A/N: This story is going to be a little different than anything I've ever tried to write before and I apologize in advance if it doesn't play out too
smoothly. Aside from the prologue, the storys main action will be taking place in 2008, and the back story will be told mostly through flashbacks. Bear with me
and well see if I can't make it work.
Summary: Thrown together in trying circumstances an unlikely pair finds their way home, but their lives will never be the same.
Prologue:
February 22, 2006
Sitting alone in a semi-dark room a bearded man studied a game board in silence before picking up one of the pieces. Curling his fingers around the pawn he resisted the urge to throw it against the wall, to knock over the board and end the game without playing it through; there was no point to it after all. No point to the game, but no point to a tantrum either, neither would gain him anything. Sighing he returned the piece to its proper position without any unseemly outburst; he wasn't normally given to fits of temper, indeed his patience and stoic demeanor had always been a marked contrast to his brother's more . . . quixotic nature. Today, however, he'd been plagued by restlessness, a nervous energy that he couldn't seem to exorcise; there was a change coming he could feel it, but whether the change would be for good or ill . . .
Change, he sighed again shaking his head at his own useless flight of fancy, nothing ever changed here. And if he was beginning to imagine such a thing then perhaps he had finally gone crazy. He dismissed the thought from his mind as useless fantasy and resumed his study of the board. Finally he choose to move his rook, capturing a knight and threatening his opponent's king; the move would cost him the rook, but it would also pull his opponent's queen out of position leaving the king vulnerable to his bishop in three moves. "Check," he murmured quietly.
Setting the captured piece down, he turned the board and began his study again from the new angle, now concerned with finding a way to save his king.
* * * * * *
He didn't bother to turn on a light as he emerged from the bedroom, he would be able to find his way blindfolded much less in the faint light of the full moon streaming in through the bulletproof glass on his window. He had been the sole occupant of this spacious suite for four years now. His prison contained a bedroom, a bathroom and a study, its walls lined with books. A servant came three times a day to bring him meals and the new books that he regularly requested. Anything that he might desire was provided for him, as long as it could be contained within these walls. He was denied any means of communicating with the outside world. He was provided with books and newspapers but the computer and telephone were strictly forbidden. His prison might be more luxurious than most but that didn't make him any less a captive.
With a sigh he lowered himself into his armchair, but he neither turned on a light nor picked up the book that he had abandoned there before he retired. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to determine what it was that so disturbed him. He'd lain abed for the better part of an hour before giving up on the possibility of sleep; his mind was unwilling to rest tonight, still plagued by a vague sense of foreboding. Sitting here, alone in the dark, he could almost imagine that he was in his own study so many miles away.
A moment later his eyes flew opened as he registered an unfamiliar voice. He glanced around the empty room once before closing his eyes again and trying to pinpoint its source. Eyes still closed he rose and walked in the direction the noise was coming from. He stumbled momentarily as he forgot to skirt around the furniture but didn't stop until his hands brushed against the smooth wood of a closed door.
This locked door had been a mystery, an unceasing torment to him the first year of imprisonment. This was not the door through which his guards and the servants entered his rooms, indeed this door had never been opened, and in time he had had to accept the fact that he would never know what lay on the other side. With acceptance had come indifference and in time its existence had ceased to register. But now, now something was changing.
Resting his ear against the wood in the hopes of learning more he was unsurprised when a familiar voice joined the conversation. What was she doing now? he wondered. He spared only a moment to consider the consequences before raising his hand; what more could she really take from him?
He knocked firmly. "Mother, I can hear you in there, open this door," he demanded.
There was a moment of absolute silence from the other room before he heard the lock turning and the door opened.
He brushed passed the guard with an indifferent glance stepping into the room to confront his mother. "What - ?" he broke off his question in surprise as he watched two men bearing a young woman on a stretcher walk passed trailed by a man in a lab coat carrying a medical bag.
"Be silent Stefan," his mother commanded coldly as she followed the procession down a short hallway.
