(further adventures in the FTW Universe)

"You said *what*?" Paul demanded, the glass he was filling nearly slipping from his hand as he spun around to face his friend. "Please Walter, tell me you're kidding."

"No I'm not kidding" Walter replied calmly, working hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. He looked imploringly towards Birkoff for understanding.

"You're deep in the do-do, my friend" was the best Birkoff could offer, shaking his head in amazement.

"Well what was I supposed to say" Walter sighed in defeat. "Are you telling me I should have lied to her?"

"Yes" Paul and Birkoff responded without hesitation.

"Oh... that's just great. I should have known better than to come to you two for advice" Walter scowled, not willing to concede that this seemed like excellent advice, in retrospect. He slumped down into the lounge, wishing he could disappear.

"Walter, Walter, Walter ..." Paul recited, "there are lies and there are...."

"... things you only do if you have a death wish" Birkoff jumped in.

"Do you have a death-wish, Walter?" Paul asked, barely managing to subdue the smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah... yuck it up boys. At least I have a positive attitude about my destructive habits." Walter accepted the drink Paul passed him as he threw his legs up onto the coffee table with a dramatic sigh.

"So, let me recap the highlights of your lunch with Belinda, if I may. Please, feel free to jump in if you think I'm missing any crucial elements of detail" Paul stated in his best 'Admiral chewing out the rank and file' voice.

"As if I could stop you, you arrogant son of ..." Walter mumbled.

"Now, now Walter, I'm just trying to help" Paul smiled.

"Sure you are Paulie, but you don't have be quite so ... gleeful about it" Walter sulked. "Go on then ... get it over with Admiral. I'll just sit here quietly and visualise the duct tape over your mouth."

Birkoff expelled a burst of laughter that left him coughing and spluttering on a mouthful of beer.

"There is a god..." Walter whispered as he raised his bottle of beer in toast towards Birkoff.

"Birkoff, pull yourself together" Paul barked, "I'll need your help here."

"Yes, Sir" Birkoff blubbered as though he were underwater.

"Now, where was I?" Paul began as he took a seat beside Walter on the couch. "That's right, let's see. First ... you told her you'd rather freeze in hell rather than get married in the church she had booked. Hmmmm... ?"

"Don't forget the insightful critique of her religion that ended in the one about the pope and the alter boy" Birkhoff wheezed as he finally got his breathing under control.

"Ah... yes" Paul nodded agreement, "thank you, Birkoff."

"No problem, Sir" Birkoff smiled blandly.

"Then ... ahhh ... I'm not sure I can remember the exact wording but something along the lines that you can't understand why she was making such a ..."

"'Godawful fuss', I believe is the phrase your looking for, Sir" Birkoff supplied helpfully.

"That's it ... 'godawful fuss'" Paul repeated, shaking his head thoughtfully. "You couldn't understand why she was making such a 'godawful fuss' about a ..."

"Stupid, Sir" Birkoff interjected as he reached down to tie a shoelace.

"I beg your pardon Birkoff?" Paul demanded, his eyebrows raising menacingly.

Birkoff's head popped up at the tone of voice. "Stupid ... Sir" he repeated, "Walter called it a 'stupid ceremony'."

"Oh... yes, thanks again" Paul chuckled. "Then I think he finished that stream of consciousness with a 'why can't we just gather some friends together, head out to the lake, drink some brewskies, say I do and stay in bed for a week'." Paul raised a questioning eyebrow at Walter.

"Very romantic. Don't forget the bit about 'wasting all that money on a dumb dress she'll never wear again'" Birkoff noted. "That's my favourite" he added with a grin.

"You two about done?" Walter groaned as he pulled a pillow over his head. "You're right, I'm dead" he sighed wearily.

The front door slamming caught Paul and Birkoff's attention as they shared a smile. Nikita breezed in, leaving a trail of sports gear clanking on the ground behind her.

She dumped her school bag on the floor next to Birkoff with a grand flourish and fell on to the couch beside her father. "Somebody die?" she sighed, glancing at Walter.

Paul chuckled and reached an arm around her shoulder. "How was your day, princess" he asked, kissing her forehead.

"It sucked, big time" Nikita replied, leaning into his body for reassurance.

"I can identify with that" Walter commiserated.

"Belinda?" Nikita inquired consolingly, resting her cheek against her fathers chest as she turned to face Walter.

Walter nodded. "Michael?" he asked.

"Yeah" Nikita sighed as Paul gathered his arms around her. "What did you do?" she asked.

"Mouth working independently of brain" Walter mumbled.

"Fatal. Wedding plans?" she inquired.

"Yup" Walter sighed.

"Tears involved?" Nikita prodded.

"Enough to make the Sahara fertile" Walter murmured.

"I see. Sounds major" she surmised.

"Any suggestions?" Walter asked hopefully.

"Let's see. A heavy application of groveling as a precursor to the standard candid confession of nerves, followed by a sustained campaign of roses sent to both the work and home..." Nikita mused.

"And ..." Walter prompted.

"... and a significant financial investment in a surprise and hopelessly romantic honeymoon destination" Nikita offered.

"She's good" Birkoff acknowledged grudgingly.

"That's why I love you sugar." Walter smiled as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Nikita grinned as Walter jumped up off the couch with acrobatic flourish.

"Well, I better get started" Walter pronounced enthusiastically. "Want me to swing by Adrian's on my way home and beat the crap out of Michael?"

"Nah" Nikita giggled, "his crimes are pretty minor compared to yours."

Walter reached down and ruffled her hair as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. "Okay, I'm outa here, see ya on Thursday Paul. You want a ride home, Jerkoff?"

Birkoff rolled his eyes as he stood and gathered the folders on the table into his briefcase. "Thanks, Walter. See you in the morning, Sir. You have a staff meeting at 0700."

"I'll be there" Paul replied. "Good luck Walter, call me tomorrow."

"Sure, after your help this afternoon you'll be the first one I call" Walter laughed as he waved them goodbye. "Seeya Niki" he added as he ushered Birkoff out the door.

***********************

Paul stretched languidly on the couch, his arms tracing a slow arc as he reached over and pulled his daughter into his lap. He loved that she still allowed him this paternal indulgence, a small window into a past where he was her universe.

"What's up Princess? Tell me about your day" he asked softly, resting his chin against her head.

Nikita let out a long sigh and snuggled into the security and warmth of his arms.

"I got a 'B' on my history paper" she whispered.

"What's wrong with that? I know you worked hard on it, honey, and a 'B' is a very respectable grade. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"I guess" she sighed, as she fidgeted nervously in his lap.

"Now tell me what's really up with you" Paul smiled. He pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and then tightened his arms around her.

"I umm... well, I was mucking around in study hall today and, well ... I, umm.. I was given detention Wednesday afternoon." She pressed her face tightly against his shoulder, not wanting to see his face.

"Define 'mucking-around'" Paul requested calmly.

"Umm... you see we were ..."

