Chapter Seventy-Two:
Love Hurts

Nikolas's cell phone screeched from it's place on the bedside table for the third time in fifteen minutes. Carly groaned and buried her face in her pillow.

"That thing is worse than an alarm clock."

Nikolas reached over from where he sat on the edge of the bed, and switched the ring to vibrate. "If I turn it off, she'll start using the land line."

"She?"

"Cece."

"The assistant?" Carly lifted her head and looked at him blearily, then frowned. "You're dressed."

This was true, in a manner of speaking. Nikolas had, over the last half hour and with methodical and sluggish persistence, managed to slowly bring himself to a physical state acceptable to leaving for the outside world. But his shirt only half buttoned, he hadn't bothered to get a jacket and he still couldn't think of anything that was could be worse than what waited for him on the other side of the front door.

"I still have to go to work."

The bed clothes shuffled behind him. "Ok."

"I have a meeting."

"Ok," she said it with the same tone. One that sounded like she'd have said 'ok', even if he'd suggested jumping into an active volcano. He heard her move behind him, sitting up and pulling herself back so that she was huddled against the headboard. He glanced back at her and she gave him a wan smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We didn't just make up, did we?"

He let out a long sigh and let himself fall back onto the bed, stretching across the bedspread just under Carly's curled legs. He stared blankly at the canopy overhead. "I don't know."

"Well -- are you still mad?"

He closed his eyes. Was he still mad? Did mad even begin to describe what he'd been feeling over the past hours? He had no answers. He didn't feel like he had the night before. He didn't even feel like he had a few hours earlier when he'd come back to their bedroom. He felt heavy. He felt tired. He wanted to retreat -- it was a powerful feeling he couldn't remember ever having experienced this way before. He didn't want to deal with what came next. There were things he didn't want to know, conversations he didn't fell like having. Given how he'd felt about coming home, he hadn't expected it to be this difficult to leave again.

He'd come home because it was unaccustomed work to stay away. He hadn't reveled in the chance to come back and resume their conversation where it had left off. That alone was reason enough to avoid the island indefinitely. But a few hours gone, he'd started to worry about her. Starting thinking less about how betrayed he felt and more about the way she'd looked on the days when he'd come home the last week. The blank way she'd stare at the wall when he tried to talk to her. The false, hyper energy that would come on in an instant and then fade. She'd jump when he came into a room. Roll away from him when he came to their bed. It had killed him. Over and over again, a thousand tiny deaths.

That could be happening again, an annoying but persistent voice in his head had whispered. That could be happening right now.

And why? Because he'd walked out on her? Or because of what his father had said? That wasn't what had taken her down last time, he'd thought, bitterly. That had been Jason. And Carly didn't have the same kind of emotional investment in him that she had in her ex-boyfriend.

The idea was ugly and invidious. And, honestly, something that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a long time. Pushed back by all the logical responses. She said it was about Michael. And you knew she had feelings for Jason when you married her. You have no right to expect her feelings to change just because yours did. Et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum, blah, blah, blah.

And a part of him -- a big part of him -- didn't care. THIS was not fair. Why couldn't he find someone who would love him back? Was that really such an impossibility? Why did she have to love Jason? And GOD, why did he have to love her so much? She was driving him crazy. Even when she wasn't trying -- his entire world felt victim to her mood swings. She kissed him, and every part of him just went weak. She looked at him with doubt in her eyes -- and he'd confess every deep dark secret of his soul. He'd outlined his feelings for her in excruciating detail because she'd needed him to. He would do anything for her. Anything. It was like being possessed -- and she... She wouldn't even quit a job working for a man he hated.

If Jason asked her not to do this, she would have let it go. He couldn't get that thought out of his head.

He had no control -- over her, over the relationship, over himself. And there didn't seem to be a chance in hell of changing that, because nothing was going to change the way he felt about her. It was hard to delude himself on that front, particularly given where he'd ended up that night. The scene of the crime. Where everything had started to spin off into the mystic. The Zephyr.

He'd spent the night alone in a place he'd always shared with her. Because it was quiet and removed from the world. It was sheltered and practical and everything an escape was supposed to be. And that was the reason he'd bought the damned thing in the first place. To get away from everything he hated. And if he was honest with himself now -- there wasn't much he hadn't hated before Carly. It was a quiet rage that never found voice or direction. Just sat dejectedly inside him and waited for something. But he'd met her before he'd ever had chance to step foot on the boat and now it was inexorably linked with her. And he didn't want that to change. Loving her was not something he was prepared to give up. His life was better for it. Which just made this situation all the more crushing.

This had to change. He couldn't live his life this way. He couldn't -- but he had no choice. And he wouldn't take it back -- he was trapped in an emotional quagmire. No way out but down, as far as he could tell. And no way he was going to make it more than a few hours without going home and making sure she was ok.

