"Aaaadddaaammmm…" Jazz mumbled into his lover's neck.

"Nick, stop that."

"I love you. Don't you love me?" Jazz whined.

"Of course I do. But you're acting like a dick right now and you're liable to get us arrested," Adam explained while patiently extricating himself from Jazz' clutches once more.

They were on the street now, safely away from the underground club, but nowhere near the tattoo parlor, where the others waited impatiently for their return. "We have to grab a cab," Adam muttered under his breath.

Sasha teetered alarmingly and Adam struggled to hold onto the younger teenager without losing his grip on his lover. Jazz took advantage of their relative closeness to lick the side of his neck. "Mmm, you taste good."

"Nicky!" Adam called out in an exasperated tone.

Sasha sighed. "You guys are so *hot*. I swear, if I was gay, I'd—"

"Jesus, Sasha! Get a grip! Trust me, you'll hate yourself in the morning!" Adam interjected.

Jazz gave Adam a sultry look and pulled him flush against him, making it very clear how ready he was to take their relationship to the next level. "I want you," he whispered, his teeth nipping none too expertly at Adam's lower lip.

Sasha groaned and rubbed his crotch in a blatant effort to find release, but Adam grabbed his wrist, belatedly realizing what it must look like to someone suddenly coming upon them. "Don't do that."

"I need to," Sasha moaned.

"Wait till you get home."

"I can't."

"Shit," Adam swore, wondering when he decided to extend his penchant for playing knight in shining armor to his lover's friends.

They found a cab willing to take them all of the way home. Making the cabfare was nearly impossible, given the way they had indulged their most capricious whims in the tattoo parlor. But once again, Adam came through for them, pondering the sanity of not letting them all walk home and damn the consequences.

"We'll pay you back, Adam," Chris vowed, wrapping his arm around Emmy's waist.

"Yeah, yeah, forget it. Just get in the freaking cab. I'm getting a headache."

"Why?" Emmy asked innocently, noticing that Sasha looked a bit under the weather.

"You'll find out soon enough," Adam declared. "Now get in."

Chris opened the back door, only to cry, "But we can't all fit in here, Adam. What are you, crazy?"

"Almost," he said to himself. More loudly, he continued, "You'll have to sit on each other's laps. Sorry. We can't afford two cabs."

That made an uncomfortable situation worse. Emmy sat on Chris' lap, but Chris was enough of a gentleman not to take advantage of the situation. Not so Faith and Connor. Connor was clearly trying to hold Faith at a distance, but Faith was teasing him with decidedly unladylike kisses and caresses in places he didn't know he had. Adam had an amorous Jazz to contend with, but he was more concerned with Sasha, who looked like he was either going to cry from frustration or give them all an eyeful of what a drunk teenaged boy could do with a rigid erection.

From the looks of the ride home, Adam was beginning to think that facing the folks was going to be comparatively easy.

Or else they were all headed for deep, deep trouble.

Adam stroked Jazz' hair as he finally fell asleep in his arms. Now he could think about what *he* wanted and needed. Right now, that was something as simple as a kiss. He pressed his lips to Jazz' silky hair and felt his lover snuggle closer in his sleep.

He knew he should be thinking of what to tell Michael *and* Declan. But suddenly that didn't seem to matter as much as before. He was holding everything he could ever want right now.

"Are we there yet?" Jazz asked sleepily. He felt so warm against Adam's shoulder; Adam was reluctant to let go of him. He had a feeling that it might be a very long time before anyone in the cab slept again.

"Almost. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm…love you," Jazz whispered against Adam's chest as his head fell forward.

"I know," Adam whispered back.

"Tell me…"

Adam could feel the eyes of all the others upon him, waiting expectantly for him to answer Jazz. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

Connor shook his head while Faith grinned. Chris shrugged and kept his face as blank as possible, but Emmy yawned and buried her face in Chris' chest, a similarity to Jazz' position in Adam's arms that was not lost on the older teenager.

"How are you doing, Sasha?" Adam inquired.

Sasha winced. "Do you have to talk so loud? Shit, my head hurts."

"Yeah, well, more than that is going to hurt when you get home," Adam reminded him.

Sasha regarded him with bleary eyes. "Maybe I should run away."

"With that headache? You won't get very far. Your head'll explode for sure."

"Thanks, man. Love the image."

"Just calling 'em like I see 'em."

"God, I hope Da's not up, " Sasha said with a moan.

Adam gave him an incredulous look. "Like you don't think he'll *get* up just for this?"

"Oh, shit. I'm seriously fucked."

"We all are."

Sasha and Adam both turned in the direction of the voice. It was Chris. No wonder he looked so somber. The routine rebellion of adolescence set up a terrible conflict inside him. Torn between his natural inclination to please his father, a man he considered his hero above all else, and his growing need for independence, he was almost as miserable as Sasha. It just didn't show.

