Andrew was sitting at his desk, his arms folded across his chest, pouting. Pamela was about to get up and go and ask him why, when Boone came in the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open, her breathing started to speed up in keeping with the racing of her heart. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, a white shirt and black necktie, black dress shoes completing the look. He looked like he'd just walked out of the pages of a high fashion magazine.

He didn't even spare her a glance, his eyes focused squarely on Andrew; he appeared a little exasperated as he crouched down beside his son's desk. They'd started a silent debate almost the second he'd entered the building.

He looked up at the boy, Pamela noticed his face and head moving as if he was having a conversation with him; Andrew though, continued to stare straight ahead, his pout deepening.

Boone suddenly realized what he was doing and started speaking to him quietly.

Intrigued and also wanting to get a closer look at this differently attired Boone, Pamela rose from her seat and went down the aisle stopping beside him, "Hey."

Boone rose to face her, "Hey." He kept glancing down at Andrew though.

"You look amazing." She complimented.

"Pfftt, thanks," He acknowledged the compliment but didn't seem too pleased about it. "Stupid monkey suit, I can't believe I used to wear these all the time. I feel like an overdressed idiot."

"I'm not going!" Andrew suddenly blurted, still unmoving.

Boone turned back to him; she could see his jaw clenching. "Discussion's over, you don't get a vote, this isn't a democracy, I'm the dictator and I say you're going." He'd had enough of trying to reason with the boy.

"I don't like her!" He glared at Boone.

Boone sighed, "Yeah, I don't like her much either, but she's my mother so we're both going anyway."

He suddenly realized that Pamela was still standing there, "Family thing," he explained.

"Oh," she nodded, "hence the 'monkey suit'?" Monkeys could only dream of looking so hot.

"Yeah," he sighed again and rolled his eyes. "My mother called, command performance, she's having some fancy Thanksgiving dinner at her house, and wants to trot out her loving family to make herself appear all warm and fuzzy," he spat, his mouth running away on him a bit in his flustered state. "Fat lot of good it's going to do her." He muttered.

Andrew got out of his seat, pushed him out of the way and stalked down the aisle.

"Why didn't you just tell her no if you didn't want to go?" Pamela thought it was a reasonable question.

Boone had already turned to follow Andrew. "You don't tell Sabrina Carlyle no," he shot over his shoulder, his thoughts in turmoil not even registering what he was saying, and hurried after his son.

When he reached the car Andrew climbed into the passenger seat and belted himself in, still scowling furiously ahead.

Boone really wasn't up to this; visits to his mother were traumatic enough without Andrew acting up on top of it, though the kid always put up a bit of a fight when advised that they were going to visit Sabrina.

Boone heaved a sigh and, in an attempt at a peace offering, pointed out that he'd put Andrew's puzzle book and PMD in the pocket beside the passenger seat, as well as a nice snack to tide him over till supper.

The boy gave him a bit of a sideways look, his lips still pursed in displeasure before heaving a sigh of his own and reaching for the items.

As with most kids, he didn't actually stay mad at Boone for long, and within half an hour was happily humming away to the tunes playing in his ears while he busily scratched away at the book with his pencil.

Boone, however, managed to get himself completely worked up at the thought of what the next twenty four hours might hold, and by the time he parked the car at his mothers' estate he was filled with dread.

He'd never laid eyes on the guy who opened the front door at his knock, and when asked for his invitation just about suffered a complete meltdown as he stuttered that he didn't have one.

"Boone!" Mrs. Simpson, the family's long time house keeper greeted him happily from across the foyer. As she reached the front door she pulled him into a hug, and then crouched down and wrapped her arms around Andrew too. "This is Mrs. Carlyle's son." She informed the stranger at the door, turning to roll her eyes her eyes so only Boone could see.

"Well there you are, finally!" Sabrina came out of the living room and spied them.

Boone had checked the time in the car before they gotten out and knew that it was only ten after six. "I said we'd be here shortly after six, mother."

She came over and presented her cheek to each of them so they could kiss it. She looked at Andrew in his soccer jersey and rolled up jeans. "Why isn't the boy dressed properly Boone? You know this is a semi formal party."

"I picked him up at school mother, and we came directly here, he's still wearing his school clothes. I've got other ones for him." He held out the hanger with the white polo shirt and black khaki's he'd chosen for Andrew.

"Hmpf, not a suit then?" she didn't look pleased.

"Mother, he's only five, really, I just didn't think it was necessary." He could feel the headache already starting.