So he'd gone home. And he'd walked into their room and there she was. Curled up on the bed with her hair spread out over the pillow and God, did he want to go to her. The need had felt crippling. Like a temporary insanity. He didn't really want to fight with her -- he wasn't really mad... Not mad enough to hold on to this distance. What did his feelings matter, anyway, if they denied him the right to spend the night next to her? He'd feel better if he just lay down with her. Put his arm around her waist and hugged her to him. Then, maybe, everything would stop hurting like this. Then, maybe, the sniping little voices in his head would shut up.

And she'd still be working for Luke, except you would have let her go to him without a fight, and in no time things would start to fall apart. He'd lose her. And that couldn't happen. He let the cold of that realization fill him. And when she'd waken with a start at the closing of the door, saying his name and he'd felt... Nothing.

It was hard work keeping that up. It had probably lasted all of five minutes until she'd blasted him with hot water and any grip he had on calm had evaporated. He really hadn't expected what had come next. He hadn't been feeling much else besides rage until he'd looked at her and found the undeniable flush of desire bolt through her.

God, he had wanted to feel desired.

So he'd made her want him. Made her need him the way he needed her every second of his life -- and if it was only physical, he refused to think about it. He just held onto those words -- please stay. I want to be with you. They were comfort beyond anything he could describe. He didn't feel bad about what had happened. It was hard to feel bad about survival.

He'd kissed her a long time after that. Unable to completely severe their connection, perhaps. Unwilling to talk anymore, even more likely. He'd gently tasted her lips, stroked her hair back from her face. Told her she was beautiful. And he loved her. She'd kissed him back, though her eyes had been unfocused and she didn't seem to hear what he was saying to her. Slowly, she'd seemed to come back to herself. Her kisses became more ardent, and he felt her hands slip up the back of his neck into his hair. One kiss broke suddenly when she pulled back to look at him in nothing short of amazement. She let out a peal of beautiful shocked laughter. Buried her face in his shoulder and murmured things he could not make out against his skin. Kissed his chest and neck while he lay still, his eyes closed, savoring the affection.

He knew this was probably going to kill him. He just couldn't seem to care. Because if he didn't look at it directly, it felt like she loved him. He could hold on to the delusion a little bit, as long as they didn't start talking about last night. The job. Luke Spencer.

"Nikolas?"

He started at the sound of her voice, remembering his time and place. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Have you had enough sleep?"

"Hmmm," the bed shifted under him and he felt the heat of her body move closer. "Maybe. Quality over quantity."

He nodded. She'd slept like the dead, the past few hours -- curled up to him for most of it. "Have you had anything to eat?"

She half-laughed. "When?"

He sighed and opened his eyes. "I want you to have something to eat."

He turned his head towards her to find her hanging above him, supporting herself on braced arms. She just stared back at him, brow furrowed. Her hair was a mess. He reached up, catching a strand and twisting it around his index finger. She leaned forward like it was a cue, and he pulled his hand back.

"Making sure you're taking care of yourself."

"You mean, staying out of my cocoon?" she smirked, and sat back on the bed. "Don't worry. I'm just tired. I'm not going all Brian Wilson on you."

Nikolas rubbed a hand over his face. "Who's Brian Wilson?"

"I thought you'd heard of The Beach Boys."

"In vague terms," he forced himself to sit up. "I have to go."

"Right now?"

"I'm over two hours late," he said it mostly to remind himself. "I think that's a personal best."

Her arms came around him from behind and he felt the heat of her cheek pressed into this back. He put a hand over hers. God, he didn't want to leave.

"Thanks for staying."

"You asked me to."

There was a long silence, but she didn't pull away from him. Then she spoke, in a small voice. "You didn't answer my question."

He stared blankly into the space in front of him. "I love you," he said, eventually. It was the only answer he really had to give. He loved her more than he raged. He loved her, right now, even more than he hurt. Her arms tightened around him and felt himself jolt at the implied meaning.

Good enough.

"Have breakfast with me?"

"It's almost lunch."

She shifted behind him, her legs coming to hug him while her arms stayed locked around his waist. "I'll eat, if you eat with me."

He smiled slightly. Nice to know he was still capable of that. "I'll eat with you."

She pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck, then rested her chin on his shoulder. "Will you be back tonight?" Same small, anxious voice.

"Yes."

"What time?"

"I don't know." She didn't say anything so he exhaled, "I'll call you before I leave."

"Ok."

"You're going to be ok here?"

"Yep."

She was lying. He twisted around to look at her but she caught his mouth with hers and instead he was drawn into a long, slow, aching kiss. God, there was so much left to deal with. More than he could even allow himself to think about. But hanging on to her, to this... The choice was out of his hands.

She pulled back first and smiled at him, sadly. Ran her hands over his shoulders and whispered, "I'm sorry I scalded you."

