Listening to Broken by Lifehouse right now. I think it's kind of fitting for the PVverse at the moment.
In the last chapter and this chapter, we've moved forward a bit, so it's somewhere in October, 2012. Slowly catching up...
####
She tilted her head back and let the grease – and the day – wash down the drain. The warm, misty blanket wrapped around her and slightly squeezed. Just the way she needed it. Her eyes opened to a white fog – a fog that melted defined lines and curves and allowed her to get lost for a few minutes. She reached for the yellow blur and her fingers closed around a too-smooth, too-fragrant bar. Smiling at the memory of the lumpy, lye-based concoction they'd made when the money would run low and the fancy soap would have to wait, she could almost feel the tiny pebbles underneath her fingertips. And the sweet, high-pitched voice with the drawl echoed through the mist: "We made it, Mama! We made it!"
"We sure did, babydoll."
Scrubbing with more force and speed, she raced to outpace the inevitable ghosts in the mist that were closing in on her.
She could never run fast enough, though. And in the end, she could never protect the little girl with the soap-stained hands.
That's why it was supposed to be different for her other little girl. Birthday cakes with actual icing and fancy letters. Nice clothes and a respectable name. And double the love.
A love that would nurture a little red-head who would for one hour of one precious day offer to play "grass castles" in a park. She would play with the little blond girl in the rumpled, dirty clothes like she was a…sister.
Her hand frozen in md-scrub, Krystal slid down the damp wall. The sharpening stream pounded, but the relentless streams of water could never cut like the softer, cooler stream trailing down her cheeks.
It was supposed to be…
** (Late August, 2011)
"Different."
Her seething anger at her ex-son-in-law let up, or was rather temporally displaced by her concern for the young woman studying the floor.
She approached her daughter and rubbed her arms until they relaxed their self-embrace. "I've been so focused on wanting to string that boy up by his –"
She chuckled at the small grin that threat coaxed. "By his hair that I haven't even asked about you."
Krystal stroked the red strands. A small, but hard-edged voice inside still whispered that she didn't deserve the honor. She hog-tied that intruder for now. "Are you afraid of feeling ashamed if JR puts that tape up somewhere? Are you afraid of what people will think? Say?"
Marissa's eyes rose, full of conviction. "No. I meant it, I am different now, in so many ways. I'm not that scared, insecure girl playing dress-up because she's afraid of losing again. And I'm…" She trailed off.
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But…" She searched for the right words, ones that wouldn't mark her as too Erica Kane-intrusive. "I know that...what happened must've been different for you, so if you have any thoughts or feelings swirling around up there…" She gently tapped Marissa's temple, bringing forth another priceless grin. "I'm here."
They were two simple words, but she'd waited so long to utter to the girl in front of her now.
Krystal watched her daughter chew her lip, a tiny tell that she was deep in thought. She knew the habit by heart now, and that realization made her smile.
"It would be a little awkward talking about this with Scott, and I can't really talk about it with my best friend, for obvious reasons." Finally, Marissa rushed forward in that stumbling way Krystal had also come to recognize. It was amazing and amusing that someone so eloquent in the courtroom could be reduced to a gushing teenager at the drop of a hat.
"It was different, yes in the physical, I mean, obviously…"
Her slight blush and tucking of one strand of hair behind her ear – Krystal didn't have to wonder where she'd picked up that habit – made it hard for Krystal to hold in the chuckle that was battering her throat. She bit the inside of her cheek and just nodded.
"I'm using that word a lot. Different. But it fits." She paused, finally slowing down as tenderness smoothed out the peaks and vallleys of her words. "It felt different. I've never responded like that to anyone before." The red tint of her cheeks now coordinated with her hair, but the color had a glow. "I've never connected with anyone like that before, you know?"
Krystal did know, all too well. She had felt it once, too.
"For the first time since they died, everything felt real and…right."
She must have assumed the confession affected Krystal, because she started to back away slightly, to back off. And it had affected her, but not in the way Marissa thought. "I'm so very happy for you, always remember that," Krystal whispered.
Marissa studied her and nodded, the small dimples dancing around her lips not fading. "I don't know what label to put on it and I really don't care. I just know its her and that's all that is ever gonna matter. That night, that realization…it was private, special. And that's what I'm sad and angry about. That he was there. His eyes, his hate. That he takes it and tries to make something dirty and vulgar out of one of the most amazing moments of my life."
