Everything You've Done Wrong

DT and coffee

Helps to start day

DT and coffee

Shaking all the way

City's alive

And surprise

So am I

DT and coffee

Get no sleep today

And I feel the light in the night and in the day

And I feel the light when the sky's just mud and gray

And I feel the light when you tell me it's okay

'Cause you're so great and I love you

-Blur, You're So Great

Chapter Six: Action Pact

Too much sun. Head killing him. Did this tune sound familiar? Race groaned. For awhile, he didn't remember anything about the night before, and he reveled in that for a good five seconds before fully realizing what had happened.

He swore into the pillow; where was he sleeping?...Blink's house, right? He raised his head slightly, and saw that their was a small stain of blood on the already stained, old pillow. He touched underneath his nose. He seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the cake of dry blood brought back more memories than he could handle.

"Fuck!" he burst out, slamming his fist into the pillow. "Fuck fuck fuck..."

"Mmmph?"

He swiveled around and saw that, sitting on a ragged desk chair, pulled up next to the bed, was Spot. He looked tired--outright exhausted--and had clearly been dozing. "You ok, Tony?"

Race stared at him. "Why... Why are you....?"

"Someone had to stay with you, Mush said. Make sure you didn't leave."

"Yeah." Race sat up the rest of the way, leant back against the wall. "Fuck," he said again.

"No kidding." Spot nodded, yawning, and he rubbed his eyes furiously. "Jesus...uh...how was your sleep?"

"I don't know..." Race shook his head, and then his eyes widened. "Dutchy! How's Dutchy?"

Spot shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't gotten a word from them yet."

"How can you be so calm?"

"Because if he was dead, smart boy, they'd have called me." Spot looked around the room, and blinked against the light. "How you doin'?"

Race took a moment to answer. Blurs of the night before started to swarm together in his brain, making one, huge and ugly mess. "I...I don't even know how to answer that anymore."

"Don't I know the tune of that song."

"You do?"

Spot shrugged. "Not... Not cocaine. But I've definitely had my whole life turned upside down, y'know?" He shrugged. "I don't know if it's the same, but..."

"What happened?"

Spot hesitated. On the one hand, the only people who knew were the ones who'd been involved, the authorities, and Jack. On the other hand, this was Tony, and if anyone in the world could sympathize with him, that's who it would be.

He hoped.

"Psychotic parents," he said finally. "Clinically."

Race looked at Spot with an unreadable expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Shit...so...so, then, they took you away? And put you in Jack's house?"

Spot shook his head. "Nah, they gave me three other houses full of shit-faced fuckers first." Spot laughed a bit. "My second one, they were like, this huge group of homophobes. I had a good time with them sometimes."

Race grinned. "You would. What'd you do?"

"What didn't I do?"

"Come on." Race reached his hand out, touched Spot's knee. Race seemed to think nothing of it, but Spot gulped when Race pulled away. The feeling of the spot he touched lingered. "Tell me."

"Uh, well My mom was just wacko, really. But Dad... Jesus. He was a sick sonofabitch." Spot actually shuddered. "I don't like to think about that part, okay? But... Christ, he got caught when I was, like, thirteen. Locked up in an asylum, can't put a psychopath in jail. And a year or two later they realized Mom wasn't exactly child-raising material, yanked me out, dropped me into the first place.

"Real religious people. Not... Not bad people, just not my type."

"Said grace a lot?" Race asked, glad to have something to think about other than his own problems.

"Yeah. I was a little much for them, I guess, still too fucked up from my parents. Came out of the closet, and they fucking begged to get me moved somewhere else. And they weren't even the homophobes."

"What were the homophobes like?"

Spot laughed again, but it was so bitter and choked sounding it was barely a laugh. Race knew what this was. Laughing always made things feel easier, even a bit. "Well, their son was totally gay. I mean, take my word for it."

Race looked skeptical. "How can he be gay if he's a homophobe?"

"Ask him. Anyway, he was...he was a real shit, he..." Spot wasn't laughing anymore. "He liked to joke around with me. Y'know?"

"...what did he do?"

"Not a lot. I'm not a fucking pussy, but he was still twice my size."

"Oh." Race paused, then realized what that meant. "Oh. Jesus Christ..."

"Yeah, well, between that and the fucking mind games--Christ, he screwed with my head--god, I was there for a year. That screwed me up pretty bad. I'm still pretty... Not exactly as comfortable with PDAs as Mush and Blink. You know?"

"Understandable."

"Then there was the typical, social worker's nightmare home. Single mom on welfare, looking to bring in more money with more kids. No food in the house, electricity going on and off at random when she didn't pay her bills, and six other kids to right with. But hell, she's the reason I didn't end up on drugs--I mean, the money she got to deal with us had to go somewhere and I fucking will not end up like her."

He paused, realizing what he said. "Oh, shit, Tony. I didn't mean it like that, you're not--"

"Don't worry," Race snapped, then touched Spot's knee again. "Don't worry, shit, it's true. It's true, which is why I hate it."

Spot nodded after a moment, shaking his head as he looked at Race's hand on his knee. Race pulled away again, and Spot slumped his shoulders slightly. He had to remember, he was just a guy to straight Race. Not a romantic prospect.

"Keep going," Race mumbled.

"Not much else," Spot added. "She didn't pay much attention to me. 'Cept this one time, she started ragging on me about the way I looked."

"The way you looked?" Race asked, confused. "Why?"

"You know. Pretty boy, girly-face...that sort of thing. She went kind of nuts, it was... fucked up. I think she thought I was this guy she knew or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She wasn't his biggest fan, turns out. That was a fun night."

"I'll bet."

