Ned and Tracy's Excellent Adventure

by DebbieB

Thirteen year old Ned Ashton spends a wild week touring the European countryside with his soon to be divorced mother, and learns more about them both than he ever thought possible. Part of the LiveJournal 100Situations Challenge.

1. Chapter 1

Title: Ned and Tracy's Excellent Adventure
Fandom: General Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt: #23 False
Word Count: 14, 792 words
Rating: PG
Summary: After being suspended from his posh boarding school, Ned has a wild ride with his mother across the European countryside.
Author's Notes: I referenced this in my full-length story, "Cellar," a while back and always wanted to flesh out the story. Young!Ned and Young!Tracy, having a madcap "Auntie Mame" sort of adventure. How good is that? Wreaking havoc with canon, because I have no clue how old Ned was when his parents divorced. For my purposes, he was thirteen.

It was quite possibly the longest class Edward "Ned" Ashton had to sit to. It wasn't bad enough that Master Tewkesbury was the single most boring teacher in the history of the English language. That, he could handle. He could also handle the fact that English history was a tedious and boring subject only made worse by the old man's monotone lecture style. He could probably even handle the fact that, despite the fact that he worked like a dog, he'd probably not pass the course.

These were things that a 13-year-old could handle. Boring classes, dull teachers, and potential failure were just part of the adolescent experience.

But Tewkesbury was not just any old boring teacher. Tewkesbury was his nemesis, Brutus to his Caesar, Yosemite Sam to his Bugs Bunny. Old Tewk was the reason for his current house arrest, the reason for his current troubles, the reason for his utter and dismal lack of hope.

He stared blankly ahead as the bitter old coot rambled on about Sir Walter Raleigh, about the Armada, about the exploration of the New World under Elizabeth I. He really didn't care much about the troubles of 400 year old dead people; Ned Ashton had troubles of his own.

Like wondering which of the small army of relatives was finally going to answer the call from Headmaster Rodman. Like which representative of the noble house of Ashton would come to gather him up, drive him off to some dusty castle where he'd probably spend the rest of his short, miserable life in obscurity, like the Man in the Iron Mask, or Pete Best.

No, it wasn't bad enough that he'd gotten busted. Humiliated in front of his peers by Old Tewk. Suspended, his permanent record scarred for life.

No, that wasn't bad enough. The universe had another fun surprise in store for Ned Ashton—neither of his parents could be reached to carry him off to his disgrace.

Lord Larry was off somewhere, who knew where, and his American wife (the one they whispered about) was off elsewhere, most definitely not together like a proper married couple should be. Both had reputations as wild partiers. Both had reputations for causing trouble, embarrassing the good name of Ashton, and throwing money around like crazy whenever things required smoothing over.

Of course, neither of them could be found when Ned's troubles needed smoothing over, so the Headmaster's call had been routed from the butler to a paternal aunt to an accountant (!) and then over to his paternal grandmother. She had apparently sniffed at "The Boy" and his unacceptable behavior (no doubt a trait inherited from his mother's side of the family—you know, she's not high-born…just rich) and informed the headmaster that "she would handle the situation appropriately."

Two days had passed without any sort of appropriate handling, and Headmaster Rodman finally decided to place Ned back in class. He could wait out his shame while continuing his studies, rather than lolling about his dormitory cell being useless. Perhaps the presence of well-behaved young boys would be an example for young Edward.

So here he sat, in the stifling heat of the late spring afternoon, listening to Old Tewk drone on, knowing that at any minute, if he let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, the buzzard would swoop down on him and demand the dates for Francis Drake's circumnavigation of the globe, or the name of Queen Elizabeth's third ranked lady in waiting, or some other trivial thing designed to make him look like an idiot.

He was just about to believe the day would never end when a sudden slam made everyone in the room jump and gasp. In no time, all eyes were following Tewkesbury's stunned glance to the back of the room, where the door had been opened.

The first thing he noticed was a pair of impossibly high heels, attached to legs dressed in an extremely short white miniskirt. Ned got a sinking feeling as the person wearing the heels and miniskirt walked slowly, purposefully through the aisle of students. He didn't want to look, but he had to—like a gruesome car wreck he couldn't stop, Ned kept looking upwards, to the tightly-tailored white jacket, the red-painted lips, the enormous white hat. He could hear the whispers of the other boys in the classroom—some of them very impressed with the sight the intruder presented. He made a note of which boys he was going to have to clobber if he ever got through this alive.

