Chapter Fourty-Seven:
Black and Blue

"I know one day you'll have a beautiful life. I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky."
-- Black, Pearl Jam

"There's a girl here, and she's almost you."
-- Almost Blue, Elvis Costello

Carly had known something was amiss before she opened her eyes. All week something in her had set it's clock on Nikolas-time. It knew, even when she was asleep, how close he was. Next to her... in the room... downstairs... She woke up when the clock hit gone. Not before. Not unless she had to.

So that morning, she lay there, knowing that it was getting late. That the sun was high in the sky, the day was well underway, and the Nikolas clock was stuck at... here. With her.

Specifically, she realized, when she opened her eyes -- he was sitting in the chair. Far corner of the room, by the window. Watching her. His expression was blank, and it remained that way as she finally decided to surrender to being awake, and sat up. She blinked at him a few times, then started to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Around ten."

She let her hands drop into her lap and tried to absorb that information.

"You're still here."

"It would appear that way."

"Why?" her voice slide up a few octaves on the single syllable, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"How are you feeling?"

She just shook her head. Ok -- maybe she wasn't really awake. Maybe this was just another vivid -- albeit far more coherent -- dream.

"What day is it?"

"Thursday," Nikolas sighed, pushing himself out of the chair. "10 o'clock, Thursday morning, and no -- I'm not at work, and no -- I'm not going to work. I'm staying here."

It was unnerving, how dead his voice was. She put a hand over her abdomen, which was contracting into a tight knot.

"Oh."

He'd pushed the door open, and stopped. She hadn't turned to look at him. She was much more concerned with twisting the bedclothes between her hands.

"I'll try not to interfere with your schedule."

The morning was excruciating. She vaguely remembered that there had been a time -- not too long ago -- when being alone with Nikolas was desired. When she'd gone to great lengths to try to persuade him to stay with her. Today, however, his presence made her jumpy.

Jumpy. Yeah. That was a word for it. Jumpy like someone trying to ward off a shower of meteors with an umbrella. She felt like she was waiting for something. Waiting for the explanation for his silence, his coldness -- hell, his presence. But it didn't come. And every minute that passed without confrontation, just wound Carly up tighter. It was hard to immerse yourself in numb, when you feel like something's about to come crashing down on you. And there was no doubt in her mind -- something was going to happen. She could almost hear it on the air around her. Something was going to happen. Something was going to change.

She'd spent a large portion of the morning hiding out in the study, her hand over her abdomen, entertaining fantasies about what Nikolas might have in store for her. They ranged from being forced into the 'talk' she'd been attempting to duck for days now to... Ferncliffe. Or something equally horrific. Annulment papers. Being returned to the wife-factory marked defective.

The idea cut through the haze in her brain, and brought with it some kind of clarity. An awareness that the end of her and Nikolas was a bad thing. That it was something she desperately wanted to avoid. She realized she was scared. Scared of losing him -- which was in direct contrast to the fact that she was terrified of having him in the house all day. She didn't know how to function when he was around. Or rather... She didn't know how to handle the fact that she couldn't function. It was the amazing thing about this place she lived in. She could sit, huddled in this chair, and know things. Understand them, and try to force them into her bones, where all the fear and devastation seemed to sit. But it never took hold the same way. It was gone like dust in the wind. It was tricky, that way. What felt real and good one moment could be swallowed up by everything else like it never existed. When she felt like this, it was like there had never been any other way to feel. Any other way to be.

It was harder to believe that when Nikolas was around. She knew he'd seen her be different. She knew that he wanted that person back. But she wasn't sure which one of her was the real one. And it made her head spin to sit here, and try to figure that one out.

He'd let her sit in a state of near panic, all alone, for nearly two hours. She'd stared at the wall, burrowed deep in her own thoughts, aware that he was there. Hearing him move from room to room, but not going to him. Not moving from her spot.

It had been around noon, when she'd heard something that finally brought her out of her corner. It was just outside the door -- dragging, shuffling noise -- that she suddenly realized was the sound of something heavy being moved. Something like... Boxes.

That propelled her to her feet. She'd flown out the door to see the boxes had only been moved off the table -- they hadn't been opened. They weren't being moved towards the door. They'd only been set aside. Relief hit her like a tidal wave, and she gripped the door jamb, leaning her body against it. She was still standing there, eyes on the pile of her worldly possessions, when Nikolas spoke.

"Carly."

