Notes: chapter title from "infinity" by one direction.

TW for mentions of sexual assault.

DISCLAIMER: as usual, { I own nothing }, & any dialogue in italics comes directly from the show and is credited to the writers. :-)


five / all I ever wanted was the truth

… … …

"I can't believe you won't tell me where we're going," she grumbles.

She's muttered some variation of the same phrase at least a thousand times since they left Port Charles just over an hour ago. It's cute, really, how annoyed she is by the fact that he knows how to keep a secret.

Over the past few weeks, he's noticed her stress levels rising steadily, especially after school started back again. He misses how relaxed she was during her three-week holiday break, and now that she's off for the weekend, he decided to get her away from Port Charles for the day. He counts his blessings that Lulu absolutely adores Jaxon and didn't mind watching him while Chase whisks Willow away for the day.

All he told her is that they're taking a day trip a few towns over and they'll figure out what to do when they get there. It's not like Beecher's Corners is any sort of vacation destination, but it's not Port Charles, and he thinks a change of scenery will do her good.

"Just relax," he repeats, again, chuckling. "You trust me, don't you?"

She quirks her brow at him. "I did trust you. I'm not so sure about that anymore."

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. "Can't you just let me do something nice for you? For once?"

She mutters something about keeping secrets and not being nice and he stifles a laugh. He reaches over to squeeze her knee, and she jumps, laughing freely as he tickles her. And that smile, that laugh - that's why he's doing this. It's too easy for her to be dragged down by the everyday grind of going to work, taking care of Jaxon, and fitting their time together into her busy schedule. He knows she's not used to being taken care of, to having someone looking out for her, but she's going to have to get used to it. Because he's determined to make her smile and laugh as much as he can, as often as he can, for as long as she'll let him.

It's another hour or so before they finally cross into town, and he smiles when they pass the sign for the town limits. "Surprise!" he chuckles. "I know Beecher's Corners isn't anywhere special, but at least it's a change of scenery."

When she doesn't say anything, he finally looks over toward the passenger seat and notices that her eyes are wide as saucers, her face white as a sheet. She's so still that he wonders if she's breathing for a moment, and he furrows his brow in confusion, shifting his eyes cautiously between the road in front of him and the girl beside him.

"Willow?" he says finally, reaching across the console to touch her hand.

She takes a deep breath, her voice shaky when she finally speaks. "Can we, uh… can we go somewhere else? Please? Anywhere else?"

He frowns. "What? What do you mean?"

"Chase," she says desperately, closing her eyes. "I can't… I can't be here."

He's puzzled by her reaction until his detective's mind begins to work, and the pieces all fit together. She's never talked about where she came from, never mentioned the name of the place she used to call home. But he has a sneaking suspicion he just figured it out, anyway.

"This is where you're from," he says in realization.

She exhales slowly, turns her head to meet his eyes. She clutches his wrist between both of her hands. "I know you didn't know. I know that's my fault, because I never told you, but please… We need to leave. We can't be here. I can't be here."

His first instinct, honestly, is to be pissed off, because yeah, she's right - there's no way he could have known, because she never told him. But he quickly dials it back, because she's clearly upset, and the whole point of this day was to help her relax. "Okay," he says finally. "Okay. We'll go somewhere else. I just need to stop for gas, and then we'll get out of here."

"Please, Chase," she pleads. "I can't…"

It's the tone of her voice that catches his attention, the way the panic is beginning to seep into her lungs, the way her breathing is almost out of control. She's spiraling. And he begins to wonder if what happened to her here is more distressing, more traumatic, more dangerous than just an overzealous ex.

"Hey. Look at me," he says sternly, and she looks over at him, wide-eyed. It may have been harsh, but it worked; her eyes are marginally less frantic, her breathing slowing down. His hand finds hers, and he threads their fingers together, squeezing to reassure her. He wishes he weren't driving, so he could hold her gaze, but he needs to focus on the road. "It's going to be fine. We'll stop for gas, as quickly as possible, and you don't even need to get out of the car. And then we'll get the hell out of here and we'll go somewhere else and relax. Nothing is going to happen."

