The Exchange Variation

Prologue

The shadowy black figure slides into place against the brick wall. The rope is taut as the figure makes its way along the small ledge. Eyes search for the signal on the ground, three stories below and a smile curls the lips as it comes, in three bright flashes.

It’s time.

Nimble feet move surely along the ledge to the window. A hand, clad in a black, leather glove reaches through the slight opening, left by a careless maid. Leather caresses wood as a clasp is sought.

The window sticks slightly as it is eased up, and white teeth glint inside a malicious smile. Almost too easy.

A long, black clad leg eases over the sill as leathered fingers fumble with the harness that keeps the rope in place.

Predatory eyes watch the corridor as the harness is cast away to dangle against the brick. A second leg joins the first, but the heart quickens as a glint of torchlight reflects in the glass of the painting at the end of the room.

However, the figure is too slow as a rottweiler crashes towards the window. Grim rows of teeth bared beneath crimson gums and the guttural snarl reverberates through the strings of saliva that dangle from the powerful jaws.

Dressed all in black, the figure can hardly be seen as it topples from the window, a single scream penetrating the chilled night air of the English countryside.

The thud as the body hits the ground is sickening. From the window, the slathering dog can only catch a glimpse of blonde hair as the body is carried away into the unforgiving blackness.

Chapter I  –   J’adoube

“My dear Marlena,” the reptilian voice makes Marlena’s skin crawl as she freezes in the middle of Salem Place.  John’s hand tightens around hers.  

“Just ignore him Doc,” he murmurs gently.

“Ah John.  It is so good to see you both.”  Stefano laughs, casting his arm around the amphitheatre of the average American mall.  “Such a beautiful day don’t you think?  Full of such ….. *bountiful* possibilities.”

He flicks his searingly black eyes across Marlena, something akin to amusement curling his long, cruel lips.  “You do look quite beautiful today my dear Dr. Evans.  The spring air agrees with you, I think.”

“Leave her alone old man,” John’s jaw tightens as he edges between his wife and Stefano DiMera.  Whatever Hope says about him, John doesn’t trust the old man and he doesn’t want him anywhere near Marlena.  He has always been dangerous, but now he represents another threat to John’s family.  All he has to do is speak the truth and they will be split apart thanks to his own inconceivable foolishness.

“You sound frightened John,” Stefano lays thick fingers on John’s bare arm.  “Now why will you be frightened of me I wonder?”

“Let’s go John,” Marlena tugs on John’s hand, wanting to spell an end to this encounter.  

They are on their way to have lunch with Sami and Belle at the pub and Stefano is the last person she wants to deal with today.  Not after walking in to find Hope at the penthouse yesterday.  Why can’t she just have one day, *one day* in her life where she can put aside the worries of the past, the fears for the future and just concentrate on her family?  Surely it can’t be *that* much to ask.  Can it?

“In such a hurry to leave Marlena?” Stefano removes his hand from John’s arm and moves around him to where Marlena stands, her white cotton sundress billowing around her ankles in the light breeze.  “Why do you think John will be frightened of me Marlena?  After all, I helped save Hope’s life.  Do you not think that deserves at least a little generosity of spirit?”

“There are a lot of things you deserve Stefano,” Marlena says harshly, “but I am not willing to discuss them with you here and now.  John and I have a luncheon appointment.”

“Ah yes, with your lovely daughters,” Stefano laughs lightly but it is weighted with unspoken threats and John can feel Marlena’s tremor through their linked hands.  “And what about Hope.  Will she be joining you also?”

”Why would Hope be joining us?” Marlena looks up at him from underneath her heavy bangs trying to figure out what he is up to now.

“Well, she seems to be spending rather a lot of time with John lately, do you not think?”  Stefano arches his thick brows, embellishing his next question.  “Why do you suppose that is?”

“She wants some answers,” Marlena replies benignly.  “And I want my lunch.  John?”

John is glaring at Stefano, furiously wondering just what kind of a game the old bastard is playing now.  Sometimes, he’d be more than happy to lock his fingers around that pudgy neck, and just squeeze until all life has gone.  He would do it to protect his family, he knows that.  He’d do it in the blink of an eye, with no remorse.  He’s felt the urge more than once, and it scares him.

“Ah, answers.”  Stefano nods, the smile broadening as he lifts his forefinger to his lips.  “It seems to me that there are more answers out there than just the ones that Hope is seeking.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Marlena crosses her free arm in front of her defensively, her fingers curling around the edge of her purse.

“John?”  Stefano turns to his former protégé with a malevolent smile.  John says nothing, his chest raising and falling with controlled breaths as he regards Stefano with steady eyes.  “You see Marlena, John knows the answers to questions that no one has even asked yet.  Don’t you John?”

“Don’t listen to him Doc, he’s just trying to make trouble,” John can feel the fury building inside his head, an odd kind of drone sounding in his ears as he slides his arm around Marlena’s bared shoulders and tries to guide her away from Stefano.

“I know he is,” she murmurs, turning from Stefano to seek the comfort of John’s cerulean eyes.  

“We’re late.”

“Ah well, please don’t let me keep you,” Stefano smiles vindictively, “after all, John has avoided telling you the truth so successfully until now.  Why will you want to hear it from me?”

“Just *what* is that supposed to mean?” Marlena swings around to fix Stefano with angry hazel eyes.

“Don’t you wonder Marlena?” Stefano shrugs, the smile falling from his face to reveal the anger that lurks inside.  He is tired of playing the nice Stefano.  It is getting tedious, and it is time to shake things in Salem up a little.  Shattering Marlena and John’s nice comfortable little life will be a good start.  “Don’t you have *any* questions that John might have the answers to?”

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing Stefano, but there is nothing you can tell me about John that will *ever* change how I feel about him.  So why don’t you save your breath?”  She is shaking with anger and the last few words come out as little more than a hiss.

“Doc, don’t let him upset you,” John’s body is alive with tight nerves as he tries to guide Marlena away from Stefano.  This is getting dangerous.  “Just leave us alone old man.  Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage all ready?”

“Ah but John, I’m not the one that did the damage this time am I?” he purses his lips as he raises his eyebrows again.  “I’m not the one that has been lying to my wife.  You should know by now that secrets will *always* come out in the end.”

“You *bastard*,” the only thing that stops John lunging for Stefano and trying to kill him is Marlena’s hand on his arm.  Her touch is the one thing that grounds him, that keeps the buzzing to a level that he can still think over it but even so, the urge to beat the life out of Stefano is almost overwhelming.

“John,” Marlena pulls on his arm, not liking the glares that are flying between Stefano and John.  She has a very bad feeling about this.  “Please.  I want to go.”

“Not so fast my dear.”  Despite Stefano’s size, he is unusually agile and almost before she turns around to look for her car, he is in front of her again.  “You really think your impression of your husband can’t be changed?  Surely, after everything that has happened, your faith cannot be that blind.”

“I love John,” Marlena says in a low voice.  “I trust him.”

“Your trust is misguided,” Stefano looks over at John his, eyes black and malevolent.   “Isn’t it John?  Wouldn’t you like to know what your husband was doing on your honeymoon Marlena?  Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that both Hope and John disappeared at the same time last July and now Hope is eight months pregnant?”

Marlena swallows, her throat suddenly arid as adrenaline pulses through her veins.

“Hope was in Europe,” she says solidly. “John and I were in Hawaii and Hope was in Europe.  There is no connection.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” The corner of Stefano’s mouth folds into a chilling smile.  “I think you might find that your husband has a different interpretation of events.”  He casts his eyes to where John stands, stock still, his face ghostly pallid.  John shakes his head slowly, pained eyes staring first at Stefano and then at the back of Marlena’s head.

“John doesn’t remember anything,” she says exasperatedly, “we’ve been over that.”

“Now, now Marlena,” Stefano shakes his head sadly, “I thought you were brighter than that.  You do *know* John has been lying to you?  He’s been slipping in and out of personalities for months now, but he persists on lying to you about it.”  He smiles but it chills Marlena to the core.  There is no mirth, only evil and the need to destroy what he cannot have.  “He thinks he’s trying to protect you my dear.  Why do you think he doesn’t want Hope to remember the last year?”

“He’s worried about the baby,” Marlena says weakly.  It doesn’t even sound like her voice as her head begins to swim.  Too many pieces are falling into place.  Pieces whose edges have once been fuzzy but are quickly becoming solid and intense.

“And why do you think he is so worried about the baby, Marlena?”  Stefano asks softly, his rich baritone saturated with significance that Marlena doesn’t want to hear.

Marlena suddenly feels as though she can’t breathe, as the fear and anguish she felt in the hotel room in Hawaii come back to haunt her.  When she and Bo had come to the conclusion that John and Hope were together.

Her head swims with the implications and she feels as though the world is wavering around her, on the verge of blinking out of existence as she stares at Stefano, willing him to take back his words.

“He….” She desperately searches for a rebuttal of the truth that is forming in her mind.  “It’s a *baby* Stefano.  An innocent baby….”

“No Marlena,” Stefano shakes his head, ready to deliver the fatal blow.  He can feel the power moving with the blood in his veins as he speaks.  *This* is what he is about, this is what keeps him invigorated and alive, and he will savor this moment for as long as he can.  “It’s *his* baby.  He and Hope had an affair on your honeymoon and she’s pregnant with his child.  *That* is why he is so desperate to keep the past from her.  So that *you* won’t find out the kind of man he really is.”

Chapter II – Disjunction

“No,” Marlena can only shake her head with the whispered plea.  “No, it’s not true.”  She turns to John, hazel eyes tortured in a blank face.  “Tell him it’s not true John.”

‘You fucking *bastard*!”  John can’t help himself this time and fingers like iron fasten around Stefano’s neck.  “So help me, this world will be a better place when I kill you.”  He slams Stefano backwards against one of the poles, the force of the violent movement causing the structure to shudder.

“John!”  Marlena catches hold of John’s arm, her terror overcoming the fear and grief that are welling in her gut.  “John *stop*!”

“I won’t let you destroy my family again old man.  I won’t let you hurt them.”

“John,” Stefano forces his voice out in a croak as he struggles to fend his attacker off.  “Kill me and you will be taken away from your family….”

“Listen to him John,” Marlena begs desperately as she notices the crowd gathering.  “Stop this *now*.”

“He’s better out of our lives, Marlena.”  She barely recognizes his voice as he speaks, glottal and bloodthirsty.  “He,” he yanks Stefano from where he has him against the pole and slammed him against the window of Ballistix, sending a screaming noise of stress through the glass before a long crack edges its way across the clear material.  “He has tried to destroy our lives one too many times.”

“JOHN!”  Marlena pulls on his arm without success.  He is too strong for her and too intent on his prey.  “John *listen* to me.  You can’t kill Stefano.  You’ll be arrested and you’ll be taken away from us all.  John, *please*,” she begs as the tears begin to fall, “please, *please* don’t do this.  For me.  For your children.  We need you….”

Desperately, she ducks her head under his arm and wedges herself between John and Stefano so that he cannot avoid her eyes.

“John *stop* it now.  *STOP IT*.”  She pushes on him as hard as she can, her eyes intent in their gaze as she begs him silently to stop this madness.  And then suddenly he closes his eyes and drops his arms, shaking his head with pain evident behind the movements.  Behind her, Stefano staggers away, gasping for breath between harsh hacking coughs.

“John!” she catches his arm, “John, look at me.”  He backs away, stumbling against the fractured window of the shop, his left hand clutching his head.  “Look at me John,” she demands in a strong voice, her fingers digging into his wrist.  

Slowly, he lifts his head and looks at her, his blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry Doc,” he whispers.

“It’s true?” she drops his wrist like it has suddenly become red-hot.  “You slept with Hope?  On our honeymoon?”

“It isn’t like that Doc,” he shakes his head desperately.  “I didn’t know…. I thought she was Gina… they did something to me…”

“You knew it might be your baby… and all this time you lied to me?” she takes a step backwards, seeing her husband with new eyes.  The eyes of a stranger.  “You knew and you *lied*?”

“I thought…. I didn’t want to hurt you Marlena,” he reaches out for her beseechingly, but she pulls away from his touch.

“You *lied* to me,” she repeats, stunned as though all the breath has been sucked out of her body.  “You said you didn’t remember anything of what happened when you went missing in Hawaii,” she swallows painfully over a tongue that is parched.  “Were you lying then too?”

“Doc, *no*,” he winces at her words, knowing instantaneously that he has shattered her trust completely. “She did something to me, she made me forget everything.  I didn’t know what I was doing…”

“When did you remember?” she ignores his words.  She knows he wouldn’t have slept with Gina of his own volition.  It hurts, but she can forgive that.  The real killer is that he has remembered and not trusted her enough to share the information with her.  Has not trusted her love for him and the bond they share to get them through this.  That is what hurts her more than anything.

“Does it matter?” he is in agony, every one of his nerves on the edge of a knife blade as he faces her.  The pain and misery that cloud her beautiful face, and the knowledge that he has done that to her, is almost more than he can stand.

”*When*?” she repeats coldly.

“New Years,” he breathes defeatedly.  “New Year’s Eve.  At the wedding.”

Marlena says nothing as she stares at him.  The only betrayal of her inner pain is the tear that trembles precipitously on one lash and the almost imperceptible tremble of her lower lip.  All she can think about is how she walked in on Hope and John yesterday.  How close they had seemed, how as *always*, Hope brought up the fact that she and John both know how it feels to lose a portion of your life.  As though Marlena doesn’t know.  As though she hadn’t been *taken* from her family for four long years.  Four years of her life that she has lost, that she will never have back.  And now Hope has taken more from John and from her and she will have to watch him be father to Hope’s child.

The thought makes her feel sick and she spins away from John, the tears finally tumbling over bleached skin.  All the time she has lost to Kristen and her lies.  All the time that Belle has not had her father close.  And now, yet another woman is claiming John’s time, and part of his heart.  And he can’t even find the courage to be honest with her.  What kind of a marriage is this anyway?

A sob tears from her throat as John’s fingers close over her shoulder.

“Marlena, please talk to me,” he begs in a broken voice, “please tell me we can work this out.”

Wrenching herself free of his grasp, she whirls around.

“*Don’t* touch me!” she hisses.  “Don’t even think about talking to me.”

“Oh, please baby,” he takes a step forward, but she shrinks back. “Please you have to understand that I was doing what I thought…”

“I don’t understand *anything*!” she screams at him through burning tears.  “I don’t understand how you could sleep with her and forget I even existed.  I don’t understand how you thought I wouldn’t find out when she’s carrying your *baby*, John.”  Her voice cracks as she glares at him, a man who she loves with all her being but whom she doesn’t even *know* any more.  “Do you think I’m some kind of imbecile or something?  Do you think I’m some kind of doormat who’ll put up with everything you wipe off your shoes onto me?”

“Marlena,” John can’t find the words to calm her as he sees his marriage crumbling in front of his eyes.  

“I am so *sick* of all this.”  Her voice falls as her chin quivers.  “I am so *tired* of feeling hurt and betrayed.”

“Doc,” John reaches out to her again, hoping that she has exhausted herself enough that she will let him explain.

“Leave me alone,” the words are choked as she pulls away from him.  Turning, she sees Stefano, now recovered, looking at her with ill-concealed amusement.  “Just leave me alone!”

The plea hangs in the air as she dashes out of the mall.

“Doc, NO!”  John can’t let her walk away now, he can’t leave this as it is and he starts after her.  But the tears blind her vision and she can hardly see where she is going as she tries to outdistance him.  

It is unlikely to happen though in high heels and she kicks them off as she runs, ripping large holes in her nylons.

“Doc, *stop*!” John is close to her as she sprints across the road, and he is coherent enough to see the glint of the chrome bumper of a car as it flies toward Marlena.  

*God, NO!*

With a surge of adrenaline that streams through his veins, he launches himself at her, pushing her out of the path of the oncoming vehicle, sending her sprawling to the curb.  He winces as he raises his head to see hers hit the pavement with a frightening crunch and he scrambles up beside her.

“Doc?” he brushes the hair from the side of her face and gently rolls her over.  The area above her right eyebrow right down to her temple is covered in blood and he begins to shake as he strokes her cheek.  “Doc baby?  Marlena?  C’mon sweetheart, don’t do this to me.  Doc, wake up please!”  Tears fall on her jacket, darkening the midnight blue to indigo as he rubs her hand.  “Oh God, don’t take her away from me now.  Not now.  Marlena.  Marlena, please baby.”  The terror in his voice does nothing to rouse her and he looks around desperately.  

“Call an ambulance,” he bawls to the crowd that is gathering nearby in horrified fascination.  “For God’s sake, somebody call an ambulance!”

Chapter III – Development

John contemplates the beautiful hand nestled in the palm of his own oversized mitt.  Mindlessly, his thumb brushes across the pale skin, hoping to tease some life back into the limp fingers.  He exhales deeply and closes his eyes to send up yet another prayer.  He seems to be making up for lost time with his prayers this afternoon.  Dozens of them have rushed through his mind, each hoping to strike the magical chord that will bring her back to him.  Make her open her eyes.  Look at him.  Talk to him.  Even yell at him.

His face a reflection of the pain he knows he had caused, he brings her knuckles to his lips, laying soft kisses on each of them.  

“Please tell me she’ll be okay, Lexie” he pleads in a hollowed voice.

Lexie looks up from the clipboard she holds, her expression blank.  

“We just have to wait until she wakes up to know anything else, John.”  The petite doctor’s hand comes to rest on the grieving husband’s shoulder.  There really are no other words to say.  So, with a slight squeeze, she speaks a quiet excuse and leaves the pair alone.

John feels the hot prickles in his eyes escape down his cheek and onto the back of her hand.  He cradles the soft skin to his jaw like a lifeline.  Unable to hold in his grief any longer, a ragged cry explodes from his lungs.  

“Doc, I’m *so* sorry, baby.  I…. I didn’t…. Everything was just so….  God, I didn’t want to hurt you, Marlena.  I *never* wanted to hurt you.  I thought… I thought it would just go away…”  

His voice wavers and he forces himself to inhale into tight lungs.  He can barely manage a whisper, but the words tumble out.  “I didn’t want to believe it was my baby.  I didn’t…. I didn’t want to believe I…. I had…. on our *honeymoon*.  It wasn’t me, Doc.  I promise you.  There’s nothing there…. there…. there never was.  It was *Stefano*, dammit,” he verily hisses.  “He… I didn’t… *we* didn’t know what we were doing.  And now….” 

His bleary eyes sweep over her peaceful form, her curves wrapped in sterile and stiff hospital sheets.  She is hurt, laying here unconscious, and it is all his fault.  Again.  It is *always* his fault.  Somehow, he is always the one who ultimately hurts her the most.  Bringing up his other hand, he gently spreads her fingers and places a kiss in the center of her palm.  “Don’t leave me, Doc.  I love you… too much, maybe.  Just don’t leave me.”

Then, he sees the light flutter.  Long eyelashes flicker to reveal glimpses of blessed hazel and his heart leaps.  “Doc?  Doc, baby?  That’s it, baby.  Open your eyes.”  Tears of sadness he’s been shedding are replaced with those of elation as slowly, her eyes adjust to the light.  “There you go, baby.  Look at me, sweetheart.  Come on.”

She does.  And a flash of something cold shoots down his spine.  There is something… different in those hazel depths he’s so often lost himself in.  Something foreign.  And he can’t help but ask, “Marlena?”

Two blinks.  The coolness remains, boring into… no, *through* his own eyes.  He concentrates on his breathing.  She’s angry with you.  She has every *right* to be angry with you, man.  That’s all this is.  “Oh, baby, you don’t know how sorry I am.”  Tears blur his vision, and he exhales in relief.  “But you’re all right.  Baby, you’re all right, thank God.”  

Large, tender fingers brush wayward bangs from her bandaged forehead.  And the words come on their own.  “I never meant to hurt you.  I never… I didn’t know what was happening.”  He is babbling and he knows it, but he has to get through to her.  “It wasn’t *me* in that submarine.  It was someone else.  And *she* wasn’t Hope.  She was Gina.  It was all a mind-game.  One of *his* mind-games, Doc.  I wasn’t myself.  I was… I was *Stefano’s* pawn, Doc.  I couldn’t….”

Marlena’s chin lifts slightly at the name, her eyes flicking to the door and the man standing sombrely just in view of the narrow window.  

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says simply.  Slipping her hand icily from his grasp, she points toward the door.  “I want to talk to *him*.  I want to talk to Stefano.”    

He catches his jaw before it droops too noticeably.  Stefano?  Why does she want to talk to *Stefano*?  The man… no, the *bastard* who brought them to this place.  No matter how angry Marlena is with John, surely she doesn’t really want to talk to Stefano?

But she has said it with such certainty.  I want to talk to Stefano.  Something is not right here.  There is something odd transpiring, something much stranger than Marlena’s anger.  He can’t quite finger it, but now is not the time to wonder.  They have to talk.  

“Wha-?  Marlena, we need to talk.  We have to work this out.  C’mon, just…”   He tries to capture her hand again, but she deftly avoids him, snatching her fist away as she struggles to pull herself into a sitting position.

“No.  I want to talk to Stefano.  Alone.”  She looks at him, her eyes searing, her voice distant and unusual, an eyebrow slightly raised.  “*Now.*”

“But….”

Her glare is unforgiving. And the tone of her voice sends an odd shiver through him.  

“*NOW.*”

The vehemence of her command bolts through him.  Has he really gone too far this time?  Is this *it*?  Maybe she just wants to talk to Stefano first.  Get *his* side of the story before she….  He does a double take on himself.  What the *hell* am I thinking?  Why would she want to talk to Stefano first?  *I’m* her husband, dammit!  Then he sags.  Her husband who just betrayed her trust.   Even so…. 

“C’mon, Doc.  Why don’t you rest for a little while first?  Your head… you need to rest.  Then we can talk later.”  

Once again, he is pinned with eerie hazel eyes.  

“I *said*, I want to talk to Stefano.  Not you.  *Stefano.*”

He swallows.  The last thing he wants to do is make bad matters worse, and there appears to be no way to talk her out of this.  He has simply made her too angry, pushed her too far.  And she wants to talk to Stefano.  Stefano… not me.  

Unsure of what else to do, he lets her win this battle, and backs toward the door.  He is afraid to break the eye contact, as though it is the last link they still have, as foreign as it is at the moment.

She sees him mutter something to the large man on the other side of the door and watches closely as the two have a few obvious words.  Then she catches Stefano’s glance and straightens her back, pushing on stiff arms to stretch a little.  Stefano DiMera is not a man to be faced with a slack posture.  

He enters the room, his confident gaze belied by his slightly cocked head.  “You wanted to see me, Marlena?” he ventures cautiously.  Her request to see him is more than unexpected.  It is almost unfathomable.

“Close the door,” she speaks tacitly.  “Sit.”

He catches a distantly familiar glimpse in her eye and dares to analyze it.  No.  It cannot be.  But he holds his demeanor as he lowers himself onto the small stool beside her bed.  

“What may I do for you, Marlena?”

Her lips tighten and she tilts her head to make sure no one is at the door.  Assured, she turns an expressionless face to his.  

“Stefano.”

Bushy brows lift as he waits for her to say more.  She simply looks at him, as though determining something.  What that something is, he is not quite sure, and he lets out an almost-nervous burst of laughter.  

“Yes, Marlena?  What is it?”

Golden eyes narrow.  

She lowers her voice before she speaks, the tones coming out with breathy accusation.  

“What the *hell* is going on here?  Where am I?”

“You are in the hospital.”  Stefano returns, with great attention.  “You had an accident, Marlena.  I would have thought *John* would have explained this to you.”

She pauses for a moment, digesting his words.

“No.”  She shakes her head and Stefano is quite taken aback by the precision of the movement.  It is so reminiscent of….  He feels his heart skip a beat and then berates himself silently.  It is too long.  You have lost her, let it go.

Marlena says nothing more, simply stares at him with cool eyes before turning to survey the room.  It is featureless, there is nothing to spark interest, nothing to tell her anything beyond what she already knows.  Which is nothing.

“Marlena…”  He begins but is pulled up short as she flicks her head in his direction.  The expression on her face sends shivers through him and her eyes narrow menacingly.

“*Why* are you calling me that?” she demands forcefully.  “You *know* how I feel about that name.”

Stefano pales slightly and clutches the blankets on the bed with four pudgy fingers.  No.  No, it cannot be.  His mind is racing almost as rapidly as his pulse, as his eyes appraise her.  The tilt of her chin, the poise with which she holds herself… the frosty gold of her eyes.  His jaw falls as he realizes the enormity of what is occurring in this room, and what it means to him.

“Grace?”  The ‘r’ rolls lightly off his tongue as he faces her, his astonishment evident.  “Grace, is that you?”

Chapter IV – Principal Variation

“Of course it’s me you half-wit,” Marlena replies impatiently.  “Would you like to tell me what is going on -” She pulls up as she sees the look on his face.  “Stefano?”  Her back straightens almost imperceptibly.  “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Grace.”  He repeats the name with a shake of his head.  He blinks several times, trying to rein in the tenuous grasp on his emotions.  And then a smile curls across his lips.  “Grace.”  The name is now silky and sensuous on his tongue as he releases his grip on the bedclothes.

“Stefano, what is going on?”  Her self-assurance has been replaced by a modicum of uncertainty as she sees the utter shock on his face.  However, it is soon replaced by what looks like elation.  It makes little sense… unless…  “Stefano?”

“My darling Grace,” he takes her hand in his and those hazel eyes narrow once again.

“Stefano,” her lips curve into a sensual smile as she turns her whole body to him.  “Would you care to let me in on the joke?”

“No joke my dear,” he takes a deep breath and then nods.  “Of course, you wish to know what is going on.  I’m afraid you will not like what I have to tell you.”

“Stefano darling,” she reaches out her free hand and touches warm fingers to the new lines that are etched on his familiar face.  “This accident… It wasn’t the job, was it?”  Stefano looks thoughtful as he considers what to tell her.

“No.”  He shakes his head.  “Not this time my dear.  We are no longer in Europe.  I am afraid that was quite a time ago.”

“How long?” she demands, a little fear in her eyes.  He is not used to seeing fear in Grace’s eyes and it takes him aback a little.  But then, he is not sure he can blame her.

“It is the year two thousand,” he tells her quietly.  She processes the information silently, turning the implications over in her mind as she chews on her lip.  Then, she nods her head.

“So, tell me.  Tell me what happened.”

“Oh, my Grace,” he cannot stifle the laugh which comes to his throat.  He has almost forgotten how stunning she can be.  “Grace, you have been living in Salem for the past nine years.  You have been living as Dr. Marlena Evans.”

“Oh *God*,” she looks immediately disgusted.  “You *are* joking?  Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I am afraid, no I am not joking,” Stefano shrugs easily.  “There was nothing I could do.  I tried to get you back… but…”  He shakes his head again, his eyes falling to her hand, which is still in his.

“I’ve been living as that boring do-gooder bitch for *nine* years?”  She seems stunned and more than a little contemptuous.  “Oh God, *Stefano*?!”

“Marlena is not a *bitch*,” Stefano answers harshly, the curse awkward on his tongue.

“Ah, but she’s nowhere as much fun as I am, is she?”  Grace fixes him with a sensual smile, and he feels a tremor travel his spine.  Not only has he forgotten how stunning she is, he has forgotten how much he desires her.  And how she plays with him.

“I thought not.”  Her fingers trace circles in the palm of his hand and he finds it hard to breathe.  “So, what happened that I went back to life as June Cleaver?”

“You had an accident my dear,” Stefano pulls his hand away from hers, unwilling to let her see the effect she is having on him.  Of course, it is pointless because she knows it anyway.  She always has, and she flaunts it.  “You, ah, you had a fall.  And when you awoke in San Cristobal… well…” he shrugs again.

“If you had me in *that* hovel, no wonder I didn’t want to remember,” she crosses her arms petulantly.

“Grace, I had no choice, they were looking for you.”   He raises his thick brows again.  “I couldn’t take the chance that they might find you.  I couldn’t risk losing you.”

“It sounds rather like you did anyway,” Grace raises only a single fine eyebrow in return.  “Marlena found her way back to Salem I presume?”

“You did.”

Grace regards him with an expressionless face, and he remembers again why they made such a successful team.  Gina had been such a failure after his beautiful Grace.

Grace looks away from him and then her eyes are drawn to the closed door.  Beyond the entrance, the other man stands uncomfortably alone.  She had not recognized him at first, but as her mind clears, the memories start to slip back into her consciousness.

“And him?” she nods in that direction, unsure that she wants to hear the answer.  She already knows it though and it comes as no surprise when Stefano answers.

“Your husband.  He’s your husband, Grace.”

~

John leans on the desk outside the hospital room, his head in his hands.  He doesn’t understand how things have gotten so out of control so fast.  Just this morning, things were fine.  Well, no, they weren’t fine.  He has been lying to his wife for months now.  He has no-one to blame for these events but himself.  Well, that’s not quite right either.  He can blame Stefano.  Stefano, who is in with Marlena even now…

He groans miserably.  She hates him.  He can see it in her eyes.  She would rather talk to *Stefano* than hear his explanation.  She would rather hear what that *bastard* has to say than to give the time to her own husband.  Her own husband who betrayed her.  Who lied to her over and over…  

He looks up in the direction of the room.  Her expression is one of disgust and then she looks up.  Her eyes fix onto his and for a moment, he feels a chill travel through him.  Then she looks back at Stefano, and to John’s complete surprise, she laughs.

~

“Him?”  Grace laughs derisively.  “Oh please, Stefano.  You *must* be joking.  She’s still married to *him*?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Although he no longer goes by the name of Roman Brady.  The world knows him as John Black now.  But I will tell you *that* story some other time.”  He purses his lips and regards her carefully before looking towards the door where John stands, desolate.  “I’ve always wondered what you see in him.”

“Oh no,” the laugh is scornful.  “Not *me*, Stefano.  *She* is obviously as boring as he is.  That might well be the attraction.”  She looks thoughtful as she remembers John’s words from earlier.  “What was he blathering about a submarine?”

“Ah,” Stefano nods, “it is a long story, but ultimately, that is the reason *you* are here my dear, and Marlena isn’t.”

“Maybe I should thank him,” Grace returns, the irony thick in her smooth voice.  “So, when do we get out of here?”

“Get out?” Stefano isn’t quite sure he understands.

“Stefano I’ve been in this dreary little town for five minutes and I already feel like I’m suffocating.”  Grace rolled her eyes.  “When do we go back to Europe?”

“We don’t my beautiful Grace,” Stefano shakes his head.  “I’m sorry my dear, but I have things I need to take care of in Salem.”  He eyes her speculatively.  “Besides, now that you have re-joined me, there are a plethora of options open to us.”

“But these people think I’m Saint Marlena,” Grace glares at him.  “Stefano, you must be going mad.”

“No, no, no,” Stefano waves his finger in the air.  “Grace, you must understand.  These people are certainly less sophisticated than those in your usual circles.  But they are interesting, nonetheless.  And they provide amusement that you could not dream of finding in the finest European houses.”

Grace stares at him from under long lashes.  She is less than enthralled by what she thinks he is suggesting.

“The fact that they think you are still Marlena simply makes the avenues of interest all the more tempting.”  He smiles at her, and she returns his look with a bored one of her own.

“Stefano, don’t you think there are bigger fish to fry than these backwater imbeciles?” she asks hopefully.

“Maybe so my dear, but this is where we are, and this is where we are staying for now.  I have work for you to do.”

“You’d better come up with a better incentive than you have so far,” Grace remains unconvinced.  “Or I’ll find my own way back to Europe.”  She reaches out her hand and draws one finger down over Stefano’s jaw, trailing it down his neck to where his shirt meets in a vee above the top button.  Her voice is thick and husky as she speaks.  “And don’t think that I can’t.”

Stefano swallows, his pulse suddenly racing again as he tears himself away from her tawny eyes.  “I simply ask you to trust me, Grace.  I will explain everything to you when we have time.  Right now, we don’t have the luxury of much of that.”  He grasps her hand in his.  “John must be getting impatient out there by now and he is bound to interrupt sooner rather than later.”

“Great.”  Grace rolls her eyes.  

“I want you to pretend to be Marlena, at least until we work out what to do,” Stefano insists.  “You and I both know you are more than capable.”

Grace is silent for long moments as she eyes Stefano and then raises her gaze to the door.

“He cheated on her, didn’t he?  That was why he was so pathetic earlier.”

“Yes,” Stefano nods.  “He is weak, and he is a fool.  He believes that his indiscretion can be excused because he does not remember the time in question.”

“Oh Stefano,” a smile spreads steadily across her face.  “What have you been doing?”

“What I always do my dear, throwing a little spice in the mix and seeing what develops.”

“I assume since I am in this,” she looks around distastefully, “quaint little hospital, that Marlena did not take the news well?”

“You assume well, Grace.”  Stefano nods.  “She was distraught, both by the fact that her husband betrayed her trust on their honeymoon, and by the fact that he has been lying to her ever since.”

Grace chuckles slightly.

“Their honeymoon?”  It is a double-edged question.  She looks up to the doorway where she finds John watching her and she bites back her amusement.  If she is to go along with Stefano’s plan, it will not do to be seen being too friendly with him.  “Goodness Stefano, she can’t even keep him interested *that* long?”

“I told you,” Stefano’s voice is gruff as he stands, “he is a fool.  Maybe it will take you, Grace, to teach him what a fool he really is.”

Grace raises one eyebrow lazily as she lies back against the pillows.

“Maybe it will,” she sighs languidly.  “At least it might serve as a diversion until you’re done here.”

“Ah, don’t worry my dear.  There will be plenty of diversions.”  Stefano’s laugh is fluid and full of promise and Grace feels a tremor of pleasure filter through her consciousness.  

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter V – Tempo

John is becoming impatient outside the room.  He doesn’t like what is happening.  There is something very wrong here.  He has known it from the moment Marlena asked to speak with Stefano… No not asked… demanded.  And now, as he sees her laugh, he feels his foreboding amplify.

His heart is racing, the blood pounding in his ears as he watches Stefano stand and obliterate the view of the woman he loves. The woman he has hurt so many times.

He doesn’t know what to do, he only knows he can’t make it right with her while he is out there, and Stefano DiMera is in there with her.  Who knows what kind of lies he is filling her mind and heart with?  Surely, he has waited long enough.

Flinging open the door, he enters the room without hesitation.

“I need to speak to my wife,” he demands, his face red with anger.

“I rather think that is Marlena’s decision,” Stefano replies smoothly, turning to where Marlena sits, expressionless.  “Do you wish to speak to your husband, my dear?”

She says nothing for a long moment but sweeps disinterested eyes over John.  He can’t help but wonder what she is thinking.  And then, as the silence continues, he is filled with the fear she is going to say no.  That she is going to throw their marriage away without so much as allowing him a chance to explain.

“Doc,” he takes a step towards her, his eyes imploring.  “*Please*.  You have to let me explain.”

“I don’t *have* to do anything, John.”  She glares at him angrily and he takes a physical step backwards.

“Marlena, I’m asking you to hear me out,” he implores quietly.  “Please, I know I screwed up and I am so sorry about that, but if you’ll only let me explain-”

“What is there to explain?”  She shrugs offhandedly.  “You slept with another woman on our honeymoon and then you lied to me about it.  For *how* long now?”

“I was scared Marlena,” he moves to the end of her bed, ignoring the fact that Stefano is standing by, watching the exchange with barely suppressed amusement.  “I made some really bad choices, and I am really sorry for that.”

He notices Marlena glance at Stefano, and he feels that shiver of apprehension pass through him again.  She seems so cold, so angry.  Of course, she has every right to be.  But why is she turning to Stefano?  That bastard should be the very *last* person she wants to see.

“I’m really sorry too, John.”  There’s an edge to her voice that he doesn’t recognize, and it only serves to exacerbate his distress.  “I really don’t feel as though I can talk about this right now.  It…”  She stops and looks downwards.  “I don’t know how I feel right now, so I don’t know what to say to you.”

“But if you’ll just let me explain Doc-”

“I don’t want to hear it John,” she flicks her eyes up, the angry bronze irises searing through him.  “I don’t want to hear about how you made love to another woman, however it happened.  On our *honeymoon*.”

“It wasn’t making love, Marlena,” he returns with sheer desperation.  “It wasn’t anything *like* that.”

“Right now, I don’t care *what* it was like,” her reply is bordering on vitriolic.  “I just don’t want to hear it.  And if you care anything at all about saving this marriage, you’ll just leave it be for now.”

“Of *course* I care!”  He doesn’t even know how she can say that.

“Well then, you’ll allow me some time to collect my thoughts.”  It is a statement rather than a question.

“I….” He looks lost as he stares at her.  He’s not quite sure what she is asking of him.

“I think you should find somewhere else to stay for now,” she explains coldly.  “I’ll make my own way home.  I’d like you to be gone when I get there.”

“You’re throwing me out?”  He swallows, his throat suddenly excruciatingly dry.

“Nothing quite so dramatic,” she sighs lightly.  “Really John, if I was going to throw you out do you think I’d be asking you to give me some time?”  She shakes her head.  What a moron.

John says nothing for a long moment, and he turns to look at Stefano.  He doesn’t like what he sees.  The old man is looking at Marlena with an air of possessiveness that is disturbing, to say the very least.

“All right,” he says eventually.  “I’ll give you whatever you need, Marlena.  If you need time, then you’ll have time.  But the moment you want to talk to me, call me and I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” she nods her head, her voice deceptively mellow.

“But I will *not* leave *him* here with you,” John’s attitude steels and he becomes more determined.  “I don’t know why you wanted to speak with him in the first place.  I might have betrayed your trust Marlena, but you know you have *never* been able to trust this bastard.”

He is looking at Stefano as he speaks, and he misses the spark that lights the almond eyes behind him.

“Ah, don’t worry John, I will take my leave of the fair Marlena now.”  He moves to the bedside and lifts Grace’s hand.  He presses a soft kiss to the warm skin.  “As always my dear, it has been a pleasure.”

Grace says nothing but lifts her eyebrows slightly in a gesture meant just for him.  It says a thousand things that John will never understand.  It says she will join him in his deception.  For now.  She will play the game until he contacts her and they can plan their next manoeuvre.  And she will do her best to make the most of it.

Stefano nods but the movement is so small as to be undetectable by anyone but the woman who knows him so well.  He turns and grins wolfishly at John.  “Good luck, John.  Something tells me you are going to need it.”

When Stefano is gone, he turns back to his wife.  She is lying silently in her bed, looking at the window.

“Doc,” his whisper is tentative.  “Are you sure you want me to go?  Wouldn’t it be better to talk this out here and now?”

Marlena says nothing.  In fact, she gives no indication that she has even heard him.  She simply stares at the window, her eyes seeking something that he cannot fathom.  

He has no choice.  She wants him to go.  He can’t push her too far, if he does, she might break and he couldn’t bear that.  He has to give her what she needs right now, so he will go home and pack a small bag and take a room at the Salem Inn.

“I’ll be at the Inn if you need me baby,” he tells her, his voice choked with emotion.  “I’ll have my cell phone switched on.  Call me.  Anytime, okay?”  She does not answer, just stares, unmoving.  Unmoved.

“I love you Marlena, I have always loved you.  What’s happened doesn’t change that.”

He turns dejectedly and leaves, glancing back only once to see that she still has not moved.

When she is sure he is gone, Grace lets her shoulders drop and she purses her lips, her razor-sharp mind flicking back through the events that she has catalogued in her conscience.

Memories are vague but gaining substance as she works hard to define them.  She remembers little of that last night but the growling of a dog.  She is not sure she wishes to remember.  It is so long ago, she has so much to catch up on.  For now, she can only be cautious and feel her way through what might prove to be a minefield.

“Well, I’m pleased to see that you are awake.”  A woman walks into the room.  She’s wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard and Grace can only surmise that she is a doctor.  “Although I wish John had told me earlier.”

She sits on the edge of the bed, hugging the clipboard to her chest.

“How are you feeling Marlena?”

“I’ve got a headache,” Grace shrugs easily as she discreetly eyes the name tag on the doctor’s coat.  “But then that’s not really surprising.”

“Not really,” Lexie nods as she checks the dressing on Marlena’s forehead.  “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on?  How did *this*,” she indicates the wound, “happen?  And why did John leave in such a hurry?”

“I do mind you asking, as it happens,” Grace replies abruptly.

“Oh,” Lexie is taken aback, and she pulls back from her friend slightly.  “Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Grace says nothing for a moment but taps her fingers against the sheet, signalling her impatience.  

“So, when can I go then?”

“Oh.”  Lexie is finding Marlena’s manner a little unsettling.  She has never seen her friend quite so detached.  She can only think that something awful must have happened.   But if Marlena doesn’t want to talk about it, there’s not much she can do.  “Well, let me check you out and if everything is all right, then I can sign the discharge papers, okay?”

“Good.”  Grace nods her acceptance, and she co-operates as the doctor goes about her tasks diligently.

She wants nothing more than to get out of this tedious room and find her way into Marlena’s life.  She must learn about the woman in order to slip into her shoes, to live her life.  She knows nothing of what Stefano has in mind, but as usual where he is concerned, she finds herself intrigued.  They are two of a kind, if there is one thing she enjoys more than participating in his ‘games’, it is engaging him in one of her own.  There is nothing more stimulating than defeating the master in his own sport.

“All right, I’m just going to go and sign some forms,” Lexie lets the stethoscope tumble down around her neck.  “Why don’t you get changed into your clothes?”

