Chapter Sixty-Two:
Night Whispers

Carly opened one eye and checked the clock. She could barely make it out in the darkened room. 4:35. You have got to be kidding...

She let her eyes close again, and turned her face determinedly into her pillow. Too early. Inhuman. For all she knew, she could turn to stone for being out of bed at this hour...

She exhaled as the mattress shifted slightly beneath her. Again. She waited -- felt the air around her settle, and tried to concentrate on her breathing, on the cool breeze that was wafting in from the window. She began to drift...

Only to once again be jostled back to the here and now by the bed bouncing as it's other occupant restlessly moved beside her.

"Nikolas..."

Long pause. She could hear the clock ticking incessantly. They had to get a digital clock like normal people. Except that Nikolas hated the glow of the numbers. He said it kept him up. How on earth could someone who slept as determinedly as he did be kept up by glowing numbers?

"Yeah?" he finally responded with an air of exhausted frustration.

"Is there a problem?"

She stared determinedly ahead of her as the clock marked out his silence.

"You need to get some sleep," he said, dodging the question.

"I've been trying to." She rolled over, finally, to regard him. He was lying on his back -- one hand tucked beneath his head, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling. She was surprised, actually, by the physical distance. Maybe it was because they'd spent so much time sleeping in places that weren't really home. Smaller beds, smaller spaces. Somehow she didn't think so. More often than not, she woke up with Nikolas's arms wrapped around her. She liked it that way. "You're far away."

His head turned towards her, though she couldn't make out his expression. After a moment, he reached out with his free hand, inviting her to close the distance. She did without hesitation, sliding across the bed and cuddling up to him.

"What's going on?" she asked, her head settled against his shoulder. She felt the tips of his fingers trail up and down her arm.

"Nothing."

"It's not even five," she sighed. "It's early even for you."

He turned his head towards her, pressing his face into her hair.

"I was thinking."

"Tossing and turning is the technical term, I think."

"Tossing and turning and thinking."

"About?"

Dead silence.

She groaned and lifted her head. "Nikolas..."

"I'm fine." His voice was soft and empty -- like it was trying to punctuate the point. Nothing to see here...

"Nope," she tipped her face up to his, finding his lips and giving him a soft, sleepy kiss. "You have to tell me what you're thinking about," she murmured, her lips still brushing against his.

"Have to?" he asked before kissing her again. She smiled, and accepted the affection. If -- and it seemed unfathomable right now -- there had been a period of time when she'd been able to be near him and not wanted to kiss him into senselessness, she couldn't remember the reason for it. This whole evening had been just as bad, easily, as it had ever been. That way he could make her feel so much stuff that it just had to come out of her somehow. The fact that he could make her cry, but she didn't feel like hell afterwards. Why was that? She had cried buckets of tears over the course of that evening, but her eyes hadn't swelled, she wasn't left with a headache. Just this warm gooey happiness that she was incapable of keeping inside her. It kept pouring out over the sides, and she kept pouring it over him. It was so convincing, this feeling of warmth and safety, that it didn't' even occur to her to be worried about why he wasn't sleeping. It didn't even occur to her to be scared that it was going to be her fault.

"It's the penalty," she put her head down on his chest again, her palm pressed flat over his breastbone. "For waking me up."

His fingers played absently with her hair before he answered, "Nuclear war."

She smirked into the darkness. "You lie."

Yep. Nikolas was very aware of that little fact. Funny, that he'd laid awake for nights on end, watching her, willing her to wake up -- but he'd never actually done it before. Tonight, he hadn't been trying -- not consciously, at least -- and here was a result he'd have rejoiced in during The Week That Shall Live in Infamy. She was even asking him questions. But he didn't want to talk. He didn't want to do much of anything besides shut his head up.

It was all bad timing. Carly had been so soft -- this whole evening. Relaxed, affectionate. Laughing and crying and pulling him with her -- what she wanted, where she wanted to be, had changed on a dime. She hadn't wanted to leave the stables -- but she hadn't wanted to leave the house, either. Kept pulling herself in different directions -- Cinnamon, Michael, the overwhelming pile of gifts in the living room. The constant seemed to be that she really wanted him with her. And once she'd finally agreed to call it a night, she'd shown him in no uncertain terms just how close she wanted him. It was... perfect. It was everything he wanted -- or at very least, the promise that it was coming. It was within reach. She was happy -- and she wanted him. A lot. It had dissolved that feeling of rejection when she'd sent him off to talk to his father. Unfortunately, it wasn't dissolving all the feelings his chat with Stefan had stirred up.

