Disclaimer - I don't own Passions, or any of its characters, conversations, or settings. They are the property of NBC, James E. Reilly, and Outpost Productions.

Author's Note - A while ago, I was thinking about how much I hate Grace, and that stupid curse that she put on Ivy after she miscarried baby Jack. In this curse, she cursed Ivy to the same pain that she had felt - the pain of losing a child, no? And then I thought about how entangled the Cranes and Bennetts have become over the past year or so, and suddenly, this big-ass plot bunny sank its fangs into me, and absolutely refused to let go. And thus, this fic was born.

"I curse you Ivy Crane! I curse you to the same unspeakable pain you brought on me tonight. May it last your entire life.

"I curse you Ivy Crane! I curse you to suffer the same pain you have caused me a million times over. You caused me to lose my baby, and now you will pay.

"I curse you! I curse you, Ivy Crane! I curse you for all eternity! I curse you, Ivy Crane! I curse you for now and all eternity!

"I curse you! I curse you for lying to me and pretending to be my friend.

"I curse you! I curse you to feel my pain a million times.

"I curse you! I curse you for now and forever!"

i. it's not fair

There were so many tubes. They were exiting Ethan's body everywhere – his arm, his nose, his mouth. Sam wasn't quite sure what they all did, but he did know one thing – they weren't doing anything now.

Behind him, Sam could hear Gwen sobbing into Ivy's shoulder, Ivy praying for God to let her wake up from this terrible nightmare. Sam, however, was too numb, too stunned to cry or pray. Ethan's death had hit him like a bulldozer – he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but watch as his son's lifeless body grew colder by the minute.

It wasn't fair. Ethan should have been at home, helping Gwen put Jane to bed. He should have been rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for something to snack on before bed. He should have been worrying about his next case. He shouldn't havebe dead.

Ethan had been his son – his firstborn son –and Sam hadn't even known it until less than five years earlier. Five years – it wasn't fair. He should have been able to have more time with his son. He should have had more than just five years.

For just a moment, Sam hated Ivy for not telling him about Ethan sooner. She'd had thirty years with him. She'd watched him take his first steps, say his first words. Sam had missed all of that.

Sam thought of everything that Ethan should have been able to do, and everything that he'd never be able to experience. He'd never get to laugh again. He'd never be able to cry, to eat, or to get so drunk that he'd be puking his guts out for a week afterward. He'd never see his thirty-first birthday, or his third anniversary. He'd never see Jane's first birthday. He'd never be able to take Jane to her first day of kindergarten. He'd never get to watch proudly as his little girl graduated high school and college. He'd never be able to see his baby get married. He'd never be able to meet his grandchildren. Imagining Ethan doing all of those things, and knowing that they'd never happen, only intensified his growing anger and hatred.

Letting the gates open, Sam found the hatred flowing through his veins to be like a drug – he needed more and more. He didn't just hate Ivy, but he hated Julian for wasting so many years with such a wonderful young man. He hated Gwen for getting to spend nearly four times as much time with Ethan as Sam himself had. He hated Fox and Fancy for taking such a wonderful older brother for granted. He hated Theresa for killing Ethan. He hated Alistair for being such a miserable bastard. He hated Harrison for keeping him and Ivy apart when they were younger. He hated God for taking his son from him. He hated Ethan for not fighting harder to live.

Something inside of Sam, just then, broke; his fury was unleashed. Without warning, he lunged forward, grabbing Ethan by his shoulders and shaking him. "You son of a bitch! You bastard! You weren't supposed to die yet, damn it! You weren't! Why didn't you fight? Why, you bastard, why?"

"Sam!" Gwen exclaimed, pulling at his arms. With one swift motion, Sam knocked Gwen away from him and into the window, where she slumped to the floor in a heap. After that, all sound melted into one loud chorus of cries and shouts. Suddenly, he was being pulled away, and out into the waiting room.

"Let go of me!" he screamed, trying to shake who he now recognized to be Noah and Fox off of him. "Let go of me, damn it! He wasn't supposed to die yet! He wasn't! Let me go!"

