1. Olivia Ortiz's Residence

One River Drive

Sunlight floods the spacious but sparingly furnished living room. What Maxine Granger notices most is the fact that -- unlike in her own apartment back in Binghamton -- there's an impressive lack of dust specks. Lady must keep her housekeeper mighty busy, Maxine thinks, raising an eyebrow.

For the dozenth time, she swivels on one boot-clad heel to glance through the leaded glass doors nearby. Visible in the home office beyond, Olivia Ortiz is still on the phone, listening intently to whoever called eight minutes ago and rudely interrupted Maxine's interview.

Maxine sighs, waiting for the opportunity to get on with her questions. If this goes on much longer, in all likelihood Olivia will call things off altogether. Frankly Maxine knows damn well she's lucky to have finagled this interview at all, which is why despite getting caught out by a certain omnipresent policeman, she doesn't regret having lied her way in here. It's not easy to get a meeting at such short notice with the chairman of the Schuyler Falls' largest business.

Smirking, Maxine lets her gaze drifts down to the blue notebook on her lap. 'Largest business' isn't saying much in this case, because damn, this town is way smaller than she remembers.

Not to mention more incestuous. Maxine can't take a step in one of her cases here in Skyfalls without running into someone related -- intimately related -- with the other one. First the Jem Van Doren and Greg White cases got linked courtesy of Chelsea Stanford, who seems to be romantically involved with both targets. Now Sergeant Frank Gabriel, chief police investigator of the newspaper fire, shows up right here sharing goodbye-honey-have-a-good-day kisses with Olivia -- the woman whose near-miraculous recovery made Greg a minor local celebrity.

Of course, all this doesn't even include the fact that Maxine's former client Nora White is Greg's sister-in-law, and is in jail right now for trying to kill Olivia. All because Olivia had an affair with her husband Doug -- who happens to be one of the fire victims.

Unbelievable, Maxine thinks with a chuckle. Maybe I should just save time and arrange an orgy so I can get my witnesses and clients in one place.

Grinning, she takes another look around the living room. The decor's not her style, which tends towards soft denim furniture, lots of color, and rugs she can lie on if the mood strikes her. Olivia, on the other hand, apparently prefers the cold neat lines of a museum. White walls, bare wooden floors, obscenely expensive black leather furniture, and pieces of art depicting ... God only knows what.

Maxine frowns, peering at one of the paintings. Looks like a bunch of melted hangers. She suspects she could do something similar by finger-painting while blindfolded. But she also knows that any one of these hideous things is worth more than she'll ever see in a lifetime.

Olivia's echoing footsteps through the hallway turn Maxine's head. The younger woman has a cool smile on her elegant face.

"I'm sorry about that," Olivia says, brushing her black hair behind her. "It was rather urgent."

"No problem. I know you're a busy woman. Can we continue where we left off?"

"And where was that?"

"You'd just agreed with me about how important it is to make sure things are copacetic at the hospital. That medical treatments are properly delivered, and there aren't any unsafe--"

"Yes, yes, I remember now." Olivia glances at the tall, thin black clock over the mantelpiece before returning to meet Maxine's gaze. "All that goes without saying, doesn't it?"

"It would if there weren't any problems. But like I said, I've been tracking things very carefully, and I've found evidence that things are a little ... well, wonky. So some cases require extra attention."

With a raised eyebrow, Olivia turns away, sitting down on an armchair. "And apparently mine is one of them. Why?"

Maxine takes a seat across from her. "Because everything relating to it was so ... extraordinary, I guess the word is. This syndrome you had that no one recognized ... it was a blood disease, right? So shouldn't a hematologist have been working on it?"

"A hematologist?"

"A doctor who specializes in blood disorders. "

Olivia shrugs. "Oh. Wasn't there one involved?"

"Only peripherally. The person who ended up credited with solving the mystery was a neurosurgeon..." Maxine pretends to check her notes. "Dr. Greg White, to be precise. Don't you think it's a little strange that a brain doc found the cure to a blood disease?"

"That's not for me to say. I'm merely a layperson who happened to have her life saved by this particular brain doctor." Olivia leans forward slightly, the intensity in her onyx eyes practically luminous. "Let me ask you a question, Ms. Granger. Do you honestly think I care which type of doctor led me out of the hell that I was going through?"

"Of course not, but--"

"As far as why a neurologist was working on the case, that's fairly simple. Do you know why I was originally brought into the hospital?"

"Yeah, you were attacked in a parking lot, weren't you? By your sister, if I remember right."

"Yes," Olivia says sharply. "The point is, I sustained severe head and neck injuries. Dr. White was on call, and eventually he had to perform surgery to relieve the pressure on my brain. But I was still comatose for some time. When I developed an apparent infection, he made it his business to ensure that it wasn't due to more swelling or whatever other neurological problems could result from brain and spinal trauma. That led him to research the cause, and thus he figured out that it was related to my ... unusual inherited illness."

Maxine scrawls down some notes while nodding, although none of this is news to her. OO: hostile & defensive. Prepped answers? Did GW get to her?

2. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

The wide corridor seems to narrow in on Greg White as he strides forward, his head throbbing along with each footfall. No matter what assurances Olivia made over the phone, he can't help worrying about what his former patient might be saying about him. Sure, he gave her some good lines to repeat, but he could hardly tell her exactly what questions to watch out for.

God only knows what she'll think if she ever finds out why Greg's so damn worried. Gratitude for curing her illness might only take him so far with a woman like Olivia. What if she resents having been treated like a human guinea pig? What if she realizes that being given an untested medication could have caused a horrific allergic reaction, worsened her disease, or even killed her? Sure, with no negative effects (yet, thank God), she might not have a case for malpractice. But at the very least, she'd sure have a juicy story to tell that pain-in-the-ass management consultant.

Right, he thinks with a grimace, clutching the folder in his hand. She's a consultant like I'm a goddamn monk. I don't buy it. Visiting a patient at home? No way a real management consultant would do something like that. At least I don't think they would...

Too crabby and distracted to pay attention to where he's walking, Greg barely manages to sidestep a pair of nurses wheeling a gurney down the hall. Finally he reaches the front desk, where he successfully bullies a doctor with less tenure on staff into giving up his operating room assignment. Greg still has to wait another hour for a room, but at least now he might get to work on his failing ICU patient in time.