She felt dizzy, but lifted her head anyway, towards the source of the voice. Nikolas was standing a few feet away, in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her intently. She cleared her throat, and forced herself to stand up.

"What?"

Move it along. Nothing to see here.

She could feel his eyes on her, nonetheless. She swore, sometimes, it felt like Nikolas had X-ray vision. Whenever he looked at her, she felt herself heat. She always felt like he was seeing more than what was there.

"Mrs. Landsbury brought over lunch." He nodded towards the table. "Will you join me?"

It was such a formal request. Made unaffectedly -- like it was the polite thing to do. The sort of invitation that didn't convince you the person actually wanted you around. Like something he'd do if they had just met, and he felt compelled to feed her, since he was about to eat himself.

Compelled. Oh.

"Have you been talking to my mother?"

It came out like an accusation, but Nikolas's expression didn't give her any hint to the answer. He was giving nothing away today, and Carly's stomach flipped again in response. She shifted her weight.

"Bobbie's just always trying to get me to eat something."

That was true. She'd get a little obsessive about it, sometimes. Go into this flurry of activity, where she spun around Carly like a windstorm -- Do something, want something, eat something. Do you want to cry? Do you want a hug? Do you want to hurt something? Just talk to me. Just tell me what you need. It always made Carly feel more detached from the world around her. She'd watch her mother with distant curiosity, and wonder how on earth this could matter so much to her.

But there was none of that about Nikolas today. There was almost... disinterest, with occasional glimmers of injury. It made her feel sick, sure -- but hey. At least it made her feel something.

He was still waiting for an answer. Silent, looking at her expectantly.

"Ok," she found herself saying. "Why not?"

Well -- the fact that she was certain anything that went into her stomach was going to come right back up -- that was a good reason. She could never be sure what was going to stay in her stomach when things got like this -- and she's learned that getting sick to your stomach when you haven't eaten is far less painful than when you have.

He disappeared into the kitchen -- which seemed, in all ways, wrong. She took a few steps into the room, hovering nervously by the study, before making the decision to move to the table. She came up behind the closest chair, and gripped the back with both hands, while staring at the kitchen door.

When he came back in, he was carrying a tray. He didn't look at her -- seemed absorbed in something else entirely. He came to the table, set it down, and started to remove items -- silverware, napkins, place mats -- and started to lay them out. Carly stared, unapologetically.

"I didn't know Cassadines set tables." It was meant to be something akin to a joke.

"We do what we have to," he replied quietly. He continued arranging the meal -- which consisted of breads, fruit and cheeses. Very light, by Cassadine standards -- on the table, in silence. When he'd finished, he stared at the table for a long moment, the murmured, "All right."

It was a signal to sit, though it took a moment for either of them to take it. Carly sunk into her chair, sitting sideways, facing away from him. He's doing this on purpose, she thought. He's trying to force me to do something. She could never stand not being able to get a reaction out of people. She'd rather be screamed at, anytime, than have to deal with cold silence. It always made her squirm -- made her start to push, so that she could find the emotion hiding inside, and deal with THAT. She'd pick a fight just to have noise, if she had to.

Nikolas clipped the edge of the china on the table with a piece of silverware, and Carly jumped. If he'd just say something, she could end this. This sickening apprehension. This feeling like she should be doing something. Trying to save a marriage she wasn't certain she could live in. Or live without.

She turned to look at him. He was looking down in a way that suggested he didn't want to look at her. But when he did raise his head, she quickly looked away, and started studying the fruit plate. She picked up a strawberry, and let it dangle from the stem, studying it rather than opting to eat it. She felt her chest tighten. How had she let things get this far gone? Why the hell couldn't she just pull them back?

She cast her eyes sideways towards him again, and watched his hands as he ate -- or, to be honest, arranged things on his plate. He didn't seem anymore enthusiastic about ingesting anything than she did. He had nice hands, she thought idly. They moved with assurance. Like they had direction. It was something that was foreign to her -- that kind of awareness of purpose.

She didn't know why she did it. It wasn't something she thought about; it just happened. Her hand reached across the table, of it's own volition, and grazed the back of his hand with her finger tips. His movements stilled immediately, and she drew a slow circle across the smooth skin. It was warm. He always felt warm.

