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More worrying signs from the enemy and teenage angst...


Chapter Three

Christina knew the moment that she became conscious of the train and the passengers that she would not be alone with her dreamscape for long. Anticipation coiled tightly in her stomach and slowly, grew a tingling awareness of a figure beside her. A strange combination of excitement and dread replaced the impatient fluttering and she held her figurative breath as she waited to see what Heracles had to say to her tonight.

"Do you yet know this vehicle's destination?" he asked with curious condescension.

"It's a metaphorical train," Christina replied with a roll of her eyes. "What I would like the destination to be must vary from day to day. Somewhere along the route will come an opportunity to meet you on the field of battle."

"You think so? I admire your conviction. I could find a use for such tenacity." His eyes locked on to her face, searching for any change in her expression.

Christina's eyes narrowed. "I have no interest in anything you have to offer."

"Truly? Are you so close-minded?" he tutted. "I must admit, I expected more from a child of the Warehouse."

"Meaning?"

"With all of your experience and teachings, you must know that there is always more than one side to a story. Often, you'll find many layers and nuances. Are you so naïve to think that I have none?"

Christina's inner voice nodded along to those words without her permission; she didn't want to agree but it was an idea that had stayed her hand before – often while sorting out squabbles between her sister and various other people. She couldn't imagine a scenario where Heracles' story would change her mind about the course of her mission to defeat him, but she was curious nevertheless. How had his life moulded him into the villain she saw today?

"Do you think you can justify your actions to my satisfaction?" she asked irately – thinking of the victims in his wake, with Meghan sitting at the forefront of her mind. "Enough that I will change my mind?"

"To you, I doubt the means will justify the end," he replied in an off-hand manner, as if her moral convictions meant little to him. "It does not necessarily follow that you will find the end concept entirely displeasing."

"And you want to enlighten me?"

Her narrowed eyes amused rather than disheartened him. "Next time perhaps," he told her with cool confidence as he stood and needlessly straightened his coat. "Sleep well, Miss Wells-Bering."

Christina was still clenching her teeth in anger and frustration when she woke. Her thoughts were in turmoil and she was too tense to stay in bed to seek comfort from Thomas. Slipping from beneath the covers, she grabbed a robe and gradually made her way downstairs with a cup of coffee. Knowing that her Mama had found peace and solace on the shop floor, surrounded by her fictional and non-fictional friends, Christina managed to breathe through her confusion to find her calm centre again.

These shared dreams were affecting her more than she liked to admit. Heracles' appearance during her sleeping hours was so sporadic that she couldn't predict when he might turn up next; she went to bed every night with the dread that another confrontation might await her.

Was this the reason for his visits? Was his aim to deprive her of sleep and make her see shadows around every corner? After conferring with Claudia, they agreed that a month was long enough for their experiment and they couldn't afford to let them continue indefinitely, even if the meetings did have potential benefit. She yet wasn't sure how to stop the dreams, but she knew that Claudia would help her find a way.

Whatever his reasons for doing so, he was playing with her mind and she could not allow him to divide her opinions. She'd thought about this long and hard. Even if she eventually understood his point of view or agreed with his reasons, she couldn't allow him to actually succeed. But she worried that by allowing those thoughts into her mind, somehow, they would change her character and she would become like the zealots who obeyed Heracles' every whim without question. Though normally an open-minded individual who welcomed new ideas, she could not afford to let doubt into her heart.

After sending a message to the caretaker, requesting some time to talk about her concerns, Christina picked up her drink and returned to the apartment. A quick peek into the bedroom told her that Thomas was still asleep. The door clicked shut softly behind her and she made a pit-stop in the kitchen for more coffee before shutting herself in her aunt's old room, which was now a study. Moving automatically, she switched the computer on, pressed play on the stereo that was already programmed with her playlists, and grabbed a yellow notebook from the shelf.

During the years since Meghan's murder, because she didn't trust the agents inside the Warehouse, she'd taken it upon herself to investigate. The deceased agent's notes had been surprisingly professional and detailed for a woman who always seemed blasé about her role, but they had proven to be very useful, especially when it came to following the movements of a certain henchwoman.

After her mothers' semi-disastrous trip to Australia and Fredrick's brush with death, Christina had searched obsessively for a way to get to Heracles with the intention of ending his operation once and for all, but as Regent Heath had discovered, the heir was good at hiding. Rather than allow herself to feel despondent and give up though, the young champion turned her attentions to Agent Coombs' notes and the copious references she made to Heracles' second in command.