"There you are!" Greg turns at the familiar voice to find Rena Carlson rushing up to him and clutching his sleeve. Her green eyes and heart-shaped face practically beam up at him. "Did you hear the good news?"

"No," he says wearily, still tense despite the pleasure at seeing her. "And I could use some right now. What?"

"They're letting your brother out of bed for a little while, just a quick wheelchair ride up and down the floor. Isn't that amazing? Sarnoff and Avigad can't believe he's doing so well!"

As this sinks in, Greg can't help sharing a brief smile. "Atta boy, Doug," he says softly. "You show them."

"I'm so happy for you both," Rena whispers, her fingers curling around him to squeeze his arm. To his surprise, she stands on tiptoe and tries to pull him down towards her. He accepts her kiss, but his instinct to return it more deeply is tempered by the memory of seeing her in another kiss ... with another man.

Abruptly he steps away after only a couple of seconds. "Thanks, nurse. I appreciate your telling me about this."

She gently touches her lips, probably surprised that he's not still attached to them. "Nurse," she repeats in a hushed voice. "That doesn't sound like you. Is something wrong?"

"No, what could be wrong?" Greg starts walking away from the front desk, heading to the elevators. His stomach is now joining in the chorus of pain started by his head. "What could possibly be wrong in my life?"

Rena's shoes squeak on the floor as her little legs try to catch up with him. "Wait, Greg!"

After a few more paces he stops and turns. "What can I do for you?"

"'What can you do for me'? What kind of thing is that to say?"

He tries to contain his cold anger. "I thought it was perfectly natural, coming from one colleague to another."

"Colleague?" She stares at him, dwarfed by his height. "You're acting strange. Why are you so distant?"

"Distance is your specialty, not mine."

Rena sets back on her heels, the always easy flush turning her cheeks bright red. "What did I do, Greg? Why are you so angry with me?"

3. Arleigh Academy

Library

The library in the Arleigh Academy is the real deal. Marble floors, dark mahogany bookshelves that reach nearly to the domed ceiling, and adult librarians who take their jobs much more seriously than the students earning a few extra bucks an hour back at Skyfalls High.

One of these grim-faced librarians has already sent a warning look at Julie Fiore, and all Julie's done is reach down to tap Jason Stanford on the shoulder while saying 'hi.' Smiling apologetically, Julie slips into the study carrel next to Jason's.

He puts his pen down, twisting the cap with nervous fingers. "Not gonna get me in trouble again, are you?"

"No, I promise." Grinning, Julie drops her bookbag on the floor with a dull thud. It seems incredibly heavy to Jason, even heavier than his own. "Ugh, I'm going to start walking like Quasimodo if I keep lugging this thing around."

"Looks like it weighs a ton." He reaches over and gives a slight pull on the shoulder straps, which confirms his suspicions. "Jeeze, what've you got in there?"

"My scores. Music scores, I mean," she adds when Jason gives her a questioning expression. "I've got an audition for the Orchestra next period."

"Really? Cool, what do you play?"

"I've taken 'cello lessons for like a million years. Hello, don't you remember when we gave those oral reports about our hobbies for Dr. Mantone?"

"Oh yeah! Sorry." Jason smiles shyly. "But c'mon, be fair, it was all the way at the beginning of last year. You probably don't remember my report either."

"Are you kidding me?" Julie laughs, a rich, husky sound that Jason finds infectious -- although the librarian doesn't find it as charming, considering the dark look she's shooting Julie's way. But Jason likes the sound. She's sure not a giggler, like other girls. "Like I'd forget how you came up with a whole bunch of appropriate Latin phrases for the Web and computer stuff? That was awesome."

Surprised by her recollection, Jason grins. "Thanks. So are you worried about the audition? Is this for a solo or something?"

Julie brushes her thick brown hair away from her face. "I wish it was just that. I have to audition just to get into the orchestra. I was first chair back in our school, but Arleigh won't let me transfer right into the orchestra."

"That sucks. It's bad enough we have to go here for the whole rest of the year. The least they could do is make it easier for us to fit in."

"Well ... I guess. But it kind of makes sense for the orchestra. They can't just let in anyone assuming they know what they're doing."

Jason can't help a crooked smile. "Yeah, God forbid they give anyone the benefit of the doubt here."

"I know what you mean. Some of the kids are kind of ... " Julie shrugs, letting her words trail diplomatically as she tugs at the slightly frayed edge of her sweater's left sleeve. "So what about you? Do you play anything? Oh wait, I remember ... you used to be in Stage Band, weren't you?"

"I dropped that after a semester." Jason's impressed by her memory -- he only played one concert. "Yeah, I play piano a little. My mom forced me to take lessons."

"Uh huh. That sounds familiar!"

"Your mom push you into lessons too?"

"No, actually she died when I was really small. My Pop's the total music freak of the family. As soon as I was old enough he shoved a violin in my hands, and eventually I stopped hating it. Then I fell in love with the 'cello, and ... well, that's the end of that."

A stab of guilt hits Jason and makes it hard for him to pay attention to the rest of her comments. Damn it, he should've remembered about her mom. Chelsea told him something about the Fiores when she was going out with Julie's brother -- and even at the opera gala he noticed the absence of a mother. How stupid and callous can he be?

His gaze flickers over to the girl's sweater sleeve that needs some repairing, and suddenly he wonders what it must be like, having no mom. As much as he secretly feels annoyance at his mother's constant social engagements, at least she's around at all. She's there in the mornings to ask about his schoolwork and kiss him goodbye, and when her charity work and evenings out are through, he always knows she'll be home again at night. It's a secure, safe knowledge that Jason takes for granted. Julie doesn't have that secure knowledge -- she never will.

Her cheerful voice interrupts him. "Do you still play the piano?"

Jason blinks, realizing that Julie is hardly in need of his sympathy. "Um. These days I mostly work with a Casio, y'know, a keyboard. That way I can play with music I download and fiddle around with it, do some arranging and stuff--" He hesitates, suddenly aware that he probably sounds like the leader of the geek patrol again.

But Julie's dark brown eyes are wide with interest. "Really? You're like a composer?"