"It's late." It was a lame argument, but given the hour, it might just work. He'd find a way to quell the restlessness -- holding her seemed to be doing the trick -- and wait out the next few hours. It wasn't likely he'd fall asleep again. He'd had too many experiences with this kind of cerebral pollution to expect that.

"What are you worried about?"

He blinked. "Who says I'm worried?"

She turned her face into him, lightly kissing his chest a few times. "What else keeps you awake at night?"

"You."

"Ohhhhh..." she laughed, "Don't act like you mind." She made a face, pushing herself up on her elbow so that she could look down at him. She noticed he didn't look directly at her. His eyes seemed to be focused somewhere in the vicinity of her shoulder. "Why don't you ever want to talk about yourself?"

"We talk about me."

"I have to twist your arm to figure out what food you like," she leaned down, blowing a lock of hair away from his forehead. He flinched slightly, but laughed. It was just so hard to find him anything but adorable right now. Such a weird feeling... Like... She didn't have to worry about what he wanted from her. What he was going to think. That he was suddenly going to turn on her. So unfamiliar -- but it had been with her all night. Like being under the influence. She'd see him do something that might have sent her reeling twelve hours ago -- and expression she couldn't read, a comment she wasn't sure of. She couldn't figure out why she didn't seem to care. It was like she just felt... secure. She frowned, trying that word on. Security. Huh. She wondered how long that would last.

"I want to know what's bothering you," she announced. Just said it -- no trick. No wheedling. Wow -- if she didn't know better, she'd think she was drunk.

"You don't need something else to think about," he said, heavily. "You're seeing Michael tomorrow."

"Excuses," she let her fingers trace along his jaw, and watched the way his breathing changed -- just a little. She'd always known she had influence over this man. She was used to influence. It just seemed weird to have it and not really want to use it for anything. "I'll tell you something first if you want."

"What's that?"

She took a breath, a huge grin overtaking her features. God, it should be illegal to feel this good. It probably was, in some states. "I'm looking forward to going to the mansion tomorrow."

She could tell, from the way the shadows shifted, that he was frowning.

"Don't you usually look forward to it?"

"GOD, no," she let out a nearly euphoric laugh. "I hate it. I always wake up with a knot in my stomach. I drive myself crazy worrying that I'm going to cry the moment I see him -- that I'm going to get so upset that I'll... I don't know," her brown knit pensively. "Scare him. Or I won't be enough fun and he won't want to be with me. Just... You know. Lots of stuff."

She felt his hand on the back of her neck. Gently rubbing back and forth. "He loves being with you."

"I know!" she burst out. "I want it to stay that way."

"I think you're underestimating how much he loves you."

She shook that off. "My point was... I'm not worried about my mood tomorrow. I know I'm going to be fine." The words hit her with a truth she wasn't prepared for. "I can't..." aw, she was going to cry again. "I can't remember one single time where I've gone to see him and I wasn't scared." She hated that she couldn't really see his eyes. But she knew he was looking right into her again. She dove forward, planting another fervent kiss on him. "I think you're wonderful," she breathed when she had the chance. "I really really do."

Nikolas took that in. Wonderful. That was better than different. Why the hell couldn't he feel it? He pressed on the back of her neck, drawing her down for another kiss. He felt her body slide closer to him -- her leg creeping over his as she deepened the kiss. She came to straddle his waist, her hands holding his face. He arched beneath her, squirming at the sudden lack of control, before relaxing into it. The quality of her kiss changed -- turning to soft, nibbling kisses. Pulling back brushing her mouth over his before descending for another one. God, she was the most intense, beautiful, erotic...

"Your turn."

WHAT?

"No," he complained mid-kiss. "I feel better."

"Hey," she pushed herself up, hands on both sides of his head. Grinned down at him, because she was having no luck doing anything else. "We had an agreement. You don't get to wake me up in the middle of the night and then get all twenty-questions on me. You have to tell me what the deal is."

