A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but this chapter was a bit harder to write than I expected it to be; blame Nikolas, I do.
This chapter will be the first of several that concentrate on the reunions between Nikolas and Stefan and Courtney and Carly. I'm hoping to flesh out a lot
of the back story in Stefan and Courtney's explanations for what went on.
I should have the next chapter up soon, but after that things will be a bit hectic for the next few weeks so I don't know when the chapter after that will be up, though it shouldn't be quite so long as this last delay. As always much love and many thanks to those who take the time to review, you don't know how much I appreciate the feedback.
Chapter Six
The Haunted Star
"You summoned me?"
Rather than standing up to greet his niece, Luke leaned further back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table in front of him. "Took your sweet time getting here," he commented, taking another sip of his scotch and watching the anger flare in Carly's eyes.
"It's almost midnight, Luke," Carly answered, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. "I've got two kids at home; I don't like being called out here in the middle of the night because you've got some kind of bug up your butt, now how about you tell me what you want so that I can say no and go home?"
"Sweet Caroline, is that any way to talk to your favorite uncle? I'm trying to do you a favor here," Luke said offering her a benign smile.
"You're my only uncle and I don't want any favors from you. Favors from you always come with strings attached," Carly retorted smartly, not taken in for a moment by Luke's innocent expression; he wouldn't have called her unless he wanted something.
"So cynical Caroline," Luke chided, continuing to smile as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Can't I ever just do something for you out of the goodness of my heart?"
"No." Carly's response was immediate and definite. "I've known you for a long time now, Luke, and you've never done anything out of the goodness of your heart, at least not for me." Suddenly bored with their game, Carly decided to drop the banter and get down to business. "What do you want, Luke?" she repeated the question, her voice flat and cold.
For a moment Luke didn't say anything, his gaze wandering to the man standing just behind Carly with his arms crossed over his chest and an impatient look on his face. "Don't recall asking you to bring a guest," he said at last, his eyes never leaving Jax even though his words were addressed to Carly. "In fact, I seem to remember telling you to come alone. You can go, Jax. This doesn't concern you."
"I don't take orders from you," Carly answered sharply at the same time Jax cut in with his own response.
"I'm Carlys husband, Luke," he reminded the older man; his easy smile was a natural counterpoint to Carly's flashing eyes but there was a hint of steel in his voice; he had long since grown tired of having his role in Carly's life discounted by her family. "If it concerns her, it concerns me."
"That's a beautiful sentiment." Luke smirked at the couple. "And I'm sure that Caroline's just eating it up, but this really isn't your business. Now here's how this is going to work..." Setting his drink down Luke got to his feet at last. "You," he said pointing at Jax, "are going to stay here. And you," he transferred his attention to Carly, "are going to come with me. There's something you need to see, and sorry but hubby there isn't invited."
"Jax and I don't keep secrets from each other."
"Well that's good, Caroline, certainly turning over a new leaf for you, and I've always heard honesty was the key to a healthy marriage. But Jax and I aren't married so I'm not obliged to tell him anything. And if you want me to tell you, and you do want me to tell you, he's going to have to stay here while you come with me."
"What's this all about Luke?" Carly was too used to Luke's high-handed style, had in fact been threatened and manipulated by him too many times to bother being irritated or unnerved by it, but she was unwillingly intrigued. Whatever his faults, Luke never failed to deliver as promised and if he said that she wanted to know . . .
Luke started toward the door, pausing when he was only a hair's breath away from Carly so that he could speak right into her ear. "You're going to have to see this to believe it," he whispered. "But it'll be worth it."
"And I can't tell Jax?" Carly hesitated, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist finding out what Luke was offering, but not yet willing to give up the fight.
"I can't control what you tell your husband, Caroline, once you know, the choice is yours. Though after I tell you what's going on, I hope you'll think very hard before you do or say anything."
Wyndemere
"Uncle," Nikolas whispered as he felt the familiar arms wrap around him and he finally allowed himself to accept that what he was seeing was real. Pressing his face against Stefan's shoulder, Nikolas inhaled the familiar, indescribable scent that was peculiarly Stefan and it triggered a thousand half-forgotten memories, memories of all the times when Stefan had held and comforted him. For so much of his life Stefan had been his anchor, his one constant source of love and support.
He didn't know how Stefan had come to be here after all this time, how Stefan was even alive, nor had he forgotten the vicious fighting that had preceded Stefan's supposed death. Guilty thoughts of Emily tried to intrude but in this moment Nikolas could do no more than be grateful that somehow Stefan was here, his uncle was alive.
"I don't . . ." Drawing away from Stefan, Nikolas looked at him and tried to speak. "Uncle, I don't understand. Where have you . . . what happened . . . how . . .?" There were too many questions for Nikolas to coherently give voice to any of them so he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Still unsure that he could trust what he was seeing, he laid a trembling hand on his uncle's bearded cheek and waited to see if the apparition would dissolve into smoke. "You're alive?" Hope and confusion colored Nikolas's voice as he finally voiced the most important question.
