214 days since his return. Life has pretty much moved on. Construction of the new art hall has begun in earnest. An ultramodern steel and glass structure, rising from the foundations, contrasting sharply yet complementing the surrounding buildings. Much like the glass pyramids on the grounds of the Lourve. Ah yes Paris. That's another lifetime away.

Come to think of it, even Dalton feels like a lifetime away. Bits and pieces of memories, a childhood he's not sure belongs to him. He can't switch lives as easily has he used to. There isn't as clear of a line where one starts and the other ends. Is this what happens when the beams cross? Universes collide. Not that it matters. They galaxies can rip each other apart for all he cares. Dalton & Hollywood. They read like pages in a biography. A disconnect between events and emotion. He remembers some things and not others; and even when he does remember, he doesn't feel them.

As he described it to his therapist, someone sucked out Julian Larson, leaving his shell and replaced it with him. Its a daily struggle to place himself in this borrowed body. Sometimes he forgets and mistakes a mirror for a window. The reflection unfamiliar. He feels like a wandering soul, no past, no future. Detached. A ghost.

Hollywood isn't the kindest of places for a lost soul. He's been caught on more than one occasion, riding a bus or tram for hours on end, without a destination, just staring out the window. Until the driver grows suspicious and calls the cops. And then the paparazzi get involved.

His mother is weary of him. He's sure. The boy that woke up, isn't her son. And he's fairly certain she would rather grieve for that boy without his shell lurking the halls of her Beverly Hills mansion. How else do you explain the sudden decision to send him back to Ohio?

So now he finds himself standing in front of a familiar building, accompanied only by two half filled suitcases. It's late afternoon, that quiet time between tea and dinner. Barely anyone around.

The suitably grand doors before him loom impressively. He places a hand on the knob. No better time to do this.


"What time do you want dinner?"

"Casey is meeting us at 7."

"Fancy or casual?"

"Casual. Oh, and try to be nice."

"What are you talking about? I'm always nice!"

"You KNOW what I mean. Try and be a little more..."

"Gay?""...Interesting. I was going for interesting. But gay works as well. Just as long as you're not brooding in a corner. Casey's starting to take it personal."

They stomp and bicker in typical teenage fashion up the stairs, their noisy steps only marginally muffled by the carpet.

Derek and Logan, back from their afternoon activities, returning to their rooms to change. They pause at an open door. A new border? Logan mentally bristles. He isn't keen on giving out the room to anyone. Not yet. He told Murdoch as much.

He's just about to enter the room to give the new occupant a piece of his mind when a familiar silhouette stuns them both. "No way?!" Derek is first to react. Bounding over happily, intending to give the boy the biggest, tightest bear hug.

"Ju-..!" But the boy's reaction stops him in his tracks. Julian is startled by his exuberance and steps back. In the awkward silence that follows, Julian extends a hand politely. "Hi. I'm Julian."

Their faces fall instantly. The brunette looks like he's been slapped; back-peddling into a equally stunned blonde. Julian quickly realises his error. Drawing back his hand, he wracks his brain for names. They seem so familiar. A memory pops. Something about corgis and ...the East Coast...and something European. What are they always calling each other? An alphabet; D? And the other? Short, single syllable...'Lo'; a neuron supplies. Derek and Logan.

He falls back on formality. He's explained his condition so many times to countless people it's automatic by now.

Derek switches to a less exuberant gear. "Welcome back," patting him on the back at first then cautiously pulling him into a tight hug. "I got to go to practice. Dinner 7pm. Non-negotiable." Leaving just Logan with Julian.

Logan lingers waiting until Derek is out of the room. He looks like wants to say something, but can't find the words. His fingers dance over the table surface, picking up a discarded Dalton tie, toying with it. The silence isn't uncomfortable, not for Julian anyway, just puzzling. Julian's seen this many times. People he used to know struggling for the right words or reaction after they learn of his condition.

In the end, he does what Derek did, pulling Julian into a tight hug that lasts a little longer than is appropriate. There is a hint of redness on his nose and eyes when he pulls back.

"I'm... sorry." Julian feels guilty for causing him pain. They must have been very close. A boy who carries himself with this much pride will not cry over something trivial.

"I really am. Whatever I was to you or Derek, I'm not exactly the same person. And I probably never will be again. But I would love to get to know you guys again." The well practiced lines (courtesy of his therapist) rolling off his tongue expertly. But he really did mean every word.

Logan seems to ponder this; moving to sit on the edge of the table, long legs stretching out in front of him, arms crossed. Green eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun the only evidence of the internal turmoil raging within. -Whatever I was to you or Derek...- only one of the most important people in my life. Just the thought of it brought lancing pain through is chest. Logan hides it by holding his breath and setting his lips into a hard line.

Finally, "Okay." He nods, more for his own benefit than a reply. His acceptance of the situation. Drawing himself up to his full height, steeling himself against the pain and possibly summoning up whatever strength he still has, "Okay. Let's get to know each other again. Logan somehow manages to smile, "Dinner. 7pm." And then just before he steps out of the room, " Welcome back."

What he really wanted to say was I missed you.