5 Point Challenge: Nikolas
By Dreamylyfe Cassadine Compound, 1999.
Dismounting, Nikolas Cassadine dropped the reigns as the stable boy took them, and paused only briefly to issue his orders for the horse. The man only nodded, steadily, in response and Nikolas turned and started down the path back towards the main house. He stopped only a few feet along the path, frowning at the figure standing several meters away, under the shade of a low-hanging Cyprus tree.
Ah ha. Interesting turn of events. Nikolas put his head down, and strode determinedly down the dirt path towards the visitor. Speaking when he was only a few feet away.
"Uncle," he spoke in clipped tones as he pulled off his riding gloves to extend a hand. "I apologize, I did not recognize you at a distance."
The man's smile was thin. "It has been some time since last we spoke."
He nodded slightly. "I wasn't aware you were returning for a visit."
"I did not call ahead," he turned and they continued the trip along the path together, uncle and nephew. "I did, however, hear about your acceptance to Princeton."
Nikolas nodded. "An important part of every Cassadine Prince's development." His tone was affected. He was clearly quoting something he'd heard a great many times.
"Studies abroad."
"Just so."
Stefan nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "And America -- I'm surprised you'd choose to go so far."
"Father feels that it's important that I receive an American education. Given the current climate of the world at large."
"Wise man," Stefan noted, while considering that choice to be unforgivably stupid. "Tell me, where can I find your father at this time of day?"
"In his study, I assume. You'd do better to ask Mrs. Pappas."
"And your mother?"
Nikolas trudged on, up the hill, in silence before answering, "She's unwell."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be." A bitter laugh escaped. "It's not an uncommon occurrence. She courts whatever illness she can find. Sometimes she invents them."
Stefan reached out, grabbing the boy's shoulder -- something perhaps inappropriate, given the youth's age. Nikolas stepped back, shaking off the grip, but stopped. Stood just slightly uphill from his uncle and watched him, expectantly.
"Do you often show such open disrespect for your mother?"
He lifted his brow. "Do you object to it?"
"She gave you life. I believe she's due respect."
Nikolas frowned at him. Then stepped back, crossing his arms authoritatively and inquired, "What about your mother? Do you believe she is due respect?"
Stefan's mouth tightened. "Certainly I do not display it to all outside parties."
"You're not an outside party," Nikolas pointed out. "You've seen what this place is like. I'm counting the days until I leave for America. To be honest, I can't wait to be rid of all of them." He smiled slightly at the look on his uncle's face. "You look shocked."
"It's very direct. A very honest thing to say to a man you haven't seen in nearly three years."
Nikolas smiled slightly. "Three whole years. You can't be a fan of this place yourself."
Stefan regarded him. There was a distinct knowing look in his eyes. "The last time I saw you, I believe you were barely fifteen. You are much changed."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Nikolas lifted his head, looking past his uncle's shoulder and across at the expanse of rock and sea that lay beyond. "My entire life, I've been told I'm destined for great things. I've never had reason to doubt it," he looked back at his uncle, a slightly unsettling gleam in his eye. "Once I leave here... I'll prove to the world that Cassadines are more than maniacs inbreeding on some distant isle. I'll make the world respect us again."
"Lofty goals," Stefan said, frowning in discomfort at his nephew's tone.
"And utterly attainable," He smiled again and gestured towards the house with his head. "Come, Uncle. If you wish some entertainment before dinner, I'll bring you to my mother."
Nikolas turned and continued along the path, missing the grim expression on his uncle's face.
Cassadine Compound, 2001.
"I do wish you'd take those off."
"What would that be, Grandmother?"
Helena Cassadine dropped one lump of sugar into her bone china tea cup, then replaced the clawed tongs on the tray.
"Those..." she waved a hand. "Sunglasses. Let me see your eyes."
Her grandson sat back from the table, out from under the shade of the umbrella. He was reclined in his chair, hands draped across his stomach, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was home for the first time in a month, at her very compelling request, and punishing her for it every second. It was not her imagination -- Nikolas grew steadily more difficult. That surly disposition that had come on during his teen years was refusing to dissipate as he reached young adulthood. He was living in Italy at the moment, supposedly gaining a degree in liberal arts. Though he seemed to spend more time on the Riviera than he ever did in a class room. He claimed it did him no harm, as he wasn't challenged by the school in the slightest. All reports seemed to support this claim. At least he reads, she thought her herself, as Nikolas finally deigned to pull his chair closer to her. At least he will not be a laughing stock.
