Little Sister

Chapter Twenty-Four: Strange Alliances, Continued, or It is Not Over

*Author's Note: Well, here it is, the last chapter. Sorry to spring the end on you without warning, but in all honesty, I didn't realize I was writing the last chapter until about halfway through. It just seems like the natural place to stop … for now. Enjoy!*

Sam hesitated before approaching the grave. During today's visit, and others before it, she'd visited several of the cemetery's final resting places, but never this one. So far today, she'd made her usual rounds: she always visited the grave of her little girl, speaking softly and reverently to her, sometimes crying a little, and she always at least paused at the grave of her adoptive brother, only slightly less often stopping to speak to him. Danny's status as mentally challenged had been both a blessing and a curse; a curse in that he would never be able to fully fend for himself, but a blessing in that he lived and loved with the simplicity of a child: open, honest, devoid of judgment and full of devotion. Less often, she visited the grave of the man she had known for most of her life as her father.

Today, she had lingered there much longer than usual. Cody McCall had certainly not been the best of men, but for a long time, he was the only parent she had known. When she first realized she was adopted, it explained so many things: why Cody always seemed to regard her as more of a 'pal' and co-conspirator than as his child, why he always referred to Evelyn by her first name when discussing her with Sam but said 'your mother' when talking with Danny, why he always told Sam not to let Evelyn's coldness bother her … looking back now, Sam wondered why she hadn't seen it before, hadn't thought to question things. She wished Cody had told her she was adopted; it would have made Evelyn's rejection of her easier to bear.

To be sure, Cody himself was far from the ideal parent, but compared to the cruelty of her "mother," at times the man had been a goddamn saint. For all the ways he had screwed up, and all the difficulties that had been between them, she knew that he had loved her on some level, even if they weren't blood. He had taught her a lot – how to read people, size them up, find their weaknesses (all the better to con them, of course), how to distance herself from pain, both physical and emotional, how to keep getting back up after being knocked down – and for better of for worse, he'd definitely shaped the person she was today. She couldn't deny that.

Beneath all her anger and resentment at his abandonment of her and Danny, she had still loved him. She had mourned his death, in her way. And if she had to think of someone as her father, Cody McCall was certainly better than the alternative…

Recognizing her thoughts were starting to go down a dark and pointless path, Sam turned her attention to the headstone in front of her, which read simply, "Kristina Cassadine: Beloved sister, aunt, and friend." She hesitated, and then kneeled down in front of it, taking a deep breath, nerving herself for her first "conversation" with the aunt who was her sister's namesake, and whom she'd never gotten the chance to know.

"Hi," she began hesitantly. "It's me, Samantha – Sam – and I … I guess I'm your niece. I'm uh … I'm sorry I've never really 'visited' with you, you know, it's just…" Sam paused, feeling slightly ashamed. After she'd found out Alexis was her mother, her entire focus had been on how it affected her, without a thought given to how Alexis might feel. She had still hated her at that time, and blamed her for so much – the death of her daughter, the death of Danny – when neither of those things were Alexis' fault.

But she was in such pain, and all she could see was that Alexis seemed to have everything she did not; a husband, children, a career, stability – and she never even paused to contemplate that maybe she wasn't the only one who'd suffered loss. Alexis would have understood her grief for Danny better than she had realized at the time; she too had lost a beloved sibling, and here her remains had lain, all this time, and even after she'd known the truth, even after she and her mother had begun to bond and heal all the hurt, she'd never given this grave so much as a glance.

"I'm sorry," Sam said again, softly, a slight quaver in her voice, "I'm sorry I've never done this before, god knows I've been coming here for years." She shook her head, hugging her arms around herself to keep off the cold. "It's just … mom's never really talked about you, you know? At least, not until recently … I'm really glad she's started opening up to me more, though. At least something good comes out of knowing the awful …" she broke off, swallowed, and began again. "She says I remind her of you sometimes," Sam continued, smiling even as a few stray tears fell. "I have your smile and your manner, she says. It's really wonderful to hear her talk about you. I know you loved each other very much, even though you were separated most of your lives and only got to be together for a short time. And I know Uncle Stefan loved you too. I'm really sorry that my sisters and I never got the opportunity to know you. You'd be so proud of your namesake. She's beautiful and brilliant, like our mother. And then there's Molly; you'd be proud of her too. As for me, well …"

"She'd be proud of you too, Sam."