"I wouldn't call it composing. I mean, it's not even original. It's just a mix, no big deal."

Julie grins. "I'm gonna call you MixMaster J from now on. Seriously, that is so cool, Jason."

He returns her smile, a warm flush of pleasure suffusing his face at her open admiration. He's used to people finding his interests lame and geeky. Even though everyone surfs nowadays, somehow Jason's never been able to find approval for his skills. It's like he has this veil of nerdiness that no one bothers peeking through.

Maybe Arleigh isn't that bad for him after all.

4. Nick and Hannah Nichols' House

Standing in the center of the library, Laurie Nichols does a slow turn, her arms held out like a ballerina performing a pirouette. "Well? You gonna give me an opinion or not?"

Hannah Nichols looks up from the baby in her arms, giving a distracted shake of her head. "It's not as bad as the first one, but nowhere near as good as the second. How many more of these things do you have?"

"Just one." Laurie drops her arms and lifts the yards of bulky white satin that poufs out around her, trying to avoid stepping on the dress as she shuffles over to the couch. "I can't tell if you think I've got lousy taste or if you're just hard to please."

"Neither. I'm sorry, I'm just not in the mood to pick out wedding gowns today."

With a tight smile, Laurie unzips herself and lets the dress drop to the floor. "Mood or not, you're the only woman I know who'll give me an honest opinion. And it's either now or never. I've only got two weeks, really less."

"Sure is a good thing you didn't leave stuff till last minute."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Haven't even picked a photographer yet, though Danny gave me a couple names. Not that I should trust her, she'll probably give me the same guy who made Catherine Zeta Jones look so fat. An' I ain't talkin' about Michael Douglas."

Hannah chuckles despite herself. "Well, you've picked a caterer, right? Please tell me you haven't been that big a slacker."

"Vic took care of that. He kinda wanted his family to do it, but considering their attitude towards all this, that was never gonna happen." The younger woman sighs and shakes out her hair. "Anyway, he got the flowers an' the food. It's just the pictures an' the music -- an' my gown -- that I've gotta worry about."

"You're truly nuts. I won't even ask why you waited so long. You've been engaged for about a million years--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But ... well, I guess I was in denial."

This makes Hannah pause while playing with Hope's curly hair. "Denial of what?"

"That we'd really go through with it." Laurie picks up the dress and returns it to the padded hanger. "I just ... I dunno, I thought something might happen."

"Like...?"

The younger woman tosses the rejected gown aside. Now clad only in a black camisole and matching thong, Laurie looks at her reflection in the mirror above Hannah's sofa and pulls her hair up away from her face. "What do ya think, hair up or hair down?"

"Laurie, stop stalling. What did you think would happen? You don't think Victor is having second thoughts, do you?"

"You kiddin' me? Lord no, that boy's hooked an' landed. Trust me, he'd've married me a couple weeks after we met, if it weren't for that tight-ass family of his."

Hannah examines Laurie. "What about you? Are you having second thoughts?"

Bending down, Laurie slowly unzips the plastic bag protecting her final gown choice. She pulls the frothy material into her arms and cradles it like a baby as she seems to mull over Hannah's question. "No," she murmurs after a few seconds, and then backs it up with a firm shake of her head. "No, I'll be glad to be married. Damn glad."

From her position in her chair, Hannah watches Laurie head off into the parlor, where a much larger mirror will give her a better view of herself as she changes. Laurie's voice echoes from the other room as she continues, "After all, a woman's gotta be married to get any power, right? That's what my momma always told me."

"No disrespect to your mom, but that's pretty old fashioned, don't you think?"

"Maybe. Ol' fashioned ain't untrue, though. An' it's doubly true in this family."

"I don't notice Adele having any problems, and she hasn't been married in decades."

"Gimme a break. Adele's not a real woman. She's not even human. Not sure what the hell she is, maybe a demon or somethin' ... " Laurie is muffled for a moment, her words blocked by what sounds like acres of material. "... speakin' of which, I sure wish you'd change your mind about dinner tonight. I need you to keep her off my back."

Hannah stares into Hope's small round face. Her heart aches with love for the child, so vulnerable and full of life even when in repose. "I can't," she says quietly, as Daphne White's image flickers through her mind. "I have other plans."

"Plans, huh? Well, well, with Nick in Atlantic City? Ain't turnin' into a clone of Danny, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hannah mutters, suddenly in no mood for humor. "I have a life outside Nick, that doesn't make me ... anyway, it's just Ian. He's coming over with his girlfriend."

"What on earth for?"

Ignoring the question, Hannah closes her eyes and kisses Hope's forehead.

5. Greg White's Suite

Cliffside Cavern Hotel

Lying in bed, Daphne White listens impatiently to the ringing on the other end of the phone line. Her gaze fixates on the sunlight pouring in through the venetian blinds covering her bedroom windows, creating bars of shadow and light on the ceiling. Come on, pick up already, she begs mentally.

Finally Tyler Stanford's voice reaches her. "Daphne?"

"Wow, Stanford, you can read your caller ID," she says jokingly, despite the tension in her stomach. "That tutor's paying off."

"Why are you still at home?" As has been the case for the past week, Tyler's tone is remote and wary. "Aren't you ever gonna come to class?"

"Yeah, maybe when my life straightens out."

"Which is another way of saying never."

Daphne jerks herself up to lean on one elbow. "That is a seriously crappy thing to say."

"Sorry." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Daph, I know things are screwed up for you. But you're gonna get in serious trouble, you keep ditching like this."

"Oh, please. I'm already flunking everything. What's the difference at this point?" Daphne shoves herself into a seated position, scowling and shoving her hair away from her eyes. "I didn't call for a lecture. I want to talk to you."

"Well, I can't talk now, I just got here. They don't allow us to keep the cell phones on--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"How? It's not like you've ever stepped foot inside Arleigh before, the way you've been cutting."

Daphne's stomach clenches at the sound of Tyler's irritation. "Get over it, all right? Since when did you become my guidance counselor?"

"It's not that. It's that I don't get to see you anymore, unless I visit you at the hospital."

"Oh my God, I can't believe you're giving me grief for this. Sue me for having a father who almost died!"