"After that I finally got put in Jack's house. Not exactly a nuclear family, but hell... He'd been fostered there as a kid, when his dad was put in jail, and after a few years she adopted him. Took me in, Jack's the only foster-sib I've ever had who I didn't want to kill."

"You don't?"

"Yeah, you'd never guess, huh?" Spot gave a short laugh. "I'm not real good at being nice to people. Something about the way I was raised."

"Yeah, fucking tell me about it." He swallowed. "Guess I shouldn't complain. Sorry."

"Don't be. I saw your dad. I swear, your dad and mine should fucking play golf together."

"Tennis doubles."

"Yeah. I bet they'd kick ass. Literally kill the competition. Well, my dad anyway. Dunno about yours."

Race didn't say anything about that.

"So," Race said quickly, changing the topic. "So, are... I dunno, are you and Jack actually close, or do you just tolerate him? 'Cause, no offense, he's like your mother." Race paused. "Well, not your actual mother--"

"I know what you meant." Spot smiled, fondly. It almost threw Race off, but he chose to ignore the meaning. "Uh Jack is..." Spot seemed to try and find the words, failing. "Well, yeah...he's...he's a good guy."

Ah. Spot speak for 'I love him'. Race understood that. "So he's like a brother?"

"Never had one."

"But if you did?"

Spot grinned at the floor, suddenly avoiding Race's eyes. "Yeah. If I did, he'd be something like Jack."

It was ironic, that at that precise moment, Jack stormed into the room.

"You're awake," Jack snapped.

"Yeah." Race didn't want to do this. He knew that his friends would be unspeakably angry at him; yes, they'd support him and help him and get over it, but there was no way they could not be angry at him for backsliding like that, giving in to the weakness. For letting Dutchy OD like that, when he'd gone to stop him, for getting so caught up that all he could think about was what he wanted.

"How's Dutchy?" he added.

"Still alive." Race sensed a silent, 'no thanks to you,' in the air.

"Jack," Spot said.

Jack gave him a look, then shrugged. "Whatever. He's still under observation. Gonna get checked into rehab this afternoon, probably face charges for possession. He's freaked out."

"Yeah, that happens." Race ran a hand through his hair, and finally stood. "Okay. I should get the groveling for forgiveness over."

"I don't want to hear it," Jack snapped, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. "You want honesty? I just don't want to hear anything from you right now."

"Jack." Spot glared, and Race was startled by how different he looked. Moments earlier, he'd been...almost gentle. And now, the scowl was back, the hardness was back. It was like gentle Spot had never happened. Spot would probably be glad to hear that.

"Don't talk." Jack raised his hands, and started shaking his head. "Things are fucked."

Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath. Race swore, and stared down at the mattress under him. "Kill me now, really. I'll get back in bed and everything."

"Don't be an idiot." Spot grabbed his shoulder. "Come on."

"God, I can't--I mean, fuck, I can't do this." He gave a short, very bitter bark of laughter. "Give me a fucking line and I can do it no problem."

"Shut up, Midgito, don't talk like that. You're going to get through this. You're gonna grovel like you said, and David and Mush are pushovers and they'll forgive you, and as for everyone else..." He shrugged. "They'll get over it."

"My family won't. I won't."

"You will."

"No I fucking won't!" Race half-yelled. "I'm a fucking addict, Spot. I don't get over things like this, I don't--Christ, I do need a fucking line."

"Well, you ain't getting one." Spot sharply smacked the back of Race's head.

"Ouch! Fuck you!"

"I'll do it again if you keep talking about fucking yourself up anymore." Spot held his arm up, a threatening look in his eyes. "I'm serious, and the next one'll fucking hurt."

"This one hurt..." Race mumbled.

"Come on, Tony." Spot grabbed Race's arm, and yanked. Race tumbled slightly away from the bed, and started glowering at Spot. "Don't look at me like that. I didn't do a goddamned thing."

After a few more moments of Race being as difficult as he could find humanly possible, they were finally out the door, and Spot was leading him by his arm. When they found the living room, Race didn't have a moment to look at anyone because Mush grabbed him.

He'd been shoved into walls enough times by his dad that reacting was reflex, he clenched his muscles and winced and avoided looking in to Mush's face, and eventually Mush let his shirt go.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mush spat. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"He wasn't," David snapped from a chair. "He fucking wasn't. Christ, Tony, you don't need cocaine, you want to die I'll kill you myself!"

"It's okay, I'll probably just shoot my brains away tonight anyway," Race replied, hoping to lighten the mood. He wasn't serious, but he forgot that it wasn't a good time to try to lighten the mood.

"Oh!" Mush pulled away. "Don't fucking SAY that!"

"Mush, I wasn't..."

"You said you were doing better!" Mush pointed a finger in Race's face. "And... and Jesus, Tony, I know that you weren't exactly Suzanne Somers, but I thought you were fucking FUNCTIONING."

"I AM!" Race exclaimed, then he breathed. "I. am... as much as I can anyway. And I came to apologize, so LET me."

David was shaking his head at him, his face full of disappointment. Which was the last thing that Tony wanted. "Davey, don't."

"Don't what? Don't fucking tell you what a moron you're being? Because you fucking are, and I can't stand the sight of you right now, and the only reason I'm not storming out is because--because--fuck, I don't even know why!"

"Because you know I know I fucked up and that I'm sorry." He swallowed hard a few times, and finally raised his eyes and looked at his friends. He didn't like what he saw; Mush and David were angrier than he'd ever seen them, and he didn't have a point of reference for the others, but Blink and Jack definitely looked nearly as angry. Itey looked on with pity. Spot was the only one who didn't seem to be holding him in judgement, and he was grateful for someone's support. Or however much support Spot was willing to provide.

"Christ, I--I wanted to help, you guys have to believe that, Dutchy had all the symptoms and I'm kind of hypersensative to them, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I... I didn't mean to..." He dropped his gaze again. "Jesus, I'm pathetic."