When she finally reached the instructor's podium, the woman had the full attention of the completely male classroom. Her heels made her sway gently as she walked, to the obvious appreciation of many of the 13-year-old boys in the room. Again, Ned took names for future retribution.

He knew who was under that hat, and he could feel the dread gathering in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, young lady," Tewkesbury said, his tone not so steady as the young woman stood just inches from him, her arms folded across her chest, invading his personal space like an expert. "All visitors must…ahem, proceed to the headmaster's office before coming into the classroom."

The woman put her hands on her slim hips for a moment before reaching up slowly to remove her hat. She tossed it on Tewks' desk with a defiant flare along with the matching handbag. "I'm not a visitor," she said in an unmistakably American accent. "I'm Lady Fucking Ashton, and I'm here to claim my son."

At that moment, Ned decided he was adopted. A changeling. Maybe somebody had switched him at the hospital when he was a baby. Because Ned Ashton was not about scenes. He just wanted to get through, be left alone, and maybe have some fun along the way.

On the other hand, Tracy Quartermaine Ashton, or Lady Fucking Ashton as she put it, was not about being invisible. She glanced over her shoulder, as if suddenly noticing the twenty-five pairs of hormonal adolescent eyes on her, and grinned at the boys broadly.

"Now, see here, Lady Ashton," Tewkesbury stammered, but Ned's mother cut him off by pressing a single gloved finger to his lips. He pulled back as if she were a snake, his expression of disgust clearly registering on the withered face.

"Oh, forgive me for my rudeness. Are you Archibald Tewkesbury? The Archibald Tewkesbury?" She didn't bother keeping her voice low or discreet; she spoke as if she were in a nightclub or a party. "I got your letter, Tweekie!" She winked broadly. "Oh, we have lots and lots to discuss, don't we?"

"Madam, this is completely inappropriate. Parents must register with the headmasters'…"

"No, you don't get it. I don't give a damn about your headmaster. I'll deal with him in a moment. You're the man of the hour, Tweekie, and you're all I care about." She said the last in a faux Marilyn Monroe voice, which garnered laughter from several of the boys. The laughter stopped abruptly, however, when Tewks fixed them with a severe glare. His worst, of course, was for Ned, who was trying desperately to sink underneath his desk.

She wasn't really doing this, was she? It wasn't really happening, was it? This was just one of those nightmares you could never wake up from, the kind that felt more real than reality itself. He watched in horror as Tewkesbury tried to get his mother to leave the room, argued with her in harsh, hushed tones, and then stormed out of the room.

Leaving….just Tracy…

Alone in a room with twenty-five, highly excitable, highly hormonal boys...

And Ned.

He stared wide-eyed as his mother stood in front of the class, hands on hips, watching Tewks storm out with an amused expression on her face. When he was gone, she cast an appraising glance around the room. "Well, now. It looks like I'm in charge for the moment." She grinned at the boys, who buzzed happily at the thought of this sexy young substitute teacher.

Ned cringed as his mother hopped on to the desk, crossing her long legs (much to everyone but his delight), and reached for the text book. "So what are we learning today, boys?" She opened the book to Tewkesbury's bookmark and read aloud, "The Golden Age of England: Elizabethan Times." She closed the book with a delighted expression on her face. "Ah! The Virgin Queen! My favorite."

She looked around the room and asked, in what Ned thought she assumed was a teacherly tone, "Now, can anyone tell me why Good Queen Bess was known as the Virgin Queen?"

Several hands shot into the air, and she smiled at each of them before choosing a boy in the front row. "You, the gorgeous young blond in the front row. What's your name, Sweetie?"

"Neville Fitzpatrick, Lady Ashton. But my friends call me Fitz."

Ned made a note to himself to destroy Fitz and everything he loved as soon as he was able to show his face in public again. His mother, seemingly oblivious to Ned's discomfort, smiled indulgently at Fitz.

"So, Fitz, why was she called the Virgin Queen?"