“Okay,” Grace nods gently and grants the doctor a grateful smile.  She knows it is what the woman expects to see, and she is not surprised to see the relieved smile in return.  “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Lexie nods and moves towards the door.

Grace watches her leave, but another doctor stops Lexie outside the door.  Grace finds her interest piqued as she gets a glimpse of the doctor’s face.  He is remarkably attractive and the corner of her mouth curls slightly.

Maybe life in Salem might be a little more interesting than she has credited.

Chapter VI – Latitude of the Draw

It is another hour before Grace finally finds herself alone in a taxi on the way to Marlena’s penthouse apartment.  Lexie, the doctor and obviously Marlena’s friend, had tried to insist that she would take her, but Grace had refused firmly.  Right now, she knows too little about Marlena’s life.  If she doesn’t put distance between herself and Marlena’s friends, there is too much danger that she will slip up and reveal herself before she is ready.

She pays the driver and slips out of the car.  Her dress is crumpled, and she notices it is slightly torn as she smooths it over her hips.  She looks down at the conservative sundress with distaste and sighs.

The elevator ride to the top floor seems to take forever and she wonders what she will find when she gets there.  She remembers little of Marlena’s life, only hazy memories, augmented by the information Stefano has given her.  It is enough to know she bears no affection for the woman she has been.

She reaches into Marlena’s purse and pulls out a set of keys.  She is about to unlock the door, when it opens abruptly, and she finds her face to face with a blonde teenager.

“Oh Mom, I’m *so* glad you’re okay!”  The girl throws her arms around Grace’s neck and hugs her tightly.  Grace is taken aback but remembering that she must not arouse any suspicions, she pats what must be Marlena’s daughter on her back.

“Hi honey,” her laugh is insincere, but the child appears not to notice.

“What’s going on Mom?  Dad hardly said a word to me when he came home.”

“Is your father still here?” Grace looks around Marlena’s home for the first time.  She is pleasantly surprised.  It is elegant and understated but comfortable.  It is not entirely to her taste, but she can certainly live there.

“No, he said he had to go out,” the girl looks confused and a little scared.  “Mom?”

“It’s been a long day honey, I’ve got a headache,” Grace discards her shoes and her purse.  “Can we talk about this later?”

The girl looks unsure and then she nods acceptingly.  

“Okay, I was going out to the movies with Chloe anyway,” she pauses, “unless you want me to stay with you?  If you’re not feeling so good…”

“No.”  Grace shakes her head.  She needs this time alone to acclimatize.  “You go.  Have a wonderful time.”

“Okay.”  The child nods.  “I won’t be late.”

Grace nods her head and allows the blonde teenager to give her a kiss and then she turns her attention to the living room.  She hears the door close, and she takes the opportunity to lock it behind the young girl.

She’d forgotten that Marlena has children.  That might complicate matters.  Especially if the girl is living in the same house.  She purses her lips.  Maybe there’s somewhere she can ship the child for the summer?  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

Sighing, she wanders around the room, picking up items that catch her interest.  Plenty of pictures of Marlena with her children.  One of Marlena and John on their wedding day.  Her lips twitch into an amused smile.  Poor Marlena.  Poor, stupid, trusting Marlena.

She trails her fingers past the books on the shelf.  All tediously intellectual and pretentious, just as she expected.  No surprises so far.

She finds the liquor cabinet and utters a sigh of pleasure.  With experienced hands, she fixes herself a martini, careful to ensure that there is no ice left in her exquisitely mixed drink.  She takes a sip and hums her approval.  At least Marlena stocks decent alcohol.  For that, she is grateful.

Taking her glass, she ventures up the stairs, checking the rooms as she goes.  One for the young girl.  One for some unknown boy.  And then the bedroom that is obviously Marlena’s.

Grace wrinkles her nose at the sight of the softly feminine floral comforter and the crisp cotton sheets.  She takes another sip of her drink, letting the cool mixture of gin and vermouth sweep across her tongue.  She walks to the window and looks out over the city of Salem, wondering what it is that Stefano finds so fascinating about this little backwater.

“Well Marlena, let’s find out a little about you, shall we?”  She sashays to the armoire and unlatches the door.  Her fingers filter through the fine fabrics of the clothes that hang loosely, and her face conveys her dismay.  She wouldn’t be caught dead in most of these drab, dowdy clothes and she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to stomach it, even for Stefano’s sake.  

A wicked smile plays on her lips as she considers her options.  She’ll just have to spice up Marlena’s wardrobe, along with some other key areas of her alter-ego’s life.

Salem is not going to know what hit it.

~

Stefano has a certain spring in his step as he enters the sitting room of his house.  His eyes alight on the chess set in the corner and he rubs his hands together in delicious anticipation.

He pulls the table out and inspects the pieces.  His eyes gleam as he picks up the black queen and stares at it, enraptured.  He cannot believe this stroke of luck.  When he lost Grace all those years ago, he had assumed that she was gone forever.  The fall and subsequent injury were so severe that Marlena had barely survived.  And when she’d awoken in San Cristobal, her memory of her time as Grace had been completely obliterated.

After the accident, he had obtained Hope from Ernesto and she had become Gina, but she had not been able to match Grace in any arena.  She’d been passable and she’d been useful, but ultimately, she had simply been a substitute for the one woman who was beyond his reach.

But now, through some stroke of unmitigated fortune, his Grace is back, and she is as beautiful and as sharp as ever.

With a thoughtful expression, he strokes a finger down the expensive patina of the ebony queen.  This changes everything.  His plans, such as they are, can as good as be abandoned.  Because Grace is the perfect weapon.  She can wreak havoc in the heart of the Brady’s and the Horton’s, and they will never even know what hit them.

He laughs, the sound resonating in his barrel-like chest.  Perfect.  It couldn’t be any more perfect if he wished it so.

~

Grace drifts down the staircase in a long silk nightgown.  The matching robe floats out behind her.  She finds herself pleasantly surprised by Marlena’s lingerie after the disappointment of the armoire.  The private side of Marlena shows more promise than she expected.

She mixes herself another drink and picks up the wedding picture once again.  She studies her face in the photograph, noticing the fine lines that she is unfamiliar with around her eyes and mouth.  She narrows her eyes as she looks at the couple’s happy smiles.

“So much for wedded bliss huh Marlena?”  She takes a sip of her martini.  “Well, since you’re not here to forgive your husband, it looks like it’s up to me.”  She drops the picture back onto the sideboard, face down.  “But there won’t be any forgiveness in the Black household, you can guarantee that.”  

~

John stares at his phone, misery pouring off him in waves.  All he can see is the devastation in Marlena’s beautiful hazel eyes as Stefano tells her the ghastly truth and it is killing him.  He swore that he would never let his past hurt her and now it has.  And how.

He knows now that the very last thing he should have done was lie to her.  Really, he has known it all along, but he has put it off and avoided it until it has become impossible.  And now he is paying the price.  Or rather Marlena is paying the price.  She is the one that is having to deal with the feelings of betrayal, the anger and pain and he can’t bear that he is the one who has caused that.  He should be there comforting her, loving her, but instead he is here, separated from her by his own lies and selfishness.

He has never hated himself more than he does right now.  Of all the things he could do, he has done the most heinous.  He has destroyed the trust and the love between him and the woman he treasures most in the world.

“Marlena.”  His whisper is labored and defeated.  He is lost and he knows it.

~

Grace wanders to the sofa with a heavy photo album tucked under her arm.  She drops it onto the sofa and then arranges herself with her drink beside the book.  Slowly, she flicks through it, thankful for once that Marlena is so tediously organized.  All the photos are labelled, and she slowly learns the name of Marlena’s children.  Isabella, the precocious blonde teenager who greeted her at the door; Brady, a shy-looking young man who looks nothing like Marlena; Eric, in his early twenties, a product of Marlena’s first marriage, from what Grace can garner, and his twin Samantha, a young woman with a child of her own.  And finally, there is Carrie.  

Grace’s strongest memories are of Carrie.  She occupies many of the fragments of the memories that Grace has of Marlena’s life.  The twins are hazier, too young when Marlena was taken to really have formed any kind of lasting impression on Grace.  Not that it matters.  Grace has no interest in Marlena’s family past what she must do to dampen any suspicions that they might hold.  Once she leaves Salem, they will be relegated to the past.  Permanently.

Grace grimaces as she sees the pictures with her own face staring back at her.  Pictures of a life she has few memories of, with a family she doesn’t know and doesn’t care to meet.   But she has no choice.  Stefano has deemed they stay, and she has no desire to chance his wrath quite yet.  She needs to gather her strength and assess her options, whatever they may be.

The phone rings unexpectedly and she reaches over to pick up the portable.

“Hello?” her voice is lazy and strongly sensual, and Stefano does nothing to suppress the thrill in his own.

“Grace, darling.”

“Stefano,” he can almost hear her smile.  “I was just thinking about you.”

“Should I be worried?” he asks with amusement.

“You should always be worried my darling,” she laughs, and it reminds him of bubbles that break on the surface of a good champagne.

“Ah Grace, you do keep me on my toes,” he grins widely.  “I assume you are alone.”

“I am,” she takes another sip of her martini.  “The husband was gone when I arrived.  And Isabella has gone out.”

“Belle,” Stefano corrects.  “Marlena calls the child Belle.”
”Whatever.”  Grace sounds bored again.  “Stefano, I hope you’ve got a good reason for me to stay here because looking around this place, I’m going to need daily insulin shots just to cope with the overwhelming sweetness.”  She drains her glass and sighs exaggeratedly.

“Do not worry Grace,” Stefano can’t fail to be amused by her.  She is so transparent, but only because she intends to be.  She is the only person in twenty years that has provided him any real intellectual challenges.  Well, aside from Marlena that is.  “I will give you the reasons you need, and more.”

“All right,” she slams the album beside her closed.  “Tell me.”

“Not over the telephone,” Stefano tells her.  “Have dinner with me tomorrow and we will discuss it then.”

“Tomorrow?” her face falls.

“Grace, however wonderful the outcome, you had an accident today.  You need your rest,” he reminds her.  She is set to argue, but Stefano continues.  “I will send a driver for you tomorrow.  Wear something stunning my dear.”

“Stefano,” Grace’s tone is scolding, “do you really think you need to tell me that?”

“Of course not,” Stefano laughs delightedly.  “I did, simply because I can, Grace.”

“Oh Stefano, you darling old reprobate,” her giggle is wickedly delicious.  “We are going to have fun, aren’t we?”

“Oh yes my beautiful Grace,” he breathes, his mind reeling at the double entendre.  She knows exactly what she does to him, and she revels in it.  But he doesn’t care.  Anyone else, he would crush.  But not his Grace; not his beautiful golden Queen.  He would not even be sure that he could if he tried.  “Yes, we are going to have fun….”

Chapter VII – Offside Piece

“Mom?”  Grace doesn’t even hear the voice until she feels a touch on her arm.  “Mom, is that you?”  

She turns round and finds her face to face with Marlena’s eldest daughter.

“Samantha.  Uh… hi there.”  She is a little surprised to see Marlena’s daughter at the shopping mall in the middle of the day, she had assumed that everyone Marlena knows, would be at work.

“Wow, Mom, you look…” Sami searches for a word to describe her mother’s appearance, “…great.  It’s different, but I really like it.” 

Marlena has on a lime-green halter-top sundress that finishes somewhere halfway up her toned thighs.  The outfit clings to her curves while accentuating her lithe body.  Her eyes are hidden behind expensive-looking sunglasses and her hair is wound up into a kind of French twist.  It’s a style that Sami is not sure she has seen Marlena wear before, and the entire effect is absolutely stunning.  Or would be if it was not quite so disconcerting.

“Thanks,” Grace removes her sunglasses in a practiced sweep of her arm and looks down at the bags by her feet.  “A little retail therapy.  I thought it wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Sami’s concern shines in her eyes as she surveys the bruise on Marlena’s temple.  It’s concealed by make-up, but not entirely.  Still, the smoky eyes and the pale, pouting lips do more than enough to draw attention away from any imperfections.  “Um, I mean since you had that accident yesterday and all.  Don’t you think you should be home resting?” 

“I’m just fine, Sami,” she pauses, remembering long ago conversations with Stefano about Marlena.  The woman is devoted to her family, and she loves her children to distraction, that much is evident from the little Grace has seen in the penthouse.  She strikes Grace as the kind of woman who is fond of sugary endearments and although the thought makes her want to gag, Grace realizes she has to behave as much like Marlena as she can.  For now.

Sami looks askance at her mother, wondering just what is going on.

“Honestly Sami,” Grace laughs lightly.  “Honey, I’m just fine.  It was just a tiny bump.  Nothing to get worried about.”

“Didn’t sound like that when John called us,” Sami raises fair brows.  “He was distraught.”

“Yes, well,” Grace stiffens slightly at the mention of Marlena’s husband.  “Maybe he felt he had reason to be upset.”

“Mom?”  Sami feels a chill shudder through her body.  “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Grace reaches to brush the hair out of Samantha’s eyes, and she smiles easily.  “What makes you think anything is wrong, sweetheart?”

“Sami!”  They are interrupted as Austin trots up to the two women.  “Hi Dr. Evans.”

“Why, hi there Austin,” Grace smiles appreciatively as she takes in Austin’s appearance.  He’s wearing a t-shirt, but she can see the definition of his muscles under the damp grey-marl cotton.  And, she notices, he’s definitely noticing her too.  She can see the bob of his Adams apple as he swallows convulsively, and she catches his eyes with a glance that is little more than an invitation.

Austin clears his throat nervously, hoping Sami hasn’t seen him staring at her mother.  Dr. Evans has always been a very attractive woman, but today there’s just something about her that is incredibly sexy.  But she’s a married woman and she’s Sami’s mother.  He can’t think of her like that.  It’s not right.

“Uh, Sami are you going to pick up Will?”  He tries to keep his gaze from wandering back to the woman beside him, but he’s unsuccessful and he sneaks another glance at her.  The silky fabric of the dress is clinging to her body and although it’s modest in its coverage, somehow, it’s also revealing.

She doesn’t appear to notice his glance as Sami answers him without taking her own eyes from her mother.  “Yeah.  I need to talk to Mom first though.”

“Sure,” Austin nods.  “Um, I’d like to come with you if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“Right well,” Austin bobs his head again, trying to avoid looking at Marlena once more.  “I’ll, um, I’ll wait over by Ballistix.”

“Austin honey, you don’t have to go,” Grace lays a hand on his arm, her voice mellifluous and quite bewitching.  She doesn’t want to have this conversation with Samantha, it’s too risky.

“*Mom*,” Sami appears frustrated.  “I talked to Belle.  She told me that John didn’t stay at the penthouse last night.  What the heck is going on?”

“Sweetheart,” Grace starts.

“Mom don’t give me that crap about everything being okay,” Sami cuts her off.  “You had an accident and John isn’t hanging around the penthouse like a bad smell?  I’m not going to buy it.”

“Samantha,” Grace is a little amused by Sami’s chutzpah but she doesn’t think Marlena would be in her place and so she disciplines her reaction.  “I really would rather not talk about it now, all right?”

“But Mom-”

“No Sami, *no* buts,” Grace stops her firmly.  “I told you, I don’t want to discuss it.  If you want to know the details, then maybe you should find John and ask him.”

“Okay, okay,” Sami held up her hands.  “I’m sorry, I was concerned about you.”  She eyes her mother suspiciously.  “I still am.”

“I’ll be fine,” Grace looks at her watch and then slips her sunglasses back on.  “You’d better go and pick up your son.  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” Sami nods but she remains dubious.  “Listen Mom, if you don’t want to talk now, can we catch up later?”

“Sure thing honey,” Grace leans over and presses her cheek to Sami’s.  She has no intention of talking to the girl, but it doesn’t hurt to play along.  “Take care.”

“I will.  You too Mom.”

Grace nods and picks up her shopping bags.  As she is walking away, she turns to find Austin is still watching her.

It is late afternoon by the time Grace makes it back to the penthouse and she scatters packages behind her on the way through the living room of the apartment.  Stopping only to mix herself a martini, she mounts the stairs with two bags still in her clutch and makes her way to the bedroom.

She sets the glass down on the dresser and drops the bags on the bed, shaking the contents onto the floral comforter.  She opens one box to reveal lingerie so flimsy as to barely exist.  She fingers the silk and lace teddy with pleased fingers, and she sighs.

In another box a silk gown nestles among an abundance of tissue.  She pulls it out and the luxurious fabric tumbles to the ground in a waterfall of ice blue.  She smiles ravishingly as she picks up her martini again.  It might not be the couture she is used to, but the items she’s found today are passable.  Better than what is languishing in the armoire anyway.

She turns as the phone shrills and raises a well-defined brow.  She’s in no hurry to answer it, but the phone is still ringing as she lifts the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Marlena?  Honey, look I know you don’t want to talk to me, but can you just hear me out?”  John’s voice sounds tired and miserable on the other end of the line, and it warms Grace’s cool heart to hear him so devastated.

“You’re right, I don’t want to talk to you,” she returns caustically.  “Didn’t I ask you to give me some space?”

“Doc, I’m miserable without you,” he blurts out.  “I can’t bear knowing I’ve hurt you.  Please, *please* let me make it up to you.”

“Why is this all about what *you’re* feeling and what *you* want?” she asks icily.  “What *I* want is for you to leave me alone.  So, if you *ever* want me to talk to you again, I suggest you do just that.”

Grace hangs up abruptly, her amber eyes flashing.  It takes her a moment and then she lets the laughter ripple through her.  What a weak, pathetic fool you married, Marlena.  Well, don’t worry; I’ll take care of that for you.

Her delighted smile remains throughout her shower and her preparations for dinner.  She piles her hair into a loose bun and lets a few delicate strands sweep her slender neck before she slides her legs into expensive silk stockings.  Slipping the dress over her curves, she smooths it around the low-cut neckline and smiles.  Stefano will certainly approve.

After careful application of her make-up, she pulls out a selection of Marlena’s jewelry.  It has been a pleasant surprise to realize that John and Marlena have money and it makes the prospect of living Marlena’s life somewhat more bearable.

She chooses diamonds to drape around her neck and her wrist and diamonds dangle from her ears.  A new pair of strappy heels in the same ice blue as the dress, and studded with cut crystal, completes her look and she slips into them just as the doorbell chimes.

She makes her way downstairs, refusing to be rushed and she opens the door to find Stefano’s driver waiting for her.  With a smile, she collects her purse and her keys and closes the door of the penthouse behind her.

Chapter VIII – Tabiya

“Ahhh, Grace,” Stefano is waiting for her in the foyer and his face lights up as he watches the maid take Grace’s wrap.  She looks absolutely stunning, every inch the Queen he has made her.

“Stefano.”  A smile touches her lips and her eyes flash as brightly as the diamonds at her ears.  She looks around the entrance to the house with interest.

“I know my dear, it is not the chateau, but then, this is not France, is it?”  He cocks his head to one side.

“No, it certainly isn’t,” she murmurs softly.

“May I say,” he leans back against the doorway to the living room with a casualness that belies his racing heart.  “You look quite beautiful.”

“That was a requirement, wasn’t it?” she asks with a half-smile.

She knows the effect she is having on him; she can see it in the flushed skin and the wide, ebony pupils.  She knows and she revels in it.  She could have him if she wanted, all it would take would be one word…  But where would the challenge be in that?  Where would the enjoyment, the thrill of the hunt be for either of them?

Stefano takes a deep breath, his eyes drawn to the large expanse of golden cleavage exposed by the low neckline of the gown she is wearing.  He knows how soft that skin is, knows how gloriously warm and fragrant she is…

He swallows, tearing his eyes from her before he turns.  He sweeps his arm forward in a gesture of gallantry.  “After you, my dear.”

Grace says nothing, merely smiles benignly as she brushes past him on her way to the sitting room.  She is so close for a moment that he can swear he hears her heart beating, but then he realizes it is only his own, pounding in his ears.  He must stop this, must get a grip on himself.  This is *Grace* after all.  If she senses weakness in him, he will lose her forever.

“A drink, Grace?” he asks softly.

“Mmmm,” she wanders slowly around the room, fingering ornaments, looking at pictures.  The only light comes from a muted lamp on a side table and from several candles above the fireplace.

She lifts a heavy silver frame that holds a photo of Marlena, and she elevates one well-defined eyebrow.  “Stefano?”

Stefano moves to her side, placing a martini in her elegant hands.  “I had to have some reminders, Grace.”

“But this is Marlena, Stefano.”  She eyes him with suspicion.

“All the photos of you were destroyed when Maison Blanche burned.”  Stefano lies easily.  He does not think Grace would take kindly to his… passion for Marlena.  She will know, for now, only that which he wants her to know.

“Maison Blanche?”  She blinks but it is the only betrayal of her surprise.

“It is a long story, Grace,” Stefano waves his hand, indicating his desire not to dwell on the past.  “It’s not important now.  What is important, is that you are back and that we have plans to make.”

~

“Dad?”  

John’s heart sinks as he hears his daughter’s voice on the other end of the cellular phone. “Yeah sweetheart, what is it?”

“Dad, what’s going on?  Where are you?”  Belle has come home to an empty apartment, and she is understandably upset.

“Uh,” John quickly searches his mind for a believable excuse.  Obviously, Marlena has not told their daughter what’s happened.  That is unlike her, but maybe she doesn’t feel like she is able to right now.  He can hardly blame her for that.  “I’m working on a project right now sweetheart.  I’ve just stepped out of the office for dinner, but it looks like it’s going to be another all-nighter.”

“Well, where’s Mom?”  Belle looks at the shopping bags that are scattered across the floor of the living room.  This is so bizarre, it’s so totally unlike her mom to make a mess like this and then leave without cleaning it up.

“You mother isn’t there?” John’s voice is sharp.

“Would I be asking you where she is if she was here?” Belle asks, her frustration getting the better of her.  Her father isn’t telling her the truth, she knows that.  She doesn’t get what is going on here.  And it’s scaring her.

“Isabella -”

“I’m sorry Dad,” she doesn’t need the rebuke that she knows is coming.  Her sharp tongue has gotten her into more trouble with her parents than she would like to lay claim to.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  It’s just that, well… Mom usually leaves a note or something.  It’s just not like her to not let us know where she’s going.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”  John chews on his lip nervously.  After their phone conversation, if it can be called such, he is unsure what Marlena might have done.  She’s a mystery to him right now, but that is his fault too.  He has pushed her to breaking point and he has to deal with the consequences.  “Don’t worry about your mother, Belle.  I’m sure she just got caught up with a patient or something.  Maybe there was an emergency she had to deal with, and she didn’t have time to leave you a note.”

“Yeah, I guess that could have happened.”  Belle shrugs.  It sure would explain the mess.  

“Listen honey, when your mom gets home, can you just call me and let me know?”  John tries to sound casual.

“Why don’t I just get *her* to call you?” Belle asks reasonably.  “I might be in bed by the time she gets in, I can leave a note.”

“Uh, well if you’re still up baby, you call me.  Your mother will probably be tired, she doesn’t need to be bothered, okay?”  He hopes the blatant lie isn’t obvious to his daughter.  He hopes he can sort this mess out with Marlena before they need to upset any of their children with it.

Belle pauses for a moment.  She’s still sure dad isn’t being straight with her but there’s not much she can do about it right now.  “Sure thing Dad.  Don’t work too hard.”

“Thanks sweetheart.  I love you.”

He flips up the flap of his cell phone and stares down at the water.  He’d come here to the pier looking for some answers.  Hoping that somehow, being in ‘their’ place would lead him to the right words, the right way to show Marlena how sorry he is.

But now he finds where he looks for answers, there are only more questions.

~

“What are these plans of yours?” Grace leafs through the dossier in her lap.  Stefano works quickly, he has already compiled an extensive history on everyone pertinent to Marlena’s life, as well as the woman herself.  It looks like it will make for interesting reading and Grace suspects that there is more to Stefano’s involvement in Marlena’s… ‘misfortune’ than he has admitted.  But that is beside the point right now.  

Stefano has just given her the reader’s digest version, but with her sharp mind, it won’t take Grace long to devour this information.  However, right now she is more interested in the future than in the past.  

“Why don’t we sit down to eat, and I will tell you all about it,” Stefano smirks without compunction.  He knows he has her interest piqued and he wishes to whet her appetite for revenge.

He pulls out a chair for her at the table and waits for her to seat herself before he moves to the ice bucket.  Grace’s lips curl as he takes the bottle out of the bucket.  Of course he remembers.  Stefano always remembers everything.

He wraps a napkin around the neck of the bottle before beginning the ritual of opening the expensive champagne, the same champagne they had shared the very first time they dined together.

The cork exits with a bang and an expansive hiss and Grace watches appreciatively as he pours the golden liquid into a crystal flute.  Stefano fills his own before placing the bottle back in the silver bucket and then sits in the chair opposite her as he raises his glass.

“A toast to my beautiful Grace,” his smile is voracious and seems to fill the room.  “I cannot tell you how much I missed your wit and your charm.  Welcome home my darling.”

Grace raises her glass in reply.  “And to you Stefano.  May life here in Salem be as interesting as you promise.”

Stefano laughs, the baritone vibrations unsettling the air between the two of them.  “Grace, always such little patience.  *That* is a trait you certainly share with the fair Marlena.”

“*Don’t* compare me with her.”  Grace’s voice embraces a chilling warning and Stefano can see the cold fury in those familiar hazel eyes.

“I would not *dream* of it, Grace.”  He holds his hand in front of him, the large paw intended to soothe her fit of pique.

She glares at him though, her expression frigid.  She is Grace, *not* Marlena.  Grace is the name she chose, the person she chose to be.  She will *never* forget that and she expects him not to either.  When she came to him, torn from the clutches of a brutal sea, she had known nothing except that she was grateful to be alive.  Grateful to him for giving her a place to heal and learn.

He had told her nothing at first, simply allowed her to explore her new world.  She had spent weeks regaining her strength and when she had been ready, he had allowed her to make her own decision.  She could find her past or she could stay with Stefano.  He would look after her as long as she wanted, or she could go.  It was her decision.

She had stayed.

It wasn’t until later that the memories began to filter into her consciousness.  By then she didn’t want to know about the family that had abandoned her.  She had made her own place in the world; she had a new name and a new life.  She did not want to know the past.  It held no meaning for her.

It still doesn’t.

Grace is nothing like Marlena.  She is cunning and resourceful, and she knows how to get what she wants.  By whatever means necessary.  She knows her beauty gives her power, and she wields her sensuality like a weapon.  She is brilliant and she knows it.  If she is sure of anything, it is that she will not be stifled into obscurity as Marlena Evans again.  Ever.

“Grace.”  Her name on Stefano’s tongue has the sibilant sound of a snake.  He wishes to pacify her, and she knows she must let him.  “Darling, do not worry.  Marlena is the past.  You and I, my Queen, will reign gloriously… Once we have put the Brady’s in their place.”

“So, tell me Stefano,” she leans back, relaxing only slightly as she fingers the diamonds that encircle her wrist.  “What did these Brady’s do to warrant such attention?”

“Pah,” he waves his hand irritably.  “They have been a thorn in my side for too many years now.”

“Ah yes,” Grace smiles sweetly but is lacking sincerity or warmth.  “Roman Brady…”

“Roman Brady is a *fool*!”  Spittle erupts from Stefano’s lips along with the vitriolic words and the cutlery dances as he smashes his meaty fist on the table.

“Oh Stefano,” she is faintly amused.  “I think I’m starting to see…”

“You see *nothing*, Grace,” Stefano’s face is dark with anger.  “The Brady’s have taken too much from me.  I have lost my children because of them.  I have lost *too* *damn* *much*…”  

He glares up at her with ebony eyes that echo the depths of hell.  “They *will* pay for it.  And you, Grace, will be the angel of my vengeance…”

Chapter IX – Pawn Lever

Grace toys with her dessert, her appetite having vanished some hours earlier with the news that two of Stefano’s children are dead.  She has never met any of Stefano’s children, but she feels his loss, nonetheless.

“Grace,” Stefano’s growl rouses her from her contemplation of the gateaux.  He hands her a brandy and she drops the spoon with a clang against the delicate china.  He smiles, his earlier anger dissipated by the shroud of time.  He will never forget his children, but he must move on.  And with Grace by his side, he knows he can finally do that.

She holds out her empty hand and he takes it, helping her from her chair.  In a smooth movement, he runs thick fingers over her soft skin.  With a shiver, Grace realizes this is the first time he has touched her tonight.  In fact, it is the first time he has *really* touched her since she came back to him.  

He moves his hand along her arm, and he rounds behind her, his fingertips tracing the fine bones of her shoulder.  Grace smiles victoriously as she feels his warm breath against the nape of her neck and then she feels his body, taut against hers.

“Grace.”  It is little more than a moan.  The exhalation that follows stirs the golden locks that linger against her neck, eluding the clips that restrain the luxurious golden mass against her head.  She feels a thrill as his hand circles her wrist and then moves the length of her arm.  “*Grace. *  Tell me that you will help me.”

She doesn’t move for a long moment.  And then she twists against him so that he is looking directly into her amber eyes.  Her smile is so sensual that Stefano feels himself tremble.  

“Of course I’ll help you.”  

~

“John?” Bo’s voice approaches from the darkness and John feels his stomach turn with misery and fear.  “John, what the hell are you doing down here?”

John can’t answer, but Bo knows he has heard because he sees the tell-tale twitch of that familiar muscle in John’s jaw.  Bo is on a mission of his own to find answers and like John, he has come to seek for them on a rickety old pier, overlooking the river.

But, as with John, he has found none.  Hope is still pregnant with a child that is not his.  And there is no answer for that.  It simply *is* and he has to deal with it.

“Hey buddy.”  Bo scoots his butt onto the makeshift seat next to his friend.  His once-brother.  He has trusted this man with his life so many times.  He wonders if John can trust him with his demons now.  “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”  John buries the two-day old growth on his chin in his hands.  What can he say to Bo?  My wife threw me out for screwing your fiancé, Bo.  Sorry buddy.  

He can’t even imagine the reaction if Bo finds out it was John, his trusted friend, who fathered the bastard child Hope is carrying.  He can’t imagine how any of the Bradys will look at him.  Another Brady marriage down the tubes, thanks to John Black, number one jerk.

What a prize fucking asshole I am.  Jesus, what the hell am I going to do?  What am I going to do without her….?

Bo puts his hand on John’s arm sympathetically.  “John, bro, it can’t be that bad surely.”

“Bo, just leave me alone, okay?” John snarls angrily.  He looks like a wounded animal and Bo shrinks back instinctively.

“Sure, okay.”  He nods and stands up, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does so.  He knows John well enough not to push him.  But still….  “If you wanna talk bro…” he shrugs.  “You know where.”

“Sure.”  John nods, clamping his bleary eyes closed.  He can’t deal with Bo’s sympathy right now.  Especially since he in no way deserves it.  “Thanks Bo.”

Bo nods and moves off towards the stairs.  When John is sure he is gone, he opens his eyes and stares out across the river.  

He needs her like he needs to breathe, but what is terrifying him is that he can no longer feel her.

He’s lost her.  Maybe this time, for good.

~

“There is something else you need to know.”  Stefano sits close to Grace on the sofa and hands her a manila folder.  She opens it to find the face of Roman Brady staring back at her. 

She turns to Stefano with a quizzical expression.  “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You know him.”  He purses his lips as he watches her golden eyes study the photograph.

“But I thought-”

“No, no, no, no.”  He shakes his head.  “No-one knows the location of the *real* Roman Brady.  No,” he points at the picture, “this one is a remarkably good imposter.”

“And I know him?” she repeats slowly.

Yes… the eyes.  There’s something about those eyes…

“Lamont.”  Icy fingers of hatred chill her blood.  “What the *hell*-?”

“He’s a good man.” Stefano is defensive.  He knows what’s coming.

“You didn’t think he was a ‘good man’ when you just about had him executed did you?” she demands furiously.  “What the *hell* did you think you were doing putting him anywhere *near* me, you bastard!?”

“It wasn’t you Grace,” Stefano returns calmly, “it was Marlena.”

“It was my *body* Stefano,” Grace spits back in pure rage.  “And you and I both know that was what he was after.”

“Grace,” Stefano lays his hand on her knee, but she slaps it away.

“Don’t patronize me you double-talking asshole.”  Grace springs from the couch and stalks across the room.  “In case you’ve forgotten, that fucker tried to *rape* me.”

“Grace, that was *years* ago,” Stefano returns with an easy smile on his face.  “Anyway, he thinks he is Roman Brady.  He would *never* do anything to hurt his beloved Marlena.  And besides,” he grins gleefully, “if *you* remember, *you* were the one that begged for his life.”

Grace’s eyes would impale Stefano if they could.  

Lamont had been her bodyguard when she was first at Stefano’s compound.  But he had done more than guard her body.  He had coveted it, and one day when they had been alone, he had tried to seduce her.  

When she had resisted his advances, he had become more vicious in his methods.  It was only Stefano’s intervention that had saved her from being brutally violated and she had never forgotten that feeling of helplessness and terror.  It had been then that she had vowed never to feel that vulnerable again.  Still, she had irrationally intervened with Stefano for the man’s life.  

Grace has no such moral qualms now.  “I was weak and foolish then.  But not a day goes by, Stefano, when I don’t regret that decision.”

“Well,” Stefano’s eyes twinkle obscenely, “maybe now it is your chance to right that wrong, my dear.”  He leans back and crosses his leg atop the other.  “Lamont is ‘extraneous’ to requirement now.  What better way to start the Brady’s on their road to destruction, do you think, than to tear their heart out?”

His laughter is silent, and he sees Grace’s eyes come alive.  “Yes, my dear,” he nods.  “He’s all yours.”

Grace smiles and moves to the sofa.  She sinks to the seat next to Stefano and leans into him, her bosom rising and falling with short, aroused breaths.  “How soon?” she asks.

“Whenever you want my dear,” Stefano hands her the equivalent of a reward.  “Just remember that the Brady’s think he is Roman.  It would be useful if they were not disabused of that notion.”

“They won’t learn the truth from me,” she smiles, baring perfect white teeth and for a moment, Stefano is reminded of a golden lioness stalking her prey.

“Don’t let me down Grace,” Stefano warns, so close to her that his nostrils are filled with her scent.  He can hardly concentrate, and he has to close his eyes for a moment to regain his balance.

At that moment, he feels her soft, velvet lips on his and her tongue enters his mouth.  And then, just as quickly as it begins, it is gone and he opens his eyes, panting for breath.

Grace smiles naughtily and winks at him before she rises.

“I really must get going.  I’ve a full day ahead of me tomorrow.”  She knows she has him completely off-balance and she thinks it serves him right.  After what he just pulled on her?  “Don’t bother seeing me out Stefano, I think I can find my own way.”  

She gathers up the dossier and turns for the door.

“Grace.”  It is a distinct command, and she contemplates ignoring it, but only for a moment.  With an air of contrived innocence, she turns around.  

“Call me when you have some news,” he instructs her, trying hard to hide his admiring frustration.  “*Any* news.”

“Oh, I will,” she nods, excitement barely concealed in her lithe body.  “Who else am I going to share my triumphs with?”

“Be careful, Grace,” Stefano warns.  “The Bradys aren’t stupid.  Neither is John Black.  Watch yourself around them if you want to succeed.”

“Don’t worry Stefano,” she shrugs the folders further into her arms.  “When I’m finished with them, the Brady’s won’t even know what hit them.  And by the time they figure it out, we’ll be on our way to Europe.”

Chapter X – Opening Trap

Craig Wesley looks up just as Marlena Evans walks straight into him.  The chart in her hands clatters to the floor and she jumps back, shaking her head apologetically.

“Craig, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t worry Marlena.”  He crouches down to help her pick up the scattered papers and can’t help but notice the way the fire-engine red skirt is hiked up her thigh.

“I don’t know where my head is at the moment,” she sighs as he takes her arm and helps her up.  He is noticing more than just her skirt now.  She is wearing a close-fitting red suit and Craig finds his gaze is drawn to her as she brushes the mane of golden-blonde hair from her face.  He has certainly noticed her before, he’d have to blind not to, but he hasn’t seen her looking like *this*.  She seems to be projecting an aura of sensuality that he doesn’t associate with Marlena.  Marlena is usually a little more conservative than this.  Actually, a lot more conservative he realizes as his eyes drift down to her cleavage.  She’s an absolute knockout.

Marlena smiles at him and he sees a flash of something in her eyes that makes him do a double take.  Then her smile falters and he thinks he must have been imagining it.

“Marlena, is everything okay?”  The question is quiet.  Marlena tries to smile again for a moment, but she fails miserably.  Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head.

Without a word, Craig takes her arm and guides her into his office, which is just across the hallway.  “Do you want to talk about it?”  He doesn’t particularly want to play counsellor, but he is Chief of Staff and Marlena is one of his staff members.  He has a responsibility to make sure that she is up to doing her job.  And besides that, he can’t keep his eyes off her.

“Not really.”  She shrugs as she perches on the edge of his desk, her slender legs crossed in front of her.  “It’s personal.”

“Is it serious?”  Craig senses that there’s more to this than meets the eye.  Especially as she looks up at him again.  There is more than a hint of an invitation in her expression, he is sure of it.  But then maybe he’s just misreading her…  “Do you want to take a few days off to sort it out?  I’m sure we can rearrange your schedule.”

“No.”  She shakes her head defiantly.  “Believe me, home is the last place I want to be right now.”  She turns from him to stare out the window, Craig suspects in order to hide her tears.  

“Marlena,” he moves to where she is sitting and leans against the desk next to her.  He waits as she surreptitiously wipes her tears.  “Maybe it would help to talk about it, whatever it is.”

“Help what?” She turns back to him, her hazel eyes afire with anger.  “My husband’s cheating on me and now he’s moved out of our home.  How exactly is talking about it going to help?”

“John’s left you?” Craig’s face expresses his astonishment.

Marlena nods before she stands and crosses her arms tightly in front of her.  Craig can’t help but note, thanks to the low-cut neckline of her suit, the gesture only serves to enhance her cleavage.  

He shakes his head guiltily after a moment.  He can’t use Marlena’s distress as an opportunity to think about seducing her.  He can’t…. that’s wrong… even if her husband has up and left her.  He’s a married man he can’t be thinking…

“Evidently I’m no longer good enough for him,” she says bitterly.  “I guess he got bored once the chase was over.”

“Marlena, somehow I doubt boredom is the reason…”  Craig is finding it hard to believe *anyone* could walk out on this stunning woman.

“What other reason could there be?” she asks coldly.  “If he still finds me attractive, if he still loves me, then why is he out screwing some other woman?”

“There are many reasons…” Craig’s voice fades as he sees her turn away again.  She’s right, she doesn’t even have to say it.  That’s totally lame.  “Marlena, he’s an idiot.  If he’s left you, I can’t even begin to comprehend what an idiot he is.”

“What did I do wrong?” she lifts her shoulders in a shrug as she turns back to face him again.  “I mean, I really thought we had it all.  And now I find myself wondering what is so awful about me that I drive him away after a year of marriage.”

“Marlena,” Craig can’t believe that she would think there was *anything* wrong with her.  “It’s not you, it’s him.  He’s obviously crazy.”

“Do you know,” she moves closer to him, “I waited for him for *three* years?  After my ex-husband left me, I was single… celibate… for three years.”  She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the lunacy of it.  Then she lowers her eyes to contemplate the floor.  “Maybe I just got out of practice.”

 Craig can say nothing for a moment, he is too stunned by the mere possibility that a woman like Marlena can stay celibate for more than a few weeks.  She could have had her *pick* of the men in Salem and yet she had remained faithful to *John Black*?  Who had now fucked around on her barely a year into their marriage?

Marlena moves closer to him and lifts her eyes to his, her lashes luxurious above the golden irises.

“Do you think one can *get* out of practice?” she asks provocatively.  

There is no way he can mistake her intentions this time.  It seems she is out for a little revenge.  Or a lot of revenge.

He swallows, his tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of his mouth as his blood-pressure skyrockets.  She reaches out and adjusts his tie in a seemingly innocent gesture.  

She is anything but innocent.

Craig knows he shouldn’t do this but knowing and actually following through on intentions are two different things.  “No,” his voice is strained as he shakes his head, “I don’t think you can get out of practice.”  

He reaches out and slides his hand over the curve of her hip.  “Don’t they say it’s rather like riding a bike?”

“Do they?”  Her pink tongue slides out of her mouth and wets her lower lip in a totally erotic gesture.

“Uhmmm,” Craig is thrown completely off-balance now.  His chest is rising and falling as his breaths become shallower.  He wants this woman so badly; he wants her so much he can almost taste her.

His hand slips down over her behind and he pulls her toward him.  She doesn’t resist, instead one hand skims the collar of his business shirt and her fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” Craig nods.  “That’s what they say.”

“Maybe I’ve just been riding the wrong kind of bicycle then,” she murmurs as she bends her head to his.

A knock at the door sends them both reeling, and Craig is sure to straighten his tie before his wife enters.  Nancy sees Marlena hugging a chart between her folded arms as she stares out of the window.  She seems rather… distracted, almost as if she didn’t even hear anyone enter the room.  

Nancy looks at Craig.  “Is everything okay honey?”

“Sure,” Craig nods easily.  “Marlena and I were just talking about a patient.  Weren’t we Marlena?”

“Mmmm,” Marlena turns to them with a simple smile.  “A patient that I had better go and give the bad news to.”  She looks directly at Craig.  “Thanks.  You don’t know how much help you’ve been.”