He'd really have to remember that in the future. It was becoming wholly apparent that she wasn't going to let this go.

"The deal," he let out his breath. "Is my father."

Well. There was a mood killer. Carly sat back, her hands falling to rest lightly on his stomach.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She screwed up her face like she'd tasted something bitter. "Bad conversation?"

That was one word for it. Sometimes even things you need to say can make you feel like hell. They can, in fact, keep you up at night. With that information readily available to him, he still paused to consider his answer. It was habitual. To share as little information as humanly possible. To actually talk to Carly about the conversation's content was unthinkable. He chose his words carefully.

"He doesn't like the way I've handled some things," Nikolas understated.

He watched her take that in. "Like what?"

"Business things," he sighed, trying to sound very boring.

"Disappearing with me for a week."

There were, very occasionally, moments where Nikolas wished that he'd married dumb. "Yeah," he said, heavily. "Like that."

Carly sat back and contemplated this. "Not really a surprise."

"No."

She bit her lip as she tried to read his inflection. She felt like there was something more here. And she stubbornly didn't want to let it go. Nikolas and Stefan. . . She hadn't paid that much attention, to be brutally honest with herself. She knew there was tension. She knew he had problems with the man. What she didn't know was . . . What had it been like before she was on the scene?

Probably better. That was her calling, trouble and strife everywhere she went. Barely even taking the time to look behind her and see the kind of wreckage she left in her wake. She couldn't do that here. Couldn't, didn't want to. A lot of things had been churning around in her head this whole past week... Things she hadn't really wanted to think about, but couldn't avoid, all the same. Once she'd seen what Nikolas had done, though -- once she saw that horse -- well. There was no escaping the cold hard truth of her current circumstances. They were good. She wanted them to stay that way.

"You don't really like him questioning you," she pressed, if for no other reason, then she hadn't been paying enough attention to her surroundings. She still didn't understand this world she was living in. She had to catch up.

Nikolas, for his part, was inscrutable in his answer. "Does anyone really like to be questioned?"

"I guess not..." she pulled in a deep breath. "I guess there were some perks to being the prince. I mean -- the rules would have been clearer."

Like... you wouldn't have married a crazy girl. Good-bye security! I was fun while it lasted!

"No," Nikolas was saying, heavily. "This is just what we do. It would be the same if I wasn't his biological son."

She shook her head. Sometimes, she swore, he missed her point on purpose. "But if you were the prince you wouldn't..."

"What?"

"For starters?" She worked hard to keep her voice light. "You wouldn't be married to me."

She could see the way his head jerked, even in the dark. "How do you figure that?"

"Well," she let out a false 'see, it's not a big deal' laugh. "Your life wouldn't have been as... You know. Sucky."

"You don't think so?"

"Well," her fingertips drew an intricate and distracting pattern on his skin as she talked. "We'd have one less thing in common."

Yet another of his patented long silences. But when he spoke again, his voice was soft and understanding. "That's not true."

She laughed slightly. "How so?"

Nikolas watched the way her hair swayed -- it was hanging down, obscuring her face from him. He felt warm from the acknowledgment she'd just made -- that they had something in common. It had been a long time since she'd really admitted that to him.

"It wasn't exactly the first time I found out that my father wasn't who I thought he was." He felt a familiar aversion turn over inside him. Amazing what he'd divulge to make her feel secure. "It was just a little more direct that time."

Her head raised. "What do you mean?"

Nikolas groaned as he let the word escape. "Stavros."

"Yeah." She didn't seem to put much importance on the name itself. It was, really, the right button to push. Nothing made him more likely to explain himself than to suspect someone wasn't actually making the correct assumption.

"You know the story," he pressed.

She shrugged. "Sort of."

"Do you know about the kidnapping and coercion and death parts?"

"Yeah."

"So," he smiled bitterly. "You got the highlights."

Carly shook her head. "What are you getting at?"

"I didn't. Know those parts." He exhaled, short and quick burst. "When your father dies before your memory starts, people don't tend to come at you with a lot of faults. You don't hear 'he was a drunk, he was violent, he made your mother miserable'. They want you to have someone to look up to. So I was told that he was strong and powerful and decisive. The really funny part is -- I think my grandmother actually saw him that way. If I'd grown up to be exactly like him, she probably would have been thrilled."

