Day 1 - Departure

Preston Tucci drove confidently through the streets of Boston, a warren of tunnels and overpasses that left his housemate and best friend, Antoine Radson quite thoroughly disorientated.

Music, Italian opera without vocals filled interior of Preston's Cadillac CT6. "Puccini Without Words," the album was called. Combine that with the soothing heat of his seat warmer, and Antoine found himself struggling to stay awake. It had been a late night for both of them, but for once Preston seemed the more alert of the two.

As Preston drove, he quizzed Antoine, trying to keep his housemate focused. "My mother's name?"

"Janet," Antoine replied, looking out the window as they slowly emerged from yet another tunnel, to a stringed crescendo.

"And my father?"

"Alfred."

Preston shook his head. "You're still saying it wrong. It's pronounced 'ALL-fred,' not 'ale-FURD' like you keep doing. He's very particularly about his name. Try it again, Alfred."

Antoine folded his arms across his stomach. "This is a bad idea, Prep," he said with a grumble. "I'm not cut out for stuff like this. And you didn't even let me dye my hair."

The thin man behind the wheel sighed as he pulled into the secure parking garage by the pier. He turned off the engine and leaned over the steering wheel, regarding his blue-haired housemate from tip to toe. Antoine's hair was just about shoulder-length now, a shade of pool-blue aqua. His beard and eyebrows were dyed to match. Antoine's tanned face was creased with worry, his Nordic blue eyes awash in trepidation.

Preston reached out and took Antoine's course palm in his own smooth one. "I've spent the past three decades trying to not be myself in order to please my parents. I'm not going to have you start doing the same thing. Dying your hair black, just so they won't see your natural teal? I'm not having you do that for them."

Antoine gave Preston's hand a squeeze.

"Now let's go and make the best of this, right? It's a cruise to the Bahamas. That should be right up your alley."

Antoine chuckled as he got out of the car. "I dunno. I've always been more the vacation by myself, sleep on the beach type. Present company excluded of course," he added as he hauled their bags from the trunk. "I like taking vacations with you."

"Think of this as one of those then," Preston replied, wrapping a burgundy scarf around his neck. "You're going on a cruise with me, and my parents just happened to be on the same boat."

Antoine crammed his black knitcap down over his eyes and eyebrows. He stared dolefully at Preston. "How can you be so relaxed about this?"

Preston gave dismissive flick of his wrist. "Because I'm finally learning I don't have to live my life to please them."

Antoine gave a snort. "So why are we here then? You could've said 'no thank you' to their offer."

"Because," Preston replied, grabbing the handle of his rolling suitcase, "we have to get to know each other as adults sooner or later."

Antoine swung his duffle bag and their shared garment bag over his shoulder. "That, and your parents probably wouldn't have accepted 'no' for an answer," he muttered with dry humor.

Preston ran a hand over Antoine's shoulder, let it linger for just a second too long for it to be purely friendly gesture. "Well, there is probably that too," he confessed with a laugh. "They were quite insistent, buying tickets and reserving a separate cabin for us. At that point, you're right, 'no,' wouldn't have been the right answer."

"Well, I guess it can't be that bad," Antoine relented. "All-expense-paid vacay to the Caribbean with my bestie? I guess I shouldn't worry too much. I've never been on a cruise before though."

"It's a big boat," Preston added. "You won't be spending all your time with them. There'll be plenty of ways to keep yourself busy." They crossed the street, towards the long white building that dominated the pier. Once beyond the crowd, Preston scanned for two familiar faces. Two that would stand out above the rest. It didn't take him long to spot them.

Antoine Radson hung back as Preston met his parents by the terminal. He watched Preston and his mother embrace quickly, formally, a kiss on each cheek. Then Preston shook hands with his father. Antoine realized Preston didn't seem so tall standing with his parents, nor did he seem so richly dressed. The whole Tucci clan was tall and lean; Alfred wearing dark-colored slacks and a matching blazer, Janet wearing a long skirt and suitcoat herself. Antoine felt both short, and underdressed. He stared down at his jean-clad legs, his worn in converse sneakers. He should've at least put on khakis… and dyed his hair…

Preston realized Antoine was lagging. He turned, made a beckoning motion to Antoine.

