"Excuse me… you're Helen Morgendorffer, right?"

Helen looked up from her desk, a slight tinge of annoyance as she saw the tall, scarlet-haired woman standing in the doorway of her office. Tall, very attractive, excellent taste in clothing and jewelry - although a bit more (and a bit much) than I'm accustomed to, more than enough hair, a touch of attitude to go along with the smarts that I can see in her eyes… Las Vegas lost yet another showgirl to a foolish rich man and the Elvis Wedding Chapel, I see…

"I'm Bronwyn Ruttheimer."

That name brought Helen to full attention - and wiped the snide remark away with blinding speed. The Ruttheimers were one of the wealthiest families in the state - even wealthier than the Barksdales. The computer and 'dot-com' industries were the crux of the 'nouveau riche' caste, creating a new host of multimillionaires and the occasional billionaire - for which the Ruttheimers CERTAINLY qualified. Counting only RADIAL, the cyber-company Charles Ruttheimer, Jr. founded on his own in the early 1980's, the Ruttheimer fortune was easily valued in the billions of dollars…

Nor was Bronwyn someone to be trifled with: as Chief Operating Officer of RADIAL, she nevertheless managed to find the time to have seven children (three sets of twins and a spare), have an actual family life, and garner one vicious reputation through the business world. The 'Great Red Shark' (but not to her face) pocketed an MBA from NYU, came to Texas in the early 1970's as a newlywed and worked as an office manager to pay the bills. She did this while her husband worked all-hours to develop not only new computer codes and software, but tried to think ahead to the potential needs that the public would have for the oncoming rush: the how-to's, the 'what's that's' and the 'how do I do this' of the computer age. He was remarkably accurate, and with Bronwyn working the business end, Ruttheimer Advanced Development and Integrated Adaptation Logistics (RADIAL) became one of the first major cybernetics research and development companies in the business.

Needless to say - of Bronwyn, Helen was a very big fan.

"Yes… yes, of course," Helen replied, rising from her chair. "It's very nice to meet you in person; I've read about you for years. Why don't you come in and have a seat?"

"I've got a better idea, " Bronwyn said, spinning her car keys on her finger. "Ever knocked back a really good bottle of hundred-year-old wine?"

*****

"Sandi, you've got to try harder! It took you over three minutes for you to stabilize the machine! That's almost as bad as Mack's time - you have to do better!"

"Look, I'm trying, like, all right?" Sandi snapped, unfastening herself from the belt harness of the three-ring stabilization trainer - a NASA-issue piece of equipment, sold for surplus, that was now the biggest draw at the local arcade. "I can do it, it's just that it takes me a moment or two to focus!"

"You can try again, Sandra - but now, it's Miss Lane's turn," Upchuck said, motioning for Jane to get into the device. "Jane, just remember what we've said about -"

"Yeah, I think I've got it, Jane shot back, watching the fawn-like wobbling of Sandi's legs as she stepped down from the trainer and then stepped up the four steps in order to climb aboard. The trainer was an odyssey; a tribute to weird design and looks married in a shotgun wedding to simplicity and purpose. It was simply three concentric rings (each one singularly representing the X-, Y- and Z- axes) with a pilot's command chair and a display monitor located within the innermost ring. The three rings spun in differing directions, giving the 'pilot' one hell of a ride unless he (or she) could use the control yoke (or 'joystick') to control the rotations and stabilize the rings… not an easy task, by any means.

"Here, let me help you strap in," Ted said, scampering up the steps and lending a hand as Jane began to fight with the locking mechanism on the heavily reinforced safety belts. "It's not that hard - just put it in like this…" He looked up into Jane's eyes of light-struck sapphire, and a knot appeared in his throat. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean it like that, and -"

"Thank you, Ted," Jane said, favoring him with a smile that put him at ease. "How do you know about this?"

"I went to Space Camp three years in a row!" he announced proudly. "I tried for so long to work this the right way, but my stomach -"

"Three times?"

"Yeah, my parents wanted me to have the experience!"

"That would be nice…" She gave off a slight squeak as Ted tightened the belt a bit, and laughed at his expression. "Oh, don't worry, Ted. Nobody around here expects you to end up working at 'Helga's House of Pain!"

"Pardon me?"

"Armageddon?' The Bruckheimer asteroid-killing audience eardrum-snapper from '98 with Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck? Animal cracker rodeo on Liv Tyler's stomach? 'We win, Gracie?"

Ted's face went blank, and Jane blinked hard as the thought entered her mind: 'I have got to take this guy to see a real movie, or invite him over to see 'Sick, Sad World'-

"Stop making moon-eyes at our Director of Medicine and Research, Lane," Upchuck cackled, his head popping in-between the two blank-eyed teens. "You're about to take a ride, and you'll want to concentrate on that… you, too, Ted."

Ted suddenly realized that he had been staring into Jane's eyes - she's so pretty - and hopped down after giving the harness a final check, while Upchuck gave Jane a once-over. "Hello, Miss Goodheart," he growled, waggling his eyebrows at her as he took on what he thought was (for him) a grandiose tone, complete with him rolling his 'R's like SUV's on an interstate highway. "I see Lothar has made your acquaintance with the Cradle of Persuasion. I am - Chaotica, Supreme Lord and Emperor of the Universe! Welcome - to my Dungeon of Pain!"

"Can we just get on with this?"

"Oh, you're no fun," he grinned, his normal voice back as he stepped away from the machine. "Okay - start it up!"

Jane felt her stomach suddenly lurch as the three rings began to move and quickly began to twirl about; grasping at the control yoke, she watched the screen and attempted to align the rings… her hair flew, her vision blurred and blood rushed to her head, but she kept going…

"Hey, look at her!" Mack exclaimed, watching as the rings began to roll into alignment. "She's really good at this!"

"Go, Jane!" Brittany called out, her inner cheerleader getting the best of her for a moment. "You can do it - Go, Jane, go!"

"My, my," Upchuck said, shaking his head in wonderment as Jane hit the control on the trainer, locking the rings in place. "Forty-eight seconds. Not bad at all."

"Not bad at all - Jane, that was great!" Ted piped up. "And for this being your first time doing this, you were absolutely incredible!"

"Well, it seems like you've got a new fan, Jane Lane," Sandi huffed, but without her trademark snootiness behind it as she watched Ted go up and unfasten Jane from her seat. "Can I try again, now, please?"

*****

The atmosphere around Jake's office was - to be blunt - morose. Horizon sat at her desk, sorting out the different types of tasty kibbles in her bag of trail mix and putting them in small piles, while a fuming Wendy tried to while her time away on the editing suite. The sharp, occasional burst of choice profanity nearly blistered the paint off the walls in the hallway, and the tiny redhead wanted so badly to pick up something and throw it - or throw it at Helen's head, given the chance.

Wendy had never really had the chance to meet Helen, and her vicious little snit aimed at Lauriel had destroyed her chances of Wendy ever caring about her. The woman didn't deserve the crap you laid out on her, and I wish you had talked to ME that way. I'll take a copy of the state lawbook and ram it up your ass! I mean, how much money has Lauriel laid out on your family, and you never even bothered to send her even a thank-you note for the lobsters. See, that's your problem - you've spent so much time in courtrooms against a lot of people you can just walk like dogs because they don't know the lingo. That's not me. Pull that on Lauriel again and the word for the day's going to be 'Ow'….

She almost smiled at the thought of Helen's having been harassed by a LPD officer last night. Serves her right - wouldn't have happened in the first place if she had been supporting her man by being there on time… damn, she doesn't think much of him! And this is the person she's supposed to honor and cherish above all others? Yeah, right!

Well, what can you say? 'That's 'Love, American Style' - truer than the red, white and blue…'

"I'd give you a penny for your thoughts, but they'd probably corrode the metal."

Wendy looked up from the computer screen to see Horizon standing there.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that Richard Pryor would blush because of the stuff coming out of your mouth."

The dryness in her mouth made Wendy realize she had been talking for what must have been an extended period of time. "I've been ranting, haven't I?"

"Someone's going to stick a 'TV-MA' label on the right side of your forehead. Have you seen Jake - I mean, Mr. Morgendorffer? He was supposed to come in at ten, but…"

"No, and I know that he isn't with Lauriel. She caught a flight out of 'CCI-Air' to New York City - she's got a couple of days worth of meetings," the redhead spoke up, referring to Carter County International Airport. "After last night, I suggested that she bum out for an extra day or two… the network's paying for it. You know, he may be down at police headquarters - with his wife."

"Wonderful woman, isn't she?"

"Oh, she's the best."

The sound of the greeting bell caught the ladies' attention, and they started towards the front office - only to be caught up short by the sight of Quinn, wiping her nose with a tissue.

"Uh, hi," Quinn said uneasily, glancing away from Wendy's angry stare to Horizon's quizzical expression. "I - I wanted to know if you could tell me where Lauriel is -"

"MISS de la RIBAS is out of town, Miss Morgendorffer," Wendy spat, and Quinn winced at the way the woman glared at her. "What do you want, anyway - want to deliver a poisoned letter, or follow up on your mom's performance and act like one of the tramps on 'All My Children'? What your mother did last night was some vile, crappy -"

"Wendy, come on!" Horizon said, stepping between the twosome. "She's not her mother!"

"Okay, then what DID you come down here for - you never bothered to come down here since I've been around! Hey - why ARE you here? Why aren't you in school?"

"They sent me home because I've got the flu or something -"

"And you come here to spread it around? Just HOW DUMB are you?"

"-And I came down to see how Lauriel was doing."

Wendy spun back on her heels to face Quinn. "Excuse me?"

"My mother was… well, it wasn't right for her to hurt Lauriel's feelings like she did and call her all sorts of names," Quinn continued, warily due to Wendy's proximity. "She's a nice lady - she IS a lady - and my mother's a bit high-strung and possessive. I just wanted to apologize for my mother… and to let Lauriel know that I still like her."

"You actually feel bad for Lauriel." It was an ephipany in the making for Wendy.

"COME ON - it was, like, the biggest night of her life! Well, actually, it would be the fourth biggest night of her life because your Senior Prom's the second biggest night of your life ESPECIALLY if you're actually in love with your escort to the prom - he's an 'escort', not a 'date', because this is a FORMAL event! Or wait - the Senior Prom is the THIRD biggest night of your life, because your Debutante Ball is your formal 'coming-out' affair into society, and THERE you have an ESCORT so I guess your date to the Senior Prom really IS a date after all! And of course, your WEDDING NIGHT is the BIGGEST night of your life, so everything has to be planned just right and MONTHS in advance - I mean, can you just see having your wedding night ruined because they didn't put enough ice in your Honeymoon Suite so the diet soda is warm, let alone the champagne - and what if everyone eats up all of the wedding cake so you don't have any to feed each other in bed?"

Quinn actually stumbled a bit as she covered her eyes, trying to ward off the imagined sight. "The horror… the horror!"

"Somewhere in there, I think that there's actually some genuine concern for Lauriel," Horizon mused, reaching out to steady Quinn, and offering her tissues from a box. "Miss Morgendorffer - Lauriel's not in right now. She had to go to New York City for a couple of days to take a meeting or two."

"Oh."

Quinn's face fell, and even Wendy suddenly felt a bit sorry for the girl. "Well… when she comes back, could you tell her that I asked how she was doing, and I'm sorry about the way my mom was acting."

As the teenager turned to the door, Wendy grimaced and said, "Just a minute, kid."

Quinn turned back as Wendy scribbled a number on a business card she scooped off Horizon's desk and handed it to her. "That's her room number at the hotel she's at. Call after nine - New York time, remember that - they'll probably take her out to dinner, and she'll be back in about then."

"Thanks!"

"I won't tell you did something out of the kindness of your heart on one condition," Horizon said, sitting down on top of her desk after Quinn had left. "Go out and buy a bra - a padded one. I'm tired of being reminded of the neighborhood I grew up in every time you walk through the door."

"Shouldn't you be thankful I don't just whack you upside the head every time I see you, Intern Girl?" Wendy shot back. "I'm old enough to -"

"Have gotten past the 'Look at me!' part of your life," she shot back. "Besides, those won't be sitting up so high and proud in a few years - unless you're planning on having some construction work done."

"All the more reason to showcase them now. Besides - you have no room to talk. Who dresses you for work - Heather Locklear or Heidi Fleiss? No, Kathie Lee Gifford's your role model - 'look businesslike, but let them know that it's a breakaway outfit!"

The two women were silent for a moment.

"Beer after I close up the office tonight?'

"Beer and onion burgers."

"Onion burgers?"

"Are you dating anyone?"

Another moment of silence dusted the room.

"Beer, onion burgers… and waffle fries with cheese dip and ranch dressing on the side."

"No dessert?"

"No dessert."

"Look, Intern Girl - screw Calista Flockhart, Tava Smiley and the popsicle-stick horses those penny-thin bitches rode in on! A man wants a little something to hold onto, and he doesn't want to worry about it snapping in half!"

And yet another moment of silence passed through the office.

"You want a dessert."

"I want a dessert."

*****

Brittany Taylor leaned against the door of the arcade, sipping her chocolate shake and glancing up on occasion to watch Sandi trying to master the flight simulator. As she absently flipping through a copy of 'American Rifleman', a trio of men, each wearing the 'AXP' of the Alpha Chi Rho fraternity on their jackets, walked past. Two of the 'frat-rats' gave Brittany a serious once-over as they did so… and then, suddenly broke away from the third and headed back on a beeline towards her.

"Hey," the lanky, dark-haired young man said in a slight Southern accent, smiling a smile that, if Brittany wasn't thinking like a security-type, might have been charming enough to have landed him a date right on the spot. "Love the 'Men-In-Black' thing. Going to a costume party?"

"It's my uniform," she said, and the way she turned her back on the boy made the second, a small, wiry young man slightly older than the first, with wild brown hair and a hawkish nose that only detracted slightly from his looks, break out in laughter.

"DUDE! She just burned you all up!" the brown-haired frat rat laughed. "Hey, Joel - doesn't work on her! Somebody must have told her about you!"

"Hey, shut up, Rob! Go off somewhere else!" Joel growled, and Brittany rolled her eyes. "So, you're into guns, hmn? I've got a P-85 and a Remington 12-gauge… I'm also going to get a Glock as soon as I can."

Brittany and the third frat-rat, who stood a reassuring distance away, laughed at the same time. No, he's not really a frat-rat, she thought, looking at the slightly overweight African-American who stood barely an inch or two over Joel. He's too old - maybe he's a grad student, because he's at least 27 or so.

"WHAT?" Joel barked. "What's so funny?"

"I wouldn't take a Glock if you paid me," Brittany said. "So some people say they don't jam - I want an external safety. I don't need to play 'John Wayne' for anybody."