"Because she never married, Lady Ashton," Fitz answered in a dutiful tone.

"Oh, that's so cute." She looked expectantly at the other boys. "Can anyone tell me where young Fitz went wrong with his orthodox, yet completely incorrect answer?" She waited. "No? Oh, dear. This is what comes of all-male schools." She lowered her eyes, a wicked smile spreading across her features. "No, my dear young men. Elizabeth I was not called the Virgin Queen because she never married. Granted, in the current usage, adding a great deal of faith in her virtue, you might imply that being unmarried means a woman is still a virgin." She laughed at this, winking at Fitz. "If you're really naïve, that is." She continued in a scholarly voice. "No, boys, you have to look at the original meaning of the word "virgin." It used to mean 'whole, untouched.' Complete in herself, like a goddess." Tracy's tone took on a sort of fierceness, as if she were no longer teaching a mocking history lesson about a long-dead British Queen. "You see, young Betty was quite the catch. Rich, powerful, the daughter of a king. Any man would want her, and most of them did. Look at who pursued her--Spanish religious fanatics, French fops, and every decrepit old Brit with a title and a tin pot castle to his name tried to get her to marry him."

Ned turned to the door, wondering when Tewksebury was going to get back and how much more trouble he could possibly get in at this point. He was already suspended. Did they still have torture chambers in the dungeons of England?

"But," his mother continued. "Betty Boop was smarter than your usual Elizabethan—no, wait, she wouldn't have been Elizabethan yet, would she? Who was her father—oh, lord, Henry the Eighth. Now, think about it, fellows. Do you really think little Lizzie was gonna look at Daddy's marital history and just want to run down the aisle?"

They laughed, to Ned's relief. He wasn't a huge fan of British history, and these guys weren't his best friends at the moment—staring as they were at his mother's legs—but the English did to get a little protective of certain things, and Elizabeth I seemed to be up there on the list of protected national treasures.

"No, Elizabeth I figured out pretty quick that marriage was a dead-end street for her. I mean, what's in it for the woman?" A hard look came over Tracy's face. "The man gets the power, the freedom to travel, the dowry. And the woman—a princess, mind you—is reduced to the status of wife." Her voice wrapped around the word with disgust, as if she'd just eaten something old and rancid. "So, instead of giving up her power, The Virgin Queen refused any and all proposals that came her way. Not outright, mind you. That would have been suicide. No, she just played one suitor against the other. 'Oh, Prince So-and-So, I just don't know,'" she mimicked in a very thick, very coy English accent. "'You're so big and strong and handsome, but do I really love you?' Meanwhile, she kept the throne, the power, the money, and probably as many lovers as she could handle." Tracy laughed a low throaty chuckle at the shocked looks on the boys' faces. "Quite the role model she was, your Queen Elizabeth."

The sound of laughter and excited whispering ended abruptly when the door opened loudly to admit Master Tewkesbury and Headmaster Rodman. In a flash, it was all business again. "That will be quite enough, young men," Headmaster Rodman said in a low, disapproving voice. But his eyes were only for Tracy as the boys quickly swiveled back in their chairs, posture back to military straightness, eyes forward, faces long and seriously devoid of any hint of approval for Lady Ashton's shenanigans.

Rodman crossed the distance to the podium in a few long strides. "I've been waiting for three days, Lady Ashton, for your response."

All traces of humor were gone from his mother as well. She stood face to face with the Chatham School's imposing headmaster. And though the top of her head only reached his eyebrows, Tracy Quartermaine Ashton didn't seem even a bit intimidated as she stared him down, her eyes blazing with what some might call arrogance. "I was incommunicado."

"Shall we take this to my office?"

"Oh, do let's," Tracy growled.

Rodman turned to the class with a look of undisguised displeasure on his face. "This class will be dismissed. You are to return to your dormitories where you are to read the balance of the current chapter. There will be an examination on the chapter when class resumes tomorrow. All but Edward Ashton are dismissed." He paused as the boys stood quickly and left the room as fast as possible while still maintaining the expected decorum.

Ned sat in his seat, his stomach in knots. He had already spent enough time in Rodman's office. Now he was going to get busted for his mother's bad behavior. It didn't make sense and it sure as hell didn't seem fair.

