Chapter Fifty-Nine:
Just Like A Vacation

"Yo! Aunt Bobbie!"

Bobbie straightened up, hand on the small of her back, and let out a groan. She'd been bent over in the garden, pulling out weeds, and generally fussing about with the soil. She'd taken a serious interest in her garden, the last few years. It had started out being a small corner, and gradually grew, year by year, until it had taken over most of the back yard. She found it calming. In the past week, she'd been out here almost daily.

At times like this, she thought to herself, she really felt like she needed a man in her life. Maybe just to take the edge off. At the very least it would be better for her back.

Ok. Maybe not.

She shook her head out. Nope. Not going there.

"Out here, Lucky," she called towards the open door to the kitchen. Her nephew appeared in the doorway before she'd managed to haul herself to her feet. He let out a low whistle.

"Ain't you a picture."

"You are so much your father's son," she rolled her eyes at him, coming into the house. "Lemonade?"

"Twist my arm," Lucky turned, leaning against the door frame. He tossed a key ring up into the air and caught it. "Still waiting on my partner in crime."

"Give him time," she sighed, holding the door to the fridge open with her hip, while she poured lemonade into a glass. "He's so excited about this, he almost made a facial expression."

"Well. I am the height of cool."

"And Lucas is just trying to keep up," she shook her head. "Boxing?" she turned around. "Really?"

"Keeps me off the streets."

"How did that even start?"

Lucky shrugged. "I was bored. Now I'm..." he paused, allowing a devilish smile to take residence on his lips. "Less bored."

"Just don't let my baby get hurt."

"It'll be good for him, Aunt Bobbie," Lucky thumped his chest, then took the glass Bobbie was offering him. "Sharpen his reflexes, keep him on his toes -- "

"I still don't like it," Bobbie said grimly. "But I can't come up with a solid reason to say no. Can't you just teach him to play guitar?"

Lucky flinched. "I tried. He's more interested in being Fred Durst than Wes Borland."

She made a face. "I don't even know what that means."

"Ah... More Mick Jagger than Keith Richards. Does that close the generation gap?"

"Hey," Bobbie complained. "You watch it, buddy..." her voice trailed off as she watched in some awe while Lucky downed the contents of the glass without alarming speed. "You're going to make yourself sick!"

"Nah, I'm better than that," he put the glass down on the counter with a thunk. "You can ask me, Aunt Bobbie. You must be about to burst an artery."

She let out a sigh of relief, and leaned her hip against the counter. "Did you talk to Nikolas?"

"Yep."

"Did she..."

"I don't know," Lucky gave her an apologetic smile. "Nik's not being real forthcoming. But I think he can handle it."

She nodded, distractedly, not looking directly at her nephew. "Oh, no. No, I know he can."

"You're a terrible liar, Aunt Bobbie."

"I just," she let a hand drop to her side. "I wish I could see her with my own eyes. That's the only way I'm going to feel better."

"They'll be back Friday," he gave a half shrug. "Wish I could tell you more."

"Do you know why they left?" she pressed. She saw something flicker through Lucky's eyes. "Why didn't they tell anyone they were going?"

"Best I could tell, they just wanted a break."

"That's it?" Bobbie had already submitted Lucky to this cross-examination once, but she felt the need to repeat herself. "Nothing else?"

He put a hand over his heart. "I swear."

"Because this is all very covert," she continued. "I don't know why they couldn't just say 'we'll be here', or 'if you need to get in contact --'"

"I think they just had enough contact," Lucky cut in. Bobbie flinched in response. "Hey. They're living on Spoon Island, you know? And The Count isn't so hot at giving people a lot of personal space."

She nodded. Let him think she was placated. But the truth was, she hated this. She had hated every minute of this since... Oh, God. Had she actually relaxed, even for a second, since Nikolas and Carly had shown up married in the first place?

"I think they're just doing the newlywed thing," Lucky, apparently, wasn't buying her attempt at calm. "It's not like they're trying to get away from someone. They're just trying to..." he made a face. "Forget it. What's going down in this place right now, I think Nik's going for some Absolute Control. Can't totally say I blame him."

Bobbie looked at him in consternation. "Carly's not that good with being told what to do!"

"Oh, come on," he flashed her another smile. "She's got him wrapped around her baby finger. I think she'll be ok."

"I know, you're right," she nodded, tapping her fingers nervously on the counter top. "I just wish..."

"Hey!" Bobbie was interrupted by Lucas suddenly appearing in the doorway. "What's taking so long? I'm ready, let's go!"

"Duty calls." Lucky clapped her shoulder reassuringly as he passed. "What took you so long, kid? Stalling on me?"

"Yeah, right," Lucas pushed his hair out of his face. "See ya, Mom." He slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Have him back for dinner," Bobbie called as they started out of the kitchen.

"Always.

"And Lucas?"

Her son dutifully turned back and looked at her, brow raised.

"Be careful!"

"Mom!"

He complained but grinned. She blew him a kiss, and he rolled his eyes. You had to know how to read them at this age, or you'd go nuts. She told herself that firmly, as she watched Lucky herd him out the door -- they were already talking like she didn't exist. Off into Deepest Boyland. She didn't let out her breath until the door closed. When Lucas was younger, it was nice to get the break. Now -- she always felt a little left behind.

Her children were inspiring that feeling in her a lot, lately.

Feeling ever so hard-done-by, Bobbie turned and started back to the garden, pausing to pick up the pair of gloves she'd discarded on the table on the way in. She wandered back to her work, engrossed in pulling them on, and so, predictably, did not spot the dark figure standing in the middle of back yard until she was standing mere feet away from him.