"I am alive." Stefan repeated the assurance as the ghost of smile graced his face. He brought his own hand up, and mirroring Nikolas's movement, cupped his nephew's cheek. "And I have missed you." The simple words couldn't even begin to describe the void Nikolas's absence had left in his life. For more than six years Stefan had seen his nephew only in pictures; the occasional photograph in the society pages of the newspaper and the pictures and videos that Helena had regularly delivered to ensure that he and Courtney would never forget all that they were missing.
"Looking at you," Stefan took a moment to absorb all of the subtle changes that the years had wrought in Nikolas. His face, the line of his jaw, his cheekbones, his eyes, he was the same and yet different; he was in some indefinable way stronger than he had been, more mature. "It seems my . . . my Nikolas has become a man while I was away. You look well, Nikolas."
"I am well," Nikolas agreed, tears filling his eyes as he heard the words Stefan didn't say - my son . No matter what the DNA tests had said in Nikolas's heart Stefan would always be his father. "Better now that you're alive. I missed you, too," he admitted as the tears slid down his cheeks to be caught by Stefan's hand, "more than words can say."
Drawing in a shaky breath Nikolas let his eyes linger on that well loved face, its lines and expressions burned into his memory through years of love and care, years of familiarity which allowed him to recognize with growing concern the changes in his uncle. Stefan was thinner than Nikolas remembered and much too pale. And he knew that the tight lines at the corners of Stefan's mouth were not signs of age but rather indicative of carefully hidden pain.
"Uncle," Nikolas's sudden distress was palpable, "you're not well." He pulled Stefan to the nearest chair, urging him to sit down. "Tell me how you are hurt. Allow me to summon a doctor for you." The questions stumbled forth urgently as Nikolas confronted the idea of losing Stefan again before he had the chance to appreciate all that he had regained. He didn't wait for a response from Stefan before reaching for a phone.
Stilling Nikolas's hands by catching them in his own, Stefan's voice was quietly reassuring. "There is no need to worry over me, Nikolas. Yes, I suffered some minor injuries recently but I have seen a doctor already, and I am assured that I should recover quickly."
"What sort of minor injuries?" Nikolas demanded, refusing to be appeased by his uncle's nonchalant attitude. He knew Stefan well enough to know that he was adept at hiding any small discomfort; if Nikolas could so easily read the signs of pain in his uncle's countenance then he was hurting badly.
"None that need concern you," Stefan began but, recognizing the stubborn set of Nikolas's jaw and the intent look in his eyes, he shook his head and sighed in defeat. "Bruises and abrasions for the most part, perhaps a fractured rib or two," he admitted at last. "Truly, fatigue seems to be my most serious malady, it was an arduous journey, but I could not rest any longer until I had seen you." When Nikolas's eyes widened at the admission that he might have suffered broken ribs, Stefan tightened his grip on the younger man's hands. "I will heal, Nikolas," he reassured him. "I will be fine."
The warmth, the calm assurance in Stefan's tone, eased Nikolas's fears as it always had but the tension remained as he tried to piece together an explanation for Stefan's presence, for Stefan's very existence.
"Tell me what happened," Nikolas requested at last. "I want to know, I need to know everything. How you came to be injured, how you got here, where you . . ." his voice trembled slightly as he continued, "where you've been for the last five years."
When Stefan hesitated a moment too long before answering, Nikolas was thrown back in time to Stefan's last resurrection; a cruel ploy that had left them estranged for far too long. A sudden surge of anger brought him to his feet and sent him pacing away from Stefan as he was confronted the possibility of yet another betrayal. "God, uncle, where were you? Do you know? Do you know how much I needed you? I thought you were dead. How could you leave me to grieve for you, let me believe again that you were dead?" Nikolas clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the impulse to pound them against his uncle's chest as he had during childhood temper tantrums; tantrums during which his uncle's calm strength and acceptance had been the only the thing that soothed him.
"Do you think that staying away was my own choice?" Stefan answered quietly, his own bitterness rising in response to Nikolas's angry accusation. "Do you imagine there is anything I would not have done to be by your side when you needed me?"
Stefan's bitterness caught Nikolas off guard. "Then why weren't you?" he asked. "Where were you that you couldn't come back?"
"Where was I?" All the possible answers to the question sped through Stefan's mind, everything from a bitter truth 'I was in hell' to other more creative interpretations. "I was in France, a villa outside Avignon," he said at last choosing to begin with a literal interpretation. Knowing that his mere location did not even begin to provide Nikolas with the explanation he was seeking Stefan continued. "Your grandmother arranged for my . . . lodging. My accommodations were very . . . secure."
"So, Helena faked your death?" Nikolas interpreted with some relief; that was an explanation he could live with, he could believe such a thing of his grandmother and it would be far easier to bear than the idea that Stefan would willingly put him through that loss again.
"No." Stefan's denial had Nikolas swinging back towards him with a betrayed look. "Mother orchestrated my abduction and someone else's very real death up on that cliff. Someone did die that day Nikolas, but it was not me."
"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Uncle," Nikolas protested. "Did Helena fake your death or not?"