She might have her suspicions about Cassandra's role in saving her brother's life, but Christina knew in her gut that the commander would have no issue with killing any of the Wells-Bering family if ordered to do so. That made Cassandra a threat and after reading all about the woman's skills in combat and her cruel streak, she felt a renewed sense of purpose in finding and neutralising her.

Her search wasn't a secret by any means, but Christina alone knew the lengths she was prepared to go to in order to protect the people she loved. At nineteen, she had out smarted and out manoeuvred the two most skilled and intelligent people she knew – her mothers – so surely now she would have no problem dealing with one obedient thug, so long as she was adequately prepared.

Unease churned in her stomach whenever she acknowledged the fact that she was treading on dangerous ground. Wasn't this the same path her Mum had taken, in some weird and twisted way; pursuing too much without telling anyone about it? But then she found herself rationalising her decisions – telling herself that she was just researching and hadn't done anything dangerous yet. It was a thin line, but she felt confident that she could stay on top. She had a wealth of knowledge and experience to fall back on after all. What could be the harm?


Fredrick stood in front of his open wardrobe, gazing nervously at the reflection staring back at him in the mirror. He'd already showered, dressed, emptied his bowels and brushed his teeth; the last two, images that he knew shouldn't co-exist in anyone's mind, but which lingered in the part of his brain that needed a distraction from the seriousness of the coming day.

His gown still hung on his bedroom door, taunting him. This was it – the end of high school, the beginning of the rest of his life. Logically, he knew that graduation was little more than a pat on the back before being thrown into the confusing world of adulthood, but for some reason he was still terrified of stepping up onto that stage and receiving his diploma. He pulled a breath in through his nose and pushed it slowly out through his mouth. With a second breath, he puffed out his chest and turned his face around, studying his chin.

"Checking for fluff?" Cat's voice sniggered from the open doorway.

Freddy shoved the wardrobe door closed as a flush climbed up to his ears. "What d'you want, Cat?"

The teen shrugged. "I'm officially un-grounded today. You want to play some XBox?"

"I'm gonna be kinda busy today, in case you weren't aware," Freddy rolled his eyes and turned back to his now squashed and probably creased outfit. "Don't you need to get ready too," he added after a beat.

"Yeah, but who needs more than five minutes to throw on a clean shirt, pants and shoes?" she shrugged again and scuffed her toe against the doorframe. "We've got like, two hours, right?" She chanced a look at her brother's face and couldn't help but notice the tension there. "Come on, Freddy. What are you going to do up here – stare at yourself while you try to grow a beard before the ceremony?"

The young man cracked a smile and nodded. "I suppose I could spare an hour for my annoying baby sister," he teased and pushed her gently out of the room.

"I'm not a baby," Cat whined as she led them down to the living room.

They warmed up the console and sank into the couch, thumbs hovering over the buttons as they waited for the game to load. In years gone by, they spent as much time battling aliens and racing super cars as their parents would allow, but as Fredrick advanced through his teens, he had less and less time to spend with his younger sister, and Catherine found interests elsewhere too. After a few minutes of getting reacquainted with the controls though, they felt like no time had passed at all.

"So, what are you going to do with your freedom now you're allowed to leave the house again?" Freddy asked when they reached a transition in the game.

Catherine shot an incredulous glance at her brother before turning back to the screen. "Do you really think our moms are going to let me go anywhere now?" she scoffed. "You and Chrissy are adults – well, you nearly are – so they can't control what you do or where you go. Guess who they're going to wrap in a bubble?" she grumbled and mashed her buttons in frustration, making her character perform a series of random flips that went unnoticed by the non-playable-characters.

Freddy cringed in sympathy and swung an axe through the head of a charging ogre. "They just want us to be safe. Tina and I had to put up with it too. It's just hard to see from your point of view 'cause you're the youngest."

"Well, they agreed to let me in on future meetings that you're invited to, so long as I keep my nose clean," the younger teen explained with a smug smile.

"Good," Fredrick responded with genuine happiness. It was difficult watching his sister flounder under the inequality of age and experience. Though he understood his parents' reasons, he knew how Cat felt when she was deliberately left out. He paused the game and turned his warm brown eyes to capture hazel with a deadly serious stare. "You do know that if you mess this up, you'll end up being watched every second of the day with no freedom to do anything but take a piss by yourself, don't you?" He knew he was laying it on a bit thick but he wanted her to understand how much trust their mothers were putting in her control.