“Any time.”  Craig means that sincerely.  He’s feeling completely frustrated now, especially as he sees her hips sway as she walks to the door.  

She turns around, her fingers resting lightly on the handle, and she gives him a look that says that she isn’t going to let this go.  Much to Craig’s relief.  “I might just take you up on that.”

She leaves the room, closing the door behind her and Nancy turns to her husband.  “Wow, what’s gotten into her?”

~

Grace kicks off her pumps as soon as she enters the penthouse.  She unbuttons her jacket to reveal the silk teddy she is wearing underneath.  She smiles as she mixes herself a martini and she switches on the stereo.

“Mom?”  She sighs as she hears Belle’s voice from upstairs.  “Mom, is that you?”  She hears the light patter of footsteps on the stairs and knows she is sprung.

“Hi honey,” she gives Belle a hug.  “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Yeah,” Belle grins, “I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“Oh well, that’s so sweet,” Grace grimaces inwardly.  The last thing she wants to do is waste time babysitting Marlena’s children.  “But honey, I have so much to do…”

“No,” Belle shakes her head and takes her mother’s hand.  It’s a moment before she realizes Marlena has a drink in her other hand.  Her brows pucker as she looks at her mother.  “Mom, what’s with the drink?”

“Oh, this?” Grace looks at the martini and chuckles easily.  “Hard day at the office sweetheart.  It’s nothing to worry about.”

“But Mom, you’ve always taught us that alcohol is a bad solution for our problems,” Belle insists precociously.

“Well, I did, didn’t I,” Grace looks at her martini and then at Belle.  “But there’s no problems, so there’s really no relevance is there?”

“No problems?”  Belle is starting to get a little annoyed.  Both her parents are obviously having problems, and no one will tell her anything.  They treat her like a child and she’s sick of it.  “Mom, you were out until after midnight last night.  Dad hasn’t been home for two days and I know he took an overnight bag with him when he left.  What’s going on?  And please don’t tell me it’s nothing.”  Her blonde hair scatters about her shoulders as she shakes her head to prove her point.  “I’m not a baby, I want to know.”

“Belle,” Grace considers what to tell the child.  She could lie, but there is no point.  The truth can serve her better right now.  “Honey, your father and I are having a few problems right now.  I wish I could tell you otherwise, but you’re right, you deserve to know the truth.”

“What kind of problems?” Belle asks softly.  It must be bad if Dad isn’t even staying at the penthouse.

“I…” Grace pauses for dramatic effect.  “I found out something that your Daddy did…”  The tears well in her eyes right on cue.  “I’m having kind of a hard time with it.”

“What?” Belle asks in suspended disbelief.  “What did Dad do that was so bad that he moved out?”

“Oh honey,” Grace takes Belle’s hands in hers with feigned sympathy.  “I found out your Daddy betrayed our marriage vows.  He slept with another woman, and he’s been lying to me about it for months…”

Chapter XI – Gambit

“Daddy…” Belle shakes her head in disbelief.  She suspected it was bad, but this…?  “Daddy cheated on you?  No Mom there must be some mistake, he completely adores you.”

“No honey,” Grace wears the expression of distress with expert deception.  “There’s no mistake.  Your father told me himself.”

“I don’t understand,” Belle’s blue eyes fill with tears.  “Why would he do something like that Mom?  Why?”

“Oh baby, I don’t know,” Grace reaches out and smooths Belle’s hair.  “I wish I could give you some kind of reason but I can’t.  I don’t understand it myself.”

“Are you and Dad…” the girl’s chin quivers as she fights the tears and Grace is silently amused by such weakness.  She is certainly her mother’s daughter.  “Are you going to separate?”

“Honey, I don’t know,” Grace frowns.  “I think we have a lot of things to work out.  I can’t really tell you one way or the other.”

“But how can you work them out when he’s not even here, Mom?” Belle asks, the tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“I need some time Belle, some time to work out how I feel and what this means for all of us.”  Grace pushes herself off the sofa and walks to the window.  It’s all she can do not to laugh.  The child is so trusting and accepting it’s pitiful.

“But Mom, we just got to be a family,” Belle pulls a cushion into her arms and then hugs it to her as she sobs quietly.  “I don’t want Daddy to move out.”

“Oh honey,” Grace turns back to Marlena’s daughter.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.  This isn’t going to be easy for any of us.”

She pauses a moment and then her face lights up as though she has just had an idea.  “Why don’t you go and spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa Evans in Colorado?”

“Colorado?” Belle’s voice is timid.

“Sure,” Grace nods as she moves back to where Belle sits and rubs the back of the girl’s hand with all the fake affection she can muster.  “Sweetheart, I’m not sure that it’s going to be very pleasant around here for a while.  It might be better for you to go and have some time with your grandparents where you can enjoy yourself and not get caught up in what’s happening between your father and I.”

“But,” Belle shakes her head, her eyes are a cornflower blue and drenched with moisture, “Mom I won’t be happy not knowing what’s going on here.”

“We can talk on the phone, Belle.”  Grace’s tone brooks no argument.  Then she softens.  “Please honey, it will be easier for me if I know you are away from all this.”

Belle thinks about arguing with her mother, but her own distress precludes any coherent form of disagreement.  She is devastated to discover that her perfect parents are not as perfect as she has thought.  Especially her father. 

“I feel sick,” she moans softly.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get yourself sorted out and I’ll call your grandma?” Grace suggests with little sympathy.  She wants to get the brat out of the way before she starts to cause trouble.

Belle turns her head and looks at her mother, her blue eyes narrowing slightly.  There is something about her mother that is… not quite right.  Belle can’t quite put her finger on it, but…

“C’mon sweetheart, it’ll be okay.” Grace folds awkward arms around Belle.  She hates this but she can’t afford to raise the girl’s suspicions.  “I promise you, whatever happens, things will be okay.” 

Belle slips her own slender arms around her mother’s waist and buries her face against Marlena’s shoulder, letting the tears fall until they create a darkened area of moisture in the red fabric.  Grace rolls her eyes and then looks at her martini with longing.  

As soon as she can extricate herself from this scene with the child, she will arrange for her to fly to Colorado immediately.  Then she will be free to put the next phase of her scheme into action.

~

“Marlena?”  Grace is in Marlena’s office contemplating where to go for lunch when she hears John Black’s voice.  She sighs inwardly and swings the chair around to meet his entrance.  

“Marlena, what the hell is this about Belle going to Colorado?” he demands without preamble.

“That’s right,” she leans back in her chair, “she left at eight this morning.  She should be there by now.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing putting Belle on a plane by herself to go halfway across-country?” he challenges her.  “And without consulting me first?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grace’s expression hardens.  “I wasn’t aware I had to clear it with the committee when I made a decision concerning *my* daughter’s welfare.”  She pauses for a moment, considering her next route of attack.  “And why are you so big on sharing suddenly, anyway?  Is this a case of one rule for you and one for everyone else?”

“Doc, this is not about you and me,” John’s jaw tenses.  He knows she is hurting and hitting back and it’s hard to see her so angry, knowing that he is the cause.

“John, it’s *entirely* about you and me,” Grace pushes the chair out from the desk and stands up.  She’s not about to let John Black gain the vantage over her in any respects.  “I’m not about to let Belle get caught up in what’s going on between us.  And if you don’t like it, well it’s tough shit.”

“What *is* going on between us Marlena?” John presses angrily.  This isn’t going the way it should be going.  He’s gone about it all wrong, as per usual.  “You haven’t even *talked* to me since I told you the truth…”

“No, since you were *forced* to tell me the truth, by *Stefano*,” she rubs it in, enjoying his grimace as she spits the words at him.  “Why the hell should I put myself out to talk to you *anyway*?”

“Because we’re married, because we have to sort this out,” John says frantically.

“We’re married?” she looks surprised and to his shock, she laughs briefly.  It is not a laugh he recognizes, and he feels a chill visit him.  “You could have fooled me.  I thought married people didn’t *lie* to each other, didn’t *cheat* on each other…” she glares at him and then shakes her head.  “Oh, what the hell’s the use?”

“Marlena…. Doc… honey look, I am *so* sorry for what happened,” John can’t deal with the coldness in her golden eyes.  He needs to make her understand, he’s desperate for her to understand.  “I really am, but you *have* to believe, I didn’t *cheat* on you.  Not in my heart.  I wasn’t aware of what was happening, I was basically someone else and I wasn’t even aware the present existed.”

“Save it John,” she’s bitter and angry and he knows he’s losing the battle.  “Why don’t you go and tell someone who cares.  Like Hope.”  She raises her finger with the hint of a smile.  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot.  You’re lying to her too.”

“Doc-” He starts toward her, but she takes a step back, the lilac-coloured dress she is wearing moving fluidly over her body.  God, she’s so gorgeous, she’s so amazing and wonderful; and he has totally screwed up her life *again*.  Why does he keep doing it, he wonders?  He’s tried to stay away from her, but somehow, it never seems to work.  He loves her beyond life itself and its tearing him up inside to know he has done this to her.  

He doesn’t know why she should forgive him; he’ll never forgive himself.  But he needs it all the same.  “Doc, please I-”

“John, don’t you get it?”  Grace is getting bored with this; she has more important fish to be frying.  “I don’t want to hear it.  I don’t want to know *anything* about what happened with Hope.  I don’t want to know the why’s the how’s, *or* the wherefores.  I just don’t want to know.  And even less than that, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Marlena, I’m not leaving.”  John folds his arms and stands his ground.  “We need to settle this, we can’t let this destroy us, not after everything-”

“You should have thought of that *before* you screwed Hope, *stud*.”  Grace feels surprisingly bitter about what John has done and she reasons that even though he cheated on Marlena, it is still her body and thus it is a betrayal of her too, in a way.  But the anger passes after a moment and her expression alters to convey a slight air of boredom.  “Look, I have work to do.”  She moves back to her desk and shuffles the papers arrayed there.  She speaks again without raising her eyes.  “You know where the door is.  Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

“Doc, I said I’m *not* going,” John is getting angry again.  He doesn’t recognize this cold, distant Marlena and he knows he has to get her angry to have any chance of breaking through this barricade she has built around her.  “You can’t just brush me off, it doesn’t work like that.”

Grace looks up, her hazel eyes burning with antagonism.

“And who are you to tell me how *it* works?”  She has had quite enough of this.  “This *is* my office and I *will* call security if you don’t leave now.  *That*, John, is how it works.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to do that,” a voice sounds from the doorway and Grace looks up to find Craig Wesley entering her office.  A deliciously naughty smile finds her lips as she watches Craig bear down on John.  “You heard the lady, Mr. Black.  It’s time for you to leave.”

“Stay out of this, Wesley,” John growls as he turns back to Marlena who is looking down at the papers on her desk again.  “Doc, please reconsider.  At least let me explain.”

Marlena sighs and rolls her eyes at Craig.  He nods and lays his hand on John’s arm.  “I think you got your answer buddy.  Now let’s go.”

“Doc!”  John’s tone is beseeching but Grace simply shuffles the papers in front of her, refusing to look at him.  

He feels Craig’s hand on his arm, and he throws it off angrily.  “All right Doc, I’ll go.”  Contrary to his words, he takes a step towards his wife, but he stops as he feels Craig at his back.  “But this isn’t over Marlena.  I’m not giving up on us and I know deep down you don’t want to either.  I know you’re hurt and angry and baby, you have every right to be.  I’m the first one to admit that.  But I’m going to make it up to you, I promise.  I don’t care how long it takes, I will be that man that you love and trust again…”

He splutters to a halt, desperate for some kind of reaction from the woman behind the desk.  But he is rewarded only with silence.  His shoulders slump as he watches her impassive expression, and he can only guess at the emotional tempest that’s taking place behind the façade.

But there is nothing he can do right now, nothing that he can say that will take away her pain and her anger.  And he deserves every bit of anger and hatred that she throws his way, he knows that.  But he can’t give up.  She is his world and without her, he is simply cast adrift on oceans of sadness and oblivion.

“I love you Doc,” he whispers quietly.  The pain that emanates from the centre of his being just grows with each second that she ignores him.  And finally, he is left with no choice but to turn and walk from her office.

Chapter XII – En Prise

When John is gone, Grace lifts her golden gaze to find Craig watching her, his blue eyes brimming with curiosity.  

“I thought you said *he* left you?”

“He did.”  Grace leaves the papers scattered across the desk and moves out from behind the barricade.  “But he’s changed his mind.”  There is no sign of emotion on her beautiful face as she speaks.  “His problem is that I haven’t.”

She moves across the room and closes the office door.

“Aren’t you the least bit interested in saving your marriage?” Craig looks surprised as he tries to work out what Marlena’s intentions are.  He thinks he knows, but then she’s been inscrutable lately.

“What am I supposed to do?” Grace tosses her blonde locks behind her shoulders as she crosses back towards the desk, the short lilac dress flipping around her legs as she walks.  “Forgive him and take him back so that he can betray me all over again?”  She shakes her head, her eyes maintaining a dangerous glitter.  “I don’t think so.”

“But what if he’s genuinely repentant?” Craig asks as he finds the distance between them shortening.  Once again, he knows he is lost to her and he finds himself hoping inexplicably, that she has locked the office door.

“Somehow I doubt it,” Grace shrugs, “but I guess there is that possibility.  Even if he is, I don’t know that I could ever trust him again.”  Her expression is enigmatic for a few moments and Craig, almost against his will, hopes that he hasn’t just talked her into taking her idiot husband back.  She can do much better than that loser.

Then she smiles wickedly at him.  “I guess it’s going to take a whole before I know what I want to do.  But that doesn’t mean that I have to wait around for him this time, does it?”

“Uh..” Craig battles the frog which has suddenly settled in his throat.  God, he shouldn’t be doing this.  He *definitely* shouldn’t be doing this to Nancy.  And he works with Marlena.  He’s her *boss* for God’s sake.  Not that he has the power here by any stretch of the imagination.  But what happens once it’s over…?

Oh, to Hell with shouldn’t, a little voice says in the back of his head.  She’s gorgeous and she wants you.  You think you have the strength to say no?

Grace can see the struggle as it plays across his face and is briefly amused.  Men are such fools.  They think they are strong, but when it comes to matters of the flesh, they are all controlled by one thing.  And it is not their conscience.

“Craig,” her voice is soft and bewitching and she touches his tie with a seemingly chaste look.  “I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do.”  She flutters dark, luxuriant lashes and the impression of innocence is irrevocably shattered.  “I’m just tired of being a good girl.  I want to try playing bad girl for a change.”  She pulls on his tie, straightening it with a lascivious grin.  “Do you think you might like to help me out?”

Craig can feel his head swimming as she presses her body close to his and it is almost without conscious thought that he nods.

“Good,” Grace whispers as she loosens his tie with expert fingers.  “I was rather hoping you would.”

~

John stares at the closed door to Marlena’s office for long minutes as he tries to work out what to do next.  This thing has him so turned around, he can concentrate on nothing but what is happening between him and Marlena.

He doesn’t understand her, she has every right to hate him, but this isn’t like her.  Sending Belle away without so much as a second thought?  Why would she do that, it doesn’t make any sense.  In times of stress or distress, Marlena usually gathers her family around her, takes comfort from their love and their strength.  She doesn’t shut them out.

And more than that, she never walks away from a problem between them.  She’s a psychiatrist; she knows that the only way to get through something as difficult as this is to talk it out.  Her natural tendency might be to try and ignore it, or deny its effect on her, but she doesn’t usually do *this*.

He watches the door, willing it to open, wishing without hope that she might come rushing out of her office to tell him she has changed her mind.  But it remains closed, closeting her in there with the Chief of Staff, a man John doesn’t like, and trusts even less.

“John?”  

The voice behind him makes him cringe like none other.  Even Kristen’s voice didn’t have this effect on him.  

“John, what’s wrong?”  Hope waddles into view with Bo behind her.  “You look like you just lost your best friend.”

“I think I just did.”  His voice is swamped in anguish and John doesn’t even look at her.  He can’t stand to look at the face that stole his dreams from him.  If he does, he fears what the mercenary that lingers within might be tempted to do.  So instead, he just turns and walks from the junction of the corridor, leaving a bemused Hope and a concerned Bo in his wake.

~

“Oh hell!” Craig delves his fingers into Grace’s rich, golden hair and pulls her to him, kissing her almost ferociously.  Grace gasps as one of his hands sweeps down her body and seeks out the hem of her dress.

She pulls desperately at his tie and discards it on the sofa and then rips his shirt open, unconcerned as a button pings off the mahogany of her desk.  Craig groans as her lips clamp on the sensitive skin of his throat and she wrenches the white lab coat and his shirt off his shoulders all at once.

She pushes him and he stumbles backwards, landing on the soft sofa that Marlena uses to lend a feeling of comfort to her patients.  But it’s not comfort that Craig is seeking right now.  He pulls on Grace’s wrist, and she climbs onto the sofa, straddling his lap, her eyes shining with lust.  His hands skim the back of her thighs as his head dips into the cleavage revealed by her low-cut dress.

Grace lets out a groan of exasperation when Craig’s beeper goes off.  He looks up at her, torn between duty and his desire for this woman.  Maybe if he just pretends the batteries have gone bad and he didn’t get the message…  

There is a question in Grace’s eyes as she watches him struggle with his conscience.  She knows she has him, even if this moment is a bust.  And maybe it will just make life that little more interesting if she makes him wait a little longer…

With an exaggerated sigh, she climbs off his lap just as he seems to have made his decision.  He reaches for her, but she moves just out of his reach with a regretful shake of her blonde mane.  “No.  We both know you have to answer that.” 

She can just about see the curses as they flow through his head as he stares up at her and she wonders with some amusement how he is going to hide the ‘evidence’ of what he has been up to.  Perhaps the lab coat might come in quite handy.

Craig says nothing but nods and shrugs his shirt back on as he digs for the pager.  It’s an emergency with one of his patients and he is suddenly simultaneously thankful and guilty that it had to be Marlena that insisted he check it.

“I have to go,” he says in a strained voice.  

Grace, who has just finished straightening her dress, nods.  “Maybe it’s just as well.”

“Don’t say that,” Craig shakes his head vehemently as he buttons up his shirt rapidly.  The top button is missing, and he hopes that his tie will hide that fact.  “I’m not doing this out of pity, Marlena.”

“I never said you were,” Grace runs fingers through her tousled hair, knowing full well what kind of an effect it is having on Craig.  “But you *are* married.”

“And I love my wife,” Craig advances on Grace and backs her up against the desk, eliciting a coy smile from the tall blonde.  “But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.  Hasn’t in the past and won’t now.”

“Oh,” Grace’s lips form a perfect little ‘o’.  And then they curl upwards into a smile of satisfaction.  “Well then.  It seems that we have an understanding.”

“That we do.”  Craig nods before kissing her again, his tongue teasing hers with an intimacy that serves only to fan the flames of Grace’s desire.  

Then he grabs his tie and leaves the room, knowing that if he hasn’t got the better of Marlena Evans, then at least he has served up as good as he has been given.

~

John clutches at his throbbing head as he finds himself staring at the waters of the Salem River yet again.  He doesn’t know how many times he has found himself at this spot on Pier 29 in the last few days.  It’s as though it holds some kind of power that keeps drawing him back, or maybe it’s only that he hopes to find Marlena down here, asking the same questions that he finds constantly echoing in his ears.

Instead, he is alone and miserable.  He keeps thinking of all the things he could have done differently.  He could have told Marlena the truth when he remembered; he could have not gone into the water after that woman.  More regrets in a list that has run far too long.  

Maybe Marlena is best to walk away now, maybe he should let her go before he brings irrevocable ruin to her life.  He knows he should.  This mercenary personality that keeps surfacing is enough proof of that.  But if he is to let her go, to cut himself adrift, he will lose everything that he is, he knows that with utter certainty.  She is the only thing that keeps him anchored to this life.  She is the sun that he revolves around and without her; his very sanity is at stake.

“Oh Doc,” the misery is unrepentant as it seeps through the very timbre of his voice.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, John,” Stefano DiMera steps out of the shadows with a cruel smile.  Behind him, there is a movement and John can surmise the form of a burly minder.  “The fair Dr. Evans cares little for your sorrow, I think.”

“What the *hell* would you know about it?” John growls, his face contorted by anger and desolation as he looks up from his makeshift seat at his tormentor.

“Ah,” Stefano waggles his fingers, a viciously gleeful smile spreading across his lips, “I know more than you can imagine, John.”

“Of course you do,” John rises, stumbling a little in his haste to face Stefano.  “This is all your doing to begin with, old man.  If it wasn’t for you…”

“What John?” The glitter of Stefano’s obsidian eyes is almost obscene.  “I fail to see how it is my fault that you could not control your ‘legendary’ libido, once again.  After all, I was not there.  I did not hold a gun to your head.  So, tell me again.”  His eyes narrow nastily.  “How was this my fault?”

“You got inside my head, and you got inside Hope’s, and you played with our minds,” John’s anger is rousing the droning inside his head once again and he feels his control slipping away from him.  “You had us like damn puppets, jerking us around on strings while you played your *sick* games.”

“You can believe that, if it makes you feel better, John,” Stefano’s sneer registers his contempt for the man before him.  “But you and I both know that you had full control of your free will on that sub.  You wanted Gina and you had no qualms in making love to her.”

“That was *not* making love.”  A note of desperation sneaks into John’s voice.  “If I had known, if I had remembered my life with Marlena…”

Stefano laughs, the sound chilling in the dark night air.  “But you did *not*, did you John?  It did not take much for you to forget your life here in Salem.  Do you not wonder, if your love for Marlena was so strong, so pure and *righteous*, how it could be so easily erased?”  The malicious smile never wavers as he circles John.  “Do you not question why there was not the slightest essence of the man you are now, fighting to preserve that great *passion* that you share with your lovely wife?”   His smile falters as he zeroes in on his prey.  “Let me answer that for you John.  The answers are that you are *weak*.  That your will serves *nothing* but your own selfish interest.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” John’s face contorts in fury.  The droning is growing once again, and this time, there is no Marlena to save him from making matters much worse.  “I *love* Marlena, I love her and she *knows* that.  She *knows* that I never would have slept with Hope if I’d had *any* kind of free will.”

“Pah,” Stefano waves his hand, “you are a *fool*, John.  You cannot expect Marlena’s blind adoration to last beyond such betrayal.  If she knows these things as you say, then why is she not down here with you?  Why is she still in your lovely home while you spend your nights on the hard beds of the Salem Inn?”

“Shut up,” John grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching like someone is tapping out Morse code under his skin.  “Just *shut* up!”

“They say the truth hurts John,” Stefano waves his goon back out of sight.  “It certainly hurt Marlena, no?  Maybe it is your turn now?”  He grins, baring white teeth to the cool night air.  But before John can react, Stefano turns, and with a swish of his coat, he and his goon are gone.

Chapter XIII – Isolani

“Doc!”  The voice makes Grace’s blood chill in her veins.  It has been altered, but there is still enough of the old there that she knows immediately who has hailed her.  She keeps walking but the voice sounds again, this time directly behind her.  “Doc, stop, will you?”  She feels the hand on her arm and the hair on the back of her neck stands, literally, on end.

Swinging around, she wrenches her arm free, not bothering to hide the disgust that blazes in her beautiful hazel eyes.  “Don’t *touch* me!” she hisses.  “Don’t you *ever* lay your filthy hands on me again!”

Roman blinks and takes a step backwards.  “Marlena?”

Take it easy Grace, don’t blow it.  Not yet.  He will know when the time is right.

“Oh God Roman, I’m so sorry,” she feigns horror at the supposed misunderstanding.  “I… I haven’t been sleeping well and I seem to be bumping into Stefano every five minutes.”

“Hey, it’s okay Doc,” Roman pulls his hands up into the air with a taut smile.  “Don’t have to explain to me.”

“I really am sorry,” she slips off her sunglasses and is only just able to hide the flinch as she meets those familiar, loathsome eyes.  The last thing she wants to do is apologize to this bastard and her mind is working quickly.  “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well, I did hear that there’s some kind of problem between you and John,” Roman’s sympathy is so patently false that Grace has the urge to ram his smug attitude right down his throat.  She hates him with every fiber of her being and it is all she can do to remain civil.  “Do you wanna talk about it?” He motions to the door that leads to the Brady Pub.

“*No*.”  She shakes her head and then suddenly, a thought strikes her.  “Uh, I have an appointment shortly.  But perhaps we could meet up later?”

“Sure thing, Doc.”  Roman nods accommodatingly and Grace feels dirty, even as his eyes flicker over her.  “Where d’you wanna meet?”

“How about…” she pauses as her mind works quickly, “…I come over to the house?  Say, about eight?”

“Sure,” Roman nods with a self-satisfied smile and Grace again fights the urge to wipe it off his face.  But she knows, there is plenty of time for that… later.  And if he doesn’t remember now, he certainly will by the time she is finished with him.

~

It is a little after eight when Grace arrives at the house Marlena used to share with Roman.  But that was a lifetime ago and Marlena is gone, as is Roman.  All that is left now, are loose ends.  And Grace intends to tidy some of those tonight.

She checks her hair in the mirror of the small compact that she carries in her bag and tucks away a stray strand.  The long leather coat that she wears slithers around the close-fitting black boot-leg pants.  The coat swings open to reveal the white shirt that is knotted above a taut midriff and Grace smiles.  Elegant and sexy but extremely functional.  Hopefully the garments will still be salvageable after the nights work, but if not… well, John Black’s credit card will get another workout regardless.

She knocks on the door, wrapping the strap of her rather outsized purse around her free hand as she does so.  Roman answers almost immediately and leers at the sight of her.  “Doc, right on time.”

“Aren’t I always?” 

Her smile is seductive, and she knows the effect it will have so she walks on into the house without even waiting to see the reaction.

“Uh, how about a drink?” Roman scurries behind her, aiming for the bottle of claret that sits alongside the rather obvious candles.

“Mmmm,” she looks around the living room, trying to draw a comparison from her recollections of Marlena and Roman’s life.  “I’d like a martini please.”

“A martini?”  Roman stops, his hand on the bottle.

“Yes,” she turns hard eyes on him, “is that a problem?”

“Well… no,” Roman shakes his head, a little confused by her sudden change of mood.  “I just never knew that you liked martinis that’s all.  I thought you said you found them too bitter.”

“Oh, come on now, *Roman*.”  Her smile is cold and calculating.  “*I* always drank martinis.  Surely you can’t have forgotten.  It wasn’t *that* long ago, after all.”

“What are you talking about Marlena?”  Roman’s face crumples in confusion as he tries to make sense of what his ex-wife is saying.

“Never mind,” she waves off his question as she looks around again, disdain now lighting her expression.  “What *have* you done to this place Roman?  It looks positively garish.”

“I’m sorry?” Roman’s bewilderment deepens as he stares at Marlena.  This is *so* unlike her that if he didn’t know her so well, he’d think he was talking to a stranger.

“Martini?” Grace snaps her fingers impatiently as she turns back to him.  “At least point me in the right direction and let me make it myself.”

“Uh, sure,” Roman makes his way to the liquor cabinet and Grace wanders the room, touching knick-knacks as she waits for him to fix her drink.

On the table by the stairs, she sees there is a picture of ‘Roman’ with Marlena and her skin crawls at the realization of just how far this faux Roman Brady has infiltrated himself into the unknowing and innocent Marlena’s life.  She feels violated and furious that Stefano would knowingly send this man back into her life.

“Here you go Doc,” the fake Roman hands her the drink and she takes a sip.  That’s one thing Lamont was always good at, making a decent martini.  Unfortunately, it is the only good memory she has of the man.  And that’s not about to change any time soon with the way he is eyeing her.

“Thanks.”   She can feel the anger growing within her, but she knows she has to contain it, for now.  It would not do to lose control too early and betray herself.  

She lowers the drink and runs a finger over the tarnished silver frame that contains a past that is nothing but a lie.  “Tell me Roman, why do you keep this?”

“It’s our past, Doc,” Roman says carefully.  “They are memories that I don’t want to leave behind.  Whatever happened between us, we had some great times.”

“But our past is just that,” Grace affirms.  “The past.  Why do you insist on holding onto it?”  She pauses, as though the thought has suddenly struck her.  “Unless….”

Her laughter cuts between them with scornful fullness.  “Oh Roman.  Surely you can’t believe that there’s still a chance that I might come back to you?”  She lets the amusement linger with an audible chuckle.  “Oh, *please*.”

“Marlena, I…” he stiffens noticeably.  There is something so not right about this moment.  Her golden eyes are suddenly unfamiliar, but at the same time….  “I know that things aren’t right between you and John.  I was only hoping-”

“Only hoping to take advantage of ‘poor’ Marlena’s pain and confusion,” Grace interrupts derisively, a nasty edge to her tone.  She’s finding it hard to control her antipathy in such proximity to Lamont and she curls her fist into a ball to gain a little focus and control.  “That’s just your style isn’t it?”

“*No*!  I was hoping to be your *friend*,” Roman refutes the allegations, feeling somehow as though he is trapped in a nightmare where Marlena is not Marlena.

“Well, that’s a new term for it,” Grace makes no effort to hide her hatred any longer and she skewers him with a disgusted glare.  “You’re *pathetic*.  A poor, pathetic, sad little man with no life and no future.”

She moves closer to Roman, who is now unable to conjure a coherent thought he is so shocked.  “I wouldn’t come to you.  I wouldn’t let you even so much as *touch* me.”  A sneer curls her lips as the proximity of him triggers memories of that day so long ago.  Memories of a fear she has promised herself she will never feel again.  She will show him who has the power now.  “You’re not man enough for a woman like me.”

“Shut up!”  Roman, or the man that believes he is Roman, is suddenly flushed with a burst of irrational anger, as some artificial veneer of control within him, snaps.  How *dare* this woman come into his home and insult him?  How dare she walk around, acting like she is so much better than him, lording her superiority over him?  Not man enough?  He’ll show her exactly how much man he is…

And suddenly he sees that day almost thirteen years when he had her beneath him, her dress torn and her golden hair tangled in his fingers and he wants to see that terror in her eyes again.  He’ll show her…

“Shut *up*!” he bellows as he grabs a hold of her coat and slams her up against the wall.  But this time, Grace is ready for him.  More than ready.  She has waited too long for this moment.

All it takes is a swift movement, a forceful upwards thrust with her knee, and Roman Brady’s doppelganger is doubled over with agonized groans.  

Grace grimaces, but she doesn’t make a sound as she drags him across the living room floor to the door.  Opening it, she peers outside as she belts up her coat.  There seems to be nothing untoward outside and stepping back inside, she pulls a black hat out of her bag and pulls it firmly over the crown of her head, tucking her tell-tale blonde hair under the edges.

Then she bends and pushes Lamont into a sitting position.  He’s heavy, and she is not as strong and fit as she once was, but somehow she manages to heft his body into a semi-standing position.  

That man that would be Roman Brady struggles briefly until he realizes, with breathtaking clarity, that the object that’s digging into his ribcage is not Marlena’s elbow, but rather the barrel of a small-caliber pistol.

“That’s right,” she hisses in his ear, “just to the car, okay hotshot?”

He nods groggily and Grace swings the door closed.  

They still haven’t exchanged a single word twenty minutes later when Grace nudges him into the deserted warehouse and locks the door behind her.

Chapter XIV – Double Attack

Craig Wesley is so engrossed in the chart that he is holding that he does not see that the door to the storage closet ahead of him is ajar.  He would think nothing of it if he were to see it.  That is, until he passes it, and an arm snakes out to pull him into the small alcove.

He is caught totally off-balance as the door slams shut and he feels himself pushed up against it.  It is only a moment before his eyes adjust to the dim light and he grins as he finds himself face to face with a certain Dr. Marlena Evans.

Grace plants a hand either side of Craig’s head and fixes him with a come-hither smile that has him almost panting with lust.

“Hi there.”  Her voice is breathy and deep.

“Hi,” Craig swallows, trying to get some moisture to his suddenly arid tongue.  “Thanks for dropping by,” she whispers as she presses herself up against him.

“Where have you been?” he murmurs as his fingers slide down over her hips.

“Just…” she sweeps her lips teasingly past his, “…kinda busy.”

“Ah,” his hands sweep up her back and Grace feels his fingers tangle in her thick tresses. 

She’s almost unprepared as he suddenly yanks on her hair, exposing her throat to his lips.  She groans as he kisses her and explores the tender skin extensively with his lips and tongue.  And when he finally releases her, she fights back; taking his mouth in a battle of wills that goes on for long minutes.

It is someone pushing at the door to get in that finally interrupts them and it is an excruciatingly long moment before they hear the exasperated sigh that signals defeat.

“Perhaps we should take this somewhere more… private,” Craig suggests with a wicked smile.  

“Somewhere that has a door that locks, maybe?” Grace straightens the blouse that she has poured herself into and runs her fingers through tangled hair.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re a smart lady?” Craig smirks as he straightens his own tie.

“No,” the corners of her lips flicker into a smile, “but feel free.” 

Grace opens the door and peers out into the corridor.  It is provisionally deserted, and her high heels click on the linoleum as she steps out into the light.

~

Dry.  So dry….  Water.  Surely there must be some water….

Dark.  Can’t see.  Can’t move….  

Please…  Please anyone.  Just some water….

The man’s head lolls weakly as he swallows.  His throat is so dry he can barely manage it.  It is like trying to swallow sandpaper every time he tries.  He would open his eyes, but in the dim light, there is nothing to make out.  

He is alone, as he has been every day for the last four days.  Since *she* brought him here.  The woman that bears Marlena’s face.  Marlena, but not Marlena.  Of that much, he is certain.  Of anything else, not so.

She brought him here and tied him to the chair with the cord she carried in her bag.  A single chair a few feet away from a metal table in the middle of an empty warehouse.  He should have been able to escape, but she had tied him so expertly that he had no chance.  And as the days stammer by and he becomes weaker, any possible options are swiftly being obliterated.

And now, he wonders what he waits for.  Marlena, or whatever she calls herself, has not returned, and he is beginning to wonder if she will at all.  He doesn’t understand what is happening, but as his mind loses clarity, visions come to him, simultaneously confusing and educating him.

Marlena reading on a hammock in the sun.  Marlena wearing a gauzy white dress and dancing with Stefano DiMera.  Marlena, her dress torn and her eyes shining with terror beneath him…

The man shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the images.  They haunt him with their unclear meaning and frightening pervasiveness.  He doesn’t know what they mean.  He doesn’t *want* to know.  He just wants to get out of here…

~

John turns around the corner and stops dead as he sees Marlena at the door of her office.  Her hand clasps the handle as she looks at her companion and smiles.  John knows that look and it makes him go icily cold.  That smile and the accompanying flutter of lashes is nothing more than an unequivocal invitation and Craig Wesley doesn’t exactly look like he’s ready to refuse as he follows her into the office.

It is a moment before John can gather his wits enough to move.  His heart is pounding, and his legs feel like lead, but he stumbles to her office door and wrenches the knob clockwise with numbed fingers.

“What the…?” he can hardly breathe when he sees Marlena’s arms wrapped around Craig’s neck and his voice dwindles to a strangled whisper.  “Doc?”

Grace looks up, her gaze frigid as she digests the fact that she is being interrupted *again*, and this time by her ‘husband’.  

“Yes, John?”  She doesn’t even bother to unwind her limbs from Craig as she challenges the intruder.  John says nothing for a moment but Grace watches as his pallor suddenly transforms to an apoplectic red.

John sees Craig’s hands encircling Marlena’s waist in a possessive manner and he completely loses his cool.  “Get away from my *wife*.”  He crosses the floor to the couple and bodily wrenches Craig out of Marlena’s embrace.

“How *dare* you!”  Grace doesn’t raise her voice, but her fury is more than evident.  “Who the *hell* do you think you are?”

“Your *husband*.”  John glares back at her, defying her to disagree with him.

“Only when it suits you.”  Grace’s jaw is set in a firm line as she narrows her eyes.  “I seem to remember that you quite conveniently forgot that fact when you scored your little ‘bit on the side’.”

“Marlena, I *explained* that,” John declares exasperatedly and then turns to glare at Craig.  “Do you mind?  I’d like to talk to my wife.  In *private*.”

Craig’s eyes move from John to Marlena and he raises his brows to indicate his uncertainty.  

Grace sighs and nods.  “I won’t be long.  I’ll find you.”

He nods and ducks from the room, glad to be out of the firing line of the verbal barrage that is surely about to take place.

“What do you think you’re doing Marlena?” John demands angrily, his face red and pained.

“What do you mean?”  She seems genuinely at a loss.

“I mean, I walk into your office and you’re all over *him*.”  The pain burns in his eyes as he confronts her, the prospect of losing her destroying him emotionally.  “Is this supposed to be some kind of revenge?”

“You flatter yourself,” she says icily as she turns from him.

“For God’s sake Marlena,” strong fingers curl around her upper arm.  “Don’t walk away from me.  Not now.  We need to deal with this.”

“I *am* dealing with it.”  Grace feels uncomfortably angry, and she silently berates herself for letting this man get under her skin.  With deliberate obtuseness, she refuses to turn and meet his gaze.

“How?  By throwing yourself at another man?” John pushes.  “C’mon Doc, I *know* how seriously you take your marriage vows.”

“Don’t you *dare* talk to me about marriage vows.”  She turns to him now and he can see the unfettered disgust in her eyes.  “Not after what you did.”

“Don’t you think if I could change what happened, I would?” John cries.  “Doc, don’t you know that it’s *killing* me to know that it was *me* that hurt you so badly when I swore to you that I’d always love and cherish and protect you?”

“They’re only words John.”  Grace crosses her arms and leans against the desk.  “You’ve always had a way with words, but unfortunately, of late, I’ve been forced to realize that your words and your actions tell two very different stories.”

“Doc, I’m telling you how I feel.” John lowers himself to the sofa and buries his face in his hands momentarily.  “I can’t change it.  I only want to forget it ever happened.”

“Well, you *can’t*.”  Grace’s reply is riddled with contempt.  “Hope is having your *child*.  That’s a fairly permanent reminder of your infidelity, isn’t it?”

“We don’t *know* that the baby is mine,” John corrects her quickly.  “Not for sure.”

“Oh yeah, that makes me feel *so* much better,” Grace’s mockery rings with sarcasm and she rolls her eyes.  “Oh, for God’s sake John.  You screwed a woman who is practically your sister.  That doesn’t just ‘go away’.”

“I didn’t *know* I was doing it Marlena,” John slams the arm of the sofa in frustration.  “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Then why did you lie to me, to *everyone* about it?”  Grace zeroes in on the one flaw in his logic with frightening aloofness.  “Why did you hide it away like a dirty little secret that no-one could find out about?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you.” John knows it’s a pathetic excuse.  “Because I was scared Marlena.  Because I don’t want to lose you.”

“But why would you lose me if it wasn’t an affair?”  She shakes her head angrily.  “Oh this is useless.  Why are we even having this conversation?”

She turns around and reaches for the planner on her desk.  She has much more important things to deal with.

“Because we want to save this marriage,” John replies uncertainly.

“We do?” Grace feigns surprise as she looks back over her shoulder.  “Please don’t assume that you speak for me John.  Not any more.”

John pauses for a moment, nothing short of shocked at her tone which is a contrived mixture of boredom and disdain.  “Doc,” he swallows, his heart, pounding in his ears.  “*Please*.”

“*No*.”  Her reply is vitriolic.  “I’ve *had* it.  You betrayed me.  You betrayed our marriage vows, and then to add insult to injury, you fobbed me off with lies for months.”  Her beautiful face is marred by scowl.  “I don’t like being taken for a fool, John.  I don’t like it and I’m not about to let it happen again.”

“I never thought you were a fool Marlena,” John says in surprise.  “But I can promise you it won’t ever happen again.  Period.”

“You’re right, it won’t.”  She nods frigidly.  “Because I want *your* things out of *my* apartment, by the weekend.”

Chapter XV – Retrograde Manoeuvre

“What?” John blinks like a startled owl, a sudden, all-encompassing sense of desolation and dread settling over him.  And then it hits him as he sees her struggling with her wedding band and he goes completely cold, even to the tips of his toes.  “*No*!”  He cries out his anguish.  “No, you can’t!”

“I can.”  Grace throws the weight of her hatred for him behind her glare.  “And I *am*.”  

She flings the wedding band at him, and it barely misses his head, clattering to a rest somewhere across the room.  “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, I don’t want to *see* your pathetic face again.  I don’t want *anything* to do with you.  Do you understand me?”

“But-” John is still trying to get his head around the fact that she is throwing him out and he can’t find the words to form a cohesive argument.

“No.  No buts.  No *nothing*!”

Grace is furious, and not just at John.  It bothers her immensely that she is so angry at him, that she has let him affect her so much.  She doesn’t know why his infidelity should bother her so, she cares *nothing* for him and she is more than happy for this excuse to pitch him out of Marlena’s life.  So why does the woman scorned act that she’s slipping into, and the accompanying anger feel so real?

She shakes her head and moves across the office to the closed door.  It doesn’t matter.  Once she gets him out of the penthouse, that issue is over and she won’t have to see his irritating face again.

She opens the door.  “I have things to do.”  Her arms cross in front of her and she taps her foot impatiently.

“Marlena…” John shakes his head, tears softly falling as they echo his breaking heart.  “*Please* don’t do this.  Please… I’m begging you.”

“You can leave your key with the super when you go.”  Grace looks down at the gold watch on her slim wrist.

“Doc-”

“Don’t you know when to *shut* up?” she snaps, exasperation getting the better of her.  She glares at him for a moment and then marches across the room and snatches up her purse and keys.  “Right then.  If you’re going to sit here all night, *I’ll* leave.”

