Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Nine:
Trust Me

Guest Quarters, Cassadine Compound, Dusk.

Emily tips her head up under the assaulting blast of the shower head. Better. Much better. She'd adjust the temperature of the water at least ten times, finding everything too warm, until she'd finally all but turned off the hot water tap, bringing the water to the coldest temperature she could take without feeling thoroughly masochistic.

Emily stretches her arms up over her head, allowing the water to run down the length of her body, stealing heat from her. She wishes she could sterilize herself... God, after the last week, she could stay in here another hour and still not feel clean.

Tempting thought, she thinks mildly. She's not overwhelmingly eager to return to the main room. Lucky is being silent. It started out as a somewhat comfortable silence, with an undercurrent of disapproval. As the day had gone on, his mood seemed to degenerate, and not into the cold anger it usually did. It felt more... Sad. That hurt look he'd given her earlier -- it made her tense. Her stomach was knotted with guilt while her brain nattered away that this was crazy. She was just doing the only thing she knew to do at this point -- find the quickest way to get out of bed and stop dividing the focus. That was why she went outside instead of coming upstairs, that was why she had spent the whole afternoon sleeping, and that was why she was having this marathon shower now. She just wanted to get better. And no one else could help her do that.

Emily closes her eyes, shutting out the reason and concentrating on the feel of the cool water pouring over her. She stands stock still, one hand on the back of her neck, the other over her heart, for a long time. So long that when she starts to come to again, she's not sure how long she's been standing there -- just that the water is, if it's possible, getting colder and she's beginning to shiver. She shakes her head hard and turns off the water in a quick movement. She stands in place a long moment, listening to the sound of the drain and feeling the rivers of water slide down her back, the drips from her saturated hair fall onto her shoulders. She shakes again, and opens the frosted glass sliding door, and reaches for a towel.

A few minutes later she emerges back into the guest room, in a bathrobe with a towel around her neck, her darker than natural hair still wet and hanging limp to her shoulders. She focuses his gaze on the dressing table by the open window and moves quickly across the room towards it. She is feeling a little more steady, at least. That nap must have done some good, at least.

She can hear the sound of pages turning, but doesn't turn to look at Lucky. She's feeling jumpy and uncertain now that she's back in the real world. And his manner hasn't really encouraged a lot of talking today. She sits down on the ornate padded stool at the dressing table and brings the towel up from her shoulders, over her head and furiously dries her hair. When she brings the towel back down, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. God. When is that going to stop being a depressing sight? In the reflection, she can see Lucky behind her, sitting in the chair by the window, and holding a book that he's staring at intently. She clears her throat

Em: What are you reading?

Lucky: (without looking up) I don't know. It was just here.

Em: Oh. (She picks up a comb off the table and examines it) Aren't you going to have diner or something?

Lucky: I had it.

Em: (frowning) When?

Lucky: While you were in the shower. That girl -- Mariah -- she came and went.

Em: Oh. (Emily turns the comb) Ok.

Lucky: She left something for you. It's on the bedside table.

Em: Ok. (She lifts the comb up and tries to pull it through her hair. It sticks on a tangle and she cringes. She pulls it out of her hair and puts it down on the table. She hears another page turn. She taps her finger on the table top, and bites her lip. Finally she takes a deep breath and looks back into the mirror) Lucky?

Lucky: Yeah?

Em: Are you... Are you going to tell me what's wrong? (there's a long pause, then Lucky gives a small laugh)

Lucky: Don't sweat it.

Em: Lucky.

Lucky: God.. Em... (He closes his eyes) Not now, Ok? Just... comb your hair, have something to eat and go to bed, Ok? (Emily stares at him in the mirror, stung)

Em: Yes, Sir. (Lucky makes a face and drops the book)

Lucky: Don't. Just... Don't, Emily.

Em: I was just asking --

Lucky: Yeah, yeah, I know. "What's wrong?" -- it's becoming your mantra. Oh, wait. No that would be "I can do it myself", wouldn't it? (Emily looks down at the table top. Ok. Minefield. She knew this was coming.)

Em: You're mad at me. (Lucky shakes his head)

Lucky: Em, you don't want to have this conversation right now.

Em: (edgy) Yes, I do! (Lucky groans)

Lucky: Well, I don't. If that counts for anything.

Em: What... Lucky -- I'm just trying -- (Lucky gets up out of the chair, shrugging his shoulders like he's trying to physically shake off his mood. He paces across the room, his voice quiet, but biting)

Lucky: I know. I know, you're just trying to make everything good again, and God forbid I get in the way of that.

