§ § § - August 29, 2009

During the evening, after Anastasia had been fed and put to bed for the night (or at least part thereof), the study was considerably quieter despite that the triplets were still up; Christian and Leslie were jointly reading a storybook to them, keeping them entertained while Roarke was out making a few rounds and checking the luau. As Christian was reading one of the character speeches in a growly voice that had the children giggling, Rogan came in and stopped at the top of the steps into the study; all five Enstads looked up and eyed him quizzically. "Something wrong?" Leslie asked.

"Where's uncle?" Rogan wanted to know.

"At the luau, the last we heard," Christian told him. "Why?"

"DeFazio's fantasy. I just remembered uncle told me at supper that I needed to make a quick check on it before I head home for the night. Problem is...I just did, just a hasty wee look, an' he's in a mess. I think I'm gonna need some help, so if ye might be willin', cousin..."

Leslie blinked, while Christian tried to fight a smile, Susanna and Karina made faces, and Tobias sat up with excitement. "You want me to help out?" Leslie asked.

"Well, uncle's not here, and ye're the only other one with experience..." Rogan began.

"Can I help too? Please, Mommy?" Tobias begged, actually interlacing his fingers and raising his clasped hands as if in supplication. "I really, really wanna see Spider-Man!"

"Uh, Tobias, I don't think that's a good idea," Christian tried to dissuade him.

"Aye, yer da's right, lad," Rogan said hastily. "It's not the place for a wee lad."

"I'm five whole years old!" Tobias protested with enormous indignation. "I know how to behave myself!" He turned to Leslie again. "Pleeeeeeease, Mommy, pleeeeeeeease?"

"Tobias," Christian said in low warning.

Leslie sighed. "Honey, Rogan and Daddy are right—this isn't the kind of thing you should be doing. I wouldn't be going either if Rogan didn't think he needed help." She gave Rogan a suspicious look while Tobias began to protest and plead all at once, and had to speak over his persistent begging. "I can't imagine what good you think I could do."

"Tobias, that's enough," Christian said sternly.

"But Daddy!" Tobias wailed.

Leslie set the book aside and got up. "Well, what kind of a mess is Mr. DeFazio in, exactly? I hope it's not another problem with the web-slinger things."

"No, no, it's not that," Rogan hastened to assure her. "Uh, no...as a matter of fact, it's more of a...well, more of a romance problem."

Even Tobias fell silent at that, and Leslie stared at Rogan. "What do you mean, a romance problem? I didn't know Spider-Man had a girlfriend."

Christian laughed from behind her. "Ach, my Rose, even I knew that. I think her name was Mary something..."

"Mary Jane," Rogan supplied. "An' aye, it's a problem all right—because DeFazio's married, an' it looks as if he's started fallin' for Mary Jane."

Leslie released a small, patient sigh and folded her arms over her chest. "I don't see why you need my help. Just tell him it's a fantasy and he needs to remember that Mary Jane isn't being played by his wife."

"Don't you still wanna go?" Susanna taunted her brother.

"Mm-hmm," Christian noted ironically, "he could always tell Mr. DeFazio what a stupid thing it is for Spider-Man to have a girlfriend." Leslie gave a slight start and stared at him over her shoulder; he shrugged, but the impish gleam still played around him.

"I'll get you for that, Christian Enstad," Leslie promised, and he grinned. Turning back to Rogan, she said, "Unless you think he's so far gone that it's going to take two of us to convince him that Mary Jane's just a fantasy."

"He might be," said Rogan, scowling. "We're wastin' time, Leslie, let's go."

"Perhaps you'd better go ahead and help, my Rose," Christian advised. "I'll finish reading to the children and then get them ready for bed."

This raised protests from all three triplets, but Christian shushed them while Leslie gave up and grumbled, "Oh, all right. But it doesn't sound to me like anything that you'd really need my help with. Show me what the heck's going on. And you three...don't give Daddy any trouble, now. When he says it's time for bed, it's time for bed, period." She aimed a stern look at the pouting youngsters, then turned back to her cousin. "Lead on."

