Chapter Fifty:
Hanging

"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight; Gotta kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight."
-- Bruce Cockburn, Lovers in a Dangerous Time

"I'm in love with you."

Robin stopped -- froze -- spoon poised halfway between the yogurt cup she was holding, and her mouth. Her head was down, eyes fixed on the table. Nikolas could see the rapid flicker of her eyelashes as she blinked.

"You know that, don't you?" He prompted.

She dropped the spoon and lay her palms flat on the surface of the table.

"Nikolas," her voice was plaintive and warning. "We've talked about this."

He sat back in his chair, eyes moving, now, to the far wall of the General Hospital cafeteria. He followed the trail of the orange and yellow lines that ran along the walls. "I know."

"I thought we agreed to take this slow."

"We did," he acknowledged. He waited for what was about to come. The deep intake of breath, the carefully spoken words.

"I just went through so much with Jason..."

He nodded, eyes still focused far away from her.

"I still feel like I'm recovering."

"I know."

"I'm just not ready for things to be on this level."

Nikolas forced himself to look back in her direction. She was sitting across from him, shoulders hunched protectively, her eyes darting around the table top as she talked.

"I'm not trying to put anything on another level," his voice sounded distant and foreign to his own ears. "But you know how I feel about you. You've known for awhile, haven't you?"

She averted her eyes and didn't answer the question.

"I just don't see the point in pretending that things are different than they are."

Robin shook her head. "I care about you, Nikolas," she still hadn't looked at him. "You've been so important to me -- I really value what we have together," she finally raised her eyes to his. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Her eyes were wide, and pleading. Small, dark and fragile -- always alternating from being self-possessed and full of doubt. He had spent so much time trying to understand her, trying to understand how it was her mind worked. What happened inside her. His hand reached out of it's own volition, and took hers in it's grasp.

"You won't find out," he promised.

She smiled and he could see the relief wash over her. Her hand squeezed his, and he tried to smile in return, but somehow his muscles wouldn't respond.

"You always understand."

He nodded, and the wall behind them seemed to move. The whole world around him looked like it was translucent hangings. Like a good tug on them would bring down the house around him. He managed to squeeze her hand back, then turned his eyes to the back wall that seemed miles and miles away from him. He couldn't feel her hand in his. He couldn't feel his own body. He felt absolutely nothing.

He knew, then. Without doubt, the answer to the question he'd been living his life to answer. He knew that, no matter how much time he gave it, she was not going to love him.

All the blood in Nikolas's body had rushed to his head. he could feel his heart thundering through him while every other part of him went weak. He stared into Carly's eyes, now blank with shock and tried to make himself move.

He failed.

Carly was staring at her husband with momentary incomprehension. The silence around them felt absolute. Like they'd both been lifted up out of their lives and were now suspended somewhere outside of space and time. She stared at him, he stared back. But neither could read anything from the other. Neither could explain what was happening to them.

She stepped away first -- pulling in her breath in a sharp gasp, and turning her head. Nikolas dropped his eyes, immediately, to the floor. It held no answers.

"That's cute," she said, unsteadily. "Kinda on the convenient side, but... cute."

"Thanks," Nikolas spoke with equal confusion, as he sunk down onto the Hope Chest at the foot of the bed.

She shook her head. Why couldn't she breath? Air was coming in and out of her lungs, but it didn't seem to be actually doing anything.

"Any particular reason you're pulling that trick out of your bag now?"

"Because," his eyes were fixed on a spot on the floor. "You were operating under a false impression." He shook his head at how mechanical he sounded. "Because it's true."

She let out a quick, high pitched squeak of laughter, and turned towards him. "Oh yeah? How long's that been going on?"

Nikolas's stomach lurched. A sudden, panicked, heat was churning through him. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, and muttered something under his breath.

"Ya tebya lyublyu."

Silence again. Carly felt the room twist around her as her brain grabbed onto the familiar sound of those words on Nikolas's breath. She's heard them -- delivered between fevered kisses, growled into her ear while he was deep inside her.

"Don't!" She stepped back from him like she was jumping out of a too-hot-bath. Wrong turn -- somewhere -- this whole conversation had veered way off the tracks. "Don't even --"

"What?" He raised his head and his eyes collided with hers. And there it was again. That moment they kept sharing and retreating from. When their eyes met and they were forced to confront the person in front of them. Carly's eyes were wide and questioning. She looked scared, anxious. And stuck -- staring at him -- waiting for him to do something. And God, he thought, there was so much he wanted to do, to say, he had no idea where to start.