"Roger that - go Baretta 92F if you want to go classic 9mm, or try a SIG Sauer for the new stuff," the grad student agreed. "They've also got one chambered for .357 Magnum, and their .40 supposedly kicks major ass."

"I like wheelguns for the .357 - give me a Colt Python, but Taurus also makes nice guns, too. If you want to go into the .40 stuff, I like the P-16," Brittany said, turning with some interest to the grad student-type. "Sixteen plus one in the pipe - how sweet is that?"

"True - if you're going in the open," the grad student responded. Two things, though. One - if you're trying to carry concealed, it's a bitch-kitty to try with something THAT big. Two - no offense, but you don't look like your hands are big enough to handle a Para-Ordinance pistol."

"I practically grew up with a 1911A1 in my hands!" Brittany said, stepping past the annoyed Joel and the smirking Rob to face the grad student. "I was putting six through the X-ring before I was eight years old with an old Colt .44 - my grandfather on my mother's side was a Texas Ranger!"

"No wonder you love wheelguns," he replied. "What are you into for the heavies?"

"M-16'll do just fine for my main carry rifle, but if I'm doing special ops, I carry an MP-10 or I don't go."

"You really like things that make you go 'thud', don't you?" the grad student laughed. "Steyr AUG for me as a main rifle - love that 'bullpup' design - and for the ops-"

"Let me guess, Mr. 'classic 9mm' - an MP5SD2."

"Set for three-round bursts."

"Subsonic rounds, hollow-point design?"

"Of course - why have a surpressed weapon and then have bullets that make their own sonic boom? Kind of defeats the purpose, don't you think?"

"You probably grew up on the unusual weapons."

"First gun I ever used was a MAC-10."

"Room broom' baby," Brittany smiled. "Which post?"

"Fort Devens," the grad student said. "My father was a prick in the artillery, so I spent as much time as I could around the special troops who came up for commo encrypt training. They taught me a few things."

"Like what?"

"Like how to not screw around with forms I'm not familiar with," he said, looking at the way her feet were positioned. "Tae kwon do or hapkido?"

"Tae kwon do, with some escrima training included. You?"

"Tae kwon do - though I couldn't stand it. Hate those flying kicks. Then on to kendo, Aikido and 'drunken boxing'. People hate it when I do that."

"Could we go now?" Joel whined, now thoroughly disgusted at being totally ignored.

"Oh, stop whining," the grad student snipped. "You wouldn't have been able to talk to the young lady anyway - after all, she's only seventeen!"

"What?"

"Sixteen," Brittany smiled, and the grad student laughed aloud at the stricken look on Joel's face. "My birthday's next month."

"When it hits, don't celebrate by shooting your boyfriend."

"Won't have to - he acted up a few weeks ago and I did a few moves on him with a friend of mine in the school parking lot," she shrugged. "Now, all I hear is 'Don't hurt - don't hurt!"

"Way to go."

"Oh, yeah - I'm Brittany."

"I'm Gerald. The tall wannabe player's Joel - we call him 'Brother Psycho', and the short one's Rob - 'Brother Bud Bundy'. My frat-rat brothers call me-"

"Hey, come on!" Rob called out, following Joel, who was already in search of better prey. "We're riding in Joel's car - remember?"

"Nice to meet you, Brittany," Gerald W. Wright said, making a motion as though he were tipping an imaginary hat.

"Same to you, Mr. Wright."

"Hey, Grimace! Come on!"

Gerald smiled and received a smile in return. "Like the lady said -'Keep it real."

"You, too."

*****

Jake was sound asleep, laid back on a surprisingly comfortable couch in an office within the Lawndale Police Headquarters, when the door opened to admit Detective Sergeants Melinda Hadley and Denise Riker.

"Look at that, Lindy - your boyfriend's rolling through la-la land," Riker snorted, the annoying sound quite different than the sensual, yet firm, athletic figure that a commitment to bodybuilding since she was seventeen had blessed her with. "Be careful when you wake him up, girl - but then again, maybe you want to wake only a part or two up…"

"Shut up, Denise!"

At five-nine and one hundred and thirty pounds (none of it fat, thank you VERY MUCH!), with butter-blonde hair cut in a short, elegant style that matched the stylish outfit she wore, 'Lindy' Hadley looked far more like a female lawyer or futures trader - or a high-priced call girl, in the right outfit. That was the primary reason she (and Riker, her taller and equally attractive African-American partner) kept getting tapped for vice squad duty - or had, until her promotion to a gold shield ensured that she'd never have to wear garter belts or a bustier again… unless she wanted to put on a naughty little show for the current love of her life.

She also hated being reminded of the soft spot that she had for Morgendorffer, or for anything that looked sad, lost and alone… In a way, it was part of what led her into law enforcement, and she hated having to go hard on some of the individuals her conscience cried out for her to help…

"I'll go get our poor lost lamb a cup of coffee," Denise snickered as she moved so Lindy could pass by. "You tell him that his so-called wife never showed up - not that it matters, with the calls the first floor's got about that Internet broadcast."

Lindy sighed: Officer Sha'Nequa Remy never did have her head on straight, and was too stupid to know who not to mess with if she saw them stepping outside the boundaries… 'Yes, but some people are MORE equal than others…'

"We're going to take a big hit in the press about her pulling her baton on Morgendorffer."

"That's why you said you didn't want to partner with her," Lindy replied. "She likes being 'the Man' too much."

"Her problem's that she didn't get to be a man," Denise concluded. "Don't get lip gloss all over him, all right?"

Lindy ignored her partner, turning back to watch as Jake was lying on the couch, beginning to find his way back to the land of the real. He's such a gentle, sweet man, and he's got the soul of a child… I wish that I could find a man like you for my own. There's got to be at least one other sweet, sensitive man who isn't pretending and isn't married… I'm just so tired of just being alone.

"Hmn… oh, hello, Lindy," Jake mumbled, lifting his head and smiling as he saw the officer. "Didn't get to see you or Denise last night."

"Yo, Iron Chef 'Tex-Mex' - I'm right here!"

"I'm sorry, Denise - I didn't see you there," Jake smiled, looking directly at the beautiful Black officer. "I looked up to see this luscious, angelic Nubian queen of love and war standing over me, and it never occurred to connect that image with you - after all, you're just a beat cop."

"For some reason, I keep penciling in 'kick Jake's ass' on my things to do list," Denise spoke, rewarding him with a smile that would have made most of her fellow officers pass out in shock - they thought her scowl was the only facial expression she owned. "Now I know why. Don't use him up too badly, Lindy - he still has to get my little boy that audition for the amusement park ad."

"See you later," he smiled back as Denise left, and looked back at Lindy. "What happened last night? You won one of the taster spots off 'Z-93' and I was surprised to see you blow it off!"

"Couldn't be helped, - we worked a bad one out at the quarry last night," she said, leaning against the door. "Three guys got jammed by someone who knew what 'kicking someone's ass' is supposed to mean. It wasn't pretty; whoever did it took pride in their work."

"That bad?"

"The worst one's not coming out of the hospital for at least a month - and he's got a lot of rehab work in his future. Oh, we've seen him before - likes to beat on women and anything smaller than him. I guess he ran up on something bigger." Lindy smiled grimly as she spoke, remembering the image of the man as he lay quivering in a hospital bed, a body-cast swathed lump of bandages, tubes, blood spots and pain…

"Lindy, you're getting that look again…" Jake had taken to warning the blonde officer when she was moving towards what he called her 'TV-cop face'; she only tolerated it because she knew that he was right, and because he was concerned about her. "And has my wife come in yet?"

"Haven't seen her - and it's been six hours."

"She was supposed to drop off some work and then come in here at ten!" Jake complained. "She probably got caught up in something…"

*****

"So, Hadley's still got it bad for Morgendorffer, hmn?"

"Not hearing you," Denise yawned, turning her back to Lieutenant Ed Mintner as she sipped her coffee. "Does your mommy know that you're cutting class again?"

"I outrank you, Riker -"

"That's why we always stand downwind. Let me enjoy my coffee in peace before I tell someone why your office door's always locked while you're inside."

Ed wanted to make a sharp reply but bit it off. As the youngest squad commander in the Lawndale Police Department (and a former star of the Internal Affairs Division who transferred to the Violent Crimes Division to make his way up to commissioner's stars), he knew that he still hadn't completely earned the trust and respect of his underlings even after seven months in charge of the squad. Better to simply do the job, and let the comments slide. For now.

"Drink it on the way to the Landon's place."

"Who?"

"The kid from Lawndale High who OD'd on something and went psycho on one of her classmates, remember? Ross and Wildman had it, but I pulled them off for another job. That means I need you and Juliet there to go talk to the family and check the kid's stuff. The doctor over at Cedars of Lawndale thinks that someone slipped it to her, but toss her room anyway."

"But we're off duty now!"

"Then be polite when you toss the room. I want a report by ten a.m. tomorrow morning. The Mayor and the school superintendent are both anxious about this, and they want something to release to the press for the noon news."

"Don't take it too seriously, Riker," a voice from behind spoke up, and Denise smiled as she turned to see a man in the uniform of the Lawndale County Sheriff's Department, stirring HIGHLY-oversugared coffee and skim milk in a large bowl as he broke up a trio of honey buns in the mixture. "His shorts always rode up a bit too high, and he wants to move up the ladder. Just get a few big cases cracked for him and they'll promote the weasel out of your hair."

"And what do I need to do to get you out of my hair, Perez?"

"Stay over on your side of the bed."

Deputy Manuel Perez waggled his eyebrows at Denise. "Oh, yeah - that was in my dream. When are you going to let me feed you and buy you things like a normal woman?"

A sound like a deep, low rumble came from the floor just behind Manuel, and Denise looked down to see a pair of long, furry legs that could be mistaken for weathered logs just as a pair of yellow-flecked brown eyes looked up at her. "As soon as you send HER on a nice long vacation. Hello, Judgement."

The desk-sized, black-on-black German Shepard known as Judgement rose up from where she rested, and gently nosed at the bowl Manuel stirred in. "Just a moment, girl, they're not soft enough yet. Denise, you know that she likes you too - why don't you give her a chance?"

"The dog's the size of a Yugo, Manuel. I like smaller animals - animals that can be stopped without the help of the National Guard."

"You're going to hurt her feelings," the Latino deputy said, sliding the bowl to his 'K-9' partner. "Here you go, girl. Slowly, now - don't scare the people."

Denise watched, amazed, as the police dog sniffed the bowl's contents, and then began to slowly lap the concoction up. "You're going to ruin that dog's nose by giving her stuff like that. Then you won't be able to use her for drug work and you'll have to send her back where she belongs - over to Fort Hood, where all of the other Army tanks live."

"They'll have to get in line if they want to get their hands on Judgement. Everyone with a badge keeps trying to peel my girl off, but we're a team - end of story. She finds it - drugs, people, the best Mexican food on this side of the border - and I do the rest."

"Perez, take your mount outside with the rest of the horses," Mintner said, passing by with an armful of folders. "Try to get a date with Riker later - she has work to do."

"He was an abused child," Manuel said, and smiled at the attractive Lawndale cop. "When you finally come around, give me a call."

*****

"Great," Lindy said, looking out the window at the exchange. "Manuel and his doughnut-scarfing war elephant are out there hitting on Denise - again - and I wonder what scut job the Lieutenant wants us to pull now…"

She glanced back at Jake. "So, are you all rested and happy?"

"I'm okay," he allowed. "Why'd you let me sleep this long?"

"Because you definitely needed it, knowing you - and you probably haven't eaten anything today waiting on Helen all this time, so lunch is on me!" she said, waving Jake off the couch. "After we collect my partner, we'll go on over to the Settlement and grab something, and you can tell us about last night - yours had to be better than ours."

"Aren't you still on duty? The Settlement's halfway across town, and -"

"We both just came off double shifts when the quarry call came in," Lindy told him. "I've got the next three days off. After we eat, I'm going home, pour myself into a tub for about an hour, and then I'm going to sleep for the next twenty-four hours."

"In that case - let me treat the two of you to a really nice meal. I happen to know people at Chez Pierre, and I also happen to know that, for some reason, my money just isn't any good there - no matter what the order is."

"It's a shame you're married, Jake," Lindy said, watching as he slid his suit jacket on. Especially since you've already got someone in the waiting room if and when you remove that bitch from your life - wish I could grow my hair out like Lauriel does… "A dodge like that would be the thing for a man who's dating."

"You'd think that Helen would let me take her out for dinner or even a fancy lunch,"

Jake chimed along, "but it's always 'I've got work to do!" or 'Eric and the partners wouldn't look kindly on an associate who just wastes her time and the firm's acting like a character in a soap opera - just sitting around in the so-called 'lap of luxury', sipping drinks and acting like they're the only important thing in the world!"

Lindy laughed out loud at Jake's dead-on impersonation of Helen, complete with hand waving and Helen's haughty, wealth-cultivated accent. "You had better not ever let her catch you doing that!"

"Well, it's not as if she goes out of her way to have few laughs…"

*****

"You have got to be kidding - an hour and ten minutes?"

"I met Jake just before he turned eighteen, Bronwyn. That's the thing - if you want them to be good at it, you've got to get them when they're young!" Helen laughed, taking another deep drink of the tangy wine in her glass. "That way, you train 'em up right the first time, teaching them to do what makes you feel good instead of having to break them of the bullshit that they see James Bond and Hugh Hefner pushing. Men don't understand that it's about US - making sure that we get what we came for. After all - if they want us to come back over for dinner again, then they need to serve up a full-course meal right the first time!"

"I know that's the truth," the redhead laughed, her face slightly flushed with the color that comes only from intoxication. "I met Charles when he was twenty-two, and you wouldn't believe the work I had to put into putting him on the leash! I love my Charles, yes I do, but Ruttheimers are sometimes the worst! It's like they're born already aroused and thinking that the opposite sexes were put here just to scratch that itch!"

Bronwyn leaned forward and speared another thin slice of rare roast beef off her plate, swirling it around before eagerly devouring it. "I thought that a good lunch would be appropriate for talking over business," she continued, "but I didn't realize that we were so much alike!"

Helen looked around the colossal area and spectacular surroundings that made up the Ruttheimer Gazebo, and turned back to her hostess. "We're not that much alike…"

"Helen, please! The only differences between us would be hairstyle & color, area of expertise, the number of children we have and the fact that you don't let your dorsal fin ride as high in the water as I do!" Bronwyn laughed, and washed down the beef with another drink of the fruity Italian wine. "Oh, come on! You think I haven't picked up on that from 'the Street'? You're just biding your time at that law firm until you make partner - and then, you're going to carry out a pogrom there that'll make Stalin weep! I have done it before, you know…"

The shorter woman nodded; she had heard about Bronwyn's lightning-swift and vicious decapitation of a Japanese firm that had tried to come in on a hostile takeover of RADIAL - and of several members of RADIAL's own Board of Directors, when she found out about the complicity within. People in the financial community, and others closely associated with them, still whispered in board rooms and limousines about the ruthless, gangland-style tactics Bronwyn mercilessly employed on the 'Day of Rutting' - not to mention the SEC investigations she had initiated that fully vaporized everyone on the wrong side of Bronwyn's holy, cleansing flames…

"I'll bet you spent the '60's' in handmade clothing and sandals, protesting the war and the draft, too! What did they call you?"

