Chapter Fifty-Eight:
Penitence

"O-kaaaaay... " Carly was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling over the bed. Her damp hair was spread across the bedspread, the rest of her wrapped in a towel, having just emerged from what was, without doubt, one of the top ten best showers of her life thus far. She was feeling warm, relaxed, and far more happy than she had right to. "I have to ask."

"What?"

She drew in her breath, finding the energy to raise herself up on her elbows, casting her eyes towards where Nikolas was standing. She paused a moment to appreciate the sight of him -- shirtless, drying his hair with a towel. Waited until her raised his head and looked at her inquiringly.

"Why did you make the bed?"

He let out a quick laugh. "I don't know," he tossed the towel onto a chair. "Impulse."

"Don't you usually have people who do that for you? Like elves?"

"They weren't invited."

"How do you even know how to make a bed?"

Nikolas shot her a look. "It's not rocket science."

"I know," she dropped back onto the mattress. "But why did you even bother to learn?"

"Because... When everyone always does basic chores for you, then don't feel like work. It's not something you have to do -- it's something you want to do."

"My mother would have loved you," Carly said absently, smoothing her hand over the knit of the blanket. "Do you like to do dishes, too?"

"No. The novelty wears off pretty fast." Nikolas passed by the bed, tossing a brown paper bag onto the mattress next to her. "I don't really cook, either. Here."

"I'm not hungry."

He smiled, a distinct glint in his eye. "That's not possible."

Carly sighed, sitting up, finally, and picked up the bag and opened it, looking at the contents impassively. She pulled out the small bottle of orange juice, and tossed the rest aside. She hadn't really given breakfast much thought. Nikolas had gone out for food last night. They'd eaten Chinese take-out on the porch, soaking up the fresh air and each other. Barely said a word -- settled into an Adirondack deck chair together. She'd leaned back against him, looking up at the stars above the tree tops -- the sky had been a rich deep navy blue. No light pollution. She had felt blissfully used up. Relaxed, warm, quiet. At home. She smiled to herself at the thought. It was moments like those that were really changing things. She'd shared so much silence with him, that she felt able to share conversation again. No matter how inane.

"Hey," she lay back on the bed, playing absently with the OJ bottle. "I have another question. Why don't you drink coffee?"

"I don't like it."

She watched the orange liquid run around in front of her eyes. "You don't drink coffee for the taste sensation... Well -- maybe you do. But that's only when you've gotten so bad you have to take decaf like methadone. You drink it because it has caffeine."

His voice was muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I don't like caffeine."

"That's just unnatural."

"It's an idiosyncrasy. Speaking of things unnatural," his eyes raked over her as he tucked in his shirt. "Are you going to get dressed?"

She gave a heavy sigh and rolled over onto her side. "I have no clothes," she pouted.

"You have clothes."

"No. I have one pair of very dirty jeans -- and whatever shirt my kind and considerate husband is willing to toss my way. Because, see -- he has clothes. He could pack."

"We'll get you clothes."

"Promises, promises."

"You're the one who insisted we spend yesterday in bed," he reached out picking up the bag off the bed. He opened it with his eyes on hers, and pulled out the incredibly unimpressive bagel and cream cheese, and thrust it towards her. "Eat."

She gave him a dirty look before taking it. "Eat. Get dressed. You're demanding today."

"Just today?"

She half-rolled her eyes, and sought the end of the Saran wrap. "What is with you and the food thing?"

"I don't have a food thing," he dropped down onto the bed next to her, depositing a balled up shirt in her lap. "I eat like a normal person."

"Good for you," she wagged her head back and forth as she unwrapped the sandwich. Obviously catch as catch can. The bagel looked like a distant relative of Styrofoam. She made a face. "How old is this?"

He leaned closer to her, studying the bagel over her shoulder. "I didn't ask." His breath brushed over her bare shoulder. She shivered. Couldn't help it -- it was reflex.

"Nikolas," She turned to say something to him, but it died in her throat. He was close -- much closer than she'd realized, and she lost her train of thought. Forget it. She let the sandwich drop, her hands reaching up to cup his face, and pull his mouth down on hers. For all his insistence about what she had to do today, he didn't put up much of a fight. In fact, when she came up for air, he had twisted her around on the bed and pulled her into his lap. Oh hell. How had she kept him at arm's length for so long?

"We're never getting out of here," she laughed, breathlessly.

"Have to. I promised you shopping."

She couldn't help but grin. Like an idiot. "That's the plan for today? We spent yesterday doing unspeakable things to each other, and today we're going shopping? You really do know how to show a girl a good time." She leaned over and stole a series of quick kiss. "Seriously. You could get a commendation."

She felt him smile against her lips. "You can't live in tank tops and jeans forever."

"Try me," She sighed, pulling back. She looked around, disoriented, and spotted the faux-bagel lying on the floor, cheese side down. "I lost my breakfast."

"If you'd get dressed we could go out and hunt down real food," he pressed a kiss to her neck. "Including coffee."

"Ok. Ok. You win." She let herself sink into another sweet, romantic kiss, before crawling away from him. She grabbed the shirt he'd bestowed on her, and tried to make sense out of it. She really DID need clothes. It was getting kind of gross, actually. A good reason to avoid getting dressed the day before -- she'd had to wash her unmentionables in the sink their first night -- and there was no describing the filth of the clothes that Nikolas had divested her of in the store front. Dust and water mixed a little too well.

She put her arms into the oversized sleeves of his shirt... She liked his clothes. Besides the fact that they were all made of incredible material, they usually smelled distantly of him. They felt warm in a really good way. And God, she was grinning again. This had to stop.

In, oh, say... a decade or so.

She fastened several of the buttons, and stood up, letting her towel fall as she started across the floor. "What did you do with my jeans?"

"What did I do with them?" She could hear the frown in his voice.

"Yeah," Carly turned back to him, hand on her hip. "I clearly remember not being the person who got rid of them... Ah ha!" She located them in a heap in the corner by the door. "Ok. Give me five."

With that, she tossed the jeans over her shoulder and vanished into the bathroom.

At the sound of the door closing, Nikolas let himself drop back onto the bed. He let out a slow breath, covering his face with his hands. His head was swimming. Again.

He had too many things to think about. So many, in fact, that he wasn't really succeeding in thinking about any of them. Eat. Get dressed -- that was about it for his cerebral range today. And to think, a few weeks ago, he was maudlin about the lack of excitement in his life. The feeling of drifting through his world without any particular direction or purpose. He had that angst beat. Now he had all sorts of new angst to contend with.

Any sane person would be enjoying themselves right now. He was miles away from most of his concerns -- Work, family, so-called friends. He'd done this to get Carly away from everything that was overwhelming her. To give her a break. And, frankly, because he was sick of balancing the demands made on him by others with the demands he made on himself. So it was passive aggressive. So he was going to pay for it in spades when he got home. He knew his priorities. He knew what came in first.

It felt clear when he laid it all out for himself like that. But when it came down to what he was feeling, locked in this small cabin with her, he couldn't have been more muddled.

It went like this. Some practical element would appear before him. Something he knew they had to talk about, to deal with. And something in him would go reeling off into this nebulous land of abstract. Where everything was feeling. Messy, uncensored and unreasonable feelings. These rushes of joy when she was close to him, accompanying by stomach clenching waves of gratitude that this was happening to him. Finally... it had never mattered more, and he'd never been this close to having what he wanted. Really having everything that he'd longed for, as long as he'd walked this earth. He was, right now, inches away from attaining the unattainable. He could feel it. In her touch, her smile -- the things she said to him. The way she said them. How she'd look deep into his eyes every time she said something 'important'. Something she wanted to make sure that he understood. He'd feel this twinge -- this weakening through his whole body -- and know... in that second...

She was falling for him.

Which would send him straight back into rushes of joy and gratitude. Lather, rinse repeat.

This was treacherously close to perfect. Fine -- minefields everywhere -- but he'd never considered any of them to be serious threats. He knew that the Quartermaines were not going to be a problem. He knew that eventually Carly would come to know that. In the same way she'd come to know how unshakable his feelings for her were. And if there had been any truth to Bobbie's accusation that he romanticized his wife's illness -- he'd lost that when he'd seen the bruise on the inside of her wrist. When he'd heard her reasoning for why it didn't matter. But he was determined to reinvent the world for her, and that was something else he just knew would happen. He allowed for no other possibility.

Everything beyond that got much more dangerous. He couldn't describe what went through him when he thought of some of things she'd said in the last few days. One thing in particular. One thing she'd said with her eyes bright, and the gears turning a mile-a-minute in her head. He'd seen the flashes of thought cross her face -- seen ideas collide. He knew she meant it -- that she really did think he was different.

Different. It brought up feelings he couldn't categorize and didn't want to look at. He'd wanted to embrace what she'd said to him. To hold onto it with both hands. This was something -- it was a start. It was what he'd wanted all along. It was something he'd tried to convince her of. And while reason knew exactly what she'd meant by it, something older and more stubborn snaked it's way around it, squeezing the promise from it. Distilling it to one soft hissing promise.

She's going to figure it out... She's going to see it... Unless you're careful. Unless you make every move just right.

Which was fine. If there was one thing Nikolas knew how to do, it was plan attacks. Make strategic moves. Of course -- his ability to do that relied entirely on his ability to keep emotional distance. And it was damned near impossible to do that with a woman who makes your head spin the way Carly made his from day one.

