Chapter Eighty-Three:
Getting Lucky

Carly had decided she liked Wednesdays. Next to Saturday, Wednesdays would be the best day of the week. They were the one weekday where she and Nikolas were going to the same place. He stayed home a little later than usual to wait for her, and her mother was nearly always gone at the crack of dawn, leaving them the run of the kitchen without adult supervision. It was fun, she’d decided. Getting up late, making French Toast with Lucas, actually talking to him again. Watching him and Nikolas talk. Having a mutual, three-way conversation... Like magic. She expected leprechauns.

The magic departed pretty quickly once they parted company at the hospital. Behind that closed door of Kevin's office, things got decidedly earthbound, again.

"So," Kevin started off after the initial pleasantries. "Your first day at work. Momentous occasion."

"Guess so."

"How'd it go?"

"Nothing burned down." She shrugged. "Jason showed up. Otherwise, it was basically ok."

"Jason showed up."

"Yeah."

"All right."

"What?"

"You singled that event out. I assume you have more to say about it."

"Not really."

"All right. We have other things we can talk about."

"Goody."

He smiled. Thinly. "We can always re-address the pesky topic of your childhood."

"Haven't we already done that?"

"To my satisfaction? No, now that you mention it, we haven't."

"It's public record."

"Grew up in Florida, your father left before you were school-aged, you were raised by your mother and found out you were adopted at twelve."

"Good memory."

"You know, if I were to tell you about my childhood before the age of twelve, I could sum it up in a couple of sentences. But you'd be missing a sizable chunk of the picture."

Carly smiled, wryly. "What do you want me to say? It was all generic food products and a never-ending parade of apartments with pastel colored carpets. Pretty much your standard single-parent, no-money situation. And I survived. And she's dead now. So let's move on."

"We can always come back to Jason."

"Non-issue." She exhaled. "Well. It would be."

"Explain."

"We had this brief conversation. My cousin walked in on it. Not really looking forward to that discussion."

"What discussion would that be?"

"The one where he thinks he saw something he didn't."

"And... You can't simply explain that to him?"

"He wouldn't believe me."

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"Well. He's not exactly a fan of mine."

"Based on...?"

"Off hand? Everything." She cocked her head. "I failed the Spencer Test. No one really told me I was taking it -- but when the results came back, I'd failed."

He nodded. For a long time. She started to wonder if he'd broken something.

"It's hard to enter a family late."

"It's hard to enter that one anytime."

"Why do you think that is?"

She shrugged. "Off hand? I'd say it's because they're judgmental assholes. But that's just a theory."

She could have handled it better. There was probably a protocol or an etiquette to it. But, as she did with most things, Carly addressed the scene in the alley with Lucky on impulse. In the middle of her next shift and off a particularly disinterested look while she was picking up a drink order, the words just started coming out of her mouth.

"Nikolas knows Jason was here on Tuesday, ok? So you don't have to run off and tell him."

It was the first full sentence she'd spoken to him all evening and Lucky didn't react, other to frown down at the glass he was filling. "Run off?"

"Or whatever. It doesn't matter -- he knows."

"Ok."

"Ok, what?"

He glanced up at her. "Oh. Kay. It's a phrase people use when they don't want to say what they're really thinking. Like 'Why are you telling me this'?"

She snorted. "Are you trying to say you don't care?"

"Not particularly."

"Uh huh. Nice try."

Lucky placed a third beer down on the tray. "You screwing around on him?"

"Oh, fuck off."

"Hey, you brought it up."

She flushed at the attack of logic. "It’s none of your god damned business."

Lucky laughed, low in his throat and mirthless. "Yeah. You screw Nik up anymore than the rest of the world already has, and it becomes my business. Whether I want it or not."

"So -- what? You don't think I should have told him?"

"What’s this about? Are you looking for a gold star?" He raised his eyes. "Fine. Point to you. But trust me on this -- You going home and saying 'Hey, ran into Jason' carries a whole different weight than 'Hey, man, you should know -- Jason was around the club the other night talking to your wife'. See, now he has to do something about it. Now it's a situation. But you're telling me it's not, and as long as what I see corresponds..." He put the final two drafts down on her tray with a thump. "It's nothing to me."

"Touching, how you look out for him," Carly glared as she heaved the tray up onto her shoulder.

Lucky went still, though Carly was already turned away from him. She got all of two steps away from him before a blast of cold water hit right between her shoulder blades. She let out a shriek and spun around on pure instinct -- the precarious weight she was carrying tipped and before she could so much as absorb that fact, she was soaked to the skin in cheap beer and the glasses were crashing to the ground.

The band stopped playing. The whole room turned to look at her. She raised her head and met her cousin's gaze. And that's when it started -- What crowds of people were always compelled to do in situations like this -- what didn't change from grade school to, she assumed, the retirement home.

They started to clap. Cheer. Shout out words of 'encouragement'. A heat rushed into her face and she felt something in her harden and focus on the man behind the bar. The new face of evil.

Lucky, glowering, tossed the bar hose back into the sink. "That is a button I recommend you not push."

"Aw, no WAY!"

"I warned you."

"Twice. You've played this twice," Lucas complained, as he threw down the controller for the playstation down on the cushion beside him. "What the hell was THAT?"