"They hung 'Lavender' on me," Helen admitted. "You?"

"Oh, I was 'Bronwyn' all the way through. I dressed every day the way any good little Irish Catholic girl out of Boston should, and made my people angrier than hell when I kept getting busted. I still remember how the people I hung with tried to nickname me 'Big Red,' but I was like, 'If I'm going to be free, I'm going to be free my way as myself - not the fashionable way that everyone's doing by getting a nickname and hiding who I am. Now shut up, gimme another toke, then get over here and do me."

"I'll just bet that you were a real fireball."

"I think of it in a reasonable way," Bronwyn said. "Unless one of my kids comes home holding hands with 'E.T.', I really don't have room to talk about who they find out there or how they do it. Even then, all I ask is that it's someone who's not going to hurt my babies and make them feel bad about themselves. That's all I ask."

"Were you really THAT wild?" Helen usually didn't pry into other's business, but Bronwyn was a fascinating person with a background much like hers - and several bottles of wine did loosen the screws on her curiosity.

"Helen, I probably did everything but the 'Ed Sullivan' show," she remarked casually. "I was a little tramp. And where did you sow your wild oats?"

"Europe," she admitted, inwardly wondering why she was telling a secret that had never seen daylight before. "Paris, Milan, Corsica, and Barcelona… with a weekend side trip to Amsterdam. My mother gave me a four-week trip for my Christmas present during my first year in law school - I think she thought I'd find someone over there and get rid of Jake."

"I see that you didn't find someone else."

"That doesn't mean that I didn't look around… a lot," Helen giggled, amazed that she was capable of the sound. "You know, every woman should have a 'Paolo' in her life, even if it's for just one night."

"That's because you're a WASP, Helen. If you're an Irish Catholic girl, then it's got to be an 'Ian', with a strong, muscled back, long hair with a touch of curl, a twinkle in his eye, and a book of sonnets or poetry. You don't know what making love is, Helen, until an 'Ian's' made love to you under a Irish sky, with the smell of all nature about you."

"Oh, yes, I do. You should try a 'Paolo', in a rose-petal strewn bed in the center of a bedroom that looks like the foyer of a church, with candles and silk all over, with open windows so the cool night air can gently blow through, and the scent of the sea just barely comes through," Helen continued. "Being young only comes once. I'm glad I didn't waste it all."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes…"

"Did you help anybody get out from under the bullshit?"

"I think so."

"Was the sex great?"

"It wasn't bad."

"And we had penicillin, Pink Floyd and the joy of seeing 'Tricky Dick' get the axe, so we didn't waste anything," Bronwyn told her. "You know - I've wanted to talk to you for a while, and when Little Charles told me about what that horrid policewoman did last night, I felt that I needed to make the time to come and meet you. I've been meaning for some time to inquire about retaining your services as my personal attorney -"

Helen barely kept from choking on her green vegetables and goat-cheese medley at that; such a move by her would increase the incoming cash flow to the firm by at least an order of five - and could mean her partnership by the end of the week.

"- But I didn't realize that I'd find such a good friend as well."

Bronwyn nodded at the sudden look of surprise on Helen's face; for her part, Helen felt the need to glance at her watch - and realized that it was almost four P.M.! We've been out here talking and drinking since at least ten-thirty, and I haven't spent that much time just wasting time since… since…

"I haven't had a friend that I could do things like this with," Helen admitted ruefully. "They all think I'm a bitch."

"True," Bronwyn said. "Just so long as they understand that you're the Queen Bitch, so everybody knows what's coming if they step out of line. If they show proper respect, you and I may choose not to notice when they slip up here and there."

"You don't care if they think of you that way?"

"There are the people I care about, the ones I can use - and everyone else had best stay out of my way," Bronwyn stated flatly. "I care about my babies, my man and most of the people who work for Charles and me."

She lifted her glass. "I also care about my friends."

"Friends," Helen said, trying out the word as if it were a newly forged sword, feeling the heft and balance. "A friend."

She also lifted her glass in salute. "It's nice to have friends."

Bronwyn nodded, and looked over as she saw Michelle and Danielle Ruttheimer, her oldest daughters, as they ran into the gazebo and over to their mother. "Mom, Danny broke the car again!" Michelle complained. "I needed it to go over to Oakwood tonight, and -"

"Follow that God-awful so-called band to listen to them kill cats with their music!" the other auburn-haired twin snapped back. "Micky acts like that scarecrow fronting Mystik Spiral's 'so special and so cute' - somebody needs to feed him a sandwich and throw him into a music book! That's as close as he'll EVER get to real music! Come on - 'Ow, my nose? Ow, my face?' If you played their tape in a pet shop, you'd get busted for animal cruelty!"

"Girls, go inside. I'll take care of everything later-" Bronwyn began.

"You get a few music reviews published, and NOW you're Miss Rolling Stone! You don't know music, and you're still pissed off because the guy in the leather didn't give you any play when you came on to him -"

"Danny, Micky, I have a guest…" Bronwyn interrupted again, but the twins weren't paying any attention to their mother.

"I'm not the one who said he dressed like he's in the gay version of 'Gladiator' - but since we look alike, it got back to him that it was me, you big-mouthed tramp!

"Big-mouthed tramp? The only reason your mouth's so small is because you don't need to open up that wide for a -"

"That's it!" Bronwyn snapped, rising up and towering a good foot over her twins. "Both of you, be quiet and get up to your rooms right now! No television, no phones, no electronics of any kind until I come up and deal with the both of you!"

The attractive twins looked at each other in a confused manner, and one of them spoke. "Mom, you can't ground us. We're twenty-one."

"Besides, Mom," the other parroted, "we don't even live here any more, and -"

A very large chunk of roast beef barely missed the head of a twin! "And what is it about the words that are coming out of my mouth that you two wee beasts don't understand?" Bronwyn shouted, her deep, throaty Irish accent coming to the fore. "I said get up to your rooms before I burn your overly rounded little backsides off right here and now - and don't think that Helen here hasn't seen someone take a belt to their child before!"

"Mom, you can't use a belt on a kid - that's child abuse-"

A solid lump of meat, fully six pounds in weight, flew through the air and actually grazed the back of the other twin's head!

"That's one blast furnace of a temper you've got," Helen commented, watching the twins sprint towards the main house. "I can't wait until I get to see it in action on someone you don't like."

"Part of your new job'll be to keep me from doing that to the ones I don't like. I won't be able to get back into their good graces with an honest hug, money and new 'Playstation 2' games," Bronwyn said, her anger bleeding off as she looked at the lumps of meat on the floor. "Damn. That's why I usually keep grapefruits out on the table."

"I understand. I have daughters, too."

"No sons?"

"I wasn't that lucky."

"Not exactly luck. You don't have to worry about your baby boy running into some bimbo who'll try her best to siphon his trust fund out from beneath him - or worse, playing 'wounded dove' to get his sympathy and have him doing all sorts of fool things for her."

"My concern's that I'll be a grandmother before my daughter graduates."

"You said 'daughter'. Only one's a problem?"

"I'm not worried about Daria - but Quinn; I just pray that she can make it through the next year without getting pregnant."

"My oldest son graduates next year."

"So does my older daughter - the younger graduates the year after."

There was a moment of silence, and a look of purpose went across the table between the two friends…

"This is a picture of Daria, and a shot of Quinn," Helen said, fishing out a pair of photos. "She's almost seventeen."

"They're both attractive… and Quinn - oh, she's adorable - and I just love her hair," Bronwyn cooed, bringing out a shot of Upchuck for view. "This is my Little Charles…"

"The boy who helped me out last night," Helen said. "He's a wonderful young man."

"He'll be in a fight for valedictorian next year."

"I know - against my oldest daughter."

"Let's talk about Quinn."

"What would you like to know?"

"What kind of person is she?"

"She's a touch flighty," Helen admitted, "but that's because she's caught up in this little club. We got her a tutor over the Christmas break and that's really helped her; she's buckled down and started living up to her potential. I understand from her teachers that she's started to really do well in math and history - and they're REALLY excited about her math potentials."

"Little Charles has always done well in school - even so, he really doesn't need to consider a career based on how much money he can earn. Because of that, I've been trying to have him become more involved in the arts - he possibly could become a true name in the art world, if he'd only put his soul into it. I'll show you some of the pieces he's painted; he's done some truly inspired work."

"I think that Quinn would be flattered and overwhelmed if a gracious and extraordinarily talented young man were to offer to paint a portrait of her," Helen continued, a light coming on in her eyes. "It would be a wonderful gesture, one I can't see her turning away."

"Nor my Little Charles," Bronwyn finished, the same light glowing in her eyes. "I believe that he would consider the chance to have such a beautiful young woman model for him an opportunity not to be missed - and the time they spend together as he paints will give them a chance to get to know one another…"

There was another slight moment of silence.

"You know - when Quinn graduates and takes the summer to prepare for school, Little Charles might possibly be able to help her out a bit. After all, he won't be just another boy from high school - he'll be a college man."

"This is true," Helen spoke. "You know - when Quinn leaves for college two years from now, she'll be leaving not as a child, but as a woman. She'll have reached… the age of consent."

"This, then, is also true," Bronwyn replied. "You know - the University of Texas at Lawndale has a very active Greek system, and the most incredible academic programs..."

"Academic programs? Which ones would the children be interested in?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," the Olympian redhead said, raising her wineglass. "We have more than a year and a half to make those decisions for them."

"The University of Texas at Lawndale," the lawyer replied, her glass raised in return. "I find it just remarkable that both your son and my daughter are thinking about attending school there."

"Isn't that an interesting coincidence," Bronwyn Ruttheimer remarked.

"Yes, isn't it just," Helen Morgendorffer concurred.

The two women of substance drank their toast - and the wheels began to turn…

*****

Daria sat alone in the bleachers, looking down at the football field and the school grounds, now nearly deserted, with a benign look on her face and some serious soul-searching going on in her mind. She had an interesting, if somewhat short discussion with Andrea, who wanted to know about how she and Trent were doing…

The look on Daria's face spoke volumes, and the next five minutes saw her reconstructing events of the last day or so… and feeling waves of absolute shame, regret and anger at herself wash her masks of cynicism and self-righteousness away without struggle. I knew that things were… a little different lately between Trent and me: some of the looks, and the way he's been doing things…He wanted for there to be an 'us'.

A familiar engine noise in the distance caught Daria's attention, and she saw Trent's car pull into the LHS parking lot. Well, there's no time like the present. I'll talk to Trent, and then I'll go over to their house and wait for Jane. Pizza King's stock is going up tonight, because I'm buying enough pizza for Jane to qualify her for Italian citizenship… and as for Trent… A wan, knowing smile went across Daria's face.

I think that I can figure out a way to apologize properly to him…

*****

Trent sat in the driver's seat of his car for a good ten minutes, going over the things in his head that he wanted to say to the Doctor and the things he wanted to tell him.

Doc Kyle, I know that you're probably pissed off at me because I didn't come in on your gig, but it wasn't my thing - the money didn't have anything to do with it, and yeah, I could have made things a lot better for Janey and me with it. I could have done a lot for Janey with that kind of cash - but it's more important that I was around for her, not hopping around the world with a baby supercomputer on my back while tossing cash back towards her - that's what the P's do to her now. I always wondered if I had made the right decision, and then one day, a person came along on the way to Alternapaloosa and told me that I needed to at least try for my own dreams. Even if I fail, I still have the knowledge of knowing that I tried… and that's something I wouldn't have had if I had gone off with your people. I learned a lot in your seminar, and the summer that I spent at Grove Hills, but you've got to let that go. I even kept the gizmo your buddy Davers sent me on my seventeenth birthday, even though I keep it in the back of the closet in the wall…

"Trent."

Flowing from reverie to reality, Trent's eyes flicked over onto Daria.

"Trent - can we talk?"

Wordlessly, Trent extracted himself from his car and focused himself on the slender beauty before him. A day earlier, and this moment would have been heavy with promise, with the simmering chemistry between them all but about to churn over and breach the surface of her stoic nature and his reticence… but now, his emotional landscape was unnaturally quiescent, divorced from sensation, or reaction, or the input of his own feelings. He had taken time to touch his inner self - and in reaching a state of transcendence, had come to several conclusions…

"Trent, I've got a lot of stuff I have to say - no, I don't. I only have a couple of things to say."

Daria didn't notice how Trent's expression didn't change.

"Last night, you tried to be there for me, and I returned the favor by saying the most horrible things imaginable to you. It didn't matter what I was going through, or how I felt, I had no right to attack you the way I did. I had no right to denigrate you, your family, your dreams and goals, and I don't have any excuse for what I did. All I can say is that I was hurting, and when I saw the concern you had in your eyes for me and you didn't expect anything in return, it was as if the universe was Lucy from 'Peanuts', holding you out like the football and daring me to kick it so it could pull it away and see me lying out while you went off with Monique, or my cousin, or someone else -'

Trent had never seen Daria go off-course in a conversation. "What I did to you last night was wrong. I know that it was wrong. It was wrong, and even worse when I actually take the time to step back from myself and realize how much that I -"

Her voice caught, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact with Trent. "I'm sorry, Trent. I don't know how long or what it'll take to convince you of that, but I am sorry for what I said to you. I know you're probably really angry at me, but when you feel that you're ready - I hope that we can still be friends."

Daria took a deep breath, and took the biggest gamble of her young life; she reached out and took his hands in her own, then looked up, her eyes full of hope and promise. "Maybe… we can someday be more than friends."

Trent looked down at her hands, and as gently as he could, disengaged his hands from hers while letting the look of shock and horror wash past him.

"I'm sorry, Daria. I'm not sure if that's something that we can even look to. Not in the near future, and not anytime soon. Not more than friends… not even friends."

Daria's expression went blank.

"I understand that you've been hurt, Daria," he said, and she heard him; absorbing what he said while trying her best not to crumble in front of the man she loved. "I understand that someone really must have caused a lot of pain for you, and yesterday, it must have been more than you could bear. I can tell that you're angry at whomever it is that caused you pain - but angry and hurt doesn't explain everything."