Antoine, feeling vaguely self-conscious, like a pack mule for taking most of their luggage, swallowed down his anxiety. I'm a natural, I'm unique, and the camera loves me, he thought to himself as he made his way over to the tall family. Preston seemed to sense his housemate's discomfort. He detached himself from his parents and met up with Antoine, grabbing the garment bag from Antoine's shoulders.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, given Antoine a friendly tap with his elbow. "Just think of the beaches," Preston added with a wink.

Antoine drew himself up before Preston's parents, ever so glad his housemate was at his side. He'd met Preston's parents before over dinner once, but he hadn't particularly felt part of the conversation. Alfred and Janet alternatively talked to him, and sometimes about him, as if he had been a display more than guest. It hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been "real," either.

Preston's parents were stilted and controlled, white-collar, white hands. Alfred Tucci regarded Antoine coolly from beneath thick eyebrows. His hair had been black once, but was now streaked with grey and white, the classic "salt-and-pepper" look . He was an investment banker, Preston had explained. Antoine wasn't sure entirely what that entailed. But he could tell from the man's gold watch and expensive shoes that it was a job which paid well. As if one couldn't tell that from his condo alone, Antoine thought as he shook hands with the tall patriarch.

Janet Tucci had the same august bearing as her husband. Her hair and eyes both were a platinum grey hue. She smiled at Antoine as he approached her, planting a single, formal kiss on his cheek. "We're glad you could make it, Antoine," she said as they shook hands.

Alfred Tucci glanced at his watch. "Well, we best get moving. I'll have the bags handled, and meet you at the terminal." He gestured to the trolley next to them.

Antoine passed off his dufflebag to the trolley, setting it beside Preston's suitcase and garment bag, next to the Tuccis' luggage. Alfred extended an arm to his wife, who took it. He steered the trolly towards the concierge service.

"What are you so nervous about?" Preston asked, tilting his face towards Antoine. "You weren't this anxious when we went to meet them last time."

"That didn't involve them paying a lot of money to bring me along," Antoine replied. "And, I'm always nervous meeting new families. It's… yeah, something I have memories and hang-ups about."

Preston gave Antoine yet another reassuring pat on the back. Antoine was glad he didn't need to explain further. Growing up in the foster care system, this entire arrangement with Preston's parents made him feel like a small child again: an already established family, then him coming into the middle of aching to belong, and yet trying not to make waves. Hoping desperately his new family could work out, but not honestly believing it would. Something about traveling with Preston's parents was causing old insecurities to resurface. He shook himself like a dog, trying to rid itself of water.

"What was that?" Preston asked, laughing.

"Goose stepped on my grave?" Antoine offered. "I don't know. Let's find a spot to sit and wait for your folks, okay?"

Antoine had relaxed considerably once they finally got underway. Preston was glad of that. He couldn't remember ever having seen his housemate so uncertain before. As the white buildings faded into the distance, Antoine relaxed considerably. They steamed south, making good time across the grey Atlantic. After a casual buffet dinner, Preston found Antoine standing on the private balcony of their cabin. As usual, Antoine seemed oblivious to the cool air. His was face turned into the salt breeze, hair fluttering about his ears. "Nice they at least got us a room with one bed," he remarked as Preston joined him.

"I thought that might bother you."

"Nah," Antoine replied, as he dropped into a deck chair. "I sleep better next to you. You're comfortable, you know?" he added, as he reached up and grabbed Preston around the waist.

The thin man squirmed in protest, as Antoine hauled him roughly onto his lap. "Oh, sit a minute," Antoine laughed, resting his chin on Preston's shoulder. "You're going to catch a chill out here like that anyhow. I'll keep ya warm. I'm insulated, remember."

Preston propped himself up and wrapped an arm around Antoine's neck. "You do know, Insulation only keeps the wearer warm, right?"

Antoine ruffled Preston's hair affectionately, messing up whatever styling Preston had attempted earlier. "Oh, so that's how it works," he replied, eyeing his familiar paunch with a hint of satisfaction.

Preston patted Antoine's belly, noting the way Antoine closed his eyes as he did. "Yep, I'm afraid so."

Antoine made a purring sound, but said nothing. Preston tucked himself awkwardly into Antoine's arms, feeling the soft rise and fall of Antoine's chest with each breath. It was not the most ergonomic position for Preston, but for the time being it was remarkably comfortable.

His moment of reflection was interrupted by a soft rapping. Preston shoved himself up, leaping off Antoine's lap. Antoine grunted and blinked in surprise.

