Chapter Fourty-Six:
Overload

Carly woke up gasping for breath. She sat up and her stomach lurched. Her heart was beating against her rib cage so hard, she could hear it in her ears.

Oh God. She blinked, and looked around at her surroundings like she'd never seen them before. Absorbed. Nikolas's house... Right. No -- Their room. She leaned forward, thoughts breaking through her mind like lightening blasts. Telling herself where she was. What was going on. That it was ok. She was ok and she should breathe. Just breathe.

She rolled over onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest, retreating into the fetal position. International distress signal. She let out a shaky whimper, then pressed a balled fist against her mouth. No. No noise. Just stay quiet.

In the past year since Michael had gone, Carly hadn't dreamed. Scientifically, they'd disagree with her, but the fact was, she never felt anything after she went to sleep. She'd dive down deep into unconsciousness and that was exactly what it would be -- the land of no thought. No pain, no worry. Just black and empty. Quiet. The closest thing she could find, sometimes, to comfort.

But. Whatever the hell she'd just waken up from, it was not empty or quiet. It had been vibrant, and fast and loud. She didn't want to think about it, but bits were sticking with her. She shook her head hard, trying to knock them out. Her stomach lurched again. It was tight -- knotted so tight, she could barely move. She brought her hand down to lay across her abdomen.

What was she trying to do? What was she trying to do?

Carly blinked her eyes open again, and stared at the wall in front of her. She forced herself to gulp in more air. It made her feel even more sick, so she stopped. Stuck with quick panting little breaths. She felt terrified, and she fell over onto her back, trying to find out if she had reason.

The bed was empty, apart from her. She glanced quickly around the room, but it was pretty much just as it had been left last night. She let her eyes close, tried to quiet her breathing, and listened. She could hear it again. Quiet. Like the house got when Nikolas was gone. Something she longed for, and then hated every time she got it. Right now, though, she was grateful. Because the small part of her that knew anything knew that it was good that Nikolas not see this.

Though it was probably close to not mattering anymore.

She lay still for awhile, letting her heart slow, her feelings of panic diminish. Her stomach refused to calm, though, and she sat sick and angry. Unable to bring in any substantial amount of oxygen. But the longer she lay there, the more aware she was of how demanding the feeling in her stomach was. How MUCH it seemed to need her to move. To act. It doubled, tripled, and then she threw herself out of the bed at it's insistence. She stumbled across the room, keeping her eyes on the door, stopping to grip the frame and lean -- shaking her head, before lurching forward.

She made it to the sink and leaned over. Her body, knowing on some cellular level that it had arrived at it's destination, immediately heaved. It wracked her whole body, and came up dry. She hadn't eaten... recently. Her hair was limp -- damp with perspiration, and sticking to her skin. In her mouth. Making her gag. Making her choke. She pushed at it impatiently, almost hysterically, then reached out and turned the taps on full blast. Water splashed up onto the ebony fixtures, and she let her eyes close, holding her herself on trembling arms over the basin.

Her head was swimming. So many thoughts swirling around in there, that nothing coherent would offer itself. All she got was raw emotion. Sudden and all at once. This was it. This was finally it -- she was losing her mind.

Her body continued to heave, trying to expel something that didn't seem to be inside of her. At least, not anything that was willing to come out. She could see stars in front of her eyes, and her ears rang. She didn't know how long it went on, but when it finally stilled, it had taken all of her strength with it. She felt her legs give, and let herself sink to the floor, hands still holding the rim of the sink. Her head leaning on the cupboard doors.

She was shaking, and more than anything -- than ANYTHING she could remember for days -- she wanted to cry. She tried. Tried to force the tears out of her, letting to a low, plaintive moan. Please. God, please let this come out. Just let me get it OUT of me. But it didn't work. Her head just pounded and she waited for it to explode.

Now was the time, she thought, her brain finally allowing itself some semblance of order. About two steps from getting what she wanted, and the cliff side she'd been hanging to by her fingertips finally gave way. She blinked her eyes open, feeling cold at the realization. Life hadn't been able to knock her down anymore, because there hadn't been anything left. Then there had been something. And now it would finish her.

Now it would grind her bones to make it's bread.

Nikolas stared into the contents of his briefcase and tried, once again, to engage his brain in the task at hand. He wasn't having much luck. It wasn't lack of sleep - he was very nearly accustomed to that. No, today the problem was a little more complicated than that.

Luke Spencer had been in his home. More than that, when he'd gotten back, his father had been there. The whole thing had left him feeling sickened. Carly at her most vulnerable, and in swoop the two factions of their family's feud. Stefan and Luke, circling overhead, waiting for the inevitable stumble. It made him angry. It made him suspicious.

All right. It made him jealous. She'd been sitting next to his father on the couch. Curled up against the opposite arm, they'd been talking. He'd almost go as far as to say they'd been sharing a quiet moment. Considering that his wife would barely look at him, much less have a conversation with him -- share anything with him… Well, it was hard to take.

Taking it, however, was all Nikolas seemed to be doing right now. On his way back to the island he'd felt, for the first time in days, capable. Ah ha - there HAD been something he could do. It was small, but it would prevent further unraveling. That was a start. But once he was home again, once he was actually faced with the empty vessel that was his wife - it all felt pretty meaningless. Everything had stayed just as it had been before.

The door to his office slammed, jarring him, and he looked up to see Cece standing, back against the wall, wearing a very wide grin on her face. He assumed she'd been there awhile, given the force with which she'd summoned his attention.

"Yes?"

His assistant pushed herself off the wall and sashayed across the room towards him, arms held out in a way that might invite a hug from any other person. Stopping a few feet in front of the desk, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. "Who da man?"

It was too early for this.

