The DiMera Mansion, January, 2009, early evening

The limousine pulled up alongside the black-iron fence that edged the wide gravel drive. A clean-cut, sandy-haired man leaned forward and rapped authoritatively on the glass separating him from his corpulent driver. "That's far enough, Stavros," he instructed.

His amber eyes darted between the bars of the main gate as he conducted a quick survey of the pale, leafless grounds, ringed with remnants of melted snow and ice. Ragged, empty branches swayed to the heavy strains of a bitter wind that swirled round them before returning to its home in the featureless grey sky. For a moment, Brady Black allowed himself to be drawn in by the mood of the day; it matched his own – solemn, melancholy, cold. But he was looking for something else.

The outline of a man appeared from behind a wooden shed by a copse of scraggly trees to the east of the main house. He shifted the Kalashnikov he carried to his right shoulder, stamped out his cigarette, and swiveled his head round, stopping at the sight of the unexpected car parked by the gate. He pulled out a hand-held radio and barked into it as he marched towards the vehicle.

Brady sighed, muttered to his driver that he would handle things, and stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut. He rubbed his hands over his arms as the cold hit him full-force. He lifted his head as the guard approached. "Evening," he said through the bars.

"Ah, Mr. Black," the man's even stare broke with a glimmer of recognition.

Brady held up a hand to signal acquiescence. He was familiar with the routine. He had gone through it enough times. "Before you ask, I'm here to see your boss."

"He's not here," he replied blankly.

"I am not referring to Mr. DiMera Senior." He reached in his coat pockets for leather gloves and quickly slipped them on. "I know he's in Tuscany with his bride - with Kate." He allowed himself the momentary diversion of imagining Stefano meeting up with and his son Tony, who had moved his wife Anna to Venice six months' before. There was no love lost between father and son, and Brady would love to be a fly on that gondola. Returning to the immediate task, he cleared his throat and leveled his eyes at the man before him, his other senses alert to two additional guards standing nearby. "I meant your real boss."

"He's not here," the man repeated in the same expressionless manner.

Brady smirked. "Just tell him I'm here." He lowered his voice. "He'll know what it's about."

Joined by his comrades in arms, the security guard turned his back and resumed his radio conversation with the main house, while Brady watched and waited. EJ, you bastard. You'd better be here. Brady let out a frustrated puff of air, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. He did not like admitting it, even silently to himself, but she needed EJ DiMera. And he hated that she needed him; she deserved so much better. But if this was the only way to get through to her, so be it. He would do anything...

In the waning afternoon light, a tall, imposing figure dressed in black knelt by the sharply-minted grey marble of a single marker. The sable-haired man brushed away the light snow and fallen leaves crowding the stone to reveal a rose in full bloom etched into its face. It bore no name, no identity - just the rose and the date that underlined it: November 26, 2008. He had traced the numbers countless times. They made it starkly real. Though, sometimes, even now, it felt as if he could wipe her death clean away with the snow.

The wind picked up, sending still more dried leaves over top of the rose carving and causing him to shiver. In response, he gathered the lapels of his tailored Armani coat tight round his neck and glanced up at the clouds hanging low in the sky above him. Not a glimmer of sunlight to be had today. Not that he would have noticed or had noticed much since Nicole left. EJ DiMera's life had devolved into a bedraggling series of mind-numbing business meetings, wearying overseas flights, and phone calls in the middle of the night, all requiring "special arrangements." Never staying too long in one place, his nose buried in contracts, surveillance reports, or The Journal of Commerce, EJ had found a myriad of ways to fill his time and occupy his thoughts over the past couple of months. Since his elder brother Tony's deliberate divestiture of all things DiMera, it fell upon EJ to learn every sordid aspect of his father's network of businesses, legitimate or otherwise. After all, what else was there to do? What did he have left? But every now and again he found it necessary to take a breath, to drop whatever he was doing and revisit the scene of the crime - the moment in time where he had been robbed, not only of his unborn daughter, but of the woman who had come to mean more to him in a shorter period of time than anyone he had ever met. He marked the time and the empty space without them by coming here.

