Chapter Seventy-Nine:
Forever

"Do you want to leave?"

Nikolas was staring at a spot on the floor -- a few feet away. Knott in the hard wood. It was over-polished and catching the light.

"What?"

"Leave," Carly sniffed and shifted against him. "Go someplace else."

He frowned. "Like where?"

"I don't know."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I don't know."

He let out a sigh and buried his head in the crook of her neck. He tried to pick at the thread of the question, but after nearly half an hour of silence, everything seemed obtuse. They were seated on the floor. Nikolas leaning back against the wall, Carly leaning back against him. His arms were wrapped tight around her waist like he was trying to prevent an escape. But the only movements she made -- the only movements she had made -- were to sink further against him.

"I don't want to move."

"Me either."

"Ok then"

They fell back into silence. Silence was easy -- desired, even, after two days of saying so much and understanding so little. There had been a break in that. A parting of the clouds. No one was screaming. No one was crying. Everything felt thick and damp and warm and real. Nikolas didn't want to so much as breathe if it was going to risk breaking this quiet.

In the distance, a lawn mower sputtered to life. Carly groaned.

"Great. My head feels like it's going to split in two."

He gave a half nod. Raised his head and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"It's ok."

He let his eyes drift closed. God, he was so tired. The kind of tired where it felt physically painful to still be awake. Such a deep fatigue that he couldn't imagine how he was going to ever move from this spot. Even as he thought this, he could feel himself sinking. No... Not good... Just...

He started when Carly suddenly sat up. Jerked with the shock of it as the air rushed between them.

"Don't." She protested, then immediately leaned forward, hanging over her own legs.

"Don't... What?" he asked, thickly.

"You shouldn't be..." she drifted. He felt her hands cover his -- still clasped around her waist. "I don't know. Taking care of me."

"Who should I be taking care of?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then laughed, disbelieving, and twisted around to look at him. "Yourself. Probably."

He blinked heavily. "Oh."

"Did you get any sleep last night? At all?"

He shook his head, then thought better of it. But nothing in him had the energy to deflect that question, so he just let the answer escape on his breath. "No."

She stared at him. He closed his eyes again, rather than try to understand the look on her face. "I did," he heard her murmur. "Not much, but... I slept." He felt her hand touch his cheek and let out a sigh.

"Carly..."

"You need to go to bed."

"I just..." he blinked his eyes open, shook his head. Tried to force himself back into that moment. "I'm fine."

She was very close to him. His face so close to hers that his eyes couldn't quite focus on it.

"You're always fine, aren't you?" she said, softly. "Sometimes I think you could be bleeding to death in front of me, and you'd still tell me you were fine."

"I'm not bleeding."

"Are you sure?" She pulled back a little to study him. "I mean -- Is anything really ok now, just because --"

"I'm glad I know," he cut her off. "That's enough."

"But everything --"

"I told you. It's over," he said the words distantly, automatically. It was the sort of truth that he didn't have to think about. It was something running in his blood. He knew he could handle this. He was exceptionally talented at handling this sort of thing.

"Yeah. You told me."

He gave another half-nod. "I did."

"And nothing changed? Nothing's different?"

He shook his head, barely aware of the question. "Nothing."

He might have fallen asleep then. It was impossible to judge because the next thing he was aware of was her pulling on his hand -- not nestled against him now, not contained in the circle of his arms -- but standing, in front of him. Holding his hand and saying his name.

"Nikolas," her voice was low and tempting. He fought to lift his head. "Come on."

Come where? He wanted to ask the question, but it was beyond him. He was experiencing a complete system crash. But he was following her up -- barely. Got to his feet unsteadily and pivoted towards her and... She was holding him. He wasn't even aware of how it had happened -- but her arms were around his neck and her cheek was touching his cheek. She was standing up on her toes, reaching, pulling, pressing. He felt like he should reach out for something -- some sort of support, something solid, to keep him upright. But his arms wrapped themselves around her waist and he didn't fall.

"I'm sorry," she whispered directly into his ear. "You know that? I'm really, really sorry."

He nodded slightly. At that moment, he wasn't entirely sure what for.

"Carly!"

Bobbie stopped at the landing at the top of the stairs and stared down at her daughter's back. Carly was standing right in front of the door -- one hand on the door knob, the other floating at her side. She was frozen -- standing in a way that suggested she'd been stuck there for some time.

"Carly?" she prodded again, starting down the stairs. "Are you alright? What are you doing?"

She made it all the way to the bottom before her daughter managed to answer with a distant "Thinking..."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bobbie said, lowering herself down to sit three steps up from the floor. "Because you look like you might be leaving."

Carly didn't respond to that. Didn't so much as turn around. Bobbie sighed, and rested her chin on her fist.

"Where's Nikolas?"

"Asleep."

"In your room, I assume."

She nodded slightly. "He didn't sleep last night. He didn't even sleep this morning. He just... Stayed up."

"If he's anything like his father, he's a talented insomniac. Stefan can go days without more than a few hours sleep when something's bothering him."

Carly dropped her hand to her side, finally releasing the door. "It's just weird that you know that."

"Well," Bobbie shrugged. "That's hardly a first for us. So -- do you want to tell me what you're doing standing out here staring down the front door?"

Carly shook her head. For a moment that seemed to be all the answer she was going to give. Then she turned, just as her mother was about to speak again. Her brow was furrowed and when she spoke, her mouth barely seemed able to remember how to shape itself around her words.

"You know what I used to really suck at?" she didn't wait for a guess. "Fractions."

Her mother looked at her blankly.

"Do you remember learning fractions? Like adding them and subtracting makes sense, but then they start making you multiply and divide and they've got all these little rules for it. Suddenly you're inverting things and reducing stuff and even if you're getting the right answer, none of it really makes sense. It's like all they want you to do is prove that you can remember the rules. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't do it until I understood why it worked. Then suddenly I ruled the fraction." Carly pulled in her breath. "I need to ask you something."