Joining the group in a large bedroom, Stefan realized that he had entered into a suite much like his own. "What are you doing to her?" he asked watching the doctor prepare a syringe. He felt two sets of restraining hands on his shoulders and arms before he was able to act on the impulse to interfere.
"With any luck, I'm bringing her back to life," the doctor said calmly, turning her arm up so that he could find a good vein. He inserted the needle confidently and depressed the plunger, withdrawing it and waiting to see if there would be any effect.
A moment later she arched up on the bed fighting for air. Once her breathing steadied she relaxed back onto the bed and lay still once more. The doctor pressed a stethoscope to her chest, checking for any irregularities in her breathing or her heartbeat.
"Amazing," he murmured at last, "simply amazing." Despite his words, the doctor's manner was detached as he turned towards Helena. "The drug worked just as we hoped it would. Her breathing and heart rate slowed to undetectable levels. She was pronounced dead in the hospital. I gave her the first stage of the antidote just before we boarded the plane, but I noticed no perceptible change. I had begun to think I'd killed her in truth. And now here she is, breathing on her own."
"And otherwise?" Helena asked as she watched the pale form on the bed.
"Brain damage? There's no way to be certain until she wakes up, if she wakes up. The drugs should clear her system by tomorrow, we'll know more then."
"What have you done, Mother?" Stefan asked at last, though he feared he already knew the answer Was this the same drug he had given to Lesley Webber so many years ago?
"I'd like a few moments alone with my son." Helena dismissed the doctor and waved away the guards. She waited until everyone else had left the room before moving to sit on the edge of the woman's bed.
"What have I done?" she repeated the question turning to look at Stefan at last. "Merely removed an obstacle from my path. It's nothing to concern yourself about my son, she's only a peasant, and not even dead after all. Indeed, you should be grateful, surely you've become a bit lonely after all this time, and now you will have some company." She glanced down at the young woman, "Such as she is."
"Company? So you intend to imprison her here as well. Why? She's not family, so what can she have done to merit this?" he asked as he studied the still body; she was young, certainly not more than twenty-five or twenty-six. "In what way has this poor woman harmed you?"
"Harm?" Helena laughed at Stefan's confusion. "None. She has actually done us a great service," she replied stroking the woman's pale hair. "But her usefulness is at an end now, so I removed her from the situation."
She rose from the bed and went to Stefan, "I'm sorry if her presence here will trouble you my son, but she proved more resourceful than I expected, she actually managed to escape from her last prison and I can't risk that happening again, not now that she is dead. And then I realized where better to keep her than here, with you who are also dead."
"Why is she here, Mother?" Stefan asked again.
"She gave Nikolas a son," Helena answered simply. "And while I am pleased by my new heir, she would be an entirely inappropriate influence on the child and on Nikolas. I actually considered killing her in truth, but you know how I despise waste, and she may someday be useful again."
Chapter One
August 15, 2008 present day
Luke Spencer leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar, grinning at his partner in crime as they counted the night's take.
"Not bad for a night's work," Robert drawled spinning the dial on the safe under the bar.
"Life is good," Luke agreed, sipping his scotch. "Good booze, plenty of money and every night beautiful women parade around this room. Why didn't we go into the casino business years ago?"
"Not enough danger," Robert suggested. "We craved intrigue. Damn fools," he mumbled.
Luke sent him a sour look. "It has been awhile since our last adventure," he grumbled. "I haven't even been arrested in months."
"Not since Anna got mixed up with Alcazar," Robert recalled. That was a good time. He grinned thinking about what exactly he and Anna had done to while away the hours in that hotel room while they waited for the heat to die down so that they could bail Luke out.
A few moments later they realized what a mistake it had been to tempt fate, when a dark clad man stepped through the doors.
"We're closed for the night," Luke called without looking up.
"I'm not here to gamble," a familiar and very unwelcome voice answered, sounding a bit strained, "at least not with money."
"What the hell!" Luke cursed knocking his chair over as he jumped to his feet. "Doesn't anybody stay dead anymore?" Luke shot a suspicious glance at his glass before looking back towards the intruder.