"Sam! Sam!" Ivy cried, rushing towards him. She cupped his face in his hands, and her touch slowly brought him back to reality.

"Ivy?" he whispered. "Oh, God, Ivy… Gwen! Oh, God, oh, God," he whispered over and over. Ivy wrapped her arms around Sam, and he buried his face in her shoulder. "He's gone, Ivy. Ethan's really gone."

Sam felt Ivy's wet tears trickling down onto his forehead. "I know, Sam. Oh God, my baby. Our baby, Sam."

"It's not fair," Sam whispered, over and over again. "It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair."

It's never fair.

ii. i love you

"Are you coming, Fox?"

Fox Crane looked up from the piles and piles of spreadsheets that he had been slaving over for the past three hours to find his wife's gray-blue eyes watching him apprehensively. Glancing quickly at his platinum watch, Fox gave the brunette a look that sent shivers down Kay's spine. "It's only six o'clock," Fox replied, his voice laced with disgust. "Why the hell would I leave work this early?"

"I just… I just thought that maybe you might want some time to relax and refresh yourself before going over to our parents' tonight." Seeing the look of confusion on her husband's face, Kay added, "We were going to go over to my dad's this evening before midnight mass, remember?" Then, softer, "We always go to my dad's."

"Oh. Yeah," Fox said, shuffling through his papers. "Well, I'm pretty busy right now. If you want to go ahead and get the kids ready, I can meet you over there later."

Kay's heart sank. Translated into English, Fox's statement meant, "You go on ahead to our parents', and then I'll see you again tomorrow morning when you come into the office and find me asleep on the couch". Why she'd ever thought that stupid success spell was a good idea, she'd never know.

The spell had changed Fox – changed him from a loving, caring young man into someone who was unmistakably Alistair Crane's grandson. She'd wanted Fox to be happy – she really had – but not at the cost of losing him. And she had, because the Fox that she had known and loved had died the moment that she'd cast that spell.

That was why she had gone to Tabitha to beg her to reverse the spell – and after a couple of well-placed threats, she had. This was why Kay couldn't understand Fox's behavior – the spell had been broken!

Desperate to hold on to her husband, Kay said, "But dinner's at seven. If we don't go and get ready now, we'll be late."

Not even bothering to look up from his papers, Fox replied, "Well, then we'll be late."

"We can't let our families down, Fox," Kay countered softly. "Your mother's really been looking forward to seeing you, you know. She hasn't seen you since Nicky was born."

Fox harrumphed, his eyes still glued to his work. "She spent my entire childhood sending me off to boarding schools, and now she's so eager to see me?"

"Losing Ethan really hurt her," Kay said, slightly surprised at herself for defending Ivy. "I think it probably made her realize how short life is, and how much she already missed with you and your sisters."

When Fox didn't reply, Kay decided to try something different. "What about Ashley and Luke?" she asked, referring to Ethan and Gwen's two children. "You're like a father to them. They love you."

"Yeah, well, I never asked to be their father-figure," Fox sniped, shooting daggers at Kay. "It's not my fault that Ethan died. It's not my fault that Ashley's original DNA tests were wrong, or that Gwen's not really barren."

"But they're your niece and nephew!" Kay gasped, appalled at Fox's cruelty.

"Half-niece and half-nephew," Fox corrected coldly. "I have no niece or nephew."

"Not yet," Kay cried with the air of someone who has just found a loophole, "but Noah and Fancy's baby is due sometime this spring, and I know that they'd love to see you. We can all sit around and make bets about whether the baby will be a boy or a girl."

"Kay, please," Fox warned, aggravation quickly seeping into not only his voice, but his demeanor as well.

"But you and Fancy are so close," Kay protested, "and you haven't seen her since Nicky was born, either. In fact, you missed her Labor Day party, when she and Noah announced that they were pregnant - "

"Damn it, would you stop!" Fox shouted, causing Kay to visibly jump. "If you want to go to your dad's for Christmas Eve so damn much, then go! Take Maria and Nicky and go! But fuck, Kay, I've got work to do, and I'm not leaving here until I get it all done, and if I have to miss our parents' damned get-together, then so be it!"