She blinked, bringing herself back into the moment, and started to pull back. The moment she did, his hand darted out, and grabbed the cuff of her shirt. She looked up at him in surprise, to find him leaning forward, towards her. His eyes were dark, and they grabbed hers. There was no denying what she saw in them. Nothing cold, nothing angry. Just frustrated, reckless, hurt. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch -- to do what, she didn't know -- and his hand turned, gathering the material and pulling her arm back towards him. She felt her throat close up as he opened his mouth, took a breath like he was preparing to speak.

And then it happened.

The phone rang.

Lucky paced the docks at Spoon Island, willing himself not to look at his watch again. A minute and a half, tops, he'd been standing here, and he already felt anxious to have this done. It wasn't the fact that this was Cassadine Domain -- he liked to think he was over that. It was the fact that he was entering foreign territory, in a less concrete way.

He didn't know what he was doing here. It had been something he was compelled to do, the day before. Calling his brother and announcing they had to talk. Obvious, given the situation he'd found himself in. It wasn't until this morning, with the meeting looming, that he realized he was about to cross a line. This wasn't about Lulu. This wasn't even about Laura. He was here about Carly. Nikolas's wife. That was creepy new ground. Even if he played up the cousin angle -- it wasn't convincing. Nikolas had proven himself pretty sore about Carly's place in the Spencer Parthenon. He was here digging for information, as much as he was delivering it. What did he have to offer, really, except the news that Emily didn't think Michael was happy.

Not much of a watershed revelation.

No, what he was here to do, more than anything else, was figure out what the hell was going ON. The pieces he'd gotten from Emily and his father didn't fit together. Or rather, they did -- but not in a way he liked. Something was... off. He wanted to know what it meant. Which meant he was going to have to ask.

Yeah. It hurt just to think it. He wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to get the complete sentence out of his mouth. He didn't like to admit to curiosity. Or interest, really. He wasn't even sure that's what he was doing. It was more like answering a compulsion. Something felt wrong. He couldn't leave things like that alone.

The sound of feet on metal over head was as welcome as a Chorus of Angels. He shot a quick look toward the launch driver who was still standing at the end of the dock, waiting for his next run. With luck, he could have this over and done with in a matter of minutes. He moved towards the bottom of the steps, as his brother started down the last flight.

"I don't have much time," Nikolas informed him as he stepped down onto the dock. His tone was brisk, and bordered on cold. Lucky had to bite his tongue to stop himself from countering that HE didn't particularly want to be having this conversation EITHER, and HE was the one doing the favor, here. But it was hard to ignore the way Nikolas looked. No matter how indifferent and arrogant the attitude, he looked terrible. So Lucky opted to clench his hand into a fist and turned on the spot as Nikolas walked past him.

"Bad time?"

He shook his head in a way that both dismissed the question, and answered it. Bad time.

"What's this about?" Nikolas started to pace away from Lucky, heading down the dock and away from the launch. Lucky took a deep breath, and followed him.

"Checking in, mostly."

Nikolas sunk his hands into his pockets. "You made it sound important."

"Yeah, I did."

Nikolas stopped at the end of the dock, and stared down at the dark water beneath him. He was willing himself not to snap. He'd spent most of the last week willing himself not to snap, and at the moment, he had no patience left for Cryptic Lucky.

"You said it's not about Lulu..." he forced himself to turn back. "And she's not in evidence. So what else do we have to talk about?"

Sometimes you know you're being a prick, and you still can't seem to help yourself, Nikolas thought, as he saw the irritation in his brother's face. The fact was, he was equally annoyed, at the moment, for the interruption. So it had just been a touch. Something simple and unimportant, under normal circumstances. But these weren't normal circumstances, and it was Carly, reaching across the space between them and initiating contact for the first time since the mansion. And then the phone had gone off, and she had retreated so rapidly, she might as well have vanished on the spot. She'd pulled her arm away from him, and leapt up from the table and nearly running away from him. He knew, logically, that it wasn't Lucky's fault. He just didn't particularly care about logic at the moment.

Lucky's capacity for empathy towards his brother waxed and waned with little to no direct cause. There was no predicting when the moods -- or the lack there of -- would push his buttons. As he took in Nikolas's fatigued and strained state, he tried to encourage it to wax. It was a bad time to get obnoxious, even if Nikolas's disposition seemed to encourage it.

"I saw Emily," he said, finally, in the interests of getting this over with. The phrase didn't come out loaded with meaning, making it something of a personal coup. "She told me about Saturday."

