Chapter Eighty-One:
Sugar & Spice

Carly walked down the hall concentrating on the sharp clip of her heels on the tile. For more rapid escape from the Happy Spencer Family Hour, she'd ducked down the stairs to the fifth floor rather than risk nurses stations and more unfortunate elevator encounters. Her mother moved from floor to floor, responsibility to responsibility, with a dizzying speed. But after a year, she'd begun to be able to sense where she'd be -- what shifts equaled what floors -- and sure enough, when she got to the hub of the floor, she immediately spotted the red cascade of hair that was Bobbie's calling card. She was halfway across the room before she noticed something else.

A doctor -- handsome mid-forties, graying at the temples and flashing an "I'm an Handsome Man Smile" -- was leaning against the counter in front of her mother, speaking in a conspirator manner. She watched her mother laugh, and then lean closer to her co-worker, eyes wide and mouth grinning. Uh huh. She knew that look.

The doctor picked up a stack of files and took off with a small salute, leaving Bobbie laughing as he dashed off down the hall towards whatever dramatic situation awaited him. Carly approached from the opposite direction, catching her mother off guard when she spoke.

"Who's that guy?"

Bobbie jumped and tossed an annoyed look in her daughter's direction. "That," she spoke with pointed politeness, an habit that irritated the life out of Carly. "Is Dr. Brian Beston. Why do you ask?"

Carly made a face in spite of herself. It sounded like a super hero's secret identity. "He's new."

"He transferred here from Milwaukee about three months ago. He's an oncologist with a specialty in lymphoma. Beyond that, you'll have to ask Amy."

"What did he want?"

"He was picking up some files. How was your appointment?" she asked, breezily, as she grabbed a stack of carbon copies.

"It was. What did he want?"

"What makes you think he wanted something?"

Carly raised her brow.

"Oh, for --" Bobbie let the papers drop. "He asked me if I wanted to get a drink after work. There -- does that satisfy you?"

"Are you going to go?"

Her mother laughed, not particularly mirthfully. "I have my hands full at the moment."

"With what? Me?"

"You, Lucas -- Nikolas has just been through something awful with Stefan, I want to make sure he feels comfortable at the house, and I was hoping I could count on the two of you to have dinner with Lucas and I tonight. Doesn't leave a lot of time for after work cocktails, does it?"

"Watch it, Mother hen. All work and no play makes Bobbie a pain in the ass."

Her mother tossed her a level look. "Carly. Drop it."

"You don't have to take care of me," Carly returned the glare. "In fact. I was going to start dinner tonight, anyway."

"You were."

"Why I'm here."

Bobbie shook her head. "Why?"

"I'm feeling domestic."

"Didn't you spend an hour making soup last night?"

"So what?" Carly spit out in exasperation. "Is there a time limit or something? I can't be domestic for a whole twenty-four hour period?"

"Carly," Bobbie said with maddening levelness. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"Because in two years, you've never offered to start dinner for me."

"If I had," Carly growled, "You would have thought I was doing it so that I could stick my head in the oven."

Her mother looked momentarily disturbed, then shook her head. "That's not funny."

"No, it's true."

Bobbie frowned at her, severely, then turned her attention back to her paper work. "You always read so much into everything."

"And what? Sometimes a jug of milk is just a jug of milk?"

"What does that --"

"Mama!" Carly lowered her voice into a harsh hospital whisper. "I can make dinner. Nothing will burn down if you go get off your cross and play with Doc Hollywood over there."

She watched her mother's expression travel from shock to suspicion. "You're taking an unusual amount of interest in this."

Carly shrugged. "First time for everything."

She waited while her mother searched her face for information.

"I'm sorry, how was your session, again?"

"Incident-free."

"And where's Nikolas?"

"In his office."

She gave a half-nod. "There's a lasagna in the freezer. If you could put that in, and throw together a salad-"

Carly blanched. "Lasagna?"

"Carly!"

"Ok, ok!" she put up her hands, taking a step back. "I'll do it. If you go out and have some fun for once in your life."

