Chapter Fourty-Eight:
Justice

She sat alone on the floor at the foot of the bed in the room that he'd said would belong to her son. Arms raised and entwined in the rungs that ran along the back of the oak bed frame. She looked like she'd been waiting for him. Nevertheless, when he appeared in the doorway, she didn't say a word to him. She just stared blankly at the wall in front of her.

"Tomorrow's Friday."

She raised her brow. "Follows Thursday."

"I have a meeting at the hospital. I can give you a ride in to see Dr. Baldwin."

Carly's eyes trailed along the base boards of the room.

"I'm not going."

"Carly."

She raised her eyes.

"I'm not going."

Nikolas was standing in the doorway, one hand over his head, holding the frame. She watched his face, which was still and unreadable. Just like it had been most of the day.

"Whatever you think is happening here..." He said, finally. "With us. Whatever you think it is that means you have to do this. You're wrong."

She just looked at him, blandly, giving no indication that she'd heard him.

"I'm going to sleep in here tonight."

Friday morning, at the crack of dawn, Alexis Davis had been awakened by an insistent knocking at her front door.

That happened to her, she was certain, more often than it happened to most people. A gatekeeper's work is never done... Even a gatekeeper on official sabbatical.

She wasn't surprised to find out it was a relative. She was mildly shocked (mildly, because there's a limit to how much you can process any emotion ten seconds after you've stumbled out of bed) to find it was Nikolas. Bearing breakfast and coffee, at least, but without any other pleasantries.

She'd listened to his story standing at the door -- certain that if she sat down again, she'd just end up falling asleep. A sort of sick feeling of familiarity swept over her as she listened. This was what she'd been expecting to hear when she went to see Nikolas on Monday. All right, no. THIS was a little more than she'd been expecting to hear. But it still wasn't a surprise.

Now she paced her living room, still trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes and jump start her brain. She snatched up the latte Nikolas had placed strategically on the coffee table.

"When did this happen?"

Nikolas didn't move from where he stood, leaning against her wall, and gazing up at the ceiling.

"Saturday."

He was repeating himself and didn't bother to keep the impatience out of his voice. Impatience, she'd observed, was about the only thing he was giving up at the moment. Given the story she'd just heard, she suspected he was channeling his energy.

"Did you just hear about this?"

He didn't answer the question. Or, more to the point, he ignored it. Alexis sunk into her armchair.

"Well. It was a dumb move on their part."

"What does it mean for us?"

She occupied herself with prying the lid off her take-out beverage, allowing the steam to escape in a sudden rush.

"Where was the social worker?"

"That's unclear."

"But not there."

"No."

She blew across the surface of the drink, disturbing the foam. "It would help if I could talk to Carly."

Nikolas pushed himself off the wall. "That's not possible."

She watched him walk across the room, hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat, and drop himself down on the couch. There wasn't going to be any arguing that point today.

"So what do you want to know, Nikolas?"

He stared at the floor a long time before answering.

"What's our recourse?"

"Legally."

"Yes."

She sipped her coffee -- ah, sweet elixir of life, at last I've found you -- then started to recount what Nikolas had just told her. "He locked the door. He prevented her leaving. He left a bruise on her arm." She made a face. "She could file a complaint with the police."

He gave a quick, humorless laugh.

"I know it sounds pedestrian, but it's how they do things in these parts."

"The PCPD have not endeared themselves to Carly."

"I can't imagine why," Alexis said, dryly. "Keep that in mind as I give you the run down. She can go to the police. She can file a complaint. She can tell them her side of the story -- and it would have to be her." She looked up at him meaningfully, though he was still staring at the floor. "It can't be done through an intermediary."

"And then what?" he prompted.

"Then," she settled back into her chair, drawing her legs up under her. "They'd take pictures of her wrist, and ask a lot of questions. Then, provided they were feeling cooperative, and they found the evidence compelling -- then they'd bring in Edward. And then his team of lawyers would swoop down and start poking holes in the case -- starting with the delay between the incident and the report. Expanding, maybe, to the fact that there were no witnesses -- unless you can get a Quartermaine who was there to turn over on their family for Carly. Probably addressing the fact that she has a personal grudge against the family... " Alexis paused, staring into the depths of her coffee. "If I was a little more awake, I might be able to put this forth in a slightly less demoralizing manner."

He shook his head. "There's no point in that. I don't want anything sugarcoated."

"Well, then if you'll forgive me for stating the obvious." She paused to take blow across the top of her coffee, "The social worker is a wild card. She could send the whole thing toppling over if..." she wagged her head back and forth. "She was so moved."

"Would it help with custody?"

Alexis let out a deep sigh. She'd known that was coming.

"It would be considered -- and if the verdict went her way, then it could, absolutely, help. If it didn't, it could hurt. At the very least, it could raise questions about the mansion -- which might push AJ to move out."

"And if he was convicted...?"

She gave a slight smile. "False imprisonment, maybe an assault charge... It's a misdemeanor, though. A fine and time served? If that? He's Edward Quartermaine, so a lot of teasing over his next golf game at the club could be considered ample scolding."

He was silent for a long moment, then gave an a half-laugh. "She was right."

"Who was?" Alexis asked, quietly. She didn't want him to notice her prying.

"She said it wouldn't matter. From what you're saying, there's not much I can show her that would prove her wrong."

"You can certainly influence things."

"And make them into what?" He frowned. "I think my energies would be of more use directed elsewhere."

"If she'd called the police when this happened, we'd be looking at a very different picture. She's given them time to cover their tracks, to anticipate the blow."

"She doesn't think like us, Alexis."

"That's more than not thinking like us, Nikolas. That's standard operating procedure in a case like this. The question that leaps to my mind is -- why is she choosing to handle it this way?" She leaned forward in her chair. "And another question I've been asking myself is -- why is my nephew alternately seeking my services, and then avoiding me for days on end?"

Nikolas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I have my reasons."

"We'll have to talk about those 'reasons', eventually."

"Not now."

That was the end of that. He left no room for further discussion. Alexis hated it when he did this. But she was noticing that it had become a large part of how Nikolas moved through the world. Just closing down all avenues he didn't like the look of.

