Spoilers: Potentially all of seasons 1 & 2, heavy on the end of season 2. Season 3 never happened!

The rating reflects what you might see on a typical episode. On that same note, the first few chapters are heavy on drama but it will be more mixed with humor in later chapters.

Prologue

It had been a week since Orson brought Bree flowers, a whole week since she invited him in for coffee, and just one week and a day since Orson ran down Mike with his car. Wisteria Lane hadn't seen much of the Mayer's since that night, what with Julie staying with Karl and Susan spending most of her time at the hospital. What had made Orson come to Wisteria Lane the morning after his vicious attack? Its inhabitants were no strangers to scandal, but they had yet to discover Orson's motives, or his intentions. Perhaps Mike still had a few skeletons left in his closet as well...

Chapter One - 7 Days

"Mom?"
Susan looked up to see Julie standing in the doorway of the hospital room.
"Julie, what are you doing here? I thought you went home with your father." Her voice was soft and hoarse, her throat sore from crying.
"I didn't want you to be alone" Julie shrugged, trying to muster a smile. She could see how red her mother's eyes were, sad to remember how many times she had seen her face like that before. It was alright, she was ready to be the strong one yet again. When her mother's eyes got to be too much to look at, she looked at the man in the hospital bed, still unconscious after seven days.
"Any changes?"
"No." Susan replied, a raspy whisper.
"At least it's not worse, right? The doctors said that first night would be pivotal..."
At least it's not me! Julie wanted to scream. She wasn't angry at Susan, and certainly wasn't jealous of Mike. She just felt the overhwelmng sense of unfairness and wanted to erase the pain from the hearts of the people she loved. Since the car accident, Karl had lost the charming twinkle in his eye. If her father even felt bad about Mike's condition she did not know, but she could see that Karl knew he had finally lost Susan for good.
"Are you going to come home tonight Mom?" Julie asked.
"I don't know, sweetie..." Susan replied, distracted and tired, making Julie wonder if she was going to lose her too.

Gabrielle sat alone at her vanity, like a queen without servants. She'd woken up early that morning, unable to stay in her bed any longer than she had to for sleep. She had taken a long bath, thinking about how Susan had been when Karl left her; always in bed, always crying, relying on Julie to take care of them both. Gabrielle had thought about it as she ran a warm washcloth over her arms and legs...she didn't have a child, she felt no tears in her eyes, and she had been compelled to get out of bed the moment her eyes had opened to the morning sun. She had taken no pleasure from soaking in the warm water, and now she was staring at her face in the vanity mirror, a face she had been studying for two hours as she meticulously applied her expensive makeup and styled her well-groomed hair.
You did this a voice kept telling her. You did this. All she could see in her mind was Xiao Mei in Carlos' arms, but the voice didn't match, it didn't agree. It told her it was all her fault, and it reminded her of her blind desire for a baby, reminded her of taking an illegal immigrant in so she could have a maid to pick up after her, and of giving her husband an excuse for his actions by finding affection from a teenage boy. It was almost a game trying to decide which was the worst torture; her visions, her voices, or seeing that face in the mirror. Cold, dead eyes over thin, pursed lips, surrounded by skin that had lost its formerly healthy glow. Gabrielle broke eye contact with herself just long enough to reach for a deeper shade of blush.

Danielle heard a knock on her bedroom door. She gave no answer, as she'd done for the last seven days. She laid in her bed, back to the door, staring out her window all night and taking intermittent naps during the day that seemed to give her no rest at all. Bree was giving her space, giving her time, but every time Danielle heard that knock on her door, her heart would split in two. Half of her wanted her mother to walk through the door, lay down next to her on the bed and cradle her until everything was OK again. The other half was hardened to everything and everyone, and wished her mother would never knock again. But Danielle asked for neither of these things, because the truest part of her heart was the tender insides spilling out from between those two halves. Hurt from losing Matthew, and guilty for mistreating her mother, who had almost died seven days ago protecting her ungrateful daughter. Danielle was too embarassed, too proud, too hurt to respond to Bree's soft knocking. She was too afraid the rest of her heart would bleed out if she uttered a word.
So she would wait, listening until she was sure Bree was gone before opening the door and picking up the tray of food her mother left for her three times a day. She would close the door, and wish she could stop crying so she could eat before the food got cold. She didn't know that Bree stood right around the corner, listening to the clink of good china, heart beating fast, waiting until the empty tray made its way back outside the door.
However long it took.

Sometimes Parker woke up in the middle of the night wanting cookies. Sometimes he would act on his desires, sneaking down the stairs, trying to remember which side of each step wouldn't creak. He hadn't done this in quite a while, and he thought tonight would be as good a time as any to start again. He got as far as the first landing of the stair case before he started to think maybe this wasn't such a good time.
Parker was only seven years old, but he had heard a lot of crying in his short life. Penny cried a lot; Mommy told him that babies cried because they didn't know how to talk yet, but they still needed a way to tell people when something was wrong. Parker knew what the twins' crying sounded like; he was usually crying along with them. The three of them always seemed to get scrapes at the same time. He had even seen his mother cry a couple times, though she insisted they were 'happy' tears, whatever that meant. The sound that Parker heard from his place on the stairs that night was a new sound. He took his time getting to the next landing. He wanted to see into the living room but didn't want to get caught doing it. Peering out from under the banister, Parker saw the shape of his father sitting on the couch in the dark, head in his hands. There was a blanket folded on the floor next to the couch with a pillow, Daddy's pillow, resting on top.
There are many ways for a child, a little boy, to lose some of his innocence. One of them is seeing his father cry for the first time.

Zach stood on the lawn of his recently inherited mansion, looking over the 'stupid lake' that was scheduled to be filled in tomorrow, just seven days after the life of its previous owner had been taken. A pond like this, a manmade pond, was the last thing Zach wanted to see each day from his new bedroom window.
Noah had been right. Zach had been a weak, pathetic excuse for a young man. He had no direction, no backbone. Manipulated by one father, abandoned by the other, bullied by a grandfather that only wanted an enduring legacy, and kept away from the only girl he had ever loved by her meddlesome mother. Zach had not been in the mood to be messed with that day. He had been on his last nerve. Seven days ago Zach learned exactly what he was capable of. He had even caught the look of pride that flashed through Noah's eyes right before his last breath escaped him. He had killed a man, and by taking that life he had made it his own, and finally become a man himself.
That stupid lake had been at the service of those who used it; pushed around by rowboat oars, shat in by the various animals that inhabited it. That stupid lake would not be used anymore. Zach would not be used anymore. The contractors were scheduled to arrive in the morning, and that stupid lake would be filled in once and for all.