Nikolas, sitting with his back against the couch, glanced up at his brother-in-law. "I have exceptional hand-eye coordination."

"TWICE," Lucas was staring at the screen in disgust. "One, two."

Nikolas had swiftly learned not to take Lucas's anger very seriously. Largely because Lucas had a habit of showing up when Nikolas found himself at loose ends at the Brownstone. No time in recent history had that been more appreciated than tonight, and it was hard to believe the annoyance was anything more than a performance.

"You gotta suck at something,” Lucas complained. “You just gotta."

"Monopoly," Nikolas sighed.

"No," he shook his head, resolutely. "I'm not even going to try that with you again. You take that game way too seriously."

"That's the only way to play. There's no point, otherwise."

"Fun is the point."

“Ah,” Nikolas's mouth quirked. "No. Fun is an accessory. Primarily, anything you do should be about forwarding yourself."

Lucas stared at him. "Even video games."

“Even video games.”

“How video games?”

"Well. There’s the obvious hand-eye coordination benefit --"

"And what else? Team spirit? Learning to be a good loser?"

"No. I was thinking more discipline and perseverance is the basis of all success."

His brother-in-law studied him with narrowed eyes. “You know,” he allowed, finally, “You really sound like your Dad, sometimes."

Nikolas's expression clouded and Lucas immediately turned away and started messing with the control buttons. "Well. I was quoting him. So that will happen."

Lucas was speaking up to change the topic, when they heard the front door slam with alarming force. They exchanged a look, and then Lucas called out, warily, "Mom?"

"No," his sister snarled. "Not Mom." She appeared in the doorway only a few moments later, and both Nikolas and Lucas were at a loss for immediate response. She looked like she's just crawled out of the Budweiser Swamp.

"What?" she demanded. Lucas gave Nikolas a sidelong look, and then stood up.

"I gotta go call someone," he managed to squeeze past his sister and out of the room without actually touching her. Carly didn't acknowledge him, choosing instead to glower at the opposite wall. Nikolas considered his options.

"You're home early."

"Yeah," Carly laughed, bitterly, and leaned against the door jam. "I think I hate your brother."

"He can have that effect on people."

"He's a sarcastic, cocky, cooler-than-thou brat --"

"I know."

"He's got to be the most obnoxious person I've ever met in my life." She kicked off her shoes, with some effort. "Like, worse than his father."

"I wouldn't go that far," an edge of defensiveness was creeping into his voice. Carly flopped down on the floor beside him. Her hair reeked of dried beer. Her jeans were damp. She looked like she wanted to kill someone. He took a chance and reached out, peeling a strand of hair from her cheek. She sighed, and leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder.

"So," she prompted, "What do you like about him?"

"He's loyal. He's smart. He's good in a crisis."

"Sure that makes him a big hit at parties."

"He puts up with a lot of garbage in my name. I figure the least I can do is like him."

"Mmm. Sounds chummy."

He grimaced. "Don't you start, too."

"Start what?"

"My relationship with Lucky is really simple. It makes sense. That's something I value, in and of itself."

Carly turned towards him, pointedly. "You have a lot of relationships that don't make sense?"

"Nice try, but I'm not falling into that trap," he nodded towards the television. "I have exceptional hand-eye coordination."

Ok, so maybe she didn't HATE Lucky.

No, she probably did.

But maybe it wasn't fair. Maybe it wasn't entirely his fault. Maybe it was a prejudice or a self-fulfilling prophecy or something. That's what she suspected Kevin was carving into his mental notebook. So she decided not to talk about him. Not even after the schoolyard bully-like behavior with the bar hose. Not even after he totally humiliated her on her second freakin' day of work, with the world's biggest over-reaction to she wasn't even sure what.

"I'm going to kill him," she spat, then grimaced. "Is that the kind of thing you need to report to the authorities or something?"

"If I believe you're serious, then yes."

"I'm not. Really." Yet.

"I'll ignore it if you're willing to discuss your father."

"God, what IS it with you?"

"Well. It's my job. So I'm told."

Elizabeth Webber stopped by Luke's directly following her day interning in the Marketing Department of Deception Cosmetics. It was a daily ritual to which Lucky had become accustomed. She'd stop by, eat dinner at the bar, and talk to him every time he managed to wrest himself away from his duties. Sometimes, if she was in the mood, she'd hang around and listen to whatever band was playing that night. Sometimes she'd take off to spend the evening slaving over an easel. If she stayed, he'd try to cut a deal with Claude to get out before closing. It was a level of routine he was amazed he could tolerate. Proof, if nothing else, that time made no impact on how much he adored her. Still, in his head, he counted the days until she graduated and their relationship wouldn't be hostage to her schooling.

Sure, it would be hostage to something else, then. But he liked variety.

That night, Elizabeth didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry to get out of Luke's. She didn't seem to have made up her mind about the band, and Lucky noticed that every time he stepped away from her, she turned her attention to the bar's newest employee.

"What do you think you're going to figure out by looking at her?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, spinning around to face him again. "What do you think you're going to learn by ignoring her?"