"Mom," Preston yelped as he dusted himself off and tried to smooth down his hair. "I didn't see you there."

Janet tilted her head back towards the adjoining door between their two units. "I knocked, then I saw you out here. May I join you?" Preston noticed the two mugs of tea she held on a small tray.

Preston gestured to an empty deck chair, caught off guard. "Ah, yes! Of course, please have a seat."

Janet Tucci, her skirt and suit exchanged for a pair of slim pants and a sweater sat down. She set the tray on a side table and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Ah," Janet breathed, looking out over the water. "It feels warmer already."

"Definitely not Boston weather," Antoine remarked as he stood up. "Here, Preston, you can have my chair. I'm going to finish unpacking, okay?" He gave Preston and Janet a half-salute, then padded inside, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind him.

"He seems nice," she remarked as she took a sip from the tea in her hands.

Preston sat down awkwardly, trying (and failing) to look relaxed. "Oh, yes. He is."

Janet passed him a mug of tea, which he took gratefully. It wasn't the herbal tea he typically drank. Black tea, with a splash of cream. Definitely more caffeine than he was used to, but it was hot, and right now that was all that mattered. He curled his long fingers around the white mug, savoring the warmth, wishing he'd worn a coat. He blew on it to cool it, then took a sip. Strong, sharp, but not bitter.

"So how are you two getting along," Janet asked.

Preston stared at his reflection in the mug, thinking. He'd talked with his parents periodically on the phone, but it was far different sitting next to his mother face to face. When was the last time they'd just chatted about anything? Preston racked his mind, he couldn't remember.

"We're doing well," he replied, guardedly, not sure what to say next. Preston knew the strained conversations that had followed Christmas dinner with his parents. His father hadn't said much on the topic, or about anything for that matter. The bulk of his last few conversations with his father over the phone could be summed up as a greeting, then the conversation ended in a question: Would you like to talk to your mother?

And even then, in talking to his mother, Preston wasn't sure what to say. She never missed the chance to tell him she loved him, but the depth and breadth of what they left unspoken could fill an ocean. Preston learned his mother had wanted grandchildren. Sometimes, their talks were calm. Other times, he could hear the strain in her voice, sounding just at the edge of tears. I never knew she wanted grandkids, Preston remarked to Antoine one evening after a particularly taut conversation. I didn't picture her for that type.

People are full of surprises, Antoine had replied with a shrug as he flipped through the channels. Two hundred-something stations of nothing worth watching. You're her only son, but she loves you. Give it time.

Time, Preston mused as he sipped his tea and stole a sidelong glance at his mother. She was watching him, expression oddly similar: guarded yet hoping.

"Antoine's a good man," Preston said finally. "He's helped me through a lot." More than you know, Preston added, thinking of exactly how much he'd never told his parents about the Incident at AlkaliStark, or his resultant injuries inside and out.

"I know we don't talk much," Janet hesitated. "I know your father and I haven't always been easy on you."

Preston muffled a cough. That was an understatement to be sure.

"We wanted the best for you, truly. We still do," she added quickly. "Perhaps in that, we sacrificed getting to know you. I'd like to take the time to do that now, if it's not too late."

Raising his head, Preston regarded his mother quietly. She'd never spoken to him like this before. Not like he was her son, but like they were two adults. It was strange, oddly refreshing. Preston felt himself smile slightly. "I'd like that." He smiled.

Day 2 – Cruising

Antoine and Preston ambled about the ship, becoming familiar with layout and amenities. The ship was larger than Antoine could've ever imagined. A centerline promenade ran from the aft of the ship up to the midline: a pedestrian mall with shops and various restaurants. At the midline, it ended in "the art district", for lack of better word in Antoine's mind. There was a dance club on the lower level, a theatre, and the upper decks boasted a very swanky dining establishment.

There were, of course, the various sun decks and pools. A health club with fitness center and sauna. A movie theatre. Antoine was struck by the crowds. "It's like a floating city," he remarked as he leaned over a railing and looked down to the shopping levels below. There were even cabins that overlooked the promenade, though Antoine was ever so glad they had one with an ocean view.

At the end of the promenade was a terraced recreation deck featuring a glass-sided infinity pool, lounge chairs, and on the upper tiers, several rock-climbing walls. Antoine eagerly bounded over to the climbing walls, were, much to Preston's surprise he maneuvered his way up them with remarkable speed and agility.