"What?"

"Who. Da. Man." Cece took Nikolas's refusal to play along in almost any game in stride at this point. It was kind of amusing, to watch his brow furrow like that.

"I am?"

She dropped her arms. "No. No -- It's true that, between the two of us, you are the more masculine." She put her thumb up against her index finger. "Barely."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She cocked her head. Fingers tapping on a folder she was holding in her hand. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yeah, I don't know." He snapped his case closed. "And I'm in a hurry."

"ME!" She stamped her foot for emphasis. "I am Da Man!"

Nikolas spared her a quick glance. "All right."

"You wanna know why?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She tossed the folder on the desk, and it landed with a loud thwack. Nikolas glanced down at it.

"What's this?"

She looked put-out by the question. "Do I have to do everything for you? Never mind, don't answer that." She snatched back the envelope before Nikolas could react, and started untying the string that was holding it closed. "Christ, why do you even HAVE a body? Why don't you just give it up and become a floating head in a jar?" She tossed the contents -- papers with a 8 x 10 picture on top of his desk blotter. "Ta. Dah. Wedding present of the seriously deranged. Signed, sealed and to-be-delivered."

Nikolas stared down at the photograph, then picked it up. He studied it a long moment, before letting himself take a breath. So who said he couldn't get things done when he wanted to?

"You found it."

"Was there ever any doubt?"

He shook his head. "Where is it?"

"Phoenix."

"And?"

"And it's all yours," she grinned. "I did make a rich girl with too much of her daddy's money cry."

Nikolas winced. "How young?"

"Thirty-five. I didn't have to. But -- You know It's sport."

There was a very faint flicker of a smile. "You're a sick woman, Cece."

"You're welcome," She chirped. Nothing put the spring in her step quite like pulling off the nearly-impossible - as much as she might complain when he put the request to her initially.

"You've got messages." She reached into her jacket pocket. "Again."

"That keeps happening," He picked up his briefcase and started around the desk. "Is there any way to put a stop to it?"

"You really don't want me to answer that question." She walked with him out of the office, shuffling small pink slips of paper in her hands. "What have you done to your aunt, anyway? One more 'he'll get back to you', and I think she'll have Rochelle immolated."

"Rochelle?"

Cece nodded toward the new girl sitting at reception as they passed.

"Ah."

"Anyway, that takes care of half of them. There's a message from your mother-in-law…" she paused as she walked through the door he was holding for her. "She's… different."

"What did she want?"

"She says to turn your cell phone back on." She gave him a look. "I second that, incidentally."

Nikolas nodded, absently, and punched the 'down' button on the elevator. "And?"

"Uh… Right. The hospital personnel department called this morning to say that…" Cece paused, scanning the message. "Ok, she said a lot of things, but the overall point seems to be that she needs you to pick up some documents from the PR office about the Ward House Outreach Program, that Personnel needs signed before the board meeting on Friday."

Nikolas started to nod, then stopped. "Friday?"

"Yeah," she let out a sigh of annoyance. "There's a meeting about the program of Friday, remember? What -- did you block it out?"

"Probably," Nikolas said slowly. "It's the budget. And staff approvals."

"Ok."

"That's not just 'documents'."

His assistant smirked. "I'm sure you'll survive." The elevator doors opened, and Cece pasted on a smarmy smile. She really did enjoy Wednesday. "Have fun!" She gave him a push towards the open elevator. As the doors started to close, Nikolas turned and grabbed Cece's arm, pulling her into the car with him. She jerked back from him, alarmed. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"You're coming with me."

Raised-but-muffled voices were coming from the back of the house, as Bobbie stood on her brother's front porch, peering into the living room through the screen door. She raised her sunglasses, propping them up on the top of her head, and pushed the door open. No point standing on ceremony.

The floorboards creaked under her as she moved into the house. She glanced up the stairs, but saw nothing. The people in the kitchen -- the ones talking -- were Luke and Lucky. No doubt, Laura and Lulu had left for the day. Great discourse of the menfolk usually took place during this time -- she glanced back over her shoulder, debating whether or not she wanted to enter in on this one. She was feeling more than a little worn out, with the events of the past few days. Carly's silence. Nikolas's recalcitrance. Luke alternately going off on some tangent, and then shutting up entirely. It was getting old. She was beginning to regret allowing her brother any involvement at all. If he was pulling Lucky into this mess, then things were definitely flirting with getting out of control.

Assuming that there was anything about this situation that had ever flirted with being in control in the first place.

Shaking her head, Bobbie crossed the room. This was about her daughter, after all, and she was damned if she was going to stand here like some dense twit, trying to decide what direction to go it. Other women in Luke's sphere might take that tact, but she had no desire to go that way. Instead she marched up to the door, and pushed it open.

Lucky was leaning against the counter, glaring silent holes into the floor. Luke was standing by the open refrigerator, apparently caught in the midst of acquiring juice, by whatever the topic at hand was.

"Barbara." He sounded tired. "Pull up a chair, join the party."

Bobbie glanced between the two men, and raised an eyebrow.

"Am I interrupting something?" The silence that followed answered her question. She sighed. "He went to see her, didn't he?" Lucky shook his head and kept his eyes focused on the floor. Bobbie let out a groan. "Luke, I told you to stay out of it!"

Luke shrugged, and pushed the fridge door closed. "Funny. I remember you telling me you thought she was about to throw herself off a cliff."

Bobbie leaned forward, both hands gripping the chair in front of her. "I know how to handle this, Luke. You can't just go busting in there and yell and throw things around and expect Carly to respond to it! It never works, but you keep trying it anyway."

"First sign of insanity," Lucky lifted his head, looking at his father, darkly. "Trying something that's failed over and over again, thinking it's going to have a different outcome."

