Chapter Fifty-Two:
House of Cards

The Jag rolled to a stop across the street from the Quartermaine Mansion. The engine was killed, the gravel crunched under the wheels, and then everything fell silent.

Not a radical change from the last few hours.

Nikolas watched his wife stare unblinkingly through the windshield, as she had for the entire ride over there. As she had, in fact, for most of the waking day, past the first hour they'd been awake.

He felt ambivalent about what happened that morning. He couldn't pretend that he hadn't known something was off when he'd entered the room. He knew his wife, and he knew when she was nervous. On the other hand, he couldn't pretend that he'd had full control of his facilities. He still didn't know where Carly had been coming from -- if she'd realized how much power she had where he was concerned, and had been trying to use it against him -- or if she just didn't understand what it did to him, to feel her hands on him, to finally be able to kiss her. How hard it was to turn away, even when he knew that it was wrong.

He wasn't sure which scenario put him more on edge.

It was hard to control his reaction to her. That realization made him sick -- but it was true. He'd felt starved for her, and after the night before, it had been impossible to deny himself. He'd gone through this too many times -- Finally finding what he needed to force the words out of himself, only to be denied any sense of connection. So that he was left feeling delusional -- not to mention alone. Carly, at least, seemed to care about what he'd said. It made a difference to her -- she knew something existed between them. He hadn't felt crazy after telling her how he felt. But he hadn't felt connected, either.

When they kissed, that had changed. He'd felt HER in that moment. He'd seen something he knew in her eyes, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from trying to get more. Logic had been exorcised from the situation and all he'd been able to do was respond to what she gave him. He didn't know which one of them had pushed things as far as they had gone -- he wouldn't be surprised if it was him -- he'd tried to pull back several times, but just ended up kissing her again. He wouldn't have been able to stop if she hadn't said no. Something deep inside him was relieved he'd managed to do it then.

The whole thing had brought him in touch with parts of himself that he didn't like very much. In the hours that had passed since then, he'd had to struggle to feel comfortable in the air around him. He fought against a strong and constant urge to touch her again. He could barely trust himself to hold her hand. He was positive that he'd never been this tense in his life.

That feeling got worse watching her now. He didn't think he could do another repeat of the past week. He'd play nearly all the cards in his hand -- save a few that could either help pull her out of this or push her further away from him. If none of this worked, he didn't know what he'd do next. He wanted to break something just thinking about it.

Instead, he pushed open the driver's side door and got out, rounding the car to help Carly out. She didn't wait for him, however, and when he got to her she was sitting sideways on the seat, a hand on the open car door, looking significantly more aware and unsteady than she had a few seconds earlier.

"Carly?"

She shook her head, eyes unfocused. He dropped down crouching in front of her so that he could see her face. She looked pale and scared. She swallowed carefully before telling him, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Over the past week, he'd kept thinking he was exhausting all his energy reserves. That eventually he was just going to run dry. But once again, she pulled it out of him. He reached out, brushing the hair that was hanging over her face away, and tucking it behind her ear.

"Just now?"

It took her a moment to shake her head. "All day."

Nikolas resisted the urge to feel the earth beneath him. No, he appeared to be here. And she really did just tell himself something concrete about what she was feeling. She cleared her throat, and spoke again in a thin, strained voice.

"I don't think I can do this."

It was a quarter to, he'd checked his watch less than a minute earlier. Just looking at her, he realized he was seeing part of what she'd been trying to hide from him all week. What she'd been living in -- he knew her desperation must have hit a peak for her to start letting him see it.

"You can do this," he said, quietly. "You've had to do it before."

Her eyes filled with tears liked a switch had just been thrown. She grimaced, putting a hand over her eyes. Nikolas stayed still in front of her, very aware that there were right and wrong steps to take here. The whole moment felt fragile.

"You made it through last week," he coaxed. "If you did that, you can make it through this."

"Not if it's worse."

"It can't be worse."

"It can be just as bad," she sucked in air in a hiccup. "Only I'll be even more of a basket case."

Nikolas watched her, willing himself to THINK. Her body was taunt , every muscle clenched -- hands in fists, her jaw so tight she was nearly speaking through her teeth. She was breathing in fits and starts, like it was something her body was forgetting it had to do.

"All right," he spoke with a sudden attack of authority. "Where do you feel sick?"

Carly blinked, raising red-rimmed eyes to his. "What?"

"Here?" he indicated her stomach. She looked at him in confusion, then lay her hand just under her rib cage.

"Here."

"Put your hands," he demonstrating, forcing his hands against his solar plexus, "Here." Carly looked hesitant, then followed suit. "You have to breathe down. So that you can feel your diaphragm push out against your hands. Just keep doing that until it starts to go away."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"It feels worse."

"That's because you're not breathing."

She didn't look at all certain, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, spitting it out almost the second it hit her stomach.

"Slowly," Nikolas coached. "Don't hold it, Just keep breathing."

Her brow creased and he was sure that, if her eyes had been open, they'd have been glaring at him. Something about that made him smile.

Gradually, she stared to relax. The furrow of her brow stopped looking like frustration, and seemed more like focus. Holding onto the open car door, Nikolas leaned forward and gently slid his hand behind her neck. She started at his touch, then calmed again -- not even opening her eyes. He gently massaged the tendons at the base of her skull. They felt like steel, and that same tension ran all the way down her back. It hit him, how hard she was struggling to hold on. The effort was extreme. As deep and overwhelming as his own fatigue was, he couldn't begin to fathom hers.

