Chapter Twenty-Five

All throughout Tracy and Alan's childhood, Edward had lamented how noisy his children were. Complaining, he'd spent endless hours beseeching his children to sit and read a book quietly instead of insisting upon playing tap throughout the house. Instead of solitaire, they played 'Operation,' a sign now, as he looked back, that his son would never be the CEO he had hoped for. And then there were their legendary, knock-out, drag down fights. The home's rafters would ring for hours even after his heirs were calmed and miraculously placated. Lila had reveled in their high-strung shenanigans, but all he had wanted some peace and quiet.

By the time they were old enough to go to school, Edward had already decided upon boarding school. Their leaving, though, did not silence the house as he had planned it would, for Lila was still mobile then, and their rooms were always crowded with her friends and fellow social committee members. Teas, bazaars, and balls. There had been no escaping the noise.

It had seemed like just a blink of an eye before first Tracy and then Alan returned home, grown adults who, in one breath, hated him but, in the other, craved his admiration and approval. Soon, they married, divorced, and married again. Grandchildren followed, even great-grandchildren, and Edward had given up the hope of ever being able to relax in his own study, the stillness his only company. His fears, though, had been misguided. Now, he was pretty sure that he would sell his soul for a little joy and vivaciousness to fill the still corners of his empty family home. For a place as big as the Quartermaine mansion, they had far too many bedrooms unoccupied.

Reclined in his favorite chair, a full, practically undisturbed tea service and breakfast bar just a few paces off to his side, the family patriarch found himself stunned by just how disturbed he was by the peace and quiet. For years, he had wanted nothing else, but, now that his wish had finally been granted, all he wanted was childish laughter and the bickering of his always cantankerous progeny. Now, though, it was just himself and Lila, Alan and Monica who remained, and his son and daughter-in-law were hardly ever at home.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for a wonderful, malicious Quartermaine brawl. He would yell that someone wouldn't do something relatively harmless in his house, and then Monica would challenge him that it was her house, only to be reminded by Alan that he had given it to her. Such fights used to be the bane of his existence; now, he recalled them with the shattering sentimentality of the old, doddering fool he feared he was becoming.

Dismissing his own thoughts, Edward went to return to his paper – the business section folded around and hiding the comics that lay beneath it – when the doorbell rang, its warm peels disturbing the mansion's stillness in a pleasant way. Though neither he nor Lila were expecting company that morning, the distraction would be most welcome. Still, though, he wasn't about to open his own door. That's what he had staff for, so, when their unknown guest pressed the bell once more, he grumpily tossed his paper aside.

"Reginald," he bellowed, refusing to stand from his chair. Of all the ungrateful, lazy servants, his butler took the proverbial cake. In fact, he wasn't sure what exactly the man did around the house, but he knew it wasn't a sufficient amount of work to earn his ridiculously handsome salary, not to mention the free room and board all the full-time Quartermaine household staff were offered. Someday, though, Lila wouldn't be there to shield the shiftless butler, and, when that day came, he would have a rude awakening.

Realizing the terrible direction his own mind had taken him made Edward even more cross. "Damn it, Reginald! Do what we pay you for and answer that front door."

His only response was the doorbell being sounded once more. Grumbling, he stood up and marched towards the den's entranceway. Once he was looking out into the foyer, not a single servant in sight, he yelled once more. "If that worthless butler of mine can't be bothered, then it's your job, Alice, so see to my guest." Several seconds ticked by, still no response. Raising the volume of his voice to a dizzying level, he roared, "Alice!"

Nothing.

"If she weren't liable to poison me at dinner tonight, I'd go into that kitchen and threaten that damn cook within an inch of her life if she didn't go out and answer the door." Glowering and stomping his way towards the raised entry, Edward whisked the door open for himself just as the bell chimed for a fourth time. So put out was he towards his staff that, when he finally faced his visitors, Edward demanded, "what," without really seeing who was before him. As soon as the mother and child registered, though, he felt immediately contrite.

"Is this a bad time, because we can come back later," the young woman offered, already starting to back away from him.