"Yes," Stefan replied, pressing the tips of his fingers against his temple as he tried to push down a building headache, "and no. The matter is more complicated than you realize."
Stefan indicated that Nikolas should take the chair opposite his own and waited for him to sit before starting the story that he had told Luke Spencer the day before. "I was in Milan," he began simply.
"That was more than six years ago, Uncle," Nikolas interrupted, his voice colored by no small degree of frustration. He'd been hoping for something about the time since Stefan's death.
"I beg your pardon, Nikolas," Stefan's tone was cool, "I was under the impression that you wished to know what happened. The story begins in Milan." He waited a beat before asking, "Shall I continue?"
Nikolas inclined his head with a tight smile and refrained from speaking. He should have remembered this about Stefan, his uncle would offer explanations in his own way and his own time and did not care for interruptions.
"Very well. I was in Milan," Stefan repeated deliberately, "when Helena came to see me."
*Flashback*
Stefan was seated at an outdoor cafe with a cup of tea and book in hand, enjoying the luxury of a day in which he had no obligations other than to his own satisfaction, when he sensed her approach. Helena did not need to announce her presence, the icy sensation of her disdain preceded her as she approached her younger son and took possession of the unoccupied chair across from his.
"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you, Mother, but truthfully I would be more pleased if you were still in prison where you belong, or better, that monastery in the Arctic that Spencer found for you." Stefan put down his tea as he regarded his mother with resignation. He would hear her out before having her removed.
"I am here for Nikolas." Helena ignored her son's attempt at humor. "No lesser concern could bring me to you."
"Nikolas is doing well, mother," Stefan assured her. "I only just had a letter from him; he indicated that he is enjoying the challenge of managing his inheritance."
"Nikolas is without an heir," Helena countered. "It is past time he did his duty to his family by assuring the succession. He must marry and produce a child so that the Cassadine legacy may continue."
"He is young and healthy; there is plenty of time yet for him to marry."
"Even the young and healthy can meet with tragedy. Look at my precious Stavros, cut down in the prime of his life, murdered by Luke Spencer."
"Two times, no less," Stefan murmured, smirking as he lifted his teacup. "You needn't worry about Nikolas; Luke has no ill intentions towards him and he does not seek out trouble the way his father did. There is no reason he should not survive long enough to experience the joys of fatherhood, when he's ready."
"When he's ready," Helena sneered at him as she repeated the words. "This is precisely the problem, Stefan. You've coddled the boy for far too long, made him as weak and pathetic as you, and now he forgets his obligation to the Cassadine name. He is the prince, and there must be an heir. You will remind him of his duty."
"I will do no such thing." Stefan's eyes narrowed as he considered his mother. "And neither will you. Nikolas will live his own life as he chooses and you will stay out of it."
Helena continued as if Stefan had not spoken. "I have already selected the woman he is to wed. Her name is Lydia; her grandfather, Anton Karenin, I'm sure you remember him, supports the match as well and has agreed to leave his entire fortune to Nikolas provided he weds Lydia and produces a child with her. It will increase the power of the Estate and her bloodline is good enough, not quite up to our standards of course, but these days whose is?"
"Mother," Stefan cut off Helena's monologue with a sharp word. "You will cease your manipulations in Nikolas's life." Stefan was bitterly aware of the irony in his instruction; there was a time when he had manipulated Nikolas's life with just as free a hand, though always with better intentions. "And I will certainly have no part in them."
Laying his napkin on the table and picking up his discarded book, Stefan rose to his feet. "You may be assured that I will notify Nikolas of your plans and warn him to be on his guard. Good day, Mother."
"I was afraid you were going to be difficult about this, Stefan." Helena let out a long suffering sigh as she looked up at him. "I did not wish to do it this way, but really you leave me no choice."
*End Flashback*
"The next thing I recall I was waking up in the villa that was my prison until just a few days ago," Stefan concluded.
"Are you trying to tell me that you don't remember what happened five years ago?" Nikolas started up out of his chair, checking his movement, though not his words at his uncle's sharp look. "You don't remember forcing me to marry Lydia, trying to kill Emily, framing Luke Spencer for your murder?"
"I am not saying that I don't remember it. I am telling you that it did not happen, I did none of those things. This is the first time I've been in Port Charles since I went to Milan."
Nikolas shook his head in disbelief as he heard Stefan's so-called explanation. "Do you mean to suggest that miserable visit, the one where you died, was all the product of my imagination? Oh no, not just my imagination, so it must have been some sort of mass hallucination all of Port Charles was participating in, some sort of shared delusion for months." Nikolas laughed cynically. "Try again, Uncle."
"Do not mock me, Nikolas," Stefan's voice was cold. "And do me the courtesy of listening to me without interruption. After you have heard what I have to say you may disbelieve me if you so choose, but at least hear me out."
"I said that I did not come to Port Charles that year, I did not say that nothing happened here. There was someone . . ."