"Well, pfft, it's too late now anyway. Mrs. Simpson, take the boy upstairs and help him dress." She waved her hand as if she was a queen directing her minions, which in a way she was.

"I can dress myself," Andrew replied indignantly.

Sabrina looked unconvinced.

"I'll go with him mother, he's…" Boone began.

"No, you're coming with me, we already have guests and you're late." Sabrina cut him off and started dragging him across the foyer in the direction of the living room.

He shot a bit of a panicked look over his shoulder and held out the backpack and hanger. Mrs. Simpson hurried forward to take them from his outstretched hand, then ushered Andrew upstairs and into Shannon's old room, staying with him and keeping him company while he changed his clothes.

Down in the living room, Boone had pulled out all the stops on his wealth of charm, hoping that it would appease his mother and keep her off his back. So far it seemed to be working. He'd only received two snide comments from her, each delivered in an aside. By the time he felt the small hand slip into his, he was only just praying that he wouldn't knock over a glass of wine at dinner, or spill something down his shirt front, instead of feeling like he wanted to throw up, like he usually did.

"Hey Buddy," he smiled down at Andrew. Mrs. Simpson must have combed the boy's hair; it was a little more tidy than usual. Boone ran his hand through it and settled it more into its' usual shaggy mop, Andrews bangs now falling across his forehead.

With his chick magnet firmly attached to his left hand, it wasn't long before most of the women in the room gravitated to them, though to call any of these women 'chicks' was a bit of a stretch. They all ooh'd and awww'd over the gorgeous pair, until Boone could feel Andrew becoming distracted, he pulled at Boone's hand a few times, then let it go and started wandering away from him.

'Where're you going?' Boone questioned the retreating back.

Andrew glanced over his shoulder at him, 'I want to talk to that man.' He nodded his head at an older man sitting on a love seat by himself.

'Don't be a nuisance.' Boone warned silently.

'Kay Boone.' He was already focused on his target.

As Boone continued circulating, Andrew came to a stop in front of the guy and waited to be noticed. When he looked up, Andrew spoke. "You're sad."

The man frowned, a bit puzzled, "No actually, I'm Frank." He replied in amusement.

"Yeah, and I'm Andrew, but you're sad about your daughter." He looked concerned.

Frank looked at him levelly, intrigued. Alicia had only just called him before they left for the party to tell her that she was filing for divorce. He scanned the room. No one could possibly be gossiping about it yet that this boy could have overheard it. By the time he looked back to where Andrew had been standing, the boy had already climbed onto the cushion beside him.

Boone glanced a few times over to where Andrew was chatting with the guy, the discussion seemed animated, but Boone knew that, while Andrew could charm the pants off anyone, not everybody wanted to be trapped in an extended conversation with a five year old.

After half an hour, he approached them. "Hey." They both looked up, and the man stood, holding out his hand.

"Frank Jackson." He introduced himself.

"Boone Carlyle." He responded, shaking the proffered hand.

"Yes, I know. Andrew pointed you out to me." He smiled.

"I hope he's not being a pest."

"No, no, not at all, in fact I think this is one of the best conversations I've had at a dinner party in ages." Frank assured him, sitting again, then watched while Boone's focus shifted to his son.

'Don't bother the guy too much okay?' Boone narrowed his eyes slightly.

Andrew shook his head almost imperceptibly, 'I'm not, he really means it, he's was sad earlier but not now.' Andrew had sensed something else about the man, but kept it to himself.

'Alright,' Boone raised his eyebrows a bit, 'be good, okay.'

'Kay Boone,' Andrew smiled in acknowledgement and nodded.

Frank watched the small facial movements of the man standing in front of him, and turned his head away, hiding a bit of a knowing smile.

Dinner was announced soon after, and people started filing out of the room. Boone hung back a little, waiting for Andrew; then boosted him onto his hip when he felt the tug at his jacket pocket, not wanting the boy to be jostled by the crowd, and also knowing that Andrew liked to be able to see what was going on. It was only a second before his mother was at his side.

"You'll wrinkle your jacket," she hissed into his ear, intending for him to put the boy down.

Boone closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep breath before responding, "Then I'll send it to the cleaners, mother."

She pinched her lips at his unsatisfactory answer and swept out of the room to accompany her guests.

They found their seats at the head of the table opposite Sabrina, and enjoyed the soup and salad. When the first of the main course plates were brought out, Boone did a bit of a double take at the offering.