"Oh!" she let out a yelp when she looked up, taking a few steps back, her eyes wide.

"Good morning, Barbara," Stefan intoned. " I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

Cece Monroe strode down the corridor of General Hospital, cell phone to her ear, as she pushed through the umpteenth set of swinging doors. The familiar sound of her own voice greeted her and she rolled her eyes, as she ducked around a passing intern who'd wandered into her path.

"It's eleven o'clock," she spoke in quick, clipped jabs. "Do you know where your father is?"

Pause for effect.

"Well, I'll TELL you where he is -- he's in your office. He's always in your office. I wouldn't be surprised if he SLEEPS in your office. You know, I keep expecting him to lay off because you've finally called him -- " Another set of doors. "But that doesn't seem to be happening. Also. Text Messaging is cowardly. It's an insult to the hard work of Alexander Graham Bell. But I'm on my way, anyway. I expect a call if you want to know how it went," she was pulling the folder out of the side of her bag as she turned the corner. "And by the way, the damned 'gift' is being delivered to the island today. You are so paying for my dry cleaning."

She clicked off as she approached the office -- door open invitingly. She could see the glimpse of soothing blues and flinched. Pastels. She didn't like this woman already.

She strode through the door without bothering to knock. "Gail Baldwin?"

"Yes?" The voice came from behind her, and Cece turned to see her quarry standing behind her -- she'd been watering a plant. Very nurturing. Watering Can -- plastic; light blue. Very not threatening. She gave Cece a very bland smile and placed her inoffensive can down on an inoffensive side table. "Can I help you with something?"

"Cece Monroe," she extended her hand in greeting. "I represent Nikolas Cassadine." There was a momentary ripple that crossed the woman's face and Cece couldn't help but smile back, eyes glinting. "You've been expecting me, maybe."

"No," Gail frowned. "Not you specifically -- " she gestured towards a cluster of large, comfortable, inoffensive arm chairs. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Not even remotely," she opened her folder, flipping through the papers quickly. "Your office was informed that Caroline Cassadine would be away this week, yes?"

"Yes, my secretary --"

"We realize that missing appointments is cause for concern," she continued, picking up a crisp bundle of papers on thick stationary. "Mrs. Cassadine takes her responsibilities to both her son and the court very seriously --"

"Oh, I don't think that's in question."

"But looking over her files --" she glanced up, giving Gail a light smile. "And yours... Well. We have some concerns of our own."

She watched the lines on the woman's forehead deepen. Sometimes she really did enjoy this job...

"Concerns? About Carol -- " she stopped, shaking her head. "Carly?"

"No," her smile widened. "About you. Specifically..." she looked down, pretending to scan her materials. "Ah, yes. Your relationship to Monica Quartermaine, nee Bard."

"Monica," Gail looked taken aback. "Well, that's a matter of public record, no one voiced any concerns --"

"I know," she adopted a manner that floated between kind and patronizing. "Your record is above reproach. And I'm sure you had Mrs. Cassadine's best interests at heart --"

"It's a professional relationship," Gail was starting to sound defensive. "And yes, I do have ties to Monica and the Quartermaines, but I would never allow that to interfere with my treatment with a patient --"

"Not in question," Cece nodded in agreement. "Like I said, your record is spotless. Or... well. It was."

"Was?"

"You can see how it looks," Cece sighed, closing the folder. "Particularly when you look at the facts of Mrs. Cassadine's case. The lack of equity, the final decision --" she tisked her tongue. "Well. It doesn't stand up to scrutiny, I'm afraid. And we'd hate for you to get dragged into whatever sins the Quartermaines may have committed."

"I was a mentor figure to Monica, a LONG time ago --"

"And look how far she's come! You must be very proud," Cece soothed. "But... Mr. Cassadine doesn't take chances. And he's not comfortable with the relationship. He'd prefer you turn the case over to another worker at the hospital."

Gail blinked. "What?"

"Immediately... We can make this expedient. Right a wrong as quickly as possible. In the best interests of the patient, after all."

"I'm not going to just abandon Carly's case without at least speaking to her!"

"Oh, that's sweet," Cece nodded, pursing her lips. "I'll make a note of that... " She handed Gail the stack of papers. "We'd like you to sign these."

"Carly --"

"Right now, if you could manage it," she clicked on the end of her pen, then extended it to the bewildered woman. "Mrs. Cassadine has already missed one appointment, and we're very anxious that we not miss another."

"No," Gail was scanning the papers, shaking her head. "No, I won't sign this."

"Oh. Please don't use that word." Cece winced, apologetically. "I really hate it when people use that word. Things always get so messy."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all," she put a hand lightly on the woman's wrist. She hated it when people did that to her, but really enjoyed throwing it off on others. "But we would have to go over your head. Perhaps bring it up with the board. And then there would be a review... You really should speak to Monica. There are some very questionable details regarding the case --"

"You are threatening me," her face turned to stone. "Miss... Monroe?"

"Ms., actually."

"My record is clean. I care very much for my patients, Carly included, and --"

"Mrs. Baldwin?" Cece cut her off, cocking her head to one side. "My employer wants this to change. He believes it is in his wife's best interests for this to change. It will change. It's that simple. Now -- Do you believe that there is something questionable in... Oh, say, Dr. Collins's background that we should be aware of?"

"Dr. Collins? Well -- Apart from his breakdown..."