Catherine winced at the image. She'd been so pleased with herself for pushing her parents to a point where they were willing to see her as more than a kid that she hadn't considered the consequences if she should fail. Sure, her Mum had threatened something dire if she acted thoughtlessly again, but she'd been too high on her success to really listen to that part. Her brother's words brought the full weight of her responsibility to reality though.

"Bit dramatic, don't you think? I'm only human, you know?"

"I'm not talking about when things go wrong, even when you've tried to do the right thing." He sighed and placed his controller to one side. "Shit happens, we all know that. But you're impulsive, Cat. When you have a bee in your bonnet, you're relentless and you don't always think things through." He rolled his eyes at the sullen look that came over her expression. "Just promise me that you'll be careful. Our moms are trying hard to keep things normal while we wait for the storm to arrive, but that doesn't mean we're not under threat. There's no need to tempt fate by doing stupid things. Like sneaking around on your own or trying to be a hero." His eyebrow rose with a knowing look. "I learnt that the hard way."

"Yeah, yeah," the fifteen-year-old relented with an exaggerated eye-roll. "I get the picture." Despite her outward nonchalance, her eyes said that she had taken her brother's warning to heart. She picked up the controller and offered it to Fredrick, hoping to entice him into another period of distraction, but he shook his head.

"Nah, I think it's time to finish getting ready. You know grams and gramps will be here soon and then we're going to have to pose for about a thousand photos."

He was right. The minute their great-grandparents arrived and their mothers saw Catherine still glued to the TV, they ushered her upstairs with forty minutes still to go and insisted that she be ready and downstairs in twenty. As predicted, it took her no time at all to don the clothes that had been left out for her. She even found a couple of minutes to entertain Spyder with an errant shoelace. But as usual, she'd failed to account for her unruly hair and still stood at the mirror after fifteen minutes trying to tame the frizzy mess.

"Urgh!" she screamed in frustration and threw her brush at the door, narrowly missing her mama. A contrite look flitted across her face before she slumped onto the bed.

Wordlessly, Myka picked up the projectile and climbed onto the mattress. She situated herself behind her daughter and began to tease handfuls of hair with practised ease. Before long, she had the untameable mass flowing in thick rivers down the girl's back and began to knot it into a loose plait. When she was done, she hopped off the bed and turned Catherine to inspect her handywork. They were very nearly the same height now and the waistcoat-shirt combination that Helena had donated at the girl's request reminded her so much of her wife in the early days of their acquaintance that she felt like crying.

"You're beautiful," she whispered and planted a kiss on Catherine's forehead before she saw an opportunity to escape.

"Ma-ah," the teen whined as a blush crept along her neck.

Myka chuckled. "I know these last few years have been hard, but I really wish you wouldn't insist on growing up so fast."

"I'm not a baby," Cat insisted, feeling like a broken record.

"No, you're not. You're a very dapper looking young woman and before we know it, you'll be the one in the cap and gown," the regent commented as a tear gathered in her eye.

Squirming under the scrutiny, the teen inched towards the door. "It must be time to go, right?" she asked, testing her escape.

The mother shook her head, her own curls bouncing. "After photos."

"Urgh!"


An old man in a plain but well-pressed suit entered his boss' study, his daily report all prepared as per his instructions. Heracles sat at his desk, entertaining two of his generals, but turned as the old man entered and offered his undivided attention. Even after years of delivering news to Lloyd Spenser-Chapman, he never entirely sure what reaction to expect and stole himself as he began to speak, "Sir, the Warehouse agents continue their search for John Cooper's microphone but they have begun to split their attentions to other artefacts again." He ignored the impatient huff from the man directly to his right, who gave off a faint odour of decay, and continued. "Two are heading east to Mongolia and two remain in Rio. The caretaker has been sighted again in Colorado."

Heracles absorbed the information without reaction, though his thoughts whirred energetically. "Thank you, you are dismissed," he told the old man and waited until the door was closed again before turning to his companions. "I think it is safe to say that our adversaries are unaware of what their distraction has cost them. Mr Kipling," he turned to the somewhat sullen looking gent. "I assume that you are prepared to use the remainder of your time wisely?"