Where the hell was the traditional turkey, he wondered?

"I heard that Joseph's favourite food was roast," Sabrina answered his question as she smiled and nodded at one of the guests, the sound of her voice from the other end of the table bringing Boone's head up. "So we're having Prime Rib of Kobe Beef instead of turkey, I hope no one minds."

Their servings were put in front of them.

'I mind, Boone,' he felt Andrew tug at his pants pocket. 'I don't want to eat this.'

Boone stared in revulsion at the slab of rare beef that lay in front of him, oozing juices into his mashed potatoes. He felt the bile rise in this throat. 'Just eat the vegetables, don't make a scene.'

Hands reached between them and whisked away their plates; then a different set of hands deposited replacement dinners. They were now looking at far more appealing grilled salmon filets.

Boone looked over his shoulder, knowing who would be standing there, and quirked an eyebrow at Mrs. Simpson.

"So sorry gentlemen, bit of a mix up in the kitchen." She patted each of them on the shoulder.

"You'll get in trouble for this." Boone whispered. Feeling his mother's eyes on him, he raised his head to meet her glare.

The house keeper leaned down, "I stopped being frightened by your mother years ago. She knows no one else would ever take this job. Besides, it's better than the alternative," she added with a smirk before leaving the room. The last time Sabrina had forced the two of them to eat beef Andrew had thrown up in the middle of the front hall, then had wailed for Boone, who was simultaneously heaving his guts out in one of the downstairs bathrooms.

The woman beside Boone asked him about his meal, when he replied that they only ate fish and poultry she commented on how thoughtful his mother was in providing an alternative for them both. Boone just nodded, smiling falsely, letting her indulge in the fantasy that his mother actually gave a shit about what they did, or didn't eat.

When the last person was served they all dug happily into their meals.

It was late by the time the coffee and tea were presented, and when they left the table to move back into the living room Boone excused himself briefly to take Andrew upstairs and tuck him sleepily into Shannon's old bed.

Returning downstairs, he endured a few circuits of the room, then let himself out of the patio doors, grabbing a glass of wine on the way through.

He flopped down into one of the outside chairs and tipped his head back to survey the stars.

The voice out of the darkness scared the hell out of him. "He's a remarkable boy."

"W..w..what?" Boone just about jumped out of his skin.

"He, uhm, he knew things that no one should have know." Frank lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face briefly, enough for Boone to identify him.

Boone, for some reason, didn't feel any threat from the man, though it was obvious from his words that somehow he'd caught on to Andrew's secret. There was no trace of the panic he'd been filled with when he'd mistakenly thought that Pamela had found out. "He's very," he groped for a word, "intuitive."

"Okay." He nodded. "Intuitive…I can live with that." He took a drag on the cigarette. "He gets that from you, I guess."

Boone considered his answer for a minute. "I'm a bit…intuitive," he continued their verbal dancing, wondering where it was leading, still unconcerned.

"Yeah, me too," Frank's casually delivered rejoinder surprised him, even more so when it was accompanied by slight pressure in his head.

As he met the pressure and pushed back, the other man's eyes widened some, and he drew a sharp intake of breath. "I'd say you're more than just a bit." He told Boone.

"I guess," Boone shrugged. "But it's pretty selective." He considered that the reason he was reacting so nonchalantly might be what the man had just admitted to. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, he'd somehow already been aware of it.

"Really?"

They talked a few minutes longer as Frank finished his smoke. When it was almost gone he threw his cigarette butt on the patio, and stepped on it.

"I'd better go in. It was a real pleasure to meet both of you. I hope our paths cross again." He held his hand out.

'So do I,' Boone rose and shook his hand, as he sent the words.

The man smiled in response, and Boone felt the slight pressure again, not pushing back this time. Frank looked at him for a minute, then the presence was gone as he crossed the flagstones and re-entered the house.

Boone sat back down and looked up at the stars again as he considered their brief exchange.

He stayed in the chair until the last of the lights had gone out in the house; then walked over to the pool. He shed his clothes, carefully draping them over a rung of the ladder to the water slide.

Knowing that he hadn't returned to the party and guessing where he might be, Sabrina watched from her bedroom window as he stood naked in the moonlight, then dove cleanly into the water.

She watched her previously almost perfect son, now scarred both mentally and physically by a love she'd tried to prevent, as he swam several lengths of the pool. Aware that he could be at it for an hour or more she turned sadly from the window and got ready for bed.