Author's Rantings: I've been thinking. Are the younger generation of Passions just re-enacting their parent's lives? We have Fox, who has been called the younger Julian on several occasions. And many people have claimed that his love for Whitney is a mirror of Julian's for Eve. So that would make Whitney Eve, right? So what about the others, then? Theresa is in many ways similar to Ivy, which would make Ethan the Sam character. Which, in a very bizarro world way, would make Gwen Grace. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but it's kind of weird, isn't it? Hopefully, they will learn from the mistakes of their fathers (and mothers) and not carry these obsessions for years and years to come. I mean, really– think how cool it would have been if Ivy and Julian were in love and combined their scheming forces. Harmony wouldn't know what hit 'em.

Once again, you guys are wonderful, thank you for so many reviews. I'll try to keep the updates coming in as fast as I can.

Ruby Red Lips

The next day at Crane Industries was...awkward, to say the least. Fox and Theresa seemed to have come to a mutual agreement not to talk about the night before, reference it, or even give any pretense about thinking of it.

Under normal circumstances, Fox would be glad for such an arrangement: no guilt, no messy breakup, no hostilities. Just a mutual and healthy parting. But this was Theresa. She was his closest– okay, his only– friend. The night before had been extraordinary, magical even, but he had never been more confused in his life. He loved Whitney, or at least he was pretty sure that he loved Whitney. So what were these feelings for Theresa? Lust? No. He cared about her too much for that. Attraction? That was closer, but the word was lacking, missing some integral element to his and Theresa's relationship. So what was it, then?

It would have helped to know what Theresa was thinking. Did she hate him now? Was she just as confused? Was she thinking of Ethan? But try as he might to discern her, Theresa's thought process remained a mystery to him.

The air was charged in the room, tense. It was as though they were dancing around each other, afraid to accidently make contact again. It was really better this way, anyway, Fox reasoned with himself finally. Whatever he and Theresa had shared the night before was over.

" I made those copies for you." Fox ventured finally.

Theresa dared a glance at him but quickly looked away. " Oh. Thanks."

He handed the papers to her, careful not to let their hands brush in the process. She glanced over them. " Actually, there's been a slight change of plans. Can you get me fifteen more of these?"

" Sure." Fox returned. " What color?"

Theresa looked taken aback by the question. " What?"

" Well," Fox said, feeling foolish, " there's cream paper or white paper. So what color?"

" White, I guess."

Suddenly, he couldn't take it any longer. Abruptly, he lunged for her, murmuring her name as he showered her face with kisses. " Theresa..." The copies fluttered to the ground, forgotten.

She was so responsive, so warm, that he began to lose himself. He didn't care what any of it meant. That didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that she was here, now, making him feel more alive than he ever had.

There came a light knock on the door. " We're busy," Fox called out irritatedly.

" Theresa, it's me." Of course– Prince Ethan. Curse him for interrupting. " I have some important papers that need to be signed." There was a pause as he waited for a response. Theresa seemed torn. " Theresa...?"

The door began to open and Theresa and Fox jerked apart. Fox scowled at his brother as he entered the room, regarding them suspiciously. " Is everything all right in here?"

" Well, it's getting worse every second that you're in the room," Fox returned, " but yes, we're doing just dandy."

Ethan looked to Theresa questioningly. She smiled awkwardly, straightening her work clothes. " We're fine, Ethan. Fox and I were just, uh, going over the Oswald Project– "

" We were kissing, passionately if you must know," Fox interrupted her, " and if you don't mind, I'd really like to revisit those moments, so if you could just turn around and head back to your over-sized office that you really don't deserve, I'd be real appreciative."

Ethan merely stood there, looking stunned and hurt despite his best efforts to hide it. For a moment, Fox almost felt sorry for him. That is, until he remembered what an arrogant pansy Ethan was and felt all feelings of empathy slide away.

" I'll just leave those papers for you, then." Ethan said, dropping the folder on Theresa's desk. He looked as though he were about to say something more, then seemed to think better of it. Slowly, he turned and walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Theresa stared at the door long after he had left, her hands trembling visibly. *She's thinking of Ethan,* Fox realized, *she's wanting to run after him.* And he felt an inexplicable surge of anger run through him, like he had never felt before.

" Well, congratulations lover," Fox said coldly, " this is what you wanted, isn't it? Ethan's two steps away from falling down on his knees and begging you to come back."

" Yeah," Theresa said quietly, " I guess so."

Fox swallowed back his anger. " Looks like it worked well for both of us. I mean, yesterday Whitney could barely keep her eyes off me. Won't be long before she ditches Chad and decides to take a walk on the wilder side."

Had she flinched at that comment, or was it just his imagination? " Congratulations, Fox." Theresa said in that same quiet tone. " I know that's what you wanted."

They regarded each other in silence. " So," Theresa said finally, " I guess this was just...well, it doesn't matter, does it? It's been fun, Fox."

Fun? He felt like he'd been sucker-punched. " Yeah." he echoed. " Fun." He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. " Well, I guess the fake-breakup begins now. You can go run off to Ethan, tell him I used and abused you. And I'll tell Whitney the same." He offered his hand to her. " Good luck."

She stared at it for a moment before extending her own hand. A jolt of warmth passed between them. " Good luck." she echoed.