Disclaimer: The usual. Don't own anything you recognize.

BEHIND THE CLOUDS

By Etcetera Kit

Chapter Three: Yellow Roses III

Blackmail – that's what was being done to him, pure and simple. How could he have let himself fall so far as to be blackmailed at all, let alone by Paris Grayson? She was the queen of manipulators and had managed to make her blackmail leverage seem a lot more severe than it actually was.

Sky sighed and leaned back in his chair at the rehearsal dinner. He absently twiddled with the edge of his napkin, ignoring the friendly chatter around him. Paris' sixteenth birthday was almost legend with the cadets at that time. The saying had been, if Drew threw a party, then anyone with a brain went. The parties were always awesome. Her birthday was in February, so it was cold and dismal, people hoping for spring. The short days and endless routine had put a bee in everyone's bonnet, so the birthday bash was met with much enthusiasm.

That was in a time when he and Dru had been close, before Dru got transferred to the Nebula Academy. He had been a party animal, just turned seventeen and finishing his second year at the academy. He knew Paris to see her, but wasn't friends with her, didn't associate with her group. There had been two groups of partiers – he had been in one and Paris in the other. It was well before Syd and Bridge joined the academy. It was also before being on the ranger track or the officer track made a difference in training.

Everyone had been excited about the party, the hum of anticipation building days beforehand. Underage drinking was an epidemic during that time, until Cruger cracked down and expelled a few people. That scared everyone, because, as much as they loved drinking and partying, they all wanted to be a part of SPD so badly it hurt. The party had turned out to be everything promised and more – and he didn't really remember much of what went on, just waking up in his bed the next morning with a massive hangover. It had actually been that party that caused most of the expulsions and rule-enforcement.

Assistant director for the fall play – that meant he had to be Paris' minion until the November run of the show. She claimed she had pictures of him at the party. He didn't doubt that much, but he didn't know what was in the pictures – and she wasn't telling. All of the pictures from that party would feature people with cups of alcohol (they had enough alcohol to stock a couple Las Vegas casino bars), but it could be worse. And he didn't remember what he did that night and really didn't want Paris showing possibly incriminating pictures to Syd.

He internally shook his head. That party and the consequences still puzzled him. The parties always took place in the lounge, which wasn't too bright of all the underage alcohol-consuming cadets, but none of them got busted before. In fact, he wasn't sure if he was there when the party was busted. Dru had remembered nothing more than he did. For some unknown reason, Paris, the birthday girl, hadn't been expelled. And, if he and Dru had been around during the raid, the pair of them would have been prime candidates for expulsion.

That party had been part of his wake-up call. He had come infinitely close to being thrown out of the organization he had dreamed of joining. It scared him, it really did. So he started down the path of going the opposite direction from being a party animal.

"I didn't know you drank, Sky."

He snapped out of his reverie to Bridge's question. His best friend was sitting across the table from him, frowning. Sky stared at the drinks that had just been brought to the table. He had a glass of water and what appeared to be coke.

"Jack and coke?" Z prompted.

Sky inwardly groaned. Had he been so spaced out that, when the owner of the restaurant asked for bar orders, he had ordered something from the bar? The drink made sense – he almost exclusively drank Jack and coke at the parties he and Dru went to. He had lost his taste for beer and wine a long time ago and preferred mixed drinks. But no one on the B-Squad knew that, since he had stopped partying by the time they joined the academy. He and his dad would drink at home occasionally…

"Yeah," he replied sharply.

Syd, who was sitting next to him, gave him a curious look. He could have banged his head against the table – on his twenty-first birthday back in January, he hadn't gone on a drinking binge like most. His parents threw a small party to coincide because Jen had found out about her pregnancy with his younger sister and was being allowed to stay in the present. The lavish party had been awkward for him and he preferred the store-bought cake and sherbet that his dad and Taylor had for him.

Syd, Bridge and Z were frowning at him. There was no way he could explain things to them… not at all. All three of them seemed extremely innocent when paired next to the prospect of drunken revelry. Z, not so much, but Bridge and Syd?

His severe expression softened. "You want to taste it?" he asked them.

Three puzzled looks immediately changed into interest. "Sure," Z said. "This one halfway house I used to go to handed out vodka for medicinal purposes."