Em: I never said you were in the way. (Lucky turns around at the opposite wall and shakes his head)

Lucky: I told you I didn't want to talk about this, Ok? If we do, I'm just going to come off like a God damned insensitive jerk and make you feel worse than I already have, Ok? So can we drop it? (Emily picks up the comb again, tears stinging her eyes)

Em: Sure. (Lucky drops his head)

Lucky: Emily.

Em: What?

Lucky: Don't cry, Ok? It's not worth it.

Em: (carefully) I just hate it when you won't TALK.

Lucky: Yeah, I know. We've had this conversation. (he pushes himself off the wall and starts to cross the room again) You wanna know what I hate? (Emily says nothing) I hate it when I see you crumpled in a heap on the ground. I really think that sucks.

Em: I --

Lucky: And there's something else I don't get, Emily. Maybe you can clear it up for me. This "not talking" thing I do? The thing that drives you so crazy? Why is that? Does it bother you because you don't know exactly what is going on in my head, or is it that it makes you feel like I don't trust you? Because if it's the second thing, than maybe we really should talk about that. (He sits down on the edge of the bed) Because I can't for the life of me figure out how you get to be so frustrated with me when you keep doing the same damn thing. (Emily spins around on the stool to face him)

Em: What thing? (Lucky looks up at her, his hair falling into his eyes, which manage to bore into hers all the same)

Lucky: You don't trust me, Emily. You keep saying you do, but everything you do screams the opposite.

Em: Lucky!

Lucky: What? You're going to tell me it's not true? We've been here. You say the same thing --

Em: I just don't want to make it harder for you! (Lucky springs up to his feet)

Lucky: Harder than WHAT? You don't KNOW what it's like, Emily. You have no clue what it's like for me when you do this. Because you're always UNCONSCIOUS! So you don't get to see me panic, and freak out and lose my basic abilities to reason -- do you think that's easy on me? Do you think having to put up with the gross inconvenience of you saying "Lucky, I'm tired, can I rest a minute?" or "Lucky, let's talk about exactly how we're getting out of this town so that I know how much I have to kill myself at school" -- (Emily shakes her head firmly)

Em: You never told me about having money, Lucky, you never said --

Lucky: You never trusted me to take care of us. (Emily's eyes widen)

Em: Oh, I was supposed to guess you were working for my brother the mobster? You didn't tell me what was going on, Lucky. That's not my fault! (Lucky looks at the wall, his eyes bright)

Lucky: Right. Back to that.

Em: It was pretty important information!

Lucky: And what? Would it have changed anything? If I'd told you about it, are you telling me Nikolas wouldn't have brought you back to my place looking like Dracula's Daughter?

Em: NO. That's not what I'm saying at all!

Lucky: Exactly.

Em: This isn't fair, Lucky.

Lucky: No. It's not, is it?

Em: I didn't do that on purpose, I wasn't trying to hurt you or --

Lucky: You did. You did then, you're doing it right now. Do you understand that? (Emily looks at him, then looks down at her hands) Just... Let me take care of you, Ok?

Em: (hoarsely) I... I don't know how to do that. I can't, I have to make it better for you, I can't --

Lucky: Make WHAT better? (Emily looks back up at him, clearly upset)

Em: I'm doing the best I CAN Lucky! I don't know how else to do this. I just... I'm trying. GOD, I'm trying. (Lucky just stares at her)

Lucky: I told you I didn't want to talk about this.

Em: (bitterly) Yeah, well. Not talking. That's where it's all at with you. (She closes her eyes, realizing what she just said) Oh, God, Lucky --

Lucky: Save it.

Em: Lucky, don't --

Lucky: What? What DON'T you want me to do? (Lucky takes a step back from her) You've got a point. Not talking isn't what gets me in trouble. (he turns and heads for the door. Emily stands up)

Em: Lucky, please don't -- (Lucky pulls the door open sharply, and turns back to her)

Lucky: Here's the thing, Em... (Emily takes half a step back, not liking the look on Lucky's face) I know you love me, and you want everything to be easier for me... but I don't think you trust me. And nothing you say changes that. It just makes me trust YOU less. (Emily stares at him, speechless. He looks at her, clearly wounded.) And I said I didn't want to talk about that. (He turns and shuts the door behind him. Emily sinks back onto the stool, feeling sick to her stomach. She closes her eyes and leans back against the dressing table, letting the lip dig into her back)

Em: God, I just keep making things worse...

Stefan's Study, Cassadine Compound.

Nikolas sits at the window staring out into the oncoming night, watching the sun set. It's leaving him oddly unnerved. That image... The sun sinking into the sea... Is it ever going to be just a sun setting to him again? Or is it going to be forever linked with her, forever burned in his mind, standing there and looking around that apartment... Where everything was the color of sand and woodgrain. The last time he'd been there, the only splashes of color to catch his eye had been the fiery tones in that photograph and the blood that had spread out around her, sunk into the carpet, stained his brother's hands...