He let out a groan in the empty room, then forced himself to sit up. It will work out, he told himself firmly. Because there is no other acceptable alternative. You will make this work. You just will.

And you will start by turning on your link to the outside world and dealing with whatever's waiting to jump you this morning.

Jump was the operative word. Grabbing Carly's cell phone out of the bedside table proved to be the last simple maneuver of the day. The phone rang immediately -- nearly leapt out of Nikolas's hand the second he hit the power button. He felt himself being forcibly dragged back to earth and let his eyes close a second, swearing to himself before answering.

"What?" He said it with as much emotional fatigue as he could fit into one syllable. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and he leaned forward, draping his free arm over his knees. "Lucky."

"Sorry. I was reeling with shock. I thought the whole plan here with the phone meant I was supposed to be able to get ahold of you."

"I wanted a day off."

"You always tell me these things after the fact."

"It was an impulsive idea."

"Ah. Something new for you, then," Lucky muttered dryly. Nikolas frowned slightly. He didn't usually get accused of being impulsive. It wasn't something he minded. "I have news."

"Let's have it."

There was another long silence, some shuffling, before Lucky finally said, "Jason and Robin..."

Nikolas sighed. Great.

"... Their baby was born yesterday."

He stared blankly at the closed door to the bathroom. He could hear water running inside. Could feel the breeze from the open window blowing across his skin. Birds were singing, sun was still shinning. And his day had just got straight to hell. He ran his hand through his hair compulsively, before speaking.

"Do you have any details?"

"Yeah."

A beat.

"Can I have them?"

"It's your funeral," there was a distinct edge to the voice. "It's a girl. Paola -- after the birth mother's grandmother, apparently. Polly for short."

"I thought they'd name her after Robin's mother."

"Middle name."

There was a lengthy pause.

"You're kidding."

"Hey, I just report the news, I don't editorialize."

The door to the bathroom opened, and Carly appeared -- striking a pose against the door frame in her uniform of jeans and his shirt. She was cocked her head flirtatiously, looking much like she had all morning -- happy. His stomach clenched involuntary

She dropped her game when she noticed the phone and gave him a pained look before mouthing 'business?'

He managed to nod and shake his head at the same time, reaching a hand out to her. She smiled -- God, he was going to hate this -- as she nearly floated back over to him. Sinking against him, one knee on the bed, as she pressed her forehead against his. He sighed.

"Thanks," he said into the phone. "I needed to know this."

If Carly had any hint as to the topic at hand, she didn't show it. Instead she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and then moved away from him, reaching for her forgotten bottle of juice.

"I figured," Lucky was saying. "You going to tell her?"

Nikolas stood up without warning, extricating himself from his wife, and paced a few steps across the room. He turned back and looked at Carly, who was struggling with the bottle cap and giving him an odd look.

"Nikolas," Lucky prompted.

"No," he turned away again, exiting to the verandah. "I thought I'd wait for the next major city function."

"Bobbie made me promise to ask."

"That's all she made you promise to ask?"

"No. But if I told you the rest of the list, we'd be here all day."

"If I haven't said thank-you --"

"I'm not interested in your gratitude," Lucky said lightly. "I'm in this for your car."

He flinched. "Be good to it."

Lucky snorted. "You owe me beyond this absence," he clarified. "Your father's probably got the thing staked out."

"Is he making noise?"

"Not in my direction. Yet."

Nikolas struggled against a surge of irritation -- not at Lucky, but at the situation. And maybe he was overreacting -- maybe. It was also possible that his father would have taken this impromptu trip in stride. It was possible that he wouldn't have tried to manage it. It was possible that he was just using that to justify this passive-aggressive punishment he was throwing his way, now.

It was also possible that he'd take up knitting. You never knew.

"That it," he asked, his voice dead.

"All the news that's fit to print."

"All right," he straightened up, pulling in his breath. "Give Lulu a hug for me."

"Done."

The call ended. Nikolas clicked off the power button without investigating the messages. That could wait -- That had to be enough reality for one day.

"Who was it?"

Or maybe not.

He turned back to see Carly standing in the doorway, the glow that she'd been projecting had already dimmed. She was looking at him with demanding searching eyes, and her grip on the door jamb was tight enough to make her knuckles white. Nikolas steeled himself.

"Lucky," he admitted. She just stared at him, the look on her face letting him know in no uncertain terms that there was no point in trying to put this off. "There's something you have to know about."

"Every time I think I'm out, they pull me back in... "

Jason shut his cell phone and leaned back against the bricked wall of the hospital corridor. What the hell was he doing? He'd lost count, how many times he'd hit redial on the phone -- last half dozen times, he hadn't even let the thing ring. He hated answering machines -- and hers didn't even have her own voice on it. It was like hitting a smooth, crisp electronic wall. It made him angrier than he wanted it to. Probably because this is what he'd known would happen. The second he'd seen that ring on her finger, and the way she was holding on to his hand. He'd known he'd end up here.

He'd never given Nikolas Cassadine any thought before he'd ended up in the path of a stray bullet. No reason to. And while the kid had never thrown any anger his way about ending up on asphalt choking on his own blood -- never even raised his voice about it -- Jason didn't like him. Not because of the shooting -- he'd done what he could about that. He hadn't wanted it to happen. -- No, he didn't like Nikolas because... He just didn't like him. Nothing concrete, nothing the guy had ever said or done. One thing he could tell though. The feeling was mutual.

When Carly had suddenly shown up married to him, Jason hadn't liked that either. Real simple reasons, too. Cassadines were into ownership. Look around town, there was evidence of it everywhere you turned. And he'd been partners with Luke long enough to hear all the lore. Throw in his glimpse into the Cassadine-brain when Stefan had come at him after Nikolas's shooting -- he wasn't really surprised that Carly was suddenly untouchable. He was just pissed off about it.

He couldn't reach her. There was no venue -- he'd been trying. He could go to the house, but he had a feeling he'd get about as far as the docks, and then it would turn into a scene. She wouldn't return or answer his calls. IF they were getting through to her. He had a suspicion that any route he took to her was going to cut off by some to the death servant. And now, even if he got past all that, Carly wasn't on the island anymore. In fact, for the first time in recent memory, Jason had no idea where she was.

That was bugging the hell out of him. That was the truth of it. This had never happened before. Even when she'd been in Ferncliffe, at least he'd known where she was. There had been letters. If something had happened, he would know about it. And he'd had Michael. To clothe and feed and show pictures to. Do everything to keep his promise that Carly's son wouldn't forget her. His life had been the way Carly always liked it -- all about her. Whether she was there or not.

He cast his eyes down to his watch. He'd barely slept this past week and hadn't made it to bed at all. The deprivation left him feeling raw and mean. Not the time for it. And if he could just get some news... Damn it, he didn't have TIME for this! Robin was upset. They were having problems. And this baby... This was crazy. Why the hell did he always let her do this to him? No matter what was going on, no matter how many balls he had to keep in the air, she refused to take herself out of the rotation. He'd tried to put an end to it. He'd tried being her friend, tried being her roommate, tried being her lover. He'd picked her up, let her down, and flat out dumped her. It didn't end. At some point he'd just accepted that. Given in the inevitability. Carly would always be in his life and he would always be worrying about her. Even if he hated both of them for it.

He opened the phone again, his face hard and determined. He had other things to deal with today. This ended. Now. He dialed his last resort. Paced the hall way impatiently while the phone rang.

"Hello there!" Bobbie's ultra-cheery voice chirped over the line. "We're not in right now, but if you want to leave a message --"

He felt a surge of fury -- white hot rage -- he spun around and fired the phone at the opposite wall. It hit hard, then bounced down onto the floor and skittered back to him. He could still hear Bobbie, in thin high-pitched pulses. He picked the phone up, crossing the hall in a few quick strides, and slammed it against the brick. It felt good to hit something, so he did it again. And again. And again. And again. Until the voice, the crackling, the beeping complaint stopped. He turned, seeing breathing fire, and tossed the remains, cracked casing and shattered LED, into a nearby plastic tree. He fixed his eyes on the doors at the end of the corridor, and started to walk down the hall towards the exit.

Robin leaned against the hard plastic of the incubator, her hand stroking her new daughter's back with one thin finger through the cut out in the side. She couldn't take her eyes off the child. She was warm and tiny -- her heart beat strong, even if nothing else appeared to be. Tiny lungs chugging away like a steam engine. It was incredible to watch. Life -- determined, pushing forward, through chaos.

She had no idea she could fall in love this quickly.

She smiled slightly to herself. God, every parent on earth probably thought that when they were first confronted with their child. Parent. Mother. It made her feel lightheaded. Oh, she'd known she wanted this. She had. But she hadn't realized how much until now. It was a feeling of living like she hadn't felt in so long. She could feel purpose throbbing through her veins. Pushing away all other issues.

Like, for instance, where her husband might be.

Or, to push the line of thought a little further, just what the hell her relationship with said husband was, right now.

Strong heart beat, determined lungs. She rested her forehead on the top of the incubator and let her breath fog the glass. She couldn't think about that. Not when she was faced with this.

A soft knock against the glass window of the pediatric care unit startled Robin, causing her to jerk up, hand coming out of the incubator to grip the edge. She stared at the figure on the other side of the glass.