"He won't. He can't." It was her turn to speak with the lawyer's conviction.
"A part of me wants to ask him if he picked up any pointers," her daughter offered with that slight mischievous tone she'd also grown to love.
This time, Krystal didn't need to reign in the chuckle.
But Marissa had resumed her evaluation of that coffee stain on the floor. "A part of me also wonders if….if I deserve what I have, or if I'm just kidding myself. Sometimes, with AJ, with David and...you, with JR, even with Bianca, I've felt like a thief."
Krystal vehemently shook her head, and realizing that her daughter couldn't appreciate the gesture, gently but forcefully raised her chin.
"I see everyday, in your eyes, how much you loved her," Marissa said. "I'm sorry that she's gone, but I can't be that liquid cement I suspect I was for JR. There will never be enough to fill the hole she left. I know that."
"Listen to me good." She placed her hands securely on her daughter's shoulders. "We love that fiery hair that matches your personality when somebody gets you going and that matches your capacity to love. We love your stuttering when the words can't match the feelings. We love the way your nose twitches when you laugh." She tweaked the offending body part, drawing the laugh and the wonderful by-product. Her hand moved to cup a cheek. "We love you."
She smiled when Marissa hugged her. And when she whispered , "I love you too, Mom" as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Krystal swiped away the tears that had just as naturally sprung to her eyes before reluctantly releasing the embrace.
She'd always been Mama, never Mom. But, looking at her daughter right now, who was smiling as if nothing in the world had changed, she decided that she liked the title very much.
She also realized that to truly earn her new distinction, then Marissa had to really know her mother. Every last ugly detail, even if it meant she would just be Krystal again, and even if it would forever change the way her daughter felt about her.
Krystal preserved the happy, vibrant face in front of her in her memory, just in case.
"I want to talk to you about something before you find out some other way." Her own gaze wanted to find that spot on the floor that had so fascinated Marissa earlier, but with all her willpower, she kept her focus on her daughter. "I am assuming JR or Bianca have never told you about AJ and Miranda."
Marissa's eyes brightened at the mention of the "birthday twins." Likely noticing Krystal's non-matching expression, she slowly shook her head.
With the deepest breath she could muster, Krystal began the story.
** (Present)
A loud crash thrust her back into the now-freezing water. The shower must've been clear, but her vision was not. She only realized when she reached out to shut off the faucet that she was shivering head to toe. Another thump followed by a muffled cry sent her slip-sliding from the tub. She stopped for only the barest instant to hastily wrap the robe around her as she bolted towards the source of the commotion.
She halted mid-stride at the bedroom door, heart hammering her throat. Jenny lay on the floor. Above her stood AJ, and beside them both rest the cracked remains of an overturned table. Krystal hit the carpet, barely registering the harsh burn on her own knees as she grabbed her daughter's knee. "You okay,sugardoll?" Her
Her girl was trying her best to hold in the sniffles as she rubbed the rapidly darkening bruise. What she could not hide was the look she was giving her playmate.
Turning to AJ, Krystal asked, "What happened?"
Her grandson's expression had not changed, and it didn't change now. Nor did he answer.
"It's okay," Jenny said, the cracks in her words seeping through. "I'm okay. I just banged my knee."
Checking her daughter's knee for herself and helping her onto the bed, Krystal glanced at the splintered table. It most certainly was not okay. She patted her daughter's good knee. "I'm gonna go get some bandages and medicine and we'll fix you up good as new, okay?"
Jenny nodded quietly, and quiet was not a word she could ever normally assign to her daughter.
"AJ, why don't you come help me?"
She had to tug at the boy's hand twice before he finally followed her out of the room. Once they'd moved a safe distance away, Krystal stopped and hunched on her knees, bringing her eye-to-eye with her grandson. "Can you tell me what happened in there?"
He shrugged. "She tripped over the table. I didn't do anything."
"I didn't say you –"
"Why didn't you let me go?"
Krystal was taken aback by the question, as well as the face in front of her that was suddenly anything but blank.
"Go where, sweetheart?" She immediately regretted asking a question she already knew the answer to.
