Chapter Fourty-Two:
Equal and Opposite

The applause was enthusiastic. Better than polite, more than supportive. Inspired. Mission Accomplished.

Robin looked down at the mic in her hand and tried to remember what she always did with this thing. Off... She needed to get rid of it and get off the stage, now. She looked up, turning towards the wings, and ran right into a wall of green sequins that was sweeping down on her. Lucy's arms came around her and Robin returned the embrace automatically.

"Ohhh, that's such good news!" Lucy squealed in her ear. "I'm so happy for you!"

Robin smiled, pulling back, the crowd still clapping mightily behind her.

"Thank you," she handed the mic over to the Master of Ceremonies, and Lucy took it with a grin, turning to the audience, one hand flung up over her head and a big grin on her face. Robin's eyes moved, inevitably, past her, to the far side of the wings.

Jason was standing there, rigid and expressionless, his eyes fixed on her. Any small spark of joy that had been circling around her vanished immediately just as she heard Lucy crow into the mic.

"Robin Scorpio -- Oops! Morgan! Isn't she wonderful?"

Robin turned away, towards stage left, and walked. Away from Lucy, away from her husband. Her legs carried her with assurance, not something she'd expected. As she disappeared into the sea of blacks, she felt a hand close around her wrist and turned, unsurprised by who she found there. Wide-eyed and short of breath, Felicia had obviously rushed back there from her table.

"Robin," she shook her head. "What happened?"

Robin lifted her head and gave a wan smile. "I think I might need a place to stay tonight."

"I'll kill her!" Bobbie growled into Luke's chest. "I'm absolutely going to kill her!"

Luke's lips pressed against the top of his sister's head and he spoke into her hair. "You wanna tell me what the story is here?"

She pressed her forehead against his chest and took a shaky breath. "Some niece of Graciela got herself in trouble, and --" she clenched her hands, gripping the material of Luke's shirt. "Felicia came and told me last week. So I could warn Carly. But the next time I saw her, she'd already married Nikolas. I just... I wanted to wait until they had settled things a little before I hit her with this, and -- I shouldn't have taken the chance, I --"

"That's why you were so primed to panic when she didn't come home that night."

Bobbie nodded, pulling back but not leaving his embrace. "I thought she might have heard, and... " she shook her head. "I didn't know what she'd do." Her face crumpled as Luke pulled her back against him. " I still don't know what she'll do!"

"We'll work this out, Barbara," he assured her. "I told you we wouldn't let her sink."

Bobbie didn't bother to argue with him. She was tired of trying to reason against Luke's notion of Guerrilla Psychotherapy. They'd had this conversation a million times. Carly frustrated the hell out of her uncle -- largely because she refused to let him fix her. For the last year she'd rendered him utterly impotent, unable to solve his sister's problems for her. Bobbie knew that drove him crazy, but he kept on trying. There was something to be said for Spencer stubbornness.

"Mom!"

Bobbie pulled out of her brother's embrace, wiping her face impatiently, one hand still holding onto his shoulder. Lucas was standing in the middle of the hall, a few feet back, looking at her with complete stunned bewilderment. She felt her brother's hand squeeze her hip, then push her the first few steps towards her son.

"What happened?" Lucas's voice cracked, slipping up the scale from young man to child in a matter of seconds. "What's going on? Did Carly know --"

"No, sweetie." Bobbie knelt down and looked directly into her son's eyes -- something that now required her to look up, from this perspective. "She didn't."

The information settled over Lucas, and his expression held more knowledge than Bobbie wanted to see in such young eyes.

"Is she going to be all right?" he asked. Bobbie bowed her head, trying to gather her wits about her. Instead, she felt a wave of helplessness hit her. It always ended up like this. She tried to pull things together, to arrange them so that they'd make the least impact, and it had all blown up in her face. She wouldn't even see Carly again tonight. She wouldn't have any way of knowing what was happening. She covered her mouth with her hand, and felt her son's arms come around her. Damn it. Damn it, she wanted to be able to lie to him so badly.

"I don't know," she gasped. "I'm sorry sweetie, I don't know."

Bobbie put her hands around her son's waist and squeezed him tight, trying to comfort him while he tried to do the same for her. She hated it when Lucas got put in this situation. When he had to see her as less than in control of the situation. She let out a shaky breath and lifted her head. She pushed the hair out of her sons eyes and gave him the most determined smile she could muster.

