Fenny flipped through the channels on television before deciding there was nothing on, as usual, then got up to peruse the few CDs next to the entertainment center that were either the ones Paul had left or whatever Danny had hanging about. She wasn’t familiar with most of the artists, so she gave up and flipped on the radio quietly as she listened to Danny making them tea in the kitchen.

“So you really didn’t mind going to the gallery?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, sticking his head into the room as Fenny lounged along the couch. “I mean I didn’t want it to come across as ‘Look how great I am, I’ve got a show’ or anything, I just, I wanted you to see it.”

“It was amazing,” she smiled sincerely. “I should be thanking you for sharing it with me.”

“Your opinion means a lot to me, Fen,” he said, disappearing back into the kitchen, “and I’m not saying that because I want to get you into bed or because I’m fishing for compliments or something, but you’re not like some pretentious snobby art critic or anything. If I’m crap you can tell me so.”

“Really Dan, your lighting and your angles and your subject matter and the way you print the photos, it’s all fabulous and very unique, I love it all. I sincerely hope you get the opportunity to take it up again.” She would have jumped at the opportunity to purchase a print, not just to help him out but because he was a genuinely talented photographer. But she knew him too well and she knew he wouldn’t stand for such a thing. Danny came into the room with two mugs and handed one to her. “And to think you wasted all that time in advertising when you’ve actually got talent,” she smirked.

“You’re just saying that,” he teased modestly. Fenny pulled her feet under her so he could sit next to her, then sprawled her legs across his lap and leaned against the back of the couch, smiling lazily at him as he rubbed her knee with his free hand.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” she assured him.

“I know.”

“So you’ve always been a genius photographer then?” she asked. “How’d you get started.”

“Well, you know,” he shrugged, “I wish I could say it was some sort of need to create or express myself or something, but my mum found an old camera when I was about twelve and she gave it to me, something to do when my parents dragged me on trips to visit relatives other than whine about gran’s house smelling funny. And it stuck.” He shrugged again.

“I’m even more impressed since you’re self taught.”

“Well I did take a course at uni, learned to process film and print and all that. Better than leaving it at the chemist.”

“I spent a lot of time in the photo lab at college,” Fenny mused, “when I was dating that photographer. It was all a bit over my head. Apart from spotting prints, ‘cause that involved a paintbrush and I could cope with that. Made enough money spotting people’s prints that semester to keep my gas tank full, which was good,” she smiled.

“Great,” Danny perked, “you should spot my photos from now on, I’m hopeless.”

“Oh you’re not hopeless,” she chided.

“So you’ve never been big on photography?”

“No. I mean there’s some fabulous photographers out there that I love, but cameras and I don’t get along. Actually, come to think of it, whenever I get involved with cameras, things seem to go pretty…badly.”

“Really?” Danny asked.

“Well, my father nearly killed himself playing with a camera a week or two ago, I’ve done a lot of work with photographers in my various jobs which rarely went well. That’s how we got involved with Don, he took off with Brad’s bag that he had his camera in. Actually that’s how I met Brad, at a photo shoot. A couple times actually.”

“So not all camera associations are bad then,” Danny smiled weakly.

“No,” she breathed. “Nothing bad’s happened with you so far.”

“Not that I’m trying to get rid of you,” he announced after a moment, “but shouldn’t we be getting you to Gina’s?” He tried not to think of Brad sitting around waiting for her to come home because, if he was to be honest with himself, Danny was feeling less and less guilty about what he and Fenny were doing to Brad, and that made him feel bad.

“No, there’s enough going on over there without me around to complicate matters more,” she smiled, then thought a moment. “Actually with Gina and Paul at work, I should probably go back and try to raise the competency quotient in the house before Greg, Jenna and Brad manage to do something stupid. Or rectify whatever damage they’ve already done. God I hope they haven’t touched Paul’s gnome,” she groaned, letting Danny pull her to her feet as he laughed at her.