He felt her begin to let go under his ministrations, and in a chain reaction, she started to lean forward. He watched her carefully, on guard for whatever came next. She seemed to sway for a moment, and he put out a hand to steady her just before her face suddenly crumbled, her eyes flew open. Their eyes met and he stared with worry into her panicked expression.

"I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't deal with that house, with them..." her voice trailed off, leaving her shaking her head.

"Something else happened last week," Nikolas delivered it like the fact he was sure it was. "They said something to you. It wasn't just Edward --"

"It doesn't matter."

He kept his eyes on her until she turned to look at him with fatigued exasperation. "Nikolas --"

"I know," he murmured. "Later."

"Please."

His hand was still around her neck, and he rubbed his palm over her skin a few times before withdrawing. "We should get in there."

"I look like hell."

"Michael won't care."

She snorted. "Chris will."

"Forget her," he stood. "She's meaningless."

She was looked up at him like he'd just told her that the earth was flat -- and he was going to push her off the edge of it.

"She's kinda got some pull."

He put out a hand to help her out of the car. "So do I."

He saw her roll her eyes just before taking his hand and letting him haul her to her feet. There was something in it he didn't like. It was more than her usual disdainful front. It felt like disbelief. He watched her as she tried to put herself together, pulling at yet another of Nikolas's shirts -- something she'd thrown over her sleeveless T-shirt right before they left.

"Carly."

"What?"

He frowned. "You don't think you're going in there alone, do you?"

She looked at him blankly a moment, then spoke. "Nik --"

"You're not going in there alone. Not after last week."

Her eyes searched his a moment. "This is my problem, Nikolas."

"I beg to differ."

"They don't have to let you in!"

"They will."

"No, they won't," she looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "It's just going to turn into another rumble, Nikolas --"

She was starting to plead with him, the stress forcing her voice up into her throat. He reached out and took her hand, holding it firmly in his.

"It's not for you to worry about, Carly."

"It is when my son is involved!"

He shook his head, pushing the door to the jag shut. "They're not going to make a scene. If they are, it won't be today."

"Right -- because they don't like to pitch fits in front of Michael?" She started to turn, pulling her hand away from him. "Get real."

Giving it exactly no thought, Nikolas pulled back on her hand and spun her back to him, so that she came to a stumbling halt right in front of him, stopping just short of colliding with his chest.

"Trust me," he said in a low, determined voice. "That's all I'm asking for Carly. For the next few hours, just throw a little bit of blind faith my way."

"I don't exactly have any lying around."

"Nothing bad is going to happen."

"And you know this how?"

"I talked to Edward."

She stared at him a moment, and then a laugh seemed to kick it's way out of her. She stepped back and he let her go this time, watching her disbelief with the sort of confusion people usually give bad television commercials. She doubted him. Cassadine vs. Quartermaine, and she doubted him?

"Oh, well then," she said, wiping her eyes. "What am I so worried about?"

"Yesterday," he clarified. "At the hospital."

She seemed unmoved by the timing. "And he what -- Saw the light?"

"In a manner of speaking."

She nodded, digging into her pocket for some Kleenex. The supposed tears of laughter were still coming, though she didn't acknowledge it. "So. You have anything else up your sleeve? After this are going to take me to see my Fairy Godmother? Maybe we can swing by the tooth fairy, too. She still owes me on at least three molars."

She sniffed a few times, before blowing her nose. He didn't move to comfort her -- he didn't seem to be able to do that for her today. And he wasn't going to argue with her about Edward. She'd see. It was that simple. Maybe that was the only way she'd be able to understand it.

"Come on," he held out his hand. "It's time."

She consented to hold his hand, and they walked up to the door in silence. She cast him a wary look before ringing the bell, like she was expecting him to say something further, but he just looked back at her. They stayed there, in silent conference, until the door was opened by Reginald the Smirking Butler.

"Ah," he was nearly cheerful. "Mr. & Mrs. Cassadine," the door swung wide. "Welcome to our humble abode."

Nikolas watched Carly's eyes narrow and didn't manage quite manage to suppress his own smile when her head snapped around to look at him. Instead he directed his eyes to the stone steps and tried to swallow the heady feeling of triumph.

"You coming in?" Reggie prompted again, when neither had moved towards the house.

"We're early," she said cautiously, stepping into the foyer and pulling Nikolas with her.

"Not a problem."

"As in we," Carly indicated Nikolas. Reginald just looked at her, and she frowned. "Where should we wait?"

"Oh, I think you can wait pretty much anywhere you want."

"Thank you, Reginald," Nikolas said softly, placing his hand at the base of his wife's spine and steering her towards the living room. She looked back at him, but moved forward, through the doors, murmuring, "What's with him?"

Nikolas didn't get a chance to answer before they were through the doors and face to face with Edward. He was sitting on the couch, paper open, his nose stuck determinedly in the business section. He rattled the paper, clearing his throat loudly at the intruders, before tossing it down, and getting to his feet.

He tipped his chin up, looking at Nikolas defiantly. Adjusted his cuffs. Opened his mouth to speak.

Nikolas didn't so much as blink.

Edward scowled, then turned to Carly. Nikolas slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him -- he watched, brow furrowed, as Edward opened his mouth again... then snapped it shut. He shot Nikolas a look of barely contained fury, then snatched his paper off the coffee table, and stormed past them, out of the room.

They stayed still a moment, then Carly moved forward, taking a few unsteady steps away from him, before pivoting on her heel towards him again.

"When you say you talked to Edward," she stared hard at the buttons on his shirt. "Do you mean 'Hey, how are you' talked, or did you, like, hang him out a window by his ankles?"

