Fallen Angel - TOC

Chapter Seventy-Six

 Next morning...

"Maxie?" Felicia opened her daughter's door and poked her head into Maxie's room. "Do you want to talk to me before you leave?"

Maxie was making her bed and tidying her room in preparation for her school trip. It would be a relief to spend a day away from her regular classes, but she thought about how she'd miss Frankie, especially after their momentous kisses the previous evening. She'd lain awake for half the night, reviewing every sinuous movement, shy comment and sexual nuance that the two had shared and concluded that there was nowhere else she'd rather be but in that boy's arms, kissing him endlessly. The feel of his soft lips pressing against hers was memorized into every cell of her body, and she shivered deliciously in anticipation of seeing him again. She flinched visibly when her mother's voice broke through her reverie. "Oh. Mom," she said unenthusiastically. Why was it inevitable that all of her daydreams were interrupted by her mother? It was like she had a built-in hormone sensor that detected when her daughter was feeling frisky.

Felicia walked into the room and lightly closed the door behind her. "You didn't say much about your dinner last night when you returned, except that you'd had a good time." Her eyes worriedly regarded her daughter as she'd felt a sad vibration emitting from Maxie the previous evening. Usually, her daughter couldn't contain her happiness at seeing her boyfriend. The whole household certainly recalled the days of frenetic excitement and nonstop talking after Maxie had received flowers from Frankie.  

"I didn't want to talk around Mac because of how he feels about Frankie," Maxie related matter of factly as she sat down on her bed and clasped her hands together in her lap.  "Mr. and Mrs. Spencer are a lot of fun. We talked and joked around a lot." A few less pleasant memories flooded Maxie's mind, and her face saddened. At first, Frankie had been distracted at the Italian restaurant, almost acting afraid of the waiters and pulling into himself, refusing to join in the general conversation and darting his eyes around the room as if expecting to be ambushed. He'd ignored her when she'd whispered into his ear, asking him what was wrong. Later, he'd perked up and acted like his usual sexy self with his kisses and professions of love, but Maxie's uneasiness hadn't faded away, and she still felt unsure of Frankie's reactions and motivations. Who could ever figure out what he was thinking or feeling? Was she a bad girlfriend or were there deeper problems lurking beneath the surface of Frankie's demeanor?

Felicia sat down beside Maxie and placed an arm around her daughter. "See? That's what I mean. Why are you sad?"

Maxie sighed deeply and looked down at the floor so she could avoid her mother's searching gaze. Indecision rose within her, tugging at her heart, but she relaxed when she made up her mind. "I want to talk about something, but we need to keep it between us. Mac wouldn't understand. I have Robin, but she can't help me with everything, and she's not here very often."

"I'm listening," Felicia said quietly.

Maxie examined her fingernails as she chose her words carefully. "It's Frankie," she said with resignation. "Something's wrong with him, and I don't know how to help him."

"What do you mean?"

Maxie glanced up at her mother. "He's nice to me," she protested. "It’s not like that. It's just...I don't know. He acts upset a lot. His parents and brother know what's bothering him, but they keep it quiet."

"What do you think it is?"

Maxie shrugged. "It's his dad who upsets him the most - you know, his other one, the one who died, not Mr. Spencer. We've talked about it a couple of times. Frankie told me that his dad said he should kill himself if he were ever arrested. I told him that his real dad would never want him to do that. And, I said Georgie and I cared, too." Maxie's eyes moistened with the gravity of the topic, and she felt a heavy weight over her chest. "We don't want him to hurt himself."

"That was a good answer," Felicia replied encouragingly as she smoothed her daughter's hair. Her heart warmed as she picked up the depth of her daughter's compassion.

"He also said that his dad was always trying to get him to do things he didn't want to, that he was turning him into a criminal. People were trying to kill him because of his dad's businesses, and that's why he carried guns and wore bulletproof vests. I didn't want to talk about that around Mac, not after he had Frankie arrested."

"Mac's been under a lot of pressure from the mayor to close all of his open cases," Felicia explained. "He's had to do things he'd rather not. Can you understand that?"

"I guess. I don't want to talk about Frankie too much, though. Mac doesn’t like him, but he also doesn't understand Frankie like I do. Maybe if he talked to him like a regular person he'd see."

"That might not happen."

"I know," Maxie sighed. She played with the frill of her bedspread and remained silent for a moment. "Frankie said he was totally out of the mob, that he'd gotten rid of all of the illegal businesses, and his stepfather now has control of the legitimate ones. Mac should give him another chance."

"Do you want me to suggest that to him?"

"I don't know. I don't want Frankie to get into more trouble if you talk about him."

"I think I can handle the situation," Felicia said confidently as her eyes suddenly brightened with an idea. "Let me see if I can help." She hesitated. "Honey, you know that Frankie was kidnapped. If he wasn't treated well, it might take him some time to recover. He was very seriously injured, and you can see that, but you can't tell what's inside. Maybe his inner wounds are worse than the physical injuries."

"He's still a great boyfriend," Maxie answered quickly. "I just want him to feel better and help him if I can."

