Tracy Quartermaine-Grabler met her older son's eyes and saw pain. That was a far too familiar sight so one might think that after twenty-nine years she would have figured out how to address it. Yet, she hadn't. There was a distance in her relationship with her older son that was very different from the relationship she had with his younger siblings. The truth was that as much as all three of her children were different, she was a much different mother to Dylan and Shannon than she had ever been to Ned. She had her own guilt and grief surrounding that.

Ned had been born a few months after she had caught his father -her husband- consummating a relationship with his secretary on his desk. Ned had been only two months old when the divorce had been finalized and she had returned home to her parents. Her mother had largely raised her son while she pulled her life back together and pursued an education. The latter had been her father's plan. He had never approved of her marriage to Lord Lawrence Ashton, especially not when she had been barely eighteen. She was nearly certain that her mother had threatened him with something unspeakable if he dared to voice how warranted his objections had been. So, instead, Edward Quartermaine had reminded her that she had an education fund, not a trust fund.

She had started classes at Port Charles University that fall. It hadn't exactly been Columbia, the Ivy league institution in Manhattan where her father had earned his MBA and where her younger brother, Alan, had enrolled a few weeks earlier; but Columbia would have meant abandoning her son one way or another. Either he would have remained behind with her parents or he would have been abandoned with a nanny in the city. Neither had seemed ideal. Unfortunately, in retrospect, Tracy wasn't sure the path she had taken had been anything close to ideal for her son either.

In 1972 she had graduated magna cum laude with a degree in economics and finance theory. Ned was four and she had her sights set on law school, then a job as pro-counsel for her father's company. Somewhere along the way the goal changed. She graduated from law school but took the position at Social Services instead. By then Ned had been seven. Months later she had missed his eighth birthday in the midst of the Prescott trial. Her younger brother, an overworked surgery resident himself, had managed a rare day off so he and his medical student wife took their nephew skiing. Ned had claimed it was one of his best birthdays ever. That had been bittersweet. It wasn't until over a year later when the Port Charles Hurricane struck her son's school playground that Tracy had accepted what a failure she was as a mother.

September 15, 1977

As she made her way through the swarm of onlookers outside the emergency entrance of Port Charles General Hospital, Tracy Quartermaine offered silent prayers for her son. The message passed to her by the bailiff had been succinct. Her son had been injured at school. She needed to get to PCGH. Normally Tracy Quartermaine valued succinct, but not where her son's life was concerned. Anyway, he will be fine would have only been four extra words. Four important extra words, yet they hadn't been there, and it was hard to not focus on that.

Inside the hospital, Tracy made her way to the Emergency Department front desk with trepidation. Yet, before she could blurt out the words her younger brother appeared and whisked her back into the actual emergency room with as much authority as a third-year surgical resident could muster.

"Is he alright?" Tracy asked desperately once she and Alan were past the double doors.

"It's a displaced fracture but Dr. Stratton feels he should be able to reduce it. He shouldn't need actual surgery per se," Alan explained as he led her down a hallway to the front block of exam rooms.

When they reached the appropriate room, Alan wrapped his arm around her shoulder for a moment and squeezed. "I have to go check a repeat X-ray on a patient I just put a Chest tube in. I'll stop back after that. Dr. Stratton is finishing up with a compound fracture in the OR and then he will be right down," he said. Then, with one of his own stoic smiles, her brother was off to attend to his patient.

From the doorway, Tracy took a moment and assessed the scene. She winced at the odd angle of her nine-year-old son's left arm. She took another deep breath and went to him.

As she started to lay a hand on his right shoulder Ned drew back and then looked up at her warily but didn't speak.

Tracy received, and tried to respect, her son's nonverbal cue. She hid the pain of rejection and forced a smile. "Your Uncle Alan says you're going to be just fine, darling. Dr. Stratton will be down soon to get your arm fixed up," she said.

Ned nodded silently but didn't speak.

Tracy saw the pain deep in her son's brown eyes. That tore at her heart more than his rejection. Or perhaps it tore at her heart even more because of his rejection. She was helpless with the knowledge that Ned wouldn't let her soothe that pain away. "Should I ask the nurses if you can have some medicine for the pain?" she asked.