"We talked," Nikolas knew it was a cryptic answer, and she looked up at him, with an expression he couldn't begin to describe. It made his heart stop. "He knows not to touch you again."

He watched her struggle with it, and took a step forward again. For all his attempts to stop touching her like this -- to give her space -- he couldn't seem to stop himself. His hand slipped into her hair, tilting her head up. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Tonight. We'll talk."

Carly barely managed to nod. Her hand reached up and did something familiar -- something she hadn't done for a week. She grabbed his wrist in her hand, and held it tightly.

"Ok," she whispered back to him.

The Rose Garden was pink this week. The white climbing roses on the trellis had started to fade, and now the commanding color was shade after shade of... well... Rose. Carly sat on the white-painted wrought iron bench, and twisted her wedding ring around her finger while she waited for her son to arrive.

Nikolas was standing a few feet away, which, she kept telling herself, was a good thing. The overwhelming, panicky sick feeling that had gripped her all morning was abating, but he had been replaced with this uncertain, woozy discombobulation. This whole thing... It felt like an out of body experience. Like she'd been sucked in through a porthole to someone else's life. It wasn't the first time Nikolas had made her feel this way. But it was the most untimely.

She couldn't get the look on Edward's face out of her mind. That man had been just bursting to say something. There was no smarm this time. He was angry, and he wanted them both to know it.

But he hadn't said a word.

She glanced over at her husband, who was slowly pacing across the lush green grass, his eyes fixed on it, deep in thought. He looks so innocent. Ninety percent of the time she'd vote that he was the sort of person who carried spiders outside and set them free. And then, occasionally, she got the feeling that he regularly crushed people under his heel.

Alarming. Familiar. Confusing.

She rubbed her arms through the thin cotton of Nikolas's shirt. Something she'd tossed on in a fit of panic. She hadn't expected him to come in to the house with her. She had to admit, there was something calming about it. The faint scent of the sandalwood soap he used. Musky and sweet. As much as Nikolas had made her stomach twist, the sense-memory response to his smell remained one of comfort. It brought her back to curling up next to him in bed on the Zephyr -- lying against his chest, listening to his heart beat, and feeling the boat rock beneath them. God, if there was a piece of time she wanted to go back to...

She shook out her head. Useless thoughts. She was stuck here, in a world where she had lost the ability to do the most basic things she was capable of with a man who she was finding increasingly enigmatic by the second.

NOT TO MENTION.

She wasn't sure what the hell someone had to do to get basic information out of Nikolas Cassadine. Oh, he'd pour out his heart to her in excruciating detail one second -- but the next time she turned around, there would be chaos swarming to right itself everywhere she looked -- with no warming and no explanation. Things just seemed to happen. She was used to that -- Jason wasn't exactly without influence -- But it had been two days since Nikolas's fit over her arm. In two days he'd muzzled Edward Quartermaine. Jason hadn't been able to do that in two years.

She felt her blood rush up to her head. Again. It kept doing that. Trying to convince her that this was some sort of proof. That he was different. He was safe. He would be that Knight in White Satin she'd been looking for.

Except no, except how, except what the hell was going ON? Why did he do this? Let her sweat about facing the Q's and then announce he wasn't leaving her alone only seconds before she had to ring the doorbell? Why did he get to be the person who knew what was going on? She didn't like it. That closed off, unreadable side of him. Like right now -- where what she saw was probably violently different from what was going on inside. He felt like a stranger. Probably because he was one.

Not that she could get too bitchy about withholding. Turnabout, fair play, blah blah blah. But it was all there, inside her. Battling in the silence while she waited for her son. To hope or not to hope. To believe in him, or to run screaming in the other direction.

OR. To take advantage of Nikolas's not-crazy status and just get through this afternoon. Because no matter what she thought of him, she knew she could rely on him for the next four hours. Right now, that was all that really mattered.

"What happens now?" she asked, her voice flat, and unfeeling. Nikolas glanced up from across the garden.

"That's your call."

Interesting theory. She shrugged.

"Well. Are you here -- is that what's happening?"

"No. Yes -- I'm here. I'm not necessarily here."

They stared at each other. That was happening a lot.

"What --"

"I don't want --" He stopped short, and glanced towards the entrance to the garden, then turned and crossed towards her, speaking in a lowered voice once he was standing in front of her. "I don't like the idea of Michael associating me with the end of the visit. I don't want to be the person who comes in and takes you away from him." He searched her eyes a moment, then brought in his breath. "Assuming you want me to associate with him at all."

Big questions. Carly forced herself to remain perfectly still while what he was saying sunk in. What the hell did she want? -- A visit free of the ending she got last time. That was key. The rest... The rest made her head hurt.

"You're suggesting something."

"He has to get used to us," Nikolas murmured. "He shouldn't feel like we're separate from him."

She felt a sharp lump in her throat and nodded.

"I need some time alone with him."

"I know," he nodded. "I thought I could stay for the first hour. It things get rocky... I can get out of his sight. But I'm not leaving you alone here. I'll stay within shouting distance."

And there is was. When he spoke, he managed to say something close to 'the right thing'. He seemed to just know what to do where Michael was concerned. She cocked her head to one side, and let herself contemplate the extreme, a moment. That it was all an act -- that Nikolas, rather than being the emotive, reliable, sweet man she'd been spending all this time with, he was actually a cold, calculating sociopath.

She smiled slightly. Not possible.

"How loud do I have to shout?"

He looked momentarily thrown by the question. She'd forgotten that look. So much time, trying not to look directly at him. She could startle him with one off-the-cuff comment. She'd always been able to. She watched him pull in his breath, a smile fighting it's way onto his face.