She doesn’t give him another chance to even say a word as she exits the office with dramatic flair.  He watches her go, too numb to be distraught at the anger in her tone.  He knows she’s hurting.  She might be trying to hide it, might even be in denial about it, but he had never expected this.  

Or had he?

He had done everything possible to avoid telling her the truth. He had avoided it, he had skirted it, and when he had run out of options, he had downright lied to her.  And why?  She had a valid question.  If he hadn’t been willing, if he hadn’t felt guilty and responsible for what had happened, if he didn’t think his infidelity was going to tear his family apart, then why had he lied?

He drops his head into his hands again.  How on earth can he ever hope to win her back, to make up for what he has done to her?  To their marriage?  Does he even have the right to try?

It only strikes him a few minutes later that he has totally neglected the reason he came to see her in the first place.  

Roman is missing.  No-one has seen him for days and Abraham is organizing a full-scale APB.

John groans.  Everything had been fine last week.  And then DiMera had played his royal flush, and everything had gone all to hell.  Marlena is barely talking to him.  No-one has the first clue where Roman is.  Shawn and Caroline, although stoic on the surface, are noticeably on edge.  And Bo is angry, although John isn’t quite sure if that anger is directed *at* Roman or at the general cosmos for the possibilities that Roman’s disappearance suggest.  

He only knows that they have to find Roman, and soon, before it tears the Brady’s apart.  The loss of Roman will destroy them, and John doesn’t even want to consider what it will do to Marlena, especially as alone as she must feel right now.

He looks up, suddenly decided.  If he can’t do anything else, he will do everything he can to help Abe locate Roman and bring him home to his family.  Safely.

~

Stefano opens his door to find an irate Grace staring brutally at him.

“Grace, I thought we agreed that during-”

“Oh to *hell* with what we agreed.”  Grace elbows him aside and storms into the mansion.  “Our agreement is *off*.  I want *out* of this.  *Now*.”  Two bright pink spots burn high on her well-defined cheekbones as she took her anger out on him.  “I won’t do it Stefano.  I will not stay in this tedious town with these tiresome, *ridiculous* people a moment longer.”

”Grace, Grace…” Stefano approaches her carefully.  Her volatility has allowed him to feel the stinging whip of her palm across his cheek more than once.  “What has happened?  What has you *so* upset, that you, my redoubtable Grace, wants to go running from Salem?”

“Upset?”  She turns murderous eyes on him.  “I’m not upset, I’m *furious*.  First, I discover that you sent Lamont back to be Marlena’s husband, in *my* bed, you *bastard*.  And now I must endure John Black, Neanderthal extraordinaire, thinking he can tell me how to run my life.  And I am *not* running from *anything*, you *asshole*.”

“John is not trying to run *your* life my dear.”  Stefano bites the inside of his cheek in order to hide his amusement.  When Grace loses her temper, she sometimes reminds him of a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum.  But a dangerous one at that.  “Marlena.  He thinks he is trying to control Marlena.  He does not understand how pointless his efforts are.”

“And *she* stands for that?” Grace shakes her head in disbelief.  Her estimation of the woman sinks daily.  “I’m telling you Stefano.  I won’t have it.  I want to leave.  *Now*.”

“Grace…”  His pause is saturated with significance.  “I told you, I cannot leave Salem.  Not yet.”

“I don’t *care,” she argues furiously.  “I don’t give a fuck what you *say* you cannot do.  *I* want to leave and *I’m* going to.”

She turns and starts for the door, but Stefano dares to catch her arm.  “No Grace.  You will not leave.”

Swinging around, Grace slaps him so hard that she leaves the imprint of her fingers on his cheek.  “What the hell *is* it with this town and people thinking they can tell me what to do?”  Her golden eyes narrow as she faces off with Stefano.  “I will do whatever the *hell* I choose to do.”

“Grace,” Stefano’s voice is low and menacing.  “I made you and I can break you *just* as easily.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” Grace allows herself the luxury of laughter.  “My darling, it would almost be worth getting you angry enough to see you *try*.”

“But you won’t, will you Grace?”  He allows the muscles in his face to relax slightly.  

She is right of course.  The likelihood of *anyone* being able to break Grace is slim, to say the least.  Even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t, he is not sure he could.  But she is too delightful as she is, even if she is a little wild and unpredictable.  It is those very qualities that make her so entrancing.

Grace looks torn for a moment as she considers her options.

“Grace, Grace…” The ‘r’s’ roll off Stefano’s tongue with practiced smoothness.  He reaches out to her and this time she doesn’t pull away when he draws his fingers over the silky skin of her forearm.  “My darling, you *must* stay.  Now that I have you back, what would I do if you were to leave me?”

“I’m sure you would figure something out,” Grace’s reply is grudging.

“*I would rather *not”,” he moves closer to her, his expression revealing his admiration, tinged with the lust that devours his every waking thought of her.  And most of his dreams too.  “Grace, I promise you that this will be over soon enough.”  His stout fingers slide reverently up her arm, and Grace shivers, despite herself.  “And we will *destroy* those who have dared to stand in our way.”  He calculates that she will get a thrill at the idea of demolishing John Black, and he wins his gamble as he feels her tremble under his hand.  She hates John and Stefano knows that she is only just beginning to remember just how much she hates him…

When Marlena had come into his possession, battered and weary from the ordeal she had suffered, she’d been traumatized and scared.  And she’d had no memory of who she was and how she had come to be with him.  She had only been grateful for his immense kindness as he and his people had nursed her back to health.

By the time she’d begun to question her identity, he had been only too happy to furnish her with the truth.  Or at least, his version of it.  A family that had abandoned her.  A husband that had already taken another woman to his bed, without the slightest through for the wife that had disappeared.  And so, Grace was born from the ashes of Marlena’s damage and despair.  A golden phoenix, rising from the flames of anger and revenge, every bit the shining Queen to his own fiery King.

And how fascinating, and how just that she should arise again in the hour of Marlena’s ultimate betrayal by the man she loves so.  Yes, Grace has plenty of reasons to want to see John Black broken.

“And then?” Grace raises a perfect eyebrow, bronze irises constricting around inky pupils.

“Then, my Queen,” he lifts her hand and kisses the back of it, almost regally.  “Your wish is my command.”

Grace says nothing for a moment, just watches him, as though to verify the legitimacy of his statement.  Her composure has been perfectly resurrected and she is cool and serene, even while being ravishingly sexual.

Finally, she smiles guardedly.  “All right.  We’ll do it your way.  For now,” she adds pointedly, and Stefano knows he has been served a warning.  Grace doesn’t make threats idly and he will have to up the stakes in order to keep her interest.

“Lamont?” he asks, carefully hiding his thoughts.

“It’s under control,” Grace lets a sliver of pleasure trickle into her voice and Stefano smiles viciously.  Lamont is her reward, and he knows that she will play with him like a cat with a mouse.  Until she is bored.  But he wonders how long she can resist the temptation to unsheathe her claws and inflict some permanent damage.  Given the mood she is in, he suspects not long.

“Well, don’t let me keep you my dear.”  His baritone is rich and full.  “Why don’t you go and let off some steam.  Enjoy yourself.”

Grace’s lips curl upwards into a chilling smile as she considers his innuendo.  “I think I might just do that.”

Chapter XVI – Unmasking

He comes to abruptly.  There’s something different, he can sense it.  He tries to concentrate on each sense individually, examining them one by one.

Smell.  That’s it.  It’s perfume.  The sharp musk of Calvin Klein’s Obsession is suddenly overwhelming, and he’s beleaguered by the memory of a woman with scornful golden eyes.  The eyes of a predator.

“Open your eyes.”  It is a command, but his body will not obey.  “I *said*,” he feels fingers in his hair and his head is yanked violently back, “open your *eyes*.”

He prises his eyelids apart with only his force of will and he sees *her*.  Marlena, but not Marlena.  She looks… she looks like Marlena, but everything about her is different, from her voice to the way she is dressed.  And the look in her eyes is like nothing he has ever seen.

And then there’s the perfume.  Marlena doesn’t wear that perfume.  But it’s so familiar….

“That’s better,” she smiles nastily, interrupting his tattered train of thought.  “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you…”  Her golden hair swings away as she leans her head on one side.  “Oh actually, on second thoughts, no I’m not.”

“What…?” he can hardly force the word out between his parched lips.

“What’s going on?”  She releases his head, and it rolls to one side as she stands and crosses her arms, the leather of her coat creaking as she does so.  He looks a total mess, and she reaches for the bottle of water she brought with her.  “I thought you might appreciate a history lesson, *Roman*.”

In a variety of exquisite torture, Grace unscrews the cap of the bottle and takes a mouthful.  A drop of water dribbles from the corner of her lips to her chin and with a giggle, she wipes it away.

“*Doc*…”  The name tears from a raw throat but his pain increases tenfold as Grace’s hand whips across his face.

“*No*,” she answers coldly. “That’s where our lesson starts.  I am *not* Salem’s ‘beloved’ Doc, and *you*, you pathetic excuse for a human being, you are *not* Roman Brady.

A groan is all that comes from the man in front of Grace.

“No, you see I *used* to be Marlena.  Before.  But not anymore.”  She sneers, her disgust with Marlena evident in the acerbic edge to her voice.  “Marlena is gone.  And she’s *never* coming back.”  

He opens his eyes, but he can’t see her.  It is a moment before he senses her behind him.  When she moves back into his peripheral vision, he realizes that she’s circling him like he’s some kind of quarry.  

“The difference is that you were *never* Roman Brady.”  She crouches in front of him, catching his eyes with her own demanding gaze.  “I think it’s about time you remembered the truth, don’t you?”

“Am…. Roman,” he croaks harshly, defying this insane version of Marlena to prove otherwise.

“No, no, *NO.”  She shakes her head, her tone deceptively even.  “That’s *not* the answer I was looking for.”  He doesn’t even see her fist as she draws it back, but he is left gagging as she buries it in his midriff, and he doubles over as his vision goes black for a moment.

“No,” Grace stands, an odd smile on her face as she places the bottle of water on the table, directly in his line of vision.  “You are *not* Roman Brady.  I’m not entirely sure why you would want to be,” she pauses, watching him retch.  “If I’m totally honest, Roman Brady would look quite appealing beside your pitiful ass.”

“Doc…” he wheezes, forcing himself to look up at her.  “*Please*-” 

The words are snatched from him as a violent backhand from Grace leaves him with a bloody lip.  “I *told* you,” she mutters darkly, “I am *not* Marlena.”

She grasps his chin between brutally firm fingers.  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.  Don’t tell me those memories aren’t locked up somewhere in that wretched head of yours.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but there is nothing he can find to say to her.  “Oh come on,” her voice is smooth now as she releases him from her grip, her fingers silky against his cheek.  “Why don’t you close your eyes and let me paint a picture for you?”  She smiles, but there is only hatred suffusing her eyes.

“It’s warm and the ocean is that beautiful summer blue that you can only find in the Caribbean.”  She sighs softly at the thought of the island she had come to call home.  She misses it.  There are a lot of places that she misses.  Salem is not likely to be one of them once she is gone.  

“Are we ringing any bells yet?”  There is no answer, and she lifts her eyebrows.  “Well, how about this?  You and I are on the terrace.  Stefano is busy on the other side of the island.  You hand me a martini and you take the opportunity to brush your hand across mine.”  Her voice is strong, and a tiny tremor in her hand is the only indication of the disgust and rage Grace feels at the memory.

“That’s not enough for you though, is it?” she asks, her voice hardening.  “You want more.  The poor, fragile amnesiac makes easy pickings for the likes of you, doesn’t she?”

Her words trigger another flash of memory, and he shakes his head, some responsiveness finally coming to the slack muscles.  He can’t do this, these visions, they can’t be memories.  They *can’t*… 

He can see it, just as she’s describing it, the scent of frangipani in the trees, the sun, glistening on the rolling waves…  She can see her start as he touches her, feel the softness of her lips against his.  And then the outrage burning in her hazel eyes as she pushes him away.

From there, the images begin to flood his consciousness, images that tell him he is very, unequivocally, *not* Roman Brady, for Roman Brady would *never* do this….  

It’s so real he can’t escape it… the tearing sound of the sundress she’s wearing, the cries of pain and terror, the revulsion in her eyes as she looks at him.  And he remembers the desire… the need to take her, to assert his superiority over the beautiful intelligent blonde that seems to be dominating the compound…

Opening his eyes, he looks directly at her, astonishment registering on his battered face.  And a single word slides from his lips. 

“Grace?”

“That’s right.”  She’s pleased as she pushes against him and stands upright.  “See, I knew if you were to put your mind to it you could remember.”

“Why?” he groans, the pain reasserting itself over the truth of what this revelation means.

“Well,” she cocks her head on one side.  “It *is* the truth.”

“But why *this*?”  His head is beginning to pound again, a mixture of his abuse at Grace’s hands and his increasing dehydration.

“Because,” she smiles but there is ice at the core of the gesture.  “Stefano has decided that you are now, I think the words were,” she crosses her arms again, “extraneous to his requirements here in Salem.”  She sees the understanding register in Lamont’s eyes and she moves slowly around him. When she is behind him, she leans over his shoulder until he is enveloped in her scent.  “So he’s given you to *me*.  A sort of a ‘welcome home present’, if you like.”

There is no mistaking the threat that imbues her softly spoken words and Lamont feels fear mushrooming in his gut.  It as though the one memory that she triggered has been enough to break down the walls that held his memory locked away and now the entire gamut of his experiences and emotions have been restored to him.  He knows who he is, and he knows what she wants.

“Grace,” his voice is raspy and pleading and the terror sticks in his throat, threatening to choke him.  “Please…. I’m sorry.  I was stupid.  I didn’t know…”

“*Shut up*.”  She grabs a handful of his hair and yanks back his head.  “I don’t want to hear your pitiful apologies.  *You* started this Lamont, you’d better be prepared to finish it.”  She laughs then, short and hard, the unpleasant sound lingering in the stifling air of the warehouse.  “Not that you have much choice.”

She releases his head, and he feels a tugging at his wrists.  It is a moment before he realizes that she is untying him.  He groans in agony as she releases his arms, and the muscles scream in protest as they are forced to work again.  She unties his ankles and then shoves him forward so that he topples off the chair and falls to his knees.  He hears the crash of the chair behind him, and Grace’s leather-booted foot nudges him.  

“Stand up,” she commands.  Every muscle in his body protests as he moves to do her bidding.  If he’s going to find a chance to get out of the warehouse alive, he’s going to have to play along with her until he finds his chance.  Or creates it.  Still, there might be a way to get her to lower her guard a little….

He makes it up partway and then appears to lose what strength he has garnered as he collapses back onto the damp concrete.  Grace sneers as she aims a kick at his shin.  “I *said* stand up, you miserable sack of shit.”

“I can’t,” he moans.

“Don’t give me that bullshit!”  She kicks him again and he cries out in pain as her foot connects with what feels like a kidney.  “Get up.  *Now*.” 

Lamont grunts as he gathers his strength and edges towards the table.  Grace watches him, bereft of any kind of pity for the man as he uses the table to pull himself into an upright position.

He looks at her then, his hatred for her overcoming his pain and fatigue.  She’s always thought herself so much better than him, always taunted and derided him, flaunting what he could not have just out of his reach.  And now she is back, thinking she can treat him like a piece of shit, and he will crumble at her feet.

Well, she can think again.  She’s been Marlena Evans for the past nine years.  Her reflexes have dulled with time and she’s not as strong or as fast as she would like to think.  She might be skilled, but he’s bigger than her.  If only he can catch her off-guard.

“That’s it.”  She raises one dark eyebrow as he makes a swift grab for the water on the table.  He keeps his eyes on her as he sucks desperately at the open neck of the bottle before letting the dregs splash over his face.  “Make sure you enjoy it won’t you,” she says pointedly.  “Since it will be your last.”

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you Grace?”  He wipes away the vestiges of the water and faces her.  “Think you’re some kind of invincible.”

“I think I’m good enough at what I do,” Grace answers lazily, refusing to be riled by his insults.  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“You smug *bitch*.”  The derision in his expression soon degenerates into a leer.  “Joke is on you Gracie.  Marlena might be gone, but I had her, over and *over* when you were her. I made you scream louder than you ever screamed with *any* man.”  His grin is lewd.  “Baby, you were *begging* for me to fuck you.”

Grace says nothing for a long moment.  There is not a crack in her composure as she faces him, but beneath the façade of serenity, her skin is crawling and her stomach churning at the images his words suggest.

“You are a *pig*,” she spits, and then she stops, reining in her anger.  “No, you’re lower than a pig.  You don’t even deserve to die like an animal.”

“Well, let’s see you do your best Gracie.”  He actually laughs and Grace surmises that the combination of the water and the verbal jousting has gone some way to reviving him.

She’s not far wrong and he lunges for her almost immediately.  She’s ready for him however, and she sidesteps him with ease.  Lamont has always been strong, but he’s a very predictable fighter.  It seems that has not changed.

He whirls around into a fighting stance and Grace grins.  This is going to be fun.  She sheds her long leather coat, throwing it to one side before she pushes up the sleeves of her black sweater.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make this interesting for me,” she taunts him without compunction as she ties her hair back tightly.

“Fuck you Grace,” he rushes at her, but she spins away, landing a vicious kick in his stomach.  He doubles over and she laughs.

“No Lamont, not in this lifetime.”

Chapter XVII – Liquidating Sacrifice

Lamont doesn’t bother to straighten up as he lunges for her again.  This time Grace’s not quick enough and he catches her heavily with his shoulder.  She staggers backwards but manages to keep her feet as she brings her knee up into his throat.  He catches her arm though and takes her down with him as he crashes to the ground, a grunt of pain filtering through his traumatized vocal cords.

Grace tries to wrench her arm free, but his grip is surprisingly strong as he regains his equilibrium.  She silently curses Marlena’s weakness as she stumbles backwards, Lamont retaining his grip on her arm, and he yanks her back so that she is pinned to the ground beneath him.

Panic swells within her as she feels his heavy weight crushing her.  It is far too a familiar feeling, and she has to get a firm grip on her emotions.  She can get out of this, this time she’s not some weak, helpless innocent that needs rescuing.

“Well Grace,” he sneers maliciously as his hands grip her wrists like shackles.  “No-one around to save you this time, is there?”

“I don’t need to be saved…”  She grunts as he shifts his weight further onto her.  “From you…. Or *anyone*.”

Her eyes are fiery with disgust, even in the dim light of the warehouse.

“You’re a dreamer Gracie,” she can feel his breath, hot and fetid against her cheek and it makes her want to gag.  “You’ve gone soft.  We both know it.  So why don’t you just give in and enjoy it?”  He tries to kiss her, but she turns her head and struggles beneath him.

“You fucking *bastard*!”  She gathers all her strength and sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of his forearm.

“*Damn*!  You *bitch*!” Lamont screams as she rolls away from him and gains her feet.  He cradles his arm as he turns to face her, his eyes blazing, lips drawn back in an animalistic snarl.  “I’ll get you for that you bitch!”

“Go on then,” she laughs, brushing the wisps of hair from her face.  “Do your best.”

Lamont pushes himself to his feet and rushes at Grace again but the pain from his arm is distracting and she sidesteps him.  She catches him painfully in the midriff with the heel of her boot before unleashing a knee into his throat again.  She follows it up with several blows that Lamont can’t even determine the origin of as he crashes to the ground with a loud cry of pain.

He’s still lucid enough to see her foot though as it flies toward him, and he catches it before it connects.  With a monumental effort, he yanks on her ankle, pulling her to the ground too.  However, she simply tumbles away, pulling herself from his weakening grasp before she sends the heel of her palm into his face.  He can vaguely hear the splintering of his nose before the pain envelops him.

Grace crouches beside him as he writhes in agony, and she wipes the blood and dirt away from her own face with the back of her hand.  “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, “you’re a *real* man.”

Reaching under her sweater, which is torn on one elbow, she pulls a small pistol from a holster.  She stands and goes to her coat, eliciting a small metal tube from an inside pocket.  With an audible click, she fits the silencer to the barrel of the gun and moves back to where the Roman Brady imposter lies in a fetal position on the filthy ground.

She crouches down again and jerks his hand from his face.  He moans, but he has no strength left to fight her as she caresses his left cheek with the frigid metal of the gun.

“Thanks for making this *so* much more enjoyable,” her voice is soft and insidious, and it slithers into his tenuous consciousness like a venomous snake.  “It’s been a lot of fun.”

His eyes flicker open at the finality of her words and the panic and pleading in them is enough to make her sigh with pleasure.  Slowly, she draws the silencer over his cheek and pushes it up against his temple, burying it in the graying hair there.

“No!” Lamont’s heart is hammering against his ribcage as he struggles to edge away from her.  But she grabs the back of the collar of his shirt and grinds his face down into the damp concrete.

“*Yes*.”

The icy metal nuzzles his skin, and he feels warmth permeate his jeans as he loses control of what little he has left in his bladder.  “Afraid now Lamont?” she laughs coldly.  “Well, call it payback.”

She tightens her finger and there is a tiny fizz from the weapon.  And then Lamont goes limp under her touch and the light recedes from his eyes.

Without a flicker of emotion marring her expression, she pushes herself back from the body and stands up.  She scours the floor of the warehouse with cautious eyes and when she is sure that there is nothing to link her to this place, she turns and quickly and efficiently wipes the chair free of prints.

Carefully, she collects her gloves from the table and slips them on before she wipes the gun free of any incriminating evidence.  She’ll toss it in a dumpster outside the building and once the police find ‘Roman Brady’s’ body, there will be nothing to connect his death to anyone.  Let alone to her.

Grace bends over and picks up her coat, slipping it on over aching muscles.  Taking a moment to flick her eyes over the warehouse for a last time, she slips out of a back door, blending easily into the darkness beside the river.

~

Craig Wesley is stifling a yawn at the black-tie dinner he and Nancy are attending at Tuscany when his pager sounds amid the noise of cutlery and crystal.

Excusing himself, he slips away from the table and dials the mysterious number that appears on the LCD of the small screen.

“That didn’t take long.”  The sultry voice that answers evinces a discernible tightening in his groin.

“It usually doesn’t,” he replies coolly.

“Where are you?” she asks expectantly.

“At Tuscany.”  He looks over to where Nancy is talking to a member of the board.

“How long will it take you to get to the hospital?” she asks suggestively.  “It’s a medical emergency you know.”

“Uh…” he looks at his watch.  It’s after nine and the traffic should be minimal.  “Ten minutes.  Max.”

“Good boy.”  There is laughter in her voice and he can imagine the way she is smiling.  “I’ll see you there.”

Craig swallows nervously as he closes up his cell-phone and he walks back to the dinner table.  Leaning over, he catches Nancy’s attention as unobtrusively as he can.

“Nancy, listen I have to go.  It’s an emergency.”

“Aww, can’t somebody else take care of it honey?” Nancy looks irritated.  There’s always *something*.

“No,” he shakes his head without guile.  “It’s important.  I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Oh.”  Her expression is now crestfallen.  The idea of having to stay here without Craig isn’t appealing.  He leans over and drops a kiss on the top of her head and is gone before she can argue any further.

~

John sits in Abe’s office, lost among the bustle of activity that clatters around him as he stares at the plain gold wedding band that encircles the third finger of his left hand.

He can still see the beautiful smile on Marlena’s face as she slipped the ring on his finger….

This ring is a symbol of my love and fidelity to you.  It’s made of precious metal formed in the shape of a circle which has no beginning and no end. Like my love for you, it’s precious and unending. As this ring encircles your finger always remember your love encircles my heart.

It was the happiest day of his life, the day he made Marlena truly his wife.  If he is honest, she has always been the one his soul was committed to, but that day, he told the world that she is his, as he is hers.  Forever.

He twists the ring around his finger, wishing to banish the memories of how he had lost the original symbol of her pledge to him, wishing that he could turn back time and make those memories not exist.  He can feel the circle of her slim wedding band in the pocket of his shirt, close to his heart and the loneliness makes him want to die.

“John?” 

Abe’s voice intrudes on his thoughts and John lifts his head.  “Yeah Abraham?”

Abe sees the pinching around John’s eyes, and he knows instinctively that his friend hasn’t slept for days.  He doesn’t know what is going on between John and Marlena, but he knows it can’t be good.  It concerns him, but he has more than just that to worry about now.

“Are you sure that you’re up to this buddy?” he asks above the din outside the office.  They’re all gathering to search for Roman.  And John swears that he wants to help, but his mind is anywhere but on the task at hand.

“Yeah, of course I am partner.”  John says, slowly climbing to his feet.  “I gotta do this.  For the Brady’s.  You know that.”  Abe nods silently and John shrugs.  “Where do you want me?”

“With me,” Abe knows John’s reflexes won’t be as fast as usual and he wants to be there to cover his friend in the event of any trouble.  They’re going out to *find* Roman, not lose another loved one.

“I thought you’d be in here co-coordinating Abraham,” John’s face betrays his surprise.

“Usually I would,” Abe nods, chocolate eyes sober.  “But Roman is my friend.  I need to feel the pavement under my feet on this one, John.”

“I understand partner,” John does understand.  Completely.  There is nothing worse than being stuck behind a desk, feeling helpless when someone you care about is in trouble.  “Well then, let’s not waste any more time huh?”  He pushes on the door that leads out of the office and Abe follows him without another word.

Chapter XVIII – Consolidating Manoeuvre

“John?”  Abe’s voice comes from the darkness, muffled by the fog that rolls off the river.

“Yeah Abraham,” John shakes his head and looks away from the water.  The lights had dazzled him, temporarily transporting him to another time.  A time when he had thought he had lost her.  A time when she had come back to him, walking like an earthly angel from a memory back into reality.  She had come back to him; she had wanted him, and he had turned her away.  And still she had come back to him, again and again.

But no more.  

He has run out of aces.  He’s even run out of wild cards.  His luck has abandoned him and with it, she has flown, like the time that was once so kind to him.

“You okay, buddy?”  Abe places a hand on John’s arm.  He wishes John would go home and get some sleep.  But he knows that is not possible.  And it is unlikely that John would sleep even if it were.

“Yeah, I’m fine, partner,” John nods, rubbing his hand over the back of his knotted neck as he blinks away the weariness and emotion.  “Anything new?”

“No,” Abe shakes his head, the frustration getting the better of him.  “There’s no sign of him *anywhere*.  It’s like he’s just vanished into thin air.”

“Well, we all know that doesn’t happen,” John rolls his shoulder and sighs, looking skywards, as though searching for inspiration.  “And there was nothing at the house?”

“We’ve been over that John,” Abe looks away.  “Unless someone went back afterwards and removed all traces of their presence…”  He shakes his head.

“You know, he could have just gone away for a few days,” John shrugs.

“And left his wallet and credit card on the dresser?” Abe turns away, tucking his gun into his holster.  “You know Roman wouldn’t go anywhere without telling at least Sami or his folks, John.”

“Yeah, I know, Abraham.”  John’s shoulders droop as the realization assaults him that Roman Brady could well be in very serious trouble.

“Commander Carver.”   The voice crackles through the static on the radio.  “Commander, this is Sergeant Adams.  Come in please.”

“Go ahead Adams,” Abe’s heartbeat picks up as he looks at John.  “What have you got for us?”

“Uh, well, I think you should come and see for yourself, sir.”  The voice on the other end.

“Is it Roman?” Abe demands, fear settling like concrete in the pit of his stomach.  “Have you found him?”

“Um,” the voice falters and John can hear the strain in the young man’s voice.  It sends tendrils of dread snaking through him.  “We’ve found someone, sir.  Or at least, we’ve found a body.  It may, or it may not be Captain Brady.”

~

Grace waits silently, looking at her watch only once as she stares into the blackness.  Her fingertips drum impatiently on the steering wheel of Marlena’s black Mercedes, and she raises one impeccably shaped eyebrow as she sees the red Porsche pull into a park a few meters away.

Her crimson lips curl into a smile as she opens her door and swings long, slender legs from the car.  Her skirt falls about her thighs, a split revealing a hint of black lace that tops her stockings as she closes the door behind her.  

The whoop of the setting alarm alerts Craig as he opens his own door, and he sees her walking towards him.  The dress she is wearing looks like it’s spray-painted on, and he finds it suddenly hard to swallow.

“Hi there Chief,” she smiles flirtatiously as her wrap falls from one shoulder.  

“Uh…” he clears his throat nervously.  “Marlena…”  She’s so close now that he can smell her.  It’s a heady mixture of perfume and lust and he knows if he just reaches out…

“Cat got your tongue?” she asks innocently as she reaches out and touches his bow tie.  He shakes his head, although he is unsure what he is trying to communicate.  “Oh well,” she breathes with a wicked smile, “I’m sure we can change that.”

She tugs on his tie, and it unravels easily.  She looks into his eyes, and she can see the nervousness and lust warring and it amuses her.  He wants her so badly, but he is so afraid of being caught here with her, in the open, where anyone can see.

The thought doesn’t make her anxious; it only serves to inflame her need even more.  As always, when she’s successfully completed a job, she has excess energy to burn off.  And a little danger only heightens her hunger for fulfilment.

Suddenly, and inexplicably, she is assaulted by a memory.  A memory that is not hers but belongs to the woman whose life she has supplanted.  A memory that she neither wants nor desires.  She can see John Black’s face, see the need in his eyes and she can *feel* the heat of his touch….

This is *wrong*.  You can’t do this, it’s wrong….

Angrily, she banishes the thought and the memory with a flick of her head.  She holds no love for John Black and no desire.  The only thing that is wrong is that she is even *thinking* about him.  She only wants him out of her life, permanently.  One way or another.  And tonight, she will wipe away all thoughts of him with the man in front of her.

She takes Craig’s mouth hungrily as she slams him back against the car.  He groans as she moves her body against his, leaving him in no doubt as to her intentions.  His own hands move over her rear and pull her even closer as he feels her tongue slide between his lips.  He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, in his ears, everywhere as her fingers undo the top button of his shirt

“Uh,” he pushes her away.  “Not here Marlena.”

“Yes,” she nods, one brow arched meaningfully. “Here.”

“We can’t,” his eyes flick around wildly.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”  Her chest is rising and falling with labored breaths as she takes his hand and slides it under her skirt.  He can feel the smoothness of the nylon and then he encounters the roughness of the lace.  His face is expressionless as his fingers slip over the silky skin and then his mouth opens slightly.  She’s not wearing any panties.

“Here,” she repeats demandingly.  “Now.” 

There is no reaction from him for a moment as his stunned mind processes the information his senses are relaying.  Leaning forward, Grace flicks her tongue over the sensitive skin at the base of his throat and then sucks it, not so gently. 

“Now.”  She repeats in a husky voice.

Craig’s body reacts, drowning any protests his mind or his conscience might have.  If he turns her down now, she’ll never so much as look at him again.  That’s assuming he has the willpower to turn her down…

Grace groans involuntarily as Craig suddenly takes charge and spinning her around, he throws her against the car.  Taking her mouth with sudden, brutal force, he knots the fingers of one hand in her hair.  He has already worked out that she likes it rough, and rough is what he is going to give her.

She gasps as he breaks contact with his mouth and immediately pulls on her hair, forcing her to acquiesce so that he can taste her throat.  His mouth is immediately filled with the remnants of her creamy fragrance and the saltiness of her skin.  She moans as his hand begins to massage her breast and she moves her pelvis against him.

He’s so aroused that the rhythm of her moving against him is almost too much and he lets go of her, gasping for breath.  She too is panting as she lowers her head, fixing his eyes with her golden gaze.

“Mommy’s hot,” she whispers, the desire in her voice making him shiver.  “Hot and wet, just for you.”  She takes his hand and guides it between her thighs until his fingers are buried in her moist warmth.  Then, without a word, she lifts his fingers to her mouth and sucks them clean, her pink tongue cleaning the last remnants of her own juices from him.

“*Jesus*,” Craig fumbles with the band of his pants and then the fly before the fall to a heap around his ankles.  He’s so hard it’s painful as Grace frees him from his boxers.

He pushes her back against the side of the car again and she lifts one leg to wrap around his hip.  He thrusts into her with a groan of relief that comes all the way from his stomach as she envelops him with her silky wetness.

Her cries start as moans but soon escalate as he pounds into her mercilessly.  His teeth clamp onto the skin of her shoulder as he feels her begin to tense and she cries out, her body moving rapidly beneath him as she comes quickly and intensely.  The way she sounds and moves beneath him is enough to shatter what little self-control he has left, and he climaxes immediately after her.

~

“Jesus Christ!”  Abe is not one to blaspheme but somehow, they are the only words that are appropriate to this moment.  

John looks blankly at the body lying on the filthy floor and wonders vaguely if he’s going to be sick.  It’s not that he hasn’t seen death before, he’s seen it plenty a time.  But this isn’t just some poor Joe on the street.  This is….

“How are we going to tell them?” he wonders out loud as the police photographer begins to set up his camera.  “Dear God, haven’t they already lost enough?”

Abe is silent as he walks away from the activity that centres on the corpse in the centre of the abandoned warehouse.  He feels as though he has lost a part of himself.  Roman Brady has been his friend for more years than he would like to count.  It can’t be right that he’s gone.  Irrevocably.  There will be no miraculous return from the dead this time.  The dead man is Roman Brady and they have to accept that and work out how to deal with it.

John finds himself watching in horrified fascination as the photographer begins to snap the scene from every conceivable angle. Roman’s face is battered but still recognizable and John shudders as he wonders who could have done this.  Who could have beaten Roman so violently and then put a gun to his head and shot him in cold blood?  It doesn’t seem conceivable, but here they are, and there Roman is….

John shivers and turns around.  Abe is standing looking out of the doorway at the back of the warehouse and John walks across the long-abandoned building to stand beside him.

“I’m sorry, man,” he whispers hoarsely.  “I know the two of you were close.”

“He was my friend, John,” Abe says roughly.  “He was like a brother to me.”  He turns to John, his dark chocolate eyes swimming with pain.  “Who could do this to Roman?  He was a *good* man dammit.  He was one of the good guys.”

“I know Abraham.”  John nods, staring out into the dark night.  “We may not have always gotten along… but I *was* Roman once, remember.  I know he’s a good guy.  Doc wouldn’t have been with him… wouldn’t have gone back to him otherwise.”

“God, how the hell are we going to tell the Brady’s?” Abe groans.  “And Marlena?”  

“Well, your guess would probably be better than mine there partner,” John sighs heavily.  “At the moment anyway.”

“What *is* going on with the two of you John?” Abe finally asks the question that has been bugging him for days.  It doesn’t seem so important now in the scheme of things, but he still wants to know.

John sighs again and looks away, the now familiar aching settling in his chest as he contemplates Abe’s question.

“She threw me out Abe,” he says quietly.  “I did something unforgivable, and she doesn’t want anything to do with me.  Rightly so.”

“She threw you out?” Abe repeats slowly.  “Why John?  What did you to that was so bad…?”

“It doesn’t matter Abe,” John shrugs wearily.  “It wasn’t so much what I did, but that I lied to her about it.  The woman I vowed to love and trust and spend the rest of my life with, I *lied* to her Abraham.  I thought if I could just… somehow if I could just ignore it long enough, it would be like it had never happened and then nobody would be hurt…”

He swings away, anger consuming him once again as he thumps the side of his closed fist on the doorframe.  “*Dammit*!  Why is it that I’m *always* hurting the people that I love?”

“You do your best John,” Abe says gently.  Roman was his friend, but John is his friend too and right now he sees a pain in John’s eyes that scares him.  He has never seen his friend this lost.  Except maybe when he had returned to Salem after Marlena had ‘died’.

And although he had thrown himself into his work and relationships with various women, no-one had ever been able to touch the place in his heart that he reserved for the wife he had loved so.  But at least then, as Roman, he had had the family and the children to ground him, to keep him from losing his way.  But now…?  If John loses Marlena, he has nothing left.  

“Do I?”  John turns agonized eyes on his old friend.  “Do I?  I don’t even know any more Abe.  I don’t know how to stop it or fix it and I keep thinking that there must be a way…” he closes his eyes and winces as the pain in his head suddenly explodes.  “She won’t even *talk* to me.  It’s like we don’t even know each other anymore and every time I see her, I keep realizing that it was *me* who put the coldness in her eyes.  It’s my *fault* that she’s so hurt and angry.”  

He looks at Abe who is now looking past him to where the police forensics department are sweeping the area surrounding Roman’s body.  His azure eyes widen as he watches and then he turns back to Abe.  “God Abe, I’m sorry man.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.  Here we are and *Roman* is dead, and all I can do is think about myself and my own pathetic problems.  No wonder Doc hates me.”

“John,” Abe places his hand on John’s arm, not quite sure what to say.  Without knowing what it is that John has done to destroy his marriage, he has no advice to give.  “I’m sorry, my friend.  If there’s anything I can do…”

John looks over at where the photographer is finishing up with Roman’s body.  He sees one of the forensics team reach out and pick up an invisible piece of possible evidence with his tweezers and a sudden shiver runs through him.  “Keep an eye out for her Abe.  She’s already dealing with too much.  This could send her over the edge.  She needs a friend, even if she’s in denial about that.  She can’t handle this on her own.”

“You know Marlena, John,” Abe shrugs, “I’ll be there for her, but until she’s ready to admit she needs a shoulder, she won’t be forced.”

“I know,” John manages a sad smile.  “For a shrink…”  he sighs, his blue eyes glittering, even in the dim light.  “Sometimes she’s incredibly stubborn.” 

They watch the coroner’s men zip Roman’s body into a long black bag and then they heft it onto a gurney.  And John and Abe both know that this is the start of what will probably be one of the longest nights of their respective lives…

Chapter XIX – Flight Square

Grace groans as she rolls over and looks at the clock with bleary vision. It is almost eleven and one too many martinis last night have left a calling card that she does not appreciate.  The phone beside her bed is shrilling and she casts her hand over the bedside table searching for it.

Finally, she finds it and lifts the receiver to her ear, her voice hoarse with sleep.  “Hello?”

“Marlena?”  The voice on the other end is unfamiliar and Grace struggles to think who it could be.

“Yes?”  She brushes the tousled golden hair back from her forehead and winces as the light filtering in through the chinks in the blinds assaults her eyes.

“Marlena, darling, you don’t sound well.”  There is concern in the voice and Grace rolls her eyes at the prospect of yet another Salem well-wisher landing on her doorstep, brimming with curious sympathy.

“I’m fine.  Look, did you ring me for a reason or is this simply a social call?  Because if it is –”

“Oh no!”  The caller sounds startled at the abruptness in Grace’s tone.  “I’m sorry dear.  I called because Abe wants us all to meet here at the pub.  It’s about Roman.”

All the pieces suddenly fall into place.  This must be Caroline Brady, Roman’s mother.  And if Abe Carver wants to talk to the family about Roman…  Grace groans as she sits up.  Surely, they can’t have found him already.  If they have, then the Salem P.D. can’t be quite as inept as Stefano indicated.

“Marlena?”  Caroline’s voice falters.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.  Of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  Grace presses two well-manicured fingers to her left temple and closes her eyes, wishing for some Advil to magically appear.

“Are you sure you’re all right dear?” Caroline prattles on about how Marlena doesn’t quite sound like herself, and Grace has to call on all her self-control to stop from snapping at the woman.

“I’m *fine* Caroline.  I’ll see you soon.”

It is almost midday by the time that Grace strolls into the pub.  Her golden hair falls softly over the tiny sweater tied around her shoulders.  The white dress she is wearing clings to her curves in an almost impossible fashion.  As she slips off her sunglasses and looks around the gathered faces, it is obvious that she has taken the time to get ready.  The pub is closed to business, and it seems that she is the last to arrive, and her tardiness hasn’t made her popular, judging by the looks she is getting.

Sami and Austin sit at one of the small round tables at the centre and Sami is looking at her with obvious concern.  Towards the back of the pub, Shawn and Caroline are perched on stools at the bar, Abe standing near them.  Completing the tableau, Bo sits with his son in one of the booths.  Hope is seated opposite them, her hand resting on her large belly.  

The pub is silent as Grace reserves a long, critical look at the woman that had taken her place all those years ago.

Hope affords her a wavering smile, but Grace simply stares at her, taking in the swollen bulge under her baggy shirt and the uncertain brown eyes.  It doesn’t take Grace long to decide that Hope presents no competition.  In any way.  

Of course, that doesn’t mean Grace will forget that ‘Gina’ dared to think that she could take Grace’s place with Stefano.  Or that when she failed there, she went after Marlena’s husband.  She will not forget, and she certainly will not forgive.

Her stony expression betrays little of what she is thinking as she turns, noting that John is wedged into a booth in the opposite corner.  She patently ignores him as she shrugs.  “Sorry it took so long.  Car trouble.”

“That’s all right dear,” Caroline nods, her pitiful attempt at hiding her distress evident to everyone gathered in the room.

“Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?” Grace says airily as she takes a seat next to Austin.  She offers Sami a wan smile and Sami looks as though she’s not sure whether to be angry or concerned at Marlena’s inappropriateness but finally she returns her mother’s glance with a small smile of her own.

Her thoughts are interrupted as Abe clears his throat.  “Uh, well, now that you’re all here….”  He looks over at John with pained eyes and then turns back to the expectant family.  “We thought it would be best if you were all together.”

“What is it, Abe?  Spit it out man.”  Bo hasn’t been at work for the past few days.  He and Hope have been called back from a short trip away by the family crisis and he is tired and edgy.  Keeping the truth about Hope’s baby a secret is wearing him down and he is no longer even sure why he is doing it.