"About fractions."

"About Laura."

Bobbie blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah," Carly's eyes were roaming around the foyer, not venturing anywhere near her mother.

"What did you want to know?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that makes it hard --"

"I know that," Carly snapped. She immediate turned away, pressing her face into her hands and taking several short breaths while Bobbie watched. "I'm sorry," she mumbled through her hands.

Bobbie gave a slight nod. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She laughed, then lifted her head. "Hell, no."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Bobbie allowed a wry smile and when it didn't set her daughter off again, she ventured, "You don't look happy."

"I should," Carly muttered, crossing her arms over her stomach. "He totally let me off the hook."

"You told him everything, then." She was trying to say it in a way that wouldn't sound accusatory, or too much like a mother checking up to see if her offspring had finished her book report. She didn't succeed and got a vicious look in response. Bobbie put up both hands. "Hey -- I think I've at least earned the right to ask."

"I told him, alright?" she answered just as her mother finished the sentence, which was as close to a concession as Bobbie was likely to get. "I told him, he knows, it's over."

"Over."

"Yeah. Like 'let us never speak of this again', over."

Bobbie frowned. "Did you tell him you'd quit?"

"I said I would, he told me not to." She spit the words in the general vicinity of the carpet. Bobbie let out her breath and brought her knees up onto the stair beneath her.

"You're right. You should be happy."

Carly laughed. Low in her throat and rising as she turned back to face her mother. "I thought that was what I wanted. For him to just say -- Ok. That's it, everything's fine, we don't have to fight anymore."

"But it's not."

"I just want him to believe that..." She gestured helplessly. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I know how stupid that sounds now. I feel stupid saying it. But -- That wasn't part of the deal, you know? He wasn't supposed to know what happened. he wasn't supposed to care that much about Luke --"

"But he does."

"Well, duh." Carly flopped down on the other side of the stairs, just at her mother's feet, and leaned forward, her head in her hands.

Bobbie made sure to exhale as carefully and silently as possible. She was in need of an aspirin. Since leaving the house earlier, she'd been about ready to burst with curiosity. She'd come home again to a quiet that answered no questions -- and the fact that Carly had been about to bolt the house just now when she'd come down the stairs wasn't something she understood. All of this, however, felt strangely comfortable -- a return to normalcy after a few very difficult and silent weeks -- and she wasn't anxious for the Hurricane that was her daughter to depart again.

"So." she prodded softly to her daughter's back. "What makes you ask about Laura?"

Carly shook her head, staring into a space for nearly a minute before murmuring "Why did she do it?"

"I… I'm not sure what you mean."

"Why did she do it?" Carly twisted around to look up at her mother. "She left; I know that. But -- did she give him a reason why? Did anyone?"

Bobbie nodded slowly and opted to stop asking where this was coming from. Carly wasn't going to answer and it probably didn't matter. In a lot of ways, this conversation was inevitable. The only thing that really surprised her about it was that she was being called on to answer the question. She wasn't certain where she fell in the list of qualified commentators.

"Well. She was a prisoner."

"Yeah."

"She had a chance to leave."

"But she had to leave him behind."

Bobbie exhaled. "I guess… The way I look at it... Nikolas was the price. He was what it cost -- for her to have her freedom, she had to give the Cassadines Nikolas."

"And she never thought that price was too high."

Oh. Dear. Bobbie bit her lip. "Honey, I know why this stirs you up -"

"No. You don't know." She was up on her feet again. "You don't."

"Alright."

"Because -- All along, I've known about what happened to him - Everyone knows about what happened to him. But --" She stopped, shaking her head. "I thought it was like you. I mean -- I thought it was screwed up and a huge mess and she totally let him down... But... I thought she must want him. You know?" She looked up at her mother, eyes questioning. "I thought -- because of what she said to me and, I don't know. Lucky and Lulu and everything -- She had to. But when we were talking about Luke and why he didn't want --" Her voice cracked on the final word and she broke off, pressing her lips together. Bobbie watched her with concerned and reached up, to grab hold of the bannister, ready to pull herself to her feet just as Carly turned back to her. "It wasn't like us, was it? Because you wanted me back -- No matter what I thought, you wanted me back. And she... didn't. Did she?"

Bobbie froze, one arm reaching up over her head, the other on the stair -- an awkward position to be sure -- and stared at her daughter. Oh, God. She had absolutely no idea what to say to that. She didn't even really know what the answer was.

"She... cares about him," she stumbled. Carly just stared at her. It reminded her of the way Lucas had looked at her when he'd first demanded to know if there was really a Santa Claus. "Carly, it's not -- She --" she blew out her breath, dropping herself back onto the stair. "It's complicated."

"It shouldn't be."

"It... would probably been easier for her if he'd stayed gone," Bobbie had to fight mightily not to turn and make absolute certain that Nikolas wasn't coming down the corridor behind her. It was superstitious, maybe, but she had barely given these thoughts voice and it was mostly because -- no matter how far she might have been from him at the time, she was horrified by the very idea of his ever hearing them. "Laura always had a conflict where Nikolas was concerned."

"Right. About six foot, smells of bourbon and cigar smoke."

Bobbie felt a prick of irritation. "It's not Luke's fault --"

"Yeah. For once? I'm not suggesting it is," Carly pushed out her breath and let her eyes close. She seemed to count to ten before opening them and trying again. "I don't want to talk about Luke, ok? I've pretty much done more than enough talking about him for today. I'm just asking -- Laura's been in my face about Nikolas a few times. But I know she lied to him and I know she made him feel like everyone else was more important than he was and I know she faked her death--"

"That," Bobbie interrupted, "was a mistake."

Carly shook her head at her. "Why are you making excuses for her?"

