Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Queer as Folk characters in this story. They belong to Showtime and Cowlip. No copyright infringement is at all intended and no money will be made.

Chapter 4

Dylan drops his legs from the door frame and slumps down in his seat after agreeing with the social worker. If anyone were to walk by, they would likely assume from the downcast expression marring Dylan's face and the demeanor of his body language, that he was being forced to do something that he did not want to do. Which isn't far from the truth at all.

Dylan does manage to take a quick glance over to the hospital station pillars again, eyes searching earnestly for his brother before he's wheeled into his hospital room, but he finds the spot empty. Perhaps his mind is playing tricks on. Making him see things and people that aren't really there. That can't be a good sign, right? Dylan is willing to bet that his boastful doctor didn't perform as much of a successful surgery as he claims.

Unfortunately he isn't able to speculate over what could be causing him to see things or the consequences of a botched surgery because as soon as he enters the room, Lindsay comes barreling over to him in a hurry.

"Thank goodness you're back!" She exclaims, crouching down at his level, hands lightly fluttering over his body as if she's resisting the urge to grab ahold of him and never let him go. But she doesn't touch him, most likely fearing the repercussions.

Instead her eyes roam over his face hungrily, taking in his downcast expression, pale parlor and sunken eyes. "You're tired?"

Dylan shrugs and avoids eye contact, finding comfort in staring at his hospital slippers. He hates looking at her, especially when she's like this, all anxious and worried. Acting like an overly distraught parent. It brings up parts of his past that he would rather not think about, it makes him feel guilty, for once wanting someone like her.

"You must be tired!" She pushes, "You've been gone for ages. What took so long?" Lindsay's eyes are on Dylan but her question is pointedly asked to the social worker.

Ms. Montgomery clears her throat, "It…took…a little longer than we anticipated-"

Lindsay eyebrows draw together, "Not easily convinced, were you?"

Dylan hesitates. He's not exactly sure how he should go about answering this question without ruining his chances of seeing his mom again. He wants to stay in the lesbian's good graces but he's afraid that if he reveals that it took the adults ¾ths of their meeting to convince Dylan that there is a slight chance that he may have been kidnapped. Lindsay will hold off on letting him see his mom. So that they'll have more time to persuade him of being Gus. He's sure of it.

But Dylan doesn't even get to answer the question. He notices that a small smile begins to spread on Lindsay's pale face. "Of course you were!" she says warmly. "You're the son of an artist, an ad man, and a lawyer. It's in your blood to question and to be curious. I wouldn't expect anything less than skepticism from you."

An artist, an ad man and a lawyer? The only thing Dylan can think about right now is 'who the hell is this third person?'

But Dylan doesn't get the chance to ruminate over his 3rd or 4th parent because Lindsay delicately picks up his hand. The same hand the social worker held an hour earlier. Lindsay's hands are warm and as soft as cream. Dylan finds his cold body with nothing but a thin hospital gown for protection, involuntarily moving closer to this new source of warmth.

Lindsay beams at him when he doesn't yank his hand away. He has already convinced himself that he's letting Lindsay get away with this small act of affection not because he feels touched by her concern for him but for purely selfish reasons. He's cold and he's hoping his compliance and good behavior will lead her to allowing him to see his mom. The end.

"I'm sorry about the meeting going longer than we intended, Mrs. Peterson-Marcus. We should had someone come and update you on things." Lindsay's eyes finally tear away from his face to give her attention to the social worker.

"It's fine and call me Lindsay, Patricia. After everything you've done for my family, I feel like we can drop the formalities." Ms. Montgomery smiles back and nods. Dylan can't help but think of how this new budding relationship between Lindsay and his social worker will affect his chances of seeing his family. He hopes that Ms. Montgomery will uphold her end of the agreement and talk to the imposters. Dylan tries to make eye contact with her a few times, as to remind her of their deal, but she rarely looks over at him.

"Gus, were you able to ask all the questions that you wanted?" Lindsay asks.

Dylan grinds down on his teeth in annoyance at being called 'Gus,' but he hums an agreement anyway to Lindsay.