Luke gave a half shrug and nodded towards his son. "Cowboy thinks I should be leaving the Cassadine Wrangling to him."

"I think," Lucky hit the word hard, "That I know more about what's going on here. And I want to leave it at that."

The air was thick with something unspoken. Bobbie felt distinctly out of the loop.

"What's happening here?" she asked, her eyes darting between them. "Lucky? Have you heard something? Is Carly ok?"

"You wanna give the woman an answer, Lucky?" Her brother's voice was quiet, and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Lucky raised his eyes to his father, and there was a warning screaming from them.

"You know what I want."

"Will one of you please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Her voice was moving up into the hysterical range. "Damn it, I'm getting sick of all this secret code! Tell me what's going on!"

"We're having a territorial dispute." Her nephew still wasn't looking at her. In fact, he was looking at his father the way a wolf looks at it's prey before it pounces. Given his chosen prey, it was a little unnerving. "Dad's suddenly grown this strong feeling of responsibility for my prodigal cousin."

Bobbie shook her head, trying to work this out. "And you're saying Nikolas is yours?"

"Nikolas is mine because no one else in this house wants him," Lucky pushed himself off the counter, taking several steps towards his father. His voice was brutal and angry, and Bobbie had an urge to look over her shoulder to make sure Nikolas wasn't standing behind her. It was something she sure as hell hoped he'd never hear.

"I've been go-between for him and everybody for over a year," Lucky was continuing, still talking to her. "And Dad wants it that way. Mom wants it that way. You don't think at some point, I've got the right to say he's none of their business?"

"Lucky --" Bobbie started, but was cut off by Luke slamming his hand down on the table.

"What goes on with that kid and your mother --"

"Oh, come off it!"

"IS HIS CHOICE! He treats her like she crawled out from under a rock --"

"Just give it a fucking rest!" Lucky was yelling now, the blood rushing into his face. The color matched his father's. "He's got no reason to act different, and we all know that!"

Bobbie closed her eyes. Here they go again... These fights were less frequent these days, but whenever Lucky didn't like the way things were going, he still dragged up Luke's past. It drove her absolutely nuts. Woke up every protective little sister cell in her being. Unfortunately, getting in the way of it, only exacerbated things. She couldn't afford that this morning.

Lucky had turned away, his hands over his face. He took a few steps from his father, then dropped his hands, palm down, onto the counter's surface. He took a few steadying breaths, while Luke stood on the opposite side of the room, hands on his hips and eyes on the floor. Bobbie let out her breath, and looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Can someone please tell me what this is really about?"

Luke grunted. "Been trying to work that one out all morning."

Lucky ignored his father's comment, and turned back to his aunt. "Carly wants to be with him." It wasn't so much a question as a demand. "Right?"

Bobbie glanced at him, letting his displeasure show on her face. He didn't so much as blink. "The last time I saw Carly, she really wasn't sure what she wanted. But I'd say, under it all? She wants to be with him."

Lucky looked at his father, smirking. "Why's that not good enough for you?"

Luke looked incredulous. "I dunno. The girl's judgment has been beyond reproach so far."

"How do you get something like that out of your mouth without choking on your own hypocrisy?"

"Lucky!" The complaint was out of Bobbie's mouth before she even thought about it. "Come on! Both of you! Carly's going through a rough time right now -- but all this drama isn't going to help her!"

"You don't know the whole story, Barbara Jean," Luke said softly .

"Well, then someone enlighten me. Please."

"It's none of our business." Lucky shook his head. "It's not about us. It's about Carly, Nikolas and Michael."

"Yeah?" Luke pushed a chair out of his way, crossing to his son. "And you wanna share with me what it is you know that makes you think I've got it all wrong?"

"No." Lucky straightened up to his full height and stood toe-to-toe with his father. "You know those days are gone, Dad. I can deal with who you are, and I can still love you. But I know where you end and I start. And boundaries aren't your strong suit."

"God," Bobbie breathed. "Please don't do this."

"This a test?" Luke asked, with eyes narrowed. Lucky let out a snort and averted his eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dad. Cause I don't have anything better to do than play games with other people's lives." He turned away from him, pacing the length of the kitchen once, before leaning against the far counter. Shoulders hunched. "You keep saying all this stuff about how you hold me in high regard, and you respect the choices I've made..." Blue eyes started to shine -- but he held the tears in check. "Well, back it up, Man. Because I know I can handle this a hell of a lot better than you can. And I don't think I have to justify myself. I don't have your track record."

"Lucky!"

"Let it go, Barbara." Luke's voice was resigned, with a tinge of frustration. "He's not wrong."

Their eyes were fixed on each other's again, and Bobbie felt even further out of the loop. She watched while they performed that unsettling Lucas Lorenzo Mind Meld. At the end of it, Luke's shoulders dropped, and he turned away.

"It's his beat," Luke said finally, turning away. "He's got it under control."

She watched Lucky shake out his head. His hands seemed to be trembling a little as he jammed them into his pockets.

"I gotta go to class," Lucky muttered, as he started from the room, head down. Bobbie reached out and caught his arm as he passed her.

"Lucky." She turned him, so that he was standing in front of her. Close up, she could see for certain what she'd already suspected. Something had Lucky deeply shaken. She frowned, allowing her worry to show on her face. "She's my daughter."

"Yeah," he murmured, looking over her shoulder towards Luke's back. "Yeah -- funny, you'd think this would be about her, wouldn't you?"

AJ separated the slats between the Venetian blinds with his fingers and peered out at the river. It was silver in the sunlight, and from the upper floors of the Port Charles Hotel, the boats making their way up and down the channels looked like they could be swept up and scattered at will.

