Chapter Sixty-Nine:
A Problem Like Caroline

The worst dinner party Nikolas had ever attended had been almost fifteen years ago. He was six years old, and it was late summer. A few days before the official change of seasons and his uncle had finally traveled back to the island after what had felt like a lifetime's absence. The dinner was held in honor of that return, in the main hall. Everything had been high ceremony. Everything had sparkled -- from the low-hanging chandeliers to the crystal goblets to the high polished silverware. He had been wearing a sash -- that stuck with him, because he had always hated having to wear the sash. He wasn't sure if it was the actual item itself, or what it meant. When the sash came out, it meant that the evening would be long and boring and he would have to stand a lot. Shake a lot of hands. Answer a lot of questions.

Usually it meant a lot of guests, but there hadn't been nearly as many as he'd expected. Just family -- The relatives from Macedonia. A few random business underlings. His uncle. His grandmother.

He didn't remember the conversation because it was nothing he ever paid attention to. He didn't remember the food because it was nothing he cared about. What he did remember was the tone. The way the air felt. The knot that had formed in his stomach midway through the meal, and the sharp look in his grandmother's eyes. And her voice. Light and laughing and constant. His uncle had been silent, which was not unusual. But everyone else at the table -- they had also been quiet. Uncomfortable, he decided in retrospect. Because knowing his grandmother, she was no doubt indulging in an act of belittlement. Though he hadn't understood the meaning of her words, everyone else clearly had, and as the night had worn on, he had felt his uncle's anger. He's seen the way his hands had held the silverware, the tight line of his jaw. He'd felt himself shake. Had even dropped his own fork with a clatter as he tried to pretend with the adults that everything was fine. Helena had always been the only person who had inspired that in him -- anxiety. Fear.

Not that she ever would have hurt him -- but he saw what she did to other people and he'd learned not to upset her. To play the part she wanted him to, while exerting his own power anywhere he could. Acting like she wanted him to, and then turning around and acting out against whoever he could. Only letting go of all this back-and-forth when he was with his uncle. That was the only place where he'd ever felt safe. Even that -- his attachment to Stefan -- had felt like a broken rule.

None of this was anything he'd really understood at the time. It was all instinct and reaction. The same things that let him know that something was wrong that night. That told him to play along -- until suddenly, at the end of the meal, a glass had shattered. He'd turned to see his uncle on his feet -- standing with both hands flat on the table, his face white as the linens. Then he had straightened up -- swayed -- and started out of the room. His movements had been jerky and strange and without thinking, Nikolas had leapt up to follow. But his Grandmother had caught him as he ran past her chair. Pulled him back towards her as the doors to the dinning hall had closed and he'd seen his uncle collapse onto his knees.

He hadn't seen his uncle again for days. Hadn't been allowed to go to his rooms, or even venture down the hall to that wing of the house. Instead he'd been locked up with his tutor and when he finally was allowed to see Stefan again, it was only for a few minutes. He'd been sent away quickly, but in the short time he had with him, his uncle had promised him that things were going to be all right. He just had to be strong and trust that everything would turn out for the best. He hadn't understood what that meant until his seventh birthday when the whole world changed and his grandmother was overthrown.

Since then, he didn't think he had ever seen his father sick again. But it helped, that no one had attempted to poison him since that night.

That was what a bad dinner party looked like where he came from -- guests were used as fodder for the hostess's games, and then someone was poisoned. He tried to remember that every time he found himself either bored or annoyed during a meal. Well, hey. At least nothing's broken. At least the conversation isn't laced with double meanings. At least no one had died, yet.

He was having a hard time selling that line of logic to himself that evening. And as much as he tried to pretend that he was feeling bored or annoyed, that wasn't what was happening. No, the feeling he had right now was darker than that. It was that same feeling of not really understanding what was going on... But knowing it could all go very wrong at any given moment.

Dinner had ended an immeasurably long ten minutes earlier. It had consisted of polite conversation about the weather, the food, and business. His father had been unnaturally quiet, and by the time they'd gotten through the second course, the conversation was being dragged around by Carly and Alexis. Now, they had 'retired' to the living room. His father was standing, hands behind his back, at the window. Alexis, across the room, was studying the dinning room with a similar detached manner. Carly was hostessing in very American style. Namely, serving the glasses of after-dinner port personally. He watched her glide up to Alexis, passing off the small crystal stemmed glass, then turn towards his father. And there it was again -- that unnamable tension he could feel. It was in the way her posture changed. In the power of her gait as she walked across the room. In the challenge in her voice when she spoke to him.

