Author's Notes: Family Ties is my favorite sit-com. The show also started my infatuation with Michael J. Fox; I fan-girl the guy just a little.

As with many sit-coms that have multiple writers, Family Ties does have some flaws or errors. One plot point that has always bugged me is in the Emmy-winning episode "A, My Name is Alex." In the episode, the (deceased) character Greg McCormick is supposed to have been a close friend of Alex's - according to Alex's "flashbacks," Greg and Alex had been friends since elementary school, and had hung out quite a bit in their youth. Yet Greg had never before been seen or referenced.

In this story, I attempt to explain why Greg might not have been around the Keatons as much in recent years

-ck

Disclaimer: I do not own Family Ties, any members of the Keaton family, or any related characters.

I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

THE RULES OF COMPETITION, IMPERFECTION, AND COMPLEXITY

by InitialLuv

Alex P. Keaton was a 21-year-old junior at Leland University in Columbus, Ohio. He was majoring in economics and business.

But there was a lot more to the young man, who'd been shaped by two decades of outward excellence and inner turmoil.

ooOoo

If you asked Alex's parents, they would say they'd noticed early on that he was bright. It wasn't that he walked early (he didn't) or talked early (he did) or even that he easily mastered his preschool toys (he had little interest in shapes and colors, but adored anything with letters or numbers).

It was his behavior. He cried quite a bit the first few months, and Elyse sang to him constantly, folk songs and protest chants and the obligatory lullabies. And sometimes that worked. But what seemed to work best – and almost without fail – was Steven talking intelligently and logically with the baby. "Alexander, you need to go to sleep. Your mother and I are tired, she has a headache from your constant crying, and the sooner you fall asleep, the better you'll feel. You're dry and you've been fed – there's no reason for you to carry on like this."

And Alex would stare into his father's eyes, as if he actually understood the words (even though he was only three months old). And less than ten minutes later he'd be fast asleep.

As Alex grew older and began to talk more, his speech patterns followed in that same intelligent, logical vein.

"No want wear beads, Mommy," a 16-month-old Alex informed Elyse once. "Beads for girls. Tie for boys."

The two had just returned from a visit to the doctor, where Elyse had gotten the news that she was expecting her second child in a little over seven months. She'd been preoccupied and giddy, even thinking about surprising Steven at school to tell him the news. She didn't respond directly to Alex's words, and the small boy tugged at her skirt. "Mommy!"

Elyse smiled down at her son, absently aware of how long his hair was getting. Both she and Steven loved Alex's thick brown hair, but he'd need a haircut before the baby arrived. A baby. . .

"What did you say, honey?"

"No more beads." Alex tugged at the small string of love beads currently around his neck. "For girls."

Elyse sat in a chair, drawing her small son onto her lap. I won't be able to do that in six or seven months, she thought, and smiled widely.

Alex saw the smile, and misunderstood it. "Why funny?"

"Oh, I'm not laughing at you, sweetie. . . What's wrong with the beads? Your father wears beads, and he's a boy."

"Want tie. Like doctor."

"Ohhh," Elyse drawled, finally making the connection. The doctor had been somewhat surprised when Elyse had brought Alex to her follow-up appointment, but the toddler had been quiet, respectful, and terribly curious. He'd obviously been impressed by the tall man in a white coat, dress shirt, and tie. "I think you might be a little too young for a tie, Alex. Maybe when you're older."

Alex pouted. "Still no want beads."

When Steven arrived home from class, Elyse and Alex were in the kitchen. Elyse was cutting vegetables for a vegetarian stew, and Alex, fresh from a nap, was at the table playing with his favorite wooden puzzle, the one with the large, painted numbers.

Steven breezed into the room, kissed Alex on top of his shaggy brown head, and then moved to embrace Elyse. "You went back to the doctor today, right? What did your tests say?"