"I know he almost died! I've been with you the whole time, almost! Don't act like I haven't, White, that's pretty cold."

"All right. I know, I'm sorry. Will you just tell me why you're acting this way? You sound so angry." When he doesn't respond, Daphne bites at her thumbnail before continuing. "Look, we discussed the Ian thing. You can't still be mad about that. I told you, the opera was just a favor. I owed him for helping out with Hope, you know that. It meant nothing!"

"Fine, Daphne, whatever. I'm over that, okay?" He sounds weary and annoyed, and Daphne doesn't fully believe him.

But she plunges forward anyway. "Well, the reason I called ... I've got the place to myself all day. Maybe you could, y'know, come over and hang out?"

"I wish. But I've got one more tutor session after school before the SATs on Satur--"

"Not after school. I mean now."

Daphne can hear the noise of other students in the background as Tyler remains silent for a few seconds. "Daph, I can't cut out like you do. My Dad's totally on my ass about school these days, you know that."

"You can skip out one morning."

"No, I've got Calc, Physics and English, those are like the most important classes --"

"But we need to talk! That's important too, isn't it?" Her throat feels painfully tight. "I'm scared, Ty. There's something wrong between us. Aren't I important to you anymore?"

6. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Rena stuffs her hands into the pockets of her oversized pink cardigan sweater. "Well, Greg?" she asks, concern adding an unaccustomed edge to her voice. "What did I do to make you so angry?"

"You really want to know?" Greg glares down at her, his neck muscles tight and sore. How about the fact that thanks to your own screw-up over Olivia's medicine, I could lose my goddamn job and maybe even my license? Or that no matter how close we get, you make me feel like I'm never going to jump through the right hoop with you? How about the goddamn fact that you push me away but when my back is turned you let Jem asshole Van Doren slobber all over your face?

But as he looks into her vulnerable gaze, Greg lets out a rush of air. "Nothing," he mutters. "Forget it."

"No, please, tell me. You're obviously upset at something I did or something that's going on--"

"Good diagnosis. But talking won't solve anything, believe me."

Rena takes his hand. "Maybe I can help."

"You can't." Greg smiles crookedly. "Or at least you won't."

She frowns. "I won't? How can you say that? Haven't I always tried to be there for you?" When he doesn't respond, Rena tightens her grip on his hand. "Please talk to me. You're scaring me. I -- I care so much, and I hate to see you like this..."

Greg's fingers stroke hers automatically, her slightly chilly skin acting like a balm to his taut nerves. A sudden powerful rush of need makes him want to caress and explore all of her cool, smooth flesh, to crush her against his chest and taste her sweetness until he can no longer sense the panic that's overwhelming him.

But he can't. Not in the hospital ... not anywhere. Not with Rena. And suddenly the barrage of stress dating back months, years -- all the way back to his brother's suspension as chief of staff -- is released like a raging flood.

"So you care about me?" he repeats harshly, pulling his hand away from her. "How exactly would I know that, when you practically treat me like a stranger."

She gasps. "A stranger? How can you say that to me? I thought my feelings were ... I thought we had something special together."

"Sure. We're special colleagues. We have a special friendship. Now and then I think there's more, but obviously I'm dead wrong. That's about it as far as you're concerned, right?"

Rena stares at him, looking like a deer frozen in shock at the dangerous truck barreling towards her. "Where is this coming from? My feelings are more than just friendship. You know that! You know how much I feel for you!"

"Then why don't you -- " Greg halts abruptly, somehow able to keep his words under control until a gaggle of doctors and students on rounds walks past them. Finally he lowers his head and starts again in a low mutter. "Then you need to start showing me, Rena. Because I'm getting some seriously conflicting signals here, and I'm sick of getting jerked around. If you care about me, why would you treat me like that? If you care so much for me, why are you always backing away?"

Rena tilts her head, a flicker of comprehension dawning on her face. "I don't back away from you ... not emotionally," she says, each word measured. "But you aren't talking about that, are you?"

"No. I'm talking about the fact that you barely let me touch you."

"That -- that isn't true."

"No, I'm not talking about things we've done in restaurant parking lots or in the stairwell here or any other place you allow me a quick feel. Christ, my sofa's probably seen more action from my seventeen year old niece than it has from you and me!"

Rena keeps her chin straight, obviously hurt but refusing to look away from him. "Don't speak to me in that tone, Greg."

"Then just tell me what the problem is?"

"It's just ... Greg, you don't understand." She takes a deep steadying breath. "I'm not really sure I'm ready for this."

Greg's disbelief and anger merge, forcing a short, sharp laugh from his lips. "After all this time, you aren't ready? After all the bazillion times you said that you wanted a commitment from me? You still want to just dangle me along like an idiot puppydog while you decide how you feel?"

"That's not what I'm saying!"

"Then what is it, Rena?" The earlier conversation with Kaitlin suddenly flashes into his brain, fueling his anger. "Did you do too good a job at taming me? You took all my flaws and made me your perfect neutered boyfriend. So sure, now that the game's over, you figure a scumbag like Van Doren will offer you a better bang for your buck."

Once the words are out, Greg wishes he could cram them back inside his big fat mouth. Rena couldn't look more astonished and wounded if he'd slapped her. After a few seconds of shocked silence, Greg reaches towards her with an apologetic gesture, but she backs out of his grasp. And before he can catch her, Rena turns around and escapes into the stairwell.

7. Olivia Ortiz's Townhouse

When Maxine looks from her notebook, she says mildly, "You sure know a lot for someone who calls herself a layperson."

Olivia sits back again, a little smile on her wide mouth. "This is my life we're talking about."

"Makes sense." Except that two seconds ago you didn't even know whether a blood specialist was involved with your case. "Um, let's move forward a bit. Somehow they created across this drug, uh, pred--prednall--"

"Predalsativine," Olivia says under her breath. "They always just called it PAS."

"'Kay. Sorry, not that good with words longer than twenty syllables." Maxine smiles with easy self-deprecation. "Do you know anything about how they went about finding this cure?"

"No. First, I'm no medical researcher, and second, I was otherwise occupied across an ocean. I didn't even know there was a cure until they injected me with it."

"When exactly was that, do you remember?"