"Mr. Cassadine."

When he turned around, she thrust the glass at him. His father looked at his own glass critically. Suspiciously, if you wanted to speculate. And reminded Nikolas of one important fact.

He had not had enough to drink.

On cue, he felt his wife's body slide into the space that lay between him and the arm rest on the couch. She pressed a glass of port into his hand, and moved her hand across his shoulders, resting her arm along the back of the couch. It was disturbing, how much better he felt for her sudden close proximity.

"You're quiet," she murmured softly. He stared down into his glass. He'd run out of conversation about an hour and a half ago.

"Contemplating the mysteries of the universe."

She smirked slightly, and picked her own glass up off the side table. "Again." He decided not to ask her what that might mean. Which was just as well, because she gestured towards the coffee table with her port and continued, "I was contemplating the mysteries of that folder Alexis brought."

He heard movement from Alexis's side of the room, but opted to keep his eyes down. Watching the liquid swirl under his outside influence. His own little microcosm. Infinite power over a glass of port. Hey -- it was something.

"Well," he heard his Aunt say, finally. "It's not the riddle of the Sphinx. Like I said before -- just some details we need to take care of."

"Banking. Don't you need to actually go to a bank to take care of that?"

"In normal circumstances. They make exceptions for some clients."

"And what is it? Exactly."

"It's..." he could hear an edge creeping into his aunt's voice. "To be exact? It's what I said it was. You need a bank account --"

"I have a bank account."

Nikolas turned towards Carly, at the sharp reply. Her eyes were bright, and her grip on the glass in her hand looked brittle and stiff.

"This would be our bank account."

She didn't look at him. Just stared hard at his aunt who did not, that he could see, understand where her sudden air of accusation had come from. Carly and Alexis had seemed to get along just fine all through dinner. Now, there was a subtext that he was missing out on.

"It's a lot of very dry, very rudimentary stuff," she explained with infinite patience. "That's all."

"And you'll explain it to me -- so that I know what I'm signing?"

Alexis frowned. "If you want me to."

"So I just have to trust that you're telling me the truth."

Nikolas felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up. Oh, great. "I've looked at them," he said, firmly. "So you just have to trust both of us."

A bitter smile flashed across Carly's face and then vanished as she took a large gulp of her drink. She lifted her head again, smiling and rasped "So. Who's got a pen?"

Dead silence. Then Alexis came back with, "You don't have to sign them right now."

"Oh, no. I want to." She twisted her body towards his father. "Mr. Cassadine? Do you have a pen I could borrow?"

For a moment, it didn't appear that Stefan had heard her. But then he turned, slowly, and regarded her before intoning, "I'm afraid not."

"Baby?"

It took Nikolas a moment to realize she was talking to him. Her fingers brushed the nape of his neck. He took a quick gulp of his drink.

"In the study."

"I've got it covered," Alexis clipped across the room, extending a gold and ebony fountain pen. "Welcome to the family."

He felt Carly go still -- then lean into him, in a way that made him feel strong and shielding. She reached out and took the pen, then sat back heavily against the couch and examined it. Rolled it between her fingers before looking up at him and smiling wryly. She had something in her eyes. Something sad and scared and he wished to God -- not for the first time -- that there weren't other people in this room with them.

Then she moved away from him -- reaching out for the folder. Opened it and flipped through it while Alexis advised her of the markings that indicated where she should sign. He'd signed off on the banking portions weeks ago. Before their 'honeymoon'. He noticed her finger tips trail over the thick ink of his signature. He felt a distant twinge at the gesture. But mostly -- it was just one more thing he couldn't make sense of. Emotionally -- it felt like the acknowledgment of something he was always looking for in her. In his removed, analytical state, it seems far too wistful, given the facts as he knew them.

Carly let out her breath as she slid off the sofa, kneeling down in front of the coffee table so that she could sign the papers on a hard surface. She uncapped the pen with a sharp snap. "What' do I sign?" she directed the question to his aunt. "Benson or --"

"You can sign your married name."

He watched her face. Saw the way her eyes changed, her mouth twitched. She drew in her breath and leaned over the coffee table.

