~oOo~

"I can drive, you know. Been doing it for a number of years now," Lucas grumbled.

"Yep."

"So ..."

"So, what?"

"So, how about letting me?"

"Well therein lies the problem, Half-pint."

"Half-pint! You have to be kidding me. I'm only a couple of inches shorter than you and you call me half-pint!"

"Shorter being the definitive word there, stumpy," Ellison chuckled.

"You know, Jim sometimes you can be a real ..."

"Sweetheart?"

Lucas sank further down into the passenger seat. "Sweetheart wasn't exactly the word I was looking for, but it did start with an 's'."

Blair tossed the book he was looking at onto the pile that was scattered over the back seat; the conversation in the front of the car sounding a lot more interesting than the wedding between two rabbits. "I can drive," he piped up.

Jim glanced into the rearview mirror. Its angle gave him an off-centre view of his son. "You can, can you?"

"Ah-ha. Joel teached me."

Ellison raised his eyebrows. "When did he teach you how to drive?"

"He been teaching me in his and Jessie's driverway."

"In their what?" Lucas asked.

"In their dwiverway," Blair answered again.

"Is that the same as the one at Wonderburger?" Lucas teased.

Lucas's taunt was rewarded with a playful whack on the arm from Jim. "What exactly did you drive in Joel's driveway, Munchkin?"

"My go-cart."

"But I didn't think that was finished yet?"

"Ah-ha, it is," Blair answered. "But Joel sayed not to tell you till I learned how to drive p'operly." He quickly slapped his hand up his mouth. "Um, oops."

"And why did Joel say not to tell me?" Jim asked, curiously.

"'Cause he sayed that learning someone how to drive should be left up to those 'sponsible people who have ex'llent driving reco'ds. Joel sayed that he was very ex'llent."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"Ah-ha." Blair wiggled in his booster seat, pulling at the seatbelt that kept him securely restrained. He didn't know why he always had to sit in the back when Lucas was always allowed to sit in the front. "Dad?"

"Yes?" Jim asked, with a small measure of caution at the tone of his son's voice.

"What does 'touch with a ten-foot pole' mean?"

"Where did you hear that expression?"

"From Joel. He sayed that the car 'surance man don't want to touch you with one."

"Oh he did, did, he?" Jim's grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

"Ah-ha, and so did Uncle Simon, but Uncle Simon sayed the pole would be more like twenty feet."

Lucas burst out laughing. "So, Jim, feeling a little inadequate yet?" he smirked. "Little and inadequate being both the definitive words."

Shifting quickly out of the path of another, more forceful swat that was headed in his direction, Lucas completely ignored Jim's sideward glance and swivelled around in this seat. "So, my little tattle-tail, what else has Joel been saying?"

"Hey Chief," Jim interrupted. "How about a game of I Spy? I'm driving so I have to concentrate on the road, but I'm sure Lucas would love to play with you."

A satisfied smile spread over Ellison's face. With two hours of driving still ahead of them and a three-year-old who obviously had no intention of falling asleep, Lucas had his work cut out for him. He slapped the teenager's thigh and ignored the glare that was now coming his way. "Ah, revenge," he chuckled. "Is there anything ever so sweet?"

~oOo~

"That one's a cat, that one's a racing car, that one's a camel and that big, huge one over there is a Rannosaurus Tex. They comed from Texas, you know."

Jim watched his little boy out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but smile. Lying flat on his back, with the rays of the afternoon sun warming his cold little body, Blair was content and happy as the fluffy white clouds transformed the almost hypnotic blue sky into his own imaginary playground. A three-quarter sized fishing rod lay on the grass, abandoned in favour of a splash in the still-chilly waters of the shallow pond that had formed in an outcrop of rocks just out from the bank. A carefree summer had left Blair with a healthy glow and a happy-go-lucky attitude that was a far cry from the undernourished, timid child that had arrived on his doorstep so many months before.

"Holly says that a Rannosaurus comes from Texas," Blair repeated. "She says that her dad told her mom that everything big comes f'om Texas."

"Well there's a double-entendre if ever I heard one," Lucas laughed. He was fishing a little further downstream, but still close enough to hear Blair's chatter.

Blair took his eyes off the cloud. "What does double tundra mean, Daddy?"