Her hands start to move up and down his arms, warming him up even more. "Good. How about we get you into bed? You're colder than Alaska." Dylan couldn't agree more.

"Lindsay, I was meaning to ask you if I could set up a meeting with you and your partner, Melanie?" Ms. Montgomery asks. Dylan sighs, finally. "There's still some things that I need to discuss privately with the two of you."

"Yes, of course. Is it something serious? Is Gus ok?"

"Nothing like that," she reassures her, "just some concerns that came up during the meeting that we should talk about."

Lindsay nods back urgently. "Mel will be back tomorrow morning at 9, is that a good time?"

"I'll double check my schedule, but I'm almost positive that'll work."

"Perfect."

Dylan can only hope that he'll see his mom at 10.

After dinner, and long after Lindsay finishes pitter pattering around the room, talking about people and things that Dylan doesn't give two fucks about, they settle down and quietly watch a movie together. As Dylan snuggles down into the sterile hospital bed and covers, he thinks, this is the best part about my day. Watching some silly little Adam Sandler movie and laughing weakly to his jokes.

Somewhere around 9pm, Dylan starts to have a hard time keeping himself wide-awake. He wants to finish the movie, so when he looks back on this day, he won't think of it as the day when everything became fucked up and screwed over. He wants one silver lining or positive thing to say about it, instead all the shit he's packing in his arsenal. But without his consent his eyes hang half-lidded, only catching a few scenes as they begin the deadly dance of open or shut.

When he regains consciousness again, Lindsay is bedside him, sitting in the chair next to his bed. He must have been sleeping because he can't remember her moving the short distance to come sit next to him. The room is a lot darker than it was before. All the lights have been shut off except for the TV in the background, casting wicked shadows over the furniture. If Dylan were younger, he might have been scared, but he's 12 now and things like that don't faze him, so he returns his attention back to Lindsay.

Her dark eyes stare down at him, full of unreleased tears and a dazzling smile playing on her lips. "I'm so happy that you're finally back," she whispers and lightly rubs the back of her hand to his cheek. "You know, I prayed and prayed for you to come home. I'm not even religious," she says with a quiet laugh, "but I was willing to try anything if that meant I could get the chance to see you one more time."

His eyes fall shut again. He thinks it has something to do with the dark room, Lindsay's soothing voice, and the gentle warmth of her hands. Whatever it is, he can't keep his eyes open any longer, but he can still hear her. She continues to rub his cheek every so often with her warm hands, "we're all just so happy that you're finally back. You don't know how much it broke me to-"

Her hands travel down to his sheet and blanket. Lindsay yanks them up and pulls them up to his chin and tucks him in. She pats down the covers around his sides and pumps up his pillow, and then goes to find the remote. She discovers it by her side of the room, underneath a couple of magazines. As soon as she has it, she promptly turns off the TV.

It's completely dark and quiet around the room, if you don't count the humming machines behind his bed, but they're easy enough to discount.

She sits back down beside Dylan now and watches him rest. Just like the night before and the night before that, she observes the rising and falling of his chest, the twitch of his nose, and listens in for the machines monitoring his heartbeat.

Just as he's about to fall asleep, Lindsay kisses the only part of his forehead which isn't wrapped in bandages and with a whisper, he hears her say, "Even though it's the worst day of your life, it's the best day of mine. And I'm so sorry for that."

Dylan feels like he's been asleep for only 10 minutes when he's roughly awakened. His body being moved and jostled without his control. He tries to say, "what's going on?" but the only thing that he manages to spit out of his dry and sleep deprived mouth is a mumbled, "whaaa?" in a voice much deeper than his own.

He's a little startled when he wakes up and sees Melanie sitting by the window with a light smile playing over her lips and her kind but tired eyes staring down at him. He half expected to find Lindsay stationed next to his bed, never a few feet away from him, on guard duty this morning. He's pleasantly shocked to find this not to be true. He was getting tired of her overactive hands and lips finding their way to his cheeks and hair.

"Good morning," she says.