Startled by Luke's reaction Robert studied their visitor intently; he certainly looked as if he'd just crawled out of his grave. Dressed all in black, he was pale with dark circles under his eyes, and Robert suspected that the hand resting on the door jam was the only thing holding him upright.
"No, you're not hallucinating me," the words answered Luke's unspoken question, "and I'm not dead."
"That's funny, because I distinctly remember your funeral. I checked the coffin myself to make sure you were dead," Luke answered.
"It's a long story," Stefan said, trying to stand up straighter as he tensed for a confrontation with Luke. "I need help, and given that I came here, I'm sure you can figure out how desperate I am and who I'm running from."
"Hang on here, just one minute," Robert interrupted looking to Luke for an explanation. "Who the hell is this?" he asked.
"Ah Robert, I guess you haven't had the displeasure, have you? You were dead the last time he was in Port Charles. And he was dead by the time you resurrected yourself. Meet Stefan Cassadine. Undead spawn of Mikkos and Helena's, Stavros's brother."
"That's quite a pedigree." Robert turned towards the man, who no longer looked quite as helpless. "What's he doing coming to you?"
"Good question. What do you want Cassadine? I'm sure you didn't crawl out of your grave to just to come calling, what makes you think I'd help you? Why not go to Wyndewierd?"
"You hate me," Stefan spoke the words calmly. "The feeling's mutual I assure you. But one thing I know for sure - you hate her more. You're the only one who I could be sure wouldn't hand us over to Helena, and this is the last place she will look for us."
Luke couldn't really argue with that assessment, there wasn't anyone he hated more than Helena, unless, "Us?" he questioned sharply. "You having delusions of friendship, Vlad? Or did your popsicle brother come back from the dead with you? Well show him in, I'll send you both back to hell."
"No," Stefan shook his head, the slight movement unbalancing him enough that he stumbled back grabbing onto the wall once more for support. "I wouldn't put it past my mother to be hiding him somewhere, but as far as I know Stavros never emerged from that pit you pushed him into."
"Who's this us then?" Luke asked, "You pick up a sidekick somewhere along the way?"
"Courtney Matthews," Stefan supplied the name quietly.
"Sonny's sister?" Luke interrupted him, "Isn't she dead, too?"
Stefan laughed bitterly. "She's as dead as I am, which is to say my mother was holding her as well. We escaped together and made our way here." His eyes found Luke's and as much as he hated humbling himself to this man he had no choice, "Will you help us?" he asked.
"What're you asking for?" Luke wasn't about to make any open ended promises, not to a Cassadine.
"A place to hide for a few days," Stefan said. "And Courtney needs a doctor, someone who can be trusted not to say anything to anyone."
"The girl's hurt?" Luke asked, rushing past Stefan to find Courtney propped against the wall in the hallway just outside the room; she was passed out cold. No, not cold, he realized once he touched her cheek, she was burning up. "Robert!" he yelled. "Call Robin. Tell her to get over here and bring her doctor bag with her." He scooped the woman up into his arms, surprised by how little she weighed. Not waiting to see whether or not Stefan would follow, he started down the hallway towards the back of the boat.
Luke turned down another hallway before finally pausing outside of the last door. He adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms so that he could manage the door knob and then push the door opened with his shoulder. Gently setting her down on the bed, he took stock of her apparent injuries. "What the hell happened to you, sweetheart?" he muttered before turning to glare at Stefan and repeat the question. "What happened to her?"
Stefan didn't answer immediately. Coming around to sit on the far side of the bed Stefan reached out to touch her face. "Her fever's climbing," he noted. "Can you get a doctor here?"
"Robert's on it," Luke said. "What happened to her?"
"She was injured when we escaped," Stefan evaded the question neatly. "I tended her wounds as best I could, but we couldn't risk stopping for long or trusting a doctor and she said she was alright. Then the fever set in this morning, some of her injuries must have become infected."
"Injured in the escape?" Luke repeated the story incredulously. "You don't really think I'm going to buy that do you?" He looked down at her bruised face. "Someone beat the @#$% out of her."