"You can whisper."

She felt a twinge in her stomach. For a second there it had felt normal... And then those three little words popped into her head again. It wasn't so bad, though, was it? Look at him. Look at that smile...

She realized she was smiling back. And he looked like he was about to burst with... something. His hand tightened into a fist, and she frowned at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist -- pulling him towards her.

"Here --" she scooted over to the edge of the bench. "Sit down."

You can make decisions incredibly quickly in life. They were proof of that, from beginning to end. And as he sat down beside her, she felt a wave of remorse. She'd nearly walked out on him that morning, in an attack of panic. She'd tried to pretend he wasn't already deeply immersed in her life. That there was still some way to untangle herself, to stand apart from him. She'd tried to do that every way she knew how, in the past week. It was a pointless enterprise. Michael had met him. Michael had been asked to accept him as a part of their life. She'd agreed to accept his help, his support and his influence. As uncertain as she was of all of this, she suddenly realized how deeply stuck with it she was. For a million reasons -- the first one being the fact that she wanted him here, on this bench beside her. That she was reaching out, even in her complete confusion, for something in him that just made her feel better. She realized, right then, that she wasn't going to stop doing that.

His hand opened and she slid hers into it. They sat there in silence until she heard voices. Her body tensed with anticipation, and she gripped Nikolas's hand harder.

"Mama!"

The word leapt out of her son before he was even at the door to the garden. He dropped the hand of Chris The Social Worker, and ran across the lawn towards her, face bright and cheerful.

Then he stopped. He'd noticed Nikolas.

And the ache was back. The guilt, and fear, the deep feeling of maternal inadequacy. Michael looked at Nikolas warily, then back at his mother.

"Aren't you staying?"

Thump thump. Thump thump. Her mouth was dry. She knew she should stand up, she should pull herself away from Nikolas. But instead, her hand held his possessively and she struggled to come up with a response.

"Of course," she managed finally. "I'm here until dinner -- You know that."

Her son was still looking at her husband with uncertainty, and what Nikolas had said about timing was taking on the scope of great wisdom.

"You weren't that one time."

She looked blank for a minute, then suddenly broke out in a smile of relief. That wasn't about Nikolas. "That was just that one time," she reassured. She pulled her hand free, and reached it out to her son. "Come here. Give Mama a hug."

Michael looked suddenly relaxed again. He ran the short distance towards her, launching himself at her so that she had to catch him and pull him up into her lap. Carly hugged him to her, fiercely. "Boy, did I miss you," she sighed, holding him. The same things -- same feelings, same words -- always came out of her when she was finally in her son's presence again. This time she felt a twinge, as she spoke. It was true -- it was always true. She'd missed him more than she could explain. But she felt cold at the idea of Michael having seen her, this past week. She closed her eyes, and felt her head spin. No. No time for that.

She set Michael down on the grass again, and acknowledged Chris in a cursory way, as the woman crossed to sit down on a perpendicular bench. From there, things fell into a routine of manners. Something in her knew how to be with Michael -- would go into it on automatic, particularly when she was at her worst. But today she felt very aware of how close to the surface she was dwelling. It took some encouragement, but Michael said hello to Nikolas. In fact, the look he was giving his stepfather was closer to confused curiosity than it was to blind hatred. However, once he was done evaluating this strange person who was suddenly accessorizing his mother, he proceeded to totally ignore him.

Carly had no real idea what to do about that. It made her feel even more shaky. Damn it, she wanted to have an answer. To suck it all up and do the right thing, the adult, proper, motherly thing. But she had no idea what that was, so she ended up sitting on the grass with Michael, while he talked excitedly about the past week -- leaping from topic to topic, leading her to think, hazily, that he must have had a lot of sugar very recently. But he seemed happier. She tried to comfort herself with that.

"And you know what?" he was continuing. "I learned a new trick!"

Tricks -- and you discovered this very soon after meeting him -- had become a big deal with Michael. Carly had probably started it herself -- you had to be inventive, to entertain a three year old for four straight hours every week -- but Michael had run with it. It was the reason he'd taken to Nikolas so quickly, before all that other pollution had shown up to complicate matters.

"A new trick?" she asked, fulfilling her part of the script. "What's that?"

"This!" Michael turned from her, and bent himself in half with no other prelude. He put his head and hands on the ground. Then, with some effort and grunting, he pushed off with his chubby little legs, and flipped himself, head over heels, across the lawn. It was an unpolished attempt, and he landed so that he was sitting on her knees. He turned back to Carly with a look of accomplishment on his face. "I can do a somersault!"

"You can," she responding, feeling a surprising lump in her throat. She wondered who had taught him to do that. Michael's smile faltered, and she saw a look of deep worry "Mama?"

"That was very good," Nikolas spoke up from behind them. Carly twisted to look around at him. He was still sitting on the bench, leaning forward, elbows on knees. His eyes were on her son. "When did you learn that?"

Michael looked from Carly, then back to Nikolas. "Yesterday," he reported, with some recalcitrance.

"You didn't tip over. That's hard to do."

This was something that Michael seemed to relate to deeply, and he gave a solemn nod. "I used to do that, but now I know how to do it right." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Can YOU do a somersault?"

Nikolas gave a slight smile, and Carly couldn't help but wonder if Michael was seriously going to get him to flip himself over in the grass.

"I'm better at handstands."

Michael frowned. "What's that?"

Nikolas sighed, then looked over at Carly. She found herself smiling very slightly. "Hey, you brought it up."