Lucky made a face. "Et too, 'Lizabeth?" He stole a cooling fry off the edge of her plate. "I'm not ignoring her. I'm avoiding the tentacles. Different thing."

"Nikolas has to see something in her," she pointed out, not for the first time.

"Seems to."

"So."

"So, when did you start advocating me putting myself in the line of fire, huh?" He teased, but it wasn't convincing.

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, resolutely. "Cause right now? You're Switzerland."

He opened his mouth to respond. She batted her lashes, mock innocence. He exhaled and leaned into the bar, lowering his voice. "She flirts with the customers."

God, was that weak.

"No, you flirt with the customers," she pointed out. "All she's doing is smiling and joking and flashing around her wedding band."

Lucky shook his head. "Why are you so pro-Carly all of the sudden?"

"Dunno. Happy endings, maybe?" She straightened up, leaning back on the stool and regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "Because your brother could use a break. And so could your aunt. Your cousin. Your other cousin, if you want to count her. And it'd probably be a really bad thing if this didn't work out.” She cocked her head. “I think I got that perspective by osmosis. From spending so much time with you."

"All right!" Kevin spoke with an air of resignation. "We can talk about your current family."

"Can you not call them that?"

"Why?"

"Because. It sounds wrong. Like they're a temporary condition or something."

"Do you worry that they are?"

Carly rubbed her temples, eyes closed. "Why do we have to do this every single day?"

"We don't," Kevin pointed out. "You have more control over these sessions than anyone I can readily think of, Caroline. They go just the way you dictate them."

“Really.” She didn’t bother to point out to him that her power didn’t seem to influence what name he called her. "Then why aren't I having more fun?"

"Because it's not fun. It's not meant to be. It's work. And you've committed to it."

"Committed isn't a word a psychiatrist should just throw around."

He smiled. Broadly. "How's Nikolas?"

She shrugged. "Happy when I'm looking. Miserable when I'm not."

"Insightful."

“Not really. I just figured out what the insomnia means."

It wasn’t that he wasn’t a reasonable guy. It wasn’t as if he wanted to make people’s lives more complicated. It’s just that this was stress. That's what it was -- pure, unrelenting, stress, having her there. The attitude, the Dad-wrangling, the constant evaluations he could not stop himself from making about her. It was getting steadily harder for him to fathom why he'd agreed to this, why he'd OFFERED to take this on. There was something inside him that was just bound and determined to suffer. And if the people he was actually close to weren't going to oblige, then -- apparently -- he was going to reach out to the fringe elements.

Lucky was giving this insight some serious consideration on the heels of a galling realization. He could have sworn that he’d made some kind of deal about Nikolas stopping by the club. He hadn’t. And he remembered, now, why he hadn’t. Because he had never thought for a moment that he’d have to. He’d forgotten that Nikolas’s sense of self-preservation was non-existent. In fact, if the guy had possession of anything of the kind, there would be no way that he’d be in this situation in the first place.

Nik had shown up around eight o’clock that night, in possession of his own personal rain cloud. He’d shown little interest in Lucky’s irritation or Luke’s absence, only deigning to become polysyllabic after Carly spotted him and careened over to the bar with an empty tray and an impressive list of drink orders that involved flavored schnapps, crushed ice and umbrellas.

"I thought I was calling the limo," she immediately sat down next to her husband. Nikolas laughed slightly, turning on his stool.

"There's nothing just a little absurd about that to you? Calling the limo to pick you up from your waitressing job?"

"No more than everything else in my life. What are you doing here?"

"Is it a problem?"

"Did you check out the name on the roof?"

"If the name on the roof is going to hire my wife, then he's going to have to risk dealing with me."

"Luke having to deal with you isn't exactly my concern," she muttered, tersely. "What HAPPENED to you, anyway? Spring a booby trap in the corporate jungle?"

Nikolas said nothing. Opting – and he could tell by the set of the guy’s shoulders – to stare moodily towards the stage. There was just no way this was good for business.

“Oh my God, I’m right, aren’t I?”

Lucky cleared his throat, pointedly, having filled the drink order, and she turned without looking at him.

“I’ll be right back,” she sighed, scooping up the tray, leaving Nikolas and Lucky in an even more uncomfortable silence than they’d started off with. Small talk was nothing the two of them had ever bothered to try out with each other.

“Do you want me to let her go?”

“In what capacity?” Nikolas asked, dully.

“In the capacity that I don’t have to listen to anymore of this conversation.”

Carly returned on the end of his words and made sure he registered the full weight of her disdain. “One pitcher, three highballs” she reported, before sliding over to lean on Nikolas’s shoulder. They murmured to each other until Nikolas’s voice raised defensively.

"I didn't blow a deal." He exhaled, long and slow. "I nearly did. But I didn't."

He knew it was cheap, but… Well, there was something about that phrase that just made him feel that much warmer inside. Pouring drinks under the watchful eye of his Captain of Industry brother wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

"Oh. Ok... Let me get this straight...” Carly was regarding Nikolas like he was a science experiment gone wrong. “You're here, looking like death, because you didn’t mess anything up."

"Carly."

"No, I wanna make sure I understand this. Everything worked out... there isn’t a problem, but you’re going to beat yourself up about it, and expect me, a girl whose life is on par with the Hindenburg to what? Sympathize?"