"For your information, I have had more than my fair share of fun --"

"Sometime before 1990," she sighed, adjusting her purse strap. "Might be time for a refresher." She wiggled her fingers before Bobbie had a chance to respond. "See you around seven." With that, she turned and strode towards the elevators.

"Carly!" Bobbie shouted after her. Carly pivoted on her heel at the doors and looked at her expectantly, one hand on her hip. She raised her brow, but her mother just grinned at her in return. "The outfit suits you. But you've got to do something about that purse."

Nikolas knew two things about his relationship with his sister. The first was that the situation was an endlessly delicate politic. The second was that Lucky was the only reason there was even something to be delicate about. The state of his relationship with his mother meant, as far as Luke was concerned, that he had forgone any and all benefits, including the right to call Lulu his sister. he allowed this little access because Lucky pressed the issue, and it came with a lot of riders.

First and foremost, she was not allowed anywhere Cassadines gathered. And in turn, Nikolas was generally discouraged from lurking anywhere Spencer-centric. Which meant his visits with his sister always occurred in public places -- malls, parks, restaurants. It denied a certain intimacy and guaranteed a certain distance, for Lesley Lu to never see any place that Nikolas called home. Likewise, he was barred from her room, the Land Where Lulu was Queen.

But beggars can't be choosers. And Cassadines didn't beg to begin with.

"So," he asked his sister, as they walked through the park across the street from the hospital. "What did you --"

"Why did Carly leave so fast?" Lu cut him off, tugging on his hand. "Why didn't she come with us? She said 'three's a crowd', but there's already three of us."

So to speak. Lucky was walking about a dozen paces ahead, turning disinterest into a higher art form.

"It's a saying."

"So? Why did she leave?"

God knows. He wasn't feeling particularly appreciative. His sister wasn't letting the subject of Carly drop. She'd already asked him a good thirty questions in the office, the hallway and the elevator of General Hospital, trying to piece together exactly how her cousin had suddenly transformed into her sister-in-law. No one was interested in making this easy on him.

"She had errands to run. Look," he pointed with his free hand towards an ice cream cart set up on the boardwalk. "Did you want --"

"Is she really gonna work for daddy?"

"Yes, she is."

"Why?"

Because somebody up there hates me.

"She wanted something to do with her time."

"Like work?" Lulu made a face. " I can think of lots of things to do besides WORK."

"Right. Speaking of things to do --"

"Are you going to have babies with her?"

That stopped Nikolas dead. When did his sister start demanding to know about his procreation plans? When had popsicles stopped being adequate distraction material?

"What?" The word seemed to lack a certain force, but he couldn't come up with another response. "Where did --"

"Cause if you did, would I be their cousin or their aunt?"

"Both," he stammered. "Technically."

"How can I be both?" she complained. "Am I a half-aunt? Would I be half-aunt and half-cousin?"

"No, you're a whole aunt."

"But half-cousin?"

"No, you'd --" he glanced in his brother's direction. Lucky was standing, hands in his pockets, watching with amusement.

"Don't look at me," he shrugged. "You got yourself into this."

"What does that mean?" Lulu looked back and forth between the two degrees of fraternal relations. "What did you get yourself into?"

"The Spanish Inquisition?" he shook his head. "I can't keep up with you here --"

"Well, you didn't even tell me," Lulu shot back, looking -- for the first time in his experience -- really annoyed with him. "You just got married. It's weird."

"I know," he signed. "Lu, let's sit down a minute, ok?"

"Did you tell Lucky?"

"No."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No. Lu --" Nikolas dropped down on one knee, trying to catch his sister's eye. She was looking just over his shoulder, frowning hard at God knows what. She looked furious. And hurt. "Lesley Lu," he coaxed, softly. "What's going on here?"

She shrugged, then sighed and offered a eye roll of Lucky-esque proportions. "I dunno. It's not like I ever know ANYTHING you're doing."

Oh good. He'd been running low on intense emotional pain so far that day. "I know."

"And," she turned her eyes on him, now. "It's not like you know anything I'm doing, either."

