a/n: Okay, this here chapter is sporting one little, teaser of a flashback. Our back-story involving Lorenzo and Miguel officially starts here and were just going to plunge right in. So yeah; the mystery of "Elena" will be a mystery no more once you read through this. Okay, that was a lie; her whole back-story will remain a mystery for at least two more chapters. But you'll get the general gist of who she was. So anyway, enjoy! And no, I haven't forgotten the PC gang… there in here too. (all except Lucky, Liz, and Ric… couldn't quite get them in yet.)

Oh, before I forget, for future chapter reference: Now we all know Luis was the oldest Alcazar, and I'm putting Lorenzo at about four years younger than him. As for Miguel, I'm making him two years younger than Luis, but two years older than Lorenzo, putting Miguel between the brothers, age-wise. I think that would explain how Lorenzo and Miguel were closer as kids than Lorenzo and Luis. Okay, hope that's not too confusing…

Also note, Sophie Germaine does not exist in the SIB universe. I'm taking Lorenzo's early life in an entirely different direction here, folks.

Somewhere In Between

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Chapter Eight: That Inevitable Rewind

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It had been a stroke of pure luck, really. Something Nikolas Cassadine wasn't entirely familiar with, but an occurrence, however rare, he welcomed all the same.

He'd been barreling across the docks, on his way to GH to find Sonny, when low-and-behold, he practically runs the man down.

"Oh, God…" Nikolas huffed, a bit out of breath, as he grabbed at a nearby post to steady his suddenly unstable form. "I'm terribly sorr…" Nikolas's hasty apology died on his lips when he saw with whom he had collided. His eyes went wide. "Sonny!"

Looking rather annoyed and like he'd made the trek between PC and Hell about four times during the course of the night, Sonny righted his suit and stared crossly at the youngest Cassadine. "Nikolas," he greeted the younger man smoothly, only a small note of his impatience showing through. "I didn't think I'd be adding you to the list of people trying to kill me…" he paused and shot the Prince an appraising glare. "Yet."

Not at all sure if it was a weak stab at humor or a genuine assessment, Nikolas forced a ghost of a smile before allowing himself to be completely swallowed up by the urgency he felt. "Sorry about that," he said quickly, almost dismissively. Sonny wasn't feeling any less ticked at this point. His meeting with Myer had been a joke, his contacts were spitting nothing but condolences, and, so far, he hadn't caught so much as a murmur of anything--anywhere. The channels were disgustingly quiet. He really didn't want to deal with people right now. He wanted to break something.

"Actually, I'm really glad I… err… ran into you," Nikolas said. "I was on my way to the hospital—I really have to talk to you about--"

"Emily?" Sonny's stomach did a foreign type of clench when the Cassadine kid nodded curtly, his lips pulled into a thin line. Of course Nikolas would want to talk to him; it wouldn't be long before every single one of Emily's closest friends—his sister-in-law included—descended upon him in mad fury. Not that he didn't deserve it, because he did. All that and more, actually...

"Yes," Nikolas said, trying his level best to keep all traces of his anger locked away. What happened to Emily was Sonny's fault, but going around saying that wouldn't get him any closer to finding her. "Look, she's been gone for hours and the police…" Nikolas shook his head despairingly. "Well, I guess I don't have to tell you how useless they are."

Sonny stared at the look of expectancy on his face for a few moments, trying to decipher where the kid was headed with this. He had a vague idea, but at this current juncture, Sonny felt his inklings might need a bit of a tune up. "Does this have a point, Nikolas? Because I kinda have somewhere I need to be right now..." Sonny clasped a hand over his watch.

"Precisely," snapped Nikolas, who quickly flashed a regretful look. "Okay," he sighed. "I realize I may not be going about this in this best way, but I know that because of who Emily is… to you… that you couldn't possibly be leaving the search for her up to the incompetents at the PCPD. You have influence and contacts, Sonny, all over the world. Reliable and far reaching ones that you could put to very valuable use in this situation--"

"And your point would be…?"

Hardening his eyes, Nikolas straightened his back and looked Sonny dead in the eye. "You aren't the only one with connections, Sonny. Whatever you have set in motion to look for her, I want in on it, and I am fully prepared to commit anything necessary to the search."

