Chapter Sixty-Six:
Welcome to the Family

There were roses climbing up a trellis that lined the kitchen window. Pink and chaotic -- petals spread wide and buds turned upward, hungry for sun. A late night shower had left them dotted with large drops of water, fresh and clean in the early morning light.

Carly stared at them while she stirred sugar into her coffee, wondering why she hadn't noticed them before. Probably because she could count the seconds she'd spent in the kitchen on one hand. Probably because this room -- in contrast to the rest of the house -- was dark and sterile. It was the portion of the old guest house that had been build around. It had thick wooden beams traveling the length of the room -- small windows, sparsely distributed around the two walls that weren't connected to the rest of the house. Somewhere around here was the secret passageway, too. Something she was still getting used to -- but had a hard time resenting when it was the reason she had coffee.

Which God knows she needed at seven in the morning.

She blew across the top of her cup and continued gazing out the window. She was sitting on the kitchen island, quite comfortable on the wooden counter top. Staring at the pretty roses, winding up the side of the beautiful house on what looked like it was going to be a gorgeous day. And she was smiling. Which was odd, because she was pretty sure that she was ticked off.

She'd waken up about half an hour earlier to find herself alone. The bed just warm enough to let her know that Nikolas HAD been there some time in the not too distant past. But the house was silent and there was no sign of him.

She'd forced herself into the shower to wake herself up more than anything, then wandered downstairs, following the smell of coffee into the kitchen, hoping that it would mean that Nikolas had been there.

No sign of him. She could hazard a few guesses, but it was just too damn early to go wandering around the island looking for him -- she could be just as grumpy about this when he got back as she could if she went out and actively found him. So instead she sat with coffee and sulked over his absence.

Except she kept forgetting to sulk in favor of grinning goofily at the roses and the new green outside her window.

Every once in a very long while, Carly actually surprised herself. Usually it wasn't a pleasant surprise. Something along the lines of 'Ok... I have a smoking gun in my hand. Now what?'. It wasn't usually -- Ok, check that. It was never -- having done something right. Having done something that felt very much like it had helped someone.

She could feel her karma improving by the second.

It was almost one month. One month on Tuesday, since they'd met. She wasn't entirely certain Nikolas had noticed, and she was already plotting -- in a very giddy, very newlywed way -- what they should do. She wanted to do something. Surprise him, maybe. Do something to show him how happy she was that he was in her life. How determined she felt to make this work.

The night before had been the first time that she'd really felt like she had something to offer him. He kept telling her that she gave him stuff -- but she hadn't understood it until she'd held him, made love to him, after he'd told her about Laura. She'd felt it in the way he touched her -- he'd needed what she'd been able to give him. As much as he might have fought it, denied it -- he'd needed someone to soothe him. To pull him out of the memory and back into the present. And for what might have been the first time in her whole life -- she'd done that. She'd actually helped him.

The high from that was intense and she was still under the influence. She didn't want to think about why this was scary. She knew that -- she could feel the voices in the back of her head trying to fight through the fog and rattle off reasons why she was playing with fire. Why this could be as dangerous as anything she'd ever been. As determined and loud as those fears always were, they couldn't compare with the soft, bubbling warmth that was spreading through her veins. The mere fact that she had floated through a conversation that was as fraught with danger as any they could have had -- they'd talked about babies -- proved it. And while she'd pushed the more ugly aspects of that question out of her head -- she'd been able to do it. Without feeling like she'd lied to him. Without feeling like he was going to find something out that would ruin everything.

She smiled into her coffee cup and kicked her feet out in front of her. There was just the slightest chance that this might be a good week.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door closing. Her smile morphed into a grin and she forced herself to take a sip of her drink, lest she lose her head and actually let out a squeal.

She could hear him move through the house -- climbing the stairs carefully. Footsteps on the landing, down the hall... Quiet. Then she heard her name. Heard him turning and descending the stairs at double pace. He called her name again. Coming closer -- through the maze of the living room -- and then, just as she turned to check over her shoulder, he appeared in the door of the kitchen. He was dressed in black -- including a tank top that fitted him in a way that should be illegal. His hair was messed, and his brow was furrowed.

"You didn't answer me," he said with mild accusation as he rounded the island, moving towards her. "Again."

"I figured you'd put the pieces together. Where there is coffee..."

"I didn't think you'd be up yet," he clarified, coming to stand between her legs. He ran a hand up her calf, smiling at her in a way that made her stomach turn somersaults, made her heart sigh in full-on sap mode 'Aw. Isn't he cute?'

Very cute, the rest of her agreed. Very cute, and very much ours. He smelt like wind and water. No doubt, he'd been down on the docks. Tai Chi at dawn. What a freak. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his.

"Sorry," she teased, sliding closer to him, her thighs hugging his waist. "I know you don't like the taste of coffee."

"Hate it," he agreed, taking the cup out of her hand and setting it down on the counter beside her. He leaned in, catching her mouth with his and kissing her deeply before pulling back and whispering, "Good morning."

"Mmmmm, morning," she agreed, arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him back to her. "I'm mad at you," she murmured to him between kisses.