“I’m afraid it’s bad news Bo,” Abe struggles to keep his emotions in check.  “I’d give anything not to have to tell you this…” he looks around the assembled faces and sees fear and apprehension.  “We found Roman last night.  Or rather, we found his body.”

“No!”  The cry comes from where Caroline sits on a stool and she slaps her hand over her mouth, trying to stem the tears.  Shawn sits silently beside her, stunned into silence by Abe’s words.

“There’s got to be some mistake Abe,” Bo says immediately, obviously not believing a word of what Abe is telling them.

“I wish there was,” Abe sighs, an ache filling his chest, both for his own personal loss and the loss of his dear friends here.  Of all the horrible moments that his job entails, this must be one of the worst.  “I know that you have gone through this so many times.  It’s natural that you’d have questions.  But John and I were both there and we identified his body.  There’s no doubt it was Roman.”

“Abe,” Grace’s voice is husky and controlled. “How?  How did this happen?”

“Marlena…” Abe pauses and his eyes flicker across to where John sits.  At the almost imperceptible shake of John’s head, Abe turns back.  “We don’t know anything much, beyond the fact that he was shot.”

“Oh *God*,” Sami looks desperately at Abe and then at John with tears in her huge blue eyes.  “He… he didn’t suffer, did he?”

“No sweetheart,” John speaks for the first time, shaking his head firmly.  “He didn’t suffer.”

Grace bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.  John and Abe are such hopeless liars, but the Brady family seems more than willing to believe them.  They are all fools and not least to believe that the bastard that lies cold and lifeless at the morgue is Roman Brady.

“Are you *sure*?” she asks quietly, playing her part of the grieving ex-wife as well as she can manage.  “Are you *positive* this is Roman?  Abe is right, we’ve been through this too many times…”

“We *saw* him Doc,” John slides out from his seat in the booth, his eyes filled with concern.  

He knows this must be killing Marlena and he longs to just take her in his arms and hold her until he is sure she is all right.  He would hold her forever if necessary.  But for now, he doubts she will even let him touch her.  “I know it’s hard to believe. I know how hard this is for you.”  He makes his way across the pub to where she sits, drawing the interest of the whole family.  A family that is swiftly becoming aware that there is something very wrong between John and Marlena.  “I wish it wasn’t true, for *all* our sakes.”

“Do you?” Grace demands coldly.  “Do you *really* have any idea how hard this is for me?”  She arches her eyebrows at his look of surprise.  “Do you have *any* idea about me at all?”

“Please Doc.”  There is a distinct plea in his tone as he reaches out and grabs her hand.  “Please don’t do this.  Not here.  Not now.”

“Why?”  The tears come easily to her willing eyes.  “Why not *here*?  Don’t you want them all to know what a cheating, lying *bastard* you really are?”  She wrenches her hand away from his furiously.  

She *hates* him with everything that she has and everything that she is.  Now that Lamont is dead, all her self-righteous fury is focussed on John Black, and she has a fervent desire to make him suffer.

“Mom!”  Sami leans across Austin, her hand waving in the air as Grace stands.

“I need to get some air,” Grace murmurs, ignoring the shocked and concerned gazes of Marlena’s family.

“Marlena-” John tries to stop her but she only glares at him, her eyes flashing with golden fire.  

“Don’t even *touch* me,” she hisses, her voice filled with venom.

Stunned, John pulls back and lets her leave, blinking as he watches her slam the pub door behind her.

“John?” Caroline is the one that finally ventures to speak. “John, dear?  What is going on?”

John can say nothing for a moment until he loses his last glimpse of his gorgeous wife.  Then he turns around to face his family, his grief evident on his face.  He looks at Sami and then at Hope and Bo.  He knows they have suspended their grief about Roman for the moment.  But how can he hit them with this too?  It’s not fair on any of them.

“Marlena’s distressed,” Abe steps into the breach left by John’s silence.  “She doesn’t know what she’s saying right now.”

“Yeah,” John nods gratefully.  “Look, I’m sorry everyone.  I really need to go and find her right now.  I’ll explain later.”

“Don’t waste time apologizing John,” Sami says in frustration.  She knows very well that there is something more than her mother’s grief behind this outburst and whatever it is, it seems to be driving her and John further and further apart.  “Just *go*.”

John nods and leaves the pub as Austin wraps his arms around Sami.  A choked sob stumbles from Caroline’s lips as she turns silently to look at her husband and both Bo and Hope look at each other with dread.

~

“Stefano?”  Grace finds him stalking back and forth in the garden.

“Grace,” he spins around on his heel, his expression unreadable.  “Where have you been?”  He looks her up and down appraisingly.  ” I hear your mission was a success.”

“You doubted it would be?”  Grace brushes her hair from her eyes in a gesture that is uncannily reminiscent of Marlena.  “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you last night.  I was a little…. uh…. occupied.”

“Oh?” Stefano’s eyebrows arch, but the nonchalant gesture doesn’t hide the flash of jealousy that roars through him.

“Mmmm…” Grace cannot resist playing with him, just a little.  “It was quite the evening.”  

She unties the sweater and pulls it from her shoulders, her hair not quite covering the bruise that stains her creamy skin.  Stefano knows instinctively that it is not from her encounter with Lamont, and he turns away from her, trying to contain his anger.

“Stefano,” she comes up behind him, her voice silky and beguiling.  He feels her hands curl around his upper arms and she lays her chin on his shoulder.  “Don’t be like that,” she whispers softly.

“Who is he?”  Stefano spins around, pinioning her wrists with steely fingers.  There is anger in his eyes as he stares at her intently.  “Who is he, Grace?”

“Does it matter?” she asks breathlessly, her lips reddened with excitement.

“It matters to me.”  Stefano’s own breathing is becoming shallow as she stares at him wantonly.  Part of him hates the effect that she has on him, the power that she wields over him.  But the other part loves her so that he can’t help but admire her.  She is the only person that has ever known how to manipulate him successfully, and he would do anything for her because of it.

“He’s inconsequential, my darling,” she says softly.  “After all, you, better than anyone, know how I get after an assignment.”

“Ahhhh, yes I do,” Stefano nods, his dark eyes exploring hers.  He does know. Knows how the power of success, of holding another’s life in her beautiful hands suffuses her with an energy that she has to expend.  

She is right, whomever it was that shared her bed last night; he is simply another conquest to Grace.  But that knowledge doesn’t stop Stefano from feeling that burning flush of jealousy as he thinks of another man’s hands on Grace’s satiny skin.

“He means *nothing* to me Stefano.” She pulls her hand from his grasp and lifts her fingers to his lips.  “You know me.  You know I could *never* respect anyone that weak.”  She traces the outline of Stefano’s lips, feeling the faint, unfamiliar roughness of his beard under her fingertips.  “He’s simply a diversion,” she removes her fingers and then leans forward to brush her lips against his, with the slightest of touches.  “Nothing more.”

“But an enjoyable diversion, nonetheless?”  Stefano’s body tenses at the feeling of hers against him and he finds himself pushing her away so that she is at arm’s length.

“Oh yes,” she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face.  “Definitely enjoyable.”

“As long as it is not John Black,” Stefano says darkly, but the simple fact that the words come out at all, startles him.

“Oh,” Grace’s expression is blank with surprise for a moment and then she breaks out into hysterical giggles.  “You *really* think I would?”  She blinks several times, making her point.  “Oh *no*, Stefano.  You know me better than that.”

“Yes,” he looks uncomfortably relieved.  “Yes, I do know you, Grace.  I also know how unpredictable you can be.”

“You always said that it was part of my charm,” Grace smiles coyly as she laces her fingers between his.

“It is my darling.”  He finally allows himself a smile, knowing that however hard he tries; he will never be able to control her.  It is not even worth trying.

“See?”  She smiles girlishly at him.  “I knew you’d see sense.”  She pulls away and crosses the plush lawn to the border.  The blood-red petals of an early-blooming rose feel like brushed silk under her touch, and she looks over at Stefano, her expression suddenly one of solemnity.

“I made him beg,” she says softly.  She can still feel the anger and hatred burning within her soul, but now it is tempered by the pleasure of knowing he will never try *anything* again.  “He thought he was stronger than me, he thought he could outwit me.  But he found out that *no-one* messes with me.”

“Grace,” Stefano feels a shiver echo up his spine and he steps towards her, hearing a hint of something unfamiliar in her voice.  “My darling, did he hurt you?”

‘He tried.”  She looks up at him with eyes that seem to have taken on a life of their own.  “He was actually pitiful enough to think that he *could*.  That this time I wouldn’t be ready for him.”

She turns away and Stefano sees the bruise and a roughened graze on her elbow.  His jaw sets as he looks at her.  “You should have let me kill him back on the island,” he says angrily.

Grace turns her head, her blond hair swinging in the slight breeze.  “And have lost the pleasure of ending his miserable life myself?” she asks, her voice husky.

“I should have never sent him to Salem,” Stefano looks at her and then looks away.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Grace’s voice sounds hard and cold behind him.  “So, tell me Stefano, why was it that you did?”

Chapter XX – King’s Field Combination

John lets himself into the penthouse and frowns when he realizes that the alarm is not set.

“Doc?  Doc, are you here?”

There is no answer and his voice is swallowed up in the midday warmth of the closed apartment.  He looks around him, drinking in the familiarity of the home that he shares with Marlena.

Correction John…. *shared* with Marlena.

He sighs as he picks up the wedding picture that rests on a sideboard.  They were so happy on that day, so in love with each other and the possibilities of a life together.  But with his infidelity, intended or not, and his lies, they had built their house of cards on a shifting foundation.  And it had been *him* that had given Stefano the perfect opportunity to pull the rug out from underneath them.

He aches as he looks at her smile.  That beautiful, heartfelt smile that she reserves just for him.  Or used to.  He would give *anything* to see that smile again, to hear the laughter in her voice as she tells him she loves him.  He would give *anything* simply to know that he hasn’t destroyed her completely with his weakness.

“Doc!?”  He calls out again as he climbs the stairs.  There is only silence as he moves down towards their bedroom and opens the door.  

“What the-?”  He stands in the entrance with his hand on the doorhandle and looks around Marlena’s inner sanctuary in disbelief.  Marlena is not one for being compulsively neat, but this is ridiculous.  There are clothes scattered from one end of the room to the other, the bed is unmade and there is a dirty martini glass on the dressing table.

He walks to her bed with a frown on his face and trails his hand over the satin sheets.  His heart skips a beat as he sees her nightgown lying discarded on his side of the bed and he leans over and picks up the flimsy garment.  Lifting the nearly transparent fabric to his face, he inhales deeply, wanting to take just a little part of her with him, even if it’s only her scent.

Except that it doesn’t smell of her scent.

He pulls back and looks at the nightgown as though it’s a foreign object.  She’s there, Marlena’s there but she’s obviously been wearing a different perfume lately because this doesn’t smell like the Marlena that he knows.

“Oh Doc,” the pain in his chest intensifies as he drops the negligee on the bed and looks around the bedroom.  It’s like he’s walked into a stranger’s house, or maybe his own house in some weird alternate universe, because nothing about this is right.  “Baby, where are you?  Where are you and what have I done to you?”

~

“I asked you a question,” Grace rounds Stefano and stands in front of him, her arms crossed in front of her chest.  “Why *did* you send that asshole back to Salem as Roman Brady?”

Stefano looks at her determined face and sighs.  “Why don’t we go into the house, Grace?”

“You’re not trying to avoid my question, are you?” she raises one eyebrow suspiciously.

“I would simply rather not include the whole of Salem in this conversation,” Stefano replies tersely before he starts for the house.

“Suit yourself,” Grace mutters as she grabs her sweater and follows him into the house.

“A martini, my dear?”  Stefano asks as she walks through the French doors.

“Make it a stiff one,” she nods as she sinks to the sofa wearily.  Stefano mixes her drink and fixes himself a Strega before he sits down beside her.

“I was angry,” he says finally.  

“With me?” Grace takes a sip of her martini, her expression giving away nothing of what she is thinking.

“With….” Stefano regards his drink steadily.  “With you.  With Marlena.  With John Black….”  He sighs.  “You must understand my dear, after the accident, you were in a coma for almost six months.  I had the *best* doctors caring for you but there was nothing to be done.  And when you *finally* came to,” he shakes his head, heavy with regrets.  “*You* were gone, and Marlena remembered *nothing*.  I had lost you, I thought, *forever*.”  

He turns to look at her and Grace sees the loss that is etched in his face.  “My beautiful Grace was gone, forever and in her place, Marlena wanted *nothing* to do with me.  Her only loyalty was to the family that had so readily believed her dead.”  He scowls before he downs his drink in one searing mouthful.  “Even when she returned to this miserable town, *John* could do nothing but keep her at arm’s length, for fear that he would hurt the woman to whom he was newly affianced.”

“He was engaged?”  Grace looks away, feeling oddly breathless.  She is silent for a moment and then the anger steels her again.  “Well, of *course* he was.”

“Isabella Toscano,” Stefano says harshly.  “She was Brady’s mother.”

“Ah, yes,” Grace nods thoughtfully.  “The boy.”

Stefano rises from the sofa and paces across the room to the liquor cabinet where he pours himself another Strega.  He can still feel the pain of Grace’s loss and the fury at Marlena’s betrayal, as fresh as if the day was yesterday.  It is raw and brutal and only the Strega can dull it.  That and maybe Grace’s touch.

“I had lost you.  That was bad enough.  But Marlena couldn’t *wait* to get back to *him*.  And he didn’t even *want* her.”  He downs the second drink and slams the glass down onto the counter so hard that Grace flinches.  “I despised them *both* and so I devised the reappearance of ‘Roman Brady’.”

“Quite the solution.”  Grace leans back in her seat, lifting her drink to her lips and taking a long, cool sip.  Learning of John Black’s reaction to Marlena’s miraculous reappearance has only served to fan the flames of her loathing for the man and she needs time to digest this newest piece of information.

“It was.”  Stefano allows himself a smile at the success of his own deviousness.  “If only they had known…”

“So, John married this *Isabella*,” Grace says distastefully, “And Marlena lived her married life with Lamont?”

“He played the part very well,” Stefano nodded.  “Almost too well.”

“He must have done, to fool her,” Grace drains her glass and places it on the table.  The thought of Lamont’s hands on her body is making her skin crawl and all she wants to do is go home and step into a hot shower in order to wash away the knowledge of what has happened to her so unknowingly.

“He had what he wanted,” Stefano shrugs dismissively.  “But in the end Marlena’s *passion* for John Black destroyed her and her ‘marriage’.”

“How ironic.”  Grace says icily as she pushes herself up and crosses to where Stefano stands.  “I still don’t *like* it Stefano.”

“Grace,” he catches her hands in his, “you *must* understand, I thought that you were gone.  *Forever*.  The doctors told me that there was absolutely no chance that you would return.”  His eyes expose his pain as he lifts her hands to his chest.  “I was distraught.  It was if you had died and the person responsible for your death was Marlena.  At the time, it seemed like the ideal way to punish her for her crime.”

“But you got over your fit of pique at Marlena?” Grace remains unmoved by Stefano’s heartfelt admission, and she pulls her hands away from his grip.  

“I….”  Stefano pauses, gathering his composure.  He will not let Grace beat him into submission.  He makes no apologies for his actions, not even to Grace.  “Marlena is enchanting in her own way.  If I could not have you, my beautiful Grace, then Marlena served as a very creditable second.”

“Marlena *was* enchanting,” Grace corrects, the warmth filtering back into her voice.  “She’s not coming back this time Stefano.  If you’re not used to that idea, then you had better *get* used to it.”

“I do not *want* her back,” Stefano shakes his head with utter certainty.  “You, Grace, are *all* that I desire.  We make a formidable team and with you at my side,” he smiles slyly, “there is *nothing* that we cannot achieve.”

“Nothing?” she asks coyly, a small smile skirting around her lips.

“*Nothing*,” he repeats with absolute conviction.  “Absolutely nothing.”

~

John looks at his watch and wonders, not for the first time, where on earth Marlena can be.  He has tried her office three times and each time, an exasperated Cynthia has informed him that she is not at work today.  Nobody else seems to have seen her and he is starting to get worried.

No, not starting….  He is already worried.  He has been worried for a while now and the feeling is only growing stronger.  He loves her so much and he knows her so well…  There is something wrong, he knows it, he can feel it as though it is a fever in his own blood.  

He knows he has hurt her; he has betrayed her and maybe that is the source of her uncharacteristic behaviour.  Or maybe there is something else, something that he hasn’t identified yet.  He feels as though he’s missing something, but he’s just not sure what it is.

He needs to work out some way of helping her.  Right now, he doesn’t quite know what that entails, he only knows he has to work out what to do before something irrevocable happens.

Chapter XXI – Fight for Tempo

Grace lets herself into the penthouse and notices immediately that the French door across the room is open.  Frowning, she drops her bag on the dresser by the door and sheds her sweater, flinging it onto the sofa as she passes by on her way across the room. She is halfway to the door when the familiar voice halts her.

“Doc.”

She turns slowly, her body tensing as she sees him sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.  His elbows are resting on his knees, and he gives her the impression he has been waiting for her for quite some time.

“I hope you’ve come to collect your things,” she says coldly.

“Doc,” he pauses, and the air is filled with significance.  His gaze is unsettlingly intense but in direct contrast, his voice is soft and melancholy.  “Marlena, why are you doing this?”

Grace says nothing as she folds her arms in front of her.  Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, she narrows her eyes for a moment and then she shakes her head.  “I have better things to do, John.”

“What?” John shrugs, his blue eyes piercing in the afternoon sunlight.  “What can be more important than saving our marriage, Marlena?  Please, tell me that.”

“You’re wasting your time.”  Grace turns inexplicably and progresses to the French doors, which she closes and fastens.  “And you’re wasting mine.  Why don’t you just get your stuff and *go*?”

“Doc, for *God’s* sake, quit it with this tough woman act and *talk* to me,” John pushes himself up from the steps, his body alive with tension.  

“*Act*?” she repeats angrily as she turns around.  “You think this is some kind of *act* for your benefit?”

“To be quite honest, I don’t know what it is,” John’s sigh betrays his frustration.  “I only wish I knew.  Then maybe I’d be able to get *through* to you somehow.”

“Have you stopped to think that maybe this is just the reaction of a woman who is *tired* of being taken for granted?”  Grace demands coldly.  “You think I really want to forgive you so you can walk all over me, yet *again*, when you get bored next time?”

“*Bored*?” John can’t believe what he is hearing.  “You think I made the biggest screw-up of my *life* because I was *bored*?!”

“I don’t really care *why* you did it John,” Grace sighs.  “You did it and that’s enough.”

“I did it because the old man was playing his *damned* mind games again.  Because he screwed with my head.  You think I would have left *you* on our honeymoon on *purpose*?”

“To be quite honest John, I don’t know what I think any more.”  Grace faces off with him.  If he’s going to force her to have this conversation, she’s going to make him suffer.  “After all, how many times have you walked away from me already?  Why should one more make any difference to you?  Why should the fact that we were *married* make any difference?  It didn’t before.”

“What do you mean, before?” John looks confused.

“When I came back to you, when I escaped from San Cristobal.  We were *married* then John.  That didn’t make any difference to you, did it?”

“Of *course* it made a difference Doc; you know how much I loved you…”  The corners of his eyes crinkle with pain and confusion.  “Baby, how much I’ve always loved you, how much I *still* love you.”

“So, if you loved me so much,” Grace raises her eyebrows and purses her lips dispassionately, “then why did you sleep with Hope on that submarine?  Tell me that will you?  I’d really like to hear the answer to that one.”

“It wasn’t Hope, it was *Gina*!”  John lifts his hands in the form of a plea.  “Honey, I didn’t know what I was doing.  I didn’t know…”

“That is *so* pathetic.”  She hisses coldly.  “You could have fought it, if you’d really wanted to.  If you had *really* loved me like you say you love me, some little part of you would have known that what you were doing was *wrong*, John.  You wouldn’t have been able to do it, no matter who you thought she was or when you thought it was.”

“It’s not that simple Doc,” John’s desperation is returning as he grasps her arm.  “Stefano had some kind of chip device planted in my head.  Gina was able to control me through that chip.”

“Do you know how absolutely pitiful you sound?” her scornful laugh cuts the air between them.  “You can’t even take responsibility for your own actions, and you expect me to let you move back into my life?  I don’t *think* so John.”

“*Please*, Marlena,” John replies wearily.  “All right, there *is* no excuse for what I did.  It was *in*excusable.  But I’m asking you to please think about what you are doing before you make this irreversible.”

“Oh, I have thought about it,” Grace replies airily.  “Don’t worry yourself on that account John.  I have full account of my faculties and I’m completely aware of what I am doing and what the implications are.  And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t feel better about it.”

John is stunned by her flippancy, and she takes the opportunity to cross the room in front of him.   By the time he has regained his senses enough to follow her, she is halfway up the stairs.

He catches up to her just inside the bedroom door and catches her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“All right Doc, I’ve had about enough of this.  I don’t buy it.”

“Buy what?” she asks innocently.

“You said that this wasn’t an act, but I don’t believe you.”  His mouth is set in a thin line as he looks angrily at her.  “The Marlena I know isn’t this cold, this uncaring.  Doc, I *know* I hurt you and you have every right to be angry, but you can’t just shut me out like this and pretend that it doesn’t matter.  We both know *how* much it does matter.”

“Oh, we do, do we?”  Grace’s lips purse as she glowers at him.  But what is even more disconcerting than his sudden outburst, is the way her body is reacting to his proximity.  Her heart is thumping in her chest, and she feels as though her cheeks are flaming.  But she refuses to let herself show any outward signs of discomfort as she fights for self-control.  “And just how do you come to that conclusion, John?”

“Like this.”  His lips flicker into a little smirk as he pushes her roughly against the wall and bends his head to hers.  Grace feels his lips, hot against hers and his tongue slides possessively into her mouth.  The excitement floods her as she finds herself reacting instinctively to his touch and her body begins to move with his.

And then she comes to her senses and struggles to push him away.  He is so busy looking pleased with himself that he does not see the hand that comes flying towards him.  Grace’s palm connects with his jaw with an almighty smack, and he rocks back on his heels.

“What the-?”

“Get *out*!” she commands in a low threatening voice.  

When he says nothing, Grace’s self-control finally crumbles.  “You think you can just walk in here and say sorry and it will be as though nothing happened?  You think you can just say some pretty words and poor, needy Marlena will fall back into your arms like some grateful, *feeble* ingénue?”  Her face is red as her fists curl up.  “You *really* are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“It’s not like that…” John shakes his head but he is lost for words.

“Yes it *is* like that,” Grace’s voice is rising in pitch as she faces John.  “It’s *always* been about you, about what you wanted, or didn’t want.  Well, it’s over John.  I don’t want *you* anymore and I don’t give a fuck how you feel about it.  I just want you out of my house and out of my life.  *Now*.”

John swallows, his heart hammering soundly inside his ribcage as he faces his irate wife.  He suddenly feels as if he can’t breathe as she reaches over to the top of the dresser beside her and flings a picture at him.  It barely misses him, and it hits the open door, shattering as it falls to the ground.  

“Get *out*!” She screams at him, her fists curled up into tight little balls by her side.  “Get out of my house, you cheating, lying *bastard*!”

John looks grief-stricken as he backs away from her.  He doesn’t know what to do; everything he’s said and done so far has only made this worse, only made her angrier and more determined.  He has no more options.  Not right now anyway.

“All right.”  He nods, his voice quiet.  “I’ll go.  But I’m not leaving for good, Marlena.  Because I don’t believe you.  I don’t believe that this is what you *really* want.  Not deep down.”  He aches at the iciness of her gaze, but he does not let it deter him.  “So, when you want to talk, just call me and I’ll be here.”

“I *won’t*,” she returns bitterly.  “You can believe *that*, John.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Doc.”  

He turns and walks from the room and Grace stares murderously after him.  

“Not if I have any say in it you won’t.”

Chapter XXII – Intermediary Maneuvre

“Are you busy?”  Craig looks up from his paperwork as Grace closes the door behind her.

“Well,” he leans back in his chair with a wide grin.  “Now that you mention it, something really important just came up.”

“I’ll just bet it did.”  Grace slides her hand behind her with a sensual smile and twists the lock on the office door until it clicks.

“You know Doctor,” Craig draws his arms up and laces his fingers behind his head as he leans back in his executive chair.  His tone is serious but the slight smirk on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.  “You really should make an appointment before you go inviting yourself into my office.”

“I should?” She advances across the office, unbuttoning her dress slowly and deliberately.

“Welll…” Craig can’t take his eyes off her as she moves towards him.  “I suppose I could make an allowance or two…”

“Under what conditions?”  Grace skims the large, officious desk and moves in front of Craig.  Drawing her hands across her shoulders, she slides the spaghetti straps over her skin and lets the butter yellow silk fall from her body.

Craig drops his arms and clears his throat rapidly as she leans against the desk in front of him, the white lacy teddy clinging to her like a second skin.  He tugs at his tie and forces himself to look up at her face.  Her eyes are alive with amusement, and he finds himself suddenly grinning again.  “I’m sure we can find some reason.”

He reaches for her hand and pulls her towards him.  Lowering herself onto his lap, she helps him discard his tie.

“You wouldn’t be abusing your position of power now, would you Dr. Wesley?” she asks innocently as she undoes the top button of his shirt.

“Power?”  He raises his eyebrows slightly.  “Over *you*?”  He shakes his head with amusement.  “I think you’re playing with me Marlena.  You know you have me *completely* at your mercy.  The only power I conceivably have is to say ‘no’ to you.  And I don’t even have the strength for that.”

“Why would you want to?”  The corner of Grace’s mouth twists upwards unto a smile of victory as she unbuttons his shirt with nimble fingers and then runs her fingers admiringly over her chest.

“I don’t,” he tells her in a breathless voice as he slides his hand around the back of her neck.  

She shivers as she feels his lips on hers and she closes her eyes, submitting to the sensations that he elicits with his lips and tongue.

She moans and then she freezes as she realizes she is replaying the encounter with John Black in the penthouse in her mind.  Grace’s eyes snap open as her muscles tense at the inexplicable invasion of her thoughts.

“Marlena?”  Craig feels her pull away and he cups her cheek with the palm of his hand.  “Are you okay?”  He’s concerned that she might have had a sudden change of heart and while he’s desperately hoping that’s not so, he knows he cannot push her to do something that she does not want to do.

Grace looks at him, surprised and a little thrown by his sudden gentleness.  “I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought-“

Grace lifts her finger to his lips to quiet him.  “Well, *don’t* think,” she murmurs sensually.  “Thinking… only…” she pulls his shirt down off of one shoulder and nips his skin gently between her teeth, “gets people… into…”  She feels his hand sliding up the inside of one thigh and she gasps loudly, “*trouble*!”

“The only trouble I want to get *into*, blondie,” he fixes her with such a look of lust that she actually trembles, “is *you*.”

Grace exhales gently between slightly pursed lips as she stares back at him.  Yet suddenly it’s not his face that she is seeing, but rather, John’s and she has to blink several times before she can get rid of the disturbing visual.

“Marlena?”  She feels Craig’s hand in her hair, and she has to force herself to focus on him.  She *can’t* let John get to her this way.  He means nothing to her; in fact, he means less than nothing.  She can’t stand him and that’s why the argument with him earlier has affected her so.  She feels as though he gained some kind of advantage over her and it’s playing on her mind.

Forget about him Grace.  He’s not worth it.  Not worth your anger, not worth ruining your afternoon.

She smiles at Craig as she climbs off his lap.  “What are we waiting for?”

She pulls him up with her and then looks behind her at his desk.  

Craig grins at the implication and shakes his head.  “God, you really are trouble, aren’t you?”
“Incorrigible, my darling.”  She leans back against the desk and Craig shakes his head admiringly as he slides his hands over her shapely rear.

Grace pulls him into a passionate kiss that rather takes his breath away and then he feels his shirt being torn from his body.  With blind hands, he begins to sweep items from his desk until it is clear and then he lays Marlena back on the expensive blotter…

~

“Will you be okay Granma?” Sami asks quietly.

“Oh yes,” Caroline looks across at Sami with red-rimmed eyes.  “I’ll be just fine dear.  Don’t you worry about me.”

“Well, I *am* worried about you,” Sami says with a frown.  Both of her grandparents have taken the news hard, and they seem frailer than Sami has ever seen them.  For her own part, the news of her father’s death has stunned her, but she knows that it will hit her in time, probably when she can grieve on her own.  But right now, she has more pressing concerns on her mind.

“I think if you should worry about anyone Sami, it should be your mother, and John,” Caroline’s voice cracks as she John’s name.

“I am.”  Sami runs her fingers through her long silky hair.  “I don’t know what is wrong with Mom at the moment, she’s behaving so strangely.”

“Well, it seems like whatever it is, it’s something that’s happened between the two of them,” Bo interrupts the conversation, his face serious.  “John’s been miserable for days.  I saw him down on the pier last week and he would barely talk to me.”

“What could be so *awful* that it could come between them like this?” Sami feels the familiar pang of concern intensifying inside her chest.  “Whatever it is, it’s obviously got Mom totally freaked out.”

“I don’t know,” Bo shrugs and looks questioningly at Caroline, who shakes her head.

“I guess the news about Roman, on top of the stress she is obviously already under…” her voice cracks again and she claps her hands over her face.  “Oh, Roman…. It can’t be true… not my Roman….”

“Oh Ma,” Bo murmurs gently as he slides his arm around her shoulders.  “I wish it wasn’t true, but it is.  Abe wouldn’t put us wrong.  He was there, he saw Ro… Roman….”

“I can’t believe I’ll never hear his voice again, or see his smile,” Caroline sobs against Bo’s shoulder.  “All the times… all the miracles….”  She looks up at Bo with forlorn eyes.  “There are no more miracles, are there?”

“No Ma,” Bo shakes his head with tears in his own eyes.  “I think this time we’re all out of miracles.”

“Are you okay Sami?” Austin crouches down beside Sami’s seat.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Sami sighs, “I don’t think it’s hit me yet in all honesty.  I keep thinking it must be a mistake, but I know it isn’t.  It just feels so totally surreal.”

“Do you want to see if you can find your mom?” Austin leans his head on one side.  “I’ll drive you if you do.”

“Well, hopefully John found her and they’re sorting things out now,” Sami shrugged.

“I’m afraid not.”  She looks up at the voice to find a distraught looking John standing in the doorway.

“You didn’t find her?” Sami stands as John comes towards them.

“No, I found her, but I think I just made things a whole lot worse.”  John sighs as he pulls up a chair and swings his leg over it so that he is sitting backwards on it.  Sami sits back down as well, concern plainly etched on her face.

“What’s happened John?” Caroline asks with emotion clouding her voice.  “Why is Marlena so upset with you?”

“Oh Caroline,” John’s voice is hoarse and he lowers his eyes in embarrassment.  “She found out I lied to her, about something really important.  She has every right to be angry with me.”

“What John?”  Sami asks, her forehead lined with concern.  “What was it that you lied about?”

“I really can’t go into it now Samantha,” John replies awkwardly.  He can’t tell them, not this way.  Not now.  “Just trust me, it’s bad.  And now, your mom wants a separation.”

“A *separation*?”  Caroline repeats, stunned almost into silence.

“Yeah,” John nods, his eyes stinging and blurry.  He looks up at his family and shakes his head.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry I hurt her.  I let her down, let you *all* down.”

“You didn’t let us down, bro,” Bo says softly.  “You and Marlena will work this thing out; I know you will.”

“I don’t know any more,” John shakes his head desolately.  Bo has no idea just *how* much he has let the family down and he hates that he is keeping this from them.  But he doesn’t know how to tell them without making things a hundred times worse.  “She *hates* me.  I can’t even get her to listen to me, to talk to me or anything.”

“Well, she’s not exactly being Ms. Congeniality to *anyone* at the moment,” Sami notes acerbically.

“It’s my fault, Sami,” John looks at his stepdaughter with haunted eyes.  “I did this to her; she’s just trying to deal with the fall-out.  And now with your dad…”  He shakes her head.  “She won’t let me look after her, so she’s going to need her family more than ever now.”

“But she sent Belle away,” Sami exclaims.  “That’s what I don’t get.  Mom *adores* Belle.  Why would she send her away with things being so hard for her?”

“She said it was because she didn’t want Belle caught up between the two of us,” John explains quietly.  He has tried to call Belle in the intervening days, but he has only managed to reach an icy Martha on the phone, and he wonders how much Marlena has told them.

“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Sami maintains stubbornly and John is suddenly struck by how like her mother she is.

“We’ll look after her, bro,” Bo lays his hand on John’s arm.  “Marlena is family. We’ll make sure she’s okay.”

“Thanks Bo,” John nods miserably.  “I appreciate it.  And whatever happens, please, all of you remember that both Marlena and I love you all with all our hearts.”

“Whatever happens?” Hope emerges into the pub and John freezes instantly.  “John, what’s going on?   Why was Marlena so upset with you?”

“Uh… I really don’t want to go through it again,” John looks at his watch deliberately.  The last thing he wants to do is explain to *Hope* why it is that his wife wants to leave him when *she* is the primary reason.  “Look, I have some things I really need to do.  Bo, fill the rest of the family in, will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bo blinks in bewilderment as John slides backwards off the chair and stands.  “I’ll catch you all later, okay?”

“Sure thing.”  Sami watches as he departs the pub and then turns back to the dismayed family.

“Wow,” Hope raises her eyebrows as she looks at Bo in surprise.  “Was it something I said?”

Chapter XXIII – Positional Sacrifice

“It was *horrible*.  She just *laughed* at me.  I’ve never felt more pointless in my whole life.”   The voice barely serves to interrupt Grace’s daydream as she stares off into the distance.

Her pen rests against the pad but there is no movement, no taking of notes as Marlena’s patient rambles on.  She is thinking of her rendezvous with Craig Wesley the previous day when he had paid an unofficial visit to her penthouse.  He had come to pay his respects after learning of Roman Brady’s untimely demise, but things had quickly become physical, and she had finally pushed him out of the apartment sometime in the hours of the early morning.

“Dr. Evans?”  The timid voice finally snaps Grace out of her reverie, and she looks at the mousy man who is seated on the sofa across from her.

“Yes?” She looks vaguely disinterested.

“Uh, I asked you what you thought I should do.”  Braden Davies lower lip quivers as he looks at her and Grace’s stomach turns.  She doesn’t even begin to comprehend how Marlena can sit here day after day listening to all these pitiful people spew out all their boring, insignificant problems.  It’s tedious and a *complete* waste of time.  And there must be some way that she can get out of this, surely….

Grace leans back in her chair with a smile playing on her lips.

“Braden?”  She touches her fingertips together and looks thoughtful for a moment.  Then she leans her head on one side and pastes a sympathetic smile on her face.  “The reason she laughed at you is because you *are* laughable.  You *do* realize that don’t you?”

“I… ah…” The young man’s face flames crimson with shame but it doesn’t trigger any kind of sympathy within Grace.  She abhors weakness and she will exploit it if she can.  She will extinguish it, given the chance.

“Braden, let me save you some time and money,” Grace leans forward as though imparting some confidential knowledge.  “You think that people don’t respect you?  That they laugh at you behind your back?  That you bore people?  Well, I’m afraid the truth is that you do.”  She approximates a look of sympathy again and almost succeeds.  “You have some severe personality deficits, and I just don’t think that therapy is going to help you with those.  Do you?”

“I…”  Braden looks as though he is going to burst into tears as he stares at her open-mouthed.

“Why don’t you take some sky-diving lessons or something?  Get an interest.  Get a dog.  Get a life?”  The tiny smile sneaks out again as she scribbles something on a piece of paper and rips it off the pad.  “There you go.  These should help you for now.  You don’t need to bother making another appointment, okay?”

“O… okay,” the young man looks distraught as he takes the folded piece of paper from Grace and flicks it open to read it.  She caps her pen as she watches his eyes trace the potent prescription for sleeping pills.

“Braden, your hour is up, okay?  I have a luncheon appointment, so if you don’t mind…?”  She gets up from her chair and goes across to the door.

“Uh… sure.”  He looks stunned as he stuffs the prescription in his pocket and stands unsteadily.

“I know you’ll do the right thing,” she puts her hand on his back as he passes through the door and then she turns back to the room with a wicked grin.

Give it a few days and that session should take care of Marlena’s ‘flourishing’ psychiatric career.

~

“Belle?”  John’s heart is pounding as he waits for his young daughter to answer.  “Izzy, is that you baby?”

“Yeah Dad,” Belle’s voice comes distantly over the line.  “It’s me.”

“Oh,” John is filled with a sense of relief, but it is instantly converted to fear as he registers the coldness in her tone.

“How are you sweetheart?” he ventures diffidently.  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days, you know.”

“Um… I’m sorry about that,” she says hesitantly.  “I’ve kinda been busy.”

“That’s okay,” he brushes off her obvious lie.  She’s about as good at lying as her mother.  “So, are you enjoying it there in Colorado?”

“Yeah, it’s great.”  She sounds unconvinced.

“Good…” John trails off.  “Uh, listen Belle, have you talked to your mother recently?”

“How recently?” Belle asks stiffly.  “If you mean, has she told me about Roman, then yeah, I have.”

“Oh…” John nods.  “Good.”  There is an awkward pause as neither of them know what to say.  Finally, John breaks the silence.  “Uh… Belle, can I ask you a question?”  The line is quiet at the other end and John takes that as an affirmative.  “How did your mother seem to you when you talked to her?”

There is another pause as Belle considers the question.  “Fine,” she answers eventually.  “Considering everything…”

“Everything?” John hopes to God that he doesn’t know what is coming.

“Is it true, Dad?” she asks in a small voice.

“Is what true, sweetheart?” he asks with his heat pounding in his ears.

“Is what Mom said, true?  Is it true that you cheated on her?”

~

“Dr. Evans?”  Grace’s senses are filled with the masculine presence behind her, and she turns to find Austin looking at her with unbridled curiosity.

“Oh, hi Austin, honey,” she can’t help the smile that transforms her face as she looks him up and down appreciatively.  He is obviously on his lunchtime run along the piers and his t-shirt is drenched with perspiration and clinging to the well-defined muscles of his torso.  “You look like you could do with a break there.”

“Yeah I,” he leans over, his hands on his knees.  “I just… I gotta be getting back to the office soon.”

“Oh, that sounds dreadfully dull and boring,” Grace smiles mischievously.  “I could think of *much* better things you could do with your afternoon.”

“Uh…” Austin isn’t quite sure what she’s getting at but he doesn’t really have the time to play twenty questions.  Especially since she’s wearing another one of those dresses that leaves little to the imagination.  And he has a *very* active imagination today.  “Dr. Evans, you haven’t returned any of Sami’s calls.  She’s starting to get worried.”

“Austin, honey,” Grace takes a step towards him and places her hand very deliberately on his chest, her fingertips resting against sweat-slick skin.  “Haven’t I told you before to call me Marlena?”

“Uh…” Austin clears his throat almost convulsively.  “Well… uh.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me Austin,” Grace’s voice softens as she takes another step towards him.  “I don’t bite.  Well,” she smiles, revealing perfect teeth and she leans her head on one side, “not so hard that I leave marks anyway.”

Austin’s eyes widen as he stares at her, completely staggered and quite unable to form a coherent thought except for that he’s hoping like hell that Marlena doesn’t look down.

Grace smiles sensually as she trails her fingers up over the damp skin.  Traversing his shoulder, her hand skims down his upper arm until finally she reaches his wrist.  Encircling it with her own fingers, she lifts it…

“Marlena?”  Dropping Austin’s arm, she spins at the sound of the voice and finds herself face to face with Craig.  “Marlena, what are you doing?”

“Talking to Austin,” she turns back to the confused young man with an innocent smile.  

“Thanks honey, I appreciate your concern.  You can tell Sami that I’ll try and call her tonight.  Failing that, tomorrow, okay?”

“Uh…” Austin blinks, not quite sure what has transpired here.  He *thinks* that Sami’s mother just came onto him.  But he *must* surely be wrong.  He must have imagined it.  Misinterpreted it.  *Something*.  Especially since she seems like she just wants to get rid of him now.  “Sure.  I’ll tell her.”

“Good.”  She smiles graciously, hoping that the boy will go now, before either of them can ask any more awkward questions.  “Have fun finishing your run now, won’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.”  Austin nods his head at Craig Wesley and doesn’t waste any time climbing the stairs from the old pier.

~

“So, Dad?”  Even through the phone line, John can hear the anger and hurt in Belle’s voice and he winces internally.  “Is what Mom said, true?”

“Belle, she shouldn’t have told you that,” he says in a strained voice.  “That’s between your mother and me.”

“No Dad,” he can hear the tears in her voice, and it breaks his heart.  “If it’s breaking up our family, then it’s between all of us.  I have a *right* to know.”

“It wasn’t *like* that honey,” John gives in.  “It wasn’t like I was *cheating* on your mom…”  He rubs his fingers over gritty eyes as he stares out of the car window.  “I… It’s hard for me to explain it all right now, but you have to believe me baby, I didn’t know what I was doing… I didn’t remember….”  He falters, wincing again as his finger strokes one eyebrow unconsciously.  “Honey, the very last thing I *ever* wanted to do was hurt your mother.  I love her so much….”

“Well then, why *did* you?”  

