Author's Note: Obviously this totally AU and starts with the death of Marcus Taggert. But for a while SoapTwitter was having fun with this premise. I thought I would expand it and have some fun with it. If you like this, please let me know.

Part One

This is a bittersweet homecoming - if you can even call it that.

Gia isn't sure how to label it . After all, Port Charles had been her home for only a brief period and when she looks at it in comparison to everywhere else, it should only be a blip on her timeline. Yet, she knows that those few years have impacted her life more than any others. She figures that is, in part, why she feels so heavy as she leans against the seat in her Uber.

The other half of it is all too obvious.

She is watching the city whip by (trying to pick out what is the same and what is different; not an easy game to play given the speed of the car) when her phone rings. She closes her eyes, already knowing the conversation she is about to have. Therefore she feels comfortable skipping the greeting and jumping right in. "I said a week, Paul. I meant a week too," she grinds out, annoyed that she has to have this conversation here and now.

"I am sorry. I know this is a rough time for you but the Martinez case is coming up and you know it better than anyone…"

Gia sighs, feeling that familiar pull that her professional life has on her begin to dig its hooks in. Only now they are gripping into a wounded heart. "My brother just died." Her voice raises a little, the words sound panicked as if she has to force them out before she chokes on them. She looks up and realizes that her driver is looking back to her now and she sees the beginnings of pity in his eyes. She hopes that they reach her destination sooner rather than later. She is in no mood for a stranger's sympathy. She turns her attention back to the conversation instead, not surprised to find Paul tripping over his tongue. "Look, I get it. I understand why you asked. We are swamped right now. But this is my brother…" She feels something catch in her chest and she worries that if she isn't careful she is going to be bent over sobbing. "...I need a week."

After Paul is quick to apologize and agree, she shuts off her phone. The only people that ever call her are her colleagues and Marcus. Finally the car begins to slow and then moves to a crawl. Gia presses her forehead against the window and looks up at the whitewashed walls of General Hospital. She can't quite remember what it looked like when she was a teenager but now she can tell it has seen better days. She frowns a little; as she remembers it, General Hospital is supposed to be the shining beacon in the center of Port Charles. This is certainly not it.

"Rush hour traffic," her driver explains, as if she has questioned why they are moving at a snail's pace.

"It's fine," she says and then she really means it. "Totally fine." She reaches down to grab the small suitcase that she has tucked at her feet. "I can just get out here." Before he can say anything else, she is already opening the door and stepping out into the late afternoon sun. "Thank you." She gives him her best impression of a smile and then she moves towards her goal, weaving in and out of the stilled traffic until she reaches the entrance to the hospital. Her suitcase bumps over the concrete of the parking lot and she wishes she had asked to go to her hotel before coming here.

But somehow that had seemed wrong. She should go to him first.

The inside of the hospital looks better than the outside, all sleek with clean white lines. She sees nothing familiar as she moves aimlessly through the halls. She really has no idea where she is supposed to be. She could ask but somehow the thought of inquiring after the body of her dead brother makes her feel sick to her stomach.

In the end, she gravitates towards a desk, watching the nurses move with purpose behind it. It is there that she finally sees something (or in this case, someone) familiar, although she hasn't been expecting to. "Elizabeth?" she blurts it out and her momentary surprise and confusion come through easily.

From behind the desk Elizabeth Webber looks up. It takes a second or two and then her eyebrows are sliding up her forehead. "Gia!"

Gia is at a loss for words (not something that happens often to a woman who makes her living off talking, sometimes for hours at once). She isn't sure what you are supposed to say to your old frenemy. Especially one who you haven't thought about (and who hasn't thought about you) in a long time. "I didn't realize you were a nurse…" She wrinkles her nose a little. Not the best of greetings but there it is.

Elizabeth nods her head a little. Her eyes roam over Gia, noting the suitcase she is hauling behind her. Then something in her features soften, and Gia can feel it already. Sympathy. She braces herself for it, knowing that it won't be the first or the last. "I am so sorry about your brother."

Gia's eyes fall close for only a moment and then she is the one nodding. Her movements are more exaggerated, as if she is trying to shake the grief from her body (unfortunately it is not that simple). "Portia said she would meet me here," Gia explains.

"I'll page her," Elizabeth offers and is quick to do it. Then she is stepping out from behind the desk, as if she feels the need to keep Gia company until her ex-sister-in-law arrives. "He came to see me - Taggert. Told me that you are an immigration lawyer now."