"Chris…I guess you're sorry you came with us."

Chris looked up suddenly, meeting Adam's gaze with a directness that Adam admired. "No, that's just it. I'm not. I had a good time. I'd-I'd do it again. But—"

"It doesn't get any easier, Chris, if that's what you're wondering. I can swear to that."

"I just hate to disappoint him. That's all." Chris' throat closed as a wave of emotion swept through him.

"I know."

No one spoke the rest of the way.

Michael hung up the phone. It was close to 2am. Not the usual time of night to get a phone call. Even an urgent one. He looked worried. That in turn made Nikita uneasy.

"What? Who was it?" Nikita pushed a lock of pale blonde hair out of her eyes and looked over her husband's shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the phone.

"Dav."

"At this hour? Why?"

"He was working concert security tonight. He wanted to know if the kids got home all right."

"What? After you told Faith that they couldn't go?"

Michael nodded.

Nikita jumped out of bed and began pulling on a pair of jeans. Michael turned and frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed. Someone has to go out and look for them, Michael."

"They probably sneaked in a long time ago, Kita."

"You don't know the kids as well as you think you do, Michael."

He stood up and grabbed a T-shirt. "You think they're still out there?"

"I know they are. I know Faith. Chris…Chris'll go along with the others, but Faith…" Nikita sighed. "Our daughter is always at the heart of these things, Michael. We should be used to it by now."

"I don't suppose we could shoot them."

"Michael!"

"Lock them in their rooms until they finish college?"

Nikita crossed her arms in front of her chest. "When you come to your senses, Michael, I'll be downstairs."

"I thought I was being very sensible, doucette." Michael muttered under his breath, "I didn't say we should use *real* bullets."

By the time Michael and Nikita made their way downstairs, Declan and Sey were waiting on their front porch. Nikita opened the door a crack and peered out. "What are you two doing up at this hour?"

"Same as you, I expect. Let us in, please, Nikita," said Declan.

She stepped back and both men entered. Offering them each a seat at the dining room table, she asked, "Have you heard anything from Sasha?"

Sey shook his head. "Not yet. I rang his cell phone, but he must have turned it off."

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "I'm going to make coffee. Anybody else want some?"

Declan stared at Michael for a moment. "You're acting pretty bloody domestic for someone who doesn't know where the hell his kids are."

Michael glanced at Nikita quickly before returning his gaze to Declan. "I already suggested shooting them. I was voted down by the management."

Sey snickered. Declan whipped his head around to give his partner a surly look. "What are you laughing at? For two cents, I'd shoot 'em myself."

"That's not funny, Dec."

"I'm not the one who's laughing, Sey."

"Next thing you know, you'll be saying, he's *your* son, in that snarky tone of voice I hate."

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"Where do you think Emmy is right now, Dec? Hmm?"

Declan leaped to his feet and started to pace back and forth. "Bloody hell!"

Michael placed his cup of coffee on the table in front of him, willing his hands not to shake. "All kidding aside, I'd rather they were alive and well and fooling around than…the alternative."

He sipped at his coffee, but it was too hot. It burned his tongue and brought tears to his eyes. Which was just as well. Now no one would question the suspicious wetness that was already there.

Nikita wrapped her arms around Michael's neck and kissed his hair. "They'll be okay, Michael. Adam's with them."

Michael uttered a short, bitter laugh. "He's hardly the voice of reason, doucette."

"But he's the best you've got." They all looked in the direction of the voice, startled by the scene that met their eyes.

"Adam?" Michael slowly stood up, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Adam, what happened? Where have you all been?"

Adam held up his hands to forestall any further questions. "Hold on a minute, okay?"

He turned back to the small group that he managed to lead home safely. "Chris, Faith, you guys stay here. Sasha, Emmy, you guys go with your folks."

Adam turned back to his incredulous parents who were too stunned to make a sound. "Do you know if Dr. Hunter is up? If he is, Connor should go home. But if he isn't, maybe Connor should sleep here till morning."

Michael cleared his throat. "Neil doesn't know. I imagine he's sleeping."

"So Con can stay here. Cool."

"I'm going to take Jazz home. I called Pete. He's pissed, but he's waiting." Michael started to say something, but Adam talked right over him. "It's okay, Dad. It's better if I go. He's my responsibility."

With that, Adam vanished, taking Jazz with him.

Michael looked at Nikita and asked, "What just happened here?"

"You're asking me?"

"I don't know where to start," Chris confessed.

"Start with the beginning and go on from there," Nikita advised.

"We decided to go to the concert—"

"Even though you were told *not* to," Michael interjected angrily.

"Yes, sir."