There's a brief hesitation that could simply be Olivia's trying to recollect the exact timing. "I don't know the date. And it wasn't just one injection. This wasn't some television miracle drug, you know. I had months of treatment--"

"Sure, I know that. But I'm talking about at the beginning. When did you start the treatment?"

"Really, I don't recall much about that time," Olivia says flatly. "And what little I do remember, I wish I didn't."

Catching the undercurrent of sorrow and anger that Olivia seems barely able to keep at bay, Maxine realizes she has a chance to regain some lost ground. "I can understand that," she says with a gentle nod. "I heard about that whole mess in Italy."

"'Mess' is hardly an adequate description. I nearly died, and I lost my --" Olivia hesitates, and the muscles of her jawline work for a few seconds as she composes herself. "I lost a great deal over there."

"I know. I'm really sorry about your father. Finding him, then losing him again -- that must have been horrible. When I read about all that, I really felt for you. Still do."

The other woman inhales quickly. She takes a long, careful look at Maxine -- as if judging her sincerity. Finally Olivia swallows and nods. "Thank you," she says quietly. "It's been a long while now, but ... that means a lot to me."

So I see. You don't get much sympathy about this, do you? "Well, time doesn't always matter in things like this, I think. You don't stop missing someone. If I lost my Dad, it wouldn't matter how much time passed. Hope you don't mind my saying that."

"No." Olivia's voice has softened. She focuses on Maxine for the first time without rancor. "You're right, time doesn't heal everything. It's ... it's good to hear someone acknowledge that."

A brief silence descends on them as Olivia seems to turn contemplative. Maxine waits a moment before murmuring, "Um, I don't want to keep you much longer, but do you mind if I ask a few more questions?"

"It is getting late..." After another quick glance at the clock, Olivia takes a few seconds before suddenly exhaling. "Well, I suppose I can give you a few more minutes."

Maxine smiles encouragingly and opens her notebook again.

8. Arleigh Academy

Library

Study period's almost over, and Julie can't believe how quickly it flew by. When she entered the library she'd planned on looking over her scores for the zillionth time in preparation for the audition. But instead, she's been talking with Jason. He's totally distracted her from her nervousness, and though she still feels butterflies in her stomach at the thought of playing in front of the school's orchestra director, there's a new glow of confidence as well. The way Jason smiles at her and listens intently as she speaks -- it makes her feel important, somehow.

She's not used to being treated this way by a guy. Her brothers have always treated Julie like a strange, contrasting combination of a delicate kid sister who needs protecting, and a 'regular joe' who can fight with the best of them. They've certainly never come to her for advice or comfort.

But Jason's different. He seems to need her. Julie realizes for the first time how good it feels, how fulfilling it is, to be needed.

At the moment, he's been sharing his concerns about their social studies teacher. Julie shakes her head firmly. "It's not just you. I think Mr. Prasad's got it in for anyone who's male. You notice how much more time he spends questioning the girls? Especially Kara and Gaia?"

"Well, that's 'cause they're the ones who never do the work."

Julie laughs. "No, it's not that. He does the same thing to Allyce, and she's probably going to be a Rhodes Scholar, I bet. He just likes getting up close and personal with the prettiest girls in the class."

"Then why doesn't he do the same to Becca? She's much more--" Jason cuts himself off, his blue eyes betraying embarrassment. "And you too. You're just as pretty as they are."

The compliment makes Julie cast her gaze away from him. "Thanks," she says a little more quietly. "But you don't have to say that."

"I know, I -- look, let's -- let's change the subject." Jason closes his notebook, fingering the spirals with his thumbnail. "I don't think you're being fair to Mr. Prasad anyway. He's not, like, harassing the girls or anything."

"I never said he was! I'm just trying to make you feel better about--"

"Guys, can you like dial it down a notch?" The young girl's voice interrupts their escalating conversation, and both Julie and Jason turn towards her. Julie immediately recognizes the slender, well dressed girl as someone she's seen in the practice rooms in the music department.

"Sorry," Jason says immediately, pushing himself back in his chair. "We were kinda loud, huh?"

"Slightly." The girl gestures over to the librarian's desk. "Ms. Walachinsky told me to tell you that she's going to kick you guys out if you don't quiet down." After a hesitation, she pulls her bone-straight black hair behind her ears and bends down towards Julie. "But I think you're right about Prasad. He's totally after anything in a skirt."

Julie chokes back a laugh. "Thanks for backing me up."

"No problem. I'm not surprised you don't notice it," the girl says with a grin at Jason. "Guys never seem to catch on to that kind of garbage, probably 'cause they act the same way. To be honest, I don't even think he realizes he's doing it."

"See?" Julie can't help gloating. "I told you I knew what I was talking about!"

"Okay, okay, I guess you have better radar than I do." Jason sighs. "But all this still doesn't mean he doesn't hate me." He looks up at the girl awkwardly. "My name's Jason, by the way. Sorry we bothered you."

"I'm Midori, and don't worry about it, you didn't bother me at all. I work here, that's why Ms. Walichinsky can order me around."

Julie raises her eyebrows in interest. "They let students work here? I thought it was all adults. Are -- you wouldn't know if there are any openings, would you?"

"No, I don't think there are. Since I was hired they don't seem to need more student help. Sorry. But you could still ask, I'm not the last word on this."

Jason tilts his head towards Julie. "You're looking for a job? I thought you worked in your dad's restaurant."

"I do, but ... " She lifts her shoulders, suddenly not willing to share too much in front of the other girl. "Whatever, I'll find something. I should really get going."

"There's no rush, you aren't allowed in the halls until the bell rings anyway." Midori watches her as she lifts her bookbag. "Are you auditioning today? I saw you getting music from Dr. Stern the other day after practice."

"Yeah, for the cello section. I'm really nervous, he seems pretty tough. What section are you in?"

"Flute -- first chair."

Julie somehow isn't surprised. The other girl has a self-confidence that makes it seem as if she wouldn't accept anything less. "I'd've thought you played violin. Y'know, with the--"

"--the name, right. Yes, my parents named me after her. Kind of embarrassing, isn't it?" Midori leans forward and gives Julie an encouraging pat on the arm. "I'd better get back to the desk. Look, don't worry about the audition. You'll be okay. We only have two cellos, you'll have to suck pretty badly not to get in!"