"To the memorial." He turned away, but the anger in his face crept into his every word. "You just want me to forget, about both of them!"
"AJ., that's not –" Before she could grasp his hand again, he had run away. This time, the bang she heard was that of a slamming bedroom door.
Her grandson had become a pro at running away, and was quickly gaining proficiency in other things she didn't want to think about right now.
"Girls, your little boy really needs you right now…and so do I."
She couldn't bear to wait for the reply that wouldn't come. Instead, she went in search of the first-aid kit downstairs. It was tucked away in a drawer, underneath the day's mail. She removed the envelope on top. Her finger traced the contours of the family court's official seal.
An image of a previous visit to family court – the image of her crawling on the floor, chasing her last pill – flashed and faded quickly. She looked at the closed door upstairs and her fingers dug into the paper, tearing. That woman was gone. If Adam Chandler wanted a fight, then K Carey. sure as hell remembered how to throw a roundhouse. More than a few prior gentlemen acquaintances, including her ex-husband himself, could back up that fact.
####
"Yes, munchkin, I'll leave some candy corn out for the Great Pumpkin. Extra batches, and I'll even throw in some of the caramel apple ones if you promise me something. Actually, two things. First, when you go to the party, you've gotta eat one of the biggest candy apples you can find for me. And, give Mimo an extra-big hug and kiss you….I know, I know, yuck, but do it for me okay?..No, I haven't talked to Santa yet. I think the Great Pumpkin might get a little mad if Santa starts visiting now….I miss the both of you so much, and I've got a calendar right here marking the days until I can give you all those hugs and kisses myself….I love you too, no, more than all the marshmallows in the world."
At the buzz of the dial tone, she pinched the area between her eyebrows. The dull ache remained. She resisted every impulse to pick the phone back up and book the next fight to Paris. But she knew the girls needed this time…to be away. If one not-bad thing had happened within the last year, it had been the restoration of Gabby and Miranda's relationship with Reese. Despite their differences, she knew that the girls needed the woman who'd been such a big part of their lives. Everyone needed their mom, after all.
The soft but insistent rapping at the door jerked her from that thought. She hesitated, because only one person ever refused to use the very-visible doorbell. The drumming on the wood didn't get louder, but it didn't end either. They were in a contest and she knew, despite her newfound resolve in other areas, that this was one game she would never win.
Grabbing each wheel, she pushed to the door in a few seconds, If nothing else, her arm strength had certainly increased. Bianca opened the door and pushed back, giving her mother an opening.
And Erica Kane always knew how to make an entrance. Bianca could feel her eyes widening, in spite of her best efforts to remain impassive. Her mother's new look had gotten quite the bit of attention around town and in the papers, but she had not seen it in person yet. She could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Erica Kane sans makeup and minus the latest hairstyle. Truthfully, she was okay with that, because it always reminded her that her superwoman mother did, in fact, get older and that she was, in fact, just another person who lived and who would -
She couldn't do this. "Mom, I was just going out, I have to meet a source."
Her mother, when she wasn't a willing participant in the cover-up, could always spot a lie. "Bianca, you haven't returned any of my phone calls."
"I've been busy."
"I left messages, many of them."
"My phone's been acting up. I'll have to get another."
"And I've been here several times, but you always seem to be out."
"I have to work."
"Not every waking moment, Bianca. That woman should not –"
"What woman, Mom? Would that be my boss?"
"Brooke should know that you need –"
"First, I don't 'need' anything, nor do I need to be handled. As for Brooke, she gets that, and at least she's been-"
She wouldn't finish it, because the last thing she or her mother needed right now was to do this.
"Is that why you're avoiding me? Honey, I want to know – believe it or not – how things are going at work. I want to know the latest little thing Gabby and Miranda have said that's made you smile. I just want to see your smile. I want to know you're okay, and I cannot do that if you keep avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you, I told you -"
"And I know what your sister has told me."
"Kendall should stay out of it."
"You know that's not our way."
"Yes, the almighty Kane Women way."
"I talked to your grandmother when I arrived back in town."
Bianca swallowed something that refused to lessen its hold on her throat. She stopped herself from asking if the flowers were still there.