He heard movement behind him, but instead of turning around he leaned against the windowsill, turning his head slightly to survey the rest of the city he was currently hovering over. He didn't move as his companion got up, and crossed the room towards him. Started just a little as her hands came around his waist, her lace-covered breasts pressing against his back. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"You're quiet today."

He gave a half nod. "I've got a lot going on."

"Mmmm..." Her hands trailed up his chest, stopping to stroke his pectorals, lazily. "I thought we were going to forget about that."

He let the words sit a moment, before reaching up and pulling her hands off of him. He moved away from the window, and headed across the room, picking up his shirt from where it had been tossed.

"AJ..."

He started to pull on his shirt, wondering when her voice has started to bother him. He knew it was the first thing that had started to grate on him. Particularly the way she said his name. It's a bad sign, in any relationship, not to want to hear the woman you're with say your name. Even if it was cried out in the heat of passion -- It made him cringe.

"I've got to get back to the office."

"Is this about Saturday?"

He turned back to her then. She was standing, hand on her hip, head cocked to one side. A strange and demanding pose for a woman standing in front of him in just her bra and panties.

"Which part?" He asked, turning his attention to the buttons on his shirt.

"Well, we've barely talked about any of it!"

He smirked. "We don't usually do much talking, Chris."

"No," she said, icily. "Not anymore."

He shrugged, grabbing his tie off the bedpost. They had talked once. That was how it had all started -- meeting to talk. About his son. About Carly. After all, Edward had advised, it can't be a bad idea to strike up a comfortable relationship with the social worker. To make inroads. Keep your fingers on the pulse.

Well, he'd had his fingers all over the place, and the funny thing was, he didn't feel like the player. Lately -- today particularly -- he was feeling like her stooge. Her dupe. Perhaps if he'd been the one to initiate this grossly inappropriate turn their acquaintance had taken, he'd be less suspicious of it.

"Well, what do you want from me?" He turned to the mirror, looking at his own reflection while he fixed his tie. "A relationship?"

"Oh, of course not," she sniffed. "That'd be crazy, wouldn't it?"

"Don't pretend that hurts your feelings."

"Why do you have to act like this?" She sounded more tired than hurt.

"Because," he said, pulling the knot tight to his neck. "I'm not sure I trust you anymore."

She snorted, and he heard the rustling of fabric -- she was getting dressed. "I'm doing the best I can, AJ. I can't perform miracles. Sometimes I get caught in traffic. Sometimes I lose my keys. Sometimes I can't stop people from getting upset -- It's not like this is easy -- You think I like getting paid to watch people screw up their lives?"

He glanced at her, reflected over his shoulder, as she pulled her clothes on. Her face was flushed. She looked upset. He turned towards her, leaning back on the dresser.

"She's going to fight for custody."

"She won't get it."

He looked at her and wanted to believe her. It always happened this way. He'd get annoyed, get angry, or -- frankly -- just plain bored with her. And then she'd hit the right nerve, or he'd remember just who this woman was. The strange power she yielded over his life.

"You sound pretty sure of that."

Chris let out a light laugh, as she did up the belt on her skirt. She'd already pulled her blouse on, but it was still open, displaying the pink silk and lace bra -- he could see the little rose that decorated the middle.

"With her track record? I don't think she'd be trusted with a puppy."

"What about changing her visitation?"

"I'll never recommend it." She pulled her hair out from under the collar of her blouse. "She's a basket case, AJ. I see it every week. She's not hurting Michael now, but come on! Suddenly showing up with a husband out of nowhere? Without preparing her son for it at all? Stable people don't do that."

"No," AJ took a breath. It was comforting to hear someone say that, finally. "They don't, do they?"

"He's got money," Chris said, blithely. "But he doesn't have your kind of connections." She glanced over at him and gave a quick wink. He smiled, in spite of himself.

"The Cassadines don't need connections."

"Oh, I know." She wrinkled her nose as she stalked across the room towards him. "They're big and they're scary, and everyone runs and hides instead of standing up to them."

"I'm not hiding."

"No," she raised an eyebrow. "You're not."

"They're going to be divorced before the year's out." He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against his chest. "If they don't kill each other first."

Her hands slid up his chest, and she raised her eyes to his. He liked her best like this. Teasing. Soft. It made him feel, ever so briefly, like he was strong.

"She's a handful, I imagine."

"Oh, you have no idea," he murmured, bending to give her a soft, lingering kiss. Her hands sunk into the hair at the back of his neck, and she pulled him closer, demanding something more. Something deeper. By the time she pulled back, AJ was sorry he'd been so insistent on getting dressed.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, by way of apology. "I'm just tense."

She smiled -- a bright smile that she only deigned to give him on occasions like this -- and leaned back in his arms.

"Well -- we'll work on that again next week."

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Cece fumed as she walked down the hall, carrying an armful of file folders. "This is NOT my beat. We've long established that this is NOT my beat!"

"It's only one day, Cece."

She snorted. "I hate this place -- It smells like tuna!"

"It smells like a hospital."

"Where fish go to die!"

"This isn't negotiable," Nikolas spoke evenly. "I don't plan to spend anymore time at GH today than absolutely necessary."

"You just want me to keep the lunatics running this asylum away from you."

"That too." He pushed a swinging door out of their way. "But you can't complain I'm not giving you something with more meat on it."

Cece snorted. "Which I could be working on right now."

"You will be," he said determinedly. "I know you're waiting for phone calls."

"That doesn't mean I wanna hang out in this dump," she complained. "And by the way -- there's not a lot of meat on that project so far. Just a lot of bone."

