Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG-13. Lots of nasty mouth stuff.

Summary: Eric's unveiling-in absentia. A visit from Frohike's son.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. But the muses let me take them out if I promise to bring them back unharmed. Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television.
 

"Oh Zeus! No god is more beserk in heaven
if gentle folk, whom you yourself begot,
you plunge in grief and hardship without mercy!"

Homer, "The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation, Book 20, Lines 221-223. Used without permission.
 

Nachath
 

October 27, 1999

Ellen left around noon, and I prepared my lessons-very slowly. Miranda and Shelby slept a good portion of the day, and finally Shelby's mother insisted she come home around 3:00. I took the girls in Langly's Mustang-they had taken my Sentra up to NJ, on the basis of its anonymity and its reliability. The Mustang was cute, but not quite as dependable as my nondescript Sentra. The girls, however, thought it was very cool to be driven about in a classic Mustang. Miranda announced that this was the car she wanted to learn to drive in, and I realized with alarm that driving, for her, was a mere 2 years away. I also silently wished her luck arm-wrestling Langly for use of it. I didn't think he'd be any too keen on her acquiring her road warrior habits in his personal vehicle.

"Mom, do you know what today is?" Miranda asked after we had deposited Shelby on her doorstep.

"What?"

"It's been one year since my Bat Mitzvah."

"Jesus." I knew intellectually how much time had passed, but the emotional mileposts were starting to crop up now, and they were smacking me in the face like cold water on a warm day.

"It was a great party, don't you think?"

"It was the best." And it had been.

"Things were really different after my Bat Mitzvah."

Talk about an understatement.
 

Langly had arrived home around 6:00. He had dropped Frohike and Byers at their respective residences.

"You look tired," I said, ruffling his hair with one hand and embracing him around the waist with the other.

"I'm beat. I'm going to bed."

"Now?"

"Yeah. I'm really tired. I gotta go to sleep."

"You feeling all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just need some sleep, that's all."

"Want me to tuck you in?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Bring you something to eat?"

"Nah. I'm not very hungry." Bad sign. Red flags up all over the place. "Where's the birthday girl?"

"Sleeping. I made her some soup and a grilled cheese around 5, and she fell asleep on the sofa."

"Must've been a hell of a party."

"Yeah, it was loud enough."

"So I'm gonna go take a shower. Then you can come tuck me in."

"Sure you don't want anything?"

"Nope. Just my bed. And you." I melted. How come he could make the most awkward turns of phrase sound romantic?
 

I had, after a great deal of struggling, gotten Miranda successfully downstairs and into her bed. I was quite certain she wouldn't wake up again until morning.

I grabbed myself a cup of coffee and wandered into the bedroom, where Langly was already lying down, glasses off, eyes half closed. I sat up next to him and began to stroke his hair, which was still damp from the shower and smelled wonderful.

"Mmm. That's nice," he murmured.

"Missed ya." I ran my thumb along the edge of his cheek.

"Yeah, me too. God, I'm so fucking tired."

"Thought you guys were actually going to get rooms at Motel 6 last night."

"We did. I'm just really beat."

"So how'd it go with Michael?"

"Hard to say. They talked some. Frohike asked Michael to come down soon. I told the little bastard that he could stay at our place, since Frohike's only got a studio, and anyway, this would be kind of like, you know, the demilitarized zone."

"You can't stand the guy, and you invited him to our home."

"Hey, Frohike's done me more than a few good turns. I owe him." He yawned heavily. "Besides, chances are the surly little bastard'll never show. Kid's got a major attitude." I had to giggle. Langly would know about attitude; funny how it wasn't so attractive in someone else. "Speaking of attitude, how's your fellow princess?"

I had to laugh. "I think she wants to be empress. More her calling. She'd make a lousy princess. And so would I."

"No, Ally, you're definitely a princess. You're my princess," he muttered as he drifted off to sleep, one hand on my leg.