"'We' being you and Mick, of course" Paul interrupted.

"Yeah" Nikita answered glumly.

"... we were ..." Paul prompted.

"We were ... umm ... we were drawing a picture of Mr Cardinal that, umm ... wasn't very ... complimentary."

"Mr Cardinal is your history teacher, isn't he?"

"Yeah" Nikita sighed.

"Then you deserve detention" Paul stated adamantly. "And Mick deserves three weeks of it."

He reached a finger down and lifted Nikita's chin up towards him, suitably impressed, but not the least bit convinced, by her well practiced look of contrition. "You don't have to like your teachers Niki, but I do expect you to show them respect."

"I know" she agreed grudgingly.

"I know you know, that's why I'm grounding you for the rest week of the week. You're to come straight home after school and be in bed by 9.00pm, and no phone."

He had to bite back a smirk at Nikita's grief stricken face.

"That's so ... unfair, daddy, it's only Monday" she moaned, shrugging his arm from around her and sitting up to face him. "It was just a stupid drawing and I'll already be missing softball practice on Wednesday to go to detention, and Michael was taking me to the Nine Inch Nails concert on Friday night ..."

"You should have thought of that before you sat next to Mick in study hall" Paul responded, unperturbed by the heart-breaking pout Nikita was turning on. "This isn't the first time, Niki. You know the rules."

"But ... " Nikita sighed and gave up, knowing her father wouldn't budge. "What about Saturday?" she tested.

"You behave yourself for the rest of the week and we'll see" he replied with a frown.

She pulled his arm around her again and rested her head against his shoulder.

"You're the meanest father in the world" she whispered, playing with the ring on his finger.

"I know, princess" he smiled, stroking her hair slowly with his free hand. He felt her sigh against his shoulder. "There's something up, isn't there? Did you and Michael have a fight?" he asked quietly.

"No" she mumbled.

"Niki?" he urged.

"It's nothing really, well, not nothing. It might be something, but it might not, and well ... my French isn't all that good and for all I know it might have been a recipe, rather than what I think it was, and Michael hasn't mentioned it, I mean, why should he, but now I'm not really sure ..."

"Whoa, slow up a minute." Paul laughed and shook his head. "Did I miss something in the translation? What are you talking about, honey."

"I ummm ... I did something I probably shouldn't have."

"Another 'something I shouldn't have', spit it out Niki."

"Well, when I was over at Michael's place yesterday, there was this letter umm... just sort of sitting on his desk and ... well ... it was in french and I sort of tried to read it, but I couldn't understand most of it, but I did know some words." Nikita let out a deep breath that was almost a sob. "It was from his old girlfriend, Simone, and I think she was saying that she still loved him." With that Nikita let out a real sob and gratefully complied when her father pulled her into his lap again.

"Nikita, you shouldn't be reading Michael's letters, or anything else for that matter, unless he invites you" Paul whispered softly against her hair as he gently rocked her in his arms. "Everyone needs their space, honey, even in a close relationship. That doesn't necessarily mean they're keeping secrets from you."

"I know" Nikita sobbed. "It's just..."

"You were curious" Paul finished for her. "That's perfectly natural Niki, but the way to deal with that is to ask him about it. Don't go behind his back, that just leaves you with more questions and lots of doubts."

"But what if he still loves her?" Nikita sobbed as a fresh round of tears bubbled to the surface.

"Ohh Niki darling, stop doing this to yourself. A letter from an old girlfriend doesn't mean a thing. Talk to Michael, honey, he's the only one that can give you the answers you need, and I'm very certain they'll be the answers you want. Who could possibly resist someone as wonderful as you, the boy would have to be a complete blockhead."

Nikita rubbed absently at her eyes as she accepted the handkerchief her father passed.

"Thank you, daddy" she hiccuped.

"My pleasure, princess" he replied warmly.

"But... ummm ... daddy, how can I talk to him about this if I'm grounded and the 'no phone' rule is being invoked" she whined in a small voice, playing with a button on his shirt.

"Nice try, honey" he smiled, kissing her tear-streaked cheek.

"You're the meanest father in the world" she sighed.

"Bad to the bone" Paul laughed.

Nikita let a snicker escape her lips as she curled sleepily in her father's lap.

**********

Nikita's head jerked up as another cheer echoed from beyond her line of sight out the window. She could see figures down on the field, running back into position and guessed it must have been another Norfolk High goal. She could just make out Michael talking to a couple of the other players as he took his position on the field.

"Lover-boy just scored another goal" Mick whispered from his desk by the window. "They're struggling without me Nik, it's painful to watch."

"Struggling huh? What's the score again, Mick?"

"Well... it's hard to know sugar plum."

"Go on, try."

"Hmmm... lets see, your little croissant has scored ... ummm... two shall we say?"

Nikita shook her head smugly and held up four fingers.

"Four was it? I must have nodded off."

"And?"

"Umm, I think cheetah scored one."

"*Darwin* scored two."

"But it doesn't really matter, does it popsicle, cause he can't count that high. I am, however, very impressed with your attention to detail... "

"Ms Wolffe and Mr Jones" a voice boomed, making Nikita jump in her chair. She turned to find Mr Davenport standing over them and couldn't help but be impressed by his stealth, given his size. Such thoughts were quickly erased by the scowl on his face.

"Stop the discussion and get on with your work" Davenport commanded, "I don't want to have to tell you again." He tapped his finger on the pages open in front of Mick. "What's this Mr Jones?" he asked with measured civility.

"Umm... 'Rolling Stone' magazine, Sir" Mick mumbled.

"And its relationship to the history paper you are supposed to be writing would be...?" Davenport prompted.

"That's an interesting question Mr Davenport. There are many who subscribe to the philosophy that music and culture..." Mick began.

"Lose the magazine Jones and get on with your work or, though it's a depressing thought for me, you'll find yourself back here again tomorrow" Davenport growled.

"Yes, Sir" Mick replied, closing the magazine and stuffing it in his bag.

"Thank you" Davenport sighed. "One more thing Mr Jones."

"Yes Sir?" Mick responded cheerily.

"Do you think you could be quiet for just..." Davenport glanced at his watch, "twenty more minutes?"

"I'll try my best, Sir" Mick replied solemnly.

"You do that Mr Jones" Davenport sighed, shaking his head slowly as he made his way back to the desk where he was working.

Mick shuffled noisily in his seat as he rearranged the books in front of him. He swung back on his chair, toes pivoting off the floor as he turned and tossed a huge grin at Nikita. Despite herself, Nikita returned his grin and rolled her eyes.

Her gaze drifted past Mick to the window. Outside, the soccer game had just finished, people drifted slowly back towards the sports centre. She tried to find Michael amongst the players but couldn't see him. Maybe he was already in the showers. There was a delicious thought to see her through the remainder of this torture. Though such delicious thoughts could be torture of another kind.