"Ned Ashton, stand up."

He rose without question, his training kicking in before he could stop himself. His mother stared at him in horror, and said, "Ned, sit down!" Confused, he looked from his mother to Rodman, unsure which of the contradictory commands carried more weight at the moment. After a moment, he sunk back into his chair. Rodman may have his present under lock and key, but Tracy would always be his mother. She simply had more time to make him miserable for insubordination.

Tracy seemed content with his submission and turned her ire back to Rodman. "My son is not a dog to be commanded, do you understand?"

"Lady Ashton, despite your complete lack of respect for this institution and its rules, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." Rodman cast a disapproving glance at Ned. "I can understand that you might be upset, given the severity of your son's infractions."

"Oh, and while we're on that subject," Tracy reached for her purse and pulled out an envelope. "Let's discuss this, shall we?" She opened the letter as if she was going to read aloud, but Rodman stopped her.

"It is hardly appropriate for the child to hear the contents of confidential parent-instructor letters," he said, looking from Ned to Tewkesbury, who looked red and flustered and about ten minutes from death.

"I don't give a damn what is appropriate. I want Ned to hear what old Tweekie has to say about him." She shook off Rodman's arm and began to read aloud. "My dear Lady Ashton," This got Tewkesbury a vicious smile from Ned's mother. "Bet you're regretting that courtesy right about now, aren't you, Tweekie? Anyway…My dear Lady Ashton, It is with great regret that I write to inform you of your son's performance in my class. As you know, Ned's progress in British History is not improving as desired. His aptitude is below-par, and he seems uninterested in the subject. All attempts at motivation are met with disregard, and any suggestion that he might apply himself more diligently to the subject is summarily ignored. I feel that perhaps he is lacking in the proper encouragement from his parents. Most of our boys are legacies—as is your son. The Chatham School stresses tradition, with father handing down to son the understanding that great pride and honor must be shown to this institution. Perhaps the boy's father could be spoken to, so that he might offer his own narrative of Chatham pride to help the boy mend his ways. Being American-born, you may not understand the significance of this school, but I trust your husband—a Chatham alumnus—does. If something is not done soon, I fear that Edward will not complete his course of studies to the satisfaction of the school's requirements. I anticipate your immediate response to this most serious situation. With regards, Archibald Tewkesbury, Master of History, The Chatham School." Tracy stopped for a breath, crushing the letter in a single hand and tossing the ball in the general direction of Tewkesbury. "That is so insulting on so many levels, I don't even know where to begin."

"I stand behind my words," Tewks said defiantly, knowing that the opinion of the school and its headmaster would be on his side.

Tracy waved a single hand, as if brushing off a particularly annoying fly, before turning back to Rodman. "I'd just finished reading this tripe when I got a call from my mother-in-law." She repeated it slowly, for emphasis. "My. Mother. In. Law. She was calling me to tell me that this fine institution had seen fit to suspend my son for some minor infraction."

"Lady Ashton, your son falsified school documents."

"He signed my name to a stupid permission slip," Tracy argued. "He called me, telling me he'd forgotten to include the slip for the Stratford trip in his last letter. And I told him to just sign my proxy and not worry about it."

Ned stared at his mother. She was lying through her teeth!

"That is completely inappropriate," Rodman continued, believing her. "In a situation like that, you should have called my office to discuss alternative means of obtaining permission."

"Like I have all the time in the world to stay on the phone," she said, rolling her eyes. "Bottom line, the boy had my permission and that should be good enough for you."

"But…"

"But nothing. Are you going to say that my word is in doubt here?" She glared at him, her smaller frame suddenly seeming to tower above him. "Are you insinuating that Lady Ashton is lying?"

Her emphasis on the name Ashton--as in Ashton Hall, the Ashton Foundation, and the Ashton Scholarship--rang a bell in Rodham. It seemed to Ned that the headmaster almost visibly shrank back from her. "Certainly, Lady Ashton, I would not imply any such thing. We are all familiar with the good name of Ashton and the generosity the Ashton family has shown this school…in the past," he added significantly. "But the falsification of a school document is no light matter. This cannot be allowed to continue."