Belle’s words trip over the sobs in her throat and John finds himself silently and inexplicably cursing Marlena for telling their sweet daughter the painful truth.  The last thing Marlena should have done was bring Belle into the fray and he still can’t understand why she has.  Chalk up another one of those unanswerable questions, Black…

“It was Stefano, Belle… He did something to me to make me forget…”  He knows that sounds lame.  It *is* lame, but he has no other excuses to offer.

“Did he make you lie to Mom too?” Belle demands sarcastically.

“I was trying to do what I thought was right, baby,” he replies wearily.  “It sounds so stupid now, I know.  I’m so sorry I screwed up and hurt you and your mom.  I wish I could go back and change it honey.”  He shakes his head as he looks up at the heavy cloud the blankets the sky.  “I wish to God none of it had happened in the first place.”

Belle’s reply is barely audible as it comes out as little more than a whisper.

“So do I Daddy, so do I.”

Chapter XXIV –  Weakness

“So, you want to answer my question?” Craig’s face is stony as he faces Grace.

“Question?” Grace arches her eyebrows in a passable imitation of confusion.

“What the hell was going on there…” Craig motions at the stairs, “…with whatever his name is?”

“Austin?” Grace shrugs easily.  “He was down here on his run, and he was telling me that my daughter is worried about me.  That’s all.”

“It didn’t look like that was all from my angle,” Craig’s eyes flash and they are accompanied by a heavy roll of thunder.

“And what angle would that be Dr. Wesley?” Grace asks, a little sharply.

“Marlena, I know I don’t have any claims on you,” Craig starts, a little more stridently than he had intended.

“No, that’s right, you don’t.”  Grace’s jaw sets as she glares at him.  “You’d do well to remember that *Doctor*.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Craig doesn’t even know why he’s saying this except that seeing Marlena talking with Austin Reed had elicited a burst of jealousy so intense that he had been unable to contain it.  

This isn’t like him, he’s had flings before, but they were just that, flings.  Nothing more, nothing less.  But this is something different.  This woman has somehow worked her way under his skin in a matter of days and the more he sees her, the more he possesses her, the more he needs her.  She’s like a drug and he can’t wait to get his next fix.

“Marlena, I…” he shakes his head, trying to clear the fog that seems to have enveloped him as she stands there, watching him with scornful eyes.  “You know full well that I can’t stay away from you, and you ask me to meet you down here.  Then I find you coming onto some idiot whose bicep measurements are bigger than his IQ…”

“What I do, and who I do it with, is my business.” Grace says carefully as she watches the flickers on his face that betray his reactions.  “Just because I have sex with you, Craig, it is not a promise of a lifetime commitment.”

“I *know* that,” he replies hoarsely.

“Good,” she smiles suddenly, and it is like she has turned on the sun, despite the heavy cloud above them.  “Because it might not be a commitment, but it is an awful lot of fun,” she reaches out and wraps her fingers around his tie.  She pulls him towards her and leaning into him, she trails her tongue gently along the line of his jaw until she reaches his ear.  “Don’t you think?”

“Jesus, Marlena!”  Craig can barely see straight, he wants her so badly and he pushes her up against one of the upright pier supports, extracting a gasp from her.  He takes the opportunity to pin her to the wooden structure with his own body and he takes her lips with his own, his tongue plundering her mouth as his hands roam her body.  

Grace moans as she feels him moving against her and she realizes that she wants him almost as badly as he wants her.  The thought of giving into her desires here, of all places is quite delicious as his hands grasp her warm thigh under her skirt.

“What the *FUCK*!?”

Craig pulls away from her as though he has been burnt as the voice comes from behind him and the first thing Grace sees is John Black’s pallid face.

They are all too stunned to say anything for what feels like an eternity.  All John wants to do, is to tear Craig Wesley’s head from his shoulders as he stands in front of a dishevelled Marlena.  He can feel the droning in his head again and it’s becoming overwhelming as everything in front of his eyes starts to vibrate.

“Unless you want to end up as fish food Wesley, I suggest you stay the *fuck* away from my wife.”  His voice is harsh and guttural.  “Get out of here before I break your fucking neck.”

“Oh *grow* up John,” Grace steps out so that she is level with Craig.  She could just let John do his worst and destroy himself in the process, but that would take away all her fun.  And besides, Craig is a little too enjoyable to see him sacrificed for John’s capture.  There are much more interesting ways to play that particular move.  “The Neanderthal act is getting old.  Why don’t you try moving into the twentieth century for a change.”

“Stay out of this Marlena,” John doesn’t even look at her.  He’s too busy imagining smashing Craig’s head against the support to look at his wife.

“Craig,” Grace turns to her lover.  “You should go.”

“Will you be okay?”  Craig is much less than sure that he should leave Marlena here with her husband.  Not with the rage that’s burning in his eyes.

“I can take care of myself,” Grace nods.  “I’ll see you later.”  She looks at him, the significance in her words conveyed by her eyes.  She wants to finish what they started and despite John’s arrival, despite every instinct that tells him he should get out of this as fast as he can, so does he.  He wants her more than he’s ever wanted her and he’s not about to let an idiot like John Black stand in his way.

He nods and backs away from John, who is still glaring at him murderously.  When he is gone, John and Grace turn to face each other.

“What the *HELL* do you think you’re playing at Marlena?” he yells angrily as the first drops of rain start to fall.

“I’m not even going to have this conversation with you,” she replies contemptuously as she turns to walk away.  But he grabs her arm and yanks her back roughly as he scowls at her.

“You are going to have this conversation whether you like it or not.”  John tightens his fingers around her wrist.  “You pushed me away the other day, you damn well *hit* me, and now you’re acting like some bitch on heat with Craig Wesley.  Down *here*?”  He looks around him and then back at her.  “What in God’s name is *wrong* with you Marlena?”

“*You*!”  Grace shoots back furiously.  “*You* are what’s wrong with me you pompous self-absorbed jackass!  How *dare* you talk to me like that!  I pushed you away because you destroyed whatever faith I had in you, in our love with your betrayal and your lies.  Our marriage was nothing but a *sham*, and I’m *glad* it’s over!”

“I don’t believe you,” he shakes his head, his lips set in a thin line.

“God, how *thick* is that skull of yours?”  she demands incredulously.  “How many times, how many ways do I have to say it?  I can’t *stand* to even *look* at you anymore.  I want you out of my life.  And I don’t *care* what you believe or don’t believe.  Get it John.  It’s *over*.”

“Dammit, Marlena,” John becomes even more determined as his piercing blue eyes bore into her.  “I don’t know *what* the hell is going on with you, but I’m not buying it.  You and I *both* know how good we are together.  I won’t give that up without a damn good fight.”

“You want a fight?” She wrenches her wrist free.  “I’ll give you a fight, you *bastard*.”  She swings at him, but he’s quicker than her and he grabs her arm again and forces her back up against the pole behind her.  She struggles but although Stefano’s people trained her, they trained John too and he’s a good deal stronger than her.

“You can fight all you want Marlena,” he pins her against the pole, her wrists gripped with iron fingers above her head.  “But you’re not going to win this one, baby.  You can count on that.”

He dips his head and takes her mouth with a kiss that sends Grace’s senses reeling.  All she can feel are his lips and the heat of his body where it moves against hers.  She moans softly as his mouth penetrates hers and she can’t even think of fighting him as his presence overwhelms her.  It is as though she has no will as she submits to her unexpected desire for him, and she begins to return his passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth fervently.

Her heart is drumming wildly in her chest as she feels one of his hands take over the task of holding her arms above her head and the other slides down over her bare skin.  He drifts his lips across hers again as the rain becomes heavier, the sizeable drops dampening John’s shirt.  Grace moans again as his touch grazes her breast and continues over the curve of her waist.  John can feel the vibration of her mouth against his as she continues to moan, and it makes him want her even more.

“Doc, Oh God Doc,” he whispers in between shallow breaths.  “I love you so much.”

Grace freezes as she realizes exactly what she’s doing, and she quickly takes advantage of the fact that John’s defences are down.  With a distinct lack of compassion, she brings her knee upwards and John grunts loudly as he staggers backwards, his eyes wide with agony.  A moment later, he doubles over, his breath completely deserting him.

“Stay *away* from me!” she hisses before she storms from the pier, her fury trailing her almost palpably.

John squeezes his eyes shut and moans audibly as the intensely searing pain slowly starts to subside just a little.  But by the time he is capable of lucid thought, Marlena is long gone.

Stumbling over to a seat, he sinks onto the wet surface and groans as he hunches over.  The rain is pouring now, the raindrops running in rivulets down his face as he squints at the river.  This is all so crazy.

Every time he sees Marlena, things get more and more bizarre.  And more surreal.

He knows Marlena so well.  He has known her for most of the years he can remember.  He likes to think he knows her better than anyone.  Or he used to, at least.  This anger, this fury that she has developed is like nothing he has ever experienced before.  He knows she has every right to be hurt and angry, but this isn’t like her at all.  Not this complete unwillingness to try and work things out.  The Marlena he knows will fight until her last breath to make things right with the people she loves.

No, something is seriously wrong here.  He is not quite sure *what* that something is yet, but he can feel it in his gut like the storm that is brewing overhead.  However much Marlena maintains that she doesn’t want him around, he can’t believe that she’s telling the truth.  He can’t believe that she would turn her back on everything they are to each other, not after the hell that they fought through to be together.

No, there is a deeper problem here.  Marlena, or at least the Marlena he knows would fight to keep her family intact.  And she would *never* stoop to trying to turn Belle against him.  Maybe he deserves it, but Belle doesn’t deserve the pain that her mother’s revelation has caused.  That proves it even if nothing else does.  Something is happening to Marlena, and he is damned if he is going to let her push him away when she needs him most.  For now, he just needs to work out the best way to reach her….

Chapter XXV –  Deflection

Grace peels off the last of her wet clothing and drops it on the floor in the middle of the living room before she goes to the liquor cabinet.  With an unsteady hand, she pours herself a shot of vodka and downs it in a single mouthful.  She looks at the bottle for a long minute and then tips it up again, trickling more of the clear liquid into the glass. 

This time, she can feel the vodka as it sears its way down her throat, warming her insides as it settles down inside her.  She gasps for air and sets the glass down on the mirrored surface before she turns back to the living room.

The first thing that assaults her eyes however, is a picture of John and Marlena with their children.  With a scowl, Grace stalks across to the beautifully framed shot and in a single movement, she snatches it off the wooden surface and brings it facedown with a crack against the corner of the dresser.

“*Damn* you.”  The stressed words come out through gritted teeth and there is the musical tinkle of shattering glass as she lets it drop from her hand.

Damn John Black.  Damn him all the way to *hell*.  She looks around her with wild eyes.  She can’t explain what just happened down at the pier, she can’t explain how or why she lost control of her own *will* and it is making her a more than a little crazy.  

She doesn’t want anything to do with John Black.  It’s simple, she hates him, and she wants to see him suffer.  He abandoned her, he had served his own selfish interest and it is time he paid for his crimes.  She knows that in her mind, and in her heart.  But somehow, her body is betraying her and playing a different tune.  She can’t get him out of her head, she can’t stop replaying the way his hands feel on her body and the warmth of his lips against hers….

God, *stop* it, Grace!  Get a grip on yourself.  He has no control, *you* are the one in control.  So *act* like it.

She takes a deep breath and straightens her posture almost infinitesimally, but it is enough to make her feel better.  John Black might think he can have things his own way, he might think that he can tempt her into his bed.  He might think that poor Marlena is weak enough that she will cave into submission once he asserts his will.  Maybe Marlena would.  But then, she is not Marlena.

Her eyes narrow like those of a cat as a slight smile shadows her lips.  Maybe she can kill two birds.  Maybe if she takes control of the situation, she can get John Black out of her system and destroy him at the same time…

~

“John?”  Bo stands in the doorway of his new house and looks at the drenched John with uncertain eyes.

“I need your help, Bo.”  John can’t quite bring himself to meet Bo’s eyes and he takes the opportunity to wipe the moisture from his face.

“You know I’ll help you in any way I can, bro,” Bo nods with surety.  John helped him to find Hope, he will do anything he can to help John find his way back to the woman he loves.  He owes him that and so much more.

“Go and talk to Marlena for me,” John has misgivings about asking Bo this favours  If Marlena told Belle the truth, what is to stop her telling Bo?  But surely, she will not tell him the *whole* truth.  However hurt she is about what has happened between the two of them, she would not deliberately cause a rift in Bo and Hope’s relationship.  Anyway, right now he is too desperate to care.  He just needs to know that she’s all right and not alone.  And he thinks that Bo can get through to her where he can’t.

“I’m worried about her Bo.  Her whole life has been turned upside down and she’s behaving completely irrationally.”

“Have you tried talking to her yourself?” Bo asks carefully.

“Uh, yeah.”  John’s eyes water at the mere thought of what Marlena had done to him down at the pier.  “It didn’t go well.  She’s really angry with me, Bo.  She needs a friend right now, one who won’t take no for an answer.  I figure since you’ve known her so long…”

“And since I’m about as stubborn as she is…” Bo grins despite himself.  He has dealt with an angry Marlena before, and he knows how intimidating she can be.  It takes a strong and determined person to withstand her verbal barrage when she gets going.

“Hey,” John manages a weak smile, “you said it, kid.”

“I’ll do what I can John,” Bo is serious again when he speaks.  He knows how bad this must be for John to seek his help.  And he saw Marlena at the pub the other day, saw how angry and upset she was.  Maybe she needs to talk to someone that loved Roman as much as she did.

“Thanks Bo.”  John nods, his relief tangible.

“Who was that at the door honey?”  Hope’s voice floats down the stairs and John tenses automatically.

“Uh, look, I have to go now Bo.  I’ll check back with you later. If you could see Marlena as soon as you can, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, I’ll head over there now if you like,” Bo nods and then looks backwards to where Hope is descending the stairs.  “It’s John, Fancyface.”

“Thanks, that’d be great,” John jumps from one foot to the other, desperate to make his escape before Hope makes it to the door.  “Say hi to Hope for me.  Call me, okay?”  He waved as he turned and hurried down the path.

“Uh, sure…” Bo said under his breath as Hope rounded his side and looked at John’s receding figure with confused eyes.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s trying to avoid me.”

~

Grace shuts off the shower and steps out from the steaming stall.  Pulling a towel from the heated rack nearby, she wraps it around her waterlogged hair before she takes a second towel and runs it over her bronzed limbs.

When she is finished, she dusts scented powder over her body and slips into a silk negligee.  She shrugs the matching robe on and lets the towel drop from her head.

Her hair is so thick that it takes a good twenty minutes to dry, but still, that’s not as long as when her hair was long.  She sighs as she looks at herself in the mirror.  She misses her long hair, somehow she doesn’t quite look like *herself* with this bob that brushes her shoulders.  She looks like someone else… like the weak and despised Marlena maybe…?

Shaking her head, she reaches for the bottle of Obsession and dabs a little on her pulse points before she heads for the bedroom.  Picking up the half-consumed martini, she takes a sip as she heads for the telephone.  She picks up the receiver with the intention to page Craig, but she is interrupted by a knock at the front door.

“Oh, good boy,” she smiles as she puts down the phone and heads for the bedroom door.

Her feet are light as she skips down the steps, and she takes care to arrange her negligee as she reaches the door so that it displays her assets to their ‘fullest’ advantage.

However, on opening the door, she is surprised to find that her visitor is not Craig Wesley, but rather Bo Brady.  

Her mind works quickly with this bit of information and even as she sees his eyes widen at her appearance, she smiles as she leans against the doorframe.

“Bo.  Honey, what a wonderful surprise.”

“Uh…” Bo blinks.  “It is?”

“Well, of course.”  Grace laughs lightly, fixing him with her glittering hazel eyes.  “You’re my favorite brother-in-law, after all.”

“Ex-brother-in-law,” Bo corrects, though he is not quite sure why, other than the fact that he is completely disconcerted by the way Marlena is looking and he feels the need to put some distance between them.  Even if it is only figurative.

“Yes,” she nods slowly, a sensual smile spreading across her perfect lips.  “Isn’t that fortunate?”

“Excuse me?”  Bo swallows, his heart thumping out Morse code in his chest.  Those eyes have snared him and he is not quite sure if he is thinking straight because all he can think is how sexy she looks and how much he would like to…

“Oh come on Bo,” she reaches out with her free hand and trails a lonely finger down over his bicep.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like…”

“Uh, Marlena,” Bo can hear his heartbeat in his ears now.  “Have you been drinking?”

“Just a little martini,” she gives him a playful smile.  “Why, you want to join me honey?”

Grace lifts the martini to her lips and takes a sip, never moving her eyes from his as she does, letting her double entendre settle in before she says anything more.

“Marlena, I…”  Bo *knows* he shouldn’t even be tempted by her.   After all, she’s Roman’s ex-wife, he has known her for half his life and… and dammit, she’s right – he has wondered what it would be like to make love to her.  But he *can’t*, he’s with Hope and she’s having a baby.  

A baby that’s not yours, a little voice says in his head.

“Yes Bo?”  She flutters dark lashes as she moves closer to him.  Her scent buffets him and the heady muskiness only adds to the sensations that are washing over him.

Dammit man, you’re here to help John.  And help Marlena.  Fantasizing about making love to her is *not* going to achieve that.

“Marlena, John asked me to come here and talk to you,” he brushes past her into the penthouse and looks around him, trying to rid himself of the lust that has suddenly crawled under his skin and taken up residence.  He sees the clothes in the middle of the room and the broken picture that lies on the floor over to the left and his tension grows exponentially.  “He’s worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be.”  Grace closes the door behind her and leans against the light-coloured wood.  Her robe falls open and a split in the nightgown reveals a long, slender leg.  “I’m just fine.”

“Marlena, he’s really concerned.  He says you’re angry with him and that you’re not behaving like yourself,” he looks at her and raises his eyebrows.  “I gotta say, I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“So?” She shrugs easily as she walks towards him, the diaphanous robe floating out behind her.  “Maybe I just realized that I was missing out…”

“And how do you figure that?” Bo crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why don’t you let me show you?” Grace offers, her voice throaty and sensual as she slides around behind him.  He feels her hands on his back and he almost groans as she begins to massage his shoulders.  The feeling of her fingers kneading him is somehow *anything* but relaxing.

“Marlena!”  He spins around, out of her reach, his voice strained.  “I don’t think this is what John meant by helping out.”

“Well,” Grace raises her eyebrows with a half-smile.  “I don’t know if it’s what John meant either, but that’s not about to stop *me*.”

“Well, it *should*,” Bo points at her, but his finger is shaking.  “What you and John have together, it should be treasured.  You shouldn’t pretend…”

“Who says I’m pretending?” she asks as she advances on him.  Catching his hand with hers, she lifts it and fastens her lips around his index finger.

Bo can barely breathe as he feels her tongue envelop the tip of his finger and the invitation in her tawny eyes is almost too much for him to handle.  Tearing his hand from her grasp, he backs away from her.

“Marlena, I can’t.  Not…. it wouldn’t be fair to Hope.”  With that, he turns and practically sprints from the apartment.

Grace watches him go, iciness stealing over her expression.

Hope.  There the bitch is again.  Hope.  Gina.  The replacement.  And a pathetic imitation at that.  

She can see it in Stefano’s eyes, the contempt with which he talks of her.  He never thought much of the original ‘Princess Gina’ and he thinks even less of her doppelganger.

“Princess, my arse,” Grace mutters darkly as she picks up her drink.  

Gina had been a whore that Stefano had picked up in the slums of Paris and in a turn right out of ‘Pygmalion’; he had made her into a ‘princess’.  But she had been slow-witted, dull and useless for much more than the simplest heist.  And for all her airs and graces, she had still been nothing more than a whore, and Stefano had treated her as little more than that in the end.

He had always told Grace that she had been his saviour after the trials of Gina, the one to fulfil all his hopes and implement all of his dreams.  *Why* he replaced her with another Gina, she’ll never understand.

Grace scowls as she drains the remains of her martini.  Hope. It seems, like Gina, she has perfected the art of inserting her irritating presence exactly where she is not wanted.  And Grace doesn’t want Hope, or Gina, or whoever she is this week, anywhere near her.  In fact, out of Salem would be good.  Dead would be even better.

A smile makes its way back to Grace’s lips as she contemplates life without Hope.  She rather likes the idea.  Maybe it is time to put the next part of Stefano’s plan into action.  Maybe it is time that perfect little Hope Williams Brady finds out that her perfect little life isn’t quite as perfect as she would like to believe…. 

Chapter XXVI –  Irruptive Sacrifice

Grace prises her eyes open and groans, the almost inhuman sound emanating from deep inside her.  The pounding, which she thought was somewhere outside, in fact seems to be keeping up a relentless pace inside her head.  Rolling over, a wave of nausea hits her and she closes her eyes again.

After Bo’s visit the afternoon before, she had found herself in the unusual situation of not being in the mood to see Craig.  So instead, she had dressed in her slinkiest outfit and gone out for a night on the town.  If it could be called such in Salem.  But even after a few too many martinis and any number of men clamouring for her attention, she hadn’t been able to find one that intrigued her enough to take home.  Instead, she found her way home alone, filled with an odd yearning that she doesn’t understand and doesn’t like.

She manages to force her eyes open enough to make out the figures on the clock and curses when she realizes that it is only an hour until ‘Roman’s’ funeral.  Maybe she should just not turn up, but then, she could lose the opportunity to create a little more tension within the Brady family and that just wouldn’t do.

With a supreme effort, she raises her body from the bed and swings her long, bare legs out from under the sheets…

~

“Mom?” Sami’s stomach flips as she moves in front of her mother.  Marlena’s face is pale and there are dark circles under her eyes, only enhanced by the black hat that she wears atop her golden hair.  However, as seems usual lately, her dress is nearly too fitting, with a plunging neckline that is almost unseemly, given the circumstances.  “Mom, are you okay?  I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.”  She tightens her grip on Will’s hand as her mother looks around the room.  Anywhere but at Sami.

“I’m fine,” she says in a low voice.

“Mom, I….” Sami knows what a hopeless liar Marlena is and this isn’t any exception.  “Mom, you look *terrible*.”

“Well thanks sweetie girl.”  Grace replies, her words dripping with sarcasm.  “I’ll try and get to the beautician’s before I bury your father the next time, shall I?”

“Mom!” Sami actually takes a step backwards, stunned by the vitriol in her mother’s tone.  “I only said that because I’m *worried* about you.”

“Well you don’t have to bother,” Grace returns nastily, “after all, you never did before.  Why start now?”

With that, she walks away from Marlena’s daughter, leaving the young woman to look after her in complete bewilderment.

“Oh Marlena,” Caroline Brady makes her way over to where Grace stands staring at the casket, wishing the Advil would kick in.  “How are you, dear?”

“I’ve been better Caroline,” Grace says softly, hoping that she somehow approximates how Marlena might behave in this situation.  “It’s all so hard to believe.  That Roman’s actually *gone*…”

“I know, dear,” Caroline nods, her eyes downcast.  “It’s like a nightmare.  I keep expecting Shane to call and say it’s all been some terrible mistake.”

“We both know Shane’s not going to call Caroline,” Grace says quietly.  “Roman is dead and we have to get used to it.”  

~

Stefano slides into the back of the church during the ceremony, his eyes fixing on Grace as he listens to the minister drone on about Roman Brady’s exceptional life.  He can’t help but smile at the irony of it all.  If only the Brady’s knew that the man they had been lauding all these years as their precious ‘Roman’ was nothing more than a hired thug….

It is as though Grace can sense his presence as she turns around.  Catching his eye, she gives him a tiny smile before she looks back to the front of the church.

He is pleased to note that John sits on the opposite side of the aisle, but he notes that his former protégé casts glances in her direction on a very regular basis.  And he’s not the only one.  There are several men in the congregation that seem to be rather more interested in ‘Marlena’ than is appropriate, given the occasion.

It is only when the service is ended and everyone is rising, that John notices that Stefano is there.

“What the *hell* are you doing here?”  He stalks up to Stefano and stands chest to chest with him.  “Don’t you think you’ve already caused this family enough grief, old man?”

“I have simply come to pay my last respects to Roman,” Stefano grins enticingly.  “He was a good man.”

“So, you didn’t just make his life and the lives of everyone here a misery,” John’s throat is tight as he faces his nemesis.  “You want to play your games in death too.  Is *nothing* sacred with you?”

“I could ask the same questions of you, John,” Stefano says guilelessly as he looks over at Hope.

“You *bastard*!”  John explodes, grabbing the lapels of Stefano’s suit and slamming him back against the stone wall of St. Lukes.  “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business and stay out of our fucking lives.”

“John!”  Bo pulls on John’s arm, trying to get him to back off Stefano.  The last thing that the folks need is for John to cause a scene with Stefano in here.  Not at Roman’s funeral.  “John, c’mon bro!  Don’t let him get to you.”

“*Get* to me?”  John’s lips are drawn back, revealing his teeth in an animalistic snarl.  His eyes are narrowed as he thumps Stefano back against the wall, once again.  His azure eyes are startling in their intensity as he glares at Stefano.  “This old man made me what I am today, Bo.”  His voice is little more than a growl, his threat filtering through the gathering in the old church.  “If he suffers at the hand of the monster he created, it’s only fitting.”

“Oh, John,” Marlena’s voice reaches him and he freezes at the acidity in her tone.  “Don’t you think it’s about time you started taking responsibility for your own actions?”

“Doc, you know as well as I do what this *bastard* has done to this family,” John pins Stefano’s neck to the wall with his forearm and turns to stare into the oddly unfamiliar hazel eyes beside him.

“John, don’t forget, he saved my life.”  Hope appears beside Bo, her face etched with concern.  “He has changed, I swear he has.”

“What, so you want him to be godfather of your baby I suppose?” John laughs, the sound oddly high-pitched.  “You know *nothing* Hope, nothing of Stefano and nothing of what is going on here, so just shut the hell up.”

“*John*!” Bo’s anger flares as he wrenches on John’s arm but John’s anger is evidently more determined than his.  “Man, you aren’t helping anybody here.”

“Don’t count on it Bo,” John glares at Stefano, his eyes narrowed in hatred.

“John, for God’s sake!” Grace glowers at him furiously.  “Let him go.  Bo’s right, this isn’t going to help *anyone*.”

“His death would help *all* of us,” John snarls, pushing forward against Stefano’s burly frame.  The bearded man starts to gag as the pressure of John’s arm begins to choke him.

“For Christ sake John, don’t be so pathetic,” Grace snaps as she pulls on John’s arm.  He’s too determined though, and she is not sure anyone could pull him off his prey.  Her lips thin as she moves back beside Stefano and draws back her hand.  Aiming carefully, she strikes John on the chin with the heel of her palm, rocking his head backwards with the force of her blow.  

John staggers backwards, dazed for a moment as Grace takes Stefano’s arm.  He is still gasping for air as she manoeuvres him to the doorway to the amazement of the stunned onlookers.

“Come on,” she says with an amused smile.  “Before there’s any more trouble.”

“Wait,” Stefano turns to look at the faces of the assorted attendees and their shock at the sight of the beautiful Dr. Marlena Evans escorting him from the church.  His mouth slides into a broad smile as he sees Abe and Bo holding John back and a small laugh shakes him before he and Grace exit the church.

~

“Ha ha ha!”  The laughter shakes him as he leans back into the plush leather of the limousine seating.  “Oh, my darling Grace, did you see their faces?”

“Oh yes,” Grace arranges herself opposite him, shedding her hat and letting her blonde hair loose around her face.  “I don’t think they *quite* knew where to look.”  She smiles as he pops the cork on a bottle of champagne.  “I must say, your arrival at that farce of a funeral was quite inspired.”

“And you played your part perfectly, my dear.”  The champagne begins to bubble over and he is quick to dribble it into a crystal flute.  “It seems that the Brady’s are in quite a state of flux.”

“That’s why I think we should strike while the iron is hot,” Grace arches one eyebrow in suggestion.  “I think it might be time to reveal John and Hope’s nasty little secret, while they’re already reeling from…” she grins wickedly, “dear ‘Roman’s’ death.”  She kicks off her shoes and stretches out her shapely legs, propping them up on the warm leather beside Stefano as he hands her a glass of champagne.  “I rather think that it might be the one thing might completely tear the Brady’s apart.”  She takes a sip of the pale golden liquid thoughtfully.  “That and losing their ‘beloved’ Marlena to the enemy…”  One stockinged foot rubs down Stefano’s thigh and his breathing suddenly falters at her proximity.

“Do you think it is a good idea to reveal it quite so soon?” he asks carefully as he hooks two fingers under his tie and tugs on it uncomfortably.

“Oh, yes I do.”  The corner of her mouth curls into an amused smile and she draws her toes down the side of his calf before she eases herself over to the seat beside him.  Her voice is like satin, and it is cool against his skin even as he feels the warmth of her body against his.  “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

Turning side on, she fastens her fingers around his tie and begins to draw the expensive silk out of the perfect knot.  Stefano can see the rise and fall of her glorious cleavage with each breath she takes and the joy of having her so close is almost overwhelming.

“Grace,” there is a definite tremor in his voice as she draws the tie from around his neck.

“Mmmmm?”  She raises her tawny eyes to his black ones and smiles sensuously.

“Grace.  My darling, oh my Queen…”  He is almost afraid to touch her, but the temptation is too overwhelming and his fingers brush the spun gold of her hair.  Her cheeks are pink as he lays the tips of his fingers against the soft skin and then Grace feels his hand on her thigh and she feels flushed with power.  The mighty Stefano DiMera, trembling like an ingénue beneath her touch, wanting her more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.  And knowing that she is the one thing he cannot take without her consent.  Because to break her would be to destroy what he most desires and he will not consider such a trade-off.

And as much as she wants him herself, to feel the ultimate power of DiMera laid bare beneath her ministrations, she knows she cannot.  He wants what he cannot have and if he can have her, then she loses her power over him.  And she loses her respect for him in his weakness.  Their passion for each other is a double-edged sword, undeniable and yet impossible.  To give in to their desires would be to destroy what makes them so powerful together.

And they both know it.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that she can’t play with him.

Grace fixes her eyes on Stefano’s broad lips and brushes her own against them in a slow dance of tantalizing unattainability.  When she pulls back, he lets out a soft sigh of regret and she picks up her champagne glass.

“To us,” she whispers breathily, “and to the end of the Brady’s.  Once and for all.”

Chapter XXVII – Outside The Square

When Grace steps out of the elevator, she is surprised and a little annoyed to find Craig waiting at her front door.  He’s sitting with his back against the wall, his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms steepled between his knees.  He doesn’t look amused either as she stalks past him and jams her key in the lock.

“Where have you been?”  He pushes himself up from the floor and follows her into the penthouse.  “I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.”

“Excuse me?” She throws her purse on the sofa and kicks her impossibly high heels off.

“I want to know where you’ve been,” he demands uncomfortably.

“Since when did I start having to give you an account of my movements?” Grace snaps irritably as she moves across to the liquor cabinet.

“Since I was worried about you!” Craig loosens his tie and slips off the dark jacket that is suddenly constricting him.  “I was at the service, and I saw you leave with Stefano DiMera.  It didn’t exactly make me confident for your safety.”

“Craig.”  She turns around, a condescending smile on her lips.  “Really, I *don’t* need your protection, okay?”

“Well, you need somebody’s.”  He walks over to her and stands behind her as she mixes her martini.  “If you’re doing something as foolhardy as getting in a car with DiMera.”

“Stefano won’t hurt me,” she turns around, the surprise written all over her face.

“That’s not what your family seems to think,” Craig is a little bemused by her glibness when it comes to Stefano.  He has some idea of the tragedy that has befallen Marlena’s family because of DiMera, and he can’t reconcile that with her certitude that Stefano will not hurt her.  “There was pandemonium when you left the church.”  He is feeling uncomfortably hot in the stuffy apartment, and he can feel the trickle of sweat as it runs down his back.

“So, you thought you’d play hero,” Grace returns sarcastically.  “How sweet.  Of course, if I *had* been in danger, sitting in front of my apartment was going to be the *perfect* means of rescuing me.”  She takes a sip of her drink and smiles with acid sweetness.  “My white knight.”

“Jesus Marlena!”  She is walking past him, but he grips her upper arm and spins her around so that she is facing him.  “I *care* about you.  I was worried.  Is that so bad?”

“I don’t need a keeper, Craig.”  Her words are crisp, the irritation showing clearly on her taut face.  “I can look after myself.”

“I didn’t say you can’t,” Craig’s eyes soften as he looks at her.  “I just wanted to help if I could, I know it must have been a hard day for you.”

“Oh, spare me the sympathy, will you?” Grace rolls her eyes.  “Honey, you and I both know that the only thing you’re concerned about is whether or not you can get into my knickers tonight.”  She takes another sip from her glass, rolling the icy liquid around her tongue as she waits for his reply.

“Dammit, that’s *not* true Marlena,” he argues, his face red.  With any other woman, her accusation would probably be more than true.   But not her.  Somehow Marlena is quite different.

“Well, it should be.”  Her lips twist into a sensual smile as she takes another sip of her martini.

“Marlena, I didn’t come here to get you into bed.”  He’s a little disconcerted by her apparent and sudden change of mood.  “It’s not like that.  That’s not how I feel about you anymore.”

“You don’t want to sleep with me?”  She looks confused and a little offended.  

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!”  He throws his hands in the air.  “God Marlena, I can’t think about anything *else* all day long.  I can’t stop thinking about you, about what you feel like….”

“Well, good.”  Grace places her glass on the mirrored surface of the open liquor cabinet and lifts her fingers to the zip at the side of her dress.  “Why don’t we put your fantasies to good use then?”  Her lips part and Craig squirms silently as he sees her tongue slide along the inside of her lower lips, ever so slowly.  She unzips her dress gradually and lets the straps slip from her tanned shoulders.  The garment slithers to the ground, leaving Grace in some very revealing black lingerie.

“Marlena!”  Craig isn’t quite sure whether he wants to back away from her, or throw her down on the sofa and ravish her.  “We just buried your ex-husband this afternoon.  Don’t you think this is a little… ah…”  He’s not quite sure what word his is looking for as he gets distracted by the way her breasts are rising and falling under the expensive black bustier.

“Inappropriate?”  Grace arches her eyebrows with a smile that bespeaks wickedness.  “Absolutely.  But that’s what makes it so much *fun*.”  She nears him and reaches out for his tie, hooking one finger around the neck so that she can loosen it.

“But Roman…” he’s finding it a little difficult to breathe with her so close, but still, he is a little confused with her seeming lack of concern for the death of a man she was married to, not so many years ago.  It seems at odds with everything he knows about her.

“Roman Brady is nothing to me.”  Her voice possesses an unusual coolness.  “Not any longer.  I just want to forget about it, okay?  There are much more… *stimulating* things we could be doing.”  She smiles again as she reaches for her martini and drains the glass.

Craig finds himself battling with his conscience as he watches her.  More than ever, he’s convinced there is something more than just her break-up with John Black happening here.  What it is, he just can’t quite pinpoint.  Not yet.

~

“But why in the hell would she have gone with the bastard?” Shawn’s Irish brogue is exaggerated in times of stress, and this is no exception. “And willingly?”

“I don’t know Pop,” Bo shrugs uncomfortably.  “I think we all know Marlena’s not behaving quite like… herself lately.”

“Well, there’s an understatement,” Sami mutters bitterly.

“But to go with Stefano!”  Caroline shakes her head and looks over to where John is sitting, his head buried in his hands.  

It had taken three of them, Abe, Bo and Shawn to hold John back as he had struggled to go after Stefano and Marlena, threatening to tear the old man’s head from his shoulders.  And they had no doubt that in the irate mood he was in, that he would try.  Austin had left the church to bring Marlena back to her family, but he had only been in time to see the door of Stefano’s limousine closing, barricading Marlena’s long, slender legs from his view.

When he had returned to the church and informed the family of what he had seen, John’s face had gone almost purple with rage as he had cursed Marlena for her newest unusual behavior and Abe had been concerned that he might have to ask Lexie to prepare a sedative.  Thankfully, Sami had intervened and somehow talked her stepfather into some semblance of calmness.  Abe still wasn’t quite sure how she had done it, but something in her voice had pierced John’s mania and his rage had abated slowly.  Now he is sitting in one of the booths away from the family, but Abe has absolutely no idea what is going on in his head.  Given the violence of John’s reaction, he isn’t sure he wants to.

“Look, we all know Marlena,” Abe lays his hand on the table as he speaks with a soft voice.  “And we all know how hard Roman’s death has hit her.  Coming on top of whatever has happened between her and John…”

“If only he’d tell us exactly what it is, maybe we could help,” Hope sighs, brushing the long dark hair from her face.

“I don’t know that anyone can help them, Fancy-face, unless they want to help themselves.”  Bo shrugs uncomfortably.  He still hasn’t told anyone what happened when he went to see Marlena yesterday, and he’s not sure he wants to.

“Well, whatever it is, however Marlena is behaving, she needs our understanding,” Caroline says firmly.  “And our love.”

“She’s not exactly doling out a lot of love and understanding in return,” Sami’s face is dark.  “I mean, how could she do that to all of us?  At Dad’s funeral, how could she *leave* with Stefano, after everything he did to Dad and us?  I just don’t get it.”

There is silence at the table as the family avoids each other’s eyes.  Their loyalty to Marlena has them not wanting to agree with Sami, but none of them can find an answer to the question she poses.  How could Marlena turn to the enemy, now of all times?  It just doesn’t make sense.

~

“Craig,” Grace finishes loosening his tie and draws it from around his neck, dropping it on the floor at his feet.  With one hand, she commences unbuttoning his shirt, each button sliding easily from a well-stitched hole.  “Don’t tell me you don’t want me.  I know you better than that.  I know the dirty little fantasies that play out in your mind.”  She slides her hands inside his half-open shirt and over his nipples.  “So tell me.  Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I want you…” words fail him as she lowers herself to her knees in front of him.

“What about this?” she asks as she unzips his trousers and lets them fall in a black puddle around his feet.  His shirttails hang over the front of his boxers and she reaches up to finish unbuttoning his shirt.  “Do you have fantasies about me kneeling before you?  About coming in my mouth?”

“Yes.”  Craig’s voice is raspy as he looks down at her and he can hardly breathe as she slides his boxers down around his hips until his is free of them and then they drop to the floor to join his pants.

“Tell me,” she demands as she wraps her fingers around his solid length.  “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Oh God,” he groans.

“No honey,” she chuckles, the sound sexily vibrating in her throat.  “He’s not going to help you now.  You have to tell me.  Tell me your fantasies and maybe I’ll see what I can do about fulfilling them.”  

His eyes close and he takes a long, shuddering breath, unsure if he should actually give in to her.  

“Am I bad?” she whispers with a half-smile on her lips.  She can see his struggle and she’s not going to let him get away from her.  “Am I a whore?  Do I suck you until you come in my throat?”

“Oh God, *yes*!”  His hips are straining with the urge not to thrust.  Her voice is syrupy and her words are enough to break his will.  “Please Marlena.  I want to feel you… feel your mouth on me…”  His cheeks are flaming red, but she acquiesces to him, and he feels the moist warmth envelop him.

His skin is silky and Grace can feel him throbbing beneath her tongue as she takes him into her.  Her lips meet the base of his penis and then she begins to withdraw, sucking lightly on him as she does.  He groans again and she feels his fingers in her golden hair, tangling the soft strands between tense digits.

“Oh yeah,” he takes a shivering breath as she begins to create a rhythm, her hands taking up the slack at the base of his cock.  “Oh God Marlena!”  He can’t help it as he begins to thrust in time with her but she is so good that it doesn’t seem to worry her at all.  He can feel her throat tighten around him as he thrusts all the way into her mouth and his hands tighten in her hair.  Her tongue is slick on his hot skin and the friction simply fills his awareness as he moves with her.

But then he feels her hand tighten around the base of his penis and she withdraws, looking up at him, her golden eyes an enigma that he is not sure he will ever unravel.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says in a throaty voice.

“Marlena…” his heart is pounding in his throat.  “I don’t even know why I let you do this.  We shouldn’t be…”

“You let me because you’re *weak*,” she says viciously.  She’s not about to let him off the hook now.  “And you want this body.  You know you can’t resist me, so don’t argue.”

“Marlena, what the…” his brows knit together as he reaches for her hand and pulls her to her feet.  “This is not right.  Not today.”

“Don’t get all self-righteous on me Craig,” she says angrily.  “And don’t pretend you don’t want me as much as I want you.  You’re not that strong.”

“Don’t tell me what I want Marlena,” he returns her anger.  She’s acting like he’s doing this to spite her, but that’s no-where near the truth.  “You have no idea what I want.”

“Oh, don’t I?” she raises her perfect eyebrows.  “I’ll bet I could take a good guess.”  One corner of her mouth twists upwards into a smile and she moves towards him and takes him in her hand around him.  “Want me against the wall big boy?”

“Dammit Marlena,” he pulls her hand away and glares at her.  “Stop it with the games will you?”  

Grace returns his glare with an equally hotly angry one of her own.  “Don’t fuck with me Craig,” she warns in a low voice.  “I’m not the kind of person you like to cross.  If I want to play games, you damn well better play along with me.  You understand?”

“No,” Craig shakes his head, his heart thumping.  He isn’t sure, but that just sounded like a threat, and more than that, it sounded like one he wants to heed.  “I don’t understand a whole hell of a lot at the moment.”