Sam turned and stood up to see her mother standing there, a bough of holly in her hand. She walked towards her sister's grave and lied it down there. She clasped her daughter's face lovingly, her smile equal parts tender and sad. Sam didn't quite know what to say.

"I wish I'd told her about you," Alexis said softly. "But I was ashamed of myself. It took me a long time to even realize my little sister existed – the trauma of watching my mother die made me block everything out – and then when I finally remembered … I was afraid. It was Jax who reunited us, you know. She was much braver than I was, and she'd been looking for me, and Jax found her and brought her back into my life. It's one of the many reason I will always love that man. I thought Kristina would hate me for not finding her, for forgetting her, but all she showed me was love." Sam listened, transfixed, as her mother continued on.

"Do you know she was the first person I ever even considered telling about you? I was so … so ashamed that I'd given you up, but I thought if anyone would understand, she would. I came close a few times, but I always lost my nerve. And then … then it was too late. It was too late for everything." Alexis shook her head, letting a few of her tears fall. "I bet she would've convinced me to find you like she found me. I should've told her. I'm sorry." Sam shook her head and hugged her.

"No, I'm sorry," Sam said, as they pulled apart. "I'm sorry I never visited her grave before now. And I'm really sorry I never had the chance to know her. You … you really think she would have been proud of me?"

"Of course," Alexis said, in a tone that left no room for doubt, "She would have been proud of you, and she would have loved you, just like I do. You know Sam, when it comes to grief, or other painful things, I'm sure you've noticed that I have a tendency to … well, repress. I never talked about your aunt much before, for the same reason I never told anyone about you for such a long time; it hurt too much. But you're not like that at all." Sam laughed softly and a little bitterly.

"No, I let myself wallow in my losses, I cling to my misery and pain – "

"No, not at all," Alexis said firmly. "That's Sonny's flaw, Sam. You're not like that. In our reactions to loss and pain, Sonny and I are at opposite ends, the two extremes. But you? You're actually on the healthy, well-adjusted middle ground." Now Sam really did laugh.

"'Healthy, well-adjusted?' Me? Oh come on …" she scoffed.

"It's true," Alexis said firmly. "You don't bury your pain, but you certainly don't wallow in it. You acknowledge it, you recognize that it's shaped who you are in a lot of ways, but you know you don't have to let it dictate who you decide to be. You keep your lost loved ones close to your heart without drowning in resentment at them being taken from you too soon. I admire that in you Sam, and I'll try to emulate it as much as I can." The fact that Alexis would aspire to a trait of Sam's that she herself lacked warmed her daughter's heart in a way nothing ever had. She smiled tremulously at her mother, feeling like her Aunt Kristina was there with them, watching over them both, and smiling her same smile.

"Maybe we could … come here together, sometimes? And visit Aunt Kristina? Maybe even bring the girls once or twice?"

Alexis nodded. "I'd like that. And we can visit your daughter, my granddaughter … and Danny, and Cody…" again, she caressed her daughter's face lovingly. She knew Cody McCall had been far from an ideal parent, but she was grateful her daughter had someone to think of has "father," other than …

Recognizing her thoughts were starting to go down a dark and pointless path, Alexis re-focused on the young woman in front of her.

"It's cold out here, honey, and it's supposed to start snowing again soon. Come back to Wyndemere with me?" Sam nodded and smiled. With one final glance back at the grave, they left the place, the spirits of the dead watching over them and guiding them home.

***

She watched them at the grave.

It wasn't fair.

They had a place to mourn, they got to find peace, but she never did. His body was lost to her, swept away by the current, desecrated by the water and its creatures, violated by all the elements of nature. And yet she still mourned him, mourned him all the more intensely because of it, a bitter and desperate grief, tinged with the madness that had been her birthright. Those eyes that had been so full of malice and insanity for others had only held compassion and love for her. She had felt no need to cling to the ever-fading memory of her mother, who died when she was so young, because he filled her mind and her heart and her life in a way no one had before him and no one ever would again. For the most part, he had kept her out of his plans, safely tucked away and living a relatively normal life in London, until the abduction of Helena and Luke Spencer, when he needed her help, and she eagerly obliged. Soon after she had been swept back "home" again, having done her part by luring them into a false sense of security, and despite her pleas to be more involved, she had remained sheltered and protected on the sidelines, frittering away her time with the rest of the city's high society, waiting impatiently for the day when he called on her aid again, or else, gleefully announced the victory in which she flattered herself she'd played a small part.