"I'm sure he appreciates all of his friends who want to support him. Just be careful you're not drawn into his problems to the degree that it hurts you. You're important, too, and I worry about you."

Maxie nodded. "Can I talk to you about the situation without you getting mad? I think that would help me. I don't have anyone else to listen to me or give me advice."

Felicia hugged her briefly and stood up from the bed. "I'm here. Just let me know what you need."

~*~*~*~

Frankie closed his locker door, and then reconsidered; opening it again and slamming it shut with all of his might, kicking it for good measure. Several students paused at their own lockers and looked briefly at the enraged boy. Frankie ignored them, huffing and puffing with a red face betraying his private emotional meltdown. His fists opened and clenched repeatedly as his jaw muscles twitched, and he muttered under his breath. Sly had talked to him this morning about his special plans for lunch and after school, and the fact that these plans didn't involve him.

***  Sly entered the kitchen while Frankie was brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Although he'd formerly avoided the stuff, Frankie had recently become addicted to java, especially after experiencing tortuous morning hangovers from his experimental drug and alcohol mixtures in the evenings.  The early morning jolt of caffeine seemed to normalize his existence to the degree where he could attend school and pretend like he was all right.

"You want a cup?" Frankie asked, turning away from the countertop and gesturing with an empty mug.

"No. I don't like coffee. I'm having cereal and juice."

"Whatever." Sly was a drag sometimes, acting almost prissy with his perpetually correct decisions and behavior. Frankie reflected that someone in the past must have given Sly attention and complimented him to encourage that behavior. He laughed wryly when he realized he'd been conditioned as well, although in the opposite direction, toward violence, sex and booze.

"Maxie and Emily have a field trip today," Sly said as he gathered together a cereal bowl and milk. He opened up the utensil drawer and pulled out a spoon, pausing to glance at his brother. Sly had spoken to his mom and dad the night before about gently easing back from his relationship with Frankie. It seemed like Frankie followed him around exclusively and didn’t try to make his own friends. Sly was tired of neglecting the friends he'd made before he'd met Frankie. He didn't want to hurt Frankie's feelings, but then he needed a breather for himself or he was going to burst with the tension and drama that Frankie brought to the household. He needed his own space and independence, at least some of the time.

"Yeah," Frankie answered disinterestedly. He poured out a large mug of coffee and banged it down on the table, directly across from Sly. He sank down into the seat and groaned as he held his aching head. Fuck me, he thought. Suddenly, he laughed out loud with a cackle when he recalled the stupid anti-drug commercial on television where there was an egg frying up in a pan to demonstrate the effects of drugs on the body. Dat's my brain!

Sly noted that Frankie looked terrible in the mornings with bad moods to match. Frankie usually picked a fight as soon as he rose from bed or at least while they were jockeying for position in the bathroom or in the car on the way to school. His brother had dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes looked pained as if someone had speared him in the skull. "I won't be sitting with you at lunch today," he breezily informed Frankie. "I'll be sitting with a few of my other friends just for the day. We're playing basketball after school, so we want to strategize before the game."

Frankie took a long, careful sip of his coffee as his bleary eyes raised slowly to meet his brother's. A hard look came over his face, and he sneered, "Who said I wanted to sit with you anyway. You're boring."

Sly's face set. Why were Frankie's negative reactions inevitable? Was anything ever easy for his brother? "I'm not picking a fight or ignoring you. We'll have lunch as usual when the girls return tomorrow."

Frankie slammed down his mug, causing the hot coffee to slosh wetly over the rim and run down his fingers. "Who says? You think you run da show. Dat's chickenshit. I don't need you." Frankie's sad demeanor and hunched shoulders said otherwise, but his pride was activated as a cover for his true feelings. He knew it was impossible for him to play basketball or be a regular guy for that matter. No other boys had even tried to be his friend except for the jerky kid who'd been a hitman wannabe. Frankie knew he'd have to sit alone in that lunchroom, and he wasn't looking forward to yet one more humiliation.

"Why are you so mad? It's only one day," Sly protested.

"Shut up!" Frankie yelled as he rose from the table. He jettisoned the rest of his coffee into the sink and threw the mug in after it with a loud crash that cracked the side of the glazed surface.

"Why don't you ask someone from one of your classes if you can join them?" Sly suggested helpfully. "You have to start making friends sometime." 

Frankie's back was turned to Sly, and it was shaking with rage. He turned around with a dark, chilling look in his eyes. He raised his index finger to Sly and said in a harsh voice, "Don't you ever tell me what to do. You think you're so smart, but you've lived here forever and had all da advantages and time to know people. Fuck you. I'll go buy a basketball team at lunch!"

Sly watched Frankie limp off and let out a tense breath as he dug his spoon into his cereal. "Dammit," he said under his breath.  "I sure screwed that up" But what was the answer? Nothing else he said would have worked. Frankie was angry because he wanted to be. ***

Frankie punched his locker as an aftermath to his kick. He'd tried to talk his dad into taking him out to lunch, but Luke had had a client meeting and couldn’t make it. Alexis would be in court, so she couldn’t go either. He was stuck, stuck, stuck - all by himself. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the locker, trying to regain his composure so he could be a cool guy in the lunchroom, one who didn't require the company of other, lesser mortals.