Kay began to cry. "But it's Nicky's first Christmas. You have to be there, Fox. You have to."

"He'll have other Christmases!" Fox cried, exasperated.

"But he'll never have another first Christmas! Fox, please!" Kay begged, moving forward and resting her hands on her husband's strong shoulders. "Please, just come home with me. We can get Maria and Nicky all dressed up, and then we can just head over to our parents' and have a good time. Please, Fox. Please. Don't throw our marriage – our children's childhoods – away. Don't be like your parents, and realize once Maria and Nicky are grown up how much you've missed out on. Please, Fox. Just come with us. Please." She started kissing Fox softly on the lips. "Please…"

Fox grabbed her wrists and pulled away from her. With a final look of repugnance, he sat back down behind his desk without saying a word.

Sobbing, Kay turned around and ruefully exited his office. When she reached his door, though, she stopped, and turned around. "I love you, Fox," she said softly. "I love you."

Fox didn't reply.

iii. it wasn't supposed to be like this

"I'm so sorry," Eve said gently, guilt weighing down the three little words. "We did everything we could, but there was just so much blood loss. We couldn't stop the hemorrhaging in time. I'm so sorry," she repeated, this time speaking to Julian. He just nodded, too grief-stricken to speak. He tightened his embrace around Ivy, allowing her to sob freely into his shoulder. Behind her, Sam took Ivy's hand in his own, desperate to comfort his wife, yet not knowing quite how to do so.

Next to the bed, Noah sank down into one of the hospital's highly uncomfortable plasticchairs. With his left hand, he smoothed the blonde hair around Fancy's face, tousled in the doctors' feverish attempt to save her life. Reality sunk in at that moment.

"Oh, God," Noah whispered, tears forming in his eyes for the first time in his adult life. "This was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives, Fancy. It wasn't supposed to be like this." He trailed his thumb down the side of her face, feeling her cool skin beneath his own warm flesh. "How am I supposed to live without you, baby?" Noah completely broke down. Tears flowed down his cheeks, making shiny little rivulets all over his face. "Oh, God," he cried, "please, take me instead! Please!" Then, in a barely audible whisper: "Just kill me now."

Noah felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find Ivy looking down at him. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she had similar streams of tears running down her own face. "Don't say that," she whispered. She cupped his face with her hands, wiping away stray tears with her thumbs. "If I knew anything about my daughter, it was that she loved you with all of her heart…" Ivy trailed off, fighting back tears, and then continued, every word spoken deliberately and painfully, "… and she wouldn't have wanted you to just waste away, Noah. She would have wanted you to keep on living. She would have wanted to be happy."

Noah stood abruptly, knocking Ivy's hands away. "Fancy," he said, his voice quavering with emotion, "would have wanted to be here. She would have wanted to be alive and be happy, too. And if she can't have all of that, then I don't want any of it, either."

Ivy shook her head, fat tears spilling from her blue eyes. Tearfully, she asked, "And what about your baby? Your little girl just lost her mother. She needs you, Noah. She needs her daddy to love and take care of her. You can't just fall apart now."

"My daughter…" Noah whispered. In his grief over his wife's death, he'd forgotten all about his newborn.

"Yes," Ivy whispered, "your daughter." Turning, she motioned to Eve, who approached the two, carrying a tiny pink bundle in her arms. Carefully, the doctor handed the tiny infant to her grandmother. Ivy smiled at the little girl, allowing the child to grab hold of Ivy's pinkie finger with her entire little fist. "Look at her," she commanded. "You're all that she has left in this world. She needs you. You can't give up now. You have to be her father." Ivy gently eased the infant into Noah's nervous arms.

Noah stared intently at his tiny daughter. He couldn't help but notice that she looked just like Fancy – the same light blue eyes, the same soft blonde hair, the same nose, cheekbones, and chins. She was perfect.