"We had a wonderful talk, although I did most of the talking, like usual." Her mother smiled wistfully. "And I told her something. I promised her something"
The swift motion, and the feeling of the warm palms on her cold cheeks…those were the only reasons she couldn't stop shaking, or that that damn traitorous lower lip wouldn't stop trembling.
"I'm not giving up, and I'll never stop fighting, for me, for Kendall." Those hands wouldn't let her face move, wouldn't let her eyes get away, wouldn't… "For you. I'm never leaving. Never," the voice behind those hands whispered fiercely
** (Early October, 2011)
"We can leave," the voice behind her whispered. "I can get a few things that the girls need later."
"No," she said, staring at the oak door she had danced in front of just a few weeks ago: a lifetime. "I need to get our things since we don't know how long we'll be staying with you. It won't take long," she added hollowly.
"OK," Kendall said, although her voice conveyed anything but. "I'll…I'll take upstairs."
With an empty grin, Bianca patted her new wheels. "I think that's probably a good idea."
She jostled the key again and again, unleashing a string of words she hadn't used in a very long time. When Kendall gently steadied her hand, the key slid in and the door opened. A piece of paper fell to the floor. With a puzzled look that likely complemented her own, Kendall picked it up. The furrow in her brow only deepened. "Who the hell's Cyri?" she asked in her usual poetic manner.
A sharp intake of breath accompanied the clench in her chest. "What does it say?"
Kendall's brows raised before she continued reading. "Cyri, two can play this game. The Dream-Catcher."
"Can I…" She cleared her throat. "Can I see it, please?"
When Kendall handed her the paper, she recognized the compact letters that still managed their sweeping loops. The barest trace of a one-of-a-kind perfume filled her nose and burrowed into her lungs.
"Cyrano," she said, almost inaudible. "It stands for Cyrano."
Her sister, obviously no expert at literary classics, only nodded blankly.
"That's what she called me sometimes. It was an inside thing."
But Kendall's attention had been diverted by the small object on the coffee table. This time, Bianca didn't need to see the note attached to the blue painted pony.
"He gallops among the clouds," she recited along with her sister.
Kendall cupped the figurine in her hand. "It -"
"has white wisps, like cirrus clouds," Bianca confirmed. Just like she'd described to Marissa on that day they'd talked about their ideal childhood Christmas presents.
"There's more on the back," Kendall said. "He doesn't move and he's tiny too, but I hear he can make dreams come true."
She smiled as Kendall finished: "Forgive me for the bad poetry."
"There's…there's another attached to the computer."
Bianca followed her sister's finger, which was pointing to an identical square of paper, colored lavender. Her favorite, of course. She wheeled herself over to the desk, unmindful of the small ache in her arms. This time, she picked up the note.
"Follow your dreams." Attached was a newspaper clipping: a classified ad. Unfolding it slightly, she read the words "Tempo" and "intern" before abruptly folding it again.
Without hesitation, she moved herself into the library, ignoring Kendall's call. The next slip of paper lay on top of a thick book.
"I figure this'll give us a good start."
She rolled the formidable and tightly-wound ball around in her hand. She'd bet it even bounced, despite its rather unconventional composition.
"Now what in the –"
"Rubber band ball," Bianca said, cutting off Kendall's next blunt question. She patted the book. "I told her I'd always wanted to be in the Guinness Book of World Records, and she decided we'd make the world's largest rubber band ball. I'd have to give her half the credit, though." The chuckle died on her lips.
Another book lay out of place. The travel guide's bookmark did not have the fancy pictures or the wise sayings. It was just a simple lavender rectangle, save the messy-neat handwriting.
"Spring trip," that handwriting announced. Each glossy picture on the marked page highlighted a different feature of the destination. The pool, the spa, the room….she knew every detail by heart. "This time, we'll make it right." She turned the pages too quickly, and the paper tore in her grip.
The picture below the next slip brought both another smile and another clench.
"Is that a..."
"Goat," she confirmed. "When I was a kid, I never wanted to go to the zoo. This was my perfect weekend trip: goats on the roof. I said I'd like to take Miranda and Gabby one day." A road map was neatly tucked around the paper. The offbeat attraction comprised one major star. The other star was marked with an address.
Closing her eyes for an instant, Bianca smoothed out the bookmark.