"The good news," she opted to continue, rather than muse on that topic any further. "Depending on how you look at it -- is that they're scared. And when they're scared, the Quartermaines can be very very shortsighted. That's going to serve us in the long term."

"As long as it doesn't get anyone killed in the short-term." He rose to his feet abruptly, and Alexis started in her chair.

"Are you leaving already?"

"I got what I came for." He turned his eyes, finally, towards her -- passively scanning her face while she looked at him questioningly. "Get some rest. You look tired."

There had been a knock.

Carly stood on the bottom step leading from the landing up to the second floor, and stared at the front door. She was waiting for something -- movement, a voice, another knock -- just something that would give her a clue as to who was coming to call and why. This was ridiculous! She'd moved onto an island, into a house people barely even knew existed, and yet. It was becoming impossible to just be alone.

She tugged at the cuffs on her shirt. Bit of a compulsion since the previous day -- keeping her sleeves determinedly down. Her eyes stayed on the window of the front door. Whoever was out there -- They weren't moving. There were a limited number of people she knew who could keep that still, and one of them she didn't want anything to do with. The idea of it being him made her feel like her head had detached from her body. She had no idea what she'd do if it was. There was just no way to comprehend what the consequences to her psyche might be, at this point.

"Come on, come on," she urged under her breath. Do something! Give up a clue, here.

A second knock came. Firm and rapping -- bony knuckles on the wood, not fist-pounding. Neat and sharp.

She took a breath.

Not Jason. Not Luke. Someone else.

Carly stepped down the stairs, and let herself be seen through the cut glass in the window. On the other side she could see a tall, thin body in dark clothes. She frowned as she undid the lock, and pulled the door open.

The woman standing on her porch wasn't someone she had any memory of coming in contact with before, but the moment she saw her, she knew who it had to be. The hair drawn up on top of her head in an efficient bun. High collared, long dark dress. Hands held in front of her. Face open, and clear - inviting scrutiny, but giving nothing away.

Carly frowned. Nikolas claimed to hate Mary Poppins. Meanwhile there was a reasonable facsimile standing right in front of her.

"Mrs. Cassadine?" The woman's features moved, quite purposely, into a smile. "I've been waiting to meet you." She put out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Landsbury, Wyndemere's housekeeper."

Carly stared at the woman, then down at the hand extended in front of her. She was, for a moment, unable to come up with an appropriate response.

"I…" she shook her head, jerking herself into action. "Right. Hi." Hand, Caroline. Hand. "Yeah -" she reached out and took the hand offered, barely touching it before withdrawing. "Nice to meet you."

The woman just smiled, and Carly felt queasy. She was probably supposed to do something now.

"I thought it best if I came over to discuss the house with you," she was explaining. "As you've been here a week. I thought it time we discussed how you would like things run."

Carly just stared at her. What?

"If now is not a good time, we could arrange something a little more convenient."

"To do what?" She gripped the door jamb, trying to prevent herself from swaying. This wasn't good. This smacked of the real world.

"Well -- I've assumed that you'd want the staff to continue their upkeep of the house. But as you're living here now, there are things we should discuss."

"Like?" She pressed again.

Another soft smile. "Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if we continued this inside?"

Well, no. That would be considerably less comfortable, wouldn't it? What with there being a woman she'd never met before in the house with her.

"Fine," she stepped aside, pushing the door open. "Knock yourself out."

"I must apologize for coming over here unannounced," she said, as she moved past Carly, and descended the stairs into the living room. "I was, initially, waiting for Master Nikolas to address this. But he has so much on his mind, these days. And you are the mistress of the house."

Carly shook her head, absently. She didn't care to be the mistress of anything, thanks. She wasn't even certain why she was doing this. It would have been a much stronger choice to just go with her gut and not answer the door.

"This is a lovely space, isn't it? So much more light than the main house. You must enjoy it."

Carly sat down on the stairs leading into the living room, and looked around the room as if she hadn't seen it before. She was confused, suddenly, as to how she'd gotten here.

"It's ok," she shrugged. "Mrs. Landsbury. What did you want?"

Her tone was blunt, and more than a little defensive. But the older woman, if she was aware of that, ignored it.

"Oh, there's so much I've wanted to discuss with you," she said, eyes still traveling around the room. "It's been a long time since we've had a new resident here."

"Since my mother."

"Well," she nodded, "Yes, I suppose that's true. Though there was that Bell woman."

Carly looked up. "The one who lived here."

"Yes. But that was quite a different circumstance."

Right. Radically different. She tried to read the woman, looking for signs of an opinion, but she came up short.

"Look," she sighed, struggling to her feet. "We might as well just get this over with. You're going to hate me. The maid always hates me."

"I'm not a maid, dear, I'm a housekeeper."

"And now you're offended."

"Who has, incidentally," the woman continued, "been keeping house for your husband's family for many years. That's a colorful list of characters, and while I'm certain you've taken some trips through the rainbow yourself, you'd be hard pressed to compete with some of the things I've seen over the past few decades."

Carly raised her eyes to the woman. The smile was still in place, but there was a sharp look in her eyes that conflicted with the otherwise innocuous expression on her face. Carly wasn't certain if she should feel welcomed, offended, or threatened.

"So you're what?" she said slowly. "The Stepford training committee?"

"You know, I've known Master Nikolas since he was an infant," she continued on, as if Carly hadn't spoke. "I'm afraid he's used to a very specific lifestyle. He doesn't necessarily anticipate his own needs. That's why I felt it was best if we worked these things out together. I know well enough what it is to step on another woman's toes."

Carly frowned. "I don't -- "

"Now, the house itself is set up for guests. I can't imagine it's very satisfying to live in full time," she gestured towards the makeshift living room. "Very generic, I'm afraid. We can address that as soon as you'd like."

Carly stared at the couch she'd given exactly no thought to, since the moment they'd arrived. All right, no thought aside from assessing that yes -- it did appear to be suede and yes -- it was positioned in the most dull and uninteresting fashion, parallel to the wall, like someone had just dumped it inside the door and said 'There. It's your problem now.' Now that Mrs. Landsbury had mentioned it, she remembered that. Remembered caring.