"I wanted to tell you," he found himself saying in a voice that was too soft and solid to be his.

"What stopped you?" She said it like it was an accusation.

He gave a ironic smile. "I didn't think it was the right time."

"And now is?"

"You asked me a question. I answered it."

"No, no, no, no," Carly started to chant, overlapping his words. She turned away and started to pace again -- short steps, moving around the floor in front of him, like she couldn't decide on a direction to go in. "You can't do this."

"Do what?"

"That's not something you say in..." She gestured around the room, helplessly. "In... In... In a situation like THIS!"

He frowned. "What is a situation like this?"

Carly put her hand over her abdomen. Her legs were shaking. She was only just noticing that. She had to sit down -- No, she couldn't sit down. If she did, he'd come over to her. She closed her eyes, almost able to feel what it be like, to have his shadow fall over her. Her whole body shuddered, and she pulled in her breath. She needed space. She needed it now.

"I can't do this," she bleated, turning quickly and starting towards the bathroom. Sanctuary. With a lock.

Nikolas watched her retreat for a moment, until his brain suddenly engaged. Brought with it a demand that wasn't going to be reasoned with it. He stood up and started after her.

"No."

Carly turned back to him, still heading towards the door. Their eyes met a moment, and then she turned, breaking into a run -- Nikolas following immediately. he sprinted the short distance -- just a few feet -- and reached the door just as she pulled it open. His arm reached over her shoulder, and he threw his weight forward, pushing the door shut with a loud bang. She stumbled into it, then let her head rest against the door, while she struggled with her breath. He was right behind her, standing so close that she could feel his body heat like it was her own.

"Nikolas," her voice was deep with warning. "Open the door."

"I can't." It was an apology.

She smashed her fist into the wood in fury. "GOD DAMN IT!" She twisted around, pressing herself back against it, bringing a thin sliver of daylight between them. He had both palms on either side of her head, holding the door firmly shut. "Just BACK the hell OFF!"

"No." His face was level with hers. "No -- I've given you space since the day this started, Carly -- I'm finished with that. We're going to talk about this. You're going to tell me what's going on."

Alexis was trying not to squirm. She'd agreed to come out here this evening, because her brother seemed to be unnaturally ruffled and out of sorts. But once through the door, he'd subjected her to an endless series of inquires, most of them, questions she couldn't answer. He was standing, now, across the living room, his eyes narrowed, searching her unapologetically for information he wasn't receiving through more direct methods.

"You're being evasive," he concluded, finally.

"That's an interesting accusation, coming from you," she said, mildly, "I came out here to check on you, and I haven't made much headway, either."

"I don't require any hand-holding, Alexis," Stefan turned, pacing away from her. "And I suppose I'm to assume this recalcitrance is related to Nikolas acquiring your services in regards to his marriage."

"Technically, you'd make things so much less sticky for me if you wouldn't assume anything at all."

He shot her an annoyed look. Stefan didn't care much for Alexis's professional ethics. "What are your interests, Alexis?" He asked her directly. He left the subtext up to her imagination. She knew he was still talking about Nikolas, however. He hadn't spoken of anything else since she arrived.

"They're the same as they were a week ago," she said simply. "What about yours?"

He turned his attention to the mantle. She watched him study the artifacts with such concentration that she began to wonder if he'd simply decided he was done with her for now, and was more interested in taking inventory of the Cassadine Estate.

"Stefan --"

"I'm uncertain," he snapped. His sister blinked. She waited a moment, but he didn't turn to look at her, and he didn't speak further.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. What did you say?"

"I'm trusting you, Alexis," he said, picking up a particularly heavy pewter candlestick holder. "Don't make me regret it."

She opened her mouth to respond, then let it drop. He was always more than happy to point out to her that she had given him reason to stop divulging information to her. But the fact was, Stefan had no other confidant. Never had, as far as she knew. That mattered to her. It always would.

"Uncertain about Nikolas, or uncertain about the marriage."

"Caroline," Stefan put the candlestick down with a thump. "Have you spoken with her?"