"Why don't you go and get your stuff, Ok? Tell Felicia I'll call her tomorrow if you see her."

Lucas nodded, and shot a quick look at his uncle. Luke, however, was staring at something over both Lucas's and Bobbie's head, and noticing this, both turned to see what he was glaring at.

Stefan had been standing just outside the door to the ballroom -- how long was anyone's guess. Away from everything, but watching. Bobbie caught her breath when she spotted him, though it was inevitable that he should follow her out of the room. She rose to her feet, and tried to summon up the strength to repel him. Meeting his eyes, however, she didn't see what she'd expected. Behind the harsh frown and furrowed brow was a look she recognized from a long time ago. For a moment, they were just two parents, staring at each other in empathy. Understanding. Bobbie shook her head hard and felt Luke's hand on her shoulder. As Stefan took his cue and stepped away from the wall, crossing towards them.

"Am I to assume my son has taken his leave?" he asked quietly. Bobbie put a hand over Luke's, hoping to God he didn't decide to start in.

"He's taken Carly home."

"Miss Scorpio's announcement was a surprise for both of them, I presume."

Lucas, standing between his former stepfather and his mother, spoke up. "Why? Don't you already know everything? You don't need to ask us questions."

"It's Ok, Lucas," Bobbie pulled him back against her. In that moment, she was suffering from maybe just a little too much protection. She gave Stefan a smile that was not without just a hint of apology. "Carly didn't know anything about it. She's just a little --"

"She's had a shock, then," Stefan cut her off. Something in his demeanor told Bobbie that she was not going to be able to divert him. "And you, Barbara, appear to have suffered from the same."

"Never mind her," Luke bit out before Bobbie could answer. "While you're at it, leave my niece the hell alone. She's got one blood sucker on her neck, that's enough for now."

Bobbie closed her eyes. Oh, great...

"I'll assume," Stefan had turned his attention quite pointedly and exclusively to his ex-wife. "That my son has this under control for the moment. If there is something else we should be made aware of?"

Bobbie shook her head, though her eyes didn't leave his. She felt Luke's grip on her shoulder tighten. She didn't like this. The way he said 'we'. It made her feel outside, apart from what was happening to her own daughter. She never liked handing anything in her life over to Stefan, but right now, she honestly had no idea what do.

"I should talk to Nikolas," she said finally. "Or I'll talk to my daughter."

"Tonight?"

She turned her head and stared at a painting on the wall. She was not going to cry. She was going to stay calm. "Carly's not going to want to talk tonight."

"I see," Stefan stroked his goatee, his expression grave. For a moment, he actually seemed to hesitate -- as if he was momentarily at a loss. "I'll go back in, then -- " he said finally. "Without Nikolas there, people might start to speculate and I doubt either needs this to unravel further."

Bobbie cringed, and pressed her knuckle against her lips. She managed a nod.

"Shall I phone?" he asked, taking a step back from her. "If I speak to Nikolas. To let you know how your daughter is?"

Bobbie's eyes immediately flew back to Stefan's and she knew she looked startled. She wanted to tell him to stay away, to just tell him to leave her child alone and keep the hell out of this. But this was the first time she'd ever gone through something like this with Carly and been held this far away from it. The temptation was overwhelming, and she was sure he knew it. Still. There was a look to him -- something lurking far back -- that seemed to suggest this wasn't something he'd expected.

"Don't do it, Barbara," Luke's voice was close to her ear and she let it fill her head.

"Please," she said anyway. "I just need to hear something before the end of the night."

The porch light was on, leading the way through fog and spitting rain, towards home. Nikolas held the umbrella over his wife's head while keeping her safely tucked against his body. As the crossed the grass, the cottage didn't seem to get any closer to them.

They'd grabbed a cab outside of the hotel. Nikolas had pulled her across the bench seat, telling the driver to get them to Barrister's Wharf as quickly as possible. There had been this rushed feeling -- this need to do everything as quickly. Like they were being chased, trying to outrun something. But now, everything had slowed down to a crawl. The realization that no amount of distance was going to change what Robin had said in that room. And time only made it feel more real.