"It means that either Lucas has been watching too many James Bond movies or he's finally paying attention in English."

Blair rolled his eyes and didn't bother questioning his father any further about the answer he'd given. His daddy was in a silly mood and when he started teasing Lucas, he knew it would be a long, long time before he'd get a proper answer to his question. Jessie would tell him what the word meant, because Jessie was sensible. Everyone knew that. Turning his attention back to the sky, he watched the dinosaur break apart before drifting slowly away, and wondered for a brief moment if he'd get to see a Rannosaurus Tex in the zoo if he asked his dad to take him to Texas.

With a smile still on his face, Jim felt a contentment of his own as he regarded the two boys who had become his world. He'd never really thought about his life in terms of love before. He had loved, he guessed, and he knew that there must have been times when the feelings he had for his father weren't tainted by animosity and ill feeling, and also times when the bond he had with Steven was more brotherly than just wanting to kick the shit out of each other. But if those feelings existed, they existed as a minuscule part of his life and would never come close to comparing with what he now knew as love. He loved Blair, his son, with an absolute depth he'd never felt before. Although he may have tried to ignore it at first, the love he had for this child had been whole and complete, the minute he'd laid eyes on him.

Lucas, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. The first time he had come face to face with the kid, he'd wanted to dig the boy's heart out of his chest with a rusty spoon. Lucas had caused him more pain and suffering than he could ever imagine being humanly possible. But, buried deep beneath his torment and heartache, a different feeling had still lingered. Whether it was the 'sorry for' factor coming into play when he was forced to face the atrocities of the kid's life, or whether it was the misguided, but nevertheless fierce and unrelenting protection Lucas had offered his son, he couldn't explain. Then again, no parent probably could. The love for one child over the other was incomparable, at least in his world. Blair may have been his son by birth and Lucas by circumstance, but he'd grown to love them both, fully, completely and in absolute, equal measure.

"You gotted anotheh one!" Blair squealed, drawing Jim from his thoughts.

Fighting the end of Lucas's line was a very respectable, five-pound rainbow trout.

Skipping from one flat stone to another until he reached the shore, Blair bounced around excitedly. "Put it in the bucket, put it in the bucket," he chorused.

Grabbing the net and scooping up the fish as Lucas reeled it closer into shore, Jim was fully prepared for the next statement out of the teenager's mouth.

"Hmm, three fish in a tub and they all appear to have been caught by me."

"Yeah well, Captain Ahab, I'm just pacing myself. Fishing is all about patience, perseverance and indulging in the finer points of relaxation while becoming one with nature ... as the more experienced of the fishing brethren like to describe it."

"Full of ..."

"Sunshine and sensible adages," Jim jumped in, with a wisp of a smile on his face.

"Again, not quite the 's' words I was thinking of."

"Daddy, look at all the colours," Blair announced in awe. "They all the colours of the rainbow."

Jim peeked into the large plastic container. The sun reflecting on the water and bouncing off the fish did make it appear that Lucas had caught a bucket full of rainbows.

"This one is Mr. Spa'kles, this one is Mrs. Glitteh and ..." Blair scratched his head, "I don't have a name yet for the otheh one."

"How do you know if Mr. Sparkles is really a mister?" Lucas interjected. "He might be a girl."

"If you pick him up, I will tell you what he is," Blair answered confidently.

"How?" Lucas asked.

"You look at their bottoms, Lucas," Blair stated, as if the answer was obvious. "When Holly's cat had kittens, her dad picked them up and looked at their bottoms. They have boy or girl typed in big letters there, so you know what they are."

"Okay," Lucas drawled. "Think it might be time for a little bit of the old birds and the bees."

Jim let out a long-suffering sigh. To date, he'd succeeded in avoiding the question of sex education. His apprehension stemmed, not only from being overly cautious and wary of stirring up the memories of Blair's past, but also from the fact that he honestly didn't have any idea how to even begin to broach the subject with a three-year-old. Blair was a clever kid, and rudimentary answers never seemed to satisfy his curiosity. He'd managed to pretty much skirt around the edges of the subject to date, but he knew full well that once the horse was out of the gate, Blair would ride the old chestnut at full speed until there was no more left for the horse to give. While he was pretty sure that Blair would survive the ride, he wasn't quite so certain of his ability not to stumble, fall off and be pummelled into the ground halfway through.