"It's this," he said, rising to his feet. He put his hands up, then lowered them again, and looked at Michael confidentially. "I haven't done this in a long time, so give me some room, Ok?"

Michael backed up towards his mother, and Carly wound a protective hand around his waist, watching Nikolas with interest. How the hell did he do this, anyway? She caught him grimace, just before throwing himself at the ground.

He made it look easy -- but then, that's what Nikolas did. Struggled with his balance a moment, then managed to still himself -- gritting his teeth -- and holding the position. His polo shirt slipping down his stomach, and gathering by his chest. Carly averted her eyes, momentarily thrown by the sight of him, and distinctly noticed Chris raise her brow. Bitch, she thought, darkly. She glanced back in time to see him take three unsteady 'steps' with his hands. Then he kicked backwards, and came down onto his feet again, crouching on the grass.

"Ok," he said with a tinge of embarrassment. "That's it."

Michael was in awe. "Can you teach me?"

"Sure," Nikolas said, crawling a few steps and collapsing on the grass beside him. "You keep working on the somersault, then when you get really good at it, you can learn something else," he paused, looking up at Carly. "If your mother thinks it's Okay."

"Mama will think about it," she said dryly, before realizing that this was the first time someone had talked to her like she made decisions about what Michael did. She felt herself flush.

"Michael," Nikolas was speaking to the child with a soft and gentle voice. "You think that's good, you should see what your mother can do."

Carly let out a sputtering laugh of shock. How the hell did he know? She was trying to remember if she'd told him anything when he explained himself.

"She was a cheerleader --

"For about five minutes!" Carly protested. Damn. That question game, he'd weaseled it out of her then. "And only because I'd been doing gymnastics since I was five!"

"You can do a somersault?" Michael was looking very excited now. "Show me! Show me!"

She shot Nikolas a look, and he gave her a challenging look. "Come on," he prompted. "Show us what you can do."

She stared at him a moment, then felt a flutter in her stomach. It was happening again -- that weird sensation of being normal.

"Okay," she said slowly, picking herself up. "Okay -- " she pointed a finger at Michael. "But Mama practiced for years to do this. It took a long time. And you better back up."

Michael just looked confused, but Nikolas started to move back towards the bench. "Let's give her room."

Michael followed, eyes still on his mother as she moved across the garden to a section of lawn that gave her a bit of space to show off. She looked over at Michael, who's eyes were wide in anticipation, and gave him a wink. Then she turned her eyes to the opposite hedge, lowered her head determinedly, and took a few steps.

Her body still knew how to do it. Automatically, like it was something she did as regularly as breathing. Her hands went down, pushing her back up into the air, back arched, flipping her over without thought -- back flip into a round-off, into a handless cartwheel. She landed on her feet, arms flying out into the automatic posture of a gymnast landing any jump. She felt breathless and exhilarated. God, it had been a long time since she'd done that.

Nikolas started to clap. Slowly, but firmly. She turned around to see him smiling at her. Michael was still looking at his mother like he'd just found out she was a sorceress. Then he broke out into the biggest, most delighted grin Carly had ever seen on him. He started to clap wildly, bursting with pride at his mother's display. Carly walked back towards him, feeling a little bit like Superwoman, herself.

Bobbie stood, one foot on the ground, the other on the bottom step that moved up to the house her daughter was now living in. She couldn't believe she was here. It was ridiculous. It wasn't even half-past five. Carly wasn't home -- she was at the mansion. Nikolas, most likely, was with her. She knew this. But she'd left so many messages on Nikolas damnable cell phone -- she was ready to force feed him that thing -- that the box was full. Lucas was so sick of her over-mothering that they'd had a twenty minute screaming match that afternoon over a hand-print. He'd stormed off to friends, and she'd finally given in to her fate. Standing on her daughter's porch, ready to ambush her the moment she got home.

With a huff of frustration, she threw herself down onto the steps. She'd worked her way, in the last twenty-four hours, from panic (what is she doing, what is she doing?) to fury (I TOLD Nikolas to get her to that appointment, I warned him about that specifically!) and now, finally, her final act: Despair.

It figured, she thought, sinking into a pool of self-pity. She should know better than to think, ever, that she had anything under control. At work? Oh, sure. There she knew her place in the universe, she knew how to keep everything afloat. But as a nurse, she knew that you could never depend on other people to fall into line. You couldn't expect them to heal because they needed more beds, or stay alive because it was so much more pleasant to give good news than bad. Why couldn't she ever translate those life-lessons to her own life?

She'd been feeling just a little self-satisfied lately. In a help-my-life-is-coming-apart-at-the-seams sort of way. All right, yes -- her daughter was in trouble. Her grandson was in the hands of the town lunatics. It was all far from perfect. But she was handling it -- single-handedly. Frankly, she'd been feeling a tiny bit proud of herself.

And here was the fall. Carly was completely out of her hands, and as much as she adored Nikolas, she just didn't know if he was ready to handle what her daughter was no doubt throwing at him. Hell, half the time she wasn't ready for it either.

God, did she hate this. Nurses do not do well with impotence, she thought, dryly. She knew she should go home. But this was too much. Carly couldn't miss appointments with Gail. Nikolas could not seem to keep his damned phone on. She knew it was a bad time, she knew everything was happening at once -- but she was about as capable of turning around and going back home as she was of suddenly sprouting wings. Nope -- there was an incredibly good chance that she was just going to sit here until Nikolas and Carly came home. She sighed, leaning back on the stairs, her elbows propping her up. At least, she sighed to herself, she wasn't the most controlling and interfering parent on this beat.