He resumed his study of the headstone, squatting on his haunches and blowing into his hands to warm them. Shortly after Nicole vanished from his life, he had come here every day. The monument to their shared loss brought him a strange sense of comfort. Though the clinic refused to release the body to him, calling his daughter "inviable," - a word that still rankled - he had ordered the marker constructed anyway and placed prominently in the center of the rose garden. It was small by DiMera standards, set apart and properly so, tucked away from the lavish fountains, topiaries, and wide benches that overlooked the slope of land leading down to the lake. A line of plum trees nearly hid the garden and its precious contents from view. She belongs here, he thought. Where it's quiet, safe, and secure. Here he could have her all to himself. Or nearly. There remained one other person he shared her with. He sighed. He had chosen this site for reasons beyond privacy. The rose garden had been Nicole's favorite place on the estate. In a way, setting the marker here was an homage to their relationship as well.

He dusted off a favorite memory, one with which he frequently tormented himself. "I want the same things that you do," he heard himself say. "And I want them with you."

A warm smile edged Nicole's lips as she leaned forward on the couch to kiss him.

He returned her kiss eagerly.

"So..." Her voice lifted with excitement. "If it's a boy..."

"Okay." He smiled indulgently, his dark eyes brightening.

"I was thinking the name Henry. What do you think?"

"Henry." He said firmly. "I like Henry. That's a good name."

"Yeah?" she asked uncertainly, ever craving his approval, though he could never quite figure out why.

"Yep."

"Or...George. I don't know. I like them both." She closed her eyes as if making a wish. "They're so good." She clasped her hands together. "But then I like Christopher."

"Christopher?" He mulled it over. "Christopher."

"Yeah?" Her languid blue eyes searched his.

"Yeah. I like Christopher."

"And if it's a little girl..."

"Mm-hmm." He liked this game.

"I was thinking..." Her expression changed. "Ow." She suddenly sucked in her breath and reached for her side.

"What's wrong?" He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. "Are you okay?" He reached for her. "Sweetheart, are you all right? Is it the baby?"

The words replayed themselves unremittingly, hitting the same note every time. He had somehow known even then but hadn't allowed himself to believe it. Even as she hurried to reassure him, he knew one thing and one thing only: he so desperately wanted everything to be all right. He wanted that child; he wanted the life they'd dreamt of together; he wanted something real.

And everything was all right or appeared to be - just before it wasn't. He had assiduously planned the getaway to the mountains that Thanksgiving weekend. It had taken him days to gather the courage to ask her, and her reaction had thrilled him more than he'd anticipated. He had looked forward to spending time with her, at last free from distraction. He wanted to get to know her. She intrigued him, excited him, pleased him; she made him smile. And he was just beginning to discover what it felt like to care for someone outside of himself, to see someone else made happy by him. Then work happened, or rather Father happened, and she was forced to travel to the cabin without him.

In the flurry of events that followed, he hadn't thought much about her being alone. All he'd wanted was to get back to her, to see her, to be with her. With his trip to Buenos Aires canceled midstream, he had rushed home with a fresh bouquet of wildflowers, taken the stairs two at a time, and burst through the door, only to find her huddled at the head of the bed. He noticed she'd been crying, but nothing prepared him for what she was about to tell him.

He remembered how, like a wounded doe, she'd hugged her legs close, demarcating the distance between them as he positioned himself as close to her on the bed as he dared.

She told him how she had left the cabin. She had gotten as far as the parking lot, she said, and...

"I felt this awful twinge..." She placed her hands on her knees.

He leaned in to her, covering her hands with his own. "A twinge? Like a cramp?"

"Yes, but nothing I've ever felt before." Her voice quivered. "It was worse, and it really scared me."

He rubbed his hand lightly over hers. "Okay..."

"So, there was this guy in the parking lot, and I asked him to take me to the nearest hospital."

A knot formed in his stomach. "A hospital?"

"Yes." Her eyes darted away from his. "I didn't get his name. I just wanted him to take me to the emergency room as quickly as possible."

"Okay." He halted, determined to remain even-tempered. "So you went to the emergency room, and...?"

"It was a clinic, actually."

"Okay." His voice grew more urgent. "What happened? Is everything okay? Is our baby all right?"

She raised sullen eyes to his and shook her head. "No."

His jaw tightened. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." He pulled back from her as he digested the information. "So you saw a doctor, obviously."

"Yes, I did." She nodded. "Dr. Baker."

He took her hand once more. "What did he say?" He steeled himself against the answer. "Did he tell you what the problem was?"

She hesitated. "He treated me..."

He allowed her a few minutes of silence to collect her thoughts. "Yes?"

"He treated me..." She glanced up at him, barely able to meet his eyes.

