Disclaimer: I own nothing from General Hospital. This is a way to express my love for the show and characters, and a different path that they could have taken if the writing had gone a different way. But mostly, I do it to better myself at writing and get feedback from anyone who likes to read my stories.

I want to thank, Bryantk82, Jmmartinez, ERCommandoTwilight, Twisted Musalih, trini12180, babeboo1968, RobJas, arcoiris0502, mif456, notenoughlove, killianariel18100, shermi, Wonderwomom, diamond2225leo, ghfan51184, lita4277, Bettyboop48748, Liasonfan75, 1bree, Meghie03, Shadow2485, brae76, jhplug, starlight guardian, IHEARTPADF00T, THEfictionfanatic, Olitz and scandal fan, Gyngerbear, SlytherinQueen020, Phasesofthemoom, phillymom65, Yin-Yang M, soagirlforver, Quinesia, selenan99, AfricanAngel94, lyndsm, jamescarrothers14, choclit98, ZHTJ, Teresa Rountree for the favs.

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Thank you, kcke2pen, arcoiris0502, bjq, fundays, trini12180, Guest 1, chick'62, notenoughlove, RobJas, Guest 2, for the reviews!

Guest Reviews:

Guest 1: Hello! I am so sorry for not posting sooner. I ended up rewriting this chapter so many times until I was happy with it. Thank you for permission for the bubblegum trinket insult! :D I am always iffy about Lulu because her relationship with Elizabeth has always been a mixed bag of chips, to say the least. I decided to bring out the best in their friendship in this story. I really wanted to give Elizabeth to acknowledged how chaotic that time was and how she regretted her decisions, without necessarily letting her completely off the hook. Liz asking Jason to give up Jake was one of the most boneheaded things she had ever done, even if she had reasons for it. Sadly, Lucky has always been a boil on the face of Liason's relationship, so I couldn't just kick him off the face of the earth…yet. XD Oh, gawd, the amount of crocodile tears that Lucky spewed over the years could flood nations. Elizabeth has a better support crew to combat Lucky's ways. He really is just to bring drama and closure, I'm not even going to lie.

Monica and Liesl being the older version of Sam and Carly is something that I had never thought about, but you are pretty spot on with that. I wish GH had kept Franco as a villain because the actor could have done so much more with that then the whitewash, redemption arcs and retcons, but I am happy to know that you are enjoying the villain Franco. Sabrina's fate is up in the air, so who knows? ;) Thank you again for the wonderful review!

Chiki'62: Thank you for the review! Franco is up to something and it's not a good thing. There are hints of Shiloh and DoD. If only it was that easy to get rid of Sam, lol. Carly doesn't have much self-awareness, does she? Carly sees the world through her lens and believes everyone has the same motives as she does, and can't imagine a reality beyond that. Thank you!

Guest 2: Here is the update! I am so sorry for the lateness of this. Yes, we are still working on that story! It is a fanfiction that I work on with Winchestergurl4life called "The Heart Knows", but we got sidetracked from it for a long time. WG had a lot to juggle with college and I had my own things to deal with, so it's been on the backburner. But we still have plans to continue with it.

I apologize for the late update! I am always apologizing for the late updates. It's just been a rough time, I am not going to even lie right now. I am also going back to edit and hammer out the errors in several of my stories, and doing mass overhauls on others, so I've been a busy, busy bee. I hope you all will forgive me.

Chapter Ten

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General Hospital

Saint Paolo Avenue, Port Charles

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It was like being trapped in a mirror maze in some horrific amusement park.

Aimee stared down at her reflection in the glass tabletop in the empty conference room. She had a knuckle white grip on the armrests of the wheelchair, wanting to rage against reality and not believe the devastating news that had been delivered just a few minutes ago. Her heart was wedged, sharp as a knife, into the back of her mouth. She sat there so still and barely breathing, so pale that her complexion nearly matched the crisp, white hospital gown. A paper cup filled to the rim with a bitter, dark brew was sat in front of her gently by one of the officers.

They asked a lot of questions, over and over, and she tried to answer to the best of her ability. Sometimes, her voice cracked, and it was hard to fight back the rising hysteria.

Miss Lancaster, when was the last time you saw Sabrina Santiago? Did she act strangely? Make any mention of someone bothering her?

"No. Nothing that comes to mind," she had said. "She was—was optimistic. Hoping to reconcile her relationship with Michael—"

"Michael Corinthos?"

And she instantly regretted that. The way the police officers shared a look, eyes sharpened with interest made her stomach twist into a hard knot. No matter how she answered, they would find a way back to questioning her about Michael and Sabrina's relationship.

Miss Lancaster, how was Sabrina's relationship with Michael after the wedding fell apart? Was Sabrina afraid of Michael? Did he ever lose his temper with her?