Well, okay. I could handle being his princess.
 

October 30, 1999

Langly and I stood in the temple where Dave was the assistant rabbi. I told Langly he didn't have to come, but he decided to tag along, saying that he could handle being late for work. He was still groggy; since he'd been home from NJ, he hadn't gone out to the office at all after coming home, and last night, he'd crashed on the sofa as soon as he got in. I was getting concerned, but stayed silent. I'd give him a few days and see if he got some energy back. If not, he might be facing the ultimate horror, the blood draw. I knew how well that suggestion would go over, so I postponed it. Never let it be said that I seek out conflicts.

"You know the Mourner's Kaddish, don't you?" Dave inquired of me. I nodded in affirmation. He began to recite from the Torah, and I responded where appropriate. You never lose your Hebrew school training, regardless of how big a slacker you are about going to temple.

The whole ceremony took about ten minutes. For me, it was finally time to close the door to my past life and put both feet in my new one. I was glad I came.
 

"That was painless," Langly commented as we exited.

"Well, for me, it was closure. So not painless, but in a way, a relief. It's like it's finally over."

"Guess rituals have their place."

"They do. I need mine." At which point I indulged in my personal ritual of lighting a cigarette.

He looked over his shoulder back at the synagogue. "Not a bad place, actually. Kind of big, though. You want to get married in a place that huge?"

"Not really, I just want a rabbi there, and Dave already said he'd do it wherever we wanted."

"Yeah, he's reasonably cool, for a religious type of guy. Actually, you guys have some cool customs. Like on Yom Kippur is it, you go one day, you don't eat, you say you're sorry for all the rotten things you did that year, and you get to start over again. I mean, what a concept."

"Well, I think the idea is to try and do fewer rotten things each year."

"Yeah, but you get a shot at starting over every year. So if you really have a sucky year, you can say, okay, that's it, I'm starting over. And Hanukkah. I like that you get presents for eight days instead of one. And it's not such a huge commercial racket."

"It's really a pretty minor festival, but it's gotten elevated to a different level because of its proximity to Christmas, and the fact that Hallmark saw a goldmine in it."

"So do I get presents for eight days?" He looked like a little kid. "I am sort of an honorary Jew by association, you know."

"Yes, you'll get presents," I said gently as I took his arm. God, he could be such a child sometimes. "But don't forget that 'tis better to give than to receive."

"How about, better to give and receive?"

"That works. We'll do it up this year, and it'll be fun. You'll see."

He yawned heavily. "Jesus, I can't wake up! This is getting old already!"

"You sure you're okay? Maybe you ought to go home and crash."

"Fuck, I'm already so behind, both at the Pent and at TMB. I'd better get going." He yawned again, then bent down to kiss me.

"Thanks for coming with me, babe. It meant a lot to me." It had.

"No problem. See ya at home."
 

November 1, 1999

Once again, I was grateful for Friday. Hell, I'm always grateful for
Friday.

Another week had passed, and nothing from Lydia, or about her. I hadn't talked about it with Miranda in a while; in order to keep going, she'd put it out of mind in favor of schoolwork, friends, and her new boyfriend Kieran.

"I hate him," Langly announced upon meeting him.

"He's a nice kid, babe."

"He's a teenage boy."

"You were once one, too."

"That's why I hate him."

And so this dialogue went on every time Kieran would call or come by the house, or Miranda would go to visit his house. I shook my head. I wasn't sure Eric would have been this obnoxious.

I picked her up from Kieran's on my way home from seeing Dana and Mulder and Rebecca at the hospital. Rebecca had made a drastic improvement in recent days. She was strong enough to nurse now, and she was gaining weight and breathing on her own. She would probably be able to go home for Thanksgiving.

I'd stopped in after work, and they beamed at their daughter nonstop. Now that Rebecca looked more fully cooked, she showed that she had her father's coloring, but, to Mulder's relief, Dana's nose. She really was getting to be a pretty baby, and my comments to that effect just made them swell with pride. As I left, I whispered to one of the nurses, "That is the luckiest
baby ever born."