He took a slight step away from Daria. "One of the things that makes you special is that you say what you know is true. You don't sugarcoat things; you want to face the truth. That's why I have to believe you're sorry for the effect that saying those things would have on me - but not for saying them. How could you be? On some level, you must believe that there's truth to what you said. You have to believe that, otherwise, it wouldn't have been there for you to use. Somewhere deep inside yourself, you know that I'm right - and in that same place, you know that there's never going to be an 'us'." Trent swallowed. "I may want to be there for you, and you may want me there - but you don't respect me, and you certainly don't need me. You don't need me in your life… you don't need me for anything."

"Trent, I need -"

"What you need… is something more than I can give you, or be for you, Daria," he interrupted. "If there was something, anything that I could do or become that I truly thought would help - you wouldn't have to ask. My forgiveness? You have it. My friendship? When you truly want it - when it would really be worthwhile - it'll be there, and you won't have to wonder about it. My love?"

Trent looked away from her. "It wouldn't be enough. You need more than my love - and I can't love someone who doesn't respect me, too. You need help - and you need to admit to someone that you need it, too. The problem is that you won't. You're never going to let anyone in to help you, Daria. You won't ever let me in, because I'm not good enough for you. In your eyes, no one will ever be good enough - and the sad thing is that not even you know why."

He started away. "Find something or someone who can guide you to the help you need, Daria. Let someone help you find yourself. Let them show you that whatever is wrong doesn't need to stay that way - and that simply needing or even asking for help isn't a bad thing, either."

Trent began moving towards the building, and Daria followed him with her gaze.

"Trent. I'm sorry."

He slowed a beat, knowing what it must have cost the woman behind him in pride and dignity to make the gesture of saying those three words, a gesture that - for any other female, would have been expressed in a shower of desperate tears and promises of change and eternal devotion - but kept moving, not even turning back to face her.

"I know you mean it when you say you're sorry, Daria - but it's done."

*****

"Did you see the look on the Swede's face when she came out of Landon's room? Man, whatever drug that kid took really ruined her world!"

"From what I heard, someone slipped it to her - she's supposed to be the smartest kid over there at Lawndale High!"

"And nobody ever expects the smart, perfect ones to act like little freaks when no one else is around, either!" the first voice shot back. "She's probably selling the stuff, and acting like an angelic little virgin when we all know it's going to come out that she's the biggest little WHORE in that entire school -!"

The trio of nurses on duty in the C/ICU observation station instantly snapped their mouths shut as Sandi stepped around the desk and stood before them. "Can I help you, little girl?"

"I want to know how Jodie Landon is doing."

Perhaps it was the precise, inflection-free manner that she spoke in that frightened the three nurses, each one at least ten years older than Sandi. Perhaps it was the bare, pale complexion she sported, without a touch of makeup, along with the uber-tight 'Captain Janeway power-bun' her hair was in, reminiscent of the hairstyle Kate Mulgrew wore her hair during the first season of 'Star Trek: Voyager'.

Perhaps it was the uniform, complete with decorations and skill-tabs. She wore the garb of a 1^st Lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force Commandos, complete with beret and unit flashes - and no suggestion of a smile. She, Ted, Jane, Brittany and Mack (who had also been recruited in haste) had received the things they would need for their parts in Upchuck's plan. In Sandi's case (she was now one of the team leaders - Upchuck was one fast talker and worked even faster), that meant an Air Force uniform, ID cards and a BIG folder of information. The entire group of students were to meet at the school tonight for a 'test run' - and Sandi was REALLY stunned to find out what that really meant - so she suited up before she came to the hospital.

Perhaps it was the nonreflective, unblinking stare that Sandi fastened upon the nurses.

She wasn't even sure why she came. It was common knowledge that she and Jodie were nowhere near friendly to one another - and the truth was that she, Sandi, was mainly responsible for that. The events were too many to list - and she really didn't want to.

So why was she here? Certainly not to listen to these bitches run Jodie down. They didn't know her well enough for that.

One of the nurses tried to summon up a touch of attitude - the one who was running Jodie down. "Who are you?"

"Wanda - shut up."

The three nurses went silent as Sarah the Swede walked up to the desk. She looked Sandi over for a long time, then waved her towards a room. "This way, Lieutenant… Griffin," she said blandly, looking at her nametag.

Sandi followed quietly, walking behind the towering nurse and past the hospital security guard into the ICU unit where Jodie was still wired up and on a respirator. "I figured they'd send someone to look in on the girl - I didn't think anyone would be so blatant to come in uniform," the Swede sighed. "You DELPHI goons are far, far too arrogant for your own good - and one day, it's going to bite you right in the ass. They didn't even have the decency to send someone with some rank, either - just some wet-behind-the-ears little wench who's probably just fresh out of training down in Georgia."

The Swede looked over the various devices surrounding the bed, then turned back to Sandi - but the young woman could see a touch of fear behind the attitude. "So, what are you - somebody sent just to put the fear of God into everybody here?"

In her seventeen years, one lesson Sandi had seared into her soul was 'When you want to know something, just be quiet and let them tell you everything.' She set her jaw, looked the woman in the eye, and stayed silent…

The fear in the woman's eyes blossomed to a level Sandi had never seen, even in Stacy Rowe's eyes. "Here are her charts - if you need anything else, you have to talk to Dr. Phillips."

The woman all but ran out of the room.

Sandi watched her go, then turned her eyes toward the guard.

"I'm not supposed to leave the patient alone."

Sandi stopped and looked at the guard.

After the guard mumbled something about 'waiting outside' and darting off, Sandi went over to the bed where Jodie lay. She looked at the way she was bandaged - it looked like she was in a major accident, complete with respirator, neck brace, restraints - and sympathy mixed with shame.

"Hey, Landon - I mean, hello, Jodie. Everyone's talking about you back at school," she said, sitting down on a stool next to the bed. "They all know that somebody slipped you some drugs, but they don't know who. Don't worry, though - Colonel Klink-of-the Shot-Glass'll run down whoever did this to you-"

Her voice caught for a second, and her hand unconsciously went to her neck, where the bruises of the past day's events were hidden by the ascot she wore. "First, I don't blame you for this. You weren't yourself, and everybody knows it. I blame whoever gave you the drugs - and I almost feel sorry for them if Ms. Li gets to them before the police do. Even my mother's shut up - after seeing what you went through yesterday, she knows that something was wrong and you weren't responsible."

She brushed a wayward hair off the front of her uniform. "Hey, what do you think? Upchuck had… HAS one for you, too. He wanted all of us to be in on his crazy idea to ace the Doctor's class, and you should see the machine he had built! He wanted you to be - he wanted you in for the spot that I'm in now… yeah, uniform and everything! He said that he always saw you as a Navy officer - a real 'Captain America', doing whatever the country needed, like you are at school. I thought he only saw you as another girl to try and score on. I guess he was more right about you than I was. I thought that I could do anything that you could. Truth is, you're the one who always deserved to be in the front, and me - I always ended up stealing your place in the spotlight, and 'stealing' is the right word. Look at this - even now, I've got the space that should have been yours. No wonder something deep in you wanted to flatten me out."

Sandi leaned forward. "Last night, I looked in my mirror, and I wondered what it would be like if I wasn't in the world. I realized a lot of things about myself - and about people like you. People like you - you make a difference in the world. You make things better - and people like me…" She stopped. "I won't say that I wish I could trade places with you. I don't - and I don't want to know what you're going through. I don't even want to imagine it."

The dark-haired young woman stood up. "I don't know what to think, Jodie. I know that people wouldn't care as much if it were me up here - and I know that they shouldn't, either. You're more impor- well, those women shouldn't have been saying those things about you. That's what people would have been saying about me… if they had even bothered to notice at all. Get well soon, Jodie. Everybody needs you back."

The chart under her arm, Sandi walked out of the room and past the nurses' station, where the nurse named Wanda turned and stood up. "Excuse me, 'G.I. Jane' - but you can't take that with you."

Something snapped inside Sandi, and Wanda wilted visibly as she turned and gave her a look that - in a movie - would have turned her into wisps of smoke and free-floating atoms. "Uh, I meant that, well, it's hospital policy -"

Sandi carefully placed the medical chart on the counter, and looked at the now-trembling nurse's nametag for what seemed to be a long, long time.

"Wanda Nelson."

The nurse went white as Sandi's eyes moved from the nametag to her eyes, now quivering and blinking in fear.

"I know you now."

She turned and walked away, ignoring the strong, sudden scent of ammonia and the rapidly growing spot of liquid darkness that grew outwards from where Wanda stood, rooted and unable to move.

*****

"You're not gonna find any contraband in there," Rachel Landon said, adjusting her lavender-colored 'smiley' T-shirt as she stood in the doorway of her sister's room and watched Lindy and Denise go through Jodie's belongings. "They're trying to say Jodie was high or something - the only thing she's that crazy about are those funky potato chips…"

"You don't think your sister was into the drug crap."

"She wouldn't have the time, the way everybody always expects her to do things for them and still be 'big student on campus', the girl said to Denise, rubbing her neck. "Everything Jodie does is on a schedule - she probably only talks to her boyfriend when he's on the schedule."

"Rachel, go in your room and do your homework," Michelle said, walking into view. "Officers, if you need to ask questions about Jodie, I don't care for you going to my other daughter."

"Fair enough," Lindy said, slightly uneasy about the meticulously clean and arranged air of Jodie's room - from her psych training, she recalled that persons with mental, well, irregularities, she preferred to say, had an obsession with neatness and order in their lives. Jodie's room, she felt, all but screamed 'Sooner or later, everybody - it's all just a matter of time… "Mrs. Landon, do you believe that Jodie was taking any form of drugs?"

"No," she answered bluntly. "Jodie kept herself on a schedule that simply ensured that she wouldn't have time for any of that escapist nonsense - she's understood ever since she was a little girl that drugs have no place in the life of any Black person who wants to be a winner!"

In response to the uncomfortable looks of the two officers, Michelle plunged on. "You know I'm right - every time something goes wrong with any Black child, the first question everybody wants to know is 'Was she high? Was she doing drugs?' It's not like something else could have happened - oh, no, they're 'Black folks', so they had to be into drugs! My baby's so afraid that someone'll say that about her that she doesn't even take aspirin for headaches!"

"I couldn't find anything," Denise said, more than a note of apology in her tones as she went up to Michelle. "Mrs. Landon - I really don't think that Jodie was into the drug scene. The question is, then, who would slip your daughter a drug, and why?"

"The 'why' is easy," Michelle said. "My baby's the best that ever came out of that school. Someone wants her to lose any chance she's got for a good life just as she's about to have all of the recruiters from the REAL colleges come sniffing around her - you know no decent school's going to take any student with a history of drugs. Someone wants to drag my baby down because they're jealous, or because they can't do what she can, or just because they're petty little bitches who want to hurt her because they can!"

"Why do you think girls are behind this?"

"If it was a guy, he'd have set it up to screw her," Denise told her partner. "GHB and all the date-rape drugs are the thing now. This was done to make Jodie Landon look bad."

"She's got a lot of potato chips," Lindy commented, looking at the bags of chips in a box next to Jodie's desk. "Bayou Boiler Chips… 'HELL-flavored?' Man, that kid must really like the hot stuff!"

"She got those from a friend at school," Michelle told them. "No one else can eat them like that - she's the only one with a taste for fire. Please - take one, if you think it's important."

"Thank you, ma'am," Lindy said, scooping one up. "Is there anything else that you can think of that might help us?"

"What about her computer?" Denise asked. "Is there anything that you know about on the computer that may help us?"

"Yes," she told them, her voice suddenly flat as she turned and walked out of the room.

The two detectives shared a shrug, then followed Michelle to the living room and to a small table, upon which sat a large collection of printed pages. "This is her diary - she kept it all on computer," Michelle said woodenly. "I called a friend from my old job to come over, open up the files and print them out so I could read them… I thought I'd find out something to help. Take them…"

The detectives glanced at one another, and Denise scooped the pages up. "If there's anything else you want to talk to us about -"

"Just - just take those papers, and get out."

*****

Trent Lane, unlike most people, had no problems when it came to returning to Lawndale High School. Most high school graduates either detest even the slightest mention of their high school years and fear returning to their old stomping grounds the way a vampire fears hallowed ground, or relish their return the way a Macarthur or a victorious Caesar relishes his return. The latter act as they do because they reached their peak in high school, enjoying the belief that they will - for a few brief moments - reign again as kings and queens of old did, while the former act as they do because they remember high school as elderly Jews remember the Holocaust. This is why many, even most persons avoid or even refuse to go to their high schools for reunions. To those persons, two simple words ring true: 'Never again.'

That mental baggage was something that Trent had never managed to accumulate. He simply saw those four years as something to get through on his way to 'the Prize'. The teachers, the average Joes, the brains and the burners, the pretty-beyond-perfect cheerleaders and the stylish clique-queens, the strutting jocks and the way-cool mack daddies - they all had their own date with the Inquisitor, that robotic-dude from the 'Red Dwarf' show out of England. They'd have to justify themselves and what they did to themselves and everybody else when they looked in the mirror, and that was cool; they got rewarded or punished on their own - it didn't have anything to do with him or the way he lived his life. You can live your lives how you want, just so you remember that your rights end at my nose - and vice versa. I'm cool with that. I'll just go my way, and do my thing, and I'll try not to get into your face with my own dream trip. That's why I never jammed with other guys at lunch hour in the cafeteria or out in the parking lot: I can see how some people might not be down with my music. That's cool, too, as long as they're decent about it.

During his four years of high school, Trent was the envy of more people than he would ever know… or would have ever believed. Ferris Bueller had absolutely nothing on Trent Lane.

*****

"So, this is what you do when you want to pretend that you're a real person, hmn?"

"Erin, please."

"Kyle…"

Kyle watched as Erin stepped into the room, and he tapped a few keys on the keyboard of the room's computer terminal, where he was working on assignments for his seminar. "No sex now - I'm working."

"No, you're preparing papers for the students," Erin said, sitting down in a student's desk in front of Kyle and displaying a spectacular pair of legs. "You'll get to work when you get home. You have a lot to make up for."

"I have a lot to make up for? I do?"

"Oh, please. Look me directly in the eye and tell me that you didn't stray one single time!"

Kyle sat his pen down and looked Erin directly in the eye. "I definitely had opportunities, Erin. I won't lie about that."

He stood up, and Erin looked at him with remorse as he came around the desk and took her hands in his own. "But I didn't think about straying. I didn't have to. I knew that I had someone at home, who was waiting for me. I wouldn't do that to her."

Neither of them happened to notice Upchuck, who happened to pass by at that moment - and stopped to conduct an intensive sensor sweep of everything going on.

Tears appeared in Erin's eyes. "Bastard. And I still care for you, too."

"Yeah, well, I -" He caught himself as he was about to speak, and Erin stood up.

"You can't even say it," she clucked softly. "I'll be back… I don't want to look like a raccoon here."