Her adamant defense that Michael wouldn't harm Sabrina seemed to go unregistered and unheard. It made her feel like that little girl again, stuck in the back of a cop car while the police officers had a good laugh with the man who had hurt her the most. Her skin crawled and a shudder ran down her spine, and the air in the room was too thin. She fought not to panic, too afraid that it would give them more ammunition to make Michael a scapegoat.

A part of her mind acknowledged that it was reasonable to look at personal connections when a person was a victim of foul play, but the fervor and intent that dripped off these police officers—it was revolting, to say the least. It had become less about finding out what had happened, and more about what they could do to Michael, and through him to Sonny. It was the kind of cunning manipulation that she had seen in the hellish environment that she had been raised in. It was the look of men who had lost the angel on their shoulders to give the devil more room to settle in.

Find herself facing such individuals brought her more anger than fear. It was the anger that cut through the haze of grief, and made her watery eyes glare balefully at the officers. She informed them that she had answered all the questions that they needed to know and if they had any further ones that would help figure out what happened to Sabrina, then they could call her phone number.

She sipped on the cold coffee, now situated in a hospital room, waiting for the all-clear to go home. Her head lifted when the door opened, and a relief flooded through her at Elizabeth's familiar face. "Hey," she whispered out hoarsely.

"Hey." Elizabeth shut the door quietly, eyes filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

"I—I'm doing fine. Just a bit rattled after hearing what happened to Sabrina," Aimee admitted.

"I think we all are."

Humming deep in her throat, Aimee down the last bit of coffee. "The police questioned me. They believe that I was likely the last person to talk to Sabrina before—before she was hurt."

"Do they have any leads?" asked Elizabeth, tentatively.

"I think they didn't have any leads until I made the mistake of mentioning Michael." Aimee gently got up off the examination to throw away her paper cup into the recycle bin, and she slowly turned to back towards Elizabeth with a guilty expression. "I wish I hadn't said anything."

"Hey, hey, don't blame yourself. You were just trying to give them information that would help figure out what the Sabrina, and Michael was her ex-fiancé, so it would have come up at some point. And if worst comes to worse, then I go speak with Taggert myself," Elizabeth told her, with conviction. "He can be bullheaded at times, especially when it comes to Sonny, but he was one of the few that stepped up in defense of Michael when Claudia Zacharra was murdered. I am sure that he will see reason in this case, too."

"I hope that you are right." The words were a sigh, tired and exhausted. "How is everyone holding up?"

Elizabeth gave a smile, one that was sad and half-hearted. "About as well as can be expected. Epiphany and Felix went to go get some of Sabrina's belongings. They are hoping that it will…make things more comfortable for her after surgery because chances are that she will be in recovery and forced to stay at the hospital for a while," she said. "Dr. Collins informed me of a cancellation, so they were able to get Jake in a little bit early so I could—I could be here for Sabrina."

"How is she? Is she out of surgery?" asked Aimee.

"No, she isn't out of surgery, but we aren't going to get any updates on her condition."

Aimee blinked, confused. "What? Why?"

"Carlos Rivera is her current Power of Attorney in regard to medical decisions," Elizabeth said, while making a face.

"But he's in jail—he tried to kill her!"

Aimee was so shocked. Her mind had completely stalled, and her hands tunneled through her hair while she tried to muddle through the information dropped into her lap.

"Sabrina never filed paperwork to change it. And the law isn't against an inmate from being someone's Power of Attorney. Which I can understand to a point, when you realize how many people are wrongly accused or innocent that sit in jail, and they want some way to be able to protect or be there for their family and loves ones—" Elizabeth cut off her rambling in order to take a deep breath, and she wrung her hands together in front of her nervously. "But we both know that isn't what Carlos is doing with it. He is going to use this as leverage to hurt everyone that he blames for taking Sabrina away from him."

"We—we have to fight this. I will call all the lawyers that I know, let me know that money is no object—" Aimee paced back and forth, frantic despite the deeply embedded exhaustion. "We will make sure that Carlos can't do anything to hurt Sabrina. She can't—she can't protect herself right now. We have to be the ones to do it for her."

Elizabeth nodded. "We will. We will be there for her as much as we can be but sucking yourself into anxiety vortex is not going to help. It is just going to make you feel all the worse when there isn't anything, we can do right this second."

It was like a splash of cold water being dropped on her. It wasn't until Elizabeth pointed it out that Aimee realized how high strung, and panicky that she had become. Her arms were looped around her waist, and fingernails digging harshly into her ribcage. If she had been wearing a straitjacket, she imagined she'd look right at home in the psych ward.

"I…I am sorry. I didn't mean…"

"You don't have to apologize. I understand."

Aimee felt like she needed to. She fought so hard to keep her emotions under lock and key, and to manage the trauma that charred the insides of her soul. The way that Carlos could use this to hurt Sabrina—it reminded her too much of a past best left behind. It reminded her of how the world had seemed so rigged, all the gaslighting and manipulations that left her easy prey to vultures and opportunists.

