Warnings: Todd snark and satire. Spoilers: Through GH episodes in Nov., 2013, but AU, so not exactly spoilers. Disclaimer: If I ever created even one character half as iconic as Todd Manning, I'd die a happy woman. I'm just playing with the pretty, so not to sue please. Notes: Humor of the parody and satirical variety mostly with a little romance.

Dr. Patrick Drake's handsome face was sad. You could tell by the appearance of an actual wrinkle line on his forehead, and his eyes revealed the weight of the burden of constantly having to give patients devastating news, the toll it was taking on his former unblemished beauty that was gradually attaining an even more appealing gravitas to match the whisper of gray at his temples.

"It's not fatal, but it is terminal, or it will feel like it, which amounts to the same thing."

Todd was still a smart ass. No scary-sounding diagnosis from a pretty-boy brain surgeon was going to make him forget his finely-honed journalist's attention to the fine art of word usage and vocabulary, and he had no tolerance for the abuse of near-homophones. And, if you think that has anything to do with sexual identity, then he wouldn't have much use for you either.

"I think you mean, 'interminable', Doc."

"What?"

"'Terminal' doesn't quite mean that something will seem never-ending. That's 'interminable.'"

"Well, it's understandable that you'd be upset, but that doesn't mean you can insult my intelligence or assume that I was deliberately trying to be condescending."

"No, that's 'insufferable'. Let's just agree that the concepts are becoming ineffable and leave it at that."

"Well, at least you didn't say the actual f-word. We'd all be in trouble if that happened. I don't think you could get away with calling it a symptom of your illness either."

"Please. As if anybody would ever try to exculpate themselves from truly egregious behavior by ascribing it to a neurological disorder."

Todd had done it himself, many times, and would again without hesitation.

"You're just using big words now to mess with me, aren't you?"

"Yep, pretty much."

"Well, if there's nothing else, Mr. Manning—"

"That's just it, Doc. Is there nothing you can do, no surgery, nothing?"

"I really am sorry, but if I get in there and try to intervene I could end up in all kinds of legal difficulties myself. You understand."

"Not really, but never mind. What about a second opinion?"

"I could make a referral to Dr. Silas Clay, but it's not really his area of expertise, not that that ever stopped him from butting in before. He'd probably like to avoid legal issues himself, unfortunately for you, although I do have my suspicions that he's no stranger to law enforcement."

"Let's not. He sounds like a tool."

"I do recommend that you get your own legal affairs in order, for your peace of mind."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Not at all."

"Good, because it wasn't. I suppose neurosurgeon humor would be pretty dark though, wouldn't it?"

"I guess."

"That's okay. All doctors do."

Usually, not making eye contact in the rear-view mirror was enough to avoid unwanted conversation, but not today of all days.

"Dr. Drake, huh? He's pretty good. He said my headaches were just from nasal deviance, not a brain tumor. I was so relieved, and my wife was pretty happy about it also."

Todd smirked and looked out the window of the limo at the blur of passing scenery.

"I would imagine so."

"After I got fixed."

"Yes."

"'Cause it fixed my snoring too."

"I bet it did."

Todd made a mental note, while he still could, never to use this car service again.

She looked so peaceful lying there on the sofa. Todd had extremely fond memories of Carly and that sofa...and the wall over across the room…and the dining room table…and the kitchen counter…and the hall coat closet, that one despite the resulting astonishing dry cleaning bill, but for how long? He sighed and made a mental note to get a good video camera in preparation for recreating all of those wonderful, yet now impendingly-ephemeral, memories for posterity, and just for the hell of it too.

He sighed again and made a mental note to stop making mental notes and to find the app. or whatever on his phone that would let him record them instead. Squatting down, he brushed her hair back gently.

"Carly, I'm back."

She crinkled her eyelids and stretched her legs and made an adorable little humming grunty sound.

"Todd. What time is it?"

"Sixish. Are you hungry? We could order in."

Carly sat up and blinked.

"I had the weirdest dream."

Todd sat down next to her and started stroking her arm tenderly, a smile flickering in anticipation.

"Do tell."