She was surprised when Rogan took her outside and led her across the side yard into the trees there. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

"This is where uncle had me take DeFazio to start his fantasy, an' I have to go in here every time I do a checkup. Last time, I was pickin' bits o' misshot web off me shirt. I hate to think what I'll find this time round. Stay close, Leslie, it's blacker than the divvil's heart in here." He more or less felt his way forward, and Leslie—barely able to see his form in what little moonlight filtered through the treetops—was tempted to grab the back of his shirt to keep from losing track of him.

To her surprise, Rogan took her to a cave and led the way in without breaking stride. "Hey," she protested, "I thought this was Spider-Man, not Batman."

"It is Spider-Man," he said. "I told uncle I thought it was time we got creative, an' I happened to find this cave while I was out searchin' for some new plants to cultivate, so I suggested we use it as a launch point for fantasies now an' then. But ye know, it could work great for a Batman fantasy. Just hope we don't have one anytime soon..." His voice trailed off and Leslie grinned to herself, picking her way along after him.

Another twenty or so steps, and they emerged quite suddenly onto a city street at night, frequented by people rushing to and fro, hailing taxis, shouting at one another, meeting in front of shops, trying to get somewhere with as little contact as possible. Rogan turned to her. "This way."

A little more than five minutes later they had entered an apartment building and taken an alarmingly creaky elevator to an upper floor, and were standing in front of a worn-out-looking door. Rogan thumped it with his fist, and Leslie winced, afraid it would cave in; but it held, and a moment later Jack DeFazio opened it. "Oh...hi there, Rogan."

"Aye, an' hello t'ye too," Rogan replied, his brogue thickening again. "Ye're alone in here, I hope."

DeFazio looked confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because o' Mary Jane, boyo," said Rogan. "Don't ye be fallin' in love with her now."

DeFazio blinked at him, noticed Leslie standing behind him and cleared his throat, looking curiously guilty. "Oh, well..." Then he peered hard at Rogan. "How'd you know she was here?"

"Rogan was doing a little check just to be sure you were all right," Leslie said, "and I guess he saw you with Mary Jane. Did you send her home?"

"I had to make myself do it, but yeah, I did it," DeFazio said through a sigh. "I guess maybe I should've picked a superhero who was more of a loner, but man...the whole thing with Spider-Man swinging between buildings like he could fly—that really got me, y'know? That's what made me decide on him. I forgot all about Mary Jane."

"If you wanted to fly," Leslie said with a quirk of the mouth, "you should've asked to be Wonder Woman for a weekend. Invisible jet and all that." Both men stared at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Never mind. So what'll you do about Mary Jane, then?"

"I'll just have to remind myself that I'm married, I guess," DeFazio mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "But then...what'll I do if Mary Jane asks me why I'm suddenly not the romantic guy she thought she knew?"

Rogan looked at Leslie, but Leslie simply looked back at him, as if to say, Hey, it's your show. Rogan's expression turned quite filthy for just a second before he shifted his attention to DeFazio. "Ye'll find a way, I'm sure."

"But..." DeFazio began to protest.

"If you really, really have to keep up façades, then for Pete's sake, just imagine she's your wife," Leslie said, shaking her head once or twice. "Just try to remember not to call her by your wife's name, that's all. Oh...and incidentally, have you mastered those web-slinging things yet? I heard you had some trouble with them earlier, and I just thought I'd check, to see if Father can do anything if you need it."

"That was easier than this thing with Mary Jane," DeFazio admitted, and she grinned. He managed a smile back. "Man, this fantasy...I really thought it'd be easier. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Heck, it's only another day."

"Careful with that attitude," Rogan cautioned. "Ye can get yerself into mountains o' trouble if ye don't take a little care. Just remember our advice an' ye oughta be fine."

DeFazio started to speak; then three or four horns blasted all at once outside the window, and he cranked around in startlement before running to it and peering out. Leslie nudged Rogan and jabbed a thumb at the door, and he nodded as if reminded and followed her quietly out. When the elevator doors slid open, instead of the aging car, they beheld the side lawn at the main house. Rogan made a shocked noise, and Leslie had to grab his arm and pull him through before the doors closed on him.

"Why didn't that happen before?" Rogan finally demanded once they were on the porch and heading for the door.