Frankie felt a breeze behind him and detected a sense of movement. He rapidly turned around to face the bullies who had tormented him earlier in the week.

"You're a retard," the one boy said in a baiting voice. He was a tall, rangy boy, full of perpetual energy in search of discharge and never standing still as he moved back and forth, clasping his arms and then letting them go.

Frankie was in no mood for another beating and replied in an oily voice, "And you're dead. You're on da hit list." He cracked his knuckles as a fierce look descended on his face - a look tinged with the madness that had frightened the bullies months ago in the gym. At that moment in time, Frankie had seemed capable of anything.

"Says who?" the one boy cracked, although he was losing his nerve in the face of Frankie's boldness. Weren't there rumors that the kid had been involved in the mob? Maybe it was true.

Frankie waved his signet ring under the boy's nose. "Says my bank account dat'll pay for your execution," he answered with grim determination. "If I want - you disappear without a trace, chump. I don't have time for amateurs like you."

The boys looked at one another, taken back by the change in Frankie. Days before, he'd been an easy mark, distracted and not fighting back. Now, he seemed like a short, wiry killing machine who would take special pleasure in ordering their deaths.

Frankie's blood was racing with anger and fear, and he jumped when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"What do you want with my brother?" Nikolas easy, mature voice questioned. "Come on, Frankie, let's get some lunch." Nikolas' brown eyes met the bullies,' and his expression turned stony. He drew himself up to his full height with his chest and biceps flexed to show off his abundant musculature.

One boy punched the other one in the shoulder. "We've got things to do," he said as they walked off in search of easier prey. "You're wasting our time."

Nikolas' hand remained on Frankie's shoulder. "I'll introduce you to my friends," he said easily. "That is, if you can stand sitting at the lunch table with a few jocks. They're good guys, but we don't talk about literature or world events."

Frankie turned limp with gratitude and breathed out his relief. "Sure, dat's okay. I wanna meet new people." His mind took him back to Sly, and suddenly he felt competitive. If Sly could have other friends, then he could, too.  He wouldn't even look at Sly and his friends in the lunchroom - not once. Frankie picked up his crutches and moved haltingly beside his brother. His laughter rang through the hallways. "Dey thought you'd kick their behinds."

"Good," Nikolas answered. "They need to get a life."

"Yeah, get a life," Frankie echoed.

"How's that leg?" Nikolas asked.

"It's getting' better. I take rehab for it. I went from a wheelchair to crutches, and dey said dat was a miracle, so I'm pushing it. I wanna go for da next miracle."

"How would you like to go horseback riding? If you're up to it. You did seem interested in Sheba when I introduced you."

Frankie stopped in the middle of the hall, his eyes shining and his smile bright. "Really? When?"

Nikolas chuckled when Frankie's youth shone through his comments and demeanor. "You're enthusiastic. How about this afternoon? Your dad can drop you off at Wyndemere."

Frankie started walking again, keeping in step with his older brother. "Okay. He'll do dat. I'll ask him. Do you have an extra horse? Dat Sheba is nice, but she's big."

"We have a whole stable of them. Father bought you a special horse. She's gorgeous, a chestnut color. And she's real sweet, too. You'd better start thinking of what to name her."

"Wow," Frankie mouthed breathlessly. "I can't wait. Dat Stefan, he's da man."

~*~*~*~

"And den when she bent down to grab her ankles, he took another drink," Frankie stated as he continually amused his companions with one dirty joke after another. He soaked in their attention and couldn't seem to stop talking.

Three muscular jocks laughed out loud around the circular table in the lunch room. "Where do you get those crazy jokes?" Dustin asked appreciatively. It was hard to believe that this kid was Nikolas' younger brother, but he seemed to have the same acute appreciation for the female form and was smart and witty as well.

"Are you sure you two are related?" Dustin asked with a snort and a thumb pointed toward Nikolas. "I've never seen Nikolas' brains in action."

Nikolas swatted at his friend who ducked and laughed harder. "Same mother, different fathers," Nikolas answered. The other boys around the table nodded without comment. Interesting family relationships seemed to be the typical arrangement these days, and this was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Same high cheekbones," Tyler said, smirking and making a motion toward his own face, as if he were applying makeup.

Nikolas and Frankie looked at each other in disbelief and shook their heads. Anyone could tell they looked nothing alike. They both had Laura's smooth skin and emotional nature but different coloring. That was all.

Frankie relaxed and took another bite of his hamburger. He felt at home with Nikolas' friends. They reminded him of his bodyguards or the enforcers back at the Smith estate with their simplicity, humor and huge physiques. He'd always gotten along with the men and was used to the banter of four letter words and dirty jokes. He didn't have to be large in stature himself to fit in. Like the men on the estate had often noted, he was more man than fit into his body. That was okay with him, as long as he had presence and commanded respect. The lift shoes took care of any other lingering doubts.

Nikolas regarded his younger brother and reflected that the kid probably wasn't making up his experience in the romance department, as he'd originally suspected. There was a woman for every man. Some women liked them tall and muscular, while others preferred their men slender and good looking. He guessed Frankie reeled them in with his charm and even features.