"I'm not," she pulled herself up then, back to her feet. "Believe me, I'm not." She came down the few steps to close the distance between herself and Carly. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed and devoid of any conflict. "Look. I lived with Nikolas when that happened and Laura may have done some pretty thoughtless things in her life -- but that... That was cruel. I know what she put him through and I know how pathetic her remorse felt when she came back! She had her reasons... God, she always has her reasons. And it kills me to say this, because Nikolas doesn't deserve this, but..." She sucked in her breath. "But no. She doesn't act like someone who loves him."

"Right," Carly nodded slowly, looking hollow and haunted. "She's like Frank."

"Frank," she said the name blankly, then snapped to. "Your father."

"Virginia's husband," Carly corrected, her face flushing, voice starting to quake. "Cause -- for years, I thought my father walked out on me. I thought I was his daughter and I just wasn't pretty enough or cute enough, or lovable enough for him to want me. But then it turned out I was just some kid his wife made him bring home --"

"No --"

"Mama, I was. Frank didn't love me," there were tears shinning her in her eyes, but she looked more determined than anything else. "But why should he? I wasn't his."

"That shouldn't have mattered," Bobbie spoke with barely controlled rage. She always did, when Carly allowed anything about her childhood to come up. The stories, it seemed, were never comforting, never the picture of anything she'd imagined for her daughter over the years.

"But it did matter." Carly shrugged, choking on a laugh. "People suck, right? A lot of times, parents suck, too. You know that."

She nodded, lips pressed together. Exactly why she'd thought giving Carly away would be the best choice. Because what did a sixteen year old orphan-hooker know about raising a kid?

Not to walk out on them. That was about all.

"The difference is," Carly pushed on, wrapping her arms around herself. "I got to tell myself that Frank wasn't my real dad so it didn't matter. What does Nikolas get to tell himself?"

Bobbie shook her head. She hated this, she really did. "I... I do think Laura cares about him."

"No," Carly shook her head firmly. "You care. You care that you left me with other people and didn't see me again for twenty years. And you care when I tell you that some of those people weren't so great -- I know that. It took me a long time, but I know it. She left him with people who had kept her prisoner! What did she think she was doing to him? Did she think he'd be happy? Did she think he wouldn't care?"

"I don't know," Bobbie said simply, letting herself shed her own tears. "I don't know what she thought. I just know what happened."

"You know," Carly turned, gesturing down the hallway. "I've been lying in there with him for the last hour or something and I keep thinking -- I hurt him so badly. And I didn't even see it! I didn't even think about what it would look like to him and what -- Mama, I don't know what to do about it! It's done, i can't take it back and I can't seem to fix it and all he says about it is that it's over! How can it be over? Every time I move, I feel like I'm going to throw up and everything I look at or think or -- anything! It just makes me feel worse!"

"You... You're right. Carly. All this probably did push a lot of buttons for him. And... There's not much you can do to change that. Just give it some time -- let him know you're sorry --"

"I did that."

"Let him know you understand. And --" She sighed. This felt like pointless advice, given her audience. "Try not to let something like this happen again."

"That's not good enough."

"I don't know what else to tell you, baby," Bobbie said, simply. "You won't feel better until he feels better. That's how it works when you're connected to someone like this."

Carly opened her mouth -- to argue, to plead, who knew. But it closed again and opened a second time before the tears in her eyes finally started to slide down her cheeks. "I just want him to get some sleep!" She managed, finally. "I just -- I don't --"

"It's ok, honey," Bobbie cooed, moving towards her. She put her arms around her daughter's rigid body. "Go back to him -- It'll be alright. You can stay here tonight, you know that --"

"No," Carly pulled herself back from her mother, putting her hands out in front of her, defensively. "No, I have to -- I have to go get something."

"Carly," Bobbie's warned. "Leaving isn't going to solve anything --"

"I'm not leaving!" Carly shot back. "God, aren't you listening to me? I'm not going to -- I can't! I just... I have to do something."

"Honey, there isn't anything you can do!"

"Yes," she argued back. "There is. And I have to -- I have to work it out. Before he wakes up, I -- It won't take long."

Bobbie looked at her, uncertainly. "Carly..."

"Mama. Please," her eyes were pleading. "I'm not going to screw this up. Not today, I promise."

Bobbie studied her face, while her mind combed over the conversation of the last few minutes. God, she never understood how this happened -- but every once in awhile, despite her better judgment, she just felt a surge of blind faith where Carly was concerned. Either that, or a never-ending well of hope that, if she just gave her a little room to move, her daughter would come through on her own. That she'd actually do the right thing. Or, at the very least, the less disastrous thing.

"Ok," Bobbie conceding, quietly. "Ok. Do you need any help?"

Carly finally calmed down about an hour after sunset. in her tiny kitchen, frowning at the tight, efficient hand writing of Mrs. Landsbury and preoccupied with the execution of those instructions, a strange sort of calm came over her. The apartment was so quiet -- in the way something can feel quiet while engulfed with sound. Soft sounds you only hear when there's nothing else to distract you. Wind. Crickets. Distant music traveling in her window having escaped someone else's. The only light in the entire apartment was the one directly over her stove and it cast everything in shadows. Made her feel like an alchemist while she worked. Given recent history, the task she was performing felt no less miraculous.

Once all of that was finished, Carly felt something she hadn't experienced in a very long time. She felt still. Still like ancient hardwood and giant boulders. She left the kitchen and traveled down the hallway to the room where her husband slept. It was getting late by that point and he'd been asleep for hours. But he hadn't stirred when she sat down on the edge of the bed, and she's lost track, now, of how long she'd been there. She had absolutely no urge to move and even less urge to wake Nikolas up. She just sat there, bearing witness to his slumber and the night itself. Nikolas was lying on his side, his face pressed into his forearm. She sat so close, she could feel the heat of him against her back. It was comforting and she sat very still at first, letting herself feel the cool breeze coming in from the window and the inviting warmth of her husband behind her.