Kipling's head perked up and he straightened in his chair, attempting perhaps to look more imposing and/or attentive. He placed his arm on the desk and a very audible thunk came from the gloved end. Since the incident in Australia where his superior had seen fit to punish his disobedience, he'd toed the line and worn his remaining stump with silent petulance. Though he understood the heir's insistence that his orders be followed without deviation, he still didn't understand what was so wrong with the way he'd handled Wells' American whore. On reflection, he wondered whether losing his hand was such a bad thing – the memory of Miss Bering's fear was potent enough to sustain him through the worst of his own pain, and now his recently gifted prosthetic gave him a new weapon with which he could hurt his enemies. The weight had taken some getting used to, but the finely-crafted iron fist gave him a sense of power. Iron had built and sustained an empire. His empire. British dominance would rise again with him in charge.

Once Heracles had control of the Warehouse of course, and Kipling was nothing if not determined to see that plan through to its end. Excitement coiled inside him as it always did when he was given new direction. Was this the order that would give him Helena Wells?

"I am ready to serve," he answered as expected.

"My time draws nearer. Cassandra, you will go ahead with our equipment and set up. I expect the task will take you no longer than a week," he suggested and immediately received a nod from the commander. "Kipling, you will be ready to launch my first strike on the Wells-Bering family – I want you in Colorado. When I give the order, I will need you to force them to ground. The rest they will take care of themselves," he explained, his gaze taking on a faraway quality as he pictured the panicked retreat. "You will be given sufficient assistance when the moment arrives. Until then, hold your distance."

Kipling squirmed. He really wished that Heracles had not added that last part. He thirsted to make Helena Wells pay for her insolence and knew that being so close to her family would prove tempting. Surely it would not hurt his superior's plans so much… "And if I should spy an opportunity for sabotage without ruining your plans?"

Heracles appeared to give the request some consideration before nodding once. "I will leave that to your discretion, so long as you keep in mind the consequences should your actions have a detrimental effect on my goals."

A dark smile fell over Kipling's face and he left to prepare for his journey with the smug expression of someone who had malevolent plans in mind. Heracles watched him go and turned an expectant look on the commander once they were alone. "You wish to comment?" he prompted her.

"He has no intention of keeping his distance," Cassandra noted bluntly. "You know this and yet you are allowing him to leave. I wish to understand."

"Either he will not find the opportunity he so desires and will be forced to wait for my order, or else he will do something to incur their wrath and force them to consider his permanent end. I do not see a downside for me in either of those scenarios," Heracles concluded with little emotion.

"You do not think that they will run to ground before time if he threatens their safety?" Cassandra pressed the point.

"Not for a single foe. They are more resilient than that," he replied, dismissing the idea. "I assume that you are aware of everything you need to do?"

The commander hesitated for a fraction of a second as she considered chasing her concerns. She had long been aware that Heracles saw potential stumbling blocks as opportunities to further his own goals and chose to trust that he knew what he was doing. This day was no different.


Jake sat on his bed, sulking. He wanted to throw something. Preferably something breakable so his parents would have a real reason to send him to his room rather than the trumped-up charges he was under now. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and dropped it in front of him so he could pummel it into submission. A grunt escaped his throat with each punch and the sound of something ripping did nothing to slow him down. At the creak of door hinges though, he paused and glanced automatically to identify his visitor. Seeing his sister, who was still parading her cap and gown, the frozen expression on his face turned into a scowl.

"What do you want?" he grumbled and wrapped his fist into his punch bag, ready to throw it at her if needed.

Sophie rolled her eyes and leant against the door frame. "You're an idiot," she told him. "Why'd you start a fight with Dad? He's probably the only one in this house who actually gets you."

The teen's soulful eyes turned down and his shoulders shrugged in a universal expression of obstinance and uncertainty. "I dunno, do I? He was just getting on my nerves."

The young woman smirked and shook her head in an exaggerated 'mom-like' way. "Teenagers," she lamented, the teasing clear in her tone.

Rage surged suddenly within the boy and he flung his pillow at the doorway, hoping more than believing that his aim was true. The sound of his sister's mocking laugh pulled him from his bed and he lunged. Her gleeful expression barely faltered and, torn between wanting to punch the smugness off her face and knowing that he shouldn't, he grabbed the door instead and slammed it with so much force that it shook the shelf-full of trophies beside it. Continuing his fit of anger, he threw himself back on his bed and screamed into the mattress.

A tiny tear of frustration gathered in each eye and he stubbornly blinked them away. Even if a part of him knew that Sophie was right – he'd been warned often enough by teachers and parents that mood swings were part and parcel of ageing into an adult – he had no intention of admitting it. She deliberately tried to make him explode with anger and he was fed up of it! A soft knock at the door interrupted his private thoughts for revenge against his annoying sibling and he turned his head just enough to call out a terse, "What!?"