Lucky snorted. An unexpected reaction, which Carly clearly took offense to. She stood, gathering up the now-filled drink order. "It's really impossible for you to be anything less than perfect, isn't it?"

"It's impossible for me to be anything close to it." He took a swig of his beer, then winced. "I'm sorry. This was a bad idea."

"Probably." She finally deigned to look at Lucky, demanding "How much longer am I here?"

"Twenty minutes," he was pulling the number out of thin air, splitting the difference between his moderate compassion for his brother and his ongoing irritation with Carly. She turned from him like he'd dropped out of existence, instructed Nikolas not to move, and took off with her load of drinks.

Again, the tension left in her wake was suffocating. Lucky found himself taking measured breaths through his mouth, as if that would help.

“Three draft, light,” Carly sighed, returning to the bar. She smacked a hand on the oak finish. "You wanna go some place when I'm done here?"

"Place."

"Well,” she shrugged. “We could go home. Except we always do that."

"I don't feel much like celebrating."

"Not celebrating, cheering up. Possibly even having fun." She reached out and brushed an errant lock of hair off his forehead. "We could try the pool thing again.”

Nikolas, much to Lucky’s surprise, cracked up.

"Some place better!” She insisted. “Because seriously. If you’re going to be married to me, you have to learn to play."

“He’s not that bad,” Lucky muttered, off-hand, eyes on the drafts he was pouring. He immediately regretted exposing the fact that he was listening. It was stupid, the product of feeling annoyed at his cousin. He looked up to find Carly staring at him in a way that could only be described as spooky. He nearly sneered at her. “What?”

She turned to Nikolas, "What did he just say?"

Nikolas took a long swig of his beer and set it down with great care before answering. "We haven’t talked about this in awhile.”

“Talked about what?”

“Pool.”

“And?” she prompted.

“I… can play. A little."

"How little?"

Nikolas sighed and turned to face her. "I never actually said I didn't play --"

"Oh my God."

Carly didn't wait for the drinks. She just turned and walked across the room, did a lap of the tables before striding back to the bar.

"So what the hell was that?"

Nikolas didn't say anything. He just looked at her and tried, with little success, not to laugh.

"Because what you said and what you led me to believe -- Why-why-why would you --" she ran out of words.

"I had..." Nikolas spoke with a slow, considered tone. To, Lucky suspected, try to preserve some level of privacy. "Reasons."

The attempt was useless, of course. Lucky's brain had already informed him that -- at some key point in their courtship -- Nikolas had withheld details regarding his billiards history to get her into bed. He didn't like knowing this anymore than Nikolas would have liked telling him, but there's a price for not being deaf, blind and stupid.

Carly’s face flushed bright red. From anger, or possibly, embarrassment. Lucky's brain was now cruelly suggesting further implications of pool and sexual positions and he shook his head to try to beat them into submission. This was not helped by the vivid curse that crossed his cousin’s lips before she picked up her order and turned back to her tables.

“Jesus Christ,” Lucky muttered.

“Don’t,” Nikolas warned. Lucky shook his head.

“You – Just – Forget it!” He put his head down and started to wipe the bar mercilessly. “This is not part of any deal we made, you being here. I don’t care what trip down guilt lane you send me on -- Nothing is worth having to listen to this”.

“I’m not here to inconvenience you, Lucky.”

“Don’t care,” he snapped. “Just take her. We can deal without her for the rest of the night."

Lucky continued his intense cleaning and Nikolas continued whatever the hell he was occupying himself with, until Carly once again returned, slapping her tray down the bar.

“They want peanuts,” she spit at Lucky. He picked up a bowl without looking at her and dropped it onto the bar from enough height that they scattered. She swore again.

“Watch the language,” Lucky muttered as Carly swept the handful of spilled nuts back into the bowl. Nikolas reached out and hooked a finger into the apron around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Hey,” he prodded. She rolled her eyes, and waited for him to say something else. He leaned in, murmuring against her ear, "I'm not sorry."

The evil curiosity-fed impulse to just know wouldn't let him look away. He found himself glancing towards Carly, catching her face -- watched her glare at Nikolas, hurt, pissed. Watched that soften and fade -- and then, out of nowhere, she flushed, and turned away, grinning.

"Stop that," she muttered, pulling away from him.

"I wasn't doing anything."

She shook her head. "We're not supposed to fight in public, anyway."

Nikolas straightened up. "What new doctrine is this?"

Carly’s gaze flitted towards Lucky as she shrugged. "Friendly advice from Aunt Alexis." She turned, stepping into Nikolas’s space and pressing her lips against his in a firm, quick kiss. "Public affection is sanctioned. I asked."

Lucky bit his tongue and turned away, heading into the back for restock.

When he came out a few minutes later, he filled another order from a waitress and informed her that she’d be taking Carly’s tables in about five minutes. It didn’t go over well until he pointed out they were all wracking up substantial bar tabs. One thing Lucky had to give Carly – her tables bought enormous amounts of alcohol. It was like some kind of devil-influence she seemed to carry with her. He had noticed – the stuff about Carly that made her a promising employee almost universally made her an object of concern in the sister-in-law department.