As if on cue, the door behind her opened. Bobbie started, suddenly on her feet, and turned to see a familiar dark figure standing in the doorway. She rolled her eyes, then let her purse drop to her feet.

"Well, well, Stefan. Fancy meeting you here."

Nikolas's brain was not cooperating with him. It wasn't a new experience, but today it was particularly frustrating. He was standing on the patio outside the Quartermaine living room, watching the Rose Garden and stewing. Obsessing over tiny things that he shouldn't be giving any thought. He kept trying to empty his mind, but every time he felt himself start to succeed a sound would travel from the Rose Garden -- usually Michael's laughter -- and would drag him back to his current misery.

He'd left Michael and Carly still playing gymnast. She'd looked happy. For the first time since.... Well. The ball. Before the ball -- she's looked happy. She'd smiled at him. He wasn't certain there was a scientific explanation for what that smile did to him. He'd managed not to fall on his knees in front of her -- that was a start, at least. He could hold onto some sense of decorum. He'd wanted to freeze that moment. And -- yes -- he'd wanted to kiss her. He couldn't get that out of his head. It was absolutely ridiculous to feel like this about a woman he was married to. But God, it was going to kill him.

And if it did -- then leaving at the end of that hour was determined to gut him first. He didn't like this feeling. This feeling of being on the outside of something. He'd hated it last week when he'd been out of earshot -- but this was a thousand times worse. His banishment was self-imposed, and in a way, self serving. He was giving Michael a chance to adjust. To deal with the right turn his life was taking. And this was the way it would always be -- Carly & Michael were the unit. He existed some place adjacent to it. Close, but apart. And respecting that was The Right Thing To Do. It was what was Best For the Child.

He felt like hell.

He turned his cell phone around in his hand, staring at the memory buttons just under the display. He'd already tried to call Lucky, but he'd gotten voice mail. Which meant he should put the phone away.

He knew this. He had a lot of experience with masochistic behavior. He knew it didn't serve him.

But God, he wanted to do it anyway.

Another giggle -- following a high pitched squeal -- hit his ears and Nikolas swore under his breath. Never let it be said that he was a smart man. Well educated, maybe, but when it came down to the basics? Willfully dumb as a post. He turned on the phone and keyed in the memorized number.

He held his breath while it rang. Four scenarios to chose from, two of which he'd avoided at all costs, under normal circumstances. But he hadn't spoken to his sister since his marriage. His need to hear her voice had suddenly hit it's fever pitch.

"Spencer," a gruff voice answered the phone and Nikolas felt himself go still. Scenario C.

"I'm calling for Lesley Lu."

Moment's silence, then a low chuckle.

"Prince Charming! Finally made it through the forest of thorns, huh?"

Nikolas stared hard at the high hedge that blocked his view of the garden.

"How's Cinderella?" Luke continued -- there was a malice in his voice that was overt, even for him. Nikolas wondered absently if Laura was within earshot.

"Recovering from your latest ambush."

"Yeah? And how are those battle scars of hers healing?"

Ah ha. All is revealed.

"Is my sister there."

"You want me out of your business, Nikky-boy," Luke continued, unabated. "You better keep a closer eye on your wife --"

"You don't want your toys broken," Nikolas cut him off. "I know. I have the trach scar to prove it."

"Nice to see your long-term memory's intact, kiddo. Along with everything else I didn't let drop off that mountain."

Nikolas forced himself to count to five before saying "I assume Lesley Lu isn't home."

"Out with her mother."

"Tell her I called."

"You lay one hand on her, Cassadine, it's the end of this little repartee of ours. Understand that."

Nikolas's thoughts tended to move like sludge in situations like this. It was hard to think fast when your entire being was shutting down on you. But he knew what Luke was saying. Maybe Lucky had enlightened him to the bruise's origins -- maybe not. Either way, Luke seemed to be holding him responsible, and the arrangement surrounding Lulu was always tenuous at best. Luke would love any excuse to try to revoke it.

"Carly is where she wants to be."

He wasn't sure if that was a lie or not.

"No accounting for taste."

Nikolas sighed. "Can't be much worse than my mother's."

He hung up before Luke responded, though he knew it would only warrant a chuckle. Luke tended to find Nikolas's bitter streak amusing. That was the cycle. Belittled, mocked, tolerated, threatened. The fun just never stops.

It was still better than having to talk to Laura.

There was no comparing. It was like magic -- like some kind of spark of something that made everything else vanish. Michael was ebullient. He was happy, and laughing, and talking a mile a minute. He was rubbing off on her, too. Carly couldn't stop smiling -- couldn't stop marveling. Like everything was wonderful. Like it had never been anything else. And his energy was boundless. Even for him.

He was turning the pages of his storybook before the words were read, and she had to keep telling him to slow down. It was a new book -- The Paper Bag Princess -- and he seemed to be very enthusiastic about it. She read about the princess's house being burned up, and her prince being carried away by the dragon. She read about the princess tricking the dragon out of his lair. By the time she got to the princess saving the prince, Michael looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin.

"Look!" he jammed his finger at the picture after Carly had reached the last page. "She's dancing."

Carly nodded, studying the illustration of the princess prancing off into the sunset.

"She's happy."

"Know what?" Michael turned his head around to look at her.

"What?"

"Emily says that's cause she didn't have to get married."

There was a sinking feeling in Carly's stomach.

"Uh huh."

"Because the prince wasn't very nice."

"No," she agreed. "He wasn't."

"But she says that Nikolas is nice."

The knot in her stomach loosened. "He is. Don't you think he is?"

Michael nodded. "Mama?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He twisted around in her lap to face her, speaking in a whisper.