"I can't --" she shook her head. It was starting to spin.

"Oh, I don't mean for you to decide these things today, my goodness! There's so much else that needs to be attended to!" The woman reached into a pocket in her dark dress and withdrew a small note pad and pen. "Upkeep -- what days you'd like the staff to come in. Laundering -- again, we need to decide how you'd like to handle that. And since you've been opting not to take your meals at the house, we should discuss menus -- whether you'd prefer to cook yourself, if there's anything you'd like me to add to the shopping list. Not to mention," she moved over to the pile of Carly's belongings in the corner. "You're still trying to get settled."

Carly just stared at her. There was just nothing else to do.

"Now," Mrs. Landsbury turned back to Carly, a hand laid lightly on the cardboard. "Let's see what we can do with these boxes."

"This is setting a dangerous precedent."

"I don't see that."

"I do," Cece pushed her way through the third set of swinging doors that lay between the elevators and the boardroom. "This keeps up, I want danger pay."

"Your entire salary is danger pay. Very generous danger pay, I might add."

"That's another thing we have a different perspective on." She stopped dead in the hallway and turned to face her boss, arms crossed over her chest. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

What this was about. What it was about was something that Cece would, undoubtedly, sneer at. It was about a moment -- a millisecond that could just have easily been one of a thousand. The day before, when he and Carly had been fighting... He'd taken a step towards her, and her shoulders had hunched. Quick and reflexive. Like he was going to hurt her; like he was dangerous. He'd seen more in that than he had in the words she'd let pour out of her. What Carly said and what she felt weren't often related.

But when she jerked away from his touch, when she tried to protect herself from letting him get close to her -- that sent a pretty clear message. I don't want you near me. He'd gotten that, loud and clear, on the steps of the Quartermaine mansion, and since then, nothing had happened to convince him that she didn't want him to stay miles away from her. Not until she'd reached across the table to touch his hand.

Minutes later, when he'd come to her with the news about the Quartermaines, she'd been afraid to let him near her. He watched that from behind her, and felt something in him break. The last straw, maybe. He'd stayed home because he'd known that he couldn't help her by leaving. But the truth was -- he didn't know what to do even when she was a few feet away from him. Bobbie had said to listen to his instincts -- but he hadn't been able to tell her that his instincts had abandoned him. He hadn't been able to say that he lay next to her, night after night, and ached. For her... and for himself. It wasn't something he was proud of. But he hadn't been raised to be selfless. He'd never learned the skill. He'd tried to force some of it into himself -- on some level, maybe, he suspected it was part of the reason. The illusive answer to the question of why he always ended up alone.

It had clarified for him, while he'd sat alone in their room. She was taking it all a step further -- refusing to share a bed with him. So he'd sat in the dark and thought about how little difference it made, to be here alone instead of with her. Thought about the night he'd proposed, how he'd told her he didn't want to be pushed away anymore. How, even after he'd married her, she'd tried to throw up walls between them. He'd thought he'd broken through them. He hadn't realized how easy it was for her to just resurrect them again. And she was doing it for the same reason she'd done it before. It wasn't about time, and grief and needing to be alone. That wasn't going to change a thing. It was about losing her. Not to another man, or another family -- Losing her to herself. To her fear.

On the steps of the Quartermaine mansion, she'd kissed him like nothing was more important than being close to him. It had been the last time they'd touched like that, and the sudden and complete contraction -- after a week of constant contact -- was hard to bear. It was worse than it had been after their first night together. Days after that, he hadn't been able to sleep, thinking about her. When he did sleep, he dreamed about her. It hadn't taken him long to realize he wanted more. So he had gone out in search of her and taken more.

And now, there was nothing. A foot's space could be between them, maybe, but it was a gulf he didn't know how to cross. He'd been looking for the path -- waiting for her to give him a hint. He wasn't entirely sure what he was missing the most. Kissing her. Talking with her. Holding her. Laughing with her. Making love to her... they all mixed together, no one ever taking permanent precedence. Mostly, he missed the way she'd taken things from him. Loneliness. Isolation. Helplessness. All of that had come tumbling back to him, tenfold. Extra-strength, new and improved. He'd let it distract him. But he couldn't do that anymore.

His whole life, he'd only ever known one way to get what he wanted -- to reach out and take it. He'd realized, early in his days in Port Charles, that it wasn't a quality people found particularly attractive. And though he'd fought to appear indifferent to the criticism. To not care that his own mother thought he was arrogant and selfish. But nonetheless, he'd changed. He'd tried to be how people seemed to want him to be. How was that for Cassadine strength? The so-called Prince. He should have known that something was wrong long before Katherine had dropped that bombshell on him.

It didn't matter now. He'd lost those people; the ones who'd cared about the kinder, gentler Cassadine. Being cautious and standing several feet back didn't help Carly, and at the moment he really couldn't care less about what anyone else felt about him. And that's what it came down to. He wanted her back. He needed her back. If she wasn't going to fight for herself, then he would do it for her. He would force her back to herself and, in turn, back to him.

"So?" Cece had one eyebrow raised, and was looking at him quizzically. "What about it? Why am I suddenly needed at a General Hospital board meeting?"

"You're not," Nikolas said, lowering his voice and stepping closer to her. "In fact, I'd like it if you purposely kept your distance from it."

No one ever warned her about the important things, Carly thought darkly. She married Nikolas and what happened? Her uncle spouted off about her inevitable death. She got horror stories about Helena. She got warnings about the big evil Stefan at every step. Her mother had even gone on about Spoon Island insect life. But did anyone warn her about the obsessed V. C. Andrews-esque housekeeper? Oh, no. No, THAT they kept to themselves.

The woman was making her dizzy. She'd managed to pull her away (very nearly bodily) from the boxes, in exchange for discussing the 'house details'. Laundry had been easy. Remember to put it in the hamper in the bathroom -- a more challenging task than the woman probably realized -- and she'd have the staff pick it up twice a week. Cleaning could be limited to once a week, and she could always call someone over to do small jobs -- like the dishes. Mrs. Landsbury had even gone through the kitchen with her, asking her if there was anything she'd like to add to the state of the art cookware and appliances. Did she like to cook? Carly honestly couldn't remember the answer to that question. She'd just shrugged.