When Carly came back to the bar, Lucky told her to cash out and she took it in stride. Turning to Nikolas, she reached out and twined her fingers through his. She smiled at him, wryly.

“You want to go home, don’t you?”

“Please.”

Dramatic eye roll. “I guess we can do that.” She moved into him, took his face in her hands and kissed him again – something Lucky really wanted to tell her to knock off. It was only the size of the fight and the level of hypocrisy – given that Elizabeth had been around for some of her shifts – that stopped him. She eventually pushed off his brother and started to untie her apron.

“Five minutes?”

“I’ll be here.”

Lucky watched Nikolas watch her walk away. He picked up a bar glass and started to polish it with his cloth, while Nikolas turned back to his beer. He was smiling.

"You know, I didn't entirely believe it was possible," Lucky allowed, after a minute.

"What?" His brother sounded cautious. Lucky set down the glass and met his eyes.

"That she might actually make you happy." Or anyone happy, for that matter. "But then, I didn't figure you were looking to end up with anyone who might cause you something other than internal bleeding."

Nikolas shook his head. "Why do you give her such a hard time?"

Lucky stared at him. He wanted, really, to point out that he was not the one giving the hard time here. He wasn’t the one with the barbed wire personality.

But he knew. He knew, all this time, what she was doing. He got the little insecure bite-you-before-you-bite-me act. There was nothing about it that was subtle. He'd just never looked for a way to get around it. Watching his brother just now, looking at the way she softened and warmed when he was around, at how the stress had ebbed from Nikolas’s features…

Nope. Still wasn't enough. He looked at Carly, all he saw was a wrecking ball. So he shrugged, and pulled Nik's glass right out of his hand.

"Everyone's got a talent."

Carly spun around the second they got outside the doors of the bar, and grabbed both of Nikolas's hands.

"So,” Eyes bright, mouth wide. “I'm not crazy."

"Carly..."

"Just concede that one point to me, and I'll forget all about it. But Lucky? Reeeeally doesn't like me."

Nikolas attempted to reel her closer to him. “It looked kind of mutual.”

“Oh, no,” she gave her head an exaggerated shake. “He started it.”

"Well, for what it's worth, he doesn't really like me, either."

"I don't get you two. I totally don't.” Carly pressed her forehead into the middle of his chest, letting out a low groan. “You keep saying 'it's simple', but then you try to explain it and – They don't have a mathematical equation fine enough to get all the decimal points in your relationship."

"It's family. It's not easy. It's blood. That's all."

"I AM blood!" She pulled away from him, allowing the full press of the frustration surging through her.

“I know.”

“And yet.”

"It took two years,” Nikolas caught her hand again as they started across the parking lot. “Two – before he'd look at me without sneering. And even that didn't happen in the best of circumstances." Carly snorted and Nikolas reached for another explanation. "He's protective. I don't think he even gets to choose how that happens. It's just in him. You can see how that could get annoying."

"So what does that mean? He's protective of you and he doesn't want to be?"

"Generally? I think so. I don't exactly give him a lot of reason to trouble himself."

"Oh, yeah. This is what I wonder about you all the time. How can anyone stand to be around this guy?" She threw herself against the passenger side door as they reached the car. Nikolas’s face was entirely blank. "That was a joke." He gave her nothing. She rolled her eyes. "Ok, it was a snarky joke."

"He cares what happens to you, too. Just..."

"You're going to tell me to be nice to him, aren't you?"

"I think..." He closed his eyes. The exhaustion was returning. "I'm going to ask both of you to leave me out of this."

"Not possible." She tipped her chin up. He gazed into her face, ignoring the fact that she was doing the same to him. Finally, she reached out and pulled him into another kiss. He complied, hoping this indicated the end of the conversation. When he pulled back, she put a hand to his cheek and forced his eyes back to hers. “Hey,” she prompted. “Are you really ok?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I am." He kept his hand behind her neck, running his thumb absently along her spine. "Are you really mad about the pool thing?"

"I don't know," her lips twisted. "It's disillusioning.”

"Who are you disillusioned with?" He moved closer, pressing her flush against the car, and catching her mouth again. "You or me?"

Carly’s breathing had turned shallow. She tried to lean back from him, but his body followed her. She started to laugh as he bent his head to nuzzle her neck. Grinning, she sunk her fingers into his hair and murmured “I guess that depends on how good you are.”

"You're in a good mood," Kevin accused.

"What, are you going to make me talk about that, too?"

"It's nice to see. I'm glad it's in your repertoire."

"Really? You don't think it's a sign of an unstable mind, mood swings?"

He raised his brow. "How was your weekend?"

Carly buried her face in her hands, trying to hide the grin that immediately spread across her face. It was useless. "Good."

"So it would seem."

She lifted her head. "We saw Michael. We got take out, went home and watched a really bad movie. It was almost normal."

"How was the visit?"

She considered this. Rolling it around for long enough that Kevin’s silence became conspicuous. Then she sighed. "I don't really get it. My life is still a mess. I mean, everything is different – but it’s also the same. I still don’t have my son, I see you three times a week, and… This one thing, this one thing works so well. And I don't get how one thing can be so good when everything else is still so bad." She dropped her hands into her lap. "And I really don't get how anything could actually make me happy. Even for a little while.”