"Not that kind of weird. You were you, but you weren't. You cut your hair really short and started wearing jeans and t-shirts with these like retro hipster designs on them, and Starr was Starr, only brunette. But she was different in other ways, kinda urban and a little jaded, but still sweet. You were different too, sort of fey and arty, but really smart and hot still. It was bizarre."

"I have jeans and t-shirts."

"I know, but you don't wear them much because you're always working."

"Starr would look beautiful with brown hair."

"She did in the dream too. Wait. Today was your appointment with Dr. Drake. Did you think I'd forget?"

She fixed him with her Carly-look that said not to try any of his wonted evasions.

"No, but I might."

"What?"

"I'll be okay, Carly. Just bear that in mind. It won't kill me or cause me to have to be locked away or anything. At least I don't think so."

"You're scaring me now, Todd."

"I don't mean to."

She had turned towards him in her earnestness, and he did the same. Taking hold of both her hands at the fingers and brushing his thumbs over them in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, he leaned over and kissed her softly.

Carly remained stubbornly earnest.

"You can tell me anything. You know that."

"I do. I really do. Anyway, it's just words. Just because doctors say them or they're written down in medical textbooks or on legal papers, words are still just words."

"Quit stalling, Todd."

"Okay. It's called hyper-serialized saponification."

"I've never heard of that. Is it bad? It sounds bad."

"Basically, it's this mental, I mean neurological, thing where you start forgetting things about yourself and your life—"

"Oh my God. Like Alzheimer's?"

"No, not exactly. Apparently, one of the symptoms is really fascinating. Patrick said it may be the historical basis for the arising of a belief in reincarnation in earlier, more primitive cultures—"

"Tangent, Todd."

"Right, thanks. Anyway, apparently, instead of just wandering off and getting lost because you forget where you live, you retain that sort of thing and only lose bits and pieces of your own autobiographical identifying information, like your name and your profession."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know, right? I guess people sometimes essentially become entirely different people with only a few things, like behavioral quirks and gestures, how you laugh, facial expressions, things like that, that stay the same."

Carly tried to look brave and sucked at it because her eyes gave her away.

"What about the people in their lives? Do they forget them too?"

She was tearing up. Todd hated that because he was sure it hurt him almost as much as it did her whenever it happened in his presence.

"No, sweetheart. And it doesn't always last. People have been known to shift back and forth from one persona to another and back again and still function beautifully. It's not traumatic for the person who has it, but I'm sure it would freak other people out, especially people with a financial or legal connection to the person. That part can get pretty nuts, I imagine."

"I can't see how it would be any of their business if the person behaves legally and just lives their own life, or lives, or whatever."

"I agree. And, Carly, I'll be fine. We'll be fine."

She managed a wavering smile.

"Listen to me, Carly. I'm making you a promise, no, a solemn oath."

Carly grinned in spite of herself.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Todd? With your track record, hmmm? Just sayin'."

"Yes, I do."

He put his hand over his heart and made sure that her gaze was locked with his own.

"I, Todd Manning, being of pretty unsound mind my whole life anyway, and I'm still here all the same, do make you, Carly, temporarily-still-Jacks, a solemn oath, that, now that I have you back, now that you've forgiven me for most, if not all, of my previous sins, I will love you and stay with you for the rest of my days, no matter if I start wearing purple suits with tight pants and pointy shoes or t-shirts and jeans or bleach my hair until I look like Andy Warhol or Lady Gaga in a lemon yellow phase. You are and always will be the woman for me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"It might be fun."

"Now you're pushing it."

"Think about it. You get to have sex with as many of me as I end up being, but it's still me. It's serial monogamy without the literal serial part. It could be pretty hot."

"Oh, shut up and kiss me."

"Absolutely."

Todd pounced, the kiss as passionate as ever, maybe more so because it was meant to reassure the both of them that their bond, their ineffable connection, was still there. And yeah, if Todd had any say in the matter, the next thing they would do would be that other eff-word, to seal the deal.

Author's note: Um, yes, about that made-up diagnosis: "hyper-serialized saponification"? It basically means "Soap opera disease." Hee Hee.