"Ok," pen went to paper. "Here goes nothing."

The room felt very quiet. The sound of Carly's pen scratching over the paper was only interrupted by the sound of the actual papers being shuffled. Once or twice Alexis murmured something to her, but apart from that, she stood back a respectful distance and watched. Nikolas, however, let his gaze wander inevitably towards his father. He was standing apart from them, making no move to come closer. He hated this -- though it made no external showing, Nikolas could feel the pulse of his disapproval.

It wasn't much of a surprise. There had been a lot of moments in the last month where he had been trapped someplace, being asked to explain his actions to a (usually irate) relative, and he'd felt strongly that he needed to get back to her. Because when they were alone, the whole thing made sense in a way that he couldn't explain to other people. More than that, he didn't want to. He did not like sharing her. He didn't know how to talk to her in front of other people. It felt like such intense exposure, to let people see what he was around her. The fact that his mother-in-law had divined the depth of his feeling long before Carly had didn't help matters any. And his father... His father knew him better than anyone on this earth. His father, as much as he hated the reality of it, was a threat. He felt that in the air around the man as he stood and watched Carly sign herself into the family name; into her role as his wife. She was solidifying her position and Nikolas felt their vulnerability to his father growing. His barely existent trust, waning. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been able to contain his fury. As it was, he just sat there and felt the ache of regret. He couldn't change Stefan anymore than he could stop loving him.

"Is that it?" he was brought back to the room by Carly's question as Alexis moved to pick up the papers.

"Seems to be. I'll send everything out first thing in the morning, and the temporary cards and checks can be couriered to you that afternoon."

"So that's it. I'm a Cassadine."

"You've been one for awhile," Alexis tucked the folder into her briefcase. "But yes, now it will be in computer files."

Carly half laughed and looked down at her hands. "I sort of thought I'd sprout wings or something." She shook her head out, tipping her face up to the lawyer. "If I wanted to talk to you about... other things. Do I have to make an appointment?"

Alexis looked cautiously amused. "You can page me. Nikolas can attest, I manage to make myself available when I want to."

She nodded. "Well -- I want to talk to you about the custody review. As soon as possible."

Alexis blinked. She hadn't, apparently, picked up on the fact that Carly knew about that by osmosis. "Is tomorrow too soon?"

Carly shifted, frowning down at the stack of papers in front of her. "I don't know. I have to talk to someone first."

Nikolas didn't like the sound of that. He leaned forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to be in town on Wednesday." One part helpful reminder, two parts a show of solidarity. She'd told him, right before they'd come back into the room, to follow her lead. But that feeling of being suspiciously out of the loop was persisting.

"Yeah..." Carly fiddled with the pen a little. Smirked down at the glass topped table, and then raised her eyes to Alexis. "I guess I should tell you while everyone's here. I have some news."

The whole room held it's collective breath. Possibilities presented themselves in rapid fire in the time it took for Carly to steal herself and drop the bomb Nikolas had been waiting for all night.

"I got a job."

Lucky stood in silence just outside the back door leading to the Spencer family kitchen. The sun was setting outside -- his father, sister and Foster were all at the side of the house doing their impression of a Normal Happy Family -- and he'd been sent to retrieve his mother on the basis of a new shade of purple that had just appeared above the treetops.

He'd paused at the screen door, taking a moment to study her before she noticed his presence. Laura was standing at the sink, her head bowed as she scrubbed furiously. She was wearing a long, flowing dress and her hair spilling down over her shoulders. She looked exactly like his mother had always looked. Matched up perfectly with a faded photograph from the back of his mind. It was the strangest sensation, something that could come with a slight change of the light. That feeling like she was someone he knew like he knew his own blood -- and then that she was all smoke and mirrors -- and he didn't have a clue about who she was, after all.

Proving his point, his mother lifted the pot she was washing and tossed it haphazardly on the dish rack. She stopped, then. Sighed, and leaned forward against the counter while her arms sunk into the murky water to her elbows. Lucky watched her take a minute, then draw herself up like she was being lifted on a string. Spine straight, shoulders back, chin up. Her hands sifted through the water and came up with a large glass bowl that she started in on with the same intensity. When she was finished with that, it was dropped with the same clatter.

"Hey," he warned through the screen door. "It's not the bowl's fault."

Laura jumped, turning herself around to face him. "Lucky! Don't sneak up like that!"