Externally, the comment didn't rate a blink, but Nikolas's insides churned. He'd been trying to work out what Lucky wanted, and this was the last thing he cared to talk about with him. With Carly, yes. With Carly, desperately. But not with anyone else.

"And?"

The question ground things to a halt -- if they had been moving at all. Lucky just stared back at Nikolas's empty eyes, until he turned away, pacing down the length of the dock, running a hand through his hair, and muttering something under his breath. Nikolas watched, as Lucky stopped suddenly, stood with his back to him, then pivoted on the spot and started back to him, tossing an arm out, animatedly.

"And," Lucky's voice was sharp, bordering on angry. "That's pretty much what I've been thinking. And what? I got home, my Dad's going on about how Carly's got battle scars -- not that she bothered to tell him where they came from -- You can't tell me there's not another shoe up there someplace. There's no way you're letting this slide."

He'd reached his brother at this point, was standing inches from him, and still spitting out the last part of the sentence as he realized something definitive and undeniable had seeped into Nikolas's expression, the tension in his body had jumped up a couple of notches.

"Battle scars."

Lucky felt a chill come over him at the tone in Nikolas's voice. Damn it. He knew it. He just knew it. Something was seriously amiss here.

"Her arm," he clarified, though he could barely believe he had to. "From Saturday." Nikolas just stared at him with so much intensity, that he found himself taking a step back. "It is from Saturday, right? Mr. Quartermaine?"

Nikolas's answer was to start forward, pushing past Lucky and heading directly for the stairs. Lucky swore under his breath, then turned and did the only thing he could think of.

He followed.

"Carly!"

The door slammed back against the wall, Nikolas opened it with such force. He moved down the stairs, into the living room, and took in the room quickly.

"Carly!"

There was no answer, though he barely waited for one. He turned, back towards the stairs, stopping as he saw his brother reach the door to the house.

"Nik --" Lucky started to say, standing in the doorway. Nikolas ignored him, fixing his eyes determinedly on the staircase, and starting up them, past Lucky, towards the second floor, calling his wife's name again. Lucky called up to him again, his voice sharp and bordering on frustrated.

"Nikolas!" He tossed a look back, and Lucky nodded his head towards the main room. "She's here."

Carly had emerged from the study, and was standing just under the ceiling break, looking frail and startled -- not to mention a little disturbed to see her cousin standing on the landing. She let her eyes dart away from him, and they met with her husband, standing partway up the stairs.

He turned and came back down, not taking his eyes off hers; not paying any attention when she backed up as he started towards her. His face was hard, eyes dark and breathing hard. Her back hit the edge of the table, and she stopped, watching him as he approached. Came to stand inches away from her, and reached out and took her hand. He did it in such a way that it almost seemed like they were in another place and time entirely. Like he was just taking her hand in his. The way he did it, she half expected him to kiss her, though the look on his face indicated something else entirely. She felt her heart start to race with that same panic again just as his eyes left hers and she felt him turn her arm.

Then she understood. What Lucky was doing there. What Nikolas was looking for. She'd let the whole stupid thing spin out of her orbit, but it came back to her with the force of a cannon ball to the gut. She jerked her arm away -- hit the table again -- then stepped sideways, moving away from the oppressive warmth of his body. He turned to follow her, his face like stone, and she looked down, rapidly undoing the cuff and pushing the shirt up her arm.

"This," she thrust her arm out, wrist turned upward. "It's about this, right?"

He held her eyes a moment, before turning his gaze towards her injured wrist. Then he took a step forward, reaching out and grabbing her hand again, pulling her arm straight. He stood there, staring at the purple marks. His breathing changed. Turned shallow and rasping.

"What happened?"

Carly shrugged, and pulled her hand away from him. He allowed it, letting go without any effort to hold on.

"Ducked when I should have blocked," she muttered, pulling the shirt down her arm and buttoning the cuff fastidiously.

"This was the Quartermaines?" She shrugged again, and he reached out, putting his hand under her chin, tipping her face up towards him. "He did that, right? He... he grabbed you? He did something. What was it?"

She didn't answer.

"Was it AJ?" he prompted.

Nothing.

"It was Edward."

Carly's body jumped, and she turned on her heel. She'd forgotten Lucky was standing there, and given Nikolas's demeanor, she wasn't sure he'd remembered either.

"I'm sorry," she squared her shoulders. "Have we met?"

"Lucky," Nikolas's voice was low, and his brother, who's eyes were trailing over Carly in a way that reminded her a little too much of Luke, took a step back.