Carly hadn't said a word to him since they'd left the hotel. She hadn't, really, even looked at him. Her movements were stiff and robotic, apart from the moment in the cab where she'd curled up against him, her head on his shoulder, and her knees drawn up to her chest. Nikolas had watched the streets as they streaked past, feeling unnaturally alert. Taking in everything that his eyes fell on, as if he could somehow stop anything else from going wrong. As if he could fix it. As if awareness of his surroundings could change what had happened.

He'd warred with his own thoughts to try and keep them on his wife. On what she needed from him, now. But she was silent and still, and his brain was betraying him. Offering up snapshots of the last time he'd witnessed something like this. Lights, reflecting off red sequins. Smug smile. How slowly Katherine's mouth had moved as she'd said the words that tore his world apart. How crowded and close that room had suddenly felt. There hadn't been anyone to point him to the exit. No one to help him, to save him from this room of stunned and pitying friends and family. He'd never felt so alone in his life.

Robin had just done that to Carly. She'd just turned her world upside down, related something that should have been explained in private in the most public forum possible. Maybe there were differences, but right now he couldn't see them. He just saw that moment. The tilt of her head, the breath she'd taken, before the words had come out of her mouth. And then the shock entering his wife's body. Her knees giving out. And he tasted bile.

They reached the porch and Carly stumbled over the first step. She stopped, staring down at the wooden slats, then lifted her head and started up the stairs to the door, with Nikolas determinedly following her every movement. It wasn't until they were in front of the door that Nikolas reluctantly let his arm slip from around her shoulders, and retracted the umbrella. He shook off the water, and leaned it against the side of the house. Then, he opened the door.

Carly entered first and stopped on the landing just inside. Her eyes slowly scanned the room, and then she let her purse drop to the floor as Nikolas stepped in, pulling the door closed behind him. He leaned back against it, and watched her. Arms floating in the air, aimless, shoulders hunched protectively. She looked like a starved and abused animal. Without direction. Without warmth. He stepped forward and put both hands on her upper arms, pulling her body towards his.

For the second time that night, she turned in his arms and fell against him. This time it wasn't so much an embrace as a cry for support. A collapse. Her eyes shut tight, and she huddled against him while Nikolas's hands rubbed her arms, trying to warm her. Her hair was damp from the rain, and even in his jacket, she seemed cold. He gave up on friction and just gathered her against him. Pressed her into him and tried to infuse her body with some of the warmth in his. After a few moments, Carly's hands traveled up his chest, and her arms wrapped around his neck. She tucked her head under his chin and let out a small sigh. Nikolas tightened his grip on her and spoke to her in soft, encouraging tones.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" he suggested, gently. "Lie down?"

She didn't say anything. Let out a long breath, but didn't answer the question. Nikolas combed her wet hair off the back of her neck and she shivered. God, he hated how fragile she felt. He'd seen this in her, in quick glimpses, and it had always grabbed him. Tonight, it was breaking his heart.

Nikolas glanced up, seeing a light on the landing above and frowned. He'd thought they'd turned them all out when they'd left. Well, he decided, if nothing else, there were blankets upstairs. And dry, less constricting clothes.

"Come on," he coaxed, moving them towards the stairs. "I think we both need some rest."

Carly pulled herself, suddenly and unexpectedly, out his arms. She took a step up and then stopped. Turning on her heel, she sat down hard on the stair and just stared at the ground.

"That was why he wanted my phone number," she said, hollowly. It took Nikolas a moment to absorb what she was saying.

"To tell you."

She nodded. "To tell me." She let out a snort, then leaned forward, trying to pull off her sandals. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle and Nikolas knelt immediately in front of her, gently pushing her hands away. Carly sat back, stuffing her fists into the pocket of his jacket and watched him impassively as he undid the thin straps and pulled the shoes from her feet. On impulse, he wrapped his hands around her feet, thumbs pressing against her insoles. They were cold and damp from the rain. He watched her shift her weight, then she frowned and pulled one hand out of the pocket, bringing a white, sealed envelope with it. She looked at it a long moment, then her mouth twisted.

"The testimonial."

Nikolas took the item from her and placed it down on the landing, out of her line of sight. His eyes didn't leave her. She finally lifted her head to look directly into them. She looked tired. Wrung out and blank. They stared at each other, Nikolas desperate for something to break the silence, to open her up to him somehow. Give him a hint of how to help. She didn't give him a hint, and he dropped his eyes, pulling in his breath. He'd just have to do this by instinct and nothing else. He wasn't going to ask her anymore questions.