"How do you want me to sneak up?" he grinned at her, pushing the door open.

"Smartass," she murmured fondly, turning back to the sink. "I don't suppose you came to help me."

"You're being paged," he said, ignoring the invitation to pull open the refrigerator door. "Lu wants you to check out the sunset with her."

"Tell her I'm almost done,"

"Leave it!" he advised, grabbing a can of mystery cola off the fridge door before kicking it shut.

"You know," She grabbed a tea towel off the counter and tossing it in his direction. "You could give me a hand."

The rag hit Lucky's shoulder and lay there pitifully. "Don't we have a dishwasher?"

"Didn't you live on your own for a year?" Laura arched an eyebrow at him. "You should know how to do this."

"I didn't have a sink in the boxcar," he pointed out before taking an impressively long pull from his drink.

"Don't remind me."

"With pleasure," he leaned his hip against the counter and watched her for a long minute before prompting, "You wanna talk about it?"

Laura was rinsing a large glass bowl under the tap, and turned it several times, running the water long after the soap suds had run down the drain. Finally, she handed it over to him, and flicked off the water. They both listened to the grumbling of the drain and she spoke, finally, when everything had gone silent.

"I don't get it, Lucky. I just don't get it."

This was the news of the day. New employee at the club. A whole world of questions that no one had any answers to. And virtually no answers to the list of questions everyone had been nursing for the last month. Things were a little tense.

"Yeah," Lucky exhaled, "I think the logic's kinda eluding everyone."

"Does Carly have a history of using much logic?" Laura's tone was exasperated.

"I think she's got some kind of Carly-patented logic that only dogs and small children can understand."

His mother shook her head, starting to scrub another pan with agitation. "She and Luke can barely be in a room together!"

"True."

"They drive each other nuts. And I know why Luke is doing this -- no matter what he says --" Dishes were crashing up against each other. "I know he's doing this because he wants to keep an eye on her --"

"Mom --" Lucky pulled the beleaguered pan out of her hands. "It's ok."

"And probably because he STILL thinks that Nikolas is up to something --"

"He knows --"

"And really -- What do you think the chances are that Stefan will allow this? She's a Cassadine wife. Cassadine wives don't work."

"Aunt Bobbie did --"

"Why would she even WANT to work? She didn't want this job when he offered it to her before."

"Well --"

"There HAS to be a reason," Laura turned from the sink, finally, and hit him with her mother-eyes. All desperate confusion and bewildered urgency. "Don't you think so? There has to be a reason she'd do this and stir everything up again!"

Ah. Ok. Lucky had known, from the second his Dad had spilled this news (in the supposed interest of full-disclosure, but more likely in the interests of self-preservation, since it would come out eventually), that something about this bothered his mother on a level he wasn't comprehending. Now, however, he had a bit of a clue.

"Isn't everything always kinda stirred up?" he asked, his mouth feeling numb and strange around the words.

"Not like this."

"Seems sort of the same as before, unless you're Aunt Bobbie."

"Carly's still not talking to her," Laura pointed out, apropos of god-knows-what.

"Yeah," he put his drink down on the counter and reached for one of the dishes in resignation. It was better than facing the interrogation head-on. "I know."

Following suit, Laura started to scrub at her pan again. "She hasn't seen her in days."

"They were out of town."

"Have you seen Nikolas?"

Lucky looked over at her, sharply. It wasn't like his mother to be quite that direct on the subject. Her head was bent over the sink and he turned back to the dish rack. "Since when?"

"Since they've been back in town."

"For, like, two minutes on Saturday. That's it."

Laura frowned. Splashed the water around a bit before pointing out, "He hasn't seen Lulu in a long time."

He glanced over at her. "Three weeks."

His mother bit her lip, and he felt himself tense. Ah, hell. There was something she wanted to know. And it was something big. This never went well.

"I'm worried about him..."

And that was how it always started. I'm worried about him. What do you know? And he hated it. It made it hard to deal with her, and it made it harder to deal with Nikolas. But he let it go unsaid, just like always. He had to help her. It was innate. Calm Mom Mode. As much as he might like to junk the program sometimes, he didn't know how to mess with his own hard wiring.

"He's fine," he mumbled as he focused on his hands.

"He can't be fine with what happened today."