"You are."

"Yeah. Can't you tell?"

"I was wondering."

"You let me wake up alone."

"It was early," he said by way of explanation, dragging his lips along the length of her neck. "I know you like your sleep."

"I sleep better when you're beside me," she complained. "And I hate it when you disappear."

He let out his breath, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder. "You'd rather I wake you up?"

She could not believe she was about to say this.

"Well. Just to let me know where you're going -- Yeah."

Oh boy. Sacrificing sleep. God, this was getting serious.

"Done,"

She stared at the opposite wall, letting the quiet of another Monday morning sink in. "Do you really have to go to work?"

He nuzzled her neck sleepily. "Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to."

"Ok," he lifted his head and kissed her again -- softly, lips skimming over her before his arm came around her waist and pulled her closer to him, hugging her against him. She pressed her cheek against his and let her eyes close.

"Would you get in trouble?"

"I'm already in trouble."

"Mmmm," her fingers trailed lightly along the back of his neck. "You have to go back eventually."

"Eventually."

"So if it's not today?"

"It would be tomorrow."

She growled. "I can't win."

"Maybe not," he admitted, pulling back slightly. "But you can delay the inevitable."

She let out a groan. That was the whole flaw in the logic. If she didn't do this today she'd just have to do it tomorrow -- only she'd look a lot more needy and pathetic then. And it wasn't like she didn't have things to do here. She might want to play the 'stay home with me' card another day. When she was bored. When it felt like a thousand hours would pass before he showed up again.

"Ok," she sighed, leaning back from him. "I give you leave to go. But you better be home by five."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "I can do that. I'm good at punctual."

She gave a half-roll of her eyes. "You're good at a lot of things."

"Yeah," he took the cue, arm wrapping firmly around her waist, and lifting her off the counter. She let out a shriek, tightening her legs around his waist. "I know."

"Modest, t --"

He cut her off with another slow, deep kiss. She forgot what it was she'd been saying. It couldn't have been very important, anyway.

"I'm beginning to think it's contagious."

Stefan looked up from the writing desk he was seated at and regarding his sister, standing just by the stairs -- one hand on her hip, her head cocked slightly.

"And what is that?" he asked, casually sliding the documents he was looking into the open drawer.

"Nikolas has suddenly developed a habit of being unreachable --"

"I've noticed."

"Well, you're losing room to judge. I left you half a dozen messages since Saturday."

"Five, I believe."

"If you got them, then why did you make me come out here at the crack of dawn to check on you?"

"Make you?" he pushed the drawer shut. "How did I do that?"

Alexis put a hand out, bouncing it up and down as if manipulating an invisible marionette. "You have your ways."

That didn't rate a facial expression. "I assumed it wasn't pressing."

Her brow furrowed in annoyance. "Depends on your definition of the word. And I wasn't aware I had to be pressing. I thought I could just be your sister."

"It's early in the day to get hurt feelings," he observed, turning towards the cart that sat beside the end table. "While you're here, I expect you'll want to join me for breakfast."

"Ok," Alexis said flatly as she watched her brother pour a cup of tea. "What's going on?"

"In regards to what?"

"I don't know... I'll take a stab in the dark and say Nikolas."

Stefan gave a half nod. "He's back."

"I know. I had dinner with him on Saturday."

"I was unaware."

"I doubt that very much."

He turned back to her, finally -- not bothering to hide his fatigue with the line of questioning. "Do you have anything to say to me about that dinner?"

"Nothing pressing," she crossed her arms. "What about you?"

"Oh, I have nothing to report. Nikolas barely speaks to me these days."

Ah ha. Alexis studied the carpet beneath her feet a moment while she digested the edge in her brother's voice. Stefan had been increasingly incommunicative, over the past week. She'd tried to shrug it off -- tell herself that it wasn't her job to try to hold the pieces together anymore. But old habits die hard. And she hated to see him in pain.

"Stefan," she started. "I know this is... well. Difficult --"

"No," he put down his tea cup having not taken so much as a sip from it. "Latin is difficult. This is closer to agonizing." He kept his hand on the cart, holding it as if borrowing some stability from it. Alexis watched him in concern, waiting. For what, she wasn't sure. She just felt it was the wrong time to come at him with another platitude, and she didn't have much else to offer him. "I miss him," he admitted, finally. "It seems like a very simple thing. I miss him."

She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. The truth was, she missed Stefan and Nikolas, as well. She had some semblance of a relationship with them both, individually. But it seemed like, over time, they had ceased to exist as a unit. There were things in the world you wanted to remain constant. The love between a father and son... That was one of those things. Particularly in this family. Particularly when it was such a rarity.

"No matter how distant he gets... You have to know he loves you."

"Yes," a slight, bitter twist of his mouth. "Yes. I know he loves me."

There were a few reasons Alexis had found herself at Wyndemere this morning. One had been the reason she'd stated -- simply too many unreturned phone calls. The second was the timing -- there was no point in stopping by mid-afternoon when Stefan had already been hard at work, turning the world to his preference. It was better to try him in early or late hours. That was when you stood the best chance of gaining any insight into him.