She takes a deep breath, lets out a shaky exhale. "I wish I shared your confidence."

"I'm right here," he reminds her, squeezing her hand again. "You're safe."

She nods, but her breathing is shallow and unsteady as he pulls into the first gas station he can find. As far as he can tell, it's deserted, save for the attendant inside the convenience store. He decides that whatever she's told him about her ex, or her past in general, it's not enough, because she clearly has some deep-seeded trauma associated with this place. It would've been helpful to know that before he made an ass of himself, causing her all this emotional turmoil.

He makes a lap around the car, his instincts sharpened by Willow's heightened anxiety, but he doesn't notice anything suspicious or anyone lurking around. He opens the door to the passenger side, and he doesn't miss the way Willow goes very still. "There's no one here," he reassures her. "Why don't you step outside and get some fresh air. I'm going to start the pump, and then I'm going to run inside to the bathroom, okay?"

She closes her eyes, seems to steel herself, then nods. He takes her hand to pull her out of the vehicle, and he runs his hand over the back of her neck, pulling her toward him, pressing his forehead against hers. "Relax," he murmurs.

"I'll try."

He kisses her quickly, just for good measure. Then he heads inside the gas station, determined to get her out of here as quickly as he can.

… … …

She knows Chase is right, that she needs to get some fresh air, if anything just to help her breathe better so she doesn't have a panic attack. But she wishes he hadn't left her out here, even for a minute, because she feels completely exposed. Anyone - and she does mean anyone - could recognize her here, and report back to him that she's back. Not to mention that she knows Chase is a recognizable face in the area, because of his position with the PCPD, so they would be able to track her back to Port Charles if they wanted to.

She looks around her, does some quick calculations in her head. She doesn't ever remember spending time on this side of town, and it's likely that no one she knew does, either. They're a pretty safe distance away from where she used to live and the places she used to go. And honestly, she's been gone over a year, she reasons. The odds that anyone she was close to would spontaneously come out this way and happen to be here at the exact moment she is… they've gotta be slim, right? She can't be that unlucky.

Any minute now, she thinks, tapping her fingers against the roof of his car. Any minute now, he'll come out of the convenience store, and they'll speed down the road back to Port Charles and pretend like none of this ever happened.

Okay, she's not that naïve. He's going to have questions, and at this point, she knows she needs to answer them. It won't make it any easier to discuss, but she's hid her past from him long enough. It's time for her to be honest, so there won't be any more misunderstandings like this again.

"Kali?"

Her blood runs ice cold in her veins. No. There's no way. No chance…

"Kali. I thought that was you."

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice another car pull into the station. She closes her eyes, squeezes them tight, curses herself for not trusting her instincts and staying in the car like she wanted to.

She steels herself, turning around to face the voice. "Harmony."

"It's been so long," Harmony says, her tone cool and detached. "I wasn't sure if you were ever coming back."

"I'm not," Willow assures her, attempting to project a sense of calm and confidence that does not match the way her hands are shaking and her mind is racing. She clenches her fists to hide her nerves. "I will never be back. I'm just passing through town. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"You'll always have a home here, you know," Harmony reminds her. She assumes the sentiment is meant to be comforting, but instead, another wave of panic rises in her throat. "I know you've strayed from us, but you know that Dawn of Day will always take you back."

"No," she says forcefully, trying to control her temper, to control the volume of her voice. She doesn't need to attract any more attention to herself. "I will never come back to Dawn of Day. And you can tell Shiloh I said so. You are still his lap dog, aren't you, Harmony?"

"Oh, Kali," Harmony sighs patronizingly, the way Shiloh used to, the way that still makes her skin crawl with absolute dread. "I was afraid of this. It's been so long since you left us. Clearly, you've lost your way."

"Actually," she counters, straightening her back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I think I've finally found my way." She's not sure she realized how true that statement is until just now, when she said it out loud. "There's nothing left for me here, Harmony. And I can promise you that I will not be back here. Not now, not ever."

