Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: Maybe not the happiest Christmas Day ever. But not without its blessings.

Spoilers: Little ones everywhere.

Disclaimer: Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television. Go ahead and try to sue me-I'm worth about 25 cents, and that's before taxes.
 

"Now look at me baby
Struggling to do everything right
And then it all falls apart
When out go the lights..."

"Brilliant Disguise" by Bruce Springsteen. Copyright 1987. Used without permission.
 

Merchaq
 

December 25, 1999

I showed Langly where the photo album containing Miranda's Bat Mitzvah photos was, and the envelopes containing the candids taken by some of the guests. He took them silently and turned to leave for the office outside.

He stopped for just a moment and gave me a cool blue stare. "Ally." The tone was cool, distant, not affectionate. I felt chilled.

"Yes."

"Don't ever lie to me again. Ever."

The end game of our discourse had left me feeling dispirited and tired. I wanted to protest that I hadn't lied, that I simply hadn't given him all the information, but it would be pointless-there were such things as sins of omission. Although I'd known he'd be upset, I was rather taken aback by his interpretation of the events, and shaken by his accusation that I'd lied to him.

You forget, Allison, I told myself, the guy is paranoide extraordinaire. You had to expect that to spill over into his personal relationships, didn't you?

And for God's sake, he's not Eric. He does want to know the details. He doesn't want protection from them. The only thing he wants protection from is loneliness.

I finally began to see that in spite of his issues about abandonment, his paranoid outlook, his irritability and at times social ineptitude, my guy was a pretty tough cookie. He wasn't fragile. He didn't break under the weight of the truth of matters. He was smart, funny, resilient, protective and loyal. I owed it to him not to keep the details to myself anymore.
 

"I came to apologize," I announced softly, letting myself into the offices.

"Uh-huh." He was busy at the computer, enhancing a section of a photograph. I sat down beside him. He didn't look up, and I stayed silent.

"I'm sorry," I said finally, very quietly.

He stopped for a moment and looked at me, eyes neutral. "You lied to me." There was no emotion in the voice, just a bare statement of fact.

I didn't think he was being entirely fair, but I didn't want to argue with him anymore; I'm generally averse to conflict, and I wanted this one resolved.

"I'm sorry, and I'm not going to repeat the performance."

"Uh-huh." He was still not giving it up. He clicked away at the keyboard, gave up on one photo, and inserted another into the scanner, waiting for it to finish creating the image on the screen.

"Langly. I don't want to argue about this."

Finally I got his attention. "And you think I do? Jesus fuck, Ally."

I didn't respond to that; maybe he didn't want to argue, but he didn't want to concede, either.

"Trust, it's fragile, Ally. You pull shit like this, you make it real hard." He looked at me squarely this time.

"It shouldn't be that fragile," I said softly.

"Well, it is."

"I trust you," I said tenderly.

"And I trust you, too. But when you don't tell me stuff...I mean, I don't think I expect you to tell me every single minute of your life."

I could have taken issue with that, but I didn't.

"I do expect you to tell me when weird shit happens. And this dude, Ally, this definitely constitutes weird shit."

"I don't want him around anymore than you do," I assured him.

"Yeah, well, we need to know when he pops up. And we have to let Mulder know on this one."

"Why do you think?"

"Because. This guy's had it in for Mulder for a long time. There's some weird history in there."

"Does this have anything to do with the story you told me when you told me about my grandpa?"

"Yeah."

"In what way?"

"I think we need some DNA to prove that one. But we've got it on pretty good authority that Mulder's mom was banging this guy sometime around the time Mulder would've been conceived."

"What sort of authority?" This sounded like it could be true-or could be in the realm of malicious gossip.

"Well, there's a lot of weirdness between Mulder's mom and the smoking bastard, for one thing."

"There's a lot of weirdness between a lot of people, and it doesn't mean they've slept together."

"Maybe. But I don't know if you know, about Mulder's little sister-"

"I was given a short synopsis of it in the paperwork I received. She disappeared when he was twelve?"

"Uh-huh. He was looking for her up to a couple years back."

"Then what happened?"

"He found her?"

"Yeah."

"That's great!"

"Yes, no, maybe. She...she really doesn't want to deal with him."

"That's too bad. Maybe someday?"

"Could be."

"Okay, it's weird, really weird. But what's the real deal here? I mean, okay, Mrs. Mulder is boffing somebody other than her husband. Reprehensible, but not all that unusual. She gets pregnant. Her husband suspects the kid isn't his. Life is hell. It's a shitty life, but what is all the weirdness?"