Thoroughly expecting his sister's teasing tone or his father's admonishing one, he felt an abrupt sense of relief and vulnerability when his mother answered. "Jake?" He turned back into the comfort of his bed and tried to swallow the lump that rose in his throat.

Lila picked up the discarded pillow without complaint and closed the door softly behind her. She gazed down at her little boy and sighed inwardly as she recalled the many tantrums she'd weathered as a parent. It never ended, but she wouldn't trade any of it for an uncomplicated life without her children… Or the man-child who'd fathered them. Knowing that she'd get a reaction, she swatted the pillow across the teen's back and stood ready with a loving smile as he turned that practised scowl on her. With his face now exposed, she leant down to kiss his cheek and then swatted him a second time before putting the soft weapon back in its proper place. A half-smile was already forming at the corners of her son's mouth and she perched on the edge of the mattress so that she could run her fingers soothingly through his hair.

There was very little that she felt she needed to say to him at that moment. She'd heard the shouting match that Pete and their son had waged in the living room over Jake's refusal to turn off the gaming console. She could hardly have avoided it. And though she very much agreed that two hours was more than enough timed glued to the TV, she knew, as the entire household had known for a while, that her son was hurting over something far less innocuous.

"Your Dad wants you to put your gym clothes on; he's taking you out." She watched as the teen shoved his face into the mattress and heard a muffled 'don't wanna'. "I know you don't," she replied. "But you're going to because it's better than hiding away."

"He sent me to my room," Jake answered stubbornly. "I'm supposed to stay here until dinner."

"And now you can go out. Think of it as a conditional pardon."

He tried to ignore the bubbling interest inside and find an excuse not to go, but one look at his mother's pleading expression pulled him up, forcing him to stomp over to a pile of clothes on his desk and rummage around for his track-suit. He fully expected his mother to comment and nag about the face that he had not yet put his clean laundry away and the pile was close to mingling with the dirty clothes that he'd dropped on the chair, but she didn't and he was grateful.

His dad was already in the car, waiting for him, when he arrived downstairs and slumped out the front door. They didn't speak at all during the drive downtown, but it didn't feel like the tense silence that usually accompanied the hours following an argument. The ex-secret service agent was relaxed and calm, a soft humming and tapping coming from him as he listened to the radio. By the time they arrived at their destination, Jake had cooled down from the temper incurred from his sister and only felt a mild, residual annoyance from the stupid thoughts that had set him off in the first place.

Pete made a show of limbering up; he stretched his shoulders, arms, chest and back, took several deep breaths, and lifted each leg in turn against a corner post before squatting with the help of a ring-side rope and almost falling on his ass. Finally, he moved back to the centre of the ring, stretched his neck, wiped his nose and tapped his gloves together. Any stranger watching might be excused for thinking that he hadn't just spent half an hour warming up and stretching in the gym upstairs.

"Right, kiddo," he jeered and danced on the balls of his feet. "Prepare for a takedown!"

Jake rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. His dad was such a goof. If they were anywhere else – anywhere that someone might recognise him – the young Lattimer boy would have died of embarrassment by now. But there were only a couple of old guys lifting weights in one corner and a lone woman beating the stuffing out of a punch bag in another. He could live with that.

"In your dreams, old man!" he parried and felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

Once they'd showered and changed, Pete drove to one of his favourite side-street cafes and found them an isolated table in the back. After ordering a 'light' snack of cheese-steaks and fries, he leant back in his seat and quietly observed his son. "I didn't mean to lose my temper with you this morning. It was dumb; I knew you were trying to goad a reaction out of me." He watched a sheepish look fall over his son's face and let the teen stew for a minute in his own shame. He was too soft to let the boy suffer for long though and reached over to tap his fist against Jake's shoulder. "Live and learn, yeah?"

"Yeah," the lad answered with a relieved smile. "Sorry, Dad."

"So, what's got you so twisted up?" Pete asked, beginning his interrogation. He and Lila had agreed that he'd stay out with their son for as long as it took to get an actual answer out of the boy. Jake had been moping for weeks and the tension in the house was starting to reach dangerous levels. "It's just us boys here and there's not much you could say to me that would shock me."