*Flashback*
It was nearly a month before Stefan saw Helena again. He had learned from the servants that he was in France. The view from his window assured Stefan that this was none of the Cassadine properties with which he was familiar, Helena must have acquired it separate from the Estate; Stefan knew that could mean only one thing, whatever she was doing here she wished to be sure Nikolas and Alexis couldn't find him.
Everyday he demanded to see Helena, and every day the servants assured him that Madame Cassadine was very busy; Madame Cassadine would see him when she was ready.
When Helena finally did grace him with her presence, Stefan greeted her coolly. "I don't know what you hope to gain by keeping me prisoner, Mother, certainly it cannot be my cooperation."
"No, Stefan," Helena agreed. "You made it perfectly clear that you were not interested in cooperating with me, so I have decided to pursue another course."
"A course that requires keeping me prisoner?" Stefan asked. "If you mean to hold me hostage to Nikolas's compliance, you misjudge him. He will not allow you to control his life."
"No, that is an honor he reserves for you, or perhaps you reserve it for yourself," Helena hissed the accusation at her son. "I do not imagine that I can manipulate Nikolas as effectively as you do, Stefan, and tell yourself what you will, you have sought to control Nikolas just as surely as I have since the moment of his birth."
"I have no intention of increasing your importance in Nikolas's life by holding you hostage, testing his love for you against his desire for freedom. No, Nikolas will never know that I have you."
"What is your plan then, Mother?" Stefan asked, stepping away from her to look back out the window. She would not see that her barbs had struck their mark. "Remove me from the equation entirely and hope that without my support Nikolas will cave to your will? He is stronger than that."
"In any case, when he does not hear from me, Nikolas will become suspicious. He will search for me, and you," Stefan turned back towards his mother, "will be his first suspect."
"Oh Stefan, my poor, foolish son," Helena laughed as she considered Stefan. "Do not pin your hopes on Nikolas to find you; he will never know you are missing. You see, you will be right there by his side, guiding him, as you always have, in the proper direction during the crisis that he is about to face."
The door behind Helena opened at her words and Stefan stared at the new arrival in horror, he was of average height with light hair and green eyes and his face . . .
"My God, Mother, what have you done?"
"Who is this?"
"Why he's you, my son." Helena's smile had a malicious edge to it as she rested her hand on the shoulder of her new son. "I think the plastic surgeon did an admirable job, don't you? Though truly, how difficult can your face have been to duplicate? You features are so very pedestrian."
*End Flashback*
"I told her that her ruse would never work." Stefan's voice carried more than a trace of the lingering bitterness his memories brought on. "That you and Alexis knew me better than that, that you would not believe it. But you did, you accepted him as me. Time passed, Helena's pawn spun more and more out of control and I watched from my prison and waited for one of you to object, for one of you to say that he couldn't possibly be me, that I wasn't a monster. But you did not. And while I waited for one of you to search for me, you buried him under my name, and forgot me."
Stefan looked over at his nephew, his eyes dark with the intensity of his emotions. "Tell me something, Nikolas. When he died, did you mourn for me, or were you simply glad to be rid of the monster you believed me to be?"
"I grieved," Nikolas whispered even as he flushed guiltily at the all-to-accurate charge. A part of him had been relieved at Stefan's death, the man he'd buried that day had become like a stranger to him. Now he knew why.
Stefan's story was outrageous, unbelievable, but Nikolas found himself believing it nonetheless. It was in truth no more outrageous than Stavros's resurrection from cryogenic deep freeze, no more unbelievable than Helena's surviving the fall which landed Nikolas in prison. And the proof of this impossibility was sitting right there looking back at him, eyes filled with palpable anger and a wealth of pain and regret.
"I did grieve for you," he repeated. "And I didn't understand how you...he could have changed so much from the man I remembered, the uncle I loved, but I never realized . . ." Nikolas slumped down into his chair. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to apologize to you. I should have . . . I should have known there was something wrong, known that you wouldn't . . ." His words trailed off as he met Stefan's gaze with a silent entreaty, a plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for absolution. He needed more than anything else for Stefan to tell him that it was alright, that all was forgiven.
Stefan sat frozen in place as he wrestled with his own demons. He wanted to go to Nikolas, to comfort him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but Nikolas's lack of faith in him, his blind acceptance of Helena's pawn had haunted him for years. Stefan hung his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He'd had six years to come to terms with what had happened and he'd really believed that when he left that villa in France he'd left his anger behind, but it had all come surging back as he'd told Nikolas the story.
Sitting there across from his nephew Stefan remembered his earlier conversation with Luke; he'd claimed that he trusted Nikolas implicitly, they'd both known it was a lie. He trusted that Nikolas knew nothing of his abduction and incarceration, but he could no longer trust Nikolas's judgment as he once had.
"He must have been very convincing," Stefan said at last, the words as close as he could yet come to pardoning Nikolas. "Helena trained him well, so how could you have known?"
How could you not have known? The question screamed inside his head.
"How could I not have known?" Nikolas unknowingly echoed his uncle's thoughts. "You were always ruthless in the name of my best interest, but you were never cruel. And you never set out to deliberately hurt me, as he did when he ordered Emily's death. I should have suspected something."
