They didn't talk as they rode; Michael was too busy thinking of what questions he would ask and Jason had never been much for small talk. Michael was aware that lights were switching on behind them, but knowing that only made him laugh. It felt right to disturb the peace a little.

He was nervous, really. The Quartermaines were a den of lions, his dad had told him, not to be trusted or consoled. Michael wasn't a fool though, he knew there were things Sonny didn't tell him or wasn't truthful about. He'd come to expect it, so he tried to forget everything he'd ever been told about his grandfather's family. He would be polite like his parents had taught him--he would represent the Corinthos family charm well. In doing so, he hoped they wouldn't tear him apart.

At last, they came to the street where the Quartermaines lived. Jason cut off his bike and motioned for Michael to hop off. At his questioning look, Jason told him that he didn't want to cause a scene. Michael frowned but followed his uncle as he rolled his bike down the well-lit street.

They came to a high iron gates and for the first time tonight Michael thought he might've made a bad decision. It looked like a boarding school or a prison back there. The house was so big and forbidding that it was nearly alive. Lights shone from various windows, peering down at them like angry eyes on an angry face. Michael blinked and the scene changed; it was just a house, bigger than the one he lived in, but only a house.

Jason activated the intercom on the brick wall. After a moment, a deep voice came through. Michael remembered it, the housekeeper Alice.

"Who is it?"

"It's Jason. I need to speak with…" He looked down to Michael for approval. His nephew could only nod. "I need to speak with Monica."

There was a brief pause before the voice came again. "All right, come in." A buzzer sounded and the gates slowly swung apart to admit Jason and Michael. Jason parked his motorcycle on the stone driveway, concealing it behind one of Lila Quartermaine's rosebushes.

Michael lagged behind his uncle as they approached the mansion's front entrance. He started to shove his hand into his pockets, but realized that doing that made him look nervous--Corinthos men were never nervous. Holding his chin up high, his clasped his hands in front of him and nodded for Jason to knock.

Not a second more than necessary passed before the door opened. It wasn't the housekeeper like he'd expected. It was Monica, his grandmother, the woman Alan had loved all his life. His palms began to sweat and he didn't doubt he was turning as red as the hair on his head. He wasn't brave anymore; he didn't want to be brave. His throat was tight but he tried to speak anyway.

"I'm sorry he's gone. I'm really really sorry."

Monica took a small step towards him, a bright wave of tears shining in her eyes. He did the only thing he could--he closed the gap between them and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him and it felt awkward, strange in its unfamiliarity. As surreal as it was to hug her, he couldn't let go. This was a part of who he was, what he'd sought out tonight and found. This was his history, the only connection left to the father who had given him life and to his father who'd tried to love him and failed. So many questions scrambled for attention first, but he couldn't voice one.

Monica stroked his hair. "I'm so glad you came."

He looked up to her though she wasn't much taller than he was. "I had to. I need to know where I come from and you're the only one who can tell me."

She nodded and dried the fallen tears from her face. Her expression changed to one of peace. It was just a mask, he noticed, so he wouldn't see how much she was hurting. His mother wore one sometimes. He prayed he hadn't made a mistake in coming here tonight.

"Come in. Both of you," she invited even her son who'd shrunken to the shadows to Michael's right.

Michael had almost forgotten his uncle was there; he'd grown so quiet in the presence of his reunion with Monica. Although he was exactly where he knew he needed to be, he didn't want to be here if Jason wasn't. His dad's words were still there somewhere, haunting him.

"Come on, Jason. Come with me."

Jason rubbed his jaw, his eyes flickering between where he'd hidden his bike and the warmth in Monica's face. Michael could tell he'd rather be anywhere else, but his most selfish self wanted Jason to overcome his reservations and find Alan with him.

Without a word, his uncle nodded and followed them inside the house.