"Yeah?" Lucky bristled. "Well, hey. Your guess is as good as mine -- I haven't seen him." He tossed the silverware in his hand towards the drying rack where it bounced of the pots and pans with a sharp and jarring report.

"Lucky."

"What?"

Laura opened, then closed her mouth. Looked at him with sad consternation, then tried again. "I don't have anyone else to talk to about this."

Truer words. And he felt manipulated by them. Still -- it'd work. He was going to have this conversation, even if every fiber of his being was fighting against it.

"Contrary to popular opinion," Lucky filled his lungs, pushing down the edge in his voice before continuing. "I'm not my brother's keeper. I don't know what he's thinking, what he's doing, why he's doing it -- "

"Do you think he's in love with her?"

Lucky sighed heavily, and pulled a chopping knife out of the drying rack. He turned, settling against the counter, and occupied himself with running the tea towel up the spotted surface of the blade. "Carly's a hell of a work, if he's not."

Laura shifted her weight. "Do you think she's in love with him?"

His head was starting to hurt. These were not thoughts he liked to keep in the forefront. Better off stewing around in the dark some place. Besides. He wasn't in possession of a lot of insight into his cousin-come-lately. "I know less about Carly than I do about Nik."

"But she could be rebounding from Jason Morgan. Right?"

Could be? All he'd really seen from Carly was a lot of glaring and some overheard exchanges with her new husband. To Lucky, she came off as borderline -- but that wasn't new. Nik, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to lay down in front of a semi if she asked him to. There was nothing warm and fuzzy about lining those two impressions up next to each other.

"Anything's possible," he said, dryly. "Why? Do you think that's what this is about? Jason owning half of Dad's club?"

Laura grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that."

"'Cause Jason's never there. Carly knows that."

"That's not really what I meant," Laura let out a groan, and turned from the sink. She paced across the room, hands holding her head. Lucky watched her in wary confusion.

"You're losin' me, Mom..."

She shook her head, then turned back to him. "Aren't you.... Knowing what Carly can be like... Aren't you worried about her influence on him?"

"Yeah. Terrified."

"You know what I mean. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"What, that she's using him?" Lucky was a little surprised at his own incredulity. "You want my honest opinion? Carly's not together enough to use anyone right now. She's the emotional equivalent of a Jack-In-A-Box."

"Well, that's comforting."

Lucky tossed the tea towel down on the counter, giving up on distractions entirely. "Mom," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just tell me what is this about."

Standing opposite him, Laura had taken on the exact same stance. "Has he been acting differently since all this happened?"

"Differently than what?" he half-laughed. "He's a little more in touch and a little more self-involved. That's about it." He narrowed his eyes. "Why? What do you think her influence is doing?"

His mother stared at him like she could see right into his brain. Then she turned away, looking down at the sheen on the linoleum. Still and quiet, and in deep study. When she finally spoke, her voice was distant. "I talked to Amy the other day..."

Lucky rolled his eyes so hard, it hurt. "You're not serious."

"She told me something that are going on at the hospital --" Laura snapped her head up. "Look. I know that Amy is a gossip. I'm not pretending this isn't highly fictionalized --"

"But."

"Yeah," her mouth quirked. "But. If any of it is true, it's just... It's hard for me to reconcile."

Lucky frowned. "Reconcile with what?"

Her smile turned bitter and then disappeared with a toss of her mane of gold hair. She looked directly into his eyes, the same way she had when he was a kid and she was demanding he pay attention to something that wasn't as interesting as whatever she'd pulled him away from.

"You know Carly's been seeing Gail Baldwin since the custody trial."

He shrugged. "Yeah...?"

"Well. Amy told me she's been released from her duties."

A feeling of dread that had been coiled up in Lucky's stomach since his father had come home that night started to unfurl. "No. That doesn't make any sense, Carly can't quit therapy, it's court-ordered."

"No one knows what happened. Just that she's suddenly not her therapist anymore. And the general consensus --"

"It's gossip, Mom."

"Yeah," She nodded. "Yeah, it is. And so it the story about how he forced Edward Quartermaine to resign from the Hospital board." he swore -- absolutely swore -- that he only blinked, but his mother seemed to see something in it. She started towards him, awash in motherly victory. "You knew about that!"

"Emily might have mentioned some stuff," Lucky shifted away from her, only to have Laura grab his arm.

"Lucky!"