"You were in such a hurry, you never mentioned it," said Leslie. "One thing Father managed to teach me in the last two or three years was a form of telepathic contact. I can do it only with him, but at least I can do it. I just sent him a quick mental message telling him we needed a faster way out of there than we'd taken going in, so he prepared that exit for us and let me know about it just before we left DeFazio's apartment. I think that kind of stuff is going to be next on your curriculum with Father. Later on he'll probably teach you how to vanish right from the spot, without having to physically walk away."

"Och, already I'm gettin' vertigo just thinkin' about it," Rogan grumbled, and she chuckled as she led him into the house. The study was empty, and Rogan paused in the middle of the room while she checked for phone messages. "Uncle's still at the luau?"

"Presumably," said Leslie. "You can go talk to him there if you want."

"I've had enough for a night. I'm headin' home," Rogan said, and departed by the French shutters without further ado. Having ascertained that no one had called in their absence, Leslie pulled the shutters closed and doused most of the lights in the study, leaving only the glass-shaded lamp burning for Roarke later, before going upstairs.

"Ah, there you are," said Christian, who was sitting up in bed reading a book in jordiska. "You were gone so long I had to put the children to bed for the night."

"We couldn't have been out more than half an hour," Leslie said, surprised. "Maybe I should check with Father and see if time here and time in a fantasy are sliding off track with each other or something. Anyway, I'm probably done for the night. Rogan bailed out for home as soon as we got back, and I should get some sleep before Anastasia decides she's hungry again."

Christian chuckled, watching her change into nightclothes. "Are you sure you should try to retire so early? I can recall quite a few occasions when you and Mr. Roarke were needed for some late-night crisis, and it would be just your misfortune if you were nearly asleep and something happened to come up without warning."

"Let's hope that either Father won't need me, or Valerie Griffin will step in and mete out some discipline," Leslie said through a yawn, making Christian grin again. "They're her kids, after all, not mine. I have my own four to worry about."

"True," Christian conceded, amused. "I hope you don't mind if I try to get ahead on this book a bit. I've not had a chance to read much in the last week, and this was the only opportunity I could find, so I seized it."

"What is it?" asked Leslie, leaning over to peer at the densely printed pages. "Ugh. It looks pretty tedious."

"One of the unfortunate necessities about working with computers and the internet," Christian admitted with a tolerant sigh. "It's yet another update for hardware and software in general. I'll be busy with computer work around this end of the island tomorrow, so I'd better absorb what I can while I have the chance."

At that precise moment there was a knock on the door downstairs, and he looked up in amazement while she froze in place for a few seconds, then let out a disgusted curse that made Christian burst into startled laughter. "You were right, my love...blast you anyway," she said, mostly teasingly, and he shook his head and flapped a hand at her, still laughing, while she grabbed a robe, yanked it on and scurried downstairs.

The visitor was Chance Griffin, who was in a rage that Leslie could immediately see carried destructive potential. "Where's Roarke?" he demanded as soon as she opened the door. "I've got bones to pick with him—hell, I've got a whole skeleton! Where is he?"

"He's at the luau," Leslie said, staring at him. "Would you rather go talk to him?"

"I just came from the damn luau," Chance growled, actually shoving her aside to stalk into the outer foyer past her. "I'm not going back there again for anything."

Leslie edged hastily past him to let him into the study, though she had a feeling this was going to be a difficult interlude. "Well, if you want to wait for him, I can contact him..."

"No, if he's there and you're here, you'll do just as well. I want to know what the hell you and Roarke think you're trying to pull off! I asked for a brother, you know. What I got was a backstabbing, double-crossing, lying, cheating, thieving traitor!"

"Wow," Leslie murmured. "Well, here, have a seat, and tell me exactly what Owen's done that's made you so mad."