"Don't I know it," she agreed.

I saw Byers' car down near the garage, and Langly's parked nearby. He almost never beat me home. I hoped he was all right. Miranda and I retrieved the mail and dragged equipment, schoolbooks, coffee mugs, and the dog into the house. I didn't see Langly on the sofa, his favorite spot as of late, and I made a quick check of the bedroom. He was probably out in the offices.

Miranda raced downstairs to get ready-she was going to dinner with Kieran's family, and they were eating at a nice place, which mandated at least two hours of preparation on her part. Then Shelby would come over and spend the night (and probably the weekend).

I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator-I still wasn't able to deal with my pal Jose after last weekend, but beer was something different-lit a cigarette, and unlaced my boots. Ah, the weekend. I was contemplating strolling out to the offices when I heard the buzzer on the front gate.

"Yes?"

"Is Melvin there?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Melvin Frohike." The voice was surly, impatient.

"He's not here right now. Who's asking for him, please?"

"This is 3826 Sanbourne Road, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Why?"

"Well, I was told to come to this address, so where is he?"

"Who told you to come here?"

"Some tall blonde hippie guy that was with him."

"Is this Michael Frohike?"

"What of it?"

"Well, I'd like to know who's at my gate, for openers."

"It's Michael, yeah. Can I come in and wait for him?"

"Yes." I hit the control for the gate.

I was greeted by the same face Langly had pointed out in Vegas. Same horrible hair, same bad glasses, same bad skin. About the only difference was he had eschewed the shorts he'd worn in Vegas for covering his legs with a pair of jeans that had to be at least two sizes too large. He had a surly countenance, but when I opened the door, something of Frohike rolled off his
tongue.

"Hello, pretty lady."

"Hello. Come in."

"Melvin didn't say he had a girlfriend."

"To my knowledge, he doesn't."

"Then who the fuck are you?"

I am still a redhead, and I still get my temper up. This kid was going to show some manners in my home, or I'd be showing him the door real fast.

"Michael, let's start over here. I'm Allison Gerstein, and I'm the lady of the house. I own this house with my fiance, who is the tall blonde hippie guy you described out there, and his name is Langly. Your father's offices are located on the premises, and we have significantly more space than he does, so my fiance graciously offered you a place to stay at our home.

"Now, while you're in my home, you will treat the people who live and work here with respect. That includes my 14-year-old daughter, whose name is Miranda, as well as my fiance, and your father's coworker John Byers. And if I hear you being disrespectful to your father at any time while your are in my home, I will kick your sorry little ass. Am I clear on this?"

He sulked. "Whatever. Where's Melvin?"

"I don't know. I was going out to the offices to see what was up. You may come with me if you'd like."

He silently assented and followed along several steps behind me. I punched in the security code and turned the keys in the locks.

"Langly, John, we've got company."

Langly peered around his workstation. "Well, well. If it isn't the prodigal son." Michael looked ready to open his mouth with a retort, but I glared at him, and he sulked.

Byers got up and greeted him. "Hello, Michael. Your father isn't here right now, but we're expecting him back within about half an hour. Would you like to sit down?"

"Might as well." He went over to the empty workstation, which happened to be Frohike's, and started to check out the hardware.

If I was going to lecture this kid on manners, I'd better not forget mine. "Michael, do you want something to eat?"

"You should take her up on that," Langly caroled out. "She's a good cook."

"Yeah, okay." He turned around and started to follow me back.

"Hey, Ally," Langly called out, "can you bring out some coffee?"

"Coffee? Okay, sure." Usually he'd want a beer by now, but if he wanted coffee, he could have it.

"So what would you like?"

"Whaddya got?"

"I made lasagna a few nights ago, we still have some left."

"Whatever."

I popped a plate full of lasagna into the microwave and set it to cook for several minutes.