The more the housekeeper talked, the more lightheaded Carly began to feel. So much so that, by the time they'd gone through the kitchen, she'd been desperate to sit down. She'd very nearly burst into tears when Mrs. Landsbury had tipped her head to one side and suggested they talk about the menu. The woman had lead her to the dining room table, and they sat there now. In silence. While Carly struggled to come up with the answer to the question "What sorts of meals do you enjoy?"

"I..." her voice sounded thick and slow to her own ears. "I don't like yogurt," she said finally. The woman gave a thin smile, and nodded.

"Very well. No yogurt."

"And fish. I hate fish."

"Perhaps we should address what you do appreciate."

There was this strange quality to the woman's voice that Carly didn't know what to make of. She wasn't getting upset, or frustrated... it was more... Matronly? Firm and leading. Probably what her mother would call no-nonsense. Carly never did very well with women like this. The more time she spent with Mrs. Landsbury, the more she really wanted to hate her. She kept trying to get offended and angry, but somehow that wasn't what was happening. All she was getting was nervous and really really tired.

"I like... Fruit," she said, finally. "Like.... Oranges. Grapefruit. Or, um... Berries and stuff." It felt so strange to talk about things she liked. She shook her head. "And... Those things you always bring over in the morning."

"The scones," the woman smiled and it was very genuine. "Yes, those are a specialty of the house."

She looked at the woman oddly. That was kinda a joke.

"They're good."

"You said you don't like fish. What about fowl?"

"Fowl? Like... Poultry?" She shook her head. "I like chicken."

"Well, that's a start. Mr. Cassadine has a particular fondness for fish, you see. It helps to have an alternative for those who aren't as enthusiastic."

"Nikolas? Or --"

"No, by Mr. Cassadine I mean the Prince."

It took Carly a moment to realize she was talking about Stefan. "Oh. Right."

"My ears are burning," a voice came from behind them and Carly jumped. She had to twist around in her seat, to catch sight of the man himself, standing on the porch. He nodded towards her. "Good afternoon, Caroline. May I come in?"

She nodded, looking at him with unmasked shock. Her father-in-law pushed open the screen door and entered the house. He was wearing a light suit -- well, light for him. Gray. He walked across the room in a way that reminded her of books she'd read when she was fourteen and in her 18th Century Romance period. She felt her stomach twist.

"Mrs. Landsbury," he spoke quietly, as he approached the table. "It seems you've lost track of time. It's nearly one o'clock."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Cassadine."

Something about the way they spoke made Carly uneasy. She had a distinct impression that Mrs. Landsbury hadn't lost track of anything. Stefan rounded the table and came to stand directly in front of her.

"I wonder if there is any of that broth you served at dinner last night left in the kitchen, still."

"Certainly, there is," Mrs. Landsbury was getting to her feet now.

"Excellent," Stefan's eyes were fixed on Carly's. "Our new resident looks as if she's in need of nourishment. I'd like you to send a couple of bowls over. Perhaps a some bread and butter, as well."

"I just baked some this morning."

"Very good," Stefan smiled as he took a seat opposite his daughter-in-law. "Caroline and I are going to share a meal."

The boardroom was already full of Quartermaines. Nikolas could tell that from all the way down the hall. It was the one thing he could give the family -- at least they always let people know when they were coming.

He felt utterly disconnected from what was going on around him. He was resolved to what was going to happen, what he was going to do. There was no twitch of conscience, no second thoughts. No opinion, in fact, of the gaping expression on Cece's face when he'd told her what he had in mind for her this afternoon. Things were what they were... all was wrong with the world, but he felt an unfamiliar rightness about his place in it.

It was always in moments like this when life decided to throw him a curve ball, and this was no exception. The door to the boardroom was pushed wide, and Robin Scorpio Morgan stepped into the hallway.

She was holding her head with one hand, and looking pale. Waifish, lost, and as much as he might hate it and try to deny it -- it stirred something in him. He slowed his pace, and she seemed to sense him, because she looked up in his direction, a startled expression on her face.

"Nikolas," his name came out of her mouth in a gasp. "I... I've been trying to call you." She looked apologetic as he approached. He didn't respond to the statement, as his mind was still trying to work out where this sudden appearance fit into his universe at the moment. "I just couldn't bring myself to leave a message."

He gave her a slight nod, then glanced at the door.

"The Quartermaines. It's just Alan, Edward and Monica, but..." She gave a half roll of her eyes. "It's enough, you know?"

"They're about to be Grandparents again," he said quietly. It was something of a realization. He hadn't given much thought to the fact that they'd have an interest in Robin's upcoming good fortune. Frankly, he hadn't given much thought to what Robin's announcement had meant to anyone not-Carly -- including himself.

She shot a wary look at the door, then stole a few steps closer to him. "They pounced on me the minute I went through the door. Now they're busy tearing each other apart. I thought I'd wait for Audrey before I went back in." She gave a very unsteady smile. "I... I was hoping that I'd get a chance to talk to you. Maybe afterwards? I could buy you a cup of coff--"

"I don't drink coffee, Robin. You know that."

She looked blank a moment, then nodded. "Right. Caffeine. I forgot." She started to play nervously with the ends of her hair. "I just felt like... we should talk."

"If this is about the Outreach Program, I got the budget on Wednesday --"

Robin's eyes kept darting down the hall, behind him. "It's not about Outreach."

Well, he'd known that. He'd been playing dumb -- more, he suspected, out of a desire to upset her than anything else.

"Does it have anything to do with why you're at this meeting today? Why the PR head, or the Ward House Representative didn't come in your place?"

He watched her squirm. The Ward House Rep hadn't been to any of the Outreach meetings with the board. Completely unprecedented behavior for someone running an important hospital program.

"Your mother thought it'd be best if I went. Since... I'm working on both sides."

"Did you try to talk her out of it?" His voice was deceptively light, though the question was bordering on vicious. The only fights he and Robin had ever had all centered on one topic. Laura, and Robin's gentle insistence that he needed to reconcile with her. Robin looked stunned, in fact, that he'd brought it up.