Yes, you should. The thought crossed Stefan's mind but did not pass his lips. He would not heap more guilt on his nephew's head.
I should have the next chapter up soon, but after that things will be a bit hectic for the next few weeks so I don't know when the chapter after that will be up, though it shouldn't be quite so long as this last delay. As always much love and many thanks to those who take the time to review, you don't know how much I appreciate the feedback.
Chapter Six
The Haunted Star
"You summoned me?"
Rather than standing up to greet his niece, Luke leaned further back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table in front of him. "Took your sweet time getting here," he commented, taking another sip of his scotch and watching the anger flare in Carly's eyes.
"It's almost midnight, Luke," Carly answered, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. "I've got two kids at home; I don't like being called out here in the middle of the night because you've got some kind of bug up your butt, now how about you tell me what you want so that I can say no and go home?"
"Sweet Caroline, is that any way to talk to your favorite uncle? I'm trying to do you a favor here," Luke said offering her a benign smile.
"You're my only uncle and I don't want any favors from you. Favors from you always come with strings attached," Carly retorted smartly, not taken in for a moment by Luke's innocent expression; he wouldn't have called her unless he wanted something.
"So cynical Caroline," Luke chided, continuing to smile as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Can't I ever just do something for you out of the goodness of my heart?"
"No." Carly's response was immediate and definite. "I've known you for a long time now, Luke, and you've never done anything out of the goodness of your heart, at least not for me." Suddenly bored with their game, Carly decided to drop the banter and get down to business. "What do you want, Luke?" she repeated the question, her voice flat and cold.
For a moment Luke didn't say anything, his gaze wandering to the man standing just behind Carly with his arms crossed over his chest and an impatient look on his face. "Don't recall asking you to bring a guest," he said at last, his eyes never leaving Jax even though his words were addressed to Carly. "In fact, I seem to remember telling you to come alone. You can go, Jax. This doesn't concern you."
"I don't take orders from you," Carly answered sharply at the same time Jax cut in with his own response.
"I'm Carlys husband, Luke," he reminded the older man; his easy smile was a natural counterpoint to Carly's flashing eyes but there was a hint of steel in his voice; he had long since grown tired of having his role in Carly's life discounted by her family. "If it concerns her, it concerns me."
"That's a beautiful sentiment." Luke smirked at the couple. "And I'm sure that Caroline's just eating it up, but this really isn't your business. Now here's how this is going to work..." Setting his drink down Luke got to his feet at last. "You," he said pointing at Jax, "are going to stay here. And you," he transferred his attention to Carly, "are going to come with me. There's something you need to see, and sorry but hubby there isn't invited."
"Jax and I don't keep secrets from each other."
"Well that's good, Caroline, certainly turning over a new leaf for you, and I've always heard honesty was the key to a healthy marriage. But Jax and I aren't married so I'm not obliged to tell him anything. And if you want me to tell you, and you do want me to tell you, he's going to have to stay here while you come with me."
"What's this all about Luke?" Carly was too used to Luke's high-handed style, had in fact been threatened and manipulated by him too many times to bother being irritated or unnerved by it, but she was unwillingly intrigued. Whatever his faults, Luke never failed to deliver as promised and if he said that she wanted to know . . .
Luke started toward the door, pausing when he was only a hair's breath away from Carly so that he could speak right into her ear. "You're going to have to see this to believe it," he whispered. "But it'll be worth it."
"And I can't tell Jax?" Carly hesitated, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist finding out what Luke was offering, but not yet willing to give up the fight.
"I can't control what you tell your husband, Caroline, once you know, the choice is yours. Though after I tell you what's going on, I hope you'll think very hard before you do or say anything."
Wyndemere
"Uncle," Nikolas whispered as he felt the familiar arms wrap around him and he finally allowed himself to accept that what he was seeing was real. Pressing his face against Stefan's shoulder, Nikolas inhaled the familiar, indescribable scent that was peculiarly Stefan and it triggered a thousand half-forgotten memories, memories of all the times when Stefan had held and comforted him. For so much of his life Stefan had been his anchor, his one constant source of love and support.
He didn't know how Stefan had come to be here after all this time, how Stefan was even alive, nor had he forgotten the vicious fighting that had preceded Stefan's supposed death. Guilty thoughts of Emily tried to intrude but in this moment Nikolas could do no more than be grateful that somehow Stefan was here, his uncle was alive.
"I don't . . ." Drawing away from Stefan, Nikolas looked at him and tried to speak. "Uncle, I don't understand. Where have you . . . what happened . . . how . . .?" There were too many questions for Nikolas to coherently give voice to any of them so he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Still unsure that he could trust what he was seeing, he laid a trembling hand on his uncle's bearded cheek and waited to see if the apparition would dissolve into smoke. "You're alive?" Hope and confusion colored Nikolas's voice as he finally voiced the most important question.
