"Pop, I told you, I'm fine." That might have been more convincing had it not been promptly followed by his knees buckling. Diego pushed himself back up, using his father for leverage. "See? Fine."

"Definitely an Alcazar." Lorenzo hefted his son with a grunt. "Stubborn to the core."

"Just like you."

Diego thought he heard Lorenzo laugh, but his ears were rapidly clogging. Sound was muffled and the light in the room started to fade. He felt himself being lowered and stretched. The gurney was uncomfortable enough to make Diego wish yet again that Lorenzo had left him in his bed. At least hen he could have died in comfort.

Yeah, Diego was pretty sure that this was what death felt like. Of course, if he really wanted to know, he could have asked his uncle. Luis would probably share the experience if Diego made him mad enough. It sure as hell worked for Lorenzo.

When he was aware, Diego was in pain. The fever made his body tired, his muscles sore. His chest ached with each attempt to breathe. His eyes burned then the air him them. His head was pounding in rhythm to his frantically beating heart.

When consciousness left him, Diego was standing between identical Alcazars. From hair to shoes, they looked exactly alike and Diego couldn't tell them apart. One defended him, said that he was Alcazar and deserved the right to be addressed as such. The other said he'd proven nothing, that Alcazar was given at birth, no later. Neither addressed the other by name. When he said, "Pop," both men turned. Neither called him son.

One state was worse than the other. One state was preferable to the other. Damned if Diego knew which one, though.

"Great," someone muttered, "another Alcazar."

"At least this one isn't wielding a gun."

Diego thought the voices sounded familiar, though he couldn't place them. Maybe he was just delusional again. But what did they mean another Alcazar? Waving a gun?

"Pop?" People were bothering him. A sharp stick in Diego's right arm alerted him to the IV. "Pop! Where are you?"

Diego's eyes opened and people were looking at him in confusion. He called out once more and only then did he realize that he was unintelligable. He was speaking Spanish. "Dammit," he muttered. "Pop, what's wrong?"

And suddenly there was something or someone more important than Diego. Lorenzo stood a few feet away, back towards him. For a split second, Lorenzo's body went weak, but he corrected that error. Only when he was standing straight and turning towards him did Diego see Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Webber? Luis's girlfriend?

"Pop—"

"Diego, nevermind. Worry about your own health."

"No. Something—" Diego shoved against the nurses pressing icepacks all over him. "What's going on!"

Lorenzo was there in a flash, holding him to the bed, keeping him in place. "If I tell you, will you let them help you?" Diego nodded and Lorenzo sighed. "It's Luis. He's in a bed down the hall."

Stefan Cassadine would not have been Emily's first choice of pereson to battle. Actually, he wasn't her last choice, either. If she could make it through the remainder of her life with no more arguments between Stefan and herself, she'd be perfectly content. Of course, that was like asking Grandfather to lay off of AJ or Cook letting anyone in her kitchen. It wasn't very likely to happen.

He already didn't like her. As far as Stefan was concerned, Emily wasn't good enough. Thing was, Emily didn't think anybody would ever be good enough to reach the pedestal that Stefan put Nikolas on. Oh sure, if a full-blooded Russian princess showed up she would be good enough. But since that was as likely to happen as an elbow magically sprouting from her nose, there was no perfect, worthy woman for Nikolas Cassadine. Since Emily wasn't worthy, Stefan didn't like her. If she'd not told him of Nikolas's condition immediately, Emily was sure he'd have waged all out war on her.

So, she did the best she could. She called him before they took off on the launch. The conversation was as quick as she could possibly make it. "Nikolas is sick. He's got a really high fever and chills. We're getting on the launch now, and an ambulance will be there to meet us at the docks." She considered waiting for some show of gratitude, but considering who she was talking to, Nikolas would have died on Spoon Island before that happened.

"Oh my God, are you kidding me?" Emily never thought she'd find herself truly standing up to Stefan, but there she was, freezing her butt off on the pier, glaring at the one man who had ever been able to put fear in her with just a look. "There is no way that I'm letting Nikolas go without me!"

"You have done your duty, now let the rest of us do ours." Stefan folded his arms, and though he did his best to look his usual, restrained self, Emily could see the worry in his eyes. That was the only reason she wasn't running in fear. Because he didn't give her the eyes of an over-protective guardian. He gave her the eyes of a concerned parent, even if it were unintentional. "You can meet us at the hospital if you wish, but I am riding with him."

"Ya know what? That's bull!" She put her hands to her head and squeezed at the roots of her hair. Emily's arms dropped and she let out a ragged cry. "I told him that I wasn't leaving him, and I'm damn sure not about to do that now! You are not leaving me standing here while you go and pretend that you were the one with him all along!"

"I do not now, nor have I ever pretended anything where Nikolas were concerned. I am his family. I am his blood."

"And I'm his fiancée!" Okay, so she hadn't meant to say that. Nikolas wasn't sure that his uncle was ready to hear that he was marrying someone that he deemed unworthy. That's what they were talking about when he collapsed. "Okay, how about you forget I said that until Nikolas is ready to say that?"

"Oh, believe me, that will not be forgotten. I would voice my objections this second if there weren't more pressing matters."

"Exactly! Pressing matters!" Emily screamed again. She didn't understand how Stefan could be so calm during this. How he could stand there and argue with her without letting the strain show. Did he really fight and win so often that the fight itself held no feeling for him? Or did he think just that lowly of her, that he wasn't worth the time and effort? "Nikolas could die while you stand here arguing with me!"

"Then perhaps you should stop arguing. If you wish, I can have Darius drive you—"

"No!" Not only was Stefan a man that she never thought she'd really go head-to-head with, she also never thought that she would cut him off. Obviously, he had never thought so either, because his face was lit with surprise. "I am going with him. You can ride with Darius!"

"I'll make the decision for you." The EMT stepped up between them, looking as though he were prepared to stop randomly swinging fists. "She goes," he said with a jerk of his thumb towards Emily, "because she was there on the onset, and we'll need as much information as possible on the way to the hospital. You can follow us. Now, get in the back and let's go before he gets any worse."

Emily resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Stefan, and it was definitely the biggest urge she'd ever had in her life. She also restrained herself before she started jumping up and down with her arms waving in the air. She had won the fight. She'd actually won a showdown with Stefan Cassadine. Winning over Grandfather was nothing in comparison to that.

But, she knew that this wasn't the end of things. He would bring the engagement up again. And he would most definitely be prepared for the next showdown, to be sure that he didn't lose, again. The ride with Darius was more than enough time for him to plan a strategy, and the next time, it was quite possible that Emily would lose.

But for the moment, that didn't matter. Nikolas was sick. So sick that he was barely conscious. He probably hadn't even heard any of the fight, and if he had, he was too weak to tell them both to stop it. That meant that he was worse than Emily wanted to believe, and she had to get him to the hospital. Fights with his uncle could wait. Right now, Nikolas was the one that mattered.