He expected a roar of... agreement? Anger? Anything but the silence that followed. He didn't like it much better, but then he heard Itey's voice and felt almost as if God was cutting him a small sort of break.

"It really isn't your fault, if you think about it..." Itey mused, as if talking to himself. "Because...well, if you weren't there, he would have died. And it's not like any of us were jumping to help. We were too clueless." Itey cleared his throat; his voice had started to crack. "I mean, you shouldn't have gone, because there was coke there and... and you should have resisted all the temptation, but then again, coke addicts are serious and I'm sure it wasn't like it was easy."

And there was another quiet, and finally Mush turned around, stalked away and dropped onto the couch next to Blink. "Yeah," Blink muttered. "Yeah, we shoulda... We shoulda seen Dutchy was more messed up than we thought."

"And he would have died," Itey repeated. "I mean, couldn't he have?"

"Yeah." That was one thing Race knew for sure. "Yeah, side effects include heart attack and stroke, coma, and your heart can stop and..." He glanced around the room. "Jesus, don't look at me like that; they cram that kind of thing down your throat in rehab. I'm a fuck up, it's not like I didn't know that last night. I just..."

"Just what?" Jack snarled.

"Just that I'm a fucking addict, okay? Effects don't matter. Friends and family don't fucking matter. Nothing matters!" He was screaming now. "Nothing matters because you can't say no, you just fucking can't and if you've never done it you don't know what it's like, and yes, I fucked up, but don't treat me like I don't know it!"

Jack didn't seem to be listening. It was like he was fighting some sort of internal struggle, and finally he lost. "You just bring fucking anarchy everywhere you go, don't you?! Ever since you showed up, it's like one fucking, weird disaster after another!"

"Don't be melodramatic," Spot said from his place against the wall. "It's not like you're a bed of roses all the time either."

"And don't you turn this around on me just because you want to fuck him!" Jack yelled. "It ain't like you're defending him 'cause you actually LIKE him."

Jack had gone too far. He knew it, from the way his face fell. He covered by changing the topic and went off-hand.

"Besides, whatever the hell happens to him," he said, and spat 'him,' as though it was a dirty word, "Dutchy's in a fucking lot of trouble. Do you know how much of that shit it takes to knock yourself unconscious?"

"I do, actually," Race snapped back. "You want me to start quoting numbers, Jacky boy?" It didn't even occur to him to wonder when he'd picked up Spot's term of endearment for Jack. Or term of whatever it was.

"Shut the fuck up!" Jack yelled. "No one here feels bad for you, we've got a friend, a real goddamned friend who's facing more money than he can pay, or real fucking jail time, or both!"

"And you think I don't know what that's like?" Race yelled back. "I fucking went through it, I know exactly how fucking scared Dutchy is right now, so I don't exactly give a damn about the rest of you!"

"Well, fuck you too," Mush snapped.

"And unlike you," Jack continued, his voice lowering to a hiss, "we can't all afford to pay those fines. And courts aren't quite as nice to us as they are to spoiled kids whose parents can pay them off. Or did you forget we're not from your part of town?"

"Don't bring my family into this." Race's voice was shuddering, and low, and almost dangerous sounding. "I know I'm a snob. I know it. But the reason I get off easy isn't a reason I'm exactly proud of! And I'm the only one who knows what Dutchy is going through right now, so you just shut your fucking mouth!"

Only Mush would respond. "Things are different this time, Tony. You don't know."

"I do, " Race continued. "And I don't care if you hate me for it. Do whatever the hell you want."

"Won't be a problem," Jack said under his breath.

"Jack," Itey and Spot said this at the time same time.

Blink and David hadn't said a word for a long while, but their expressions were completely opposite.

David still looked upset, but not as angry as he had before, where Blink looked, if anything, angrier. There was another awkward pause, and finally David muttered, "Yeah, yeah. He's fucking right; none of us have ever done coke or faced jail time and he has, so he's right about that."

"Yeah, but did he fucking get sent to," Blink smirked as he said it, "juvey?"

"No," Race snapped. "I fucking didn't, okay? I got a slap on the wrist; I was also only fifteen and Dutchy's nearly eighteen and yeah, my family can fucking pay fines and his can't. So I got off easy, I didn't ask to, I didn't deserve to, but I also didn't know that was what was going to happen.

"And when you come to in a fucking hospital you don't--you don't think about anything except how much you need a hit. And you realize that you've been caught, and you're in trouble, and you can't calm down because you need a fucking hit, and you realize that your friends are going to hate you and you can't figure out how to deal with them because you need a fucking hit, and your family is so ashamed of you and you can't deal with them because you need a fucking hit, and you can't even realize that that's what you're trying to figure out because you just need a goddamned hit!" He degenerated into screaming again for a minute, and banged his fist into a wall the wall hard enough to make his knuckles bleed, then seemed to go limp against the wall and started shaking.

"Oh, Christ," he said in a very small voice. "Oh, Jesus Christ, I just..."

No one knew what to say, when the realization of Race's words sunk in. They were in over their heads, drowning in something that they hadn't even swam in to begin with. Race knew that.

Finally, Spot broke the silence.

"Need a fuckin' hit?" Spot suggested.

There was a pause and then Race snorted, and then Itey snickered. Then David had to smirk, biting his tongue, but he laughed, and once David laughed, other people laughed, because David had a really girly laugh.

"So what do we do?" Mush asked finally, and reached over to take Blink's hand. Now, Blink mostly just looked confused.

"How should I know?" Race asked. "Right now I'm just concentrating on not remembering my dealer's number."

"Tony," David said, half-warningly.