Lucas noted the perplexed look on Jim's face. "I thought you had a book?"

"I do."

"Well, doesn't that give the ABCs of the whole thing?"

"The ABC is easy; it's the XYZ that starts to get tricky."

Jim knelt down beside Blair. The issue obviously needed to be addressed, but it could wait for another place and time. "What'd you say we blow this popsicle stand, Munchkin, and go collect us some wood for a campfire? How does hot chocolate and marshmallows under the stars tonight, sound?"

"Yummy," Blair answered. Grasping the edge of the container he let out a small grunt as he started to drag the fish back toward the riverbank. "We better put Mr. Spa'kles and his friends back in the wateh. I think they are getting too squished in here."

"Hey, hold up there a minute, Squirt. That's our dinner in there."

Horrified, Blair looked up at Lucas. "You can't eat them, Lucas." He turned quickly back toward his father. "Daddy, Lucas is going to eat our fish!"

"Kiddo, that's the reason we were fishing in the first place ... to catch our dinner."

The colour drained from Blair's face. "No, they our friends. You don't eat your friends." Standing guard in front of the fish, Blair's voice jumped up a pitch as he pleaded with his father. "We bringed hamburgehs from the freezer. We'll have that for dinner 'stead."

Before Jim could get a word in, Lucas opened his big mouth. "Where exactly do you think hamburgers come from, Sport?"

Jim shook his head in disbelief. "Give the boy a shovel and watch him dig us all a grave," he muttered. "They come from the supermarket, Lucas," he stated firmly. "And," he added, lowering his voice considerably, "unless you are going to volunteer to do all the grocery shopping and cooking for a three-year-old vegetarian, plus work out how you're going to not only smuggle, but cook lamb roast, barbeque steak and chicken a la king in the house ever again, I'd basically suggest that you shut up now."

"Good point," Lucas nodded. While vegetables may have been tolerable, nothing compared to a juicy, flame-grilled, prime rib fillet.

Blair eyed Lucas and his father warily. "Daddy, does they really come from the supehmarket?"

"Sure do kiddo," Jim answered quickly, confident that he wasn't exactly lying to Blair. He was just leaving out certain information that wasn't truly necessary at this time.

Reaching past his son, Jim began to lug the container the remaining distance to the water's edge.

"Hey, hang on," Lucas protested, but his objection came too late. Blair clapped his hands, relief evident on his face as Mr. Sparkles and his school of friends disappeared quickly downstream.

"But they were my fish," Lucas spluttered in disbelief. The empty tub sloshed unceremoniously up against his ankles in the shallow water. "I spent hours catching those."

"Well," Jim began, slinging an arm around the kid's shoulder, "I suggest that while we're busy collecting wood, you – being the great and mighty fisherman that you are – get to work and catch, scale, gut and fillet three more so as they look exactly like the ones Blair is used to eating at home."

"Yeah, right." Lucas rolled his eyes sardonically. "They'll still be fish, Jim."

"No Lucas, they'll be fillets."

"Fillets?" Lucas questioned.

Smiling, the detective slapped the boy on the back. "See, given enough time, I knew you'd get there, eventually."

Picking up his rod and following Blair up the path that led back to the cabin, Jim laughed at the look on Lucas's face. Life was never dull, that was for sure.

~oOo~

There'd been no sound, no warning. Nothing but complete and absolute silence hung in the air. It was almost as if the forest itself had been leached of the very essence that gave it life. The shadow approached, dark, foreboding and inhumanly large. It cast its evil upon the river, drowning and smothering in putrid darkness the gleaming light that once reflected upon the shallow pool.

And then the voice. It was unmistakable, ever-present in his waking hours, all-consuming in his nightmares. Lucas's worlds were about to collide.

"What, no kiss for Uncle Bobby?"

The fishing rod slipped from the teenager's hand as his worlds became one; his breathing hitched and his chest constricted. The air around him became impossibly thick and heavy, making it almost unbearable to inhale. He turned slowly to confront his demon, his face stricken but resigned. The story of his life needed no narrative, and it seemed it could never end with 'happily ever after'.

"Well, well, look at who's all grown up," Robert jeered. His eyes roamed leeringly over his nephew. "Grown up, but not so much that a guy can't still partake in a few guilty pleasures."