And now all of that was gone. His hopes and ambitions – their hopes and ambitions, she corrected herself, for if he wanted it, she wanted it, and that was that – had been dashed, cruelly and brutally, his life and his love snatched from her like a screaming babe from the arms of its mother. And what she felt was no less than the primal rage of that wailing infant, unnaturally ripped from the only love it had ever known, but her fury was a million times more potent and dangerous than anything a mere child could muster.

She'd briefly considered desecrating the grave of Kristina, and the rest of their loved ones, but decided against it. Although satisfying in the moment, it would ultimately be a petty and empty act, besides which, she would be tipping her hand. And if there was one thing she had learned in all her years admiring, adoring, worshipping and emulating him, it was never to reveal too much too soon. No, her plan was more intricate, and more subtle, and the results of it, so long as she was careful, would prove to be infinitely more satisfying.

Yes, her plan did involve revealing a great deal to and forging an alliance with a sworn and hated enemy, but her options were severely limited, and she had been patient, allowing months to pass before seeking her out, planning their "meeting," and making sure the element of surprise would work in her favor. She had lingered in this cemetery long enough, contemplating the bitter injustice of it all. It was time to act. It was time to seek revenge.

Those fools – Alexis and her brats, Nikolas and his spawn, even the oh-so-wise Stefan who never seemed to truly die – they all thought it was over. But it was not over. It was never over, not as long as she drew breath.

She surveyed the graveyard one final time, contempt written all over her lovely face. Then she turned on her heal and strode away, with purpose, towards the flight that would carry her to the next phase of her plan.

She would have her revenge. She would destroy them all.

***

St. Petersburg, Russia

They "met" in the same country and city in which Stefan and Alexis had met for the first time in years – it was even the same church. She has always liked events in her life to have a certain symmetry, and this was no exception. His men, now her own, dragged the older woman in, bound and gagged, with a hood over her head to keep her from guessing her surroundings. Even in her advancing years she was still fierce, but for now, she had stopped struggling, probably considering it beneath her dignity. With a nod from her, the other woman's hands were untied, the hood removed, and the gag taken out of her mouth. The men gripped her arms warningly, but she shrugged them off imperiously, and with a nod from their new mistress, they did not attempt to grab her again. The older woman stared into the face of the younger one, angry but uncomprehending. She studied her opponent carefully until she finally recognized her features. The chocolate-brown hair swept up in an intricate, stylish up-do, the eyes of hazel hue that always seemed to change shades in difference lights and moods, the porcelain skin and the deceptively sweet-looking, heart-shaped face, the calm, cool demeanor….

"Mischa," Helena breathed, looking deep into the eyes of the woman who "nursed" her when she was held captive by yet another one of her husband's bastards. And then the questions came, sharp and pointed, more like demands than pleas. "What are you doing? Why have you brought me here? Who are you, really? Do you think you can do this and get away with it? I may have been too weak to fight you last time, but I warn you, my dear, I am – "

"Don't blame me for keeping you bed-ridden on that island, Helena," she said coolly in her crisp British accent, with just a hint of malice in her voice. "I may have had a hand in it, but you poked the snake, remember? He can hardly be blamed for striking back. It's instinct; it's in his blood."

"The snake is dead now," Helena reminded her, her lips curving in a vicious smile. A flash of pain flickered across Mischa's face before the unreadable mask slipped back into place.

"Ah, but you see, his venom lives on."

"You're his," Helena said flatly. It wasn't a question. "All that time … I should have deduced it. I should have known."

"Oh, don't blame yourself for not figuring it out. After all, you weren't quite yourself at the time … thanks to my ministrations," allowing herself to show some emotion, she gave Helena a small smirk that was as full of malice and madness as her father's. She hated Helena as much as Valentine had, but she knew the old bat would prove useful, so she could, with effort, put her feelings aside. "Like you, I've made quite a study of poisons and toxins. I might go so far to say we're evenly matched in that field."