"Hi Hayley," he whispered, stroking his daughter's soft blonde head. "Your mama picked that name out for you. She wanted you to have the prettiest name in the entire world, because she loved you so much. So much." Tears rolled down Noah's cheeks, splashing onto Hayley's blanket, making the soft pink fabric appear darker. "I can't do this," he sobbed, shoving the baby into Ivy's arms. "This isn't how things were supposed to be! I can't be her father without Fancy. I just can't." He started for the door, but Sam stepped in Noah's path, grabbing his son by his shoulders.

"No," he said, his voice stern, like it had been when Noah was a child, and he or one of his sisters had done something wrong. "You're not going to run away from this. Hayley is your daughter. You are her father. She needs you. It's going to be hard without Fancy, yes, but you're not alone. Ivy and I are here for you. Julian and Eve are here. Your sisters are here for you. Gwen is here for you. We will all help you, Noah. You can't just run away from your responsibilities."

Noah looked back at Hayley, sleeping peacefully in Ivy's arms, and Fancy, lying dead on the hospital bed. "She loved her so much," he said softly. "She loved to sit there and feel the baby kick. She… she had all of these dreams for Hayley. She was gonna teach her how to 'shop properly'," Noah laughed. "She was gonna take her to the park, and let her feel the sun on her face. She was going to read to her every night, so that she'd grow up and love to read. But none of that will ever happen! She's never going to be able to do any of that now!" Noah anguished, his voice rising in intensity with every passing word. Without warning, he grabbed a crimson vase from a nearby table and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, replicating Noah's own heart.

He stood there, breathing heavily, like he'd just run a marathon. He felt deflated, like someone had just stuck a needle in him, allowing all of his anger to slowly seep out. Noah looked around, taking in his father's concerned expression, Eve rubbing a stunned Julian's arm, and the horror etched in Ivy's face. Then, he looked at Hayley, still sleeping despite the earlier commotion, and Fancy, whom no amount of commotion would ever awaken.

This was supposed to have been the happiest day of their lives. They were supposed to be admiring their little girl right now, and eagerly anticipating taking her home for the first time.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Noah whispered to nobody in particular. "It wasn't supposed to be like this at all."

iv. why?

"Why did you kill her, Anna?"

The young blonde did not move. She remained in her half-seated, half-laying position, her head resting against the cold metal table. Her golden tresses, devoid of their glimmer, were fanned out about her, and her once brilliant blue eyes were now dull, staring past the bright white walls into the confines of space. "They told me to do it," she said softly and slowly, as if she was recalling the remnants of a dream. She did not move, and she did not avert her gaze.

"Who told you, Anna?" the doctor asked curiously. "Who told you to kill her?"

"You cannot speak their name," Anna said matter-of-factly, abruptly shifting her eyes to the doctor's face. "No one can speak their name." She slowly lowered her eyes, adding as an afterthought, "They get angry if anyone speaks their name."

Tilting her head slightly, the doctor asked, "Why do they get angry?" When Anna did not respond, the doctor decided to press a different line of questioning. "Why did they want you to kill her?"

Anna jumped up out of her chair, flinging her handcuffed hands into the air, narrowly missing her doctor.

"I know what you're trying to do," she cried. "You're trying to make me betray them. But you won't." She laughed a cold, maniacal sort of laugh. "I won't betray them!" she cried. "I won't! I won't!" she repeated over and over.

"Anna…" the doctor said, reaching for her patient. The young woman evaded the doctor, fleeing and falling into the corner of the room, and bunched herself up there, trying to hide. "Anna, I can help you make them go away," the doctor said. "Together, we can make them go away, Anna, but first, you have to tell me why they wanted you to kill her!"

Anna quieted, then said, "She was dirty," spitting out the last word with great contempt.

The doctor shook her head. "What do you mean? How was she dirty?"