"Oh, I don't need to sit down for this. Number one, the jerk steals my girlfriend. Then he cozies up to Mom and next thing you know, he's her favorite kid, even beyond Sydney. He's better-looking than me, he's got way more charm, he flirts with every girl in sight—and Elara doesn't even care!—and he's ripped beyond belief. He knows everything about everything, the turd." He glared at Leslie. "You weren't supposed to make him perfect! All I wanted was a brother I could hang out with, talk about cars, discuss our favorite sports teams, check out women...you know, be buddies with. Y'know, Hayley and I didn't ask you to side with our mom about our fantasy. You and Roarke did this just to try to prove a point to us, didn't you? You better make Owen more ordinary, or so help me, I'll badmouth you and Roarke and this island all over my school and all over Facebook and Twitter and every other place I can think of!"

By this time Chance's voice had risen enough that Christian was on his way down the stairs, still buttoning the pajama shirt he normally shunned in private. "Is there a problem here, my Rose?" he asked, eyeing Chance.

"It doesn't concern you, Prince," Chance snapped, too angry to pay deference, which Leslie was sure Christian wouldn't have cared about anyway. "You can butt out."

"If you're threatening my wife in any way, it most certainly does concern me," Christian corrected him, his voice chilling. "Take a seat and calm down."

"What're you gonna do about it if I don't?" Chance sneered at him.

"We can terminate your fantasy right here and now, if you get any more verbally abusive or if it translates into something physical," Leslie warned him, glaring, her own ire rising now. "You may have a right to complain about your weekend brother, but you don't have the right to be rude about it. Plant your butt, Griffin, right now."

Something in her voice seemed to get through to him, and he eyed her with a grudgingly impressed expression before slowly lowering himself into a chair. Christian smiled, relaxing a little. " 'Plant your butt'?" he repeated, turning to Leslie. She shrugged, and he let out a soft chuckle.

"I still want to know what you're gonna do about that perfect brother of mine," said Chance in a sulky tone. "He's getting on my nerves like you wouldn't believe. I can't even get Elara to talk to me now. She's too busy singing Owen's praises."

"What kind of relationship do you have with Owen, anyway?" Leslie asked.

Chance, brought up short, stared at her as though she'd asked the question in jordiska. "Huh? Whaddaya mean, 'relationship'?"

"What she means," said Roarke from behind them, "is your everyday interaction with Owen. Remember, Mr. Griffin, for this weekend, you have memories of a lifetime with your brother. Draw on those, and tell me how you and he normally get along." He stepped fully into the study from one of the French shutters and drew it closed behind him.

Faced now with three people, none of whom seemed to be on his side, Chance let out a defeated sigh and thought. "Well...I guess he spent a lot of time bossing me around. He was popular in high school, and I was always the kid brother. Which," he blasted at Roarke as if in new realization, "isn't the fantasy I signed up to get! I just wanted a regular guy for a brother. I didn't want the mega-performing superhero you gave me. He's ingratiated himself with my mother and Hayley and Sydney, and he's stolen my girlfriend!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin, but the unfortunate fact is that siblings, no matter whether they are of the same or the opposite sex, simply cannot be perfect. The question now is whether you will simply take it lying down, or if you'll stand up to him and find out what Owen's true motives may be. You could find that they are completely different from what you think they are. Even if they aren't, you can't expect others to solve your problems for you. Whatever issues you have with your brother, you yourself must address them."

"Right," muttered Chance, stewing. "I should've known I wasn't gonna get any better advice than that."

"At the very least, you might try commiserating with Hayley," Leslie offered. "She's having trouble with Sydney too. If you and Hayley put your heads together, maybe you can come up with a solution that'll allow you to get along with Owen and Sydney."

Chance looked at her as if she had just morphed into some especially creepy alien in front of them all. "Hayley? Are you joking?"

Leslie shook her head and eyed him. "Try it."

Chance threw his hands in the air and got out of the chair, groaning, "Oh, all right, I guess it's not as nuts as it sounds." He left the house without another word.

"You're welcome," Leslie snorted when he was gone.

Christian laughed. "You know, Mr. Roarke, I'd be interested in seeing you grant a fantasy in which two brothers would prefer a sister, or the other way around—just for a change of pace. No one ever seems to truly get what they want here, yet you must have the highest percentage of satisfied customers in the world every Monday morning." On Roarke's chuckle, he turned to his wife. "I think you'd better come up with me and get some sleep while you still have the chance. We'll see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Roarke."