He hated this. Every time he and Lulu ran into this wall of their spotty communication and his sporadic involvement in her life, he felt pushed into a corner.

He had a really easy answer for it.

But there was no way in hell he was going to give it to her.

It took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to just say, flat out, that it wasn't his choice, it wasn't his behavior and it wasn't his FAULT that things were like this.

It was her parents.

He was aware that it was the wrong thing to do. He was aware that it was damaging. But God, it felt like the right thing to say, sometimes.

"Listen," he said, instead, lowering his voice. " I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone else. But you have to keep it between us, ok?" He glanced in Lucky's direction, but decided not to bother with taking any security measures. It smacked of pointlessness. "I didn't know I was going to marry Carly until it happened. I would have told you -- I should have told you anyway. I wanted to." He exhaled, reaching out to push a long dark strand of hair away from her face. "It happened really quickly."

"Why?"

"Because I'm impatient," his mouth quirked and Lulu's frown softened just a little. "I didn't want to wait, I just wanted what I wanted right away."

"It's good to be patient."

"It's a virtue."

"I never am, either." She said it softly, like a confidence and he felt like she's just kicked him in the heart. He managed a smile.

"So you get it, then."

She shrugged. "I guess," then made a face. "Why CARLY?"

Nikolas sighed. Some things, apparently, were universal.

Lasagna. Frozen fucking lasagna. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Carly hit the street outside General Hospital with that thought running on a loop through her head. That was just hysterical. Her mother wasn't exactly a four star chef, but was she serious about this? She was supposed to serve Nikolas this stuff after how many years of being fed gourmet meals three times daily?

The woman just didn't get it.

And she'd gotten herself into this, because God knows what had possessed her to insist her mother stop using her as a shield between her and the rest of the world. She was so sick of being everyone's head case. She was sick of the hand holding, the cautious looks and the standoffish family members. Speaking of which -- GOD -- she should have given the fact that Nikolas was brother-to-Lucky more thought before the whole marriage thing. She'd never been able to put her finger on it, but that guy bugged the living hell out of her. Just the way he... stood there. The way he looked at her. That air of smug so thick you'd choke on it if you weren't careful.

Sometimes she thought she hated him more than his father, except they'd never had anything resembling a conversation. That, in fact, might be part of why she loathed him so much.

The sister, that was fine. If nothing else it was fine because of how Nikolas was about her. The picture on the dresser -- it was the only ornament on top of the large wood beast and it touched her, that he'd have that there. It was the first thing he'd put up in that room -- and she got that. She liked that.

She just hated Lucky. And Spencers. And anyone who wore their hair like that.

Carly had turned right the second she came out the sliding front doors and was four or five very powerful strides down the sidewalk when something grabbed her arm and spun her around with a ferocity that almost took her feet out from under her.

"What the HELL?" she demanded, coming face-to-face with the tall, thin, Hitchcockian woman who's hand was wrapped around her upper arm.

"Caroline Cassadine?"

Carly felt her body temperature rise a few degrees. "CARLY," she spit back in the woman's face. "Jesus, what is WITH you people?"

The woman cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm looking for your husband. Is he still up there? Cause he's not answering his phone. Stunningly."

She scowled, pulling her arm free. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm his assistant. I'm looking for him. Do you need anymore details?"

"His -- " Carly had a flash of realization. Assistant. Crap. "You're Cece?"

"My reputation proceeds me."

"YOU'RE Cece?"

"And you're the wife. Are we clear on who we're talking to now?"

Carly shook her head slightly. She'd given about ten seconds of paranoid thought to the assistant before decided that someone Nikolas avoided as studiously as he did this woman wasn't anything resembling a threat.

Non-threats weren't supposed to look like Tippi Hedren. They were supposed to look like the chick with the glasses from the Beverly Hillbillies. Her stomach lurched.

"Where's your phone?" Cece was continuing without regard.

Carly immediately wrapped the strap of Ugly Purse around her wrist protectively. "Why?"

"Something tells me he has a wife-access back up plan. Give me your phone."