Nikolas shook his head firmly. "There's meat. You'll find it."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything as they approached his office. Cece had a point. His purpose in bringing her wasn't entirely professional -- though he did have a mountain of work in front of him. He was underprepared for this meeting on Friday in half a dozen ways. There were figures to look over, memos and proposals, and... It was going to take more concentration than he felt capable of at the moment. Particularly since the population of a General Hospital board meeting typically involved himself, his father, Audrey Hardy and ... Quartermaines. In addition -- this had the Outreach Program on the agenda. Robin might be there. His mother might be there.

Right. Because this week was already off to such a great start.

Resigned to his fate, he pushed open the door to his office and stopped dead. Cece came to an abrupt halt, nearly bumping into him, and dropping the armful of files.

"Oh, for F--"

"Bobbie," Nikolas cut her off. His mother-in-law turned from his desk, and gave him a wan smile.

"I've been waiting for you."

There was a thicket of cedars along the path that lead around the perimeter of Spoon Island. They were new green and fragrant in the spring air, as Stefan Cassadine walked the line of them, heading up towards the cliff edge.

Island security had told him that Caroline was there. They'd told him every move she'd made in Nikolas's absences since they'd arrived on the island. So far, there had been little to say. But this morning, she'd left the house, and started towards the stables. Halfway there, she'd stopped. They'd said she'd stood on the path for minutes, before turning and heading towards the bluffs. Alone.

The evening before had gone according to plan apart from two notable things. The first had been the ease with which Spencer had departed the premises. He'd been perfectly willing to make a show out of getting rid of the man. The second was the comment the man had made on his way out. "Marks". Stefan had tried to attach some meaning to that during his conversation with Caroline after her uncle had departed. She'd offered nothing, and now he was left to speculation.

Nikolas would never raise a hand to a woman. Of that he was certain. But he had stacks of papers reporting the many ways and methods Carly took the physical approach. Even more discussing the psychological impact she was capable of. She'd transformed Tony Jones from an upstanding neurosurgeon and family man, into a kidnapper with a very unfortunate hair style.

She'd lay on the couch, turning towards him, her back against the armrest and her legs tucked under her. Her hands had been held across her stomach and she'd looked, for all the world, like a woman in despair. Not at all like the woman he'd been reading about.

He wondered. Just how adept was she at the performance? He'd seen her lie before. Years ago, when he was married to Barbara. She had received Justus Ward's file on Tony's custody suit, and Carly had been responsible. He'd expected that all along. But watching her defend the man -- staunchly, angrily -- he'd thought it was an admirable performance.

But he'd been aware of something else, underneath. A nervousness. A level of alertness, as if she was expecting everything to take a turn that would hurt her. Expose her, he'd decided. And he'd been right.

There had been none of that about her the night before. There had not, in fact, been any of that fear of exposure in any of his dealings with her since she'd married his son. He read that as proof that she was emotionally involved. And he'd assumed that to be closer to disastrous than anything else. But speaking with her last night, she'd managed to coax an entirely unwelcome feeling from him. Just briefly -- in flashes of her smile. A look of gratitude. He'd found himself feeling -- just for a moment -- compassionate.

He didn't like that. Generally, he did not appreciate being made to feel things he hadn't already prepared himself for. But that moment of empathy at the house had haunted him after his return home. It was clear, when Nikolas returned, that there was trouble. It was on his face -- the way he was holding himself. It was also in the look he'd given his father upon entering... Startled, then possessive. Untrusting, once again. Caroline had looked disturbed by his return. Uncomfortable, even. He'd departed quickly, leaving them to each other -- but once home, he'd tried to work this experience into the facts and deductions he had so neatly laid out for himself.

It came back -- over and over again -- to one thing. What he wanted for his son, above anything else, was a fulfilling life. Nikolas had seemed almost determined to deny himself that. His preoccupation with Miss Scorpio had served as an excuse to deny himself the company of women. His loss of the title served as an excuse to deny himself an identity. He was only interested in his work in so far as showing how seamlessly he could execute it. There was no joy in it for him, particularly. Certainly no passion. More and more, Nikolas ran the risk of being his father's son. Lacking the sense of purpose.

To that end, Caroline was a relief. At least he wanted something. At least he'd taken he steps necessary to get it. As much as Stefan anticipated this being a disaster, he acknowledged that, with the proper care taken, it was possible that the situation could be salvaged. And after the previous evening, he admitted to himself that what Alexis had been pushing all along -- for them to try to groom Caroline for the role Nikolas had chosen her for -- might be possible.

If she was willing to cooperate.

He spotted her, finally, sitting on what was -- without doubt -- his least favorite spot on the island. Why he kept the stone bench was beyond him. Saving himself the trouble of giving it even that much thought, he supposed. But she was sitting there now -- straddling the bench, and staring down at the stone. She leaned forward, her palms flat on the stone. Her shoulders were hunched, spine curved, and she looked like she was trying to see something -- like she could see right through the granite. He took a step forward, careful to make noise by allowing a twig to snap under his boot. Her head came up and she looked at him, startled. He continued toward her, and she sat up straight, looking like she was incapable of developing a reaction to the sight of him. He walked up to her, smiling benignly. Waiting for her to speak. She didn't -- she just stared at him -- as he approached.

"Caroline," he spoke softly. "What brings you out here?"

Nikolas sent Cece off to attend to her oh-so-pressing phone calls, before closing the door to his office, and locking it firmly, from the inside. He turned his eyes on Bobbie, who was standing in front of his desk, her hands twisting the strap on her pocketbook, anxiously.

"You're off today," he said, finally.

Bobbie grimaced. "You checked. How... Stefan-like of you." He didn't answer, just stared at her, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Look. Nikolas. I know you're not very happy with me at the moment --"

Nikolas crossed the room, avoiding eye contact. "If this is another lecture, I have no interest in hearing it."