Pen doodling chains of curlicues on her page, she counted down the minutes until escape. She tried to absorb herself in the task, mindless activity to close out all thoughts of Michael. Michael in the shower, skin glistening and muscles taut. Michael still damp, leaning against the car, the fleeting, thousand-megawatt smile just waiting for her. Michael quiet and moody like he had been for the last two weeks. Michael's desk ... and that damned letter. That dreaded letter that had been driving her crazy all week.

Her father had said 'just talk to him about it', as though that was the easiest thing in the world. Talking to Michael and telling him that she had read a letter to him from his girlfriend Simone. Amend that to ex-girlfriend, at least that's what she hoped. Maybe that was why Michael had been so morose and distracted this last week on the few occasions they had been able to spend time together. Maybe he was having doubts. Maybe he still loved Simone and just didn't know how to tell her. That had to be it. He was just thinking of a way to let her down easy. She rubbed at the tears threatening behind her eyes. There was no question in her mind that Michael liked her, but did he love her?

She tried to focus on the doodles again, little bubbles dropping down through treble clefts and swirling loops with sharp crests on the downward stroke. She cast a critical eye over her work, adding detail here and there, one certainty forming in her mind. She wasn't going to go down without a fight. As the Admiral always reminded her, the best defence is a good offence. If Michael wanted to break it off with her for some other girl, let him try. She wasn't going to make it easy for him, not when she could feel her heart breaking at the very thought.

**********

Adrian finished serving food on to plates as she glanced at the clock above the doorway.

"Adam, Michael" she called out as she carried plates to the table, "dinner's ready."

Within seconds she heard the soft patter of feet running up behind her.

"There you are, my little one, did you wash your hands like I told you?" she smiled down at Adam.

"Yes mamie" Adam responded quickly, a 'butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' look as he quickly hid the offending hands behind him. "I'm starving, what's for dinner? When will maman be home?"

"Show me" she said sternly, ignoring his attempts to deflect her.

Adam grinned and then sped out of the kitchen to return a few moments later with fingers dripping water on the floor. He held them out for inspection as Adrian started dying them off on her apron.

"Where's you brother?" she asked as she passed him some glasses to carry to the table.

"Upstairs, he's on the phone" Adam announced, then whispered "he sounded cranky."

Adrian smiled, "will you go and tell him dinners on the table, please."

"Sure mamie" Adam agreed and sped out of the kitchen. He came to a halt at the base of the stairs and then screamed out "Michel, dinner" before turning and running back to the kitchen. He had climbed onto his chair and started drinking a glass of milk before he noticed his grandmother staring at him.

"What's up mamie?" he asked from beneath a white moustache.

"What do you think is the problem Adam?" Adrian demanded.

Adam gulped down another mouthful of milk before replacing the glass carefully on the table.

"Did you want me to go upstairs and get him?" he asked innocently, as though the idea had just struck him.

"Yes, Adam, I believe that's what I asked you to do" Adrian replied calmly.

"Sorry mamie" Adam apologised. "Do you want me to go up and get him?"

"No, that's alright. You start your dinner before it gets cold" she smiled sitting down beside him and helping him cut his piece of chicken.

The back door opened with a rush of cold air as Madeline hurried in and closed it behind her.

"It's freezing out there tonight, what happened to spring." She shook off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door. Shivering a little she kissed Adam on the cheek and stole a piece carrot off his plate. "Mmm... it smells delicious, thanks mama, I'm starving."

"Do you want the rest of my carrots, maman?" Adam asked hopefully.

"No, you eat them up, mamie's done them just the way you like" Madeline replied as she took the seat beside him.

"The way I like them best is when they're on someone else's plate" Adam moped.

"Eat your dinner" Madeline ordered with a teasing poke to his stomach.

Adam giggled and swirling a knife precariously in one hand started picking out the things on his plate he liked and stabbing them enthusiastically with his fork. Madeline reached across and grabbed the knife out of his hand and gave him frown. With a wide-eyed pout he placed the food in his mouth and began chewing.

"That's better" Madeline smiled and picked up her own knife and fork to begin eating.

"Another long day Madeline. Are you still going to able to take next week off?" Adrian asked as she poured some wine into Madeline's glass.

"Yes. I'm just trying to clear the backlog of paperwork and filing that's been cluttering my office for the last month" Madeline sighed as she took a sip of wine. "Where's Michael?"

"He was upstairs on the ..." Adrian started.

"Here I am, sorry mamie" Michael mumbled over Adrian's explanation as he slid into his seat. "How was your day maman?" he asked with polite indifference.

"Long and tedious, how was yours?" Madeline replied, as she scooped some food into her mouth.

"Okay" he shrugged, pouring himself a glass of milk.

"You were on the phone for a while Michael, who were you speaking to? Nikita?" Adrian asked pleasantly as she watched him gulping down his drink and then pouring another.

"No, not Nikita" he replied as he placed his glass back down on the table. "I need a new pair of soccer boots, maman. I kicked the heel out my old boots during the game yesterday."

"Alright, perhaps you could do that on Saturday" Madeline suggested.

Michael glanced at her and then Adrian and nodded his head glumly.

"You didn't answer your mamie's question Michael, who were you speaking to on the phone for so long?" Madeline asked.

"He was speaking to papa," Adam supplied helpfully.

Madeline's eyebrows raised in a frown as she glanced from Adam to Michael. "Did you speak to him too, Adam?" she asked him guardedly.

"Yes, just for a few minutes. Then he wanted to talk to Michel" Adam replied through a mouthful of potatoes.

"Close your mouth while you're chewing please darling" Madeline commented before turning her gaze to Michael. "What did he want to talk to you about?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Michael shrugged as he pushed the food around on his plate with his fork. "Nothing much, he wanted to talk about school and stuff, the work he is over here for, what we would be doing on the weekend." He dropped his fork on the plate and looked beseechingly at his mother. "Do we have to go with him for the whole of Saturday and Sunday? I don't want to stay at his stupid motel. Couldn't he just come here for a couple of hours? And why can't you come with us? If we have to pretend to be a family then you should be there too."

Madeline took a deep breath and put her knife and fork down slowly. "We've been through all this Michael. Your father wants to spend some time with you and Adam while he's here. It's been over twelve months since he last saw you, and it's only one night."

"That's not what he said. He told me you and he had been discussing us going over there to spend a few weeks with him over summer" Michael said accusingly. "Don't you think we should have been involved in that discussion, maman? It's just like before, he makes all the decisions on our behalf and we are supposed to follow him with unquestioning compliance."

Adam's jaw dropped at this piece of news. "You're going to send us away maman?" he whimpered.

"Of course not, darling. I would never do that. I want you and Michael here, with me and mamie, for always" Madeline said soothingly, kissing Adams forehead. She cast a warning look at Michael. "I realise you're upset Michael, but please be careful what you say."

"Why don't I take Adam up for his bath?" Adrian suggested lightly, lifting Adam out of his chair before he had a chance to protest.

"That's a good idea mama, I need to talk to Michael" Madeline smiled appreciatively. She stood and kissed Adam's cheek. "I'll be up to tuck you in after your bath, honey."