"Got it," he said, blandly. He leaned one shoulder on the doorjamb, and exited the house like he was rolling out of bed. Carly stared at the space where he'd been standing.

"What's he doing here?"

"He wanted to talk to me about something," Nikolas's voice came from closer than she expected, and her shoulders hunched in response. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You're acting like it matters."

"It does matter."

She shook her head. "I bruise if someone looks at me funny, you know that."

"He said Luke saw it. He said you didn't tell him where it came from."

"I never tell Luke anything."

In the silence that followed, she only heard his breath.

"Has he done anything like that before?" When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft, almost methodical. It was so different from what Carly had seen from him seconds before, that she turned around, and looked at him warily.

"No, Nikolas. There were a lot of firsts on Saturday."

She saw her words go through him, and knew she'd hit her mark. She hadn't even known she'd been aiming for it.

"Is that what this is? Are you punishing me for what happened with --"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" The words ripped out of her, quick and desperate to cut off the end of his sentence. She didn't want him to say it -- she didn't want to hear her son's name, and she didn't want him to try to talk to her about what had happened. "It doesn't mean anything, Nikolas. It just didn't matter."

He took a step forward, closing in on her again. "So he's allowed to hurt you?" His voice shook with anger now. "Is this what you're saying?"

"That's what I'm saying." She tilted her head back to look up at him. "What are you thinking should happen now? Do you think I should go to the police? Ask Detective Taggert to kiss it better?"

He wouldn't back down. "He has no right to touch you."

"Sure he does," she said, flippantly. "It's his house."

"What is this about?" His hands reached out and gripped her shoulders, making it impossible for her to turn away from him. "You can't be trying to protect them!"

She looked up at him, at the fury etched in his features, the bright look in his eyes. This was supposed to be on her behalf, this anger. This sense of injustice. She felt something start to bubble up inside her and for a terrible moment, she thought she was going to cry. But when she opened her mouth, it poured out of her in a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. Once started, she couldn't stop. She felt tears start to run down her cheeks, her stomach contracted into a fist with the effort of it. Nikolas's hands were on her face, then, wiping the tears away. Gently pushing her hair back. Something about it -- the soft way he touched her -- just made her laugh harder.

"You don't get it," she gasped, finally. "This is the part I keep trying to tell you about!"

"Carly." He tried to pull her towards him -- into an embrace -- but she pushed away from him violently.

"No! You have to understand this!" She stumbled, then turned back, twisting around to see that she'd been backing away and had hit up against the steps towards the landing. She leapt up on the first one, like she was somehow pulling herself out of his world. Like by doing this, she could put herself somewhere separate. He was still watching her, but he didn't move to try to pull her back. She ran her hand across her cheek, suddenly, like she was trying to rub his touch away.

"It doesn't matter," she repeated, mostly to herself, "It just doesn't matter." She raised her head to look back at him. "If someone grabs my arm. Or locks me in a room. It doesn't matter if they kidnap my son. Or shoot at my boyfriend. Or call me names, talk about me behind my back, toss me back into a mental institution on their whim! No one cares. Taggert will just use it as an excuse to go after Jason -- again. The Quartermaines will just buy their way out of it. That's just how it goes!" She held up her arm again, hand in a fist. "This is just a bruise. It might mean something on someone else's arm, but on mine? It's nothing."

"Not to me."

His voice was even, and definite. Once again, she thought, he wasn't listening. He was still refusing to see what was right in front of him. She dropped her arm.

"You're big on making something out of nothing, aren't you?"

He blinked, but he didn't move. He didn't say anything, either. She looked down at her arm, at the mark that had apparently gotten him so upset.

"You're trying to turn a few broken blood vessels into an assault..." She glanced up at him, and gave a small smirk. "Sort of like trying to turn a one-night stand into a marriage."

Lucky was trying -- really trying -- not to hear what was going on inside the house. Since no one had bothered to close the door, he was stuck with the occasional sentence fragment. The tone of the voices. Add that in with the mere fact that Nikolas hadn't known about the mark on her arm... That told a little too much of the story. Days had passed, and Nikolas hadn't so much as glanced at her arm? You'd think that was an impossibility for a couple married under two weeks. The whole thing made him uneasy. When he heard Carly start to laugh, he very nearly turned around and walked back to the launch.