"I... I, um..." she shifted her weight. "You and your mother --"

"I don't think you want to talk to me right now," he said softly.

"Nikolas --"

"I really don't think you want to talk to me right now."

Robin bit her lip, and turned away from him. He saw tears glistening in her eyes.

"I just wanted you to know," her voice was shaking. "That I didn't... want... to do that. At the ball." She shook her head, hard. "I don't know why I did. And I'm sorry."

She looked up at him, eyes large and watery, tears streaking down her face. He felt that twinge again, and he felt, despite himself, like a creep.

"I'm..." he paused, feeling utterly without words. "Not the person who you should say that to."

With that, he moved past her, into the boardroom.

Carly hated it when people tried to take care of her. All right, correction: she wanted to hate it when people took care of her. Somehow, that just wasn't what was happening today. She'd awakened this morning feeling absolutely empty. Her inner-Nikolas-clock told her that he'd left her early that morning. She'd known that even though she'd purposely slept away from him. She'd slept late because she didn't want to wake up and feel the ache she'd brought on herself. The hollow, hopeless feeling that had come with Nikolas's silence.

From that initial feeling of numb, she'd been jarred into the panic of having a visitor, followed closely by... whatever the hell she'd been feeling when Mrs. Landsbury had arrived. That dazed and discombobulated place had been immediately invaded by this. Stefan Cassadine and soup. But while she sat there, dutifully eating under his stern supervision, she had to admit... she felt warmed and comforted. She even found herself looking towards the door -- to the sunlight that was spilling in -- and wondering what kind of day it was.

God, what the hell was in that soup, anyway?

She looked across at her father-in-law, sitting back in his chair, watching her unapologetically. She rested her spoon against the edge of the bowl and shot him a look across the table.

"You sent her over," she sounded a little accusing.

"I showed remarkable restraint," he smiled, and Carly realized she was no longer finding that creepy. It actually looked natural. Easy. She gathered her sleeves in her hands again, and sat back in her chair.

"Restraint."

"Very little about this situation has fit into standard Cassadine Protocol," he said, taking his eyes off her to attend to the fastidious folding of his napkin. "Traditionally, this would have been conducted differently -- I'd have a more defined role. In the case of Mrs. Landsbury... " He glanced up at her again. "She's an integral part of your life here. Your meeting her can only be put off so long before it moves from respectful distance into unforgivably rude."

"I didn't really think you cared about being rude."

"On the contrary, I find that strict adherence to etiquette serves me well. I'm not what you would call an extrovert. I appreciate the guidelines."

Carly laughed, and was immediately surprised by it. That couldn't have been her. "Right. Salad fork on the left, rise when a lady gets up from the table, try not to call the new daughter-in-law a peasant to her face."

He raised his brow. "Finish your soup, Caroline."

"Are we stuck on that now?" She asked, trying to make her voice annoyed. "You've totally abandoned 'Carly'."

"I've never appreciated nicknames. Or aliases, for that matter."

Her hand clenched around her spoon. Ah. See, that had been going a little too well. "Oh, so that's it?" She asked while she stirred the soup. "Too much of a reminder about what girl I really am, huh?"

"Not at all," He made a gesture with his hand, dismissing her defensiveness. "I think it's a silly name."

She dropped the spoon again, with a clatter. "Excuse me?"

"I also have no appreciation for 'Bobbie', you may have noticed. They are the sorts of names given to pets. Not strong, capable women."

Carly's expression faltered. "You can't think I'm capable. Not after the other day."

"I think it's ill-advised for you to be locked up in this house, sending back your meals uneaten." He nodded towards the untouched bread sitting in the middle of the table. "I can't imagine my son would disagree with me."

She felt a wave of nausea at the mention of Nikolas. A mixture of guilt and shame. She was being awful to Nikolas. She knew that. She really wasn't sure why he was letting her.

"Did he ask you to do this?"

He didn't answer, but when she looked up she could see the answer was no. A part of her unexpectedly died a little. She turned her attention back to the soup, spooning it up, then letting the broth fall again. She hadn't been officially passed off, at least. She probably deserved to be. But the way it looked to her at the moment, she'd just been left.

"Well," she cleared her throat, trying desperately to grab onto the last topic of conversation. "People are used to Carly. No one knew my real name for a long time."

"The may be my problem." His chair creaked as he sat back. "I did."

Carly took a spoonful of soup, and was in the midst of swallowing it when his words hit home. She nearly choked.

"What?"

"It seems only fair to tell you," he crossed his arms. "I was aware of your identity long before Barbara. Before most, it would seem."

She stared at him. Her brain struggled to make sense of what he'd just said to her.

"How?" She managed finally.

Stefan tilted his head slightly. "You were of interest. And when I started to look into you, it became very apparent that things were not as you would have people believe."

She sat back in her chair, the air rushing out of her lungs as her back hit. "So... You knew."

"Yes."

"When you were married to my mother, or after?"

"Before, to be honest."

She shook her head, which was swimming again. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm... I believe the phrase is 'putting my cards on the table'."

"So that I'll what? Do the same?"

He gave a thin smile. "Do you have cards I should be concerned about?"

She felt her face heat. "Don't you already know everything about me? Isn't that how this works?"

"I know a great deal," he said quietly. His eyes held that same sharpness that she'd seen in Mrs. Landsbury earlier, but unlike her, he didn't try to cover it with a benign smile. "Enough to bring me here today."

She felt sick. Really sick. She was going to bring up everything she'd just eaten all over his gray silk suit, if he wasn't careful.

"Your life is changing, Caroline. I wonder if you realize it."

She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward, eyes focused on the reflective shine on the table.

"What do you mean?" she mumbled, barely moving her mouth.

"I mean, you're a Cassadine now. But you behave as if you're subject to your old rules. That's no longer the case. Why else would I tell you things that it would serve me better to keep from an outsider."

"Does that go both ways?" She breathed, quickly. "Does that mean Nikolas is a Spencer now, too?"

"Our family is willing to accept you. Yours has not, historically, felt the same way about Nikolas."