Greg was panting by the time he and Brad got back from the store, and they’d only walked a total of four blocks. “Damn exercise,” he wheezed, dropping his bag on the dining room table to fish out a pack of cigarettes as Brad continued into the kitchen to put up the beer he’d bought — if half of LA was going to crash in on Paul and Gina, the least he could do was help keep their kitchen stocked with essentials.

“Dude,” Brad groaned when he came back into the dining room to find Greg lighting up, “I don’t think it’s the exercise that’s killing you, I think it’s the amount of tar you’re inhaling.”

“We all have our vices,” Greg shrugged. “You hang out with psychotic ex-girlfriends. Fenny runs from problems. Paul’s got a fetish for small creepy things like Troy and the gnome. Gina’s got a fetish for small creepy things like Paul. I enjoy the smoking of various dried herbaceous plants. So what?”

“Well do it outside, I don’t know if Gina’d appreciate you stinking up her house.”

“She lets Paul in it, I don’t see the difference,” Greg snickered to himself, but headed for the backyard anyway.

Brad grabbed a couple cold beers from the fridge and headed out to join Greg as he lounged in one of the banana chairs. “So, enjoying your escape from reality yet?” Brad asked, handing Greg a beer and pulling a cushion out from under him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greg huffed.

“Well, running away to another hemisphere with another woman without talking to your wife first.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the king of all morons, can we not discuss that anymore,” he groaned. “What about you, let’s talk about your problems for a while,” Greg perked.

“Me?” Brad asked, surprised. “What makes you think I’ve got problems?”

“I thought that’s why you and Fen dropped everything and came here.”

“No, this is just a vacation. Fen and I worked out our problems, thought we needed to get away from all the crap we’d been dealing with back in California. She was missing Gina and Paul, so we came over for a break, some us time, y’know?”

“Us time?” Greg echoed skeptically.

“Yeah. We haven’t had a lot of time together ‘cause of work and Lil.”

“You haven’t had a lot of time together here from the looks of things. Where’s she been all day?”

Brad gave a nonchalant shrug. “Out. Said she made plans after I made an idiot of myself last night ‘cause this Aussie beer is strong shit.”

“Out where?”

“I dunno, doing Fenny stuff. Probably another gallery somewhere or sketching obscure stuff. I was half asleep and a bit hungover when she told me. If she told me at all, I don’t remember.”

“What, alone?”

Brad glared at Greg. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying, you know, Dan’s around, and we all know Fenny….”

“Look, just ‘cause you’ve screwed up your life doesn’t mean you have to pull me down with you,” Brad snapped.

“Yeah, I know I’m a miserable paranoid bastard, but all I’m saying is I’d be nervous if my wife was vanishing for hours on end, especially if she had an ex-lover around.”

“Oh please Proops, you got nervous because your marriage counselor said your wife might decide to exact some revenge for you ripping out her heart. I don’t want lessons from you on how to destroy a marriage.” Brad took another gulp of beer and frowned to himself. Fenny had been gone a lot lately, which was odd since she’d spent so much of her time back in LA saying they didn’t get enough time alone together, and now he was spending even less time with her than before. She wouldn’t do anything stupid, not when things were working out so well.

He got up, went back into the kitchen and brought out two more beers, and they sat in silence for a few minute just drinking and thinking. “I trust my wife,” Brad said suddenly.

“Poor sap,” Greg chuckled and took another swig of beer. Which he promptly choked on as Brad whacked him in the face with the cushion. “Prick,” Greg grumbled as he leaned over, grabbed the cushion from Brad and smacked him in the face.

“Not fair, it’s mine,” Brad demanded with a tipsy giggle.

“Actually you’ll notice it’s Gina’s and she likes me more than she likes you, so there.”

“Could be Paul’s, and he likes Fen more than he likes me.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense, and besides, it’s got flowers on it, it’s not Paul’s.”