-----

"So what does that mean exactly?" Courtney Matthews was perched on the edge of a hideous orange plastic chair, gazing up at a tired looking Dr. Monica Quartermaine, the bridge of her nose scrunched in hopeless confusion. Monica had just broken off a particularly long-winded and… intricate medical explanation of her son's condition. Every tongue-twisting word of which Courtney didn't feel the least bit embarrassed to say she had not understood, at all. She wasn't by any means stupid, but really, was simple English too much to ask? "He's going to be okay, right? I mean, everyone keeps saying he's going to be fine, but I still can't seem to get a straight, simple answer out of anyone on staff, and—and I really think that…"

Monica smiled weakly, and Courtney found her words falling away. This wasn't just another nurse or harassed surgeon—this was Jason's mother, and, however complicated their relationship was, she loved her son. Monica wouldn't shout some incoherent med-school babble at her and then shunt her away, she would explain. Maybe she was the only person who would explain. Courtney relaxed in spite of herself.

"Jason will be fine, "Monica said as she sat down next to Courtney, her red-rimmed eyes brightening in spite of everything. "I was just told that they'll be bringing him out of surgery very shortly and moving him temporarily to a recovery room on the ward. Thankfully, the bullet didn't fracture bone, but unfortunately it did cause some damage to the cartilage in the area. Now, it should heal properly, in due time. That is, providing Jason doesn't tear out of here the second he comes around." Monica paused and her face became drawn, her lips pressed together thinly in an effort to halt tears, no doubt. "I know he'll want to look for… well, to help search for--for Emily," her voice trembled horribly with daughter's name "But… Well, I suppose it's hopeless to think he won't bolt off, isn't it? He hates hospitals and he loves his sister. As Emily would say, 'it's a no-brainer.'" Monica let out a tortured sigh, her eyes growing glassy again in the waiting room's harsh fluorescent lighting.

It was Courtney's turn to lend a comforting smile then, and she did so, feeling oddly at ease knowing Monica understood how her son would reason. Because she was right; if they could count on anything at all, it would be Jason's determination to get to Emily. But it would have been a grave untruth to say part of Courtney didn't wish she wasn't going to have a fight on her hands when he woke up, that she wouldn't have to vainly beg for him to stay and allow himself time to heal, because she did. But while there was that part of her that was fearful, there was another part. And, well, that part of her knew all those wishes were pointless because he would do what he had to do, and that knowledge made her love Jason even more. Jason's family, the people he loved, would always –always—come first, no matter what. And as soon as consciousness hit him, nothing short of the apocalypse --and most certainly not a bum shoulder-- would keep Jason out of the fray. He just didn't have it in him to lay back and watch, especially not when Emily was still missing.

Courtney did something then she had never done before, she reached out to Jason's mother and placed her hand over the older woman's, squeezing gently. "I, um… I don't know Emily very well, but what I do know is how much Jason loves her. The way he talks about her…" A smile broke out on Courtney's face at memory of Jason's first conversations of his sister. The love and adoration, the pride in his voice was so stunning and heartwarming that –if possible—it made her fall for the man even harder. "I've never seen anything like it. Jason won't rest until she's home, and I know Sonny will do everything he--"

Courtney's voice fell dead as Monica suddenly pulled her hand away and got to her feet. Courtney looked up, confused anew. It was like someone had flipped a switch, all traces of tenderness had melted away and a palpable… resentment almost, was visible in every tense line of the other woman's body, right down to the dangerous flash in her eyes. Courtney was at a complete loss. What just happened?

"Well," Monica said, clearing her throat. "As I said before, Jason will be just fine, given time." With a curt nod, Jason's mother turned her back to Courtney and began to move away.

"Wait!" Courtney jumped to her feet and called after the now swiftly retreating woman. "Monica, please, I didn't mean to--"

"I wouldn't waste my breath if I were you."

Courtney wheeled around. "Carly…" she breathed, looking between her sister-in-law and the distant form of Jason's mother with confused eyes. "I don't know what I did, but she just… freaked and took off." Courtney sighed miserably and sunk back into the ugly plastic chair, her head in her hands. "I was trying to help."

Carly sat down next to her and skimmed a gentle hand over the other blonde's hair. "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do, sweetie. That reaction was about one thing, and it wasn't you." Carly smiled sadly at her friend, and it was like a light suddenly went on in Courtney's head.