"Well, it's not like I kept it on speed dial on my cell or anything." He gave David a wry look, then his expression changed and he looked like someone had slapped him. "My cell. My family. Oh, Christ, I wasn't supposed to be gone all night, my Dad is gonna--"

"Sophia covered for you," Itey interrupted.

"What?"

"Last night, I... I kind of called and asked her to cover for you for the night."

"You... You TOLD HER what I did? Oh Jesus--"

"No, I didn't. Um, please don't kill me, but I lied to her. I, uh, said you were too drunk to go home and she agreed to cover for you, um, if I take her out on Friday, so... Please don't kill me?"

"For lying to her or for taking her out?"

"Either one."

"Yeah." Race paused. "Yeah, thanks. But Christ--I'm dead. I'm caught. They give me a drug test once a week." His voice sounded oddly calm and flat, even to him.

"Tell the truth," Blink spoke up. Everyone gave him an odd look, probably because he hadn't spoken in so long, and also because of what he'd said. "I mean, he's gonna know anyway, so why prolong the pain?"

"That is SO..." Race rolled his eyes, and then stopped. He made a confused face, and then seemed to figure out a particularly difficult equation in his head. "Blink," Race said. "I'll TELL DAD."

"...yeah. That's what I said."

"Shit, why didn't I think of that?"

"I...don't know?"

"You're a GENIUS."

"Thank you?"

"Tony?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you going to do? I'm not exactly willing to leave you on your own now."

"Then drive me home," Race responded quickly. "Because everything WILL be fine. I fucking need a hit, I fucking hate my life, and I'm fucking sorry to EVERYONE." He shot a look at Jack. "But it'll be fine, I swear to fucking god."

"Tony?" Mush asked, sounding surprised.

"No, I mean it. I can–Never mind. My family is fucked up, but I can talk to my dad. It'll be fine."

"Um, not to judge your family or anything," Itey said slowly, "but are you sure that talking to your dad is the best idea? I mean, he doesn't, um, seem like he'd take it well."

"Judge my parents all you want, just behave yourself with my little sister!" But he actually managed a smile, though it looked a little like he was still getting hysterical. "Seriously, my family politics are messed up beyond belief, and you wouldn't believe the sort of shit that goes on--"

"I think we got a pretty good idea."

"You really don't, but it's okay." He took a deep breath. "Goddamn, I could use a line. But it's fine. I'm gonna wash my face, okay?"

"Ah HA. No." Spot lifted himself from his spot against the wall. "Not without someone watching you."

"I'm just washing my face."

"And I'm recalling a previous comment about fucking hits and wanting them," Spot shot back. "We're not stupid."

"I was hoping you were." Race's hands were shaking, and his voice was getting wobbly. "Jeeeesuuuuus..."

"I'll come," Mush said from the couch. He turned to Blink, and they looked at each other for a while before kissing, exchanging words in their glances, and finally he walked over to Spot and Race.

"Jeessuuss Christ."

"Yeah, come on Tony." Mush and Spot led Race out of the room. For about the millionth time that night, there was silence.

Until Jack turned to Itey. "Did she really ask you to take her out Friday night?"

*

Race spent the drive home riding shotgun in Mush's van, oddly hyper and a little shaky. He was alternating between mumbling to himself about being a dead man and about things being fine, and he was clearly having a craving, and spent a few seconds banging his head against the window, until Mush pulled over and yelled at him. After that he settled for tapping his fingers against the dash, which Mush found irritating, but because Race wasn't hurting himself didn't stop him.

Mush pulled up outside Race's house. "You want moral support or anything?" he asked.

"Don't I wish. But I gotta do this on my own, I think. I'll be fine."

"Call me as soon as you can."

"I probably won't be allowed to use the phone for a few months. But I'll see you Monday, unless I'm dead or something."

"Tony, don't joke."

"Yeah, can't help it. And, um, Mushee? Thank you for taking care of me." He said it really fast, but he managed to look Mush in the eye as he said it.

"Hey. That's what friends do, Tony. Just don't ever, ever fucking make me do it again."

"So...we are still friends, right?" Race hated the desperation in his voice. But he needed to know. He may have lost every friend he'd ever had in a single night. Right now, he wanted anything to prove him wrong, when he was so sure he was right.

Mush smiled, in spite of the situation. "Tony...I'll always be your friend, okay? And so will Davey and... and the others. They can't help it now, you have something about you."

"Stupidity?"

"Yes, but..." Mush shrugged. "I love you, okay?"

Race reddened. "I'm getting out now."

"You fucked me over last night."

"Let me ouuuuuut."

"I deserve it to hear it."

"MUSH."

"Say it."

Race glowered. "I hate you."

"No you don't! You..."

"...."

"YOU..."

"...loveyou."

"HAH." Mush smacked the back of his head. "I've got my eye on you, okay?...and I'm still pissed."

"I know..." Race nodded his head back and forth, biting his lip. "Fuuuuck..."

"Just try and suck it up, and get in there. And don't fucking screw up."

"Well, at least I've stopped hearing things," Race said. "And my eyes are okay. And I'm not shaking at the moment." He stopped listing things, gave Mush an attempt at a smile that failed miserably, and got out of the car. The walk up the path to the door felt incredibly long and he dragged his feet. His father was waiting inside.

"Good morning, Racetrack. That must have been quite some study group."

"You have no idea," Race answered. "I--sir--I've got to talk to you."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I need to confess. And apologize." He dropped his gaze to the floor, though he didn't let his shoulders slump. "I broke a lot of rules last night, and I think I ruined my life. I just wanted you to hear it from me before--" he faltered for the first time, "before you get the test results."

His father stared at him, and Race had to hand it to himself; Paulo Higgins had probably never looked astonished in his life. And that almost made Race feel better. Because maybe his father had had better expectations of him than Race had thought he head.