"Wait!" Carly put up a hand. "What the hell do you want him for, anyway?"

Cece regarded him through narrowed eyes. After a critical silence, she murmured. "What do we have here?"

She wasn't saying it like a force of evil in a fairy tale. It was an actual inquiry. A blunt, expectant, inquiry.

"Do you always talk like this?"

"Most of the time. What do we have? Are we doing that territorial chick thing? Because I cannot stress how little time I have for that. And you're infringing on my time as it is."

"Hey. YOU came to talk to ME -- " Carly noticed passers by were pausing to take in the show.

"Oh, I'm not talking about today," Cece muttered. "This is an accumulation of time wasted. I've been keeping records, if you're interested."

"What are you -- " She tried to start again, but it all came out like a sputtering engine. She did not have it in her to have this conversation today. It was like her entire personality had abandoned her, and now this mad-yapping mannequin thing was in her face. She couldn't quite get past the discombobulation to access her sarcasm failsafe.

"You know what?" Cece cut her off yet again. "We need coffee. This is a conversation the includes coffee. Come on."

With that, she turned on her heel and started up the block towards the nearest Starbucks. Carly watched blankly for a moment, then started after her.

Mostly because she couldn't figure out what else she was supposed to do.

And this is where it happened.

It might have been obvious to any number of you out there that Casualties would never come to completion. And what's funny about THAT is that only I know how much of it is incomplete.

And yet?

It took this long for me to really embrace what is happening to my life. Which is that it's moving away from fanfic and into a lot of other areas and while all of that is great and all… I can't stand the idea of leaving something I love so much unfinished.

So I hatched a plan.

Anyone here read The Princess Bride?

This is the end of Casualties, Proper. It ends right there, because my life just ceased to allow it. And most readers who are still here would argue it ceased to allow it over two years ago.

What begins now is more the abridged version. The 'good parts' version. The story anyone not as ridiculously hopeless in the art of story structure and editing might have written in the first place. These are more like the Casualties Chronicles (though, screw that, no name chages), and this is what is going to get this story finished.

I begin now with what I couldn't finish for this chapter.

!*!*!

So Nikolas and Lulu are at the park. And it's boring. Why? Because there's just nothing to do and Lulu is feeling kinda irritable. And Lucky's pacing and being quiet, but it feels obtrusive to have him there anyway, probably BECAUSE he's being so quiet and Death-Row Guard about it. And then it starts to rain. Because it has not rained NEARLY enough in this story yet. And Lulu is still asking questions. Like what was the wedding like? Nikolas doesn't want to answer because even this is far too personal for him to comment on. It eventually comes out that he was married in Vegas and that no one was there and it had to be that way because it takes too long to plan a party like they have at most weddings. Lulu immediately draws the comparison between this and Jason and Robin's wedding and reveals to Nikolas that he is, essentially screwed in the following exchange.

"I think you'll have to have another wedding that people can come to."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Lulu looked up at him, sagely. "Carly would want a wedding at least as big as Robin's."

Dun Dun DA!

Moving on… The rain isn't letting up and with one thing and another it's revealed that Nikolas is staying at the Brownstone and a loophole is born. The Brownstone is not Cassadine Territory. It's Spencer Territory. And more to the point, it's indoors. A non-rain-soaked plan is hatched.

Oh my God, that felt so good.

Here are the parts I deemed 'good'. Which is really just Xara for 'the parts I wanted to write because something about them interested me'. I'm sorry you guys are so much at my whim, but if you really think about it, this whole thing has ALWAYS been at something's whim that is not so much the readership's.

"Luxury Tax."

Lucas didn't raise his eyes off the monopoly board in front of him. He'd had a mellow afternoon planned. A little lunch, a little MasterDeath IV while his mother was out and then? Nap. He'd been halfway through a grilled cheese sandwich when the phone had rung. Now, here he was, two hours since his cousins and brother-and-law had landed, drenched, on the doorstep and an hour and a half into this game, and he was actually beginning to fear for his life. Just a little bit. Just… enough that he didn't want to make eye contact.