"Sonny." It was the only explanation Courtney could come up with.

Carly nodded, her smile faltering. "Right in one," she sighed, drifting her eyes to Jason's parents who sat together at the far end of the corridor. "There's some old resentment there toward him, though it doesn't get harped on as much. But it is still there, under the surface, and something like this…" Carly shook her head and looked back at Courtney with heavy eyes. "Well, I guess it's only logical to assume that those feelings would flare up again. I mean, it isn't like they aren't at least half-way justified. Emily was taken because of the role she plays in Jason's life, in Sonny's life, because of her connection to us… to him."

Courtney frowned and bit her lip. "You don't know that for sure, Carly. No one but Jason, Johnny, and Emily know who really took her--"

"Don't be naïve," Carly snapped. "Four days ago, at your wedding, someone tried to kidnap me and they failed. Now Emily gets taken? You can't honestly think that's a coincidence, do you?"

Okay, so it made sense. Horribly plausible sense. "I guess not," Courtney sighed.

"Exactly," said Carly flatly. "Emily was an alternative route. They couldn't get me and you were somewhere untraceable, meanwhile, here's Emily, virtually wide open to threat--"

"Jason had Johnny put on her," Courtney countered.

Carly snorted. "Yeah and look how well that turned out. Let's just face it; whoever took Emily was damn determined to do so. They didn't care what they had to do to get her."

A pregnant silence fell over them and Courtney found herself lapsing into thought. Carly was right; whoever took Emily didn't care what they had to do in order to get the job done. Now, that read a little bit different than the attempt on Carly at the wedding, didn't it? Carly wasn't hurt, wasn't knocked out, there was only one guy, and no one drew a weapon. The differences between attacks were quite staggering actually. The first one was small-scale, nearly amateurish. But the second… that approach was something akin to open warfare. Shoot first, ask questions later. Maybe the kidnappers had merely learned from there mistakes and had decided to take a more brutal approach, or maybe—

Carly had shot out of her chair, practically running over a passing surgeon wearing soiled scrubs and clutching her surgical mask in her left hand. "Did you just come from operating on Jason Morgan?" Carly asked the surgeon, placing herself directly in front of the woman.

The startled doctor took a step back and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry; I was attending to a different surgery." She tried to move past Carly, but the insistent blonde impeded her path yet again.

"Who?" Carly asked anxiously. "My sister and I have been waiting here for news on a friend of ours, Johnny--"

The surgeon's eyebrows rose. "Are you two here for John O'Brien?" The surgeon looked between the two blondes with wide, almost relieved eyes. "I was just on my way to the nurse's bay to have his family paged..."

"We're not his family. We're his, um, friends. See, he works for my husband. Um, it's just him and his younger sister, but, well, see, she's—she's only fourteen—she's home now, with a sitter--" Realizing she was rambling, Carly broke off abruptly, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again slowly, seemingly collected. "Yes," she said calmly, nodding along with Courtney, who had come out of her chair as well. "We're here for John O'Brien." The pair fixed the doctor with identically hopeful gazes. In response, she gave a forced, watery smile.

It didn't last.

Courtney felt her stomach lurch and her face pale. She hadn't known Johnny for long but he was a steadfast and loyal employee of her brothers, and he'd never been anything but nice to her. She considered him a friend. "Is he—I mean, he isn't…?" Courtney saw Carly wince at her side and knew that it was best she hadn't finished that sentence, not that she could have anyhow.

Solemnly, the doctor, a woman of about forty shook her head, her rounded face moving in a frown. "No, he's still with us, but I'm afraid—well, the bullets, one of them have ruptured his spleen. He's hemorrhaged internally, meaning that he's suffering severe internal bleeding. Now, we're trying to stem the flow of blood, but it's taking longer than we would like. He's already received several transfusions, which seem to be making some difference, but that in itself won't be--"

Carly had had about enough dancing around the issue. Hands on hips, she glowered at the woman. "Enough with the double-talk, sweetheart. Is he going to be okay, or not?"