Before Elyse could respond, Alex piped up from the table. "Baby come later." Then, as if the idea of having a new baby in the family was boring (and to Alex it was), he followed it up with, "Daddy, I want tie."

ooOoo

Once Alex started school, his teachers agreed that he was bright, but they also called him attentive, organized, unusually ambitious, and special. In fact, when Steven and Elyse came to Alex's second grade parent-teacher night, their son's teacher could find little to criticize, and had venerated the boy in glowing tones. Elyse did worry that her son was too obsessive with his schooling, especially when she heard that he often avoided recess or playtime, using that time to read, do extra lessons, or help his teacher.

Elyse had later expressed her concerns to her son. The seven-year-old had shrugged, and cut his eyes to the side.

"The other kids don't like the things I like. I'm okay, Mom – don't worry about me. Recess is overrated, anyway."

But not long after that, either as a result of Elyse's talk or by coincidence, Alex made his first good friend, a new boy named Greg McCormick. And once his other classmates saw Alex actually out at recess, playing with another kid, they began to see him as more of a peer. A peer who wore a tie and was way too involved in the impeachment proceedings of President Nixon, but one who could still play tag and build a snowman and kinda throw a snowball.

ooOoo

Alex's siblings – primarily his sisters – regularly called him annoying, irritating, and demanding. Mallory's favorite critique was that he was a selfish, pompous jerk with little-to-no fashion sense. Jennifer, who as she grew older became somewhat like Alex (at least in the area of intellect), often felt that her older brother – when he paid attention to her – only saw her as an easy mark, someone to push around and force into a mold. Young Andrew, when he came along, quickly grew to idolize his big brother, dressing like him and speaking like him, and Mallory and Jennifer sometimes worried about that . . . because they worried about Alex.

For as much as Mallory and Jennifer complained about Alex, as much as they criticized and grumbled and cried foul, they both quietly attributed other concerning descriptions to their older brother. Anxious. Tense. Indecisive. Scared. Pressured. He exuded confidence, but his inflated sense of self would get him in trouble, especially when he developed a crazy scheme in order to avoid or prevent failure. Typically the schemes only exacerbated the problems. Then Alex's carefully constructed walls would come down, exposing his insecurities and vulnerabilities, and Alex would descend into shame and guilt. When he was younger his errors were easier to correct, and usually Elyse and Steven could repair the damage. But when Alex got into his later teens, the problems weren't as easy to solve. Mallory and Jennifer would confide in each other when they saw Alex veering toward trouble, in order to determine which of them would be the better choice to bring him back from a particular edge. Because that's what brothers and sisters did. Alex did it for them, as well. Of course, the three of them rarely made their rescues obvious, instead masking their true feelings behind humorous insults and gentle ribbing.

Part of the pressure that Alex felt was that, as the only Keaton boy (until Andrew made his surprise appearance), he considered it his responsibility to do "boy things" with Steven. Playing a bit of catch in the backyard. Tossing a football around at the park. Engaging in a little one-on-one under the basketball hoop in the driveway. Even though none of these pursuits were particularly enjoyable for Alex, he attempted them all, with varying degrees of success – or better said, with varying degrees of failure. He had a very good sense of his body and was fairly agile and coordinated, but those qualities didn't seem to translate well to organized sports. He'd played Little League as a child, but when he'd become too focused on competition and less on fun, his parents had pulled him out after one season. He could usually hold his own with basketball, but his small stature made that activity undesirable. He liked the game of hockey, but was unable to make the team, as he skated poorly. To his surprise, Alex eventually found he was talented at soccer. Unfortunately, out of all the popular sports, Steven liked soccer the least. He would attend his son's matches and brag about how many goals Alex had scored, but when Alex wanted to work on his soccer skills, it was fellow soccer star Jennifer who practiced with him, not Steven.

It bothered Alex that he wasn't able to competently perform at Steven's favorite sports; it made him feel inadequate as a son. He endeavored to make up for this deficiency by treating sports as the ultimate learning experience – going to local competitions, watching broadcasts of pro games, studying players, positions, game play, and statistics . . . he'd even coached Jennifer's softball team. But what he really enjoyed was watching televised baseball – something he attributed to his oldest friend's Greg's influence. And when Alex had come to that realization, he'd grabbed onto that father-son activity and never let go. Because even when he seemed fulfilled and sounded happy, he was always looking for something more. Something to complete himself. And sitting on the couch with his dad, sharing a pastime that was theirs alone, was pretty damn close.