"Okay" Adam said wearily as his arms circled Adrian's neck.

*******

As soon as she heard Adrian making her way upstairs, Madeline poured some more wine into her glass and, as an afterthought, poured a small amount into a glass for Michael.

"Salut" she smiled at him, clinking his glass. Michael smiled glumly in response and raised his glass.

"Salut maman" he sighed.

Madeline smiled reassuringly and ran a finger lightly down his cheek. He flinched slightly at her touch, the sullen expression melting into something more uncertain.

"I'm not angry with you, Michael" she whispered softly.

"That makes a nice change" he replied, just as softly.

She shook her head in exasperation and then inclined her head so she could see his face where it hung down, chin almost resting on his chest.

"I can't tell your father not to speak to you Michael, but I had asked him not to mention any of his plans until we had a chance to discuss them in person. It's one of the reasons he's over here. We have a few issues to finalise and one of those is his access to you and Adam. He's called me a few times over the last couple of months with all sorts of plans. We've never discussed them in any detail and I certainly haven't agreed to anything like you spending several weeks with him, nor am I going to."

She reached across the table and clasped Michael's hand in hers. "I understand how you feel about spending time alone with him Michael, all the memories and emotion that's stirring up in you. If there were any other options I would be taking them up. But in the end, he is your father and he loves you, and he wants to see you."

"I know maman. I'm sorry I said those things in front of Adam. I didn't mean to blame you for the things he said. He's called me a few times over the last couple of weeks, while he was in New York, and then every day since he arrived in Geraldton. He told me you wanted me to talk to him, that's why I didn't mention it."

"That's a very liberal interpretation of my comment that it would be alright if he called to let you know he had arrived here in Geraldton" Madeline replied in a measured voice, barely hiding her growing anger. "What else has he been telling you?"

"He thought I had made a poor choice in schools, I should be at a private school if I was even to have a hope of getting into one of universities he wanted me to attend. I should stop talking to the therapist you found for me, it was a waste of time and money and wouldn't help me learn how to solve my own problems. Do you want me to go on?" Michael asked tensely.

"No, I think I've heard enough" she sighed and rubbed his cheek gently. "You know none of that is true, don't you?"

"Yes, but still..." he shrugged and took a sip of wine. He looked down at his glass, swirling the wine high around the edges. "He wanted to know other things, maman- why we hadn't found our own house yet, why we were still living with mamie. Things about your job and the hours you work. What you had been telling us about him. I know why he was asking me these things. He wants to try for custody again, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I think so. Your father is nothing if not persistent. But nothing has changed Michael, he knows that. He is just not willing to concede it, yet. Either way, we have to work out a solution so we don't have this hanging over our heads all the time. It will require compromises from all of us. I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night. That's my first compromise" she raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Very gracious, maman" he grinned.

"And you're spending Saturday and Sunday morning with him. Very amiable, Michael" she grinned in return.

"You know I'll do whatever I have to, maman. It's just that he makes me feel so ... " Michael sighed and rubbed his face wearily.

Madeline pulled her chair closer and eased an arm around his shoulder. "How does he make you feel?" she prompted gently.

"Like I'm so screwed up I couldn't possibly know what's good for me. As though all the decisions I've ever made have been the wrong ones" he explained quietly.

"Is that what you think?" she asked firmly.

"No, not really, ... I don't know. But he makes me doubt my abilities in everything, and so leaves me with nothing." He looked down, unwilling to meet his mothers penetrating gaze. She placed a finger under his chin and slowly lifted his face up.

"You are everything I could ever want you to be, and more. Don't ever doubt yourself, Michel" she smiled reassuringly.

Michael let out a shaky breath and ran a finger idly along his mother's hand where it lay across his on the table. "I'd like to think it would be different this time, that *he* would be different after all that has happened, just as I am. But I don't think it will be." A solitary tear rolled slowly down his cheek. "I don't want to be constantly reminded of my failures. I don't want to go back to that dark place where I have to hide all the time" he whispered.

Madeline gathered him into a fierce hug, pulling his head down against her shoulder. She felt Michael let out a sigh as he slumped against her bonelessly.

"I promise you baby, I won't let that happen. I'll do whatever I have to" she whispered in his ear.

"Thank you, maman. I know you will" Michael replied softly. He gently extricated himself from her arms so he could see her face. "But this isn't about you, it's about papa and I. You can help, but in the end it will be up to us to resolve this, if we choose to."

He glanced vacantly into the darkness beyond the window for a moment before turning back to her, eyes glistening with tears. "I've been hiding from him for such a long time, he doesn't even know who I am any more. And the saddest part is I'm not sure if I even care. It's no wonder that he doesn't seem to like me very much."

"He loves you Michel" Madeline quickly replied, "he's just not very good at translating that emotion into action"

Michael responded with a melancholy smile, shrugging in uncertain agreement.

"You're always so quick to defend him, maman" he smiled ingeniously. "We both know what he's like, you won't diminish my opinion of him by speaking the truth."

"I wasn't..." she began before Michael placed a finger gently against her lips.

"You were" he grinned, "and it's important that we talk honestly about this. You know how dangerous it is to bottle these things up inside you. Unresolved anger, maman, is a very unproductive emotion."

Madeline let out a snort of laughter as she grabbed his finger away. "Thank you Dr Binoche, that's very good advice."

"It worked for me, I think."

Madeline shook her head and smiled "I love you."

He leaned across and kissed her gently on each cheek. "Yes, I know. And the astonishing thing about it maman, is that unlike papa's love, yours comes with no conditions at all."

**************

Walter leaned back and patted his stomach with undisguised satisfaction.

"That was deeeelicous" he rumbled contentedly.

"If you belch now, Walter, I will be seriously displeased" Adrian warned.

"In some countries, Adrian dear, belching after a meal is considered a great compliment to the chef" George supplied with perfunctory disinterest.

"Thank you, George *dear*. Perhaps you'd like to make a list, Walter is, I believe, looking for a honeymoon destination."

George grinned at Walter and returned to his coffee. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, gazing out into the lights beyond the kitchen window.

"The garden lights look magnificent Adrian, Michael did an excellent job" George mused. "I love this time of year. Things are positively ... bursting."

"My problem exactly" Walter laughed, patting his stomach again. He poured himself some more coffee, taking a deep, contended breath. "What do you think of Paris?"

"In general or as a honeymoon destination?" George inquired mildly.

"Well ... both, I guess" Walter mused. "Belinda's always wanted to go there. I thought we could spend a week or so there, then a leisurely trip south, down to the coast. And then a couple of weeks sailing round the islands."

"Splendid Walter, you've just evolved from Neanderthal to Cro-Magnon" Adrian commented sardonically.

"Thanks" Walter replied warily, "I have my moments."

"Have you solved the venue problem yet?" Adrian inquired.

"Ahhh yes..." George joined in merrily, "is it to be the beer garden at Buddy's Bar and Grill or St Matthew's?"