Nikolas had decided to take another long look at his younger half brother after his long discussion with his father on the plane ride back to Port Charles.

*** "Father, why have you shown such an interest in Frankie? I mean, I know he's my mother's son, but what do you see in him?"

Stefan sighed and rubbed his eyes as his jet lag was pulling him down. "You have not made the effort to know him. He is very intelligent and witty. I enjoy his company. Besides, he reminds me of myself at that age."

"What?" Nikolas shot an incredulous look at his aristocratic father. "No way. You're royalty."

"Who had an incredibly abusive mother much like Frankie had a horrible father. We were both reared in a rigid, controlling manner, yet chafed at the restrictions and expectations. I was an achiever who desired more for myself and those around me. Frankie is similar. He never wanted the life his father laid out for him, yet he is full of hope and energy. I can provide him with channels to direct that energy for good purposes. I believe he has the ability to shape the future of this country in a positive fashion if he's guided now into responsible adulthood."

"So he's a challenge, a project."

"No. I truly like the boy. I want to help him. And, your mother is happier than I have seen her in a long while. Her family is complete, and I share in her happiness."

"And what do you want from me? What are your expectations? Must I always think and feel exactly the same way you do? Isn't that rigid and controlling, too?"

"Perhaps," Stefan admitted. His green eyes saddened as he regarded his son. "Our separation has pointed out to me the areas where I have let you down. You have had the life I would have desired at your age, and I assumed it was what you wanted for yourself."

"You've always treated me like I was a spoiled brat with opinions that didn't count. My life must be perfect because I have a different mother and live in Port Charles, away from the Greek tyrants. You don't see me as a separate person with my own needs."

Stefan's face remained rigid as he considered his son's words. He folded his hands in his lap and bent his head down. "Yes," he conceded. "I apologize, Nikolas."

"You only wanted the best for me - as long as it met your preconceived notions of happiness," Nikolas inserted.

"That is harsh."

'Yes, it is." Nikolas sat back into his seat, and silence grew between father and son. Eventually, he sighed and continued talking as he fiddled with the seatbelt attached to the back of his seat. "I received a glimpse of grandmother's duplicity," he admitted. "She wanted nothing more than to drive a wedge between us. That's why she left me a sum of money and instructions for how to avoid you. Did she hate you so much that she set this up years before her death?"

"Yes," Stefan replied sadly. "She hated me that much."

Nikolas face screwed up with confusion.  "Why?"

"She did not require a logical reason. It was her nature."

"To hate her own offspring?"

"The father of her offspring," Stefan added. "I belonged to my father Mikkos, and she hated me for it."

"That's warped."

"Exactly. This is why I removed you from the island. I did not want you to be infected by the history and sentiment of the place."

"And this is why you don't approve of Athena."

"Nikolas, you are young. You may change your mind concerning the woman you wish to marry. I am concerned for the intensity of your emotions."

"Mother wasn't much older than me when I was conceived," Nikolas challenged.

"Did that situation work to your advantage?" Stefan questioned. "I thought the circumstances of your birth were troubling for you."

"They are," Nikolas sighed. He batted his head back against the headrest. "But I've worked on accepting it. The past is past. Athena helped me to see this."

"Athena has a head on her shoulders," Stefan remarked with a comment that was as close to a compliment as he was willing to allow.

"She has a big heart, too. It was good for us to be together. She helped me to clear my mind."

And soothed your libido, Stefan thought without saying. "Now you are returning home. How will you deal with your half brother? Will you be an example to him? Will you be an older brother?"

Nikolas shrugged. "I enjoyed spending time with Sly on the island. It was fun being older and helping him out, but he's much more easygoing than Frankie. Frankie pushes my buttons and gets on my nerves."

"Then he will provide a lesson in self control," Stefan replied matter of factly.

"Life is a lesson - one big fat lesson?"

"Yes."

"Why can't I just live? Must everything be geared toward growth and improvement?

"Choices, Nikolas. Life is a series of choices." ***

Nikolas blinked his way back to awareness and smiled when he discovered Frankie was entertaining his friends with yet another dirty joke. Of course, Luke had called Nikolas early that morning, asking him to look after Frankie since Sly would be occupied. Luke was cool, and so he'd listened to him. It hadn't been an imposition to ask Frankie to lunch, but of course it wouldn't be wise to mention to Frankie that his father had asked his dreaded older brother to look after him. A sense of shame washed over Nikolas as he realized he hadn't given his brother one thought during his trip. He hadn't wondered how the kid was faring or even if he were recovering from all of his injuries. Nikolas adjusted in his chair and ran a hand over his neck. Frankie was a challenge, but he still had some work to do on his own attitude. He'd made the right choice by asking Frankie to lunch. Hopefully, the afternoon of horseback riding would be equally successful and enjoyable.

~*~*~*~

"Mac? It's Felicia." Felicia cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder as she loaded dishes into the dishwasher with a nervous energy that seemed to require perpetual motion.

"Felicia," Mac breathed out appreciatively. "You're balm to a wounded man. I just came from a meeting with the mayor. The man is after my head." He leaned against his desk and tensely rubbed his forehead as a major headache lurked and threatened to become full-blown.