Stefan didn't bother to dispute that but he didn't offer any further explanation either.
Summary: Thrown together in trying circumstances an unlikely pair finds their way home, but their lives will never be the same.
Prologue:
February 22, 2006
Sitting alone in a semi-dark room a bearded man studied a game board in silence before picking up one of the pieces. Curling his fingers around the pawn he resisted the urge to throw it against the wall, to knock over the board and end the game without playing it through; there was no point to it after all. No point to the game, but no point to a tantrum either, neither would gain him anything. Sighing he returned the piece to its proper position without any unseemly outburst; he wasn't normally given to fits of temper, indeed his patience and stoic demeanor had always been a marked contrast to his brother's more . . . quixotic nature. Today, however, he'd been plagued by restlessness, a nervous energy that he couldn't seem to exorcise; there was a change coming he could feel it, but whether the change would be for good or ill . . .
Change, he sighed again shaking his head at his own useless flight of fancy, nothing ever changed here. And if he was beginning to imagine such a thing then perhaps he had finally gone crazy. He dismissed the thought from his mind as useless fantasy and resumed his study of the board. Finally he choose to move his rook, capturing a knight and threatening his opponent's king; the move would cost him the rook, but it would also pull his opponent's queen out of position leaving the king vulnerable to his bishop in three moves. "Check," he murmured quietly.
Setting the captured piece down, he turned the board and began his study again from the new angle, now concerned with finding a way to save his king.
* * * * * *
He didn't bother to turn on a light as he emerged from the bedroom, he would be able to find his way blindfolded much less in the faint light of the full moon streaming in through the bulletproof glass on his window. He had been the sole occupant of this spacious suite for four years now. His prison contained a bedroom, a bathroom and a study, its walls lined with books. A servant came three times a day to bring him meals and the new books that he regularly requested. Anything that he might desire was provided for him, as long as it could be contained within these walls. He was denied any means of communicating with the outside world. He was provided with books and newspapers but the computer and telephone were strictly forbidden. His prison might be more luxurious than most but that didn't make him any less a captive.
With a sigh he lowered himself into his armchair, but he neither turned on a light nor picked up the book that he had abandoned there before he retired. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to determine what it was that so disturbed him. He'd lain abed for the better part of an hour before giving up on the possibility of sleep; his mind was unwilling to rest tonight, still plagued by a vague sense of foreboding. Sitting here, alone in the dark, he could almost imagine that he was in his own study so many miles away.
A moment later his eyes flew opened as he registered an unfamiliar voice. He glanced around the empty room once before closing his eyes again and trying to pinpoint its source. Eyes still closed he rose and walked in the direction the noise was coming from. He stumbled momentarily as he forgot to skirt around the furniture but didn't stop until his hands brushed against the smooth wood of a closed door.
This locked door had been a mystery, an unceasing torment to him the first year of imprisonment. This was not the door through which his guards and the servants entered his rooms, indeed this door had never been opened, and in time he had had to accept the fact that he would never know what lay on the other side. With acceptance had come indifference and in time its existence had ceased to register. But now, now something was changing.
Resting his ear against the wood in the hopes of learning more he was unsurprised when a familiar voice joined the conversation. What was she doing now? he wondered. He spared only a moment to consider the consequences before raising his hand; what more could she really take from him?
He knocked firmly. "Mother, I can hear you in there, open this door," he demanded.
There was a moment of absolute silence from the other room before he heard the lock turning and the door opened.
He brushed passed the guard with an indifferent glance stepping into the room to confront his mother. "What - ?" he broke off his question in surprise as he watched two men bearing a young woman on a stretcher walk passed trailed by a man in a lab coat carrying a medical bag.
"Be silent Stefan," his mother commanded coldly as she followed the procession down a short hallway.
Joining the group in a large bedroom, Stefan realized that he had entered into a suite much like his own. "What are you doing to her?" he asked watching the doctor prepare a syringe. He felt two sets of restraining hands on his shoulders and arms before he was able to act on the impulse to interfere.