Michael grabbed Chris' earlobe, which was still a bit swollen from its earlier piercing. "And *this* came after the concert?"

"Yes, sir." Chris bit his lip and tried to meet his father's stern gaze.

"What does it mean?"

"What do you mean?" Chris asked with a frown.

"Suddenly my son is wearing an earring in his left ear. I'm asking you, what does that mean?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Chris said, his voice starting to break.

"That's not a very good answer, Chris. I expect more from you and I usually get it. I'm—"

Chris struggled to hold back his tears, but it was hard. "I know, Daddy. You're very disappointed in me."

"Of course I am. Wouldn't you be? If you were me?"

"I don't know." Chris bent his head, but that only seemed to make the tears come faster. It was bad enough to cry in front of his father, but his mother and sister, too?

"I think you do."

The coldness of Michael's tone penetrated the stupor that Nikita had found herself in ever since the kids showed up. "Michael! I'm sure Chris is sorry."

"That's not good enough this time. This is serious, Kita. He could've gotten hurt. Or worse. All of them could've. He needs to know that."

"I do," Chris cried. "I swear I do."

Nikita glared at Michael and gathered her son into her arms. He sat on her lap and hid his face against her neck. "It'll be okay, sweetie."

"No, it won't, Kita. He doesn't get off that easy. And neither does Adam. Just wait till he gets back."

Chris drew back and swiped his face with the back of his hand. "No! Dad! It wasn't Adam's fault! He's the one who dragged Sasha out of the club after he had too much to drink. He even gave us the money for the cab that brought us home."

"You were drinking, too?"

"Not me. Just Sasha. Cause of breaking up with Skye. Only Jazz went in to-to stop him and he got a little drunk, too. But no one else. I swear."

"And you, Faith? Where were you when all this was going on? What do you have to show us?"

Faith stood and pulled up her T-shirt to reveal a shiny silver navel ring.

"Oh, my God."

"Oh, baby, how could you do that to yourself?" Nikita asked, convinced that she would never understand her daughter. Ever.

"I thought it was pretty, Mom." Faith's lower lip trembled, a presage to tears.

"But honey…you were so beautiful without that…thing."

Chris saw his sister suddenly through Connor's eyes and whispered, "She's beautiful, no matter what, Mom. Just ask Connor."

Nikita's eyebrows arched, almost off her face, but she waited until Michael headed back into the kitchen before giving him a big smooch on the cheek. "How did you get so smart, baby?"

Chris almost smiled. "I dunno. But Mom? Please don't call me baby anymore."

Connor was waiting for Chris when he finally trudged upstairs to his bedroom. "Hey! How'd it go?"

"Great. They grounded me for the rest of the school year."

Connor's dark blue eyes widened in disbelief. "You're kidding!"

"I wish I was." Chris threw himself facedown on his bed and wrapped his arms around the pillow.

"Wow, that sucks."

"Yeah, I guess. Do you mind if we don't talk now? I'm kinda tired."

Connor nodded. "Sure, Chris. No problem."

Connor reluctantly got up and started to leave the room, but he paused at the door to glance back over his shoulder at Chris. Chris wasn't making a sound, but Connor could tell he was crying by the way his shoulders heaved spasmodically.

He didn't think any less of Chris for being so upset. None of them had ever ventured this far outside the lines their parents had drawn for them. It was scary territory.

At least Chris had run the gauntlet. Connor knew he wouldn't sleep a wink, anticipating facing his own father's reaction in the morning.

Faith had yet to come upstairs. He wondered how *she* was faring against Michael and Nikita.

"I expect *you* to screw up, Faith," said Michael, whose anger was deliberate and cool, but somehow hurt twice as much for its lack of fire.

"But now you're taking the others with you."

"Please, Daddy, you're making me sound like a-a serial killer or something," Faith cried.

"You're always full of remorse, Faith. But that doesn't stop you from acting on your impulses."

"Daddy…" she sobbed. She hadn't realized how bad she was going to feel if she fell out of favor with her father. She wasn't sure if she could stand it. There wasn't enough regret in the world to cover how sorry she was. But it didn't change anything.

"Since Connor is still in the house, you'll sleep down here in the guest room."

She felt as though he had slapped her. He couldn't have said more blatantly that he no longer trusted her. "Daddy, I wouldn't—"

"Don't tell me what you would or wouldn't do, Faith. I wouldn't believe you anyway."

"Am I gr-grounded?" Big fat tears squeezed out from the corners of her abnormally bright green eyes.

"Yes. Same punishment as your brother. Till the end of the school year."

Her face crumpled. "Oh."

"And…"

"And?" Faith looked every bit as terrified as Nikita felt. She let Michael punish the twins because she knew that she would empathize too much with both of them and let them off with a slap on the wrist that would teach neither of them anything.