"Care for something to wash it down?"

"Got any more beer?"

"Yeah." I handed him a Dos Equis.

"What is this stuff?"

"Mexican beer, and it's delicious."

"You don't have any Sam Adams?"

"Sorry, no. I grew up in San Francisco and later moved to Los Angeles, and I got hooked on Mexican beer."

"Then how the fuck did you end up in this shithole of a place?"

"I hope you're not referring to my house, because you can leave anytime you want."

"I meant fucking DC."

"Oh. Well, circumstances beyond my control would be the short answer."

"They'd have to be. Who the fuck would want to live here?"

"Actually, I've gotten to rather like northern Virginia. I miss California, but I'm happy here."

He rolled his eyes as if he couldn't possibly conceive of being happy. Maybe he couldn't.

"You live in Newark, from what I gather."

"Another wonderful shithole town. Rent's cheap, though." I stuck his plate in front of him.

"What is it that you do?"

"Internet stuff," he mumbled. He obviously didn't want to pursue this subject. Or any subject. Too bad. He was in my house, and he'd been told to play nice.

He didn't comment, but he apparently appreciated the snack at some level, since when I offered him more, he nodded in assent. Good. Maybe feeding this little brat would make him more agreeable. He downed his second plate without a word, and I drank my beer and smoked in silence.

Finally, I asked, "So what brings you here, Michael?"

"What the fuck kind of question is that?"

"A reasonable one. Answer it."

"Didn't have anything better to do," he muttered. "And Melvin said I could, and so did the blonde dude-what'd you say his name was?"

"Langly."

"I forgot your name."

"Allison."

He got up from the table, having finished his second plate of lasagna, and of course left the plate on the table.

"Excuse me. Plates go in the sink when you're done." I'd have done it ordinarily, but this kid was totally lacking in manners, and I had made it my mission to give him a few. "And when somebody offers you food in their home, you normally say thank you."

He groaned, but put the plate in the sink. I think I heard something resembling a thanks, but I wasn't sure. I guess that was as good as I was going to get right now.

"I wanna go wait for Melvin."

"Fine." I grabbed my keys again, and the thermal carafe of coffee and two mugs, and led him out the back door. Let Langly and Byers cope with this brat for a while.

Miranda ran out the back entryway to her room as we walked outside. "How do I look?" She was wearing a red silk Chinese shirt and a black satin skirt she'd found in the Goodwill store, with flaming red lipstick and black high-heeled sandals.

"Pretty, but maybe a little overdone for dinner. I'd go a little more casual, even if it's a nice restaurant." She sulked. "Miranda, this is Michael Frohike. He's Frohike's son."

The two eyed each other suspiciously. "Hello," Miranda said coolly. He barely grunted an acknowledgement of her.

"And this is my daughter Miranda."

Miranda was annoyed with me for verbalizing my opinion of her attire. "Okay, so you think I'm too dressed up. So what am I supposed to wear?"

"Miranda, it was just a suggestion. Wear what you like." I was not in the mood to cope with the concerns of children at this point. Michael Frohike had seen to that.

I let him in the offices, deposited the carafe and mugs with Langly, and gave him a look that said, "He's all yours." He glared back at me.

"Can I get another beer?" Michael demanded as I was leaving.

"In the refrigerator in the kitchen. Help yourself."

He looked really annoyed. I called out to Byers, "John, do you want one?"

"Yes, I think so," Byers answered back.

"Michael, you can bring one for Byers as well when you come back." I think I heard a muttered 'bitch' as I left. He followed me out again. He opened the fridge, rummaged around until locating the beer shelf, and walked out with one beer.

"You're supposed to take one for John."

He rolled his eyes in disgust, and grabbed another one. Then he turned to me. "You gotta let me back in."

"Try knocking. Once in a while, they answer."

I think he gave me the finger as he walked out again.
 

I heard Frohike pull in a little while later. He was in for a surprise. I hoped Michael would be more pleasant to him than he had been to me.