"Summer road trip, what do you say?" In smaller letters: "She can't wait to see you."
"Who?" Kendall asked softly.
"My…Molly, my sister. We haven't talked in so long. I thought she..."
Bianca trailed off. Now she knew the source of the mystery long-distance call on their first shared phone bill.
She closed the book and turned to Kendall. "Can you help me get to the kitchen, please?"
"Binks, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do, Kendall Please." The last word barely found form, but it must have worked.
After studying her for a moment, Kendall grasped the chair's handles. "Any time you want to leave, just say the word. Zach and I can pick your things up later."
"Thank you." She wished those words could cover it, but they never seemed adequate enough when it came to her sister.
Her instinct was confirmed. In place of the kitchen table lay a picnic blanket and a basket she knew would contain all of her favorites. Just as she knew the carefully wrapped aluminum harbored the biggest piece of chocolate cake Pine Valley could muster. A solar light sat in place of the candle, because she always preferred sunlit picnics to candlelit dinners…a fact she'd only told one person in her life.
"How…how did she arrange all of this?" Kendall asked.
Searching her memory, she could only think of one solution. "When we got the text from – before we left that night, she told me to drop the kids off at the sitter and she'd meet me there… that she had some errands."
"Errands, and then some. God, this is so -" Kendall didn't finish the thought, but she didn't need to. The ache – the only pain, the only thing – she felt, would forever remind her of the most romantic date that never was and never would be. But didn't romance and tragedy always fit together just a little too well?
Atop the CD of her admittedly oddball and eclectic playlist was a special request: "Join me for a night under the stars?"
Miranda's glow-in-the-dark constellation book accompanied the request. It was open to Coma Berenices, where another note and a lock of unmistakable red hair was attached: "I will always be your safe harbor."
Bianca slipped both small objects into her chest pocket. She felt them with each heartbeat.
"I would like to go outside."
This time, Kendall didn't protest. She simply took them towards the cool breeze and the welcoming dark. Only the small white tent punctuated the black around them….small, but large enough for two. Blasphemy for Erica Kane's daughter, but she'd always wanted to go camping, and her dream-catcher had been determined to make it so.
Just inside the opening lay her final gift. Its soft illumination bathed one final message in a dim glow: "And you'll always be my light, my love."
Bianca gazed up at an endless golden shimmer. Each tiny point of light proved sharper than the last, and she wondered how many cuts it would take before one bled out.
She had all night to find the answer.
** (Present)
She pushed Erica's hands away. "Don't make promises you can't keep." She wheeled herself to the the door, reopening it. "Please, I really need to go. We can catch up some other time."
Erica rose. "Yes, we will. I'm not giving up."
"Mom, wait."
When Erica turned with hope in her eyes, Bianca could barely get the words out. "When is…when is your procedure scheduled for?"
Erica smiled. "Next week, and I'll be there with my boxing gloves on, color-coordinated, of course."
When Bianca nodded, Erica offered one parting thought: "Don't give up, honey. Don't ever give up."
** (Late August, 2011)
Marissa had been pacing the floor ever since she returned from Krystal's. She only stopped when Bianca lightly grabbed her shoulders.
"How can you forgive her? How can you always be that person?" she asked.
Smiling, Bianca turned her around. She cupped a warm cheek and wiped away the drop of water hanging precariously from one beautiful eyelash. "I've got to keep believing. In people, in life. In forgiveness. How can I not? My belief led me to you."
** (Present)
How can you always be that person?...
Bianca took out the phone again. She sent a quick text, then dialed the number she would soon need to feed to the paper shredder.
"You'll get the rest of your money soon. Your services are no longer needed, for the time being. I don't want him…gone, I just didn't want him to ever forget his anniversary."
####
His finger stiffened, and the last beautiful note went crashing into the wall. But he was getting closer. He'd almost made it through the whole song this time. He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and rolled up the sleeve. A couple of quick taps, and he stuck the needle in. His teeth bit into the syringe's cover and a hiss whooshed past the plastic. He always left this part to the nurses, and he could confirm the saying was true: doctors were very much their own worst patients.