"I sense some angst in you, sweetheart," Harmony says calmly, and Willow has a strange and sudden urge to scream in exasperation. "Let's go somewhere. Sit down and talk this out."

"I don't think so."

Judging by the look on Harmony's face, Chase snuck up on her, too. He's using the tone she knows he saves for the criminals he faces on the job. She's not sure when he approached, or how much he heard, but as thankful as she is that he's here, she feels a wave of dread settle in the pit of her stomach. As if she didn't have enough questions to answer already.

"Don't worry." She looks at Chase, steeling herself again as she turns toward the car. "Harmony was just leaving."

"Kali -"

"Take a step back, ma'am," Chase warns. "She asked you to leave."

At the very least, Harmony knows how to take a thinly-veiled threat when she hears one. "It was nice to see you again, Kali," she says, and Willow winces at the use of her given name in front of Chase. More questions. "I'm sure I'll see you again soon."

As soon as Harmony turns away, Willow quickly climbs into the car and fastens her seatbelt, eager to get out of this place as quickly as possible. And then Chase climbs in, levels his gaze at her, and she sinks down in her seat a little bit. He starts the car, barrels out onto the main road, and heads back toward Port Charles.

He drives in stoic silence, his jaw set angrily, his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He's not happy with her, that much is obvious, and she doesn't blame him one bit. He's been so patient with her, so willing to let her reveal things to him at her own pace, but it's clear that his patience has run out. She wishes he would say something. Anything to break the silence between them, because she currently feels about two inches tall.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks tersely. If she wasn't so anxious, she'd smile - always looking out for her, even when he's angry.

"Yes," she murmurs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Chase," she sighs. "I just want to go home."

She watches as his fingers tighten even further around the steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw twitching in annoyance. "We can go back to Port Charles," he concedes, his eyes fixed on the road. "But we have to talk about this, Willow."

"I know," she agrees. "Can I just… just give me some time to think while we drive, okay? I promise, I'll tell you everything when we get home." She reaches over, pulls his hand from the steering wheel, and she's grateful that he doesn't resist. "I promise."

He takes a deep breath, and she can tell he's less than thrilled, but he nods anyway. 'Okay."

He doesn't pull his hand away for the whole drive, and she's thankful. Even in his anger, he can tell she needs something to hold onto, and he wants her to be okay.

She wants to be okay again. More than anything.

… … …

He lets her have two hours of silence while he drives them back to Port Charles, no matter how many times he wants to yell and punch the steering wheel and shake the answers out of her.

He's so damn angry. He's angry with himself for leaving her alone, even for a few minutes, when he'd told her he wouldn't. He's angry with whoever Harmony is, and whoever Shiloh is, and whatever Dawn of Day is, and whatever they did to terrorize her to the point of a near panic attack. And he's a little bit angry with her, too. He knows it's not fair. She had no obligation to tell him anything, and he's always wanted her to feel comfortable confiding in him on her own time. He wants her to trust him, and she says she does, but how much can she possibly trust him if there's so much of the story she left out?

He has so many questions. So many answers that he needs, and he hopes she's ready to give them, because he doesn't know how much longer he can go on without them.

They're safely inside his apartment, and he watches carefully as she deadbolts his door behind them, leaning her back against the door and taking a deep breath. Her entire body relaxes instantly, and he can tell that this is the safest she's felt in the last hour and a half.

He feels all the anger drain out of him, replaced almost simultaneously with relief, because she's here and she's safe. He crosses the room in two strides, pulling her into his arms. She clings to him, her fingers digging into his shirt at the base of his spine, and he feels like an ass for the way he treated her the car. She didn't need that from him, not when she was clearly scared out of her mind.

"I'm sorry I was angry," he murmurs, running his hand down the back of her head.

She shakes her head against his chest. "You were right," she counters. "It's time for me to be completely honest." She pulls back, keeping her arms locked around his waist. He looks down at her, sweeping the hair off her shoulders and cupping her cheeks in his hands. "I'm so tired of keeping secrets."

He leans down to kiss her, slowly, reassuringly. He rests his forehead against hers. "I know you promised me," he says. "But remember that you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"I want to," she says confidently, a determined gleam in her eye that he loves. "I need to."