"Unfortunate, that, yes," she made a sympathetic humming. "But does he have any close personal ties to families that ruined Mrs. Cassadine's life?"

"I really object to being painted with this brush --"

"Oh, I can imagine," her eyes widened. "I don't look forward to having to do it publicly if you don't sign those papers." She flipped open her file again. "Now... do you want to explain to me in detail why it is that you object to 'Carly' having a new doctor? I've got time to take some notes."

"I don't object," Gail took a careful breath. "If it is what Carly wants."

"Hmmm," Cece frowned. She was beginning to lose patience with this conversation. "What's at issue here is what is in her best interests. And Mr. Cassadine has decided that's not you. So either you suck it up, take the hit to your ego and sign the papers -- or we make this all very long, very ugly and very not-good-for-Mrs. Cassadine." She tapped her fingers on the edge of the file. "The decision, really? Is yours," she glanced up. "And I promise you. This is as close to having a choice in this as you'll get."

The woman changed color -- adopting a pastel shade of her own.

"I am very disappointed in this," she said, looking down at the papers. "Very disappointed that it had to go this way."

"Yeah," Cece dropped all pretense of polite with a clatter. "And I'm very disappointed you wasted this much of my time... Sign at the bottom of three and five. And I'll need that in triplicate..."

Carly stretched out on the hood of the rental car, staring up at the tree branches over head. Bright blue sky, seen in cut outs through the leaves. There was a soft wind, the sun was hitting her in patches. A pool against her right shoulder. A strip across her stomach. Late spring -- the longest days of the year. With weather that wanted to crack right through your shell and pull you out into the world. She could feel the pull, feel it nagging at her -- come on. Join us! It's warm and beautiful and fun out here. Winter's over. The world's new.

Yep. New and shiny. Entirely rearranged while she wasn't looking, but look at it sparkle.

She let her eyes close. Her whole body was feeling heavy and immovable. Happy to just lay here on sun-warmed metal and cook. Turn ideas around in her head and try to grab onto something that made sense.

Gail Baldwin and Monica Quartermaine. They had a relationship, Nikolas had told her. So what? They both worked at General Hospital. It was inevitable. Gail had relationships with everyone. No, he'd explained. They went way back. Gail was a formative influence. Gail was part of what had made Monica who she was. In her mind, Carly slid that image up against Scott Baldwin, and thought 'Good work, Gail...' How could she ever have hesitated to turn herself over to that woman?

She hadn't been feeling so hot since that little conversation. Yesterday, which had started out all bubbly and exuberant, had turned into yet another celestial smackdown. Sure, what was good was still good -- but what wasn't... was starting to get worse. Jason and Robin off some place curled up with a squirming bundle of new life -- the real kind. Not some buffed up version of an old one. That alone made her guts churn. And then Gail, who... Ok, so she'd never actually poured her heart out to the woman... and she hadn't thought she had trusted, or really even liked her... But she still felt betrayed. She could feel it like a hard knot in her stomach. Tightening every time she thought about it. See, Caroline? How many times do I have to tell you not to let your guard down? How many times do I have to connect the dots for you? Why does it take you so long to learn these lessons?

This was the stuff swirling around inside her while she lay next to her husband last night. Trying to pretend that the firmness of his grip on her wasn't alternately comforting and panic-inducing. It was crazy. She'd spent all this time trying to get a grip on him. Trying to understand the things that went on inside him... and just when she thought was getting somewhere -- Whammo, pow, zowee. He threw something completely unanticipated her way. It was unnerving. Confusing. And also -- How was it a guy who would confess the depths of his devotion towards her at the slightest prodding, wouldn't tell her the most basic things about her own existence? It wasn't like this was the first time this had happened -- but this time they weren't talking about AJ, or who moved her boxes. This was about who played around with her head. And oh -- lest she forget! -- He'd worked out Gail's replacement, too. Or at least, orchestrated an audition. It was up to her, he said. Carly struggled to comprehend that, since the whole thing was already wrapped up in a pretty neat package.

She'd asked him the obvious question. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"When?"

That stopped any argument dead. He had a point -- even though she could point out a good three dozen opportunities since Saturday Night, she felt herself shrink at the memory of what came before. A week of turning her back to him. Of keeping herself out of his arm's reach. Of saying incredibly nasty, hurtful things to him. She was lucky he was still here at all. Let alone rearranging her psychic end tables.

And still. Something in her screamed. Wanted to push all of this away, to say stop. And how could she feel that way when everything Nikolas was doing was about Michael? Was about keeping his promise to her. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong, it was just... Something about it didn't feel right. Something about it made her feel horrible.

The screen door to the cabin swung shut, bringing Carly out of her contemplations. She blinked her eyes open -- green and blue overhead, the flag of her undiscovered country. She struggled up onto her elbows, and watched Nikolas descend the stairs. He'd granted her first shower. A gentleman to the end... Smiled softly at the sight of her, and crossed the grass.

"Ready?" He asked, approaching her.

She nodded, standing up to meet him. His arm slipped around her waist, palm pressed to the middle of her back, and he bestowed a soft kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Feeling the cool of his skin, slightly damp of his hair. So effortlessly attractive. It made her stomach hurt.

"Breakfast first," she murmured as she extricated herself from him.

"Whatever you want," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before moving around the car. All Prince Charming, unlocking the passenger side door first. "It's your call."

Carly grimaced as she got into the car. She started to turn, pulling her legs in after her, then turned back. Her hand held the door open, her eyes looking up at his.