“There’s only one thing you have to understand,” she says sweetly.  “And that’s that you want to fuck me and I want you to fuck me.”  He has no reply and she takes the opportunity to run her fingers through her mussed blonde hair.  “C’mon baby, you know how good it feels.  You know how we move together, how I feel around your cock, how hot and wet I am.  You know how it feels to slam into me until I scream your name.”  She pauses, letting the words sink in.  “Baby, I’m wet now.  I’m aching to feel your cock inside me.”  Her voice is silky and Craig is frozen in place as she sucks the tip of her index finger and reaches out to flick it over his hard nipple.  “I want you to fuck me until you explode.  I want you to come inside me, sticky and hot.  I *want* you Craig, and I know you want me.  You want to make me scream your name as you pound into me.  You want me to play whore in all those dirty little fantasies you have.”  She sees his expression flicker and she smiles.  She knows she has him.  “Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it Craig?  You want me to be a whore.  You want me to beg you to fuck me.  Well I’m begging baby.  *Please*.  I’ll be any kind of whore you want if only you’ll fuck me.”  

“Damn you Marlena,” his voice is raw and shaking, his fists clenched.  “You don’t play fair.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” she grins as she leans close to him so that her breath is moist against his ear.  “I’m your whore for tonight, so make the most of it.  Fuck me hard, baby.”

“Oh Jesus!”  He grabs her wrist and spins her around.  Dragging her with him he makes for the sideboard across the room.  Sweeping his forearm across it, he clears it of pictures and a glass vase that smashes to the ground.  He doesn’t care as he pushes in front of him and up against the piece of furniture.  She is facing away from him and she moans uncontrollably as he tears the flimsy underwear from her and forces her to lean over the sweet smelling wood.

“Is this what you want?” he growls as he slips his hand between her legs and plunges two of his fingers into her ready heat.  “You like it hard and fast and rough, whore?”

“Oh God,” it’s Grace’s turn to tremble with lust now as she feels his forearm pinning her to the furniture as his fingers thrust into her.  “Yes.  Yes, it’s what I want.  Please, please I need your cock in me.  Please, I want you to fuck me, hard.”

Craig can’t deny her any longer and he takes his cock in his hand and guides it between her legs, pressing it into her with an urgency that he had rarely felt before.  Her muscles grip him as he enters her and he hears her groan as he forces himself into her until he is completely buried in her burning, wet flesh.

“Oh God, yes,” she breathes.  “God, you feel so good.  I can feel you hard and throbbing.”  She moves her hips beneath him and his breath shortens as he thrusts slightly deeper into her.  “Oh yeah, that’s it baby.  Fuck me.  Fuck me fast and rough.”

“Oh Christ Marlena,” his hips and thighs tense as he tries to resist the suggestion of her words but she moves beneath him again and he can’t help himself.  He withdraws and pounds into her again and again and again.  It’s a furious pace and she is meeting every one of his thrusts with her own.  

Her cries increase in volume as he slams her against the wood, the action painful, but somehow it only makes things more sexual.

“Craig,” she shrieks as she feels him fill her time after time.  “Oh God, yes, Craig.  More…. harder.  Fuck me harder.”

He does and he voices her ‘name’ as he does it, like some kind of recitation.  “Marlena, Marlena, Marlena,” sounds in time with the thrust of his hips as he buries himself deep inside of her.

“Oh God, yes, yes, *yes*!”  she squeals as her body tightens beneath him and the first of her climax begins to wrack her.  Craig feels her muscles contract around him, milking his cock, and screaming her name, he spills his milky white seed deep inside her.  

It is much later that Grace opens her eyes to find Craig looking at her.  She is lying in his arms on the sofa and though she is not one for ‘cuddling’, she is too exhausted to move.

A smile crosses his lips as he watches her golden eyes scour his face.

“What?” she barely moves her lips as she asks.

“Just trying to work you out,” his fingers drift gently down her arm.

“Why?” she blinks, a little taken aback.  The last thing she wants is for a doctor to start analyzing her.  “I mean, what is there to work out?”

“You’re a mystery,” he murmurs as his fingers cover hers.  “You’re so devoted to your family and yet you leave them all at the church today.  You think nothing of cheating on your husband, yet your wedding pictures are still all over this apartment.”  He picks up her hand and sees the tell-tale white band of skin where the removal of her wedding ring has denuded her finger.  “Do you still love him?”

“And this is your business because…?” she shifts slightly away from him.

He pauses for a moment as though he is assessing the appropriateness of his next comment.  Finally, he speaks and Grace wishes she hadn’t asked.  “Because I think I’ve fallen in love with *you*, Marlena.”

Chapter XXVIII –  Propitiating Sacrifice

“*Don’t.*” Grace pulls herself from his embrace and sits up, hugging the cotton throw that had been covering their cooling bodies to her.  

“Don’t what?” Craig is concerned as he props himself up on one elbow.  “Don’t fall in love with you?  Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Grace brushes her hair away from her forehead in disbelief.

“It’s not exactly something I have any control over,” he says softly behind her.  “I didn’t plan on this you know.”

“Well you *should* have some control,” she says angrily.  “You’re *married*.”

“So are you.”  He pointed out.

“Well, *exactly*.”  Grace turns around, impaling him with her furious glare.  “This was supposed to be something simple and without strings.  After John, the last thing I want is another man fawning over me, demanding something from me that I can’t give.”

“I’m sorry Marlena,” he sits up and wrap his arm around her.  “I know it’s not what either of us wanted, but I just can’t help it.  When I saw you with that kid down at the pier, I couldn’t help it.  I was so intensely jealous… it wasn’t something I’d ever felt before.  And then when I had to leave you with *him*…”

“You know what?” Grace shrugs off his arm and slips her legs from the sofa, standing as she wraps the blanket around her shivering body.  “You were right the first time.  You have no claim on me Craig and I *don’t* want your love or your jealousy.  I have enough of that from my *husband* thank you.”

“Marlena, I’m sorry.”  He looks surprised and dejected.  “I didn’t think…”

“Obviously,” is her harsh answer.

He looks away at the setting sun and then back at Marlena.  “I think you should go now,” she says coldly.

“Marlena-” he starts as he swings his own legs off the sofa.  “C’mon, surely it’s not that bad.  Why does it have to be such an issue?”

“Because it complicates things,” she says wearily, her exhaustion getting the better of her so that her anger fades a little.  “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, which is why you should go home and be with your wife now.  You might think you love me, but you don’t know me Craig, and honestly, I’m not sure you’d want to.”

“I know enough to know I’m crazy about you,” he says as he pushes himself from the sofa and moves towards her.  “You know, if it’s about Nancy, I’ll leave her if you want.  I’ll move out and find myself a place…”

“No, I don’t want that,” she shakes her head, her vulnerability hidden once again.  “I want simple and uncomplicated.  I want *sex*, I don’t want love or tenderness or any of that.  I don’t want you to leave your wife for me.  I don’t even want *you* Craig.  I just want your body when I want it, that’s all.”

“*I* didn’t want those things either, until you came along,” he says pointedly as he places his hand on the curve of her waist.  “I mean, love and tenderness.  But things change, Marlena.  Pain fades and you can move on.”

“Moving on is what I’m counting on,” she replies unequivocally.  “But not in the way you mean.  Which is why you should leave.  I’ve already asked you once, don’t make me do it again.”  She removes his hand from her waist and stares at him, announcing her intentions with hard eyes.

“Marlena, please don’t do this,” he begs desperately.  “Okay, we’ll keep it casual.  I won’t mention it again.  Whatever you want….”

“What I want, is for you to go,” she sounds almost bored as she looks away.  “Go back to your nice little home and your nice little wife, Craig.  It’s been fun, let’s not ruin it with dramatics, mmm?” 

Craig stares at her but he hears the resolution in her voice, and he knows what it means only too well.  He had said similar words himself more than once when some lovelorn girl had begged him to leave Nancy.  He had never thought he might feel the same way about someone else.  Or that they would actually turn him down.  

 

Without a word, he goes to where his pants lay crumpled on the floor, and he pulls them on.  Collecting his shirt, he pulls it on, trying to avoid Marlena’s gaze as he does so.  He is embarrassed and angry, partly with her for seducing him in the first place, and partly with himself, for letting himself fall in love with her like an angst-ridden adolescent.

“You know, maybe you should have considered the possibility that I might fall for you when you involved me in your little games to begin with,” he says angrily as he snatches his tie from the ground close to her.

“Oh please, *do* make this all my fault, won’t you?” Grace answers his accusation with icy sarcasm.  “Of course you couldn’t have just said ‘no’.  You couldn’t have actually thought about the consequences *yourself*.”  She laughs bitterly.  “On second thoughts, just leave before you sound any *more* like my husband.”

“Don’t worry,” he slips on his shoes and grabs his jacket.  “I am leaving.  And your husband is welcome to you.”

“No,” she shakes her head.  “No-one is welcome to me.  That’s the thing you men all seem to have problems understanding.”

“No wonder you play the whore so well.”  The nasty words come from Craig’s mouth before he can pull them back.  He doesn’t really mean it, but he wants to hurt her, just like she’s hurt him.  “Sounds like you’ve had plenty of experience.”

“Get out.”  Grace’s voice is low and almost menacing.  “Get out of my house *now*.”

“No problem.”  He goes to the door and opens it.  Looking backwards, his heart twists as he takes in the vision that she is, with her hair golden and tousled and the blanket draped around her curvaceous form.  He still wants her, even despite his anger.  He will probably always want her.  Miserably, he turns and leaves the penthouse, slamming the door behind him. 

“Damn!”  Grace turns and looks at her own clothes, which are strewn across the floor.  Why the hell did he have to screw it up by going and falling ‘in love’?  That is *so* pathetic.  He had known from the start that it was only a fling.  How hard was it to understand?  A fling is a fling.  That’s pretty basic as far as Grace is concerned.

She mixes herself another martini before she makes her way to the stairs and begins to climb them, her body protesting as it begins to stiffen slightly from the afternoon’s exertions.  

Of course, it is probably a blessing in disguise, she reflects as she nears the top of the staircase.  He has been getting a little clingy the past few days and assuming a little too much.  It would not do to have him get in the way of her plans.

And as good as the sex was, realistically, she doesn’t *need* the sex.  If she has an itch she needs to scratch, she is quite capable of going out and finding herself someone to scratch it.  She looks at her reflection in the glass door and smiles.  After all, it’s not like she’s not gorgeous and eminently desirable….

And it’s not like there’s any shortage of good-looking men in Salem.  Even within the Brady family.  Grace walks into Marlena’s bedroom with a thoughtful smile tracing her lips.  Maybe it’s time she sets the proverbial cat among the pigeons and see what results.

~

 John stares at the Brady family as they continue to discuss the afternoon’s events.  They’ve been discussing it for hours now and there is no resolution, only the same ideas tossed over and over until they’ve become so old and ragged that nobody knows what to do with them anymore.

John knows better than anyone that words will not get them anywhere.  But one has to know what action to take to actually take it.  Abe told them earlier that one of his units had reported that Stefano had dropped Marlena home, but no-one seems sure if they should go over to make sure that she is all right.  John knows he can’t go over there.  Judging by recent history, he will only make things worse.  And being that he’s still furious at Marlena for her actions at the church that’s probably more than definite.

But what can any of them do, really?  If Marlena is so angry that she is prepared to defy all of them and turn to Stefano, what can they say to make her see reason?  This all seems so insane, so surreal.  So wrong.

“John?”  Sami slips into the booth opposite her stepfather.  “Do you want something to drink?  A tea, or a coffee or something?”

“No thanks Samantha.”  He shakes his head.  “Thanks anyway.”

“I wish you’d let me help.”  Sami crosses her arms and leans back against the booth seat.

“You can’t Sami,” John shakes his head miserably.  “If I thought you could peanut, you know I’d ask you to, but I just don’t think…”

He hears the murmur from the family group and looks up to see Marlena standing in the doorway of the pub.  His heart leaps into his throat at the sight of her.  Her hair is piled up on top of her head and she is wearing a long leather coat.  As it swings open, he can see that she is wearing black leather pants which look as though they’ve been sprayed on over high-heeled boots.  He can see her midriff below a white cropped top and by the look of her toned muscles, it seems as though she’s been working out.

“What’s with all the long faces?” She asks as she saunters towards the family.  “You all look as though someone died.”  An odd smile comes over her face and she giggles.  “Oh, I forgot, someone did.”

“*Mom*!”  Sami slides out from her seat across from John and strides across to where Marlena is leaning against one of the support posts.  “Have you been drinking?”

“Just a couple, honey,” she winks, “you should try it some time.  Might loosen you up a little.”

“Marlena,” Caroline’s mouth is set in a line that is so thin, Grace wonders if she swallowed her lips.  “I’m glad to see you are all right.  We were worried about you.”

“Seems like you did a lot about it too.”  Grace looks around the assembled family and her eyes settle on Abe.  “Even the commander is here, huh?  I suppose you sent some of your keystone cops out after big bad Stefano DiMera.  I mean, while you sat around here and discussed how I was betraying the family or whatever it was you were having this tedious family conference about.”

“Okay Marlena,” she feels John’s hands on her shoulders but it’s not a surprise.  She had sensed him behind her even before he had arrived.  “That’s quite enough.”

“Oh, it is, is it?” she turns around, using her forearms to bad away his grip.  “Why?  Because you said so?  John Black, saviour of the Brady family.  Is that how it goes?”

“You don’t mean this Marlena, so why don’t we just go and sit down?” he takes her hand and gestures to the booth he had been sitting in earlier.

“The *hell* I don’t mean it,” she wrenches her hand from his grasp, playing up her drunk act for all she is worth.  “And get your hands off me, Black.”

“Marlena,” Bo rises from his seat, hoping he can calm the situation before it gets any more out of hand.  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, Bo honey,” she glares at John for a long moment before she turns to Bo and lets him lead her away from the family.  She is aware that Hope is watching them in what she thinks is a discreet manner and she determines to make good use of it.

“Marlena…” Bo pauses, not quite sure what tack to take with his sister-in-law.  Not given their last meeting.  “I know you and John are having a rough time, but I don’t really think this is a good time to get into it.”

“Oh?” Grace lifts her eyebrows as she bows her head a little which means that she is looking up at Bo from under not-so-innocent lashes.  “What would be a good time, Bo?”

“I only mean that Mom and Pop have had a rough day.  And despite what you think, we were all worried about you.”  His eyes are a velvety brown as he tries to convey his sincerity.  “But you *did* get into the car with Stefano of your own free will.  What could we do?”

“You were worried, hmmm?”  Her lips flicker into the hint of a smile as she takes a step closer to Bo.  “I think you’ve been thinking about me rather more than you’d like lately, haven’t you little brother-in-law?”

“Marlena!”  Bo’s eyes widen as he is caught by her knowing gaze.  He can’t deny her claim, as much as he wants to, and the muscles in his abdomen tense as she reaches out and lays her palm flat against his stomach.

“I know you’re curious, Bo.  Why don’t you just admit it?”

“What’s the point, Marlena?” he replies through clenched teeth.

“Does there have to be one?” she asks as she slides her hand up his chest with a knowing smile.  “Unless you decide you want to *explore* some of those fantasies you’ve been having….”

“Excuse me Marlena,” Hope’s voice is sharp as she waddles across to where Bo and Marlena are standing.  “Do you mind telling me exactly why you have your hands all over my fiancée?”

“It’s okay Fancy-F-” Bo tries to pour oil on the troubled waters, but it’s too late as Marlena ignores his interruption.

“Yes, I do actually Hope,” she purses her lips as she turns to the irritation standing in front of her.

“Well, try it anyway,” Hope replies with unabated sarcasm as she folds her own arms atop her swollen belly.

“I *really* don’t think you want to get into this with me, Hope,” Grace warns, knowing exactly where this is leading and determined to milk it for everything it’s worth.

“I *really* think I do,” Hope’s lips are white as she glares at Grace.  “I don’t think that just because you’re having problems with your marriage, it gives you the right to go around throwing yourself at anyone else’s partner.”

“Oh, is that right?”  Grace’s laugh is high pitched as she notices the rest of the family turning to take note of the conversation.  “Is that what you think Hope?”

“That’s what I think,” Hope nods, a forced smile crossing her face.

“And what do you think about this, Bo?” she turns to the man beside her.

“I think she’s right, Marlena,” Bo replies warily.  

“Doc,” John’s voice cuts desperately across the conversation as he comes up behind Hope.  “Marlena, leave it be, will you?”

“You know Bo,” Grace ignores John’s plea as she lifts her index finger and rests it against her lips.  “I wonder if perhaps Hope should have taken a little of her own advice when she went after *my* husband before my wedding.”

“She was Gina, Marlena, you know that,” Bo shakes his head.  “Besides, I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, she was Gina,” Grace nods thoughtfully.  “That’s mighty convenient, isn’t it?  Covers a multitude of sins, or so I’ve heard.”

“Doc!”  John can’t believe this is happening.  It’s like a train wreck that he has no way of averting.  And it’s all his fault.  “Doc, *don’t*.”

“What do you mean, *convenient*?” Hope asks irritably.  “You think I’m *lying* about the fact that I lost a year of my life?”

“*Lying*?” Grace rolls her head to one side, “I don’t know that I’d go quite *that* far Hope honey, but it *does* seem strange to me that all it took was dear old Daddy to sing you a song to snap you out of this ‘Gina’ persona.”  She looks back at Bo, her eyebrows arched again.  “It rather seems to put you out in the cold, doesn’t it Bo?  While *you*, the love of her life, couldn’t bring Hope back, a silly song was all that it took.”

“*What* are you trying to say Marlena?” Hope demands, fury flashing in her dark eyes now.

“I’m saying Hope, that maybe you *wanted* to be Gina.  While it suited your purposes.  While you and my husband could carry on your sordid little affair and conceive your little bundle of *joy*.  On my honeymoon, no less.”

Chapter XXIX – Skewer

“WHAT?”  Hope stares at Marlena in utter shock.

“Oh *Jesus*, Marlena!” John spins away from his wife and his close friends with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  

Hope turns her frightened eyes from Marlena to John and then flicks them back to Marlena.  “No… there must be some mistake.  This baby is Bo’s.”  She looks up at Bo with desperate eyes.  “Tell her, Bo!”

Bo can’t say anything as he watches John sink into the closest chair, his head in his hands.

“You all wanted to know what it was that I found out that was enough to destroy my marriage,” Grace says loudly.  “Well, now you know.  My husband fucked Hope, or Gina or whatever she was calling herself at the time.  On our *honeymoon*, while I thought he was *dead*.  When you came to help me Bo, while we worried ourselves *sick*, he was off carrying on his sordid little affair with *your* fiancée.”

“Bo,” Hope grips his arm with tears in her eyes.  “It’s not true.  I wouldn’t do that, not with John.  This baby is *yours*.  You know it is.”

“It’s not mine, Hope,” Bo says quietly.  “We hadn’t slept together in *years* before you came back to Salem from Paris.”

“If you don’t believe *me*,” Grace says coldly as she crosses her arms, “why don’t you ask the proud papa.  He remembers it *all*.  Don’t you, John?”

Bo and Hope both look over at John and the horrible truth begins to dawn on them as he stares at Marlena in complete mortification.

“Christ, Marlena, don’t you think this family has had enough bad news?” he asks her, ignoring the horrified gaze of his family.  “Why the hell did you do it?  Today of all days?”

“What, you wanted to include me in your nasty little web of lies?” Grace demands angrily.  “It wasn’t enough that you lied to me for months, you want to perpetuate the lies with the very people that are concerned?”  She looks across at Bo, who’s face has gone ashen with the revelations.  “Surely Bo deserves to know that his intended *wife* cheated on him with a man that once claimed to be his brother.  Who were you trying to protect John, your family, or yourself and your floozy?”

“That’s *enough* Marlena!” John stands up, knocking the chair over as he does so.

“Oh, so now I finally get a reaction,” she smiles icily.  “Nice to know that you’re so valiant in defence of the mother of your latest *brat*.”

“Bo,” Hope turns to him desperately.  “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know.  I don’t remember *anything”!”

“Well, isn’t that *just* convenient,” Grace’s sugar sweet tone doesn’t hide the bitterness underneath. “Would you like to know how you went to such *extraordinary* lengths as to get my husband onboard a submarine so that you could have your wicked way with him?”  Her face hardens and she narrows her eyes.  “You see Hope, I just find myself questioning how hard you actually *fought* Gina when it came to fucking my husband.  Because it seems to me that if you hadn’t *wanted* to, you would have fought tooth and nail to get back to your *beloved* Bo.”

“I couldn’t,” Hope says faintly.  “I didn’t know….”

“And yet, you knew when Doug sang you a song…” Grace replies with stinging acidity.  “Forgive me if I find that just a *little* hard to swallow, *Hope*.”  She looks across at a devastated John and sneers.  “About as hard as I find it to believe that John couldn’t fight for *our* love if he’d really wanted to…”

There is silence in the pub as they all try to absorb this latest revelation and Grace looks at Hope with scornful eyes before she turns to John.  “You know what honey?  You’re quite welcome to her.  Though why you’d want to choose that scrawny whore over me, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

“I don’t,” John is too distraught to even call her on her censure of Hope.  “God Marlena, you *know* that I’ve only *ever* wanted you.  You *know* that you’re my whole world, why can’t you accept that I made a *terrible* mistake but that I didn’t mean to?”

“It’s too little, too late,” Grace replies crisply.  “And besides, since I found out you lied to me for *how* many months was it, I can’t trust *anything* you say.”  She looks at the assembled family.  “And if I was any of the rest of you, I’d think twice about what I believe too…” she shrugs, “after all, he was *so* very eager to explain why it was that I’ve left him, wasn’t he?”

“Mom,” Sami’s voice is hoarse as she pushes herself up from her.  “I… I’m sorry, I had no idea…”

“No…” Grace looks unimpressed, “I don’t suppose you did.”  

The rest of the family are simply too shell-shocked to say anything, and Abe and Lexie can do nothing but stare at their good friends in astonishment.  Grace waits for a moment longer and then casts her eyes across the faces of Marlena’s family.

“Well,” she shrugs, “your sympathy simply astounds me.  I guess I should have expected as much.”

“Marlena… dear…” Caroline tries to get up, but her legs seem to be unable to carry her.

“Oh, save it Caroline,” Grace snaps angrily.  “Don’t bother wasting your energy.  I have better places to be anyway.”  With that, she pushes past Hope and stomps from the pub, her coat flowing in her wake like the black clouds of some incredibly destructive storm.

“Oh God.”  Hope stares at the ground, her face burning with the humiliation and anger of finding out the truth in such a manner.  “Oh God, it can’t be true.”  She looks at John again and she flinches when he meets her eyes with what can only be described as disgust.  Whether it is with her or with the situation, she cannot tell.

“It’s true, Hope,” he replies, his skin crawling with the knowledge of the turmoil this is inflicting on his family.  “God help us all because it *is* true.”  He looks over at Bo and his heart sinks as he sees the confusion and anger that settle in Bo’s eyes.  “Bo… we didn’t know.  Neither of us knew.”

Hope turns to Bo, horrified by what she is hearing.  “Bo….”

“Marlena has a good point,” Bo says coldly.  “Doesn’t seem like either of you fought it very hard.”

“*Bo*!”  Caroline interrupts from the previously quiet table in the centre of the pub.  “Can you honestly believe that Hope and John would *willingly*-“

“I don’t know *what* to believe any more, Ma!”  Bo spins away and thumps the strut of the booth behind him.

“Bo, I was on my goddamn *honeymoon*,” John’s voice is strained as he faces his one-time brother.  “You think I *wanted* this to happen?  That I *wanted* to hurt Marlena like this?  Jesus, that woman is my whole *world*.  Why would I risk my marriage for a night of cheap sex?  Why would I *choose* to do that Bo?”

“I don’t know,” Bo’s lips thin as he looks at John. “But then I always wondered why you chose to be with Kristen when Marlena was so in love with you.  Just because I don’t understand it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, John.”

“You really think we did this on purpose, don’t you?” Hope is shaking as she stares at Bo.  “You’re buying her twisted bullshit.  You think we met up on John’s honeymoon for some kind of freaked out affair and conceived a child because we *wanted* to?”

“Look, I don’t know *what* I think right now.”  Bo holds his hands out in front of him before he turns and walks towards the bar, putting some distance between him and John and Hope.

“Great,” Hope presses her fingers to the middle of her forehead, trying to will away her burgeoning headache.  “This is just *great*.”

“Hope,” John says stiffly.  “You should know that I’m not *sure* that your baby is mine.”

“Well, who else could it…?” Hope’s eyes narrow as she turns to Bo.  “You *knew* this baby wasn’t yours, Brady, didn’t you?”

“I…” Bo shakes his head.  He is too stunned to be able to think clearly and he is torn between wanting to throttle John and wanting to just get out of the pub and get some fresh air.  “I knew it wasn’t.”

“And you didn’t *tell* me?”  Hope feels ill as the baby squirms uncomfortably inside of her. “You let me think this was *your* baby??”

“I thought….” Bo chokes over his words as he faces her. “I thought it was Stefano’s.  I was trying to protect you from knowing….”

“You thought I’d *slept* with *Stefano*?”  The pub is starting to spin, and Hope grips the back of a chair with white knuckled hands.

“I didn’t think it was your choice Fancy-face,” Bo says faintly.  “I thought that if you slept with Stefano then you had no choice. I didn’t want you to have to relive that….”

“Oh, but if I slept with John, then I *did* have a choice, right?” Hope demands in disgust.  “And who the *hell* gave you the right to decide what I should and shouldn’t know *anyway*?”

“I was trying to do the right thing, Hope,” Bo exclaims angrily.  “Look, maybe I was wrong, but right now I’m having a pretty hard time trying to get my head around the fact that you… that Gina slept with John so I’m sorry if I don’t have the right answers for you.”

“You think this is *easy* for me?” Hope screams at him, tears sweeping down her cheeks.  “You think I’m secretly thrilled by the fact that I slept with John?  *JOHN*, who’s always been like a *brother* to me?  I can’t even let myself *think* about it, I find the idea so abhorrent.”

“Bo, don’t take this out on Hope.  It’s not fair.”  John interrupts the escalating fight.  “For God’s sake, don’t let this tear you apart like it’s torn Marlena and I apart.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you *lied* to your wife.” Bo returns nastily.  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you *cheated* on her with Hope.”

“Uncle Bo-” Sami takes a step towards John but John waves her back.  

“It’s okay Samantha, Bo has every right to be upset.”

“The *hell* he does!”  Hope interjects.  “If *anyone* should be upset, it’s *me*.  *I’m* the one who’s involved, who’s been *violated* and everyone is lying to me.”

“This isn’t *all* about you Hope,” John snaps back irritably.  “You’re not the only one who has suffered here.”

“Just because you slept with her John, doesn’t mean you can talk to her like she’s a piece of trash,” Bo is furious now as he storms towards John.  “Why the hell did you do it?  You’ve destroyed Marlena and now you’re trying to destroy us.  Why in the *hell* did you do it?”

“You really think I had a choice in this?” John’s face is red with anger.  “I can’t believe you, *any* of you, think I would do this to Marlena if I had a choice in the matter.”

“I think you just like taking what you can get.” Bo’s nostrils are flaring with righteous rage.  “Especially when it’s not yours to take.  You screwed up Roman and Marlena’s marriage and now you’re doing your damndest to screw up things between Hope and me.”

“Oh yeah, and Hope had nothing to do with this, right?”” John demands furiously.  “Bo, man, I love you like you were truly my brother.  The last thing I want to do is to hurt you.  *Any* of you.”  His shoulders sag as he looks at the accusing faces that surround him.  “Look, I know I screwed up.  But I *didn’t* *know*.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t exactly rush to tell us when you *did* remember, did you,” Bo needles, his face livid with resentment.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” John slams his fist on the table beside him.  His patience is exhausted and the last thing he wants to be doing is fighting with the Brady’s.  As important as they are to him, nothing is more important than Marlena and he needs to make things right with her before he does anything else.  But for now, he can no longer contain his temper and the droning fills his head again, buzzing at the edges of his consciousness, undoing his self-control.  “If you’re going to be like that, you can take your self-righteous double standards and *shove* them!!”

“You *selfish* bastard!”  Bo shouts as he launches himself at John, rage clouding his rationality and judgement.  All he can think of is how he wants to punish John, even if he is not quite exactly why it is that he wants to make the man suffer.

“*Bo*!”  Hope screams as she sees him go for John’s throat, his thick fingers itching to wrap around his one-time brother’s neck.  But there is no response from Bo, only the sound of grunting and scuffling for a moment as John tries to defend himself.  Bo takes a swing at John and connects neatly with his right eye.  John reels for a moment and then lets fly with a hook that meets with Bo’s jaw.

For an instant, John is suddenly transported fourteen years into the past, to a mountaintop in West Virginia.  To a time when Bo had been protecting his family from the man he thought was Stefano.  And John feels the ache well in his chest for all he and the Brady’s have suffered in those fourteen years.  And to come to this, to have their history, their loving family torn apart by a freakish act wrought by the master of manipulation himself, Stefano DiMera.  It can’t happen.  He can’t let it happen…

Bo’s fist lands squarely in his sternum and he staggers back, gasping for breath as the room around him explodes with noise.  Abe and Shawn both drag Bo back as he sees the tears glinting on Caroline’s face.  And the pallor of Sami’s skin as she stares at him leaves him burning with shame.

He doesn’t know how to make this right, not with Hope standing there ready to drop a child that could be his.  A child that is a mockery of real love and honesty.  He doesn’t know anything but that he has to get away from this, from the noise that makes his head feel as though it’s on fire, from the accusations that burrow like a buzz-saw under his skin.  He can’t do this… not now…

Grabbing his jacket, he turns and sprints from the pub, oblivious to the cries from his adoptive mother and stepdaughter.  He doesn’t know where he is going, only that he has to get out now.  That he has to find her.  That he has to stop the darkness that is beginning to seep through his mind.  That he has to fight….

Chapter XXX – Blockaded Pawn

Shawn stands at the back of the pub, staring at his parents in shock.  He had thought that all the weird shit that had happened in the past year was finally over.  But nothing has prepared him for this.  His mom… his *mom* slept with John Black when she thought she was that Gina person.  How much freakier can this shit *get*?

He wishes that Belle was here so that he could talk to her….  But on second thought, that might be just a little too creepy.  Just the thought that it is possible that very soon they could share a sibling, is sick.

“Bo,” Hope’s voice quavers as she takes a tentative step towards him.  “Please, we have to work this out-“

“Look,” Bo holds out the palms of his hands to halt her flood of desperate words.  “I can’t talk about this now, I just can’t…”

“Bo,” Abe steps forward, ready to intervene.

“NO Abe,” Bo shakes his head, his eyes hard.  He knows deep down that he has no rational reason to feel betrayed, but the fact is that he does.  He can’t look at Hope and not think of her being with John.  Wanting to be with John.  

He turns away from her and looks into Abe’s compassionate gaze.  Somehow it doesn’t help.  “I buried my brother this morning Abe.  There was the whole deal with Stefano and Marlena, and now I find out that it was John that fathered Hope’s baby.  It’s too much.  I… I can’t take it all in right now.”  He looks at his gathered family, pleading for understanding from their blank faces.  “I just need some time to work this out in my head.  I need some time….”

He looks back at Hope then and sees the pain in her eyes and he hates himself.  But he has no choice.  He can’t pretend that this isn’t happening.  It is and he has to work out how he feels about it before he does anything else.

He doesn’t utter another word, just leaves the pub much in the same manner John had done only minutes before.  

~

“Come out old man!”  John hammers violently on the front door of the DiMera mansion.  “You old *bastard*, stop being a fucking coward and come out and face me!”  

The rage has been sharpened, honed to a needle fine point and Stefano is the sole focus of that fury.  “Dammit Stefano, I *know* you’re in there!”  His voice has dropped to an animalistic growl as he paces in front of the wooden door.  “Come out and face me like a man!”  He stops and looks up at the house.  “Unless you’re AFRAID!” he yells, the muscles standing out in cords under the mottled skin of his throat.

His taunts seem to strike home, because a moment later, the front door swings open.  John steps over the threshold cautiously, peering into the foyer.  However, there appears to be no one inside.

“Where are you?” he snarls.  “I never took you to be a coward, Stefano!”  He strides into the middle of the foyer and looks around him.  The place has barely changed since the days he lived here with Kristen.  The days when *he* had been too much of a coward to be honest with Marlena about his feelings.

He still can’t believe, after everything that they have been through in the intervening years, that she would be prepared to throw their love away.

“I am hardly a coward, John,” Stefano appears in the entranceway to the living room, a glass wedged in his pudgy fingers.   “I was merely waiting until you had exhausted yourself with your little temper tantrum.”

“Listen you vicious old bastard-” Stefano barely has time to blink before John is standing in front of him. Barely in control of his temper, John twists his fingers in the expensive white cotton of Stefano’s shirt and he slams the large man brutally against the wall.

Slightly shaken by John’s sudden attack, Stefano purposefully opens his hand and lets the crystal tumbler catch the edge of the table, shattering in lethal shards over the plush carpet. 

 

“The hatred I feel for you is nothing as *harmless* as a tantrum.” John growls.

“Ah, John…” Stefano’s face does not betray the slight concern that flickers through him.  Instead, he laughs openly.

“Don’t ‘ah, John’ me, old man,” his lips have thinned into an impossibly white line as he pushes Stefano against the wall.  “Marlena’s not here to save you this time.”

“Ah yes,” Stefano replies, seemingly unfazed by John’s threats.  “The exquisite Marlena….  She has you quite troubled, I think…”

“What have you *done* to her!” John twists the shirt in his hands, tightening the collar around Stefano’s neck so that his face darkens.  “Doc would *never* go anywhere willingly with you.  What the *hell* have you done to her?”

“Perhaps I could ask you the same thing, *John*…” Stefano answers carefully.  “Surely you must have known Marlena could not handle the news of your betrayal.”  He lifts one beetling black brow.   “After all, that *is* why you kept it a secret, is it not?”

“I did *not* betray her,” John roars as he thumps Stefano back against the wall.  “*Marlena* would know that.”

“Whatever you say, John.”  Stefano’s voice is strained and he is struggling for breath through the tightness of his constricted throat.  “But instead of blaming me, perhaps you should be discussing this with you *wife*.  After all, you grow apart by the minute.  Very soon there will be nothing to resurrect, I think.”

“We’d be just fine if you weren’t in our lives,” John can see Stefano’s struggle and he knows that all it would take would be just to tighten his grip for a few more minutes…

Stefano gasps for breath as his mind works swiftly.  In the past John’s rage worked *for* him.  As his mercenary, John had been at his beck and call.  But he seems to not be able to control him any longer.  Even the shattering of glass, which once was a signal, does nothing now to bring him round from his purpose.  Instead, all he can think to do is invoke Marlena.  She is the one thing that Stefano knows he can use to control John.  It has never failed in the past and it had better not fail now.

“John, if you think I have done something to the *beautiful* Marlena, then how will I undo it if I am dead?” he wheezes.

As he expects, John’s jaw tenses and he glares uncertainly back.  He wants nothing more than to beat Stefano to a pulp, but he has no doubt that the old man knows more than he is saying.  He can’t risk Marlena by losing control now.

Grudgingly, he loosens his hold on Stefano and steps back.

“*Undo* it,” he commands.  

“You expect even if I could, that I would?”  Stefano steps out of reach of John’s grip and straightens his shirt.

“If it’s the last thing you *do* old man,” John stalks after him as he walks toward the door, shrugging his velvet smoking jacket into place.  “You *will* do it.”

The tone of his voice is chilling and for a moment, Stefano feels an icy apprehension steal across him.  And then he takes hold of himself and he smiles pleasantly.

“The truth, my dear John, is that I have nothing to do with Marlena’s… notable behaviour of late.  I would say that that is all due to you… and Hope of course.”

“Leave Hope out of this!”  John, lips thin again and he struggles to keep a hold of his temper.  He is not sure why, but he got the distinct impression earlier that Stefano was threatening Marlena in some way.  He is still not at all sure what is going on, but he is sure that Stefano *does* know, and he can’t afford to blow things before he finds out himself.  Stefano is the key to this mystery, as he always is, and John knows it.

“I think that is impossible, is it not?”  Stefano grins nastily and John gets the feeling that somehow, he already knows what went down at the pub earlier.  It only serves to increase his unease.

“Until we meet again then,” Stefano raises his hand in a gesture of farewell.  “And if I happen to encounter the fair Dr. Evans before you do, I shall tell her you were enquiring after her.”

“*Stay* away from her.”  There is a swell of passionate rage in John’s gravelly voice as he turns on Stefano.    “I mean it, old man.  If you so much as even *touch* her, I swear I will make you *suffer* so that the devil himself feels sorry for you.” 

“Quite a threat, John,” the smile has disappeared from Stefano’s face and their expressions reflect the tension between them.

“Depend on my determination to carry it out Stefano,” John says quietly, but there is no mistaking the antagonism in his voice.  “I’ll do it and I’ll enjoy it.”

~

Bo rounds the familiar corner, but he doesn’t see anything of his surroundings.  All he sees are eyes, betraying so many emotions.  Shock, anger, resentment… guilt….  He saw it in John’s eyes, and he would swear he saw it in Hope’s eyes too.  If they had no choice, if they really had no control over their actions… why do they suffer from guilt?

“Because it’s natural to feel guilty when you hurt your family,” he murmurs to himself.  Somehow it doesn’t help.  

He looks up from his ruminations and sees the Fancy-Face II in front of him.  His home for so many years, now she’s simply another boat moored at the wharf.  No… not *just* another boat.  She’s *his*, and imbued with memories that he can’t leave behind.  Maybe here, he can find the strength he needs.  Maybe the memories of Carly and Billie that are hidden in unseen corners of the boat can remind him that he has good reasons to forgive Hope – if indeed he even has anything to forgive her for.

With a sigh, he climbs on board and lowers himself down the small stepladder beneath the hatch.  But he catches his breath as he turns around.  He has an unexpected visitor.

“Sorry,” she says huskily, her leather-clad legs pulled up to her chest as she rests back against the wall.  “I didn’t know where else to go.  I just couldn’t stand the thought of going home.”

“Are you okay?” he asks as his eyes travel to the bottle of red wine beside her.

“I don’t know,” she admits as she looks up at him with wide hazel eyes.  “I feel as though my whole life has been turned upside down, like a rug has been pulled out from under me and I just…” she swallows hastily and drops her head into her hands.  

“Hey, Marlena, it’s going to be okay,” Bo offers softly as he sits beside her, self-consciously.

“Is it?” she looks across at him, her smoky eyes almost unreadable.  “I…” she looks away.  “God, I’m sorry Bo.  I shouldn’t have done that to you, it was so unfair.”

“Well,” Bo puts a hand on her arm and notices, despite himself, how warm she is.  “You’ve been under a lot of pressure Marlena.  It’s okay.”

“Really?”  She relaxes slightly.

“Really.”  He nods, exhaling as the tension goes out of his own shoulders.  “Do you mind if I have a glass of your wine?  I could do with a drink.”

“Not at all,” she smiles wanly.  “Actually, it’s your wine anyway.  I stole it from your rack down there,” she points to a small wine rack under a seat.  “Sorry.”

Grace watches Bo get up and pick a glass.  Most of the dishes in the boat are covered with a fine layer of dust and he has to rinse out his selection.  He comes back to the table and slides back onto the seat next to her.  She smiles secretively as he picks up the bottle and pours himself a glass of the crimson merlot.  So far, so very good.

“Cheers,” he raises the glass.

“Cheers,” she clinks hers against his as she flutters her lashes.  She watches as Bo takes a large mouthful and swallows it, grimacing as the bitter tannins from the dark grapes sear his throat.  And she waits as his mind processes the implications of the situation that they find themselves in.  The next few minutes will tell her if he is indeed as malleable as she suspects.

“How long has he known?” he asks as he studies the glass with bleary eyes.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “he *says* since New Year’s.”

“You don’t believe him?” Bo turns to look at her.

“Well, he’s hardly given me cause to.”  Her expression hardens as she takes a mouthful of wine from her own glass.

She pauses and looks at Bo.  “Do you think Hope was telling the truth?  That she didn’t know?”

Bo nods.  “That’s the one thing I am sure of.  You know how desperately she wanted to know the truth about what happened last year, Marlena.  She couldn’t fake that.  Why would she?”

“Yeah, well….” Grace shrugs noncommittally.

Bo hears something in her voice and studies her for a moment.  Her body language paints her as tense and uncertain, but there is steel behind her normally warm eyes and a bitterness that seeps through her voice.

“Do you blame her for this?” he asks as he leans back against the lumpy cushions.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she returns bitterly.  “Bo, she was *so* determined to find out about her past, she didn’t care about the cost to anyone else.  After all, she abandoned you and her son in order to parade around Europe in those ridiculous ballgowns and tiaras.  She threw herself at John and pushed him to remember his past, even when it was hurting him.  And me.”  She lifts her eyes to Bo and calls on the tears, which obediently gather at the fringes of her lashes.  “I can’t help it, Bo.  I hate her for what she’s done to us.  She was childish and selfish.  It didn’t matter to her who got hurt, as long as she got what she wanted.”  She takes a deep breath, seeing the conflict in Bo’s eyes.  “Well, I hope she’s happy with her victory.  I hope she’s so happy she *chokes* on it.”

The Exchange Variation

Chapter XXXI – Breakthrough

“Marlena,” Bo blinks away the doubt he is feeling about Hope and fortifies himself with another mouthful of wine.  “I don’t think you’re being fair.”  Somehow, he sounds a lot less certain than he should.