Oh boy. Quartermaines.

All right -- so it was just one. But time and waning patience had made Robin start to think of them as a collective. No matter how many she faced, they all started to merge into one unit. Like something out of Greek Mythology.

She glanced down at the little girl in the cage, and let out her breath. Better to just get this over with before someone else showed up. She pressed a kiss to her finger tips and let them drag over the top of the incubator.

"Be right back, Polly," she murmured. "Be right back."

Come on, Robin. One foot in front of the other. Sleep? Who needs sleep. You're a parent now. No more luxuries. She walked unsteadily towards the door and what had, now, become the world of the unreal. A place where everything felt superficial and ridiculous.

It was so much colder outside that room. She felt herself shiver, and hunched her shoulders as she moved towards her father-in-law. He was looking through the glass, mouth open slightly, staring at the place where Robin had been standing, and shaking his head slightly. He turned only when he heard the door swing shut.

"Alan," Robin gave a weak smile -- one she reserved for Jason's relatives. "Jason's not here."

"I know," Alan was nodding almost convulsively. "I know. I just... I had to see."

Furrowed brow, a look of understanding. "I don't know when he'll be back."

"She's just beautiful, Robin," Alan blurted out. "But so tiny --"

"I know," she felt her skin heat a little. "But she's strong. Really -- I can tell," she was starting to babble. She turned and looked back at her child through the hard glass wall that was now standing between them. She wanted to go back already. "She's the most beautiful thing ever," she murmured, in agreement. "Like her mother."

She flushed suddenly, and turned to Alan. "I mean the birth mother. She's got her coloring -- and big eyes." Damn it, she probably wasn't supposed to say much. Truth be told, Alan was the Q she had the hardest time resisting. Raw affection and love for Jason poured out of him when they talked one-on-one. His desperation was always palpable. "Alan, I'm not really comfortable --"

"How are you, Robin?"

She stopped dead. Pin pricks up her neck. That was a loaded question. From Alan -- more than loaded.

"I'm fine," she said, folding her arms around herself.

"I..." he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt. "I actually came down here to talk to you. I didn't think it was appropriate at the board meeting with everyone else around, and -- my family's been very preoccupied --"

"Carly -- " Robin cut him off. "I know."

Alan flinched. "Cassadines. It's been..." he shook it off. "No. I wanted to talk about you, Robin. I'm worried about you."

She forced a smile. "I'm fine!"

"We talked about this a long time ago. When I was still your primary physician -- The idea of having a baby, a family --"

"I know," her mouth felt dry, but she kept on smiling. "I remember."

"That you'd have to keep your stress level down. Not do too much. Not be afraid to have help --"

"I'm not," she protested. "We'll have a full-time nanny. Live in. I'm going to do my best to get my rest, and I'm feeling fine, really."

"The protocol --"

"It's fine."

She said it too sharply. She'd never regretted changing physicians, as much as she liked Alan. It was too... intimate, having Jason's father as her doctor.

"I worry," he acknowledged. "Because ... You didn't seem yourself at the ball."

"The ball is hard." It was an auto-response.

"I know," his voice soothed. "I realize that. But you're starting this job at GH, and you and Jason just got married..."

"This is why," she cut him off. "This is what we got married for." And God, it was. She could feel the truth of that statement rush through her. It had all happened so fast. Graciela coming to Jason in a state of extreme agitation, telling him about her niece. Jason agreeing to help. Less than a month later, after Robin had helped Graciela set things up for the girl, after she'd met Lupe and saw the situation, it had all slid into place in her head. What she wanted. What could solve all their problems. And if Jason hadn't agreed readily, it wasn't because he didn't want children. She knew he wanted children. He had to.

Alan had taken a step back. "Oh. I didn't realize --"

"It..." she shook her head quickly. "It came up a few months ago, and we decided to do this. It just... I made sense to get married now, instead of waiting."

"Of course," he was nodding again. "I can understand that."

"And I love him," she qualified, realizing how opportunist that probably sounded. "The timing was just right."

Her father-in-law frowned in a way that made her nervous.

"This is what I want. Really," she tipped her head up, and delivered her very best 'brave smile'. "I'm fine, Alan."

"I'm always going to worry about you," he admitted with a sigh. "I don't want you overloaded."

"I'm not!" she was grinning up a storm again. "Really. My job is only part time, and it won't really get going until the fall. I have lots of help with the baby. I'm taking care of myself. Really I am," she tipped her head up. "You don't have to worry, Alan."

He studied her, concern etched in his features. "You take a lot on yourself, Robin."

She glanced back through the window. God, she wanted to be back in there. "Jason and I can handle this," she said, eyes focused on the child. "We'll be fine."

Because they just had to be.

The screen door on the cabin slammed shut like a gun shot, thanks to the loaded spring that sought to keep bugs determinedly on whatever side of the door they found themselves. Nikolas tossed the phone aside in frustration, and pushed the door open to follow his wife, who was already halfway across the expanse of grass beyond the porch, and had stopped, without warning, under the shade of a large maple tree. He crossed the same distance in seconds, and stopped with the same kind of suddenness right behind her.

He didn't know what to say. The way it seemed at the moment, he'd said more than enough. And while his instinct told him to pull her into his arms, he couldn't honestly say if that was because he thought it was what she needed or what he wanted. So he just stood there behind her and waited for something -- anything -- that would give him a clue about what to do next.

Mercifully, it was only a few seconds before she spoke.

"I just need air."

The tremor in her voice, and the way she stood like the ground was shifting beneath her belied her need for oxygen, but he nodded, taking half a step closer. Allowing her all of half an inch of personal space. A triumph of self-control on his part.

"Ok."

She could feel the heat from his body on her back, and her head started to swim. What she'd said was the truth. Sort of. She hadn't meant to run -- or even leave the room. She'd just wanted to breathe, and once the door was open...

But she'd stopped like she was on a leash. Pulled back just short of breaking into a sprint and heading -- literally -- for the hills. Getting as far away from the cabin, Port Charles, and all the people in it as she possibly could. And then suddenly she wanted to turn and run just as fast back to him. Jesus Christ. What the hell was she doing?

"You're not going to let me walk away, are you?" she asked, in a way designed to convince herself that she was saving them both the chase, rather than standing here because she had no idea what she wanted.

"Probably not, no."

God, she thought, in a sudden wave of disgust. He was wonderfully predictable, wasn't he? Such a super hero. So ready to rush once more into the breach to save the damsel in distress. And she was just so ready to let him. So ready, she could taste the bile of her self-loathing clawing at the back of her throat.

"Not like I didn't know it was coming," she said finally, crossing her arms and staring determinedly at the horizon. The sky was a clear, clean blue, the sun casting light over the most incredible expanse of green. She could smell the earth -- taste the air. Everything here -- everything around her -- was so beautiful. She felt ugly to the pit of her stomach.

Nikolas didn't want to have this conversation with her back. But remembering her face when he'd repeated Lucky's news to her, he didn't much care to have this conversation with any other part of her, either. He'd do anything for this to be over. To not have to watch her go through it -- and, to be honest, to save himself from thinking about what this meant. From remembering her viciously telling him, just a few nights ago, that she loved Jason. He understood this. He always had -- he knew why this hurt her. But a part of him hated that it mattered. That he couldn't fix it. That as much as she might like him, as much as she might feel something for him...

It made him feel sick to think about it. Stung him with a familiar bite. Jason came first.

"I didn't want to tell you." He said that, because there was nothing else to say. And sometimes staying quiet is just unsafe.

At the sound of his voice, Carly closed her eyes and swallowed painfully. "Then why did you?"

There was a long pause before he answered. Birds sang. The wind rustled leaves.

"Risk management," he said, finally.

Carly did something she didn't think she was capable of. It came on her so suddenly, she didn't even have a chance to be surprised by it. She just let out a yelp of laughter that dissolved almost as quickly into choking sob. In that moment, she gave up on trying to hate him for being there. For wanting to save her. She just spun on the spot. Nikolas was there. RIGHT there where, she realized, she wanted him to be. Maybe needed him to be. And surrendering to complete selfishness, she stepped towards him, and he immediately grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. Crushed her against his chest. She could feel his heart thundering through him and let herself sink into him. Not giving any thought to what Nikolas was thinking, or feeling. She just wanted to be held. And he was so good at that.

"Nikolas..." Speaking his name felt oddly comforting. Dulled the ache in her chest from tears that refused to come. As much she manifested every other symptom, actual tears refused to fall. She slid her arms up his chest, moving them around his neck so that she could hold onto him. He moved one hand up into her hair, holding her head to his shoulder.

"It's Ok."

"Really not," she managed.

"I know," he pressed his face into her hair. His mind was already turning, spinning through facts, details, solutions... something. There had to be something he could do. "I couldn't take a chance you'd get blind sided again," he dropped a quick kiss onto her shoulder, and tightened his grip enough to squeeze the breath from her. "If I'd known about this before the ball --" he spoke intently, close to her ear. "Last week wouldn't have happened."

She stiffened in his arms. Last week. Oh hell, last week... She pushed against him, trying to get away -- no easy task and when she realized she couldn't match his strength, something innate in her started to panic. It was that same feeling -- that breathless no no no no panic that had seized her Saturday morning. The knowledge that she was in a situation she couldn't get out of. That somehow he'd ended up with power she hadn't meant to give him. Knowledge she couldn't seem to get back.