"Let me take you upstairs," he murmured, leaning forward and sliding one hand up her calves to hook under her knee. She didn't protest -- she even put her hands around his neck and let him lift her up. He stood, a bit unsteady, then started with her, up the stairs. Her head rested on his shoulder with the heavy weight of the emotionally drained. Nikolas fixed his eyes on the top of the landing and once reached, realized the light to the bedroom was on as well. He didn't allow himself to stop, to pause. Just moved forward.

The lights beside the bed -- one on either side, soft, shaded lamps -- were lit. The bed was turned down. On the edge of the dressing table was a tray that held, among other things, a decanter and a cozy-covered teapot. Nikolas frowned, but kept moving to the bed. He set Carly down and she instantly moved to throw her legs over the side, sitting on the edge. Her hands gripped the cotton sheets and her eyes fixed themselves on the floor. Nikolas ran a quick hand over her hair, and stopped himself from doing more -- it was hard not to just want to take over completely. To pronounce her incapable of the simplest action and appoint himself custodian. He turned, instead, to the dressing table, the tray, crossing in a few quick, directed steps.

The tray was silver with a smart linen serving cloth lining the bottom. Teapot, too cups with saucers, honey, coffee spoons and lemon. The decanter contained, no doubt, brandy, and had two tumblers turned upside down to one side. Nikolas pulled the cozy off the top of the teapot and opened the lid. He recognized the smell instantly. He would have known it anywhere. Say many things of his father, the one thing you could never accuse him of was not knowing how to manage a crisis -- even from across town. He momentarily deliberated between the two choices and opted to pour the less strong of the two.

When he turned back, Carly had pulled off his jacket, tossing it toward the foot of the bed. She was on her feet, struggling out of her gown like it was suddenly burning her. He stepped forward quickly, to help, but she managed to free herself and the dress pooled on the floor. She looked pale -- almost translucent - and vulnerable in her slip. She stepped out of the circle the dress made at her feet and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the crumbled heap on the floor. When Nikolas's shadow fell over it, she started and looked up at him. He held out the cup in his hand, and after a moment's confusion, she took it from him.

She cupped it in her hands, staring into the golden-brown liquid while Nikolas picked the dress up and draped it over the hope chest that sat at the foot of the bed. He turned his attention back to her as he pulled off the restraints of cufflinks and tie.

"What is this?" Carly asked, still staring into the cup in her hands.

"It's from Mrs. Lansbury," Nikolas explained as he removed his shoes. "My father must have asked her to bring it over."

She nodded, then looked up at him. "What's in it?"

Nikolas had never once asked what was in Mrs. Lansbury's tea. He'd been fed the concoction through most of his childhood -- it was a well kept secret that he had been, occasionally, downright unmanageable as a child -- particularly before his father's coup. "Nerve tea" it had been called, and Nikolas had probably thrown as much of it across rooms as he'd consumed. Nannies had fed it to him on Mrs. Lansbury's advice, to calm him. It worked, but that didn't mean he hadn't resented it.

"It's herbal. It supposed to..." he paused, deciding it would sound a little too witch-doctor to really get into it's properties. "It'll warm you up. Help you relax."

"That's all?"

Nikolas picked up the throw that was laid across the foot of the bed and let it unfold, as he walked towards her. He sat beside her, laying it over her shoulders.

"I promise you."

She nodded, taking a fortifying breath before swallowing down the cooling tea. She shut her eyes as it ran down her throat. Slowly, like a dead tree creaking in the wind, she leaned towards him. Nikolas's arm came around her and she tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

"I told you I didn't like the Nurse's Ball," she muttered to him before lifting the cup to her lips once more.

Nikolas lay in the dark and watched the soft rising and falling of his wife's rib cage. He had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her body firmly against his. He closed his eyes for the umpteenth time and let his head rest against the pillow again. His eyes -- his body, even -- felt incredibly fatigued, but somehow... He just couldn't seem to get his brain to stop racing.