"You're thinking of doing something." she said it like it was fact. He looked up at her and his posture lacked it's usual arrogance.

"What could I possibly do?" His smile was thin. "What could I possibly do that wouldn't push him further away?" He shook his head, and paced away from her. "I've very nearly given up on ever regaining what we had before. Even some distant shadow of it. He doesn't trust me."

"Stefan --"

"And I admit, I haven't given him reason to," he murmured, hands held behind his back. "Trust always seemed to be something of a luxury. Not something I could afford when it was put up against his safety. His well-being."

Alexis was still staring at him with a grim sense of foreboding. "Maybe you could start by giving him a chance. To be master of his own fate."

Stefan turned and looked back at her. Blank. No sign of having heard her. "Have you seen the paper this morning?"

She shook her head. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The Wall Street Journal mentions him. An article concerning a telecommunications company in Seattle. Something he's been working on the past few months -- they feel it's a risky venture, but could be very profitable if managed correctly. Their analyst has marked it a conservative buy."

"I see." She didn't, particularly. This was not her area of interest.

"He's twenty-one years old," he said it like it was the answer to the question -- and she did see his point. "Do you realize that, in the past year, Nikolas has surpassed the expectations of every business man in this hemisphere? That he has gained a reputation. Something that took me years to do -- but he, a year out into the world... He's respected. Independently successful. I always knew he would excel -- I wasn't certain others would see his skill."

"He was raised for this."

"He was raised for more than this," Stefan clarified. "It bores him. He has a natural talent that many men would kill for. But his interest lies in other places."

"So what are you saying?" Alexis pressed. Stefan's response was to turn away from her. She felt a sudden sharp pain behind her right eye. Oh, boy... "You know," she started, digging her thumb into her temple, "Sometimes I think this lack of trust goes both ways. You don't seem to think he has any ability to take care of his own interests."

"I utterly believe he has the ability. I just question whether or not he has the desire." He paced past the breakfast tray again, picking up the tea cup as he went. "It's an alarming realization... when you discover that the child you raised isn't interested in protecting himself."

"I know what you're referring to --" she conceded as she watched him. "It's something I've felt from him, too. Apathy."

Stefan's only response was to take a quick sip of his beverage.

"I've seen a lot of him in the last few weeks," she continued, stubbornly. "And that's not a word I'd use to describe him. He cares now! Since Carly --" she stopped when her brother turned to look at her. Eyes cold and unmoved. She did her best not to shiver. "Just give him time -- he'll come around."

"Time," he nodded, and took another sip of his tea. "Yes. I can see that is the obvious answer."

Knocking had turned to thumping, thumping to hammering and hammering was about to turn to body blows when Lisa Tate finally made it to the front door. She pulled the door open, and was confronted by a panting, glowing AJ Quartermaine.

"Is she here?" he said by way of hello. She rolled her eyes.

"CHRIS!" She turned away from the door in disgust. "COMPANY!"

"WHAT?" her roommate called from the back of the apartment.

"COM. PAN. EEEEE. Just get OUT here for Christ sakes, it was my turn in the shower fifteen minutes ago."

Lisa stalked off, leaving AJ unchecked at the front door of the apartment. He hesitated momentarily, then shot a quick look down the hall before entering and pushing the door closed behind him. The front door emptied immediately into the kitchen -- which looked straight out of the 1950's -- peeling orange and yellow linoleum, Formica counter tops. Done up when the building was built and never touched again. He'd been here all of three times in the past -- enough times to know that the place smelled vaguely of overcooked vegetables, that the hallways were dangerously narrow, and that Chris's roommate hated his guts.

In fact, from all appearances, she didn't like much about Chris, either.

He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. He knew this was over the top behavior he was indulging in here. Very unstable. But it was either turn up here, or go wait for the liquor store to open -- and when confronted with choices like that...

It was better to look crazy. It was better to nearly break down someone's door. It was better to be just about anything than drunk.

He slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket and fingered the chip he'd been carrying around with him the last few days. Usually he kept it on his dresser. He wasn't a key-chain guy. But ever since his talk with Emily on Saturday... It had felt better to keep it in arm's reach. You can do this -- you can do anything. And you're not going to panic. Because in the battle of the self-destructive lost children, he was convinced he could hang on longer than Carly. Maybe only by seconds -- but he was still sure he could do it.

There were hushed tense voices coming from down the hall, followed shortly by a door being slammed. A few seconds later, Chris entered the kitchen -- dressed in a pink rayon robe, still drying her pale blonde hair with an equally pink towel. She was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, letting the towel drop over her shoulders.

"You didn't return my page."

"It was Sunday. I was at my parent's for dinner."

"It's not Sunday anymore."

"No," she agreed, glancing towards the clock on the stove. "It's really early Monday morning."

"I needed to talk to you." His voice was coming out like a slow leak.

She looked at him appraisingly, then turned and moved over to the counter where the coffee maker was brewing away determinedly. "Can I get you something?"

"Did you know that Michael's been asking when he's going to get to see Carly's new place?"