Alex often felt incomplete. He dated frequently, although most of his female pursuits were chosen because of looks, social standing, positive reputations, or financial portfolios. Occasionally he'd be swept off of his feet by someone unexpected – an attractive feminist who supported the ERA, a young unmarried pregnant girl, a French expatriate over 20 years his senior. He'd had one serious girlfriend, someone he'd truly loved, even though their year-long romance had started out rocky and had caused him unwarranted and fearful jealousy. He thought it was because he'd loved Ellen so much that he'd been so jealous of her friends and her artistic passions – he couldn't bear to think of her choosing another guy over him, or choosing one of her interests over him. And of course, that was exactly what had happened. He thought sometimes (he thought a lot) that he was glad Ellen was now in another country. If she had broken things off to take a dance scholarship in California or Chicago or New York instead of Paris, there would've been a chance of them crossing paths. As hard as he'd taken the break-up, he didn't think he'd be able to function if he saw Ellen right now. Greg was right – he hadn't had a date in months. Partly because no one could live up to Ellen, and partly because he didn't want anyone to.

Alex didn't have many close guy friends. Doug was his best friend. Greg was his oldest friend. Skippy was like a cousin, or a wacky brother-in-law. The rest of the guys that Alex commonly hung out with were the guys he played poker with, friends of friends, or guys who'd dated (or were interested in dating) Mallory. Then there were his schoolmates, his acquaintances, the ones he'd met through his myriad of school or college groups: the Harding Hurrah, the school yearbook, the crisis center, the prom committee, the debate club, the chess club, the young entrepreneurs' club, the Young Republicans' club, etc. These acquaintances could be congenial or adversarial. When they and Alex were working toward the same goal, all was (to use a word of his parents' generation) "copacetic." But if there was competition – an obstacle to Alex getting what he felt he deserved, or a threat to the comfort of his routine – the fragile friendships were often damaged, sometimes beyond repair. "Keaton thinks he's better than everyone else," these acquaintances would say. "He's too obsessed with perfection." "He only cares about himself."

And that was all true. He was better – he didn't have to think it, he knew. So he had to be perfect. Since he was better, it was his damned responsibility to show it, to prove it, to shove it down the throat of anyone who might doubt him. He had to care about himself – no one else knew the stress and pain he went through, the pressure he felt; it was too hard to describe, and even if he could, he didn't think he'd really want to tell anyone. He didn't even feel like he could completely open up to his friends, to try and explain or defend his apparent selfish attitude. He just hoped his close friends, like Dougie and Gregger, understood his actions without him having to spell it out for them. He might not spend as much time with Greg lately as he used to, but they'd been friends since second grade. He was fairly confident the guy knew him well. As for Doug . . . he had Eleanor now. So hopefully if Doug had a problem comprehending Alex's behavior, Eleanor could explain it.

ooOoo

"Why are you like this?" his mother had asked him once.

It was after the championship of the high school quiz-off, which had been televised by WKS, the public television station his father managed. Alex had studied and prepared and rehearsed and practiced for that tournament, after qualifying through the first four rounds and making it to the championship. He'd devoured literature, history, geography, science, geometry, biology. . . He'd slept little and eaten less. It had been his duty to win the championship for his school, for his family, for himself.

Then he'd practically passed out from stage fright. He hadn't been able to answer one question. He barely remembered dropping his head down on the podium, or hanging on to Mallory's shoulder. And after the game was finished/ended /done/ kaput, a panic had gripped him. How could the game be over? He'd had it all under control! What the hell had happened?

When Elyse had asked him the question, he'd been momentarily confused. He'd sputtered a response that she needed to ask him a general knowledge, quiz-type question. His mother hadn't appreciated the quip, and eventually he'd apologized for his self-destructive behavior. But his failure had eaten away at him. It was inconceivable that his team hadn't won the championship. That he hadn't won. He was better. He was smarter. He wasn't supposed to lose. He'd heard it almost all of his life, and not just from his teachers. He'd heard it from his parents. Maybe Elyse and Steven hadn't stressed the "not supposed to lose" part, but they'd definitely told him he was better and smarter.