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense," the Quartermaine family patriarch was quick to dismiss her concerns, waving them off as he ushered the duo inside. "It's not you that I'm annoyed with. It's that terrible butler of mine."

"Reginald giving you fits again, Old Man?"

He ignored both her taunting and the fact that she called him 'Old Man.' Instead, Edward smiled warmly towards his guests. "No, Carly, my dear, you know that you're always welcome here. And you brought Little Michael with you. What a wonderful surprise."

"Well, I thought that Lila might like to spend the afternoon with him," the multiple divorcee said in reply. Though he didn't believe a single word that was coming out of her painted mouth, there was no way he was going to accuse her of lying. One false move, and she'd take the first chance he'd really had in years to spend time with his great-grandson away faster than he could say 'trailer trash.' As the silence stretched between them, though, Carly obviously felt the need to say something more. "Plus, I really haven't been feeling well the past few days."

"Oh, you're not sick, are you," he asked in what he hoped sounded like a genuinely concerned tone. "If you want me to, I could call either Alan or Monica and have them come home to look you over."

"No, thanks, I'll be fine," she assured him. "I probably just ate something that had gone bad. You know, I'm not the best cook in the world."

Now, why didn't he find that to be a shocking statement? "We can't all be good at everything. As Lila can attest to, I'm horrible at gardening. Why, if I even look at one of her roses the wrong way, I swear the plant will die."

"Edward Quartermaine has a black thumb, huh," Carly taunted him. "And here, all these years, I had thought it was a black heart."

Why, the insufferable wench was mocking him while, at the same time, asking him for a favor. Not that he considered spending time with Michael a favor, per say, but, because of their history, one could see the blonde's sudden arrival on his doorstep with her son in hand as such a thing. It was because her appearance at his home was so sudden and unexpected that he remained quiet, though, and allowed her to say whatever she wanted to disparage against his character.

Finally, he responded, "if you're not feeling well, Carly, you really shouldn't be worrying about me. Go home. Take a nap. Have a cup of tea. Do whatever it is you enjoy doing when you're feeling poorly. Lila and I will look after Michael for you today. Consider it our pleasure."

"But, when I return to pick him up, you'll hand him over to me without a fight, right?"

"You have my word," he pledged to her solemnly.

"That's what I'm afraid of," the tramp mumbled as she eyed him warily. Several tense moments passed, but, eventually, she said, "go find your Grandma Lila, Michael. I'm sure she's upstairs." And the little boy took off like a rocket, shooting up the Quartermaine's grand circular stairway as though he spent every afternoon in their presence. Once he was gone, Carly regarded him closely, narrowing her gaze. "I'll be back no later than five. Oh, and don't try to feed him any of your fancy, high brow food. He doesn't like it."

"I have spent time with children before, raised two of my own in fact."

"Yeah, you, Lila, the nannies, and the staffs of the best boarding schools your money could pay for. Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Old Man. Five o'clock."

He shut the door behind her as she left, barely restraining his annoyance until after the barrier was sealed. "Sick my foot," he complained under his breath, already moving towards the steps that would take him to his beloved wife and great-grandson. "You probably went and got yourself knocked up again, Carly."

} ~ {

Little, snotty, stuck-up Robin Scorpio was hiding something. His suspicions had all started after a rather slow first few weeks on the job at GH. Sure, there had been several gun shot wounds to the head, but they weren't accidental. Rather, they were of the mob execution style, so, really, there was very little that he could do other than remove the bullet and hope that it helped the police but the bastards away who continued to perpetrate such crimes. So, between pronouncing gang-bangers and mafia henchmen dead, he had decided to sort through, organize, and study all of his predecessor's old file. There had been one case in particular that he found captivating.

Blunt force trauma to the head and what should have proven to be an irreversible coma caused by a young man's skull connecting with a tree trunk after being expelled from a vehicle driven by his drunk, alcoholic of a brother. However, well past when the doctors had given up, the patient had proven beyond resilient and woken up, all his memories gone and his personality forever altered. The man's name was familiar, too. Jason Morgan. Even in New York City, the mob enforcer had been known. Now that he was in Port Charles, he heard mentions of the dangerous criminal constantly.