"It's all about forearm strength," Antoine called down as he hung by one hand off an inclined ledge, grinning ear-to-ear. With that, he swung himself over to a new handhold and continued his climb.

Preston smiled, arms folded across and shook his head. "Deck ape!" he shouted back, wondering if Antoine even heard.

Dinner with Preston's parents was pleasant, but stilted. Antoine sat quietly, tending only to speak if spoken to. Janet made polite conversation with the blue-haired man. Alfred periodically looked at Antoine, but couldn't seem to manage sustained eye-contact. He resorted to speaking of Antoine, rather than to Antoine.

Both Antoine and Preston noticed this. Janet did her best to draw Antoine into their conversations.

By evening, the air had taken on a distinctive tropical smell. Hot breezes, carrying that muggy tropic air washed over the balcony where Antoine and Preston sat, enjoying the silence. They left the patio door open that night, choosing only the screen and curtains. Lulled by the soft wind and the deep thrum of the engines through the deck-plates, they slept; curled together in some human pretzel shape on the queen-sized mattress.

Day 3 – Port of Call: Orlando

The Tucci Family plus one Radson met at the pier and caught a shuttle into Orlando. Antoine appeared much more his usual animated self, right back to his normal, vibrant attire. Wearing a pair of baggy cargo shorts, toe-shoes, and a Hawaiian shirt over a white tee, he was trying to stay calm but failing horribly. He kept rocking back and forth in his seat, drumming his feet impatiently on the floor. "It's like you've never been to Disney World," Alfred remarked with mild annoyance after Antoine inadvertently kicked his seat for the third time.

"I haven't," Antoine chirped back, oblivious to Alfred's tone. Antoine continued to fidget and turn in his seat, taking it all in as they drove nearly due west to the park. "Hey, look, there's a place called Disney's Saratoga Resort and Spa," he laughed. "I bet it doesn't look anything like home."

Janet and her son exchanged a look. Antoine's enthusiasm, while perhaps a bit over the top, was proving to be infectious. Despite Alfred's reticence, they returned to port hours later, exhausted but content.

"It's different going as an adult," Preston admitted as they made their way to their cabins. "It doesn't seem so hectic."

"Seemed plenty hectic to me," Alfred replied. It was hard to tell if he were joking of serious.

Antoine grinned and said nothing, a small plush "Stitch" toy tucked firmly under his arm. There would be enough time to shower and get changed before dinner. Unlike the night before, the plan was for an informal dinner at a burger-and-wing joint on the promenade

Antoine set the plush Stitch beside the TV and grinned proudly. "I love that movie," he said, doing a half-pivot in the air.

"Yeah, it was pretty cute," Preston agreed as he set out a pair of khaki shorts and a clean polo shirt that matched his sandals. Antoine glanced down at Preston's legs, smiling.

"I'm glad you like that," he remarked, pointing to the cowry shell anklet Preston wore.

Preston smiled as he slipped his teeshirt off and folded it on the bed next to him. "You know I always wear it." The anklet, a gift Antoine had given him after their first trip to Florida quite some time ago. Even at work, Preston wore it 'round his ankle, neatly tucked under his dress socks. It had become such a part of him he hardly paid attention to it anymore. Antoine still noticed though, clearly. Preston drew his leg across his lap and ran a finger over the small, white shells.

What's that Antoine had said they meant? Destiny, prosperity? He pulled the polo shirt on over his head and shrugged. Whatever they traditionally symbolized paled in comparison to the fact Antoine had given them to him.

Day 4 – Port of Call: Nassau, Bahamas.

Antoine Radson brought up the rear as the small party made their way ashore, straightening his collared shirt as he went. On the ship, he dressed casual. When going ashore, he thought it best to mirror the garment choice of his hosts. It wasn't his typical attire.

Alfred Tucci slung his golf-clubs over his shoulder. "We can play the first nine before lunch, then follow up with the back nine and be back with plenty of time to spare," he remarked to Preston.

Preston's face looked less than thrilled. He glanced towards his mother. "Mom and I were thinking about going shopping today. They have some nice clothing stores ashore."

Alfred stiffened slightly, a faint scowl beginning to form. "Really," he said. It was not a question.

Preston shifted his weigh, but did not back down. He nodded. "Yes. We made plans."

"I see." Alfred's expression darkened further.

