Rating:

Summary:

Spoilers:
 

Kelly wants me to call her, so I will.

Unfortunately, her mom's asshole boyfriend picks up and gives me shit and won't put her on until she just about grabs the phone out of his hands.

I hear a lot of muttering and swearing behind her. And I think I hear them say her name, which makes me feel real bad.

She doesn't deserve this. Maybe my dad doesn't think she's got feelings, but she has to.

Maybe she's just good at numbing herself up.

A talent I wish I had.

Doesn't seem to be in the Frohike DNA, though.

She says she's been trying to read, but Troy and her mom have been arguing and they're in their 'normal condition' as she puts it, meaning they're wasted, and it's been real hard. She's thinking she might sneak up the road to Fairfax and hit Shoney's and read there. She says sometimes she goes there late at night if things get too nuts at home, and it's the only place that's open all night that doesn't kick her out for not buying anything but coffee.

Except Troy's been getting kind of nasty and she's worried that he's gonna do something to her mom, so she's worried about leaving.

This makes me hurt all over for her. And pisses me off.

Why should she have to suffer because she's got a bunch of idiots around her?

I'd like to go be with her. I really would. But deal with Troy again? I'd probably make it worse.

I really am pathetic. Fact is, I don't feel like getting my face rearranged tonight.

It is only the first day of the year.

And my dad already got me upset.

Dude works fast.

He's been asleep most of the day. I don't think he can do champagne the way he can do J&B.

The advantages to this are numerous. I don't have to endure another Dad speech.

One a day is plenty, thank you very much. Particularly one where he's attacking my lady love.

I don't understand what he's got against Kelly. He says he doesn't have anything against her, but you wouldn't know it from the way he talks about her.

She's a nice girl, and smart, and hardworking, and ambitious, and talented. What's not to like?

Dad worries too much about me.

I mean, this might not be such a bad thing, except he's so worried that Kelly's gonna rip my guts out, he doesn't see what a great girl she is.

Does he seriously think I don't worry about this?

I mean, all she has to do is look at me wrong and I feel like she's stabbed me in the heart.

What really weirds me out though is that he thinks this is permanent.

I haven't even thought up to next week. Forget next year. Or next decade.

I can't tell if he thinks this is good or not.

Fact is, I can't tell what he thinks about much.

I mean, for God's sake, I'm not thinking about marrying her or anything right now.

I'm not. Really.

Didn't I just say that?
 

ALLY:

I think the walls have stopped wavering. At least for me.

Langly, I'm not so sure about. He still looks pretty bad.

Needless to say, we had a bit of tequila to celebrate last night, which resulted in heavy expulsion of stomach contents today. I've been in the clear for about six hours now; my skin is still aching, but I managed to down some soup and tea. Langly hasn't been so lucky; I fed him some of my soup and tea, all of which decided to reverse course. I finally sent Miranda and Jesse out for ginger ale a while ago. So far, he's kept that down.

And we're supposed to go back to work tomorrow. Uh-huh.

He's curled up on the sofa, under one of the blankets. He's still wearing his sweats and T-shirt from last night (more like this morning about 4 a.m.), hasn't even hit the shower yet, which I finally (painfully) managed to do. His hair's a mess, his face is green, he's got a few days of stubble that needs removing, and his eyes-when he can open them-are a lot more red than blue at this point.

And oddly enough, the affection I feel for this poor creature is overwhelming.

I'm tempted to go over and rub his back, but I have a feeling it would be more pain than pleasure at this point. I settle for taking a seat on the floor near him.

"You going to live?" I ask him.

"At first I thought I was gonna die. Now I'm afraid I'm not." He blinks slowly, every word an effort. "How much Jose did we kill?"

"Almost a gallon."

"Jesus fuck. How the hell did Renegade and Lu get home?"

"They didn't. They left us a note saying they bailed about noon. I think we were either dead to the world or heavily involved in reverse peristalsis."

"I feel like shit," he whines petulantly.

"Well, I'm not exactly ready to get out there swinging," I laugh.

"Cool to see them, though."

"Yeah, it was."

Well, yes and no. The discussion turned heavily to politics, which is fine, but some of the things that were said about what's to come in the near future-I pray to God or whoever that it was paranoia and liquor talking, not
an indication of a future reality.

I can't dismiss these things so easily, though.

There was a time when I could. That time is long past.

Forget it. We have to get up tomorrow.

"You ready for bed?" I ask, gently taking his hand.

"What time's it?"

"Almost 8."

"Yeah, why not? I can't feel any worse there."

We sit for a while longer, contemplating the effort it will take to move from where we are in the living room to the bedroom.

"C'mon, Hairboy, up." I try to pull him up, and he moans unhappily.

"Carry me."

"Langly, you outweigh me by about 60 pounds. Not gonna happen."