Brad didn’t have a comeback for that, so he just reached over and grabbed the cushion, trying to wrestle it away from Greg. “Give it here.”

“Make me,” Greg sneered, fighting back valiantly if childishly.

“Dick,” Brad hissed, fighting off a crop of giggles.

“Asshole,” Greg countered

“Give it to me.”

“No, you give it to me.” And Greg gave a mighty tug, Brad fell out of his chair onto the ground, never relinquishing his grip on the cushion, and pulling Greg down with him. “Ow,” Greg grunted, too shocked to move and fearful his knee, which he’d smashed into the ground, would actually snap if he dared to get up.

At the sound of laughter and cries of “Give it to me,” Vicki made her way to the fence and carefully peeked over. There on the patio, sprawled beneath another man she’d never seen before, was Brad. He let out a low moan and squinted his eyes closed.

“Damn,” she sighed. “There go all my fantasies with my gardening buddy. Why are the cute ones always gay.” She scurried back inside before she saw something she really didn’t want to.

“Ouch, I think I broke my ass,” Brad grunted. “And your elbow is in my pancreas.”

Greg moved his elbow, tested his knee and looked down at Brad. “I think I’ve found out why Fenny keeps running off with other men.”

Brad pushed Greg off him, laughing a bit as he watched Greg roll on the floor and clutch at his knee. “At least my wife hasn’t run off with your couples therapist,” Brad teased as he got to his feet.

“I come here for compassion and what do I get?” Greg groused as he crawled into his chair. “A broken kneecap and abuse.”

“And beer,” Brad chirped.

Greg nodded and finished off the last of his. “Good strong Aussie beer,” he smiled. “That’ll make up for the knee. What do you plan to do about the abuse?”

Brad thought for a moment. “More beer? Oh, wait, I think I heard something about a women’s volleyball tournament on TV tonight.” He paused to check his watch. “In seven minutes.”

“It’s a start,” Greg shrugged and headed inside, crushing his cigarette into the patio.

“And more beer,” Brad reiterated as he realized his bottle was empty.

Fenny opened the door and slipped into the house carefully, not knowing if people were fighting, jet lagged or passed out on the floor somewhere. As she wandered into the living room, she found that she was at least partially right: Greg and Brad were somewhat less than conscious on the couch watching replays of a volleyball game. “What’s going on?” she asked, flumping into an armchair.

“Lots of jiggling,” Greg announced. “And bouncing. Oh, and your husband’s been drooling on himself.”

“I thought for sure we were out of beer,” she sighed.

“We bought more when I needed cigarettes.”

“You’re becoming a cancer causing agent, aren’t you Proops,” she teased. “Booze, smokes and idiocy.”

“You wouldn’t want me any other way,” he smiled lazily, eyes blearily wandering back towards the television.

“How’s Jenna doing?” Fenny asked

“Jenna?” Greg echoed, blinking at her.

“Pert little blonde, consisting mainly of makeup, moisturizers and silicon? You spent at least 12 hours on a plane with her sometime before you and my husband got hammered?”

“Oh, right, her. Haven’t heard from her in ages, I dunno.”

Fenny scowled at him. “You’re such wonderful men, you know that?” she huffed.

“And how’s Dan doing these days?” Greg asked, looking pointedly at her.

Her smile fell. “Touché,” she breathed, looking over to Brad’s unconscious form.

“He doesn’t know,” Greg declared. “Trusts you implicitly. It’s because of you and Gina that I’ve given up trusting my wife and you yell at me for panicking. Not fair, really.”

“I’m gonna go check on Jenna,” Fenny breathed, leaving Greg to follow Brad into the realm of drunken unconsciousness.

Paul flumped into Gina’s car and leaned against the window. “It is over, right?” he groaned as Gina started the car. “That went on a lot longer than I thought it was going to.”

“Maybe if you’d rehearsed properly like you were supposed to, you’d have been prepared,” Gina chastised. “I don’t think the amount of alcohol you consumed during the show helped any either.”