He nods, grateful, and kisses her one more time. "Is this a hot tea conversation, or a wine conversation?"

"Wine," she nods decisively. "Lots of it."

He chuckles. "Coming right up." He gestures to the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable."

He pours her a generous glass of what he's learned is her favorite red, pours himself a glass of water instead. He wants to be completely clear-headed for this conversation, no matter how painful it is.

"You're going to make me drink alone?" she jokes as he takes a seat next to her, holding out her glass.

He shakes his head, sips his water, meets her eyes seriously. "I need to hear every word of this."

Her face falls, and she takes a deep breath. Up until this point, he's been afraid to make her uncomfortable, afraid to push her too far. But he feels like they're at a point now where there can't be secrets between them anymore, especially when this particular secret lends a lot of insight into her current situation. As much as he hates seeing her upset, there are things he needs to know.

"I don't…" she exhales shakily. "I don't even know where to start."

He takes her hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles. "The beginning would be good."

She takes a big gulp of wine, then places the glass on the coffee table, turning her body to face him completely.

"The woman I was talking to at the gas station was my mother," she begins. "Kali is my given name. I legally changed it when I left."

He immediately recalls the redacted legal records he found months ago, and another piece of the puzzle clicks into place. He keeps his expression neutral and waits patiently for her to continue.

"She's always been a seeker," Willow begins. "One of those people who's always looking for a cause to support or a philosophy to believe in. She was constantly looking for someone to follow. We moved countless times growing up, because she was never truly satisfied with where we were. Always looking for… enlightenment."

She spits the word out like acid, and he's grateful for a glimpse of the strong woman he knows. As she continues to speak, her voice becomes stronger, more sure, and as painful as it must be, he can almost see the relief in her eyes, the burden already lifted by beginning to tell her story.

"When I was nineteen, my mom met a man named Shiloh, who was the head of an organization called Dawn of Day," she continues. "She was instantly captivated by his teachings, and before I knew it, we weren't just members; my mother was Shiloh's right hand."

She swallows, runs her hand through her hair, refocuses. It's clear that whoever this Shiloh guy is, he did a number on her; even saying his name out loud seems difficult for her. Her hand trembles in his, and he squeezes, trying to provide whatever comfort he can.

"My dad never liked Shiloh. He left my mom not long after we joined DOD, and he tried to convince me to come with him." The pain in her eyes tells him she wishes she'd done just that. "But I was young and naïve, and I was manipulated into believing that being favored by Shiloh was an honor. My mom joined the Trust only six months after we joined, and being her daughter, he invested a lot in me. He used DOD funds to pay for me to get my teaching degree, so that I could teach all the DOD children his messages. And then, last year, Shiloh decided that I was ready to join the Trust."

Everything about this story makes his skin crawl. He's seen some ridiculously elaborate coercion and manipulation in his line of work, but this… if this is going where he thinks it is, this is quite possibly the worst case he's ever heard.

"The night of my initiation," she begins, inhaling shakily, and he squeezes her hand again to reassure her that he's here, that he's listening. "My mother and the rest of the women in the Trust - and make no mistake, they were all women - gave me some tea to help me relax." Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and he presses his lips together in apprehension. "It felt like an out-of-body experience. Like I was there, but it wasn't happening to me. They read my duties and responsibilities from Shiloh's manifesto, and then…"

She stops, exhales, and stands up. He's about to ask what she's doing when she turns around and slowly lifts her shirt at her right hip.

A tattoo.

No. It's more than that. He moves closer, tentatively, and gently runs his finger across the mark on her hip. Goosebumps immediately pebble her skin, and she takes a deep breath. "They branded you," he realizes, desperately trying to keep his voice steady, to keep his anger in check.

"Like I said," she sighs, lowering her shirt and reclaiming her seat next to him. "It was supposed to be an honor, to have that symbol of belonging." He can't help the scoff that escapes him, and she turns to face him again, bringing her knees protectively up to her chest. "But that's not the part that stays with me the most."