"Nicole?" He pressed her for an answer.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked away. "I can't."

"You can't?" he repeated impatiently. "Can't what?" He drew a calming breath to steady himself and lowered his voice, attempting to soothe her, "Darling, just tell me what happened."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffled.

"He treated you for what?" He was growing desperate. "Tell me," he urged her. "Nicole, please..."

She pulled her legs in closer, hugging them to her chest.

He had never seen her like this. He was beginning to understand. His mouth went dry. "Nicole?" He touched her shoulder lightly, tentatively. "Did something happen to the baby?" And in that moment he knew.

"I tried," she choked out. "I tried to save her, EJ, but I couldn't." She drew a shaky breath. "I tried so hard, but I couldn't stop it. The contractions, they kept coming. All I could do was lie there..." Her voice dropped off.

"Contractions?" He ran a hand down over his mouth and swallowed hard as the full import of her words struck him. "You mean...?"

"She's gone," she cried. "Our baby is gone." She rubbed a hand gingerly over her abdomen, unconsciously rocking back and forth as the sobs overtook her.

He stood to his feet and stepped back from her. "Wait a minute, w-wait a minute." He looked down at her. "She?" He covered his mouth with both hands, trying to catch his breath. "You said 'she.'"

Nicole nodded reluctantly, unable to speak.

"We - we had a little girl?"

Nicole brushed at her tear-stained face. "Yes." She forced herself to look at him. "A daughter," she whispered.

Drawn in by the magnitude of what she was saying, he paced back and forth, willing his mind to accept what she was telling him but finding it a near impossibility.

"But she's gone. I lost her." Her lip trembled as she spoke. "EJ, I lost her."

Something in the smallness of her voice tugged at his heart, and he stopped. His eyes fell upon her, and he stood rooted to the spot, examining the woman before him. She seemed inconsolable, curled up in a ragged ball. For a time, he forgot about himself and settled in next to her on the bed. "Nicole." Her drew her protectively into his arms.

"I'm sorry."

He guided her head to his shoulder and kissed her hair. "Sweetheart..."

"I couldn't stop it." She blinked away hot tears that resurfaced. "I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

"Shh." He closed his eyes and held her tightly to him. "It's not your fault." He stroked her back and let her cry, wrestling with an unfamiliar and untidy feeling. He blamed the doctor, he blamed his father, he blamed God or the Fates or whomever it was that had allowed this to happen - but most of all, he blamed himself. The anger was unrelenting, and he searched for a proper place to put it before it overwhelmed him.

After a while, her tears subsided and she sat up. He gave her his handkerchief, concentrating on her physical well-being as a way of dismissing the discomfort of his own grief. "Can I get you anything?" He rubbed her arm. "Are you in any pain?" The thought bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

"No, I'm fine." She dabbed at her eyes. "They gave me something."

He nodded, still rubbing her arm distractedly as they sat in silence a few minutes.

Then she sniffled, glancing up at him uncertainly. "I saw her."

He peered at her. "You what?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but I saw her." She held out her arms as she remembered. "I did." Fresh tears blurred her vision. "She was so tiny, EJ." She bit her lip. "And I heard her cry. I thought I heard her cry."

He shook his head. "Nicole, you couldn't have." But, even as she said it, a cold shiver ran through him.

"It doesn't make any sense," she continued earnestly. "I know it doesn't make sense. But I..." She wiped her eyes again and folded the handkerchief over in her hands as she considered the irrationality of it all. "I must have imagined it," she concluded dismissively. "Brady told me I imagined it."

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Brady?"

Her eyes widened.

"Brady knows?" The timbre of his voice changed ominously.

"I..."

He held her at arm's length. "When did you see Brady?"

"He came... He was..." She stumbled over her words. "I couldn't reach you."

He released her and stood up abruptly.

"Your phone was turned off or something." She struggled to explain. "EJ, you weren't there, and he helped me."

"He helped you?" He folded his arms in front of him. "Just exactly how did he help you, hmm?"

As exhausted as she was, the holes in her story were growing harder to discern. "He brought me home. I called him..."

"You called him? You called Brady?" He put a hand to his chest. "And you didn't call me? You didn't think this was important enough to call me? I could have picked you up from the clinic and brought you home."

