Chapter Seventy-One:
Consolation

All of Carly's life, sleep had been something she'd excelled at. Everyone has their talents in life and Caroline Benson had really known how to be unconscious. There was just no limit to it's benefits. Besides the fact that she enjoyed sleep itself as an activity -- it took you away from the world of the waking. It was the best retreat life had offered her so far, so when things got really horrible, she tended to sleep more -- not less. Soundly. Determinedly. It was safe -- that simple. It was her last bastion.

It was rare that she ended up in a situation where she honestly, truly couldn't sleep. Where worry wouldn't allow her mind to still. Where, when she did drift off, she'd just be assaulted by nightmares. Where she slept so lightly that any change in the room would bring her to wakefulness immediately.

The last time she'd felt like that, it had been during the custody trial. Before that -- Michael's kidnapping.

That had been one of the scarier realizations she'd had time to make over the long night. In between attacks of hysterical sobbing, and bouts of bitter recrimination. For the first portion of the evening, she had wept. With Nikolas gone, there was nothing left in her to fight the emotions she'd been trying to keep at bay ever since she'd walked out on Stefan. She didn't let herself think about why she felt the way she did. She didn't let her brain present her with reasons. She just felt the pain like a body blow and, lacking anything else to do, she was knocked over by it.

It provided, at the very least, a distraction from the problem that lay in front of her. The fact that Nikolas had walked out on her. More so... the fact that he didn't seem to be coming back. She'd waited, at first. After the third hour had passed, she started to get angry. Anger gave away to dread, and she'd ventured downstairs. Gone to the windows. Told herself she was not going to go look for him.

After another hour had passed, she'd gone to sit on the porch. Staring into the dark and praying for any sign of him.

There'd been nothing. All night -- nothing. She'd finally snapped when the clock -- that stupid, ancient, wedding gift grandfather clock -- had struck three. Zipped with incredible efficiency back through fear, to anger and by the time she'd made it back up to their room, she was in tears again.

She'd cried herself into what could generously be called a 'fitful sleep'. Curled up with a pillow hugged to her chest. Waking up in a panic at a change in the wind. Unspecified house noises. A prolonged silence.

What woke her, around 7 am, was the click of the bedroom door closing. She sat, bolt upright, like a gun has just discharged at the foot of the bed. Turned her body around and called out a desperately hopeful "Nikolas?"

Her eyes collided with him before he answered. He was standing only a few feet away from her. Still dressed in the clothes he'd left in. Looking down at her, eyes trailing from her face, along the still-made bedspread, and then to the twisted mess that was the throw she'd slept under.

"You're back," she couldn't keep the relief out of her voice, and a beginnings of a smile started to tug at the corners of her mouth.

Nikolas just looked at her, devoid of emotion. He didn't so much as blink as he told her, "I need to get ready for work."

He started across the room to the bathroom and Carly stared after him, at a loss. Her head was still a tangle of sleep-clutter and post-emotional meltdown fog. She shook her head and felt the headache that was lying in weight for her. Her whole head felt heavy, and a deep ache had set into her muscles. This was the start of a bad day -- there was no way around it.

She didn't give what to do next much thought. Carly had never been very good at walking away -- chasing away, sure. Running away, on occasion. Letting something go? Never. She tumbled out of the bed, wrapping the throw around her for comfort, more than anything else. She heard the shower turn on just as she reached the not-quite-closed door. She pushed it open without hesitation, to find her husband checking the water from just outside the shower door. He turned and looked at her with slight variation on his earlier blank look. Carly felt her stomach flip uneasily.

"Do you have a lot to do today?" she asked, at a loss of anything else to say to him.

"The list is getting longer," he muttered, kicking off his shoes. It was an answer that was long on cryptic and short on warmth. Standing in the doorway, Carly supposed she couldn't expect much more. She should really just be happy he'd come back.

Unless, of course, he was planning on packing before he left again.

She leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb in a way that looked casual, but had more to do with hoping to stay upright.

"Where were you?"

He pulled his shirt over his head. Ran a hand through his hair several times before answering. "It's not important."

Carly's eyes filled with tears. "Like hell," she choked.

"Carly," he threw down the shirt and looked at her with exasperation. "There's no point in having this conversation now."

"When is there a point in having this conversation?"

He stared at her a moment, then turned his attention back to undressing. Socks. "You tell me."

"When I change my mind? Is that it?"

"It would be a start."