Now safely under the shade of the umbrella, Nikolas pulled off his sunglasses, swung them on his index finger a moment, then set them down on the table.
"Happy?"
She smiled, mildly. "You do look at me so hatefully. Do you have any idea how that breaks my heart?"
"This isn't hateful," Nikolas leaned back in his chair, not taking his eyes from the woman. "This is acute boredom, as I sit on the cusp of another conversation I've had too many times."
Helena raised an eyebrow. She did not like his tone, either. Truth be told, it was steadily harder to her to appreciate anything about the Cassadine Prince. She picked up the tongs again and stretched her hand across the table.
"Sugar?"
He looked at her hand with distaste. "No. It's refined. It's good as poison."
"Such hyperbole," she let the tongs drop to the table, then folded her hands and regarded. "Explain to me again, why you wish to go to America."
"I've never been."
"You've had no need to."
He laughed, slightly, and turned his attention to the cooling cup of tea in front of him. "You've told me, my entire life over, that I will rule the family one day. But you also forbid me -- effectively, I'll grant you -- from visiting a country that is arguably the economic center of the planet." He glanced up at her. "You can see why I find it questionable."
Helena shrugged. "I prefer to do business in the East. They have marvelous technology. And far fewer 'burger chains'. Do you know there is a chain of donut stores that are currently trading for eighty American dollars? " She picked up her spoon. "Ridiculous!".
"Japan has been in an economic recession for a decade," Nikolas pointed out levelly. "You don't want me to go to America because that's where my mother is."
Helena paused, spoon hovering over the rim of her cup. "You're mother?" ice dripped from her words. "What would you want with her?"
Nikolas turned his tea cup on it's saucer while his grandmother awaited her answer. "I have an idle curiosity, nothing more. She's not the reason I'm interested in going to New York. Which is frustrating, as it's the reason you're so fixated on my staying in Italy."
"I'd prefer you'd finish with this adolescent posturing and return home once and for all."
He sneered. "I can't live my entire life on this rock."
"Well," Helena started to stir her tea, spoon clattering against the edges of the cup, displaying her aggravation. "It suited your ancestors quite well."
"Yes. So much so that they spent most of their lives either drunk -- or trying to take over the world."
Helena let her spoon drop. "I will NOT have you speak of our family in that disrespectful manner! You would do well to show an ounce of the determination and ambition any of your forbearers held!"
Nikolas fell silent, eyes downcast. He did not speak, did not offer up any apology. Helena lifted the cup to her lips, taking a significant gulp of the hot beverage in an effort to soothe her agitated nerves. This boy.... This boy, the hope of the family -- he would be the death of her.
"Your anger is unbecoming, Nikolas," she said, finally, setting down her cup. "And I will not hear more of it."
He nodded, slowly. Continued to examine the table top. When he finally spoke, his words were low and careful. "I know you feel that Maria was a just a fling. But I honestly cared for her."
Helena tisked in annoyance of that name being brought up -- yet again. "She was inappropriate."
"Yes. It amazes me, the number of people that cross my path who are not appropriate. Perhaps I should get a checklist from you. Save you the trouble of doing away with them by never enticing them into my life in the first place."
Her grip on her cup tightened. "I am sorry for Maria's accident. And I'm sorry for the pain you claim it caused you -- though I do not see any evidence of heartbreak, as you while your nights away with any number of Eurotrash whores."
Her grandson's jaw tightened, ever so slightly. But he remained otherwise calm. That was one thing she did appreciate about him. He was not emotionally driven. He had a level head. He knew how to keep himself in check. His hand was steady as a rock as he picked up his tea cup. His voice the same, when next he spoke.
"I do have respect for my ancestors. I know what they've done, what they've created." he paused to blow across the top of his cup. Then looked at her and smiled. Distinct. There was even a glint in his eye. "I was thinking about my uncle."
"Your uncle?"
"Yes. Your second son, remember him? I think of him often."