As much as she can appreciate the fact that they are leaning more heavily on the friends side than the enemy side, Gia just wants to get this over with. She wants to talk to Portia, then see her brother. Maybe after that, she can get some sleep. She is going on eighteen hours now and it is starting to show. Realizing she can just rush over the steps she doesn't want to deal with, she forces a hint of a smile. "Yes - a tough but rewarding job. Like a nurse I suppose."

"Yes," Elizabeth agrees.

Thankfully Portia arrives and the two of them can go back to their separate corners (where they will no doubt wonder how they should feel about seeing one another again). Gia lifts her hand a little. "Thank you, Elizabeth."

She waits until she is in Portia's office to hug the other woman. The two of them come together in the middle of the room, gripping one another tight. Gia can feel her grief wanting to spill over (not yet, not yet). She takes a deep breath and pulls back. "How's Trina?" she asks and right now that is the most important piece of information she can have. She sees the way Portia's features flare and then fall - the very mention of Trina's name having that effect.

"She's brokenhearted," Portia says quietly. "She just lost her daddy. The most important man she has ever known."

Gia has too. She doesn't say it aloud because she knows Portia knows. Instead she focuses on Trina. "I want to see her," she says quietly.

"Of course," Portia says after a pause. "She's staying with a friend right now while I am here wrapping things up so I can take the next few days off. There is the funeral to plan and…" She trails off when she notices the look on Gia's face. "You're welcome to help."

Gia doesn't like the way Portia says it, as if she is being invited into the situation as an afterthought. She shakes her head. "There will be a lot to do, Portia," she points out. She has gone through this before (all by herself as it were). "Let me take some things off your hands so you can spend more time with Trina. She'll need you." Something in her twists as she says it. "But first, I want to see him."

Portia's face falls. "Gia…"

"I need to see him, Portia," Gia reiterates. Her tone of voice is proof that she will dig her heels in if needed.

Wisely, Portia doesn't argue. Instead she grabs her ID off her desk.

"Can I leave this here for now?" Gia asks, indicating her suitcase. It feels wrong to drag with her to say her goodbye. She tucks it into the corner of the room and steels herself for what is about to happen.

Portia takes her into the depths of General Hospital. She has a feeling they are underground now but she doesn't ask. It seems too on the nose. Instead she follows behind as the halls get less wide and more dim. Finally, she finds herself in a cement block room facing down an attendant who probably just wants to go on his supper break.

"Hi, Thomas," Portia greets and her smile is friendly (it doesn't surprise Gia to learn that Portia has made friends with everyone in the few short weeks she has worked here). "I know this is a bit unusual but I need to see Marcus before the funeral home comes to get him. Well…" She glances over her shoulder at Gia. "...she does. This is his sister."

Again, there is that look of sympathy that grinds into Gia in a way she can't quite describe.

Part of her expects to be turned away. She is prepared for that. She is prepared to argue herself into the morgue. She is good at what she does. Thomas, the hungry attendant, will not know what hit him. But in the end, Portia's smile apparently carries a lot of weight. The two of them are taken into the morgue to watch as Thomas counts off cold chambers like he's afraid he is going to pull out the wrong one.

"Can I do this alone?" Gia asks, her eyes on the metal door that separates her from her brother.

"Gia, I don't know…"

"I need to do this alone," she repeats and there is a hint of her ability to fight tooth and nail coming to the surface.

Portia relents. "We'll be right outside," she says quietly and her hand comes to touch Gia's shoulder. It is a soft gesture and one that nearly crumbles her.

(not yet, not yet)

Thomas is the one to pull back the zipper and part the body bag. He retreats as Gia slowly moves forward, bracing herself at what she might see. She has to press a hand to her stomach in hopes of settling her nerves.

"Oh, Marcus…" The words come out in a rush, as do the tears. She can't stop them now even if she tries. He looks nothing like the brother she remembers. The greyish hue of his skin, the way his jaw seems to be set so tightly that his face is locked in a grimace. Was he in pain when he died? She hopes not. He doesn't deserve that (he doesn't deserve to be lying here at all).

It takes more courage than she thought it would to reach out and touch him (she shouldn't, she wants to remember him warm and alive; but she can't stop herself). As her fingers land on his cheek, she bends her head and her knees nearly buckle underneath her. "This wasn't supposed to happen," she says quietly. "You were supposed to always be there for me. You promised me that day - and then you promised me again when Mom died." She closes her eyes, her hand falling away.

"You were always supposed to be there to protect my daughter."