"Luxury Tax. What luxury? I have five mortgaged properties, a hundred and twenty-two dollars and a slum -- a declining slum. What is my luxury?"

"There are starving children in Africa who have no slums," Lucky murmured from across the table. "You don't question it, you just pay it."

"This game requires absolutely no skill."

"So you keep mentioning."

The front door closed just as Nikolas was receiving change for his sole remaining 100 bill. Lucas swivelled around and caught his sister as she appeared in the doorway to the living room, arms ladden with grocery bags. She drew back at the sight of the company, then offered a confused "Hi."

Lucky raised a hand in greeting without actually looking at her. Nikolas opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Lucas, complaining indignantly,"I already GOT the milk!"

"Not milk," Carly murmured as she crossed the room, eyes already fixed on the game board. "Are you playing Monopoly?"

"Playing makes it sound like something people do for fun," Nikolas muttered as he counted his funds, which currently wouldn't pay for a trip on the Reading Railroad.

"What's the groceries about?" Lucas was pressing.

"Making lasagna."

"Why?"

"I felt like it." She looked down at the board. "Which one are you?"

"Scotty dog," Lulu chirped. "Lucas is always the car and Nikolas let me be the horse."

Carly scanned the board. Lucky was the old shoe. Who'd have guessed.?

"Mom's GOT lasagna in the freezer," Lucas was pressing.

"I know," she tried shifted the bags in her hands. "Who owns Boardwalk?"

"Lucky," Lucas spit. "I've got Park Place, but he won't deal."

"I'll deal," Lucky drawled. "When you've got something I'm interested in."

"Riiiight," Carly studiously kept her eyes away from him, "What do you own?" she asked, nudging her husband's shoulder. Then she glanced down at the meagre and mostly inverted cards in front of him, and snorted. "Is that all?"

"Thank you," Nikolas murmured. "That's very supportive."

There was enough humour in his words that Carly just brushed his neck with her finger tips and stepped back. "You'll rally. I have faith."

"Yeah," Lucas spoke up. "Isn't this, like, what you do for a living?"

Carly winced. "Yeah. Have fun with that. I'll be in the kichen --"

"I'll help." Nikolas lept on the sentence, cutting her off. Carly frowned.

"Help?"

"Or something," he murmured, pushing back from the table. "I can learn to help."

"But it's your TURN," Lulu protested.

"I just went! I paid tax!"

"You rolled doubles!"

Nikolas sighed heavily and silently cursed his ever having complained about Chess. Karma was a bitch.

"Here," he picked up the dice and impatiently tossed them down on the board. Snake eyes. Lulu sucked in her breath.

"Third time. You go to jail!"

"What?"

"It's the best place for you," Lucas pointed out. "You can't go bankrupt in jail."

Nikolas snapped his fingers impatiently. "And that's another reason this game is completely unrealistic."

"Hence the term 'game'," Lucky pointed out, drily. "I mean, you have noticed that horses don't always move in an L-shape, right?

"Actually, baby?" Carly put a hand on her husband's arm. "I could use some help putting everything away. I'll even show you how to boil water. It'll be novel and stuff."

She caught the smile that flashed across Nikolas's face. he pushed back his chair. "Ok, Lesley Lu. Put me in jail, I'll help Carly until my turn's up."

"Only three turns!"

"Three," Carly's hand had closed around his wrist and he was now being pulled back towards the kitchen. "Right. I'll be back."

As the door swung open, they caught someone's murmered "Baby?"

Carly started to laugh, heightened and strange, the moment the door swung closed. "How the hell," she hissed, dropping the bags onto the counter "Did you get into that?"

"Rain. Mostly," he wasted no time grabbing her around the waist and pulling her into a quick but deadly kiss. "It looked less intimidating than Risk."

Carly nodded, distractedly, pushing herself away from him bodily. "No. You'd like Risk. Risk would be right up your alley."

"Lulu hates it."

"Ah, yeah." She took a deep breath as she started to dig through her bags. "I kind of hate it, too." She let her eyes dart over to him. "But you don't look so miserable. For someone getting his ass handed to him."