"Actually I was thinking of the pool room, it's got a delightful ambience and all those big pointy sticks might come in handy." Walter poured himself another port and eased back into his chair.

George held his glass out for a refill and grinned at Walter. "And if the bride follows tradition and is late we can always play another round, good thinking Walt."

"I don't know why you are making such an issue of this Walter" Adrian admonished, retrieving the coffee pot from the stove. "I hardly think Belinda is making an outrageous demand wanting to be married in a church. I would have thought it was a small concession to make."

Walter scowled and twisted his hands into an angry knot in his lap.

"I don't think Walter is trying to score points here, Adrian. Perhaps everyone is missing the point" George responded quickly, his face scrupulously dispassionate. He could see from the set of Adrian's mouth that she was about to launch into one of her biting lectures.

"You're suggesting there is a point to Walters recalcitrance?" Adrian responded curtly.

"When two people decide to make this sort of commitment to each other in a public ceremony, it should be done in an atmosphere in which both can feel relaxed. Walter will not feel relaxed or comfortable in the alien environment of a church. It's not a slur on Belinda and her faith, it's just the reality of who he is. I think we are loosing site of the *occasion* with all this debate about the venue."

"Amen" Walter mumbled into his coffee.

"I see" Adrian responded acerbically. "Since you have undertaken such a thorough analysis of the situation, George, perhaps you could enlighten us as to a way around this imbroglio."

"It's very simple" George grinned.

Walter glanced up, suddenly interested in the discussion.

"Belinda concedes on the church and Walter concedes to be married by a priest. They both agree on where- the bar and grill, Walter's cabin, the zoo..." George glanced around at the two expectant faces watching him. With a sweep of his hand he gestured towards the window. "... the backyard. It doesn't matter. The two of them being happy about the decision is the only thing of concern."

Three sets of eyes gazed out the window as the bright twinkle of fairy lights spun fuzzy rainbows on the glass. Michael had strung them around the back verandah and the greenhouse as a surprise for Madeline's birthday party last month. Adrian had been so taken with it all she had asked him to leave them up.

"I'd be honoured to have your wedding here Walter, what do you think?" Adrian asked tentatively.

Walter leaned forward, resting his chin on hands as his eyes remained fixed on the window. "It would be ... perfect" he whispered, blinking back the moisture in his eyes. "This place feels as much like home as Paul's house or the cabin. That's all I wanted, some place that felt right, just so I'd know."

"Know what?" George asked gently.

"I don't know, it's kinda corny. I want this so bad, but I'm so nervous. What if I'm a rotten husband, what if ... what if? I just needed to be in some place that felt right, in my head. I'm not explaining it too well."

"I think we understand, Walter" Adrian smiled warmly and cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time."

"It wasn't nearly as bad as what I've been doing to myself." Walter sighed. "I just hope Belinda will be OK with it, she's not very happy with me at the moment."

"I could suggest it if you like. Will she be at Paul's for lunch on Sunday?" Adrian asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll make sure she's there" Walter said with more conviction than he felt.

"Mamie" a small voice called from the doorway. Adam's bare feet padded softly across the kitchen until he stood by Adrian's chair.

"What are you doing awake little one" Adrian smiled, sweeping Adam into her lap. He curled against her, rubbing his eyes. "Did something wake you up? A bad dream."

"I was 'firsty" he whispered.

George was already up and getting him a drink before Adrian could ask. She took it gratefully and held it while Adam gulped down the water.

"Is that better?" she asked, gently rubbing his back.

Adam nodded and looked around, seeming to notice George and Walter for the first time.

"Where's maman?" he asked sleepily.

"She's having dinner with your papa tonight" Adrian replied, answering this question for what seemed the hundredth time tonight. "And Michael's at a concert with his friends" she added quickly, circumventing the next question. She glanced at her watch.

"Your maman should be home soon" Adrian added, "and yes, Michael will be spending the day and night with you and your papa tomorrow." Feeling that she had covered all the likely questions, she held Adam tighter and gently stroked his nose. "Okay?"

"Yes" Adam mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

"Michael's at a concert, huh?" Walter shook his head. "Who'd he go with? Niki's at home, grounded for some misdemeanor at school on Monday."

"I don't know, he discussed it with his mother" Adrian offered, "I had just assumed it was Nikita. He should be home soon, you can ask him yourself."

"Speaking of which, I must admit I expected Madeline home earlier than this" George whispered nervously.

"She spent nearly eighteen years with him, George. I'm sure she can manage him for one evening." Adrian wrapped her arms around Adam who was now fast asleep. She watched as George stood and wandered into the family room off the kitchen. He appeared a moment later with the woolen rug Adrian kept on her chair by the television.

"Thank you dear" she smiled, covering Adam with it's warmth.

"How long is the schmuck here for" Walter whispered, glancing at Adam.

"I'm not entirely sure, another week or so perhaps. It's one of the things Madeline is discussing with him tonight" Adrian replied, fussing with the blanket around Adam.

"I met him for lunch yesterday" George announced, eliciting a suspicious glance from Adrian. George shrugged and continued. "He was his usual dour self. Full of self righteous indignation and delusions of grandeur."

"You know him?" Walter asked, curious.

"Yes" George replied, casting a cautious look at Adrian. "I stayed with the family when I was in Paris for work, and I spent a couple of years working a project Charles was involved in. I kept in contact with Madeline regularly while she was living overseas."

Adrian smiled at him with a mix of guilt and gratitude. "Did he tell you why he was here?" she finally asked.

"I didn't really press. That's not my business. I did tell him that Madeline and the boys are very happy here."

"And you just left it at that?" Adrian asked knowingly.

"Perhaps we discussed one or two other things, I'm can't remember exactly" George smiled innocently.

"It's a terrible thing getting old, isn't it George. Your memory gets so unreliable" Adrian smiled.

"Are you kidding me?" Walter laughed. "*Old* Georgie here has a memory that could rival the proverbial elephant."

"Yes, I know" Adrian agreed.

"Then ... ohhh ... I see" Walter nodded. "Well let me know if you need any help, George. I'd be happy to tell this joker a thing or two."

"Thank you Walt, I'm sure I can manage" George grinned. "Should we get this young man back into bed?" He smiled warmly at Adrian as she sat gently rocking Adam.

"In a minute" she whispered contentedly.

"Of course" George nodded. "Another cup of tea then?"

"Perfect, thank you" Adrian smiled.

***************

Madeline felt a despondent sigh making the slow journey from diaphragm to shoulders. In a futile attempt to cut it off she reached for her wine glass and downed it in a single, satisfying gulp. Very expensive wine that tasted even better because Charles was paying for it, she noted maliciously. He had ordered a bottle of Californian wine first, sending it back as undrinkable before turning to the vintage French shiraz that he had, no doubt, intended to order in the first place. It had set the tone for the evening. Patronising commentary on his recent travels and vain attempts to remind her that she was marooned out in the colonies.