"Mine, historically, hasn't been so crazy about me, either."

"Shortsighted, on their part." She heard him get to his feet. "My only aim here is to make you feel comfortable."

She let out a quick laugh. One that felt familiar to her. Hysterical and high in pitch.

"Then you have your work cut out for you."

He rose to his feet, and she stayed stuck where she was while he rounded the table.

"I think you'll find, when you look at things piece by piece, that the things that surround you are not so overwhelming."

She shook her head, firmly. "I can't do that right now."

"Then will you allow me to help you?"

Her head snapped towards him and she looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Why?"

"Because," he came to kneel beside her, his hand on the edge of the table. When he spoke his voice was quiet and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "My son cares for you very deeply."

She let out a quick laugh, and jumped up to her feet, sending her chair careening backwards to crash down on the floor. Her hands flew up into her hair, holding the sides of he head. Oh, God, breathe. Just breathe.

"I'm messing this up," she said hoarsely. "You have no idea how..."

Don't be an idiot, a voice in her head hissed. You can't confide in him! He's the enemy! At the very least, he's an unknown entity. Damn it, she used to be good at this stuff. But then... she used to be a lot of things.

It was hard to explain what that word made her feel. Something deep in her stomach. Something that made her legs feel unsteady. Deeply. She wanted to grab his jacket by the lapels and ask him why he'd said that. How he knew. Was he completely sure it was true? And if it was, did that mean she was saved or destroyed?

He was standing again, looking at her with concern -- or maybe looking at her the way a dog eyes a raccoon with rabies. This is how crazy people think, she tried to instruct herself. This is exactly the kind of stuff that makes everyone think you're insane. No one is going to understand it, least of all your father-in-law.

"I don't know where to start," she said, dropping her hands. She tried to ignore the fact that they were shaking.

"If I may make a suggestion," he pointed across the floor towards the very pile of boxes Mrs. Landsbury had tried to get her to address earlier that day. "Perhaps with these."

GH board meetings were always long and tedious. Without doubt, Nikolas's least favorite part of his duties at the hospital. Usually, his job was perfunctory and consisted largely of sitting next to his father, and making occasional observations regarding problems that were being brought to the table. Even that seemed rather pointless, since he and his father did tend to think along similar lines when it came to business - hospital or otherwise.

But Audrey Hardy had arrived with news that Stefan had sent his regrets and that Nikolas would be acting in his stead. Usually that would have left Nikolas preoccupied throughout the meeting, with thoughts of just what his father was up to. But today he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not with the wealth of tension on display in front of him.

The Quartermaines had bristled the moment he'd entered the room. If he hadn't found out what had happened to Carly at the mansion, then he would have known, after seeing them, that something was up. They kept looking at him as if they were expecting, any second, that he'd casually reach out and slit their collective throat. They tried to cover this up by paying aggressive amounts of attention to Robin. Edward was being particularly loud and obsequious. Monica looked utterly irked and Alan... Alan, he suspected, had a headache.

It was Audrey that brought things to order, and Nikolas had sat silently at the head of the table while the Nurse's Ball was discussed. He didn't do much more than nod, when people looked at him, expecting some sort of comment. He might have said "That's fine," a few times. It was all routine. It wasn't like the Ball was something that changed from year to year. The file would be closed, and everything would be put away until it was dug out again in the New Year.

Things started to get uncomfortable when it came time to deal with the last item on the agenda. Robin was supposed to be making a presentation. It was nothing major; the Outreach Program was good to go, apart from a few crossings of T's. But the moment the floor was hers, she'd started to crumble. Her voice shook, while she started to go through the proposal and she kept losing her place. The longer this went on, the worse it got. Taking pity on her, he'd reached out and taken the file out of her hands. For the remainder of the meeting, he'd flipped through it and asked her questions. Leading her through something that, from the notes on the papers, she'd meticulously planned. Still, he hadn't quite made eye contact with her while he did this. But in the end, the budget was approved without any resistance, and the meeting wrapped up in record time. A cynical part of him thought that perhaps a woman on the brink of tears was something they should add to every meeting. It did seem to shut the Quartermaines up.

The moment the meeting was adjourned, the Quartermaines had swept down on Robin, Monica leading the charge. Nikolas had focused his attention on the door and moved out of the room without anything more than a cursory nod towards Mrs. Hardy.

He walked swiftly down the hall, around the corner, and into the library. The room could usually be counted on to be empty, and today was no exception. He glanced around, then leaned back against the wall beside the door and waited.

It didn't take long. After all, Cece was nothing if not efficient. Mere minutes later, or so it seemed, the door opened and he heard a familiar voice.

"They're infuriating, I tell you!" Edward was grumping. "And I don't care what they say, that girl would do better to accept our help, with a baby on the way!"

"Right," Cece was saying, pulling him through the door. "Obviously. Now, Mr. Quartermaine --"

"Yes, yes," he snapped impatiently. "You were saying something about having some information for me about your boss. I assume you're looking to get something in return for that, hmm?"

"Oh, yeah," Cece leaned back against the edge of the table. "I expect a WHOLE lot in return for this one."

"Well, then," Edward rubbed his hands together. "Let's hear your terms."

The door shut behind him, and the old man jumped, spinning on the spot like a tightly wound top.

"I think you'll find what I have to say more stimulating," Nikolas said blandly, leaning back against the door. "Or at the very least, more important."

"What the hell is the meaning of this!" Edward blustered. He started forward, but Cece caught his arm.

"I think it's in your best interests to listen to what he has to say."

"I'll do no such thing!" He exploded. "There's nothing this boy has to say that makes one bit of difference to me, he's --"

He stopped dead when Nikolas reached over and turned the lock on the door.

"Now," his voice moved down into his chest. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's disquieting, isn't it?" Nikolas said, thoughtfully. "When someone prevents you from exorcising your free will."

Edward got the message loud and clear. "Oh, now. See here, Nikolas," his voice had floated down a few notches, becoming smooth and cloying. Nikolas just shook his head.

"Please don't waste my time by trying to explain yourself to me, I have no interest in anything you have to say. If I wanted to talk to you, I could do it over the phone."