"I can't move."

"Then you have to spend the night on the sofa. Alone."

He thinks about this.

"Maybe you could come in the shower with me?" He finally asks, in a small
voice.

"I can do that."

"Can't promise you'd get anything other than clean, though."

"I think for now, that will be sufficient. C'mon, babe."

"I love ya, ya know," he mumbles as we make our way to the bathroom.

I love him so much.

I just hope that he's wrong about some things.
 

We're sitting on the edge of the bed, I'm trying to help Langly get into a clean T-shirt and sweats. He's still pale and whining, but I think the shower made him feel mildly more human.

We're finally in bed and about to snap off the lights when Miranda and Jesse come pounding on the door.

"Kill them," Langly instructs, burying his face in the pillow.

I see what the kids want; they want to go out for a walk and get some ice cream. The logic of this escapes me-it's in the low 20s outside-but they are teenagers. Whatever.

"And tell Jesse to be gone by 10," Langly snarls.

"You guys going to bed already? What a couple of wimps," Miranda snorts.

Wimps indeed. I'd like to see her wrestle Jose the way we did.

No, I take that back.

I would NOT like to see her take on Jose the way we did.

I may enjoy my penchant for alcoholic beverages, but I'm not certain I want my daughter to inherit this. So far she's not been demonstrating a great deal of interest beyond a few sips of champagne, for which I am grateful.

This is not our first hangover, nor will it be our last. We hit the lights, snuggle against one another, and we're out.
 

MICHAEL:

Kelly and I talk for a little while, and when we hang up I realize: I'm dead.

I'm so frigging tired. And it's only 8:30.

This is later than I normally stay up, at least in recent history.

Dad's tapping out something on the computer, I tell him I'm going to bed, he doesn't say anything till I'm almost down the hall.

"Michael."

"What?" He better not be in the mood for any father-son chats right now. My head hurts and I'm ready to call it a night, and I don't need him extending it.

"I love you very much."
 

ALLY:

The phone rings. Fortunately, Miranda picks up fairly quickly.

What the fuck are her friends doing calling on the upstairs phone? There's a reason we got her her own number, and it isn't so she can pass around our private line.

Then I hear her tap on my door. She knows what will happen if Langly wakes up-she'll never hear the end of it. Even if the house is on fire and she gets him out alive, he'll whine. She calls "Mom" very quietly.

I slip on my glasses and look at the clock. 11:21. I open the door and slip out as rapidly as possible in order not to arouse sleeping monsters.

"Phone for you," she says quietly.

"Oh, fuck." Phone calls at this hour are almost always bad news. "Who is it?"

"Frohike. Says he didn't want to disturb you but he really needs to talk to you right now." Emphasis on the 'right now.'

"Oh, God, I hope something didn't happen to Michael."

"I dunno. He didn't say."

I pad into the kitchen. I can hear strains of "Married with Children" from the living room.

Al Bundy. Every man's role model. At least at some level.

"Hey Frohike." I pick up.

"I apologize for disturbing you at this hour," he begins.

"That's okay. What's happening? Is Michael okay?"

"Michael's fine. But his young lady friend is not."

Oh shit. Kelly.

"What's wrong?"

"She turned up at our door about an hour and a half ago. She looked as if she'd been beaten up pretty badly. I took her over to the charity hospital, and as it turns out, she's been raped. Which she did not tell me herself."

"Oh, shit. Does she know her attacker?"

"Unfortunately. It's Mom's current flavor of the month. Same person that beat the crap out of my son."

"How is she?"

"Obviously, she's not in great shape right now. She's not physically injured to the point where they would want to keep her overnight-they're pretty short of beds around here, and they seem intent on turning her loose."

"What can I do?"

He draws in a hard breath. "She can't go home, Allison. She's not safe there."

"Okay. Why don't you bring her here?" I think this is what he intends to ask. I know that he and the baby are a bit short on space...

And this may not be an optimal time for Michael to be around her.

"Where's Michael?"

"Home in bed. I didn't want to him wake up. I know he's going to take this badly. I'd like to have some room to discuss it with him when he wakes up tomorrow."

"He's probably not going to be too happy that you didn't," I remind him, maybe a little too pointedly.

"Perhaps. But one emotionally distraught child is enough for one night, don't you agree?"

Having just been relieved of a second one, I'd have to concur with that statement.

"Ask her how she feels about coming here. She's welcome, of course. She can stay in Shelby's old room." Which was once Michael's room.

"Thank you, my dear. I'm sorry to impose on you like this-"

"No, it's fine. When do you think you'll be here?"

"Probably within the next hour or so."

"Okay. We'll look for you. And Frohike?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Keep it down. The bear is suffering from alcohol poisoning, and I'd prefer not to wake him up."

I actually think I hear him chuckle a bit as he clicks off.

