Chapter Sixty-Four:
Plotting

Carly stood in front of the mirror and pulled on the hem of her t-shirt again. She was dressed to... bore. Jeans and a t-shirt. She had tried to change into something else. Thought about the various different impression-making outfits she had in the closet now. But she couldn't seem to move herself away from the mirror. Her clothes were so nondescript, they were nearly institutional.

She'd kept trying to tell herself that she didn't hate this idea. After all -- it wasn't like she had a choice about the therapy part. Court. Ordered. And Alexis had made that point last night. The second the Eminent Psychiatrist of choice had been mentioned... That was where the so-called meeting had focused. It was the obvious first step, she'd explained. Right or wrong, the court had made decisions. They had found areas of Carly's life wanting. The first step to repealing any of this was to prove to the court that she was making an 'concerted effort' to change. That she was addressing their concerns. And just guess what that meant?

No more missed appointments. The 'situation' with Gail gave them a little breathing space -- but it would be in their interests to rectify her lack of therapist before someone asked them to. And after that...

Well. It was left unsaid. But she could feel it hovering over the table. Then you'll have to actually get better.

She had been through this too many times. She'd never met it with anything close to sincerity. First time anyone had ever sat her down and insisted she talk about her feelings had been in high school. Grade eleven. When her guidance counselor had brought her in to try to talk, and then handed her a list of teen support groups and grief counseling centers, then tried to console her. It had been a hellish twenty minutes of 'it's hard to understand a tragedy like this' and 'Carly was such a nice girl...'

It was her first day back to school after the funeral, and she'd been incapable of doing anything more than staring at the desktop. When she was pulled into the office three months later and threatened with expulsion if she didn't pull her academic act together, things were a little less touchy-feely. Virginia had intervened that one time and she'd been sent off to see a state-sponsored grief counselor. And it had the desired effect -- Carly's grades made a rapid turnaround. But it wasn't because the 'treatment' was working. It was because Jeannie, her counselor, had been so saccharine, patronizing and out-of-touch, that her survival instincts had kicked in. If she had to start writing English essays and showing up to her math tests in order to avoid having that woman ask her to write five hundred words about why she missed Carly, it was a small price to pay. So Jeannie was, indirectly, responsible for her high school diploma. But she'd had little to no impact on her grief. Really, all she ended up being was a sign of things to come. All the way up to Gail -- There was never any element of choice here. She always just ended up assigned.

Kevin Collins wasn't going to be much different. She could feel that in her bones. Sure, there was a sort of appearance of choice about this -- but only if you read the words 'yes, I'll marry you' to mean 'sure, it's ok for you to switch my psychiatrist'...

She shook her head out. No. She HAD made a choice -- Nikolas. And unless she was taking that back, then this stuff was part of the deal. Maybe it hadn't been spelled out for her the night of the proposal, but come on. She'd known she couldn't spend all her time holed up in her room, staring at the walls and fighting with her mother if she married him. And she had weighed that concern -- it had been her reason for not immediately coming back with 'ok!' -- that and the part where he was clearly insane. And if Kevin was just going to be more of the same, then what was the problem? He makes weekend house calls. How bad can he be?

Who the HELL wants a psychiatrist who makes house calls? She let out a groan and dropped down onto the hope chest that sprawled at the foot of their bed. Kevin wasn't shaping up to be anything like her former therapists and she could see that coming at a distance. First of all, he'd ventured pretty close to the razor's edge himself. Or, to put it more plainly, he'd flipped his lid. That felt like cheating. There wasn't supposed to be any switching sides of the table in this kind of stuff. But it wasn't like a string of supposedly-sane doctors had done her a lot of good.

Which brought her to problem number two -- it wasn't like she really wanted to be done good.

Sure, nice idea on paper. Being stable. Being, to some degree, in control of her own destiny. Not feeling like hell all the time. But directly behind that notion sat a list of reasons to go screaming in the other direction. First of all -- stability was a complete fallacy. It was that nice couple with the two kids and the minivan, the nice house in the suburbs -- who get killed one Sunday afternoon when they wind up on the bad side of a jackknifed tractor-trailer. Stable, as far as she could see, was another word with 'letting your guard down'. Control of your own destiny? That was where people started holding you accountable for your actions -- Carly generally found it best to avoid that if at all possible. Not feeling like hell all the time... Well, hey. At some point, when you've been crazy long enough, you gotta wonder just what the hell you are if you aren't in pain.