"Hey, I like raccoons. They're cute, and they're clever, and they really know how to do a lot with their hands."

"I'll be right back."

Kyle returned to his desk as the door closed, and he had barely placed pen back to paper when he heard it re-open. "Decided to find out if raccoons really do turn me on, hmn?"

"Hey, Doc Kyle - not my business what you like, but animals…"

The pen fell, suddenly forgotten as Kyle's eyes came up slowly. "Trent."

"Been a while, doc."

"Trent." Kyle echoed, not believing his eyes. "You grew up, kid. You could use a meal, though - and a set of free weights. What do you weigh - a buck-fifty, soaking wet?"

"The chicks dig the look," Trent said simply. "No complaints yet."

"Probably because they're too drunk or too high to care," Kyle shot back.

"Been keeping track of me?"

"You wanted free and clear, and I keep my word," was the response, "or did you think I faked surprise when you walked in? I've heard things - but that's it."

"What happened to 'Forewarned is Forearmed?"

"For you - it went out the window the same time you decided that you'd rather piss away your mind and your skills than make something of yourself," Kyle said, the room growing colder as he spoke. "Why are you here, kid?"

"My sister's in your seminar. Don't talk to her about joining up."

"At least you haven't lost your balls. I'm not trying to recruit Jane - she's just an average kid. I understand she's got art skills, and potential as a long-distance runner."

"But you don't want her - especially since you figure that if you do get her, I'll come along to keep an eye on her."

Kyle slammed his fist down on the desk, and Trent's eyebrows raised. "One. I gave you my word. You wanted out - you're all the way out. Don't call me a liar again."

He stood up and marched over to Trent. "Two. I got demoted, sent up for an internal review, lost my slot as a field leader, lost some damned good friends and any chance I had to make General in this lifetime, got stuck for a year in a listening post north of the Arctic Circle where I spent double shifts running audio feeds on seals getting butt-fucked in the dark by polar bears and looking at snow mounds for recreation - not to mention losing a woman I cared about to a himbo with a sloping forehead and a fat wallet while I was gone AND coming THIS CLOSE to being sent up for a general court-martial on charges of barratry, dereliction of duty, failure to follow orders, insubordination and TWO shots of conduct unbecoming - ALL BECAUSE I DIDN'T RECRUIT YOU. "

To his credit, Trent didn't flinch as Kyle projected at him with a voice that made the windows rattle - and then, as he came face-to-face with Trent, dropped his tones to a low, precise series of sound that held the inherent menace of a stiletto blade slipping from a leather sheath.

"If I went through all that and still didn't force you to come aboard, then trying to get you to join up by going through your sister in a class I'm teaching seems kind of weak - don't you think?"

"Kyle, I was halfway to the bathroom when I heard you shouting," Erin said, coming back through the door. "What are - "

She stopped in mid-stride.

"Trent."

Trent turned, the smile on his face not going unnoticed by Kyle. "Hey, Erin."

"What are you doing here, Trent?"

"Stuff with my sister," he said. "I'll tell the band I saw you."

"Tell them I'm behaving myself, but that's all I'll promise for now."

"How's the husband?"

"Gone," she said, and Trent's eyes went up as she batted her eyelashes at him. "Depending on this guy, you might have a shot."

"Erin - like I said before, I like you a lot, and -"

"So - you two know each other…"

By the way both Erin and Trent flinched as nuclear fire boiled in Kyle's eyes, their slight exchange couldn't have been any worse.

"Fascinating."

Trent's eyes widened as he could all but see the emotions - anger, jealousy, and more than a little hurt and disappointment - all but tearing and roiling just behind the fire: He really, actually cares more than a bit about her - and it makes him afraid…

"Doc, wait a sec-"

"Close your eyes, Trent."

Trent did as he was told.

"Kyle, what are you -" Erin began.

WHAM!

"Oh, man…" Trent groaned, bent over in pain from the shot to the stomach as Erin ran over to him. "I expected this years ago…"

Erin eased Trent back into a chair, then whirled around to face Kyle. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Well, damn, Erin - first dumb-ass football players, and now stringy wannabe musicians! Where the hell do you draw the line?"

"At smart-ass Marines who play teacher!" she shot back. "We met a few months back, I had a little infatuation - and NOTHING HAPPENED!"

"So he said no."

The sound of the slap echoed through the room. "Don't bother calling me."

"Couldn't if I wanted to - I left my whistle back at the dog show."

"Hey, you two - don't say things you're going to regret later-" Trent began, gasping out the words.

"SHUT UP!" they barked in unison at him.

"You two really do love one another," Trent said, bringing the shouting to a screaming halt. "So, he's the guy that you're really crazy about. Kind of figured that it wasn't that Brian dude… you never really seemed to connect."

"If you can't do the Deanna Troi routine in uniform, don't you even think about doing it to me now!" Kyle hissed, and swung back around to face Erin. "And as for you -"

"Doctor!" Mr. DeMartino snapped, swinging the door to the classroom open. "Can I have a moment of your time?"

"Yes, sir," Kyle said, tossing his pen onto the desk and not even bothering to look back at Erin or Trent. "I'm finished here."

Erin looked down at Trent as Kyle left. "So - how is the band doing?"

Trent smirked as he sat up. "About the same as when you were around. I see things with your husband didn't go like you thought."

"Oh, about the same as when you were around," she grinned. "So, you know Kyle from here…?"

"Can't talk about that."

"Oh, you were in that 'shadow crap', too? Doesn't Kyle know anybody who, I don't know, fixes air conditioners for a living? Jeez!"

"How did you meet the Doc?"

"Come on," she said, pulling Trent out of his chair. "I'll buy you a can of soda, and tell you my story while you tell me yours."

*****

"Mr. DeMartino -"

"Answer me this question, Doctor - do you WANT to go back to living the life you did when you were younger?"

Kyle blinked hard at the question. "Sir?"

"You forget we studied up on you when you came here," Anthony said. "All you do is work. No one ever sees you out on the town, you never socialize with the other teachers, and you don't eat or even spend time in the Teacher's Lounge. You probably spent all of your time alone when you were in college, and in the Corps, and wherever else you've been!"

"Mr. DeMartino, I think -"

"And that's your problem, kid. That's a pretty girl you've got back there, and you're spending your time working and arguing about stupid stuff instead of taking her off somewhere and just being another guy with a girl on his arm."

"Oh."

"You're telling these kids how to live their lives - especially Daria Morgendorffer - so don't you think that you should start leading by example? The kids like you, but don't you think that they need to see you living an actual life?"

"You've been paying attention to me."

"Even when I can't hear the sound of your voice halfway across the school," he responded. "Go home. Take a long shower, knock back a couple of beers and watch some bad television. Take that little woman you've got there and go walk on the beach with a picnic basket and a sleeping bag. You're starting to stress out a bit, kid. Go home - and I hope you've got the sense to just relax a bit."

"I really don't have a choice, do I?" He remembered that DeMartino was now the Assistant Principal…

"Of course you do. You can go off somewhere and relax, or enjoy it with your friend, or mope about, or work on lesson plans. You just can't come back here tonight."

Anthony put an arm over Kyle's shoulder. "You know, there's a nice little bed & breakfast about thirty miles up the coast - the Peterson Inn. It's a very, very nice and cozy little place. Fireplaces, thick, heavy blankets, the smell of cedar, the whole New England feel to it… It's a place where people go when they want to be alone & don't want to be bothered - if you know what I mean. They also serve an excellent selection of breakfast teas, and the ladies just love them."

Kyle drew back, genuinely surprised. "Excuse me?"

"Kid - between my blood pressure, my heart and the little terrors that litter the halls here every day with their presence, how do you think I relax enough to keep my head from blowing off?" He winked, a real smile spreading across his face. "And that's our little secret…"

"Yes, sir," Kyle said, also smiling. "You know - I'm busy tonight, but I get some nice samples from a couple of microbreweries up in New York State. Maybe one weekend or something, you'd like to come over and try some out."

"We'll do that, kid. Just remember to stop punching out former students."

"I'll apologize to him later."

"Buy him a bar of soap, instead."

Kyle smiled as he left, and Anthony shook his head when a voice made him freeze in his tracks. "And the ladies just love them?"

"Claire!" Anthony said, turning to see the arts teacher as she stood behind him. "Why didn't you say something - we could have invited Kyle and his lady friend over to have dinner with us this weekend?"

"Are you sure that you wouldn't rather take a trip up the coast?"

"What's up the coast?"

"From what you just told Dr. Armalin, a very cozy little place for men to go and watch the submarine races with whatever loose woman they can find. It's a funny thing, Anthony - you never mentioned the Peterson Inn to me…"

"It's not even worth mentioning, Claire. I went up there a couple of times a few years ago - look, the boy's working himself into the ground. I know a little about him, and he's a workaholic. I'm surprised that he's got a woman in his life, and I was telling him to get out of here and go enjoy being alive - hell, he's got to set an example for the kids he teaches, doesn't he?"

"You're sleeping around on me."

"Claire - you make it sound like I'm having an affair."

"You might as well be," she said. "I thought that we were, exclusive, and -"

"No one ever said that, Claire. I enjoy being with you, and the sex is great, but let's be adult about us and not make any more of it than it is."

"You don't consider us a couple?"

"I consider us friends," he said, stroking her cheek, "very special friends who share so much with each other. Let's not ruin that, all right?"

Anthony kissed her, then started to leave. "Why don't you come over later? I've got some of that vegetarian lasagna that you like, and we can share a bottle of the apple wine you brought back from Canada for Christmas…"

"Of course, Anthony," Claire said, and she smiled at Anthony. "Six-thirty sharp - and I'll bring some of those ugly rolls from the bakery."

Anthony walked away, unaware of the conflicting emotions that began to run through Claire's mind…

*****

"I'd just turned nineteen when I met Kyle," Erin said, running her fingers around the top of a can of Sunkist orange soda. "It was early in 1995, and I was going to spend the semester as a White House intern - don't make any jokes."

"They're already old and dusty," Trent promised. "I always wanted to see D.C…"

"Take a bulletproof vest and a guard dog," Erin told him. "Mom and Grandma decided that I needed to have something worthwhile that I could put on a resume -"

"Must be nice," Trent allowed. "Your family's got that kind of pull?"

"Let's just say that my mom knew Clinton way back when and let it go. They got me an apartment in Georgetown, and warned me every day to be careful - they actually called every single night at 10:40, because Grandma said that I didn't need to be out running the streets after eleven anyway. Kyle had the apartment two doors down, and, well, the building superintendent decided that he liked the way I looked. He was really putting the full-court press on me until one day, when Kyle saw him corner me in the doorway and start to grope me… the guy's probably still having a hard time with that arm."

"Hey - gallant knight to the rescue."

"Not hardly - he said I was a stupid little rich girl who should have enough brains to know when to stop something like that before it got out of control. I asked him how I was supposed to do that, and he goes, 'Can you use your eyes? Can you use your hands? Do you have money? Then you should have gone out, bought a gun and shot the bastard when you saw him looking at you - and shoot him in the chest, because then you could claim self-defense!"

"That sounds like the Doc," Trent laughed. "So that's when you started seeing him?"

"No - that's when we started to keep running into each other," she said. "Kyle was spending his time running between the Pentagon, the White House and the Capital Building - when he wasn't just disappearing off the map for a week or so every now and then. I'd seen him in the White House a couple of times with some other military types to brief the President, and, well -"

"Hey, you can say it."

Erin blushed a deep red. "It was kind of embarrassing when the First Lady and her Secret Service detail came across us arguing in the Rose Garden and told us that she tried to keep her dealings with her man from being a public spectacle. Talk about 'famous last words'. Everybody in the place started trying to push us together after that - and the people in our building? They all said that it was obvious that we were interested in each other - and they got tired of the sniping between us - so finally, they held a tenant's meeting, and when we showed up, they locked us up together until we settled everything.

A broad smile, risen from memory, spread across her face. "That was a nice summer, back in that building."

"Cool."

"And things have been off and on ever since. I thought that we really had a chance to make it legal, back in the summer of '96-"

Trent's eyes opened up a touch wider.

"-But something happened and he got sent over to Europe. I waited for him for over a year - he didn't even bother to call - and that's when I met Brian. Kyle finally came back, we argued, I went home to Texas, they both followed me, I kind of chose Kyle, Grandma wasn't happy about that and chased him off, I married Brian - and here we all are."

"Whoa - now that's a soap opera," Trent laughed, and coughed as soda went up his nose! "Thanks," he said, as Erin patted him on the back and then offered him a napkin. "With all of that going on, how do you have time for a job?"

"I work," Erin defended herself. "I write children's books. I do the 'Samantha Explores…' series - that's about a cat who goes off to be an explorer, and learns all about different things, cities, countries and cultures. I won two Peabody Awards, and my agent says that 'Nick Jr.' is interested in making it into a show. I've also did a couple of other books, and I'm working now on a novel - a historical romance about White House pages back during World War II."

"Oh, yeah… 'E.B. Chambers," Trent said lazily, dragging a memory out of storage. "Samantha Explores The Capital'. My niece and nephew read your books all the time… what's 'E.B.' stand for?"

"Erin Barksdale," she replied. "Grandma always did have pull. After a while, I figured that a pen name wasn't such a bad idea after all, so I kept using it. It also makes Grandma feel special, so I milk her for stuff whenever I need things."

"What do you need?"

"With any other man, I'd swear that was a proposition. About a year ago, I decided that I 'needed' a new BMW. Grandma sprung for it - and pays the bills on the gas card and the insurance."

"Like I said - must be nice. Hey, Doc Kyle," Trent said, looking over Erin's shoulder to see Kyle turn a corner and head for them. "You're not going to hit me again, are you?"

"Trent, I'm sorry -" Kyle began, but Trent cut him off.

"Relax, man. Been there myself."

Kyle turned from the forgiving smile Trent wore to Erin, who wasn't even looking at him. "Erin, I-"

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, snapping at him. "An apology won't cut it this time. I'm getting something more out of this than a few choruses of 'I'm sorry'. I want some trinkets. I want some dinner, I want some flowers, and I want some serious romantic gestures out of you before I forgive you!"

"But, Erin, I am -"

"Didn't you just hear me? Prepare to grovel, Marine!"

"I -"

"Grovel or get cut off," she said simply. "And nights in the desert get really cold this time of the year…"

Kyle turned to Trent. "See what I have to deal with?"

"Comments like that will not help you," Erin said, turning and starting away. "Let's go, Kyle. You have a lot of groveling to do before we hit Chez Pierre…"

"Give me a moment, okay? I need a moment with Trent…"

Erin headed off, and Kyle turned back to Trent. "I mean it when I said that I'm sorry, Trent."

"If I were into that type, I'd be a little hyper myself," Trent allowed. "She's a nice girl, Doc Kyle, once you get past the 'rich kid' attitude, but you've already done that. Just make sure that you let her know you're there for her. She needs to know that somebody is."

