Product Note (mentioned in chapter): Airbus A380 Flying Palace. This double-decker aircraft is reportedly being outfitted with a marble-paneled dining room, a king-size bed, a tilting whirlpool bath with sensors to keep the occupants level during turbulence and a missile defense system to strike down attackers.

Mean 50

I've hardly been outside my room in days

'Cause I don't feel that I deserve

The sunshine's rays.

-- "The Special Two," Missy Higgins

.: Cherry Blossom Lane :.

Cameron had dealt with the situation at the hospital and returned to 234 Cherry Blossom Lane about three hours later, reporting that his patient was in stable condition and would likely make it through the night. He relieved Jason of his 'duty' to stay on, even though Jason didn't feel it was one, and gratefully ushered him to the door, insisting that he was thankful Jason was there for his mother and that it meant a lot.

As Jason walked down the cobbled walkway and into the street where his bike was parked, he saw Cameron turn off the lights downstairs and head upstairs where the only light on was in Elizabeth's room. Jason stood on the curb and watched, seeing Cameron's shadow as the oldest Webber boy made sure his mother was fine, presumably offering her something to eat and drink, and then left. Another light flicked on in another room only to flick off a minute later and Jason had to assume that Cameron had chosen to spend the few remaining hours of night in his old bedroom, perhaps in an attempt to ease the fact that the other bedroom, the one in which Jason had stood as Jake pulled out four baseball caps bearing identical signatures in an attempt to make him feel foolish, would be unoccupied from now on.

He sighed heavily and straddled his bike. He was getting too damn old for this thing and found himself wishing, for the first time in his life, that he had his car and driver to take him…somewhere. Not home, just somewhere, anywhere, nowhere. His body felt too stiff and tired to drive this thing, but regardless, he turned the key in the ignition and slowly took off down the street, mindful not to make too much noise.

Just because he didn't plan on getting any sleep tonight didn't mean that the rest of the people on Cherry Blossom Lane didn't.

But there was someone else on the street that was a night owl, and Jason didn't know it but he was being watched ever since he came out of number 234. John Zacchara, dressed in his black robe over his pajamas, stood on his porch, leaning against the post, and watched him look up at Elizabeth's pretty house. He'd heard the sound of a car in the street when Cameron returned home across the street and, restless, got up for some fresh air.

He sighed to himself as he watched Jason straddle his bike and sit there for a few minutes, as if confused as to what to do next. There was no need to draw any attention to himself, and so Johnny just stood there as Jason drove away, then continued to stare across the street at what most of their neighbors would have once called the happiest house on Cherry Blossom.


.: The Docks :.

Jason stared out at the water, listening to it lap hard against the wooden planks, and clasped his hands between his knees. He wasn't used to this feeling, feeling useless and out of his skin and removed from everything, but it was about all he'd felt in the few weeks since the truth came out about the paternity and Jake's knowledge of it. He couldn't seem to do anything right anymore. He was failing Elizabeth, his friendship with Carly was falling apart even though he doubted the blonde even realized it after she'd done what she did earlier, and he had no relationship whatsoever with his son.

So Jason did what he hardly ever did: he sat on the docks and just felt sorry for himself. It was a numbing kind of sorry, an empty sort of pity, mainly because he didn't know how he could reasonably fix the situation to a point where he wouldn't feel this way.

He looked up when he heard footsteps approaching and saw his son standing just a few paces away. Dressed in the same suit pants and rolled up dress shirt at before – he was probably cold – he stood at the far end of the docks, his hands shoved into his pockets, and stared at him.

It was about three or four in the morning, and he was still out. Still, Jason couldn't say anything: after all, so was he. Jake's face was cast in shadows and he looked tall, thin, and gaunt. Haunted. And Jason realized he'd have to be.

They shared a cryptic look; while Jason stared at him half-longingly, Jake's expression was bland and stoic. He swallowed hard and began to walk toward him, his steps measured and deliberate, but just a little shaky, too.

He stopped right by where Jason sat and opened his mouth and Jason's heart leapt. For a moment, he thought that Jake would say something, that he'd put himself out there and finally talk to him. But after a long moment, Jake shut his mouth, shook his head to himself, and started to walk away.