He stopped typing, which was unusual; as I've mentioned before, he and I can both type and talk, and we've noticed not many people can do that.

"Okay. Mulder's little sister disappears. Why?"

"I have no idea. Somebody's really pissed off at Mulder's dad or mom? Or both?"

"There were...experiments being conducted, starting in the mid-50s. What year were you born, by the way?"

I giggled. "Here, you're a math major. 1955."

"That was the first year they found files on genetic experimentation that was being performed all over the country."

"What...kind of genetic experiments?"

"It's still being determined. But it looks like they used smallpox vaccinations as a vector. Did you ever get one?"

"Still have the scar." It was on my upper arm. "You? You weren't born till '63."

"Yep, I've got one. Sad but true."

"So what were they doing with these reams of data?"

"We're not sure. There was this digital tape...it contained all the information about the testing and stuff. We tried to help Mulder get hold of it, but all we got was an empty cassette case." He groaned. "And I almost killed myself trying to ice skate while we were doing it."

"You don't skate?" I hadn't been rollerblading in a while, but I just figured he'd know how to do it, so if I asked him, we'd just go. Sometimes you learn a little useful information.

"Nope. Learned to ski instead."

"Downhill or cross-country?"

"Both."

"I'm impressed. I never got off the bunny slopes."

That made him giggle. "So I'm not likely to get you to join me on a double black diamond hill then?"

"Not unless you're looking for a quick way to kill me." We both laughed; I relaxed a little. "I can rollerblade, though."

"I'd probably kill myself on blades."

"You wear padding, babe."

"Does it come in a body stocking?" We both laughed more easily this time.

"So this tape. Who's got it now?"

"We'd like to know. We think this dude named Krycek has it. Or had it, anyway."

"Who is Krycek?"

"Used to be a Fibbie. Now a free agent. We don't know who he works for. I think he mostly works for himself. Adam Smith's principles taken to an unnatural extreme."

"Charming guy."

"Not. He's a nasty bastard. Avoid."

"I wouldn't know him if I fell on him."

"Here, let me show you what he looks like." He exited his current file and went back to the directory tree. A few minutes later, he'd brought up a photo of a rather normal, nice-looking brunette.

"So this is our bad guy. Too bad. He's sorta cute."

I got a wicked glare for that remark. "But you're way cuter," I assured him.

"He's bad news."

There was a loud banging on the door. Probably Miranda, wondering what the hell we were doing. I got up, checked the spyhole, and saw that it was Michael, not Miranda. I undid the locks and punched in the security code.

"You're back early," I commented. "How's your dad?"

"Don't fucking ask," he snarled. "Bastard told me to get the fuck out!" He sounded angry, but examining the green eyes behind the glasses, I could see that there was a hint of tears welling back there, only barely managing not to escape.

"Michael, I doubt very much that Frohike told you to get the fuck out, at least in those words," I said gently.

"He told me to go," Michael said dully. "Said he didn't want anybody hanging around."

"Well, he said 'anybody,' not just you." I was trying to be reassuring and not being very successful at it. "It's probably really tiring for him to have company right now."

"I'm not company!" Michael protested. "I'm his kid!"

"Yeah, well, you weren't for a long time," Langly interjected. I could have smacked him.

"Langly, he is Frohike's kid," I reminded him.

"Yeah, and probably the reason he had a heart attack," Langly muttered, looking at the computer screen.

"What did you say?" I demanded sharply. "Michael, go in the house. I'll be in in a few minutes." Michael actually complied.

I spun Langly's ergonomic chair around and forced him to face me. "What the fuck did you mean, making a remark like that?"

"Well, Frohike was fine until that little brat showed up!"

"Langly, how do you know that this wouldn't have happened anyway? He wanted to be in contact with Michael. It was a really harsh thing to say, Langly." And my voice wasn't any kinder.

"Yeah, he wanted the kid to be around. And we're stuck with him."

"You invited him!"

"I didn't think he was gonna be around forever!" This was the loudest I'd ever heard Langly raise his voice. "God, I could kick myself for telling him he could come here!"

"Little late for that now," I said sharply. "He's here. And you're not a very welcoming host most of the time."

"Jesus fuck, Ally, how welcoming do I have to be? I let him live in our house, he eats up our food, drinks up our beer, and he'd better not have any 976 numbers on the house phone or I'm gonna fucking kill him!"

"What do you mean, 976 numbers on the house phone?"

"I picked up the mail at our box a few days ago, and we got the phone bills, and the little fucker ran up over $400 in 976 charges! I'd like to know who's going to pay for that!"

"I'm sure Frohike will make him work it off."

"Yeah, right."