Alexis sighed. After a moment, she supposed she could answer that one. "No."

He turned back to her, brow furrowed, his irritation coming off him in waves. She could tell, whatever this was, it had been brewing inside him for some time. "I see."

She stepped forward, coming into the room. "I take it your bid to befriend her isn't going well?"

He smiled at that, in an entirely unnerving way. "On the contrary, she's been increasingly open to any overtures I've made."

"Then... What's the problem?" She waited a few moments, watching her brother stare darkly into space, his thumb running back and forth over the ring he wore. "Stefan?"

"I don't know what I need to," He complained, almost petulantly, as he resumed pacing. "There is too much of what I wish and not enough of what I am actually confronted with. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Alexis wanted to tell him that Egyptian Hieroglyphics might have been a little more straightforward, but she found herself nodding.

"You like her."

"I do not," he snapped back at her. "I find her..."

"Affecting?"

"No," he shook his head. "No. But I'm aware that... " he stopped, huffing in frustration. "She's unusual."

"Well. Is she ever going to be out of place here. "

"No -- She's... " His face contorted into a look of disgust. "Convincing. It's easy to believe she's genuine -- since her circumstances are so dire. I can't decide whether or not she's to be believed."

"Stefan," she frowned. "Don't you think you, of all people, know when you're being manipulated?"

"Hubris, Natasha," Stefan murmured to her warningly. "I can't afford to assume anything."

"Playing Devil's Advocate just for a second," Alexis bit her lip, taking in her brother's uncharacteristically unsettled demeanor. "Would it be so awful to allow yourself to just... accept her?"

Stefan shook his head impatiently. "Nikolas is emotionally involved enough for all of us."

Again, Alexis blinked. "I wasn't suggesting you be emotionally involved," to tell the truth, she was thrown by the suggestion. "I just think it wouldn't hurt to take things at face-value --" she put up a hand, holding Stefan off, half a second before he turned to her, a rebuttal on his lips. "I know you're psychologically incapable of letting anything follow it's natural course. But we don't know that she's going to let history repeat --"

"It's already started," he cut her off again, resuming his carpet-wearing path across the room.

Alexis felt a chill. "What does that mean?"

He stopped dead, and she watched him stare a hole through the far wall. Finally, he turned, shaking off whatever it was that had commanded his attention for that moment.

"She's intelligent, as you suggested," he admitted. "On topics that peak her interest, I'd go as far as saying she's educated. But her life is mired in chaos!"

"We can fix that."

"If we had her cooperation -- and if it served us," he muttered. "The picture she presents is one designed to push buttons. Lost, abandoned, desperate --" He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's designed to draw people in."

Alexis eyed her brother with a growing suspicion. "Is it?"

"Nikolas responds to her pain," Stefan continued, "Her uncertainty. Her desire for acceptance -- her feelings for her child. He sees the way her blood family -- save Barbara -- shuts her out. It's his natural instinct to care for her."

"Yes," his sister said, dryly. "I can't imagine where he picked that up."

Stefan shot her an irritated look, well aware of the parallel she was drawing.

"I'm uncertain about my judgments where she's concerned," he bit out. "Tell me, Alexis. Your loyalties -- at their heart -- are they with the American Bar Association, or are they with The Family?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I need your word, Alexis. Whatever you are involved in with Nikolas -- if it comes to an extreme, if you see something, hear something, that gives you reason to believe --"

"I won't do anything to betray my profession or Nikolas, unless the circumstances are extreme," she stood her ground, looking at him defiantly.

"Do you deny that there is a chance for it here?"

She let out a low groan. "I'm willing to make no promises, at this point," she raised her eyes to meet his. "I know you hate this, Stefan. But right now -- all we can do is wait and see."

He raised his brow, cocking his head slightly to one side. "Perhaps," he admitted, after a moment.

She sighed heavily, dropping down into the nearest chair. "You're not going to listen to a word I just said, are you?"

"Perhaps not."

He was far too close -- arms caging her against the door. His eyes were boring into hers, his breath moving across her skin. She was standing, pressed back against the door, while he held himself at arms length and no further. There was no playing this off. there was no chance at diversion. She lay her hands flat against the door, and forced herself to maintain eye contact.

"Brute force. Is this how you usually go about getting what you want?"