Antoine's eyes flicked from the young Tucci to the elder as if watching a tennis match. Though Alfred looked more annoyed than anything else, Antoine could see a faint shade of disappointment in his eyes as well. Antoine quickly reviewed his options.

"Hey, Mister Tucci, sir. I'll go golfing with you. I might be a little rusty, but it'll probably come back and honestly, I don't want to go shopping anyway." he glanced at Preston and Janet with an apologetic shrug.

"Suit yourself," Preston replied, throwing his light button-up over shirt around his shoulders.

With that, the group parted ways, Antoine loping silently along, following slightly behind Alfred as the tall man parted the crowds like Moses cutting through the Red Sea.

Their ferry ride to Paradise Island was quiet, uncomfortably so. Antoine kept stealing glances at Alfred, trying to get a read on the man. The older gentleman looked like Preston a bit, the same high forehead and creased brow, but his features were broader, more square. Unlike Preston, his eyes were dark brown, almost black. He was tall and austere, his features distinctly Italian.

"So… do you golf often?" Antoine asked, trying to break the silence.

"At some of the best courses around the world," Alfred replied back, not meeting Antoine's eyes.

"Ah," Antoine replied, and let his mind wander till they arrived at the course. Antoine watched as Alfred paid the green fees, the rental for Antoine's clubs, and for his shoes. They selected a cart, and the game began.

The course was a beautiful 18-hole field, a long course at over 7,000 yards. Antoine was glad he'd dressed up a bit as he read the dress code requirements. The entire eastern edge of Paradise Island was converted into one of the most beautiful courses Antoine had ever seen. Surrounded by turquoise oceans that matched his hair, the course was a lush, emerald green. Not so much as a blade of grass out of place. Several sapphire-hued water hazards dotted the course. Palm trees, golden sand traps, white sand beaches. Antoine let Alfred tee off first, then followed suit, making sure to duff his swing a bit. It would hardly do to out-drive Preston's father.

At each hole, Antoine held back, or tried to. At the ninth hole, a modest par four, Antoine inadvertently forgot to check himself. Pivoting easily as he swung, he drove the ball from the tee, straight down the center of the fairway, easily outdistancing Alfred's shot. Immediately, Antoine remembered himself. He held his driver in both hands and gave a submissive smile. "Lucky shot, eh?" he offered. "Those crosswinds must've helped."

Alfred reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. He gave the younger man a firm squeeze. "Antoine, your lies insult us both. Now stop the games, and start playing like a man." Though the tone was sharp, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

If that's what you want, Antoine thought smugly, may the odds be ever in your favor!

By the twelfth hole competition was fierce, pride was on the line, and the friendly trash-talking had begun in earnest. By the fourteenth hole, the two men were playing for money, and Antoine was easily holding his own.

"Where did you learn to play like that?" Alfred asked on their ride back to the pier.

Antoine laughed and wiped his brow. "My old boss, Mister Dimas. I was his personal pilot so I flew him to business ventures around the east coast. Sometimes he had time off, and he was an avid golfer. Usually, if he was going with a group, I'd just caddy. When he couldn't find anyone else, he'd invite me along. He taught me. I haven't played in years, but it's like riding a bicycle: it's not something you forget." He grinned. "That, and I can be a bit competitive."

Alfred gave him a friendly shake. "You should teach that edge to my son!" Alfred laughed.

After Alfred stowed his golf clubs, he and Antoine meandered down to the bar, the one attached to the restaurant they'd agreed to meet at for dinner. There, Preston and Janet found the two men, laughing over drinks, and some mildly bawdy jokes.

Preston sat down at the table and regarded Antoine and his father jealously. "I've waited thirty years for him to joke with me like that," he huffed.

Janet made a clucking sound with her tongue. "It's good for your father to relax like that, and he appears to be taking a shine to Antoine."

"Yes, that's a good thing I suppose…" Preston's voice trailed off. "Wait! Mom, do you see that?"

Janet looked up.

Alfred Tucci had opened his wallet, and was counting out a handful of bills to a particularly smug looking Antoine. The blue-haired man pocketed the money, and the two men shook hands.

"It looks like your father was betting at golf again," Janet remarked over her wine.

Preston nodded. "Looks like Antoine won," he agreed with a snicker.

Deal done, the two men detached themselves from the bar, and went to meet their loved ones.

Day 5 and Day 6 – Port of Call: Augustifolia Cay. Starchild Cruiseline's private island.

