October 29, 1997

When the sound of choking sobs pulled him from sleep, it took Ned Ashton a few moments to orient himself that he was sleeping in the high-risk obstetrical unit at PCGH. He stood, laid a hand on Carly's upper shoulder, and whispered, "I'm right here, Carly. How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," Carly moaned as she moved restlessly as if she was trying to find a more comfortable position.

"I know, why don't I rub your back? Maybe that will help," Ned said. He started to rub expanding and contracting circles across her lower back. Her muscles were so tense. He kneaded a little across her sacrum and then started working his way up her spine. "Just tell me if I'm making something worse," he said.

"You aren't. I'm sorry," Carly said. Her voice was faint, barely audible.

"You don't have anything to apologize for, honey. I wish this pregnancy was easier but none of this is your fault," Ned said.

"What if it is though? What if all of this is God's way of punishing me?" Carly asked. Her words were punctuated with more choking sobs.

"Oh, honey, it isn't. I promise you that," Ned said as he wedged himself on the edge of Carly's bed and took her into his arms.

"I really don't feel well at all," Carly admitted.

"I know, but I'm right here and they're going to take good care of you and Michael, I promise," Ned said. Except he knew he couldn't really promise that. He thought about his conversation with Simone the night before. Was he meant to bring up her friend Charlotte? Would that just stress Carly out even more?

XXXXXXXX

Dr. Alan Quartermaine threw a purse string suture to secure the chest tube he had just placed. Then he released a heavy sigh and shook his head.

"Bilateral chest tubes are rarely a good thing," Dr. Carmichael the ED overnight attending said as he stepped into the trauma room.

"Rarely is a good qualifier. With trauma patients, sometimes the other alternative is untreated bilateral hemothoraces. I've never seen that end particularly well either," Alan said.

"Also, true. How soon will you be ready to head to CT?" Dr. Carmichael asked.

"Maybe ten minutes. I want him to get the rest of this unit of blood and I need another chest x-ray before we move," Alan said as he tied the final knot, cut the suture with the scalpel edge and then started to gather up all of his sharps.

"Sounds good, let me know if you need anything. I sent some PCPD detective on their way because it isn't like they're going to be able to question the victim any time soon," Dr. Carmichael said.

"Also true," Alan said. He glanced up at the clock in the trauma bay. It was four AM; Monica was likely getting up and heading to the pool to swim and drop Alli and Kirk at practice. She would need him to pick them up because she had scheduled a cardiac catheterization right at seven and then added on an inpatient pacemaker insertion to follow immediately after because she wanted to get over to the courthouse to support her brother. She had made that clear ahead of time and he was trying to be supportive. He had made sure that he was being relieved from call by anyone other than Dr. Boardman. It was a start!

XXXXXXXX

Jason Morgan stood at his penthouse window and looked out at the dark Port Charles Skyline. The next move was his, only he was still playing catch up on the back story. Loosely he knew that in March 1996 he hadn't been the only person Sonny had hired as a favor. Sonny had also hired Paul Salvatore Mazza. Pretty Boy Sal was the younger son of Pauly Mazza, the current Solieto Family Underboss. His older brother, Big Vinny, had a temper so, when he caught his wife and younger brother in bed together one of them needed out of Tribecca, and fast. Pauly's friend Gino Solieto reached out to his old friend Joe Scully, and Joe reached out to Sonny, and it was a done deal. Or at least it had been before Sal had been ambushed unloading a shipment at one of the warehouses by Pier 52. Clearly the Moreno Family had been trying to send a message; the question was whether that message was to him, or to the Solieto Family. Except the more Jason stood staring into the darkness the more he wondered if that even mattered.

XXXXXXXX

Dr. Kurt Belden sleepily hit the button to silence the alarm clock and then glanced to his left. Cindy was wrapped up in the blankets as if they were a protective cocoon. Perhaps they were. His heart ached for her. Sure, they had both buried a child who looked far too much like a perfect sleeping baby that they were more meant to pick up and snuggle than bury in box. But Cindy had carried that baby inside her for more than eight months. It had to be worse for her, he was sure of that. He just had no idea how to make it up to her.

With that thought Kurt took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Perhaps since he would never be able to make it up to his wife, he should focus on his colleagues. They had stepped up and covered his calls, ICU calls no less. It was time for him to get back to life, or at least Internal Medicine Residency.

On his way downstairs to make coffee he paused and opened the door to his surviving son's room. Through the glow from the Optimus Prime night light, he saw that Jordan was still asleep buried under his own mound of blankets. While he might have learned the blanket cocoon from his mother, he was a much lighter sleeper than she was so Kurt didn't dare venture inside. Instead, he gently closed the door and padded on down the hall to the stairs.