That gave the man a start. Clearly he was trying to imagine just what Nikolas wanted to do that couldn't be done over the telephone.

"Now," the old man shifted his weight forward, bringing up a finger. He was still trying to play with ingratiating himself, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable. "Don't be rash. I know you're a reasonable man."

"I thought I was a menace," Nikolas frowned. "Really, if you're going to toss words like that around, Mr. Quartermaine, you have to expect me to either dispute them or embrace them. What's the point of having the reputation if I haven't earned it?"

Edward's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and then his face went bright red.

"NOW YOU SEE HERE!" he bellowed. Nikolas winced at the noise.

"Shh, shh, shh..." He put a hand up. "Calm down Mr. Quartermaine. I really don't think you want to draw attention to this."

"This is... This is..." Edward stumbled over his words, jabbing his finger towards the locked door. "This is --"

"It's actually, according to my aunt, false imprisonment," Nikolas said, idly turning the locked handle. "And don't worry -- in this case it's just a misdemeanor. Mind you, I'm not actually preventing you from leaving. This is just a privacy precaution. If you'd like to leave," he put out his arms, but didn't move from the door. "Please. Be my guest."

He took a step forward, then looked at the young man warily. "What... What do you think you're up to?"

"I told you," Nikolas said with a half-shrug. "There are a few things we have to discuss. In light of your recent foray into criminal behavior, I think we need some ground rules."

"MY criminal behavior!" Edward balked at the accusation. "This from a boy who's family is responsible for the death of my niece!"

Nikolas blinked. He hadn't even been born when that particular event had unfolded. Living down the weather machine was, without question, the most annoying thing about being a Cassadine.

"Regrettable events that predate my birth aside, Mr. Quartermaine," he took a moment to cross his arms. "I've never treated your family with anything but respect. And I'm finding that the favor isn't being returned."

"I haven't been given reason to."

Nikolas glanced down, pointedly, at the lock, then back at Edward. "You don't want to anger me. Are we clear on that?" The answer was, apparently, 'no' -- and Edward gave him a look of contempt. "Thus far," he continued. "I haven't done a thing to make your life difficult. But I could. I've been looking into some of ELQ's activities of late, and... really. Do we want to let our personal issues bleed into business? I don't think either of us needs the distraction at the moment. It'd be considerably less distracting for me, of course. My uncle runs Cassadine Inc. I'm just... an executive in training. I really don't have to work; it's a personal choice. I could quit and devote myself to ... other pursuits. But I don't think you'd like to see that happen either."

Apparently Edward had finally made up his mind that Nikolas wasn't going to hit him, and he stepped forward, bristling with rage. "Don't you try to threaten me!"

"I don't think I like what you're suggesting. This is an entirely hypothetical conversation."

That, apparently, set something off in the man, because Edward rushed forward, coming to stand right in front of his 'assailant'. "I have had JUST ABOUT ENOUGH of this attitude from you, young man!"

"Please," Nikolas put a hand on his shoulder, pushing Edward back from him. "Refrain from raising your voice to me. And while I'm thinking of it -- I'd appreciate it if your family would be more aware of how they speak about me in front of my stepson. Michael doesn't need to be exposed to any more conflict. That display he made on Saturday... I found that interesting. When I was Michael's age, I was a pretty miserable child. I behaved that way all the time. Do you know why?" Edward snorted, and Nikolas's jaw tightened in response. For the first time since they'd entered the room, some of the anger he was feeling towards this man started to seep into his words. "Because I didn't have any parents. Specifically -- I didn't have a mother. And my father, besides the fact that he was masquerading as my uncle, was often kept away from me because my grandmother didn't appreciate our bond. I hold that against her to this day. She's given me plenty of reason to hate her -- but that one particularly, stands out in my mind. She denied me my parents. Just like you're denying Michael his."

Edward was already shaking his head as Nikolas finished his speech. "That woman... That woman isn't right! Have you seen what she's capable of? Have you seen the kind of havoc she's capable of wrecking?"

"You know what I have seen?" Nikolas pushed himself off the door, and Edward took a step back in response. He continued to step back as Nikolas advanced on him. "A mark. On the side of her wrist," he nodded towards the man's hand, not trusting himself to move, lest he grab the patriarch by the throat. "About the size of your thumb."

"That's impossible!" Edward said as he bumped into the table. "I barely touched her!"

He looked, honestly, surprised, at the revelation.

"The physical evidence seems to refute that claim." Nikolas forced himself to take a step back. Containing himself was proving a little more difficult than expected. He shot Edward a dark look. "The upper echelons of Port Charles Society wouldn't take kindly to a man laying hand on a woman, do they?"

"I AM the upper echelons of Port Charles Society!"

"Then let me rephrase. Your wife wouldn't take kindly to a man laying hand on a woman."

It was the right button. The blood drained from Edward's face and he stumbled back to lean against the table. Cece stood to his right, arms crossed, looking at him with well-practiced disgust.

"I can't imagine the newspapers would like it much, either," she tossed in.

"You... You can't think --"

"You've tied my hands, Mr. Quartermaine," Nikolas said as flatly as he could manage. "I like Lila. Everyone does. I wouldn't want to see her hurt. But likewise -- It isn't acceptable to me for my wife to be hurt. It isn't acceptable for her to be afraid. Luckily for you, I think we can resolve those problems without involving the PCPD. Or your wife."

"A fire-breathing dragon couldn't scare that wife of yours --"

"Shut up," Nikolas spat. "I'm sick of hearing your voice. I want you to listen to my terms, and then I want you to leave -- with the understanding that, if you don't follow them to the letter, then I'll take action. I'll leave it up to your imagination what form that action might take."

The blood had returned to Edward's face and then some. He started to speak, then stopped. Started again, then fell silent, looking like a peevish child.

"First of all," Nikolas exhaled, trying not to look too pleased that the man appeared to be relenting. "If Carly is in the mansion, I'm going to be there with her. Not necessarily for her time with Michael -- but during those four hours, I will not leave her alone on the grounds. And you're not going to object to my presence. Secondly -- when my wife enters a room -- you leave it. Simple enough?"