Helena forced another gulp of tea down. He really did test her limits. "He died when you were a very little boy."
"Not so little. Not so much that I don't remember him." He shook his head, smiling suddenly, like they were old friends, having a nostalgic chat. "It's amazing, the mark people can leave on you. My father, I knew for days, perhaps. But my entire life is built around his. My uncle, also... Those few years -- I barely knew him as a person. But I feel as if he had a permanent effect on who I became." He gestures towards his grandmother. "You, on the other hand. I have known my entire life. And your influence is barely perceptible."
Helena felt a sudden rush of blood to her head. A burning sensation in her throat. Rage. How dare he? How dare he speak to her like this?
"Ni --" She started to say his name, but it got stuck in her throat. Her throat, tight and... hot... and...
"Though, I'll admit," he raised his brow. "It's possible I picked some things up from you."
"Wha...." the word got lost on air. She shook her head, tried to stand up, tried to move away from the table. She didn't have the strength. The world around her was rippling -- the only thing in focus the face of her Grandson. He leaned towards her, head cocked to one side.
"Grandmother. Are you feeling unwell?"
She tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgling rasp. Nikolas stood, shaking his head.
"It's the sugar," he murmured, pushing back from the table. "That stuff will kill you."
London, England. 2010.
"I'd stop right there, if I were you."
Nikolas Cassadine leaned against the doorway to the sitting room, arms crossed, as he observed his intruder. The girl -- tall and thin -- froze in her tracks. He could only make out her silhouette in the dark room -- backlit by the window that lined the entire north wall. She stood still, but he could see the fight she was having with herself. The twitch in her muscles while her body yelled RUN! And the rest her stayed still.
"Why?" she asked, finally.
"Because if you take two more steps you'll trip an alarm that will wake up my wife."
She pulled in a shaky breath and licked her lips. "Not if I make it to the wall panel before the countdown's complete."
"And if I make it to you before that?"
Her hands twitched again. She swore under her breath, then hissed, "You were supposed to be asleep!"
"Insomnia."
More fidgeting. Weight shifting from one foot to another. "Ok, fine!" she sighed dramatically and turned towards him raising her hands up by her head. "I surrender. Happy?"
"No."
"No?"
"No," he pushed off the wall and took a step into the room. "I want you to go for the wall panel."
The figure took a step back, then whispered in the dark, "Do I have to race you?"
He suppressed a chuckle. "Well, you're not going to get any further after that. I'm just curious if you can disarm my so-called state of the art alarm system."
"And if I can?"
"I get a new one."
She snorted. "So what's in it for me?"
"Depends on how charitable I'm feeling. Ready?"
She dropped her hands. "What?"
"Set," he continued, mildly. "Go."
She just stared at him.
"GO!"
"Crap!" she spit out, then spun around and leapt across the few feet to the wall in a single bound. Still in the dark, she felt around on the wall and popped the panel in... Well, easily the time it took him to do it in daylight. Pale blue light spilled into the room and in a few seconds a high-pitched, just-below-dog-heraing beep was heard.
He flipped the overhead light on. "Time's up."
"What's it doing?"
"Turn your head," he came up behind her and reached over her shoulder. She jumped, and fixed her eyes on the ground. He keyed in a succession of numbers quickly.
"Yes sir," she muttered into the floor. The beep ended abruptly, and Nikolas stepped back.
"You failed the test."
She raised her eyes again and he imagined she was glaring at the keypad in front of her. "It was supposed to have an override."
"Overrides allow for security to be compromised. You already managed to get past at least two alarm systems, though. So I wouldn't be too ashamed of yourself."
She turned around, a petulant sneer on her face, and he finally got a good look at her.
The girl in front of him couldn't be any older than eighteen, and that was a generous assessment. She had long, bleached out hair that had been subjected to a both magenta and electric blue accents. That was an assumption, since the dye was fading out. She was dressed in a long black leotard, save her heavy boots and ridiculously short skirt. His overwhelming impression was that she was trying hard to piss somebody, somewhere, off.
"Nice kilt," he observed. "Is that a cultural statement, or is this the latest in burglar coture?"
The girl bit her lip, and tugged, self-consciously on the hem. She was eying him with a newfound discomfort. "Touch me and I'll scream."