Fuck curiosity. He wasn't curious. He'd misdiagnosed himself. He was... Ah, hell. He was concerned.

Wonderful. No good had came from being concerned about Nikolas Cassadine. If there was a more thankless job on earth, he hadn't yet found it. Well -- actually, from the sounds of it, caring about Carly might be right up there. And Nikolas seemed to be in that up to his eyeballs.

And that's why he hovered around the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the fight to end. That, and the fact that he hadn't gotten out what he'd come here to say in the first place. Nikolas must have suspected there was something he didn't know, from the way he'd taken off up those stairs.

When he heard the sound of someone -- Carly, from the sound of the footsteps -- head up the stairs, he let himself wander closer to the steps. He still stood there awhile before Nikolas appeared in the doorway, again.

His brother stood on the porch wearing an expression that managed to be dazed and calculating at the same time. Sort of like someone who'd been hit in the side of the head by a 2x4 -- and was trying to both regain his sense of balance, and figure out how to hit the person back.

"Is she ok?"

Nikolas glanced over at him, and his eyes suddenly held focus. He shook the question off, coming to the edge of the stairs to talk to him.

"Tell me what you know."

Lucky took the space of a deep breath to once again congratulate himself for his incredible patience and self-control in the face of incredible circumstance. Yep. Special Craftmatic Adjustable Cloud (tm) waiting for him in heaven. WHY was he doing this?

Because the 'damaged' card worked on him. Probably because he knew Nikolas didn't play it on purpose.

"It was all Edward," Lucky's version of patience didn't prevent him from glowering, "From what Em said."

"Emily told you this." There wasn't any surprise in his voice. There wasn't much of anything there, in fact.

"She probably thought you already knew," He took a minute to weigh what he was going to do, before ploughing ahead. "It sounds like she's pretty far gone, man."

"Carly or Emily?"

Heh. Both?

"Carly."

Nikolas's expression hardened. "What do you know about that?"

"About Carly?" Lucky shrugged. "What I see."

"Which is nothing." The words were designed to sting. "What did Edward do to her?"

"Nikolas." There was a dangerous lilt on the word, as Lucky tried his best not to just haul off and hit the guy. "Let's get something straight, ok? I know you're having a 'rough time', but I'm not here because I think I owe you something. I'm not here for my health. If I didn't care about what was going on here, I'd be saving myself a hell of a lot of trouble. You do not want to alienate me."

He turned away, pacing the space at the bottom of the porch and giving both of them a moment to pull back. Truth was, they'd never done this much up-close-and-personal at once. It usually happened in fits and starts, and included multi-month gaps where they could try to forget they'd had a 'moment'. Clearly all this togetherness was wearing on whatever relationship they did have.

"I came to tell you," he took a breath. Just get through it Spencer. "I talked to Em last night. I told her anything she said to me about the mansion, Michael... It'd find it's way back to you." He paused, staring down at the flagstones under his feet. "She kept talking." He kicked at the ground, waiting for a response. It didn't come. He lifted his head. "Do you want to know what she said?" Still no answer. He turned around completely, to see Nikolas standing at the edge of the porch, staring off towards a thicket of trees. "Nikolas."

"What?"

His brother turned back, and the look on his face made Lucky's blood run cold. He recognized it. He'd felt it. That enraged sort of horror mixed in with a lot of guilt. They didn't make words for that one; he'd looked for it after what had happened to Elizabeth. There was no way to describe how it felt, to watch someone destroy something you loved and not have been able to stop it.

"Jesus," Lucky breathed. "Look, uh... I think I've earned the right to give some advice here." No one argued, so he pressed on. "Before you... You know. Smite him, reign hellfire down on his head or whatever it is you guys do -- Maybe give yourself 24 hours. I know what I'd want to do if I was you and... Beating on old man Quartermaine would be a bad idea. No matter what he did -- he's 300 years old. That's frowned on."

Nikolas let out a quick, sudden laugh. "You really think I'm about to do something stupid?"

Lucky tried not to let out a groan. "I'm not saying that."

"But you're standing here, trying to talk me out of it."

"I'm standing here. Let's leave it at that."

Nikolas shook his head, like something about this was incredibly amusing. "You have no idea what my capacity for rage is." He said it in such a way that Lucky half expected him to bare teeth. "And you have no idea my ability to hold it back."

"You're..." Lucky squinted at him, "wearing a little around the edges."

His brother looked up and met his gaze with determination.

"I won't be."