“But it does.”

“Yeah.”

What did it, in the end, was Elizabeth Webber’s blouse.

Carly’s Monday appointment ended at 11:00, and she was barely out of the building when her phone rang. Lucky, coming as close as he ever had to being nice, telling her that he was short-handed for lunch. He’d give her the next day off, just come in now.

She thought about it. She was feeling ok. She’d get to leave before dinner. She’d get to do nothing the next day. It was a decent enough offer. She’d told him she’d be there by noon.

Lunch itself wasn’t a big deal. She’s managed, in the last few shifts, to get some kind of rhythm going. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it was starting to feel like something she could do with some degree of competence. In addition – and she was just beginning to notice this – she hadn’t seen her uncle since her first night.

The lunch rush was moderate, with only her and Lucky working the floor. That meant they were both serving customers and grabbing drinks themselves as they came up, having to play off of each other in a way they normally avoided. It started to feel disturbingly … friendly. Not in a laughing, joking, fun sort of way. No, more in a familiar, instinctive sort of way. Almost intimate, without there being any sense of their actually liking each other. She wasn’t going to be able to get out of here quickly enough, she decided. Time with Lucky was either awkward, hostile or damp. She didn’t want to mess around on this sort of ground with him.

At 2:30, like a switch had been flipped, the place had emptied out. She rolled silverware while Lucky did paperwork, saved from complete silence by a blues CD. She didn’t mind Blues music – she might even like it – but she sure didn’t find it particularly varied. And what she knew about the genre couldn’t fill a tea cup, so it surprised her when the CD changed track and she realized she was listening to something she recognized.

“T.J. Hooker,” she blurted out in shock. Lucky looked up.

“What?”

She gestured insistently towards the stereo. “That’s the guy who’s playing!”

He stared at her a moment, then turned back to his paperwork. “T.J. Hooker was a cop. On a TV show. Played by William Shatner.”

She felt a ‘pop’ in her stomach. “You could just say ‘no’, you know.”

“It’s John Lee Hooker,” Lucky glanced at his watch. “And I have to run out. Can you watch the bar for ten?”

“Ten… minutes?” she was incredulous. There was no way Lucky would leave her unattended and confusing probable blues legends with captains of the Starship Enterprise, even if the bar was empty –

“Maybe less,” he tossed his folder under the bar. “I have to run an errand.”

“So pleased to be of service.”

“You can leave when I get back,” he didn’t so much as glance at her as he picked up his keys and exited through the front door.

Carly glared at the door for a few seconds before deciding it wasn’t making her feel any better when there wasn’t an audience for her antipathy. It amazed her that, in the end, Lucky was the worst thing about working at Luke’s. While that was an improvement over her worst expectations of the job – which had ranked her cousin a lot lower on her list of concerns – it was still beginning to become a problem. Nikolas opting out just made her feel more determined to keep on hating him and his constant lack of … everything.

She’d finished rolling and was starting moodily into space when the bar door opened. She’d cast her eyes towards the mirror, expecting to catch the returning Lucky in the mirror – not a person she was currently making head movements for – but instead she met the hollow and desperate gaze of Elizabeth Webber. Her reflection was so startling and disturbing that Carly spun on her stool, facing the girl head-on.

Elizabeth was dressed for the office. Black suit with a soft pink camisole underneath. Sensible-but-cute heels. Sensible-but-cute hair. The girl was such a porcelain doll. With the wide blinking eyes, the long lashes, the pale and flawless skin. She was American Girl Gets an Internship. But today, her skin had a grayish hue, her perfect pouting lips were parted and her hands were shaking.

She swallowed hard, then rasped, “Is Lucky here?”

It was a nice try. She clearly thought she could still play off calm and collected, and her brow knit in confusion when she heard her own shaking voice. “I mean…” shake of the perfect little curls. “Where – Is Lucky –“

“He’s running an errand.”

“Oh,” her voice managed to crack on the one syllable. Uncertain what else to do, Carly swung off her bar stool and started around the bar.

“He’ll be back in a few minutes. He wouldn’t leave me here alone for long, you know?”

“I know,” Elizabeth started across the floor towards her. Greeeat. This was going to involve a conversation. At a loss, she reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle at random.

“Drink?” she asked, holding up a bottle of vodka. Elizabeth gulped again, and nodded.

“Yes. But – “ more head-shaking, more bouncing curls. “Not that.”

Carly considered her options. This girl was on Team Lucky. She resided somewhere else entirely, and she had no particular desire to know or be liked by Little Lizzie Webber. So the reason behind her impulse to – what? Help? Sedate? – The girl was lost on her. But she opted to follow it, anyway. Out of curiosity more than anything else, she started to examine the bottles around her.

“Ok,” she exhaled. “What’s your poison, then?”

“I…” Elizabeth blinked her big doll eyes, then tottered over to the bar. “I don’t know. Brandy?”

Carly shrugged and grabbed a shot glass. “You kind of have that ‘pulled out of an avalanche’ look.”