Eventually, he stirred beside her. She reached out, without giving it much consideration and let her hand stroke his hair. It was fine and soft and beginning to get too long. She kept touching it -- then touching the side of his face, his neck, his upper arm. It was still at least fifteen minutes before he showed any other signs of waking, and those were all slight and creaking -- movement coming up from miles below the earth. Breaking through, finally, when he let out a groan and lifted his head. Carly stilled beside him, her fingertips touching his temple, distantly surprised that he was actually awake. Almost amazed that it was a possibility, even if she'd been sitting here waiting for it. He turned into her palm, resting the side of his face against it a moment before sighing and rolling over onto his back.

"Carly."

"Yeah?" She couldn't tell, in the dark, if his eyes were even open, but he reached up, hand cupping the side of her face.

"Hey..."

He said it fondly and she smiled, touching his hand. "Welcome back."

"Back," he repeated, hazily. Carly leaned forward and switched on the bedside lamp. Nikolas hissed, and immediately tossed one arm over his eyes.

"Brownstone."

"Yeah. It's all coming back to me."

"Oh, good," she leaned down and pressed her lips against his still-exposed mouth. After a moment, he let his arm fall away, and instead reach for her. Pulling her determinedly down to him, and then across his body, rolling with her so that she was stretched on the bed next to him, laughing while he continued to kiss her. Well, she thought. Looks like he's not angry anymore... But, she realized, she really hadn't expected him to be. Not this time. Not even if he had a right to be.

"What time is it?" He asked, finally, when he pulled back. His lips brushed over hers a few times and Carly's brain took an extraordinarily long time to connect the words spoken with their meaning.

"Um..." His hands were running through her hair, combing it back and out of her face while his lips wandered anywhere they could reach without too much effort. Ohhhh, this felt good. It would be very very easy to just sink down into the mattress and indulge him in whatever was on his mind.

But that was not on the agenda.

"Uh," she forced her eyes open. "Time? It's --" she managed to wriggled back from him. "I don't know! I never know what time it is!" she complained, starting to sit up. "Where's your watch?"

"I don't know," he immediately yanked her right back onto the bed. She let out a yelp of surprise as he growled "Where do you think you're going?"

"There," she nodded towards the other side of the bed and started trying to free herself. Nikolas immediately protested and things quickly disintegrated into a wrestling match -- Carly pleading for space while trying to scramble away, and Nikolas completely ignoring her as he pulled her back into his embrace.

It was probably the fact that she couldn't stop laughing. For some reason, that didn't make him take her very seriously.

She gave up, finally, collapsing onto her side while Nikolas reeled her back into him. He pressed his chest up to her back, arm tight around her waist and buried his face in her hair. She grinned at the opposite wall like an idiot. She wasn't even entirely sure why, she just felt... happy.

"I feel like I've been asleep for millennia," Nikolas complained into neck.

"Sorry," she sighed. "But it's only been a few hours. Everything's pretty much where you left it."

"Damn." He pressed a kiss to the base of her hairline. She let her eyes close. She loved it when he was like this. She liked that feeling of waking up with someone when you didn't really have to be anywhere or do anything or have any heavy discussions. And even though she'd spent most of the time since he'd fallen asleep worrying about what she was going to say to him when he was conscious again, things still felt easy and natural. This was it, she realized. This was exactly what she wanted. It was exactly what she was so terrified of losing.

"Nikolas," she nearly purred his name, and he...

He didn't respond.

"Nikolas?" she asked again and this time, after a few beats, a very sleepy voice responded.

"Mmm hmm?"

Ugh. This was not allowed. She twisted her body around to face him, and kissed the corner of his mouth. He smiled slightly. Still hope. "Nikolas," she prompted again, before kissing his cheek. "Baby," she pressed her mouth to his and spoke again. "Come on."

He was awake enough to kiss her back and before she knew it, she was pressed back onto the mattress, accepting deep, slow kisses that had no easily discernible end.

"Nikolas," she managed when he paused for breath. He started to descend again and she put her hand up, stopping him just inches away from her. "Just a sec..."

"What?"

She licked her lips, lightly. He was so close and so warm and just so... adjectives escaped her. Many things were escaping her. She let her thoughts swirl, hours worth of realizations and admissions all made in the dubious sanctuary of her own head -- she had to get him out of here. She was going to lose her mind if she didn't let this stuff out. She was trying to execute something here, and while falling into bed with him felt like the most natural, simple thing in the world, she had a nagging sensation that it was a good way to screw everything up again. Brilliant new concept and probably fleeting. After all -- they'd fallen into bed that morning without suffering any major consequences. If anything, that was what had gotten her through the day. She'd had a strong and unshakable sense that she hadn't lost him yet -- and that was what she'd needed to keep herself going. But all of that was before the rest of the day, and the churning feeling that had come to sit in her stomach all afternoon and ... this knowledge. She didn't know how to describe it -- it was just there, sitting heavy on her chest. She understood something new. She had information that hadn't been clear to her before, and something had to happen with that before it turned on her. Nikolas might not expect it or want it -- but she had some things to say. she had something she had to put out into the light so that it could start to make sense. So that it could start to become real.

Nikolas was still looking down at her. "What?" he prompted again.

"Nothing."

He propped himself up on one arm and brushing her hair back from her face. He looked down at her, brow knit, then murmured. "Everything ok?"

Carly choked. "I can't believe you're asking me that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

She stared at him a moment, her mind drawing a complete blank. You're lucky -- the thought suddenly popped into her head and it was startling. You're really really lucky. Maybe it's just for a moment, but right now... That's what you are. Her hands were on his chest, then, pushing him back. He allowed it -- didn't seem to take it very seriously, and let himself drop back on the mattress as she sat up. She stared hard at the opposite wall, feeling herself chill. Caroline... Get a grip.

"Not our best twenty-four hours," she murmured.

"Not our worst."

Carly's head snapped around to look at him. "Are you kidding me? What was worse?"

He shook his head, grabbing her hand off the mattress and twining his fingers through hers. "Uh uh. We're done with that."