"Got it," he replied. "Oh - and one more thing. I meant it when I said that I wasn't here to try and recruit your sister. I was supposed to try for another girl, but I found out some things that made me change my mind - and that won't get me busted down to a buck private when I bring it before the board."

"Cool."

"I need to tell you something else - and that's only because you were in the program for five minutes or so," Kyle continued. "I understand you know the girl I was sent for. She's a little shaken up by the last couple of weeks, because of the seminar, and because of the things in her daily life, so -"

Trent's eyes grew wide. "You were here for Daria? You came for DARIA?"

"Don't get ideas about popping me one, Trent. You were atrocious in self-defense," Kyle cautioned. "I said, 'was'. She doesn't have any idea about the program - we didn't get that far."

"But you did do something, otherwise you probably wouldn't be talking to me," Trent said. "You probably want me to -"

"Be yourself," he said. "Just be nice. You don't have to worry about Morgendorffer - I believe that I've put everything back in place. As far as I'm concerned, she's not going anywhere."

Kyle dropped coins into the soda machine, and selected a root beer. "I heard that she's got a crush on you. Now, I don't want you to jump at her, but be just a little more -"

He saw the way Trent went white and knew instantly that something horrible happened… and something even more horrific was on the way…

"Trent… what did you do…?"

*****

"Charles - I am just so proud of you…"

Upchuck felt his face flush as he turned around to see Stacy's beaming face in the window of his bedroom, and he opened the door to let the young woman climb in out of the darkness of the early evening. "You shouldn't do that, Stacy - the dogs -"

"Like me a whole lot more than your mom does," she said, kissing him as soon as she set foot in the room. "So, Mr. Director of Science and Technology - what do I have clearance for?"

"Stacy - if my mother came in-"

"We'd give her a shock!"

"Come on - we already talked about this…"

"And maybe I want to celebrate in a special way, especially after the run-through you had tonight," Stacy said. "Come on - EVERYTHING worked just as you planned it!"

"Besides," she laughed, pulling at the zipper of her top to partially reveal the slight, gentle swelling of her breasts, "Don't all the powerful men in the Capital have beautiful women to… take care of their every need and desire?"

"Stacy…" Upchuck had to force his eyes away from the pleasing sight before him. "I think that you need to -"

"Oh, I'm just kidding," she smiled. "I can wait until the Doctor calls the Dean of Admissions at Harvard and gets you in a year before you graduate!"

Stacy leaned against the wall, and saw the UPN Network promotional poster for 'Seven Days' on the inside of the kiosk that served as Upchuck's computer area. "I can't believe you got all of these people to work together on this idea, Charles. It's just so amazing - and the money you spent -!"

"It's not about the money, it's the people that matter," Upchuck said. "I just wish Jodie was going to be here… I hope they find the slimes that gave her the drugs. I'd pay someone to take them into the prison laundry and - You've never seen 'The Shawshank Redemption', have you?"

"Yes," Stacy said, stepping back from the mean look that crossed Upchuck's face for a moment. "Charles, you wouldn't really do something like that, would you?"

"I was wondering who would play me, if all of us were the people in 'Seven Days'?" he said, letting Stacy's question slide unanswered. "I wonder…"

"I know who the main characters would be!" Stacy exclaimed, bouncing onto the huge four-post bed. "We'd have Claire Forlani play Sandi, because she's beautiful, slender and has great eyes, but she can be serious and mean - she's the 'Donovan' character! Reese Witherspoon could play Brittany as 'Ramsey', the security chief, and Jason Biggs could be Ted, who's the boy version of 'Olga'! "

"How come you're switching all the sexes around?"

"I can see Brittany as Ramsey, because they're clueless, but they're nice deep down and they're good at what they do! Sandi as Donovan - that's easy, she takes being President of the Fashion Club so seriously - and look at the way Ted and Jane have been looking at each other lately!" Stacy said, tossing a pillow at him. "That makes it perfect for Rachel Leigh Cook to be Jane's version of 'Frank Parker', since you've always wanted her to be your first choice for chrononaut."

"More or less," Upchuck said, picking he pillow up. "Why not Alyssa Milano instead?"

"Too old and too big up front - Rachel looks more like Jane."

"Okay…" he said, holding the pillow high over his head. "And what do I look like now?"

"Somebody who's about to get beaten up in a pillow fight!"

The two teens started to pummel one another with pillows, playing and having a wonderful time - until Stacy drew back to smack Upchuck down and whacked Bronwyn directly in the face!

"MOTHER…" Upchuck said, watching with immediate dread as the tall redhead began to pick feathers from her hair and eyebrows, with Helen watching from the safety of the doorway. "I… we were -"

"Moving on a bit more in the direction of trouble," she said, looking at the exposed cleavage that Stacy showcased as she stood next to Charles. "I see you finally learned that sex is a weapon. Use it on one of those boys out in the street."

"Mrs. Ruttheimer-"

"TEN," Bronwyn snarled, her nose almost touching Stacy's as she all but spat out the word. "Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five…"

"I'll see you later, Charles!"

Helen moved aside quickly as the girl ran out of the room at full speed, and Bronwyn went to her son. "Take the BMW. Make sure that she gets home safely."

"Yes, Mother."

"So, that's the unwashed peasant girl trying for the glass slipper," Helen commented as she stepped into the room. "Stacy Rowe - one of Quinn's Fashion Club friends. She seems like a nice enough girl -"

"She's a pretty little hothouse flower who'll crumble as soon as the fit hits the shan - and when that happens, she'll go into the bottle, the medicine chest, the nuthouse or another man's arms, taking my baby's heart with her. I will not have it."

Bronwyn turned back to Helen. "You can't POSSIBLY believe that that pathetic little weed from surburbia would be a better wife than your Quinn, do you?"

"I don't think so," Helen agreed - and her breath caught as her sight fell upon the giant 'nude demon' mural. "Oh, my," she gasped, looking in awe at the sight. "That is - it's just… Oh, my."

"I know," Bronwyn said, absolute pride in her voice as she watched Helen begin to move about the room, looking at Upchuck's paintings. "My baby boy has skills. He's got this silly little dream about going to Harvard and being a scientist, or perhaps flying in the Air Force - It's not going to happen. He is NOT going to waste his time and talent sitting in some laboratory, or in a fighter plane playing like Tom Cruise. He's going to be an artist, and the world is going to see just how wonderful my Little Charles is."

"I can understand that," Helen allowed, looking at the incredible portrait of Bronwyn and her husband. "Any of these works could go for thousands - tens of thousands, if you cared to sell them!"

"The mural's got a standing offer for four million from some half-crazy producer out in L.A. We had the works appraised last year, and they accidentally were put on display - the lowest bid was two hundred K, for the fractal," Bronwyn said. "However, the Prime Minister of Columbia REALLY wants that mural. If the war on drugs goes a little better for the U.S., I told him that my Little Charles might be amenable towards selling, or even taking on a special commission - for our friends down south."

"Really."

"Everyone has their price - and legal tender isn't the only coin of exchange. We want to put a factory on the ground down there to service our Latin American interests, the government wants to show results in their silly little drug war, and the Prime Minister wants to show he has a taste for original works of art. Business on the global scale - you'd be surprised at what gets the wheels greased… or maybe you wouldn't. In any case - if your girls travel, make sure that they watch their steps in the Asian countries… and steer clear of the Middle East. They like their Western women over there… they like them down on their knees."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Nothing you wouldn't have found out yourself," Bronwyn shrugged. "Come on. I know you must be tired, and those fools at your office are probably annoyed that you didn't come back today."

"I don't think that'll be much of a problem," she said. "I do need to check in on Jake and the girls."

"Oh, yes - and how's everything going with Miss Thing, and her eyeing your husband?"

Helen was slightly floored. "You've been paying attention?"

"Someone always is. If she's getting to be a pain, we can always have her ruined."

"It's tempting…"

"He hasn't strayed off the ranch, has he?"

"No…"

"Good. Then when you and yours come over for dinner, I won't have him disappear into one of the wine cellars, never to be seen again."

Something in Bronwyn's voice told Helen that her words were not an idle threat. "So, when would you and the family like to come over to celebrate?"

"Let me get back to you on that," Helen told her. "I'll have to grab Daria and tell her that she's coming - aside from that, we could be here tomorrow night."

"Is your oldest that much of a problem?"

"Daria's problem is that she doesn't have a problem to really care about," Helen sighed. "If these were the '60's, Daria would be right at home. Sometimes, I just don't understand my baby. We'd give her anything she wanted, but she won't tell us what she wants!"

"Children," Bronwyn said, shaking her head. "Schultz nailed it right on the head when he said that little children step on your feet, and older children step on your heart. What can you do?"

*****

"Are you two still here?" Manuel said, poking his head into Denise and Lindy's office. "What is that - some amateur porn fiction you pulled off the Net?"

"Not now, Manuel," Denise said, her face solemn and drawn as she flipped through a mass of papers. "Jeez… this girl was skating the edge, Melinda. She's really on the edge."

Thoughts of playful romance disappeared from Manuel's mind; all business, he walked into the office and looked over Denise's shoulder. She only called her partner 'Melinda' when she's in a bad or a serious mood - what this?

"This girl's actually considering suicide," he said, after picking up several pages of Jodie's diary and reading them twice. "Either that, or this is the lowest point of her life. My God - hasn't this child ever been happy?"

"Not for a lot of years," Lindy answered. "The last time she was happy was when she was eight - she talks about wanting to be a ballerina, but got pulled out because her parents want her to be 'the next great Black leader'. This Landon kid had it worse than that Cameron kid did in 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off."

"I saw that," Denise concurred. "Here, she talks about a field hockey game she went to, but her parents refused to even let her try out because of some girl they all saw playing - they thought she might become a bad influence… they forced her into tennis because of that."

"Seems like she spent her days doing schoolwork and putting on a good face, but it wasn't enough for her parents," Denise continued. "No wonder Mrs. Landon was on the warpath - this all but says that she wishes that her parents would leave her alone… and she's not nice about how she says it."

A sudden squeal of shocked surprise from Lindy's desk made Denise and Manuel jump, and they turned to see Lindy knock several things off her desk as she leaped away from Judgement, who had lain down unnoticed next to her desk and brushed against her leg with a huge, furry stalk of a tail.

"Would you mind getting your Yeti out of here? We've got work to do!"

"Sorry 'bout that," Manuel apologized. "I told you both before - she likes you. She wants to be around you, and -"

A loud, threatening rumble rolled through the office; Lindy froze, her hand hovering above a folder as she was suddenly face-to-face with a growling juggernaut!

"Good dog. Good doggy…"

"Better call your dog off - now," Denise said, the rest of her body immobile as her hand slid into the top drawer of her desk and wrapping around the Casull .454 Magnum wheelgun she kept inside. "I don't know what her problem is - but I will end it. Back her off slowly - NOW."

Lindy knew what her partner was about to do - and just what Denise's gun was capable of doing. A special-commission weapon that was custom-built to hold six rounds instead of the traditional five thumb-sized rounds the Casull was known for, the all-titanium version of the most powerful production pistol on Earth was built to handle a combination of specialized - and HIGHLY illegal - types of ammunition she kept locked away in her desk. Denise referred to it (when she mentioned it at all to Lindy) as her 'DS Gun', after the weapons from the novel 'Logan's Run'. Only Lindy knew she had it; she got it just after she came out of the Marines, where she spent three years as an MP, and cost her almost a full year's salary. It was, Denise said, for 'special situations - when her .357 SigSauer P239 semi-automatic pistol just wasn't gun enough.'

The six rounds loaded into the Casull came from some 'old friends' who were still in the military. These were handloaded rounds, full metal jacket, and jacked up to the ballistic maximum that the .454 was capable of handling. Known as 'SABER rounds' (after the violently apocalyptic super-pistol used by Raymond Steele in the 'Left Behind' books), each round was so powerful that even the air pressure from the shell's passage could maim… a good two feet from the point of impact.

Lindy gulped audibly. She knew that a single round would literally blow the dog in half - and both her and Manuel clear through the wall…

"Judgement, heel!" Manuel said, standing up. "What's the matter with you, girl! HEEL!"

The dog looked up at Manuel, took two steps backward, and continued to growl…

"I'm really not feeling comfortable right now," Lindy said. "Maybe if you get rid of the damn huge beast-dog of Satan before she EATS MY FACE-!"

"Judgement - Down! Heel!"

Judgement stepped back, as though understanding that she was scaring Lindy - and when the blonde officer was safely behind her desk (with her hand on the butt of her classic Colt M1911A1 .45 pistol), the dog moved forward and stuck her nose out at the pile next to the desk before looking up expectantly at her handler.

"What - you FOUND something HERE?"

A whine, followed by a pointed nose, and Manuel went to the papers. "What?" Lindy said, still uneasy. "I didn't do anything - get that thing out of here!"

"What are these?" the Latino deputy asked, picking up the bag of 'Bayou Boiler Chips' from the bottom of the small pile. "Hell-flavored? Who eats those around here?"

"We picked those up at the Landon's house - what the hell is she growling about?" Denise said, her hand now off the .454 and out of the drawer. "Lose the animal!"

"She only has a reaction like this to…"

Manuel's eyes came up, and were met by two pairs of eyes that held the same amount of surprise and revelation. "To drugs," Lindy finished for him. "Holy Mother of God. The chips - if they're - it's gotta be a false reaction -"

Manuel waved the bag of chips in front of Judgement's nose: the resulting explosion of barking drew even Mintner from his corner of the squad room. "Well, well," Manuel said, patting Judgement on the head. "Didn't I hear your L.T. mention that someone thought that this Landon girl had the drugs slipped to her?"

"Yeah, you did," Denise said, rising out of her chair. "But this… this is unopened - and you can see through it, so you know that nobody's put small packs of the skank in the bag…" She exchanged looks once again. "Oh, come on! Nobody could have fixed the bags that the damn things came in - "

Lindy, five seconds ahead of her, was already on the phone. "I'll get the FBI Sci-Tech boys in the regional office on the line, and I'll ask if they can test this and get the results back to us, really fast. If it pans out, then it looks like we've caught a break…"

Manuel rubbed the soft, brown underbelly of his dog. "Good girl, Judgement. Good girl."

A glazed 'Krispy-Kreme' doughnut lofted through the air from Denise's fingers, and the huge German Shepard went up on her hind legs to catch it with unholy grace and gentleness!