He shrugged, staring into her eyes.

"I'm resilient. I can take the pain."

The soft, shuffling tones of St. Germain were playing over the sound system at Luke's gently urging the populace towards the day. In contrast to the tone and attitude, the music was cranked, so that it traveled down the hall and floated into the back office. This was what Luke was grooving to, as he looked over the week's bookings. Cool and laid back, he was enjoying the ambiance along with his morning coffee when his reverie was broken by a sudden and violent slamming of his office door, followed by a glass-shattering shriek.

"WHAT," the far wall shook to it's baseboards, "DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???"

Luke Spencer shook a few drops of heavily creamed coffee off his hand, and turned lazily in his chair and took in Bobbie with practiced disinterest. He'd been expecting this. Maybe a little later in this day than this -- the grape vine was a little more efficient than usual. He raised his brow and drawled, "Something bothering you, Baby Sister?"

Bobbie pointed a threatening finger at him. "Don't you give me that routine. You know why I'm here, you know what you did, and you know why I'm pissed about it. The only thing I want out of your mouth is an explanation!"

Luke furrowed his brow, feigning deep thought.

"I had a waitress...." he counted off on careful fingers. "Then I lost a waitress... Then someone came and offered to be a waitress...."

"Oh, KNOCK it off!" Bobbie's eyes were nearly as wild as her hair -- which was curling around in tendrils that just might have been hissing at him. "You couldn't just leave it alone, could you? You had to just get in there and mess things up."

Luke put his arms out, inviting a search. "Caroline came to me."

Bobbie gaped, then pulled in an incredible lung-full of air. Luke winced in anticipation.

"I don't care if she CRAWLED to you on her knees over BROKEN GLASS! -- You have no business getting involved in this! If Carly's having trouble with Nikolas, that's her own damn problem and I don't want you helping her screw up her marriage!"

"Marriage," Luke leaned back in his chair, "Is a sacred institution. What do you take me for?"

"Nothing but what you are," Bobbie paced towards his desk. "You've hated this thing with Carly and Nikolas from the beginning."

"Nah, I've reconsidered," Luke kicked his feet up onto the desk. "I'm all for this marriage. Best idea I've heard in years."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"No -- I've been thinking about this," Luke tapped his index finger against his temple. "You know, few years back Stefan comes to town all set for Timoria. And we damn near gave it to him on a silver platter -- barely made him break a sweat."

"Luke..."

"But see, now --" Luke leaned forward, a glint in his eye. "Now, we're gonna see the Spencers come up on top long term. Caroline, she's not just some ground attack. She's like Agent Orange. She's gonna start causing trouble on a genetic level."

Bobbie stopped in her pacing. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Hey," Luke pointed to a purplish mark on his forehead. "It's not like the girl has trouble defending herself."

"What the hell did you say to get that?"

"Might have mentioned her blood sucking husband --"

"Oh, God," Bobbie sighed in disgust. "I'm not going to stand for you using my daughter like this, Luke. She's not a weapon!"

"Yeah? Anyone tell her that?" Bobbie made a sound that could only be described as a growl. Luke's expression drooped to something resembling an accused man who'd just heard his best friend lie to convict him. "The girl wants a job, Barbara Jean. And what kind of uncle would I be if I said no?"

"The kind that lives to sunrise?"

Luke smirked and kicked his feet up onto his desk. "Why don't you tell me what's got you so riled up about this. I thought you wanted Caroline to start contributing to society again."

"I did," Bobbie frowned, dropping down into chair opposite him. "But times have changed."

"Rich husband."

"Insane in-laws," she snapped her fingers, on a sudden recollection. "Speaking of which. The bruises on Carly's arm -- LUCKY told me about that. after Stefan did everything but turn my house upside down looking to clues as to where they took off to last week --"

"Vermont."

Bobbie stared at him. "How did you --"

"Might have checked up on one of Lucky's alters."

"Lucky's?"

Luke shrugged. "The kid was pretty attached to his cell phone. I figured he and Nikky-boy had struck a deal to keep Count Vlad off his trail."

"And you just had to make sure."

"Like to keep abreast of situations."

Fatigue washed over Bobbie and she fell back into the chair, closing her eyes in silent prayer before intoning, "Do I have to tell you again how much hell I'm going to raise if you do anything to screw this up for Carly?"

"Aw, c'mon, Barbara. What the hell reason do I have to go screwing around in Caroline's marriage? The less I know about that mess, the better."

"I'd love to believe that."

"You know what I don't like about her hooking up with Cassadine?" Luke sat up, bringing his feet down to the floor, while the decrepit leather chair catapulted the rest of him forward. "It puts you back in the cross hairs of your Ex."

"Oh, and what do you think is going to happen?" she glared at him. "He's going to snap his fingers and I'll roll over like some big dumb dog?"