"How can you be so calm?" Aimee asked softly.

Elizabeth's eyes went wide and soft, her lips parted in surprise at the question. "Oh. Oh, I don't know if calm is the right word for it. I suppose I am…just going through the motions. I have—I have lost quite a few people over the years that my automatic response isn't to cry or weep, but to gather up all the pieces and try to hold things together," she replied, when she found her voice. "That the tears will come when I'm ready. Instead I just exist in the space of numbness and shock, and the grief—the grief is like acid in my heart."

Aimee searched her face and felt her heart ache with sympathy. "You've had your emotions turned against you too often to let yourself be vulnerable like that anymore, even for those that you love the most."

Elizabeth sighed. "If that was only the half of it."

Her pulse was a beating drum in her ears, Aimee sat back down at the examination table when her legs felt to unsteady. "Has Michael even been told about what has happened?"

"The last I heard was that they were trying to get ahold of him. I just hope he gets the news from a friendly face instead of police who want nothing more than to cuff him," Elizabeth said, with a grimace. She pulled out her cellphone and started to text, presumably pass along the news to the others so someone could warn Michael. "God, this is such a disaster."

Aimee couldn't agree more. "You said something of an old friend running a security firm? And that he was sending people down to help guard you and the kids?"

"Yes. Why?"

Aimee licked her lips once, nervously. She tried to live her life by logic and reason, and not allow her emotions to control. It was difficult to smother the sense of fear and paranoid that consumed her in this moment, after everything that happened. It was too much—too many incidents in quick span of time, and then with Claudette showing up…it was all she could do to not look over her should constantly. The urge to round the wagons and bar out to the rest of the world was immense, but—

But she wasn't alone anymore.

"After the break-in at your place and this happening to Sabrina—I am absolutely certain that I want to put some extra protection in place. I know that it might sound heavy handed, or paranoid even, but I just have this bad feeling," Aimee stated empathetically. The heel of her hand was pressed over her pounding heart, and her lungs were constricted by the emotions that crashed through her like white lightning. "You all are the closest thing that I have to a family and I can't help to feel that you all are being targeted. If it had been one incident, maybe I could have accepted it as random, but so many in the last few days?"

"It has been one thing after the other…" Elizabeth straightened, her expression attentive and eyes alert. "Is there something else going on? Something you want to share?"

A part of her would love to just expose all the ugly pieces of herself and bring it all to the light so it couldn't be used against her. The wound—it was like an exposed bone, painful and broken, and creating an infection that poisoned her blood slowly. Aimee didn't ever think that she would ever be able to get rid of the past that spoiled her soul.

"…no," she replied, her features carefully blank. She felt like a filthy liar, and her stomach churned violently. "I just feel that given the current circumstances that it would be best to add a bit of extra security. You and the kids are covered, but what Felix? Or Laura? Or Patrick and Emma? I'm not saying assigning guards to them without permission, but should they agree then I would like to pay for the security service. After all, your friend is running a business and it wouldn't feel right to ask him to extend further assistance when I can pay for everything."

Elizabeth didn't look convinced and opened her mouth to call Aimee out on it when a cellphone rang, derailing the conversation. There was a shared glance when it became apparent that it wasn't coming from the cellphone in the nurse's hand, and Aimee noticed how Elizabeth seemed to jolt, shocked by a realization and her hand reached towards her purse—where the ringing cellphone came from, and then aborted the movement at last second. Her blue eyes darted to Aimee, then away swiftly.

Aimee felt a sickly sensation spread across her skin. "You have two cellphones?"

"It—it was Patrick's idea." Elizabeth gave her a strained smile and put her regular cellphone away, to grab the ringing one. "A work cellphone and a personal phone. I don't know how I am liking it. It honestly feels just like another thing to juggle. Do you mind if I take this?"

"No, go ahead."

"Thanks. I'll be just outside if you need anything."

Aimee watched silently as Elizabeth ducked out of the room, with a bemused expression on her face. She was the last person to be upset over someone having secrets, but Elizabeth had done her best to avoid secrets and lying whenever she could. She had her life blown apart by them before, but Aimee couldn't help to feel that Elizabeth had a world-shattering secret.

Not that I have any room to judge, thought Aimee, dismally.

She pulled her phone out of her hospital robe, trying to find something to occupy her mind and time so she didn't fall in never ending circle of anxious thoughts. Her emails were few, after discarding the rubbish spam emails about free iphones and miracle cures, and then a news alert popped up on her screen. Port Charles Gazette: A Murder in Brownstone…the title was enough to cause that instinctual fear that all woman feel when such stories pop up almost on the daily, and against her better judgment, she found herself clicking on the article.

Port Charles Gazette

A Murder in Brownstone!