"I have an idea," Felicia retorted happily with a teasing quality in her voice. Her eyes were bright in anticipation of achieving her mission.

"Spill it," Mac laughed. "I'll take any idea that has a shred of merit."

"I think I may have a way for you to immediately close two cases."

"What?"

"I spoke to Maxie this morning - about Frankie." Felicia could sense the tension on the line, although Mac hadn't said anything. "Give me a minute to explain before you shut down."

"I'm listening," Mac said regretfully. He picked up a paperweight from his desk and twirled it up into the air, not intending to give his full attention to the discussion and instead biding his time until Felicia was through talking.

"Maxie was discussing with me how Frankie has tried so hard to be totally legitimate, and that he rid himself of all criminal traces that Frank Smith left behind. He told her he'd never wanted to be aligned with his father in the mob, but that it was something Frank forced on him."

"What's new?" Mac asked with irritation.

"I know of a way to solve those murder cases," Felicia's singsong voice rang out. "Blame it all on Frank Smith. He's dead. Blame it on him. Frankie can sign a statement implicating his father in those two deaths. It gets the boy off the hook and solves the cases."

Silence entered the phone lines as Mac's mind turned over the possibilities of Felicia's suggestion.

"It's simple," he said finally.

"And quick," Felicia added.

"What if the kid won't go for it?"

"What does he have to lose? Frank Smith can't reach him beyond the grave. Besides, the man deserves it."

"Frank Smith was responsible for a large number of deaths," Mac said as he remembered the sixty-eight bodies that had been discovered on the Smith estate. "And he did abuse and control the kid. We have eyewitnesses."

"Yes."

Mac rubbed his chin and frowned. "I wonder if the mayor will accept this?"

"Two closed cases? You bet he will."

"Those developers and businesses are breathing down his neck," Mac considered. "They're threatening to build outside of Pittsburgh instead of Port Charles.

"Better to lay it all to rest," Felicia added helpfully.

"I'm still not sure I want that kid anywhere near Maxie," Mac threatened.

"We'll work on that," Felicia promised with her fingers crossed for luck.

"Okay," Mac stated confidently. "I'll do it. I'll have the papers drawn up this afternoon."

"Good man," Felicia encouraged, wrapping the phone line around her finger, much as she had figuratively done with her husband.

~*~*~*~

The bright yellow door yanked open with a force that caused Sonny to gasp in protest and fear. He hadn't bothered to lock his door after his latest restroom visit at the local McDonald's, and now Johnny used that oversight to his full advantage as he brutally pulled Sonny from the vehicle.

Johnny held Sonny by the collar of his polo shirt and shook him. "Remember me?" Johnny gritted out with flashing eyes and a steely tone of voice. He pushed Sonny against the gaudy yellow car with a loud thud. "I've had it with you."

Sonny gave Johnny a dark look as he delicately brushed himself off. "It's a free country. Take your beef somewhere else."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Johnny said with a threatening move toward Sonny. There were barely three inches of space between the two men, and Johnny was taller and more heavily built than a short and slight Sonny Corinthos.

Indecision invaded Sonny's bones, and he felt his skin break out into a sweat. Johnny had flashed his gun holster in front of his face, and he knew the man meant business. What he wouldn’t do to have Jason by his side right now to match brawn with brawn. His own pistol was secured in the glove compartment of his tiny car as he'd been afraid to place his hand on it after the unwilling destruction of his right toe. "I’m merely parking my car," Sonny said in a whiney voice.

"What is your business at the high school?" Johnny questioned with a derisive snort. "Going for that high school diploma you never earned?"

Sonny's brow creased in protest, and he shook his shiny black curls. "It's a public street. I'm not going to the school."

Johnny's hand shot out and pushed Sonny in the chest. "Give it up. I know you've been tailing Frankie. I have no intention of allowing it to continue." He brushed his hand against his gun holster in a blatant threat. "You can go away quietly and mind your own business, or I can remove you from your miserable existence."

Sonny's eyes darted toward his glove compartment, and he wondered if he could get hold of his pistol before Johnny killed him. He had no doubt that Johnny had been the best in the business if he'd been Smith Junior's personal bodyguard. With Jason as his right hand man, all Sonny had had to do was wear his designer suits and scowl. He wasn't prepared to handle these situations one on one. What would Jason do? Well, he'd beat up Johnny, but Sonny shrank further against the car in the face of Johnny's imposing presence. If he threw a punch at Johnny, the man would grab his hand and break his fingers one by one - of that he had no doubt. "I'm going!" he yelled. Johnny pushed his retreating back, and Sonny's head cracked against the door of his car. "Hey!" he protested shrilly with a hand smoothing his curls. "That hurt."

Johnny shook his head in disbelief. "Get out of here," he ordered. "And don't let me see you anywhere near Frankie. If I do, you're dead."

