001. Beginnings.
Author: Cate
Summary: A look at how four-year-old Natasha Nilson wound up on the Cassadine compound as Alexis Davidovitch, with no memory of her former identity or her life before arriving on the Greek island. Also, my first entry into the fanfic100 challenge.
Rating: PG
Background: I'm using the original timeline that was given for Alexis during the Natasha reveal, when Luke said that she was four when her mother died. This also means that Big Kristina doesn't exist, nor does Sam.
Author's Note: After months of waiting, my Alexis/Natasha claim has finally been accepted for the LJ Fanfic100 challenge. The stories I'm planning will be loosely connected, so you can read them in order or on their own. For my own sanity, though, the titles will all be numbered. For more information about the challenge, go to community (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) fanfic100 and read the FAQ.
Disclaimer: I'm in no way affiliated with GH or ABCD.
It was late; very, very late. It was the kind of hour when most little girls had been in bed for quite some time already, and most adults were preparing to follow suit. Natasha Nilson had, in fact, been put to bed hours ago, but that hadn't stopped her from creeping out of her bedroom the moment she saw his headlights flash through her window.
The small child watched from atop the stairs as her mother greeted him at the door. His visits were a regular occurance, had been for as long as she could remember. Natasha had been secretly observing them ever since she'd graduated from a crib to a big-girl bed last year. She knew instinctively the importance of not being caught; just once, at the age of two, she'd been found climbing out of her crib, and the scolding she'd received had more than convinced her to never do it again. Natasha couldn't bear to have her mama angry at her, and so she remained quietly in the dark, careful not to alert the grown-ups to her presence.
This position offered her a distinct disadvantage; she had a clear view of her mother's back and of the heavy wooden door, but she couldn't see him at all, save for a black wool hat and a pair of shiny, shiny black shoes. He always wore black - she'd seen part of his coat once; it was long and heavy and reminded her of the patrons at the opera houses where her mother performed. He spoke French with a slight accent and a hushed voice, a combination that kept her from understanding the brief snippets of conversation that found their way to her ears. Apparently, her mother didn't share this problem, as Kristin's laughter rang out through the house in response to something he'd said. Natasha leaned against the banister contentedly, closing her large brown eyes as she absorbed the sound. She loved to hear her mama laugh, more than she loved to hear her sing, and she loved to hear her mama sing.
He left shortly after that, which didn't strike Natasha as being very strange; some nights he came in, but not very often. Some nights, like this one, he and Kristin just stood in the doorway. Tonight, Kristin leaned against the door for a while after closing it after him, listening to the dimming roar of his car's engine until it could be heard no more. Natasha stayed up and watched until her mama finally retreated to the living room, then soundlessly went back to bed.
She was awakened again not an hour later by the same flash of light in her window. This made the little girl uneasy; he'd never come twice in one night before. Clearly, her mother was nervous as well; Natasha feigned sleep when her door creaked open, and Kristin stepped in to check on her. She felt strands of straight, brown hair being swept aside before her mama's lips softly brushed against her forhead, and breathed in the familiar scent of perfume, which lingered in the air moments after the door gently clicked shut, signalling that Kristin had departed. Natasha waited, giving her mother enough time to get downstairs before she got up and followed her out of the room, resuming her former post on the top step.
Immediately, she knew something was wrong as a shrill female voice that definitely did not belong to her mother drifted up to Natasha's ears. Her mama was arguing with the woman, telling her to leave. It didn't occur to Natasha that the woman wouldn't listen. Natasha always listened to her mama - almost always, she amended - so naturally, it followed that everyone else did the same. She knew with a confused clarity that she had been sorely mistaken when she saw her mother take a step back, revealing a willowy blonde woman with a mad expression in her eyes. For the first time in her four years, little Natasha knew what true fear was when she realized that the strange women clutched an old, bloodied knife in her hand.
"Mama!" Natasha screamed, forgetting that she was supposed to remain unseen as she practically flew down the stairs. She had expected to run into her mother's waiting arms, for Kristin to protect her and make the bad woman leave. When she reached the bottom step, however, her mother was on the floor, and very badly hurt. "Mama, get up," the child cried, but the bad woman caught her arm and wouldn't let her go.
"She's gone," the lady said, taking a sick pleasure in the small girl's distress. "She died for you, her little bastard. But don't worry. You'll see her again very soon."
Natasha wasn't listening; she was focused on her mama, willing her to wake up. Something distracted the bad lady, making her loosen her grip; Natasha wrenched her arm free, and in an instant she was on her knees at her mother's side, her head resting on Kristin's unmoving chest. She didn't know when he came back, or when the bad lady went away. She didn't see or hear anything until a familiar pair of black shoes entered her field of vision, and suddenly she found herself in his arms.