By Sandra McIntyre (December 15, 2014)

Brownstone has experienced a renaissance in the last few years that has brought the small district out of the dark ages and breathed new life into the businesses and residential areas. It is the season of good tidings and good will towards man, but the festivities in Brownstone have been tragically cut short at the discovery of a dead body at a building site. An unidentified young woman was found mutilated slain at the Haver Apartments, owned by Michael Corinthos. The police have declined to comment on the pending investigation but have shared a sketch of the woman in hopes of that someone can provide information about the victim. There has been a curfew and guidelines for the Brownstone residents, and the number of police patrols have been enforced. (For more on Haver Apartments' Gruesome Past, click the link below.)

She scrolled past the written words to the picture below without a single thought, not prepared for the intense wave of panic that bombarded her brain that she completely forgot how to breath or function. Her heartbeat became erratic and unsteady, a cold sweat dripped down the length of her spine. The urge to run, to flee was overwhelming but her legs lacked all compacity to stand. There were seldom few things in this world that she could say she ever forgot, with a memory so sharp and ironclad that she was borderline eidetic. But denial was a temptation that she threw herself at in this moment. She told herself that she did not know that face, that the memories that encroached upon her present were nothing more than self-indulgent paranoia. She was anxious from Claudette's visit the other day that she was seeing ghosts everywhere, and there was no need to worry.

Coward. Liar. Thief.

She was on her feet, clumsy and awkward in her haste, and stumbled out the door into the blinding white hallway. The hall seemed to elongate, stretch out into infinity to mock her and the thought of being stuck in this sterile, cold place for a second longer was too much to bear. Goosebumps appeared on her arms, not from some chill in the air, but one that ran deep into her soul. She walked blindly, too overwhelmed to register the pain in that moment, and time was an irrelevant backdrop in her current state of mind.

Her jaw was locked shut, clenched so tight that her jaw seemed to creak beneath the pressure. Each breath was sharp and shallow, barely enough oxygen to satisfying her lungs that started to burn painfully in her chest. There was a mad buzzing in her skull, and anxiety squeezed her heart. The Nurses Station was a hazy outline out of the corner of her eye when she entered the waiting room area, and she could see people—scrubs, were they nurses, or doctors? Patients, perhaps? A sea of faceless people that were far too close and she tried to back away from them only to slam face first into a brick wall.

Only walls did not have arms, and her gaze jerked upward to clash with dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce through the fog of panic and bring the world slowly back into focus.

"R—Ross…" she rasped out.

If she were in a better frame of mind, she would be absolutely mortified that this was the second time in her brief acquaintance with the man that he had seen her a complete mess. Right now, she couldn't be bothered with embarrassment. Her quivering fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his jacket, clinging on for dear life. She could feel the heat of his body, and his earthy cologne was reminiscent of fresh rainfall in the forest. The scent washed over her in a wave, attempting to soothe the frayed edges of her thoughts.

Ross held her so gently in his arms, supporting her weight with ease. "Aimee, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Ross…I—I can't breathe," Aimee spoke, the words scrapping by the lump in her throat.

Ross escorted her to a chair when her body started to convulse; a series of tremors that overtook her body like some mad puppeteer, with no rhythm or reason. He did not run away. Instead he knelt in front of her, smoothing her hair out of the way to inspect her face. She almost cried at his attempts to calm her; that suffering part of her sounding alarm bells, unused to kindness from a stranger.

He barked something at the nearest nurse—Nurse Nadine, a bit of a busy body but a nice lady—that mad her jump and sent the poor woman scrambling to find a doctor. His tone was so cold and authoritarian that it cracked against her spine like a whip and all the air evaporated out her lungs, which in turn caused Aimee to teeter violently in her chair. There were razor blades carving out the insides, and she just wouldn't stop shaking. Why couldn't she just stop shaking?

Ross turned back to her, with his brows together into a tight knot. "Deep breaths, Aimee. In and out." He wiped away the streams of tears that cut their way down her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. The severity of his frown did not ease, but his tone softened just for her. "Come on, you can do it. Just breathe."

It was a reedy, shallow inhale. Barely enough to fill a thimble.

"Again," he commanded.

She tried. Oh, she really tried. Her next few breathes were better, but still so fleeting—a brief respite to the fire burning in her chest. She thought she was past this crap. And to do in front of so many people…

Nurse Nadine returned with a cup of ice and followed by a sour-faced Dr. Obrecht. The blond nurse looked wide eyed and traumatized which summed up what working underneath the sociopathic doctor and held out the paper cup to Ross. "Here is that cup of ice that you wanted," the blond nurse said.

"Thank you," Ross told her.

He took the cup with one hand, set it down on the floor beside him and then fished a chunk of ice out with his finger and thumb. His left-hand grasped Aimee by the wrist and flipped her hand over until her palm was faced upward. He then pressed the chunk of ice to the center of her palm.

Aimee flinched hard at the unexpected sensation. Her eyes snapped to her hand; incredulity spread across her features. "You…you're giv—ing me a piece of ice?" she asked. The words tumbled out of her mouth, all smashed together and slurred syllables.