"Right. Cause it's over."

"I've had enough fighting," he sounded pretty determined in that fact. "I don't feel like being miserable anymore."

"It's that simple, huh?"

His eyes scanned hers like they were looking for a point of entry. "Mind over matter."

She looked at him in amazement. "You make absolutely no sense to me, sometimes."

"Don't have to," he grunted as he sat up in one fluid motion. Arms were around her waist again, pulling her to him as she found herself in his lap and in the midst of another kiss. One of a hundred kisses in a day when he'd hated her... Lucky! the voice in her head hissed at her again. You do not have the karma to maintain this.

"I know," she whined, mid-kiss.

"What?"

"Huh?" Carly blinked and the world came into slow focus around her. Nikolas had pulled back, just a breath away from her.

"You said something."

"What?" She looked at him in honest confusion, then shook her head, hard. "You have to stop doing that."

He grinned. "Why?"

"Because," she struggled for breath and the other half of her thought. "Seriously. I gotta ask you something."

"I'm listening."

She forced herself to smile. This was it. No screw ups allowed. She took a deep breath and asked, "Are you hungry?"

He frowned. Not necessarily her dream reaction. "Are we talking about food?"

"Dinner, yeah."

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I just woke up."

"I know, but --"

"The right answer is 'yes, I'm hungry', isn't it?"

Carly smirked, sinking her fingers into his hair. "It's pretty much the only answer I can accept, yeah."

"How's that?"

She made a face. "Don't laugh at me."

"I wouldn't dare."

"I made dinner."

You'd think -- all things considered -- that it would be getting hard to surprise him. And really, he had taken some pretty extreme comments and actions in a whole lot of stride. But at that, he looked shocked. He looked, in fact, a little bit speechless. And what he said next wasn't anything that had run through her head when she'd been imagining how this might play.

"Why?"

Why? Why? It was dinner! What 'Why'?

"I don't know," she couldn't keep the edge of defensiveness out of her voice. "You always feed me, I thought I'd return the favor."

"You didn't have to do that."

"That's at least half the point."

"Carly," he shifted under her, trying to push her back, extricate himself. "Really. If this is about --"

Her hands flew up to grasp his face. She pulled him to her, and covered his mouth with hers. Squeezed her eyes shut and just kissed him. Because they were not going to fight. He was not going to push her away. She wasn't going to surrender to the urge and she wasn't going to pick on every little thing he said. She wasn't going to allow it. That simple. When she pulled back he was starting down at her, looking a little startled and a little... starved. She reached up on impulse and touched his bottom lip with her finger tip. "Hi."

"Hi..."

"I was asking you a question," She let her hands trail down his shoulders and arms until they found his hands and gripped them tightly. She fixed her eyes on his. "Would you do me the great honor..." The corner of his mouth twitched. He was trying not to smile. "Of accompanying me to the living room." She brushed her lips over his. "How's that?"

"Compelling."

"Ok, then" She slid off his lap, found the floor, and tugged on his hands. "Come on."

Nikolas felt unsteady on his feet. Two-thirds asleep and barely able to form thoughts that were smaller than shapes and colors and feelings. He pulled Carly back to him and wrapped his arms around her. She returned the hug, leaning against his chest, and he let his eyes close again. He felt, in that moment, grateful. Grateful for the power of perspective, and his never ending ability to misplace feelings he didn't like. He knew, even in the fog of having just waken up, where to go looking for them. At the same time, he knew exactly what direction to go in, in order to walk away. There was a light in Carly's touch and smile and laugh that pointed to other addresses where he'd let himself reside for the time being.

After a few minutes, Carly whispered another prompt in his ear -- living room, living room. He lifted his head and grinned down at her.

"Insistent."

"Determined. Come on."

He let her lead him. The apartment was inexplicably dark and he didn't feel like walking into anything.

"What time is it again?" he asked, squinting down at the floorboards.

"I don't know," she turned back to him. "Cover your eyes."

"No."

"No?"

"I can't see anything," he pulled back on her hand, bringing her towards him. "What is this about?"

"Food," her other hand closed around his and squeezed. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"I'm not being difficult."

"It's taking a really long time to get down this hallway."

He could hear a tiny strain in her voice, under the tease. "I don't... love surprises."

She stood up on her toes, and leaned her weight into his chest. Her lips just skimmed his as she spoke. "Tough." With that, she turned on her heel and started to pull him down the hall again.

There was light in the living room. Flicking, insubstantial candle-light. The living room was empty -- or at least, it looked that way at first glance. In actual fact, everything had been pushed back against the walls, leaving a clearing in what now appeared to be a sizable main room. In the middle of the empty hardwood floor a blanket was spread. In the middle of the blanket sat an already-lit Hurricane Lamp. The window was open and a soft wind was blowing into the room carrying the scents of the garden outside and an impressive amount of night noise. Crickets and tree frogs and disembodied jazz that had drifted away from someone else's stereo and into their ambiance.

There was a bottle of red wine beside the lamp. There was a basket of bread. There was a small vase with fresh cut flowers. There were dishes. There were pillows. There was effort and expectation and something else he couldn't entirely define. He just stood there, dumbly staring, uncertain what he was supposed to say, or do.

"What's this?" When in doubt, start with the question you know the answer to.

"Dinner," Carly obliged in the obvious-talk. "I mean, it's not a feast, but it's --

"Avgolemono," he blurted out in a sudden realization of just what the scent in the air was.

"Thank God," Carly choked in relief. "At least I know it smells right."

He shook his head. "I... What... Did you...?"

"What?" She was biting her lip, posing for the cover of Apprehension Weekly. "Ok, have I totally lost my mind? You told me this was your favorite food, right? I didn't mess up the vowels and end up making something you hate, did I?"

"No."

"Ok. Then..." she gestured at the pot steaming on the stove. "This is good?"

He opened his mouth and only air came out. After a moment, he murmured something he was sure he shouldn't be saying. "Does it have to be?"