Jason cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on the knees of his jeans. "Jake."

He stopped.

"About tonight-"

He heard Jake let out a short breath of air, and Jason shot to his feet when he started to walk away again. "Wait!"

Jake stopped again, still not turning around.

"Look…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. I won't talk about what happened tonight if you don't want to. I'll even promise to stay away from you for a while if you need me to. But I will never turn you away if you need to come see me to talk to me."

Jake's shoulders slumped a little, leading Jason to think he might be on to something.

"If there's ever anything you want to talk to me about," he added, "anything you want to ask me…"

His heart leapt to his throat when Jake slowly turned and covered the two yards between them until they were standing face to face, and Jason slipped his hands into his pocket as he tried to read his son's eyes, the most expressive part of the boy.

When Jake played a romantic medley at Spencer's wedding, he insisted that he never played the piano without his shades, and it was only recently that Jason discovered why that was. Though he claimed not to like music, the emotional component of the tunes he played was obvious, and those emotions had a way of shining right through his eyes when Jake wasn't careful, when he was sad or angry or hurt, or otherwise couldn't keep his defenses up. He stood before him raw, exposed, still the little boy that Jason had walked away from.

And now, finally, they were going to get somewhere.

Jake squared his jaw, trying to get his thoughts straight. Though all of this had happened in the course of one night, he felt like he'd been ruminating over this forever. It still threw him off center, still caused him to feel unbalanced and shaky, like he had no idea what he was doing anymore even though everyone still expected him to have the answers. And as usual, he couldn't let on that he simply didn't.

He wanted to say something to Jason.

He wanted to open his mouth and for once be able to just say something that wasn't laced with anger or bitterness or pain, something clean and new and plain that came from a better place inside him, though he had to wonder if that place even existed.

Jake wanted to apologize.

But at the same time, he didn't. He would never apologize to his father for the way things turned out because it was all Jason's doing. His mother may have made that first decision, but Jake felt there had to be extenuating circumstances. Rumors insinuated that his father made her feel like an obligation; it wouldn't be stretching it too much to think that his mother asked him to give him away because of that. Of course, it was also out of her perverse, unhealthy unwillingness to 

ever let Lucky Spencer deal with his own problems and face the consequences of his own fucked up choices. That also played a large part in it: his mother's weakness when it came to the stupider one of the two deadbeat fathers in Jake's life.

Jake would never apologize for any of that. That first decision may have been all Elizabeth's, that first year might have all been on her when she insisted that he was better off in the Spencer family and kept his real father at bay, but the other twenty-six years were on Jason. He chose to stay away. He chose to keep up the lie when she was more than ready to marry him and have everything out in the open. He chose to spend family time with Carly's family instead of his own. And he left the emotional, physical, and financial responsibilities of raising him all to Elizabeth.

Jake would never apologize for feeling how he felt about Jason's choices.

But at the same time, he wanted to say something. 'Sorry' was on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't help it that dealing with his father always screwed him up, always left him feeling raw and confused inside, like salt had been poured into wounds that never once had a chance to heal. Jake wanted to say something that he didn't mean. He wanted to say something that he would look back on tomorrow and question his sanity for that moment. He just wanted to feel close to his father, to feel some kind of connection there not based on anger and resentment, even if it was for a single minute, even if it was based on a lie, even if it wasn't real.

'Sorry' was on the tip of his tongue. He didn't mean it, but it stubbornly stayed there anyway, and he wanted to say it. He even resigned himself to the fact that when he did open his mouth and find his voice, he'd be confessing to Jason that he was sorry for how he treated him, sorry for putting all the blame squarely on his shoulders, sorry for fucking everything up.

And that was why Jake was even more surprised than Jason when he finally opened his mouth and heard what he was saying.

"You miserable son of a bitch."

Jason balked. So did Jake; he just hid it better. He had the practice, while this exposed paternity was still new and raw for Jason, having been revealed barely a month earlier.

In the end, Jake couldn't bring himself to say the words he'd denied all his life, even when he thought he was about to. And once again, he'd fallen back into his old rhythm with his father, the only rhythm he'd ever known with the man.