"I know... " She watched him, turning and observing, while he shuffled meaningless papers on the desk. "I know about Luke. That he came to see you last night."

"Strictly speaking, it would seem he came to see my wife."

"I didn't ask him to do that." She cleared her throat. "I'm not trying to force myself into your life together --"

"I really don't know what you think we have to talk about right now." He glanced up at her briefly. He knew he was being dismissive -- rude, even -- but at the moment, he was all tapped out of patience. At his tone, however, Bobbie squared her shoulders, and took on a look of determination.

Oh. Great.

"Do you know she won't talk to me?"

He started to stack the folders Cece had dumped on the desk in annoyance with compulsive attention to neatness. "I've gathered."

"Do you know what that means?"

"That she's upset." His voice was remarkable disaffected. "That she didn't like being publicly humiliated and now she's feeling angry about it."

"She's not angry." Bobbie's voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away, hand holding her collarbone. After a moment, she threw her purse down on the desk, and turned back to him -- that same determined look on her face. "No -- she is angry, but she's not furious. And Carly is always furious."

Nikolas stared down at the desk top. Suddenly he had even less interest in this conversation.

"I told you I went to see her. Did she tell you what happened?"

Did she tell him anything?

"She's... She's not well."

He sat down in his chair. Wasn't aware of making the decision to do so. "We've had this conversation."

"Yes," she agreed. "But I was just this side of hysterical at the time." She ran a hand through her hair, lips pursed while she worked on what to say next. "Nikolas, I love my daughter more than... I can't even describe it."

His throat tightened, and he frowned in response. "Then why did you let this happen to her?"

"Because!" She let out a humorless laugh. "I didn't want to hurt her!"

"Ah. Well -- That worked out well, didn't it?"

"Nikolas -- please! This isn't about me and Carly, or what I did wrong --"

"You let her find out about something you knew would devastate her in front of a room full of people. A room full of people who probably all realized the same thing --"

"Most of the people in that room have no concept of how Carly thinks, Nikolas --"

"You do. You do, or you wouldn't have tried to run after her."

"Yes -- I DO. I know how Carly reacts to things like this better than anyone. And that includes you." Nikolas looked up at her sharply, and Bobbie cringed in response. "I was going to talk to you first. I wanted you to have some time to settle in and then I was going to tell you about the baby. So that we could tell her together and help her deal with it. Because..." a breath, "I didn't want this to happen. What's happening right now."

He felt cold. It had been a feeling he'd been fighting, and talking to her, he'd felt his ability to combat it falter. He didn't want to hear this. He needed to not hear this. But he pushed his chair back from the desk and leaned forward. He asked, "What do you think is happening?"

Bobbie looked at him and gave a maudlin smile. "I think she's probably a thousand miles away from you right now." He looked at her blankly. Then he turned his eyes away. He heard her sigh. "From all of us. I think when you look in her eyes, 90% of the time, nothing looks back. I think when she does get emotional, it's in a quick burst -- usually angry, or hysterical -- and then she's absolutely still again. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want to be touched. She doesn't want anything, but to sleep all day, and stare into space, and not be bothered about it. Does any of that sound familiar?"

Nikolas stared down at the floor. After a moment, he leaned forwards, his arms across his knees. Crouched over. But he wouldn't look at her.

"My daughter... Has problems."

"We all have problems."

"Yes. But Carly's have a psychological diagnosis."

He sat up, pulling in his breath. "I know."

"Yes. She told you. That's... Not how she usually goes about things." She quirked a small smile, like this should be encouraging. "That really gave me hope, to hear that."

Nikolas made a movement -- somewhere between a twitch and a shrug.

"I told her it wouldn't matter."

Bobbie nodded. "You said you knew she was diagnosed as Bipolar."

"Misdiagnosed."

"It wasn't a radical idea, Nikolas. Carly didn't have the chemical problems that doctor claimed... but she still fits the profile. She's erratic, impulsive and moody --"

"She's HEARTBROKEN!" he exploded, finally. "God, isn't that obvious? They took her son away from her!"

"You're right. They did. But..." Bobbie's eyes were incredible sad -- almost pitying. "Nikolas -- you can't romanticize this. You can't make it just about what happened when --"

Nikolas shook his head hard, shutting her down. "That's not what I'm doing."

"This was before Michael, Nikolas!" she insisted. "This was before she lost him. I'm the first person to admit that it was hard on her. But Carly was irrational before Michael was even conceived. It's the way she IS. It's the way she's always been. She doesn't know how to trust people, she doesn't know how to have faith in them. ..."

Nikolas could barely breathe.

"That's as true of me, as anyone," Bobbie was continuing. "I guess no one has to look too hard to understand why. But when she gets like this Nikolas -- When she gets like she was the other day when I saw her -- I get scared. I really worry about her, because she's so removed from everything -- she's so deep into her own world... that absolutely anything can happen. Nikolas?" Her voice slid up a few octaves on his name. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

Nikolas raised his eyes to hers and saw the tracks of tears that had been slowly moving down Bobbie's face. He didn't, at the moment, trust himself to speak.

"I'm scared about what she might do to herself." He could hear buzzing. High in pitch, and far away, but getting closer. The implication of what Bobbie was saying was hard to miss. He watched her wipe impatiently at her tears. "It's not easy to love her, is it?"

Nikolas shook his head. No. It was impossible not to.

"It's harder than I can describe to know she's hurting like this and not be able to change it." The tears started rolling slowly down her face again, but her voice was almost unnaturally steady. "I know I was harsh with you on the phone the other night -- but that's because I'm scared." She took a quick breath. "I've already lost one daughter --"

He stood up, suddenly, at her words. He turned away from her and paced the room -- to the window, stopped, and stared out. He heard a creak behind him, and knew Bobbie was on her feet. He willed her not to come near him.