"So you suspend my son for doing as his mother told him? For being obedient and good, and treating his parent with respect?" She folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head. "These are the values The Chatham School teaches its students? This is the Chatham way?"

"No, no, certainly not. We would never come between a parent's authority and the child. However, there are ways of doing these things and…"

Ned watched, amazed, as his mother just maneuvered Rodham into a corner. Within minutes, he'd gone from in command to groveling. It was an amazing sight, he had to admit.

"Tell me something, Headmaster," his mother said in a bored tone. "Is my son going to be suspended, or not?" She held her hand just inches from her face, examining her nail polish, making sure that the jewels on her wrists and fingers flashed in the sunlight that came through the window.

"Well, in light of this new information," Rodham coughed.

"Headmaster!"

"Oh, butt out, Tweekie," Tracy snapped, and then turned back to the headmaster, who was wiping his balding head with a handkerchief. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were about to tell me if you were going to suspend the only son of Lord Ashton, much to the displeasure of the entire Ashton family, or not?"

"No," Rodman said firmly. "After serious reconsideration, I've decided that such an extreme punishment is uncalled for at this time. We will have to consider other, appropriate actio--"

"Excellent! I'm so glad we were able to straighten this out. I'm sure Lady Ashton the Elder will be thrilled to hear it." Tracy smiled sweetly, and then turned to Ned, who was still watching in amazement. He'd never seen anybody work Old Rodman like that. "Now, Ned darling, why don't you take me to your room? We'll get your things packed and be out of here in no time."

"Out of here?" Ned asked.

"I told you, Lady Ashton. The suspension has been cancelled."

"Oh, I know." She smiled prettily. "I'm withdrawing my son from your school, Mr. Rodman, effective immediately. Neddie, on second thought, packing is menial labor. We'll just grab enough for the trip. These nice gentlemen can ship the rest of your things as soon as possible."

"But Lady Ashton…"

"Oh, and I'm sure you'll take the required steps to refund the balance of my son's tuition for the term, won't you?" She took Ned's arm and practically dragged him out of the classroom and into the hallway. Under her breath, she said, "Don't look back, kiddo. We're almost clear." She was laughing, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder as he led her to his dormitory. When they got there, she put her hand on the door knob, but stopped at the expression on her son's face. "What?"

He could hear a crowd of boys in his dormitory room. Ned paused, turning hesitantly to his mother. "I…erm…."

Tracy sighed, her hand dropping to her side as she gazed into her son's eyes with an understanding expression on her face. "Look, sweetie, I'm sorry about this." She seemed so different from the defiant woman in the classroom--her face was gentle and there was softness to her voice that had been missing earlier. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, and I'm sorry for the…" She stopped, a crooked smile quirking up at the side of her mouth. "I guess the rumors are true. I don't think about anybody but myself." She reached out to brush his cheek with her fingertips. "I was so furious when I got that letter, and the call put me right over the edge. I just wanted to—I was so angry. I wanted to bust you out of this straight-jacket monstrosity of a school, and I wanted to be as loud and obnoxious about it as I could." She grinned at him. "You know how the Brits hate loud and obnoxious. I guess I didn't think about how my little stunt in there might embarrass you."

He faltered for a moment. At any other time, he would have been thrilled with the idea of being busted out of Chatham. But now, faced with leaving the school that had been his home for years… "It was good of you to defend me, Mother," he said formally.

"Mom," she corrected softly. "You're not 100 British yet, darling."

"Yes, Mom," he said. "Look, there's going to be a lot of fellows in there and…."

"You don't want your crazy mother causing another scene?" She looked down at her skirt. "Believe me. I can't wait to get out of this ridiculous outfit."

He raised his eyebrows. He'd not spent enough time with his mother to know how she normally dressed. "Oh, I…"

She laughed at his confused expression, mussing his hair playfully. "You can't imagine I dress like this all the time, do you?" She laughed again when he nodded shyly. "Baby, Lesson One in Tracy Quartermaine's Rules of War—when going into battle, wear your battle gear." Reaching into her purse, she winked at him. "Go say goodbye to your friends, Ned." She handed him a business card. "Here's an address they can write to you. Anywhere you are, any time, this will get forwarded." She kissed the top of his head and pushed him toward the door.