"Mama, I want... I want you to live here."

"I know, honey."

"Daddy says you can't."

"That's right."

"But Nikolas could come too," he looked up at her, hopefully. "That would be Okay."

God Damn it.

"I don't think there's enough room for all of us."

"Yeah, there is!" he protested, trying to stand up while still in her lap. "There's a LOTS of rooms."

"Michael," she took a breath. "Sometimes, as much as people might want to do something, they just can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she'd always hated that answer when she was a kid, but now she understood why her mother had been reduced to it. "That's just how things are."

Michael's lower lip was protruding dangerously and Carly knew it meant he was about to cry.

"But that's not FAIR!"

"I know," she blinked back her own tears. "It's not because I don't want to be with you, Michael. Okay? It's not because I married Nikolas, either."

"Michael," Chris spoke up from her place on the bench. "Maybe one day, if you're very patient, you can go visit your mother and Nikolas where they live."

Carly didn't know exactly when it had started, but an argument could definitely be made -- that she was living a life that anyone could pick up and toss around at will. In her lap, Michael's eyes grew large.

"Really?"

Chris raised an eyebrow at Carly, then continued scribbling in her notebook. There was a very small smile on her lips.

"Can I?" Michael was nearly jumping up and down on her legs now, "Can I come see you?"

She's evil, Carly thought, her brain buzzing, "Michael," she managed. "Baby, shhh!" A whole new brand of evil. "Calm down."

"But I wanna see where you live!"

"I know, I know you do," she took a breath. Shit! What the hell was the right thing to say now? "Daddy might not like it though."

Michael's face fell. Ball successfully passed. Anyone got some cyanide?

"What if I say please?"

Oh, God!

"Honey, it's not that simple."

"But I'll be good. I'll be real good -- I promise."

Carly wrapped her arms around him, gathering him against her. She kissed the top of his head.

"You don't have to be good. You just have to be Michael, Okay?"

"Then can I come visit?"

Carly closed her eyes, wondering if Nikolas's Quartermaine Whispering could get them to help her hide Chris's body. There were no good answers to these questions. Nothing that wasn't going to get back to the Q's. Emily had been fielding marriage questions all week. Michael was THREE -- This and Blues Clues -- This was his life. It wasn't reasonable to ask him not to talk about this -- it wasn't POSSIBLE to ask him not to talk about it. But what the hell was it going to mean if he did?

She let her eyes close, and held him tighter. "Mama will work on it," she said, in a strained voice. "We'll see."

The screen door made a sharp, determined sound, like it was announcing an arrival, after Stefan had stepped through it.

"Barbara," he said her name in a way that immediately made Bobbie feel ill. It was cold. There was nothing ingratiating about it. As crazy as Stefan had driven her, the last few weeks, she'd found some comfort in the fact that he was trying to play her. After all, that meant he was at least trying to make inroads where Carly was concerned. She didn't like the change in tone -- it had to mean something. It had to mean something had happened.

"Nikolas and Carly are not home," he said flatly, coming down the stairs.

"I know," Bobbie frowned at him.

"Are they expecting you?"

"No," she nodded towards the house. "What about you? Doing some light cleaning? Or did the plants need to be glowered at."

"Would you like to leave a message with the staff?" He ignored the jab.

"I'd like to speak to them myself."

A slight flicker of annoyance. "I wasn't aware that Carly had renewed contact."

Bobbie's face heated. Damn him. "I think Carly and I are probably just about as warm and fuzzy as you and Nikolas," she said with false and unconvincing cheer. "Maybe it's time for another family dinner! God knows, you look like you have a lot to celebrate."

His scowl deepened. Again, Bobbie felt a pang of worry. If Stefan was being this overtly pissy, something must have gone really really wrong.

"Why are you staking out your daughter's home at a time when you know she is not to be found here?"

"I need to talk to her about something," Bobbie shot back. "And at least I'm not breaking and entering."

His jaw tightened. What the hell? Bobbie actually took a step towards him, in a momentary attack of concern. "Stefan?"

He nodded up toward the sky, which had been steadily darkening all afternoon. "You may stay here, if you wish. Certainly, until the clouds burst. It makes no difference to me."

She shook her head, too distracted by his manner to really give a damn about the cloud cover. Something was wrong...

"Ok, I give," she said, suddenly. "If you're not going to play straight, then I will. What the hell is going on? Why do you look like you're about to burn something down?"

His eyes narrowed, slightly, then he turned his head away from her.

"Perhaps it's time for you to be honest with me, Barbara, Before you start demanding it of me."

Emily was really coming to hate Saturdays. Tennis was proving to be too short a game. She was going to take up golf, she thought, as she shifted from foot to foot just inside the doorway to the living room. That was the ticket. No more of this hit the ball, return the ball stuff. What she needed was to lose the ball entirely.

Nik was standing on the terrace. His back to her, looking out at the lawn and -- no doubt -- wherever Carly was. That was pretty hard to watch... She'd seen some of it from a distance at the Nurse's Ball. How completely captivated he was. He looked at her like he thought she was a mirage that would vanish if he dared to look away. As crazy as she'd been about Nikolas, as stubborn and long lasting as this stupid crush was -- this whole thing was hard to argue with. It was posted on him like a neon sign. The boy was in love.

She really wished she was the type of person who could be happy for him. And barring that, she wished she could just hate his guts. But she was Emily Quartermaine. Doomed to walk the geographic middle of any problem that came along.

She shifted her weight turning her body half away from the French doors and looking forlornly off towards the foyer. Come on -- she tried to coax herself. Go upstairs. Read a book! Watch some TV. Act like a teenager, for God's sake.