Heh. So she was doing this why again?

Because the court ordered it. Because if she didn't, then she'd never get Michael out of that damned house. And it was pretty much the only thing, at this point, that gave her any shot at hanging on to her husband, long term.

"CARLY!" She heard her name on the heels of the screen door snapping shut. Nikolas. This was it. The Time Has Come. She just had to get up and head downstairs. That's all. Easy. No problem.

She stayed staring at the floor. She had absolutely no idea how to make herself do that.

"Carly!"

She jumped -- the voice was closer. She closed her eyes and waited for him to find her.

"Carly?"

And bingo!

She exhaled and turned to see her husband standing in the doorway, brow furrowed.

"I was calling you."

"I know," she said, heavily.

"You didn't answer."

"I liked the sound."

He smiled -- one part I'm flattered and two parts you're insane. "I just got a phone call," he entered the room, and she realized he was carrying a stack of file folders. "Dr. Collins just caught the launch. He should be here in about ten minutes."

Her body turned, watching him, as he moved across the room and dropped the files into the armchair near the balcony doors. "You really do see all."

"We do what we can," he sat down on the arm of the chair and surveyed her with that unnerving X-ray vision of his. "How are you feeling about it?"

"Um. Mostly...." she pushed her hair back from her face, "terrified." She grimaced. Random attacks of honesty -- this was becoming a problem. "What about you?" she asked, lamely. "What's with the rainbow of office supplies?"

He looked blank a moment, then glanced at the folder stack. "Messenger brought them over. I thought I'd do some work while you talked to Kevin."

Carly stiffened. "You're not staying?"

"Well. Therapy. I figured --"

"Audition!" she threw at him, suddenly on her feet. "It's just an audition. You know -- history and approach and aren't you pathetic stuff. Why do you have to be doing work?"

He held up a hand. "I don't! Not if you don't want me to. But ..." He frowned. "You're sure -- you want me there."

Carly crossed her arms over her stomach. Well -- she sure as hell didn't want him NOT there, so it would logically follow...

"I don't want to be alone."

Not the best choice of words. And she immediately flinched, and looked up to see Nikolas staring at her, with a surprisingly empathetic expression on his face. When her eyes met his, he stood up and reached out for her. Without thought, she stumbled the few steps towards him and let him reel her in -- pulling her hard against his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist. She let her eyes close again, and lay her head against his shoulder.

"If you change your mind," he murmured into her ear, "Just tell me. I won't get hurt feelings."

She smiled into his chest and squeezed him tighter. Stayed there, in the relative safety of his arms, until the knock on the door came.

Carly really wasn't good with visitors. Of the shrink variety, or no -- she probably hadn't 'entertained' in the traditional sense, since Tony -- and she was pretty certain her brain had kicked aside any of that sort of knowledge during the years of purposely hostile house-greetings that had accompanied Jason. Which was why the state of the house didn't occur to her until she hit the top of the stairs.

Ugh. It was in chaos. The weekend had been slipping by too quickly, filled with things like Michael, Cinnamon, Alexis... They hadn't made a dent in the wedding debris. Every time she encountered the sneak attack that was her living room, she found herself somewhat shocked. Generally, she wasn't prepared for messes she didn't create herself.

She was equally unprepared to find those messes cleaned up. And while the house wasn't exactly spotless, she was startled when she hit the bottom of the stairs to find that Mrs. Landsbury and Co. had done that silent 'fixing' thing they were so fond of. The gifts had all been herded into the dinning room, and the minimalist furniture in the living room had been augmented slightly and moved over to the Wall of Windows. There was a platter of fruit, scones, finger sandwiches; a table at the far end of the sofa with tea, juice, water...