She'd drifted off to sleep with surprising ease. Almost as if she'd welcomed it. It seemed to be her intention all along -- to just hit unconsciousness as soon as humanly possible. And having only drank half the tea, and having said next to nothing, she'd pulled him onto the bed with her, and curled up on her side. He'd held her, grateful for the invitation, and felt her slide into sleep against him. Since then, he'd lay next to her listening to her breathe and generally driving himself crazy. He just couldn't seem to shut his mind up. No matter how hard he tried, the moment he let his thoughts wander out of the concrete, he hit up against a wall of questions.

He suppressed a groan as he rolled over and fixed her eyes on the geometric pattern of the thick tapestry canopy overhead. He had to stop doing this. It was helping no one, and it gave him little to no faith in his sense of self control. Nothing should matter right now, outside of Carly and what was going to happen now. He loved this woman so much. It seemed to come on him in waves -- this realization -- that still had the strength to knock him over. Tonight, it felt cold -- terrifying, gut churning. He loved her and he didn't know what to do for her. Outside of what he'd done tonight, there was so little left that he could offer. He couldn't change what had happened. Tomorrow she'd wake up to the same world that she'd gone to sleep in, with a husband who had absolutely no idea what to do to make things better. Running over the events of the night in his head, he kept coming up with a sense of inadequacy. Just not being strong enough, quick enough, smart enough to change the course of events. Reasoning that there was no way he could have known what Robin was going to do didn't help. What they did do was bring up images he didn't want. Prick at his jealousy, stir up feelings of possessiveness and fury -- absolute rage -- towards Jason Morgan.

Nikolas forced himself to breath the tension out of his arms, though his jaw was still locked, and rolled back towards his wife. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deep. It smelled, slightly, of cigarette smoke. Something he couldn't explain, that only served to kick him in his insecurities again. This was ridiculous. There was just no way he was ever going to get any sleep tonight. Not with this much fodder for self-torture spinning around in his head.

He brushed her hair back from her forehead and pressed his lips to her temple. She didn't shift beside him, made no gesture to suggest that she had felt his touch. He sighed, and slowly inched himself away from her. He needed more space right now than this room would allow.

He crept silently from the room, leaving the door open behind him in case she woke, then moved quickly along the hallway and down the stairs. He flipped the light on at the base of the stairs and stared at the room in front of him. There were still boxes to be unpacked here. The living room was essentially unlived in. Around the back of the stairs was the study, which was still set up for the use of guests -- he'd had very little of his books and papers brought over from the house. They were still in transit. Their house wasn't even truly lived in yet, and already, he felt like the foundation was crumbling.

He walked down the few steps onto the bottom floor, and tried to push the thoughts out of his head. They'd get through this. They'd have to, there wasn't any other choice. Carly was upset tonight. She was in shock. Nikolas refused to allow himself to think too long on why it was such a blow for her. Michael, he insistently told himself. It's about Michael. Nothing else.

He walked across the room towards the wall of glass on the far side of the room. In the dark, he could see the lake moving in large unbroken waves, like the coils of a sea serpent, beneath the cliff. He knew that where the bluff obscured his view, they would crash -- break apart -- on the rocks. But he just stared at the rolls, at the size and power of the water and tried to imagine everything -- their families, their histories, what they had together -- was going to come together for them. There had to be a way for it to move in that sort of synchronicity. The longer he was with her, the harder it became to imagine any other sort of existence for himself. Everything she'd done to change his world, in this incredibly short period of time, had taken a hold on him he couldn't imagine he'd ever be free of. He didn't want to be free of it; he just wanted to be worthy of it. And that meant figuring out what he was going to do next.

He turned and moved back across the room, his stomach churning. He had to have this in him -- somewhere -- he had to have the ability to help her. He looked at her and he felt her pain. Recognized it in himself. If he'd felt like that -- felt that same carved out empty devastation -- then you'd think he'd know how to help her through it. How had people helped him through it?

They hadn't. Not really. By and large, he hadn't allowed them to. And maybe that was what scared him the most. He didn't want to feel shut out. He didn't want to be victim to something he himself had done to dozens of people in his life. He felt a pang of guilt and sat down on the steps by the door. God, this was confusing. No wonder he couldn't sleep.