"Nikolas --" her voice was breaking as he released her -- or, to be more precise, loosened his grip. His hands still spanned her back, and when she stepped back from him, she was still very much in his embrace. She felt too hot. Too close -- that air between them, it could feel so contaminated. She grabbed his arms, trying to disengage herself from him. "I don't --"

He took her hand. It was such a sudden gesture. Right hand reaching out to grab her left... It stilled her a moment. It was so close to connection and so far from restraint that she stopped short of pushing him back. Instead she found herself pulling her hand back, while holding onto him. Holding her distance from him while trying to get away.

"Nikolas." Her voice had softened, betraying any sort of warning edge she tried to inject into it.

"No," His eyes fixed on hers. She always did this to him -- infused him with something so determined to hang on. False confidence. Stubbornness. Take your pick. "What is it?"

She shook her head, then took a sudden, convulsive step, away. He immediately pulled on her hand, turning his body so that he was still facing her. And that was how it started -- her slowly inching around him, while she tried to move away from him, while he turned to maintain eye contact with every move. So that she ended up the far point on the compass, tracing the circumference of their space, drawing their circle, while he stayed the fixed point.

"How do you keep trying so hard?" she asked finally, in a mixture of consternation and pity.

"How, exactly, am I supposed to stop? Last week isn't going to happen again," he said it with so much certainty that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

"You think you can control that?" She was still turning. Getting dizzy. "You don't want it, so -- poof! -- it disappears!"

He stopped, dead, and she stepped almost on cue towards him, just in time to meet his hand as it reached out to cup her cheek. He stepped towards her, so that his forearm pressed against his, and the air between them felt infused again. God, Carly thought, what the hell is wrong with me?

"You said you wanted it to end," his voice was soft, but the desperation was carrying on it. "And it kills me to see you like that."

Her eyes darted away. They were finally beginning to tear. "So what the hell do you really think you can do about it? What do you think you can change?"

"Do you really want to talk about that?"

"No," she spat out without thinking. Because she knew it was about as far away from what he wanted to hear as she could get. But the question asked was too affecting. What the hell did he mean? She closed her eyes, exhaling. "I can't control that," she said it so quickly she barely even had the time to distantly think of how strange it sounded -- to tell him. "I can't say it's not going to happen again."

"You can not shut me out next time."

She spit out a laugh, and felt his thumb wipe away tears. "Oh. Sure. That'll fix everything."

He willed himself not to flinch. Not to even acknowledge the pain that remark inspired. He very nearly succeeded. He hated that. The way that hurt could trump intimacy. Made them into adversaries instead of lovers. He wasn't going to surrender to it this time.

"Give me a chance," his voice was closer to pleading than he was comfortable with.

She choked out a breathless laugh. "Why do you WANT one?"

"You know why."

She felt sick at the words. He was right. He'd only told her a good half dozen times why. And her head always spun with the effort of translation. No -- he doesn't mean that. He means something else. He's mistaken. He's confused. He's just flat out wrong. She kept acting like that mattered. Like it was something she could protect herself from if she just tried hard enough. Who was she kidding? She wanted this. She always had. Her mind flashed, suddenly, on the second time she'd been with him -- standing in an alley with his arms around her while she cried into his shoulder. She'd pulled back and looked at him and he'd be gazing down at her with so much open concern, empathy and... She'd wanted him to love her right then. She'd wanted him to look at her like that forever.

"I can't stand this," she hissed, mostly to herself.

"Then help me fix it," he drew her closer to him. She had to know what he was talking about. It just about killed him -- so hard to admit to himself, to her, how much he needed this. To hear her say it. To hear her tell him that she needed this. Her silence on the topic was eating away at him and --

"Michael," she gasped, suddenly pulling back from him. She gritted her teeth, the tightness in his throat so painful she could feel herself shake with the agony of it. He saw it and relief and aching empathy flooded him.

"I know."

"God, Nikolas!"

"I know." His voice was rough with breaking emotion. She could hear it push forth like it had been held back for too long. Her eyes jerked back to him. She looked up at him in the muted light beneath the tree's leaves. His eyes looked wrong. She squinted up at him in momentary confusion, and he glanced to the side, quickly. Then she realized why. They were glassy. Filled with unshed tears.

Oh. Oh. She felt herself crumble -- the tension, whatever it was in her that wouldn't let go -- released, and her hands reached up to touch his dry face. His eyes darted back to her, and she flushed hot. She felt like she'd never seen him with this much clarity. Though the clouds had been parting for days, in that moment it crystallized for her in a way it hadn't before. It was a rare and unprecedented attack of lucidity. Forget the complexities of their relationship, her rampant insecurities and attempts to rationalize and justify. It followed no logic. But this... Her mouth was working but nothing was coming out. Finally -- in confusion of what else to do -- she stood on tip toe and pressed her mouth to his. That was all -- just let their lips touch for a long moment until she thought the sob she was holding in was going to choke her.

His arms folded around her, bringing her body back to him, and holding her against his chest again. She slid her hands up and down his arms, feeling the strength in them. Using that to reassure her.

"Are you ready to do this?" he prompted. She tightened her grip on him.

"I..." She tried to work out the words. They fought against her -- raging at her audacity for daring to speak about this. To let it out of herself. "I can't lose again, Nikolas. I can't."

She felt his hands -- sure and deft on her face, pushing her hair back. "You won't. I promise you -- you can't," his lips grazed her temple. "Just tell me you're ready to talk about it."

She wobbled, unconvinced that she'd stay upright if he let go of her. Was she ready? What the hell did that even mean? She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, her hands holding his arms as tightly as she could managed.

"I'm ready," she gulped in a breath. No. No talking. No way. The way Nikolas was holding her, she wasn't certain that he wasn't physically holding her together as it was. "I'm ready to listen."

Mike Corbin leaned against the bar, eyes fixed on the dark and brooding form of Jason Morgan. He'd appeared at the door fifteen minutes earlier. And though it was a good half hour before opening, Mike didn't keep doors closed to Jason. Minuscule though it was, it was still a tiny connection to his long-since-gone son. Something the guy was taking some degree of advantage of, because he had barely said a word since entering. Just that he needed a drink and some place quiet. It was 10:30 in the morning. But hey -- he was hardly in a position to judge. Besides, after an initial gulping of a good third of the glass, Jason seemed to lose interest in drinking, and was instead staring moodily into space.

"Somebody die?" Mike asked, finally. Lighthearted comment to anyone else -- with Jason, it was a definite possibility. He took another swig of the beer before answering.

"No."

"You don't look like you've been to bed."

"I haven't."

He nodded. Leave it alone, Corbin... Come on. Just leave it alone...

"Congratulations in order then."

Jason looked up. "What?"

"The baby. Robin, at the nurses ball --"

"She was born last night," he said with so much fatigue, Mike half expected him to just drop right there.

"Girl, then."

He nodded. Mike cleared his throat.

"Something you want to talk about?"

Jason gave a smile that was more like baring teeth. "Nope."

Mike nodded. Ah, hell. This wasn't something he wanted to see happen. He plunked a bowl of peanuts down in front of his patron.

"Keep an eye on the front for me, I got some stuff to do in the back."

Jason stared at the bowl, and gave a half-nod as Mike left him alone and grateful for the silence. He'd needed it about ten thousand times more than the beer. In the fog of exhaustion and emotional tumult, he was dimly aware that he was losing his grip. He was moving without guards, for starters. Which was about as smart as painting a bullseye on his chest. But he got sick of company fast. Robin was always at him about that. Because she worried. Because she loved him.

He took another gulp of beer, guilt swirling around inside him. This was wrong. This was, in all ways, wrong. He knew that. He had no idea how to change it -- but he knew that the things that were happening in his life were supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be glad for them. He wasn't supposed to feel sick.

He'd lasted two minutes. Two minutes at the window -- looking through the glass at the child that had just been born. The nurse had come out and told him Robin would be back in a minute. She'd just gone to the cafeteria -- and would be right back. She'd asked him if he wanted to come in. To touch her. He'd declined, and then she'd asked him if he wanted her to just wheel the incubator up to the window.

That's when he'd left. And tried to call Carly again. Tried to call Bobbie. His brain moving determinedly away from his wife and baby and obsessing over something that he'd already taken care of. Smashing the phone had been stupid. Now he was completely unreachable.

When was the last time he'd been completely unreachable?

He ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. If he was so damned tired -- of hospitals, of people, of noise -- then why the hell couldn't he get his head to shut up? He didn't want to think. He wanted to be able to look at the little girl who he'd taken responsibility for and feel something besides empty. It wasn't like he didn't care. It was just that... He'd been here before. And that was all he could think about. He'd already done this. And it hadn't gone well.

He's thought it was about the weight, when he'd first seen her. She was too small, and he'd read all about what that meant. But they'd put her in the incubator -- just as a precaution -- and said that her vitals were all strong. They were just worried about malnutrition, and they wanted to monitor her a few days -- help her gain a little weight before releasing her. The prognosis was good. Lupe was sleeping. She didn't want to see the child.

So they were saying she'd be ok. And he still felt numb. Like when he was shot -- that weird out-of-body sensation where you know something hurts somewhere, but you can't make yourself real enough to feel it.

