"Can I get a rum and coke please?" Lulu beckoned as she slammed her money down on the bar. She wasn't twenty-one, but no one at that door had stopped her. The punk behind the counter wasn't going to ignore her. She didn't care about the throng of people demanding drinks around her; she would get served or there would be hell to pay.

"Coming up." The bartender promised with a winning smile. He could take his smile and shove it. If she didn't have something to wash this awful taste out of her mouth—well now that wasn't a bad idea. Hopping into the nearest stool, she reached out and grabbed a hold of his shirt collar pulling him into a kiss. Startled, he stood completely still for a minute. Then he started to like it. That was about the time she pulled away.

"Thank you." Lulu smiled wiping her fingers across her lips and taking her drink before disappearing into the crowd of dancing idiots. She held her drink over her head to keep it from spilling as she made a good bit of distance into the center of the floor where she spotted the person she had been seeking.

"Back already?" Bennie Vermin lived by his name. He was a short, stubby little man with black beady eyes and the mirage of a mustache hanging above his stiff upper lip.

"Shut up." Lulu warned him and threw her drink down in one gulp. "Are you going to waste my time or show me?"

"Depends. You got the money?" Vermin wondered.

"Would I have traveled this far without money?" Lulu reached into her back pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. "Now show me."

Vermin had gone to high school with Lulu. He had been named most likely to succeed. The person who gave him that title obviously didn't know what it was like to live with such a mock-worthy surname. He led Lulu toward a little table he had set up in the corner of the club, threw his briefcase onto it, and flipped it open displaying the goodies he had brought with him. "I have a lot of stuff here. Do you know what you want?"

"The usual." Lulu replied unenthusiastically. Who would have thought her life would come to this? She was in college studying to be…well something. She was the rising star in her family. It had only taken one moment. One moment had changed the course of her life so drastically that she didn't even recognize the woman she had been.

"My fee's gone up." Vermin informed her.

"What?" Lulu shouted.

"Inflation's a bitch."

"Whatever. Just give it to me." Lulu made a beeline for the door not noticing she had attracted the attention of one curious stranger.

It was the middle of the night, a time when most women would be steering clear of dark alleys. Not her. She wasn't afraid of the shadows anymore. They couldn't hurt her any worse than she was hurting herself. Meth was defined as a synthetic drug sold as pills, capsules, or powder that can be smoked, snorted, injected, or swallowed. It had taken a little practice, but she preferred smoking it over anything else. Combined with cigarettes, she almost felt normal. She no longer shook for any reason; she slept when her body demanded it. The same went for eating. The family would say she had a problem, but what the hell did they know? She was the one with the mysterious bruises on her arms, she was the one with the nightmares, and she had to get herself through this her own way.

*****

The computer screen flashed before his eyes. Normally the latest exploits of Lindsay and Paris would amuse him to no end, but Dillon hadn't actually seen any of them in weeks. Sure he could fake it with the best of them, using the last bit he had heard and passing it off as news. It wasn't that hard. The one good thing about being seen as mainly superficial is no one came running to you for up-to-date news about the presidential election or the situation in the Middle East. It was easy to hide when all you were expected to know was who wore what to which award show.

It as only marginally better than the barely concealed looks of pity he received whenever Lance's name came up. The inevitable look, the sigh, the brave smile, and the comment about how strong Lance was, how sure they were Lance was going to make it. How he and Lucas could handle this. How strong they were for dealing with this so well. Good Lord did he sound so patronizing when he had said similar to things to Lucky and Robin? No wonder they could barely talk to him during those times.

They should all just say the truth. He was the reason Lance was sick. His fault. Some faulty chromosomes from his family decided to rear up and destroy his son's life. All the pretty words about him being a great father were just that. Words. He, Dillon Albert Hornsby-Quartermaine-Jones was officially a worse father than his mother ever accused Edward of being. The only reason Lance was in this situation was him.

Blinking his eyes, he tried to hide the tears that had once again formed behind his eyes. He didn't deserve tears. Tears were for people who were victimized by this. Lance deserved tears. Lucas deserved tears. He did not deserve tears.

"She goes to a better place." Lucas spoke up, startling his husband. Dillon looked up, his eyes wide as if he had been caught doing something bad. To say they had been distant since Lance's diagnosis would be an understatement. He had wallowed in his own misery and, as much as wanted to believe his husband's tears were an after effect of watching A Walk To Remember, he knew the truth.

"Yeah, liked Saved."

"Exactly." Lucas attempted a smile. "Mind if I sit down?"

"It's your couch too."

"Are you ready to tell me what's really bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me. You know how it affects me to see Shane West cry."

"What if we took Lance and got in the car with no destination in mind?" Lucas offered.

"That's my line. You're way too much the planner."

"What if I wasn't? What if I said to hell with it and we left?"

"I'd say what the hell did you do with Lucas?"