The doctor paled visibly under Carly's harsh glare. She cleared her throat nervously. Behind her concern for Johnny, Courtney felt a pang of sympathy for the doctor. This sort of thing was bound to be awful… "I'm—I'm sorry," stuttered the doctor, quickly straitening her back to regain her composure. "But he's in very critical condition. On arrival he had already lost a considerable amount of blood. If we can't stop the bleeding--"

"He'll die?" You would have had to be deaf not to hear the tremble in Carly's voice.

Looking more ill-at-ease than Courtney thought possible, the doctor gave a small, sorrowful sigh. "We can't say for sure. But I won't lie to you, his condition is life threatening, extremely so." Sparing one more pained glance between them, the doctor began to move away. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back in there." With those words she walked away, leaving Courtney and Carly with absolutely no clue of what to do or say. Where were they supposed to go from here? They essentially knew nothing—except that Johnny chances for life were not by any means favorable. Both women felt sick to their stomachs.

They had just lowered themselves back into their chairs, transfixed in a sort of suspended shock, when a voice brought the real world crashing upon them once more.

"They've just moved Jason."

Both blondes shot their heads up. Monica Quartermaine was back and standing a fair distance away from them, looking massively uncomfortable, her hands clasped awkwardly in front of her.

Courtney was first to her feet, Carly wasn't far behind. "T-thank you, Monica…" The urge to somehow make amends, to apologize for things that were, in truth, not even her doing suddenly weighed horribly upon Courtney's conscience. She stepped closer to Monica, approaching the other woman with immense uncertainty, as if, at any wrong move, Monica would flee again. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean--"

Monica cut Courtney off with a stiff shake of her head and a look that said, in no uncertain terms, to let it alone. With a tiny smile, one Courtney was rather sure was forced to some degree, Monica looked determinedly at Courtney alone and said, in a remarkably calm voice: "He's in room 12, down the east corridor. He isn't awake yet, but I've been assured it won't be long." And with those words, she was off again.

Courtney stared after the spot where Jason's mother had just been standing, consumed by a feeling so odd that she couldn't even hope to place it. Thankfully, before she could indulge her anomalous feelings any further, she felt Carly's hand come to rest upon the small of her back. She turned to face her. Carly was beaming, it wasn't as bright as normal, but it was there, and it was so much more comforting than Courtney could ever explain.

"See?" Carly said in wavering brightness. "I told you he'd be okay. I have yet to come across anything that can keep Jason Morgan down for the count."

Courtney smiled as well, a feeling of polluted happiness—which, in her opinion, was better than nothing—growing steadily in her chest, warming her spirits as best it could.

"How 'bout we go sit vigil until he decides to come around, hmm?" suggested Carly happily, linking her arm with Courtney's.

She really did have to give Carly credit. She was trying, and at this point it was more than Courtney felt she had the energy to do. She could not put into words how happy she was that Jason was fine and that he'd be waking up soon, but hanging over their heads like ugly black rain clouds, were two undeniable truths: Emily had vanished without a trace and Johnny was perched precariously between here and somewhere else. And the favor wasn't with 'here.' Courtney's heart had never felt so divided in all her life. Sighing wearily, Courtney nodded and let herself be pulled toward the east corridor, forcing her smile to stay put, trying her best to follow Carly's example. It wasn't going to be easy.

-----

Sonny blinked. Ahh, so his inkling had been right, after all. Kiddie Cassadine wanted to join the search party. Sonny shook his head. "Absolutely not." Sonny couldn't afford another head in on the operations, too many elements of his business would be open and at risk.

Nikolas felt like the bottom just fell out of his stomach. "You can't be serious!" he said shrilly, the vein at his temple popping slightly.

"Oh, I'm dead serious, Nikolas. I appreciate the offer, but if you really want to help, why don't you go offer a shoulder to the Quartermaines. Leave the search and rescue to the grown-ups." Sonny was aware that it was a cheep shot, but the Prince's feelings weren't his concern now. Mounting a distraction and intruder-free search for Emily was. Sure, the kid had contacts, but they weren't anything Sonny, himself, couldn't bring to the table. He didn't need any extra hands on this one; he would do this, just like he'd promised.

"I can't believe you!" It was official, the Prince had just snapped, clean in half, like a dry twig. His mind was whirling as he stared Sonny down; he could feel his breath accelerating in fury, even see his own chest heaving. "Because of you, Emily is gone! GONE! And now you have someone who not only cares about her, but also happens to have nearly inexhaustible resources at his disposal, wanting to help get her back, to help right a situation you created, and you have the nerve to turn me down? What gives you the right, Corinthos?"