He groaned, rolling his head back. "Yeah, Ok. I know... something." Eyes came back to meet hers. "Mostly that whatever Nik did -- it was pretty justified."

"Justified?" she looked horrified. Scandalized. "Lucky -- if any of this is true, it sounds like Nikolas is using his influence to force people's hands! To try and make everyone do what he wants them to do."

Lucky held her gaze. "Yeah. Looks like."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Well. It's not like it's new ground for the Cassadines."

"I'm not talking about the Cassadines," Laura's voice raised in pitch. "I'm talking about Nikolas. And if he's doing this, then he's either bribing, or blackmailing or ..." she fumbled for the next accusation.

"Acting like a Cassadine."

"Don't say that."

"Mom. That's what he IS."

The flush seemed to fade from her cheeks. She turned away from him quickly, shaking her head. "No -- No. I'm not getting into that argument with you, Lucky. I've had it with your father enough times --"

"I'm not saying it's BAD," he protested, coming away from the counter. "I'm just saying... You know. He's rich. And he's got access to a lot of information. So yeah -- sometimes he probably takes a few short cuts to get what he wants."

"Illegal short cuts."

"Mom," Lucky laughed slightly. "Get serious."

She frowned, disapprovingly. "What -- are you saying that's ok?"

"Have you met my father?" He put his arms out, feeling more than a little exasperated himself. "Yeah, ok. Maybe Nik twisted someone's arm, or maybe he threatened someone, or maybe he just paid people off. But you can't tell me it's not something we haven't done a million times."

Laura was shaking her head firmly. "That's different. We were in danger. You had to do that to survive and keep yourself safe -- we all did!"

Lucky stared at her. She couldn't really believe that. There was just no way it could be that black and white to her. But then -- it had been that way for him, hadn't it? At some point. When he was young. Imbued with a feeling of righteousness. Certain that whatever they did, they were still firmly on the side of truth and justice. It felt ridiculous, now. Even more ridiculous to suggest that the Cassadines -- in their current incarnation, at least -- where any worse or better. They just served different interests, as far as he could tell.

"Mom," he leaned forward, proceeding with extreme caution. "There's stuff we do... Cause it's what we do. You know? It's what Dad is like... Push the envelope. Try to make the wind blow the way we want it to. See how much we can get away with. By the time I could talk, I knew how to play people to get what I wanted --"

He didn't say the next part. That she must have liked that about his father. That it must have been part of what attracted her to him. Because that was one thing he really couldn't deal with, even now -- thinking about what drew his parents together. He was never going to be able to ask himself that question again without feeling sick. He drew in his breath before continuing.

"Look," he smiled slightly -- something meant to reassure her. "He's protecting Carly. I don't know anything about Gail -- but the thing with Edward.. That's all about protecting Carly."

"And what do you figure Carly coming to your father was about?"

He sighed. Yeah. That was the question of the hour. "I don't know."

His mother sighed in frustration. "I really don't like this."

"What's so bad about getting Carly a new therapist?" God, he could not believe he was spending this kind of energy defending actions he knew nothing about. But it offended him. On some gut level that probably didn't have a thing to do with his brother. "Maybe she needed one. And Mr. Quartermaine? It's gotta be good for him to get kicked in the ass occasionally. And if Nik did? Good for him. At least he's DOING something."

Laura shook her head firmly. "You don't understand."

"Oh, well. Enlighten me, then."

"When your father does stuff like this, it's because he has to --"

"It's because it's fun --"

"No -- It's... It's different. It's... Survival. It's staying alive --"

He knew he should drop it. He could tell -- now, like he'd seen it other times -- that this was something she needed. Something he'd never convince her was wrong. But he hated it -- he hated the hypocrisy of it. And he couldn't seem to let it go.

"Sometimes," he admitted, standing at her back. "Sometimes it's the path of least resistance. Sometimes it's boredom. Sometimes it's doing things our way because that's what we want to do. Or because we CAN. The Cassadines are the same way --"

"Your father doesn't hurt people!"

Lucky felt the bile creeping up his throat. He took a step back from her. "Ok. Ok, I'm done. Cause it's just sad, if you actually believe that."

"Don't --"

"I HAVE TO, Mom!" he fought against his escalating voice. "It's what you guys raised me to do. I put a hell of a lot of things aside EVERY DAY just so I can function in this family. Cause I love you -- and Lulu. And yeah, I love Dad. But this is insane, if you're asking me to believe that NIKOLAS is being immoral or something because he's taking care of his wife --"

"Because he's using his power to get what he wants!"