"We have to get out of this funk. It's confusing Lance."

"Great another thing that's my fault." Dillon mumbled as he pulled himself off the couch and started to pace their living room.

"You didn't have to. I already know it's true."

"What is it you think you've done?"

Dillon spun around incredulously. "Don't act like you don't know it's true. Like you don't blame me for this."

Lucas watched him warily. "Dillon, I don't under—"

"It's my fault. My fault that Lance is sick."

"It's not your fault!" Lucas shook his head furiously and shot to his feet. "How can you think that?"

"You heard Dr. Wexler. Lance inherited this and most likely from his father's side. It was my messed up genes that caused this."

"That doesn't make it your fault. We always knew there was something faulty in the Quartermaine genes." Lucas tried to joke. "Besides, it's not like you ever showed any signs. This is not something you did. This is not a decision you made." He stressed every word, wanting very badly to shake Dillon.

"No it's a decision my crappy chromosomes made."

Lucas reached up and held Dillon's face between his hands. "I don't know to convince you that you're not at fault here. I'd never ever heard of this disease until Dr. Wexler explained it to us. It's rare and a sneaky son of a bitch. The condition isn't dire."

"It shouldn't have happened to Lance."

"I know." Lucas agreed solemnly. "But we've got to stay positive about this." He decided to keep the details about the Sage search out of the conversation, at least for now. There was no reason to get everyone's hopes up if he failed in his attempt to find her.

"When did you jump on the optimism train?"

"When our son's doctor prescribed aspirin."

"I thought your first words to that were stupid quack."

"Yes and that made me smile which brought on the optimism. See how that works?"

Dillon quirked his eyebrow upwards and shook his head. "This Pollyanna Lucas is scary. Bring back the mope please."

"You hungry? I think we have enough Chuck E. Cheese tokens to get a free pizza."

"You? Advocating pizza? Now I know I have a body snatcher on my hands." Dillon grabbed Lucas's hands and frantically began to search his husband's eyes. "Lucas? Lucas? If you can hear me, fight. Fight honey."

"Shut up." Lucas rolled his eyes. "I figured you'd want to go someplace where you could relate to others."

"There's always that." Dillon shrugged. "Lucas?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for putting up with me."

"Ditto."

*****

The phone was the worst invention ever made, Lucky decided as his shrill ring tone hit his ear. Instead of just being left alone to pretend to enjoy the day, now he had to talk to someone he probably didn't really want to talk to in the first place. The important people in his life had assigned ring tones. This was his generic one. Sighing, he debated on sending the call straight to voicemail, but didn't want the hassle of returning a call on the outside chance it actually was important. Distracted and not bothering to look at his caller ID, he sighed into the phone. "Spencer here."

"Daddy?"

It was a trick. The cruelest practical joke Patrick and Cruz had ever come up with. Or he had moved on to straight out auditory hallucinations. One step closer to a stay in Shadybrook. There was no way Cameron was on the end of the phone talking to him. His son did not just call him. It wasn't even possible. Was it?

"Cameron?" he asked cautiously. "Champ is that you?"

"Daddy! Hi Daddy!" Cameron's excited laughter came through the line loud and clear.

"Hey Champ." It was a good thing Cameron couldn't see the tears that sprung to Lucky's eyes immediately and that, at four, he wouldn't be able to tell he was crying by hearing his voice alone. "I've missed you."

"I miss you too Daddy. The babies didn't forget me did they?"

"No. No they haven't. We tell them about you everyday." Lucky promised.

"Can Jake play hockey yet?"

"No. He's still too little for that Champ." Lucky laughed lightly. A thought crossed his mind and, although he wanted to dismiss it, he had to know the answer. Curious to the core, that was the Spencer way of life. "Hey Cam? How did you call me?" Lucky knew enough to know that while Cameron could recite his phone number, getting him to actually use it on a phone was a different story. And Tony or Lisa had allowed Cameron to call him? This close to the trial?

"I took Gramma Lisa's phone out her bag. I pushed the numbers." Cameron answered honestly and Lucky could almost see the matter of fact nod of his head to punctuate the words as if to say, "Duh Dad."

"You pushed the numbers to home or a bunch of numbers?"

"Bunch of numbers. I talked to lots of people daddy."

"Oh I'm sure you have." There was a time and a place to talk to his son about the dangers of random dialing and talking to strangers, but today wasn't it. When it was his cell phone bill Cameron was running up then they would talk.

"Daddy when can I come home? You and Lizzie said soon."

"I know Champ. I know. And we're working really hard on that one. We want you back here so bad. We haven't changed a thing in your room."

"Wolfie misses his nightlight." Cameron whispered.

"Well you tell Wolfie it's still here. And he will see it. I won't stop until he does ok?"

"Okay."

Previews:

"Can we talk about something else?" Robin pleaded. "Did I hit too close to home for you?"