Sonny muttered curses under his breath and slid behind the wheel of his car, his hand shaking as he turned the ignition. He grabbed two McDonald's napkins to wipe off his sweaty palms. God, I miss Jason. He couldn't get the car into the correct gear to pull away from the curb and rocked the car back and forth with a jerky motion, causing the sky blue fuzzy dice hanging from his rearview mirror to swing wildly. "I'll get you anyway, Smith Junior," he hissed between his clenched teeth as the car finally jettisoned away from the curb, barely missing the bumper of a passing grandmother's huge old Buick.

~*~*~*~*~

Frankie sat slumped in his seat in the psychiatrist's office with Luke seated next to him. His posture communicated all, and he exclusively directed his gaze down at the floor.

"This is the seventh therapist you've rejected in the space of three weeks," the psychiatrist said sternly. "You should have been able to find one person to work with out of that number. Two of these people said they never wanted to speak to you again. What did you do to them?"

Frankie's full lips turned up into a secret smile. "Not tellin'," he said proudly. "It's private and confidential."

Luke shot an exasperated look at his son and met the psychiatrist's eyes with a sympathetic expression.

"You're under a court order to receive therapy," the psychiatrist explained.

"I know dat!" Frankie shot back. He nervously tapped the tip of his shoe against the desk. "Don't mean I gotta do a good job. Dere's nothing about dat court order dat says I gotta be rated on how I do, right? So put dat in your pipe and smoke it."

"Frankie," Luke warned. "Stop the disrespect."

"Den don't disrespect me," Frankie muttered under his breath. "I ain't gonna talk." His face took on an innocent, manipulative expression as he sought information. His eyebrows rose eloquently, and his tone of voice softened. "And how long was dat court appointed therapy? It's almost over, right?"

"Cut the crap," Luke said with exasperation. "You're going to continue here after the court appointed time. That's my decision. You might as well accept it and start working on your issues."

Frankie folded his arms and sniffed. "Can't make me talk," he said again. "Stop tryin' to manipulate me."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Luke exclaimed with disbelief.

The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. He might as well allow father and son to argue back and forth as it seemed to be as therapeutic as anything during this point in time. Both seemed to relish a good argument, and at least the kid was talking for a change.

~*~*~*~

"Touch her for awhile so she can get used to you and learn not to fear you," Nikolas instructed Frankie. The brothers were standing in the stall of Frankie's new horse, Bella. He'd been immediately charmed by her beauty, and the Italian word for beauty came first to his mind. "Bella," he whispered to the young horse. "I'll take care of you." He rubbed the length of the horse's nose and moved the comb that Nikolas had given him over her coat with a gentle motion.

"Father chose a smaller horse for you," Nikolas mentioned. "She's not too short, not too tall, just right."

"Yeah," Frankie agreed. "She's great."

"I rode her a few times, and she's very accepting of direction. She's been trained, so we don't have to break her."

Frankie frowned and looked worried. "I don't want anyone hurting her," he said with an edge to his voice. "Be nice to her."

"We are," Nikolas assured him. "It's just a figure of speech to describe how horses are trained to accept riders. She's been handled very well. Father made sure of that."

"Can I ride her?" Frankie's anxious voice asked. "I can't walk, but I can sit."

"I think that's a good idea. Bella seems to accept you. I showed you the motions to make with the reins, stop/go, that sort of thing. Do you have any questions?"

"Not really. Can I make her run?"

"Just be sure you're secure in your saddle," Nikolas stated. "I don't want you to fall and get spooked. Some people never ride again if they have a problem."

Frankie's chin jut out. "I'm tough. I'm not afraid."

"Just be careful. Follow my lead when I ride Sheba, and you should be fine." Nikolas lifted Frankie onto the saddle and adjusted his bad leg to place his foot into the stirrup. "Riding is therapy, you know," he said conversationally. "A lot of people ride even if they have some paralysis."

"Good," Frankie said with shining eyes. "I’m gonna like dis, I can tell." He ran his fingers over the patterned leather of his new saddle and breathed in the warm smells of horse, leather and hay. "Bella, pretty bella," he said in a singsong voice. "We're gonna ride."

Nikolas mounted Sheba and directed her toward the stable door. "We're going to walk slowly at first," he called out over his shoulder. "No need to rush. Then, we'll head for some smooth terrain further out so Bella and Sheba can run for a minute."

"Yeah," Frankie answered excitedly as he hopped in his seat with his desire to take out his horse. It felt funny to be slapping in his saddle, unaccustomed to the pacing of the large animal he was riding, and he noted that Nikolas had a special posture and carriage. Maybe there was a lot to learn about this stuff. He'd have to pay attention for sure.

Frankie caught the freshness of the spring breezes on his face and enjoyed being outside and active. He'd been cooped up in mansions, hospitals, schools and rehab for endless weeks. The freedom felt exhilarating with a rush of pleasure running through him. Nikolas was now trotting with Sheba, not too fast, but no longer walking the animal. Frankie coaxed Bella with a brief flick of his heel and laughed merrily when she picked up her pace. "Waaaaaaaa!" he cried out happily. He giggled and bopped in his saddle, hanging onto the reins for dear life.

"Ready to run?" Nikolas called out over his shoulder when they entered a flat space of meadow.