Now, Sonny understood rage, he understood it very well. But something he tended not to be very understanding of was insolence, no matter the circumstances. Yes, he was most definitely at fault here, he had reconciled as much. But this…? Well, Nikolas was just being plain rude. "I suggest," said Sonny, holding up a single finger and smiling coldly, "that you take a deep breath there, Nikolas, and ask yourself if this is really such a good idea."

Those words only served to aggravate Nikolas further. "I am offering my help here, Sonny--"

"Which I do not need--"

"Stop interrupting me! And stop letting your damn pride get in the way!" Nikolas was red in the face now, doing something very un-princely: allowing his emotions to get the better of him. "Now look, if it's sensitivity you're worried about—don't! I don't give a damn about your business. Who's behind what, whose doing what to whom? I—don't—care! You are one of the most powerful men on the eastern seaboard, Sonny, and you were just wronged. Something was taken from you, and I know you'll be doing everything humanly possible to get it back… to get her back." Somewhere along the line, Nikolas' voice had quieted and Sonny could plainly see sparks of desperation flickering in his eyes. This boy had it bad. "All I want is to help, to be apart of it, because that is all I care about now. Threatening me isn't going to change that, nothing will. Sonny, please, I'm asking you, just let me do this." Nikolas honestly hoped Sonny realized just how difficult it was for him to resort to begging. Again, asking for things wasn't exactly normal Cassadine behavior. But if it would get him where he wanted to be, that much closer to getting Emily back, then he'd do it. He'd beg a million times over.

Sonny had to admit, the kid's impassioned plea was quite moving, and he certainly knew where he was coming from. If it had been Carly… Blinking away the thought, Sonny opened his mouth to give his answer when the shrill, electronic buzz of his cell phone rang out between them.

Nikolas flicked his gaze angrily to the phone in Sonny's hand. "We're not--"

"Excuse me," said Sonny stiffly, holding up a hand to keep the Prince silent. "It's important, all right?" And indeed it was. Looking at the ID, he saw the call was from his sister. Stepping away a few paces, Sonny turned his back to Nikolas and held the phone to his ear.

"Courtney?"

"Yeah, it's me." His sister's voice was tired and relieved, pained and happy all at the same time. "He just got out, Sonny. They just brought Jason out of surgery."

Warm relief settled in his gut. "How's he doing?"

He heard Courtney sniff and then sigh. "Well, Carly and I are in with him now. He's not awake yet, but, um… well, the doctor who worked on him, Dr. Roads… he said the surgery went well, that he'll be fine; he just can't leave for a while yet. That he has a lot of healing to do before…" There was a sharp drop off in his sister's voice. "But that doesn't matter, right?" she finished, half desperate, half angry, taking herself in whole other direction now. "He's not going to listen to any of them, is he, Sonny?"

Sonny understood where his sister was coming from all too well. Jason could be just as stubborn as him, and that was saying something. "Courtney," he sighed. "We can't stop Jason from doing anything, you know that. Best you can do is to ask him to stop and think before taking off like a bat outta hell. Though, right now…" Sonny's eyes strayed to Nikolas' pacing form. "Well, I'm just not sure how far you'll get. And hard as it's gonna be, Courtney, you're just gonna have to, you know, understand." Sonny didn't exactly feel this was the best place for this conversation at the present moment. He'd talk it out more with Courtney later, at home, when he didn't have a pissed off Cassadine breathing down his neck. "Look," Sonny said, changing the subject—if only slightly, "Have you heard any word on Johnny? Is he out of surgery yet?"

There was a long, suffocating silence and just when Sonny was about to ask if she was there, his wife's voice came over the line.

"Sonny?" she said, her voice just as tearful and strained as his sister's had been.

Sonny felt his heart begin to plummet. Why wouldn't they answer his question? "Carly, what's going on? I asked Courtney about Johnny and then… He's not… I mean, Johnny, he isn't…?"