Perhaps it was the rain that afternoon, or maybe it was simply that everyone was getting over-tired. For whatever the reason a day that started out well wound up ending on quite a different note. Augustifolia Cay, a several hundred acre island, was privately owned by Starchild Enterprises, used exclusively for their cruise ships. Unlike many islands that only featured day activities, Augustifolia offered overnight "cabana camping" for a finite number of guests. Reservations sold out quickly, often a year in advance.

Alfred and Janet Tucci had obviously planned ahead. Ashore a simple bungalow had been reserved for them: a mirrored building with each suite boasting a bedroom and sitting/dining area, with a covered dog-trot connecting the units. Preston and Antoine would have their side, Janet and Alfred would have the other.

Everything seemed to be going well as they disembarked from the ship and made their way about the island. At lunch, Antoine was delighted to discover the barbeque was an all-you-can-eat affair. He came proudly back to the table, plate piled high with various glazed and smoked meats.

Preston, erroneously assumed Antoine had gotten food for both of them. He realized his faux pas as he grabbed a small pile of wings, and noticed Antoine's appalled expression. He tried to apologize, put the food back. "No, no, it's cool," Antoine replied, pushing the wings on to Preston's plate. "I'll just get more. Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?"

It wasn't till dinner that their cabana that things got notably tense.

Preston was sitting next to Antoine in the couch on the porch, reading. He'd drawn his legs up and packed against Antoine's side as he did at home, not bothing to slide away when his father came out

Alfred sat in a deck chair nearby. He regarded Preston, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm still trying to get used to this," he said, gesturing towards where Preston sat. His tone was less than friendly.

Preston gave an exaggerated sigh and closed his book. "What about this, Dad?" he asked.

Alfred made a rumbling sound of disapproval. "Have you ever tried 'not being gay?'"

"Yes," Preston replied, tone icy. "In college."

Alfred regarded the two men, unaware that his wife had come around the porch. He snorted and rolled his eyes. "I'll be honest, I keep hoping this is just a phase.

Preston tossed his book down on the couch, shoved himself to his feet and stood before Alfred, arms folded. "Dad," he said calmly, "I am thirty years old. This is not just a phase, and I'm sorry if it's not what you wanted, but it's who I am."

"No one said we didn't want you this way," Janet offered, coming over and resting a hand on Preston's side. "It's just an adjustment period for all of us, son."

It was starting to rain. Antoine looked up at the darkening sky. No one paid any attention to him.

Preston and his father were arguing in full now, voices low, but harsh.

"You were set up to take the bull by the horns," Alfred hissed. "The schooling, the training, your language studies. Should've been making half a million a year by now, settling down and raising a family at this point, and you're nowhere close. I thought I raised you better than this." Ignoring Janet's soft protests, he bared his teeth and snarled something in flawless German. "{I bet you've even forgotten most of your languages.}"

Preston straightened his back. "{Oh, I still remember just fine, father,}" he replied.

From across the porch came a loud groan, interrupting both men. "You're doing it again," Antoine whined petulantly. The German thing. You know I can't speak it. I especially hate it when you and Burnsie get all gossipy in German."

Alfred tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. "Burnsie."

"Yeah," Antoine nodded, getting up and standing rigidly beside Preston. "Monty Burns of Springfield. Those two always with the chitchat and I can never understand a word of it. Me and Waylon, totally left out."

"Wait," Alfred said, drawing a hand to his chest. "C. M. Burns of Burns Worldwide?"

Preston nodded mutely.

"You talk with him regularly? You know him?"

Antoine raised a hand and crossed his fingers. "Oh those two are tight, but I guess it's okay. It gives Waylon and I time to catch up when we go out there. Let these two boss-types do all the business talking, I'd rather relax by the pool. Oh, speaking of which, Prep, Waylon mentioned a little anniversary get-together this summer. You're in right? Because I already said yes. He said we could just have our regular room at the manor."

Antoine paused and licked his lips. "You know what, this rain's making me thirsty. I'm going to get something to drink. I'll be back." He padded through the dog-trot and into his suite.

Alfred watched the blue-haired man go, then returned his attention to Preston. "Wait," he began slowly, holding up a hand. "You know Mister Burns… actually know him… and you actually stay at his private residence."