Elizabeth’s laugh was high-pitched and hysterical before it broke down into a sob. She cried – ugly, gulping, little-kid crying – while she tried to hoist herself up onto a bar stool. A creeping horror took up residence in Carly’s stomach. She looked towards the door, now hoping for Lucky’s immediate return. Surely hysterical girlfriends were not in her job description. She topped up the glass and pushed it across the bar towards Elizabeth.

“Th-th-th-thank you,” the girl took the glass carefully, and lifted it to her lips only to blow a few drops of brandy onto the bar with her ragged breathing. She put the glass down again, hand on her abdomen, and took a few deep breaths. Eyes closed, in and out, in and out, in and out…

“Can I…” Carly gestured towards the back, not sure what she meant. Call someone? Run away? Fetch some liquid drainer? Elizabeth shook her head, eyes opened now and hand reaching for the shot glass.

“I am fine,” she said it like it was a mantra. Nodding to herself, she finally raised the glass to her lips and sipped at it. Carly waited for some fit of coughing or other neophyte reaction, but Elizabeth, apparently, had some chops. She drank the shot in three pulls, pausing between each to take another slow, shaky breath.

“I am so sick of being fucked up,” she announced, setting down the glass. “So, so sick of it.” She looked up at Carly, her eyes hungry for a connection. “I guess…” Quick shake of the head. “No, nevermind. Ignore me. This is definitely a time to ignore Lizzie.”

On the contrary, this was the most interesting Carly had ever found the girl.

“No,” she poured another shot and pushed it across the bar. Lucky was going to kill her. “You’re preaching to the choir.”

“Yeah, I was kinda going to say that.” Hiccup – from the crying, Carly hoped – “But I thought you’d probably hate me for it.”

“Good call,” she opted to pour herself a shot. I mean, what the hell? What was Lucky going to do, fire her?

“Which is weird,” Lizzie was continuing. “Because eventually, we’re going to be sisters-in-law.”

Yeah. This was a drink worthy conversation, absolutely. “Barely.”

Liz’s hand made a series of gestures, as if she couldn’t decide on exactly what she wanted to say with it. Finally she dropped it and picked up the second shot. She noted Carly’s, and ventured “Cheers?”

“Um… Sure…”

Carly tipped the glass back slightly, but found she didn’t have much taste for it. Elizabeth took the whole shot in one gulp, having apparently warmed up. Glasses down, they both sat in silence, even the CD having come to an end.

“I’ve had a bad day,” Elizabeth broke the silence with the explanation. “I hadn’t had a bad day in a long time, but… Sometimes…”

“Something sets you off.”

She nodded. “I got called into my boss’s office.” She gestured to the power suit – not so terribly different, though a little more Sears Catalogue – than Carly’s own recent acquisition. “For the way I dress.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears again and she mouthed “Thank you”. She put her head in her hands and commenced with the measured breathing exercises again. When she looked up again, her eyes were pleading. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh… Sure.”

She straightened up and started to unbutton her jacket. “It’s stupid, I know, but I need to hear something…” more head shaking. She pulled off the jacket, revealing the source of the pink. What Carly had taken for a camisole was actually a soft silk summer blouse. The sleeves, such as they were, were layered bits of silk that ruffled at the edge of the shoulder. Liz bit her lip. “What do you think? Honestly.”

Honestly? Revoltingly cute. She cleared her throat. “It’s… nice.”

“Slutty?”

The question startled Carly so much, she let out a bark of laughter. “Slutty? No. Summery, yes. Why?”

Elizabeth pulled on her jacket. “Someone felt it violated company dress policy. So they reported me.”

Carly stared at her. That was the cause of this? The sobbing, shaking mess of a girl in front of her was set off because someone thought her clothes were too… what? Revealing? What kind of woman gets all hysterical because –

Her stomach dropped. Oh. Shit.

“Elizabeth?” she ventured, when she found her voice.

“Yes?”

“People are assholes.” Elizabeth’s head snapped up and Carly shrugged. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. I’ll be you money that whoever complained is a malicious old cow who is pathologically jealous of your upper arms.” She topped up the girl’s glass. “That’s all it was.”

Elizabeth gazed at her, sadly. Then her mouth quirked. “You sure?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“I like that.” She sniffed. “Well, kind of. It makes me feel like a freak for…” her hand wave spoke volumes. “But that’s pretty much what I’ve been, the last half hour.” She put a hand to her forehead. “God, I’m going to be in so much –”

The door opened and they both split from each other instantaneously, turning to see Lucky come through the door carrying a cardboard box and whistling the same song that had been playing when he’d left. Lucky froze when he saw them, eyes traveling between both of them before he numbly asked, “What’s up?”

Elizabeth pivoted on the stool, extended her arms to him and bit out another sob. Lucky dropped the box on a table as crossed to her, pulling her off the stool and into his arms. Her arms circled his torso and squeezed. Elizabeth said something, muffled against his chest.

Carly cleaned the bar. Hard.

“It’s ok,” he murmured. “Let’s go to the back, it’s ok.” He looked up, catching Carly’s eye. “Can you –”

“Yep.”

And then she was alone again. She occupied her hands with polishing whatever the bar rag came across. She tried, hard, not to let her mind settle on anything, pushing it away from every topic it reached for. Finally, it landed the only place it could: Elizabeth.