Her face heated. "I told you --"

"I can't do this right now!" It was as close to yelling as he'd come since his return and Carly fell immediately silent. Not because she was surprised. Or because she was suddenly struck by the spirit of cooperation. But because it stung. He felt a million miles away from her, and was still fighting to put more distance between them. He hadn't spent the night worrying and obsessing and missing her. He wasn't back because he wanted to put an end to this. He, apparently, just needed a shower.

"Fine," she couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice. "When do you think you can work it into your schedule?"

His movements stilled. She watched him stare down at the floor before continued undoing his belt.

"I didn't start this."

She hated that he was right. She was spinning back from relieved to irrational anger at warp speed. But what the hell was she supposed to say? She wanted to throw something at him, to scream and cry and just... GOD. She bowed her head, staring hard at the tile. She was shaking -- her hands. She tightened her fists, holding on to the weave of the blanket around her. Stubbornly held her ground. Maybe she wouldn't yell at him -- but she was sure as hell not going to let him know he scared her. She wasn't going to confess to how horrible it felt to spend the night alone. It was a little thing -- but she was keeping it all to herself.

"Are you coming home tonight?" she asked the floor, her voice flat and dead.

"Yes."

"When?"

"I don't know. Carly."

She looked up at him expectantly. Distantly surprised to see that he'd stripped down to his boxers.

"What?"

"Do you mind?"

Her brow furrowed, and then she realized what he meant. "You want me to leave?"

He pushed the shower door open, letting steam spill into the main part of the room. "I want a few minutes alone, yeah."

Bullshit! She thought. Complete and utter... SHE was more modest than Nikolas, and that was really saying something. He just wanted her gone. He'd had a whole night alone -- the fact that she'd been here when he got back was probably a disappointment. It was probably inconvenient.

"I have to brush my teeth," she ground out. He let out a sigh, then gestured dismissively at the sink.

"Fine."

He just stared at her, and she knew he wasn't going to let this go. It was a power thing now. Some line drawn on the tile. She glared at him, openly, then stalked over to the sink. Turned on the water with one hand, filled the glass, dunked her toothbrush under the stream, all with one hand while she continued to hold the throw around her. She twisted off the water and looked up at the mirror and caught him looking at her. Arms crossed. Not amused.

"I'm going to have to floss, too," she snarked at him.

She never flossed.

It was possible that he rolled his eyes. But he pushed off the last vestiges of his clothing and disappeared into the steam. She stared at the space where he had been standing, toothbrush held aloft, for what felt like hours. Thinking about stupid things like how good he looked when his hair was a mess, and how unlikely it was for someone to have skin that was that perfect, and how her chest felt so tight that it was likely her heart was about to be punctured by a rib.

She let out a gasp of air and dropped her toothbrush into the sink. Leaned over, grabbing the counter with both hands. She raised her eyes to the mirror and looked straight into herself.

Ugly. That was the first word that came to her. Her skin was pale and sickly. There were dark circles under her eyes -- which were swollen from having cried so much. Her hair was deranged, her mouth tasted metallic and sour and she still had the beginnings of a head ache.

And, of course, her three week old marriage was starting it's long arching journey down the drain.

She bit her lip, hard, to distract herself from the tears that were threatening, again. If she cried anymore, there was a very good chance her eyes would just swell shut. So -- physical pain and the brushing of teeth. At least she was doing something. If she was lucky, she might just choke on the toothbrush.

She started to brush her teeth, furiously -- so much so that she didn't realize at first that she wasn't using her toothpaste. She was using Nikolas's 'natural' toothpaste. Fennel. Ugh! She made a face and leaned over the sink, spitting with vigor. God, it was disgusting! She reached out for the glass, took in a huge mouthful and spat into the basin again. She repeated that until the water was gone and the fresh taste of licorice lingered on. She spit, again -- then reached out the tap to refill the glass in her hand. It was habit that stopped her. That habitual law of cohabitation. Thou shalt not fill thy water glass whilst the shower is occupied.

She stared at the silver high-polished fixture in front of her. You know. It was interesting. Cassadines had a hell of a lot of money. They seemed to be ridiculously immune to a lot of life's little inconveniences. At the moment, Nikolas seemed pretty damn immune to a lot of things. Like insomnia. And heartbreak.

It might have been idle curiosity. It might have been the fury over the toothpaste. It might have been the unending squeezing in her chest. She'd argue, later, that it was temporary insanity. The wrath of a woman uninformed. Whatever it was -- her hand darted out with incredible speed and depressed the handle on the toilet.

The liberating flush of the toilet bowl was interrupted by a sharp, angry shout.

"CARLY!"

Apparently -- Not immune to the laws of plumbing.

The water was silenced. She turned and faced the door, waiting. She heard dripping. Breathing. But no words. Nothing else, until the door to the shower slide, purposefully, open.