"Yes!" Preston gave a stomp for emphasis. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Shoot," Antoine interjected, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of water and several pastries, "we've been going to the manor for years. I mean, we went to the wedding and everything, got to meet Burnsie's son, his grandchildren…" Antoine took a bite of a creampuff and chewed thoughtfully. He paused, offering the plate to Janet, who politely declined.

"I haven't seen any photos of Mister Burns with a wife," Alfred mused.

Antoine swallowed mightily. "Didn't say he married a woman." He gave a casual shrug.

Preston shoved him, expression horrified. "Antoine! We signed a non-disclosure agreement!"

"Well, I didn't say who he married. Guess I forgot about that little form," he gave a shrug. "What can I say? I'm not a very smart guy. Kinda dumb, really." He shoved another pastry in his mouth.

Alfred leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He looked from one man to the other before his eyes finally locked on Antoine.

"Stupid like a fox," he said slowly, regarding the blue-haired man with a steely expression. "You're a smooth talker, and a hustler. Maybe you don't think yourself book smart, but there's nothing dumb about you."

He stood up; Preston taking a step back reflexively. "Not married to a woman," he muttered under his breath. He clasped Antoine firmly on the shoulder. "Radson, you've given me a lot to think about. I think I'm going to turn in for the evening. Goodnight to the both of you, Janet." With that, Alfred Tucci took his leave.

Preston turned to his mother, offering a shrug, unsure what to say next. She reached up, and stroked his arm. Antoine gently patted his other arm. "Give him time," Janet said softly.

Preston jabbed a thumb towards Antoine. "That's what he always says."

Antoine, mouth full, could only shrug.

"I'm going to see how your father's doing," Janet said. She gave Preston a kiss on the cheek, and followed her husband's route inside.

Preston flopped back on the couch and grabbed his book. Antoine dropped down beside him and rested his head in Preston's lap.

"You shouldn't have let that thing about Monty slip," Preston murmured as he ran his fingers through Antoine's salt-softened hair. "But, I'm glad you did."

Antoine closed his eyes and nested his head deeper against Preston's thin flank. "Hey, it's the least I could do for my boyfriend, right?"

Preston's hand stopped. He stared down at Antoine. "What did you call me?"

"I think you heard," Antoine replied, not opening his eyes. "But let's not confuse the issue, I'm still your best friend, first and foremost. So don't forget that."

Kissed his fingers, then lightly touched them to Antoine's lips. "I won't forget, Antoine." He tried to resume reading, but found his mind was quite wonderfully distracted. He listened to the light tropical rain falling around them, and closed his eyes.

DAY 7 – Cruising

Preston spent most of the morning on the lido deck, beside his mother. He wore a white cotton button-up shirt, and a pair of swim trunks. Antoine was sunbathing, sleeping on his stomach in the lounge chair next to them. Despite his general opinions of water, his eyes kept returning to the pool. The water looked most inviting. After a brief internal debate with himself, he came to a decision. The sun beat down on him. A quick dip would feel good.

Preston slipped his prescription sunglasses into their case and sat up, unbuttoning his shirt from top to bottom.

He didn't give it a thought as he slid the clothe from his bare torso and stood up.

"Preston," his mother said, voice concerned, "where'd you get that scar?"

Shit! Preston thought. He hastily grabbed his shirt and wrapped it around himself, clutching it shut. "Nowhere," he replied, quickly, turning away.

Janet was on her feet, pulling him back towards her, back down into the chair beside her. "What happened, Preston?"

Preston hung his head.

"You can tell me." T

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His mother's voice, soaked in worry, asking gently. He tried to swallow the words down, but they came up unstoppable. He slid his chair closer to his mother and leaned in, still hunched up.

"Remember that incident in the news about two years back? The kidnapping where Mister Dimas…," Preston choked on his words and sighed, shoulders trembling slightly. "How there were casualties?"

Janet's narrow hands were on his shoulders, stabilizing him. Grounding him. She nodded.

"Well, there were casualties. Antoine there, he got shot with a crossbow bolt, right below his armpit. It wasn't a lethal wound, but it was messy. Me?" He closed his eyes and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I got shot. Right in the stomach, just blow my ribs." He pushed the cloth aside, exposing the dime-sized mark: a shallow scar, paler then the surrounding skin, and recessed slightly. "The one on the back looks worse," he said, buttoning his shirt back up. "That's the exit wound."