She glanced across to the door leading to the bathrooms, wondering if she should just leave and if she had time to do so before he reappeared. Too late. The door swung open as swiftly as the thought was discarded as puerile.

He settled back in his seat, glancing disapprovingly at her empty glass before refilling it.

"It's not a bad wine" he considered as he read the label again, "though certainly not their best. But then what more could you expect here, hmmmm?!"

"We've talked around the issues all night Charles, I'm tired and I need to get home. Can you please tell me what it is, precisely, that you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you Madeline. Why do have to read artifice into everything I do?"

"My mistake. You travelled 3,000 kilometres to discuss wine vintages and the relative merits of cooking seafood in a creme or oil based sauce? You never used to take such interest in small talk."

"Relax Madeline, why are you so agitated? Is my being here such a threat to the little world you have created for yourself and my children."

Madeline bit back her reply and took a sip of water instead. She tried to remember the ingredients list she had read on the cereal box that Michael and Adam had been eating from at breakfast. Too much sugar and sodium she had noted disapprovingly. Michael had been on his third bowl by the time she sat down. The puzzling thing was she couldn't remember actually buying it. Another one of those mysterious items that turned up in the days following a grocery shopping expedition with Adam. Too late, she realised that Charles had asked her question.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you had considered my suggestion that Michael attend a university in Paris or London" Charles repeated with impatience.

"No, not really, he still has decisions to make. He has another year of high school, there's plenty of time."

"And you think he should be making this decision on his own. It's his future, Madeline, I can't believe you would be so disinterested."

"Oh please, it's not 'disinterest' Charles. I can't read his mind nor can I make this decision for him. We have discussed his interests, he's thinking of engineering, science or maybe even music."

"Music?" Charles scoffed. "He's not good enough to make a living playing the cello. Why would you even encourage such thoughts? What about medicine or law?"

"What about a lion tamer or a fireman? Honestly Charles, you can be such a patronising shit at times." Amend that to all the time, she thought dryly.

"I'm not being patronising, I'm just being realistic. Why fill the boy's head with dreams of things he will never achieve? That will only hurt him in the end. And what sort of message does that send to Adam."

"That's your modus operandi, isn't it Charles?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"All that perfunctory interest and concern, you're such a politician. Take the glory when things go well and quickly disperse the blame when they don't."

"Don't take that tone with me, Madeline."

"These are your children, Charles, *our* children, and you don't even know them. You don't want to know them, just in case they don't live up to your impossible expectations."

"That's unfair. How am I supposed to know them, when you take them thousands of kilometres away from me? But you're right, I need to spend more time with them. Perhaps they should come back home with me for a while?"

Madeline sighed and picked up her glass, swirling the wine absently in a gesture painfully reminiscent of Michael and their discussion of a couple of nights ago. She looked hard at the person sitting opposite her, trying to find the man she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

"And if they did go back with you Charles, what then? Would you rearrange your frantic work schedule to be with them? Will you give them the love and attention they so desperately need? Will things be different this time? I didn't have to take them thousands of kilometres to be away from you, you managed that perfectly well when they were under your own roof."

"When did you turn so bitter and acrimonious, Madeline? Is this Adrian's influence, she never liked me."

"No Charles, I think you can take all the credit for my bitterness."

"What was that comment about politicians, Maddy?"

"Ohhh, Charles" she sighed, looking at him sadly. "I think it would be for best if I went home now, before we both say things we'll regret. The boys will be ready at ten, tomorrow morning, as you suggested. I'd be grateful if you could have them home by lunchtime on Sunday. We're expected at a friends place for lunch." She stood, shrugging into her coat. "Don't hurt them Charles, just to get back at me and appease your wounded pride. I'll do whatever it takes while you're here, anything. Just... don't take it out on them."

She turned and started towards the door, halting when she heard his voice again.

"Whatever it takes to placate me, Madeline?" Charles hissed.

"I had eighteen years of doing that Charles" she replied blandly, "a few more days seems like a small price to pay if it means Michel and Adam will be happy."

***************

"Are you going to sit there and pout all night, popsicle" Mick shouted over the din of talking and music. "Do you want me to grovel some more? Whatever it takes to turn that frown upside down" he laughed.

"Listen to the girl, Mick" Carla screamed in his ear. "I can't believe you and Michael dumped us last night and went to the concert alone."

"Mikey only had two tickets, sugar plum, and our poor Nik was grounded by the evil King Neptune" Mick whined.

He grabbed another slice of pizza, seeming to breathe it in rather then chew it. "Anyway" he continued with a full mouth, "what's wrong with the boys going out *au natural*? Fair suck of the saveloy, love-chunks, we lads need to lash out on our own every now and then. You know" Mick winked lasciviously, "do the wild thing, let the testosterone run free as god intended."

"You are one sick puppy" Carla sighed, shaking her head in amusement.

Nikita, on the other hand, was quietly seething. "Tell me, wiener-boy, exactly when did your buddy, *Mikey*, ask you to the concert?"

"Did you ever notice, Nik, that we're like, Mick squared. Freaky, isn't it. Two Micks. Mick, Mick, Nik and Carla. We should form a band, what a cool name" Mick parroted on, chewing on another piece of pizza. "I never thought about it until last night."

"Answer my question *Mick*" Nikita repeated dangerously.

"What question was that, Niki baby?" Mick grinned.

"When did Michael ask you to go to the concert?" she repeated slowly.

"Settle down Judge Judy" Mick leered. "Yesterday afternoon, after soccer practice, if you must know. He was going to surrender the tickets to a couple of boofheads on the football team, till yours truly pointed out the folly of that and saved the boy from himself."

"Yesterday afternoon?" Nikita repeated suspiciously.

"I think that's what I said, sweet pea. He didn't shoot JFK either, in case you're wondering" Mick grinned.

"No, I guess not" Nikita replied miserably. "I might go home" she sighed, "I don't think I'm very good company tonight."

"Don't go" Michael whispered, sliding onto the bench seat, next to her. He sat for a moment, looking intently at her before fixing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"I thought you were going to be staying over at some relatives place tonight" Nikita pouted, unable to stop herself lashing out.

"Plans change" Michael replied cryptically, his eyes brimming with emotion. Nikita saw a muscle on his neck twitch violently and realised that his whole body was wound as tightly as a spring, ready to explode. She placed a hand gently on his chest, as though it was a conductor seeking out lightening in a storm.

She leaned in to kiss him. "Is everything alright?" whispered against his lips. She felt the body beneath her finger's slump, the tension arcing and dissipating in a weary sigh.

"It is now" he mumbled, placing a breathy kiss against her ear. Nikita's body spasmed, still twitching from the energy transfer and the touch of his warm breath on her skin.

Michael reached an arm around the back of their bench and pulled her closer. Nikita leaned casually back against his arm, but soon found herself pressing against the warm length of his body, head nestled snugly under his chin. In the background she heard Mick recounting a blow by blow description of the soccer game Michael had missed that morning. Without missing a breath, he then moved on to last night's concert and covered every detail of the mosh pit gyrations and he and Michael's descent into aural oblivion.