Ned didn't really answer her question. "Will Uncle Alan be back soon? He promised he would be here when they fixed my arm. He said it would hurt more when they put the bone back in place but then it would feel better and heal."

"Your uncle went to check on one of his patients. I'm sure he will come back as soon as he is finished. Is there anything I can do, Ned?"

Ned merely shook his head.

Alan had returned moments before Dr. Stratton. She had stepped out and he had stayed while Dr. Stratton realigned Ned's radius and then casted it in hard plaster of paris. His wife had shown up then with a pack of colored markers, so Ned could have everyone sign his cast. Ned had been touched by the gift. He had professed that his Aunt Monica always gave him the best gifts. Tracy remembered she had told her son he was fortunate to have such a kind aunt. He was, and Tracy knew that neither Monica or Alan were to blame for all that was lacking in her relationship with her son. She knew she had to own that herself.

Unfortunately, taking ownership hadn't brought her any closer to fixing things with her son. Twenty years later she had accepted that when her son became stoic and sullen her younger brother had a much better chance of reaching him than she did. That was just their painful reality and, because she loved her son, she had learned to let go of her own hurt feelings if that allowed him to have what he needed. With that thought, she made her way across the room to her brother.

XXXXXXXX

Detective Allison Jordan took a deep breath as she started up the front steps of the Port Charles Police Department. It was hard to understand how three months of maternity leave had basically flown by. It really seemed like it had only been yesterday that she had held her newborn daughter in her arms and looked into her pale green eyes, clearly a gift from her father. But days had passed, as they always did, Mackenzie was two months old, she was back at work, picking up her share of the Detective overnight call schedule, and trying not to miss her daughter too much.

While work kept her from her daughter, it also helped her feel closer to her late husband, Malcolm Xavier Jordan. Mac had actually started his career in law enforcement as a PCPD Officer in 1987. He had been seventeen and the son of a local defense attorney, who had tripped him up on cross a few times truth be told. Mac had always sworn that had merely inspired him to make sure his documentation was impeccable and that he never cut corners. He had told her that when she had been a Boston PD rookie in early 1991. Allison smiled a little when she remembered that moment and then their first date eighteen months later, after he had left her precinct for a job with Internal Affairs. They had married less than two years after that first date.

Working IAB had given Mac the opportunity to pursue law school and then the background and experience to be a top candidate for the city of Boston prosecutor's office. He had been on the cusp of a promising career. His successful prosecution of Thomas Muldoon launched his career. It also cut his life short when Thomas's brother, Darren, shot him on the courthouse steps one week after the verdict.

Seven months had passed since that fateful February afternoon. She had left Boston and returned to her late husband's childhood hometown. His parents had understood her loss, her need to raise his daughter in a such a way that she would always know her father had been a good man who would have loved her, and even her need to continue in law enforcement. Her mother in law, Marge, watched Mackenzie when she had to work. Her own mother was too busy trying to marry her off to the next wealthy suitor that came along. That had been another reason to move to Port Charles.

When she stepped out of the elevator, on the fourth floor of the PCPD, Allison immediately spotted her partner, Detective Alex Garcia. To an extent they had become partners by default. Approximately twenty-four hours before her first official day of work Detective Garcia's former partner, Detective Marcus Taggert, had turned an interrogation room into a taxpayer funded sauna. Neither Sonny Corinthos, or Mac Scorpio, the PCPD Commissioner at the time, had really appreciated his ingenuity and he had been rewarded with a two-week suspension. That had left his former partner to be paired with the newest detective transfer into the department. Or at least that was the official perspective on the assignment. Detective Garcia believed the assignment had been a bit more intentional than that. He had told her that at the time.

March 13, 1997

By the time her new partner pulled his unmarked car into the lot behind the PCPD, Detective Allison Jordan was ready for her first day to go down in the history books. Unfortunately, it was only 11:30. She supposed she would have to settle for a lunch break. Her father in law had told her that The Recovery Room, across Division Street from the PCPD, was the lunch spot for Port Charles finest. Apparently real detectives in Port Charles didn't believe in brown bag.