"I am alive." Stefan repeated the assurance as the ghost of smile graced his face. He brought his own hand up, and mirroring Nikolas's movement, cupped his nephew's cheek. "And I have missed you." The simple words couldn't even begin to describe the void Nikolas's absence had left in his life. For more than six years Stefan had seen his nephew only in pictures; the occasional photograph in the society pages of the newspaper and the pictures and videos that Helena had regularly delivered to ensure that he and Courtney would never forget all that they were missing.
"Looking at you," Stefan took a moment to absorb all of the subtle changes that the years had wrought in Nikolas. His face, the line of his jaw, his cheekbones, his eyes, he was the same and yet different; he was in some indefinable way stronger than he had been, more mature. "It seems my . . . my Nikolas has become a man while I was away. You look well, Nikolas."
"I am well," Nikolas agreed, tears filling his eyes as he heard the words Stefan didn't say - my son . No matter what the DNA tests had said in Nikolas's heart Stefan would always be his father. "Better now that you're alive. I missed you, too," he admitted as the tears slid down his cheeks to be caught by Stefan's hand, "more than words can say."
Drawing in a shaky breath Nikolas let his eyes linger on that well loved face, its lines and expressions burned into his memory through years of love and care, years of familiarity which allowed him to recognize with growing concern the changes in his uncle. Stefan was thinner than Nikolas remembered and much too pale. And he knew that the tight lines at the corners of Stefan's mouth were not signs of age but rather indicative of carefully hidden pain.
"Uncle," Nikolas's sudden distress was palpable, "you're not well." He pulled Stefan to the nearest chair, urging him to sit down. "Tell me how you are hurt. Allow me to summon a doctor for you." The questions stumbled forth urgently as Nikolas confronted the idea of losing Stefan again before he had the chance to appreciate all that he had regained. He didn't wait for a response from Stefan before reaching for a phone.
Stilling Nikolas's hands by catching them in his own, Stefan's voice was quietly reassuring. "There is no need to worry over me, Nikolas. Yes, I suffered some minor injuries recently but I have seen a doctor already, and I am assured that I should recover quickly."
"What sort of minor injuries?" Nikolas demanded, refusing to be appeased by his uncle's nonchalant attitude. He knew Stefan well enough to know that he was adept at hiding any small discomfort; if Nikolas could so easily read the signs of pain in his uncle's countenance then he was hurting badly.
"None that need concern you," Stefan began but, recognizing the stubborn set of Nikolas's jaw and the intent look in his eyes, he shook his head and sighed in defeat. "Bruises and abrasions for the most part, perhaps a fractured rib or two," he admitted at last. "Truly, fatigue seems to be my most serious malady, it was an arduous journey, but I could not rest any longer until I had seen you." When Nikolas's eyes widened at the admission that he might have suffered broken ribs, Stefan tightened his grip on the younger man's hands. "I will heal, Nikolas," he reassured him. "I will be fine."
The warmth, the calm assurance in Stefan's tone, eased Nikolas's fears as it always had but the tension remained as he tried to piece together an explanation for Stefan's presence, for Stefan's very existence.
"Tell me what happened," Nikolas requested at last. "I want to know, I need to know everything. How you came to be injured, how you got here, where you . . ." his voice trembled slightly as he continued, "where you've been for the last five years."
When Stefan hesitated a moment too long before answering, Nikolas was thrown back in time to Stefan's last resurrection; a cruel ploy that had left them estranged for far too long. A sudden surge of anger brought him to his feet and sent him pacing away from Stefan as he was confronted the possibility of yet another betrayal. "God, uncle, where were you? Do you know? Do you know how much I needed you? I thought you were dead. How could you leave me to grieve for you, let me believe again that you were dead?" Nikolas clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the impulse to pound them against his uncle's chest as he had during childhood temper tantrums; tantrums during which his uncle's calm strength and acceptance had been the only the thing that soothed him.
"Do you think that staying away was my own choice?" Stefan answered quietly, his own bitterness rising in response to Nikolas's angry accusation. "Do you imagine there is anything I would not have done to be by your side when you needed me?"
Stefan's bitterness caught Nikolas off guard. "Then why weren't you?" he asked. "Where were you that you couldn't come back?"
"Where was I?" All the possible answers to the question sped through Stefan's mind, everything from a bitter truth 'I was in hell' to other more creative interpretations. "I was in France, a villa outside Avignon," he said at last choosing to begin with a literal interpretation. Knowing that his mere location did not even begin to provide Nikolas with the explanation he was seeking Stefan continued. "Your grandmother arranged for my . . . lodging. My accommodations were very . . . secure."
"So, Helena faked your death?" Nikolas interpreted with some relief; that was an explanation he could live with, he could believe such a thing of his grandmother and it would be far easier to bear than the idea that Stefan would willingly put him through that loss again.
"No." Stefan's denial had Nikolas swinging back towards him with a betrayed look. "Mother orchestrated my abduction and someone else's very real death up on that cliff. Someone did die that day Nikolas, but it was not me."
"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Uncle," Nikolas protested. "Did Helena fake your death or not?"
"Yes," Stefan replied, pressing the tips of his fingers against his temple as he tried to push down a building headache, "and no. The matter is more complicated than you realize."