"I have a question for you." Jake's eyes blazed, his simmering wrath apparent in the way his shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly, in the way he had to keep his hands balled into fists just to keep his head about him.

"What the hell kind of man gives up his son just because a woman asks him to? You couldn't find your balls when she asked you that? You couldn't open your fucking mouth and tell her it was a damned awful idea?"

Jason gritted his teeth. "She only wanted-"

"No, you had to stand there like a fucking tool and agree to give up your own kid because she was too weak to cut her ties with a pill-popping addict that endangered all our lives!" he spat, mimicking the exchange in his father's deep voice. "I mean, 'sure, why not? He only left his pills where Cam could have swallowed them, he only took shots at you and knocked you around while you were pregnant, he's been nothing but a damn thorn in my side since he was a punk kid, he'd be the perfect man to raise my kid since you have a fucking wounded bird complex and can't leave well enough alone when it comes to him, so why not reward all that by giving him my son, sounds like a great fucking idea.' Asshole!"

The last word was hissed with such perfect vehemence that Jason actually rocked back a step.

He didn't have an answer to any of that. Well, he didn't have an answer that Jake hadn't already rejected outright. And even Jason had to admit, the boy had a point as far as Elizabeth's relationship with Lucky was concerned. Elizabeth had never been able to drop that; she'd always tried to help Lucky no matter what he did to her, and Jason had often consoled himself by telling himself that she only did it because Lucky was such a poor excuse for a man that he needed her looking out for him if he was going to live even a halfway-functional life.

But apparently Jake wasn't interested in such consolations, and Jason didn't blame him. Jake had a lifetime's worth of reasons to have very little respect for Lucky…and a lifetime's worth of reasons to hate his biological father, as much as Jason hated to admit it.

He saw that his father had no answer and shook his head, disgusted with both of them. He turned on his heel and walked away, but not before Jason caught what it was that he mumbled under his breath.

"Yeah, we're both fucked up."


He made it as far as Pier 48 before it was too much. Jake stopped and hung his head, unable to shake his words to his father, unable to get them to stop repeating over and over in his head.

It had been cruel, what he had said.

And more than that, it had been uncalled for.

He'd done nothing more than state the obvious. He hadn't furthered their conversation any, he hadn't gained any ground. He'd just stated the obvious with the sole intention of hurting Jason. He had a pretty good track record when it came to that.

He stood there for a long moment, the toe of his foot tapping restlessly on the wooden planks as he thought it over. In the end, he didn't have to think it over very long.

Jake liked to think that it was the part of him that was purely Elizabeth that made him turn around and double back, that it was his mother's compassion (sometimes her blind, stupid compassion beyond reason that had a way of getting her in trouble all her life) that made him pick up the pace as he marched back to Pier 52.

He didn't know what he'd say, exactly; he didn't have the words scripted in his head. All he knew was that he'd say something to take the sting out of what he'd said ten minutes before. Cameron was really good at that. He was good at saying mean things in such a way that it took people some time to figure out that he was being mean. But more importantly, Cameron was good at apologizing in such a way that he remained firm with his original conviction and simultaneously smoothed over any bad feelings or resentment the other person might have. Cameron was good at all that.

The sound of his footsteps rang out in the still of the late night as he approached Pier 52, just a little out of breath, and Jake looked around the docks for his father. He searched the shadows and the nook and the alleys with quick, darting glances, and didn't even notice that he was holding his breath until he realized that the ache in his chest, for once, was due to a lack of oxygen.

Jason wasn't there.

Jake looked around vainly, still expecting to see his father appear with that familiar, doleful look in his eyes, but there was no sight or sound of him. And Jake hated that Jason's not being there actually surprised him.


.: 235 Cherry Blossom Lane :.

"Barcelona."

Amalia smiled gently and pulled her bare legs up onto the window seat. The sun's first rays were barely starting to kiss the horizon line, and she was already up thanks to Jake, who'd appeared outside her window without warning.