Whatever response Preston was expecting from his mother, the one he got was something he'd never expected. Janet made a soft, high-pitched noise, a keening whimper, and pulled Preston into her arms. She rested her chin on his head, holding him close.

"My baby was shot," she cried softly, clutching him, rocking him.

Preston did not object, protest. He felt his eyes begin to burn, hot with tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. Everyone else around them had been forgotten for the moment. He tried to hold back, keep everything contained. His breath hitched in his throat. The next thing he knew, he was sobbing gently against his mother's warm body.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she whispered into his hair. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Preston struggled to form words. "When you… when you get so used to not talking about things, it makes it hard to start again," he replied in hushed, rattling tones. "And I have to try so hard not to tell you and dad about stuff, not to disappoint you, I thought… I couldn't…" He threw his arms around Janet and held her tight. It didn't matter who saw him, it didn't matter what other people thought. In that moment, he was just a little boy again, burying himself in the comforting arms of his mother.

"I didn't want you to know, but I didn't even think about it. I used to think about it all the time, but being with him helps. After I got out of the hospital, he saw I was struggling. He asked me to move it with him. It was supposed to just be a temporary thing while I got better, but… now it's more. He's always been there for me." Preston gestured towards Antoine.

Janet was weeping softly into his hair.

"Please, mom, don't cry."

"I don't know what hurts more," Janet began, pushing herself back and dabbing her eyes with her towel. "The fact that my baby boy was shot, or the fact he didn't even feel comfortable enough with his own parents to say anything about it."

Preston sat up, reaching for the towel. He didn't know what to say. He wiped his eyes and put on his dark sunglasses, hoping they hid his tear-reddened eyes. He took his mother's hand, as smooth and delicate as his own, and squeezed gently.

Beside him, oblivious to everything, Antoine slumbered on.

Day 8 – Return

The final day on any vacation is always a bittersweet day, and seems to divide people into two categories: those who rush madly about trying to cram every last activity into their few remaining hours… And those who prefer to sit back and relax as they try to psych themselves up for reintroduction to their normal lives.

It turned out the entire Tucci clan, and one Radson, fell into the latter category.

As the ship steamed over the now-grey Atlantic waters, slate with the cold-hued from the northern currents, the four passengers sat packed together on the balcony of Janet and Alfred's cabin, watching the view.

Preston and Antoine had lugged their deck chairs over to his parents' room. The additional chairs made the already narrow balcony remarkably cramped, but no one was complaining. Preston sat between his mother and father. Alfred was oddly stoic, looking out to sea, his eyes focused on something beyond the horizon.

"I had a great time," Antoine offered, giving Preston's parents a nod. "Thanks for inviting me!"

"It was a good trip wasn't it," Janet agreed, looking over Preston to her husband.

Alfred interlaced his fingers and stared out at the cloudy sky. "I only wish we'd done it sooner," he agreed. He turned his head slightly, looking at Preston from the corner of his eye. "You've grown up, done a lot for yourself. I guess I didn't see that." He inhaled sharply, held his breath for a second, then let it out slowly. "I'd like to get to know you better, Preston. Both of you actually," he confessed. "I hope it's not too late for that?"

"As long as you're both alive and willing to take the time, it's not too late," Antoine remarked from end.

Preston grinned, and affirmed Antoine's statement.

"We should do something like this again," Janet smiled.

Alfred leaned forward, and fixed his dark eyes on Antoine. "If we do, Radson. I expect you to play a much better gave in the first nine. No trying to pull your swings just to let me win."

Antoine snickered. "Fair enough, Alfred. I won't hold back. Heck, twenty bucks says I sink the first birdie on a par three before you do!"

"Twenty bucks says deal," replied Alfred. The men stood up, and shook hands. A deal. There was no going back from it now.

The goodbyes that followed after the ship docked, as they stood on the pier, were genuine and heartfelt. Preston reached out to shake his father's hand, and found himself wrapped into a dual embrace from both parents. "If you're ever hurt, if you need help, please reach out to us," his mother whispered, her face against his. "You're our son. We love you!"

After a moment, they broke apart, allowing Antoine to come in and say his goodbyes. Hugs, handshakes, one last goodbye, and that was it. The sea of humanity washed between them, carrying Preston and Antoine back towards their car. Antoine slipped his hand into Preston's and smiled. He didn't say anything. There were no words.

Side by side, the two men made their way back to the world they'd left behind.