"With any luck, I'm bringing her back to life," the doctor said calmly, turning her arm up so that he could find a good vein. He inserted the needle confidently and depressed the plunger, withdrawing it and waiting to see if there would be any effect.
A moment later she arched up on the bed fighting for air. Once her breathing steadied she relaxed back onto the bed and lay still once more. The doctor pressed a stethoscope to her chest, checking for any irregularities in her breathing or her heartbeat.
"Amazing," he murmured at last, "simply amazing." Despite his words, the doctor's manner was detached as he turned towards Helena. "The drug worked just as we hoped it would. Her breathing and heart rate slowed to undetectable levels. She was pronounced dead in the hospital. I gave her the first stage of the antidote just before we boarded the plane, but I noticed no perceptible change. I had begun to think I'd killed her in truth. And now here she is, breathing on her own."
"And otherwise?" Helena asked as she watched the pale form on the bed.
"Brain damage? There's no way to be certain until she wakes up, if she wakes up. The drugs should clear her system by tomorrow, we'll know more then."
"What have you done, Mother?" Stefan asked at last, though he feared he already knew the answer Was this the same drug he had given to Lesley Webber so many years ago?
"I'd like a few moments alone with my son." Helena dismissed the doctor and waved away the guards. She waited until everyone else had left the room before moving to sit on the edge of the woman's bed.
"What have I done?" she repeated the question turning to look at Stefan at last. "Merely removed an obstacle from my path. It's nothing to concern yourself about my son, she's only a peasant, and not even dead after all. Indeed, you should be grateful, surely you've become a bit lonely after all this time, and now you will have some company." She glanced down at the young woman, "Such as she is."
"Company? So you intend to imprison her here as well. Why? She's not family, so what can she have done to merit this?" he asked as he studied the still body; she was young, certainly not more than twenty-five or twenty-six. "In what way has this poor woman harmed you?"
"Harm?" Helena laughed at Stefan's confusion. "None. She has actually done us a great service," she replied stroking the woman's pale hair. "But her usefulness is at an end now, so I removed her from the situation."
She rose from the bed and went to Stefan, "I'm sorry if her presence here will trouble you my son, but she proved more resourceful than I expected, she actually managed to escape from her last prison and I can't risk that happening again, not now that she is dead. And then I realized where better to keep her than here, with you who are also dead."
"Why is she here, Mother?" Stefan asked again.
"She gave Nikolas a son," Helena answered simply. "And while I am pleased by my new heir, she would be an entirely inappropriate influence on the child and on Nikolas. I actually considered killing her in truth, but you know how I despise waste, and she may someday be useful again."
Chapter One
August 15, 2008 present day
Luke Spencer leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar, grinning at his partner in crime as they counted the night's take.
"Not bad for a night's work," Robert drawled spinning the dial on the safe under the bar.
"Life is good," Luke agreed, sipping his scotch. "Good booze, plenty of money and every night beautiful women parade around this room. Why didn't we go into the casino business years ago?"
"Not enough danger," Robert suggested. "We craved intrigue. Damn fools," he mumbled.
Luke sent him a sour look. "It has been awhile since our last adventure," he grumbled. "I haven't even been arrested in months."
"Not since Anna got mixed up with Alcazar," Robert recalled. That was a good time. He grinned thinking about what exactly he and Anna had done to while away the hours in that hotel room while they waited for the heat to die down so that they could bail Luke out.
A few moments later they realized what a mistake it had been to tempt fate, when a dark clad man stepped through the doors.
"We're closed for the night," Luke called without looking up.
"I'm not here to gamble," a familiar and very unwelcome voice answered, sounding a bit strained, "at least not with money."
"What the hell!" Luke cursed knocking his chair over as he jumped to his feet. "Doesn't anybody stay dead anymore?" Luke shot a suspicious glance at his glass before looking back towards the intruder.