When all else fails, food. I decided that I could make fettucine alfredo in quantity-it looked like this kid had an appetite to rival Langly's. I went about throwing together pasta, sauce, salad, garlic bread, and found some cake mix. I didn't have a lot of ice cream left, so maybe cake for dessert would go. At least it was chocolate.

Kieran's family came to get Miranda, and I spent about ten minutes talking with his parents-very nice people-and we totally embarrassed our teenage children in the process. Not that that is difficult-our mere existence as parents is frequently sufficient to embarrass them. Miranda gave me the look of death as she exited. I stuck my tongue out at her. So much for
parental maturity.

I went out to the offices and called everyone for dinner. I hoped Michael wouldn't spoil things; when we all ate together, there was generally warmth and comraderie, even when people were in a foul mood. And like all Jewish mothers, I believe a good meal cures all ills.

"My dear, this is lovely. Thank you," Frohike gushed as he sat down.

"Well, it was your birthday last weekend," I reminded him.

"I told you I didn't celebrate, my dear, but thank you for thinking of me."

"It was your birthday?" Michael looked at him quizzically.

"Yes, it was," Frohike admitted with some reluctance.

"Didn't know that. So like how old are you now?"

"55," Langly piped up. I think Frohike wanted to smack him.

This was totally pathetic. This kid had no idea when his father's birthday was or how old he was. What else didn't this kid know?

"How long were you planning to stay, Michael?" Byers inquired politely as he served himself some salad. Food is family style in my house. You serve yourself at the table. I noticed Michael was not timid in terms of portion size. I was grateful I'd made a lot.

"Well...I dunno."

"Don't you have to get back to work?" I inquired.

"Well...I sorta got kicked out of my apartment."

Frohike looked concerned. "How did that happen?"

"Because my roommate's an asshole, that's how."

Frohike nodded, but he looked a bit skeptical. "What exactly is it that makes him an asshole?"

"Fuckrag kicked me out just because I got a little behind on the rent."

Frohike narrowed his eyes. "How far behind?"

"Three months." The rest of us at the table rolled our eyes. Frohike looked aghast.

"And just how did you get three months behind on rent, Michael?" Frohike inquired of his son.

"Didn't have any money. Duh!" Michael looked at him like he was an idiot. My redheaded instincts were having a hard time being kept in check. "What is this, the fucking Spanish inquisition?"

"Michael, watch your mouth," Frohike admonished.

"Oh, right. You're gone for what, 17 years was it, and I come around, and all of a sudden you start thinking you can tell me what to do. I don't think so, Melvin." Michael glared at him.

Frohike was a patient man. "Michael, these are my friends and colleagues. I ask that they be treated with a bit of respect."

"For what? Like what have they ever done for me?"

"Well, for one thing, this pretty lady did make you dinner." He waved his hand at me.

"Yeah." He looked up at me grudgingly, but he did nod in acknowledgement. "It's good."

"Thank you." My voice dripped sarcasm, which I was going to have to contain if I expected to make any headway with this brat.

"And they have welcomed you into their home," Frohike reminded him. He was still gentle and patient.

"Some welcome. Lady here gives me the third degree before she lets me in."

"She's simply being careful, Michael, and she should be." Frohike was doing a pretty good job of keeping cool with his son. I wondered how long it would last. "She did, after all, just meet you."

"She sure spied on me in Vegas."

"Michael, I did not spy on you in Vegas." I hadn't. That had been Langly's doing. "And I'm sorry, but I don't normally let people I don't know into my home. And I barely know you." And from the way you're acting, I don't want to know you any better, I thought.

"So what do you plan to do?" Frohike asked him.

"Well...I was sorta thinking I could stay with you for a while, seeing as I don't have a place to live or anything."

"I see." Frohike was turning this over in his mind. "What about your mother?"

Michael barked a sharp, bitter laugh. "That bitch kicked me out when I was 16. You didn't know that?"