XXXXXXXX

Dr. Monica Quartermaine pressed both hands down on the pool deck and did an inverted plank out of the pool. That brought back memories of college swimming drills. Back then, women's sports were still evolving, even at the collegiate level and she had often found her best competition in open races where she could swim against the men. That had never phased her and perhaps that and the fact that her mother was also a physician had served her well to succeed in her majority male medical school class and even thrive as an interventional cardiologist. Except as she made her way into the locker room, she knew there was more to the story. Because as much as outstanding female mentors like her mother, Dr. Tracey Adams, and Dr. Ellen Cahill had helped shape her career, and she supposed in Ellen's case even to an extent save her life, there had been male influence as well. Professionally, Dr. Steve Hardy headed the list but more personally the fact that her father, her brother, and the boyfriend who became a husband had always believed that she could had helped her get to a point where she could be an intern with potential in July 1976.

December 6, 1975

In the bridal room at Trinity Episcopal Church, Monica Baldwin smiled as she placed the sixpence that Lila Quartermaine had given her into the toe of her right shoe and then reinserted her foot. Alan's mother was traditional enough to know that the bridal rhyme extended beyond something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue to complete with a sixpence for luck in your shoe. Like a dedicated mother of the groom, she had come prepared with her sixpence.

"I am always intrigued with American customs, and I have heard of something borrowed and something blue. In fact, in our Polish ceremonies we often have blue embodiments on our gowns to symbolize marital fidelity," Greta Volchek said. Greta had been Monica's roommate at Barnard. They had lived together their first two years until Monica had moved onto medical school at Cornell University. Greta had completed a microbiology degree and was working on her PhD in Virology.

Monica caught the way that her groom's sister winced at her friend's words. She felt badly, but of course, Greta had no way to know that Tracy's husband had cheated on her with his secretary while she had been pregnant with their son.

"With the way that my son looks at you, my dear, of course he will never stray from the commitment that he is about to make. That sapphire brooch is darling, it looks perfect with your dress," Lila Quartermaine said.

"Thank you," Monica said softly. Just as there was a rap at the door.

"Ooh that better not be Alan! He can't possibly see you before the ceremony!" Faye London exclaimed.

"Not, Alan," a gruff voice returned from the other side of the door.

Her bridal attendants laughed as she opened the door for her brother.

"Perhaps we should check on the flowers and give Monica a moment with her brother," Lila suggested. She started out of the room and then turned to ensure that her daughter, her nieces, and the rest of bridal party were following.

"So last chance to make a run for it! I hear Mexico is nice this time of year," Scott said once everyone else had left.

Monica laughed.

"I'm serious, you say the word, and I'll get you out of here," Scott said.

Monica shook her head. "I want to marry Alan. Come on, I thought you liked him," she said.

"He's an improvement over the last guy, sure, but that isn't saying much," Scott challenged.

Monica would readily concede that Jeff Webber could be a bit spineless and struggled to be supportive. He was also more than a bit more selfish, and honestly, she thought that he resented her intellect at times. Alan was none of those things. "Aside from the aspirations towards medicine Alan and Jeff really don't have much in common," Monica said.

"Fair enough at least Alan managed to get his MD," Scott said.

"You make it sound like you doubt that Jeff will graduate," Monica said.

"He seems to lack internal motivation. Trust me, I know a thing or two about that," Scott said.

Monica reached up and laid a hand on her brother's shoulder. "You just do things on your own timeline. It isn't a race and I'm so proud of you for getting accepted to PCU Law School," she said.

"If it isn't a race then why are you getting married at eighteen?" Scott asked.

"I love Alan. I do, and it looks like I should be able to do concurrent Medicine and Pediatrics at PCGH. Dr. Hardy and Dr. London are both willing to work with me on that and although I guess it isn't official until the match comes out, I'm basically guaranteed to match at PCGH if I rank it at the top of my list," Monica said.

"Would it be at the top of your list if Alan wasn't already there?"

Monica considered that. She knew Scott was suggesting that she was sacrificing her training and career for Alan. On paper perhaps she was but perhaps she and Alan were both sacrificing their careers for their families, the ones they came from and the one she hoped one day they would build. "PCGH has a great medicine program, and their Pediatrics might be even better. You can get a great education without going to an Ivy," she said.