Startled by Luke's reaction Robert studied their visitor intently; he certainly looked as if he'd just crawled out of his grave. Dressed all in black, he was pale with dark circles under his eyes, and Robert suspected that the hand resting on the door jam was the only thing holding him upright.
"No, you're not hallucinating me," the words answered Luke's unspoken question, "and I'm not dead."
"That's funny, because I distinctly remember your funeral. I checked the coffin myself to make sure you were dead," Luke answered.
"It's a long story," Stefan said, trying to stand up straighter as he tensed for a confrontation with Luke. "I need help, and given that I came here, I'm sure you can figure out how desperate I am and who I'm running from."
"Hang on here, just one minute," Robert interrupted looking to Luke for an explanation. "Who the hell is this?" he asked.
"Ah Robert, I guess you haven't had the displeasure, have you? You were dead the last time he was in Port Charles. And he was dead by the time you resurrected yourself. Meet Stefan Cassadine. Undead spawn of Mikkos and Helena's, Stavros's brother."
"That's quite a pedigree." Robert turned towards the man, who no longer looked quite as helpless. "What's he doing coming to you?"
"Good question. What do you want Cassadine? I'm sure you didn't crawl out of your grave to just to come calling, what makes you think I'd help you? Why not go to Wyndewierd?"
"You hate me," Stefan spoke the words calmly. "The feeling's mutual I assure you. But one thing I know for sure - you hate her more. You're the only one who I could be sure wouldn't hand us over to Helena, and this is the last place she will look for us."
Luke couldn't really argue with that assessment, there wasn't anyone he hated more than Helena, unless, "Us?" he questioned sharply. "You having delusions of friendship, Vlad? Or did your popsicle brother come back from the dead with you? Well show him in, I'll send you both back to hell."
"No," Stefan shook his head, the slight movement unbalancing him enough that he stumbled back grabbing onto the wall once more for support. "I wouldn't put it past my mother to be hiding him somewhere, but as far as I know Stavros never emerged from that pit you pushed him into."
"Who's this us then?" Luke asked, "You pick up a sidekick somewhere along the way?"
"Courtney Matthews," Stefan supplied the name quietly.
"Sonny's sister?" Luke interrupted him, "Isn't she dead, too?"
Stefan laughed bitterly. "She's as dead as I am, which is to say my mother was holding her as well. We escaped together and made our way here." His eyes found Luke's and as much as he hated humbling himself to this man he had no choice, "Will you help us?" he asked.
"What're you asking for?" Luke wasn't about to make any open ended promises, not to a Cassadine.
"A place to hide for a few days," Stefan said. "And Courtney needs a doctor, someone who can be trusted not to say anything to anyone."
"The girl's hurt?" Luke asked, rushing past Stefan to find Courtney propped against the wall in the hallway just outside the room; she was passed out cold. No, not cold, he realized once he touched her cheek, she was burning up. "Robert!" he yelled. "Call Robin. Tell her to get over here and bring her doctor bag with her." He scooped the woman up into his arms, surprised by how little she weighed. Not waiting to see whether or not Stefan would follow, he started down the hallway towards the back of the boat.
Luke turned down another hallway before finally pausing outside of the last door. He adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms so that he could manage the door knob and then push the door opened with his shoulder. Gently setting her down on the bed, he took stock of her apparent injuries. "What the hell happened to you, sweetheart?" he muttered before turning to glare at Stefan and repeat the question. "What happened to her?"
Stefan didn't answer immediately. Coming around to sit on the far side of the bed Stefan reached out to touch her face. "Her fever's climbing," he noted. "Can you get a doctor here?"
"Robert's on it," Luke said. "What happened to her?"
"She was injured when we escaped," Stefan evaded the question neatly. "I tended her wounds as best I could, but we couldn't risk stopping for long or trusting a doctor and she said she was alright. Then the fever set in this morning, some of her injuries must have become infected."
"Injured in the escape?" Luke repeated the story incredulously. "You don't really think I'm going to buy that do you?" He looked down at her bruised face. "Someone beat the @#$% out of her."
Stefan didn't bother to dispute that but he didn't offer any further explanation either.