She sighed heavily, and reached up for a mug. "Yeah. He said something when she was saying good-bye on Saturday."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I think," she was speaking with an annoying lilt that he swore she adopted to drive him nuts. "we've established that it's Monday. We usually talk on Wednesday."

"This is kinda important."

"Why?" she actually laughed as she turned to face him. Eyes wide and questioning. "It's a reasonable question for a kid to ask. He wants to see where his mother is living with her husband. He's old enough to start wondering about this stuff."

"Did you hear what she said?" he pressed.

"I wasn't paying that kind of attention," she shrugged, turning back to the coffee. "Something like 'not now'. I don't know."

"Oh," AJ spoke with undisguised bitterness. "Ok then. Couldn't have been very important."

Chris tisked her tongue. "I thought we already worked out what you were going to do."

"What? With the review?" he flopped down into a wooden chair at the kitchen table. "That's probably exactly what Cassadine wants us to do. So that he can parade Carly around like she's Eliza Fucking Doolittle or something." He shook his head, feeling sick at the thought. "Bet you anything he's got people lined up for the chance to be in his pocket. Judges, psychiatrists, character witnesses..." He cast his eyes in her direction. "Social workers..."

She went still. One hand on the coffee pot, the other on the mug. "Am I being accused of something?" she asked, finally.

He didn't know the answer to that. Maybe. It was possible. "Are you going to stay assigned to this case?"

"Can't see why not."

"They can probably do stuff like that," he clarified, trying to push the accusation off onto someone else's shoulder. "Get someone assigned to the case that they can control."

She turned around, leaning back against the counter, and smiled in a way that made his stomach contract. "As opposed to someone you control?"

He snorted, and slid down in his chair. "I'm not an idiot. This only goes as far as you feel like letting it."

She didn't say anything. After a moment he heard her move, then felt her hands on his shoulder.

"You can't start doing this," she said softly. "You're going to give yourself an ulcer."

"Hey -- I've already given my liver a run for it's money. Why not my stomach lining?"

She laughed softly, and lowered her head so that her voice brushed up against his ear. "You look like you need to blow off some steam."

He stifled a groan. "That's not why I came here."

"Oh," she sighed, starting to gently massage his neck. "You wouldn't want to get our business all wrapped up in our pleasure, now, would we?"

He let his eyes close. Oh, why not. If he needed anything this morning it was to relieve some tension. He let out his breath, long and slow, as her hands wandered over his shoulders.

"Tell me this is going some place."

"Us?"

"The review!" AJ said with exasperation.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," she said, coming around the chair and settling herself in his lap. "The ball's already rolling."

"Good morning, Mr. Cassadine!" the blonde perched behind reception desk chirped as Nikolas stepped through the glass doors of Cassadine Inc.

He stopped. Looked. Then narrowed his eyes. The day already felt long and was stretching out in front of him like a road that vanished into the horizon -- no end in sight. Despite getting up at the crack of dawn to try to clear his head of residual pollution, despite having taken time to soak up as much of his wife's affection as humanly possible before leaving the house -- despite having a clearly defined quitting time -- he could not feel an end to this day. And he was certain he'd never seen this girl before.

That really shouldn't have been a surprise.

"I'm sorry --"

"I'm Daphne!" she stuck out a hand. "I recognized you from your picture. I just started today --"

"My, my," a female voice drawled from the direction of his office. "Look who's here. And a whole five minutes before nine AM. I'm impressed."

Nikolas stifled an urge to sigh and turned his gaze on his personal assistant. To say she looked pissed was an understatement. He gave her a half shrug, reminding himself, once again, that she was his employee -- not the other way 'round.

"Early bird --"

"Gets shot, stuffed and mounted over my fire place. And could you please avoid the clichés? They don't suit you."

With that she turned and strode through the doors leading into the inner offices. He glanced over at Daphne who smiled at him sympathetically and held out her hand again.

"Gum?"

Carly sat on the stoop just inside the front door, staring at the room laid out in front of her. It was nearly ten o'clock and she'd been up for hours. She'd given going back to bed a shot after Nikolas had left -- out of habit or stubborn refusal to face the world around her -- she wasn't sure which. Hadn't taken, though. She'd lay there for a whole fifteen minutes, before admitting defeat, opening the doors to the balcony, and deciding to face the world as it lay before her.

Facing the world, so far, meant getting dressed and going to the stables. The last two days, that had been the way they'd started the day. Cinnamon was about the only thing that could convince her getting out of bed at the crack of dawn was a good idea. It was amazing how quick and addictive it was - riding again. She hadn't been as rusty as she'd worried she'd be -- and the trails on the island were incredible. Cinnamon was softer than she remembered -- probably had mellowed with age. But the connection still seemed to be there. That silent inter-species language. It made her feel, briefly, whole. Like someone who made sense.

She still couldn't believe this was her life.

She was smiling to herself as she pulled off her boots and tried not to think too hard about the mess in front of her. They'd ended the whole gift-opening thing a little abruptly the night before -- but that didn't mean they hadn't gone through a hell of a lot of stuff. It was all piled up on and around the dinning room table and there was no obvious place for any of it to go. Every time she looked at it, the same thought would pop into her head.