Her body snapped back towards him like it was magnetized. No debate today. She wouldn't be able to sit in the house without doing this. She was just programmed for it. Pulling in a deep breath, she put her head down, and crossed the living room towards him.

He snapped out of whatever reverie had been engaging him, and turned around at the snick of the terrace doors closing. He looked momentarily surprised to see her, then confused. Yep. This was a mistake. Her arms wound their way protectively across her chest, and she leaned back against the door.

"I don't even rate a hello anymore, huh?"

To her credit or detriment -- she managed to sound bored. He looked immediately wary.

"I didn't think you'd want one," he said, finally. "Hello."

He needed to get a new voice, she thought, tightening her grip on herself. Or maybe just a lisp. God, couldn't he have the decency to be even marginally less attractive in her presence? She shook her head, hard, then focused her eyes on the ground.

"I unofficially heard about yesterday."

"Unofficially."

She nodded. "No one in this house can keep a secret. Or their voices down."

There was a long silence. She heard him shift his weight, and looked up at him. He held her eyes (bastard) for a moment before speaking.

"It was business."

"It really wasn't."

He put his hands in to his pockets. "What do you want me to say, Emily?"

Sharp pang in her chest. She studied his expression unapologetically. She never would have been brave enough to do that before the last couple of weeks. Look straight into his eyes and try to figure out just what the hell went on in there. He was looking blank -- it was a look she knew, because she'd seen him use it before. He did that when he didn't like the conversation -- or the person he was having it with. He did it when he was keeping something to himself. And Nikolas kept so God Damned much to himself. She could remember back when he was actually dating Robin. She'd been seeing a boy from school, and trying to convince herself that she and Nikolas were finally just friends. But she couldn't stop asking him about Robin. Every time they saw each other -- Hey, how's Robin? -- and his answer had always hurt. More than that, it was the way he'd almost seem to pull himself back from her at the mention of his girlfriend's name. Then he'd answer the question with formal politeness, like Emily was someone he had only just met. That was the kind of private he was. What went on inside him was his and he didn't share it.

But she'd bet anything he would share it with Carly.

"We're not friends anymore..." The words tumbled out of her mouth with a distracted, unreal quality. "Are we?"

It wasn't a question. But it wasn't a statement of fact, either. She didn't know what it was. She watched it hit Nikolas, though, and his eyes suddenly dove toward the flagstones.

"That's up to you."

She spit out a derisive laugh. "Nothing where you're concerned is up to me," her face contorted, and she bit her lip hard. She should shut up. She added that thought to the long list of things she should be doing, instead of having this conversation. "I don't know what your definition of friendship is, Nikolas," she continued, bitterly. "Since the beginning of this --" she indicated the space between then with her index finger, "I always felt like I could tell you anything. Well -- almost. Because you listen and you never say anything stupid. You never made me feel dumb, or pointless," her voice cracked, suddenly and without permission. "But you never made me feel important, either."

He looked up, and Emily felt herself go cold.

"Look," her voice wasn't cooperating at all, traveling up and down octaves while she tried to get her words out. "I know it's not your fault, and you're probably just trying to do what you think you have to do --"

"Emily --"

"No!" she put up a hand. God forbid he actually stop her from making a fool out of herself. "I know Carly's, like... the axis of your world now. But you shouldn't have pretended that you weren't here about Michael that day. You shouldn't have let me think that was about me."

He shook his head. "I wanted to see you, Emily --"

"Oh, come on, Nikolas!" she said with exasperation. "I'm not a kid anymore. I know you wanted to see me -- I know when you said you'd call, you meant it. But there's never been any indication that you remember my EXISTENCE when I'm not standing right in front of you. That's how it always goes. It's how it would have gone that time, too."

He didn't say anything that time. Just looked at her with enough of a hint of guilt that she knew he recognized what she was saying. She put one hand up to shield her eyes.

"I don't know what I'm saying this for," she let out her breath in a few quick bursts. "I don't mean to you what you mean to me." She dropped her hand and looked across at him. Something seemed to flicker across his face, and then vanished. He kept looking at her, but there was something tight and removed about him. She let out a quick laugh, and put her hands out to him. "I don't know why I was surprised you didn't tell me about you and Carly. Because you never really confided in me. I hope you knew you could have. Anytime -- I would have listened to you." Deep breath. "But I can't keep offering parts of myself to someone who isn't interested, and I really can't do it to someone who's at war with my family."

She could see him go cold. She could see the shutters come down over his eyes, the sense of any connection of ability to understand him just get sucked up.

"So. We're not friends anymore."

"I don't know what we are," she spat out, directing her anger at no one in particular. She wasn't sure who she hated more at the moment -- Nikolas, or herself. "I just know that I love my nephew, and --" She stopped suddenly, pressing her lips together.

"Carly loves him, too."

"I know," she said, hoarsely. "And he loves her. And... this is wrong," she gestured weakly at the Rose Garden. "But AJ's his father. And if this happened to him?" she finally found the strength to look at him. "That would be wrong, too."

She might as well been looking at a brick wall. It felt ridiculous to be standing here in front of him, on the verge of tears, practically pulsating with heartbreak and unrequited devotion while he looked like he was waiting for a bus.

"I'll do what I have to do, that's all," he said, finally. Emily's brow creased while she struggled to find the line between what he actually meant by that, and what she no doubt hoped he meant.

"I know," she said finally. "So will we."

He nodded slightly, then looked down at his watch.

"It's six o'clock," he said without intonation. "It's time to go."

*** The Paperbag Princess is a children's book by Robert Munsch