As the discussion drifted around her, Michael's fingers traced an intricate pattern on her arm. Back and forth, around, up and down, the action enthralling and electric. She reached around and grabbed his other hand, winding her fingers through his. She could feel the slow, steady beat of his pulse against her ear, the rumble of his amusement and the vibration of his voice. Without realising it, she found herself enter that familiar place where time slows down. A fugue state, where senses coalesce into the singular sensation of Michael's proximity.

"Do you want me to walk you home Kita?" She felt the soft, urgent whisper against her ear draw her quickly back to the present.

"Mmmm... yes" she agreed, saying a hasty goodnight to Carla and Mick as she grabbed Michael's hand and followed him out the door.

They had barely emerged into the cool night air before Michael spun her around, arms pulling her close as his lips descended on hers in a breathless kiss.

When he finally released her mouth she let out a bemused sigh. "Miss me?"

"Like oxygen" he replied huskily, pulling her around the corner of the building into a secluded corner of the car park.

Nikita grinned and pressed her body against him, pushing him against the wall. "I missed you too" she whispered. She traced a finger along his cheek and down his chin. "It seems like ages since..." Her words were lost in the next assault from Michael's lips.

"Let's go" she finally managed to breathe, "your place?"

"No" Michael replied quickly, shaking his head. "Your's? It's closer anyway."

"What's the time?" she asked, glancing at Michael's watch.

"Just after nine."

"The Admiral's out at some navy do. There's no way he'll be home before ten, the top brass are out on parade."

"If we run... "

"... we'll be there sooner" Nikita grinned, tearing off down the street in a whirlwind of laughter.

************

(NC 17)

They made what was usually a thirty minute walk to Nikita's house in a blistering sixteen minutes. Quickly checking the garage to make sure there was no car ensconced, they tumbled up the stairs of the quiet house. Breathless and laughing, their progress finally slowed into clumsy desperation to reach the safety of her bedroom.

Nikita pushed the door open and shoved Michael inside before double-checking her father's bedroom. You could never be too careful where the Admiral's concerned.

She returned to her bedroom to find Michael flopped on the bed, arms splayed in careless abandon above his head, chest still heaving from exertion and something more.

"Don't move" Nikita commanded as she closed the bedroom door and went into the bathroom.

She gulped down a glass of water, gazing at her reflection in the mirror as reality collided with expectation. Sweat produced a glistening sheen to her body, her face red and blotchy from their frantic run. She splashed water against her cheeks, contemplating a quick shower and dismissing it instantly. The water helped, she noticed, the blotches a little less distinct.

Another glass of water and she felt almost normal again. The face staring back at her, however, did not look normal. It looked demented, suffused with nervous energy and craving. She had seen it before and knew the cause. It was laid out on the bed waiting for her. Waiting, as always, for her to make the first move, light the fire.

With a deep breath she carried a glass of water back into the bedroom, placing it carefully on the table by her bed. Michael lay where she had left him, pulse hammering but eyes closed in a parody of sleep.

She stretched a leg across him, sitting lightly on his stomach. Eyes opened slowly at her movement, staring back with the incandescent heat of blue green flames licking across a burning log. An odd, ironic half smile edged its way onto his face.

"Hello" he whispered, reaching up to stroke a finger lazily down her cheek.

It took more control than she expected to lean down and just brush her lips softly against his. Warm fingers worked their way under her shirt as the kiss escalated into something so painfully sweet it sent a throbbing ache through her body. She felt her hips begin to move in slow, undulating waves, sliding down his body, kiss by kiss, inch by inch.

Michael leaned into her, nuzzling her neck with lips and tongue, his body moving with increasingly frantic thrusts that threatened to topple her from this precarious perch.

Strong fingers embroidered themselves in her hair, holding her still as her world turned upside down and she was suddenly beneath him. Just as suddenly Michaels fingers were everywhere and clothes disintegrated around her. Her head rolled back and she felt hot breath blossom across her skin leaving a trail of flowers that bloomed and died a thousand times, an instant at a time.

When the hot flame of Michael's mouth left her body for a moment she lay mute, sublime and accepting that whatever came next would be what she wanted. An odd, intense silence stretched out, broken only by the harsh overlay of their breathing and the almost comical sound of plastic tearing. Then the warmth returned like a wave, rolling slowly up her legs with a wash of froth and bubbles that tickled her skin with delicious irritation. The wave crashed into her, amplifying every throbbing inch of her body and she became even more wild and more greedy with need.

Michael rolled them again and she was straddling him, slick skin in perpetual motion and knowing fingers stroking her relentlessly. She wanted to howl with delight, but could only moan softly. The sound creeping up her ribs and lodging precariously in her throat until she felt that spiraling void that left her trapped and speechless. Millions of subatomic particles swarmed behind her eyes as she felt Michael's violent movements beneath her, driving them both to that point of glittering darkness and pure, free feeling.

Their bodies collapsed in a boneless heap on the ruins of her bed. In the tangle of limbs and skin on skin she could make out the sensation of a finger twitching against her stomach. It tapped softly in time to the thunderous beat of her heart, anchoring her to moment as awareness returned. Her breath was still coming in harsh rasps when a soft beep started pulsing from her desk. Michael's eyes jerked open, searched for focus until they settled on her.

"The Admirals home" she whispered urgently, hands fumbling for the clothes that were strewn around them. She retrieved his socks and shoes as Michael cursed, his leg caught momentarily as he rushed to pull his jeans on. Searching the floor he found his jumper and pulled in it on, a grin adorning his face when it emerged an instant later.

"Thank you Birkoff" Michael laughed as he threw his socks and shoes on. "We'll have to get him to set up one of those alerts for my maman's car, as well" he whispered as he pulled his jacket on.

"Adam would find it and spill the beans" Nikita laughed, following him to the window holding his tshirt and briefs.

Michael shrugged self-consciously and grabbed the briefs, stuffing them in his pocket. He reached for the tshirt but Nikita held it back and with a wicked grin slipped it on herself.

"Collect it tomorrow" she laughed, opening the window.

Michael smiled and kissed her gently, a hand weaving around the back of her head to pull her closer. With the barest brush of fingers against her cheek he pulled away as a door banged close downstairs.

"I'll see you tomorrow" her murmured against her ear.

Long legs stretched out through the window and with practiced expertise he balanced gracefully on the slender ledge outside. He ran a hand through his hair and then turned back towards her. His head ducked back through the window as a hand swung out and grabbed hers. He held her palm against his lips, an apologetic, sheepish look on his face.

"Thank you, I needed this, I needed you."

Nikita stared at him, sudden thoughts of the letter at war with thoughts of tonight.

"I needed you too" she murmured, reaching out to kiss him again. "Michael, do you...?" The words disappeared traitorously in her throat.

"Do I what, 'Kita?" he asked, confused.