Between boredom, curiosity, and frustration – despite numerous apologies to Doctor Scorpio and assurances that he wasn't practicing his lecherous seduction show upon her cousin, her words not his, the woman still refused to speak with him, he had finally been driven to seeking out more information about the infamous local case. When he questioned the nursing staff, though – always the best source of gossip in a hospital environment, he was shocked when they either ignored or forget to mention that the chief of staff was Morgan's biological father, that the head of Cardiology was the mother who had raised him. Instead, they laughed and told him to talk to Robin... if she didn't throw her charts at him as soon as he entered her vicinity.

While he didn't want to be her best friend, and while he certainly was not interested in dating the prickly woman, contrary to what Maxie Jones believed and proclaimed loudly for all to hear, he also didn't want to constantly fear walking around a corner and being confronted with one hundred pounds of harping hostility. Despite the fact that Doctor Scorpio was the hospital's HIV/AIDS Specialist and he a neurosurgeon, eventually their paths would cross, and they would have to work together on a case. When that happened, they had to find a way to act professional around both each other and their patient. For that reason, he was at his wits end on how he was ever going to get her to not attempt to kill him with metaphorical daggers every time they came into contact with one other.

Add to that the fact that, in all honestly, he really did enjoy bantering with her, and it was no wonder that he was being driven to seeking out distractions, and he knew that the Morgan case was nothing but a way to divert his attentions. Professionally speaking, Jason's situation was fascinating, but it was also rare. The chances of Patrick ever seeing an injury similar enough to warrant such close and scrutinizing attention were extremely unlikely. However, still, it was his excuse to drop by the opposite side of the hospital – as the nurses had dubbed it, Team Scorpio's side.

"Knock, knock," he said as he poked his head into the brunette's office. When she simply glanced up from her paperwork to glare at him, he held his hands up in surrender. "I come in peace."

"Why do I find that so hard to believe?"

"Because you're a pessimistic bitch who thinks the worst of everyone," he answered smoothly, "no offense, of course."

Leaning back in her chair, Robin crossed her arms over her chest. "In order to take offense, I'd have to care what you think, and we both know that I don't." Almost unwillingly, his eyes dropped to her low dipping shirt, and he momentarily admired the small glimpse of the other doctor's cleavage that he received by the movement before he realized just whose cleavage he was staring at. "What do you want, Drake?"

"I actually have a case that I want to discuss with you."

Instantly seriously, she demanded, "you've had a neurology patient admitted who's HIV positive? All such patients are supposed to be flagged and immediately reported to me. I haven't heard anything."

"No, it's nothing like that," Patrick dismissed her worry. "Actually, the case that I'm wondering about is one that you weren't professionally involved in. Rather, it was personal."

He watched amazed as Doctor Scorpio launched herself out of her chair so quickly it rolled backwards on its wheels to slam into the bookshelves behind her desk. "You have no right to poke your nose into my records."

Vehemently, he defended himself. "I didn't!"

"Then, what? Someone told you about Stone, so you went and pulled his files?"

Exasperated, he threw up his hands. "No! And, for that matter, who the hell is Stone? Another annoying, interfering cousin? Please don't tell me that Maxie named her kid that."

His words had apparently confused her. "What kid? Maxie doesn't have a kid."

"The little girl you dropped off a few weeks ago when you ran into us at Kelly's together," Patrick replied. "I thought she was her daughter."

"No, that's my daughter, and her name is Cate."

"Oh, so is Stone her father or something," he asked, still seeking an explanation as to why his coworker was even more confrontational than usual. And he hadn't even tried to piss her off!

"Cate's adopted. I have no idea who her father is."

"Wow," he whispered, surprising himself when he sat down in the chair positioned across from Robin's desk. "So, you're a single mother... by choice?" Before she could respond, he also asked, "you still haven't told me who this Stone guy is yet?"

"He's someone from my past, and he's dead. That's all you get to know." Despite the fact that he was now seated, Doctor Scorpio still refused to retake her own chair. "What's this about some patient from the past that I was involved with personally?"

