She looked over to Sly, who was lying with his back to her. It appeared that he was awake. She was about to say something to him when she heard it. It was a deep sigh, one that sounded like Sly had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She had noticed his mood over the past few weeks. Sometimes, she could see the sadness in his eyes, usually when he thought she was not looking. He would try to cover it up, like he did at the wedding. He still insisted that nothing was wrong, but Emily knew that wasn't true. She could just sense it. Something was off.
Sly stared ahead as his thoughts drifted. He knew he shouldn't feel this way. He was supposed to be happy. This was his honeymoon, for goodness sake. He just couldn't shake it, this feeling of deep melancholy. He guessed that it ran in his father's family, some sort of defect on the Y chromosome. All of the men were prone to bouts of depression and intense mood changes. He could see it when his grandfather withdrew into himself when he was worried. He figured it was why Luke drank so much. He knew that Lucky could cry at the drop of a hat if he had reason to. His father reacted with anger and at times, self-pity.
He remembered the day Victoria left Bill. Sly walked into the lighthouse, which was pitch black. He turned on the lights, and was surprised to find his father sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. He had asked his father why he was hanging out in the dark. Bill replied, "Is it dark? I hadn't noticed." Sly wondered if Bill was just used to it, a blackness that enveloped him so slowly that he hadn't realized it had crept up on him.
Now his father's alternative was exactly what Sly felt like doing, retreating into a dark room with the shades pulled closed tightly. Away from everyone and everything except this gnawing sense of regret. From that, there was no escape.
Finally, Emily touched his shoulder. "Good morning, Sly," she said softly.
Sly rolled over. He smiled weakly at Emily. "Morning, sunshine," he said and kissed her lightly on the lips. "What do you want to do today?"
Emily reached over and smoothed back his hair. "I don't know. The thought of staying in bed all day is very appealing," she whispered.
He kissed her on the forehead, and then moved closer to her. "Your wish is my command," he said as he wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her head back on his chest.
Neither of them said anything for a while, content to lie in the silence. Eventually, Emily decided to take the plunge and ask him about what was on her mind. "I heard you before."
"Oh?" Sly said, not sure what she was getting at. "Did I start talking in my sleep?"
Emily softly shook her head. "No." She looked up. "You sighed."
"That's all? A sigh is just a sigh," he said.
"Not this one." She moved away from him on the bed so they were facing each other again. "What were you thinking about, Sly?"
"Nothing," he said quickly.
"Don't do it, Sly. Don't shut me out," she said, hoping their relationship hadn't suddenly taken a step backward.
Sly thought back to the conversation they had on her birthday, about better communication and letting each other in. He exhaled. "Ok." He ran his hand through his hair. "I was thinking about my mother."
Emily was a bit surprised. That wasn't what she was expecting. "What about her were you thinking about?" she asked.
Sly squinted. "I was remembering something that happened when I was three years old."
Emily looked at him. "Wow. You have some memory."
"This was pretty memorable," he smiled sadly, and then went back to his story. "It was late one night, and I decided to get up to get a drink of water. I remember that I used to sleep in this old canopy bed that must have came with the house. I guess we didn't have enough money to buy a child-size bed. Well, this bed was huge, queen-size and very high off the ground. Usually, if I wanted to get up or down, I would call to my dad, but I knew that he was off working on some freighter for a while, so he wasn't there. Being the stubborn person I am, I decided that it was time to try to get down myself. I guess I wasn't ready, though, because I ended up falling out, and landing hard on my right arm."
Emily stroked his face, but said nothing.
Sly appreciated the feel of her cool fingertips against his skin, which felt flush with heat. He continued. "It hurt like hell, and it was more pain than I could remember up to that point. So I started crying, and screaming for my mother. Now, this was in the middle of the night, probably around one in the morning. I called for her, and she never came. I lay on the hardwood floor, just crying in pain for hours and hours."
"That's awful!" Emily said sympathetically. "What happened next?"
Sly swallowed. "Eventually, the morning came and the sun lit up the room. Finally, I heard her keys in the door. I heard her footsteps approach, and it's a good thing my room was on the way to hers. I guess she saw me lying on the floor. She staggered into the room. She said, 'Baby, what did you do? Fall out of bed?' I said yes, and I told her about my arm. She just picked me up off the floor and put me on the bed, which made my arm hurt even worse. I'll never forget it- she said, 'Mommy has a hangover and has to sleep it off. Wait for a few hours.' So that's what I did."
Emily shook her head. "Oh my God, Sly. She was out drinking and left you alone? What kind of a mother was she?"
"A very damaged one. Maybe she never should have been a parent," he sighed, but refused to dwell on the thought. "Eventually, much later that day, she woke up and finally took me to the emergency room. She smiled at me, and told the doctor that I just fell out of bed while I was taking a nap. Turns out I broke my arm in two places," Sly said, a bitter tear sliding down his cheek.
"My poor baby," Emily said as she wiped the tear away.
Sly looked down. "You know what was the worst part? It wasn't breaking my arm. It was the realization, knowing that no one was ever going to come for me. I was emotionally orphaned long before my parents died," he said with heaviness in his voice.