Their eye's locked and she thought she saw the answer, even though she hadn't had the courage to ask the question. Michael's confused grin evolved into a smile of sated, recondite bliss that dissolved all her doubts for a glorious instant. In that same instant he was gone, leaving fluttering curtains and the warm touch of memory that filled Nikita with the promise of tomorrow. Perhaps that was enough, she considered, as she wrapped herself in his tshirt and climbed into bed.

**************

The sound of the clock ticking seemed deafening in the tense atmosphere of the lounge room. Madeline glanced at it again, momentarily distracted from Charles silently malevolent pacing. Back and forwards, back and forwards. The irritation quotient was akin to fingernails on a blackboard.

"Oh Charles, sit down for heavens sake. Wearing a groove in the carpet will not bring him home any sooner."

"Sorry if I can't be relaxed about our son throwing a tantrum and storming off into the night."

"He's a teenager Charles, 'tantrums' are an everyday event. Your visit has brought on many conflicting responses for both of them. Surely you appreciate this is a difficult situation and some display of emotion is perfectly natural."

"Don't start Madeline, I'm not in the mood for your compunctious psycho babble."

"This is my fault now, is it?" Madeline demanded, hating herself for biting at his trite critique.

Charles stopped his pacing and glared at her. "It would seem to be appropriate. You are excessively indulgent with the boy, you always have been. Is it any wonder he's turned out like this."

Madeline shook her head slowly in amazement. "And what have you generously provided for him to work with? A lifetime of neurosis and therapy? You're sounding a little sanctimonious, Charles."

"Adequate to the occasion" Charles smirked and glanced at his watch.

"Why don't you just go back to your hotel, I can handle this."

"I can see how well you are handling things Madeline. All evidence to the contrary."

"You couldn't even manage an entire day with them. You're hardly in a position to take the high moral ground here."

Charles was about to answer when they heard the click of the back door closing. They both turned towards the sound as Michael stepped into the room and came to an abrupt halt. He looked from one to the other, his gaze lingering on his mother for a long moment before turning back to his father.

"Papa, what are..." he stuttered, the familiarity of the scene taking him buy surprise.

"Go on Michel, please" Charles interrupted paradoxically, slipping easily into French. "Your mother and I have spent the last four hours waiting for you to return. For my part, I'm struggling to understand how you could be so insolent and willfully disobedient. Any contribution from you in regards to resolving these questions would be most enlightening." Charles smiled ominously and gestured towards the lounge.

Michael moved slowly, his eyes never leaving his father as he sat calmly on the lounge. Madeline watched sympathetically as a myriad of emotions passed across Michael's face before it finally settled into a defiant glower. Seeing an identical look mirrored in his fathers face did not bode well.

"You were supposed to be spending the night with your papa, Michel" Madeline jumped in, continuing the discussion in French as a concession to Charles. "What happened?"

"He knows" Michael replied softly, his eyes locked on his fathers. Charles shook his head in disgust and folded his arms, returning Michael's hard edged glare.

"I'd like to hear it from you" Madeline replied, turning Michael's face towards her.

"Yes, Michel, tell your mother about your little outburst. Explain to her how my 17 year old son behaved like a three year old in the middle of crowded hotel lobby" Charles challenged.

Michael shrugged dismissively. "I'm sorry maman. Is Adam alright, I shouldn't have left him like that."

"No, you shouldn't have. You can apologise to him in the morning." Madeline glanced at Charles before asking him urgently "why did you leave them?"

Michael took a deep breath and turned again to his father. Madeline watched the silent combat between them. Charles smug and self assured, his expression daring Michael to answer. Michael, for his part, held the stare with casual disinterest, his eyes slightly glassy and unfocussed in what Madeline recognised as furious concentration despite the dispassionate expression.

"Tell her, Michel" Charles commanded.

Michael finally looked away and slumped back exhausted into the lounge.

"It was ... nothing. I'm sorry for upsetting you papa."

"Where did you go?" Charles asked, resuming his pacing, albeit at a slower pace this time.

"What does it matter?" Michael whispered, sounding utterly defeated.

"It matters because I asked you" Charles replied smoothly.

"I don't know" he shrugged. "I walked around for a while, then met some friends at Tony's."

"Who's Tony?"

"It's an Italian restaurant downtown, Michel and his friends often go there after school" Madeline replied hastily. "Why don't you go up to bed, darling" she urged, running a hand gently through his hair, "you look exhausted."

"Not so fast Madeline" Charles rebuked. He came and perched on the end of the lounge, folding his arms against his chest. "Is that where you have been all night?" he demanded.

"Yes" Michael answered quickly.

"That's enough Charles" Madeline snapped angrily. "Go to bed Michel" she ordered in a strained voice, straightening his jacket as she urged him up. Michaels eye's caught hers guiltily as she stealthily pushed the incriminating piece of clothing that had slipped out of his pocket back where it had been hidden.

"Maman, I..."

"Bed, now! We can discuss this further in the morning."

Michael looked forlornly at his mother as he stood. "I'm sorry, maman" he whispered.

Madeline squeezed his hand tenderly. "It's alright Michel" she replied gently, "I understand. Go on, darling, upstairs and get ready for bed."

Michael ambled wearily towards the door. She glanced across at Charles who was looking on with a bemused expression.

"Michel?" Charles inquired, his voice staidly pleasant.

Michael turned slowly, his posture immediately defensive. He didn't speak, just stared expectantly at his father.

"Aren't you going to tell your mother what we decided?"

Madeline felt the pulse in her temple start to pound with an erratic beat as she waited for Michael's response. He remained silent, his face a mask hiding the endless stream of emotion invading his eyes. After a long moment he blinked slowly and the eyes that stared back at her were tragically remote.

"Michel has decided he would like to come back home with me for a while, haven't you?" Charles stated confidently.

Madeline closed her eye's for a moment, amazed that her body hadn't instantaneously shattered into a thousand pieces on hearing this. She looked imploringly at Michael, willing it not to be true.

"Is this what you want, Michel?" she entreated, "is this *your* decision?"

Michael appeared to crumble against the doorframe, using it to support his weight.

"Answer you mother, Michel" Charles directed as he took a seat next to Madeline on the lounge.

"Michel?" Madeline whispered desperately.

"I'm sorry maman. It's..." he shrugged helplessly and pulled himself away from the door, eyes now glassy with tears and begging for understanding. "Compromise" he finally whispered so softly the word barely made it to her ears yet it rang in her head as though he had screamed it. He turned abruptly and ran up the stairs without looking back.

Madeline took a moment to compose herself before she turned to the man sitting next to her. The smug arrogance he had been brandishing all evening was gone. In its place was an air of contemplative discomfiture that she found perversely reassuring. They sat in silence for a long while, neither willing to bridge the gaping chasm that had settled between them.

Finally Charles rose and retrieved his coat from the back of the lounge.

"I should go."

"Yes."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"No, understand now Charles. I won't let you take him."