Chapter Eight: Enter Like a Queen, not a Prodigal Daughter

Simon used the time in the rented Mercedes to learn the cast of characters from Tracy. Edward and Lila were the parents; apparently, Edward was Attila the Hun and Lila was the Fairy Godmother, at least by Tracy's recollections. There was one brother, namely Alan, who was a doctor. He'd been married (at least the last time Tracy checked) to another doctor named Monica, who by Tracy's estimation was a worthless, cheating slut. They had a son, A.J., whose paternity Tracy had dared to question (because Monica was cheating on Alan with someone named Rick) in order to secure a higher status in the family for her own son, Ned.

Ned's father was Larry, a fake British lord who was also a worthless, cheating slut. (Simon wondered if all Quartermaines had such bad taste in spouses.) Larry had married Tracy young, squandered her fortune, and left her with a young son to raise. (Which she didn't, by the way. "Daddy" – i.e., Edward - had insisted Ned stay in boarding school, and Tracy hadn't fought him.) Broke and dependent, Tracy caved under Edward's insistence that she marry (the only way he'd give her any of the family money), so she "nudged" (her word) her then boyfriend, Mitch Williams, into marrying her.

Of course, Mitch was also a worthless, cheating slut, and that marriage ended, as so many did in the Quartermaine family, in divorce.

That's where the story started getting fuzzy. Apparently, there was some incident involving A.J.'s paternity, Mitch's political career, and "Daddy" that got Tracy slammed out of the family in a big way. But Tracy didn't really go into details, and Simon didn't press.

He had a feeling that this was going to be huge, and he needed time to prepare for it.

They spent the last few miles of the drive into Port Charles in relative silence. They had listened to the news at first, but turned it off as the actual reports had faded into talk radio speculation. Tracy watched the lights on the highway, lost in her own thoughts, while Simon watched for road signs.

When they finally got to the hospital, it was like a war zone. Ambulances, news vans, police cars—all formed a seemingly impenetrable barrier between them and their destination. The sun was beginning to make an appearance in the east, but it was still dark enough that a young cop had to flash a light in the driver's side window before asking their business.

"My companion has a family member who was injured in the hotel fire," he said. Something, instinctively, warned him that this was not the time or place to drop the name "Quartermaine."

The cop pointed them to a special parking area for families of the victims. It was only a moment before they were parked and the motor turned off. Simon turned to Tracy, who sat motionless in the passenger seat next to him. She looked pale and terrified.

"You can do this," he whispered to her, reaching for her hand. It was shaking. "Look, whatever happened, happened a long time ago. Right now, you're just another daughter, visiting her father at the hospital."

"I don't know if I can…" Her voice was hoarse, almost a full half-octave below her normal tone. She was squeezing his hand hard now, and staring at the commotion around her. "It's like a dream."

"Pull yourself together, Ms. Walker," he said, purposefully using her new name. She needed to be Tracy Walker right now, powerful, together, brave. Not the disgraced Tracy Quartermaine, crawling back to her family in hoping for crumbs of forgiveness. "You have every right to be here."

She nodded, steeling herself, as if the name alone were some form of post-hypnotic suggestion that gave her strength and courage. "Let's do this."

They made their way to the main entrance, ignoring the reporters and emergency workers who hurried past. If there were any familiar faces, Tracy didn't let it show. She kept her eyes forward, walking straight past the front desk towards the elevators. She flashed Simon an encouraging look as he entered behind her—how could she even be thinking about his claustrophobia at a time like this?—and held his hand as they went up to the fourth floor.

When the doors opened, they stepped out into a large receiving area. At least, Simon stepped out. Tracy took one step out of the elevator and stopped cold.

Simon followed her gaze to where a man in a lab coat was standing, reading a chart. He seemed to be just a couple of years older than Tracy, with dark hair, a heavy face that had once been handsome, and a tall, commanding build. He looked up as the elevators closed and almost dropped the chart he held. His eyes grew wide in recognition, flickers of joy, pain, and confusion all playing on that aging, handsome face.