He held his head in his hands and stared down at the floor, as if hoping it would open to reveal the answer to the hundreds of question swirling around in his head. It didn't; but behind him, Nikolas heard a distinct and unmistakable creak from the porch. He stood up and turned around. Another sound -- impossible to miss. He moved up the steps and threw open the door to reveal his father, just mounting the steps to the porch. He stared at him a moment, unable to say anything. Stefan's eyes held his as he moved across the porch, and came to rest in front of his son. Nikolas let his eyes close, one hand clutching the door jamb, and let his body fall forward into his father's embrace.

Stefan's arms was firm, one circling around his back, the other holding the back of his son's head. Nikolas let himself feel his father's strength, try to pull some of it into himself. He didn't question the timing -- he knew well enough that Stefan had left word that he be informed if a light went on in the house. No doubt he'd been waiting for a sign to come and check on the situation. Nikolas pulled back, turning his body away from him, and moved back into the house. After a moment he turned back to see his father standing in the doorway, watching him like carefully.

"She's asleep," Nikolas gestured towards the stairs. "You can come in."

Stefan moved over the threshold, closing the door silently behind him. Nikolas tried to avoid his eyes, fixing his gaze on the dim light on the door, but he was drawn inevitably back to his father. He submitted to his father's pervasive study of him and waited for the inevitable conclusion he'd draw.

"Did you have any of the tea?" He asked this question first, and Nikolas turned away, glowering at the wall. As thankful as he'd been to see it, and as relieved as he'd been that Carly had a little to help her sleep, he'd declined to take any himself.

"No."

"Nikolas," he felt the man's hand on his shoulder. "It's imperative you get your rest."

"I hate that stuff," he said defensively, sounding, he had to admit, about five years old again. "You know I hate that stuff."

"You hate being dictated to," Stefan corrected. "And you've never been particularly pleased about having to rely on anything -- not even a cup of tea -- to help you through anything."

He managed a weak smile, both comforted and disturbed by how close to the mark his father's comment was. "Maybe I just like being tense and sleep deprived."

"Don't allow your determination to be infallible interfere with what it is you want from yourself," Stefan leaned in, pressing his cheek against Nikolas's hair. "It's a dangerous trap to find yourself in."

Nikolas let out his breath, and allowed his father to hug him again -- returning the gesture this time. Suddenly, he was tired. He felt washed out. "I just want..." he spoke into his father's shoulder, haltingly. "I want to help her. I can't stand seeing her in this kind of pain."

Stefan pulled back, both hands on his son's shoulders, and his eyes zeroing in on him. "Her son..." he looked, for all the world, like he was trying to read Nikolas's mind. "I presume this is something you've spoken of?" Nikolas prickled instantly, and his father stepped back, on hand raised in a gesture of compliance. "I won't push anything further than you want to take it. But what you feel right now for you wife -- that urge to help her through a difficult time. You know that it's the same for me where you are concerned."

Nikolas pulled himself away and walked partway across the room. He threaded his hands together, and held them at the back of his neck. As suspicious and angry as he'd been towards his father lately, there was no denying that the man knew him. No more than there was point in denying that, at this moment, Nikolas needed him. He needed to feel like there were answers here. Stefan had never let him down in that regard.

"She blames Robin for losing Michael," he spoke softly, turning back to the man in behind him. "Jason too, maybe. They're going to have a child and she can't have hers. They must have known that it would be hard for her, I can't... I can't understand why Robin would do that. I can't even fathom what made her say it like that."

"Spite, perhaps. Jealousy."

Nikolas shook his head. "No, that doesn't sound like Robin." The words stuck him as false and he was hit with the look on Robin's face when he'd said he was looking for Carly. That look that didn't have words to describe it. But it had said something to him and he turned back to his father to avoid exploring what that might have been. "I don't have the energy to care about Robin right now. I don't think I even care why she did it -- I just don't want this to hurt Carly. But there's not a lot I can do to stop it, is there?"

His voice rose a little, and he pressed his lips together to prevent himself from saying more. Stefan had listened, carefully, to every word, and waited for Nikolas to take a slow breath into his lungs before he responded to the outburst.

"I've spent a great portion of my life trying to protect you from being hurt and you've always resented it." Nikolas flinched, but Stefan continued. "We can't protect people from the world. I understand the urge to try, but apart from locking her in a tower -- or away on an island in the Aegean." He tipped his chin up slightly. "You have taught me -- even recently, in fact -- that there are some things that exist outside even our control. And knowing you, my son... I know that all which is within your grasp, you've already considered, weighed, and, most likely, acted on."