"I'd kinda like it not to suck, yeah."

"Ok, that's... fine. But --" He couldn't not do this. He was trying -- he honestly was, fighting the words while they formed themselves -- but it beyond his abilities to let this lie. "Just... What is this about?"

"Didn't we already cover this?" she laughed like nothing was funny. "Why does it have to be about something?"

"It feels like it's about something."

He watched her expression fade and turn implacable. "I wanted to do something for you."

"Because of what happened."

"Because I felt like it," her words were flat. "So I called Mrs. Landsbury. She gave me the recipe. I can actually cook, if I put my mind to it. Or, at least, I can follow a recipe." She took a sudden step back from him, digging her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I mean, its probably not going to taste like you're used to, but you said you liked it, so --" She nodded towards the blanket. "Voila."

"And it's not about this afternoon."

She smiled wryly, her eyes on his. "Nikolas," she prodded, softly -- a voice he heard rarely and always cherished. "How much do you like this stuff? I mean -- It seems pretty good, I'll give you that. But it's not performing any miracles."

His stomach tightened sharply. Yeah. This was exactly what he didn't feel like getting into. Round three had been exhausting, he didn't think his head or heart would survive round four.

"I don't need a miracle --"

"No, you don't need anything," she sighed. "We've established that. We've over-established that. So you wanna do me a favor and try the soup before it curdles under the force of all this subtext?" Her eyes darted up to meet his and after a second, he felt a smile fight it's way onto his face.

"You're making fun of me."

"Sit down," her voice was laughing and tender and pleading all at once. "I got this worked out, but you have to sit down, ok?"

"Alright," he watched her move away from him. He felt... lost. Like he'd waken up into a life that looked a little too normal to be his, but had all the right details. He wandered over to the Designated Eating Area and sunk down onto the blanket. Listened to Carly move around in the kitchen, busying herself with serving. "There are flowers," he observed after a minute.

"Is that a problem?"

"You hate flowers."

"Since when?"

"You said they were metaphors for death."

She glanced up at him from her place behind he counter. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I used the word 'metaphor'?"

"I remember it distinctly."

She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "Yeah, I kinda do, too." She shrugged, picking up the two soup bowls, and started to make her way back to him. "For future reference, you should probably ignore, like, ninety percent of everything I say."

He smiled slightly as she came into the candle light. "How am I supposed to know what ten percent to listen to?"

"Practice?" She gave him a resigned smile and slowly sank down onto the blanket with him, managing to balance the bowls enough to survive the maneuver with only a small splash of soup spilling onto her left hand. She hissed, and Nikolas quickly took his soup from her, while she twisted around to put down her own bowl. "Damnit!" She swore, pulling her hand back and shaking it. "I have no coordination, it's pathetic."

"It's fine," he soothed. "Did you burn yourself?"

"No," Carly muttered, wiping the thick liquid off her hand. She studied it in the dim light. "I don't think so."

"Let me see."

She sighed, then extended her arm for him to inspect. He took the hand and turned it carefully. Her hand felt warm and fragile, her fingers tiny pressed into the palm of his hand. He lowered his head and blew gently across the small patch of reddened skin before brushing his lips against it. "Is that any better?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah. That makes all the difference."

He watched her, running his thumb over the injury. She was blushing.

"Thank you," he murmured, his words bringing her eyes back to him.

"For what?"

"Whatever this is."

Her mouth twisted as she pulled her hand back. "You really don't know, do you?"

"So it is something, then."

She shook her head, starting to grin. "Try the soup."

"Try the soup?"

"That part's non-negotiable," she picked up the bottle of wine sitting between them and started to pour. "Unless you really want to torture me," her eyes darted up to his just for a second. "Try the soup."

"And then you'll explain this."

She shrugged and picked up her wine glass. "we'll see."

He smirked. Picked up the spoon and made a big production of settling down on the blanket and finding the best position in which to partake of her offering. She started to fidget. Then she started to glare. As he settled onto his side, propped up on one elbow, she finally let out a whine, "Nikolas!"

"You can't rush these things."

Her response was to bury her head in her hands and scream as he finally dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought the soup to his mouth.

It was good. It was warm and he must have been hungrier than he was aware of. Swallowing it down, he felt his whole body react -- sigh, in gratitude. Sustenance. Comfort. It had been a food that had been prepared for him as a child, when he was sick. and though it made occasional appearances at the beginnings of meals, Mrs. Landsbury had prepared it sparingly. Mostly, it was a food she made when he wasn't coming to meals. When particularly horrible things were happening and he didn't feel like attending dinner. She made it when his tutor had vanished. She made it when his first horse had broken it's leg on the trails and had to be put down. She'd nearly served it hourly when he'd been shot. It was an unspoken and gentle communication between the two of them. For that reason, he'd never requested it. And he wondered what she'd thought when his wife had asked for her help in preparing it.

"It's perfect," he murmured, finally, staring down into the bowl in front of him.

"Really?"

Carly's voice startled him and he looked up. "Yes. Really. You nailed it." He shook his head, slightly. "I can't believe you did this."

She shrugged. Her words were dismissive, but her voice was shaking around them. "You said you liked the boiled water, so I figured soup might go over." He could see her struggling to keep a lid on her elation. She was happy -- it was a mind-bending realization. He praised her soup, and she looked like she might start floating above the blanket. Fighting to play it off like it was nothing, while nearly vibrating with joy. He just wasn't used to eliciting this sort of response from people.

"You're going to let me in on the joke eventually, right?"

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

"Something's going on. Something I'm missing."

She beamed. Finally, lifted her head and just glowed at him. "I didn't totally screw something up. It's a bit of a rush."

He considered telling her to try it more often, but then decided he liked his head where it was. And he was enjoying her excitement.

"What, exactly, were you trying not to screw up?"

"Uh..." She had been twisting her napkin between her hands while waiting for Nikolas to respond and now she dropped it into her lap. "Being nice. I think."