What did she know, she prompted her brain, what did she know about Elizabeth Webber? Fuck all, actually. The best she could come up with, outside of Lucky’s girlfriend and Audrey Hardy’s granddaughter was Friend of Emily. Speaking of which – JESUS CHRIST – she had just given a drink to a friend of Emily Quartermaine. Oh. Oh, God. How old was Elizabeth? She was going to be sick.

Elizabeth’s words came back to haunt her. She was so very sick of being fucked up. But more than that, she was so very very sick of fucking up.

Lucky didn’t come back to the front of the bar for half an hour. By then, Claude had turned up, but had mercifully left her to her cleaning frenzy. She could probably leave, now, but she just couldn’t seem to make the dash for the door. She was still trying to talk herself up to it when Lucky appeared and told her to leave. She nodded, not meeting his eyes as she took off her apron, and counted out her tips. Lucky was watching her, which only served to unnerve her further. God, all the reasons she’d known working here was a mistake, this wasn’t one she’d caught on to. They were all going to end up with way too much information about each other.

Cashed out, Carly picked up her purse and tossed a quick look at Lucky. “Thursday.”

“Yeah.”

She nodded and turned to leave. She had a hand on the door when she suddenly turned. “Lucky?”

Her face was hot. Her stomach churned.

“What?”

“Tell…” she cleared her throat and tried again. “Ask Elizabeth… Not to talk to Emily about … this.” Lucky just stared at her. She closed her eyes and let herself beg. “Please.”

“Elizabeth wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, well.” She adjusted the strap on her purse. “Just tell her that, ok?”

“She told me to tell you ‘thank you’.”

Carly locked eyes with him a long moment. His look was dark and closed. “I have to be careful,“ she told him, finally. “He’s my son.”

“So what are you primarily worried about?”

“The shot. It was stupid. She’s, like, nineteen or something. I just…” She shook her head. “It was just so fucking stupid.”

“So stupid we’ve sat here in silence for almost 45 minutes.”

“Well, you’re going to report it, too, aren’t you?”

“Caroline,” Kevin sat back in his chair. “As long as you see me as a spy, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

There was a list of self-imposed restrictions Carly had come up with after taking the job at Luke’s. Her well-deserved penance. Some stuff, she couldn’t complain to Nikolas about. Number one? Going to work. Oh, he’d probably listen. He probably wouldn’t even get mad. It was just that she’d spend the whole conversation waiting to be hit by lightening.

Thursday, Carly spent a large portion of the day with her brother to keep the anxiety at bay. That had worked out just fine, until he’d bailed to go hang out with people his own age. Loose ends didn’t begin to describe where he’d left her. Now she eyed the clock as it inched towards 4:00. She’d walk up to a main street, she decided. Catch a cab. Probably still be ten minutes early… Hell, she’d find some way to kill the time.

She was standing on the front step, fighting with the Brownstone’s sticky deadbolt when she heard him say her name. She froze, hand still on the key and let her eyes close. Oh, for the love of God…

“Yeah?” she turned to find her cousin standing at the bottom of the stairs. Dressed in jeans and a tight band t-shirt, he was looking up with an expression she’d never seen directed at her before. It wasn’t so much friendly as… open to further investigation. She frowned. “If you’re looking for Lucas, he’s gone out.”

“I’m looking for you,” he spoke with an amused patience.

Carly put her arms out. “Present and accounted for. I was just on my way to where you are, so –“

“This isn’t a business conversation.”

“What kind is it?”

“Family.”

Carly’s stomach turned over. “Fancy that,” she muttered. “Which one?”

Lucky dug his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching. “I’ve been friends with Emily since I was twelve. So it stands to reason, you and I should have a talk.”

Carly surrendered to a sudden wave of exhaustion, and sat down on the stoop. She folded her arms over her knees and fixed her eyes on her shoes. “Go ahead.”

“Between the Quartermaines and you…” He paused. Licked his lips, swallowed. “Carly.”

She looked up at him, warily. “What?”

“With Michael. Your son.” He shook his head. “I’m on your side. Not theirs.”

Carly felt her face heat. With shock, with anticipation, with fear. “I didn’t ask you for that.”

“No. Nik did.” He reached out and grabbed the thin iron railing that ran along the stairs. Leaned forward, leaned over her. “Emily’s my friend. Michael’s my cousin.”

“Blood,” Carly said, her voice vague.

“Yeah.” Lucky straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “And between you and Stefan –“ he rolled his wrist, taking on a mildly regal affectation. Carly couldn’t help it – she smiled.

“And between me and Helena?”

“Helena,” he deadpanned. “I’m not an idiot.”

She quirked her mouth, as pieces in her head slid neatly into place. Things she hadn’t even realized she was contemplating. She leaned back on the stairs. “But with me and Bobbie…”

Lucky gave a slight nod. “And between you and Nik –“

“He’s your brother.”

Their eyes were locked. Nothing playful here. Nothing light. Nothing personal. Just the lines, clear before her for the first time. Then Lucky nodded at the space between them.

“And between you and me… Nik’s on your side.”

Carly let out a dry laugh. “There’s a between you and me?”

Her cousin looked at her a moment, evaluating. Then he gave a slight nod.

“There’s starting to be.”