"No, he's alive. But…it's bad, Sonny, really bad." Carly paused and Sonny heard rustling, a tissue maybe, probably. "He's lost so much blood. The bullets… one of them punctured his spleen, it's… it's hem-hemorrhaged." Her voice quaked horribly. "He's—he's still in the OR, they're trying to stop the bleeding, but they… they don't know how long it'll be, or if he'll even…"

"Don't, Carly," he said quietly. "Don't think like that, okay? Johnny's been with us a long time, and he'll be with us for a long time yet. Just… just keep faith," Sonny's voice dipped even lower. "And… and pray. It works, you know."

"All right," came her broken reply. "But, um, just get over here, okay. Monica said Jason should be coming around any minute now. I'm sure he'll be able to tell you something, give you something more concrete to go on. Then you'll be able to find her, Sonny, you'll be able to bring her home. And then this… this can just be over already."

"Right," he said, breathing in deeply. "Okay, I'll be there in a few, just, you know, hold tight, all right? I love you." Sonny paused for a moment, unsure of himself, but then plunged on, their whole horrific situation reminding him just how fragile and unpredictable life could be, and that waiting to say things could quite possibly mean they'd never get said. "And, uh… tell Courtney I love her, too."

"Absolutely," his wife said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Bye, baby."

After giving one more goodbye, Sonny flipped his phone closed and turned to face Nikolas again. In what was quite possibly the weirdest moment he'd experienced in a long while, when Sonny looked at the Cassadine kid's slouched form, his haggard, mournful, and anxious eyes, Sonny saw himself, as he would be if their situations had been switched, and it had been Carly taken from him. In retrospect, he figured that was what did it.

"Come on," he said gruffly to Nikolas, who seemed to visibly relax right before his eyes. "Jason's gonna wake up soon—he may be able to point us in the right direction."

Relieved beyond measure, Nikolas followed silently in Sonny's wake toward the car. Nothing else needed to be said.

-----

Caracas: 1987

Dappled afternoon sunlight poured in through the open windows, the sheers fluttering wildly in the warm breeze. On the floor, just inside the open veranda doors, sat the figure of a young girl, flowing brown hair cascading over her shoulders in silky waves. Her face was turned toward the shocking greenery that enveloped the horizon, swaying fruit trees and huge, sheltering peach palms moving gracefully with the wind.

"I know you're there, Miguel. No use hiding from me," said the girl melodically, her steady gaze never wavering from the scene outside.

From behind her, a boy of seventeen or so emerged slowly from the shadows, his raven black hair combed neatly back, and his crisp white shirt impeccable as always. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, his eyes trained thoughtfully on the girl's back as he drew nearer to her.

She chuckled softly and the sound pulled a smile from the young man's lips. "You clomp," she said.

A pair of raised eyebrows suddenly accompanied his smile--which had somehow morphed into a smirk. "I what?" Miguel sounded thoroughly aghast.

Finally turning to face him, the girl's bright face and glittering eyes were lit in a dazzling smile. "You clomp," she repeated firmly. "You know, 'cause of those rowboats you call feet."

Obviously nonplussed, Miguel goggled at the girl, open-mouthed.

Another laugh drifted airily through the room as she got to her feet. She swept toward him with an almost ethereal grace, the top of her head only reaching as high as his chest. "Close your mouth, big brother," she said sweetly, placing a finger under his chin. "It's not a good look for you."

The gaping fish look fell away then, replaced by a pair of narrowed, playfully menacing eyes. "Brat," he growled. "I haven't seen you for nine whole months and this is how you decide to greet your brother, with insults?" Miguel pouted in mock injury, holding a hand over his heart. "You wound me."

Her smile softened and her eyes warmed with fondness as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her big brother's waist, clinging tightly to him. "I missed you so much, Mige," she said in a small, quivering voice.

He drew his arms around her small form and rested his chin atop her head. This was the first time he had been separated from his baby sister in his life. Nine months away at a boarding school without her… He had never felt so disconnected, so alone. It only made him appreciate being home, being here all the more. "I missed you too, Elena," he said softly, hugging her fiercely and giving into a genuine smile—his first in nine months. "I missed you too."

-----

Miguel clenched his eyes closed trying to banish the memory from his mind. Only, it didn't seem to be working. The darkness only fueled the snippets of days-gone-by, dredging them up from the murky depths of his past.

And that was where he wanted to keep them, dammit. The memories, the glimpses of her face, the flashes of her voice. All those things were supposed to stay buried… just as she was.