She really needed to talk to Mrs. Landsbury.

Man! It was starting. Indoctrination into the World of Cassadine. She was already starting to think that it was a good idea -- talking to the woman. Working out what her wifely duties consisted of. Like getting sucked back into the 18th Century at random intervals. Which was something she really had to shake. Romanticism was not her friend. And besides -- she was pretty sure she'd look terrible in a bonnet.

She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, considering her options, when there was a sharp rap at the door. It startled her and she turned on her heel to see a dark shape outlined through the frosted glass.

Oh, boy. She should have seen this coming. She looked over her shoulder at the chaos, then up at the stairs towards her bedroom. She was still in her riding clothes and she probably smelt like horse. And the place was a mess. And Nikolas was not so much here.

The knock came again. Impatient. She shook herself. Ah, hell -- What was she going to do? Leave him standing out there? Probably not the best plan. She pushed the concerns out of her head and leapt up the stairs, yanking open the door to reveal a dark and brooding Stefan Cassadine.

"Hey!" she was purposefully breathless, as if she'd made a dash for the door. "Sorry. I just got back." She pushed the door open further. "Didn't mean to make you wait."

He didn't smile. Didn't, in fact, do much of anything, but look at her in a way that made her feel invisible. She shifted her weight, feeling a sudden wave of insecurity. This felt not unlike getting sent to the principal's office in grade school. "Nikolas has already gone to work," she explained. "He left kind of early."

Stefan gave a half nod, then seemed to snap back into the moment. "I expected as much. He'd have a lot to catch up on."

"He did some work this weekend," she offered. "But I guess there's some stuff he has to be in the office for."

He looked at her. Inscrutable and, frankly, pretty alarming. She stepped back from the door and gestured towards the room behind her. "Did you want to come in? It looks like an antique shop exploded, but it's got a kind of post-apocalypse charm."

He moved through the doorway and across the landing in a few long strides. Descended the stairs and took in the room, back still to her. She frowned at him, then looked back at the door as if hoping for an explanation. None was forth coming, so she pushed it shut and started down the steps to join him.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, temporarily possessed with the ghost of Virginia Benson. Unfortunately, that momentary attack of good hostessing wasn't going to mean there was actually anything in the fridge. She wasn't exactly aware of what came in and out of this place where food was concerned.

He turned, eyes scanning her before saying "You've been riding."

"Uh, yeah," she smiled and it quickly turned into a grin. "Nikolas got me a horse."

Which he knew. Brilliant conversation, Caroline.

"I had noticed."

"It's, uh..." she moved past him into the room, self-consciously running a hand through her hair. "It's the horse I used to ride when I was a teenager." She glanced back at him. "Did he tell you that?"

There was a long pause before he spoke, voice low and quiet. "No. He didn't."

She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to pretend she didn't find that tone alarming. "That's why I was such a mess in the stables that day. It was... a surprise."

"I imagine," he glanced towards the table, "Nikolas can be generous to a fault."

The smile on her face dimmed as those words sunk in. She felt a chill slide up her spine and grab her from behind.

"I wouldn't know," she managed, though her tongue felt thick and clumsy. "I just know about what he gives me."

"Which is what brings me here today," he wasn't looking directly at her as he spoke. "The time has come to discuss your future with this family. More specifically -- what you are willing to give him."

"We have a problem."

"Just one?"

Nikolas was sitting behind his desk, looking over the folders he'd had to drag back into the office after Carly had vetoed homework. Cece had not stopped pacing since they'd entered the office. For an alarming few minutes, she'd been playing with his letter opener while she paced. Talking a mile a minute, filling him in on planned conference calls, papers that needed to be signed, General Hospital matters that were represented by a tall pile of little pink message slips. Forget the day -- this was shaping up to be a very full week. He flipped open the folder for GTE only to have Cece swoop down on him.

"Please. There's nothing there I couldn't handle without you --" she snatched the folder out of his hand and let it drop to the desk. "You know how you said the Quartermaines weren't going to be a problem until you did something that gave them a chance to do something?"

"I haven't done anything."

"You had me send a note to the social worker."

He leaned back in his chair, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "What did they do?"

"Technically, it's from the agency --" she produced a thin envelope out of nowhere. "But... There are fingerprints."

He took the letter from her, not liking the expression on her face. It seemed clear that the junk she'd tossed at him straight off had all been low priority. Now they were hitting the important stuff. He leaned back in his chair, and opened the letter. Scanned the contents, determinedly telling his heart not to do anything that resembled sinking. Because whatever this was, it wasn't going to be a problem. There was no possibility.

Notification of Review of Visitation. No mention of the requested meeting. Just a standard form letter informing Carly that a review was scheduled for two weeks, Thursday. Please inform the office if there is a conflict.

"Ok," he said finally, letting the paper drop to the desk top. "I'll talk to Alexis."

"Figured as much. Should I clear space for her in your schedule?"

He shook his head slightly. "I'll call her tonight."

And not to worry. Because they could handle this. And he was not going to think about what he could have done to delay this. He shook his head hard and gave the paper an irritated push. "Get this away from me."