"I like to think so. But I've never been half as smart or even a quarter as dedicated as you are. I guess I just don't want to see you letting anyone dim your light, not even Dr. Alan Quartermaine. For the record, I have it on good authority that he puts his pants on one leg at a time," Scott said.

Monica laughed. "I love you and you know if I come home for residency training, and you go to PCU Law we will be a lot closer again. Who knows maybe we'll even both stay here long term, and our kids can grow up together? We kind of missed out on having cool cousins but Alan seems to get along great with his and I think that could be neat."

"Please tell me that isn't another subtle suggestion that I am meant to give Faye London another chance," Scott said.

"It actually wasn't," Monica said. It would be unkind to suggest that her brother could do so much better, but he deserved so much better. Faye also had her moments of selfishness. It was less that Monica considered her a friend and more that their parents were friends so, even if they hadn't spoken in years, it would have been awkward to not include her as a bridesmaid.

"If you say so," Scott said. He didn't sound convinced.

"I do! I even made sure that you weren't paired to escort her out after the ceremony and share a dance at the reception," Monica said.

Scott smiled. "I guess, I owe you then," he said.

"Are we keeping score now?" Monica asked.

Scott laughed. "I love you, and I will always have your back. So, you just let me know if Alan ever forgets exactly how amazing you are and how blessed he is to share this life with you," he said.

"I love you too," Monica said as she wrapped her arms around her older brother.

Monica let go of the memory as she stepped out of the shower and started to dress. Scott really had, had her back. Even when his own life had been a mess, he had been there for her. So, even if she was powerless to do anything else to help, she was going to be there for him.

XXXXXXXX

Ned Ashton laid a fresh washcloth across Carly's forehead. Although she seemed to be asleep, her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing quickly, almost panting. She looked so uncomfortable that his heart nearly broke for her "Hang in there, honey, I'm right here," he said as he gently patted her back.

Ned gave Carly's shoulder a squeeze. Her breathing had become even quicker and more erratic. Instinctively he reached for the basin and scooped her into his arms just before she started to vomit. He supported her upright as she cried and vomited large amounts of green liquid before she collapsed back against his chest sweating, trembling, and panting.

He gently laid her back down, moved the basin out of the way, and then wiped her face and hands with the washcloth. Her gown was damp with sweat, and she seemed even more uncomfortable if that was even possible. "I'll be right back, honey. I'm just going to get you a fresh cloth and gown," he whispered. Then he tenderly kissed her forehead before he collected up the basin, and washcloths.

As he made his way to the doorway, Ned turned back to look at Carly one more time. It was hard to believe how much everything had fallen apart, and how quickly. Three weeks ago, Carly had been charming his grandparents at the Deception Cosmetics Shareholders Reception. A week later she had gone into shock during what had been supposed to be a routine growth ultrasound. Unfortunately, things had only declined from there. As much as he had tried to find hope and drum up some optimism, Ned knew that was true. Carly was not doing better; in fact, she seemed to be getting worse with each passing day, and he was powerless to do anything about it. With that disturbing thought, Ned turned back toward the doorway and nearly collided with a young woman in a long white coat trying to enter the room.

XXXXXXXX

Dr. Evelyn Lambert stepped to her left quickly to avoid colliding with her patient's husband. It was probably a bad idea to bump into anyone, but Ned Ashton also happened to be on the Port Charles General Hospital Board and was an ELQ Enterprises heir, so she supposed collisions with him were particularly ill advised.

Collision averted, Mr. Ashton purportedly went off in search of clean gowns and she was left to examine his wife. Six AM rounds on High-Risk Obstetrics was part of overnight call responsibilities. Theoretically it should also be the part of the rotation that was the most relevant to Eve's potential future career and often it was the most interesting aspect of the overnight call. Carly Ashton's case should be particularly interesting, but it was also particularly disturbing.

Her colleagues would agree and focus on how ill the young woman was. She was ill. Overnight her temperature had climbed to 103.8 and the nurses had titrated the Phenylephrine up to 200 mcg/min and she appeared tachypneic, jaundiced, and uncomfortable.

Carly moaned as Eve palpated her distended doughy abdomen. There was a fluid wave although it was difficult to feel around her expanding uterus and it was hard to be sure if she was truly diffusely tender or just so uncomfortable that the exam itself made her feel worse. It made Eve feel worse, but she supposed it wasn't about her. Except it was so hard to not go back to May 19, 1995, the day she had lay uncomfortable and in pain with a swollen belly full of blood after "falling" down several flights of stairs. Her son had not survived. Until that moment she hadn't realized how much she was praying that Carly Ashton's son would.