After Midori leaves, Julie throws a meaningful look at Jason. "I told you they're not all snobs. She seems really nice."

"I guess. I mean, she does, it's just... one good apple doesn't help a rotten crop." Jason gives a weak smile. "My Dad says that."

"Sounds like my brother Tom. Well, I'm not that pessimistic -- not yet, anyway. I'll need a little more proof that Arleigh is, like, a hellmouth." Julie's pleased that Jason smiles at her joke. Buffy's another thing they have in common, apparently.

When the bell rings, they start for the exit, but Jason gently touches Julie's sweater. "Good luck with the orchestra. Midori's right, you'll be great."

She nods her thanks, pausing before adding: "Maybe I -- maybe I can email you later? If, like, you're gonna be online..."

Jason's face seems to light up from within at her suggestion. "Definitely, I'll totally want to hear how everything goes."

They separate in the hallway. The moment Julie heads down the crowded corridor towards the music department, a fluttering, not-entirely-unpleasant nervousness overwhelms her. And a tremulous smile haunts her lips as she realizes that the audition is only partly to blame.

9. Nick and Hannah Nichols' House

As Hannah rocks the baby in her arms, she sings softly:

"On the banks o' the Roses,
My love and I sat down,
An' I took out my violin
To play my love a tune,
In the middle o' the tune,
Oh, she sighed an' she said,
O-ro, Johnny, lovely Johnny,
Would ye leave me?"

As she lets the final note linger into silence, a slight noise in the doorway makes her lift her head. Jonnie Adair, wearing a heavy dark coat that seems to turn his hair into a shock of gold, stands and watches her. "If you really want me to go that bad, I will," he says with a raised eyebrow.

Hannah blinks, not sure what he means. Then she understands the joke and returns his soft smile. "Oh, that's just an old song I learned as a kid. Sorry you had to hear my frog impression."

"Sounded good to me." He hesitates, looking around the messy room. "Um, you ready to go?"

"Well, I'm just waiting for Laurie to do a little show-and-tell for me..." Hannah raises her voice. "Laurie, don't come out until you're dressed. Jonnie's here." She then returns her attention to the young man. "It's nice of you to drive me around. Nick said he was gonna give you the day off while he was out of town."

"Yeah, he did. But I need to talk to Dean anyway, so I figured I'd swing by here."

"He's not at the house today. Why would you think he'd be here?"

"Just that he said he needed to deal with some extra paperwork for Nick, so I ..." Jonnie shrugs. "Whatever. Guess I thought wrong."

"Thinking doesn't help much where Dean's concerned," Hannah says dryly. "But it sounds like you and he are getting along better these days."

"More or less. We've been working on a project together and it's kinda complicated, so we have to get along. Whether we want to or not."

Hannah smiles, appreciating Jonnie's blunt honesty as always. Even as time has passed and Jonnie's become more involved in the business, he's still retained much of the independent, down-to-earth, quietly observant attitude that made him almost a kindred spirit.

Still, she wishes he'd relax a little more, let her get to know him better. Maybe when this latest scheme is over... if all goes well, God willing ...

Wonder if that's what he's so nervous about today, she thinks, noticing Jonnie's tense stance and constantly moving gaze. He looks like someone expecting a monster to come leaping out at him. And it didn't escape her notice that he hesitated while talking about that 'project.'

"You know, Jonnie," she says suddenly, "you don't have to keep the Vaughan operation a secret from me."

He blinks, shrugging. "Not sure what you mean."

"I know Nick's agenda pretty well. He's planning to hurt the Vaughans once and for all, after what they did to me. And you're wrapped up in his plans."

Jonnie's silver eyes shift to meet hers for a long contemplative moment. Finally he makes a small nod. "Nick thinks you don't know the details."

"I don't -- not officially." She gives him a wry smile. "But Nick's not the only one who can keep a secret or two."

"He's always told me he doesn't keep secrets from you. I guess this is different."

"Yeah," Hannah says, her smile fading as her voice turns hard. "This is different." For a few seconds she remains silent, before adding softly: "I know he thinks he has to keep this to himself. It's the same with everything that involves the Vaughans."

"Because he doesn't want you to be hurt."

"No. Because he knows I hate it."

Jonnie frowns, clearly taken aback by her vehemence. "Nick's doing it for you."

"He thinks he is. Maybe mostly he is. But if he really was doing it for me, he'd ask me what I want. And what I most want is for him to just leave them alone. Leave them alone and let them destroy themselves."

"But that won't work," Jonnie says with more passion than is usually evident in his hoarse voice. "They're not gonna let you alone. Sometimes you have to strike back to protect yourself."

Hannah can't help focusing on Hope, her mind rushing ahead to her plans for tonight. "Is that all that life's about? Protecting ourselves, no matter who else we have to hurt?"

A rustle of fabric announces Laurie's emergence from the parlor. "You're damn right, Han," Laurie says flatly, standing in the open doorway wearing a pure white cloud of a dress. "Sometimes self-protection's all that counts."

10. Greg White's Suite

Cliffside Cavern Hotel

Daphne breathes hard as she waits for Tyler to respond to her question. Maybe he does hold a grudge because of her going with Ian to the opera. Maybe no matter how often she'll insist that nothing happened, and nothing's ever going to happen, Tyler has decided that she's not to be trusted. Then again, why should he trust her? She did lie to him. And whenever she's around Ian, she does feel ... something electric. His mere presence is unnerving -- even a little exciting. But really, that's just because of who he is, and the danger that she's in.

Or rather, the danger he claims she's in. Tyler was probably right, some weeks ago, when he warned her that Ian's probably exaggerating the whole situation with his family. But there's a possibility that he's not. Who knows what the Nichols family is really like? Truth is, even if they're as pure as the Waltons or those holier-than-thou losers from Seventh Heaven, they could justifiably cause trouble for her -- thanks to the stupid kidnapping mistake.

All these worries take about four seconds to run through Daphne's racing mind. The tension gets to her and she blurts out again, "Come on, Tyler, am I important to you or not?"