Cece smiled slightly as she picked up the offending correspondence. She folded it carefully, defining every fold by running her nails along it. He frowned at the precision, then caught her eye. Ah ha. There was something else.

"I do have some good news," she said like she could read his mind.

He shot her a look that was dangerously close to a scowl. "Which you're saving for a rainy day?"

"Saving until you apologize for sticking me here with your father all week."

She was glaring at him. In such a way that he thought she just might be serious. He grimaced.

"How bad was he?"

"Tell me -- Is there any Junkyard Dog in that big fancy family tree of yours?"

"On my Grandmother's side. Possibly."

She leaned across the desk, eyes fixed on his, close enough that he could feel her breath as she spoke. "If you ever -- ever -- do that to me again..."

"The check is in the mail."

She smirked at him. "You really think it's that easy?"

"Ah," he leaned closer to her, his lips curving up into a knowing smile. "I think you will never find a challenge like this anywhere else."

She raised one eyebrow and drew back to regard him. "Sound pretty sure of yourself."

"You're glowing," he pointed out. "And it's not with anger. Something must have gone your way last week."

She was still smirking at him, but it slowly -- against her will -- started to transform into something akin to an evil grin.

"I know something you don't know..." she sang to him.

"Does it start with 'C' by any chance?"

"Starts with 'C' ends with 'lawsuit'."

He raised his brow. "That good."

"Christine Galloway -- granddaughter, incidentally, of Algernon Worthing, retired CFO of Atlas Enterprises --"

"You're kidding."

"How the mighty have fallen," she glanced up at him. "Some kind of weird politics at work. There's no trickle down in that family's economics. Granddaddy is golf and country club and the kids are mostly back lot softball. Sort of thing that might make a girl feel ripped off."

"Are you making suggestions, or do you have something hard to show me?"

"I don't make suggestions. And I know you're not interested in fulfilling her champagne wishes and caviar dreams... BUT..."

"The Quartermaines..."

"It would follow. And..." she was nearly gleeful. In a dark, sardonic way. "It gets so much better than that."

For the second time since she'd come to live on Spoon Island, Carly thought of horror films. She was sure she'd seen this movie. Heroine skips off merrily from some blissful encounter with something and stumbles down the wrong path in the forest and promptly gets her throat slit by an escaped mental patient.

"I..." For all she could get out of her throat, it might as well have been sliced. She shook herself, hard. "I don't know what you mean."

Liar.

"I expect not," her father-in-law was still speaking in that quiet, low tone -- but it had become infinitely more terrifying. Threatening. "That is why I hoped you'd have some time to spare me this morning. This is a conversation that may be quite overdue."

Overdue. Her brain grabbed the word and rolled it over in her mind. Like library books. Diary products. Something overlooked and forgotten that was starting to smell.

"I have some time," her mouth did not appear to be connected to any other part of her. In fact, she couldn't quite feel the ground underneath her. "The couch," she turned and looked at it. It was clear of debris -- the coffee table polished to a high shine in the morning light.

"Perhaps you'd like to have a seat."

"Perhaps I would," she agreed, moving towards the makeshift living room. This couch was becoming the scene of a few too many great events. She let herself fall into it, convincing herself that she could still move. Had joints. A spine. She smiled slightly at the thought as Stefan took a seat in the chair to her right. She stared hard at the wood surface of the table in front of her. "Something on your mind?"

The words were met with silence but she refused to say more or look in his direction. Everything in her was telling her put up the shields, prepare for battle -- but something very young inside of her was tightening by the second. Quietly begging her to be wrong about this.

"You and Nikolas have been married three weeks now," Stefan started, finally.

She nodded. Yep. She'd just been doing that math herself.

"After knowing each other... Was it even a week? Beforehand?"

She flinched. It was all the answer she gave, but it seemed to be enough for him.

"Nikolas can be impulsive. In the right circumstances it's a strength. But, more often than not, it can lead to trouble."

"That would be where I come in," she couldn't even see the table now. Just shapes. Colors. That little voice of hope inside her was starting to suffocate.

"I am not here to pass judgment on your marriage, Caroline."

Oh, good.

"Then what are you passing judgment on?" she glanced up at him, finally. "Me?"

He looked grim. Eyes dark and unblinking. Staring at her like she was supposed to back down. She felt her skin prickle.

"Nikolas is my only child."

"You've said that before."

"Yes."

She sat up, planting both feet on the floor. "So what's your point?"

He regarded her a long moment before speaking. "He is this family's future."

Her face heated. Oh, this was it. This is what she should have expected. Nikolas didn't want the dancing circus bear -- but Papa Cassadine was another matter entirely.

"And I'm not."

"That remains to be seen."

Same dead stare. Same still posture.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, finally.

"You have a history, Caroline."

She swallowed hard. "So do you."

"Indeed."

"But."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Crinkled at the corners. "As Nikolas's father, I'm disturbed by certain events in that history."

"Do you want me to guess which ones?"

He held her gaze a moment before answering. "The shooting of Tony Jones, for one. The physical attack on Jason Morgan, for another."