"We don't have to do this, you know."

He frowned, hand still on the top of the door. "You have no clothes. Why not do this?"

She tilted her head. "I don't know. We're going home soon, right?"

His eyes searched hers quickly. It was unnerving, how he'd do that. Like being scanned. Particularly since it seemed to take him no time and little effort -- whereas she could gaze into him for hours and still only determine if there was a feeling there to read -- never getting close to what it might be. Not unless he was having a weak moment.

"Don't you like shopping?" He asked the question with genuine curiosity.

She smirked, and averted her eyes. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"I don't know," he leaned against the car door. "You only bought... what? One dress when you went to Wyndams."

"And shoes," she added. She flashed, suddenly, on one of her confrontations with Robin. Something that had happened just before she and Jason called it quits the second time. Her complaint that Carly was too comfortable with Jason's money. Spent it too freely. Like she hadn't had a right to it. Ironic, considering how the money tended to come into Jason's possession... She let out a weary sigh. "I can break the bank," she promised. "Give me time."

"My family owns the bank."

"Yeah?" she countered. "Just the one?"

He leaned down and she tipped her face up to him automatically -- letting him kiss her again.

"It's enough to provide."

Provide. She thought about that word as the car bounced its way down the dirt drive that lead up to their cottage. That's what all of this was to him -- providing. The problem was, he seemed to have a much clearer idea of the picture they were supposed to make. He was already sliding pieces into place. Gail, out. Kevin you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me Collins, in. Alexis was already spinning webs around the Quartermaines. What was she doing? Staring off into space. Fighting off hysteria. Being hopelessly spoiled by her husband. The whole thing was surreal. Not to mention mind-bogglingly uneven.

"So," she sat back in the bucket seat, stretching her body out under the confines of her seatbelt. "What are we looking for?"

"Up to you."

"Yeah, everything's up to me today, isn't it?" she cringed inwardly at the tone. She had to stop doing that. "Just... I need to know how big to think."

"You can think as big as you want," he assured her, though she could tell his patience was beginning to strain. "You can get something to get by. You can start building your trousseau -- it's up to you."

"My what?"

"Uh," he'd paused, while turning the car onto the paved road. "It's not my area of expertise. But clothes -- jewelry. Things you need."

She stared at him, struggling with the knowledge that he was serious. She knew what it was. She'd read enough historical romances as a teenager to have stumbled across the term. Her stomach lurched again. It really wasn't having a very good day.

"Isn't that a little dated?" He shot her a quick look. Ironic, amused. She took his point. "Ok -- Doesn't that usually come before the wedding?"

"Usually," he agreed. "But we bent a few rules."

"No kidding," she muttered under her breath. Laws. Of etiquette, of tradition, of nature. She let her eyes close, listening to the hum of the car over the road. Let herself sink into the silence.

"You don't --"

She opened her eyes at the sound of her husband's voice.

"Don't...?"

He shook his head. "No -- never mind. It's not important."

She stared at him. "You know what the best way to get my undivided attention is? End any thought with 'never mind. It's not important'."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Nikolas."

For a second there, she thought she saw him squirm. Or at least, shift slightly, which spoke volumes on someone as still as Nikolas.

"I just," he exhaled. "I hope you don't feel like you missed something."

It took her a moment to decipher what he was saying. "By eloping?" she shook her head. "No. I don't look a gift Cassadine in the mouth."

He smiled slightly. "When a Cassadine gets married, things normally proceed a little differently."

"Oh," she leaned back in the bucket seat and put her feet up in the dash. "No. I heard about that party thing -- I like our way better."

"You're not going to get an argument."

Carly watched the back of his hand as it gripped the steering wheel. She liked the way Nikolas drove -- confident and easy -- but focused. It made her feel safe.

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Ok."

She bit her lip. The whole Wedding Fantasy.... Part of being a girl -- whether you wanted it or not, it was part of the package. Special gift with purchase. She'd never really thought about it, past her teens, though. Not even when she was with Tony -- the fact that anyone wanted to marry her at all was about as far as things went.

"We had to get married that way," she spoke, staring at the road in front of her. "Otherwise, our families would have come down on us like a ton of bricks," she paused. "Like another ton of bricks."

"I know."

She looked down at the ring on her finger. Twisted it around. "How would it have been different? I mean -- " she stopped, trying to work out her question. "How do Cassadines do this?"

"With as much pomp and circumstance as possible."

"In English?"

He shook his head. "It's really not important."

"Come on," she chided. "If I'm going to use this to guilt you, you have to at least let me know what I missed."

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. Like he was recommitting himself to the act of driving, with increased focus. But he answered the question.

"For starters.... There would have been an actual engagement --"

She scoffed. "Overrated."

"With a ring."

She was quiet on that one. Ok. So the lack of ring had crossed her mind...

"Then there's the Bacchanalia --" he glanced over at her. "Which is only a preview of how ostentatious and migraine inducing the actual wedding is."

She shifted to look at him. Sitting so that her body was leaning her shoulder into the seat. "You really are making this sound so tempting," she observed. "When do we get to the good stuff?"

"That is the good stuff. I haven't even gotten into marriage agreements, family politics, the dowry... "

"Does this mean my mother owes you a sheep?"

"Or half a European Principality."

It was a joke. She knew that. But she felt herself heat at the comment. She didn't feel ripped off by any of this. Did he? Stupid question. She knew that -- this had all been his idea. But... It sounded so grandiose. So special. She couldn't help but wonder if he felt the lack. To go from that sort of importance to... This.