“I had to do something to keep me from thinking about being dwarfed by Mieke.”

“Are you sure she’s not a man?” Gina mused.

He lifted his head to look at her. “Well I’ve never gone to the effort to check, I didn’t think you’d appreciate me groping my co-presenters. But if you want, I can follow her into the toilets next time we meet?”

“And the drinks with the guys after the show?” she asked with a smile.

He dropped his head against the window again. “To rid me of the images of some of the things we discussed. I didn’t need to know some of that stuff.”

“You didn’t need to know,” Gina huffed, “between your vibrator confession and the Captain Picard euphemisms, I may never be able to look at you naked again.”

“I give you –” he glanced at his watch as he righted himself in his seat. Nearly midnight. “- about ten hours before you change your mind.”

“I’m offended that South Australia is the least kinky State. I’m from South Australia, and I like to think I’m kinky. You were born there, and you’re more kinky than I ever knew.”

“Maybe if you’d actually taken the survey instead of sneaking kisses with your husband, you could’ve raised their kink factor. Not that I’m complaining.” He smiled at her and then caught sight of the passing scenery. “Where we going?”

“My place.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Why?”

“You’ve forgotten about the constantly growing number of Americans at our house? It wouldn’t surprise me if Greg’s wife and Lilly’s Mom have tracked them down by now. Or maybe Ritza and Beven, all of them camping out in the living room, like a reunion or something.”

“Yeah, your place is good.”

Fenny sauntered down the hall, wondering what Jenna could be up to as she checked each room in turn. She found Jenna sprawled across her makeshift bed flipping through her sketchbook. “Hey,” Fenny snapped.

“Sorry Fen,” Jenna perked, sitting up and turning the page. “I got bored, there’s like no magazines anywhere in this house. All the books are about art and philosophy and shit.”

“And my sketchbook’s interesting enough for you?” Fenny asked, flumping down on the bed, finding it difficult to be compassionate about whatever Jenna’s problems were when she was so annoyed with the woman for invading her privacy.

Jenna just shrugged.

“So why’d you come to Australia with Greg?” Fenny asked, deciding subtlety was out of the question.

“Just had to get away from it all,” Jenna shrugged.

“What’s to get away from?”

“Well, y’know, Jett’s gonna get out of the hospital in a day or two, and I thought—”

“Hospital?” Fenny gasped. “Could you maybe start from the beginning?”

“Mochrie bit him,” Jenna said, smiling a bit.

“I’m so sorry,” Fenny groaned, closing her eyes. “I keep telling Brad an apartment’s no place for a dog that size, she’s probably—”

“No, I wanted her to,” Jenna interrupted. “Got him right in the nuts.”

“Right,” Fenny said once she realized Jenna wasn’t going to explain any further. “That’s another step back, let’s keep going. Why did you want the dog to bite your boyfriend? And while we’re at it, what’s Greg to do with any of this? Maybe if we start there?”

“Greg came looking for you and Brad. He was having problems with his wife, so I invited him in for a drink. Well, lots of drinks actually.”

“Not tequila, please tell me you didn’t give him tequila.”

“Yeah actually, that’s when he passed out on my couch.”

“Big surprise.”

“Jett came home the next morning and got angry. I think Moch knew Greg was gonna get himself hurt if he went up against Jett, so she bit him. Then I made coffee.”

“Wait, Jett went after Greg? Actually, Greg went after Jett? Thank god for Mochrie, poor Proops would’ve been embedded in your carpet.”

“Actually Jett went after me. I’m kinda used to it now, y’know?”

Fenny looked at Jenna concernedly. Sure she’d had suspicions that Jett was beating Jenna, but that didn’t mean she was prepared for an admission. “That’s not the sort of thing you’re really supposed to get used to, I wouldn’t think,” she said. “I mean why would you put up with something like that?”