"Oh, don't overestimate yourself, my dear…"

"And don't underestimate me, Helena. I brought you here without anyone knowing about it, not even your precious Nikolas. Though I doubt he would care if you disappeared off the face of the Earth." Helena flinched, and Mischa felt a petty sort of triumph. After a brief stay at General Hospital, the Prince had sent his grandmother to Switzerland to "recover," and had been far too busy dealing with the havoc wreaked by Valentine to bother checking up on her, which he only would have done to assure that she stayed put anyway.

"What do you want?" Helena was impatient now, tired of trading insults. Mischa considered toying with her for a while longer, but then decided it was time to oblige her and come to the point.

"I want to forge an alliance with you." Helena's eyes widened, and she threw back her head and laughed, the bone-chilling, maniacal laughter which would have scared anyone else, but Mischa remained stoic, impassive, until Helen stopped laughing and looked her in the eye.

"My god, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Why not? You forged a temporary alliance with Luke Spencer to escape the clutches of my father and I, did you not? Hated enemies though you were, you were able to unite briefly in a common purpose. You and I should be able to do the same."

"Oh? And what common purpose do you think we share?"

"Destroying your pathetic son, and all – well, for you, most – of those who love him."

Helena's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Stefan is alive," Mischa revealed without preamble. Helena's reaction was as expected; she gasped, and then scoffed. She started to protest, but with a nod, one of Mischa's men presented her with proof – pictures – from one of Stefan's leisurely dinners in Milan. Helena looked at the pictures, staring, astounded but ultimately still wary.

"These … these could be doctored …"

"Oh, but they are quite real," Mischa assured her. "Think about it, Helena. What reason would I have for making you think Stefan is alive if he is not? Be assured, the photographs are authentic. Apparently, Alexis helped him fake his death."

Helena snorted derisively at the sound of her name. "That pathetic little mouse."

"Not so pathetic if she was able to fool you, I think," Mischa retorted sharply. She hated Alexis as much as the rest, but that didn't mean she wasn't able to admire her cunning. "But no matter. You and I can find him and kill him. And he would only be the start. Will you agree to an alliance with me?"

Helena looked back up at her, studying the younger woman intently. After what seemed a long time, she finally let out a breath and nodded. "Nikolas and Spencer are not to be harmed," she said sharply, and though Mischa nodded dutifully, their eyes locked, and they both knew their alliance would turn to ashes once they had eliminated all the rest – Alexis and her brats, the Spencers and their spawn – but for the time being, they could work together quite successfully.

Mischa held out her hand for the older woman to shake, and after a moment's hesitation, Helena took it, and their agreement was confirmed.

"Oh, but before we begin our plans," Mischa said, almost as if it were an afterthought, "I have another piece of information that may prove of great interest to you." Helena raised a brow.

"Oh? And what is that?"

Mischa grinned, a mad, malicious grin, and for the first time, Helena realized how much she looked like her father. "Well as it turns out, the lives of Nikolas and Spencer may not be the only ones you would like to see spared," she said smugly (for they were both pretending Mischa would honor that part of their agreement). "I know you value the blood of your precious Stavros above all else. You love his son, and his grandson, but I wonder … would you show the same devotion to his daughter?"

Helena's eyes widened. "Daughter? That's … that's impossible!" She stuttered. "There is only Nikolas, Stavros had no other children."

"Oh, but he did." Mischa's grin widened to Cheshire-like proportions. "You should have counseled him to stay away from the little mouse, Helena. After all, he never knew their true relationship, and for all your love of your darling son, you must concede he had a certain … predilection for unwilling women. The first daughter of the bastard Natasha is his, Helena, his just as much as she is hers. Samantha McCall is your granddaughter."

~THE END … at least until I decide to start writing a sequel. ;)~

*Final Note: I have never been able to complete a fic this lengthy in any fandom. I credit my success to you, my dear readers, and your encouraging and insightful reviews. Special recognition goes to Soapdemon for always 'begging' for updates, to DavisFamilyFan for being inside my head, and to StefanChloeFan for letting me know I was not alone in lamenting what could have been for our beloved Mr. Cassadine. And of course, my deep gratitude to all of you for not giving up on this story during the months-long hiatus I took from it. Thank you so much!*