He curled her fingers around the ice, tightly. "You are having a panic attack. The feel of the ice will help give your mind a focus other than the fear. It helps stimulate the parasympathetic nervous system which is responsible for relaxation amongst other things."

"And where did you get your medical degree?" asked Dr. Obrecht, dryly.

"You don't need a medical degree to learn how to fend off panic attacks." He glowered at the woman out of the corner of his eye, cold and dark. That hint of gentleness was replaced by harden steel, his face a fortress and his eyes were black fire. "May I ask why a patient that diagnosis with a concussion was and advised to stay for overnight observation ends up running around unsupervised in such a state of panic?"

If there was one thing that Dr. Obrecht despised most in the world was her competency being brought into question. Predictably, she snapped to attention and appraised him with a venomous look that would have curdled fresh milk. "Ms. Lancaster signed her discharge papers earlier this morning, and they have been processed. As of an hour ago, she was free to leave the hospital at her discretion. Whatever ailment has befallen in that time is of no fault of the hospital or the staff. If she wants to be readmitted to the hospital—"

"No!" gasped Aimee.

Aimee had no desire to stay in this hospital to be poked and prodded like a lab rat. The culmination of stress and bad memories that led her to this sorry state was not a beast she wanted to look square in the eye, and she squeezed the last bit of ice until the water dripped down from her hand.

Dr. Obrecht eyed her with great disdain. "Then there is nothing that I can do here. If Ms. Lancaster has no further want or need of the hospital, perhaps she could leave instead upsetting patients that are actually here for medical care."

Ross doesn't waste his breath further on the Wicked Witch of General Hospital. His eyes darkened and his glare was so potent that it was a miracle that Obrecht didn't spontaneously burst into flames. There was something in his expression, this strange undercurrent that indicated his rage went beyond just the indifference Obrecht displayed; it was a personal disgust and hatred, a clawing and red-hot resentment.

Obrecht swept off on her invisible broom, much to Aimee's relief. She had never liked the woman. It was more than just what she had done to Elizabeth and Patrick. The woman was a narcissistic sociopath with few redeeming qualities, and often used bouts of slapstick humor to disarm people, to make them forget why she was a threat in the first place. It reminded her too greatly of the past predators that stalked her memory, and her fingers dug painfully into the fabric of her hospital gown.

Her nerves snapped, misfiring and erratic, and her breath wheezed out through clenched teeth. There was the onset of nausea, and she didn't want to puke.

"Come on, don't pass out on me." Ross grasped her hand, pushing away her light-headedness. "Breathe. Fill your lungs. Come on."

Her next few breaths were sporadic, but spread lower and deeper, drawing in the seductive smell of his aftershave. The quakes had reduced to the slightest tremor in her hands, and she choked down the lump in her throat. It slammed into the pit of her stomach, a burning hot stone. Her head fell back, and eyes fell closed. All the life seemed sapped right out her, leaving her slouched and exhausted.

"You going to be all right?" Ross asked in a gentle voice.

She cracked her eyes open. "Why…" she choked out. "Why are you helping me?"

His deep sigh mingled with the beeps of machines and taps of footsteps. He released her hand, climbing to his feet and took a step back to give her a bit of breathing room. "Should I not have?" he asked.

She looked away, watching the nurses and doctors move through the hospital. She gestured with her hands, trying to articulate her feelings without being too vulnerable with a person that she had just met yesterday. She wasn't even comfortable showing her deepest fears to her closest friends. "I—I suppose that sounds ungrateful, didn't it?" she whispered, voice raspy. "It's not that I don't appreciate your help. I just…I just don't like feeling so weak."

"Has this happened before?" he inquired lightly.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip sharply, giving a shallow nod. She was relieved not to see any pity on his face. That would have made things more unbearable than it already was. With a shaky breath, Aimee dared to stand up on her feet. Her hands braced on the chair, she rose on her feet and felt her knees quiver dangerously beneath her weight.

Ross grasped her by the elbow to steady her when she almost crumpled back into her chair.

Aimee dropped her gaze from his face and studied the strong arms filling out his gray button up shirt. She pushed him back with a hand to his hard, muscular chest, startled by him. There was this crackle of electricity that shot up her arm, piercing in her chest and caused her heartbeat to skyrocket. Her cheeks turned bright red, and she averted her eyes; there was no denying that she found him to be extremely attractive, but it felt totally inappropriate to be checking him out right now.

"I should go. I have to go change back into my clothes and get a taxi to take me home," she said, retracting her hand as if burned. "Thank you for…the ice, and for staying with me."

His fingers slid down the length of her arm before he let her go, convinced that she now could stand on her own. "Are you certain that you will be alright?" he asked.