"Vodka?" Bridge asked.

"Medicinal purposes?" Sky asked at the same time.

Z shrugged as she pulled his glass towards herself. "It was for the alcoholics. I didn't take any of it because I didn't need it." She paused as she took a sip of his drink. "I needed some of the other stuff they handed out."

No one needed elaboration on that. Z passed the glass to Bridge. He tasted it, looking faintly puzzled. "It just tastes like flat coke."

"That's the point," Sky replied as the drink got passed to Syd.

She didn't appear impressed by the overall effect, handing the glass back to him. "So how did you get recruited to be assistant director?" she asked.

"It's a long story," he replied evasively, not wanting to mention the blackmail.

"Kind of like why you want to drink flat coke?" Bridge added.

He shrugged. "It would take a lot more than this to get me wasted." Sky paused and inwardly swore. He really hoped he just imagined saying that aloud.

"Wasted?" Z asked with a snicker. "I can't imagine you wasted."

No – he just said it aloud. He didn't reply.

"Is it another really long story?" Bridge asked, looking like a Chester cat.

"Yes," he retorted. This was getting ridiculous.

"Sky getting wasted…" Z trailed off into numerous snickers.

"Can we change the subject, please?" he asked loudly. He glanced at Syd. She was frowning and he knew that the current subject was not put to rest, not between him and his girlfriend at any rate.

"Everyone is trying out for the show right?" Bridge glanced up as Paris paused. "People who have already been recruited as production crew are excluded, as are the honeymooners."

The only people left after that announcement was himself, Doctor O, Austin and Syd. He and Syd were already planning on trying out for the show. It had been made abundantly clear that the auditions were open to all cadets, officers and support staff. Bridge couldn't quite see Austin trying out for a musical. He might have tried out if the audition didn't involve singing and dancing. Bridge grinned to himself. He and Syd were already working on the dancing and the singing (Paris had handed out mini-discs with the audition numbers.)

Syd had been talking non-stop about how she wanted to be the lead, Roxie Hart. Bridge didn't really care what part he got – he just wanted to audition. Since he had been at SPD, the drama department hadn't revived enough to do a full show.

"Is it bad that I fall under the category of 'production crew' and I'm still not sure what the stage manager does?" Z commented.

"What is it with her and her ability to focus the entire situation on herself?" Austin grumbled. He was giving Paris a scathing glance. "We're at a rehearsal dinner," he stressed. "Shouldn't we all be gushing about Conner and Kira or something?"

"She has middle child syndrome," Syd said, delicately spearing some cheesecake onto her fork. Bridge had to admit, Z had a great idea holding the rehearsal dinner here. Mrs. Mancuso's cooking was unbeatable.

"I think it's more complicated than that," Austin said darkly.

Bridge didn't bother trying to break into the conversation that the Grayson siblings were having. When any combination of the three of them started an argument or debate, it was better to leave them to their own devices unless gunshots sounded. He pushed his desert plate away from him and focused on the current activity – trying to balance his spoon on his nose. So far, it had been a fruitless endeavor.

The spoon slipped off the end of his nose and fell to the table with a clatter. He picked up, rubbing it on his napkin and tried again. "Give it up, Bridge," Sky said from across the table. His roommate was also done with desert and his arm was slung casually over the back of Syd's chair. Syd was focusing entirely on her cheesecake and argument with Austin.

"I think this should be an Olympic sport," Bridge replied.

"You need more practice if you want a medal," Z told him.

"Don't encourage him." Sky paused. "You don't share a room with him."

"Nope," Z agreed. "But then again, spoon antics don't bother me." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. Bridge felt a faint flush in his cheeks and a goofy grin spread over his face. He knew that Z loved him, but there was something about displays of affections that made him feel all the more… loved. His adopted parents had been afraid to touch him after they learned what his powers were. Since before he started school, they wouldn't touch him. It was hard to go through childhood with parents that wouldn't hug him.

He brightened as he attempted the spoon again. His real parents were nothing like that. There were times he thought his mother didn't want to stop hugging him. He didn't see them as much as he wanted – they lived on Mirinoi and with his baby brother, Jordan, it made travel more difficult. They were due to come to Earth for Thanksgiving, while his Uncle Leo and Aunt Kendrix would be on Earth in October. And with Z, Sky and Syd, it wasn't an issue. He had learned to block out a lot of the involuntary psychometrics and telepathy, so that he didn't pick up things he didn't want to. The three of them knew that he wasn't out to find their dirty secrets.