Ned breathed in deeply, and opened the door. There were about five boys lounging on the beds, talking animatedly. They stopped, dead silent, when he entered the room.

"Uh…" he said, not knowing what to say.

"Ashton, that was bloody brilliant!" This was from Elliot Pierce-Thomas. He was the son of one of the top bankers in Britain, and wore his money like a tailored suit. He towered over the rest of the boys at almost six feet tall, with bushy black hair that defied the school rules with its mere existence. "Best fun ever!"

"Truly ace, Ned," John Lewis added from his vantage point—upside down on the bed, feet on the wall, head at the foot. "Your mum was a riot!"

"Is she staying?"

"Yeah, she could hire on as a teacher here…."

Ned shook his head, a small grin on his face. He was going to miss them, but not all that much. He went to the cupboard to get his bag—the small one for weekend trips. "Sorry, mates. Not going to happen." He started throwing things in his case—he had no idea what to pack for, so he just threw stuff in randomly.

"She couldn't talk the old sod out of it, eh? Bad luck, Ned."

"Bollocks," John said under his breath.

"No, she talked him out of it," Ned said. "Right before she withdrew me from school." He shut the case, shrugged, and handed the card to Elliot. "Here's where you can reach me, if you're interested." He quickly grabbed his guitar case from the cupboard and headed out the door.

The boys were open-mouthed, silent, as he left. It was only a moment before the lot of them piled out of the room, hurrying to catch up with Ned and his mother as they headed for the car park.

Buoyancy had taken over Ned, a lightness so overwhelming and powerful that he didn't even mind that they were staring at his mother's legs as they formed their own little parade that ended right in front of the most amazingly beautiful car he'd ever seen.

Tracy went over to the passenger side, posing like a fashion model next to a cherry red Mustang convertible. White leather interior, roof down. She smiled broadly, nodding pointedly in the direction of his friends before saying in a gently teasing tone, "Wanna drive, Ned?"

They all laughed, including Ned, who was just about beside himself with lust for the car. "Is it yours, or is it a hire?"

"I rented it for the trip," she said pointedly as she grabbed his bag and looked at the gaggle of gawking school boys. It was hard to tell which one garnered more attention—the hot car or the sexy brunette driving it. "Which one of you big strong men would like to help me out?" She noticed the guitar case, apparently for first time. "Ned, I didn't know you played the guitar!"

Elliot was there in a heartbeat. "I'll get those in the boot for you, Lady Ashton," he said, practically tripping on himself to catch the keys she tossed to him. While he was putting away Ned's bag and the guitar, Tracy said to the boys, "I suppose I should apologize for making such a fuss during your history class." She grinned knowingly. "I know you were just riveted before I went in and messed it all up."

They laughed, with several "not at alls" and "please come any times" thrown in for good measure. Elliot was back in a moment, handing her the keys. From his height, he could actually look down at her. "That was the most fun we've had in ages, Lady Ashton," he said breathlessly.

"Well, aren't you boys all so sweet?" She turned to her son, who was just too dazed and amazed at this point to even comment. "Ned, darling, once we've got you settled in, we're going to have to invite your friends over for a weekend, aren't we?"

He nodded, not saying a word.

Tracy was enjoying herself, enjoying the attention she attracted with her mere existence. And Ned was not even the slightest bit embarrassed anymore. It was a game, an adventure. And he was leaving this miserable place for good. Granted, the next boarding school might not be any better, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about Tewkesbury anymore. He pushed forward a bit, nudging past the boys who were extending their hands to shake Tracy's. "Mother, perhaps we should begin?"

"Oh, yes. Besides, I'm sure you boys will have to return to class soon." There were groans all about, but she smiled indulgently. "Now, we'll all have a grand time when you come to visit, won't we? You be sure to keep in touch with Ned, because believe me—good friends are a treasure." And with that, she eased through the crowd over to the driver's side. It was an American car, so she had to go around to the left, which Ned found strange and exhilarating all at once.

There were many pats on the back, hands squeezing shoulders, as Ned eased into the passenger seat of the Mustang. His friends looked at him with admiration, with jealousy even.

It had turned into quite possibly the best day of his life.

End Part One

Written for the lj user"100situations" Challenge.

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