"What - you want coffee, too?" Denise said, as amazed as her partner at the dog's catch, and the way she sat back on her haunches, placed the pastry down on the desk and looked up at her expectantly. "Oh, yeah - that's a cop dog, all right. Give 'em an inch and they'll want the whole mile. Come on - and get your own damn bowl…"

*****

Quinn was laid out upside down on her bed, her hair fanning out across the floor as her head lay just over the foot of the bed, and her eyes wide open and yet blind to her immediate surroundings. Dressed in a cream-colored set of pajamas with a tiny, cutesy 'smiley-face' on the left breast pocket, the little redhead was off in another place…

A loud sneeze exploded from the room, and Quinn grimaced as she wiped her nose with a foursome of facial tissues (one just won't do - and I might get my own cooties on my own hands!).

"EEEWWWWWW…"

Quinn hated being sick. As soon as she arrived at school, she had met up with Stacy and Tiffany - and unexpectedly cut loose with a hurricane-force sneeze through both her nose and mouth, sending a gob of mucus flying right across Tiffany's forehead and into her hair! Tiffany ran off, a litany of 'Oh… My… God… It's… Happened…Again…' repeated over and over as she dashed towards the bathroom, and Stacy rushed Quinn to the nurse's office, where she was immediately sent home. It's probably only a 24-hour thing, the nurse said - were you out in a draft last night? Just stay in bed and warm under your covers, drink plenty of fluids, and rest - this 24-hour bug can make you a little tired… or maybe it’s a case of the stomach flu. We've had a few cases of that lately.

Maybe it's a case of the 'I don't want my parents to argue' flu, Quinn thought, her mind going back to the events of last night and this morning - and the ongoing, full-volume argument/screaming match that kept her awake and awakened her as well. Nobody was doing anything wrong, and Mom didn't even bother to show up for the taping. She promised Dad she would - what a slap in the face! I mean, you PROMISED, Mom! And then, to accuse Lauriel of sleeping around with Dad in front of all of those people…

Mom had no right to treat Lauriel like that, she thought for what had to be the thousandth time in the past day as she watched the balled-up wad sail through the air, rebound off a 'Teen PEOPLE' pin-up of the girls of 'Eden's Crush' and drop into a wastebasket.

Quinn suddenly lifted her head up (immediately regretting it, as a dull pulse of pain rolled through), and dug into her jeans pocket for the business card that the redhead from Dad's job had given her. Maybe I should give her a call right now - she's probably feeling down after Mom raked her over the coals, and -

The sound of the doorbell ringing sent the girl on a long, aching journey through the hall and down the stairs to the front door! "Hello - oh, hi."

Trent looked over to Kyle, who gave Quinn a cool stare that didn't even faze her. "What do you want? Daria's not here!"

"It's the way she is, Doc. Don't knock her for it."

"Right," Kyle said. "Miss… Morgendorffer, do you have any idea where your sister is?"

"Like I'm my sister's catcher, or whatever," Quinn huffed. "Look. I'm home sick with gooey stuff coming out every time I sneeze, and nobody's here to make chicken soup for me, and I was about to make a very important phone call, and Daria isn't here, so unless you want to admit you realize that your outfits suck, know that you need to change and are willing to wait for me to get better so I can give you both the help that you need, then there's nothing that I can do for you!"

"Look, Daria's sister… we need to find her. It's really important."

"How important could it be - I mean, look at how you're dressed!" Quinn shook her head, sighing as she looked Kyle over. "And I heard that you spent a year over in Europe, where the men really know how to dress well. Pity you didn't browse the shops there…"

The door closed upon two very annoyed men, and Quinn went to the couch, picking up the cordless phone as she plopped down and pulled out the business card…

*****

"Charles, what have you done?"

"Bronwyn - what are you hissing about now?" Charles Ruttheimer II said, not lifting his head from a copy of 'The Origin of Species' as he sipped at a large glass of tea. "I hope you've let the girls out of their rooms by now…"

"Why are you bankrolling Little Charles' class project - I've just seen the financial outlay sheets for the past week!"

"Honey, don't you have a small corporation out there that you could decapitate? I'm trying to relax for a bit; I have to fly down to Lima in a day or so to look over the new plant."

"And you call reading THAT relaxing? Why - no, you're not getting me off the subject!"

Charles shrugged. "Damn. Honey, leave the boy alone - he's having some fun, and doing something intelligent and creative."

"He's simply flexing his wallet just to impress that little fluffball," Bronwyn huffed, crossing her arms and setting her jaw in a fashion that never failed to catch her husband's attention.

"Oh, yeah - that, too," Charles grinned. "Nice to see the boy actually land one, every now and then… of course, he is only seventeen, and we Ruttheimers usually start taking serious scalps once we're in our twenties… You know, if you don't want Little Charles whoring around the globe like Wilt Chamberlain on a bet, you might want to ease up on this girl and let him decide if he wants just her -"

"Let 'Rowe the Doe' leads our little boy by his nose, just so she can get him to the point where she can have someone snap it off? That will NOT happen."

"Look - the boy's earned some slack - besides, we need to give him a little leeway," Charles pointed out, finishing his tea. "He's always felt a little left out because he was a single -"

Bronwyn nodded, knowing her husband was referring to the fact that Upchuck, unlike his six siblings, was not born with a twin brother or sister. " -So we need to let him have a little extra, every now and then. You really ought to look at what he's put together, it's quite fascinating-"

"Later," Bronwyn said bluntly. "I also wanted you to know that I've gone ahead and hired Helen Morgendorffer as our new family attorney."

"Morgendorffer?" Charles said, his eyes widening. "Eric Schrecter's lead hellhound - the one that Wolfram & Hart use when they need a job done here in Texas? Bronwyn, I thought you wanted a lawyer, not a consigliere!"

"Oh, you're so funny I could have you killed."

"Bronwyn, when you don't want people thinking you're part of the Irish Mafia, it helps not to say things like that," Charles said, rising from his seat. "I love you, woman, but you have to watch your temper."

"That's why I hired Helen. She's a cool, calculating woman - a perfect balance for my temper."

Something in Bronwyn's inflections caught her husband's attention, and Charles looked closer at his wife…

"What?"

"You like her, don't you? You like this Morgendorffer as a person!"

"I do like some people…"

"Since when?"

"I'll admit, she could be a friend -"

"You made a friend? She's your friend now? Oh, this is really something!"

"Charles, don't start with me…"

"Let's face facts, Bronwyn - you don't like most people, so when you make a new friend, it's something to take notice of!"

"Well, let's try to notice other things from now on - like that little bitch, half-dressed in Little Charles' room!"

"Bronwyn. Little Charles is old enough to know better than to get himself into a bad situation, so let it go - "

"You don't understand," Bronwyn seethed. "You just don't know - but I've seen it. I've seen it up-close. You have the sweet-oh-so-sweet little thing, coming around with her pretty little face and her dimples, and eyes so big that they should have their own zip code, and she's just SO innocent and just SO in need of someone to just be there for her, because no one else cares. She'll have him eating and sleeping and living to help her, to make everything right in her tortured little life - and then he'll fall in love with her, because men just have to fall for the women that they rescue…"

Charles rose from his chair and went to his wife. "Baby, Little Charles is not your brother-"

"But it's all the same. The innocent little thing gets back on her feet and suddenly decides that she doesn't need Nicky anymore, which is bad enough to make him hurt ESPECIALLY because he doesn't have money and the new guy in line's a trust fund baby-"

Bronwyn paused; she had taken GREAT pleasure in tracking that S.O.B. down and pulling a few strings on his family's cash purse - enough to plop the bastard in Federal prison for fifteen-to-forty (he'd be eligible for parole in 2009) and render his family destitute.

"-But then the NEXT sad-eyed thing that he goes all out for crawls right back to her crazed daddy, gets herself knocked up by the animal, comes back to Nicky's apartment with her mind half-blown on something and hangs herself in his shower!"

She shuddered as she remembered being thirteen. She remembered seeing the huge bloodstains where her brother's head should have been, covered beneath a blanket as two uniformed Boston police officers escorted her out of the brownstone where Sebastian Aames had come to reclaim his daughter. After finding Marlene hanging by an extension cord tied to the shower head in the bath, Sebastion (according to the jailhouse interview) calmly made himself a cup of oolong tea, fixed a cucumber sandwich with the crusts cut away, and waited in the living room with the double-barreled twelve-gauge he used every year to take a fresh turkey for his family's Thanksgiving celebration…

"Bronwyn, you can't bring your brother back, and you can't blame some women because they're not as strong as you are."

"The hell I can't," she told him. "No more yes-girls. No more sad sisters. No more moon-eyed damsels in distress with big breasts, tears running like waterfalls, and all the willpower of a cinderblock. NO MORE WEAK WOMEN. I am NOT going to lose my child or anyone else to shrinking violets who can't stand up for themselves, and suck everyone around them into Hell when they finally realize that the best thing that they can do for Society is fertilize a patch of flowers in a graveyard somewhere!"

"Honey, you have to let all of that go," Charles said, holding his wife closely. "I know it still hurts you, even after all of this time, but it's better for you, in the long run.

Never, her look clearly stated as she returned her husband's embrace.

"Let it go, Bronwyn - and leave Little Charles and his project alone, too. He's been willing to listen to your prodding him towards those art colonies over in Europe this summer instead of taking college hours, so let him have his fun."

Charles kissed his wife, and then looked her directly in the eye. "But you're going to try and muddle around anyway, aren't you?"

"Have you ever known me to stop when someone else wants me to?"

"No - and that's probably why we've been married all these years," he replied. "But this is our boy, not an acquisition we're handling. At least think about handling it with velvet gloves - remember, the boy does love his mommy, and doesn't think she's the type to make him unhappy."

"You know my babies mean everything to me…"

"I know," Charles said, running his fingers through his wife's thick, fiery mane. "I know that they won't always be babies, either. Start letting them go, honey. That way, they'll keep coming back."

*****

Wearing an oversized terrycloth bathrobe with the insignia of the New Manhattan Regency Hotel on the breast pocket, Lauriel lay back on the king-size bed in her plush, airy suite and blew half-dried wisps of her hair away from her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. A half-eaten meal of lemon chicken cutlets, herb-dusted angel-hair pasta and cauliflower florets sat abandoned on the bottom half of the bed, and a bottle of a exquisite Italian white wine sat unopened, the ice in the silver wine bucket turned to water long before.

The phone rang six times before Lauriel realized that it was her phone, and she picked it up and answered hesitantly. "Hello…?"

"Hi, Lauriel!"

"Quinn…?"

"Wendy - Miss Thackerell - gave me this number. I wanted to call and see how you were doing… you know, because of last night."

Lauriel's stomach began doing flip-flops. "Quinn - about what your mother said, well, I do care a lot for your father. He's done a lot for me, and I consider him a very good friend, but I've never -"

"You didn't do anything wrong with him! I can tell!" Quinn chirped. "Look, Mom had no right to be so mean to you - I mean, you're so nice, and sweet, and you wouldn't try to hurt anybody!"

"I don't think that you should be apologizing for your mother, Quinn -"

"As if she's going to find the time to do it herself!" the redhead scoffed. "I like you, Lauriel, and if Mom would ever find time to pull away from being 'Polly Mason', she'd see that you're a good person! I just wanted to call and make sure that you weren't feeling bad because of Mom - and to see if you were going to do any shopping while you were there!"

For the first time in almost a day, a genuine smile appeared on the lovely Latina's face. "You know, Quinn - it is possible to go to New York and not shop."

"I'm going to pretend that you never said that," Quinn said, all seriousness in her voice. "So, are you going to Bloomingdale's? I've heard that they have an UNBELIEVABLE shoe inventory, and if you're going to get shoes, then you'll need a matching scarf AND an appropriate blouse… Please, please tell me that you'll go to the makeup section, so you can make all the women jealous when they ask and you say 'No, I DON'T use makeup!"

Lauriel laughed out loud. "Quinn, you're terrible!"

"Come on, Lauriel - you know that with your complexion and skin tone, you're going to make those cows cry as you go past! If you really want to make them hurt - wear a dress. Wear your sweater dress, if you have it - and take a walk down the street. I'll know if you do - because the news will talk about a major car accident in New York!"

"Why don't I just go by the 'ABC News' studio in Times Square and have them put me on camera?"

"Because the weird, unpopular people who always crowd out in front of the MTV studios across the way and are way too yucky to EVER get invited in for 'TRL' could SEE you - or do you WANT hundreds of freaky, pimply, geeky guys who wear stupid costumes or even worse, unfashionable clothes trying to gather around you, give you CHEAP presents or - God and heaven forbid - wanting to TALK to you? Pul-eease! Charity has its limits!"

Lauriel shook her head as she laughed; the girl really didn't mean any harm, but she was such a, a - a teenager! Well, in a way, it's a good thing - she'll have something to grow out of, and she really is a good kid…

"Quinn, you're incredible."

"No - I'm better than that."

*****

"No wonder Daria's got problems, if she's had to deal with the 'prom princess' back there her whole life," Kyle growled, driving his black Lincoln Town Car at a fast clip through the streets of Lawndale. "A damned gourmet recipe for Texas-style 'Armageddon-in-a-can. Bad parents, no readily accessible role models, sibling rivalry that makes Cain and Abel look like members of the Von Trapp family, no real social life or outlets for releasing the pressure, a skewed self image, intelligent, angry and hurting - my God, she's a Columbine-class shooter just waiting to happen."

He shot an accusing look at Trent. "And then there's you. My God, boy - how could you do -"

"Get off my back, doc. She might have been on the edge - but you're the one who showed up here and yelled 'boo," Trent scowled. "Anyway, things were supposed to be different. I had plans and stuff. You don't know the whole story."

"I probably know parts of it you never will," he shot back, gnawing on a string of red licorice and tossing another to Trent. "I thought you knew how to treat women."

"I do."

"I bet Sam would say different."

"Let's just find Daria," Trent seethed, his anger instantly stoked at the mention of that name. "I'll tell you all the places she hangs out."

"Good - those are the first places we can cross off. Tell me what she can't stand - that's where she'll be."

*****

Listen, baby, I'm sorry - just wanna tell you 'Don't worry',

Cloistered within a dressing room at Cashman's, Daria sat on the small, cushioned chair and stared at the annoyingly cheerful colors and poster cutouts of MTV 'Total Request Live' regulars on the walls. She ably ignored the bubbly pop sounds of the Backstreet Boys on the store's digital cable music feed, the overly loud whispers and giggles of girls over clothes and secrets passing about boys, school and each other, and wished that she had never been born.

"Excuse me, but you dropped these…"

Daria brought herself back to the now at the sound of the knocking at the saloon-style doors of the dressing room, and stood up to see a crown of dark hair - turned away from the door to maintain Daria's privacy.

"Dropped what?"

"Your keys," the pleasant male voice said, and Daria poked her head through the door to see a young man standing there, his back turned and arm outstretched with her keys in hand. "They dropped and slid out here a moment ago - I guess you were too wrapped up in your clothes to notice."