"I tried! EJ, I tried." In her rush to make him understand, she ignored his comment about the clinic. "I tried a dozen times to call you, but you were out of range." She ran a hand through her wavy, blond hair. "And then I called Chloe, but she wasn't picking up - " Her voice caught. "And I was in so much pain, and I was bleeding. And I was scared..."

He turned his back on her to face the window, pushing her words to the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about all she had gone through. Not right now. He had picked up on her deception. She had called Brady long before she reached the clinic, long before she needed a ride home. Brady had been with her. Another man had been there when she needed him most; another man had taken his place. He set his jaw. Several minutes passed."There was no man in the parking lot, was there?"

She looked down, caught in the lie.

He whipped round. "Was there, Nicole?"

Realizing her mistake, she shook her head in defeat. "No. No, there wasn't."

A dark veil cloaked his eyes, and he pursed his lips. "Because you called Brady." He turned away again, refusing to look at her. "It makes perfect sense." A sardonic tone crept into his voice. "When I couldn't meet you at the cabin, you called Brady to keep you company."

"What?" Her mouth dropped open. "I would never do that." She regained some of her strength in an effort to defend herself. "I went there to be with you."

"Oh, come on, Nicole. We both know ever since Brady returned to Salem, you've wanted nothing more than to be with him." He resumed pacing. "And here was your chance. Alone in a secluded cabin, just the two of you." He habitually concocted dramatic scenarios; it effectively masked his true feelings. "God, I'm such a fool."

"EJ, I don't know where you're getting this from." She blinked up at him. "I went there to be with you. You know that." Her voice grew unsteady. "I waited for you...and you never came. I was scared and alone -"

"But not for long," he continued derisively.

"What is the matter with you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I went into premature labor waiting for you. I lost my - " She held a hand to her heart. "I lost our child waiting for you." Her voice shook. "I wanted you there. I needed you, and you weren't there!"

"So I'm to blame then, am I?" he exploded at her, letting the words sear his consciousness. Only he knew that by saying them aloud he was actually accusing himself.

"I didn't say that - " She rubbed at her tears with a sleeve.

"Just what were you and Brady doing exactly?"

"I don't believe this," she scoffed, shocked at his insinuation. "I don't have to listen to this. You have lost your mind." She slid off the bed and knelt to retrieve a suitcase from under it. She grunted as she pulled the case out and tried to lift it up to the bed. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He let out an angry puff of air, then reached behind her and helped her balance the case. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I'm getting the hell out of here!" She moved to the dresser and yanked open the top drawer, wincing as a pain jabbed her side. "Away from you and your delusions." She began tossing clothes into the suitcase, stopping now and again to take a breath and will away her exhaustion.

He eyed her quietly from across the room, his anger giving way to something akin to protectiveness. "You're not going anywhere."

"Watch me."

"Oh, I am." He folded his arms. "And you won't get as far as that bedroom door."

She glanced back at him. "Well, then you don't know me very well." She gathered one last armful of clothes and walked to the bed where she threw them in the case and and closed the flap. She zipped it shut, readying herself to pull it from the bed in one swift motion.

He stepped up and took the case from her. "Nicole, you can't even lift this suitcase." He positioned it behind him. "Look..." He sighed. "You're exhausted. You need - " He reached for her arm.

"Don't touch me!" She struggled out of his grasp. "Don't you touch me!"

He stepped back.

"What I need is to be as far away from you as possible." She moved to put distance between them, returning to the dresser on the other side of the room.

He put down the suitcase by the bed, struggling to find the words to keep her there. "You - I got a little carried away with my suspicions. I admit that."

"A little?" She glared at him.

"But listen..." He met her eyes briefly. "We both lost something." He lowered his voice. "I think you should stay so we can talk about it. Don't you?"

She squared her shoulders. "There's nothing to talk about." Her eyes flashed. "Now, give me my suitcase. Or I'll call Harold."

"You can't leave." He moved to block the door.

She cocked her head. "Oh, I can. And I will."

"You're in no condition."

She started for the door.

"Nicole, just..." He held up a hand. "Just think about it. It's late. Where will you go?"

"I'll find somewhere. Now move!" She rushed at him, but the weight of the case, compounded by a new wave of exhaustion, nearly knocked her to the floor.

EJ reached forward to catch her by the shoulders. "Nicole..."

"Dammit," she muttered under her breath, leaning towards him till the dizziness dissipated. Then she straightened and stepped back from him, collecting herself, but resigned to the fact she wouldn't be going anywhere for the moment. "EJ, please..." She drew a large breath. "Leave me alone." She ran a hand over her eyes. "Just leave me alone. Please."