"Of course you are," he insists. "You mean everything to me. It's just that I'm already in trouble with my Dad, and if he finds out I'm cutting school..." Tyler hesitates, exhaling. "Okay, look, what about this afternoon? I can blow off French and gym, that should be no problem."

His reluctance grates on her. "Sure, fine," she says in an acidic tone. "Whenever you can fit me in."

"That is so unfair! I've tried to be there for you whenever you needed me, and the one time I can't come running to you--"

"You should want to be with me. I thought you did." Daphne touches the pillow beside her, remembering the first time she ever saw Tyler's golden head resting next to hers. "I thought you wanted me."

"How can you say that?" he asks, his voice weakening. "You know I do."

"Don't you want to spend the whole day together? We've never been able to do that before. We'll be all alone. And ..." Daphne smiles shyly, debating giving away her secret. "And I've even got something special I can wear. I found this silk thing that I think one of my uncle's girlfriends's left behind, and I tried it on... I want you to see it on me."

"C'mon, Daph..."

"It's like barely covering anything. You should see it, it's pink and really, really thin--"

"Daphne," Tyler says, almost pleading with her. "You're killing me."

She smiles in relief at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser -- she knows she's got him. "Whatever, Ty," she says, suddenly affecting a casual air. "You can come over whenever you want. I'll just be here by myself, waiting."

When they finally hang up, she quickly gets off the bed, still grinning. She's not entirely sure why she woke up so desperate to be with Tyler, but after a long time of focusing only on her father and Hope, Daphne is ready for some happiness. Especially now that Dad's improving, she thinks as she drags her bathrobe off the closet hook and pads off into the bathroom. Things are gonna be better for Dad and me and Hope, they have to be! No matter what that assy sponsor of his says. Pessimistic judgmental creep.

Racing through a shower, Daphne dries herself and hurries to her dresser, pulling out the pale pink silk teddy that some anonymous chick from Uncle Greg's past left behind. It's a little large in the chest for her -- Greg sure likes 'em busty, Daphne notes with amusement -- but that only makes the neckline lower. In addition to caressing her slim body like another layer of skin, the teddy is made of a warm rose-colored silk that brings out some much-needed extra color in her cheeks. And the dark brown, shining length of Daphne's straight wet hair provides a stark contrast to the barely-there pink silk.

When finished dressing, Daphne stares at herself in the closet's full length mirror, amazed at how much older she looks. And how sophisticated she feels. Here she is, on her own, waiting for her lover to come by, dressed like this ... at long last, she feels like an adult.

It's nearly ten when the doorman finally buzzes up to her, which means that Tyler did attend Physics but blew off English. Okay, Stanford, you only get half points for that, Daphne thinks with a decidedly less-than-adult giggle as she tells the concierge to send the young man upstairs. Quickly lying on the sofa, Daphne arranges herself in a languid pose, with her slender but still curvy legs stretching out in front of her, the fingers of her right hand toying with the frilly lace of the teddy's décolletage, and her left hand pulling lazily at her damp strands of hair.

Moments later, the doorbell rings. "It's open," she calls, closing her eyes.

Tyler approaches, his footsteps barely audible on the carpeted floor. She can hear the intake of breath as he takes in her appearance, and Daphne flushes with triumph.

"Wow," he says softly. "This is ... quite a greeting."

But it's not Tyler's voice, and Daphne's eyes jerk open in shock as Ian Nichols stares down at her.

11. Schuyler Falls Community Hospital

Third Floor

For two hours, Doug White's bed has been raised to a higher and higher angle -- a slow ascent being necessary to avoid dizziness or difficulty breathing. Now that he's finally at 75 degrees, Doug can see almost all of his room for the first time since the accident.

"How does the joint look to you, Dr. White?" The black-haired nurse adjusts various wires in preparation for his initial wheelchair journey. "Good as you remember it?"

"Worse," Doug says grumpily.

"I hear you. Been a while since you worked here. Too bad about you stepping down, but I guess that's all water under the bridge, right? We're all pulling for you now."

Doug doesn't respond to this backhanded support. The nurse -- not one he ever slept with, but she seems to hold a grudge anyway -- continues: "Anyways, I suppose these rooms looked much better when you were on the other side of the stethoscope, huh?"

"Maybe."

John Drake, who's been leaning up against the wall waiting patiently for about ten minutes, seems aware of Doug's discomfort. "Or maybe things are getting run down thanks to all the cost-cutting," he murmurs. "Heard your current chief of staff's been taking an axe to the budget, chopping off jobs right and left. You nurses aren't worried about your jobs, are you?"

The nurse gives him a wary look and just shrugs. But Doug has to smile at his friend's pointed remarks, and when the middle-aged woman leaves the two men alone, he lifts a hand weakly for a handshake. "You didn't have to do that."

"No problem. She seemed to have issues with you."

"Yeah. So did most everyone here. It was only a matter of time before I wore out my sympathy points and turned back into the failure they loved to hate."

John raises one of his thick tawny eyebrows. "Feeling sorry for yourself today?"

"What do you expect? They've lowered my meds. I'm going through withdrawal again."

"No you're not. Not yet. You're anticipating it, that's all."

"Don't tell me what I'm feeling. Is that why you're here? To invalidate what I'm going through?"

Laughing, John shakes his head. "'Invalidate what you're going through'? Jesus, you've been reading your recovery pamphlets. Ryan must've been here."

"No, the head of the psychiatry department, actually."

"Same difference." John takes a seat beside Doug's bed, keeping his coat folded over his arm. "Look, you know I don't use those bullshit terms. I tell you the truth, or I try to. The main reason I'm here is to keep you out of yourself. You're too damn self-involved sometimes. Only makes things worse when you start in dwelling on yourself."

Doug swallows back his automatic defensive response and just nods. Despite his fears of having to do without the pain meds yet again, he knows he needs to concentrate on other things. "All right. What should I dwell on?"

For a few seconds, John hesitates. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about," he begins slowly. "I was here yesterday, me and your daughter. You remember that, right?"

"The meds aren't working well enough for me to forget everything anymore. Sorry she gave you some attitude."

"We got into it a bit, yeah. She seems high strung."

"You should meet her mother," Doug mutters, his hoarse voice edged with bitterness. Then he shakes his head. "No, who the hell am I to talk? When I'm clean I'm as bad as she ever was. Is." Doug sighs. "I don't even know what Nora's like now. Anyway, Daphne's got a lot of me and Nora in her. Unfortunately."