His thoughts kept getting dragged back to Michael. To how small and sick he'd been. To Carly, unconscious and bleeding. Carly, waking up and not wanting to touch her son. How scared she was. He could remember the awareness. Being on edge, even through the shock of what was going on around him, and making decisions. Guarding Carly and Michael from the walking threats that kept showing up at the hospital. Having no idea what the right thing was, but thinking every second about what was happening right in front of him. He hadn't left, either. He hadn't wanted to.

He'd seen Michael a few months back. Run into AJ and Emily with him on the docks one day. You'd think he was carrying the plague, at the speed with which Michael had been carried off. Emily had stayed behind and tried to talk to him about it. He hadn't had anything to say. Michael had looked happy. Maybe that was the point all along.

Letting out a low groan, Jason pushed the pint aside and put his head down on the bar. Right. Michael happy. And being raised by the Quartermaines. Never really seeing his mother. Wasn't that the exact opposite of the point?

You didn't run out of mistakes. Ever. Every time he thought he'd worked out the sum total of what he was capable of, he got surprised. And usually, Carly was somewhere in the near vicinity. Observing, if not actively pushing. Witnessing every new step. He couldn't blame her for this, though. He'd tried to. He'd had justification -- he'd had two years of constant push-pull, up and down, don't-turn-your-back-for-one-second drama that had ended with Carly jumping straight into the fire.

But he should have known she'd do that. He should have been on top of it. There wasn't really a limit on how destructive Carly could be, and he'd hurt her. He'd said, all along, that he was in love with Robin -- but he'd still broken the rules and he should have known -- did know -- what the consequences were. It still left him blank, to look at the facts of the case, the sum total of what he'd been aware of, and the complete mess it had still ended up in.

A long time ago he'd come to the realization that having sex with Carly meant trouble. It made things complicated. It made her angry. Check that. It made her crazy. Demanding. Suspicious. Sneaky. She would always be at him, every second. Then trying, in sudden turn-on-a-dime mood swings, to 'make it up to him'. In other words -- screw his brains out.

At some point in their association, not having sex with Carly hadn't been enough to keep things stable. She ended up just as crazy and in his face anyway. The math on that one was pretty elementary. And it'd be great if that had been why it had changed. If he'd ever made the decision to change their relationship. Maybe then, he would have had some luck changing it back. But he hadn't. One day it had just taken him down, and ever since then, he'd never entirely made it back onto solid ground.

So they started sleeping together and Carly was what she always was -- He was the one who changed. His patience dissolved. Everything she did made him incredible angry. Frustrated. He constantly wanted to grab her and just say "STOP!". When he actually did grab her, that was rarely what happened. She made him feel as bad as she ever did good -- for every single moment of pleasure there was a matching agony, and he seemed to do the same damn thing to her. In the end he'd done stuff that made his gut churn. He'd let her go up against the Q's alone. He'd let her lose Michael. That knifed through him, every time he was confronted with it. But that was just IT. She hurt him, she inflicted punishments, and he'd still always come when she called. She made him angry. And in the grips of it he did things he couldn't comprehend later. Things he hated himself for.

Case. In. Point.

That night. The one Robin had come home talking about. That night had always been marked. Even when he'd dropped by the Brownstone -- that had seemed like as safe a place as any to talk to her -- that it wasn't going to end well. Carly had this thing about letting him into her apartment -- In that she wouldn't. But they'd talked in the living room a few times, with Bobbie hovering a few feet away, behaving as if she was busy with something that required her to walk, back and forth, past the door. They met at the docks, at Kelly's, sometimes. There had been a period of time where she was barely around. After the trial. He'd thought about her constantly, and he'd stayed away because he figured that was what she wanted. But... that was never what Carly wanted. So by the fall their lives had twisted together again. Every time that happened the knots just got messier and more undeniable. And Bobbie, it seemed, got more and more vicious.

That day, Bobbie had been home and she was barring the door. He'd left a message. Later Carly had told him that Lucas had told her he'd been there -- Bobbie hadn't said a word. She'd told him that when she'd showed up, unannounced, at the Penthouse that night. Dressed in a way that he knew meant trouble. Short skirt, long boots, lipstick that made her mouth look like it was bleeding. He'd felt tired just looking at her. Filled to the brim with resistance. She'd been looking at him in that way she had -- where she knew something was up. It was in every move she made. The proprietary hands she'd put on the back of the chair. She'd picked that chair out -- she reminded him, dropping her purse onto it. She was surprised Robin let it stay. Did she have everything bleached? Or just sprinkled with holy water? He'd listened to her light voice with the hard edge and when she was done, he'd asked her what she wanted.

"You came to see me, buddy."

Robin was home. And she'd come downstairs and talked to Carly. Something about it being a surprise. He'd watched her lie. He hated it when she did that. He hated that she insisted it wasn't LYING. It was manners.

Whatever. It wasn't something he took part in. He'd known, from the arch of Robin's shoulder. The way she held her neck. The quick looks she tossed his way. He had to get this over with. There was no point in putting it off. He'd grabbed his jacket out of the closet and told Carly he wanted to take the bike out. They'd go some place and talk.

His first mistake was letting Carly choose the location. She'd suggested it when she'd slipped on the back of the bike, leaning back, delivering that sultry, suggestive look that usually proceeded her making a pass at him. He'd seen that look from her a few times in the past few months. It always pissed him off. It was so far from real. So far from what she was really like with him. For some reason, whenever she looked at him like that, he flashed on the look on her face when he'd had her pinned on the floor of the PC Grille. Her hand clutching a knife, held over her head, and her eyes glittering with hatred. He'd been kicked in the gut with the full force of her venom that night. Since then, the every-present knowledge that she still wanted to have sex with him had unsettled him in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

He'd tossed aside her suggestiveness. Said he wanted to go for a ride and pushed his jacket onto her. They'd talk wherever they ended up. And he'd thought that would be someplace just outside town. Where things were quiet. Close enough to a road that there would be witnesses.

She'd said to him once, and he remembered it a little too well -- at Ferncliffe, when he'd told her that time about Robin coming back to him -- just tell me you didn't marry her. Stuff like that was important to her. Like it was important to Robin. They both knew it meant next to nothing to him.

He hadn't made it out of Port Charles. Carly really knew how to ride passenger on his bike. Her body would mold into his -- her thighs would hug against his legs, and she'd lean into every turn, like she was a part of him. It had always gotten to him, far more than he'd wanted it to. When they'd lived alone in the penthouse, it had been his undoing more than once. And even though he'd told himself that he couldn't have her anymore, it was getting to him that night, too. So when they'd gotten through the downtown, and the turn was coming to take the long winding road that lead out of town, he'd changed directions and taken her where she'd said she wanted to go.

Jake's.

Why the hell did this stuff make a difference? They walked in there, and the energy between them just changed. Became charged -- turned into something that felt touchable. That had been his second mistake that night -- staying. When he'd felt the air between them come alive. He should have turned around and walked out. But he didn't.

She'd bought him a beer, joking about the pittance that she lived off -- the very little bit of money left from her mother. She'd asked him stupid questions -- about things she knew he couldn't answer and then about things she knew he just wouldn't. Teasing and pushing with every word out of her mouth. When she brought up Robin, he'd taken her hand, pulling her away from the bar to the pool table.

"Break," he'd instructed her. She'd smirked at him.

"Again? I'm still in pieces from the last time."

He knew was going to hate himself for this. And that ate up the frustration, the tension, the anger, immediately. Left him with this hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd misplaced his shield and that was lethal in her presence. Again. He should have turned and walked away right then.

But he didn't.

Instead he stuck around and lost a game of pool. His focus had been on how to tell her. When. Why no moment seemed right. As it turned out, he'd have done better to just concentrate on the game.

"You're off your game," she'd murmured, lining up her shot. She'd snapped the cue back and the 8-ball had banked and sunk. She'd frowned at it, then stood up. "The one time I don't wager."

He'd shrugged. "We can play again --"

"No," she'd tipped her eyes up to his. "Let's say I did. Let's say this one time we had a bet and I won."

"What do you want?"

A slow smile had crept over her lips. "I want to know what this is about. We don't do this Jason," she sang the words -- he remembered that. The way his name had sounded. Jaaaaay-son... "We're supposed to be done playing games."

"What are you saying, Carly."

"I'm saying what is it. Is Sonny coming back? Another turf war? Are you leaving town?" Her eyes had darted across his face, the smile vanishing. "Are you in danger?"

"No."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

Her eyes filled with tears -- no warning. Like flipping a switch. "It's Robin, isn't it?" He'd sighed and looked away. It didn't spare him the choking laugh. "Well -- she looked too smug for you guys to be breaking up again. So what is it? Are you marrying her?"

All he had to do was look at her. And he'd known that before he even turned back to her. It hurt to know her this well. Hard to explain how. It always felt like they were acting out a part. Knowing that he was hurting her before he even did it.

"Oh God," she'd said it like the air had been knocked right out of her. "Oh -- Oh, man, Jason..." stepped back, shaking her head, voice rising in her chest. "Jesus."

"Carly --" he'd reached out, taking her arm. "Don't."

"DON'T?" She'd yanked her arm back from him, but he'd held on, stepping forward and pulling her into his chest. "Don't WHAT?"

He didn't know. Honest to God, he had no idea what he wanted from her. What he could even ask.

"Come on," he'd tried to pull her towards the door. She'd leaned back, away from him.