Then the astonishment left, and was followed by pure anger.

"WHAT?" His voice rumbled. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"I...I caved in."

"Who had it?" His father's eyes narrowed. Race almost lied, almost couldn't say the name. But part of his father knowing who it was, was part of Race helping Dutchy out of the entire freaking mess.

"Dutchy."

"Who?"

"...Hans."

Mr. Higgins stood, and grabbed Race's shoulder, clenching hard. "Are you trying to tell me you got high last night, Racetrack?"

"...yes, sir. I did."

"With another boy?"

"Yes, sir. I did."

"And you made your sister LIE to me, to get you into a party that had DRUGS?"

"No, sir; I was too busy being high to do that. One of my friends," though this time he didn't specify who, because he did want Itey and Sophia to be happy, "lied to her. She didn't know. Sir."

"And you knew?"

"No, sir. I mean--I knew I was disobeying you, going to the party at all. But I didn't know about the drugs. I wouldn't have gone if I'd known."

"And why should I believe that?"

Race couldn't believe how calm his father sounded, though he suspected it was a front, that his father was waiting to hear the whole story before he lost his temper or his mind. "You should believe it because I came to you first, sir, and I'm not trying to hide anything I did."

Race knew he had his father there, now Mr. Higgins had to believe him. Because he had come to him first and he was telling the truth and there was no real reason to doubt him at all. Now that Race thought about it, he was always honest with his father.

"Racetrack," his father said, and Race couldn't quite pinpoint what sort of emotion was in his father's voice. All that was there was usually anger. And should there ever be anything else, Race would be damned if he knew what it was.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are we going to go in circles?"

Race was taken aback. His father didn't ask questions. Not like that. "What?"

"Are. We... going to go in circles?"

"I'd rather not, sir. This is... I'm not proud of myself or what I did. I hate myself for it--I hope you'll believe that too. And I hate admitting that you were right, but you were, about Dutchy. He was on drugs, it wasn't just a nosebleed, and I didn't know at the time. I'll tell you everything that happened, just--just, could I please sit down? I'm still shaky."

"No," his father said vehemently. "You may not sit down; you may not come inside. The only reason I haven't thrown you back out is because you are telling me, and you'd damn well better be being honest."

Race swallowed hard and staggered over to the wall, let it hold some of his weight, because while he didn't want to show weakness in front of his father, he was shaking now, both from nerves and from a craving. "Yes, sir," he managed to say.

"Good. Now start talking. Start at the beginning."

"Well, sir, I...I've pretty much told you everything. I was at the party...and my friend had drugs. And I'm being honest, I went to him because I was worried. Not because I wanted a hit." He looked strongly at his father. "I did not go to him because I was looking to get high."

His father looked skeptical.

"Don't believe me, then, but it's true." Race continued, "And then I gave into the temptation. And my friend is in the hospital, and facing court and Juvey, and he...he's in a lot more hot water than I ever was. I got out easy."

"Yes, you did."

"Sir--Dad--I have to ask. Did you, that is, did I get off so easy because of... Of you?"

His father didn't look amused. "That is not an appropriate question."

"Is it because we have money? Because I was young? Or because of you?" he asked again.

"You are treading in dangerous waters now, young man. You will watch your mouth and not question me when I tell you not to."

Race nodded. That was about all he needed to hear to know the truth, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir," he said softly. "For all of the trouble I've caused for you and Mama and everyone else."

His father didn't react for a minute, and finally stood aside. "Get inside," he said, his voice still devoid of emotion.

He knew it was his imagination, but still felt as if he'd stepped into an igloo--everyone was waiting for him in the main floor sitting room. And finally, when he re-told the events of the night before, every single expression made Race hate himself even more than he already did.

His mother was crying. It was something she was not unknown to do, but Race was so familiar with a time when he used to be the one who caused it, that he the last thing he wanted to see was his mother crying like old times.

Sophia looked overthrown with guilt, but when she and Race made eye contact, she turned angry, and looked away from him, shaking her head.

Of course, Isabella had arrived the night before. Tall, stern Isabella, who never cut Race a break, always judging him. He could already hear the words she'd say, 'You haven't changed, have you?' in that tight, angry voice.

And Maria...God, Maria.

Maria threw one look at him after he finished, and then her entire face fell, she looked like her knight in shining armor had been killed by a dragon. She stood quickly and ran from the room, and though their house was large, echoes carried through it easily. He just wished he couldn't hear her crying.

"I'm sorry," he finished quickly. "I'm so sorry."

"Go away," Isabella said flatly. "Get out of my sight."

He nodded; he deserved her anger. She had been planning to defend him and his friends, after all, and he'd gone and screwed up. Badly. So he stood, threw his family one last desperate look, and half-ran up the two floors to his room.

As he climbed the steps, he could hear Maria in her room, two doors down from his. Her door was closed, and he knew what that meant--when Maria closed her door, you didn't go near her.

He contemplated going to speak with her, but he knew that it wouldn't help her any. Not now. He'd done it again; it'd taken so long to regain the family's trust, to make them love him the way they once did. Maria had been the first to accept him.

Now it had all come crashing down around him. All of it.

What made everything worse was how badly he still needed that fucking hit.

He slipped into his room, shut the door behind him, and sat down on his desk chair. He was alone now, which was remarkable; you weren't supposed to leave addicts alone. But he somehow didn't think he'd get very far if he did try and go get a hit, and as much as he wanted one, he was thinking clearly enough that he also didn't want one.

At least this time he knew he could get through it; he could survive. And Mush didn't hate him, so David probably didn't. And for some reason, he was sure Spot didn't either...