Disembodied, they had no place in his life. If they couldn't spring from her directly, if the voice he heard in his mind couldn't come from her in the here in now, if the face he saw couldn't be right in front of him, alive and breathing, he didn't want it at all. He had no desire to tease himself with things that had no hope of ever being.

He had no desire to be Lorenzo.

Because that's exactly what Lorenzo was doing, torturing himself. He was trying to put his memories to the girl sleeping in Elena's bed. Be it subconsciously or not, Miguel knew that his friend was trying to anchor a ghost. And it could not be done.

He wouldn't let it happen. That girl, that Quartermaine girl, wasn't their Elena. And Miguel refused to allow her memory to be defaced that way. Yes, the likeness between Emily and Elena was there, he would admit to that. The hair, the dark eyes, the smile… it was all… similar enough. But that's all it was—similar. The only person worthy of her essence, her grace, was Elena herself. And she was lost to them now, forever. It was painful and it was vastly unfair, but it was true.

And Boss or not, Miguel wasn't about to let everything they'd worked for go to Hell because Lorenzo couldn't let go of the past.

-----

Lorenzo ran his hand over the dresser top. It shone elegantly in the sunlight, the polished marble top still as flawless as it had ever been, if not just a bit tidier than what he remembered. Continuing his inspection, forced on by some intangible urge, his hesitant gaze found rest upon a small, gold, filigree jewelry box, with an elegant 'E' engraved upon its gleaming top. He brushed his fingers across the lid, and before he could stop himself, he had opened it. A soft and haunting tune twittered through the air as the chained lid swung back. His stomach did a very funny thing then—it lurched, painfully. There, still nestled against the box's folds of purple silk lining, was a simple gold ring. A modest, but beautifully cut diamond sat in a high center setting upon the delicate band, flanked by two blazing rubies. The morning light seemed to make them burn. Unbearably fresh emotions coursed through him as he reached into the box, his fingers poised to close around the--

"…eerrr…"

Ripped from the moment, the delicate box closed with a snap, and Lorenzo rounded on the pained moan. Swallowing deep, he evened out his breathing and quieted his racing heart. She, Emily, was coming around, and now wasn't the time for foolish trinkets or the memories that went with them.

He watched with hooded eyes, as the stirring girl pushed against the fog invading her mind. He knew the feeling, like being trapped underwater, murky water. Her face, the one he'd seen set in contempt—for him—was scrunched now, eyebrows drawn together, eyes blinking heavily, nose pinched, mouth open and closing uselessly. She looked like a lost child. A surge of guilt blazed through his gut, but he quickly stamped it out. There was no doubt that this was wrong, but it was also business. And sometimes, in his business, many unsavory things were excused for the sake of progress and the bottom line. It was a bit like war in a way. And everyone knew what they said about war… and love, for that matter.

She couldn't afford to slip out of it again. It was all Emily could think as she struggled to sit up, clutching at the queasy flutter in her stomach. As soon as her eyes had opened and she blurrily ran them over the foreign bedroom, her sense of panic began a steady climb. So, it hadn't been a dream. Great. Freaking wonderful. She was… well, she didn't quite know where she was. But wherever that happened to be, inside the jumbled mess of her mind, Emily clung to a shred of hope, hope that her brother would find her. Jason would always come for her, always.

Then, in the far corner of the room, a shadow moved against the light, drawing her attention like a waving red flag. But it wasn't a flag; it was a figure, a broad shouldered figure… Jason? God, she dared not even hope at that point. She knew her brother was good, but damn. This had to be record time or something. Sitting up straighter, Emily squinted into the light, desperate to get a better look at the cloudy outline before her hopes got away from her. She blinked rapidly, each flutter of lashes doing its part to clear the haze from her vision. When she was finally able to focus—really focus, she instantly wished she hadn't.

Staring back at her through eyes of menacing brown, not gentle ice, from under dark, slicked back hair, and not dirty-blonde spikes, was none other than--

"Alcazar…" she rasped, her voice thick and not her own. Her hand closed over her mouth in shock.

Languidly, savoring the moment's irresistible drama, Lorenzo stepped closer to the bed until his knees connected with the footboard. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Lorenzo flashed a thin smile. "The one and only."

-----

TBC…