That was a loaded question, but the simplest answer was no. She knew that she hadn't fully processed the ordeal, and all the questions that it caused to loom over her. But she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and wiped away the trace of her tears still left on her cheeks. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

His mouth set into firm line, his whiskey colored gaze roamed over face, and he saw clean through her lie. He allowed her to keep her truth, and not press her, sensing that she would clam up tight if he pushed too fast. "If Dr. Obrecht gives you any trouble, please let me know," he stated.

"You don't—" Aimee folded her arms loosely over her chest. "You don't have to do that. Obrecht is…is really the least of my worries."

"If I am to be an investor in this hospital than I won't tolerate such unprofessional behavior, especially from the Chief of Staff." His expression could have been carved from granite. "A medical professional must take the oath to do no harm. It is important for a person to keep their word."

She swallowed. Trying to gauge his mood—it was like staring into a fathomless body of water, not knowing where the shallow stopped and deep began. His statement was so simple and straightforward, but there was this edge to his words, a type of double edge sword that she didn't know how to hold without being cut. And for the life of her, she did not know why she felt compelled to try.

Over his shoulder, Aimee spotted Felix and Epiphany getting off the elevator. "Thank you again, Ross. I am sorry that I got you caught up in this…whole mess of mine," she said softly.

He gave her a half-smile. "Anytime."

She let a small laugh, not really believing that, but appreciated the sentiment. Her cheeks still burning red with mortification by the time she fled—it was fleeing, there was no way around it—to where her friends stood. "Hey, have your heard anything about Sabrina? Has anyone contacted Rivera to try and get him to change his mind?" she asked worriedly.

"He hasn't changed his mind, the bastard." Felix looked ready to contemplate to break into a prison and commit murder. "What are you doing? Have you—have you been crying?"

Aimee winced. "Yeah. It—it was a whole thing. I don't want to get into it. I just got discharged, so I have to go get my things together, but is there anything that you need? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can go home and rest," Epiphany ordered in her no-nonsense tone of voice.

"Epiphany—"

"A head injury—it is nothing to take lightly, even with an all clear from the doctor. You go home and rest, and we will be here in case anything happens to Sabrina," Epiphany interrupted, with a stern glare. There was this natural maternal leadership that Epiphany wielded, taking so many underneath her wing like the lost little ducklings they were. She was fiercely protective, and Aimee wished her own mother could have been a tenth of the woman that Epiphany was. "We will call if anything happens."

There was this guilt that set like lead in her belly. She hated feeling useless and aimless, which could be part of the goal oriented coping mechanism she had developed over the years to keep her sane combined with the fact that she was too empathetic for her own damn good, but that was neither here nor there. She relented with great reluctance, and when she turned around, her eyes sought out Ross.

But he was no longer there.

Oh, she was not examining that pang of disappointment. Not one tiny bit.

Elizabeth ducked into the nearest unused hospital room, with her heart beating million miles a minute. She couldn't deny that she had been waiting on pins and needles for Jason to call her, still overwhelmed with the revelation that had shaken up her entire world. A shake up that had so many risks, but in so many ways was balm on old wounds on her heart that never healed. She took a deep breath to steel her shaky nerves and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Elizabeth…"

There was a part of her that would always melt at the way Jason said her name. The soft, revenant tone that was infused with warmth, friendship, and love that he felt for her. It made her want to shaky herself for ever being fooled by Drew when he first replaced Jason in 2009, and then his return to Port Charles just a year and a half ago. How could she have been so blind?

"Jason, wh—what is going on?" she asked. "Has something has happened?"

"There are a few things that have happened, yes." Jason heaved a deep and tired sigh. She could imagine the furrow to his brow, and the way his jaw would tick when he was frustrated. "I felt you should know that I found Luke. I know that your relationship with him hasn't been that great in last few years, but I thought you'd want to know that he…he died, Elizabeth."

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. Her vision blurred by the tears that sprung into her eyes, and she weakly sank into the closest chair. There had been a time that Luke Spencer had been a father figure to her, giving her all the kindness and warmth that she had never received from her own father. That kinship had been tested the many times that he wielded his disappointment to guilt her into giving Lucky another chance, but she couldn't harbor any true anger towards him. All of them had wanted back the boy that died in the fire, all desperately holding onto that hope even long after it had been proven dead. Their father/daughter relationship had shattered to pieces when Luke had been the drunk driver that hit Jake that night on the road and left her baby on the roadside to bleed out.

Until it turned out that it hadn't been Luke. He had been framed by Helena Cassidine for the deed, but he still bore the weight of that night even after he helped bring Jake home. The thought that he could have killed an innocent child, driving drunk and reckless, haunted him endlessly. He left Port Charles in the hopes that he could find that better man he strived to be, underneath all the fears and demons at his heels. He expressed hope that he would one day return, but now that was nothing more than a dream.

"Luke is dead?" she had to ask. "Is there any chance that is…is it someone else? A fake Luke?"