"I want to know how much you partied before we joined SPD," Syd was questioning Sky. Bridge caught the spoon as it slipped off his nose and gave Sky a sympathetic look. He didn't know a lot about Sky's relatively brief party animal period and he knew that Sky really didn't like to talk about it.

"Like what?" Sky asked, avoiding answering.

"Time frame," Syd prompted.

"The two years before you joined."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How did you guys get alcohol on SPD grounds?"

Sky looked uncomfortable. "There are ways," he replied evasively.

"Come on!" Syd cried. "You would think I've never been to a party or anything like that from the way he's avoiding things."

"Trust me – you've never been to the kind of party we used to have."

"He's right." Bridge picked up the spoon again as Paris joined them. "Those were some seriously intense parties. We don't have parties like that anymore." She propped her head on her arm, looking thoughtful. "There was that one party we had, must have been the fall of my first year – the one where Dan and his bunch went streaking through the girls' floor—"

"—and Susie threw up in the punch bowl," Sky finished.

"Yeah, that party!" Paris nudged Austin. "You were there."

"Not by choice," he grumbled.

"Wait a minute!" Syd interrupted the reminiscing. "You mean that all three of you were at a party where people went streaking and someone threw up in a punch bowl?" The twins and Sky nodded. "Why am I just now hearing about this?" She looked offended.

"I didn't really know him," Paris said, indicating Sky. She started to look thoughtful again. "Those were some good times."

"If you call getting wasted every weekend fun," Sky muttered.

"We were all young and naïve with stars in our eyes—"

"Are you hearing this?" Austin muttered.

"At any rate," Paris continued, directing her words at Syd. "Cruger cracked down after my sixteenth birthday party and, by the time you joined in the fall, there were no more crazy, drunken parties. It got really boring."

Bridge jumped as his cell phone rang. The spoon dropped to the floor, the noise muffled by the carpet. He pulled his phone out of his pocket – he hadn't had the phone long. His adopted parents had been too cheap to get him one. His parents, on the other hand, wanted him to have one for emergencies and so that they could be sure to get in touch with him. He glanced at the number – it was one he vaguely recognized… Oh no… His heart sank into his stomach and the food he had eaten started to churn in his stomach.

"Who's calling?" Z asked.

The phone stopped ringing, meaning his voicemail would pick it up. He stood up shakily from the table. "I'll be back," he said quickly, hurrying out the front door of the restaurant.

The night air was cool. He sank down onto a stone bench outside, taking deep, gulping breaths. The cool air stung his lungs, but he welcomed the sensation, knowing he was alive and awake, not in some ill-conceived nightmare. His thoughts were racing. How did they get his phone number? It didn't make sense.

The phone beeped, indicating that he had a new voicemail message. Mechanically, he hit the speed dial for the voicemail and followed all the instructions until the new message played.

Hi Bridge. It's Marie… your adopted mother, I suppose. I know we haven't talked in a while and that we didn't part on the best of terms, but… you're still my son. I still care about you and I'd like to talk. Please… you know the number at the house…

The message ended and he erased it. The shock and surprise had worn off. He felt angry, but just as acutely he felt guilty. He knew he had no reason to feel guilty. His adopted parents ignored him – wouldn't hug him! After he joined SPD, they wouldn't call him. If he wanted to talk, he had to call them. After a few months, he stopped calling them and just went home with Sky for holidays. When he discovered his real parents, there hadn't even been a glimmer of a protest when his guardianship was given to them. While he was happy with his real parents, knowing their love for him was absolute, it had hurt that his adopted parents hadn't cared enough to say goodbye.

I lived with you for twelve years! You never loved me – I was freak. Bridge took a deep, calming breath. His throat burned from unshed tears. He hated crying with a passion, but he seemed to do it more often than the rest of the human population.