But the potential, always the lovely potential, was so worth the small sacrifice. The opportunity to finally cash in on that envelope Adam had given him on that night last year had provided a most wonderful distraction. Buying up the necessary majority stocks with Chandler's own money had been beautifully poetic…fit for a Greek play. And though he could never admit it – he had a sterling reputation to protect, after all – volunteering his services at the Miranda Center did fulfill his healer drive in part, and it did ease his temporary time away from the hospital.
Temporary being the key word. As soon as he addressed this little problem with his arm.
Junior couldn't hit his own nose with his finger, so it was just a quirk of fate that the bullet David was sure was meant for him actually found its target. When the bullets started bearing down, he had gone against every natural, God-given impulse and self-appointed principle to step in front of Cara and take the hit.
The reluctant hero role did not suit him. It never would.
He pushed the button that would quiet the flashing icon on his phone and smiled at the message.
"How'd it go? King of the jungle now?"—B."
He smiled and sent his reply: "Fitting the crown now. He's finally going to pay." It had been a year since he'd restored his relationship with the message's sender, since he'd made things right, in his own David Hayward-special way.
** (Early October, 2011)
He opened the door and his lower reflexes, at least, were still good. He had managed to jump back before he lost a toe to the wheels barreling across his floor.
She came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around with swift ease. Her eyes did not convey the same ease. He hadn't seen her since that night. And seeing her like this was harder than he could imagine, but he was never one to look away.
Sighing, David closed the door. "Can I?—"
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
She wheeled closer to him, and he conceded another step. She'd always been one of the only people who held the honor of making him back up.
"We've come too far for this. Please, don't give me the same spiel you like to give everybody else." He could hear the break, the crack, and her absolute determination to seal it. "I know you have her, David. Just tell me where she is, please."
Something shifted inside of him when he realized the reason for her sudden arrival. He'd been in this position before, asked these very same questions. Some of those times, he'd even relished the power….the knowing what no one else knew.
All of his successes, all of his so-called miracles, however, were forever framed by the others. For every success, there were dozens of failures. And many of those failures were too damn personal.
He could save the world, but he could not save the ones who mattered most. Maybe it was his karmic punishment, if he believed in such things. Frankenstein always had to taste his retribution, after all.
David reclaimed his step, and then another, until he stood before her. Neither one of them would back away now, because there was no turning back.
"Marissa's gone, Bianca. I wish to - I'd give anything if that weren't true. I'd give anything to bend down right now…." He bent until they were face-to-face. "And tell you I'd spirited her away, that she was in a top-secret hospital room getting better and stronger as we speak. But I can't." He pulled his hand down his face, struggling to keep those inefficient, useless cracks out of his own voice. "Sometimes, the injuries are too much. It was instant."
Conceding chance. Fate. Those words had never been part of his vocabulary, but for once in his life, he was so…tired.
She closed her eyes, and he could see the subtle vibrations moving up and down her throat as she moved closer and lowered her voice. "Tell me," she insisted fiercely.
"Bianca, I am telling –"
The hand he had reached out was slapped away with equal ferocity.
"I don't believe you." She emphasized each word, and his non-response must have said everything. "Damn you, you sonofabitch, haven't you taken enough from me?" All traces of calm collect were gone, and he flinched at the words more than the hands swatting against his chest. "Tell me!"
He wrapped his arms around her and took the trembles and the protests as his own. "She's gone," he whispered brokenly into her ear. "I'm so sorry, God, I'm so sorry."
Together, they surrendered to the grief they couldn't let the rest of the world see.
When he brought her the steaming cup later, he couldn't say how much time had passed. For someone whose whole profesional life was calculated in precise minutes and seconds, somehow, time had slipped away. She nodded a silent 'thank you' and drank.
He looked at his bandaged arm and the words came, unrehearsed: another first for him. "I never really apologized for what I did to you…with Miranda. I want to do that now, not because you're here and it's convenient or because I'm feeling guilty about Marissa, but because…it's probably the only thing in my life I will ever regret."
His eyes rose to her then, and she was studying him, maybe sizing him up. Truthfully, he was not used to the poker face from her. "You were helping your family," she said in an even voice that likewise betrayed nothing.
He shook his head. "When Marissa told me about you and her, it felt right somehow. Before I even knew I had a family, you were my family in all of the ways that mattered. You were my—" He squeezed the bandage, forcing the pain, and forcing himself to stop. Rather, he offered the ultimate in empty responses. "Let me know if I can do anything to help you."