He crossed the room in a few broad steps and, without a word, pulled Tracy into a hard embrace, lifting her off the floor with the sheer force of it. "Tracy…."

Simon stepped away, watching as Tracy wrapped herself in the man's arms, holding him tightly as they stood there for a long time, neither making a sound, stroking each other's hair, kissing each other's cheeks. It wasn't the reception he'd expected, but he was glad for it. Glad that Tracy's first encounter with someone (her brother, maybe?) had been a good one.

When they finally pulled apart, they assessed each other's appearances, obviously adjusting for twenty years of aging. "You look…beautiful," the man said as he stared at her. "Monica said—she thought that…" He stopped, shaking his head. "We thought it was a hoax."

"How's Daddy?" Tracy asked in a low voice.

"In surgery. We're understaffed for this emergency, but they managed to get a cardiologist in from Mount Sinai."

"Why didn't Monica--?"

"She can't operate on family, Trace, you know that." He brushed her hair from her eyes, still staring at her. "I can't believe you're here."

"I didn't have a choice," she said, finally acknowledging Simon. She reached for him, pulling her into their little circle. "Alan, I'd like you to meet Dr. Simon Fullerton, my friend and business associate. Simon, this is my brother, Dr. Alan Quartermaine."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Simon said, extending his hand. He noticed how Alan's demeanor changed when he looked at Simon, the eyes narrowing, the darkening expression. He realized immediately he was being judged, evaluated, suspected. "Tracy and I have been friends for some time now. I'm sorry to hear about your father," he added.

"Well, thank you for…" Alan turned to his sister. "What am I thanking him for?"

"He convinced me to come here." She pursed her lips, looking away for a moment before continuing. "I don't know if I'd have had the guts to do it if he and Annabeth hadn't…" She brushed the mood off like a pesky fly. "It doesn't matter. I'm here, now, and that's that. Where's Mother? In the waiting room?" Tracy moved as if to leave, but Alan stopped her.

His expression was pained, and Simon could see Tracy stiffening in reaction. It was like they had a short-hand between them, little expressions and gestured developed over years of familial trainings, ways of communicating that were instantaneous and incomprehensible to outsiders.

"What happened?" Tracy said flatly.

"You don't know. Mother is at the house. Her health is fragile, Tracy. She's not a young woman anymore, and well, we didn't want to upset her until we had news one way or another."

Tracy's temper seemed to flare as if it had a physical body of its own. "Alan, how can you do that? You know Mother would want to be here. What if—" She leaned in close, taking Alan's arm into her own, effectively blocking off the rest of the room (including Simon). "What if he doesn't make it?" she continued in a much lower tone. "What would Mother think if the first thing she finds out about Daddy's…surgery…" Simon noticed she couldn't say the words 'heart attack.' "Was that he didn't survive?"

"Tracy, our father is a strong man. He's survived a lot, and he's getting the best care possible."

Simon could see it now, the traces of contention between them as the moment of reconciliation transitioned into the realities of two adults dealing with the care of their aging parents. He listened quietly as they discussed Edward's surgery, Lila's medical condition (much more serious than Alan had first implied) and what to do in the event that the worst case scenario played out.

He also noticed, although it was subtle, that Alan downplayed or outright rejected every suggestion Tracy made. He wasn't sure if this had always been the way with them, or if Tracy's 20 year absence had somehow rendered her opinions on the matter moot.

Things were just starting to get heated when a young man emerged from the elevator. He was in his late 30s, very handsome, and obviously under a great deal of stress. He walked straight to Alan and was about to start speaking when he noticed Tracy for the first time.

It was the quietest moment in the history of all time, Simon guessed.

When the young man spoke, he spoke directly to Tracy, with a lifetime of venom lacing every single word.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mother?"

Coming in Chapter Nine: The Piper's Bill