"Jason Morgan."

Shocking him, she smiled. "Oh, that's not a problem. I should have known that you would want to talk to me about Jason's case once you found it in Tony's records." Practically pleasant, Robin questioned, "so, what is it exactly that you want to know?"

"After you little melt down, I really can't remember."

"Well, in that case..." Sitting back down, she said, "I really have a lot of work to do. When you can have a list of queries ready for me, send me an email. I'll answer what I feel comfortable revealing. I'm warning you, though, despite the fact that we broke up and haven't seen each other in years, I still consider Jason a friend. There are some things that I won't feel right revealing to you."

"Wait," he told her, leaning forward. "Did you just say... broke up? Are you telling me that prim and proper, stick up her ass Doctor Robin Scorpio dated the town bad boy?"

"And lived with him," she replied smugly. "And helped him raise his... well, a baby for about a year or so. Why?"

"You're just full of surprises, that's all."

She nodded in recognition of his words. "If there's nothing else then..."

Responding to the cue she provided him with, Patrick stood. Before he could reach the door, though, he paused to turn around once more. "Actually, I do have one question that you could answer for me right now."

"Shoot."

"Whether I like you or not, whether I think you're a pain in the ass or not, you're still an intelligent woman."

"Watch the compliments, Drake, or I'll think that you need a neurosurgeon."

Ignoring her taunt, he persisted, asking, "why in hell would you choose to go into such a thankless speciality? I mean, come on – HIV/AIDS Research? Really? Talk about a thankless, fatalistic career choice."

For several moments, she remained silent, pointedly observing him as though looking for some sort of sign. Finally, she said, "my ex, Stone, the one whom I said died?" He nodded to show her that he remembered. "He was my first... everything." Patrick raised his eye brows in shock, astonished that such an ice queen would admit something so private and personal to him. "He also died from AIDS. I chose my speciality for him... and for all the other women out there who are HIV positive like myself. Somebody has to believe that it isn't a thankless, fatalistic career choice if we ever want there to be a cure found."

Speechless, he walked away from her without even a single backwards glance or an acknowledgement of her revelation. He was stunned, ashamed of his own actions and comments towards the other doctor, and completely and totally beyond words. It didn't help matters either that Robin knew exactly what her little confession had accomplished. He could tell by the sly, smug little grin transforming her otherwise impassive countenance that she had made her announcement with the hope of knocking him off his guard. Well, she had certainly met her goal, but, now, he had no idea how to act around her. Never before had someone ever thrown him so far off his game. The experience was... life altering.

} ~ {

Had the brandy sniffer he rolled around in his palm been filled three or four times that evening? Had he had dinner yet? Did he even want dinner, or did he just want to drink himself into lonely oblivion once again that night? Sonny knew that, when he went home later, he didn't have to go alone. He could find temporary company for the evening, an anonymous bedmate who would leave discreetly come morning before he even awoke. But he didn't place the call. Hell, if he really felt like relieving tension, he knew that, baited enough, Carly would come to him. He just wasn't sure if his misery was in the mood for company that night.

"Why aren't we meeting at the penthouse," Jason asked him as he took the only other seat available at Sonny's table. It was positioned strategically at the gangster's left, leaving his right side open so he could pull his own weapon and his view unobstructed of the rest of the restaurant. "You hate talking business in public, unsecured places."

Dismissively, he answered, "the penthouse is having some work done." Though it chapped to have to dance to his employee's impertinent tune, Sonny also knew that, if he didn't respond, all his enforcer had to do was ask a question or two and his own men who were still loyal to Jason would tell him whatever he wanted to know. He felt that it was better if he revealed some information rather than remain mum and have his former second go sniffing around where he didn't belong. The last thing he wanted was for Jason to know he had ransacked his own home, let alone that he had drunkenly shared a wild, rough night of sex with Carly, his ex-wife. Again.

"Why did you want to see me?"

"I want to know where the hell you've been for the past month," he exploded, pounding a closed fist, the one not holding his drink, down roughly against the tablecloth covered dining surface. The little lantern in the middle shook dangerous, almost toppling over. "Days after our last meeting, the men said you disappeared and nobody's seen you since."