"She was dirty," Anna repeated, rocking back and forth. "She pretended to be pure, but she was lying. She was unclean. She allowed evil to flow through her own veins. I had to cleanse her."

A dawning look of understanding swept across the doctor's face. "That's why you drowned her," she whispered. On a roll, she urged, "Who told you that Jessica was still taking drugs, Anna? How did you know that she was still prostituting herself?"

Anna did not respond to the question. Instead, she just stared off into an unseen abyss, her head slumped against the wall. The doctor took out a light and flashed it several times into each eye. When Anna did not respond, the doctor motioned toward her co-workers behind the two-way mirror.

As the other doctors rushed into the room, Ivy turned her back to the mirror and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God," she whispered. "First Ethan, then Fancy, and now Anna…"

Julian took hold of his ex-wife's shoulders. "Anna isn't dead, Ivy. She's just sick. The doctors will make her better, I'm sure of it."

"Look at her!" Ivy cried, pointing to the corner where her youngest daughter remained slumped, unmoving. "She's not going to be all right! She killed Jessica, Julian, and no amount of Crane money, no team of doctors - no matter how good they are, can change that!"

Julian looked down, suddenly absorbed in removing a scuff mark from the tile floor. Ivy turned to Sam and placed her arm on his shoulder, unsure of how he'd react to her touch. "I'm so sorry, Sam," she whispered. "This is all my fault. Anna's my daughter. I should have realized that something was wrong."

Sam did not acknowledge his wife's apology, and instead maintained his gaze at his stepdaughter. He couldn't get the images out of his head – the red and blue lights flashing in the air, reflecting off of the cold Atlantic waters. The sight of a deranged Anna, screaming and shouting nonsense, being dragged away from the shore. His little girl's wet, limp body lying on the sand, unmoving as the ocean's waves rushed up around her, threatening to pull her out to sea.

His family had been utterly destroyed. Ethan had been gone for nearly five years now, and Gwen had been struggling to keep her husband's memory alive in their two small children, the youngest of whom had never even met his daddy. Noah had been an utter wreck after losing Fancy two years earlier, and Sam and Ivy both privately worried that Noah was sheltering little Hayley far more than was healthy for any child of any age. Kay, meanwhile, had finalized her and Fox's divorce the previous year, and was slowly becoming more and more dependent on her liquid courage to get her through the day. Losing custody of Nicky had shattered her, and her and Maria's roles had gradually become reversed, with the seven year-old becoming the mother and the twenty-seven year-old becoming the daughter. And now Jessica – his sweet, beautiful baby girl – was dead.

Finding his voice, Sam answered in a weak, exhausted voice, "It's not your fault. I am – was – Jessica's father," he choked out. "I should have known that she was on drugs and prostituting herself again."

"No," Ivy said, standing in front of her husband. "This is not your fault. This is not Jessica's fault. It's mine. I never noticed. She was living with us for five weeks, and I never noticed. How could I have not noticed?"

Looking down into his wife's regret-filled eyes, he thought of how the past few years had taken a toll on her, as well. Her firstborn, Ethan, had died. Fox had become completely absorbed in his work, determined to take his rightful spot in the Crane Empire. He never visited his family; he'd only sought custody of his son so that he could have the boy raised to be the type of Crane that Alistair wouldbe proud of. Then Fancy had died, too, and now Anna was lost somewhere in the recesses of her tangled little mind, and nobody knew if she'd ever be able to find her way home.

"Why is this happening, Sam?" she tearfully questioned. "Why does everything keep falling apart? Why can't we just be happy? Why can't our children just be happy?"

Sam pulled Ivy into his arms and, for the first time since Ethan's death, stopped fighting the forming tears in his eyes, and just let them flow down his face, where they tenuously clung to the edge of his jaw. There had been so much loss, so much death over the past years, and it had all drained him, physically, emotionally, and mentally.

"Why? Oh, God, why? Why?" Ivy moaned over and over again, as if her repeated refrain would bring her children back to her. Sam resisted the bitter urge to tell her not to waste her breath.

God obviously didn't care much about them.