"You'll take that *thing* out of your body and let the wound heal. You're not to go out of the house until it does. That includes school."

"But Daddy, I paid for this with my own money, I—"

Michael advanced on his daughter and held her captive under his contemptuous gaze. "Then you'll remember this for a long, long time."

"That's not fair! You didn't make Chris take out his earring!" Faith shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks now.

"At least he had the sense not to mutilate his body the way you did."

"Michael!" Nikita pleaded with her eyes not to enforce the additional punishment. It would drive a wedge of resentment between brother and sister and she didn't want that. "Please…"

A muscle twitched in Michael's cheek as he regarded his wife somberly. He wasn't at all as unaffected as he seemed. But he couldn't find it in himself to back down. "No," he said hoarsely, "the punishment stands."

"Mommm…" Faith wailed.

Nikita bit her lip and pulled up her daughter's shirt, exposing the metal ring in her navel. With trembling hands, she unfastened the clasp and removed it from its niche. "I'll get you some antibiotic cream for that. Then we'll put a bandaid over it. With any luck, it won't scar."

"I hope it does! I hope it heals with a great big nasty scar!" Faith screamed. "Then you can both see that I'm not your perfect little girl anymore!"

"Oh, sweetie, we don't want you to be perfect," Nikita said sadly.

"Then why don't you want me to be *me*?"

Michael gripped the back of Nikita's chair until his knuckles whitened. Somehow they would all get through this.

They had to.

Faith found a dark place to hide under the stairwell. She was tired and she felt a desperate need to sleep. But every time she thought about going to her room, she cringed. It was like marching off to jail and cheerfully allowing herself to be locked in. She wouldn't give in without a fight.

"Oh, Connor, I made such a mess of things," she whispered out loud. She leaned back against the wall, tears slowly seeping from her reddened eyes.

The voice scared her half to death. "You should be in bed, Lil Sugar."

Sitting up with a start, she sniffled and peered through the darkness at her adoptive grandfather. "Grandpa! What are you doing up?"

Walter crouched down and sat back on his haunches. "I could ask you the same thing, hon."

Faith hid her face behind a curtain of silky auburn hair. "I don't want to talk about it."

Walter made himself more comfortable by lowering himself the rest of the way to the floor. He pulled Faith's hair back from her face and noted how pale she was. "Aw, sweetie, when's the last time you had something to eat?"

Faith blinked and looked up at him. "I-I dunno. Yesterday, I guess. Dinner."

"Why don't you come back to my place with me? Honey made some hot chocolate with the little marshmallows in it for me…"

"I—"

"I share, Lil Sugar. Come on…"

She let the older man pull her to her feet and lead the way down the hallway to his quarters. When she saw Miranda, however, she started to bolt. But Walter merely grabbed her by the wrist and forced her to sit down, this time on a chair in what passed for his kitchen.

He nodded at his wife, who quickly made herself scarce, and pushed the mug of hot chocolate towards Faith's side of the table. "Talk to me, Fee."

"I don't know where to start, Grandpa."

"Anywhere, hon. I know what happened."

"How?"

"I'm old. I know everything."

"Grandpa, you are *not*."

"Yeah, I am, but I yield to the fairer sex. *All* the time."

"Stop messing with your granddaughter's head, you old lech," Miranda called from the bedroom.

"Shut the door, Honey. You know what they say about eavesdroppers and what they hear…"

Miranda made a rude noise, but the door clicked shut a moment later.

"So how *did* you find out, Grandpa?"

"Listening to Seymour for over an hour. He was so worried about Sasha. But I guess I don't have to tell *you* that. Your Dad was just as worried, I imagine."

To his amazement, Faith began to cry. "Daddy's mad at me."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that, Lil Sugar?"

Walter reached across the table and stroked Faith's hair away from her face, much the way he'd seen Michael do to Nikita. It seemed to have the same effect on his daughter. Faith grew visibly calmer and leaned into his hand. "He hates me."

"I doubt that, Fee."

"Well, he doesn't understand me."

"That doesn't surprise me. Michael had a devil of a time understanding your mother, too."

"He did?"

"Sure. But there's no doubt in my mind that he loves her. Or *you*."

Walter slid his chair closer to Faith's and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You gotta understand what drives Michael, Lil Sugar. He's got a powerful urge to protect what's his. That's how he shows how much he loves you."

Faith nodded sleepily and lay her head on her grandfather's shoulder. "I just want to be me, Grandpa."

"I know you do, hon. And you'll be good at it someday. But until then, let your father take care of you the best way he knows how, okay? I have a feeling you upset him just as much as he upset you."

"You think so?"

"Yep."

And Faith fell asleep without ever touching a drop of her hot chocolate. But that was okay. Walter liked to share.