She couldn't breathe. There was no air.

"You can understand, I'd imagine, why I feel the need to bring this up."

Sure. If you can understand why I'm about to throw up on your shoes.

"That was a long time ago," she said, hoarsely.

"How many men have there been in your life since you assaulted Jason Morgan last winter?"

Her stomach lurched. She felt herself break into a cold sweat.

"Only Nikolas," his name came out in a near hiccup. She pressed her lips together. No more talking.

There was a long silence again. Long and loaded. It was broken, finally, by a rustling of papers. She looked up to see Stefan holding a thick manila envelope -- sealed with a string that wrapped around a hook in the middle.

"You married a man who is young," he spoke softly, as he pulled the documents out of the envelope. "Successful. Wealthy. With a promising future." He placed one document down on the coffee table. "Who no doubt made promises to not only pull you up out of your wretched existence -- I imagine he's even promised to restore your son to you. To give you back the life you had before," another pause, while he laid another document in front of her. Thicker, this time. "And he is doing this because, quite simply, he has fallen in love with you."

She felt herself go hot at the words. Tears pricked, suddenly, at her eyes. This isn't happening, she told herself. This is NOT happening -- you are NOT going to cry, for God's sake....

Another document was laid -- on top of the first one -- and then he sat back in his chair. Stared down at the two piles of papers in front of her for a long moment before speaking again.

"I know enough about love to understand that logic holds no place in it," he allowed, finally. "And I know enough about my son to know that he would gladly pay whatever price demanded just to have the chance for it." He fell silent again. Rubbed at his goatee a moment with nearly impatient energy, before continuing. "He isn't thinking clearly. He isn't protecting himself. And a Cassadine cannot afford to do that. He simply can't act as if he is like other men. He rebels against this truth -- he always has. But that doesn't change the reality. Which is this -- He has married below his station. And he had married a woman who he knows does not love him."

She let her eyes close. This is sick, she thought. The problem was, she wasn't sure which one of them she was referring to.

"I don't --" she started. Then stopped because she didn't know what she wanted to say.

"He has admitted as much to me," Stefan's voice was gruff, as if offended by any attempt to disagree with him. "He knows full well -- as most of the town does -- of your feelings for Jason Morgan. It's his misfortune that he finds himself so undeniably drawn in by you in spite of it."

She shot him a look -- as vicious a glare as she could muster. She wanted to yell at him. Say thing like 'how dare you!'. But he could turn that question back on her just as easily. What gave her the right to be here? What made her think that this was fair, that this was anything less than selfish?

"So what do you want me to do about it?" she spit at him, finally. And damnit, she was crying now. Hot and angry tears, her voice quaking with a mixture of rage and shame.

He shook his head slightly. His eyes were still on the papers in front of her. "As his father, I cannot allow this situation to stand unchecked. That is the simple truth."

Carly looked, inevitably, back to the documents, and though 'oh'. She reached forward and snatched the thicker pile. Scanned the top page and let out a quick, high-pitched laugh. "An annulment." She looked up at him in shock. "He thought you'd do this, didn't he?"

"Your current psychological state could give him grounds. If you did not contest."

She just stared at him. "He'd have to agree."

Stefan said nothing.

"He'd never forgive you," she managed, finally.

"I am aware of that."

She shook her head, staring down at the papers. "What makes you think I'd ever sign this?"

"I don't know you well enough to say that you would. But it provides you with a choice. One that doesn't involve my son," he said this as if it was a perfectly reasonable argument. "You can annul the marriage -- go back to your mother. Generously compensated and with a promise of all court fees paid in your attempt to regain custody of your son."

She shook her head dizzily and let the documents fall from her hands, dropping to the floor. "You want me to leave him."

He pressed his lips together a moment before answering. "I want you to be prepared for what this marriage asks you to face. And if you are not -- then yes. I want you to take in to consideration what he has done for you -- and what is in his best interests. And decide if this is truly where you wish to be."

She stared straight ahead of her. "And if it is?"

He pushed the document across the table to her. "A gesture of good faith."

She glanced down at the other stack of paper on the table. Oh, right. There was more.

"What...?"

"A post-nuptual agreement. That will, at least, protect the interests he's refused to look out for himself."

She stared down at it, dizzily. Then she laughed.

"That's it?" she looked up at him. "That's what you want?"

"I want a commitment to his well-being, yes."

Her eyes darted immediately to her wedding ring. For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer... She let out another quick burst of laughter, then held out her hand. "Sure. Got a pen?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a fountain pen. She took it from him, and pulled the paper towards her, leaning over the table. Fifteen pages thick. At least. She couldn't make out the words -- they swam in front of her -- but she picked it up and stared at it like this all made sense. Flipped through them absently.

"Where do I sign?"

"On the last page."

She nodded, turning the pages one by one until she hit the final page and saw the small 'x' that indicated the line for her signature. She stared at it a moment, then -- quick, like she was pulling off a Band-Aid -- she moved the pen over the paper. She sat back, looked down at it, then let the pen drop in much the same way as she'd dropped the annulment agreement. She flipped the pages back over, then stood up. Wobbled, slightly, then put her hand out.