Michael. The word hung unspoken between them. Nikolas nodded slowly, then looked, almost compulsively, towards the stairs.

"Go back to her," Stefan smiled very slightly. "I'll show myself out."

Nikolas put a hand on his father's arm, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, as he past him on the way up the stairs. "Thank you."

His father nodded, and stayed staring into the room as Nikolas ascended to the second floor. He heard the door close, quietly, as he reached the door to the bedroom. Pushing the door open, he stood in the doorway a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Making out the shapes, he moved over to the bed where his wife lay. In his absence, Carly had rolled onto her back, one hand tossed over her head, the other stretched across the space where he'd lay. He reached out on impulse and ran his index finger along the inside of her palm. Her hand jerked, fingers curled into a weak fist. I'll find a way, he promised himself silent, as he watched her sleep. And I'll do it as fast as humanly possible.

He was still wearing the remains of his tuxedo, not having had time to remove them before she had pulled him into bed with her. He stripped out of them now, not taking his eyes from her while he did so. Then he crawled into the bed, moving her arm out of his way. She let out a moan of protest, then rolled towards him as the heat of his body entered the bed. She snuggled against the pillows, then let out a long sigh before her eyes opened. She blinked at Nikolas a few times, sleepily, then let her eyes fall shut again.

"Where'd you go?"

Nikolas closed his eyes, feeling warmed by the words. The knowledge that he'd been missed.

"Just downstairs," he murmured. She nodded, pressing herself against his chest, her arms moving to hold his rib cage. Nikolas exhaled and let himself relax for the first time that evening. He asked himself no more questions. Just held onto her and hoped that the answers would be waiting for him in the morning.

Nikolas woke with a start to the sound of the shower turning off. He sat up, looking around the room in momentary panic, before the pieces came together for him. It was Saturday morning, the day after the nurse's ball, and he had actually managed to get some sleep the night before. He turned to the window and saw the sun was streaming through the sheers, indicating that the sun had been on the rise for some time. He shook out his head, and rolled over towards his bedside table in search for his watch.

No watch.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. How long was it since Carly had gotten up? How, for all the attention he'd focused on her and her wellbeing last night, had she managed to slip right out of his arms without his noticing? God, he hated it when he did things like that. Slept too soundly, or some other ridiculous human necessity that just seemed to get in the way of his life.

Well. Carly was up, but from the sounds coming from the bathroom, she wasn't far. He threw his legs over the edge of the mattress, and hunched his shoulders, trying to force the cobwebs out of his head. Saturday. Saturday.

Oh, God, Saturday. They had to go the mansion. They had to see Michael. The state Carly was in last night, Nikolas wasn't at all sure how that was going to work. She'd told him everything she tried to do where Michael was concerned. He knew that she hated for Michael to have to be faced with anything regarding her current state of being. That she didn't want him to see her cry or think of her as the scary weepy woman he was forced to spend hours with every week. Nikolas hadn't said much, operating from the perspective of someone who didn't have children... But he couldn't help but put himself in Michael's place. When he was that young, when he didn't really understand why he didn't have parents like all other children. His memories weren't concrete -- more pictures, places... and feelings. Being scared, being angry. Wanting to find some place that felt safe. Nikolas felt his stomach contract. Safe. What had Lucky said yesterday? That Michael had been acting up. Vague, not enough information by half. But something in it resonated with him. Being small. Being unable to protect yourself. Noise -- he could remember that. His grandmother's rages. Her railing at... He didn't know. Servants, nannies, his uncle... Nikolas blinked and pulled himself back to the present. Not the time for this. He didn't know how Michael was and no amount of digging through his own psyche was going to give him an answer.

Nikolas's thoughts were interrupted when the door to the bathroom was suddenly flung open, and his wife burst through, dressed in her standard jeans and tank top and rubbing at her hair with a towel. When she saw him, a grin spread across her face.

"Hi!" She said, brightly, "You're up."

"Yes," Nikolas looked from the door Carly had just entered through and back to his wife, as if some sort of explanation might be lurking in the doorframe. "I am."

"It's already nine," she reported, and held up her hand. She was holding his watch. "I stole your timepiece." She tossed it at him and it hit him in the chest, bouncing down onto the bed. Nikolas looked down at it. Maybe he wasn't awake yet.