Weirder things had happened in Port Charles, after all. It was natural to skeptical of death with how many people had faked their deaths, especially when the Cassidines were involved, but there was this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that this time was different. That there was something about this nefarious plan that Helena had set in motion, and that Nikolas had commandeered, that screamed "End Game". Luke was always one of the biggest threats to the Cassidines, and it made a sick sort of sense that he would be killed like this.

"It—it was him, Elizabeth. The dental records are a match. It's only a matter of hours until the DNA test confirms it."

The news of his death hurt deeply, and dearly, and all she could think was how she was going to tell Lulu and Laura. It was a miracle that she didn't fall to pieces, with the news of Luke compounding the pain of what happened to Sabrina. It was like sick rollercoaster with highs and lows, and lowest lows, and she didn't know how to stop it.

"Jason, I—I don't know how I can tell Laura and Lulu," she confessed, voice strained.

"You won't have to. I am arranging for his body to be retrieved so it can be brought home to his family," Jason promised softly. "Robert Scorpio is going to accompany the body to Port Charles. He and Luke were close friends, so he wants to deliver the news in person. He wants…wants to warn Laura and Lulu about the danger since the Cassidines are involved here."

"And they've been targeted before," Elizabeth surmised numbly. "I should have known that this nightmare wasn't all over when Nikolas got arrested. It was such a naïve thought to ever think—I guess, I just hoped that it would be over. Oh, God, do you—do you think Helena had this done? Or was it Nikolas?"

Jason let out a deep breath. "I—I don't think it was Helena. She might have been the mastermind, but she had grown frail and weak, merely a figurehead by the end of things."

Elizabeth wiped away the tears, trying to swallow down the lump in her throat. If Nikolas had any part in killing Luke, then it would absolutely break Laura's heart. She knew that Laura regretted leaving Nikolas at the tender mercies of the Cassidine Family, and that the older woman would blame herself further on some level for all of this.

"Is there—is there anything that you need?" he inquired gently.

She opened her mouth, but then frozen in indecision. There was the instinct to tell him that she needed nothing, because for so long the face that had been Jason in her life had not been the man that she could trust inexplicably. It hadn't helped that she had been barraged by everyone and their brother that she obviously didn't mean a single thing to Jason, salt in the wound. Her heart felt…new, whole in a way that it hadn't been in a long time, when she learned none of that had been the real Jason. It was just going to take a lot of getting used to.

"Can I be completely selfish for a moment?" she asked.

"Anything. You can ask for anything," he vowed.

Elizabeth fiddled with the necklace around her throat, restlessly. "I know that you are supposed to be in hiding, and that you don't want to be seen just yet. But is there a way that we can meet up? With everything that is going on, I just—I just want to see you again."

There was a brief pause. "Do you remember the way to our old safehouse?"

If she closed her eyes, she could see the teasing smile on his lips clear as day. The image managed to beat back the sadness that draped over her shoulders like a veil. "I do remember the way. I am not that bad with directions, you know," she said, with a watery laugh.

"Then I'll see you there tonight."

Those simple words meant the world to her.

Quartermain Manor

Carnegie Hill, Port Charles

—

—

Michael Corinthos contemplated his life.

It was a tangled a web of deception and manipulation from his conception to where he stood now, dictated by his mother and adoptive father that only ever had his best intentions at heart. He did believe that Carly and Sonny did intend well, but standing here in this house, he couldn't help but to feel the ache—the loss of what could have been. He wondered what kind of man he would have turned into if AJ had been alive and the Quartermains allowed to be an influence upon his life; he wasn't sure if it would have been worse or better.

He wouldn't have been put in the position to kill Claudia to protect his little sister. He wouldn't have been caught in the crosshairs of another murder with people that would see him as Sonny's son first, and a person second. Sonny and Carly—they did care and deeply, but they were also so destructive when the mood struck. And the consequences often fell upon those around them, while they walked away unscathed. It was hard not to resent that, at times.

"Move. You are in my light," complained Tracy.

Michael nearly rolled his eyes but accommodated his great aunt. He picked up the box of ornaments and garland that he had been sorting through, moving to the other side of the room so that he wasn't in her light anymore. He had a very tentative relationship with the Quartermains, and while he felt out of place at times, he never felt unwelcomed.

"You know, I think that is the first thing you've said since I got here," he joked, light-heartedly.

"I have been contemplating if this is the perfect time to correct all the hideous decorating mistakes that Monica has made to the manor over the years." Tracy swirled the amber liquid in the glass, peering up at the Christmas tree with a look of mute frustration. "You could take a few extra pieces, including that god-awful vase that looks like it came from bargain bin at Sears."

"I am not stealing furniture or decorations, Aunt Tracy," Michael interjected, amusedly. "And you don't hate the decorations. You just want to get a rise out of grandma."

Tracy gave him a gimlet-eyed stare. "Are you sure that you have Quartermain and Spencer blood running through you veins? You should be jumping at this opportunity to rebel a little and cause a bit of chaos, especially at your age. And yes, I don't hate the decorations. Getting a rise out of Monica is my favorite pastime."