"Why are you like this?"

You made me this way, he'd wanted to say. But had she? Had anybody? Or had he done it to himself?

He honestly didn't know.

Right after Greg left to drive over to his brother's, Alex made a few token phone calls to a couple girls he was friendly with. He didn't try to plan anything specific with any of them, only dropping the hint that Alex P. Keaton, consistent Dean's List honoree at Leland University, officer of the Young Republican's club, prospective Wall Street tycoon, and all around good catch, was available. Just so if Greg asked him about it later, he'd have specific names and information, and then his claim of "women needing his attention" wouldn't seem so contrived.

He and Greg had been inseparable when they were younger, but their relationship had suffered some as they'd both become busy with school, work, and their growing families (Greg's brother had gotten married, and of course Alex now had Andy to dote on). They were still close, and were even in the same economics class, but a lecture hall was hardly conducive to visiting. Alex missed the easy, brother-like connection they used to have, and he was sure Gregger missed it too . . . Alex knew that was the main reason why Greg had asked him to come along on the errand to help his brother move a piano. He could have asked a friend with maybe a little more height or a little more muscle, but Greg had asked Alex to accompany him - because Greg had wanted to hang with him. And what had Alex done? He'd blown him off. Some friend.

"I'll make it up to him," Alex vowed softly, as he rummaged in the refrigerator for a snack, pushing aside the ubiquitous pitcher of orange juice.

"Make it up to who?"

Alex jerked around at Jennifer's voice. Before he had a chance to respond, she answered her own question. "I thought you were going somewhere with Greg."

"Plans change," Alex said vaguely, then pulled out a box of leftover take-out pizza. "Hey, Jen, you want some pizza?"

Jennifer sighed theatrically. "Alex, you know we're going to have supper when Mom and Dad get home."

"I know – Mom's lentil soup. Why do you think I'm eating leftover pizza?" He raised his eyebrows at his sister and tried his most charming grin. "Want to join me? It'll be our little secret."

"Okay . . ." the blond teenager relented, "but you have to give me first pick, and you can't whine that you don't have enough toppings."

After he and Jennifer had separated their pizza slices onto plates and heated the leftovers in the new microwave, both crept up to their rooms with their ill-gotten gains. It was fairly easy – Mallory was glued to some stupid celebrity fashion thing on the television, and Steven and Elyse had taken Andy to the store to buy a present for a friend whose birthday party he'd be attending. Alex sat at his desk while he munched on his pizza, flipping through his economics textbooks – the ones he needed for his class and the ones he'd purchased for his own enjoyment. After finishing his snack he grabbed a pen and a notebook, and started taking notes. His final might be over a week away, but it never seemed like he had enough time to learn everything he needed, or wanted, to know.

It was roughly twenty minutes later when Alex heard his parents come home. Maybe a minute after that, Andrew was pounding on his door. The young boy then burst inside. "Alex, Alex, look what we got for Brian!" He proudly held up a yellow Tonka vehicle.

"A bulldozer? They didn't have any Brink's armored trucks? Who is this Brian kid, anyway?"

Andy wrinkled his nose. "He's my friend. What's a brings truck?"

"Not 'brings,' Brink's - they're special bullet-resistant trucks that carry money and valuables. . ." Not wanting to start a long discussion and pull his attention away from his studying, Alex trailed off. "Never mind," he said, tousling his brother's already messy hair. "I'll tell you later. That's a cool present, buddy."

Andy gave Alex a quick hug, then ran out of the room as fast as he'd entered. "Door, Andy!" Alex called.

Andy returned, slamming Alex's door closed. Still grinning, Alex went back to his studying.

He didn't hear the phone when it rang, and barely registered the knocking on his door. When his door opened, he didn't turn from his desk. "What now, bud?" he asked distractedly, as he was busily writing about the uncertainty principal of the stock market. I won't have any problem with that essay question if it shows up on the final – I've got personal experience.

"Alex."