...And he abruptly remembered Spot had kissed him, and his eyes went wide and he needed the hit more than ever. Spot had kissed him. He'd know, sort of objectively, that Spot had a thing for him; there was no question about that. But Spot had actually kissed him.

And the part that had him the most freaked out was that he wasn't angry at Spot for it.

In an odd mix of frantic calm, Race tried to remember if he'd kissed Spot back. For some reason it was irrelevant, but Race wanted to believe that it wasn't. All he could fathom now was that he'd let Spot kiss him out of comfort. Because he needed...well, he'd needed a kiss.

"I can't honestly..." Race muttered leaning back into his chair. "Chrissake, as if I don't have enough..."

He knew how Spot felt about him. And if he hadn't before, Jack had made it pretty damn obvious in his outbursts earlier. But still, even with knowing, he didn't actually believe it until now. Not even when Spot told him everything...

...oh. Right. Spot told him everything.

What was Spot to him anyway? How did he feel? He was straight. He'd always been straight. Girls frequently tried to sleep with him, and he didn't mind.

Well, Race had never actually slept with a girl before, because...

Because...

Because, after all, he had had a religious upbringing, and that was probably why. He'd have felt too guilty, he decided. After all, he'd done his fair share of random party hookups but hadn't ever made it too much past making out.

But he'd never had a serious girlfriend.

He decided not to think about it. It was, for some reason, easier to think about how much he would have killed for a line of cocaine. So he stared out the window and tried to make his mind blank. It didn't work.

His door swung open without the ceremony of even a knock, and he expected either his father or Isabella, but was wrong. Sophia stood there, looking incredibly pissed off.

"You ASSHOLE!" she yelled. "You--you--you know I really liked Gabriel? We talked for half an hour on the phone, and he's really sweet, and I really think we'd have been really good together and now there's no fucking way I'll be allowed near him, and he fucking lied to me and I don't blame him, I blame you, so how fucking dare you?!"

Race groaned, and Sophia slammed the door shut behind her with her foot. "And don't make it sound like I'm the one who's--"

"Rosetta, stop--"

"DON'T call me that!"

Normally, Race would have been hurt that she'd snapped at him not to use the family's nickname for their 'beautiful-one', but he was more used to Sophia's temper than any other person in the house. No one else could anger Sophia like Race could. They'd had their fair share of fights, and this was probably the eighth time she'd told him not to call her 'Rosetta'.

But this time, he deserved it. This time, he'd fucked up. Sophia didn't date. Boys never liked her for her. Race knew it really meant something that she'd taken the step to like Itey.

He'd ruined it.

But he would fix it. He'd fix everything.

"Sophia," he said quietly. "I fucked up. I really--I know I did. And I want to make it right and I'm going to try and make it right, but it's going to take time and I'm sorry. Really sorry, and I know it doesn't mean anything just to say it, but... But give me time, okay? I'll prove it to you."

She crossed her arms. "How?"

"I'm going to make sure that you and Itey--Gabe--have the best time in your lives when you go out on Friday. And I have no idea how I'm going to do it yet, but I will. Because, how weird is this, I actually want you two to be together. You'd be good together."

"We would?"

"Yeah. He's sweet and you're a brat. He'd indulge you."

She glared. "You don't get to call me a brat today, fuckup."

Race winced. "I really deserved that."

"Yeah, you really did."

"And don't swear."

Sophia snorted, and then Race stood, taking her hands in his. "Rosetta." She rolled her eyes. "Rosetta, look at me."

When she did, he could tell her attempt at staying angry with him was deteriorating. "What?" she muttered.

"I'll make things right, okay? You and Gabriel will go out and have a great time and it'll make up for everything."

Sophia's eyes softened. "It's not just because of Gabe. I'm worried about you too, you know."

Race smiled, and kissed her forehead. "I know..." He pulled back and observed his sister. "You are beautiful, you know."

She grinned. "Yeah, Gabe told me."

"Don't cross the line."

"Told me I was stunning."

"Stop it."

"He told me about all of the things he wants to do with my gorgeous body."

"He fucking well did not."

"No, he didn't. But it makes you crazy that I'm not a baby anymore, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

She smirked. "Well, you're only a year older than I am, Tony. You shouldn't think you're such an adult either."

"I have a lot more experience than you do, Rosetta."

"Only because you're a screw up."

"Yeah, pretty much. But I do have it, and hey--I don't want you to end up as screwed up as I am. I care about you, and I can't stand the thought of some boy hurting you."

She stared at him for a second, then answered coldly, "Tony, you hurt me. You hurt us all."

That one hurt. Mainly because, again, he deserved it. "I know..." he said quietly, nodding down at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Of course you're sorry. But we trusted you. You said you wouldn't do this anymore, Tony."

"I know." Race looked at her again. She was taller than he was, and usually he was still easily taken as the older brother, but right now, he felt very young, and still too old.

He was very young. But he'd still been too old.

"I won't ever hurt you again, Sophia."

"I wish I could believe that."

"I won't," he swore. "I won't, and no one else will either."

"Tony, life can hurt, and people can hurt you, and part of living is getting over the hurt and moving on." She touched his cheek. "I think it's time you started to do that."

"Get over it? Get over this? I can't, Sophia." It was the gentler version of what he'd told his friend earlier. "I can't forget, because now there's this piece of me that's always craving another hit, and that's what's going on in my mind now. I'm scared, Rosetta," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt anyone else, ever, and I don't want to hurt myself. But that part of me doesn't think, it just reacts, and I'm really scared."

"Scared?" she asked quietly.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I--if there was a way for me to get my hands on coke right now, I would do it."

She looked a bit shocked, but nodded. "Well, you can't," she said. "I won't let you."

"Good." He gave her a serious look. "I'll hold you to that. Thank you."

"I haven't forgiven you, you know."