John looks up from his coat, which has been the focus of his attention since bringing up the subject. "You worry about her?"

"Sure I do. When I'm not being 'too damn self-involved'," Doug says with a crooked smile that fades quickly. "You think I shouldn't worry? Just because I've never given her a second's thought all her life? Maybe I don't have the right to, anymore."

With a reluctance that's far from usual for the older man, John waits before responding. "You don't lose the right to worry about your kids just because some time's passed. Maybe you don't have the right to control them or have much of a say in their lives. But being scared for them?" A humorless chuckle escapes him. "No, it's not something anyone can take from you. That's all our own."

Doug's not so medicated that he can't hear the undercurrent of genuine concern in John's gravelly voice, and the other man's choice of words sends a tremor of disquiet through him. "I didn't say I was scared. What's all this about? Did Daphne say something to you after you two left together?" He examines John's expression, which seems to close in on itself. "She did, didn't she? Was it about Hope? I admit the way she was focusing on that, it was freaking me out a bit. But it's natural, don't you think? She just wants the family to be together, what's left of it, anyway. Maybe she's right."

"I didn't mean -- Look, I don't want to get you upset. Shouldn't have brought this up." John pushes himself out of the chair, taking a few steps away from the bed as he rubs his weathered face again. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "It's just I saw something that disturbed the hell out of me yesterday, and I don't know what I should do about it."

"What?"

Turning around, John looks back at Doug. The discomfort in his dark eyes is obvious. When he doesn't respond, Doug slams his hand down on the bed. "Goddamn it, John, if you have something to say about Daphne I want to hear it!"

Second Street Clinic

A mobile made of delicate origami animals turns slowly in the slight breeze from the nearby fan, catching the attention of the young girl in charge of Beth Durand's body. Bitsy stares at the pastel colored, whisper-thin creations, and wonders if she'd be able to make something like that. Probably not. She prefers bolder colors anyway, and it looks way too hard to make all those folds in the paper. Bitsy prefers just cutting out pictures from books anyway. Scissors are a pretty silver color, and they're fast and easy, and even though they're dangerous she knows how to use them so she doesn't get hurt.

Of course, they got her in trouble more than once, thanks to that mean bitch of a mother who only ever seemed to pay attention when Bitsy did something bad. Do you know how long it took me to save up for the World Book? she cried once, her words slurring thanks to those pills she always took. But her hands were strong as ever as they jerked the scissors from Bitsy's grasp and then yanked Bitsy away from the cut-up pages of the encyclopedia. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You saw me bring the set home for your brother and you just had to ruin it! Why do you have to be so spiteful? Why do you have to ruin everything?

Bitsy scowls at the memory and turns back to the woman behind the desk. "It's taking too long," she pronounces. "Why're you still on the phone? Who're you talking to?"

The volunteer replaces the phone receiver gently, as if afraid of disturbing it. "I'm sorry, I did mention that you'll need to see a counselor. I was just checking to see if Janice was available."

"Is she the one who does it?"

"Who does..." The woman stares at her in comprehension. "No, no, that'll be Dr. Astrid. Our counselor will talk to you to make sure that you're all right, that you're making this decision on your own."

"I know that. I'm in charge now."

"I understand that, Ms. Durand. You see, we stand by the rights of women to choose the outcome of their pregnancies." Her words are soothing, but clearly this is a speech she's had to give dozens of times before. "So it's our strict policy to ensure that each woman knows that she has that right -- you know, to make sure that you're not being pressured by anyone, such as the father or your parents or --"

"They don't even know. And I don't need to be told all this. I'm not stupid, I figured out to do this all on my own!"

The patient smile flickers from the woman's face and morphs into a wary expression. "Um, okay. But there are other reasons that we require a counselor visit in addition to the medical checkup. We just want to support you, and to make sure that you're prepared for whatever emotional issues and reactions that you may have regarding the procedure."

Bitsy puts her hands on her hips, her easily accessed temper flaring up. "You're talking about a shrink, aren't you? I don't need this counselor person. I know what I want, don't you understand? I want to get rid of this baby now!"

"I -- I see. Uh ... look, could you just have a seat for a moment? I know this is a very difficult time for you--"

Laughing harshly, Bitsy backs away from the front desk. "You know? You know? You don't know anything about me. You people are always trying to figure things out, always saying you know what's good for us. I don't think you wanna help me at all. You're supposed to, that's what that ad says!" She slams her hand down on the ripped out yellow page from the phone book. "You're supposed to help me, and it's not fair if you don't!"

As if by magic, the large security guard whom Bitsy saw standing by the clinic entrance appears at her side. He glances at the desk clerk, who nods tensely, and then turns his black gaze to Bitsy. "There a problem, miss?"

Bitsy shoves her pointed finger at the older woman. "It's her fault! She won't do what I'm asking her to. It's not me, it's her!"

"Look, you just need to calm down, okay?" The guard puts out his hands, not touching her but clearly ready to grab her if necessary. "There's no call for yelling. We're all fine, right? There are other people here, they don't want to be hearing all this noise."

Swallowing, Bitsy pulls her coat around her more tightly. "I want what I came for," she says in as calm a voice as possible. "That's all. I want you to get rid of this stupid baby so things can go back to normal!"

"Ms. Durand," the desk clerk murmurs, "I really think you should just sit down for a while, all right?"

"I don't wanna sit down, I have to do this now! I don't know how much longer I'll be here!"

The clerk gives the security guard a look that says 'see?' and clears her throat. "Whatever we can do for you today, you'll need to relax. We can't help you if you're in a state like this. We need to make sure you're behaving ... well, forgive me, a little more rationally. Do you understand me? Are you willing to be a little more patient so we can help you?"

Bitsy glares at both her and the security guard, and without a word she turns and walks out of the clinic doors. She understands exactly what that woman was saying, and she knows that she has no intention of waiting any longer. Time is short, far too short for Bitsy. She can't wait for anyone else to help her any more -- she has to take care of things herself.

She grits her teeth and stomps down the street, heading for home and her favorite pair of sharp, silver scissors.