"Fuck you."

"Carly."

Carly. It was the only thing he had to say. He didn't even know what he meant by it. It wasn't like this was a surprise. Not one second of it.

"No," she'd finally pulled free. "FUCK YOU!" Screaming now. "JASON MORGAN, high and mighty, and wrapped around the finger of a four foot, 98 pound PRINCESS. And you're going to try to make ME do something?" she laughed low and humorless. "You can go to hell."

She'd pushed past him, walking in long strides across a gaping room to the bar. Eyes following her -- he'd remembered the way she'd leaned against the wood, shoulders hunched. He'd thrown down the pool cue he was still holding and gone after her.

"Get me a drink," she was digging through her pockets, finally coming up with some folded bills in her back pocket.

"What's your poison?"

"I don't care," she snapped. "Just... Something," she'd said throwing her money down on the bar. "What does that get me?"

Jake had looked down at the bills, then back up at Carly. Blinking lazily before saying "Coffee and a cab ride home."

"You bitch --"

"Carly --"

She'd let her arm fly up, smacking him back. "I'm not DRUNK."

"I think you're over the legal limit on emotional baggage, honey."

He'd had to stop her from going over the bar. Pulling her back, arms tight around her waist.

"Stop it," he'd spoken into her ear. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Stepping on your territory?" she'd sagged against him. "What did you think this was? Public place? So I won't make a scene?"

"Do I look that stupid?"

She'd scoffed. "Maybe you're just afraid to be alone with me."

"Jake --"

She'd thrown the keys at him. "Second to the left is free."

He had to loosen his grip on her to catch them, and she seized the opportunity to stumbled a few steps away from him. She'd laughed. Near hysteria.

"Is there ANYONE here who doesn't kiss your ass, Jason?" She'd turned unsteadily, addressing the room. "Come on, step right up! Anyone want to take on the big tough mob boss? Five throws for three dollars." She'd had their attention, but no one had moved. "The goods are used, but I beat the hell out of a stuffed animal, don't you think?

He'd had enough. He'd taken her arm with authority, shooting an I'll kill you look at a guy he could see formulating a plan of attack.

"We're going," he announced, pulling her towards the stairs. "Before you get in trouble."

"I WANT trouble."

He'd grabbed her around the waist again, lifting her off the ground and turning her in the air to set her down on the first step that lead to the rooms above. "Give me five minutes. Alone."

The light was dim, but he could still catch that glint in her eye. "Oh. Now you want to be alone."

Gritted teeth. "You wanted to come here."

She shook her head, lips curled into a sneer. "And it's all about what I want, isn't it Jase? Why don't I ever see that?"

"Carly," he'd tried again, his voice strained. A couple of people stepped in the door at that moment, and stopped dead at the sight of them. He'd stepped up the stairs, past her, hand on her shoulder to turn her towards him. "Come on."

"I'm out of here."

"No you're not." She didn't bother challenging it. They both knew she wouldn't leave and he wouldn't let her walk out of there even if she tried. Instead she crossed her arms, turning her head away from him, and breathing in that huff -- the way she did when she was about to cry. He reached out and touched her upper arm. "Five minutes." She pushed his hand away, angrily. He'd pulled in his breath and used his last resource. "Please."

Her head had snapped back to him. Foul. He'd seen it in her eyes. "I hate you," she hissed at him as she passed him and climbed up the stairs. His head already hurt when he turned to follow her.

Second to the left, it turned out, wasn't even locked. It was dark and empty, save the basics that all Jake's rooms had -- bed, table, dresser. Inverted from the place he'd lived, the mirror image. Carly had entered ahead of him, and when he got to the door she was standing in the middle of the room, her back to him. He'd flipped on the light switch, and she'd pivoted back and looked at him with eyes that pierced right through him.

"One question," he could see her vibrate with everything she was holding back. The things he admired about her -- her steel, her fight -- were never things he wanted directed at him. He looked at her blankly, waiting for it. "Why?"

He'd pushed the door closed behind him, flipping the lock without taking his eyes off her.

"Because."

"BECAUSE?" She'd laughed at him and her eyes had been familiar. Glittering, again. "What? No reason? Not even 'Robin wants to'?"

"Robin does want to."

"Of course she does," she her eyes were darting around the room -- bouncing off the wall like a pinball -- moving back and forth while she talked. "She wants to get married, she wants to walk down that aisle in the white dress looking pure as the driven snow. She wants everyone to fall all over her -- she wants her fairy tale," Carly had stopped, then, her eyes zeroing in on him like a target. "So what the hell is it making you want to be the prince?"

"I --"

"Love her. Yeah. I got the bulletin. 'I love ROBIN, Carly -- Now spread your legs a little wider...' "

He'd dropped his eyes to the ground. The anger was coming back.

"Are you done?"

"Not even close."

"This isn't about hurting you."

"Well, what the hell is it? There's got to be a reason you wanted to tell me in person. You could have just left a note. Told my mother. Waited for me to find out on my own."

"You want that?"

"We're all pretty fucking clear on what I want, Jason. What I want to know is -- What do you want? Why are we here?"

"I wanted to tell you. I thought it was what you'd want."

She'd stared at him, her face contorting while a half dozen emotions flew across it. "It's not revenge?"

"No."

"I ripped out your heart so you're going to rip out mine? Bad news, Jase. It's already been done." She started pulling off the jacket -- fighting to get her arms out of the black leather. "You wanna see the scar? Is that going to satisfy you?" she'd shaken the jacket off, sending it flying across the room. "Do you want to see me cry? You want me to fall on my knees and beg you not to do it? Tell you I'm sorry again?" her arms suddenly dropped along with her voice -- going low and tripping over words. Like she was a storm blowing herself out. "I did all that, you know. I've cried for you and begged for you and I've nailed myself up on every cross you've wanted me on," head jerked up again, eyes bright and awful. "But not enough, huh? Not enough to stick by me. Not enough to help me when I'm losing the ONLY THING that matters in my whole God Damned life."

He'd felt that striped raw pain clutching at his chest. Like being cut. It was pumping through him with his blood.

"I can't change what happened."

"Lot of that going around," She'd choked. Tears had started to fall. Those slow tears she'd cry through whole arguments. "At least I'll tell you I made a mistake -- Do you regret it? At all?"

His jaw had tightened. "It's done."

"But if you had it to do again --"

"What is the point, Carly?" He'd stepped toward her. Something he'd been trying not to do since they'd come in there. "What does it matter? You did the wrong thing. And I was mad. So I turned around and did the wrong thing, too."

"Guess that makes it even."

"It's what we do. Whether we meant to or not."

That was the truth he always came back to with her. Over and over again -- even now. If the last month had proven anything, it was that he didn't stop hurting her. It was the one thing he could count on. In any given day, even if he didn't see her, he seemed to hurt her. It was just the way of things. But when he said that, she'd laughed. She always did seem to find that funny.

"Ok, Jason," she'd wiped the wet from her cheeks impatiently. "So let's finish it. Huh? Once and for all. Tell me what you want -- what's going to make you feel better -- and I'll give it to you. You know I will. What's your price?"

"This isn't what this is about."

"Then what IS it about?"

That was when he'd realized he didn't have an answer. He'd wanted to get her out of there -- out of the bar. Away from the scene, the people he didn't trust to breathe on her. He'd said five minutes to get her away. He'd said it because he'd known that he couldn't have gotten her on the bike. But up here, he realized, he didn't have a reason. He'd wanted her alone, and he didn't know why. She was right. All this was doing was causing more trouble.

"Put your coat on. I'll take you home."

"No. I want this over."

"It is over."

She'd shaken her head. "Tears aren't enough. So what? A pound of flesh?"

"Come on," he'd picked up her coat. "We're going."

"I could give you blood."

He'd held it out to her. She'd looked at the coat in near bewilderment, then back up at him.

"Here," she'd turned the inside of her arm towards him. Pale skin with blue lines traveling just under the surface. "Take it."

He'd gripped her wrist, and directed it into the coat sleeve. She'd turned, letting him pull her back into the garment.

"You'd probably rather just cut out my tongue," she'd murmured while her back was to him -- while he brought the coat up over her shoulders. "So you'd never have to hear my voice again."

"You're not making sense."

"You hate it when I talk. It's just noise to you. Everything I say -- It gives you a headache."

It was hard to argue with her. Lately every time he saw her his head started to hurt. The one thing she was wrong about -- she didn't have to say anything. If she was quiet, it was worse. If she smiled. If she acted like they were friends. Just reminded him of how wrong things were. He ran his hands down her arms, smoothing the leather.

"I don't hate it when you talk."

He felt the tremor go through her before she turned. Eyes filled and overflowing again. Biting her lip hard and looking at him like she was going to come apart. His hands were still on her. He told himself to back up.

"Jason."

"What?"

Her face screwed up, as the words wound their way out of her. "I love you."

He hated it when she said that. He always had. His head had pulled back of it's own accord, and then she was on him. Closing the distance, her hands grabbing the front of his shirt and drawing her body close to his. Her eyes looking up into his with a desperation that he could taste.

"Carly, come on --"

"That's why I do this," she'd cut him off, her voice breathy and insistent. "That's what makes me so crazy. I miss you all the time. You and Michael. Our family. Do you miss us?"

His mouth had gone dry. Infused with the awareness of the answer to that question. He'd looked away, his hands coming up to hold hers, to try and pry them off him.