The quick response did not startle him so much as it surprised him.
"You can, by teaching me." She paused until he looked up, until she knew she had his full attention. "Teach me to be like you."
This did bring forth the evening's first laugh. "Oh, I think you'd better leave being me to me. I'm so very good at it, after all." The slight tease softened his words. "And you're so very good at being good. You're you."
"Look at where it's gotten me." She slammed her armrests, but he didn't flinch. "They say insanity's doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Well, I finally got the memo. I'm tired of being…"
Used by people like me, he quietly supplied.
"A victim," she finished.
David picked up his own unused cup, a pained smile playing at the tips of his mouth. "Marissa told me the same thing once, trying to offset Junior's latest screwup. 'I wanna be like you.' Normally, my ego couldn't resist such words, especially coming from the daughter who couldn't bear to speak to me on most days. But I knew, even as I said yes, I knew that the little experiment wouldn't go far. She wasn't me, and thank God for that." He forced down the stale tea.
"And look where it got her."
He put the cup down, a little less elegantly than normal. Then again, he wasn't exactly accustomed to having guests for tea time. "Being me is not all it's cracked up to be, Bianca."
"I've never really thought about it before, but now I've got nothing but time to think." She was studying him again, and again giving nothing away. "I've always had this…draw to your family: Leo; Babe.; Frankie.; Maggie.; Marissa….You."
His eyebrows rose in acknowledgment. "Well, at least you steered clear of mommy dearest," he cracked.
"You're not perfect. You mess up, a lot, and then you move on. Move forward. And you…you go after what you want, and you make no apologies for it. You never do anything halfway, whether it's medicine, revenge, hate, hurt…love. You're in it full-force. I've always respected you for that, and at one time I even …"
He understood, better than anyone, why she couldn't say it. He didn't deserve it, but the selfish – admittedly majority – part of him savored knowing she'd once held the same affection for him as he still did for her.
"If you really want this –"
"Look in my eyes and you'll have your answer."
He did, and he saw the glimmer of the girl he had loved…that he still loved as a daughter. Right now, though, she was overshadowed, overpowered by more familiar acquaintances: anger, pain, and absolute resolve.
David reached out his good hand again, and this time, she didn't strike it away. They sealed their new partnership with the proper handshake.
He leaned back on the sofa. "So, what's our first order of business?"
"Full disclosure," she said simply. "Project Orpheus would be a good start."
"It's done," he offered, as honestly as David Hayward could. He no longer actively sought out new 'clientele.' "I finally got the message too, and believe it or not, I came to the conclusion that I am not, in fact, God. Don't get me wrong, the technology still has enormous potential. In fact, I would recommend that you -"
Her hands brushed over her motionless legs. "I can't think about that right now. Please, continue."
"There's nothing to continue. If I couldn't help my daughters –"
"Then you help no one."
Her observation brought a grin. "A part of it was admittedly always about the power, and I would be lying if I said I didn't have visions of Nobel Prizes dancing in my head. But I cared, too. You may not believe that—"
"I do."
He smiled again.
"So, are you saying there are no more patients?" she asked.
"I have patients around the country, and I won't abandon them. Some are even close: Philly, Llanview, even a few in New York, especially in a little town called Port Charles…."
"And Pine Valley?"
He contemplated evaluating his bandage again versus looking her in the eye. He opted for the more direct approach. "There is no one left in Pine Valley"
** (Present)
Technically, he hadn't lied to her. There was no one physically in Pine Valley. He hated using his own unique brand of situational ethics on her, but he was honoring a promise.
Most of the injuries that night were irreversible, save one.
He had promised his one save from September 23, 2011 that, until such time as deemed necessary, the world would consider them dead.
And it did.
As he mused over his latest tango with the truth, the doorbell made its rare presence known. This time, he didn't open the door to an angry young woman in a wheelchair.
He opened the door to another of his promises.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He hurried the visitor inside.
"Nice greeting. I missed you, too."
David shook his head and gave the man a bear hug before pulling back. "Now, what the hell are you doing here?"
"We've got a problem, bro," Leo said, running a hand through his sandy hair. "A big problem."