"You wasted yourself."

His eyes darted over to her, quickly, then turned back to the road.

"The one thing I enjoy about not being a Prince anymore..." She watched him switch gears as they approached a hill, before he finished the thought. "It's a lot easier to break the rules."

"Did you try before?"

"More than people were comfortable with," he admitted. "I think they expected me to grow out of it." The words hung in the air for a long moment before he spoke again. "Now I don't have to."

The knot in her stomach released a little at the edge in his voice. Sick? Maybe. She couldn't care right now. She was so tired of feeling bad. Of feeling lost. So Nikolas hadn't been sharing... It wasn't like she'd been asking. And now the opportunity loomed in front of her. And to her surprise, she realized, she wanted it.

"What reasons would they have wanted you to marry?" she asked the question in her softest voice. Coaxing. She could feel his discomfort with the topic. She hoped if she was quiet enough, if she let herself just fade into the background, he wouldn't think too much about what he was saying.

"The Principality helps." He was being glib. She forced a laugh.

"Don't you guys own enough stuff?"

"We're greedy by nature. We always want more than we have."

She let her head rest against her seat. "Doesn't leave much for the rest of us."

"That's been part of the problem."

She watched the muscles in his arm, change. Tighten. Release. She was tempted to reach out and touch him. "So if you were the prince, you'd have to marry for land and --"

"Reputation," he cut her off, not quite managing to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. "That's the most valuable commodity my family trades in these days. After my Grandfather, his brothers. My Grandmother..."

"Your uncle?"

A humorless smile crept over his features. "Do you mean Stavros?"

"Yeah."

"A non-issue. Died young and -- believe it or not -- respected."

The car turned onto the highway. A little sharp. It wasn't something a normal person would notice, but Carly was always unnaturally intuned to the way a car moved around her. She swallowed.

"So if you were still the prince --"

"It doesn't matter."

Liar. She lifted her head and looked at the road. She should let this go. For more reasons than she should count, she should let this go.

"Call it morbid curiosity," she said, turning to sit properly in her seat. "Who would you have married?"

He exhaled. "Caroline. How stupid do you think I am?"

"What?"

"There are at least a dozen land mines in that question."

"Yeah, well," Carly's face flushed, quick and hot. "Excuse me for trying to get a grip on who you are." Her voice was harsh and angry -- letting the sting she felt seep out. And that's what it was, really -- a hard, painful, burning sensation. Of not being capable or trustworthy. He had seen her at her absolute worst. And he had taken care of her. He'd done just what her mother had been doing for the last year. Calming her down. Holding her hand. Making her take those shaky steps up the drive to the Quartermaine Mansion. If she'd realized anything over the past few days, it was that Nikolas was right in the center of her life. He knew everything. He was handling everything. She was handling nothing. And getting him to say anything about him was like pulling teeth.

Of course, snapping at him might not be the best strategy.

She reached up and wiped a tear out of her eye, then let out an unsteady breath.

"Boom."

He reached over to touch her hair while not taking his eyes off the road.

"I'd want to marry you."

She snorted. It was pretty much the only 'right answer', wasn't it? Then something occurred to her.

"Just 'want'?"

He took his hand back. "I'm not saying another word."

She reached out, on impulse, and grabbed his wrist. He jerked in surprise, and looked at her like she was nuts.

"I kind of need that right now."

Carly shot a quick look at the road, then looked back at him and laughed.

"You're doing all right," she said, softly, turning his palm up towards her. She let her fingers trail over his palm.

"Carly."

"Please?" she pressed a kiss against his wrist before releasing him. "I'll be good."

"That's not it..." he shook his head. Ran his hand over the steering wheel in a way she could only guess was meant to distract him from whatever sensation her touch had managed to stir up. He gripped the wheel tightly, eyes so determinedly on what lay in front of them. Maybe that was it, she thought, gathering her knees up to her chest again. Maybe he just didn't like to look back.

"I never liked the rules," he admitted, finally. "Choosing a wife the way you would a horse. I never saw myself marrying for the reasons I was supposed to. Even when the title was inevitable."

She nodded, eyes fixed on the infinitesimal tear in the knee of her jeans. "So you didn't like it -- why can't you tell me what it was you didn't like?"

"Because it doesn't matter. And I don't want you to twist it into something it's not."

"You've been paying attention," she smiled wryly, then lifted her head up -- let her eyes fix on the strip of light she could see through the sunroof. "So she's an imaginary girl. In a world where you're still stuck being the prince. And I'm..." she closed her eyes. Tried to come up with something fanciful. Ridiculous. "I'm living on a vineyard. In France."

"What?"

"With my feet stained purple. You've never met me."

"So this is all a game." He sounded cautious. God -- was she really that scary?

Was she really seriously asking herself that question?

"Entirely," she waved a dismissive hand, looking over at him. "You lived on the island your whole life. We never even came to Port Charles. Who are you marrying?"

"Who I'm marrying... " His narrowed his eyes slightly. "They probably would have come to me with some very wealthy, cultured, well-mannered girl who was schooled her whole life to entertain heads of state..."

Carly noticed he avoided using the word 'sophisticated', but it dripped off the description. She pictured something elegant, well-spoken. Dripping in diamonds. Big eyes.

"... Who had read the entire Western Cannon and could recite Shakespeare, Keats and Shelley. Play the piano. Sing arias on cue."

"Sounds like a trained circus animal."

She hadn't exactly meant to blurt that out -- and was surprised when Nikolas laughed, hollowly.