I am Bridge Corbett, he thought. Bridge Jara Corbett… my middle name is for the elder of my mother's tribe. I am the son of Mike and Maya Corbett. They have always and will always love me unconditionally for what I am! I am not a freak… I am not a freak…

One sob shuddered through him, followed by another one. He wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to get a grip on his emotions. A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped furiously at it. After three years of silence, they were trying to come back into his life. Once he finally put his shattered life back together, they had to come along and threaten it all!

The sobs wracked his body and tears slipped down his cheeks.

"He's been out there for a long time. I'm going to check on him."

Z stood up, reaching for her sweater. It wasn't like Bridge to spend forever on the phone, unless he was talking to his parents – and he would have picked up right away if it had been them and he probably wouldn't have bothered to take the conversation outside. There might be a simple explanation for things, but that phone call had spooked Bridge.

She moved away from the table, the others giving her neutral responses – Syd was still trying to get party stories out of the twins and Sky. Pushing through the front door of the restaurant, the night air hit her in a gust. It was cool – the sky ink black and studded with stars. It was a comfortable night – one where she would have wanted to go stargazing with a blanket and mug of hot chocolate.

Bridge was sitting on the stone bench just outside. He was still, but his arms were wrapped around his middle. Z inwardly shook her head. He had been crying, she could deduce that much from his position. He hated for other people to see him cry – even if it was just her or Sky. In that light, she was glad the storm had passed. He didn't want others to see him lose control of his emotions.

"Hey," she said softly, sitting on the bench next to him.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes bloodshot and puffy. Her suspicions were confirmed. Whoever had been on the phone, it had really upset him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gently kissing his temple.

"Who was on the phone?"

Bridge let out a long shuddering breath. "My adopted mother," he whispered.

Z sighed. She had never met the woman who had been Bridge's mother for twelve years – he had stopped talking to her by the time she met him. The woman hadn't called for three years. What could have possibly possessed her to start now? Bridge had always felt some guilt for cutting off communication, thinking it hurt them. No, he had been convinced that it had hurt them somehow. It was a lie that Bridge fervently believed. He had nothing to feel guilty about, since those people were probably glad to unload him at SPD.

"What did she want?"

"To talk."

"Are you going to talk to her?"

"I don't know."

She laid her head against his shoulder, glad that he was relaxing into her embrace. What he really needed to do was call his parents. Part of the original purpose of them getting him the cell phone was so that he didn't have to go through intergalactic operators to get in touch with them. It was an intergalactic cell phone, allowing him to call other planets – Earth colonies or Outer Worlds.

"Don't we make a pair?" she whispered. "Both running from the past." Bridge glanced down at her, the ghost of a smile over his lips. She straightened up. "I think you need to call your parents." She didn't elaborate that, especially right now, he needed to hear the massive different between his adopted parents and his real parents. Hell, if his mother thought he needed her badly enough, she wouldn't hesitate to get on the next shuttle to Earth without a second glance to any of her other responsibilities.

"I'll call them later tonight," he said softly. "Time difference."

Z shook her head. "They won't care if you wake them up, especially if you're upset."

"I don't want to wake up Jordan."

His newborn brother didn't even sleep through the night yet – Z couldn't see how waking him up would be a big deal. Then again, Bridge had spent a month with the baby over the summer and probably knew a lot more about it than she did.

"I don't like how that woman upsets you," Z said bluntly. "Want me to go beat her up? I could firebomb her house."

Bridge smiled at the dark humor. "Firebomb?"

"Well, a Molotov cocktail would work just as well."

"You've made one before?"

"I've seen them made before."

That got a laugh out of him. "Just leave it alone," he said, shaking his head. "I'll deal with it… eventually."

Z stood up and held out a hand to him. "Come on, someone is going to start asking questions – and Mrs. Mancuso is due to start seconds on desert."

Bridge took her hand and stood up, allowing himself to be led back into the restaurant. He took a detour to the bathroom to wash his face as Z sat down at the table. Syd was pouting, probably because no one was telling her good party stories. Bridge came back and sat down. Z couldn't shake the image of his haunted eyes from her mind – it scared her.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for your continued support of this piece! I'm glad it's getting moderate success. With that said, I'd just like to issue more of the same. The feedback has been great so far - keep it! (And yes, BloomingViolets, I did get your e-mail! It made me smile!) So, may the force be with you. TTFN.