Well, perhaps that wasn't fair. She knew that it was only a matter of time before he did, and apparently, so had the others. Amalia had gotten a call from Cecily the evening before, shortly after Cecily's mother left her studios. Her old friend had discovered that Jake's mother was the one to initially ask Jason to give Jake away, something that none of them had managed to find out during their childhood, and confessed that she had a feeling that Carly would seek Jake out and try in her own misguided way to set things right.

CeeCee hadn't wanted to discuss the implications of the new information in her typical non-meddling way, and that was just fine with Amalia. She had resisted picking sides all throughout this paternity debacle, mainly because she always thought that both of Jake's parents were idiots. She knew better than to say that to Jake, though. He would never have heard a word against his 

mother. He might have entertained it coming from her, and while he wouldn't have argued with her about it, he would not have been pleased.

Cameron had sent her a text the night before, presumably during his shift at the hospital. It was a simple message that struck at the heart of her relationship with his brother. Jake moved out of 234. Keep your window open.

Amalia had always kept her window open, ever since she was a girl. And Jake had always known that when everything else failed, when all other doors were shut, it was the one window he'd always be able to crawl through.

(Provided that a very displeased Papa Zacchara wasn't waiting on the other side, visions of condoms dancing through his head thanks to Elizabeth.)

Jake was there now, wearing his black dress pants and a pale blue shirt that, even though it was wrinkled and folded up to his elbows, made Amalia feel piteously underdressed in her black hipsters and matching baby t-shirt.

"Barcelona," he repeated when she just smiled. "Didn't I promise I'd take you there one day?"

"You did," she allowed, her hair fluttering in the early morning breeze. "Seventh grade. Right after we did our report on it for Geography."

"And we've never had a chance to get away," Jake pointed out. "So let's do it. Let's go. Just you and me."

Amalia reached out, still smiling gently, and covered his hand with hers. He was gripping the sill so tightly that his knuckles had turned alabaster. "Babe, we can't go to Barcelona."

"French Polynesia, then," he announced stubbornly. "And not Bora Bora. Some small, undiscovered island where we can sit alone on the beach all day without being bothered. And if you like it enough, I'll buy one of them for you."

He used to say things like that to her when they were little, and now he actually had the means to back those statements up.

Amalia swept her thumb across the back of his hand, finding his skin rough and dry. "I know you'd buy me one if I let you. But I don't think it's a good time to get away. Everything considered."

"Why not?" Jake burst out, his eyes blazing with frustration and something she couldn't quite place. "We've always talked about getting away somewhere private. The last time we went somewhere, it was when we camped out by the Catskills. We haven't been anywhere since. We've both been too busy with work and now this – this thing with Jason and-"

"Exactly." She hooked her thumb into his fist and felt him squeeze back. "This thing with Jason. It's not going to go away just because we do."

"West Indies. Cotton House Resort. They have something stupid called a pillow menu, with, like, five different kinds of pillows. You love pill-"

Amalia tilted her head, her dark hair falling into her face before she tucked it back. "Jake…"

"No?" He licked his lips and she could practically see his mind racing as he desperately tried to come up with something at least halfway viable. "St. Moritz. You love skiing and-and Italian aristocrats. They've got tons of both up there."

"True, who doesn't love an Italian aristocrat?" she feigned, pretending to think it over before she became serious again. "Listen-"

"Or we could hit up Antigua Race Week," Jake interrupted, and she saw that the fingers of his free hand trembled slightly. "I have my yacht stationed there, and it's the perfect time of year-"

"Jake." She pressed her thumb to the very center of his full pout and only drew it away when she was certain he wouldn't say anything.

"What-"

"-And you've always wanted to see what Lord Nelson's Ball was like there," he continued, his words rushed. "It would be the perfect time-"

"Oh, God." Amalia pressed her thumb to his lips again, her eyes sober and earnest, and watched his expression slowly change. "Jake, stop. Tell me what happened."

He remained silent for a good, long moment even after she drew her hand away. "I left my mother's house."

She nodded slowly. "I heard."

"Cameron?"

"Cameron."

Jake nodded and looked away, and she could see him working his jaw. "She asked him to give me to her and Lucky."

Amalia nodded again. "I heard."

"Cameron?"

She tilted her head to the side. "…CeeCee."