"Really. I like what you're wearing, too," Daria shot back. "Shouldn't you and the other guys in '2Gether' be out scouring the 'Make-A-Wish Foundation's database to find a replacement for 'Q.T.?"

"And one of the cranially-challenged crowd of Cashman's has a dark sense of humor," the boy said, examining his clothing - dark sweater, cargo pants and loafers - as he turned around. "I'm 'Jerry O'Keefe'… very funny -"

His eyes fell on Daria as she stepped out of the room to retrieve her keys. "I was right about your sense of humor," he said, taking in her attire. "You must be getting ready for your sorority's 'Make Fun of Girls Without Platinum Cards' party. I'll leave you alone now…"

"And what was THAT supposed to mean?"

"Hey, a sorority girl like you doesn't want anything like reality interfering with your life, so I'll just be going - before I hurt your feelings," the boy said, his green eyes boring through Daria. "I was just trying to be nice with the keys and such - don't mention it."

"What makes you think I'm in a sorority?"

The boy turned back, a predator's smile half-visible on his face. "As Tom Sawyer told his Aunt Polly's yellow cat Peter - 'Don't ask for it unless you want it."

Daria crossed her arms and looked at him.

"Okay. You're a really attractive girl who's cloistered herself in 'Teen Queen Advertising Hell', staring off into space - probably because your boyfriend didn't give you the right tennis bracelet - so you came here to binge and purge with the help of Daddy's money. You saw THAT outfit - where you got it from in here I'll NEVER know - and probably decided to get it to make fun of all the girls who don't go through the fashion magazine racks the way most people go to church." The boy shuddered. "Instead of doing something worthwhile, you're probably in some weird club where everybody sits around and decides stuff like what the right lipstick and mascara you should wear that goes with gym shoes. No - you're probably more worried about how to stack guys up and make each one think you're only with him, so you'll never be without a date!"

He started to turn away, but stopped and looked at her boots. "Nice boots, though."

The boy started away, but something made him stop and turn back: he saw Daria, simply standing still in the middle of the floor. "What? What's wrong?"

Daria's face was blank, devoid of anything. "Oh, what's wrong? Did I hurt little Jennifer's or Alison's or Heather's feelings? Did I make her feel bad about pissing away someone else's hard-earned money so she could have all the other girls tell her how pretty she is? Did Daddy's little princess have an attack of conscience - I know that's a big word, but it means 'the little voice that's supposed to tell you that bothering the average people and treating them like 'the unwashed villagers' is wrong -"

The boy noticed the way Daria looked about the floor, and his expression shifted, as though he realized he might have made a hideously, monumentally idiotic misjudgment in character. "Hey - it's just my opinion. Really. It's nothing to - look, I'm sorry-"

"Who is that you're talking to?"

"Would you please be quiet?" the boy snapped, turning as a young woman (obviously family, by their looks) appeared from between a row of clothing with large sacks in her arms. "I was just talking to -"

He looked around the area; Daria was gone. "You weren't talking to that girl in the green jacket and the Doc Martens, were you? Jeez, Tom - I thought you had taste."

Tom Sloane glanced over the aisles of clothing and accessories for a further glance of Daria, but saw nothing. "I guess I was a little hard on her," he said.

"About her clothes? You should've been!" was the sarcastic reply Elsie Sloane fired back. "Those boots need to be retired, and she should go on and exchange that 'I'm so above it all' attitude for one that works! Hey, wait a minute… you like that type, don't you?"

"What? Oh - of course not!"

"Yeah, right," she shot back. "I remember how you were before Mom and Dad made you stop hanging out at those cruddy little joints like that 'Zen' place. Who knows what you would have picked up if you had kept going there."

"Taking my car for a year wasn't necessary - or packing me off to Fielding." No - but they probably had fun doing it…

"They thought so - but now, since you've been behaving like a good little boy, they gave you the silver Corvette with all the extras," she reminded him. "Wave goodbye to the geek girl who doesn't even have sense enough to wear Danners because she's stuck on the 'Doc Martens is the boot for the 'out crowd' look. We're out of here."

"Yeah," Tom said, and as he stepped out the entrance, an absolutely strange sensation settled over him. It was Rod Serling-strange; it was a morbid feeling, as though he had just missed something very important, like a train or a plane, only to find out that he was to die on it or was to meet the love of his life - and now, he held within himself an emptiness that momentarily made his stomach a bottomless pit of despair -

And then it was gone, just that quickly.

"Tom, are you okay?" Elsie asked. "For a moment, you looked so lost…"

"I don't know," he told her. "I just, I don't know how to describe it…"

"Describe what?"

Tom took a deep breath. "Have you ever missed a bus, or missed getting on an elevator, and have that feeling that somehow, someway, something's changed? You know, like you've just missed a part of your life, or something like that?"

Elsie looked at her older brother as though he had just talked about seeing a herd of pink unicorns in tiger-stripe leotards doing the 'Riverdance' in the mall promenade. "You need help - or at least a good, cold glass of water, with some of the nice, big pink pills that the doctors give to Grandma whenever she starts to see Cossacks riding their horses across the lake. Let's go."

She tugged her brother's arm just as he glimpsed a flash of a dark skirt and a boot as the wearer turned a corner, and he suddenly, undeniably, had that momentary sense of a great loss - of missed opportunity - pass through him.

"Tom -?" She saw the look on his face, and was immediately concerned. Something had really bothered him - something had really caught him where he lived, and it showed in his face. But what… that girl… did she spook him like this?

"Tom… Tom - are you okay?"

In that moment, Tom Sloane took several measured breaths, drew himself up straight and tall, and promised himself that he would never set foot in Cranberry Commons - ever again.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

As Tom and Elsie turned away, neither noticed as Trent and Kyle passed them and headed into Cashman's. "This is her sister's favorite place," Trent said, stopping at the doorway. "You go ahead and look around - I'll watch the door."

Several minutes passed, and Kyle re-emerged from the store. "We're going to make a few more sweeps around the area and try to find her, and then we'll call it off," he said. "One of the cashiers saw her, and let me look at the security video. She's all but worn out, and some boy gave her a dressing-down that really took the wind out of her sails."

"Some guy dogged out Daria?" Trent said, his eyes going wide. "That's deep. Hey - how'd they let you watch the -"

Kyle flashed his federal ID out for Trent's inspection. "Peripheral duties with the National Security Agency," he said, pocketing the wallet. "Cuts through a lot of the bull with the local villagers. Say the word, kid, and you'll have one just like it in twenty-four hours."

"Doc, I told you-"

"If you say one damned word about your music, I'll hit you so hard that they'll feel it on the steps of the Vatican," Kyle snarled, turning on the younger man with a true fury. "In case you haven't noticed it lately - you are not a fucking musician. Musicians - REAL musicians - are brave souls willing to put it on the line for themselves and their craft, grow from the experiences and then share them with the world! You're just a man-bitch who mumbles into a mike and pisses a little of his soul away every time he gets on stage and tries to fool himself into thinking that he's got something deep to say and needs to do it to music!"

Trent froze. "Cyber-jock, operative, lord of crypto, math-god - you had opportunities that most people would kill or die to realize. You could have done something REAL. Something worthwhile - something that has meaning - something that could have helped you grow as a person and led to bigger things for yourself and the people around you!"

"Like you?"

The young man suddenly found himself hoisted off his feet, gasping for breath as Kyle, angrier than Trent had ever seen, had him suspended by a hand around his neck that just as well could have been made of iron!

"That's two. If that accusation comes out of your mouth ever again, it will be the last thing that ever does," Kyle spoke in that calm voice that brought fear even out of people like Janet Barch - and which made onlookers decide that they, in fact, didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "You could have made a contribution. It didn't have to be in the Program or even the service - and yes, I'd have been happy if you'd chosen that route. Even if it really were just to go out and make a difference through music, I would have respected your decision because you actually were going somewhere for something worthwhile and actually making an effort. But then again, you think it's better to lie out on a funky mattress with crusted sheets, sleeping your life away and not even having the drive and desire to at least be a decent example to your sister, who you supposedly stayed out of the program for."

Kyle looked Trent directly in the eye. "So tell me, big brother - what have you done on your sister's behalf lately, besides suck down her money and any chance of her looking at you with respect for what you've done with your day? Yeah - that's what I thought."

The lack of respect in Kyle's face and tone made Trent wilt inside, and he didn't look up to face his former instructor even after Kyle let him down. "Come on. I'll give you a ride home so you can get back to what's really important to you - your bed."

"I can have my partner do that," a voice spoke up, and Kyle glanced sideways to see Denise Riker leaning against a wall. "We need to talk about you roughing people up in plain sight."

"If you'd really wanted to see me, Riker, you'd have come to say something after you read about Jodie Landon and my seminar," Kyle said bluntly.

"I didn't say 'ask you to talk' - sir," Denise said, her tone equally blunt. "We will have words. We will do it here, or we will do it in a Class Five holding cell that Uncle Sam thoughtfully provided the county two years ago. In either case - we will have words."

"Riker, don't threaten me. Forget about all of the legal things or the rank or anything else - just consider one thing."

Kyle turned to face Denise fully. "If I don't choose to, you couldn't force me if you tried," he continued, and Lindy, off to the side, looked at Kyle's eyes and suddenly felt the need to check and see if her gun was still there.

"After all - I have more ways to kill you than you have ways to die."

"Don't start with me, sir," Denise said, and Lindy was truly surprised to see that she was wearing the .454 Casull. "One shot, one kill - and you know I was the best shooter in the program's history."

Kyle shook his head sadly. "For some reason, they all want to pretend that Aki Ward never walked through the door..." He looked up and fastened an imperious stare on Denise.

"And this frightens me because…?"

"Dude, try talking peace instead of kicking ass," Trent said, going over to Lindy. "Your friend said that you'd give me a ride…"

As Lindy led Trent away, Denise came over and looked Kyle right in the eye. "Sir, you know the rules - no going meta-active in view of the public!"

"The boy weighs barely one-fifty - I was pissed off, not crazy." Kyle looked at the gold shield on the woman's belt. "I see congratulations are in order."

"Screw you, sir," Denise replied. "First - you put your hands on someone like that again, and I run you in on felony assault. No joke, and you do time under the Kelly Act."

"You should really wake up now, First Sergeant. Save the tough talk for the jaywalkers and double-parking types who've never been to a 'camp of strict regime."

Denise let the challenge go unanswered. "Second - I need anything that you can find out about Jodie Landon, the kids she hangs with, anything like that."

"What's up?"

"I can't tell you right now, sir-"

"You mean that you won't."

"Just keep your eyes open and tell me about any of the strange things that you see the kids do."

"It's high school. Strange is what they're all about."

"Whatever. I got you that report - you owe me."

"You got that for me because those are the rules," he stated bluntly. "If I see anything, Three/Ten, I'll let you know. Call me in a couple of days-"

Denise glowered at him as she viciously cut him off. "Don't ever call me that again, sir. I'll help you and you'll help me because, like you said, those are the rules - but don't ever call me that."

The woman got directly in Kyle's face. "You may still be Delphi, but you are no longer POGO. You need to remember that, sir. You… are not one of us."

Denise turned and left Kyle without a backward glance. "Oh, well," Kyle replied, taking a long, deep breath. "It's not as though I expected anything different from any of them…"

*****

"Quinn, how are you feeling?"

"Hi, daddy," Quinn said innocently, as she looked up from the couch as Jake came in. "I'm okay - nobody's been here to make me soup, or squeeze oranges so I can have some juice-"

"Where is everyone?"

"Well, Mom hasn't come home yet, and Daria's little friend's brother and a teacher came by looking for her earlier," she told him, putting her copy of 'E! Entertainment Television Presents 'Rivers of Agony: Joan and Melissa on Hollywood's Fashion Flubs and Firestorms'. "I guess she's in some sort of trouble, or something."

"Because of what?" Jake was still sore about Daria's no-show at the taping, and hadn't had a chance to talk to her about it. "Does this have anything to do with Daria's not being here last night-?"

"No - they probably wanted to talk to her because of what happened yesterday," Quinn told him. "Sandi and Daria are both in that seminar that everyone's so crazy about, but yesterday, Daria said something to Sandi so Sandi jumped all down her throat and told her that she was a person who didn't care about anyone and called her 'the Queen of Misery', then somebody slipped Jodie Landon some drugs and SHE went crazy and chased Sandi down and tried to choke her to death before the drugs messed her up and put her in the hospital so the teacher must want to talk to Daria because she was there but even if she was there then I don't know why her friend's brother was there because I know Daria likes him but why would he come along unless he's a narc but then I would have heard about it but it does explain why his band's music sucks -"

"HELEN!" Jake cried out as his wife opened the front door (and leaned on it somewhat unsteadily for a moment or so) and walked into the house. "Quinn said that there's a drug problem over at the school, one of Daria's friends OD'd and THAT'S why Daria wasn't here last night - and you were supposed to come down to the station to file a complaint on that cop! Where were you, Helen? I waited there for you for HOURS-"

"Mom, that Eric guy left a LOT of messages on the answering machine, and the people from all of the news stations called to ask you about why you hate Lauriel so much -"

That piece of information made Jake's head snap around; Quinn sneezed into her tissues and kept going. " -And both Jodie's and Sandi's moms called to talk to you. Sandi nearly got choked to death by Jodie yesterday while Jodie was high, and now both of the moms want some legal advice on what they should do next -"

Helen didn't say a word; she simply made her way to the stairwell and started up the stairs - but stopped at the first step and turned to her family. "Jake - I don't really feel like dealing with your boring, childish antics or your infantile attitude right now," she said, and Quinn drew back from the look that appeared on her father's face. "I am going to bed, and I really don't care to be bothered. I have to think about a very important opportunity that came my way today, so I'll take care of all of those problems so you won't have to worry - and so you won't screw everything up. I will talk to both of you tomorrow."

Something in Helen's voice - the casually arrogant, self-righteous and callous tone that came through when she was really drunk, and reminded both Jake and Quinn of Helen's mother - kept both of them quiet as Helen disappeared up the stairs.

"I think we can talk to your mother tomorrow morning," Jake said.

"Okay, Dad." Quinn said as she slid off the couch and headed upstairs, her eyes now widening with fear as she took the steps three at a time. She saw how Jake watched Helen as she went up, and she knew that life in the Morgendorffer household - for her parents, herself and even Daria - were about to change… and, Quinn feared, for the worst.

Quinn grew up watching her parents' relationship and knew that her mother was the dominant one in the mix, but unlike Helen, Quinn had chosen to deal with the dimmer sex with a velvet glove.

A thought went through Quinn's mind that made her go cold all over.

Quinn suddenly stopped in her tracks, and turned slowly in the direction of her parents' bedroom.

A look of horror rising upon her face as she saw the light go off and heard the door lock behind her mother.

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