Edward just glowered.

"You don't speak about her to Michael. You don't speak about me to Michael, either. You let us conduct our relationships with him privately, and you do not put any pressure on the child to conform to your way of thinking --"

Edward opened his mouth to protest, but Nikolas held up a hand.

"I can't describe how deeply is disgusts me to see a little boy subjected to your twisted ideas about his mother. I have no sense of humor about it. Understand that this is a deal breaker. Zero tolerance."

Nikolas turned away, drawing in his breath. He was aware of a slight tremor running through him, though he doubted it showed.

"I want you to resign from the board," he said, facing the opposite wall.

"You WHAT?" Edward catapulted himself away from the table and barreled towards Nikolas. "No, no, no, no, no! I've been involved in the running of this hospital long before you and your family swept down on it! You are not going to run me out -- "

"I think it's best," Nikolas cut him off again. "Alan and Monica aren't a problem. They're necessary to the running of the hospital. But you are loud. And disruptive. And I think it's best for both of our best interests if we don't share air."

"ELQ is heavily involved in this hospital! We have an investment!"

"They can put a vote to the representative from ELQ," Nikolas said, with fatigue. "I don't care. But I don't want you at the next meeting unless it's to tender your resignation. Am I understood?"

Edward opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by a distinct click. He snapped his head around to see Cece standing at the door. She'd turned the lock, and was now opening it wide, allowing anything he said to float out into the hospital. Edward's eyes flitted to the open door -- salvation -- and then to Nikolas. They flew back and forth a few times before the man dug his handkerchief out of his pocket,and started towards the door.

"You ARE a menace," he hissed, as he crossed the room. "A damned menace to society!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nikolas murmured to himself.

"Ohhhhh ho ho ho!" He stopped at the door, turning back. "You think you're going to be different. You think she'll stand by you, but you listen. She turned on Dr. Jones. She turned on AJ. She even turned on my thug of a grandson. When it's your turn, I just hope she goes for the jugular!"

Nikolas didn't bother to turn around.

"Leave."

"You mark my words," Edward pointed at his back. "One day you'll know what we're protecting that boy from! One day you'll see what kind of woman she really is!"

With that, he moved out of the room, holding his handkerchief to his head. Cece watched him, shaking her head slowly, then pushed the door shut. She stood in the silent room for several moments, before speaking.

"Ok," she sighed, finally. "I admit, I'm impressed. You really are a freak show."

Nikolas turned around and grinned.

"That felt good."

Carly was sitting on the floor again. It was comfortable, actually. These hard wood, polished floors. She glanced around the room, taking in the rows of hardcover books. Some titles she recognized -- some she couldn't even read. Cyrillic alphabet, Greek alphabet. Not only did Nikolas read and write several languages, but the damned things didn't even use the same letters as everyone else.

Stefan had left her here half an hour earlier. She'd told him she was tired -- which was 90% the truth -- and that she needed to get some rest. The truth was... She'd had to get rid of him. She'd been feeling something that she wasn't entirely comfortable with, and it had become very important to get him out of her sphere. She wasn't certain who she'd been talking to, but it hadn't felt like Stefan Cassadine.

First of all -- the man in the silk suit with the perfectly manicured hands had consented to perform manual labor with her. The moving of the boxes out of the living room and into the study. Why? Because she had no idea what else to do with the things. And she hadn't expected him to say yes.

So there she'd been, surrounded by boxes filled with American Garbage, in the most Cassadine room in the house. She'd decided the safest box to open was one that had been clearly marked in Nikolas's handwriting -- music and books.

Well, it was music and books, sure enough. A bunch of CD's by bands with names like Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam and Metallica (hey, she'd been going through a dark period), next to the music she knew was in the cabinet behind her: Brahms, Bach, a lot of Opera. And then, there had been her books. Leather-bound classics lining the walls -- in five different languages that she could count off hand -- against her worn-out copies of design books and a few paperbacks she found comforting.

He'd reached into the box, and she'd nearly lunged at him in protest. Somehow, sanity had prevailed, and he came up with a book. A book she loved -- A History of Visual Sources. It was an introduction to artistic styles starting with Mesopotamia and working all the way up to Postmodernism. He'd picked the book up, and flipped through the pages with what appeared to be disinterest. Then he'd asked her if she'd read it, as though the torn cover and dog-eared pages weren't indication enough. Once she'd answered in the affirmative ("once or twice...") he'd started to ask her what she thought of various periods. They'd talked about Baroque furniture (he had some in the main house, of course), gothic revival (he, interestingly enough, hated it, and argued rather vehemently against the implication that Wyndemere came from that time period), Art Deco (which she loved; he made a face), and Rococo (which they both hated, though he'd said that he did own some pieces from that period, as well). he'd made her laugh -- a short-lived and foreign occurrence, and she'd felt like they were just two people with a similar interest, having a conversation.

Damn it.

She LIKED him.

It was such a weird feeling. Carly didn't usually think about people in those terms. When she did, it always reached up and smacked her. Standing there in the study with him, turning the pages in the book to pictures she was particularly fond of, she'd felt a little bit normal. And then, a little bit like a lamb being lead to slaughter.

She wasn't supposed to trust this man. She wasn't even supposed to like him. But he'd made her realize how lonely she was. And he'd made her ache for Nikolas. It made sense, that her husband had grown out of the man in front of her. And it made her miss him. Feel a sense of loss in a way that she hadn't been able to feel anything since she'd felt the reverberation of her son's screams shoot through her.

She wasn't ready to feel like that. It was that simple. So she'd gotten rid of him. But she couldn't get rid of the feelings he'd stirred up inside of her. She didn't know what she was going to do when Nikolas got home.

She was saved from this line of thought by yet another knock on the door. Oh, for the love of GOD. What the hell was with this place?

Tossing down the Design book she was still holding on her lap, she leapt up and dashed out of the study. She just wanted to get this over with, whatever it was. More soup, probably. Or -- Ye Gods -- her mother.

She pulled the door open, then stopped short when she saw who was on the other side. Her mouth worked without sound a moment before she blurted out...

"Robin."