“Because I love him,” Jenna shrugged.

“You could be on Dr. Phil,” Fenny sighed. “Love is a nice idea and everything, but how can you love a guy that hurts you like that?”

“There’s worse things out there,” Jenna declared resolutely.

Fenny scowled at herself, trying to figure out what exactly that was supposed to mean, and trying to shake the feeling that maybe there was a message in there somewhere.

“Who’s this?” Jenna asked, turning to one of the last filled pages in the sketchbook. Fenny was glad for the change of subject, feeling suddenly in over her head, until she glanced down to where Jenna was pointing to a roughly scribbled portrait.

“Oh, um, that’s Danny.” Fenny hurriedly grabbed the book from the bed.

“He’s in there a lot,” Jenna continued, “is he a friend of yours?”

“Yeah. Known each other a long time. Friends with Gina and Paul, too.”

“Not friends with Brad?”

“No, not so much.”

Jenna smiled at her. “Look, if you call a cab or something, we can go into the city together.”

“No, I’m really not into clubbing or dancing or drinking or whatever it is people do in the city at this time of night.”

“I was just thinking, you know, I’d tell the others I dragged you out with me, and you can go visit Dan some more. He’s cute.”

Fenny raised her eyebrows at Jenna. How was it everyone seemed to figure things out but Brad? He was passed out on the couch anyway, and would probably remain that way until Greg realized that that was where he’d have to sleep. She wouldn’t be missed. Not for hours. “Lemme go look around, I’m sure Paul’s got the number of a cab service around here somewhere.”

“Why do they flock to us, do you think?” Gina asked as Paul sprawled out on the floor with his head in her lap. Most of Gina’s things were currently in their house, so they’d settled on the living room floor on the remaining rug with the last few cushions.

“Who?” he asked.

“Everybody. As soon as a problem comes up, they show up here expecting us to fix things for them.”

“Because they’re a bunch of incompetents who couldn’t solve their problems if their lives depended on it. Which they’ve proven under several different life-threatening circumstances, which is why you and I have saved so many lives over the last few years.”

“Greg’s just an idiot, he needs to talk to his wife.”

“So we send him home,” Paul suggested, smiling as Gina took to stroking his hair.

“Right,” she agreed. “At first I thought Fen just needed time away from Brad’s kid, but now I think she should probably just be kept from Danny before she does something to complicate matters more.”

“So we send her home.”

“I just hope it’s that simple. Brad’s totally clueless.”

“So we send him home.”

“And I don’t know anything about Jenna except she’s slept with you, so she’s officially not my problem to deal with.”

“So we send her home. Problem solved.”

“They’ll just come back, you know they will.”

“I’m gonna start charging rent if this keeps up,” Paul mused, tracing patterns on the floor with one finger. “Here we are in our nice new house. Well not here, per se, ‘cause we’re here, not there. Thank god. And not really new either, more recuperating. But here we aren’t in our pretty good, recuperating house and we’re invaded by the cast of Dawson’s Creek.”

Gina shrugged and glanced idly around her apartment. “We could just hide out here until they come looking for us.”

“They’ll be here before one tomorrow.”

“Do you realize this is where we spent our first night together?” she mused after a minute or two of silence.

“I think it was more morning than night,” he corrected.

“Fen was kidnapped from this very apartment.”

“I serenaded you on this very spot. Back when there was a couch here.”

“Think of the football games, the dinner parties, the fights, the rampant animal sex that these walls have seen,” she grinned.

“Sometimes all at once.”

“I don’t think I could bring myself to sell this place.”

“And do what? Sell the house? Keep this place around for when the Fucked Up Yank Society invade? Store our insecurities and unwanted memories here?”

“Rent it out to Troy and Archie, get them out of the house anyway,” she suggested with a grin.

“Hey!” he protested. Gina let out an ‘oouf’ as Paul hit her in the face with a cushion, and they fell to the floor in a needless fit of laughter.