"Well, like father, like son."

Langly looked up at me and blinked. "Hey, Frohike at least charges his to Mulder's work phone."

"That's rude."

"Hey, Mulder never bitches. Unlike most of us, he's got an expense account. Plus he used to make good use of phone sex himself, before Scully decided she'd jump him."

"I think you should apologize to Michael."

"No fucking way." He was about to enter into the Stubborn Zone. "Kid's a worthless brat, even if he can do a fairly clean hack."

The obvious began to dawn on me-late, as it always does. "Langly babe, I think you're jealous of him."

"You're mental."

"Am not," I was still laughing. "You're acting like a jealous older sibling when a new one comes along."

"Well, you would know, I wouldn't."

"Yeah, I would know." I was still laughing. "I used to get the same way whenever another brother got added to the stable. You know I tried to kill my first brother several times before he was a year old? I pushed him down a flight of stairs one time, I fed him my dad's cigars, I poured juice over his mouth and nose-"

"No wonder the guy's such a fuckup." Langly's mouth curled into a small smile, but it didn't quite get the eyes sparkling.

"I don't think Dan's a fuckup. Greedy, obnoxious, pompous as hell, but a fuckup? Don't think so."

"He may not be a fuckup, but from what you tell me, he is totally fucked up."

"Okay, I won't argue that. But not all my brothers are fuckups. Jason's pretty cool. In fact, he'll be here Friday. You gonna let me drive my own car so I can get him and Anne?"

"What time do they get in?"

"8:05 p.m."

"I can get 'em on my way out of DC. They coming into National?"

"Yep. Why can't I get them?"

"Because I have to work that day, you don't, and I'll have your car."

"Are you ever going to put yours back together?"

"I'm trying to. I keep getting derailed."

"Michael said he'd do it."

"Michael should fix his own first."

"An '82 Honda Civic with more dents than not dents in it? I think he's going to junk it."

"Then tell him to hurry the fuck up and get it out of the yard. It's not like we don't need the space."

"I've mentioned it to him, but I'll remind him again." I did want that hideous orange piece of shit out of the yard in a big way. Bad enough we looked like a used car lot. I didn't need the place looking like a junkyard as well.

"Maybe you should let him do it. It's not like you're exactly swimming in free time."

"No, I'm not."

"Think about it, anyway."

"He'll probably insist he gets to drive it."

"I believe that was one of his conditions, yes."

He rolled his eyes, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his nose. He looked tired. "I'm telling you, he ever barfs in it...I will kill him. Slowly and painfully."

"I'll hold him down," I smiled at him, and he actually grinned back.
 

I knocked on Michael's door. "What?" The voice was surly, but shaking. It sounded as if he might have been...crying?

"Michael, it's Allison. May I come in?"

"Whatever." He undid the lock. I stepped into a mess that, if it was at all possible, was in excess of the disaster that was Miranda's room. He didn't look at me.

"Michael, I'm sorry about what Langly said to you...sometimes he doesn't watch his mouth." An understatement if there ever was one.

"I don't get it. I try to be decent to the guy. Why does he hate me so much?"

"I don't think he hates you, Michael. I think he's jealous of you."

That got Michael to look up sharply. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Michael. From all indications, your dad has been the only father figure Langly's had since his own dad passed on. Which was when he was twelve, by the way. And he's 36 now, so it's been a long time for him."

"Yeah, well, it was a long time for me, too!" Michael shot back.

"Michael. I think if there was any way your dad could have stayed near you, been with you and your sister, then I really think he would have. He takes fathering very seriously."

"Well, why didn't he look for me before?"

"I don't know for certain, but I believe with his...conviction, your mother received sole custody, and she did not want him to be able to see you and your sister. Maybe you should ask to see the divorce papers."

"I bet my dad wouldn't show me."

"I bet he would." And I was pretty certain of it. "You're certainly old enough."

"I s'pose I could ask him. 'Cept right now, he's not very friendly."

"Michael, my mother suffered a heart attack about 7 years ago. And she was hell on wheels-well, she's always hell on wheels, but she was just unbelievably nasty afterwards for a while. She'd say some really hurtful things to me. It's a really scary thing, running into your own mortality that way. And it's not like your dad's incredibly young. He's 55 now-fairly young for a heart attack, but not exactly the bloom of youth. I think he's mostly scared."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't want me around."

"Actually, I think he does. He let you stay last night, didn't he?"

"Yeah. We watched movies and got drunk. Well, I got drunk. He only got a little drunk."

"We invited him to come over, but he didn't want to. I was actually going to ask him to come over later."