"Ah." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah. That makes sense."

And then, as if they hadn't just started talking about this, he straightened and looked at her with alarming urgency. "What about Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons? In Great Milton? England's not too far away, and you've always wanted to eat there. And they have a Japanese tea garden. You love Japanese tea gar-"

She took his face in her hands, feeling his light stubble biting into her soft palms, and cut him off with a kiss. Jake balked a little but leaned into her, his hand still gripping the window sill like a lifeline, and let her kiss him. It was a solid kiss, firm and stern and hard, and when she pulled away, Amalia looked deeply into his eyes.

"Stop. Just tell me what happened. Tell me what's hurting you."

He closed his eyes and winced. "…I saw him on the docks a little while ago."

"Jason?"

"Yeah."

She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs before slowly lowering her hands to the sill. Their foreheads remained touching, their faces just a scant distance apart. "What happened?"

"…I made a mistake." Jake's eyes were still closed, his voice low and his words growled. "I said things – I wanted – he didn't even – and I just said it – and then he…wasn't there."

Amalia flicked his chin softly with her thumbnail, her gaze sweeping over his strong features. "He wasn't there?"

"He left. Before I could…before I could…I don't know. I don't even know what I was going to say. Maybe nothing."

He sighed again, and it sounded like a half snarl. "I hate – I hate it when I don't know. When I'm supposed to know but I don't. And people expect me to, they're waiting for me to…something. And I just, I don't know."

Their noses bumped when he leaned into her, his breath fanning out over her lips, and she could hear the ache in his voice. "Please…let me take you somewhere. Let's just get away. Let's go to Beaune, let's go to the Amalfi coast, let's buy an Airbus A380 Flying Palace thing and go nowhere, just sit in the clouds, I don't care. Please just let me take you somewhere."

"I would love to get away with you," she said, her voice husky and just a little raspy from the early morning chill. "You know that. I'd love to get you all to myself. And if you are really set on doing this, you know I'm with you. But I think you're doing this for the wrong reasons."

Amalia ran her hand through his hair, lightly raking her nails over his scalp. "I understand if you're trying to run away from this mess with your parents. It's good to get some time off for yourself, to just get away and regroup when you have to. But if you're doing this, hoping that when you get back, things won't be as messy, things won't hurt as much, things will just be fixed or won't mean anything anymore…babe, that's just not going to happen."

He groaned and she only held him closer. "No matter how far you run, or how fast, it'll always be with you. Jason's not going to go away. Your mother will never stop loving you and doing what she thinks is best for you, even though you're a grown man now. And you will never stop being Jason Morgan's son. It just won't happen, no matter where we go. It'll always be waiting for you when you come back. Baby, it's not something you can just run away from. And I think you'll only end up hurting yourself if you try."

She could see the tears in his eyes, tears she knew he wouldn't let fall. Jake turned away from her and looked across the street at his house. The sun was starting to come up and the sky was changing colors, pinks and oranges mingling brilliantly with indigos and violets. He could see the light on in his brother's room, could barely see him moving around, a dark shadow in the window.

Amalia gently curled pieces of his hair between her fingers, sweeping them back and away from her face, and was suddenly overcome with the urge to hold him, just to keep him near to her for a moment.

"Come inside." She tugged lightly on his hand. "Just come inside for a while. Stay with me. Have breakfast with us."

He looked over her shoulder at her unmade bed, at the comfortable cream-colored lounge chair he'd always liked, and considered it before shaking his head. "I have to go."

"Jake-"

He shook his head again and pulled away, letting his fingers graze hers to let her know that it wasn't because of anything she'd said or done. "I have to go."

Amalia sighed and watched him ease down the roof until he was able to leverage some of his weight onto the sturdy pipe that had supported him since he was eleven. Jake gripped the side of the house with both hands and swung down, landing on his feet and bracing himself by placing one hand on the freshly cut lawn.

He stood slowly, finding himself looking into the quiet study before he turned and walked away. John Zacchara, who had been up most of the night before, was sleeping soundly in his favorite green arm chair as Jake walked down the block as the morning sun climbed higher and higher, faintly shining down on Cherry Blossom Lane.