"When I haven't been left with any other options," he raised an eyebrow. "I told you. I do what I have to."

"Fine," she lifted her chin. "Then right now, you have to give me air."

Nikolas felt like something had just slid into place in his mind. Since the moment he'd come home, something had felt wrong. He'd been waiting to see something in her that he recognized -- definitively and without question, something he could point to and say 'ah ha. Carly.' He had hints of that now. Inches away from her, looking directly into her eyes, seeing the world of things she wasn't telling him. Seeing her struggle with herself. He knew this woman. He recognized her, finally, as his wife. It felt like they'd been apart for years, and he was -- suddenly and inappropriately -- aware of how long it had been since he'd kissed her. His body started to move towards her, unconsciously, and Carly's hand flew up, holding him back.

"That's not what I meant."

He locked his arms, pushing himself as far back from her as he could, and still keep all his weight on the door. He was playing with fire here. His own feelings of rage, frustration, empathy, hurt -- he'd told her he loved her. There was an almost primal need for that to be recognized. Because once this was started, there was no turning back. This had to come to it's conclusion, whatever the hell that might turn out to be. He could let her breathe. He could move away from her, even if it felt like a knife in the gut. But he couldn't back off. He couldn't let this moment pass and watch her go cold again.

"Nikolas --" she was pushing at him again, and he could see the beginnings of panic in her eyes. "Stop it --"

His arm moved from the wall, and he put his hand over hers, holding it over his heart. He watched her while she felt the speed, the power, with which it was beating. He could barely believe he was doing this -- Showing her what she was capable of doing to him. But he would cut himself open for her. Expose himself to her completely, if it would break this cycle. He'd do anything he had to if it would bring her back to him.

"You never have to be scared of me," he said intently. She responded by pulling her hand back.

"I said 'stop it'," she hissed, turning, and sliding quickly through the gap he'd left for her when he'd moved his arm. he turned, leaning back against the door. He half expected her to make a bee-line to the bedroom door, but instead she started to pace the room again.

She could swear, there was no floor beneath her. She was breathless, feeling -- she had to admit -- the effects of his proximity. She'd been working so hard at staying away from him, she'd let the reason for it slip from her mind. Now it was there, flashing neon red. Nikolas was dangerous, because Nikolas made her feel. And that was to be avoided at all costs.

"What the hell is it with the men in this place lately?" She spit. "You've all lost your minds. No one has a word to say to me for a whole year -- no one gives a damn if I live or die -- And suddenly, every time I turn around someone's --" Her voice was trembling now, and she let the words die in her throat. She wasn't going to talk to him about that.

"I'm not trying to do what Edward did to you," he said to her back. She jumped. Mind reading, now. He nodded towards the open bedroom door. "I'm not holding you here. But I'm not letting you lock yourself away from me again."

"You think that's all he did?" Carly turned back to him. "Locked me in a room and roughed up my wrist?"

"If you want to tell me what happened, believe me," he pushed himself off the door. "I'm all ears."

She backed away, very aware that she kept retreating from him -- taking a step back for every one he took forward. She hated that. That feeling like she was on the run, trying like hell just to keep her head above water while he circled around her.

"You're trying to change the topic." she accused. "Two minutes ago this wasn't about Edward."

Somehow, he was gaining on her -- coming in close. "It's always been about the same thing for me, since the minute I walked in here."

"What's that?" she sneered. "Robin?"

"You."

She was starting to feel dizzy. God, he was standing so close. "You said --"

"What?" he murmured softly. "What did I say?"

She pressed her lips together. He hadn't ever said it, she revealed. All the time they'd spent together, all the things they'd talked about -- he had always turned away from the topic of Robin. But she'd done the same thing with Jason.

"You wanted her," she said, weakly. He shook his head, and closed in on her.

"I want you."

"That's not the same."

"I love you," he reached out and touched her face. While ever fiber of her being said 'stop', she lifted her eyes to his. Her breath caught when she saw the way he was looking at her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, as she felt herself get pulled into him. His eyes swallowed her whole. His fingers slid into her hair, his hand cupping her cheek. "God, Carly," his voice was raw. "I love you so much."

She could feel everything, at that moment. Every hair on her body was standing on end, the air on her skin seemed to push in on her. He moved forward slowly this time, his other hand resting on her hip, and pulling her body towards him. He descended with a sense of purpose she'd have to be an idiot to miss. Her eyes started to fall shut, in expectation. Just as his lips brushed, feather-light, against hers, she jerked back from him, sucking in her breath.