"You'll scream." He laughed slightly. "You broke into my apartment."
"It's a hotel."
"Where I live. By all means -- scream. If anyone hears you, they'll bring the police." He smiled coldly. "It's happened before."
"Wow," she blinked. "You're kinda a prick."
"You're kinda robbing me."
She choked out a laugh. "Oh, come on. Like there's anything here I'd want." She cast her eyes around the room. "It's like a Merchant & Ivory movie was sick in here. And -- Hey! Is that a real Faberge egg?"
He reached out and snatched the receiver for the phone off his desk. "Who do you work for?"
She eyed the instrument nervously. "Nobody.... "
"Nobody. Well, that puts my mind at rest. Thousands of dollars of security, and 'nobody' can just stroll in off the street and break into my safe."
"I was going for the desk, actually."
"Well, that's not very smart. The safe is much more interesting," he turned on the phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"Who do you want me to call?"
She let out a nervous giggle. "Does Papa John's deliver overseas?"
He looked at her severely. "I'm considering my options. I could call the police. I could call hotel security -- they're much better about doing exactly what I ask them to. Or I could call your immediate guardian. Do you have one of those?"
"Look," she hand her hands on her hips now, shifting her weight and looking very much like she was warming up to deliver a good con speech. "I'm not here for the reasons you think --"
"Nikolas?" A voice called from another room and she jerked, eyes turned towards the door.
"Go back to bed, Ana."
"Is there someone --"
"Ana." His voice was soft, but warning. There was silence from the hallway, and then the sound of the woman retreating. He turned his eyes back to his intruder and was surprised to see her beaming at him.
"So I was right. The name on the register is fake -- You're Nikolas. You're Nikolas Cassadine."
Nikolas's jaw tightened involuntarily. For the love of... Why couldn't she just be a burglar? "Congratulations. You figured it out. And I think I'll be calling the police."
"What?" she yelped. "No! No -- I just... I needed to make sure it was you."
"To what end?" he asked, disaffected as he dialed the first number. To his shock, she leapt forward and grabbed the other end of the phone.
"Please don't. I have to... I have to ask you a question." She looked up at him with big blue pleading eyes. Puppy dog eyes. He scowled.
"Do you work for a tabloid?"
She looked shocked -- then highly amused. "No! Oh, come on. No way! Oh -- But hey! What's with the no pictures thing? That's seriously weird."
"I like my privacy," he said, pointedly.
"And if someone just takes a photo of you that's going to wreck that?"
"People have an unnatural interest, it doesn't serve me to indulge them."
"Serve you? Is that part of the prince thing?" she rolled her eyes. "Man. Full of yourself much?"
"Immensely. Aren't you supposed to be giving me a compelling reason to spare you?"
"Oh, right." The girl broke into another grin. "Man, I'm making a really bad first impression. I do that." She shook out her hands, muffling a squeal. He frowned as he watched her struggle with what looked to be a powerful wave of excitement. "Here's the thing!" she burst out. "I didn't break in here to rob you."
"No?" he raised his brow. "Just a hobby, then. Like joy riding -- just to see if you could do it?"
She wagged her head back and forth. "Ok, I'll give you that -- it's not without it's appeal, challenge-wise. And my brother would be totally impressed -- Right after he killed me..."
"I'm giving you another ten seconds."
She put up both hands, waving them in front of him while she tried to gather herself. "I'm... I'm Lulu!"
Nikolas looked at her blankly. "Lulu."
"Yeah. Lu..." She stopped shaking her head out. "Oh, sorry. I'm Lesley Lu." He could tell she really expected a reaction to that. When she didn't get one, she started to look very nervous. "You know. Lesley Lu Spencer?"
Any vague amusement, any sense of interest he had in this creature was suddenly swallowed up in a cold wave of realization.
"Spencer." The word sounded altogether wrong in his mouth. "Like Laura Spencer."
She snapped her fingers and an uncertain smile started to struggle onto her face again. "Yeah! Exactly!"
He stepped back from her. Quickly, like she venomous. "You're related to her, aren't you? Is that why you're here?"
She looked a little stunned. "Well... Yeah."