His relationship with Tracy was unique. She was abrasive and caustic, shrewd when she needed to be and compassionate to only a select few. Her demeanor softened towards him over the years, and he attributes that to the great many losses that weighed upon the surviving members of the Quartermain clan. He was one of the few people that he knew he could go to, and she wouldn't sugarcoat things for him.

"How is all the planning for the gala coming along?" inquired Michael.

"All was going splendid until that wretched man showed up," Tracy replied, with a heavy scowl. "Mark my words, the fact that Ross Shepperd showed up in Port Charles after steamrolling his way into ELQ spells trouble for every last one of us!"

"You really think so?" Michael didn't know much about the inner works of ELQ. He had helped with the campaign for Pickle Lila, celebrating the anniversary of his great grandmother's success and business venture. That had been dramatic enough to make him steer clear of things ever since because being caught in between Tracy and Monica was just not worth it. "Maybe it is all just business to him."

Tracy let out a hard scoff. "That naivety is going to land you in hot water one day. Do you even care that ELQ is in the hands of some…some ill-mannered buffoon who will likely run our family legacy straight into the ground? Further than it already has been," she added, bitterly.

"I—I do care, because it is upsetting the family, but I…maybe it is because I never got around to being an actual Quartermian." Michael let the ornament fall back into the box and grimaced at the glitter that clung to his skin. "I didn't grow up with the weight of it on my shoulders—"

"The only thing that Sonny and Carly did right," Tracy interjected, all too aware of what kind of toll that pressure did. She had seen what it had done to Jason and AJ. She had also placed that responsibility on Ned and Dillion, driving her sons to the outskirts of her life and it took her a long time to break the vicious cycle. "No child should live under that kind of shadow."

"—so it isn't this focal point in my life," he continued, blithely ignoring the fact that he grew up underneath a bigger and darker shadow. "When I think of ELQ, it is from this outsider perspective. I never imagined myself ever having a role in the company beyond the occasional charity where I would show up to support the family. The whole smile and wave for the camera, and I guess that sounds lazy, to just be there as hood ornament. But I don't have a business degree, or anything like that to really hold a job at ELQ."

"You could go to college," Tracy pointed out.

"Colleges don't like ex-convicts," Michael responded, sourly. The amount of rejection letters he had received was still a sore spot for him. "Besides, I have a lot on my plate right this second to—"

His comment was cut short by the thunderous boom of the double doors being thrown open. Michael felt his heart slam up into his throat, startled easily by loud noises; loud noises had become synonymous with danger given the lifestyle that his adoptive dad lived. He half stood out of his seat, in an aborted motion to put himself between Tracy and the doors, but his legs felt too weak to complete the action. He had to catch himself on the arm of the couch when his knees buckled, and he ignored the look of concern that Tracy sent his way.

His eyes were focused on Alice standing there in the doorway, pale faced and stricken, phone clutched to her breast. There was no relief to soothe away the burst of panic because he knew that look all too well. He had seen it many times when newest tragedy had struck and was a telltale sign of the arrival of bad news. "Ali—Alice," he rasped out, "what…?"

Alice looked at him, eyes swelled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Mister Michael. It is Miss Sabrina…she is in the hospital."

Michael felt an old fear slam into his chest, nearly knocking all the air out of his lungs. There had been this strange feeling that had been chasing him for weeks now, that he had to go Sabrina and work out all that had gone wrong between them. That he should make the most of the time that they had, and he had told himself that he was overthinking things. He told himself that there would be plenty of time to work things out.

"I have to—" Michael's gaze desperately swung to his Aunt Tracy. "I have to—"

"I know. I know." Tracy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, showing him a kindness that few ever got to see from her. "Alice, tell Reginald to bring the car around front. We need to get to the hospital."

END OF CHAPTER!

Author's Note: I'll admit that I have written and rewritten this chapter endlessly. I have a timeline that I am trying to build, and I don't want to have scenes that make no sense all bundled together. This chapter was the hardest because I needed to setup a few more plot points and push the story ahead. I really wanted to get Aimee and Ross started, which where we can pick up that Ross is hiding things and Aimee isn't used to trusting people, but we can see this bond building up. ***I will warn everyone that I am going back to edit the older chapters, to find any inconsistency or grammar issues, to finesse the story and the timeline that I have set.*** Thank you all for being patience and loving my story. :D

Author's Note 2: I also didn't know how to feel about the location tags above each scene, but they are mostly there for me to help me keep track of where everyone is at the current point in time. I hope that they are not too distracting. I have made up district names for Port Charles, such as Saint Paolo Avenue being where the hospital and market plaza is located. And Carnegie Hill being the district where the more wealthy and affluent people live such as the Quartermains. I do have to go back and edit older chapters with this setup, so please be patient with me. :D

RRs are appreciated.