"I love Jason."

He stopped dead. Just froze, for a second, before dropping his hand. She turned her face away from him, and felt his exhalation brush across her skin. Then he withdrew, pulling away from her and moving back across the room. She wasn't prepared for how cold she suddenly felt. She looked up, watching him move away from her. He stopped a few feet away, raised his head, and took a few breaths. She shuddered like a north wind had just passed through her, and wrapped her arms across her stomach, holding herself.

Nikolas rubbed a hand over his face, as he struggled with everything in him not to turn towards the door. What the hell had possessed him to do that? It had felt like someone else, right up until the moment she'd pulled away -- but it had been him, undeniably. His heart, cut open for her to see. The words had just spilled out of him -- and they were mild and tenuous, in comparison to what was going on inside him. The ache was incredible, and he'd wanted that kiss desperately -- the reassurance. Just the smallest glimmer of reciprocation.

"You love Jason," he echoed her assertion. There was a slight creak of the floor boards as she shifted her weight.

"Yeah."

"All right," he pulled in his breath. "That's fine."

She let out a short, scoffing snort. "I'm glad I have your approval."

"I'm used to it," he muttered, mostly to himself, and turned back to her. "I don't care how you feel about him. He's married to someone else, Carly." There was an angry, lethal edge to his voice. "You can feel whatever you want for him -- But you're married to me," he stared at her, and when she looked away, he felt something drop into his stomach. "And you feel something for me, Carly. Whether you want to, or not."

She let out an insubstantial laugh. "You're deluded --"

"You're lying," he shot back. "You know you're lying. Until this week, I was NOT in this relationship by myself. You were right here with me. And we had something. From that first night, we HAD something!"

"That first night --" Carly sputtered, taking a step towards him. "Was all we were supposed to have! That was all you were supposed to be. A warm body. You were supposed to fuck me and leave me -- You weren't supposed to be there in the morning. You weren't supposed to talk to me again."

Her face was flushed, her voice quaking. Nikolas stared at her, and the full weight of what was happening in front of him hit him. He'd never be able to explain where it came from -- this thing that would grab hold of him when Carly was at her most irrational. This realization and knowledge of what was happening inside of her, and what he had to do about about it. He'd never been sure of anything where women were concerned -- not in his whole life. And 90% of the time, Carly was just as much of a mystery as everyone else. But there were moments where she became clear as crystal to him. And something inside him -- something he could never look at directly -- would take over.

"Is that what you wanted?" he asked, his voice utterly devoid of anything. "Is that what you took me home for?" Her eyes were filling with tears again, and he kept pushing. "It wasn't because you wanted to feel important to someone? Because you wanted to feel desired and needed? Like you mattered to someone?" He shook his head. "Look me in the eye and tell me you expected it to feel that way. Tell me you didn't want something more when it was over."

"It was sex," her shoulders hunched defensively. "Straight-forward, drunken, meaningless sex. If I'd known you were a virgin it wouldn't have even been that much."

Something in his brain absorbed the viciousness of what she'd just said to him. Absorbed it, and then tossed it aside. Nothing she was saying to him meant anything. It was all smoke and mirrors. And he'd had enough of it.

"You can stop trying to hurt me, Carly. It's not going to work."

He knew he'd nailed it when she didn't fire anything back at him. She just stared into the middle-distance, looking cold and alone -- utterly miserable.

"God, Carly," he breathed. "You don't think it's possible? That something could happen between two people that goes beyond words, or physical sensation or anything in the concrete universe? Are you trying to tell me that no part of you has ever felt that when we're together?"

She shook her head, like she was trying to knock what he was saying away from her. "No."

"Never?" he pressed. "Not even that night on the boat? When you said you'd marry me -- when you said you loved me --"

Her head jerked towards him, and she stepped back. "I NEVER meant that!"

"THEN WHY DID YOU SAY IT?" He flung his arms out, inviting anything she wanted to throw at him. "WHAT made you say that? What was it? What made you say that to me when no one else ever had?"

Carly shivered in the nonexistent cold. Her chest was so tight she didn't know how she was bringing in any air. She could here this light, almost buzzing sound inside her head. This can't happen. This just can't happen.