She was never going to get used to this, she thought, as she sunk further into the cushions, Nikolas's warm arm around her shoulders. She was curled up into a close relative of the fetal position, one hand clutching the upholstered arm of the couch, the other wrapped around her knees, while Nikolas and Kevin exchanged some sort of pleasant non-talk that might have made sense if she'd been able to bring any focus to it. She forced her gaze to dart over to the good doctor. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been decked out in the requisite Nurse's Ball tux. Beyond that, she didn't remember much. She hadn't paid him much attention and she was now nervous that he might have paid her more than she'd suspected. Today, he was all loose cotton and gentile smiles. He had a briefcase -- soft, light leather. With buckles. Walking the fine line between Psychiatrist and Absent-minded Professor. She glanced up and realized he was looking at her. And then he gave her that smile again.

"I suspected as much," he was saying in response to something Nikolas must have told him. She blinked. Damnit. That might have been important. "I understand the position, but I can tell you that Dr. Baldwin is devoted to her practice. It's an oversight, but I'm sure she didn't intend any harm."

"All the same," her husband shifted beside her. "We thought it was best to remove her from the situation."

"Can we not --" Carly finally spoke up, "I don't feel like talking about Gail."

Kevin's eyes swung back to her and she immediately changed her mind. Actually -- talking about Gail was a great idea. And he could direct aaaaaall questions to Nikolas, thanks --

"You and Dr. Baldwin worked together for over a year, do I have that right?"

His voice was gentle and she textured she half expected it to wander across the coffee table and sit down beside her. She gripped the chair arm harder.

"Yeah."

"I can understand if this is difficult for you -- Circumstances changed quickly."

"A lot of circumstances have changed quickly," she shrugged and the movement was convulsive. "I can roll with it."

He nodded, his eyes holding hers without permission. "Therapy, ideally, should be kept stress-free. Surely you have enough things in your life at large without being confronted with static in this area of your life."

Ok. She hated him. Hadn't taken long -- but she was certain. This guy was dangerous and it was best to establish a strong hatred right from the beginning.

"Ideally," she snapped back, "Therapy wouldn't be a part of my life at all."

He laughed, bowing his head a moment, before nodding and saying "Good point."

"Thanks," she said, at a loss for any other response. She glanced over at Nikolas quickly, but his eyes were fixed on the coffee table. She had a feeling he'd checked out of this conversation.

"So," Kevin sat back, resting his ankle on his knee in a distressingly relaxed pose. "If you're comfortable with it, I thought we'd discuss your history and what it is you're looking for in this relationship."

Relationship? She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"What is it you'd like me to help you with?"

What in the huh? "I have to do this," she clarified for him, irritated that he didn't seem up on the situation. "There's a court order or mandate or whatever. They can lock me up if I don't."

"Yes, I'm aware."

She looked at him like he was speaking another language. "So it's not really about what I'd like. It's more about what I have to do."

"Do you find that to be an effective approach?"

He asked it like it was a serious question, which just irritated her all the more. "Approach to what?"

She glared at him, eyes hard and chin set. He watched her with a frowning concern, as his eyes swept over her. After a moment, his foot dropped to the floor and he leaned forward. When he spoke, it was slow and considered. "Maybe we should start by reviewing your history --"

"By all means."

"All right," she expected him to pick up the briefcase at his feet, but instead he plucked up a glass of water off the side table and took a quick swallow before asking "When did it start?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"Your depression."

Well. He didn't waste time. "I lost custody of my son last year."

"That's not what I'm asking," he gave a half-shake of his head. "When was your first experience with depression?"

She felt herself go cold. Lose air. "I... I'm not sure."

"Tell me what you are sure of, then," he leaned forward and for a second it seemed like he was feeling genuinely concerned about the deer-in-the-headlights state of her being. "Just to start. There isn't a wrong answer."

Carly felt Nikolas's hand on hers. She grabbed it tightly. Felt the warm under her fingers. She felt him squeeze back and swallowed. Well. She had to do this, right? Wasn't like it mattered. Just... breathe. Speak.

"I had a friend..." she allowed, finally. "She died in a car accident when we were teenagers. I guess... After that. I was... Pretty messed up for awhile."

He nodded, sympathetically. "So following your friend's death. You had a similar reaction to what has been happening to you recently."

"Uh. No." She glanced towards the drink tray. She hadn't gotten anything when they'd sat down, and now her throat felt dry. "I mostly just acted out. You know -- stayed out all night, and... other stuff." She glanced back towards him. "You're not writing anything down."