Lucas's response stopped short of leaving his mouth. He couldn't speak. His mind raced frantically, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. This was impossible. Robert was in jail. There was no way ... no possible way.

"Cat got your tongue, boy?" Robert boomed. A rifle, which lay nestled in the crook of his arms, jostled against his belly as a belt of raucous laughter escaped the large man's lips. "Guess a few 'hows' are passing through your mind right about now. How did I find you, how did I get out of jail, or more to the point, how did I get sent to that hellhole in the first place?" Robert moved menacingly closer. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You already know the answer to the last one, don't you?"

"What do you want?" Lucas's voice held strong, despite the soul-shattering uncertainty that coursed through his body.

"Family, Lucas. Family is what I want. What I've always wanted."

The teenager's eyes darted, drawn to movement just beyond his uncle's shoulder. "I should have known," he whispered.

As his father inched closer, Lucas's stance became more rigid. "You bastard," he ground out. "You spineless, chicken-shit bastard."

Lucas was quick to move, but Robert was quicker. Two paces forward became a rapid three paces back as the butt of the rifle connected with the side of the teenager's head. Stunned, he fell to the ground, his knees taking the brunt of the impact as he willed his body to fall no further. He was down, but nowhere near out. As far as he was concerned, Robert's hit was on a par to being bitch-slapped. He'd suffered much worse at the hands of the man in the past, and he envisioned far worse to come before this would all be over.

"Tut, tut," Robert admonished. "Such language, and in front of you father, no less. I woulda thought the cop would've cleansed some of that sewer outta your mouth by now." Robert's boot connected with Lucas's shoulder, sending him sprawling back into the shallows. "Speaking of cops..." Pulling a handgun from the back of jeans, he tossed it to his brother. "Keep that boy of yours under control, while I take care of a few niggling pieces of business," he ordered.

"No!" Lucas cried out.

"'Fraid so, kiddie winks," Robert mocked. "But don't worry, I'm a good shot. He'll be dead before he hits the ground."

God no! Lucas screamed inwardly. Needing to think rationally, he shook his head in an effort to clear the fog and the ringing in his ears. Jim must have heard what was going on by now. There is no way he couldn't have. First priority, he'd stash Blair somewhere safe. Jim wouldn't make a move until that was done. Second, he'd retrieve his rifle and service pistol from the safety box under the bed of the truck. Steps one and two, easy ... easy as pie. But timing. What about timing? Was there enough? Would Jim have enough time without being bought some? The teenager's eyes flashed towards Robert's retreating back as it disappeared up the path. Max hovered apprehensively by the water's edge, the gun gripped in his hand.

His father's weak nature had now become Lucas's strength.

"Lucas, no." Max's voice held a hint of nervousness as the boy slowly rose to his feet.

"Dad." A three letter noun, small in its structure but powerful in its emotion, especially when used against a man like Max. "Please Dad, you can't let this happen. You can't let him do this."

"I have no choice, son. I'm sorry." Max's voice may have faltered, but the aim of the gun didn't.

"There's always a choice, Dad and you always had one. You just choose to ignore it." Making his own choice and ignoring the threat that his father posed, Lucas took a chance, his only chance. He pushed past his father, knowing full well that the only strength that Max possessed to stop him was in the form of a 44-calibre handgun.

The shot never came. He'd bet his life on a speck of something good still remaining inside the man who once was a decent father. Lucas's luck, this time, won out.

"How could you have not heard?" Lucas was stunned when he came in view of their cabin. Seventy-five feet to his right, Jim and Blair went about the business of stacking wood for the fire as if there was not a care in the world. Twenty-five feet to his left, Robert had his gun aimed and cocked.

There was no time to think, no time to shout, no time to warn. As the words, "ready, steady, pop!" slipped from his uncle's lips, Lucas took flight. Tackling the man with the skill and prowess of an NFL defensive lineman, he slammed Robert's body into the ground. While the challenge may have come a second too late to stop the bullet exploding from the chamber, the barrel's aim and the trajectory of the bullet were life-sparingly altered.

At the same time the bullet ripped through Ellison's bicep, Robert's rifle butt collided once again with Lucas's skull. No bitch-slap this time; the force knocked the teenager deeply unconscious. This time he was down and out for the count like a victim of one of Muhammad Ali's greatest hits.

~oOo~