"It's just words, Nikolas."

"No," he crossed back towards her, and when she took an instinctive step back, he reached out and pulled her back to him. "No, it's not. It's something that lives inside you." He clenched his hand over his stomach. "It takes up residence just under your skin, and you can't move, you can't breathe, without knowing it's there. It takes over, it rules everything you do -- because you can't think of anything else. You can't really feel anything but what it lets you --" She was watching him, her eyes wide and terrified. He let his voice drop, let anything he was holding between them fall -- the anger, the determination, all of it. Just stood there drowning in the volume of what he felt for her. "And ..." he forced himself to breathe. "If you can't feed it, Carly, then it becomes this gnawing, raw ache in the center of you that makes you do things you never thought you'd be capable of." He gestured weakly at the room around them. "Do you think this is my idea of a good time? Do you think, in any other circumstance, I would ever give someone this kind of ammunition against me? I know you'll throw it back at me! I know that when I tell you how I feel about you, you're going to use it to hurt me. Because that's what you do when you're scared," he stopped, the truth of that reverberating through him. giving him strength. "And that's the only thing I have to hang onto right now. I scare you -- and it's not because I love you. It's not because I'm willing to do whatever you need me to. It's not because I married you. So what is it, Carly? What about me makes you think you have to protect yourself?"

His eyes searched hers, but all he saw there was the desperation and near-panic that had been radiating off her since this happened. She didn't move away from him -- she just stood, stuck to the spot, while he tried to pull something -- anything -- out of her.

"I will never hurt you," he promised suddenly, vehemently. She let out a quick laugh of surprise, and pushed his hands off of her.

"You can't say that," she said it with an air of bottomless sadness.

"I just did. God, Carly -- I keep telling you I can give you everything. But you have to stop this -- you have to stop trying to push me away, you have to stop locking yourself in bathrooms, and acting like I can't handle what's going on inside you -- "

"You don't know what that is!"

"No. I know exactly what that is!" He watched her turn her face away from him, cringing with the effort of holding something inside. "You know that. It scares the hell out of you, doesn't it?"

Her throat closed up as tears, finally, slipped down her cheeks. "Why do you want to do this to yourself?"

"I need to help you, Carly," he said quietly. He felt a sharp pang in his stomach. It was undeniably true. He didn't know what was going to happen to him if he didn't get her to understand that. She drew in a shuddering breath.

"Ever think I'm beyond help?"

"Never."

She pressed her hand over her mouth, a sick feeling churning to life in her stomach.

"You don't get it," she said tightly. "You just don't --" She stopped dead when she felt his lips press against her forehead. God, no. Stop it, stop it, Jesus, Nikolas --

"Nik --" she stopped, in the middle of the word, choking on a sob that had suddenly kicked it's way out of her. His hands slid from her arms, around her, and he started to pull her against him, into a warm and comforting embrace. She couldn't breathe. God, she was going to choke, she was going to -- ""No," she started to try to pull away from him, and he tightened his grip on her.

"Carly!"

"NO!" She bent her knees, letting her weight pull her away from him. To her frustration he adjusted his grip on her, refusing to let go, to let her fall. "STOP IT!" she felt her voice rise into her chest, a sure sign that she was giving into panic. She wrenched herself back from him, and this time he let go. She stumbled a few feet away from him, and shook her head hard. "Just stay away from me!" God, please, "Just leave me alone!"

"I can't!" his voice cracked. "God, Carly. I can't do that. You're sick!"

Carly struggled for breath in the wake of what he'd just said. She felt her stomach lurch again. That soup was not long for this world.

"Who have you been talking to?" she nearly panted.

Nikolas reached out towards her. "Carly --"

She smacked his hand away. "No. Why did you say that?"

"Because that's what clinical depression IS," his breath was coming quick now, too. "It's an illness. It's not your fault, it's not something you're doing on purpose -- it's your history, it's your hard-wiring --"

She paled. "You saw Gail."

"I saw you!" Nikolas fired back. "I saw you, this whole past week -- I saw you shut down. I saw the way you'd look at me like I was air. The way you held yourself, like there was NOTHING inside of you. I saw all of it, Carly."