"It's not that different from what I am."

She turned to look at him. Still so intense. Maybe not a good idea to have this conversation in the car.

"How does that work?" she tried to lighten the mood. "You jump through hoops of fire?"

He exhaled. "I don't have a first language. I learned three simultaneously. I speak Latin. I can quote Machiavelli, Homer and Voltaire. I fence --"

"Fence? Like with swords?"

"Foils. I play polo -- reluctantly. I know how to race a sail boat. I can dance with anyone's daughter. I can talk philosophy, history, politics..." He let his voice trail off. He looked, suddenly, tired.

"What about the arias?"

"I don't sing. The title had its perks."

He was pretty definitive on that one. She felt a pang, looking at him. Any part of her that worried that maybe that was what he wanted, had vanished.

"So," her voice sounded unnatural, so she tried to force it down. "She'd have a trousseau... and a dowry. And she's trained to be entertaining... "

"She'd have to be smart," Nikolas said heavily. "She'd have to know how to run the house. She'd have to understand the family politics. And -- " he cut off the sentence so quickly, Carly knew exactly what he'd been about to say.

"She'd have to be able to produce an heir."

"Yes."

They fell into silence. It was the first time they'd encountered that topic, and she could feel herself retract from him. Heirs. Babies. She put a protective hand over her abdomen and spoke just as he was about to say something.

"Sounds perfect."

He was silent a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was edged. "It would have to. It would have to look and sound and behave like it was absolutely perfect," he took a breath. "But it would still be a circus act."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd be expected to marry for social reasons. Material gain, the health of the family. As long as that was satisfied, I'd have done my duty. And then, if I felt like there was something lacking in the relationship, I'd be expected to find it elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" It was a brief attack of naivete, which quickly abated. "You mean you'd have a mistress."

Some things she just couldn't play off. And if she'd tried to sound calm and excepting of this Hypothetical Life, she blew it right there. There was no way to handle that word and look cool. And it must have been obvious, because she felt the car move and looked up to see them cross the lane and pull onto the shoulder of the road. The car ground to a halt on the gravel and Nikolas killed the engine.

She stared out the windshield in silence -- broken only by the sound of a car swooshing past. Then he spoke.

"It never would have worked."

She turned, then, to look at him. It was a weird concept. What she knew of men -- they got married, they made lives with women, they ran off with cocktail waitresses. Or nursing students. Whatever was lying around, really. So why did this word make her feel sick?

Because she understood what it meant. In this alternate reality where Nikolas was still The Cassadine... he wasn't married to her. He wasn't even looking in her direction. And if he had...

She knew which role she would have filled. And it sure as hell wouldn't have had the little pomp and circumstance she'd gotten this far.

She shook her head. "What?"

Nikolas's still had one hand on the steering wheel -- twelve o'clock. He was staring at it intently.

"Having my life split like that," his words were careful. Every syllable drawn out. "I'd never have been satisfied with it."

"Why not?"

A bitter smile. "We're greedy by nature."

She bit out a laugh. "Two women instead of one? Isn't that more?"

"It only looks that way," he looked up at her, finally. "You never asked me if I liked being the Prince."

"You said --" she stopped and thought about it. About what he'd said. They told me all my life who I was. And it was a lie. The lie was what mattered. She had felt those words. When she'd heard them, she'd felt a pull to him like she couldn't describe. It was back... It never really went far. She cleared her throat. "I guess people just assume that people like being rich and powerful."

"I'm still rich and powerful. You pointed that out the night we met."

She smiled slightly. "So what was so bad about being rich and powerful and titled?"

"Everything."

"You were happy..."

He shook his head. "I've never really been happy."

The hairs on her arm rose.

"Why not?" It was a whisper.

He leaned closer to her, his hand moving towards hers. She reached out grabbed it -- took it in both hands, her eyes on his. He averted his gaze, looking instead at their intertwined hands.

"Everything is about the title," he told her. "Who you are, what you are. You're the Prince before you're anything else. A husband, a father -- even a decent human being," he smiled slightly. "I've heard people say that I'm spoiled, because I always had every material thing I wanted. And that's true. But there's a price for everything," he looked up at her then, and she watched him try his very best to look casual about what he was telling her. Almost as if he was telecasting -- don't take this too seriously. Don't think it really means anything. But he couldn't hold the look, and turned away before he spoke again. "Before I was born my father traveled the world. He climbed mountains, and lived in deserts. In tents on the edge of the Dead Sea. In huts in the most remote places on this earth. I always knew I couldn't do that. I was tied to other things. I knew what I had to be and I had the weight of an eight hundred year old name pressing down on me..."

"But you don't anymore."

"No."

She frowned. "So you're free."

"Yes," he was staring down at their hands again. "That had a price too." He squeezed her hand and looked back up at her. Managed a smile. "But it's starting to pay off."

AJ wanted to pace. He was standing behind his desk at ELQ -- in his spacious, corner office. Office of the CEO. Office that had ONCE belonged to the smug man sitting in the chair opposite him. He felt agitated -- both by his cousin's presence, and by the conversation. But he was damned if he was going to let that show anymore than the grim expression on his face.

"I'm trying to do you a favor here, Junior."

AJ snorted, putting his coffee mug down with a distinct thump. "Oh, is that what this is?"

"What do you think you're going to do?" Ned was shaking his head, wearing a look of patronizing incredulity. "Take the seat yourself?"

"How are you going to represent ELQ on the hospital board if you don't actually WORK here?"