"I'll get started on those D-13 forms," Allison offered as she got out of the car.

"I think they will keep until after lunch," Detective Alex Garcia said.

"I don't mind," Allison offered simply and started across the parking lot towards the back door of the PCPD. Perhaps it was more that she minded less delaying her lunch to do the report than she minded the cold glares Alex had been sending her since they first left the PCPD shortly after eight.

"Wait!" Alex cried.

Allison turned her head back to face him as her fingers curled around the door handle. "Yes," she said simply.

Alex took a few long, but silent, strides towards her and then stopped just a foot away. "I realize that I've probably conveyed otherwise this morning, but I don't have anything against you. Come on, let me buy you some lunch and take a second chance at making a good first impression," he said.

Allison saw something earnest in his face. She wondered if she could have misjudged him. She knew his partner had been suspended. He was probably upset about that. He probably was more frustrated with the situation than with her specifically. She was also sensitive and vulnerable and perhaps was reading more into the situation than was really there. "If you're buying at Kelly's then we have a deal," she said.

Alex chuckled and then pulled his keys back out of his pocket. "Sure, I could use a good cup of chowder."

XXXXXX

"So, how did you hear about this place?" Alex asked as they worked their way through bowls of Clam Chowder.

"According to my husband, this place was the original PCPD lunch spot. Or at least it was back in the 80s before Detective Kelly Sr. was murdered and before Detective Kelly Jr left the PCPD for the state police force. I'm guessing that was before your time."

"I moved here, from Albuquerque, in the beginning of 1991."

Allison suspected that Alex might have actually filled the vacancy created when her husband transferred to the BPD in the summer of 1990. She decided not to mention that. "Was that a bit of culture shock?" she asked instead.

Alex chuckled. "Just a bit. I needed a change," he said.

Allison sensed there was much more her new partner wasn't telling her. She let that go. She wasn't sure it was any of her business and it certainly wasn't on the first day. "Sometimes a change can be a good thing," she agreed.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes," he said. He paused and took a bite of cornbread. "Maybe this partner shakeup will be a good thing. Or maybe I don't have the right to an opinion."

"I understand if you have loyalty to your old partner. In fact, I think I would be disappointed if you didn't. Maybe this is a just a situation where we have to do what we have to do. Right now, that involves working together," Allison suggested.

"Entendido!" Alex agreed. He paused for a moment and then added, "It is the Spanish variant of fair enough. I only heard my father say it to my mother about a million times."

"I know. I took Spanish in college at Boston University, but I learned a lot more working patrol in East Boston."

"You probably learned a lot more than Spanish slang," Alex said.

"That too. * I was a pretty naïve little girl in the beginning, honestly. I was fortunate to work with some great people who made my career what it's become. They gave me a chance. I'm not looking for anything more than that here," Allison said.

"You gave me a second chance, so I guess that's the least I can do," Alex said with a smile.

Allison returned the smile. She knew it wasn't really that simple, and everything wasn't really resolved but it was certainly a start. She could work with that, and honestly, she would have to.

In spite of their less than auspicious beginnings, they had built enough of a partnership over the next three months that Alex had requested that he not be reassigned during her maternity leave. Allison hadn't let that go to her head. After all, she herself had gotten a chance to get to know Marcus Taggert during her first three months in the department.

"Officers Johnson and Owens are on scene at Neptune's Net. Chief Douglas wanted us to back them up if necessary," Alex said as she joined him.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"Assault in progress. Owens will radio in if it is anything more than the combination of a little too much alcohol and testosterone," Alex said as she joined him.

"Sometimes that combination can be more than enough," Allison said.

"Entendido!"

"Entendido, indeed," Allison agreed.

XXXXXXXX

As he led his date from the Port Charles Hotel, Jasper Jacks was already focusing on the deal he would broker in a few hours. It was a little past ten o'clock in Port Charles, NY but it was already after six the next morning in Muscat where Saturday marked the first day of the new business week. That left him less than four hours before trading opened on the Muscat Securities Market. If he was appropriately industrious that would give him sufficient time to review his analyst's latest report and place a quick strategic call to his older brother, Jerry. What he didn't have time for was to listen to Brenda prattle on about her concern about Ned.