"No, I didn't," Frohike answered quietly. "I wish I had."

"Well, it's not like you were real locatable or anything," Michael hissed at
him.

"So you've been on your own for 7 years," I said.

"Yeah. It's been really great, I'm telling you," he let the sarcasm run off his mouth, along with some strings of pasta. "Cheesy apartments, living in Chez Cardboard Box, it's just been awesome." Frohike looked as if he had been stung by a huge wasp.

"Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't know. And your mother-"

"I don't wanna hear about my mother, okay? That woman's scum. Tell you, it was a relief to get out. All I ever heard was how hard she had to work and how sorry she felt for herself that she couldn't have the nice, easy suburban lawn life she wanted. And all because you didn't wanna bother coming back." He looked hard at Frohike.

"Is that what she told you?" Frohike said softly.

"She said you had more 'important' things to do than to take care of your family."

"Michael, that's not the way it was."

Michael had lost patience. "So how was it then, Melvin? You tell me."

He shook his head. "Michael, this is not the time or place. Eat your dinner, and we'll talk later."

"No, you tell me now. I've waited fucking long enough!"

"Michael, after I went to...prison, your mother obtained sole custody of you and Leslie, and she had put in the divorce papers that because I was a convicted felon, she feared for your safety. I was not permitted to have any further contact with you."

"Liar."

"Michael, shut up and listen," I said sharply. He looked at me with narrow eyes.

"I can show you the court papers, Michael. Did you ever see them?"

"Fuck, no."

"Then I'll be happy to show them to you."

"Like you couldn't change 'em to make 'em look like whatever works for you. Sure."

Langly yawned loudly. "I'm going to bed."

I stood up. "Excuse me, folks." I followed Langly into the bedroom.
 

"Are you really going to bed?" I demanded.

"Ally, please, I'm beat. C'mon. Play nice." He was sprawled on the bed, and he hadn't even gotten his shoes off yet.

"Langly, did you tell this kid he could stay here? Did I understand you correctly the other night?"

"Well, yeah...but I sorta figured he'd like stay the weekend. I didn't know he was gonna come here and figure he could mooch."

"Obviously he misinterpreted your intentions."

"Sor-ry!" He barked. "I was trying to do good by Frohike, okay? I wasn't trying to piss you off, you know." He was really snappish now.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. It's been a sucky day. Did you eat anything?"

"Not very hungry." He sounded raspy again. "My throat hurts."

"Again? Okay, get in bed."

"Tuck me in?"

"Yeah, I'll tuck you in. On one condition?"

"Oh, boy, I can't wait."

"Think you need to see Dana's friend next week."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe. If I'm not better by Monday, okay? But if I'm better, I don't have to." He was whining now.

"Fine. Now get to bed."

"Hey, Ally?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm real sorry about you having to deal with the kid and all. I didn't-"

"Don't worry about it, babe. Now get your ass in bed. Want me to bring you something?"

"Maybe some tea. The kind with honey." He sounded about ten.

"Okay, tea with honey it is." Red flags. Langly only did tea when he was really under the weather. Well, I'd already negotiated health care with him.

"Can you do me a favor?" he whined pleadingly.

"Yes. What is it?"

"I have something to type up out in the office. Can you do it for me?"

Now that was a surprise. "I'll try. Where're your notes?"

"I'll give you the directory name and the files. And the passwords." He had his glasses off and was pulling off his shirt. "I really gotta get this  done, Ally. I'm so tired." He leaned over on me, almost toppling me over. I rubbed my hands over his back, which felt slightly warmer than usual.

"You got any questions, Byers can help you out."

"I'll do my best. One question, though: do I get screen credit?"

He chuckled weakly. "Sure. You can be a guest editor."

I smiled at him. "Imagine that. Ally Gerstein, guest editor for TMB."

He smiled weakly. "Stranger stuff has happened."

Understatement of the century.

END OF PART 32