"It's been a pleasure," she said thickly. He glanced at her hand, then looked away. She laughed again, high in her chest.

Then she bolted. Grabbing her purse off the bannister, scooping her shoes up in one hand -- not bothering to put them on, just getting the hell out the door. The hell away from that room.

The door slammed behind her and Stefan waited a few moments after that before he let out his breath. Ran his hand over his face, and then turned to look at the place where she'd been sitting.

Well. He knew, now. And that was the point of the whole exercise. He stared into space, grimly, for several moments, before he finally turned and looked at the document she had left him. He leaned forward in his chair and pulled the paper back to him. Flipping to the last page, he found the signature.

She had written, in a large, curving scrawl, across the bottom of the page "Carly Roberts". Under 'date', "A cold day in hell".

"Are you going to say something?"

"Like?"

"I don't know. Compliment me on my skill. Admit that I'm utterly irreplaceable. And you couldn't do this without me."

"You Da Man. I can have it put on your name plate, if you want." Nikolas leaned back in his chair, letting out his breath. "I'm trying to fathom how stupid one man could possibly be."

"I believe there are web pages dedicated to trying to figure that one out."

"Why?" Nikolas looked up at her in honest confusion. "What the hell would make him think that sleeping with his son's social worker is a good idea?"

"Probably thought he was untouchable."

"Have we met?" Nikolas put his arms out. "If he was suffering from that delusion before I married my wife, I have a hard time believing it didn't abandon him."

"Historically, people do dumb things over S-E-X," she was looking casually at an open folder as she spoke. Nikolas thought it was a little too casual.

"Anyone we know?"

She looked up, staring blankly at the opposite wall. "Anyone who ever met Cleopatra."

"We're venturing dangerously off topic."

"Not really," she snapped the folder shut. "Your nemesis is proving himself... Unworthy. This is just too easy. I mean -- I feel dirty."

He smiled at that. She was right. This was venturing into the far-too-easy. "Do we have proof?"

"Not just yet."

"Well. We'll want to change that."

An emphatic nod. "Indeed," she glanced at him. "Give me until Wednesday. I have people working on it -- it looks like they have a Wednesday 'thing'."

Nikolas rubbed his hand across his forehead and looked down at the stack of messages waiting for him. "I have two weeks. To figure out what I want to do with that."

"Fry 'im," Cece hopped off the edge of the desk. "No mercy."

"He's Michael's father."

"Your point?"

He glanced over at her, and frowned. "There's a limit to how much public humiliation I'm willing to put him through."

She turned back to him, looking both startled and offended. "Nikolas. This is quality dirt. This is mud just begging to be slung."

He smiled, wryly. "I know."

"He's looking to do the same thing to you guys. I'll bet you anything."

"He'd be stupid to try," He let out his breath. He'd come in this morning with the very beginnings of a headache, but it seemed to be dissipating already. "You were working on a dossier. Is that ready?"

"It reads like Robert Downey Jr., but without the self-control."

He settled back in his chair. The phone messages would wait.

"Sounds perfect," he told her.

Carly had run all the way from the front door of the house down to the docks. And from there, she had caught the launch in record time -- barely able to stand still as it had barreled back to the mainland. She'd hit Bannister's Wharf and turned immediately east -- walking at a fast clip down the boardwalk, eyes fixed on the horizon, trying to concentrate on her breathing. On the rhythm her shoes made on the wooden planks.

She fought against the memory of the last half hour as she walked. Tried not to think about what had been said, what it meant. But it was sinking into her bones. Not good enough. Too crazy. Dangerous. And without. Without a single thing of her own. A single thing to offer.

She didn't know when she'd decided to come here. As she approached the front door, it felt like the inevitable destination. He had ambushed her, she thought as she heaved the heavy wood door open. He had purposely waited until she had lowered her guard. Until she liked him. Until she was willing to actually defend him to certain people like -- oh, say, his SON -- and then he had aimed a bulldozer in her general direction and slowly rolled it over her. With studious precision. Careful not to miss anything.

She moved through the main room only vaguely aware of the whir of activity around her. Too much color, too much noise. She ducked around a body that happened into her path and kept going. To the end of the room, around the corner, down the hall... and bingo. She reached the back room and wrenched the door open without giving even the slightest hint of her presence.

She didn't realize how hard she'd pushed it until it hit the inside wall with a loud bang, and then bounced back to hit her on the shoulder as she walked through it. Behind his desk, her uncle started and turned around in his chair to face her.

"What the hell --" he stopped short at the sight of her. Brow furrowed, and then a slow smile took possession of his face. "Well, well," he drawled. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Shut up," she hissed at him, slamming her purse down on the top of his desk. "I'm not in the mood for your crap right now." she put both her hands flat on the top of the desk and leaned forward. "I have a proposal for you."

He leaned back in his chair and considered her, before raising his cigar to his lips and taking a long, smacking drag from it. Smoke swirled around him. It was like he was trying to fit the most obnoxious behavior he could into a few short seconds.

"I'm listening, Darlin'. What do you have in mind?"