Standing slowly to his feet in the rose garden, EJ remembered the look in her eyes that night. It had left him no choice. He did as she asked and let her alone, backing out of the room, listening to her quiet sobs as he shut the door behind him. He found it difficult to explain the emotions that simmered in him as he'd contemplated the loss of his child and the reflection of that loss in her eyes. Glancing down, he rubbed his hands together and flexed the fingers on his right hand. It still ached in damp weather, though the hole he'd put in the wall of the foyer the morning he discovered she'd left had long since been filled in and papered over. But the physical pain was good. He somehow needed it.

"Excuse me, sir."

Momentarily startled by a voice outside his head, EJ glanced at the white-haired servant as he approached. He was woefully under-dressed for the cold. "Yes? What is it, Harold?"

"You have a guest at the main house."

"Tell them I'm not here."

Harold rubbed his hands over his arms to warm himself. In the rush to convey the message, he had forgotten his coat. "I'm afraid I did that, sir, but he refuses to leave until he sees you." He glanced back at the wide stone mansion. "He says it's urgent."

EJ nodded. Probably one of Father's associates. They were notorious for their urgency. Besides, he could use the distraction. "I'll be right there."

"Very good, sir." After a slight bow, Harold walked as fast as his aging legs could carry him towards the warmth of the house lights.

EJ inhaled deeply, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking one last look at the headstone at his feet. "Good night, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow."

Brady paced the hopelessly overdecorated salon, checking and re-checking his watch, though he knew the time exactly. Restless, he resorted to perusing the book case, finding various biographies - Pope Pius XII, Rasputin, the Medici family - and books on strategy by Sun Tzu and Clausewitz. He then spied what appeared to be a rather dog-eared edition of The Prince. Machiavelli. Of course. Always Machiavelli. He picked up a history of Italian opera and began flicking through the glossy pages.

"As much as I believe in bettering oneself..." EJ strolled into the room. "I doubt you've come to borrow a book from our library." He eyed Brady briefly before making his way to the nearby bar. He poured himself a large tumbler of scotch, downing it in one swift gulp, then turned to face his visitor. "Now..." he leaned a hand on the bar. "Why are you here?"

Brady snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf. "It's good to see you, too, EJ."

EJ smirked. He was in no mood. "Can we make this quick? I have business to attend to."

"Of course you do." Brady was beginning to get warm, but he refused to take his coat off. It implied he would be staying, which was more uncomfortable than the heat emanating from the lit fireplace. "The thing is..." He crossed the room. "I think you know why I'm here. So let's just cut to the chase."

"By all means." EJ narrowed his eyes at him.

"It's Nicole."

EJ carefully averted Brady's even stare. He placed his glass back on the bar and made his way round a set of wing chairs to the fireplace. "What has she done now?" he asked quietly.

"I know you know where she is." Brady turned and glared at him.

EJ recalled to mind the private investigator's latest report. Something about a rehabilitation center - in Cleveland of all places. He had tried to shrug it off, but it had been bothering him all day. Still, he would not allow Brady to know that. "And you've just come from seeing her, is that it?" He swung round. "You came to rub it in that she prefers seeing you to even taking a simple phone call from me."

"Actually," Brady shrugged. "She won't see me, either."

EJ raised his eyebrows. "And this concerns me how?"

"Come on, EJ." Brady sighed. "She's in the hospital. She's in St. Luke's Hospital in Cleveland. Fay found her and checked her in early this morning."

"Fay?" EJ tugged nervously at his ear. This was the first he'd heard of that unsettling detail. "She was with her mother? She hates her mother."

Brady tilted his head. "It appears your intel is not as up-to-date as it should be." He knew EJ had been having her followed.

He chose to ignore the barb. "Regardless, I fail to see what this has to do with me. I've already told you she refuses to see me." He moved to the French doors that looked out over the terrace, disguising his concern with a fair amount of practiced disdain. "I imagine in a month or so when she's sober, she may get to me around, what is it?" He turned back to Brady. "Step nine? You're more familiar with the program than I am."

Brady took a step back. "You don't know, do you?"

Surprised his rival had chosen not to rise to the bait, EJ knit his brows together in confusion. "Know what?"

"She tried to kill herself, EJ." Brady felt all the air go out of the room. "Last night, Nicole tried to kill herself."