"She contacted me once, when I was at Oxford. Did she tell you that?" His tone was demanding and she just shook her head in response. "You can tell her not to worry. I have no interest in her, I have no interest in her family, and I have no immediate plans to sabotage her life."
"Why not?" She asked the question with wide eyes. Alarmingly innocent eyes. "Who ARE you?"
"Wh..." He laughed, taken aback by the question. "Who am I? " He shook his head. "Why would you be here if you didn't know who I am?"
"Well, I know who you ARE, but..." She gathered her hands into fists and let out a growl. Shook herself, then looked at him -- head down, the face of determination. "Look. I came to find you because... Well. When I was a baby, I got really sick. And some anonymous person donated bone marrow so that I could live. I came here, because I hacked into some records and I found out who that was."
That sound was back. That high-pitched little wail. And this time, it was only in his head. "Bone marrow."
"It was you. Even though you're a Cassadine and your family is supposed to hate my family. Right?" He didn't say anything. She tipped her chin up and pulled her in breath. Final summation. "You saved my life. I came here to find out why."
An hour outside Vancouver, BC, 1993.
"Out!"
"What?"
"OUT!"
"Aw, c'mon!"
The shouts from the baseball diamond were only mildly distracting from where Nicholas Spencer sat. He was supposed to be watching his little brother's baseball practice. Baseball -- like most team sports -- bored him. And besides, Lucky didn't need watching nearly as much as Mom thought he did. She got kinda hyper about this stuff.
Instead, he was sitting on the top bleacher, sketchbooks resting on his leg while he drew a detailed picture of a space shuttle -- entirely from memory. Space travel was, in his twelve year old mind, the height of cool. Space -- the night sky, the stars, the planets -- all of it. It was everywhere you went, and it was all traceable. Constellations might come up at different times in different parts of the world, but no matter where you were -- Madagascar or Canada -- you could find the something you recognized. He had a book of constellations and phases of the moon, movements of the planets -- It was a small paperback, well worn, that he kept under his pillow. His mother knew it was there. She knew that if he couldn't get back to the house before they left, she had to put it in his bag.
He was thinking about that book. He was thinking about it because there was a guy across the park. Jean jacket, baseball cap with the logo of some hockey team on it. Leaning against a tree, watching Lucky's ball game. He sighed, as the coach called an end to the non-inning they were playing. Tucked his pencil into the rings on his spiral notebook and tucked that into his knapsack. He descended the stairs, heaving a sigh, and went to sit on the bottom plank of the bench. He caught Lucky's eye, and when the coach finished his end-of-practice speech, Lucky trotted over. Foot on the bench, he leaned down and pretended to do up his shoelace.
"Something up?" He murmured.
"I dunno," Nick kicked at the gravel. "See that guy? By the bench?"
His brother made a furtive glance while pretending to stretch out his arm. "Yeah... Yeah. I do." He kicked his brother's foot. "Hey, let's go get a popsicle."
Nick got to his feet, leaving the knapsack on the ground. He gestured to another kid, guy he knew from school. "Hey, watch that for me for a minute? We'll be right back."
They walked over to the snack shop in the middle of the park, Lucky tossing his glove up in the air and talking about the practice Nick had just watched. Dumb stuff, stuff no one cared about. He tossed in a few rejoinders and the second they behind the shop, Lucky threw the glove aside and they broke into a run. Across the park to the path behind the fence -- then through the thicket of trees to the stream. Follow the stream until they got back to the dinner.
"DAD!" Lucky burst through the door of the diner first. It was empty, save a couple of truckers. The lull between lunch and dinner. Nick was hot on his brother's heels but the second they got through the door, he stopped. Hung by the door while Lucky raced around the counter and watched him relay the details of the afternoon. He waited until Luke cast his eye in his direction. He gestured with his head for Nick to follow them, and he crossed the room, head down until he reached his brother and Luke in the kitchen.
Luke was leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on him. "You recognized him?"
"Yeah."
"Where from?"
"Same guy as Berlin. And Atlantic City."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
Luke looked at Lucky and he nodded his agreement. "He keeps wearing that stupid jacket. Like he wants us to see him."