Stefan indicated that Nikolas should take the chair opposite his own and waited for him to sit before starting the story that he had told Luke Spencer the day before. "I was in Milan," he began simply.
"That was more than six years ago, Uncle," Nikolas interrupted, his voice colored by no small degree of frustration. He'd been hoping for something about the time since Stefan's death.
"I beg your pardon, Nikolas," Stefan's tone was cool, "I was under the impression that you wished to know what happened. The story begins in Milan." He waited a beat before asking, "Shall I continue?"
Nikolas inclined his head with a tight smile and refrained from speaking. He should have remembered this about Stefan, his uncle would offer explanations in his own way and his own time and did not care for interruptions.
"Very well. I was in Milan," Stefan repeated deliberately, "when Helena came to see me."
*Flashback*
Stefan was seated at an outdoor cafe with a cup of tea and book in hand, enjoying the luxury of a day in which he had no obligations other than to his own satisfaction, when he sensed her approach. Helena did not need to announce her presence, the icy sensation of her disdain preceded her as she approached her younger son and took possession of the unoccupied chair across from his.
"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you, Mother, but truthfully I would be more pleased if you were still in prison where you belong, or better, that monastery in the Arctic that Spencer found for you." Stefan put down his tea as he regarded his mother with resignation. He would hear her out before having her removed.
"I am here for Nikolas." Helena ignored her son's attempt at humor. "No lesser concern could bring me to you."
"Nikolas is doing well, mother," Stefan assured her. "I only just had a letter from him; he indicated that he is enjoying the challenge of managing his inheritance."
"Nikolas is without an heir," Helena countered. "It is past time he did his duty to his family by assuring the succession. He must marry and produce a child so that the Cassadine legacy may continue."
"He is young and healthy; there is plenty of time yet for him to marry."
"Even the young and healthy can meet with tragedy. Look at my precious Stavros, cut down in the prime of his life, murdered by Luke Spencer."
"Two times, no less," Stefan murmured, smirking as he lifted his teacup. "You needn't worry about Nikolas; Luke has no ill intentions towards him and he does not seek out trouble the way his father did. There is no reason he should not survive long enough to experience the joys of fatherhood, when he's ready."
"When he's ready," Helena sneered at him as she repeated the words. "This is precisely the problem, Stefan. You've coddled the boy for far too long, made him as weak and pathetic as you, and now he forgets his obligation to the Cassadine name. He is the prince, and there must be an heir. You will remind him of his duty."
"I will do no such thing." Stefan's eyes narrowed as he considered his mother. "And neither will you. Nikolas will live his own life as he chooses and you will stay out of it."
Helena continued as if Stefan had not spoken. "I have already selected the woman he is to wed. Her name is Lydia; her grandfather, Anton Karenin, I'm sure you remember him, supports the match as well and has agreed to leave his entire fortune to Nikolas provided he weds Lydia and produces a child with her. It will increase the power of the Estate and her bloodline is good enough, not quite up to our standards of course, but these days whose is?"
"Mother," Stefan cut off Helena's monologue with a sharp word. "You will cease your manipulations in Nikolas's life." Stefan was bitterly aware of the irony in his instruction; there was a time when he had manipulated Nikolas's life with just as free a hand, though always with better intentions. "And I will certainly have no part in them."
Laying his napkin on the table and picking up his discarded book, Stefan rose to his feet. "You may be assured that I will notify Nikolas of your plans and warn him to be on his guard. Good day, Mother."
"I was afraid you were going to be difficult about this, Stefan." Helena let out a long suffering sigh as she looked up at him. "I did not wish to do it this way, but really you leave me no choice."
*End Flashback*
"The next thing I recall I was waking up in the villa that was my prison until just a few days ago," Stefan concluded.
"Are you trying to tell me that you don't remember what happened five years ago?" Nikolas started up out of his chair, checking his movement, though not his words at his uncle's sharp look. "You don't remember forcing me to marry Lydia, trying to kill Emily, framing Luke Spencer for your murder?"
"I am not saying that I don't remember it. I am telling you that it did not happen, I did none of those things. This is the first time I've been in Port Charles since I went to Milan."
Nikolas shook his head in disbelief as he heard Stefan's so-called explanation. "Do you mean to suggest that miserable visit, the one where you died, was all the product of my imagination? Oh no, not just my imagination, so it must have been some sort of mass hallucination all of Port Charles was participating in, some sort of shared delusion for months." Nikolas laughed cynically. "Try again, Uncle."
"Do not mock me, Nikolas," Stefan's voice was cold. "And do me the courtesy of listening to me without interruption. After you have heard what I have to say you may disbelieve me if you so choose, but at least hear me out."
"I said that I did not come to Port Charles that year, I did not say that nothing happened here. There was someone . . ."
*Flashback*
It was nearly a month before Stefan saw Helena again. He had learned from the servants that he was in France. The view from his window assured Stefan that this was none of the Cassadine properties with which he was familiar, Helena must have acquired it separate from the Estate; Stefan knew that could mean only one thing, whatever she was doing here she wished to be sure Nikolas and Alexis couldn't find him.