Jake bit his thumb, tearing off a tiny piece of skin and wincing as it bit a little too deep into the flesh. "Dad, you were always good with girls, right? Before Mom. I mean, Aunt Myka's always teasing you about letting Mom tie you down. Did you have a lot of girlfriends?"

While he didn't regret his bachelor days, since becoming a dad, Pete had secretly hoped that he never had to talk about that period of his life with his kids. He'd been friends with Myka and HG long enough to understand how the syntax game worked though. "Girlfriends? No, not so many. I have a lot of friends who are girls and I was married once. No one holds a candle to your Mom though."

Sceptical eyes scanned an ageing face for any hint of guilt for the misleading answer. Maybe his dad didn't know that those 'friends who were girls' talked about him occasionally and never wasted an opportunity to recall his frequent conquests. Jake had been an unintentional witness to those conversations on more than one instance. Though he always puzzled over the way they used the word 'conquest', as if out of pity for the women in question. He couldn't imagine his dad ever being mean to anyone.

"You were married?" Jake asked as he decided not to pursue the hidden lie.

"You've seen pictures of Amanda," Pete reminded the kid and sighed as he watched his son's eyes glaze over slightly.

"Oh yeah. The major," Jake muttered and lost himself for a few seconds before a sharp clap brought him round and he blushed. "What do you do when there's a girl you like?"

Pete sighed, relief and dread attacking his insides in one blow. They'd had the 'boy to man' talk the moment Jake had started spending twice as long in the shower and rescuing his sister's beauty magazines from the recycling. That talk had been mostly about the kid taking care of his own body and discrete ways to go about handling the little general when it decided to stand at attention. This conversation would begin the second half of the game – the half that never truly ended.

"Jay," the ex-agent began and leant forward so he could lower his voice slightly. "I could tell you all the pick-up lines I've ever thought of, give you advice on what gifts they might like – if that's the way you want to play it, or advise you about how to act around girls, but gimmicks like that can only get you so far. The thing is, every girl is different. Even if they try to dress the same way, have the same hair, hobbies and opinions, no two girls are alike."

"So, what do I do then?" the teen asked, feeling slightly panicked that his dad didn't have a magic, fix-all answer.

"The only things you can do," Pete answered and leant back again as he shrugged, "be you and be respectful."

"What if she doesn't like 'me'?" Jake wondered, his voice still tight with anxiety. "Or what if she does like 'me' but doesn't like-like me?"

"Ah," Pete said, grasping the crux of the issue at last. "It's about Cat."

Jake's neck flushed all the way to the tips of his ears and he slid half a metre into his seat, his head stopping just above the top of the chair. "Daaad," he groaned.

"I can't help you there, kid," he continued, shaking his head. "Only time can sort that problem out." At the forlorn and frankly, miserable look that invaded his son's usually carefree features, Pete leant forward again. "Hey, Jake, I know it doesn't feel like it now, but it will get easier. Believe me!"

The teen's eyebrow's shot up at the absolute confidence in his dad's voice. "Really? How d'you know?"

"Myka's my best friend, right?"

"Yeah… You mean…?" Jake whispered, his tone on the cusp between shocked and horrified. "You… and Aunt Myka!?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "You know she's not actually my sister, don't you?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Cat thinks of you like a brother and her mom was that way with me. Only, there was a time when I wanted more. Like you want more with Cat."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"But you never…?"

"No, but that's ok. It all worked out for the best. If HG hadn't come along, maybe Myka and I would've made a go of it, but I don't think she'd have really been happy, not the way she is with Lady Cuckoo. I wouldn't have wanted that for her. I wouldn't have been really happy either, not the way I am with Lila." He paused to let his words sink in. "Myka's my best friend and I love her. If we were the last two people on this Earth, I'd give it a go, but I'm glad that HG dropped in when she did, and I'm even more glad that your mom agreed to put up with me for as long as she has. I'm glad Myka and I never had a chance to see how blah we would've been together."

Jake nodded. "So, how do I stop feeling this way?"

Pete shrugged. "Like I said, only time will sort that out. As for the rest, kid… When you stop worrying about what they think of you, you'll find a way to be yourself. Any girl who doesn't like you for you, is not someone you need." Despite knowing that self-discovery was a lifelong endeavour, he wished futilely for his son to find the wisdom that every teen needed.

Jake frowned and stared at his dad for a long, contemplative moment before reluctantly nodding. "It's gonna suck, isn't it?"

"Yep."

The teen slumped in his chair and groaned. "Frack."


As always, comments are gratefully received!