Luke swore violently and swiped at an errant pot. "Ok. Ok --" he nodded at them. "Get upstairs! Get your packs. Go! Go!" Luke had a hand on Lucky's back, pressing him towards the back staircase. He stopped by the doorway, and when Nick passed him, he put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Good work, kid."
Nick nodded. "Thanks." Then he ducked out from under his stepfather's grip and started towards the back staircase. He stopped dead at the sight of his mother coming through the back door with her arms filled with groceries. She looked at him, frozen mid-stride, then over his head towards her husband.
"Again?" she asked.
"Nick made some guy at the park. Looks like your guys this time." Luke gestured towards the front as he moved towards the basement stairs. "Close up the cash register, I'm going to empty the safe."
Laura sighed and dumped the bags of groceries she was carrying. "I was just beginning to like it here."
Nick started for the stairs again, "Sorry, Mom."
"Not your fault," she grabbed the collar of his shirt as he went by and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"Mom!" he complained and wriggled away from her. "Come on. Go ... Do stuff!"
"I know. You're too big..." She waved a hand at him as she started down the hall towards the front of the building. The diner. "You don't want your mother hanging all over you...."
He watched her go, poised on the second stair.
Truth was, he'd liked it here, too.
When he reached the room at the top of the stairs, the one he shared with Lucky, he nearly got clobbered by his own back pack.
"Think fast!" his brother chirped, belatedly. Nick caught the bag, barely, and glared at him. "I put your space book in already."
"Thanks."
Lucky leapt down from the top bunk. "Well, you're being so slow," he complained.
Nick sat down on the floor and let the comment slide. This time. He flipped open the front pouch on the pack and started going through the checklist. That was standard operating procedure. Make sure you had all the important stuff, then get the hell out.
"Luke thinks that guy's Cassadines," he said, casually, as he flipped through his new identity.
Lucky shrugged, pulling his pack from under his bed. "Does it matter?"
"Not to you."
Lucky started to rifle through the goods -- checking to make sure he had the necessities. "Bad guys come, good guys run. What's the big deal?"
Nick looked down at the cards in his hand. He bit his lip. "You ever wonder what they're like? Like... Are they as bad as the mobsters?"
"Mom says they're worse."
"Yeah..." He rubbed his hand over his forehead. Worse. So what did that mean? He knew they were after him. But why? Did they want to kill them? Or did they just want to kidnap him? What did they want?
And what were they like? He was supposed to be related to these people. Even if his Dad was dead, he was still a part of that family, right? Like maybe even more than he was a part of this one. Like maybe he'd fit with them the way Lucky fit with Luke. They'd like the same things. Be good at the same things. They'd understand him, maybe.
But that didn't make any sense, because otherwise they wouldn't be after them all the time. They wanted to take him away from his mother -- at least that's what they'd always told him. But it was crazy. They couldn't stay anywhere more than a couple of months before either Frank Smith or the Cassadines showed up. No one else on the planet -- he was sure of this -- lived this kind of life. And his mother hated it. She kept saying she did it to keep him, but he could TELL she hated it. And Luke always made sure to mention it when it was the Cassadines that sent them running.
And more and more -- it was the Cassadines who got to them first.
He reached into the bag and made sure his space book was there. Yep -- right behind the passport. He pulled it out and, after casting a furtive glance at Lucky, he shoved it into the waist of his jeans, under his sweatshirt. Then he got up on his knees, pushed the emergency money into his pocket. Passport and ID he left in the bag. Cause he couldn't go anywhere without that, right? By choice or by force. He took a deep breath, then looked over at his brother.
Lucky was double checking the bags contents. Brow knit, like it always was. "I'll be right back," he announced. Lucky just nodded. Didn't even say a word.
He moved down the stairs with long-practiced stealth. He could hear voices in the main room -- Mostly his mother. He paused at the back door, hand on the screen. Felt an overwhelming need to stay. How could he leave? His brother, his Mom and Luke were everything he knew. And what was out there... It could hurt. A lot more than this did. It could go really really wrong.
And maybe that was ok, if it just made a couple of things finally right.
He let himself out the back door without making a sound. Then turned and ran. Back towards the park, towards the man. Hoping to God, every step of the way, that he was going to get to come back.
Someday.
Port Charles, 1997.
"Uh..."
"Oh."
"Uh... Emily."