"I know you've lost enough people, too. and I'm not trying to scare you --"

He let out a harsh, disbelieving sound, shaking his head determinedly. He couldn't get any words out.

"Nikolas -- I need her to be okay!" She was pleading with him. "Before anything else, I need to know that my daughter is safe. And... I trust you." A tentative hand touched his arm. He let it. "I trust you to help her. I know it's hard, and I know it hurts. I know it feels like you're being gutted from the inside. But it's not her fault. She doesn't mean to do it... " She stopped, pulling in a shaky breath.

"She can't help it." His voice sounded dead.

"It's not her. It's something that takes up residence inside her."

Nikolas nodded. He'd... Known that. Somehow. "There has to be a way to fix it," he said, roughly.

"I know." He felt Bobbie's forehead come to rest against his shoulder. "And there is. But -- It changes," she laughed, and moved away from him. "Being calm and trying to understand doesn't always fix it. Fighting with her -- sometimes that helps snap her out of it. Sometimes she just gets worse. Being quiet and letting her work though it -- that doesn't work all the time, either."

"What does work?"

Bobbie shook her head. "I don't know. I wish to God I did."

Nikolas turned around to face her. She looked helpless. More helpless than he'd ever seen her.

"There's something you have to want me to do."

"Just..." She sniffed, then tossed herself down on the couch that lined the far side of the office. She buried her face in her hands a long moment, then raised her head -- watery eyes, tight mouth. "Keep your eyes open," she said, finally. "Do whatever your instincts tell you to do. Don't doubt yourself." She sat up. "And take care of her. Because you're the only one who can."

Carly knew she should probably have an opinion, thought, or general feeling about the sudden appearance of Stefan Cassadine into what had been, up until a few moments earlier, a perfectly innocent attempt to find oxygen.

Finding oxygen, thus far, was the theme for the day.

He was smiling at her. Kindly. And she hated the fact that she felt like she needed that. But to be honest, at the moment, she felt like she needed a million things, and she didn't want any of them. She tried to prod her brain -- to think of something to say. There was a reason to be nice to this man.

"You called me Caroline."

He nodded. "It's a compulsion of mine. I admit."

She just looked at him, without expression. "Luke calls me that."

"Then perhaps you'd prefer I continue with 'Carly'."

She didn't say anything. She went back to looking at the stone in front of her. It was cold and hard and solid. It felt as good under her hands as anything she'd come across. Something undeniably real. She'd been thinking about how, the night she'd married Nikolas, she'd been thinking about him in the same terms.

"You look as if you might be cold." Her father-in-law's voice floated back to her. She blinked, and thought about what he was saying, then shook her head.

"I'm not."

"Perhaps you'd rather move out of the wind?" he continued, as if she hadn't spoke. "There are less blustery outlooks on the island, if you'd like to see them."

She shrugged. "Maybe later."

He took another step towards her. She was vaguely aware that he must want something. Her head hurt too much to think about it, though.

"Why aren't you at work?"

"Ah, Nikolas prefers to work off the island. I do not. Most of my business is done from my study."

Carly nodded, slightly. Nikolas liked to work away...

"Oh."

"Have you eaten yet this morning, Carly?"

She raised her eyes up to his. "What?"

"You look pale."

She blinked. "I'm not hungry."

He nodded, then looked past her -- out at the lake. His brow was furrowed and she turned to see what he was looking at. She was a little startled by how bright everything was. Sun on vibrant blue water. Green trees framing the side. No sign of life besides that. It felt like the middle of nowhere.

"Very well," he spoke, jarring her. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Carly's stomach made what was becoming a very familiar jolting movement, and she sucked in her breath.

"You can stay a little," she blurted out. She immediately wondered why she'd said it -- and looked up at him for some sort of answer. He, however, looked a little surprised by what she'd said, as well. She sat up, drawing back on the bench so that there was room for him to sit. Her eyes were fixed on his shoulder, and she felt her heart start to pound in her chest. Bad idea. Bad idea -- if he said no, she was going to throw up.

Again.

He nodded, and she felt a sweat break out on the back of her neck in relief as he came to sit beside her. She didn't know what she was doing -- practicing, maybe. Or maybe this would help. If he was here, then she'd have to talk. and that would spare her from her own thoughts. Or, more to the point, her memories.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked as he took the seat she offered him. She didn't give him to answer. "Why are you being nice to me?"

"Is that what I'm doing?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

He stroked his goatee a moment, before answering her. "Concern, I think."

"Why?"

He wasn't prepared for the question, that was clear. Which was strange, since she'd been that direct with him before. Maybe he just didn't expect her to be able to do coherent at the moment. She was a little impressed herself. But then -- she'd always been able to this with the people who barely mattered. Pull together some kind of appearance. It was sloppy and went about as deep as a coat of lip gloss -- but it was something she still hadn't lost the ability to do.

"You don't seem well," Stefan answered, finally. Carly felt herself shiver as the wind picked up a bit.

"You said that Nikolas is the only child you're going to have. Right?"

"I expect as much."

"And he's only known you were his father for, like... two years?"

"A little more," he allowed. He looked, she thought, a little more rigid than he had when he'd sat down.

"So, he thought his father was dead, right?" She shifted her weight, a little. "Didn't he, like, mourn him?"

"He did."

She felt her blood, rushing through her veins. "Didn't you have to watch that?"

His turned and his eyes searched hers. He was scrutinizing, but she just stared back. She wanted to know the answer. And whatever if was she did, it worked, because after he turned back to the water, he started to speak.