"You haven't seen anything," she spit. "If you think what you saw was bad --"

"Then show me," he insisted. Carly's eyes went wide, and he pressed on. "Show me. What's so terrible? What's going on inside you that you think I can't handle?"

She felt the bile rising in her throat, and turned away from him. The moment she did, all she wanted was to turn back and throw herself into his arms. It was a complete 180 - Suddenly just wanting to be held -- tightly. Don't let go. Crush her if necessary, she didn't want anything else. The look on his face. The constant, repetitive invitation to let him take on everything. She covered her face with her hands, pulling in several ragged breaths. This was the problem. This had been the problem all along. She wanted him too much. She always had -- from that first night, he was right. and now she knew he'd seen it. As much as she'd tried to hold him away from herself, he'd seen right through her. She'd wanted him that night in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how he treated her. She might have been able to recover from that, if he hadn't spoken to her again. But once that happened -- once she'd broken down in his arms, cried tears that she'd kept to herself for so long, all over him -- there was no turning away. This was the last thing she had. The only thing protecting her from him, and what giving in to him could mean.

"God, why are you doing this?" she moaned, dropping her hands.

"Because you're my wife!" he argued, vehemently. "You can say whatever you want to me. It doesn't change what I feel for you. Whether you approve or not, whether you believe me or not, whether you want it or not -- that's how I feel. Nothing you do can change it."

Wanna bet? It was something she'd lay stakes on. IF there was one thing Caroline Benson new how to do, it was lose people.

"You think I'm crazy," she said, dumbly, eyes fixed on the wall.

There was a long, torturous pause, before Nikolas spoke again. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She knew he was actually considering whether or not he believed that. She let her eyes close, praying that he'd just hurry up and answer.

"I think you hurt," he said finally. "And I want to make that stop."

She turned and looked directly at him. "How?"

Her expression was hollow, and his stomach clenched in response. No -- no, he didn't want this. He couldn't watch her go cold on him.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes." And God, please, let something give me a sign of what that might be.

"Why?" She threw the words out, letting them fall at his feet. Her expression was nearly belligerent. "What is it? Are you that much of a masochist? Or do you actually get off on having a lunatic beside you in bed?"

Nikolas straightened up, pulling in his breath. He didn't take his eyes off her. "What are you accusing me of, Carly?"

"You're either suffering from a need to play Knight in Shinning Armor, or you're a tourist."

"Either way, I'm not getting what I want," he said, quietly.

"Oh," she laughed, suddenly, her eyes widening. "I'm not putting on enough of a show for you?"

"Carly."

"I can fix that, you know," she leaned forward, that same, mean, angry look on her face, the one that kept coming and disappearing with incredible regularity.

"I want YOU," Nikolas repeated what he'd been trying to get her to understand for what was beginning to feel like an eternity. "All I have ever wanted was you -- with me. That's it."

"THIS IS ME!" Carly screeched back at him. "Don't you get that? This -- this can't-get-out-bed, this no-eating, this bitch from hell out to shred you to pieces! All of it -- that's what I'm LIKE, Nikolas."

"What about the rest of it?" His eyes would not leave her -- he barely seemed to blink -- but his attitude was almost indifferent as he watched her.

"What parts? The hysterics? Does that turn you on?" She saw him flinch, and moved in on pure instinct. "Was it the 'poor damsel in distress, comfort me' bit? You like that, don't you? You like feeling like you're the big strong man who has to swoop in and save me. And there are other things you like," she stroked her index finger along his jaw, and he caught her wrist in his hand. "Watch it. You wouldn't want to leave a mark."

"Stop this," he said it with unnerving softness.

"Is that it? Do I make you feel normal and well-adjusted? Do I make you feel needed and desired? Is that what you like so much?"

He didn't say anything. Just watched her with a look she couldn't read. She stepped back from him, shaking her head.

"I've always done this, Nikolas. I find a man, I take what I want, and I get out -- " Her voice broke. "And yeah, I do it to feel powerful. To feel like I matter --" She didn't even notice that tears had started to stream down her face again. "So there you go. How do you feel about that? You're a symptom! You're something I do to make myself feel better --" She ran out of breath, and stopped, putting her hand over her collarbone.

"Well, I was pretty good at my job, then, wasn't I?" he finally spoke, and she let out a sob at his words.

"You were excellent at your job," she was crying now -- there was no denying it, even to herself. "But that doesn't make any of it real."