"Yeah!" Frankie cried out. His face became tight with concentration, and his heart raced with anticipation. Upon seeking Nikolas take off, he dug his heel lightly into Bella and felt the horse gallop rapidly with heavy hooves making rapid thudding noises on the ground. His hair flew back from his face, and his eyes widened at the sensation of flying through the air, in tune with nature and the horse. As the horse ran faster, he reflected that his bottom would wear out before the rest of him. It was murder on his inexperienced posterior. Before he had time to worry too much, Nikolas slowed down Sheba, and so he pulled the reins toward him to make Bella obey as well.

Nikolas sidled up beside Frankie and set the walking pace for the horses. "How was your first run?" he asked politely. He didn't really need to ask as Frankie's flushed cheeks, excited eyes and smiling lips told the whole story.

"Great," Frankie said appreciatively. "Thanks."

"We'll walk the horses back to the stable, and I'll begin teaching you how to sit in the saddle," Nikolas said. "The sooner you learn, the more your butt will thank you."

Frankie snickered and shook his head. "I'll learn quick," he said. "I always do."

~*~*~*~

"Ah, Ruby." Luke slid into a high seat at the counter of Kelly's Diner with a natural ease that spoke confidence in his aunt's abilities to listen and offer advice. "My kid is a pain in the butt." His voice rose to mimic Ruby's no-nonsense voice. "Remember when you used to say, 'Just wait until you have a kid of your own. He'll be just as rotten.' Well, it's payback time, auntie dear." Luke reached out his hand to gratefully accept the cup of coffee that Ruby offered. He swirled the brown liquid around in the cup before taking a long swig and grimaced with the effects of the caffeine jolt as he rubbed the top of his head to soothe himself.

"Can't fight nature," Ruby joked while wiping off the countertop with an instinctive, quick motion of her hand. As a result of running a diner for years, she had the innate ability to think, talk and move at the same time without neglecting one or the other activities.

"Mother Nature is an old bitch with a million year grudge," Luke complained. "Ouch," he yelped when Ruby snapped her wet towel at him.

"I’m walking on cloud nine today because of Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior," Ruby exclaimed with a sparkle in her eyes. She reached behind her to remove a small box from a shelf. "Look what the mailman delivered to me today. It's a gift from Frankie."

Luke curiously opened the lid to the white box and parted the mounds of tissue paper with his fingers. He lifted up a delicate porcelain ballerina complete with her graceful curve of positioned arms and legs. "You always wanted one of these," he stated softly. "But you wouldn't let us buy you one."

"Frankie asked Bobbie for a gift idea," Ruby exclaimed proudly. "Isn't she gorgeous? She's the one I always looked for when I went window shopping. I love the pink color of her outfit, and look at that beautiful thick braid winding down her back."

Luke turned over the ballerina and read the printed inscription. "Isabella," he said with amusement. "Her name is Isabella. She's a beauty, Ruby." He delicately handed back the porcelain figurine, not wanting to risk dropping it or maiming it in his rough, clumsy hands.

"There's a card, too." Ruby offered.

Luke opened up the small, white folded card and read aloud, "To my Aunt Ruby. Thank you for recognizing me. You were the first one. Love, Frankie." Luke's eyes misted briefly, and he handed the card back to his aunt.

"I always knew he was yours, Luke," Ruby stated proudly.

"That you did."

"I just wish he'd always been around," Ruby said wistfully. "He's too special to have been missing for fourteen years. He must have been a really cute little boy."

"But we have him now. That's what we'll concentrate on."

"You have two very special boys," Ruby stated knowingly. "Don't you forget that when life's cares head your way. Boys will be boys, but they're yours, and you love them."

"And Frankie will be Frankie," Luke laughed.  His eyes softened at his aunt's kindness. "But I hear you Ruby." He set his coffee mug down on the counter and rose to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I always hear you, oh wise one."

~*~*~*~

"I have news!" Alexis' excited voice rang out, disturbing Luke's beauty sleep.

Luke rose creakily from the bed, yawning loudly from his interrupted nap and stretching his arms. "I was preparing dinner," he explained. "Takeout should be here in twenty minutes."

"And Frankie's helping you," Alexis teased.

"Yeah, he's taking a nap, too. Sly will be home later this evening."

"Our private investigator is paying off. He's infiltrated an organization that may be responsible for trying to harm Frankie."

Luke's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? The mob?"

"No. Worse. A secret underground offshoot of the FBI."

"No way. You must be kidding." Luke recalled his unnerving encounters with Agent Richards, and his doubts began to recede. "Well...maybe."

"You remember that creepy man we spoke with at FBI headquarters a few months ago? That smoker man with the horrible, soggy cough?"

"Agent Richards."

"Yes. He recently quit the organization and took several men with him. Apparently, he stole confidential information, and the FBI wants him brought in for questioning, but he's nowhere to be found.  Except that our man is being recruited by this same ex agent. They're building an operation as we speak."

"What in the world is going on?"

"We've only hit the tip of the iceberg. I expect more information soon."

"I'll tell Johnny and Stefan. We need to step up security."

Alexis rocked back and forth on her heels in anticipation of sharing her other piece of news. "Guess what?" she asked, grinning with a force that showed her dimples.