He smiled and it was nauseatingly warm and disarming. "I don't take notes. I can remember what my patients tell me without them, and it tends to make people nervous." He rocked a hand back and forth. "And it disengages, if you know what I mean."

She did. She actually liked that disengagement, thanks.

"How old were you," he was continuing, "When your friend...?"

"Carly." she cleared her throat. "Carly Roberts."

A moment of understanding.

"I see."

She really really doubted that.

"We were sixteen when she died."

"Both of you."

She nodded, eyes on the ground, then snapped to, suddenly. "No. I was sixteen," she clarified. Such a stupid detail, she didn't know why she was bothering to correct it. "She'd just turned seventeen. It was a car accident. Drunk driver."

"Were you in that car as well?"

She shook her head. "I was at home."

"Can we go back to a few years previously? 12, 13...?"

Carly sat up quickly. "What about it?"

"There weren't any incidents around there. Anything that would be considered depressive behavior."

She didn't answer. She just stared at the floor.

"Carly?"

"I found out I was adopted when I was 12."

"Did you 'act out' about that, as well?"

She nodded.

"Would you say that's the first time you did that?"

A lump so large and stubborn it cut off her breath appeared in her throat like someone had thrown a switch. No. No -- stay away. She felt tears pricking at her eyes.

"Not really," she choked out.

"All right."

He waited, silently, for her to offer more.

"I was a brat," she managed, forcing out a strangled laugh. "I got in trouble all the time."

"But was it like that?" his voice was soft and prodding. No, her brain practically screamed it. No, it was NOT like that. Nothing had ever been like that.

"It was different."

"Do you think there's any similarities?" he was leaning forward now -- elbows on his knees, "Between what you went through then, and what you're going through now?"

The floor was rippling. Carly finally let herself blink, letting the tears fall. Great. First meeting, he'd already achieved tears.

"Maybe," she pulled her hand free of Nikolas's and wiped tears off her cheeks in a quick, impatient movement. "I don't remember."

He let that sit for a moment. Gave her a second to pull in a few breaths, but then he was right back in there, with his seemingly endless stream of questions. "What about when your son was born?"

She swallowed hard. God Damnit.

"I had postpartum," she sniffed, and reached out for the box of Kleenex strategically sitting on the edge of the coffee table. "It went away after a few months."

"Was that before or after your son was kidnapped?"

Her head jerked up like he'd just smacked her. She expected -- maybe out of habit -- to encounter a smirking, judgmental countenance, but he was just looking at her with that same quiet concern.

"Before," She clipped the word harshly. Though the truth was -- barely. And it got hard to judge, really. She'd told Bobbie the truth. Her mother had died. Then Michael was kidnapped, and there had been an amazingly quick tumble that ran smack into Ferncliffe. Which was, no doubt, the next planned topic. "I was ok," she said, numbly, "Until that happened."

A long, heavy silence followed.

"When you were suffering from postpartum, how did you handle it?"

"I left," the words escaped on exhausted breath and the moment they left her mouth, her chest seized with panic. She jerked her head up, looking at Kevin with wide eyes. "But I came back."

He nodded. She fixed her eyes on him because there was no way she was going to look at Nikolas just now. One stupid little thing she'd left out of her explanations of why he should stay away from her -- the one thing that might have actually worked -- and she just lets it fall out of her mouth like that.

"Why did you leave?"

God, couldn't he find another dead horse to beat? She shrugged and it was then that she noticed that Nikolas hadn't, at least, taken his arm from around her shoulders.

"I wanted to get my act together."

Kevin nodded as if that made perfect sense to him. "So that you could take care of your child."

Exactly.

"He..." she wiped another stray tear away. "He was sick. When he was born. His heart --" her voice broke and she gestured to her own chest. "I felt like he'd be safer without me around. So --"

He was still nodding. "It was very hard for you."

She stared down at her hands a long moment. "It wouldn't have been my first choice," she mumbled. "If I did it again."

"Had more children, you mean."

She shrugged. This was getting alarming close to a conversation. "I guess."

"Is that something you're considering?"