"So this is because of what happened."

"No," she ran a hand through her hair. "That's what I mean. I didn't want to do it because I knew it'd look like I was doing it because I screwed up. But then, if I didn't do anything, it'd just look like it didn't matter to me and... That's not true, so..." She exhaled and the candle between them nearly extinguished. "I didn't want to not do it just because it wouldn't look like I was doing it for the reason I am doing it."

Nikolas stared at her through the candle light. "I'm not sure my IQ is high enough to decipher whatever that was."

She laughed slightly, but it came off as almost panicked. Nikolas made a grab for her hand, but she moved away without warning, shifting away and placing both hands flat on the blanket. Her shoulders rounded and she sat starring down at the floor.

"I shouldn't find this embarrassing, probably."

"Carly," he asked, softly. "What is it?"

She raised her eyes to his. "History."

"History."

"That's what this is about. Historic dates. Recognition. That's all. No guilt, I promise."

"I think I need a translation."

Carly grimaced. She sat back on her heels and picked up the bottle of wine. "The moon was full last night." She topped up her glass as she spoke. "I spent a lot of time looking at it. When you were gone, I was sitting on the porch." Her eyes darted away from him just as he looked down himself. "and the moon -- it was either full or about to be full and I thought that the last time I saw a moon like that --"

"The wedding."

"The Golf Course."

She looked back at him and the look on his face told her the connection had been made.

"I just wanted to kind of commemorate it. Because," she laughed uncomfortably. "This is a long way from then."

He shook his head, a little awed. "It's only a month."

She lifted her glass in acknowledgement. "A hell of a month. Or a month from hell, take your pick."

He watched her drink. Her cheeks were flushed pink. "you know my choice," he said softly. She nodded, lifting her head as she forced down a large gulp of wine.

"You go pretty easy on me."

Nikolas found those words hard to take. He hadn't felt anything close to easy in the last forty-eight hours. The deeper they got into all of this, the more he wanted to erase every sentence he'd allowed to come out of his mouth. Between fear and fury, he'd said more than he was comfortable with -- to Carly, to Alexis, to his father. it was too much exposure, and he wanted it all to go away as quickly as possible.

It would be even better if he could shake off the remains of his own feelings of hurt and betrayal, in the meantime.

"There's more," Carly let out, interrupting his study of the back of his spoon. He looked up at her.

"More."

"Yeah," she pulled her in her breath, held it with her eyes fixed on this -- then turned away to take another slug of her wine. He realized she'd managed to work her way through nearly two glasses and hadn't even touched the soup she'd made such a big deal out of him trying.

"Are you ok?"

"Peachy," she rasped, shaking her head, hard. "If I say something about last night, it's going to spoil the mood, isn't it?"

Nikolas was already shaking his head. "You don't have to --"

"Yes I do!" She cut him off, sharply, her face flushing bright pink. It was hard to attribute it to the wine or emotion. Either way, he fell silent. "I have to say something, or else my head is going to explode." She looked at him, desperately, with her eyes misting over. For the first time, he noticed her hands were trembling. He shook his head slightly.

"You're shaking," he observed, thickly. She laughed, sharply.

"I know," She pulled in another breath and fisted her hands before looking up to meet his eyes. "This isn't easy for me."

"Then don't --"

"I don't want to do what's easy," she cut him off. "God, I never thought I'd say that, but... I'm sick of trying to find the back way out of everything. If it feels like this, then it's really not worth it."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Yeah," she laughed, low in her throat. "That makes two of us." Deep breath. "All I've been doing since you left this morning is thinking. A lot. Probably too much -- and all at once, so I predict that pretty much nothing I say is going to make sense. And I know you're probably going to interrupt me, like, ten times to say something perfect -- but you can't. Because if you listen long enough, there's a chance I'll start to make sense, and I really don't want you to miss that."

She was out of breath by the time the last sentence died.

"Have you always been this nervous?"

"No. And that's what I mean. This is all... what I mean." She downed the contents of her glass in one long gulp. "Ok. Here goes." She set the glass down with a thump, and fixed her eyes one him. "I don't want this anymore. I mean this thing where I screw up and you end up making me feel better. I don't want to be this source of stress in your life, I don't want to be something that's causing you pain --"

"Carly --"

Her eyes squeezed shut. "You really need to listen to me. Please."

She looked like she was in physical pain. He leaned back from her and murmured, "Alright."

"I want..." she paused to breath. Licked her lips, then started to work the words out of her mouth again. Arduous and painful sentence construction. "I want. To be the person. Who protects you."

Her eyes opened and she looked at him with a audacious vulnerability. He wasn't sure he could speak. For a moment, he wasn't even sure he was still in the room.

"I've got a lot of protection," he managed after a second. Carly's eyes welled up immediately and Nikolas felt a powerful wave of shame. Too much. He'd let her see too much and this --

"Not enough," she shook her head, smiling at him sadly. "Not nearly."

He should say something. He should do something -- there had to be a way to defuse it, to escape, but... He wanted to hear it. It was double-edged, cutting and healing at the same time and right then, he didn't feel like he had it in him to move. Just as well, because she did -- she was up on her feet and stepping quickly over the blanket, the candles and vases, towards him. He turned away from where she had been to where she was just as she slipped down onto her knees again and without any awareness on either of their parts she was both pulled and propelled onto his lap. Her legs pressing against his thighs and her hands reaching up cup his face. Her eyes searched his and he let her, unable to come up with a reason to speak of an excuse to pull away.

"I want to be something that makes your life easier," she murmured, finally. Nikolas opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. She smiled at him -- touched his lips hers for just a moment before whispering, "Please don't laugh at me, ok?" He shook his head and she leaned forward, pushing her forehead against his. When she spoke again, it was soft and private, said so that the message seemed like it was entering him through osmosis rather than language. "I want to be safe for you," she breathed. "I want to be something you can come home to and not have to stand on the other side of the door thinking 'what's she done this time'. I don't want to keep saying the wrong thing, or being mean because I'm in a bad mood and you're there and... all that stuff. It's bad -- I know. It's just habit. It's what I do."