Yep. Deep into obvious bitterness now. Amazing how hard it was to rein that back in once it started to escape.

"So..." Carly shifted against him. Her voice made it clear: She was doing the math. "Before they lied to you about who your father was... They lied to you about who your father was."

"It's convoluted, but... Yeah," he shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the topic. "My point is... I didn't turn into this person over one little detail --"

"Like who your father was?" She said it with irony.

Just like, he thought. Who his father was made all the difference in the world... and none at all.

"People think I changed," he spoke hollowly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling again. "When that happened, they think I turned into someone else. I didn't -- that's the thing. I was always like this. They just didn't notice."

"Like what?"

"Lost." He shook his head suddenly -- startled her. This wasn't the thing he was supposed to be telling her about. "And I haven't been that good at following my Father's rules since I was twelve. That didn't happen overnight either." He reached up, cupping her cheek in one hand. She smiled -- he could tell that, even in the dim light -- and he let his fingers trace along her jaw, letting his fingers trail over her lips. "I decided I wanted you on that golf course --"

She chuckled, amused and more than willing to let him change the subject. "That's so not how I remember it."

"I had encouragement," he admitted. "But once you started that... There wouldn't have been any turning back no matter what my title was."

Oh, right, she thought as she felt her body flush hot at his words. That was what they'd been talking about.

"Talk is cheap."

"Is it?" he smirked. "You think that if there was some miraculous reversal and I was suddenly the prince again, I'd want something different?" he shook his head, determinedly. "No. I would still be your husband. And I would not regret it for one second."

"What about the perfect little uber-wife?" she mocked -- though she couldn't disguise the doubt in her voice.

"Ah. The hypothetical one I would have been miserable with?"

"Yeah."

"I broke her imaginary heart the day I moved to Port Charles." His fingers twined lazily through her hair. "If not before that," he mumbled, drawing her down to him. He gave her a long, slow kiss before murmuring. "This isn't exactly the first time my father's taken exception to my taste in women."

The reasons not to have deep and meaningful conversation at four AM are plentiful. What gets softened and lost to the dark and dreaminess isn't outweighed by the sheer volume of stupid things there are just as likely to get pushed to the forefront. To slip out while your guard is down. He felt her tense, then pull herself back from him. He let out his breath in a huff.

"Is there any way you're going to let me rephrase that?"

"No."

"Carly --"

"He doesn't totally hate me, you know," she informed him. "He hasn't threatened me, or tried to get me to leave you or anything."

Well. That was something of a relief.

"It's not you," He struggled up onto his elbows, like this would somehow make what he was saying more convincing. "He tried to get rid of Robin. He even tried to get rid of Sarah Webber. If you look up non-threatening in the dictionary --"

"And I'm threatening." She didn't say it like it was an insult -- which surprised him. Instead she just sounded... resigned. He nearly pointed out that, seeing how his relationship with Sarah ended, being a threat was a compliment... of sorts.

"It's just how he is," he expelled his breath. "It's... It's what he does."

"Interferes endlessly in your love life?"

"Well," he reached out, grabbing her hand and managing to hold the precarious position it put him in. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand as he spoke. "My life at large. This particular area being especially difficult to navigate." He lifted his head to kiss the palm of her hand. She shifted on top of him before she leaned over him again, giving him a soft kiss. He really wanted this conversation over, but the moment he reached for her, she pulled away again. He let out a moan in protest.

"He already told me, you know," she said, with a disturbing lack of concern. "That he wouldn't have picked me for you."

He digested that a moment. "He said that to you."

"It's not a big secret. I mean --" she laughed slightly. "I didn't keel over from shock."

"My father. Just came out and said that to you."

"Ok. I might have asked. He just... You know. Confirmed."

Ah, hell. Nikolas stifled a groan as he dropped back onto the mattress. At his worst, Stefan made no corner of Nikolas's life exempt. Every conversation, every turn he made would lead him, inevitably, to a maze of his father's own making. Labyrinthian in nature, and marked with traps at every turn. He didn't want that to be happening, this time. Not in this conversation -- in the middle of the night, in the dark, in his marriage bed. If there was one place in his life he could be free of his influence... but that place didn't exist, and no amount of pleading, no threats or attempts to edify his father would ever change that. He'd gotten to Carly. And now... Now, Nikolas had to try to undo whatever had been done. Like deprogramming -- the Cult of Cassadine.