He nods back at her and mumbles, "'Morning," and tries to sit up by himself. He struggles a bit because he's only working with one arm on the account of his other is in remission from the accident that took place a few days ago. He sees Melanie sit her mug down on the windowsill before making her way over. When she reaches his side, she doesn't waste any time grabbing ahold of him, there's no hesitant touches or second guessing herself. Melanie's all business. She lifts him up until he's in a high enough position and then steps back. No lingering touches or anything.

"You good?"

"Yeah," says Dylan, followed by a quick nod and then settles more comfortably into his bed. He takes a quick glance around the room. He assumed Lindsay would be curled up in one of the chairs in the corner, fast asleep or maybe in the bathroom. Except the chair in the corner is empty and the bathroom door is wide open and when he cranes his neck to the left, he sees no inhabitants.

"She left," he hears Melanie say and Dylan's stomach plummets to the ground at being caught searching for Lindsay, as if he cares. He doesn't. He just likes the idea of keeping tabs on them. Keep your enemies close and all that. He thinks about covering up his embarrassment with an excuse, but all the ones that he can think of are flimsy at best and he doesn't believe Melanie will buy any of them. She's different from Lindsay, a lot different. They're almost complete opposites.

Whereas Lindsay is round, soft and pale, Melanie is tan with sharp angles. Sharp eyes, sharp face and sharp thin body, but not the type that would be easily blown away at the first sight of a storm. Nothing about Melanie seems weak willed or feeble, if anything everything about her screams fighter. From the few words she's spoken to him from yesterday and by her behaviors and mannerism, he can tell she's straight forward and business, no talk and dance bullshit.

She actually reminds Dylan of himself, thin and lanky but scrappy as hell.

"She went to grab you something to eat," Melanie follows up. Without his consent Dylan's stomach roars with hunger at the thought of food. He can barely remember what he ate for dinner or if he had dinner at all. Dylan certainly isn't a stranger to going to bed without food, either for punishment, lack of food in the house or sometimes a mixture of both. But he was willing to bet everything he owned, which wasn't a lot at this point, that he did eat before bed. Lindsay seems like the overbearing type that wouldn't allow any child to go to bed hungry.

Melanie cracks a smile this time. A real one, with teeth showing and lips thinning at the sound of his overly anxious stomach. She's sitting down in her seat by the window with a maroon colored mug hanging precariously from her left hand. The mug is old, he can tell from the chips and dents of the exterior that almost makes the big block letters on the side illegible, but Dylan is able to read with childish stubbornness, 'save the dolphins,' and snorts. He hopes for their sake that they aren't tree hugging, vegetarian, lesbian hippies because he's not going to have any of it.

With a slight laugh she asks, "You must be really hungry?" Dylan nods and watches as Melanie pulls her brown leather briefcase onto her lap. "I think I might have something in here for you," she murmurs while she rummages around.

Dylan recalls Lindsay mentioning him being a son of an ad man, an artist and a lawyer, and wonders briefly if Melanie is the lawyer she was referencing. He can't exactly remember if ad men carry briefcases or not but he knows for sure that lawyers definitely do, from the many crime and detective shows he watches with his mom. Melanie certainly has the look of a lawyer. She has that educated but tough look about her. She's even dressed like one, wearing a gray paint suit with a soft pink shirt underneath her jacket with black low heels. Actually she sort of resembles his sister Rachel when's she's trying to conquer the world.

"Are you lawyer?" he hears himself blurt out at the same time as Melanie unearths out a brown spotted banana and tosses it over to him. Dylan had every intention of catching the yellow fruit but the banana flew through his fingers. He blames brain surgery and yanks the banana up from the edge of his hospital bed.

"Yeah, I am." Dylan checks the banana over for mold, and other signs of life forms. "I promise I didn't tamper with it," he hears Melanie say in a tone that sounds more amused than upset.

Dylan blushes again, "I didn't think you did," and hastily peels the banana and takes a bite.

"Are you interested in becoming a lawyer?"

Dylan shrugs.

Melanie continues, "I heard about your meeting yesterday." Dylan swallows heavily. He hadn't expected to hear that. He anxiously casts a side eye at Melanie to detect how pissed she is, but instead of seeing a face slighted in anger, he finds a grin there instead, with an expression Dylan can only describe as proud. "The doctor stopped by earlier this morning," answering his unasked question. "He said you handled things like a champ. He said you really advocated for yourself. Sounds like the beginnings of a lawyer to me." She finishes off with her proud grin still intact.