Alex spun around on his chair to see his parents standing just inside his room. Both of them looked – well, strange. Oddly tense. Stone-faced. Rattled. He felt a seed of fear take root in the pit of his stomach. What was wrong? Was someone sick? Relatives' names ran through his head. Uncle Rob. Uncle Ned. Grandma May.

"What's wrong?"

Steven shook his head marginally. "Alex," he repeated. He and Elyse moved further into the room. Steven came to sit on the small table at the foot of Alex's bed, and Elyse stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Steven inched forward as if to reach out for his son, but then pulled back.

What the hell? Alex looked from his father's pale face to his mother's – and was she crying?

Ellen. Something's happened to Ellen.

Steven turned slightly to look up at his wife. She nodded, ran a hand across her eyes, and then took a shaky inhale. "Alex – the phone – it was – there was an accident."

"Accident," he repeated dully.

Steven said, "A car accident. It was Greg. He was in a car accident."

Alex blinked. "Greg. Not Ellen."

Elyse and Steven glanced at each other quickly, then Elyse spoke again. "No, not Ellen. Why would you think. . . "

Alex shrugged; he gestured at his parents with the pen he still held in his hand. "It's just, the way you two look, like something terrible happened, I just thought. . . " He trailed off, suddenly looking confused. "Wait. What did you say? About . . . an accident?"

Steven dropped to the floor, kneeling before Alex. "Greg never made it to his brother's. He was in a car accident," he said again, his voice thick. "He's – He was killed, Alex. He's dead."

Alex stared at his father for a few moments, and then he smirked. "No, he's not. He's just mad at me, because I backed out of going on his errand with him." He snorted. "This is a pretty sick joke, though."

Elyse came to crouch beside Alex's chair. "Sweetheart. I know this is a shock – for all of us – "

"No!" Alex pushed his chair back until it was pressed against his desk, as he tried to physically escape the inexplicable news. "No, he's not dead! You don't – He said it would only take fifteen minutes! How could something happen in fifteen minutes? Okay, he was probably underestimating the time, to try and get me to go with him even though he was almost two hours late, but you know the guy, he does that, he's always done that, I guess he's optimistic that way, always thinking things will be easier than they are, but he's wrong, I've told him you have to plan for contingencies, things don't work out just because you want them to – "

"Alex." Steven bent forward, reaching to grip Alex's shoulders. "Enough."

Alex twisted out of his father's grasp, flinging the pen in his hand across the room in the process. "No." He looked to his mother. "No. Mom. No."

Elyse lifted her arms, attempting to hug her son. Alex raised trembling hands and blocked her embrace. "Okay," he muttered. "Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing hard. "What do we do? What do you do when people die? Send flowers? No, that's for the funeral. Although sometimes people send plants, or maybe money is better. . . What am I talking about? Money's always better." He laughed frantically. "Food. Meals. They'll have a lot to do, with picking a funeral home and a casket, and writing an obitu-" he broke off, his voice cracking, and then he took a deep breath. " - and they won't have time to cook, they'll be too busy. So meals, right? Casseroles, things you can freeze, Mom, maybe you can send them some of your soup – "

"Alex, please," Elyse implored. "Honey, stop." She reached up to stroke his face. "Shh."

He swatted weakly at her hand. "No. No, I can't. I can't stop." The seed of fear in his stomach had exploded into an impossible agony. "Because if I stop talking, if I start thinking, then it'll be real, it'll be true, he'll be – Greg will be –"

A small whimper from the front of the room distracted him. Mallory was standing in his doorway, her face splotchy and tear-streaked. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and she was rocking slightly.

It was what finally broke Alex. For some reason, witnessing Mal's obvious grief was more painful than seeing his parents' distress. The weight of the tragedy hit him so hard that his body went rigid, and he was momentary unable to breathe. It was like he consciously forgot how to inhale and exhale. He smacked at his chest, forcing great gulps of air into his lungs.

Then Alex lurched out of his chair, fell to his knees, and vomited partially-digested pizza into his trash can.

END

A/N: The title of this piece is derived from the names of specific economic rules; I chose the ones I thought best applied to Alex's life.

-ck