She kept her eyes on the ebony counter top. On the light that was reflected off the mirror. Pretty.

The door to the shower closed again.

She could tell, from his breathing, that he was not actually in the shower anymore. That he was standing, in fact, right behind her. And she should turn around. Face the consequences.

"Carly."

Every hair on her body raised up at the tone of his voice. It was low and rumbling. Angry. Threatening. She fidgeted with the toothbrush in her hand a moment, then threw it determinedly into the sink again. Enough of this.

"What?" she asked, defensively, as she turned around.

She stopped short when she saw him. Standing closer than she'd realized and they didn't make words adequate to describe the look on his face. He was furious. An anger was pulsing off of him and it bordered on ferocity. His eyes were dark and hard and they grabbed hers. She felt a sudden pang of heart-stopping fear and... something else. Something decidedly different. She swallowed. Hard.

He reached out for her, quickly -- his hand grabbing a fistful of her T-shirt. Simultaneously pulled her towards him and backed her into the counter. She felt her back press into the lip, and her hands flew out, grabbing the edge and hanging on for dear life. Forcing herself not to retreat -- to lean back and away from him. Not that it would have helped. He was advancing, and his eyes seemed to give off heat. Boring into her. Burning through the anger and exposing her fear. Her desperation. Oh hell.

He closed the space between them, pushing his body flush up against her. The beads of water on his skin bled into the cotton of her shirt. Her heart was thundering in her chest and her head tipped back to maintain eye contact she felt invaded by, but was making no effort to turn away from. Nikolas's hand came up into her hair and pulled her head back further. Searching her eyes, her face, thoroughly. He licked his lips absently, and asked, in a low murmur, "What are you doing?"

There were a lot of reasons why Cassadine Men were dangerous. Though people would always warn you about the more mundane ones (delusions of grandeur, world domination, insane matriarch), no one had ever uttered a word about the greatest danger they presented. They were unbelievably, enigmatically, incomprehensibly sexy...

"I.." she started, but her mouth was dry and the single syllable stuck in her throat. She watched his eyes soften and drift to her mouth. He lowered his head slowly and Carly felt her entire being go weak. The fact that there was no place to fall was the only reason she stayed upright. Her body was pinned by his, her head held in his hands and she let her eyes close, giving up the last thing she had any control over, in anticipation of his kiss.

His mouth settled over hers like it belonged to him. Like she belonged to him. He kissed her softly until she heard herself moan. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard they shook. She parted her lips, inviting him deeper into her, but he held off until she was nearly vibrating with desire to just feel a little more of him. Like it was forgiveness. Or understanding. Or just some shred of proof that they weren't losing each other. And he held it back from her until she whined in the kiss. Until she did everything short of beg him. Then his whole body pressed into her -- arms moving around her waist and lifting her, pulling her into him while his mouth plundered hers.

The kiss went on and on. She arched into him, gasped against him. Brought her hands up to grip his shoulders, while his mouth worked endlessly against hers. His body, firm and impenetrable, ground against her. He was aroused. Hungry. And for once in her life, she felt utterly powerless in the face of it. His desire for her felt calm and measured next to the fire he was feeding in her. When he pulled away, she just sat there, staring at him in stunned silence. She was spellbound. In that moment, unable to think, to comprehend what was happening. Then she snapped to, and instinctively did what was always expected of her. Tightened her thighs around his waist. Started to slide closer to him.

"No," he stepped back from her and Carly froze. Oh, God. Oh, God, don't --

She was just starting to work herself up into a very respectable fit of hysteria when his hands took hers. Pulled them off his shoulders while he stepped back towards her. She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him with apprehensive excitement. Let him guide her, move her hands away from him, back to the counter, and then behind her back. He held both hands there, firmly and leaned his body into her. Looked down at her upturned face again, his eyes nearly black with lust. "We do this my way."

Her whole body tightened dangerously in response to his words. She tried to pull in her breath, but her body wouldn't accept it. It kept her breath shallow and the rest of her flushed and pulsing mercilessly in anticipation. She offered him absolutely no resistance, and when he moved to kiss her again, all the permission in the world was passed to him. She kissed him free of anything outside of the purity of her desire for him.

It felt different for reasons she wasn't capable of contemplating. For most of her life, sex had been as much about calculation as it was about anything. She was constantly aware of the power she held. Of how much she had and how much she wanted and what, exactly, was going to be enough. Did he want her enough, was she sexy enough, desirable enough. Was she giving him enough pleasure to guarantee that he would -- if he didn't actually stay with her -- at least remember her. Was she leaving her mark?