Everyday he demanded to see Helena, and every day the servants assured him that Madame Cassadine was very busy; Madame Cassadine would see him when she was ready.
When Helena finally did grace him with her presence, Stefan greeted her coolly. "I don't know what you hope to gain by keeping me prisoner, Mother, certainly it cannot be my cooperation."
"No, Stefan," Helena agreed. "You made it perfectly clear that you were not interested in cooperating with me, so I have decided to pursue another course."
"A course that requires keeping me prisoner?" Stefan asked. "If you mean to hold me hostage to Nikolas's compliance, you misjudge him. He will not allow you to control his life."
"No, that is an honor he reserves for you, or perhaps you reserve it for yourself," Helena hissed the accusation at her son. "I do not imagine that I can manipulate Nikolas as effectively as you do, Stefan, and tell yourself what you will, you have sought to control Nikolas just as surely as I have since the moment of his birth."
"I have no intention of increasing your importance in Nikolas's life by holding you hostage, testing his love for you against his desire for freedom. No, Nikolas will never know that I have you."
"What is your plan then, Mother?" Stefan asked, stepping away from her to look back out the window. She would not see that her barbs had struck their mark. "Remove me from the equation entirely and hope that without my support Nikolas will cave to your will? He is stronger than that."
"In any case, when he does not hear from me, Nikolas will become suspicious. He will search for me, and you," Stefan turned back towards his mother, "will be his first suspect."
"Oh Stefan, my poor, foolish son," Helena laughed as she considered Stefan. "Do not pin your hopes on Nikolas to find you; he will never know you are missing. You see, you will be right there by his side, guiding him, as you always have, in the proper direction during the crisis that he is about to face."
The door behind Helena opened at her words and Stefan stared at the new arrival in horror, he was of average height with light hair and green eyes and his face . . .
"My God, Mother, what have you done?"
"Who is this?"
"Why he's you, my son." Helena's smile had a malicious edge to it as she rested her hand on the shoulder of her new son. "I think the plastic surgeon did an admirable job, don't you? Though truly, how difficult can your face have been to duplicate? You features are so very pedestrian."
*End Flashback*
"I told her that her ruse would never work." Stefan's voice carried more than a trace of the lingering bitterness his memories brought on. "That you and Alexis knew me better than that, that you would not believe it. But you did, you accepted him as me. Time passed, Helena's pawn spun more and more out of control and I watched from my prison and waited for one of you to object, for one of you to say that he couldn't possibly be me, that I wasn't a monster. But you did not. And while I waited for one of you to search for me, you buried him under my name, and forgot me."
Stefan looked over at his nephew, his eyes dark with the intensity of his emotions. "Tell me something, Nikolas. When he died, did you mourn for me, or were you simply glad to be rid of the monster you believed me to be?"
"I grieved," Nikolas whispered even as he flushed guiltily at the all-to-accurate charge. A part of him had been relieved at Stefan's death, the man he'd buried that day had become like a stranger to him. Now he knew why.
Stefan's story was outrageous, unbelievable, but Nikolas found himself believing it nonetheless. It was in truth no more outrageous than Stavros's resurrection from cryogenic deep freeze, no more unbelievable than Helena's surviving the fall which landed Nikolas in prison. And the proof of this impossibility was sitting right there looking back at him, eyes filled with palpable anger and a wealth of pain and regret.
"I did grieve for you," he repeated. "And I didn't understand how you...he could have changed so much from the man I remembered, the uncle I loved, but I never realized . . ." Nikolas slumped down into his chair. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to apologize to you. I should have . . . I should have known there was something wrong, known that you wouldn't . . ." His words trailed off as he met Stefan's gaze with a silent entreaty, a plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for absolution. He needed more than anything else for Stefan to tell him that it was alright, that all was forgiven.
Stefan sat frozen in place as he wrestled with his own demons. He wanted to go to Nikolas, to comfort him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but Nikolas's lack of faith in him, his blind acceptance of Helena's pawn had haunted him for years. Stefan hung his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. He'd had six years to come to terms with what had happened and he'd really believed that when he left that villa in France he'd left his anger behind, but it had all come surging back as he'd told Nikolas the story.
Sitting there across from his nephew Stefan remembered his earlier conversation with Luke; he'd claimed that he trusted Nikolas implicitly, they'd both known it was a lie. He trusted that Nikolas knew nothing of his abduction and incarceration, but he could no longer trust Nikolas's judgment as he once had.
"He must have been very convincing," Stefan said at last, the words as close as he could yet come to pardoning Nikolas. "Helena trained him well, so how could you have known?"
How could you not have known? The question screamed inside his head.
"How could I not have known?" Nikolas unknowingly echoed his uncle's thoughts. "You were always ruthless in the name of my best interest, but you were never cruel. And you never set out to deliberately hurt me, as he did when he ordered Emily's death. I should have suspected something."
Yes, you should. The thought crossed Stefan's mind but did not pass his lips. He would not heap more guilt on his nephew's head.