Dylan shrugs and continues to eat.

Melanie seems to misinterpret his silence with disapproval of her chosen career choice. "Or you could make a great ad man like your father or a- uh artist…"

Silence

"That's not to say that you wouldn't do wonderfully in other jobs…"

Silence.

"If you had something…eh, else in mind," she says lamely.

He would like to think that when he was younger and actually paid attention to all his classes and did his work that he never entertained the idea of being a lawyer, because kids like him, from families like the one he was raised in and from small towns like the one he grew up in, don't become lawyers, artist or ad men for that matter. They're much better suited to work in the local grocery store, become a plumber or work in construction, but to become a lawyer…

yeah right.

After breakfast, Lindsay and Melanie spend the rest of their remaining time before the meeting showing Dylan pictures of his new little sisters. At the suggestion of the slideshow, Dylan did contemplate vetoing the idea and saying something possibly rude and snarky about his "little sisters" but with the hour of 9 slowly approaching, Dylan didn't want to risk his chances. He could hold his tongue for 15 more minutes if it meant seeing his family at 10 or whenever they returned.

He isn't exactly sure how he ended up in the position he's in right now, sharing his bed and pillows with the blonde, cuddling up against each other and one of her impossibly long arms wrapped around his shoulders, like the Queen of Leeches he knows her to be. And maybe, possibly, his head is perhaps touching her left shoulder, anyways that's how their situated. Melanie, sensible Melanie, choose to drag her chair from the window up to his bed. Only when it's her turn to share a picture does she lean ever so slightly onto his bed, so that he can get a better look of the photo but there's still a comfortable distance between them, a respectable distance, because really their all still strangers. Well they're strangers to him, that's for sure.

"See!" Lindsay says grabbing ahold of his right arm, "this is JR at ballet." Dylan glances fleetingly at a picture of a little girl, a bit older than Mattie, with long black hair wearing a pink tutu and white stockings smiling up at the camera.

"Adorable, isn't she?" Dylan hears Melanie murmur, smiling softly at the bright screen. Dylan nods his head, not in agreement, although the little girl is pretty, but to signal to that they can move on to the next picture.

"Here's another," and Melanie maneuvers her own phone into Dylan's field of vision.

This picture shows the same two little girls who starred in the last dozen or so photos, this time with rose colored cheeks wearing heavy coats, knit hats, and large woolly mittens. They're ice-skating now. An activity Dylan has never gotten the chance to experience in own little town, but seen multiple times on TV to recognize what they are doing.

Dylan is quite amazed at how the camera manages to capture the unmistakable glee of one sister and the sorrow of another. JR, a bright eyed girl, with long dark hair and a wide mouth, wears a lavender pleated coat with a matching purple knit hat, mittens and black stockings as she races around the rink with a carefree and happy Lindsay trailing behind her. In the corner of the photo though, almost passed over, as one's eyes are immediately drawn to the mother and daughter, is Sarah.

Sarah Peterson-Marcus is supposedly his youngest sibling. A 5 year old little runt with short red hair, too many freckles and a quiet pleasant disposition about her, as described by the lesbians. Sarah isn't nearly as pretty as JR. Well, she isn't ugly either. She's still in that babyish-child stage where you look like a child but you kind of look like a toddler too because of the baby fat and the impossibly large eyes. Sarah's adorable in that way. JR though, which frankly Dylan think is a really stupid name, looks a few years younger than him and Dylan's willing to guess that she'll have guys at her beck and call when she reaches 7th grade.

In this picture, Sarah, with her distraught looking pig tails and pale tear stained face, is being carried off the rink by a man with chestnut colored hair like his own and hazel eyes like the red head. Sarah must have taken a tumble on the rink, but Dylan isn't exactly concerned with the well-being of his newly acquired sister but instead with the man carrying her. A man who seems almost familiar.

"Who's that?" Dylan asks glancing up at Melanie, pointing a tentative finger at the man holding Sarah. This man is slim and tall, with a head full of hair and a light beard shadowing his face.