"No, but you will sooner than anyone else. I know you, Rosetta."

"Shut up." She smiled. "Moron."

Then he hugged her. Sophia and Race did not hug. They badgered, they argued, they yelled, and Race kissed her forehead, sometimes almost comically. But they never hugged.

The fact that he did meant enough to Sophia that she almost wanted to cry. But, like Race, she never cried.

But she did hug him back. Even though they never did that either.

*

Race stood nervously outside his father's office door. It was near midnight and the rest of his family was in bed, but his father's hours were, at best, unpredictable. He didn't want to be standing there, he didn't want to have this next conversation, but he also didn't have much of a choice.

He'd failed Dutchy, he'd failed his family, he'd failed himself. He had to put things right somehow, and this seemed to be the only way.

Nervously, he knocked on the office door.

It seemed like hours that he waited for any sort of confirmation that he'd been heard. Finally, he heard his father's work voice, the booming, scary and almost criminal (Race had to smirk at that) bellow answer him.

"Come in."

Race swallowed, and slowly opened the door, fidgeting his fingers, the need for a line popping up once more.

His father's office was beautiful, and well-furnished, and the most stereotypical part about him. It could have been a room from The Godfather. His father was on the phone, talking in fast Italian, swearing excessively, and finally laughing.

He glanced up and waved a hand at Race to sit down, as though he was there on business and not as his son--though Race reminded himself nervously that that was the point--and finished his conversation. "Well?" he asked finally, seriously, after hanging up the phone.

All of the children who grew up in the Higgins's household knew the rules that went with their father's work very well. You didn't mention it to anyone, ever. You didn't talk about it with each other, or ask him about it. And you never, ever interrupted him in his office unless you were there for some sort of business.

Race had always thought that was some sort of joke. But he wasn't joking now.

"I asked you a question earlier, sir. About what happened when I was in court."

His father waited for him to continue without acknowledging.

"And I only ask because--because I know that, whether it happened or not, you do have the, um, resources to arrange... Things like that."

His father leaned forward, linking his fingers through each other, raising his eyebrows. Still, he didn't say anything.

"And...and my friend, Dutchy." Race made a point of keeping Dutchy's nickname in the draw, "Dutchy's going to... going to be in a lot of trouble. Sir. And... I was wondering if we could... help him out."

Race was going out on a limb. For years, his father had tried to start him up on the family business. One childhood memory consisted of his father teaching Race how to shoot a man from all the way across the room, using his 'Uncle Vinnie' as an example. Race hadn't shot him, of course.

He should have been a lot more fucked up by that than he was. Or maybe it was the source of all of his problems. Race didn't know. But when your father was in the mob, you'd be surprised by how quickly you got used to it.

You weren't given much of a choice in the matter.

"We?" his father asked, now sounding interested.

"Yes, sir. We. I--I understand that there's a price to doing this sort of business, and the only thing I have to offer is--are my services. In return for the favor."

"Interesting," his father mused. "Very interesting."

"Is it at all possible, sir?"

His father nodded. "Very possible, yes. But Anthony, do you understand what you're offering?"

"I think so. I'd like to discuss it in more detail."

"Wise decision."

Without saying anything, Race noted that his father was still giving him time to back out; it was why he was dragging out the conversation the way he was. Race was almost touched. Really, though, he knew it was because his father was probably skeptical of Race's ability to do anything for the family business. Or for the other families.

But he continued. Without hesitation. "Well, sir, I want Dutchy out of trouble. No juvie, no record. And... and I don't know what I'd have to do to make that happen, but I'm willing to do it."

"For one thing, Racetrack, you have to know how the families work."

Racetrack nodded, and his father continued. He didn't think to time how long the conversation took, but it was quite awhile; the family system was intricate and had rules that were sacred and yet nearly incomprehensible. But Race wasn't stupid enough to agree to anything for certain without understanding them, and his father actually seemed pleasantly surprised by the level of intelligence in his questions.

And finally, it came time for the specific bargain. His father was, of course, not really near the top of the family hierarchy, but at the same time was much farther from the bottom. And he really did have the ability to make the things Racetrack wanted happen, happen.

It was the first time he realized how real his father's business was. It was terrifying, and more than ever he didn't want anything to do with it--but he had no choice. Dutchy would only be facing the drug charges because he hadn't been strong enough to resist the addiction, so he could only make up for it by being strong enough to do this. He was willing.

"You want this 'Dutchy' to get out of his OD free of charges, am I right?"

Race made a face. "Wouldn't that make it too suspicious?"

"I can make it not look suspicious."

"I don't want anyone to die."

His father chuckled, which made the situation suddenly very eerie. "It all depends. Do you want it done?"

"...yes." Then he backtracked. "Well, I want him to face light charges. Basically, I want his ride to be as easy as mine was getting out of there."

"Fine." His father looked over a sheet of paper. "We need something done for us Monday."

"The...the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"I'm growing impatient, Racetrack." His father glared. "Are you doing this or not?"

He took a deep breath. "Am I allowed to ask what this something involves?"

"Not usually, no. You're expected to trust me."

"Trust you as a member of the family? Or as my father?"

"As a member of the family, Racetrack--your contact with the family. Are you willing to do that?"

Race shut his eyes for a second. He was being asked to agree to do something that was certainly illegal, without knowing what it was, and his father had already explained that once a person was in, it tended to be in for life, at least to the extent of having contact. And that was not how he wanted to spend his life.

But he owed Dutchy.

"May we discuss this on a personal level, sir?" he asked politely.

His father raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"This is aside from the strict business; a question from a son to a father. Is that all right?"

"I'll allow it. But I warn you, I'm incredibly angry at my son."

