Title: Common Ground
Fandom: General Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt: #7 Friend
Word Count: 1,532 words
Rating: PG
Summary: On a very difficult day, Monica finds support in an expected place.
Author's Notes: I always thought there was potential for some sort of friendship between Tracy and Monica, despite their past.

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling her knees into her chest. Monica looked small, fragile and lost in her pain as she huddled on the couch in the Quartermaine living room. "I just—"

Tracy sat next to her, an unnatural wave of sympathy washing over her. Maybe it was just that she'd been in a good mood to start, or maybe something about the expression her sister-in-law wore struck a nerve with her. "I hated that vase anyway," she said, handing the drink she'd made for herself to Monica.

Monica hesitated, then took the martini and downed it. "I am furious with your brother," she said plainly.

"Well, when isn't i someone /i furious with my brother?" Tracy paused, turning again to study the shards of porcelain on the floor. It was the crash that had brought her running; thank god it wasn't one of Mother's vases Monica had smashed, or this would have been a very different conversation they were having. As it was, she was the only person here, and the only person who could figure out why the normally staid and calm Dr. Quartermaine was hurling expensive vases around like they were water balloons. "What did he do this time?"

Monica tilted her head backward, her dark blonde hair brushing against her upper back as she did, and bit her lower lip. "It's not what he did, Tracy. It's what he didn't do."

"What didn't he do? Take out the trash? Pay the club membership? i You /i ?" The last was intended as a joke, but it went straight over Monica's head. Tracy wasn't really interested in Alan and Monica's marital troubles, but family obligation did suggest she should keep Monica from destroying any more Quartermaine property. "What's going on?"

"He's out of town. For the entire day."

Okaaayy. Tracy thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "Nope, can't figure out why that's got you smashing antique vases. You're gonna have to give me more to work with."

Monica steepled her hands in front of her. She was still pretty enough, Tracy noticed, although her glory days as a blonde beauty were far behind her—well, all their glory days were far behind them, if the truth were told. Still, if a woman had to age, it didn't hurt to age as gracefully as Monica had. Her features were still good, despite the lines time and pain had put on her face. There were laugh lines too, though, and Tracy felt a stab of jealousy for the happiness she knew her sister-in-law had experienced.

"Monica, we don't have all day to sit here staring at each other." She sighed heavily, wondering why she was even bothering, except of course to protect the family assets from Monica's sudden and incongrous destructive rage. "Alan goes out of town all the time. Why should today be any different?"

"He was out of town on this day last year, too," Monica murmured, staring straight ahead. "He'll be out of town next year, on the same day, I'm sure. Probably every year, for the rest of our lives."

There was such a sudden and intense sadness in her voice that it gave Tracy pause. They'd had their issues, of course, and had absolutely hated each other for most of their time as sisters-in-law. But their relationship had mellowed into a kind of armed truce in the past few years, and she i had /i been feeling generous to start with… "What's so special about today?" she asked. Her tone was gentler when it came out than she normally used with Monica.

"It's A.J.'s birthday," Monica said plainly.

"Oh, dear god…"

"I reminded Alan about it last week. I reminded him this weekend." Monica took in a deep breath, steeling herself. "Last night, he got a call that he had to go to Albany today to deal with the state board of hospitals." She frowned. "How convenient."

"You know, it's possible…" But Tracy knew it wasn't. The Quartermaines were not big on dealing with painful emotions, especially the Quartermaine men. Alan and A.J.'s relationship had always been rocky, but the death of his eldest son had torpedoed her older brother, sending him into a downward spiral she'd feared he would never escape.

"He doesn't want to remember," Monica said sullenly. "I go to A.J.'s grave every birthday, every holiday…sometimes, even when there's no occasion at all…just to let him know somebody loved him…" She began to cry softly, and buried her face in her hands.

"Alan i loved /I his son," Tracy insisted. The irony of the statement was not lost on her, considering how far she'd gone to prove that A.J. wasn't Alan's son at all. "He loved him deeply. He's just…he's not…" She hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. Her chances were pretty even that she would either comfort or infuriate Monica with her attempts at kindness, and for some reason Tracy didn't want to cause her sister any more pain than she was already in. "Alan loved him," she said plainly, as if that was enough, even though they both knew it wasn't.

"Then why—"

"Because he's Alan. Because he's a Quartermaine." She stopped Monica's protests with a single raised hand. "We're emotionally dysfunctional, the whole lot of us. We're horrible to each other, hateful and brutal and cruel. But underneath it, we love—fiercely and without hesitation. A.J. was a Quartermaine. Alan loved him. But Alan is Alan, and you knew that when you married him. All twelve times." She grinned just a little with the last comment, and was gratified to see Monica smile ruefully in return. Pushing her advantage, she said, "You know, you didn't have to keep remarrying him, if he was so obnoxious."

"Yes, I did," was the soft response, and again it hit Tracy how jealous she was, on one level, of this woman. How much she'd give for a love like that. "But you're right. I should know by now that I'm not going to change him. He'll deal with A.J.'s death the way he deals with it, and I'll do it my way."

"I don't know…" Tracy stopped, suddenly realizing where she was going with the statement, and not wanting to continue.

"You don't know what?" Monica asked, wiping the tears from her cheek with the back of her right hand.

"Um…"

"Come on, Tracy. We don't have all day to sit here staring at each other." But her tone was gentle and teasing, and Tracy felt another surge of compassion for this woman who'd been her nemesis for so many years.

"I don't know how I'd survive if…if one of my boys…" She couldn't continue. It was so selfish, and so feeble, to even consider such things in light of Monica's loss. She had her sons, loath as they were to spend any time with her, alive and healthy and a phone call away at any moment. She felt the brush of what that loss would do to her, just sitting next to Monica, and she knew it would kill her outright if anything were to happen to Ned or Dillon.

"You'd survive, because it's all you can do."

"I don't know if I would be strong enough…I don't know how you can be so strong," she added in a barely audible whisper.

"I do what I have to do. For myself, for my family…it's what mothers do, Tracy." She smiled sadly at her sister-in-law, and for the first time Tracy realized that they were connected. Maybe not happily, maybe not willingly, but Tracy and Monica were connected by more than a family name and more than a marriage license.

There was something about loss, and something about grief, that brought them together. She had lost her son; Tracy had lost Lila. Both of them had lost years in pursuit of stupid and selfish goals, diverted their energies, hurt the ones they loved the most.

Tracy bit her lower lip slightly, shutting her eyes hard and taking a deep breath before speaking. "I'll drive you to the cemetary," she said quickly. "A.J. and I couldn't stand each other, but we respected each other. And in the Quartermaine family, that's enough."

Monica's eyes were still glistening with tears, but there was also a gratitude there. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Of course I don't want to do that," Tracy responded, but she kept her voice as gentle as possible. "But you're family. A.J. was family. And I won't let you do this alone."

"Thank you," Monica whispered. She stood, sighing. "I'll leave a note for Alice to clean up that mess when she gets back from the market. Can we go now? I don't want to put this off any later than I have to."

Tracy nodded, avoiding the pile of porcelain rubble as she did. "I'll get my bag."

As they were heading out the door, Monica said, "Thank you, again. You don't have to do this."

"Don't get sentimental."

"I'm not getting sentimental," Monica said as they cleared the living room door. "Maybe we can have lunch afterwards?"

"Don't push it…" was the only thing Tracy said as they headed out the door.

The End

Written for the 100situations Challenge.