He feels Lindsay lean in closer to him, "that's you father, sweetie"

"My father?" Dylan asks in an unsure voice, his mind running in circles, "but I thought you were lesbians?"

Lindsay's soft hands go still on his shoulder and Dylan watches from the corner of his eyes as a surprised look settles on her face.

A few tentative seconds pass by in silence until finally Melanie answers, "we are." There's a smile playing upon her lips, which Dylan is sad to realize that he's becoming acquainted with because he's seen it before, pride. As if she's proud with Dylan's deduction of their obvious coupling or perhaps she's just happy that Dylan is taking the news of them being gay well. Dylan wouldn't say that he's accepting of their gayness at all, he just doesn't care. Once his mother is finally patched up from the injury she sustained from the accident- because she has to be hurt for her not to come looking for him by now- Linds and Mel will be a small blemish of his past. Once his mom straightens out everything, of course.

No, he doesn't care about Mel and Linds, or their lesbian love. He just wants information about this new parent. Not at all because he's never had a father and is secretly yearning for one, but because knowledge is power, and yatta yatta yatta.

"Just because we're lesbians doesn't mean you don't have a dad," she continues, turning off her phone. Dylan watches as his sisters and the man in the photo are replaced with a black clear screen before Melanie tucks it away in her pant suit pocket. "We had to make you three some way. As much as we go at it, we sure enough can't procreate by ourselves can we?"

Dylan hears himself shout, "WHAT!?" in a scandalous tone, all outrage and full of righteousness as if he's some virginal 18th century southern bell too afraid to broach the topic of sex for his poor delicate senses. As if his reaction isn't bad enough he feels shame and embarrassment wash over him like a bucket of hot water being tossed on his cheeks and neck.

Belatedly somewhere beyond himself and his embarrassment he hears the lesbians arguing. Lindsay saying things like he's as innocent as a butterfly and Melanie reasoning, he's a teenager, I'm sure Gus knows all about this.

This is almost as bad as the time when his mother found his spoiled undies in his secret hiding spot, deep in the closest his mom called the wasteland, and insisted on taking him shopping for new ones. Rachel went as well, saying she needed to pick up a few things, but instead his older sister spent the whole time teasing and cutting him down so ruthlessly, so mercilessly, he hadn't be able to look her in the eyes for weeks.

This is almost as bad. Just almost.

Lindsay's hands are covering his ears, protecting his delicate sensibilities indeed while Melanie is prattling on about "the talk".

"We don't even know if he's even had THE TALK," Lindsay whispers back as if Dylan isn't sitting right between them, listening to them debate about protecting his virtue or arguing about his level of maturity.

All Dylan wants to do is melt into a puddle and be mopped away immediately.

Melanie chooses to address him this time. "With a father like yours Gus, I'm sure we won't have to worry too long about whether you've had the talk or not."

"MELANIE!" Lindsay screeches at the same time as Dylan yells his own name.

Both women turn to look at Dylan with confusion painted all over their faces.

He clears his throat a few times, feeling smaller than usual and a little nervous, as he clarifies, "My name is Dylan."

He watches as Lindsay's once picturesque face transforms into a look of bewilderment to one of agitation. By the time Dylan steals a look at Melanie, she's stony and blank faced, only her eyes move, bouncing between studying Dylan's for answers to unasked questions and shifting to her lesbian partner.

A knock at the door halts their silent exchange. Both women share a glance before Melanie yells, 'come in,' to their visitor. Of course, Ms. Montgomery walks in.

So much for staying on their good side, Dylan thinks sadly.

Author's note: Thank you for reading chapter 4! I'm so sorry for the delay- classes have been brutal and finals even more so. I'm on break now and ready to type til my little hearts content. Writing this story has been extremely hard for me- it sometimes feels like I'm pulling teeth. Just 2 days ago I said I was forever done with this fic because I was dreading to write a really important part that should of been in this chapter. But then I said 'fuck it' and I threw away my outline and guidelines and all of sudden this chapter started flowing out of my fingers. This chapter really helped me to shape some of my characters and the characters to come in ways that I hadn't planned. I'm very happy with this chapter and surprised by the length.

Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.