"Right now?" The question surprised her for half a second before she remembered that half the town was probably assuming she was knocked up. "I'm shot to the gills with Depo Privera. So that would be no."

It was hard to explain what Nikolas did in that moment. Went still wasn't quite the right term, because he was already still. It was more like she felt him go cold -- felt his heart stop. And in that instance, her heart suddenly picked up speed, her face flushed and she turned away. Well, he had to know, didn't he? He had to have figured out that she was on something, seeing as he'd never so much as asked --

"Depo Privera," she heard Kevin clarify. "That is... effective."

"I'm not good with pills," she said, distantly. She pulled in a deep breath of resignation, dragging her thoughts back to the topic at hand. Specifically -- to where she could guess where this was about to go -- and turned back to him. "You're going to try to put me on Prozac, aren't you?"

He raised his brow and the look on his face was knowing. "I assume that's something other people have tried."

She smiled. Slow and dangerous. "Tried, yeah."

"At Ferncliffe, I imagine, they had you medicated."

She said nothing. She would say nothing. Just smiled at him darkly. Waited for him to get uneasy, to look away.

He didn't.

"I take it you aren't comfortable with them."

She put up a hand. "Partnership for a Drug Free America. Consider that doing my part."

He nodded, like they were talking about the weather. "I wouldn't prescribe anything this early in our association."

"Oh," she widened her eyes, mockingly. "But I have a history. I have a diagnosis. You're not going to try and sing the praises of Zoloft?"

His gaze sharpened, and then he said something, she had to admit, she wasn't expecting. He was proving good at that.

"What were you treated for at Ferncliffe?"

She stared right back at him. She had a lot of practice staring people down on the topic of Ferncliffe.

"You haven't done the research?"

He nudged the briefcase with his foot. "You'd have to sign papers allowing me to see any of your records."

She gave a slight smile. "I was treated for a psychological break."

He nodded, then continued with their earlier topic. "Medication is necessary in some cases," his voice was bland, almost uninterested. "Helpful in others. But it's different for everyone. And," he sat back in the chair. "Your diagnosis seems to have a habit of changing."

The hairs on the back of her neck went up. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're defined as a Clinical Depressive right now, am I right?"

"Yeah."

"And before that they considered you to be Bipolar," he exhaled. "Ferncliffe, I assume, had a diagnosis as well."

She crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "What's your point?"

"I'm not interested in the label they've given you. We're only just meeting now -- it's unimportant."

Unimportant. The central fact of her life for the past year... but hey -- to-may-to, to-mah-to.

"So what do you care about?"

"The answer to this question. Do you want to change?"

Her shoulders hunched. No small questions for this guy. And it took her back, immediately, to that night with Nikolas. Huddled in that rain-soaked doorway. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to feel like this all the time. She felt nagging tears pricking at her eyes again.

"Do you think I can?"

"Anyone who is capable of admitting they have a problem is capable of fixing it."

"You really believe that?"

Kevin shrugged. "You need help. That's all. Just a little assistance. People need help in life. That's probably why there are so many of us on this planet."

"You make it sound like I'm having trouble getting my carpets clean."

He just smiled. Carly shifted her weight on the couch. She felt Nikolas's arm move for the first time. Slide up her arm and pull back her hair. Reminding her that he was there. That, if she wanted to be with him, there was only one answer to the question Kevin had handed her. She pulled in a deep breath.

"Then yes," she expelled, finally. "I want to change."

**** Two Little Plot Details****

1) Kevin

I don't think I've ever seen a whole episode of Port Charles and I have no idea what's transpired over there since Kevin up and left GH. So lets just say that anything that happened after his aborted wedding to Lucy (you know, the one that followed the double Macs -- for some reason I suspect there might have been other weddings I don't know about) isn't necessarily a part of this reality.

2) The Car Accident

I know GH recently (Ok, in the last six months or something) had Carly tell Zander the story of Carly Robert's accident and there's something in this chapter that contradicts the story on the show. Probably not a surprise to anyone when I say that I don't agree what the show did with that -- and I don't buy it. So I'm tossing that out, and going with my long-standing impressions of how Carly's accident happened and what Caroline's place in it was. Hope that's not too confusing.