When the valet pulled his black BMW up in front of the hotel, Jax made it a point to first open the passenger door for Brenda and then walked around the front of the car to slip a generous tip to valet before he got into the driver's seat. He heard Brenda sigh deeply when he got into the car. He took in her face in the glow of the promenade lighting. In a word, she truly was beautiful, and there was something in her eyes that drew him in. Or at least they had drawn him in enough to hire her as the spokes model for his relaunched Cosmetics Company, Jax Cosmetics. That had been a business decision. She had a face that could, and would, sell.

Their relationship had started off as business. Then he had needed a date for a reception at the United Nations. His first choice had been Lois, of course. Unfortunately, she had other commitments, so he had invited Brenda. He had figured that the media interest would only further the advertising campaign. He had also hoped that Lois might realize what she could be missing out on…him!

Lois was at least pretending to be oblivious. On the converse, Lois's ex-husband, Ned, had been acutely aware of the event. He had argued that the nine-year age gap was too much. He had reminded him that Brenda wasn't even old enough to drink legally. Jax had pretended to not care about Ned's distaste but, secretly, he had enjoyed it. That had been an added bonus for the relationship. He never knew when another source of distraction for the ELQ Pro-Counsel might come in handy.

For that reason, Jax decided to at least pretend to be interested in Brenda's latest concern. "Perhaps Ned and Carly's relationship isn't as sudden as you think. Didn't you say he kept Lois hidden from the family until he was practically ready to marry her?" he asked.

Brenda shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't really know either of them then, but, yes, that was definitely Lois's perspective. Ned claims he was afraid of his family overwhelming her."

Jax was quite sure that Lois could handle anything the Quartermaines could dish out. He admired that but decided it wasn't exactly the time to share that with Brenda. "Does that surprise you?" he asked her instead.

"The Quartermaines really aren't that bad. Lila is wonderful. Alan and Monica have always been fair and kind, even in the beginning when Emily was teaching me how to do laundry. Underneath it all, Edward just wants the best for his family. Ok, so he just has some less than conventional approaches to trying to achieve that. I still refuse to believe that he would have ever done anything to hurt Brooklynn," Brenda said.

"That is exactly why Lois would suggest that you live in a state of denial," Jax said with a chuckle.

Hurt registered on Brenda's face but she didn't say anything. She released a deep sigh and turned her head slightly to look out the window.

Jax drove in silence for another two minutes until they pulled into the driveway at 1866 Lilac Drive. Wordlessly Brenda slipped a pass card into his palm and he waved it to open the gate. He pulled forward and parked at the top of the horseshoe driveway in front of the Quartermaine Mansion. "Don't pout, it isn't becoming for a young woman of such beauty," he said.

Brenda exhaled with obvious frustration at his words. "That sounds like something my sister, Julia, would say," she said.

Jax heard disdain in Brenda's words. However, because he knew Julia Barrett, it was hard to truly take offense. He wasn't about to mention that to Brenda, or to reveal the admiration he held for her older sister. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the information and he was hardly ready to show his hand. Jax knew that Julia was the kind of woman one shouldn't let get away. He was sure Clint Buchanan had more than a few regrets. His brother Jerry definitely did and, it was because of those that Jax had never felt free to act on his feelings. So, Julia had been a dead ended tryst. But, for a moment, she had made him forget about Miranda. No one else had ever done that. However, he wanted to believe that, if she would just give them half a chance, Lois could as well.

"Hmm, well, older siblings are right on occasion, I suppose," Jax said.

Brenda shrugged her shoulders silently. Then she released another deep breath. "On that note, I think it is time I called it a night. I promised Katelyn I would go to her junior swim team practice so she could show me the new stroke she learned and then Emily has a cross country meet in Rochester," she said.

Then, with a pert kiss on his cheek, Brenda got out of his car and started up the inlaid stone path to the front door. As he watched her walk away Jax began to wonder if there was some truth to Julia's concern that Brenda had forsaken her Barrett heritage to become a Quartermaine. Julia hadn't actually told him that. He had overheard one of her conversations with Ned and the Buchanan family illegitimate heir, Cord Roberts.