He shrugged. "You don't look so miserable. For someone who --"

"No, no, no," Carly shook her head. "Not the 't' word, no."

"Ok, ok," Nikolas pulled one of hte bags over to his side of the counter and started to unpack it, only vaguely aware of the purpose and personality of the things he was lining up on the counter. "So can I ask what all the food is about?"

"This is my new way of making points," she let out more honesty than she'd entirely meant to. "Mama's gonna be a little late, and I'm a big brat."

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know."

"It takes my mind off stuff." She muttered, not caring to dig up the other feelings of inadequacy that had her pursuing this particular distrction.

"How was the rest of your day?" He fished for them, anyway.

"Pretty blah," she ignored the churning stomach that came with the question, keeping her gaze deep in her shopping bags. "What about you?"

"Uh," he exhaled, glancing towards the door. "Honestly? I didn't realize what a big difference it would make, to have some place to take Lulu."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, it feels so normal. More like we aren't performing some sort of underground operation the general public can't find out about."

Carly plunked a can of tomato paste down on the counter and muttered. "Jesus. Luke is that much of an jackass about this?"

They held each other's gaze a moment, the invitation to return to darker places dancing in teh space between them. She could almost feel Nikolas remove her from the hook.

"Yeah. He's that much of a jackass about it. On the other hand, I get to see her. So."

"I guess," she forced a bit of a laugh. "Even if she's creaming you at monopoly."

"It's because she's small," he scowled, though he was smiling. "Everyone will cut deals with her. Me, they leave to the wolves with only my wit and charm to protect me."

"Poor baby," she cooed. "The world's so cruel to old money."

"You have no idea."

"NIKOLAS!" Lulu bellowed on cue from the other room. "Your TURN!"

He groaned. "Excuse me. I have a board game to lose."

He started around the island, and Carly's hand reached out and grabbed his shirt as he passed behind her. "Hey," she whispered , her eyes darting up to his. "You happy?"

He looked down at her, then over at the groceries laid out on the counter. For a second, she felt transparent. Then he smiled.

"I'm a lot of things. Happy's in there some place." His hand slid into her hair and he bent towards her.

"Nikolas!"

They both cracked up mid-kiss and he stepped back, shaking his head. "Hold that thought. I'll be back when I'm bankrupt."

"Be quick about it," Carly called after him. "There'll be a lot of stirring to do."

Bobbie nearly tripped through the front door of the PC Grille, in a whirlwind of adjusting skirt hems and bra straps. She hadn't stopped to breathe more than two seconds together since around noon and was sorely regretting her decision to take her daughter's advice. It bothered her that Carly had a point and that, more than anything else, was her reason for being here. She was not the sort of woman to condemn herself to a life of solitude -- and yet, somehow, in the last few years she had sunk herself so deep into her children's life that she had turned into some sort of hermit.

Stranger things had happened, she supposed. But the idea, now that it had time to fester, was repulsive to her. And it wasn't like Brian was anything distasteful. It was just...

How was it possible that she was she still dating?

She blew out an irritated breath and looked around the bar for any sign of the doctor. Five minutes late, he'd have to still be here -- unless he'd been paged, which she probably should have heard and even then --

Oh. Come ON.

Probably a bad sign,how fast a whole day's wrought nerves and excited anticipation vanished into thin air when she laid eyes on her ex-husband. Backed into a far corner, a drink in one hand and his eyes fix sourly on the table top, she didn't even look around for Brian, didn't even pause to plan her attack -- she just strode, chin tipped up, across the room and dropped her purse onto the table.

"Well. Imagine meeting you here."

"If you're inferring anything, I'd point out that I had a meeting and was, in fact, here first."

"Details," Bobbie pulled out the chair opposite and took a seat. "I expected to hear from you earlier."

"And why is that?"

"I think you know why that is." She sat back, setting her most accusing look on him. "How COULD you, Stefan?"

A small, bitter smile crept over his lips. "A better question would be -- how could I not?"

"Off hand? You just don't. You sit on your hands, you look the other way, you take a Valium, if it comes to it. You just don't DO it."