"It doesn't matter."

"No --"

"It's over, Carly --"

"Not for me!" she'd fought him, not allowing him to escape. He turned her -- pushing her back against the wall. Trying to just hold her still.

"Don't do this."

"I LOVE YOU! I love you. Oh --" Tears were flowing faster now. "GOD, Jason."

"Don't --"

"What is it?" thin and stretched out words. "Will you just tell me that? I love you. I understand you like she NEVER could." Her voice dipped down, low and private. The voice alone conjured up memories he didn't want in his head anymore. "We get each other, you and me. You know that. You can't pretend I don't get your blood pumping." Her hands pressed flat against his chest. "It's pumping right now. I can tell. You feel something besides sorry for me."

"Carly."

"You're marrying someone else," she'd growled, her entire demeanor turning on a dime. "You can't even give me this?" He'd tried to push back, and she'd pulled him back with surprising, jerking force. "Just tell me why I'm not good enough. What is it? Why don't you love me back? There's a reason. There's a reason why it's always her and never me!"

"You don't want to hear this."

Low laugh. "Oh, yeah. I do. Tell me. Tell me. You can do it." Her voice had been cutting and mocking. "You have an answer, Jason. You know you have an answer kicking around in there some place. Dig deep."

You could count on Carly for that. When you really hurt her, when she was really angry -- she would locate that hair trigger in you and she would hit it over and over again until you exploded. It was amazing that he could know these things about her and still fall for them. Her light, parroting words. Digging at him.

"BECAUSE THIS!" he'd exploded, hitting the wall beside her head with so much force that her body jumped against him. "YOU PUSH and you push and nothing is ever enough. You always want more. You think I don't know that? You think I can't tell it's never going to be enough until you swallow me whole?"

She did exactly what he'd known she was going to DO. The whole night had been like that. He yelled at her and she looked at him like he'd just crushed her alive. Her mouth trembling -- bottom lip shaking. "If you loved me --"

"You'd KILL me."

"And what the hell do you have that's so worth living for?"

Mouth twisted. Eyes shone. Her body was quivering, her voice... And that thing in him... that thing that he held back, fought off, every time she was near him -- it leapt up. Leapt up and he lunged forward, flattening her to the wall. Holding her shaking body down. Covering her wet mouth with his. He could taste the salt from her tears. It just made him want her more. His hands holding her head, thumbs pushing the streams of tears that were still falling away. He held her devastation against him. He forced her body to still underneath him. He felt the mayhem turn it's focus. Felt her start to kiss him back.

He didn't stop. He didn't want to give her a chance to speak. All he wanted was to feel her. To bring her closer to him. Pull her inside. When he'd finally pulled back, she hadn't said a word, though. Just looked at him in shock -- and then frantically grabbed at his shirt, pulling it up his torso as she and started to push him backwards, moving with him towards the bed. Eyes locked. So familiar. They knew each movement seconds before it happened. Anticipated each other even at their most chaotic.

There was no point... This was the part that he'd never been able to shake... but there was no point in all of it where he'd truly felt like he couldn't stop. There were times with Carly when the heat of her against him had been all he was capable of comprehending. Times when he was, truly, lost to anything that wasn't her. This hadn't been one of them. He was aware of her, of himself, every second. Every single thing he did -- every move they made together -- was conscious. Selfish. A betrayal -- of her, of Robin, of himself. He'd known that like he'd known that it was not going to make him feel better. He missed her even when he was inside her.

She'd scared him, afterwards. Moving out of the bed in a daze, gathering up her clothes. She'd looked up at him at one point and just laughed. High-pitched and surprised. This was new -- it was something he'd never seen from her before. Her hands had been shaking while she did up the fly on her skirt.

"Carly?" he hadn't been able to keep the concern out of his voice. She'd looked up at him. Sitting on the foot of the bed, one boot zipped up to her knee, the other leg bare.

"I won't tell her," she said, her voice distant and strange.

"No --"

"Don't worry," she'd stood unsteadily. One leg three inches taller than the other. "I won't --"

He'd grabbed her -- half dressed and desperate to get her out of there. To get away from what had just happened -- but he'd kissed her anyway. She was soft -- she was so rarely soft with him. He'd drank from her and even when he found it in him to pull back, he'd wanted more.

She'd looked up at him, bewildered, confused, lost... He'd stared into her eyes and felt the same things. What the hell was he doing?

He walked through the next week in a fog made of that question. Attempts to talk to Robin were stonewalled. More frustrating than that had been his attempts to take the question elsewhere. To bring it some place outside of his head. It was this line he'd thought was uncrossable. Something he'd just accepted as fact. That what had happened in that room was impossible. It stirred up questions he didn't want to have to answer. He'd tried to talk to Robin about not getting married. She'd nearly flown into hysteria. He'd never seen anything like it coming from her before. She needed this to stop, she'd told him. They couldn't keep breaking up and making up forever. They had to do this. If they were going to help Graciela, if they were going to be together... Big eyes with tears asked him... didn't he want this? Didn't he want to be with her?

He knew the answer to that. He loved Robin. He always had. She made him happy. They had fun together. Things were good with her. Or they had been. Before this had started. Before she'd decided that they had to get married, before everything had started to get this complicated. He knew he could promise forever to Robin. In his heart, he already had. With Carly, he couldn't promise next week. And the idea of even asking her to promise something back was incomprehensible.

It was always like that with Carly. At some point that had been what kept him holding on to her. She advertised simple and you got nothing close. But she had this way of filling things up. Of making everything feel important. Confusing, yeah. Complicated. And yes -- it always ended up overflowing, leaving unbelievable messes in it's wake. But he was used to it. It felt empty, without it.

He picked up the beer and drained the glass. It didn't matter now. Choices had been made. Things had changed. Again. God, he hoped to hell she was happy with Cassadine. He hoped she never needed him again. Because he had no idea what would happen to the both of them if she did.

Carly sat in long grass, knees pulled up to her chest, hands sunk into her hair. Something was buzzing. It might have been her head. She could feel the beat of her heart in her temples. Throbbing and insistent, like the air pushing in and out of her. She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking back, then forward, to this rhythm. Think. Think. Think.

"How..." She started, but words failed. They had been for a good ten minutes. The question started to form for her, finally, and she spoke it like every word was a new realization, even as coherency infected her. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

There was a long, buzzing and beating silence before he answered.

"Since... Sometime between 'marry me' and 'get me to Vegas'."

She choked on her air. "What?"

"Carly."

"What...?" His words had jarred her, bringing her head up and her eyes open. She stared into the expanse in front of her. Rolling hill, a sun-drenched meadow of random grass and wild flowers that ran beyond the thin strip of road she could see in the distance. It went on like ocean. She shook her head, slowly. "I never have any clue what you're thinking, do I?"

"You do ok."

"No. I don't."

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. She felt hot. Unnaturally warm -- not from the sun. Maybe from the ceaseless churning in her gut. She pressed her palm to her forehead, and felt the damp of perspiration along her forehead.

"How soon?" it came out shrill and pitiful. This was unreal. She heard Nikolas shift next to her, felt the heat of his body move closer to her. Her heart picked up speed like it was making a decision. Everyone batten down the hatches, it's getting ready to blow...

"Alexis said, by the end of the summer."

It still sounded ridiculous.

"And it would be what?"

"At least three days a week."

"Unsupervised."

"Yes."

"Overnight."

"Once a week, yes."

She laughed -- hard and sharp-edged hysteria. "And AJ would still have full-custody."

"For the time being. But that would change."

The ground moved under her -- rippled, rose and fell like water. She leaned forward, head down on her knees again. A crash position.

"How would that change?"

His voice was soft and patient -- measured -- through all of this. Even though he was repeating things he'd already said at least twice. She couldn't seem to do anything else, though. Just spit out the questions and get the response. Right at that moment it was the only thing keeping her here. The only thing reassuring her that all of this was real.

"We'd file for full custody. When things were stable. When Michael was used to the new arrangement -- then we'd ask them to reopen the case."

She sat up, suddenly cold and rubbing her arms. "How long would that take?"

"When they took Michael from you, it took them a year."

She nodded. Almost exactly, from start to finish.

"We might be able to do it faster -- but if we do it this way, then we stand a better chance of winning --"

"Better?" She took that one word and grabbed onto it for all she was worth. Uncertainty. She was familiar with it. And she knew there had to be a loophole here, some sort of pit of doubt to bury herself in. Nikolas must have read her -- seen what she was doing -- because his arms closed around her, dragging her rigid body back to lean against him.

"We'd win either way," he murmured into her ear. "But the cleaner the fight, the harder it will be for them to try to change anyone's mind."

"They'd never let it go," she was staring wide-eyed, feeling the fear grip her. It got the worse, the more he said. "They'd keep it going for years."

"No one would allow that. It's bad for the child."

"Then how can we --"

"Because they cheated," his lips pressed against her temple and she closed her eyes. "They said things that weren't true. Your attorney was inept. The decision was wrong."

That was what finally did it. When nothing else had, it was those words that broke through the distance and brought the tears to her eyes. Streaming down her face in hot rivers. She leaned back into him, finally. His arms tightened around her, and he whispered soft words of comfort that she didn't absorb. She wanted him to be right. She'd never wanted anything this much in her life -- God, just this once. Just this once don't pull the rug out.