Emily sighed herself this time. It seemed like every time Sly told her stories about his past, they just got worse and worse. She was filled with anger over the things he had to endure. Who would treat a child that way? Then, a thought occurred to her. "Were you thinking about this during our reception?"
Sly looked at her skeptically. "No, why?"
Emily traced a finger along the edge of the bedspread. "I don't know. I just thought you reacted strangely to Stefan Cassadine's resurrection."
Sly frowned. So she had noticed. "We thought he was dead. It's shocking."
"Come on, Sly, you didn't even know Stefan. Tell me what you were really thinking," she prodded gently.
She deserves the truth, Sly thought to himself. He paused for a long time before speaking. "I guess I was angry."
"Angry that he's alive?" Emily asked.
"Yeah. Why do some people get to rise from the dead, and others don't?" Sly said, feeling the hurt rise in his chest again.
Emily suddenly got it. "You were thinking about your parents?"
Sly nodded. "And yours. Why is Nikolas Cassadine allowed to have his family back? His mother, uncle, and brother all turn out to be alive. Death isn't final for him. So why is it final for us? My parents are never coming back, and neither are yours," Sly said, anger and confusion coloring his voice.
Sly's words touched Emily in a deep part of herself. Indeed, why Nikolas? Why not us? She started to cry as the old familiar fears and regrets came to the surface.
Sly cursed himself for upsetting Emily. He never wanted to cause her pain, but sometimes it seemed like that was all he did. Kiss the girls and make them cry…
Emily remembered this feeling. It was anger at the universe for being so cruel. It was also the feeling of being left behind. She thought she had worked through these issues years ago. Apparently, some things just never stay buried.
Sly took Emily in his arms as she cried, and he felt like he was sinking. His grandfather's voice echoed in his head. You ruin everything you touch. The longer he lived, the more Sly started to believe that those words were true.
*-*-*-*-*-*
Lucky nervously drummed his fingers on the sides of the chair he was sitting on in his father's office. He had not been back since the morning he woke upon the floor next to Sly after their whisky binge. He had seen his father twice after that, both highly charged exchanges. This one probably would not be any different.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of happier times spent in the club. Lucky used to watch his father obsessively. Luke had just the right touch when it came to running the place. He knew how to flirt with the women, and talk up the men. He knew when to keep the liquor flowing, and when to send a customer home in a cab. Luke's was infused with its own special kind of electricity, thanks largely to his dad.
In his younger days, sometimes Lucky fancied himself becoming the proprietor of Luke's. He was his father's son in so many ways- he had the charm, the passion, the hustle, the impulsiveness. All necessary qualities for running a nightclub. The life seemed very appealing at the time- nights of wine, women, and song.
He heard his father's familiar shuffle outside the door, and he snapped out of his reverie. His chest grew tight in anticipation of what he had to say to Luke. It wasn't going to be easy. Lucky had to fight the urge to run the other way. He's your father, Lucky reminded himself. There's nothing to be afraid of.
Luke yawned as he walked to his office. The past few days had been spent in a sort of self-congratulatory haze after nailing Helena to the wall. Of course, he had no one to celebrate with, no plaudits or praise, save a phone call from Laura. Maybe it was better that way. He opened the door, and was surprised to see his son sitting across from his desk. "It's good to see you again, cowboy."
Lucky took a deep breath before answering. "You too, Dad," he said finally.
Luke crossed the room and sat down behind the desk. "What brings you around at such an ungodly hour?"
Lucky shook his head lightly. "Dad, it's 11:30 in the morning."
"Feels like the crack of dawn," Luke muttered, and was pleased to see a small smile on his son's face. "It's certainly a nice surprise to see you, though."
"We need to talk," Lucky said, feeling the nervousness rise again.
"No good conversation ever begins with those words," Luke sighed. He looked carefully at his son. "How are you handling all of this?"
"I'm doing ok," Lucky frowned, trying to find the best way to ease into everything. "A lot of things have changed in the past few months."
"A massive understatement." Luke recognized Lucky's quiet pensiveness. "Were my eyes deceiving me, or was Ms. Webber glued to your side at the wedding?"
Lucky nodded. "I've been doing a lot of work in my therapy. That, combined with a revelation or two, has helped me realize that I never hurt her," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Dad, I'm sorry for all the things I said to you that day in the hospital. I was angry with myself for the things I thought I did. I was just lashing out at you. It was easier than facing my own guilt."
Luke thought briefly back to that day when Lucky had told him he thought he raped Elizabeth. "I always knew it wasn't true, Lucky."
Lucky sighed. "Still, I shouldn't have treated you that way. But thanks for believing in me, anyway."
"Always," Luke said with complete sincerity.
Lucky paused for a moment and let the word wash over him. His father's faith in him was unshakeable. In many ways, so was his for Luke. It was different, tested and tried, but it was still there.
Luke knew that that admission must have taken a lot out of Lucky, but there was still more to discuss, namely what he had heard Helena confess to a 'dead' Stefan. "So we know that Faison played with your memory, made you remember things that never happened. But there's more, isn't there?"