But with every touch, Nikolas was stealing her power from her in a way that she'd never experienced before. Her arousal had come on quickly with a liquid heat that seeped right into her blood. There was no chance of playing games. He was making it impossible for her to think -- to do anything outside of feel -- and that turned the experience on it's head.

He pulled away from her delirious kisses and buried his face in her hair. "Give me your neck."

She didn't bother to ask what that meant. She dropped her head to one side, allowing him access to the sensitive skin. He pressed an open mouth kiss just behind her ear... then started to trail hot, wet kisses along her neck, her collar bone. She let her head fall back and he slowly kissed his way from the hollow of her throat, down to the ribbed edge of her T-shirt. The front was wet and stuck to her skin. She was gasping for breath, licking her dry lips when she felt his mouth close over the hard nipple of her right breast. The sensation -- his hot mouth, his tongue working against her though the cotton, just set something off in her. She let out a long wail, struggling in his grip, while arching her back, to bring her closer to him. That feeling. Of pure pleasure mixed with the knowledge that there was a barrier, there was something keeping her away from truly experiencing him. Truly being his... It drove her crazy. She squirmed and fought against it. Worked herself up into such a frenzy, that the clothes against her skin started to feel like armor. Heavy, thick, and closing her body off from him. She wanted them off, desperately. She let out a half-cry, half moan, on his name. "Nikolas..."

He lifted his head, catching mouth and silencing her. She poured herself into the kiss again, letting it calm her. Bring her back from the outer stratosphere. Her body was shaking when he pulled away and heard him growl against her ear.

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you," she answered without hesitation. She could barely breathe. Everything was soft focus and distant -- nothing felt real, apart from him. Apart from his body, his voice... He was dissolving her. Turning her into nothing but pure emotion, sensation. He pulled back and let her hands go. Put his fingers to her cheek and trained her dazed and unfocused eyes on him.

"Again."

Her hands leapt up and cupped his face, bringing his mouth down to hers. She kissed him desperately. Hungrily. She pulled back, finally, to insist "I want you."

His hand had moved to stroke the back of her thigh. His touch was light as he inched enticingly up her body. He looked into her eyes like he was hypnotizing her -- though she was undeniably under the influence already. His hand slid around her leg and slipped between her legs, pushing them easily apart. She blinked heavily in her trace state.

"What do you want?"

A violent shiver went through her. His fingers were drawing light little circles on the tender skin on her inner thigh. Inching up slowly, and not touching her there. It was driving her out of her mind. Her hips lifted of their own accord, pushing towards him.

"More."

"More of what?"

"This," she breathed. "You. God, I want you."

It must have been the right answer, because he kissed her again. His tongue so deep in her mouth she didn't feel his hand move until it was cupping her through her panties and she was, again, moaning his name. He rubbed her hand over her, rhythmically, until she was writhing and panting.

"How much?" he murmured into her ear. His breath burned across her skin. "Caroline. How much?"

She felt like she was going to burst into tears. That was how much. She struggled to catch her breath, but his touch changed before she managed it. Turned from rhythmic kneading to a very specific and careful massage. That same insanity-provoking sensation of being touched, intimately, while being held at a distance. She choked out a sob.

"More than anything," she managed, hearing the desperation and truth in her voice. She didn't want barriers. She didn't want anything between them. Ever. "I want you," she reached out, grabbing for him recklessly. "Please. God, please -- Don't go." Her head was spinning, and utterly beyond self-censorship. She just didn't care. What she said, what it meant -- She'd never felt like this. And she didn't want it to go away. She didn't want HIM to go away -- the words started to spill out of her mouth and the line between sex and sentiment was obliterated. "Don't leave. I want you. I want to be with you -- that's all I want. I just want to stay with you."

She was crying now, and reaching for him. He was right there -- close and adoring in the kiss they fell into. She sunk her hands into his hair. Held him close and protested wordlessly when he pulled away from her, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"You don't think we're a mistake?" He choked.

"No!"

"Oh, God, Carly," he groaned into her skin and then pulled the T-shirt off of her in one quick movement. She felt him gather her up in his arms and the next thing she knew, she was on her back, pressed against the cold tile of the bathroom floor with Nikolas on top of her, pulling hurriedly at the thin strap that held her panties together. She opened her body to him gratefully, and came as soon as he entered her. Exploded into shadowed bliss and choking sobs. Shattering along with her inhibitions, her pride, her fear. She didn't care about anything at that moment. Just being loved by him. Everything else felt distant and unimportant. If he loved her, she'd be ok. If he loved her, somehow, they both would be.