She and faith didn't have a rapport. The last thing she'd let herself hope for had sunk before her eyes -- and landed her in bed with Nikolas. A man who seemed to believe in fairy tales... She stiffened. She'd said that to him -- "After this, are you going to take me to see my Fairy Godmother?" -- When he'd said the Quartermaines weren't going to have a problem with him being at the mansion. And he'd been right.

She pulled in a ragged, sniffling breath, and brought her hands to rest on his forearms. "Do you really believe that?"

"Alexis believes that."

Alexis. The aunt. Who'd been creepy-nice at the ball, who'd looked at Carly with a determination to be The Normal One. Her head had spun in circles, weaving in the information with her desperate need to be the perfect Mrs. Cassadine. She'd gotten Tony Jones off when he'd been guilty as sin. Not that she blamed her. Why blame the attorney when you had Robin straightening the halo on the kidnapper's head? She blinked heavily. Alexis Davis?

"Alexis was married to Ned," Carly muttered.

"So she knows what she's talking about."

"She's not going to screw them over for me --"

"She doesn't have to. We're not tricking anyone. We're just taking back your rights."

He made it sound so clean. So simple. So true. Like she deserved this. Like it was justice.

"The Quartermaines don't fight clean.

"We fight clean because we can. We don't have to do anything else." His grip on her tightened. "We fight clean until we have to start getting dirty."

Her eyes blurred. "What you have to do... nothing more, nothing less."

"Exactly."

"I'm crazy, Nikolas."

"You're not crazy."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm clinically depressed."

"And AJ's an alcoholic," she felt his breath against her cheek. "It doesn't mean you can't be a good mother. It just means that you have something to overcome."

Finally. There it was. She'd known there was going to be something -- that would make this go away. It was the reason she hadn't been able to let herself think about this past the first leap. She'd fought so hard. She'd done everything she could. And at the end she was destroyed and hospitalized. She was pathetic and abandoned. A twenty-six year old woman who needed her mother the way an infant did. He kept talking like that wasn't going to matter.

"What if I can't?"

"You will."

"No," she sat up, only to find that he wouldn't let her move out of his embrace. She let out her breath and fell against him again. "What if I can't?"

"You said you wanted to get better."

Had she? She had. God, did he listen to everything she let come out of her mouth?

"I don't know how to do that."

She felt him nuzzle her neck before he answered. "We'll find a way."

"Like what?" she felt a surge of anger -- welcome in all the haze and horror of this conversation. So much better than fear. Anger never made her feel sick. "Like WHAT? I've been in therapy for a year, Nikolas. I'm just as bad as I was when I started, and if they took my son away before any of THAT happened, then they sure as hell aren't going to let me..." her voice faded away. The anger abandoned her mid-thought. It had done it's job. Ray of hope effectively extinguished.

"Gail's not working."

"Nothing's working."

"So stop seeing Gail."

Her hands grabbed his, and she pulled herself free of him. "She's court appointed, remember? I can't just up and stop seeing Gail --"

"Yes you can."

Carly turned around and looked at him, finally. There was something... something weird. In his tone. In his eyes.

"How?" she dragged the word out, it was thick with apprehension.

"Well, to be blunt," he exhaled. "You can't see Gail anymore."

She felt wind. Blowing her hair, moving the grass and grief-drenched air from around her.

"What?"

"She's... going to recuse. For lack of a better term."

Pin pricks along her spine. "Why?"

"Because. She won't have any other choice."

Robin wasn't prepared for her reaction to seeing Jason come down the hall. She'd spent the morning -- her first morning of parenthood, alone. Fielding questions from her uncle and Felicia, spending so much time hovering over the baby, her mind racing through the details, pushing away any thoughts of her marriage. Of anything ugly. But it was there, in the back of her mind. What happened when he came back? What did she want to say? What was he going to say? Maybe he wasn't going to come back at all. Maybe he was just finished with her. She flew continuously from righteous indignation back to plain old fashioned fear. Spinning from one extreme to another in brief jabs before pushing herself to do whatever came next. Waiting until the next polite acquaintance teased "now where's that husband of yours?" Her face hurt from smiling politely. She just wanted people to go away.

It was quiet hour, when he'd finally shown up -- parents and grandparents only -- and she had finally been alone with her thoughts. The mindless fear had gained considerable ground on righteous indignation, and brought with it waves of nausea. She didn't want to do this alone. She didn't want to have a failed marriage two weeks into it. And she loved Jason, right? He had chosen her. Even if he'd slept with Carly one last time (It had to be one last night. It had to be...), Jason had still come back to HER, right? She'd been pale and sick with terror by the time Jason appeared on the other side of the window. When she looked up and saw him and all she felt was... relief. She'd been out of the nursery like a shot, and the next thing she knew she was enveloped in his arms and telling herself that this was the right thing. It had to be. No other choice.

They stood now, at the window. Robin leaning forward, head against the glass, while Jason stood behind her. They were alone. Thank God.

"She's beautiful," Robin whispered, with ever-present awe.

"Yeah."

"You don't think she's beautiful?"

She felt Jason move behind her, then his hand appeared on the window. Supporting his weight as he studied the baby through the glass.

"I think she's too small," he said, finally. "She looks... Helpless."

Robin nodded, eyes on her new daughter. "Fragile. Like she needs to be taken care of."

"She's a baby."

She sighed, nodding. "We're the only chance she's got, Jason."

"I know."

"You haven't held her yet," she pointed out, as steadily as she could. This was important. She didn't stop to think about why. She just knew he had to stop this. Pacing the halls. Disappearing. Managing everything from a distance. "You can. She's not on any machines -- "

"Robin --"

There was something in his voice that alarmed her, and he turned quickly to face him. "Jason," she raised her eyes to his. "I know we have to talk --"

He flinched. Little movement, but she caught it. "Now?"

"I shouldn't have... Yelled at you. Like I did. I was upset."

He didn't say anything. Just stared at her.

"You're right. I knew something happened that night. You didn't try to hide it from me --"

"I tried to TELL you," he leaned forward, speaking fervently. "I wanted to talk to you about it!"

"Why?" Robin's eyes filled with tears. "Why do you need to talk to ME about it? You and Carly..." She turned her face away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth and taking deep breaths before straightening up again. God, she just wanted this to go AWAY. "It's over. Right?"

He shook his head, slightly. "She's married. We're married."

"That's not an answer."

Jason was silent. She felt her gut churn. She willed it over. Willed him to just say what she needed him too.

"I told you this," Jason said, quietly. "Before any of this happened -- I told you I'd never let Carly twist in the wind again. Ever."

She looked up at him, sharply. "What does that mean? Does that mean if she needs you to sleep with her again, you will?"

"I don't know."

She closed her eyes. Wrong answer. But she was asking the wrong question and she knew it. She couldn't believe this was happening. Not again.

"Jason," her voice was deceptively calm. Patient. "You also said 'for richer or for poorer' -- You promised that we'd be together --"

"I promised to take care of you!" Jason interrupted. "And I will. I always will."

"FORSAKING ALL OTHERS!" Her voice raised up into near hysteria. That same voice she'd had in their bedroom the night he'd told Carly about the wedding. Almost a wail. She saw it rip at him and felt better. There. He knew he hurt her. She took a few deep breaths. Hand over her mouth again, knowing her voice had carried down the nearly empty hall. "You made promises to me, too, Jason," she said, finally, her voice soft, and shaky. "The biggest promises someone can make. And if you can't keep them --"

"You know I can't do this," Jason said, in frustration. "You're asking me about the future, and you KNOW I can't tell you what's going to happen. No one CAN, Robin! I can say I'll try. I can say I love you and I want to be with you -- and we have a child here that's counting on us. But that's all I can say. And you know that."

Robin leaned her head against the window, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Distant white rectangles. She felt tired. Used up. She just wanted this to be over. She wished to God she'd never even said anything. Could she have done that? Yes, she realized. She'd been doing it for months. And maybe... It wasn't fair. She knew he'd tried to talk to her. He wasn't lying. And she knew what Carly put him through. She knew that she'd pull every trick she had, that she'd try to suck Jason back into her web. She'd just thought... She'd thought that Jason wouldn't fall. But he had. She knew he had when he'd come home that night. It had been written all over his face. But she hadn't wanted to know then, and truth be told... She didn't want to know now. It felt awful. It felt like letting Carly win. She wasn't going to let her take her life away from her. She hadn't gone this far, suffered this much, to turn and walk away. It just wasn't a possibility.

"She's so dark," she said, in a light, disembodied voice. "Her hair?," she turned, leaning her shoulder against the glass and looking back in at Polly. "It's so dark. Like my mother's." She let out a slow breath. "I love you so much, Jason."

"I know."

She nodded, lips pressed together, then turned around, looking right up into his eyes.

"She has someone to take care of her now. Carly... She doesn't need another hero, you know?"

"As long as Cassadine takes care of her, I don't have to. But if he stops..."

He didn't finish the thought. Robin leaned forward, into his chest. He brought his arms up to hold her, and she let herself fall into them.

"It was only one time," she raised her eyes again. "Right? Just that one time?"

"It was a mistake, Robin."

She pulled in her breath, nodding shakily. "We have to pull this together." He didn't say anything. But she felt his arms tighten around her. She sighed into him. "We will. We just will. We're not going to let this pull us apart."