"Nikolas never knew my brother," he murmured. He let that rest a long moment before he continued. "He knew... what he had. He imagined there was something more. And there was -- there was something we both lost, by his believing I was his uncle."

Carly shook her head. "Then why do it?"

"It was not in Nikolas's best interests for his paternity to be known. His life as my son -- had he even been allowed to have one -- would have been..." He trailed off. She waited, watching his profile -- his knit brow -- until he continued again. "He would have lived a very different life. And it's unlikely I would have been able to be as much of a father to him as I was, posing as his uncle. I can't see that I would have been allowed to have a son by my brother's wife. Somehow, we would have been denied each other. That was inevitable, from his conception, on."

"So it was noble," she said, quietly, staring down at the bench. "Pretending he was someone else's."

"That depends largely on your interpretation of events."

Carly nodded, and bent her back so that she could see the sky overhead. She blinked a few times. It was strange -- she'd walked all the way up here, and hadn't noticed anything that was surrounding her. She could feel the fog around her lifting. A little.

"Do you believe in Karma?" she asked.

"No."

"Isn't that an eastern thing? Like Tai Chi and all that?"

He didn't answer. He didn't look at her either. She let out a sigh, and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bench with her hands. Shoulders hunched up to her ears. She stared hard at the gray stone, again. Let it blur, let herself lose focus. She could feel that sick feeling swirling around inside of her again.

"Those movies..." she spoke, finally, her voice sounding very far away to herself. She heard Stefan shift, turning towards her, but she didn't look at him. "Or cartoons, maybe. Where there are brothers who are so close that they hit themselves to hurt the other one..." She took a breath, feeling her insides clench again. Stop talking, she told herself, distantly. Just... stop talking.

"When my son screams it's like that," she whispered. "It feels like someone's frozen my blood. When he hurts it's like being sliced open... And I keep wondering why he has to be in pain." She dropped her shoulders, suddenly, and looked over at him. He was frowning, still. But he didn't wasn't walking away. He wasn't interrupting her. "I think I know why everything is so hard for him. Because for so long, I didn't care about other people's pain. And now I'm being punished. But this is the worst way it could happen, because there isn't anything you could do to me that would hurt this much. Nothing hurts the way that does."

He stared at her. He looked almost shocked -- though it was hard to tell. She frowned, earnestly.

"Does it feel like that for you with Nikolas?"

He started to nod, then aborted it, turning it into a slow shake of his head. "Caroline. You don't look well."

She tossed her head, like she was pushing the comment away. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

She saw something flicker through his eyes, and was desperate to know what it was. Leaned closer, trying to see something -- but he turned away.

"Yes, I do," his voice was oddly clipped. "Now. Let's get you back home."

The sun had set, Cece had gone off to delve into her latest 'project', and the hospital seemed to have assumed Nikolas had gone home. Granted, he hadn't bothered to turn on the light, so he sat alone, in the dark, aware that he should go home.

He wasn't entirely sure that she'd want him home. He kept replaying the night before in his head, and trying to picture her reaction when he walked through the door. How, on the boat, she would leap over the cockpit, grinning at him -- her eyes bright -- and pull him towards her. They'd kiss, and stumble out of people's line of sight. Into the cockpit, then down the stairs. Now he'd come in and she'd look startled. Scared. And then she'd smile and he'd know it was forced. It was like she was trying to make him think she was happy to see him.

But she wasn't.

He wanted Bobbie to be right more than he was aware of wanting anything else right now. She'd said to make sure Carly got to Gail's on Friday. She'd said to force food down her throat, if he had to. She'd almost given him carte blanche to do anything he deemed necessary. Bathe her, dress her -- throw her out of bed in the morning. Whatever he thought was appropriate. Whatever he thought had to be done.

She said it had been this bad before. And she did come out on the other side. But she was scared, and she hadn't been able to hide it. So he'd listened to her, in silence. He'd listened to her, and felt his heart break. And now he sat here, in the dark, realizing what had been bothering him all along.

He was missing his wife. And he didn't know where to find her.

The sharp, irritating ring of his cell phone broke into the silence. Nikolas started, and glanced down at it, sitting on the desk. Someone had changed his straightforward ring into a ...

The William Tell Overture.

Damn it, Cece.

He answered it up in bad spirits. As if, these days, he was capable of anything else.

"What?"

"Hello to you, too."

Nikolas sank back into his chair. Perfect end to a perfect day. "I thought you were going to call."

He could hear his brother's scowl over the phone line. "Witness me calling."

He leaned forward, rubbing his hand across his forehead. There had to be some vestige of basic decorum hiding in reserve someplace. "I'm sorry, I'm... At the hospital."

"Right," Lucky's voice gave no hint that he was buying the hospital as the source of Nikolas's barely concealed agitation. "I need to see you."

"About Lulu?"

"Not really."

Nikolas stared down at the blotter on the top of his desk.

"About your father."

He heard Lucky exhale. "We need to talk."

One thing he'd always give his brother. He never made innocuous requests.

"Tomorrow."

"That's the best you can do, huh?"

Nikolas shook his head. "I have to get home," He really did, and as he spoke, he managed to find the strength to stand up. "Last time I left my wife alone for too long, thing got... Unpleasant for her."

Lucky didn't take the cue. "I'll come by your office."

Nikolas started to agree and then stopped. "No. I'm not going into work tomorrow." It was a sudden decision, one Cece was going to hate. But Bobbie had said instincts, and his were telling him not to leave her alone.

"Then I'll come to the island. I'll call from the dock."

Nikolas closed his briefcase, nodding. "I'll be expecting you."

Lucky hung up without saying good-bye.