Lucky raised his eyebrows. "You sound like you know something, Dad. What is it?"
Luke closed his eyes to take a deep breath. The last few days had been happy, knowing the dragon lady was behind bars; they were also hard, coming to terms with just how much damage Helena had done to his son. He hoped he wouldn't scare Lucky away with what he had to say. "When we had finally trapped Helena, she confessed to a lot of things. Including the real reason why she kidnapped you."
Lucky's eyes clouded over just briefly, then he snapped back to reality. "What did she say was the reason?"
Luke still couldn't get the bitter taste out of his mouth when he thought of her motives. It was comprised mostly of disgust for Helena, and extreme sadness for what Lucky went though. "She said that she was trying to make a new Cassadine family, with Nikolas as Stavros, and you as Stefan."
Lucky exhaled deeply. "That sounds about right," he said. Then he looked at his father quizzically. "Is that all?"
"Pretty much, cowboy," Luke said gently. "And I'll respect that if that's all you want me to know."
Lucky shook his head, and his light brown hair bounced slightly. "No, I want you to know. Kevin always says to let people in. Maybe this is my chance."
Lucky planted his feet firmly on the ground and focused his eyes on a spot just to the right of his father's face. He started, hesitantly. "Helena was telling the truth. She kidnapped me, imprisoned and isolated me, and tried to break me. I suppose she wanted an opportunity to mold me into the image of the perfect Cassadine son. She would make me call her 'Mother,' and sometimes she would call me 'Stefan'."
Luke nodded, although it was extremely disturbing to think of Helena calling Lucky Stefan. "That's pretty much what she said."
"It seemed to me that she was trying to remake her relationship with Stefan, to try to fix the 'mistakes' she made in raising him. Of course, she didn't fix the one major thing she did wrong. I guess she thought that it was perfectly normal to sleep with her son."
Luke wasn't prepared to hear that. "Wait a minute, Lucky, do you mean…"
Lucky held up a hand. "Let me explain." Lucky's blue eyes were shimmering with tears he was too proud to shed. "Helena made it appear that she rescued me from Faison. She made a big show of it- lots of men running around, chaos and screaming. Then she was the one to open the door, told me she was there to save me. She extended her hand, and I took it." Lucky stared at some imaginary mark on the wall behind Luke for a moment, then continued. "She took me to live with her on her yacht for two months. At first, she was really nice, looking after me, making sure I was healthy and comfortable. Then it started to get strange."
"Lucky, I swear to God, if she hurt you in any way, I will strangle her right through the bars in her jail cell," Luke said, his blood boiling.
"No, Dad, she never hurt me," Lucky said. "That's when all of this Stefan stuff started. She started by making me sleep on the same bed with her. I thought that was strange, and I told her so, but how could I really object? I figured she'd throw me overboard. I would try to stay as far away from her as I could, but she kept moving closer, holding onto me. I couldn't move away even when she slept, because she would sleep holding onto my hair, so she would feel it if I moved. Eventually, things got even worse. She started kissing me, and she had her hands all over, and she would be saying stuff like 'Let Mother have her way. You want to make Mommy happy, don't you?'" Lucky tightly shut his eyes.
Luke had to fight the bile that was rising in his throat. This should have never happened, he thought. Not to Lucky, not my boy.
Lucky's lower lip trembled with emotion. "I pushed her away, I told her that I wouldn't participate in this sick game she was playing. Well, you would have thought I'd slapped her. I think it was good though, because after that, I think she regained a lot of her clarity. I knew she hated me, but she never hurt me, not physically anyway. She just ruined my life instead," Lucky said, dropping his head.
Luke tried to get the images of Helena and Lucky out of his mind. He stood, sure of his next course of action. "Ok, Lucky, I'm going to get my gun, then I'll go to the police station and blow her brains out."
Lucky jumped up from his seat. "No! Dad, don't do it!"
Luke looked at his son, his intense rage evident. "Lucky, from everything you told me, Helena Cassadine doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. She's a murderous, child-abusing monster!"
Lucky finally let a tear slip down his cheek. "Dad, I'm not going to lie. A part of me wishes that she were dead. The rest of me knows better. If you do this Dad, they will arrest you right there and give you life. My sister needs her father. I need my father. I need you."
The words rang in Luke's ears for a moment. He knew Lucky was right. Revenge was not important right now. Then he looked again at his son, who seemed so fragile, yet so strong at the same time. It felt like they were building a bridge over the distance that divided them. Luke walked over to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. Then Lucky surprised him by throwing himself into his arms.
Lucky held onto his father as he cried, emotionally drained. "I can't, I can't take much more. If anything happened to you…"
Luke embraced his son. It felt so good to have him close again. "I promise I won't let anything separate us again, Lucky. I know I've let you down before, but things will be different." He felt Lucky shake. "I love you, Lucky. You're safe now. You're safe with me."
Lucky did not say anything, but felt like he now understood the true meaning of those words. He held on to his father even tighter. I am safe. I am home.