach. Right now we're not too far along, we've only got six empties on the table. It's sort of a tradition, we pile up the empties as we drink them.

Sometimes it's the only way we know how much we've had.

It's wonderful to have so many good people in our lives, but there is one thing I miss from the old days (i.e., approximately two years ago).

Bridge.

It's been a long time since it was just Langly, Byers, Frohike and me at the card table. And we were getting pretty good at the game for a while. With more people now, it's not possible to do a four-sided game like bridge. The card games are still there; it's mostly poker, draw or stud, depending on who's calling the game, sometimes it's gin or even Go Fish, if we're all
really drunk and feeling silly.

We don't have enough for two tables. Juliet knows the game somewhat and wants to play, but with Joan here, that'd be rude. Jo and Michael don't play. Dana and Mulder are generally unavailable, and only Mulder plays. The girls have no interest in learning.

I really need a good game of bridge. It's about the only time I feel close to my mother. On the two occasions I've played since her death, I had a wonderful time remembering all the things about her that were good.

Mulder says I feel guilty. Of course I feel guilty. What kind of Jewish daughter would I be if I didn't feel guilty?

It's probably the only daughterly thing I ever did properly, and even that's up for discussion.

The talk is, of course, of the election. It's not a happy subject.

According to our pundits, we're about to get somebody to the right of Ronald Reagan. I keep hoping they're wrong, but David Kneller, the conservative Republican candidate, has a huge lead over Dick Gephardt, the Democratic contender.

And these guys, as much as it makes me squirm to admit it, are usually right about these things. They're careful and smart. They do their homework.

They were saying that Kneller would take the election back when he was a dark horse candidate in the primaries. I scoffed.

I'm not scoffing now.

Maybe I'm just nervous because being with paranoid people, who have parlayed their paranoia into publication, has rubbed heavily on me. Much more than I ever imagined it would.

Two years ago this week, I buried my first husband.

My life has irrevocably changed since.

I have changed.

I would have blanched at the notion of a motion-sensor fence around the property, five locks on every egress, and an alarm system that puts the average corporate system to shame. Now it just seems...well, prudent. I no longer wince when Ellen or Mulder walk in with their firearms present. It's just part of who they are.

And I don't discount the paranoia that surrounds my husband and his partners in crime. I used to. I don't anymore.

But that paranoia, thankfully, has not ruled out the possibility of loving relationships with good people. If anything, it may have enhanced them. I trust these people who live in my life, clutter my kitchen, eat up my time and my groceries, crowd my thoughts. I love them and I wouldn't trade them for anything, not even some of the most horrible moments I've endured with
them and because of them.

And I've been lucky. Being with Langly has been like getting the bonus round. I truly have been twice blessed, as my mother reminded me.

So why am I so uneasy tonight?
 

Dinner is served. It's chicken-it's almost always either chicken in some form or pasta in some form. You can serve those things in vast quantities without totally going bankrupt, a very important consideration when you normally have extra mouths.

Personally, I don't care how broke I might ever be. There will always be enough to feed my loved ones, no matter how many of them there are. Even if I have to serve Spam.

Well, okay. The idea of serving Spam is probably too extreme. But maybe if you hide it under enough rice...

I call Michael. He's fallen asleep. I debate as to whether I should wake him or let him be and fix him a plate for later. I opt to let him sleep; he's obviously tired and he's a lot sicker than I'm comfortable with. Frohike and Jo weren't even going to go out when they saw how he looked, but he said he'd be all right on our sofa, and I promised Frohike I'd notify him if it looked like Michael needed him.

I have the phone number of the restaurant they're at. Shades of those rare occasions out Eric and I had when Miranda was little. Parenting truly is forever.

I brush my fingers over his face. He's warm, all right.

And he sleeps right through my touch, instead of jumping awake, imagining he's been bit by a rat or something.
 

Juliet seems uneasy tonight as well. She's drinking, but she's not getting in the spirit of the spirits, so to speak. Juliet is not usually quiet, but tonight she's barely said ten words. I wonder if she and Byers are arguing. He seems fine, though. When they've argued, usually both of them are miserable. He seems concerned about her, but he's in calm form himself.

I wonder, are we the women missing something here?

Byers and Langly are holding most of the dinner conversation. Joan's listening, politely, but after a while, she surprises me by asking her baby brother to please leave politics alone for a while, which is as close as she ever gets to telling him to shut up. Normally she adores her kid brother and will listen to him long after I've put on a polite expression and let my mind wander off into Greek poetry or RNA stats or how much laundry is piling up in the basement.

Don't get me wrong, I adore him as well. It's just that I've never done a presidential election year with the Gunmen. Trust me, it's not for the faint of heart.

And I thought it had been bad when Bill Clinton was forced to resign. That was just the warm up, looking at it in retrospect.

And at least Langly is leaving the boyfriends alone tonight. There is something good to be said about the situation. And with Michael in the living room asleep, the two boys are likely to come through the meal unscathed. Langly and Michael have their differences, but they also egg each other on, and the results can definitely fall into the realm of not pretty. They're a lot like two brothers who love each other terribly and have an enormous rivalry occurring simultaneously. This seems to center on
who can get dear old Dad's attention. Langly was used to having it for years from Frohike, very possibly the only father figure he's ever had-certainly the only decent one. Then Michael appeared, literally, on our doorstep, and now he's had to vie with a younger sibling, and a very needy, immature one at that.

I have to remind myself that Michael is 24 years old. He looks much younger, and he acts it as well. The only thing that alerts me sometimes is the fact that like dear old Dad, the five o'clock shadow kicks in early.

Otherwise, this is a kid who desperately needs some parenting before he can grow up.

Fortunately, Frohike's good at this. The man was born to be a dad. I've heard the tales of what my husband was like before Frohike and in the early years of their relationship.

Frohike put a lot of effort into him, and it paid off. Langly is still a brat-I think that's genetic in this case-but he's a grown up brat now. He's responsible and kind and caring. And he has not only taken on full responsibility with my daughter, but also with her friend, who is living with us because of the nature of her circumstances, which can truly be defined as tragic.

Show me ten men who would do that with open arms. Bet you can't.

But he's still a pain in the ass sometimes.
 

Juliet and Joan offer to help me clean up. I think they're sick of all the speculation and inside information on the election.

I was thinking that Juliet might say more when it was just the femmes fatale, but she stays quiet. I ask her what's wrong, sotto voce.

"Let's go outside after dinner and have a smoke."

Meaning: I need for John not to hear this.
 

END OF PART 9