He's not sure if it's the tone of her voice or the way she won't meet his eyes that makes his blood run cold. He has a very strong feeling that whatever he's about to hear is going to make him want to punch something, and he has the urge to stand, to move away from her just in case. But he won't, not when she very clearly needs his support to get through this.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself. "What did he do to you, Willow?"

"My mother and the other members of the Trust left me alone with Shiloh, when he returned." She loses her composure, then, and a tear slips down her cheek. His heart constricts painfully in his chest, even as his fists clench in anger at the implication of her words. "He, um… he gave me some more tea, to help me stay relaxed, and then… and then he had sex with me."

Chase has never really understood the expression 'seeing red' until this moment. He's heard a lot of stories that have made his blood boil before, but not like this one.

"I didn't realize that what he'd done was wrong. At least, not at the time," she babbles. "Technically, I consented to what he did. I believed it was an honor. I didn't try to stop him."

"You were coerced," Chase interrupts, his teeth clenched. "He drugged you, Willow."

"I know that now," she insists. "It didn't take long before the veil came down and I realized exactly what he'd done to me. That he'd taken advantage of the situation, and that he'd likely done it many times before."

Chase stands up, scrubs his hands over his face, narrowly resists the urge to punch a hole in his wall. There's something in the tone of her voice… something about her lack of anger toward the situation that in turn makes him angry on her behalf. Like she's been so beaten down, so defeated by what that bastard did to her that she's just accepted it. Maybe it's just a defense mechanism, a way that she's learned to cope with it, but the fact that he so easily got away with it…

"Why didn't you press charges?" he asks, turning around to face her again. "When you realized what he did?"

She shrugs, and her entire body sags in defeat. "There wasn't any evidence," she reasoned. "Not at that point. And even if I did press charges, other members would have him exonerated. His reach is too extensive. It would be my word against his, and Shiloh always wins."

He sits down again, turns his body to face hers. "I don't believe that," he argues. He takes her hand in his. "I can't believe that, or I wouldn't be able to do what I do."

"You're one of the good ones," she says, smiling sadly. "Shiloh has the cops in Beecher's Corners wrapped around his finger."

"Willow -"

"Chase." She cups his cheek with her free hand, forces him to focus his gaze on her. Suddenly, her eyes are clear, determined, and he's kind of in awe of her. "I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, but it happened. It's done, and as traumatic as it was, I have a beautiful son because of it."

"Wait a minute." He was so blinded by his rage that he hadn't put it together until this moment, but it makes sense now. All of it. "Shiloh is Jaxon's father."

Willow nods. "And now you know why I can never, ever let him find out."

He exhales deeply, forces himself to calm the rush of disgust that comes over him. He pulls her into his arms, not sure if it's more to comfort her or himself at this point. All that she's been through… God. She's a warrior. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

She inhales shakily, presses her face into his chest. "I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

He shakes his head, lifting her head from his chest to hold it in his hands. He pushes her hair away from her face, runs his thumbs over her cheeks. Her pretty eyes shine with emotion. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

He pulls her against him and holds her there, rests against the back of the sofa. He's not sure how long they sit there together, but it's long enough that her breathing slows down, her heart rate slowing to normal. He holds one of her hands in his against his chest, the other running his fingers through the ends of her hair. It's hard to formulate his thoughts, after everything she told him, but he does know that he's misjudged her a little bit. He's been so in awe of her strength, her resilience, that he almost ignored the fact that she's got soft spots, too. She has places she's been hurt, scars no one can see, little pieces of her heart that have been chipped away by people who didn't care for it. He needs to be more mindful, he thinks, to take care of those soft places.

Just when he's sure she's fallen asleep, she takes a deep breath, sits up straight. "Thank you," she says, her eyes searching his. "I know that was a lot for you to hear, and I know you feel like you had to drag it out of me, but it's such a relief to have no more secrets hanging over me."

He shakes his head, cups his hand around the back of her neck, presses his forehead to hers. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," he murmurs.

When he kisses her now, it feels different; more open, more honest. No more secrets between them.

(Well, almost. She's done her part. He knows his turn is coming.)

… … …