He nodded. Of course, his father could separate business and the rest of his life; otherwise, things would have been too... Too mob-y. "Dad, the band--the people in it--they mean a lot to me."

"I can tell."

"And yes, Dutchy was on drugs, but... But they aren't bad people, just not upper class. And I'd like to know what I can do to convince you--my father--of that."

"Well," his father said, "To start, my son, for the first time in his life, seems to be thinking of someone other than himself."

That was unfair, but Race didn't say so. He thought of Maria all the time, every day. But he couldn't argue now. He had to keep this up on a good toll.

"I'm assuming," Mr. Higgins continued, "that perhaps they have some qualities I may have missed, since you are pushing so hard to do something you previously had no desire to do."

Race was about to smile. But his father continued. "However," he snapped. "I don't trust you. Not anymore. The drug tests are going to be increased. And I'm not quite sure how much I should be letting you do anymore."

Race nodded. That was actually far better than he'd expected, and it gave him an opening to make a case. "Well, sir--Dad--"

"No, you will listen to my terms and agree or not as you choose, and then we return to the other matter. I am willing to allow you to be in this band and to attend regular rehearsals. However, I am not willing to let you attend parties. You will be home by six every night and will call me if you are running late for any reason, and you will make the call. To me, not to your sisters or mother.

"You will also be expected to spend more time helping out around the house; since you won't be out on weekend nights anymore, I fully expect you to be willing to babysit Maria whenever you're asked."

"I'm happy to."

"Good. And if I ever feel I have reason to suspect your behavior, I will not be so kind. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, back to the matter at hand."

Race nodded, giving out a long sigh. "Yeah?" This was the part he was waiting for. He knew his father would not push too much onto him. But still, Race felt so helpless; he had never done a job for his father before. Never witnessed it, except for his Uncle Vinnie's death.

"I have something..." his father said, rubbing his hands together, the dryness of the skin making an irritating swash-like noise, "that must be delivered."

Race nodded. "Whaaat is it-"

"You don't need that information," his father snapped back. "All you must know is where to take it, when, and to who." Race sighed. "This must be done precisely how I say, at precisely the right moment."

"Okay."

"Then we have a deal?"

Racetrack hesitated, not wanting to somehow get pulled into this for the rest of his life, or get killed in the process of this... delivery. But he'd already had one victory--sort of--and assumed his father wouldn't set him up for failure. His father very much wanted the rest of the family to accept him as one of them.

"Yes," he decided. "We do."

"Good." His father held out his hand, and Race didn't hesitate before he took it. They shook, and while he felt one weight slipping away from him, he felt another settling down to take its place.

*

B: Bum bum BUMMMMMMMMM. You knew Race would end up in the mafia somehow, right?

F: Mafia!Race is now added to the Sexy Racetrack shelf

B: Collect the whole set! Mafia!Race comes with sunglasses and gun accessories.

F: You have to hurry though, 'cause Spot like has this thing with being a compulsive Race-wanter.

B: You should see what he did with the back orders of Shower Time Race doll from chapter one.

F: Actually, you shouldn't. No one should.

B: I wish we hadn't. But aaaaaaaanyway. You can probably tell by the scrollbar at the side, there aren't any shoutouts this chapter. This isn't because we don't love you, because Funkie and I adore all of you and appreciate all of your feedback. But we're both running on empty at this point, with classes and work kicking our asses, it was either post this shout-out-less or wait until we had time to actually write them. And we have no idea when that would be.

F: And another point--our grades and health are actually decreasing BECAUSE of this fic. Now, this isn't to say we don't enjoy it (it's a great kind of unhealthy! [grin]) but if you really want updates, then you'll have to level with us here--we would much rather post this sooner than later. I am currently avoiding sleep AND homework. See? How I wish I could write this fic and ignore life.

B: Me too. But I'm falling asleep as I type, and 300 pages behind in my politics reading, and directing a show with daily rehearsals. So basically, we just wanted to say that even if we don't tell you individually how much we appreciate your support and feedback, it really means the world to us, particularly in the last chapter. We've both been lucky enough to not have witnessed cocaine addiction first hand, so a lot of time and research went into writing it, as well as several 5 AM nights. It was a real "heart and soul" type chapter and I just can't thank people enough for the amazing responses.

F: I second that. This fic has become a huge part of my life, as has B, and we love writing it, we love all of you SO much, and we love your feedback. We like our 5AM nights, unfortunately, the human body cannot take too much of them. Believe me, at the rate we're going, this fic freaking goes on forever. With oh so many twists!

B: She's not kidding. We're a few chapters ahead in our writing, and one of those chapters is nearly a hundred pages along (though I doubt it'll be posted in one shot). We've totally lost contact with things like "friends" and "family" and "outside lives". But for a good cause! So, in closing, thank you all. We seriously LOVE you.

...Oh, and the next chapter contains fluff. Because we *all* deserve a bit of a reward. So stick around for that. ;)

F: Another thing, this chapter was celebrated with low carb Cinamen Buns. They're disgusting...

B: And the tirimisu that was kindly baked for us, which is NOT disgusting.

F: Also, I might be in a band. That plays rock. Cheer for me.

B: [cheers] [holds up mug of iced tea] Cheers!

F: [eats cookies--which I found stashed in my desk] [grin]

B: And that's all for now. G'night!

F: Byyeeeeee!

Thanks to:

Shot Hunter's Muses, Hotshot, Nerikla, Holiday, Wand, Cards, Artemis-chan, Legaladreilith, Hilary and the Gang, Rumor, Obsessed Wit' Aaron Lohr, Stage, Shot Hunter, Seraph, Shinagami Nonoda, Gothic Author, Shade, Shinagami Nonoda again, Anne, Gothic Author again, Shadowlands, Lee, Rumor again, and Shade again.

With love.