"Oh. Oh. You're going to say it again, aren't you?"
Nikolas and Emily were sitting on the stone bench on Spoon Island. It was mid-spring. The sun was warm for the first time in weeks, the wind had lost it's bite, and they'd walked out here -- to a place where they'd spent many far colder days over the past few months -- to talk. The topic at hand was Sarah Webber. Specifically, Nikolas's relationship with her and the gruesome details of the death it had suffered at his hands a few hours earlier.
He wasn't sure exactly what he'd said, or how things had taken this turn. He'd been talking about Sarah. About how they'd drifted apart, how he felt guilty, but he didn't know what else to do. How he wasn't all that thrilled with himself at the moment. Ah -- that had been it. He'd told her he didn't like himself particularly well at the moment. And then she'd kissed him.
Now she was looking at him in a way that suggested he'd better say something.
"Say... what?" he asked, hopeful that she'd give him an answer. Truth was, he wasn't sure what he'd said last time. Last time, things had been very different. This... this was not going to be easy.
Emily turned away from him, hand pressed to her mouth. "Oh man. Oh man."
"Emily --"
"Could you please stop saying my name?" She asked, her voice shrill with stress. "Just... Give me a sec."
He fell silent. Served him right -- He'd taken Emily up on her offer to listen because, over the past months, she had never failed to cheer him up. She'd acted as his own personal beam of light -- and yes, that was corny, but it was a high compliment when you lived some place like Wyndermere. But he'd suspected, a time or two, that he was leaning on her a little too heavily. That he wasn't being careful enough, he was letting her to get too close. But it was hard to turn away from. Today -- for instance -- he'd been sitting at Bannister's Wharf, wallowing in the aftermath of having broken someone's heart. Into the midst of that, Emily had exploded like personified sunshine. Waving an English paper at him, having run all the way from school to the dock to find him.
She'd dashed up to him, short of breath and squealed "Guess what?"
"I wouldn't dare."
"Better yet, check it out!" she'd thrust her essay at him and collapsed on the bench to catch her breath.
"An A."
"Yeah, Cool, huh?" He'd nodded his agreement, while wondering if the essay was supposed to do tricks, given the entrance she'd made. She'd rolled her eyes and snatched it out of his hand. "No," she shook her head impatiently. "You don't get it. I'm GREAT at English, ok? It's always been my best subject, but this teacher? Is insane. She hates everything everyone does."
"She didn't hate this."
"EXACTLY!" She'd was starting to gush again. She did that. She'd actually get so happy about something that the words would pour out of her and she'd LET them. It was endlessly fascinating to watch, he was so wholly unaccustomed to anyone being that open about anything. But she'd spilled out the details of the essay, how she thought she'd done well because of a conversation they'd had the week before, and closed by telling him, "You should be a teacher! You'd be great at it."
He'd thought she was insane. "Yes. That would go over well."
"Well -- the bad thing about being a teacher is you make no money. That part wouldn't be a problem!"
"What about the part where my uncle's reaction shakes the sky and boils the sea?"
"Or the lake?"
"That too."
Emily had shrugged. "That might be nice. It's always too cold to swim here, anyway." He'd cracked his first real smile of the day and she'd grinned back at him. "You always have to look at the upside here," she'd said authoritatively. "Or, at the very least? The warm side."
It was that. It was that kind of thing that had made it impossible to lie when she'd asked if something was bothering him. Made it impossible to turn her down when she offered to listen. She was the key to feeling better. He'd never been particularly good at turning down comfort.
"Um..." Emily straightened up swiftly and turned to look at him "I just did that cause... you looked like you need it."
He shifted uncomfortably. "I... " The sentence ended there. He had no idea what to say to that.
"I mean, it felt right," she was blushing furiously. "It ... It didn't feel right to you?"
He turned away, fixing his gaze on the ground. "It... Was nice." He allowed finally.
"I just wanted you to know that I like you. Even if you don't like yourself. That's all."
His stomach tightened. This had to be a joke. He'd managed to weasel his way out of one uncomfortable situation and right into another one.
"Thanks," he managed, finally.
"It was a friendship kiss," Emily said suddenly. He jerked his head up and looked at her, incredulously.
"A Friendship Kiss?"