"Until tonight."

"And that's only because I put the word out that you either came in on your own or I'd come out and find you myself."

Sonny watched as Jason folded his arms casually across his chest, the other man's plain blue t-shirt pulling taunt with the movement. "I've been doing what you told me to do. I've been spending time with Johnny Zacchara, working with him."

Though it was what he had wanted, the words still made Sonny feel on edge. Perhaps it was the fact that Jason said working with instead of training. In the end, though, it didn't matter, because Anthony had been quiet for the past few weeks, meaning he must have been satisfied with the enforcer's attentions regarding his son and heir, effectively removing the other don's weight from Sonny's back. "How much longer do you think it's going to take?"

"Hard to tell. After all, in this business, one never knows what kind of unimaginably complicated and horrendous situation will arise. Per your orders, I have to make sure that Johnny is ready for anything. Right?"

It was startling to hear Jason talk to much, not to mention so rudely, but he had more important things on his mind than teaching the younger man some manners. In a few months' time, less if he could somehow figure out a way to null and void his deal with Zacchara, his enforcer would leave town again, and Sonny wouldn't have to worry about the unsteady way Jason now made him feel. Still, though, despite the distance between them, when it came to protecting his personal life, there was no one that he could trust more. It was for that reason and that reason alone that he dared to mention Alexis and the baby.

"I think that my wife might try to keep mychild from me."

"Which wife," Jason questioned darkly, fairly spitting out his words. "Which kid?"

Glaring at him, Sonny accused, "you know damn well that I'm talking about Alexis and our unborn daughter. Carly and I are divorced."

"So, does that mean that you're no longer Michael's father?"

Ignoring the inquiry, he returned to his own concerns. "Several weeks ago, Alexis went into premature labor. She didn't even ask me to go to the hospital with her." He chose to turn a blind eye towards the fact Robin had tried to call him on his wife's behalf at least a dozen times; he had just been too drunk and then too sexually satisfied after fucking Carly to answer his phone. "They stopped the baby from coming, but, now, because she's high risk, she's on bed rest."

"There's nothing more frightening to a parent than the prospect of losing a child."

If he didn't know any better, Sonny would have sworn that Jason was talking from some kind of personal experience beyond helping Carly with a sick, newborn Michael. "She's not sleeping in her own bed, though, or mine; she's staying with Candyboy."

"Jax is back in town, huh," his enforcer questioned rather blandly. "It's funny how many skeletons from your closet just keep popping back up. First Anthony and the deal you made with him. Then you called me back to town. Now Jax. Is there anything else I should know about, Sonny?"

"If you'd quit making smart ass remarks, that's what I'm trying to tell you," he snapped, nearly clenching his brandy sniffer to the point where he could feel its glass trembling near its breaking point between his fingers. When Jason remained quiet and didn't respond, he continued, "the day after the scare, Jax brought divorce papers over, and his lawyer keeps having me served with new copies, practically everyday. I think that asshole is trying to steal my kid from me."

"Only the worst kind of monsters go after children," Jason sympathized. "And to take a child from its biological parents to be raised by strangers, such men need put down like the animals they are."

Sonny could feel the blood drain from his own face as he blanched in momentary horror, but, quickly, he regained his composure. After all, there were only three people in the world who knew the details of his deal with Anthony, and he, Zacchara, and Carly were certainly not talking. There was no possible way that the younger man knew what had happened to his own children. "So, you'll help me."

"Just keep me posted," Jason told him as he stood up from the table. Fascinated, Sonny watched as his enforcer removed his glock from the back of his pants, checked it over, and then shoved the lethal weapon back away under his shirt. Meeting his gaze once more, Jason said, "no matter what's changed between us, Sonny, I know that, if the roles were reversed, you'd never allow anything to happen to my kids, so I won't let anything happen to yours."

As soon as the door slammed behind the retreating enforcer, Sonny drained his glass of brandy and signaled for another. The expensive liquor, though, did nothing to quell his sudden sense of dread.