"When did he say that?" he asked, flatly.

"I don't know."

"Was it on the boat when he ambushed you? Or was it during that conversation you keep pretending that you didn't have at the Continental?"

Carly looked down at her husband and felt herself heat at the way the words he was saying were coming at her. The edge -- the tone of accusation -- was unmistakable.

"I've talked to him. I didn't know that was a federal offense."

He sighed like he thought that was a gross governmental oversight. "I'm not blaming you."

Blaming? Sure as hell hope not. She squinted at him. "So you're blaming him."

He shook his head. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

This was it. The thing she kept calling him on -- why talking about himself was such a chore. He never knew how to explain things. How to put them, so that they made sense. They felt orderly and crystal clear when he had them filed away, neatly unsaid. Where did he ever start to try to talk about his father? To talk about what he was, what role he'd played in his life. He'd filled more than just a paternal role. He'd been everything -- the one constant, the one thing that he knew would not waver. It was painful -- to want him to go away. It was even more painful to think that he might actually get his wish. That his father might move out of his life in a way that couldn't be reversed. He had been able to feel it, that afternoon. In his father's final words -- the fear. The honest-to-God terror. But he couldn't compromise this. All he could really do, was lie awake and feel his own fear.

"My life has always been precarious," he allowed himself to speak, though he had no idea where the words were taking to him. "Like people were anticipating my end before..." He let out his breath, rubbing his hand over his face. How the hell did he tell her this? "He protects me. It's what he does. It's what he swore to do after my mother left and --" He let arm fall back onto the pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling again. "It isn't a possibility for him. That I might not need to be protected anymore. Or that there are things I don't want to be protected from at all."

"Like me." He averted his eyes towards her just as started to lean back from him. He reached up, stopping her -- pulling her down into a soft and loving kiss.

"You're beautiful," he told her as the kiss ended. "And smart. And I love you." Fingers threaded through her hair again. He felt that jolt -- familiar and still shocking. That he really let those words keep coming out of his mouth. "That's threatening," he pushed on. "It makes it harder for him to get me to do what he wants."

She smirked slightly. "What does he want?"

"I don't know."

He felt her hands trail across his chest. Soft and gentle touch. "No chance he just wants you to be happy?"

"That would be too simple."

"He's your father. Why would he want anything else for you?"

"I don't know," he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. "But I know... I know this hurts him. And what I'm about to say will hurt you."

"Nikolas --"

"No. I have to say this," Like bitter medicine. He hated that his father made this necessary. Absolutely hated it. "You can't trust him, Carly. Even if he's telling you the truth -- or what you expect him to say. He has a twist on it you don't see. I can guarantee that."

Carly watched the shadows change on his face. She could hear the tension in his voice, could feel that same strain in his body. She wanted to argue with him -- Because she hated what he was saying. Hated the idea that Stefan had only been manipulating the situation. That every time she'd spoken to him, he hadn't been much more than a vulture circling. She'd caught a look on his face sometimes. She wanted to tell him what Stefan had actually done. He made me eat. That's what you were trying to do. He made me open those boxes. He thinks I'm BETTER FOR YOU THAN ROBIN.

She kept quiet. She told herself it was because it didn't matter. Truth was... she didn't want that deconstructed. She didn't want it taken away. So instead she leaned over again, catching his full bottom lip between hers and kissing it until she felt him move beneath her.

"After today..." She closed in on him again -- quicker this time. "After last week... " Another kiss. "And definitely, positively, after the week from hell..." She descended again, brushing her lips over his, her breath mingling with his. "There's no twist anyone could throw at me. I know where I want to be."

He grabbed her around the waist and she let out a shriek that was quickly silenced when he sat up, grabbing her mouth with his. He rolled her over onto her back, stretching his body over hers before finally, breaking the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers, fighting to catch his breath.

"Mean that."

She smiled, arching her back and pressing into him. "If you do me one favor..." she stroked his calf enticingly with her foot. "Get some sleep."