"Yeah," Emily pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Like... Something you do to just really let someone know you care. It doesn't mean..." her eyes darted towards him. "anything else. It just means... You're important."
"That's what you meant."
"Yeah. Just..." She pushed out her breath. "I don't think you're a bad person for not loving Sarah. And I don't think something's wrong with you because you stopped wanting to be with her. And... And --" she cringed. "Ok. I should have hugged you."
That... Would have been less awkward. "Why didn't you?"
She opened her mouth to speak... Then stopped. Started again. Gave up again. Silence followed and he finally raised his head to look at her, to see if she was ok. She was staring hard out at the lake -- her brow furrowed, her jaw set. She looked determined. Strong. And when she turned to him, it was all he could do not to look away.
"You know, on the launch, on the way over..." she started slowly. "You said that you felt like you'd imagined how you felt about Sarah? That you know you felt something for her and then it went away? And you didn't know why you didn't care that she loved you."
He tried not to flinch. He couldn't believe he'd said that to her. But he nodded, affirming her version of events. "Yes."
"You asked me if I had ever thought I loved something and then been wrong."
Nikolas had an awful sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Yes," he said, numb.
"And I said yes." She drew in her breath. "Because once, I thought I was in love. I really did. And he was handsome and kind and sort of mysterious -- exciting. I felt really alive when I was with him. Like I had electricity in my veins. And when I was near him, my heart would be pounding in my ears and I just wanted to touch him all the time. But I couldn't -- because then he'd know how I felt. And I thought that was the worst thing in the world. Worse than death. More than that -- I felt like if he knew how I felt about him, the shame would be so huge that I'd just crumble into dust. It really felt like that."
"But you didn't love him."
"No," Emily smiled wryly. "That was a crush." She gathered up the sleeves of her coat, gripping them in her hands while she pressed on. "I think love is what happens when you spend a lot of time with someone. And they're not so mysterious anymore. And you sort of know when they're happy and when they're sad -- even if they're not showing it. Like you can hear that something happened to them, and you already know how they feel. Because you feel that connected to them. I think you fall in love with someone when you see them at their worst -- when they're angry and frustrated and mad at everyone -- and you just feel like your heart if breaking, because you know they're in pain. And... When you think about telling them how you feel -- it's scary -- But you start to think that maybe it doesn't matter. If you really love someone... I mean... Really love them --" She looked up at him, then. Eyes locking on his. "If you really just think they're the most amazing person you've ever known... And if you feel like it's important that they know you think they're special. So that maybe they won't be in so much pain anymore, because no matter what happens... Someone loves them."
Nikolas's pulse had quickened. His mouth felt dry. They were sitting very close together. Nikolas had even taken her hand without realizing it.
"I kissed you because I wanted to let you know I thought you were special. I wanted you to feel better about yourself."
"Emily."
She looked up at him -- eyes big and dark and swallowing him whole. "I just -- Want you to be happy."
He wasn't sure which one of them did it that time. It could have been him. It was probably him. Unforgivable in any regard, because he definitely returned the kiss. Moving his lips over hers, slowly. Feeling the warmth of her affection wash over him in waves. Her palm pressed against his cheek. Sweet and innocent and heady enough to get drunk on.
Pulling back was harder that time. And he was unprepared for his body's reaction to the dazed expression on Emily's face. No. No -- this couldn't happen. This girl had become his best friend. She was so different from everything else in his world and he didn't want that to change. He didn't want to pull her into himself. And looking at her right then... He knew he would. If he didn't stop this right now, he'd wreck it. That was an indisputable certainty.
He moved his hands into her hair, holding her still. He leaned in, and when she tipped her head up to accept another kiss, he placed a very tender, very chaste kiss on her forehead. When he pulled back, he couldn't look directly at her.
"Friendship kiss," he managed to keep his voice steady. Emily froze.
"Yeah. Yeah," she let out a strangled laugh as she pulled away from him, nodding her head convulsively. "Friendship. I can do that."
The Five Points
What if...
1) Laura hadn't left the island
2) Stefan is taken out of the picture.
3) Nikolas never comes to PC.
4) Laura takes Nikolas with her
5) Emily is never replaced by Robin a Nikolas's speech therapist.
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