"It's the same thing!"

"NO!" The word came out sharp and desperate. Straight from his mother's gut. "No it's not." She whirled around on him, eyes bright and awful. "You have no idea... Your father gets by on charm and skill when he has to -- but the Cassadines are different! They force people into corners. They give them 'choices' designed to send them into a hell that they'll try to convince you is your own making. They're EVIL!" Tears were glistening in her eyes now. "And they're cruel. And malicious. And if Nikolas is doing that... If... " she stopped. It was obvious, what this was now. The idea was too much for her. He could see it in her tight shoulders, pressed lips. It made her sick. And the sensation bounced off of her and landed right in his gut. He reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter for support.

"He's not doing that."

Laura just shook her head.

Lucky pushed out his breath and tried again. "I know they hurt you. I know that." Damnit. He rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm sorry. Ok? It's just --" Nothing he could talk about. Not if he wanted to stay sane. Stay here. "Look. Dad and Lu are outside -- you got a date with a sunset. So go ahead, I'll finish this."

"Lucky --"

"I'm FINE." He grimaced, then looked up at her. "Really."

She looked at him critically. But desperate -- he could tell -- desperate to believe him.

"It's already done," she waved her hand at the dishes dismissively. "You can let everything else drip-dry."

"Yeah, ok." He nodded. "I gotta go meet Elizabeth, anyway. Her shift's almost over." He turned and started towards the swinging door that lead to the living room. Elizabeth. That was a good plan of attack at this point. Because he wasn't sure he could stay here without imploding.

"Lucky!" his mother called after him, just as he reached the door. He stopped. Sighed. Turned back. She was looking at him, hurt and sad. It stole his ability to breathe. "I'd be just as upset if this was you."

At his side, his hand twitched involuntarily. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, that's probably true." He pushed the door open, and turned to exit the room. "But it wouldn't be because you were afraid of me."

There was a whirring noise in the far corner, and the Grandfather Clock sprung to life, announcing it's successful arrival at the half-hour. Carly kept her hand pressed flat against the cool glass of the coffee table and didn't so much as blink -- though every muscle in her body had gone taunt. She just stared at Alexis -- the safest pair of eyes in the room -- and waited for the explosion.

It didn't come right away. Instead, from behind her. She felt Nikolas's hand move from her shoulder, as he sat back against he couch. "A job."

She fought against the urge to swallow. "I figured I should start pulling my own weight," she twisted around, careful not to look directly at her husband while she searched for her glass of port. "I mean, I can't just hang out here doing nothing all day."

There was a silence while Carly took a decent gulp of the thick, too-sweet beverage. Dessert wines, she decided, were not her thing.

"I..." Alexis started a sentence and abandoned it. And then, again, the soft and too-calm voice of Nikolas.

"What kind of job?"

She shrugged, studying her glass now. "Waiting tables. It's in my skill range."

"Didn't you used to be a physical therapist?" Lawyer Aunt shook her head, clearly the only person in the room willing to admit to shock.

"Assistant physical therapist --" she glanced up at her. "And that was mostly because I was sleeping with a neurosurgeon at the hospital."

Alexis's eyes were hard on hers, then betrayed her, turning towards Stefan. Carly stared down into her glass again, feeling the heat of the alcohol in her stomach. Her face felt hot. Her head was starting to buzz.

"Waiting tables where, exactly?"

She did not like the way those words sounded. Nikolas was never comforting when he got that careful. She pulled in her breath. Just get it out. You have to do this. Hell -- Everything you've been through today? You should be enjoying this a hell of a lot more.

"My uncle needed a pinch-hitter," she lied. "So I'm going to cover some shifts at Luke's."

And then she did it. She looked at him -- Stefan Cassadine, standing so still and proper in the corner. One hand behind his back, the other holding that damn port glass. Staring at her as she were something on the bottom of his shoe. She flushed -- felt that familiar and useful rush of anger. She cocked her head to one side.

"After all. I might be a Cassadine now, but I can't abandon my roots."

"Carly --" the word came out on Nikolas's breath and was barely heard before a low rumbling sound came across the room towards her.