Stefan lifted his head and looked at her. Not his usually disaffected examination -- a real, eye-to-eye, soul bared, gaze. He looked exhausted, drained, wrung out. She tried to tighten her grip on her righteousness, but it shriveled in her hands. Oh, what was she doing? Like yelling at him was going to do anyone one bit of good. She turned away, shaking her head.

"I'll save you asking," she muttered, bitterly. "Nikolas is fine."

"We spoke this morning."

She tensed her shoulders. "Carly's managing, too, if you're interested."

"They're staying with you."

"For the time being, it looks that way, yes." She gave him a pointed look. "It wasn't that long ago, the shoe was on the other foot, you know. If I was a vengeful woman --"

"I wouldn't be sitting here with you, certainly."

There was a little humor -- bitter, though it was -- in his words. It irritated her. Brushing off the topic of her daughter, after what he'd done...

"There is probably something more constructive that you could be doing right now, if you're at all interested in setting this right."

"Why would you want me to set this right, Barbara?" He put the drink down, to fastidiously straighten a shirt cuff. "You've achieved a complete reversal of fortune, and if you thought that your coming over and deigning to speak to me would be the crowning achievement, making you unequivocally the bigger person, you are wasting your time," he waved a hand. "I acquiesce. The mantle is yours."

Bobbie stared at him, opened her mouth, then closed it again. God damnit.

"Stefan," she tapped her finger tips on the table top. "You really know how to suck all the fun out of being right, you know that?"

He responded by lifting his glass towards her, though she noticed he had not, save that first glare, allowed his eyes to venture anywhere near hers. She watched him take a pull from the glass and felt her sense of ire abating. She'd always had a problem with follow through...

"It's not like you drink in public."

He put the glass down on the table with a thump. "And what do I have to go home to?"

"Stefan..." she let her sudden worry come out like scolding. "This isn't like you."

"No," he agreed. "It most certain is not." He glanced up at her. "Will you allow me to buy you a drink? To the victor go the spoils."

"It wasn't a game. I wasn't trying to beat you at anything! I was just trying to --"

"Barbara," he cut her off. "Is that a yes, or a no?"

Bobbie pressed her lips together. "I'm meeting someone," she finally told him, tersely. He just looked at her. "A man. A date."

She watched him digest that. Circle around it like a python closing in on prey.

"Then allow me to keep you company until he arrives," he murmured. Pretty words, but there was a rasp to them that unsettled her.

"Ok," she picked up her purse, holding it in her lap and cocking her head to one side. "All right, Stefan. I'll wait with you -- if you answer one question for me."

Still no eye contact, he merely grunted his agreement.

"You were playing the game absolutely flawlessly until you brought out that damn pre-nup. She trusted you, Stefan! She had me and her uncle and her husband all telling her to be careful -- but you had snaked right under her defenses and had her in the palm of your hand. You must have known that. WHAT could have possessed you to-"

"Desperation." After a moment, he looked up at her and smiled -- a sad, painful smile. "Silence."

"Silence," she repeated. And she knew -- she knew, because she'd experienced it so often over the past year that it was always the silence that she couldn't stand, it was always that which made her panic. She knew what to do when Carly would talk -- even if she said terrible things. But when she just went into her shell...

"From Nikolas?" she asked, "Nikolas is always so-- " She gestured, fruitlessly. "Blunt!"

"He was."

"Before," she started, and then let the sentence die. She knew what he was saying. She'd noticed it in him, too, from her considerable distance. "And now?"

Stefan didn't answer. She decided to fill in the blank herself. Secretive, she guessed. Closed off. Cold. Not to her daughter. Not that she could see. But that would only make this worse, wouldn't it?

She sighed. Not much else to say. And not much else for her to gain from sitting here, either. She ran her thumb over the leather on her purse and then threw up a hand.

"All right. You can get me a scotch and soda," she raised a warning finger. "But I won't be worked on. I'm just keeping you company."

He nodded and gestured for a waiter. "A man in my position lives on unnecessary kindness."