"Then don't fight me on this," he looked down at her, letting the depth of emotion in his eyes pour over her. She went rigid. It was her fault -- she'd moved in this time, and suddenly she felt far too close. Her face heated, and she turned away from him, walking, this time, across the room from him. He sighed behind her. "Damn it, Carly --"

She stopped in front of the dressing table on the far side of the room, and stared through blurring eyes at the bottles that lined the top. It looked ridiculous -- her stupid cosmetics and products all lined up on this antique, mahogany table. She let out a quick laugh. "You could have been anyone," she said, picking up one of the bottles. The perfume -- the one he liked so much. " I could have been anyone, too."

Behind her, Nikolas shook his head. He couldn't keep arguing this point -- not if she wasn't going to listen to it. "But we weren't."

She nodded. "No. We weren't." She looked at the bottle in her hand again -- remembered him grabbing her wrist. That was it -- where it all went wrong. Nikolas taking her wrist and kissing the inside of it. The whole world had turned on it's head on that moment. She held her hand out, and let the bottle drop, free fall onto the hardwood floor.

"Carly --"

He started to move forward, and, in a sudden movement, she rushed forward. Her arms swept across the top of the dresser, as he grabbed her from behind. the bottles, powders -- all off it -- flew through the air, clattering and crashing to the ground. "SEE?" she demanded as his arms closed around her waist. "I'm a MESS!"

"Stop it," he was speaking right into her ear, as he tried to haul her backwards. She grabbed the edge of the table, and managed to pull it, hard, just as Nikolas lifted her off her feet. She let his strength feed the motion, and the table flipped -- tipping onto it's side, making a monstrous crash as it hit the ground, the mirror shattering. He pulled her away, turning them away from the chaos. "Carly --"

"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?" she screamed, her whole body shaking in his arms. "I hurt things! I destroy everything I touch -- I'm bad for you!" she struggled in his embrace, trying to wrestle her way out of arms that were steadfast. "I'm unstable, I'm crazy," her body leaned back against his, and she echoed words AJ had said to her that day -- the day of Michael's temper tantrum. "I'm bad for Michael!"

"Shhh," Nikolas pressed his cheek against hers. "It's okay --"

"It's not okay! He doesn't want me with you," she choked out. "He didn't want me to leave him."

"I know," he squeezed his eyes shut. "I know --"

"And I'm so selfish, that I'll never stop wanting either of you! Do you get that?" she felt herself go cold as the words left her lips. God, they were true. They were so true. She was never going to stop wanting him -- like water, like air, like Nikolas. And she couldn't have him. She wasn't going to have him -- "I can't --" she stuttered. "I can't-- have -- I can't do this again. I can't." Her body turned into a dead weight in his arms. He let his legs fold under him, and let gravity pull them down onto the floor. "I can't do this," she nearly chanted into him. "I can't do this."

His hands were in her hair, pushing it back from her face. She turned her head, and pressed it against his chest, still sobbing like her heart was breaking. He held her head against him, pulling her body close to him. So close he could feel the beat of her heart in her chest. He let his head drop, and buried his face in her hair.

"It's okay," he whispered, in a voice that wouldn't allow him to speak any more loudly. "It's okay," his lips brushed over her temple, "I'll take care of you, it's safe. I promise. I'll help you, you'll be okay. No one's going to touch you. No one can hurt you, now." He squeezed his eyes shut, and on broken breath whispered his last promise into her ear. "I'll love you, Carly. Forever."

Outside, the house looked dark. The sun was going down over the lake, and the only light in the house had been the dim glow from the upstairs window. A light that had just gone out. Stefan stood, grimly, in the darkness, listening to the silent rustle of the trees as the wind brushed past.

"It's quiet now," a young guard, showing off his firm grip on the obvious, observed. Stefan turned and studied the man darkly until he began to fidget.

"Did you hear anything?"

He shook his head, quickly. "Only raised voices. And the crash. I called you then."

Stefan cast another glance at the window above.

"You'll call me immediately, if you hear anything else."

"Of course, sir." He cleared his throat. "Immediately."

Stefan nodded, curtly.

"Uh, my prince?"

Another stony glance.

"Would you like an escort back to the house?"

"I will make my own way back," he answered, sharply. "All in good time."