"I still hold stock, remember?"

"So does Jasper Jacks -- That doesn't make him a decent rep for the family."

"And who do you think would make a 'decent rep'? Look around, the choices are scant." A low laugh was on the boil. "Besides. If GH required a 'decent' rep, we would have wrestled it away from Grandfather long ago."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" AJ spit at his cousin. He'd been trying, for ten minutes, not to pick up the bait, but the taunting was getting to him. "You LOVE this."

"What makes you say that?" Ned looked at AJ, a perplexed expression fighting it out with a very determined grin that finally won. "It's the dimples, isn't it? They always give me away."

AJ did his best not to glower. "I want to make something clear. You do this -- you're doing it because you think it's best for the family -- not because you're bailing me out!"

"Wouldn't know where to start," Ned admitted, getting to his feet. "I live in perpetual awe of your ability to find trouble. I mean... You've turned a one-night stand during a bender into a family war with the Cassadines. That's more than just dumb luck. That's skill."

AJ glanced at his watch. Early yet, but he was ready to escape this place. "You married one of them."

"Alexis gets all her aggression out in the courtroom. The rest of them store it up like ants prepping for winter. And you pissed off the ticking time bomb."

"I didn't piss off the time bomb --" AJ complained. "That was Grandfather self-medicating. It had nothing to do with me." He caught Ned's smirk. "It didn't."

"I always warned you guys about underestimating her."

"Ned Ashton Says 'I Told You So'," he sneered, picking up his brief case. "Film at eleven."

"You're not going to win this one," Ned announced to the room -- a repeat performance of the monologue he'd been performing twice daily for the last two weeks. "If we don't replace Grandfather's position on the GH board we just piss The Time bomb off more. And the thing about Time bombs is -- eventually -- they explode."

"Will you stop calling him that?" AJ spoke into his open case. "He's an ex-Prince with a chip on his shoulder. And he's what -- twenty years old? This is a rebellion. Or it's an infatuation . Believe me," a bitter laugh was infecting his words. "He has no idea what he's gotten himself into."

"I wouldn't put all your eggs in that basket."

"And why the HELL NOT?" AJ finally spat. "Why should I break a sweat over this? Upset my son -- let everyone start panicking?" He started packing up his briefcase. Throwing things in more to occupy his hands and keep them away from Ned's throat, than anything else. "My son has a roof over his head, he's well fed, well cared for. He has everything he could possibly want, including ME. I am a good father -- " he glanced up at Ned. "You know. The kind who's actually around. The kind whose kid can pick him out of a line up."

Ned's expression darkened. "The kind you find facedown in an alley covered in his own puke."

"Get some new schtick," AJ muttered, snapping the case shut. "I've got more AA chips than you have teeth. And," he picked up his case. "I'm leaving. I've got other things to take care of, believe it or not."

"You're forgetting something," Ned called out as AJ passed him. Keep going, he instructed himself. He got enough of this at home, he didn't have to listen to it during working hours.

"And what's THAT," he snapped viciously, turning back. "Enlighten me."

Ned pivoted, throwing his arms out. "You're not Michael's mother!"

It worked like tossing a switch. AJ felt himself go red. Felt steam start to pour from his ears.

"Michael's MOTHER," the word was dirt in his mouth, "Is an unstable psychopath who uses everyone and everything to get what she wants. You think that she wants Michael back because she thinks she's what's best for him? No way. Michael's just a tool to her. Just like everyone else."

"And you're not biased on that one."

"Prove me wrong," AJ challenged him. "Show me proof that I'm not right about that."

"Doesn't really matter if you are," Ned stepped forward. "At the end of the day, people are going to look at a three year old boy who doesn't have a mother. They're going to see a big scary family with money to burn who used their influence to take her child away. If The Cassadines can make themselves look misunderstood while trying to take over the world, they can shine Carly up like the Madonna -- and I don't mean the one with the cone-bra. I'm talking Immaculate Conception -- no one will even care what your name is."

AJ shook his head firmly. Garbage in, garbage out. "There is nothing immaculate about Carly Benson. You put the word near her, she'd probably burst into flame."

"You're not hearing me," Ned spoke like he was facing off with a four-year-old. "I'm saying deal -- right now. Start paving the road to communication because if you don't, you're going to be some dim memory in the back of Michael's head, that gets pushed aside to store all those Latin Verbs."

"You think I should just give up. Just turn him over, because it'll be easier that way?"

"I'm saying we both know how this is going to end. Nikolas is already flexing his muscles -- and power it addictive. You really think he's going to back off?"

"I'm going to fight for my child," AJ turned, heading for the door and away from that particularly ugly idea. "Don't get on my case because you gave up on yours."

"Do I have to remind you," Bobbie had dropped the gloves and put both hands on her hips, taking a defensive stance. "That I have a phone? In fact -- I have a cell phone AND pager. I also work at a hospital that you happen to own. There are plenty of opportunities for you to corner me some place that's not here."

"I had no plans to make a visit," Stefan's eyes glinted, giving a hint of irritation. It was at that point that Bobbie noticed just how tightly clasped his hands were in front of him. "But something came to my attention."

"What's that?" she did her best to sound bored, though really, she was seconds away from flying into a complete fit. She did NOT want to see this man. Not here, not at her home. Not anywhere, really -- but at least the hospital had more witnesses.

"The car your son just left this house in."

Bobbie stared, blankly.

"It wasn't familiar to you?"

"He went with Lucky --"

"It was Nikolas's."