"Good catch," Carly smirked, as he touched the point of collision lightly with his fingertips. She draped her towel over her shoulders and moving over towards the dresser. "Oh, hey," she called to him, as she started to search through the small drawers on the top of the dresser. "There's some fruit and those biscuit things on the table downstairs. It was just there when I got up. Is that Mrs. Lansbury, too?" she let out a quick laugh. "You know, every time I say that name, I think of the teapot from Beauty and the Beast?"

Nikolas stared at her blankly.

"Right. I forgot who I was talking to. Did I take off my earrings last night or did they fall out in the bed?"

"I've seen Beauty and the Beast," Nikolas said, still watching her with a sense of growing anxiety. "Carly."

"Well, Angela Lansbury did the voice of the teapot," she kept digging through the drawers, standing on tiptoe so that she could make out the contents. "And she played this sweet old woman who used to get people murdered wherever she went. It's a weird combination. Ah ha!" Carly pulled a hair tie out of the drawer and turned back to him, flashing a quick smile before pacing the room while twisting her wet hair up into a pony tail. "I've got to be at the mansion by two, so I figured we have a couple of hours to do some more unpacking and stuff -- maybe we can finally get the stables and you can introduce me to Sheeba. You've been wanting to do that, right?" She checked herself quickly in the mirror. "I want to leave a lot of time to get to the mansion, though, because Chris gets pissy when I'm late."

Nikolas turned on the bed, shifting around to face her. "Chris."

"The social worker. Remember her?"

"Unfortunately."

"My sentiments exactly," Carly pulled the towel off her shoulders and started to use it to squeeze the last of the water out of her ponytail. "But she's a necessary evil, you know? She does keep the Quartermaines away from me."

"Carly --"

"So what do you want to do?" she spun around, bright eyes fixed on him, "You were saying something about stuff having to come out of the study?"

"Carly!"

"What?"

"Are you..." Nikolas searched for a word. Clearly asking outright if she'd lost her mind some time that morning wasn't a good start to the day. But looking at her, he was certain -- one of them was in the wrong movie. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," her face showed no signs of absorbing the meaning of the question.

"No, Carly --"

"Is this about last night?" She furrowed her brow. "I needed some sleep. I got some sleep. We can move on now."

Nikolas rolled across the bed and came to sit on the side closer to her. She took half a step back, but her eyes stayed on his. "That's it?"

"Yeah," she crossed her arms. "Should there be more?"

He shook his head slowly. "It seemed like there was more last night."

She shrugged, averting her eyes. "I wasn't expecting it. It threw me. But it's not like it changes anything."

"Does it have to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it have to change anything to hurt?"

Carly let out a quick and sharp laugh. "It doesn't hurt! God, Nikolas, I gave up the ghost on Jason a long time ago." She looked back at him, her voice rich in... something. It sounded like a repressed laugh. Or a repressed cry. "Whatever he wants to do with his perfect little bride is his business. I've got my own life to worry about and I don't have time to deal with his."

Nikolas leaned forward, reaching out his hand and grabbing the hem of her tank top. He pulled her towards him and she allowed herself to be reeled in a few steps. Nikolas's hand ran down her arm, now hanging slack by her side, and took the hand in his. He held it a moment, looking at her fingernails, still painted from the night before.

"You can tell me what's going on," he said softly.

"I'm fine, Nikolas."

"You're not fine."

She shook her head. "I have to be fine."

"Carly," he protested. "If --"

"No, Nikolas," her voice slid up a few notches. "I have to be fine --"

"You don't have to be anythi--"

"I have to be fine!" she snapped, pulling her hand away from him like he'd burned her. Tears appeared in her eyes and she looked at him desperately. "It's Saturday. I have to be fine."

"Ok," he said softly. She nodded, her eyes focused on something across the room. Her arms wrapped around her like she was standing in a gale wind. Nikolas reached out again, and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his just-out-of-bed warmth. "We'll have breakfast," he murmured to her. "We can unpack a few boxes and then I'll take you to meet Sheeba."

He felt Carly's hands in his hair, and then her lips pressed against his forehead. She stayed still a long moment, and then lifted her head. When she spoke, her voice was rough, as if it hadn't been used in centuries.

"That sounds perfect."