"He won't come." Michael sounded very young and very sad.

"Maybe it's just too much right now. He's also really tired. I can't imagine how tired he is. I mean, I only broke my arm and had a really mild concussion, and I've been exhausted."

"Yeah, how's the arm? Can I sign your cast?"

"Sure."

"Got a marker?"

"Upstairs. I don't know how you can find anything in here, Michael. This place is scary."

"Hey, it's not that bad. You shoulda seen my last apartment."

"I think I'm happier not having had that experience. By the way, I think Langly'll let you reassemble the Mustang."

"You think?" He looked skeptical.

"I brought it up. I think you should talk to him."

"Maybe." But he had perked up some. "Al'son?"

"Yeah."

"D'you think my dad could, like you know, have another heart attack or something?"

"Well, I suspect he could. But my mother hasn't had a relapse. They do a lot better with heart attacks these days. The drugs are a lot better."

"Yeah, my dad's taking enough of 'em."

"Really?" I hadn't thought of that. "Could be part of the reason why he's so down and out."

"Maybe." Michael didn't sound convinced. "I just...you know, I just got him back. I don't want him to go away again, 'cause then..."

I leaned over and put my arm around his shoulder, and he didn't pull back. "Hang in there, Michael. And as for Langly, just be a little tactful, okay?" Langly wasn't, but it would smooth things a lot if Michael was. "Langly's really a great guy, and he's a tough one, but he...he gets his feelings hurt kind of easily, and sometimes, I'm not even sure why." Understatement of the year. "Look, why don't you just hang out for a while. I'm going back to go see the man, and we'll have dinner later. You can call your dad and ask if he wants to come, although I suspect between having been sick and his aversion to holidays in general, he may not. I mean, he made me promise not to celebrate his birthday. Speaking of birthdays, when's yours?"

"March 2."

"I'll have to calendar that. Let me go deal with my man, and later on, you should go talk to him about the car. Okay? Now you did promise you'd sign my cast."
 

"Ally, c'mere." I had returned to the offices, where Langly was still clicking away.

"You find something?"

"Come and see this." He had enhanced a section of a candid shot, taken by one of the guests, of several people standing near the entryway to the temple's reception area. He'd blown up and enhanced the faces of the individuals. He pointed to a man's face in profile. To me, it looked grainy but...

I shivered. Langly looked at me.

"Looks like you had some party crashers."

I stared harder, leaning in closer. Oh fuck. Him.

"Not that I blame him for trying to crash it," Langly commented as he manipulated the image. "From the pics, looks like it was a real good party."

"Well, there was plenty of liquor, but this guy's not holding a drink. Or a cigarette. But the face..."

"Your temple nonsmoking?"

"All public buildings in California are."

"He probably didn't stay long. Where's he standing right here?"

"There're some doors from where you go from the sanctuary to the reception hall. He's right by them." I was trying to picture my old synagogue in my mind, and having a harder time than I would have expected.

"Could you get out and have a quick smoke?"

"Real easy. I went out that door a few times."

"And you didn't see him when you were out smoking?"

"No. Mostly it was women who smoked. We'd go out and all have a cigarette together. Only a few guys smoked, and I didn't really smoke with them."

"All the doors open at the temple?"

"Anybody could have walked in and joined the party, and I'd never have known it. Which apparently they did and I didn't."

He turned serious. "He was there, Ally. He was trailing you guys. He had Eric killed. I'm sure of it." His expression became wistful. "You guys looked really happy in those pictures."

"We were. But Langly?"

"Yeah?"

"That was then. This is now. And I plan to be happy with you for all the rest of my mortal days."

He draped an arm over my shoulder. "Just make sure you tell me if this guy bugs you again."

"I will." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "Langly, you really think this guy had Eric killed?"

"If it wasn't him, it was somebody."

"Can you find out?"

"I've been trying, girl. It's weird. Like, this truck struck him, and he hit the center divider-the impact from that was what killed him, Ally, and it was probably at least real quick-but one of my buds does accident reconstruction, and he says the whole thing looks really bizarre."

"You think it had to do with the letter from Godzilla."

"Pretty damn sure of it. Somebody wasn't happy with your former husband's little escapade."

"And you think it has something to do with this guy."

"Yeah, I do. I doubt he did the dirty work, though. I think this guy knows how to delegate."

"Wonderful. You know, babe...this must be really weird for you to work on...I mean, knowing he was married to me and all...I'll tell you, it's hard for me to listen to."

"You were with him for 20 years. We owe him."

"We?"

"Yeah, he trained you well. Who else would pick up after me?"

I slugged him with my cast.
 