"What," Stefan seemed to grow larger as he spoke. The shadows around him retreating in fear. "Do you think you are doing?"

Screwing you over, thanks.

"I'm doing a favor for my family."

"Are you trying to make a fool of my son? Is that your game now."

"Stefan --" Alexis started towards him, intervention written all over her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't toy with me, Miss. Benson --"

She was on her feet without making the decision to rise. "It's CARLY!" she shouted it at him with all the fury of a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. "Not Caroline, not Benson, not ROBERTS!" her voice was sliding into dangerously hysterical tones. "You can call me THAT, or call me Mrs. Cassadine. I don't care! But stop acting like I'm something I'm not."

"I have NO INTEREST --" he was yelling back -- something she never thought she'd see -- his face red with a sudden rush of displayed emotion. "About what you may pretend to be. But Luke Spencer is an enemy to this family. And there is no reason for you to ally yourself with him --"

"No reason?" The words spilled out of her before she had a chance to stop them. And she must have stepped forward because now she felt Nikolas behind her -- felt his arm come around her waist and hold her back, while Alexis hovered, ready to do the same for her father-in-law. They stared at each other and she saw what she needed to -- she saw fear, flicker. And then nothing. His eyes went dark, his jaw set, and he straightened up.

"Cassadine wives do not work as bar matrons."

"I do," she spit. "Where I come from, people do stuff like this. They wait tables and they clean up other people's garbage and they do all that stuff that people like you are too refined to do for yourself."

"And that's what you wish us to believe. That this is a return to your roots?"

She leaned back against her husband, her voice shaking almost as violently at the rest of her. "Just keeping' it real."

He made a face -- a barely perceptible sneer -- and she felt her body surge forward only to be held back by Nikolas. She could not believe how angry she felt. Stuck in the middle of Scenes From the Class Struggle of Port Charles, defending her uncle -- who she hated -- and his livelihood -- which she couldn't care less about... It was an act. And he knew it was an act. But she hated him for the disdain, anyway. In that moment, she hated him more than she could find the words for. She hated him for every nice thing he'd ever said to her. For every moment where he'd acted like she might just belong there. For saying that she was a better choice for Nikolas than Robin was. For talking to her about parenthood. For making her eat that stupid soup. For making her LIKE him and then turning around and trying to take the only good thing in her life away from her. She wanted to scratch his eyes out. She wanted to hurt him as badly as he hurt her. But she couldn't. Because he didn't give a damn about her.

"You can't change what I am!" she shrieked at him, suddenly. "You can't just make it go away! You can't just try to make everyone forget about it!"

"Carly --" Alexis stepped in, but Nikolas cut her off.

"I think we should call this a night."

Stefan's eyes were fixed on Carly's, and she started to fight against her restraints. "Let me go!"

"Now!" Nikolas barked, pulling her back against him. Both arms now, clamped tight around her, holding so tight to him, she could barely find air. God, she must look like a maniac. She felt like it. Spending all that time being perfect -- trying to make him see what she could do -- burned up the second he said actually spoke to her in front of Nikolas. He thought she was trash. She was sure of it. She tried to make herself stop, but she was crying now. Choking. She leaned back into her husband, and let her head hang. What the hell are you doing? Her brain reeled in horror. It's ruined. It's all ruined.

"Father," Nikolas's voice was determined and compelling, as he made his plea one more time. "Please."

She didn't look up. Didn't even move until she heard the front door close. Then she pulled herself violently from her husband's grasp and took a few unsteady steps towards the window. Oh God... Oh, God, what the hell was she going to do now?

Keep pushing ahead. It was the only answer she could think of. It was, at this point, about the only thing she new how to do.

She ran her hands up and down her bare arms, shivering at the sudden cold that had come with moving away from her husband. She brought her shaking hand up to her face and quickly wiped the tears away. She could think of nothing more terrifying than looking at Nikolas, now -- but she had to. Survival, nothing more to it. If she didn't pull this together right now, she was done. And that wasn't something that could happen. It just wasn't.

"Well," she raised her eyes to look over at Nikolas. She could barely focus. He was only standing a few feet away -- face grim, shoulders hunched -- but she couldn't seem to make herself really see him. She choked out a laugh. "That went well."

"What... " He shook his head, once. All energy in that one movement, and it brought her focus. Let her see him, clearly. Her stomach clenched at the look on his face. "What do you think you are doing?"