She stopped. She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Nikolas's," Stefan took a sudden step forward. "Nikolas's car, in Lucky Spencer's hands -- and I couldn't help but wonder how that might have come to pass."

Bobbie squared her shoulders, refusing to back up. "If you don't mind, Stefan --" a surge of power seemed to bubble up from the ground and take possession of her "I'd like you to keep your distance this time."

He froze. Caught, for just a second, and she reveled in it. Couldn't stop the smile from taking possession of her mouth, though she did fight it. He responded by taking several steps back, and putting his hands behind his back. Locking them there.

"Very well," he said, crisply, chin lifted. "If it makes you feel more at ease."

That got her back up. Amazing how short the little victories were where this man was concerned.

"I don't know anything about Nikolas's car," she shot back, trying not to look flustered. "If Lucky's driving it while Nikolas and Carly are out of town, I can only assume that it's because Nikolas lent it to him."

"And why would he do that?"

"I don't know," she sniped. "Because they're brothers?"

"Ah, yes," Stefan sneered. "Nearly as close as I was to my dear departed brother."

"I don't know," Bobbie shot back before her brain had quite though this out. "You shared one or two things with him, didn't you? But I guess he didn't know about that, huh?"

Icy silence. Bobbie nearly shivered and could swear a cold wind had just blown through the garden. Laura was a topic they'd never discussed. If she ended up six feet under without having discussed this with Stefan, she'd probably be perfectly happy.

"I need to know where they are." His voice was deep and restrained.

"Need, or want?"

"Barbara."

"Oh, come on, Stefan!" she had an opportunity to toss back the things Lucky had said to her only minutes earlier. "They obviously want to be alone! Can't you just let that be?"

"Nikolas must have left word with you --"

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble," Bobbie tossed her hair back. "I'm just as in the dark as you are."

"Then Lucky," he pushed. "Does Lucky know?"

"I don't know!" her voice was raised now. "You were awfully quick to point out how upset at me Carly's been last time we talked. What makes you think they'd let me know where they went? Or even Lucky? If Nikolas wanted to be alone we both know damn well he'd have to work hard to get it. You have your hands so tight around his life, he probably did have to go to his BROTHER -- who spent his life outrunning people like you -- just to get a break!"

The outburst left her gasping for her next breath. GOD did it feel good to yell. She had been holding onto this tightly, ever since that note arrived -- even before. She missed her daughter so much... there weren't words. And she was angry -- at herself. At the price she was paying for a well-meaning mistake. And at the Cassadines for having their hands all over her family again. In any capacity.

Stefan was glaring at her, openly. For the first time, she noticed that his eyes were rimmed with red. She knew what that meant -- it was a tiny thing she'd learned during her sojourn as Stefan's wife. At times of stress, he didn't sleep. It had taken her a long time to figure that out -- since he would come to bed. He would lay next to her dutifully. But in the morning, it would be clear... that fatigue was not being satisfied. She knew that look from the time of Laura's 'death'. She knew it was proof of a troubled mind.

"You think my way is severe --" he started, his voice rasping. He wasn't even bothering to hide his anger anymore.

"I think we both know exactly why Nikolas is behaving like this," she shot back. It hurt him. Even if he didn't show it. And Bobbie had never been so aware of her ability to hurt him. To twist the knife just so. "We know why he doesn't think he can just tell you where he's gone --"

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA," Stefan thundered -- his voice sounding like it could open the earth beneath her. "What my son has allowed himself to be pulled into? Do you stop to think -- ADMIT to yourself -- what sort of creature you might have spawned?"

Bobbie's face heated. She wanted his blood. In that instant, she really believed she could take it.

"And the gloves come off," her own blood was near a boil. "Don't you DARE say a word to me about Caroline. Don't you DARE cast aspersions at my child!"

"And why not?" he moved closer to her again. She refused to back up. Pride wouldn't allow it, though the look on his face was frightening. "I know what I've heard, Barbara, and I know what I've seen," he started to count her sins off on his fingers. "One former lover gunned down in a courtroom. Another left unconscious in an alley way. Yet another -- one who combs the streets with armed body guards, no less -- nearly had his throat slit in the middle of a crowded restaurant."

"Stop," she could feel herself shake. Stefan couldn't understand those things. He didn't know the why. He hadn't felt what it was in her daughter that could do those things. He couldn't understand it. Not the way Bobbie did. Not in a way where he could see doing those things himself, in the right circumstances. She put a hand to her head. "Just stop."

"There are bruises on her," he dropped the words like little bombs. Paused and watched them detonate. Bobbie was aware of his eyes on her as the significance took hold of her. She hadn't even worked out a response when he spoke again. "She is marked, along the insides of her arms. Have you seen that? The night before they left town, they had a fight so violent that the guards called me from the main house. Furniture was broken. There were signs of a struggle --"

"Get out."

"I have reason for my concern."

"No," Bobbie shook her head firmly. "If... If Carly has one mark on her --"

"We both know Nikolas would never touch her if not to protect himself," the words were gospel in Stefan's mouth and she felt them the way you'd feel the touch of God. Truth. So much truth. And she had no idea what it meant. "We both know what she's capable of."

"You're not going to get anything more here," Bobbie said, numbly. She turned to look up at him. Took a moment for her eyes to focus -- but when they did it was sharp and left no room for debate. "Leave, or I'll call the police to haul you out of here bodily."

She turned on her heel and walked back into her house on unstable legs. Made sure she was well out of the sight of the back garden before collapsing onto her knees.