I was sticking premade dishes from Maggie Scully in the oven, and Langly was actually trying to be marginally helpful-emphasis on marginally here. He was mostly leaning against the counter, sipping a beer.

"Can you set the table?" I asked.

"Don't know how."

"Langly. Set the damn dishes down, put the silverware next to the dishes, put the glasses up in front of the plates, and put the salt and pepper and butter out. It's not rocket science."

"Looks better when you do it."

"It's not going to look better when I drop all the dishes and break them."

"Okay, okay. How many?" The count changed nightly.

"Four."

"Frohike's not coming?"

"'Fraid not."

"Bummer. Dude can't just hang around the house all day."

"Cut him a little slack, babe."

"So Michael's eating?"

"Yeah. He signed my cast."

"So what'd he write? Let me see." Langly started pushing back the sleeve of one of Byers's former shirts, now mine-I might never give these up, I thought. The man can do laundry. Everything was soft, clean and in good condition when I received it.

"That's what he wrote?! Little bastard!"

"No worse than what you wrote," I grinned at him.

"Hey, I was complimenting you."

"I know. How do you think you got away with putting on there what you did?"

I had a very-well, unusual collection of cast graffiti. Byers had signed just before he left, and he did a basic, kindhearted "Ally-get well soon. Love, John." That was the first-and last-civilized remark made. Frohike had signed it, "You're beautiful even in a cast. Use it to your advantage with that loser you're marrying." From Miranda: "What a faker! What some people won't do for a little attention! Love, Miranda." From Shelby: "You sure you weren't trying to get out of taking care of us? Love, Shelby." And from Langly: "Warning! This is an erotic device! Every woman should have one. Best sex I ever had. Love, RPL." Joanna had simply put her name on, as had Mrs. Scully. There was hardly any room left for any other memorabilia I might collect. Michael had put on, "Casts look good on sex goddesses. Looks good on you. Michael." I had cracked up when he put that on. He was certainly his father's son.

"Don't think you could argue that the sex hasn't been great," he leered.

"Oh, it has. Why do you think I keep you around?"
 

We'd just finished dinner; I made Miranda and Michael do the dishes. They protested, but they did comply. I grabbed two Carta Blancas from the fridge, handed them to Langly, and he popped the lids.

"You owe me several weeks of opening my beers," he announced upon handing one to me.

"Hey, if you're keeping score, I think I'm way ahead of you."

"Ready for some cards?"

"What's the game?"

"How about gin? We could do that with four."

"Not sure if the kids want to play. We could ask. Or we could do Go Fish."

"For money?"

"No, not for money! It's Go Fish!"

"Yeah, but I win at Go Fish."

We were interrupted by a ringing phone. It was on one of the end tables; I got up and grabbed it. I noticed I'd stopped freaking out so much when it rang.

"Mrs. Gerstein?" Male voice I didn't recognize. I went cold.

"Yes?" I was tempted to say that Mrs. Gerstein was my mother-in-law, but this guy's voice wasn't carrying a lot of humor to it.

"This is Sergeant Lorensen at the Alexandria Police Department." I must have turned ten shades of pale. "Are you acquainted with a Shelby Roberts?"

My heart hit the ground. "Yes. She's my daughter's best friend."

"She indicates that she spends a great deal of time at your home."

"Yes, she does. She's always welcome here. What's the problem?"

"Well, we have a...situation where she needs to be picked up."

"Oh, shit. What happened?" Shelby? In trouble? And why was I being called?

"She apparently has no relatives in the area...we're trying to make contact with her sister in Los Angeles, but so far, we haven't been able to...the alternative is that she goes to foster care..."

"What are you talking about?" I was less polite in tone than I'd intended. "Where're her parents?"

"Well, the problem is that Mr. Roberts was shot by his wife."

"WHAT?!"

"Mr. Roberts is currently on life support in the Alexandria Hospital. Mrs. Roberts is being processed right now."

"Uh-huh. Where's Shelby?"

"She's here. We had to get a statement from her."

"Does she have a lawyer?"

"She doesn't need one right now."

"I disagree."

"What she needs right now is to be picked up. Are you willing to take responsibility for her?"

"Well, yeah, of course." Like I don't already, I thought. "How is she?"

"I think you should come and get her as soon as possible," Sergeant Lorensen instructed. "When can we expect you?"

"We'll leave now." I motioned to Langly as I snapped off the phone.  "C'mon, babe, time for a road trip."

"Where're we going?"

"To get Shelby. Alexandria PD."

"What the fuck-"

"It's not her, it's her parents. I'll tell you in the car."

END OF PART 46