I throw on a pot of coffee-Italian Roast. Might as well go full strength. It's going to be a long night.

Happy New Year, indeed.
 

It's nearly one when they arrive. Miranda's still up; I told her what I know, and she made up the bed in Shelby's old room (God, how many people have passed through that room?). I suggest she might not want to be there
when Kelly and Frohike arrive; Kelly got smacked around pretty good, and she's probably in shock.

Miranda says no, she'll wait. She thinks maybe Kelly might like having a younger person around.

Miranda is generally a very perceptive girl. I go with it.

I try not to gasp when I see Kelly. Her lip is split and she's got two black eyes. It looks as if she required sutures over her one eyebrow.

These injuries will heal fairly rapidly. She's young.

I hope the same can be said for her emotional ones.

I'm a bit reluctant to hug the child; she doesn't seem like she's particularly touchy-feely, but I'd feel wrong not extending the offer, and I'm a bit surprised when she falls into my arms.

The child is shaking miserably.

Who wouldn't be in her place?

I offer them both some coffee, and they accept.

Kelly is trying to talk, it comes out like deaf-mush, but I think she said something to the effect of, don't tell Michael.

Frohike shakes his head gently. "I have to, sweetheart. He has to know. But this will give me a chance to talk to him and get him ready to deal with it." Frohike flashes me a look that says, I hope.

I ask Kelly if she wants to talk about what happened. She says not right now. Maybe tomorrow.

I'm not going to push her. Besides, speech is an effort for her right now.

Miranda's been quiet through all this. She's vanished now. Maybe she decided this was more than she could handle.

But she's back in a few moments, carrying Screamer, her cat, who is about the tamest, most docile, and amazingly affectionate creature on the planet. She doesn't say a word, but she hands Screamer off to Kelly, and Kelly
bursts into tears, cuddling the cat close.

Screamer is a tolerant lot. And as Miranda can attest to, she makes a good crying towel.

I can hear Screamer purring as she rubs against Kelly.

Kelly seems able to calm herself; she asks if she can be alone somewhere for a while. I'm tempted to say no, not in her state, but Miranda speaks first, offers to show her downstairs. Kelly picks the cat up and follows Miranda
into the dungeon.

As I said, Miranda's instincts are very good. Even Frohike, who is obviously terribly concerned about the girl, is aware of this, and doesn't debate the issue.

Frohike and I pour ourselves more coffee; neither of us is going to sleep now. I have to get up in five hours to go to work, but right now, I've got more pressing concerns.

"Michael doesn't know yet," I say simply.

"I have to tell him when he wakes up. I'm not looking forward to this, believe me."

"I imagine not. I suspect he's going to be furious with this guy."

"To say the least." Frohike's been staring into his coffee mug. The guy looks beat.

We all lean so hard on him. Who does he lean on?

"Did she say anything about how this happened?"

"Some. She talked to Michael on the phone around 8:00. Her mother and whoever this sonovabitch happens to be, they were arguing most of the evening. After a while, he began slapping her mother around, and finally, the mother ran out. Kelly tried to go after her, but apparently this-person-is rather large, and restrained her. She began fighting back at him. There were skin fragments under her nails that weren't hers. She said nothing about the rape to me, but I doubt I would have suspected anything save that she kept her parka on. I figured that after just being assaulted without the sexual violation, that would be sufficient that the child would be shivering. Apparently the nursing staff questioned her, though, and did a rape kit. Which was positive."

"Fuck."

"And she and Michael are just...well, they're just starting to discover how they feel about one another, and this is going to make it terribly difficult. For both of them."

He shakes his head, and his face is a bleak mixture of anger and sadness. "I don't understand men who do this. I never have."

"Rape's not about sex, it's about power."

"And why do they feel the need to have that much power over a woman? I just-I'm sorry, my dear, but unlike Mulder, I can't crawl into the heads of maniacs that easily."

"I suspect it's a talent that at times Mulder would be just as happy to be without."

"Ditto. It just baffles me, and it angers me and frightens me. Why should a woman live in fear of a man's anger?"

I shake my head. I don't know. To a certain extent, all women fear the anger of men, but generally not as an ongoing or severe predicament.

"This girl is so damaged already. And my son is in love with her."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No. He doesn't have to. I know."

"How did you feel before this happened? About him and her?"

"I was worried enough then. Now..."

"Yeah?"

"Let's just say my stomach isn't going to be able to handle anything more than crackers and milk for a while."

"Crackers and milk."

"It's a Frohike thing, my dear."
 

We talk for a while longer, then I creep down the stairs to check on the girls.

They're not sleeping. They're sitting in Miranda's room, watching some comedy on one of the satellite channels. Kelly isn't saying anything, but strokes the cat softly. Miranda will laugh at some of the jokes.

I leave them be for now.

END OF PART 38