Luke's gaze softened as he reviewed his wife's appearance. He sidled up to her and grabbed her around the waist, dipping her low and placing a fat kiss on her lips when he pulled her back up. "What, darling?" he asked as he playfully danced with her, swaying back and forth.

"Mac has offered to close the two murder cases. If Frankie signs some papers, he's out from under suspicion. He'll be cleared."

"In exchange for what? A spare body part? I can't believe it."

Alexis' brown eyes danced with excitement. "Believe it. I have the papers in my briefcase."

~*~*~*~

Frankie's hair was neatly brushed, and he sat with a rigid posture at the table in the formal dining room. His parents had mentioned they wanted to discuss some business with him after dinner, and he'd anticipated needing to be on his guard to the degree that he'd gone back to his room and changed from his sweats to a neater, dressy outfit.

Alexis rifled through her briefcase, wanting all of the papers to be laid out together, and Luke sat silently with his hands folded on the wooden table top. The dining room rarely saw any action as not a single member of the newly reformed Spencer family had the culinary skills to cook a dinner worthy of the bright, shining china and smooth polished wood of the carved table and breakfront.

Frankie glanced at Luke and sighed imperceptibly. His posture relaxed a measure as he noticed that his father was in a good mood and not tense in the least. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He wondered about all the secrecy, though. Why couldn't Alexis just spit it out? Were they taking him back to jail? Were they afraid to tell him? Should he tense up again?

"Here are the papers," Alexis stated in her formal attorney's voice.

Why is she grinning like that? Frankie wondered.

"I have a surprise for you," Alexis said. "It's a very good surprise, so don't be anxious."

Frankie squirmed in his wooden seat and ran a quick hand over his hair. "Okay," he said quietly.

"Mac is ready to cut a deal with you," she explained. "He wants to close the murder cases."

"Deal?" Frankie choked out. Frank had always warned him about deals, that they were usually in the favor of the cops, not the accused.

Alexis nodded and fanned the papers in front of him. Luke met her eyes, and they silently communicated their desire for this to happen. "What's dis?" Frankie questioned. He snapped to attention and reached for one of the papers.

Alexis laid a hand on his arm and met his gaze. "If you sign these papers, stating that Frank Smith was responsible for the murders, the cases will be closed, and you'll be cleared. It's a very generous offer and extremely fair to you."

Frankie recoiled and slammed his back hard against the chair. Explosions of wild thoughts and feelings shot like fireworks through his mind and body. "Don't ever betray me," Frank's voice threatened in his mind. "I'll kill you on the spot." Frankie's heart raced with fear and dread as he remembered that Frank really would have murdered him in retaliation. His fingers curled with tension against the smooth, wooden surface of the dining room table, and his fingertips left behind prints that slowly evaporated as silence descended on the room. 

Frankie felt his head tightening in response to his dark, confused emotions, and he responded, "I can't," in a small, squeaky voice. He stared at the papers and removed his hands from the table, hiding them in his lap as if he needed to control the actions of his various body parts so they wouldn't betray Frank either. He bent his head low and refused to look at either Alexis or Luke. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his shoulders shook as he started to sob. The tears came against his will, but he was powerless against their insistent force. Giving up, he let his forehead bang down against the table and continued to cry.

Luke looked with alarm at Alexis, but she shook her head as she guessed that Frankie needed to resolve his own thoughts and motivations before even considering signing such a flagrant rejection of his past. Who knows how terrified the boy must be and how he dreaded the possibility of a totally open and free future for himself. Had he ever been allowed to have a dream or a desire for his own life?

Frankie choked on his tears and slowly rose from the table, limping away and heading for the bathroom. Luke and Alexis heard a nose blowing, the water running and then silence. They waited patiently, and Frankie returned to the table after a few minutes with a steely expression on his face and a look of determination in his red-rimmed eyes.

"It's time," he said with a strong, assured voice as he sat back down and met his parent's eyes. "I need to read it first," he said to Alexis.

"I’m a lawyer," she tittered. "I expect you to read it. Ask me any questions you have before signing."

Frankie tapped his pen against the table as he read slowly and thoroughly. "I'm totally in the clear, den?" he asked.

"Yes," Alexis stated. "You won't be charged with a crime. You'll be free."

"Free," Frankie breathed out.

Luke felt a lump rise in his throat and swallowed firmly. This moment felt as timely and important as the birth or marriage of a favorite child, with all of the attendant hopes and anxieties.

Frankie rubbed his lips together and frowned. His fingers tightened around the pen, but he moved it with grace and ease over the first line marked with an "x."

Luke noted how absolutely elegant his son's signature was. No quick scrawls for this boy - his signature carried the authority and character of a signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Frankie signed Lucas Lorenzo Spencer, Junior without hesitation, pausing to place in parentheses, previously known as Frank Smith, Junior. He continued to initial LLS at various places in the document as Alexis pointed them out. He sighed with relief when Alexis collected the papers and said, "You're done."

Frankie gazed at his father, and then let a small smile escape from his lips. His blue eyes brightened, and Luke could swear he felt an invisible wall break and fall down between them, forever.

"It's over," Frankie said quietly as he removed his signet ring and laid it on the table.

 Next chapter...