"I know that."

She sat up, shaking her head. "No. I keep telling you that you're different. Because you are -- so much, and I just..." Her eyes were big and brown and so close that they were all he could see. "It's probably about time I figured out that I need to be different, too."

"No," he tried to pull back, but her hands moved quickly to his shirt and held him close.

"Isn't this better than last night?" She asked. "I mean -- be honest with me. Which one do you want to see more of?"

"I don't want to change you." God, that was true. he didn't want this to happen again, and he didn't want her sick -- he didn't want millions of things that had happened in the time he'd known her. but he didn't want her to change, either. Something fundamental about her had to stay. Even if it was at the cost of everything else.

"You're not going to." She looked almost sad. "But... I kind of like what you think I am a whole lot better than what I see when I look at myself." she bit her lip. "It'd be nice to be wrong about something like that for a change."

"You just have to be you. that's all."

She shook her head. "Yesterday was me being me. And it was pretty much a disaster. So that's not going to work."

He exhaled. She had a point. "Be honest with me," he clarified. "That's all. Just tell me the truth."

"The truth is... Ugly. Most of the time."

"I can handle ugly."

Her eyes were still searching his, trying to find him out, to spot some sign that he was lying. God, he wished she'd just believe him. He wished she'd just --

"The next time you say that -- the next time you tell me that you need me to do something, I swear to God, Nikolas," her voice -- her body quivered with the strength of resolution. "I'll do it."

His chest felt tight. He managed to nod. "Ok."

"I will quit. If you want me to, I will. I really will."

"I don't want you to." It was probably sick that he meant that. If she'd given in last night, he'd have taken it in a second. Now, it just felt like more proof that he was, at heart, a basket case. It was too many things he wanted her to forget.

"Nikolas," her eyes were averted now, her fingers sliding along his collar. She ran them back and forth along the fold a few times -- too quickly for it to be anything other than a nervous gesture. "If something happens and you change your mind... You'd tell me, right?"

No. He wouldn't. It was antithetical to everything he felt right then. But he nodded.

"Yes."

"And if you ask me quit --" her eyes came back to him. "I will. Ok? I promise you, I will. I won't do that to you again. The next time you ask for something, I'll give it to you."

Nikolas didn't say anything, didn't even move at first, as the words sunk in. He didn't know what to say to it. Wasn't sure there was anything to say. He'd wanted those words and he'd given up on them. Having them now felt surreal. he couldn't even tell if they were real. he gave his head a shake and decided it didn't matter. It was amazing, really, the things that didn't matter. Moving on, and getting past this -- feeling like he was important to her -- that mattered. Everything else was white noise. He slid his hand up her back and sunk his fingers into her hair. Saw a smile flash across her face in the seconds before her mouth was drawn down onto his.

After that, he didn't care about anything. About food, or sleep, or betrayal or pain -- none of it. He just knew he'd felt awful -- he'd felt awful for too long. And this took some of it away. She felt warm and open and accepting and they weren't yelling at each other. Right then, that was all he was asking for. At that moment, it was as close as he could fathom to perfect. It stayed that way until he tasted tears in her kiss. He started to pull back, only to have her wrench away from him in that second, pulling in a strangled breath, and then pressing her lips, hard, against his again.

"I was scared of losing you," she gasped, separating from him again. "You have to know that, ok? None of this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so scared of what it would be like to go back what my life was like the day before I met you."

He shook his head, trying to clear it more than anything else. "That's not going to happen."

"You keep saying that, but..."

"Carly," he reached up and grabbed her face in his hands, this time. Forced her to look at him. "Listen to me. You really want this to go away, then listen to me. Stop considering that in your calculations, because that's never going to be my solution. I don't care what happens, Carly. I won't leave. I won't."

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Opened again, making a strangled noise before tears starting running afresh and she shook herself out of his grip.

"You left last night."

He went cold at the young and insecure expression on her face. "I needed some time."

It sounded incredibly thin and pitiful to him.

She shook her head, leaning back from him. "You didn't come home!"

He felt the pain in her voice slice through him with amazing precision. It jolted him with how real it was. It might have been the first time in all of this that he really understood her fear. He understood it, because it was his, and the fact that it was shared... His head spun. He pulled her down into another kiss -- hard and urgent. Her whole body slid towards his. Her hands slid up to the back of his neck and she returned the kiss, greedily.

"I'm sorry," he pushed the words out on his breath. "I needed to think, that was all. I was going to come home. I was always going to come home." Her mouth was still over his and as he spoke, his lips brushed over hers. "I promised you 'til death do us part, Carly. That's the only way I'll ever leave you. No matter what happens, no matter how much we fight --" he was cut off by Carly's' sudden hiccuping intake of air. "This is forever. This is forever, there's no leaving."

"Everyone's always left before. Always."

"I know, I know," he closed his eyes and let himself kiss her again. Slower, this time. Full of promise. "Its not going to happen this time. We're not going to do that to each other."

She nodded, as he pulled back to push her hair out of her eyes. Her mascara was running and he wiped it away with his thumb. She smiled at him unsteadily. "Neither of us," she said quietly. "You mean that."

"I mean that. I've always meant it."

She laughed, and coughed at the same time. "I know. I'm just slow."

She leaned into him and started kissing him again. Slow at first, but then her hands up in his hair, and her body pressed him back onto the floor. His eyes were closed tight and he wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her flush against him, and then rolling her over so that their positions were reversed. She held on to him, tightly, even as his body settled on top of her.

"Nikolas," she exhaled.

He buried his face in her neck and sighed into her skin, "Mmm?"

"Your soup's getting cold."

Lyrics: From Ben Harper's "Forever" off his album "Welcome to the Cruel World".