"Hey. You said it -- not me."

"Where's something to throw?" Bobbie sat up, looking around the office. "I need something to throw."

Luke snatched up the brass horse head Carly had been fondling the day before and held it to his chest.

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, Barbara!" His mouth tightened resolutely. "Besides. Doesn't hurt to know what Ol' Steffin is up to."

Bobbie raised her brow. "It's not much good to me if you don't even let me know what information Stefan has!"

"Hey," Luke swiped the air with his hand. "I didn't know he was breathing down your neck, did I? What's his problem, anyway? The marks weren't on his demon spawn."

"See?" Bobbie pushed herself up and out of the chair. "It's stuff like that." She leaned forward, palms flat on the desk so that she could get right up in his face. "First of all. Any idiot knows that Nikolas isn't going to be manhandling Carly --"

"Where'd you read that? Myopia Weekly?"

"SECONDLY -- Lay off the name-calling." She reached up and patted the top if his head with some degree of affection. "She might decapitate you next time."

"What do you want me to do? Swear on a stack of Muddy Waters LPs that I've got the girl's best interests at heart?"

"I WANT -- " Bobbie stopped dead and let her shoulders fall. She swore under her breath, then lifted her head to look pleadingly into her brother's eyes. "I want to know my daughter's ok."

"She looked pretty good to me. All parts in working order."

"No. Not good enough," she straightened up. "If she's coming to you? Something must have just crashed down on top of her."

"Well, get over there, Mama Bear. Pull her out of the wreckage! What are you waiting for?"

"An engraved invitation." Bobbie smiled wanly at the desktop. "Or at the very least? An indication that she might actually listen to me."

Luke shook his head firmly. "Kids don't listen. It gets in the way of their righteous indignation."

"Or their swan dive into self-sabotage."

Luke groaned. "You want to talk her into saving this natural disaster she calls a marriage, don't you?"

"Ooooh," Bobbie laughed dangerously as she backed away towards the door. "You better believe it." She turned, pushed open the door and let the driving rhythm of the music pulse back in. She was already starting down the hall when she called back, "Even if I have to maim every single person in my family to do it!"

Carly sat on the bottom step of the stairs for a long time after Nikolas left -- arms wrapped around her midsection. Her stomach hurt. It had from the moment the door had closed. She'd told him she'd be fine. She'd told him not to worry. But once he was gone, she fell immediately into panic. And not the kind of panic she knew what to do with -- not the kind that helped her figure out what to do next. No, she felt immobile. Stuck. Because something was going to have to happen. No matter how dreamlike the last few hours had been -- Nothing had really changed. They'd just gotten caught in the web of afterglow where nothing felt particularly important outside of twinning yourself up in the other person. Kissing and touching and ...

She shook her head, hard. See? She could stay there all day if she let herself. And that wasn't a possibility, because everything that had gone wrong the previous morning was STILL wrong. If possible, it was getting worse.

She wanted the last twenty-four hours of her life back.

Sure. Cause that's going to happen.

She had to think of something. She had to come up with some sort of plan that would make Nikolas accept what she had to do, make Stefan back the hell off, and not lead to all the yelling and hurt and ugliness -- would not, particularly, lead to her sitting up all night scared about whether her husband was going to come home. She never wanted to do that again. Not in this lifetime.

So she had to come up with something. And she had to do it some time before dinner.

The sound of shoes on the planks of the front porch precipitated the knock by seconds. It was so sharp and efficient that Carly jumped, despite the warning. She scrambled up off the bottom stair, pulling on the hem of her t-shirt down over her well-worn jeans, self-consciously. She hadn't been able to find her favorite pair this morning, and this pair had definitely seen better days. She looked through the cut glass on the door and saw a familiar image. Dark. Foreboding. But not as tall as she was used to. She frowned and pulled open the door on none other than Nikolas's aunt. Her lawyer. Alexis Davis.

"Carly," she spoke before Carly could get a word in, stepping forward with one hand on the door, and her foot neatly by the jamb. "I'm glad I caught you home. We need to talk."

Stefan ascended the stairs to the second floor of Wyndemere briskly, fueled by necessity and a very bad mood. The morning was going badly. People were coming to him with information he did not need, or was already in possession of. Others were leaving his phone calls unreturned and ducking responsibility at all turns. It was a level of impotence he was not accustomed to, and had no intention of accepting, long term.

He took long strides down the hall to his study, entering through the open door and throwing the stack of papers at the desk in utter disgust. They, as well, rebelled against his wishes and flew up into the air, then fluttered to the floor. He stared at them in shocked disgust. Then swore, bitterly, in Greek.

The door behind him clicked and he turned on his heel to face the person who was sitting in the hardback chair beside the door.

"Nikolas!"

"Good morning, father," he said, quietly. "Having a bad day?"