Nikolas shakes his head, bringing himself back into the moment. No. He won't think about it. He refuses to allow this in. He doesn't have the time for grief. He's not going to fall victim to emotion. That is what his grandmother must want. And it's something he has a disturbing tendency to do. Not this time.

There is a knock at the door and Nikolas looks up to see Josef standing in the doorway. He stands up, clearing his throat, and moves to the desk, sinking into the chair behind it, and waving Josef in. Josef enters silently, crossing the room and putting an item wrapped in soft cotton material down on the desk in front of Nikolas. Nikolas stares at it a moment.

Nik: Lucky's.

Josef: Yes. (Nikolas nods, still staring at it. He lets the silence in the room build for several moments before speaking very softly)

Nik: What are you trying to accomplish with your treatment of him, Josef?

Josef: (after a moment) What are you referring to?

Nik: I told you it was best to have Mariah tend to him. Yet you were there. And this....

Josef: My first concern is your security.

Nik: (picking up the item) I did not ask you to confiscate their belongings. (He starts to open the wrapping) In fact, I specifically asked you not to antagonize him. But given his state of mind right now, I'm assuming you've all but ignored me. (He pulls back the cotton and looks down at the gun in his hand) I knew he was armed.

Josef: Yes. And now whether or not he continues to BE armed is in your hands. (Nikolas gives Josef a disapproving look that could have been lifted directly from the book of Stefan Cassadine. He puts the gun down on the desk blotter)

Nik: I don't have time for games, Josef. More than that, I simply don't like them. Knock it off. (Josef's expression tightens) I know you don't like him. I'm not ASKING you to like him. I'm not asking you to accept how he treats me either. I don't care if you think he undermines me, or if he is an inappropriate brother for a prince. It doesn't matter. He IS my brother, understand? And yes, he's a Spencer. That is the hand fate dealt. Don't second guess me on this. I've known him for years. I know how to handle him. And I'm comfortable with his behavior. It might be inappropriate, but --

Josef: (with a hard edge) It's infantile. And disrespectful.

Nik: He doesn't respect me. Josef, to be blunt, he doesn't much like me. His presence here has nothing to do with what we think of each other. I fully expect this to be the only visit he makes to the island. Right now, he's interested in the downfall of my uncle. He finds me less offensive... And it's entirely possible that he finds me less threatening. I let him believe what he needs to. As I said, he's a Spencer. (Nikolas gives a smile that does not extend to his eyes) I don't invest in Spencers. I'm not an idiot.

Josef: (after a moment) I never suspected you did.

Nik: (raising his brow) You didn't? I assumed this behavior -- which incidentally, borders on insulting -- was because you think I'm soft on the issue. I'm not. I do quite like his wife, though. And I'm civil to him. It serves my purposes. Hold your friends close --

Josef: And your enemies closer. (he gives a slow smile) I see.

Nik: Are you going to keep second guessing me? Or are you going to trust that I have Lucky under control?

Josef: I think it looks like you're the one being led, in this scenario.

Nik: Good. (Nikolas reaches over and picks up the gun, studying it again) Better he thinks I'm a rube. I don't want him expecting anything that might occur once I've taken the reigns of the family. My Uncle lost his focus long ago. He's never truly exacted a revenge for the death of my father. I think I have a better chance of bringing Timoria to fruition. (there is a long silence, Josef looking at Nikolas with undisguised surprise. After a moment a smile spreads across his face, and he laughs in amazement)

Josef: I'm in awe. (Nikolas doesn't respond. Instead he reaches over and picks up a statue on the desk. He puts down the gun, and slides his medallion into a slot on the item. It pops open, and he pulls out a key. He smiles slightly)

Nik: I do thank you for your initiative. (He pulls out a key and snaps the statue shut. He leans over and slides the key into another slot that the statue had been covering up. He turns the key and a hidden drawer slides open. Nikolas picks up the gun again and begins to wrap it up.) But from here on out, I want you to leave my brother to me. You put him on guard. That doesn't help anyone.

Josef: I understand. You could have shared this with me earlier.

Nik: (not looking up) Why should I have thought there was any reason to? (he slides the gun into the drawer and slides it shut, then looks up at Josef) You are the one person I have some reason to trust. But you're not encouraging me to continue to do so.

Josef: You know you can trust me.

Nik: Start proving it. Leave Lucky alone.

Josef: You have a plan. (Nikolas stares at him)

Nik: You may go now. (Josef nods and turns, closing the door behind him. Once he's gone, Nikolas sinks back into his chair, feeling suddenly a bit light headed. He exhales, and looks over to the window) The sun has set....