“*Fair*!?”  She laughs incredulously.  “What about this is *fair*?”  She slams her glass down on the table and turns back to him, her eyes alive with fire.  “Why is it that John and Hope get to do whatever the hell they damn well like and I have to be *fair*?!”

“But they didn’t know what they were doing!”  Bo argues the line he has been fed, but even as he says it, he realizes that it is not an argument he buys.

“Oh, give me a *break*!”  Grace rolls her eyes.  “I’m so sick of that *bullshit* excuse.”  She snatches her glass up again and drains it before sloshing more of the red liquid into the vessel.  She waits until Bo finishes his and then she refills his without asking.  “No-one put a gun to their heads, Bo.  No-one *forced* them to have sex.  John and Hope were still inside those people.  They proved that by coming back to us.    So what?  Their love for us wasn’t strong enough to fight their ‘animal instincts’?  But it was strong enough to come back once the dirty deed was done?  I don’t buy it.  What’s to say they just won’t slip into these ‘persona’s’ next time they feel the urge to cheat?  Provides rather a nice no-responsibility clause if you buy that crap, doesn’t it?”  She pauses and glares at Bo, as though daring him to disagree with her.  “You can’t tell me Hope and John couldn’t have fought it if they’d *really* wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t it depend on how far the personalities were submerged?” Bo asked uncertainly, still trying to cling onto some kind of possibility that John and Hope were being truthful when they said they had no control.

“Just who is the psychiatrist here Bo?” she asks snidely.

“Well, it just seems to me that you *want* to blame them…” he takes another swig of the wine, thankful for the warm glow that is starting to spread through him.

“And you’re big enough to forget and forgive, I suppose,” she asks sarcastically as she stretches her legs out and slips out from behind of the table, giving herself some room in the cramped cabin.

“I didn’t say that.”  He swirls the remaining scarlet liquid around the base of his glass.  “I haven’t worked out how I feel yet.”  He pauses and looks up at her.  

She has her back to him and she has the cupboard open under the bench, looking for something.  The leather pants define her rear with absolute precision and it combines with the wine to provide Bo with a sudden surge of lust.  He swallows, but his throat is suddenly dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.  Quickly he sucks down what is left of his wine and pours himself some more, emptying the bottle in the process.

Grace pulls a packet of salted peanuts from the cupboard and stands up, throwing it on the table.  She sees Bo’s embarrassment, but it doesn’t stop him from staring at her hungrily.  Her lips part slightly as she meets his eyes, and she allows a hint of curiosity and surprise to appear in her well-cultured façade.

She says nothing but eyes the empty bottle and then turns to select another one from the meagre stack.  Bo tries desperately to pull himself under control and surprisingly manages as she turns back to the table.

“It’s just…” he continues, as he catches a glimpse of a stranger in Marlena’s eyes that unnerves him and excites him at the same time.  “You’re not really sounding like *you* when you say these things.”

“Maybe I’m just being honest for once,” she raises her eyebrows and then turns back to the table, reaching out to run her finger around the rim of the glass.  The provocative gesture seems to be at odds with the words she speaks.  “I’ve had enough of being screwed about Bo.  I’m just sick of it.”  However, the look she gives him when she’s finished brings a whole new meaning to her comment.  “If Hope wants John, then as far as I’m concerned, she can have him.”

“I…” Bo has to clear his voice as he watches her take another mouthful of her wine, “I don’t think you mean that.”

“Believe me honey,” she nods, a little smile playing on her lips.  “I mean it well enough.”

“So, that’s it?  You just give up on all that history together?” he frowns.  “I….”

“What?” she leans across the table so that her blouse falls open and he can see the sheer while lace of her bra.

“I….” Bo’s totally lost his train of thought and he has to struggle to think back to where the conversation had taken him.  “I just don’t think you can do that, Marlena.”

Grace smiles wickedly, knowing that she has him just within her grasp.  Reaching out, she draws her index finger over the back of his hand.

“Would you like a demonstration?”

Bo’s eyes widen as he comprehends her intentions, and he remembers her words from earlier on in the day.  Dammit, she’s *right*, he is curious.  He always has been.  But more than that, he loves and respects Marlena.  She is an amazing woman, and he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their long-standing friendship.

And then of course, there’s Hope….

“Marlena-” he pulls his hand away from her touch.

“Oh c’mon Bo,” one corner of her mouth twists into a sly smile.  “Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘turn about is fair play’?”

“Marlena, it isn’t *right*!” He can feel himself turning beet red and he wants to back away, but there is nowhere to go.

“And John and Hope having a baby *is*?” she raises her eyebrows but there is a curious lack of anger in her voice.

“Two wrongs….” he holds up his hand, palm out, as though that will somehow act as a barrier.

“Oh Bo,” she sighs as she picks up the glasses and hands Bo his.  He takes it, his face betraying his uncertainty.  His misgivings are almost immediately fulfilled as she slides her behind across the edge of the table and then swings one of her long legs over his so that she is sitting on the edge of the table.  Between Bo and the rest of the boat.  “Bo honey, this is not going to send you to hell.”  She empties her glass again and places it on the table behind her.  “I’ve seen the way you look at me.  I know you want me as much as I want you.”  She lowers herself from the table onto his knees so that she is face to face with him and she takes his glass, placing it on the table next to hers.  “It’s simply chemical combustion, Bo.  A small part revenge, a large part lust, with a liberal sprinkling of hot, naked skin…” Her voice is earthy and she grins as she sees him struggling for breath.  Slowly, she lifts her hands and unbuttons her blouse.  “It’s just *great* sex, Bo.  You *know* it’s going to be the *best* sex of your life.”   

Bo says nothing as he stares at her, struggling with his conscience, but fast losing the battle.  Especially when she sheds her blouse.

“C’mon honey,” she whispers as she covers his hands with hers.  “It’s not all that hard.”  She wiggles slightly and then grins wickedly.  “Oooh, I stand corrected.”

“Marlena-” he says hoarsely.  It is supposed to be followed by an argument, but all logical thought has fled his brain.  He’s screwed and he knows it. 

“Don’t you want to find out for yourself, Bo?” she invites him softly as she lifts his hands to her breasts.  “Don’t you want to see what keeps them coming back to me time after time?”

“Oh fuck!”  Bo feels his groin tightening as his hands cover the delicate lace of her bra, massaging her nipples and he groans as she slides down his knees so that she is closer to him.

“That’s rather the idea.”  She closes her eyes as she feels his mouth on her skin, hot and wet as he kisses his way across her chest and up her throat.  His hands slide around her body and skim smooth over her golden skin before they reach the warm leather at her hips.  She deftly unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders so that he has to shrug it from his torso.  Then her hands grip his shoulders as his lips find hers, warm and hungry.

And then he is exploring again, his lips caressing her jaw, whispering against her ear and she is shivering as she moans.  John… oh John…

Every muscle tenses as her eyes snap open.

Bo looks at her in confusion.  “What?  What is it Marlena?”

“I…” she blinks caught half-way between reality and a daydream that is a memory belonging to another woman, in another life-time.  No, she hadn’t said it.  It had only been inside her head….  “I thought you said something.”

“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, the confusion not abating a bit with her explanation.

“Oh, sorry,” she breathes, trying to still her rapid heartbeat.

“Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea…”  The doubt has returned to his eyes and Grace wills herself to relax against him.  She can’t lose now.  She just has to stay in control

“Oh Bo,” she smiles seductively as she moves her hips slowly against him.  “You really want to pull out now?   Just think of all the fun you’d miss.”

“I know I’m gonna regret this,” he shakes his head as he looks up at her.  “I wish I had the strength to say no to you.”

“No, you don’t,” she runs her fingers through his cropped hair with a lustful smile.  “Or you would.”

She bends down to press her lips to his and he pulls her close to him, his hands sliding over unfamiliar curves as he explores her mouth with his.

Grace slips her fingers over the taut muscles in his biceps, tracing the definition of his chiselled body with experienced fingers.  The hair on his chest is fine and soft, so different….  

Doc… Oh God, baby, I love you….  His fingers bring fire to her skin everywhere they touch her and she throws back her head, exposing her throat to his wandering mouth.  His sweet, gentle, brutal, passionate mouth.  John…. oh John, don’t stop… please don’t stop.  Oh, I love you so….  

*No!*

Grace gasps violently as her eyes fly open once again and Bo sees real, wild fear in her eyes.

“What *is* it, Marlena?” he asks, his brow crumpling with concern.

Grace says nothing but stares at him blankly.  Her mind is filled with fragments of images and thoughts, and she can’t seem to make sense of them.  Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath.  Grace, get control of yourself.  You know what you want, so just go ahead and take it.  

She can feel Bo’s hands, hot on her skin and for a split second, it seems simple again.  And then she can see John’s face, feel his lips on hers, and her body trembles involuntarily.  It’s almost as if the harder she tries to concentrate on Bo, the more her mind is torturing her with images of John Black.  She’s losing control and it’s not a feeling she knows.  Or likes.

“Marlena?”  Bo’s hands slide softly over her upper arms, and she feels her skin crawling.  A few minutes ago, everything was going according to plan, and now she can hardly function.

Bo’s concern grows with her extended silence, and it proves warranted as, without any warning, she struggles desperately to extract herself from his grasp.  

“I’m sorry,” she sounds winded as she climbs off his lap and grabs her shirt to her.  “I can’t do this.”

“*What*?”  Bo gapes at her, stunned by her sudden turnaround.

“I *said* I’m sorry,” Grace hates that she sounds so feeble, but she is shaking so badly that she can barely stand up, let alone defend herself.

“Marlena,” he is not sure whether he is angry at her or concerned for her as he slides out from behind the table and grips her arms.  “What the hell are you playing at?!”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Bo,” she says firmly as she tries to gain a hold on her runaway emotions.

“Well, someone sure as *hell* owes me one.”

Grace and Bo both turn to see Hope, who has just lowered her bulky body through the hatch and who is glowering at them.  

“Well?”  She taps the steps with beautifully manicured fingernails.  “I’m waiting, Brady.  I’m waiting to hear why the hell you’re both half-naked down here.  And since you were the one that walked out on me at the pub earlier, you’d better have a *damn* good explanation….”

Chapter XXXII – Defence

Bo can feel the adrenaline weave its way through his blood, and for a moment the tableaux is frozen in time as they stare at each other.  He can feel the heat of Marlena’s body under his hands and she’s trembling.  And Hope’s eyes, afire with anger, drill into him.  

He knows he looks as guilty as sin.  Because he is.

“Well?”  Hope demands again.  

He draws his hands back from Marlena and then realizes that simply seals his guilt in Hope’s eyes.

Grace looks at Bo and registers the shock in his face.  Still, she is a little too shaken by the events of a few minutes before to completely grasp how perfect this situation really is.  It couldn’t be any more perfect if she’d engineered it so.  

But for now, she simply feels the urge to flee the confined space and find a focus that does not centre on John Black.  In fact, she needs to figure out why she is constantly thinking about him and work out a way to deal with it.

“I have to go,” she murmurs as she pulls on her blouse.

“You’re not going *anywhere* until you explain what the hell is going on here,” Hope tells her angrily.  

Grace’s head snaps up as she knots the shirt in the front, and she narrows her eyes.  “Don’t push me, Hope.”  Her voice is dark as she glares at the woman in front of her.

“Oh, what are you going to do?”  Hope raised her dark brows.  “Seduce my fiancé?”   She snaps her fingers in sarcasm.  “Oh, silly me, looks like you already tried that one.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Grace reaches for her jacket, but Hope pulls it out of her reach.

“Look, I don’t know what is wrong with you Marlena-“

“Hope,” Bo interrupts, moving between the two women, “give her a break.  This isn’t what it looks like.”   

“Well, it looks pretty open and closed from this angle, Brady.” Hope glares at him and then she turns her attention back to Marlena.  “What?  You thought you’d get a little revenge?  Eye for an eye?”

“Something like that.”  Grace shrugs.  

The last thing she feels like is getting into this with Hope.  But if the woman is going to push it, who is she to try and smooth the troubled waters?

“Hope-”  Bo reaches out to Hope, but she slaps his hands away with tears in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me.  I thought you were my friend, Marlena.”

“Well, imagine *my* surprise…” Grace says sarcastically.  “*Please* spare me the crocodile tears, Hope.”  She pauses but Hope and Bo are both silent as they try to absorb the reality of what is happening here.  Grace shrugs.  “Okay, so here’s the short version.  Yes, I was seducing Bo, but Hope honey, you should know that he was ready, willing and…” she smirks as she closes her hand over Bo’s butt and squeezes gently, “very able.”

She pushes past a stunned Hope and grabs her jacket.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think you two have rather a lot to chat about.”  The corner of her mouth curls up as she puts her hand on rail above the steps that lead from the cabin.  “I can show myself out.”

~

The light is fading fast when she lets herself into the penthouse, and Grace goes straight to the liquor cabinet and pours herself a shot of vodka.  She follows it with a second one and downs it, the alcohol searing its way down her throat as she struggles to clear her head.

This has never happened to her before. Ever since she regained her strength on Stefano’s island, she has always been in complete control of her thoughts and actions.  If she wants something, she takes it.  She has certainly never suffered from attacks of conscience, and she’s never let any man affect her as much as John Black seems to have.

“No.”  She says out loud as she takes a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she tries to centre herself.  “It’s just that he won’t leave you alone and he’s making you a little crazy.  That’s all.”

She opens her eyes, feeling a little calmer.  The lights of Salem shimmer in front of her, but she barely sees the beauty as she turns away thoughtfully.  The picture of John and Marlena on their wedding day is beside her and she picks it up and studies John’s smiling face.  He is looking at Marlena with such puppy-dog devotion that Grace feels almost nauseous.  But then she smiles.

Maybe there is a way to turn that devotion to her advantage and cripple John Black once and for all.

“Well…” she shrugs as she puts the picture back down on the table.  “They do say, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”  Her lips curve into a wicked smile.  “All right, Marlena.  Let’s see what has you so hung up on this John Black shall we?  Maybe it’s time he learned he doesn’t own you anymore.”

Her inner monologue is interrupted by the shrill of the phone and Grace answers it quickly.

“Grace.”  

She smiles at the sounds of the familiar baritone.  “Stefano,” she replies.  “My darling, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“That would be the visit I had from John Black earlier,” Stefano says without reservation.  “Grace, he suspects that something is wrong with Marlena.  He thinks that I have done something to make her behave so strangely.”

“Well, I suppose you could look at it that way…” Grace smirks.

“Grace,” his tone is serious.  “I warned you, he is not stupid.”

“What does it matter Stefano?” she shrugs as she begins to climb the stairs.  “The Bradys are so wrapped up in their own problems that they no longer care.  And no-one will listen to John any longer, you can count on that.”

“So…” she can hear the smile creep into Stefano’s voice.  “You told them…”

“Oh yes,” she grins as she enters her bedroom.  “I wish you could have been there to see their faces.  Hope was quite horrified.  And dear Bo….”  She chuckles as she unbuttons her shirt and slips it off.  “Something tells me that Hope and Bo have a few problems now.”

“Is there something you would like to tell *me*, Grace?” Stefano knows Grace’s modus operandi and he is not at all sure he wants to hear her answer.

Grace unzips her pants and smiles.  “It’s all right darling, you can breath easy.  Hope found us before I could inflict any *real* damage.”

“Ah…” Stefano relaxes slightly and laughter spills from his lips.  “Now I think might have liked to have been witness to *that* scene.”

“Hmmm,” Grace hums as she stares unseeing at the shuttered window.  Somehow she doesn’t think that Stefano would like to know about her little ‘problem’.  She thinks that might be an issue best left unshared for now.  “Stefano, I have to go.  The shower is calling me.”

“All right Grace.  But mind my warning about John Black.  Be careful where he is concerned.  He could cause us trouble.”

“Don’t worry Stefano,” she walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on.  “I have everything under control.  John Black simply won’t be a problem for much longer.”

~

Hope looks at the door in front of her and takes a deep breath.  Things hadn’t gone well with Bo.  After Marlena had left, their fighting had only escalated until she had left in furious tears.  It seems he blames her for something she’d had no control over, and he isn’t sure he wants to try and fix things between them.  And she can hardly believe that he would turn his back on her so quickly.  And to find him with Marlena….?

Marlena.  Now there’s something that Hope thinks she might have a handle on.  Marlena, who is acting so…. well, unlike Marlena.   Everyone else seems to be in denial about what a *bitch* their precious Marlena is being.  But Hope has had plenty of first-hand experience today.  And she doesn’t buy the story that Marlena is so cut up over John’s betrayal and Roman’s death, that it would lead her to behave so strangely.

Steeling herself, she knocks on the door.  There is silence inside the penthouse, and she waits a few moments before knocking again.  

“Marlena?”  

Nothing.  “Marlena, I know you’re in there.  I want to talk to you.”  There is still no answer, and she starts to get angry.  “Marlena, dammit, open the door.  You can’t just ignore me.  We need to talk.”

She hears sounds of the door being unlocked and it swings open.  Marlena is standing in the open doorway in a revealing chemise.  

“We do?” Grace raises her eyebrows as she shrugs on her matching robe.  Then she turns and walks back into the apartment.  “I can’t think of anything more I want to say to you, Hope.”

“Well, fine, you can just listen to me then.” Hope slams the door behind her.  “Look Marlena, I know you’re having a really tough time, but that doesn’t give you the right-“

“Shut up Hope,” Grace spins around. “I don’t really give the first fuck about what you think you know.  As far as I’m concerned, if I never saw your face again, it’d be too soon.”

“Marlena-” Hope blinks and takes a step backwards.  

“Why don’t you just *go*,” Grace sighs and looks at her watch.  “I really do need to get my beauty sleep.”

“No,” Hope shakes her head, her suspicions blossoming into full-blown fears.  “No, I can’t do that.  I’m *worried* about you Marlena.  It’s almost like you’re doing your damndest to deliberately cause trouble in this family, and I have to ask myself why you would want to do that.”

“Now you’re not only rude, but you’re also delusional,” Grace rolls her eyes.  “You’re right, why would I want to hurt my family?”

“Because you’re not Marlena.” Hope narrows her eyes.  “Are you?”

“Oh, *please*,” Grace laughs.  “Really Hope, you are starting to sound a just a *little* farfetched.”

“You forget Marlena, *I* know.”  Hope raises her eyebrows with a small smile.  “I mean, I don’t remember what it was like after Gina took over, but I know how easy it is.  And I know that Stefano had you… had Marlena,” she corrects herself, “just like he had me….”

“Come on Hope,” Grace rolls her eyes.  “You really think that everyone Stefano comes into contact with is going to come down with M.P.D?  Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”

She really doesn’t have the energy to deal with Hope’s accusations; it’s been an awfully long day.  And besides that, the woman is coming uncomfortably close to the truth and coming right on top of her phone conversation with Stefano it’s making Grace a just a little unnerved.  If Hope was to go to John with her suspicions, the jig could well be up, a little sooner than she intends.

“It might sound ridiculous, but *I* think it’s true.”   Hope has noticed that her words have served to ruffle Marlena’s composure and it merely increases her conviction that she is right.  “And something tells me that if I was to mention it to the rest of the family, they’d probably agree with me.”

“I think you should leave now Hope,” Grace says sharply.  “Maybe a good night’s sleep might make you feel better.”  She pushes past Hope and climbs the stairs.

However, Hope follows her, despite her bulging stomach.

“Marlena.  Whatever you call yourself….”  She catches Grace’s arm, her palm sliding over the crimson satin of her robe.  “I won’t let you do this to my family.”

“Oh, you think you can stop me do you?” Grace’s turns, wrenching her arm free of Hope’s grip, her golden eyes ice with resentment and fury.  “You’re *pathetic*.  You don’t even have any idea what you’re up against.”

“I know how strong my family is,” Hope says firmly, undeterred by the anger in the other woman’s eyes.  “They won’t give up on Marlena, just like they didn’t give up on me.”

“Well, it will be a pointless battle,” Grace says, her eyes narrowing.  It is far too late to pretend that she is anything other than she is.  Hope, even though she doesn’t consciously know it, has recognized the truth through the eyes of one who has suffered a similar fate.  But that does not necessarily mean that she is a threat to Grace.  Not if she takes the right precautions…  “Marlena is gone. And besides, no-one is going to tell them anything….”

“Oh, you’re wrong there,” Hope shakes her head, her eyes glittering with anger, fuelled by this stranger’s threats.  She hates that she has betrayed Marlena with John, however it happened.  But maybe this is a way she can make it up to her, by helping the family to bring her back to them.

Grace smiles maliciously as she looks down the steep staircase and then back up at Hope.  “Oh, no I’m not.”

Hope’s eyes widen as Grace shoves her backwards and her arms flail as she desperately tries to clutch at Marlena, at the railing, at anything that will save her balance.  But Grace simply steps back out of her reach and Hope loses her fight.  Her scream is followed by a sickening thud as her body hits the staircase and Grace stands and watches dispassionately as she tumbles down the steps, her limbs and head tangling with the railing in a series of painful thumps before she reaches the bottom.  Leaning over the railing, Grace sees her come to rest in a crumpled heap at the foot of the staircase and she allows herself a victorious smile as it becomes apparent that Hope isn’t going to get up and walk away from this little altercation.  

“Oh my God, Doc!  What the hell happened?”  Her head snaps up to see a horrified John standing in the open doorway and her own expression quickly transforms into one of stunned shock.

“John, oh God… thank God you’re here.  Hope just fell… she just fell down the stairs and I couldn’t stop her.  I couldn’t help her….” she clutches the railing and sinks to her knees dramatically, the tears bubbling up in her throat as she watches John go to Hope and check her pulse.

“It’s okay honey,” he looks up at her, “she’s not…” he gets up and reaches for the phone.  “I’ve got to call the ambulance baby, you just stay there.  Everything is going to be okay.  I promise you it will be okay…”

Chapter XXXIII – Oblique Move

It is when the paramedics have left with the unconscious Hope that John looks over at Marlena.  She is curled up on the couch looking out of the window and he goes quietly to her. Sitting down beside her, he looks into the distance, trying to see what she is looking at.

“Julie and Doug are going to meet Bo at the hospital.  They said they’d phone us when they know something about her condition.  They said there’s no point in us going down there.”

“Good,” she murmurs softly but she tenses as he touches her hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

“Not really,” she shakes her head.  The very last thing she wants is to sit here talking with John Black.  Not given the day that she has had.

He moves his fingers over her skin and an involuntary shiver runs through her.  She tries to pull away from him, every nerve in her body on edge.  She hates this feeling; she hates the way her body reacts when she is around him.  She doesn’t want to *want* him.  Of all the people in the world that she could desire, the very last one she intended to lust after was John Black.  The reality is she hates him and she just wants him the hell out of her apartment and out of her life.

“It’s been a hard few weeks, I know Doc,” he says tenderly.  “I wish you’d let me help you.”  He can feel his heart pounding as he waits for her to speak.  This is the first time in weeks that he has been this close to her and they’ve not been fighting.  His body can’t help to react to her proximity.  He needs her so badly, needs to make things right for her again, to make her happy.

“I don’t need your kind of help, John,” Grace says tensely.  She can’t stand his tender professions of caring and wanting to help.  She doesn’t believe them for a moment.  After all, a man who abandons his wife, not to mention screwing his sister-in-law, is hardly the essence of nobility.  “That’s what got us here in the first place.”

“That’s hardly fair Doc,” he says, noticing that her fingers have curled into a ball beneath his touch.  

“Please don’t talk to me about fairness,” she says bitterly.  “This world isn’t fair.  I’ve accepted that, maybe you should too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks uncertainly.

“That I want you to go,” she sighs.  “It’s been a hell of a long day, John.  I just want to get some sleep.”

“Marlena, honey,” his eyes do a bad job of hiding his pain at her brush off.  “Don’t ask me to leave you.  I can’t leave you like this.”

“John, you have no choice,” she tells him curtly.  “You don’t live here anymore.  This is my home and I’m asking you to leave.”

John stares at her, his need to protect her warring with his common sense, which says that if he makes her angry now, he’ll lose any chance of regaining her trust.

“All right,” he nods finally, thankful at least that she is not screaming at him for a change.  “But only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”  Grace looks up at him for the first time and finds herself transfixed by the brilliant blue eyes that are haunting her waking dreams. For a moment she finds herself powerless to resist being drawn in by his soft words and the hint of a smile that curves his lips.

“That you have dinner with me tomorrow.  No strings attached,” he holds up his hands.  “I just want the opportunity to talk to you.”  He pauses and when she doesn’t put up any argument, he decides to push his luck.  “And perhaps to remind you of how good we can be together.”

Grace studies him, taking in his uncertainty, which is mingled with a certain amount of self-assurance.  She can tell he truly believes that if he can just get Marlena to spend some time with him, to talk with him, then he can win her back.  But he has no idea.  

Grace raises her eyebrows and allows herself to feel a small measure of satisfaction.  Just the thought eases her hostility.  He will not even see her coming, and she will use his love for Marlena to break him.  It won’t be the first time, and she’s sure it won’t be the last.   It might even be quite enjoyable.

“You don’t give up, do you?”  A small smile touches her lips.

“Not on you,” he shakes his head assuredly.  “Not on us Doc.  Not ever.”

Well, we’ll just see about *that*, won’t we John……?  

Grace’s smile hides her thoughts and she nods.  “All right then.  Obviously I’m not going to get a break here, so I give in.  Whatever you want.”

“You won’t regret it honey,” his baby blues twinkle impossibly bright.  “I promise you that.  How about I pick you up at six?”

“Hmmmm,” Grace pretends to look thoughtful.  

She doesn’t want to be seen out with John.  It might get back to Stefano and she knows he will be bothered by what she is planning.  It is much better to present it to him as a fait accompli when it is all done and finished and he cannot argue the merits with her.  And besides, a whole evening, talking in a restaurant?  She doesn’t need a *whole* evening for what she has in mind.  And the less talking, the better.  All round.  

“How about…. you just come over and we order dinner in?” she suggests with a semblance of shyness in her manner.  “I think it might just be easier to talk in familiar surroundings,” she adds, by way of explanation.

“Well… okay,” John nods, a little surprised by her proposal.  He had figured that she’d want to make the first moves on neutral territory.  But then, maybe Hope’s accident has shaken her enough that she needs something to hold on to.  “I’ll see you at six then?”  

When she nods, he finally lets his expression to relax into a slight smile.  But it quickly reverts to concern as he squeezes her tightly clenched fingers.  “Try not to worry about Hope, Doc.  She’s in the best hands possible.”

“Okay,” Grace gives him a saccharine smile that belies her true feelings.  “I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl.”  John pushes himself up from the sofa and leans over to drop a kiss on the top of her head.  Grace cringes as he straightens.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

~

Grace is feeling considerably more composed when she saunters into work the following morning.  The news that Hope has lost her baby and has lapsed into a deep coma is music to her ears and the thought of the grief-stricken Brady family is enough to bring a wicked smile to her face.

“Dr. Evans?” Cynthia pokes her head around the corner of the door.  

“Mmm-hmmm?” Grace shuffles a few papers on Marlena’s desk.

“Dr. Wesley called.  He wants you to go straight up to his office when you arrive.”

“I’ll just bet he does,” Grace picks up her diary and then looks up.  “That will be all, Cynthia.”

“Uh…. yeah, okay,” Cynthia nods and closes the door behind her as Grace flicks through her diary.

Today is thankfully a paperwork day.  Not that Grace has any intention of actually *doing* any.  Maybe a long lunch and then a spot of shopping will make the afternoon go a little more quickly.  Or maybe she could just ditch work all together and spend the afternoon making herself a little “fun”…

Dropping into her chair, she swings round to face the window and leans back as she reaches for the phone.  A quick call finds her gratified to discover that Hope’s condition has not improved, and she smiles as she considers just what to do next.  It’s too bad Craig’s little emotional meltdown had to spoil her fun.  He’d had the potential to keep her amused for hours if she put her mind to it.

Sighing, she leans over and picks the new French Vogue out of her bag and flicks through it.  There are so many changes in Europe that she has to catch up on.  It would be good to get a little of a head start before she heads there with Stefano.  Considering how sweetly things with the Brady’s are progressing, it surely can’t be that long now.

“Marlena!”  

She looks up in surprise and then spins round to see a furious Craig standing in the doorway.  “Dr. Wesley.  I would say it’s a pleasant surprise, but then, we both know I’d be lying.”  She leans back in her chair again and crosses her legs, revealing an expanse of slender thigh that Craig knows intimately.

Craig closes the office door and advances into her office, his arms crossed.  “I know Cynthia gave you my message.”

“Oh charming, you have my secretary spying on me now too I suppose?” Grace throws her magazine on her desk and crosses her own arms.  “Remind me to fire her after this conversation is over.”

“You’ll be lucky if you have the authority to order a cup of coffee in this hospital by the time I’m finished with you,” Craig barks.  “I requested your presence in my office Marlena.  Would you like to tell me why I had to come down here?”

“I was busy,” Grace shrugs.

“Yes,” Craig indicates the magazine on her desk with due sarcasm, “so I see.”

“Get to the point Wesley,” she says coldly.  “I have things to do.”

“Not around here you don’t,” he moves towards her desk, standing over her.  “That’s why I wanted to see you.  You’re suspended pending an investigation of the handling of one of your patients.”

“*My* patients?” she looks confused.

“Braden Davies,” for the first time, Craig begins to look a little smug.  “Ring a bell?”

“Yes,” she nods, “I’ve been seeing Braden for several months now.”

“*Were* seeing Braden,” Craig corrects.  “He killed himself last night.  It was an overdose of sleeping pills that *you* prescribed, Marlena.”

~

“Bo?”  The door opens to reveal a bleary-eyed and unshaven Bo and John waits tentatively for his response.  He half-way expects Bo to send him packing, so he is surprised when Bo waves him in.

“Sorry bout the mess,” Bo scratches his chin exhaustedly.  “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“That’s okay bro,” John nods as he sits on the couch.  “Any news on Hope?”

“Nothing new as of about half an hour ago.”  Bo looks around vacantly and then suddenly looks back at John.  “Uh…coffee?  Can I get you coffee?”

“Only if you’re making it,” John shrugs.

“Might wake me up,” Bo grunts as he shuffles off to the kitchen.

He returns five minutes later with two piping hot cups of coffee and hands one to John.  Perching himself on a stool, he takes a mouthful of his own brew then and shakes his head, making a face at the bitterness.

“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” John stares at his own cup.

“Thought had crossed my mind,” Bo shrugs diffidently.

“I….” John pauses and then eventually sighs in frustration as he looks up at Bo.  “I care about you, man.  You’re my brother… at least, I still think of you as my brother.  I’m just so sorry about Hope.”

“Yeah,” Bo nods slowly.  “Yeah, I know.”  He looks up at John, his brown eyes riddled with pain and guilt.  “I’m sorry too.  It was your kid.”

“Maybe,” John shrugs himself.  “That’s not really important right now.  If there’s anything I can do to help, Bo.”

Bo looks up at John and the memory of yesterday on the boat overwhelms him and he looks away.  John doesn’t miss the significance of that gesture, it’s all too familiar, and he frowns.  “What is it, man?” 

Bo isn’t sure he wants to talk about this, but the guilt is eating him alive and he has to tell someone.  Maybe John is the only one who will understand. Or maybe he will want to kill him.  Either way….

“It’s my fault…” he takes another gulp of the pungent concoction and screws up his courage.  “It’s my fault that Hope went to see Marlena.”

“How is it your fault?” John is bemused by Bo’s statement.  “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“No, John, you don’t understand,” Bo swallows with difficulty and then looks up at John.  “It’s my fault because Hope found Marlena and I together on the boat, and if she hadn’t found us, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Chapter XXXIV – Middlegame

“He *killed* himself?” Grace blinks, her cultivated expression of surprise quite implacable.

“Last night,” Craig repeats, suddenly quite enjoying himself.  “He left quite a detailed note about his last session with you.  Said that you made him see the truth.”

“I don’t know what-“

“Oh come on, Marlena,” Craig says nastily, “you and I both know you’re not quite the saint you make out you are.  So don’t bother trying the innocent routine with me.  It’s not going to cut it.”

“Exactly what are you implying Doctor?” Grace demands.  Her expression is one of pure indignation, but beneath the façade, she is laughing.  It’s perfect.  Absolutely perfect.

“I’m implying that you know more about the Davies case than you’re going to tell me.  And the board agrees with me.”  A smarmy smile slides onto Craig’s lips.  “They’ve commissioned an independent review of your handling of the case.  And you are suspended until the outcome is reported to the board.”

“Oh, is that right?” Grace pushes her chair out from the desk and stands with her hands on the magazine.  “And I suppose you argued a very convincing case for this course of action?”

“I am the Chief Medical Officer and responsible for the efficient functioning of this hospital,” Craig replies smoothly.  “It wouldn’t do to have a loose cannon in our psychiatry team, Marlena.  After everything you have been through, I think a period of leave is well in order anyway.”

“Even so, Dr. Wesley,” Grace says smoothly as she comes out from behind her desk.  Her electric blue halter neck dress is so short that it leaves little to his imagination and he finds it momentarily hard to concentrate on her words.   But they soon catch his attention and he feels his stomach coil.  “I do wonder how the board will feel when they learn that your recommendations come only one *day* after I ended our affair.  Sleeping with a subordinate and then punishing her for ending the affair would, in most circles, be construed as the very *worst* form of sexual harassment, I think.”  She raises her eyebrows with a devious smile.

~

“What?” John isn’t sure that he wants to understand what Bo is trying to tell him.

“I’m sorry man,” Bo looks utterly miserable as he looks up at John.  “I… I don’t even know how it happened.  I went to the boat and Marlena was already *there* man, and one moment we were commiserating over a glass of wine and then next…”

“The next…?” John prompts tersely.

“She was…” Bo looks away, “Oh man, this is fucking *insane*.  This whole situation is like some sick nightmare.”

“What did she do, Bo?” John feels sick himself as he waits for Bo’s answer.  He suspects he already knows what it is going to be, and the knowledge terrifies him.  It’s like reality is spinning out of control and he has no idea of how to get a handle on anything going on around him.

“Uh…” Bo’s fingers tighten around the handle of the mug.  “I’ve never seen her like that before John.  She was like a different woman.”

“What did she *do*, Bo?” John can feel every muscle in his body tensing.

“She…” Bo takes a deep breath, “she ended up on my lap and…” he swallows and looks down at his coffee again, wishing this *was* a nightmare and he could wake up. “She was *very* insistent that we should get a little… uh…. revenge.”

“She tried to seduce you,” John looks away before Bo’s wretched glance confirms his worst fears.

“Yeah…” Bo closes his eyes, remembering the strange look in Marlena’s eyes as she had pulled away from him.  “She started to, but then she pulled away, said she couldn’t do it.  That’s when Hope found us.”

“And that’s why Hope went to see Marlena,” John nods, a few pieces of the jigsaw falling into place.
“That’s why.”  Bo nods unhappily.  “I’m so sorry man.  I was so fucking *angry* with you and Hope.  I didn’t understand how something like that could happen and then I almost went and did it myself.”

“It’s a little different, Bo,” John reminds him.

“Yeah, you and Hope thought that you were different people.” Bo nods as he draws his fingers through his hair.

“I meant that you and Marlena were very hurt and angry and with every right to be…” John claps his hand on Bo’s shoulder.  “Doesn’t absolve you of the wrongdoing Bo, but I’m not going to hold it against you.  Of all people, I am hardly in a position to cast stones.”

“Thanks man,” Bo’s shoulders relax considerably in the face of John’s words.  To know that John somehow understands makes him feel a lot better.

“I will tell you now though,” John raises his eyebrows, his cerulean eyes frighteningly intense, “if you *ever* lay a hand on my wife again, I *will* break every one of your fingers.”

~

“Marlena, this is a valid concern,” Craig argues uncomfortably.

“Is it?” Grace leans back against the edge of her desk and crosses her arms.  “Or is your judgement being clouded by some adolescent need for revenge?”

“You flatter yourself Marlena, if you think you mean that much to me,” he narrows his eyes and glares at her from under heavy lids.

“Well, after all,” she shrugs easily, “you *were* the one professing undying love in my apartment yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Look, I wasn’t thinking straight,” he flings his hand in the air in frustration to make his point.  “I got all caught up in the moment.”  Her accusations are making his blood boil, but despite his anger and denials, he’s still aroused by her and it’s making things very difficult.  It’s difficult to mount a useful defence when he’s not at all sure she’s wrong.  And when he can’t stop staring at her body.

“Hmmmm…” one corner of Grace’s mouth twists into a smile.  “I wonder how your wife would accept that pitiful explanation.”  She laughs lightly, but there is no humor in the sound and Craig’s eyes widen in comprehension.

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” he manages to spit out.

“Blackmail…..” she smiles, “….that’s such a…. *dirty* word, don’t you think?” 

She stands and walks towards him, noting the slight stiffening in his posture as she nears him and her smile is shrewd.  She comes to a halt before him and reaches out a hand to his tie.  Patting it into place, she trails her fingers along his shoulder as she moves around him.

Craig is barely breathing as he feels her at the back of him, so close that she is almost pressed against him.  But not quite.  And then he feels her breath against his ear and he has to struggle to keep from audibly groaning.

“I prefer to think of it as more of an… exchange,” she says breathily.  “You bury the note and the review, and I keep what I know about *you*, to myself.”  Her hand slides from his shoulder down over his back until it reaches his buttock and she grins.

“Marlena,” his voice is hoarse as he steps away from her and turns around.  It takes every bit of self-restraint he has just to stand there calmly.  “You have nothing to take to Nancy.   She wouldn’t believe you, even if you did go to her.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” Grace’s expression exudes wickedness, “I’ll *make* her believe me.  I can be…” she raises her eyebrows, “very persuasive.  Besides….” she shrugs, “I’m one of the most respected members of this community.  What would I have to gain by lying to your wife?”  She takes several steps towards him again and slides her hand around to his buttock, squeezing it this time.  “And let’s face it, we both know it’s the truth.  I’m sure if I gave Nancy enough of the gruesome details….”

“Marlena!” He grabs her wrist and pulls her from him.  He’s desperate now, he’s in over his head and he knows she won’t hesitate to carry out her threats.    “*Don’t*.  You can’t do this to her…. It’ll destroy her.”

“Then bury it Craig,” her face is deadly serious now.  “I know you can. Just go to the board and tell them we talked it through, and you believe I did everything in my power to *help* that poor, young man.” 

The sarcasm in her voice utterly astounds Craig and he blinks several times as he looks at her.  “Dear God, you really encouraged the poor bastard to do it, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shakes her head, quite convincing in her lie.  Well, she would have been to anyone who hadn’t been party to the previous conversation.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head.  “I can’t bury the letter Marlena, the police already have it in their possession.”

“Well,” Grace raises her eyebrows, but she gives away nothing of what she’s thinking, “that’s too bad for you then, isn’t it?”

~

John’s discomfort only grows as he walks away from Bo’s house.  Bo might be feeling better, but John certainly doesn’t.  He doesn’t understand what is happening to Marlena and he’s scared for her and for them.  First Craig Wesley and now Bo?  It’s *so* unlike Marlena to do this.  What the hell is happening?  Surely it can’t be his revelations alone that have led her to behave so out of character.  

He stops short as he remembers the scene in the penthouse yesterday.  When he had first walked in and looked up to see Marlena, he could have *sworn* that she was smiling.  But *why* would she have been smiling?  It just doesn’t make any sense and so he had put it down to a trick of the mind.  He had simply misread her expression in that moment of panic.

But it’s so clear, that vision of her standing up there in that blood-red gown….

He shakes his head.  No, this is *insane*.  Bo’s right, it’s like a bad nightmare.  And like in a bad nightmare, everything that is awful is magnified and he’s starting to see things where none exist.  

After all, this is *Marlena*.  His Marlena, the woman he adores, that he loves more than life itself.  She is the best person, the most compassionate, loving person that he knows.  She might be angry at Hope, but she loves her.  Hope is family and Marlena would not let her anger overcome her humanity.

He sighs as he reaches his car and unlocks the front door.  There is so much that he doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to stop trying.  He’s going to go to Marlena’s tonight and try and reach her through that tough fortress she’s built to protect herself. He’s going to try and work out what’s going on inside her head.  That’s the only way he can start to make sense of this, and begin to mend it.

~

“Marlena, you can’t do this,” Craig follows her to the door.

“Watch me,” she hisses.

“Marlena, I can’t *do* anything.  The matter is out of my hands now.”

“Like I said,” she turns the handle, “too bad for you.”

“Marlena, are you really that vindictive?” he places his hand against the door and pushes it closed.  “We both know it wasn’t about revenge.”

“No, we don’t know that,” she crosses her arms, her purse dangling in front of her.  “*I* don’t know that.”

“What can I do to convince you?” he pleads with her.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, her lips pursed.  “You can expect my letter of resignation to go to the board tomorrow.”

“Resignation?”  He’s momentarily floored.

“It will outline, in *detail*, my reasons for leaving, primarily the fact that you seem to need to punish me for breaking off our liaison.”  Grace raises her eyebrows.  “Seems like you took the phrase ‘working under you’ a little too literally Dr. Wesley.”

“Marlena, this is *insanity*,” he shouts.  “Dammit, *you* seduced me.  You started this affair, you ended it and now….” he stares at her in shock and his voice fades. “…now I have no idea what you’re up to.  God, maybe you were right, maybe I don’t know you.  Maybe no-one around here *really* knows the ‘respectable’ Dr. Marlena Evans.”

“Oh, they know her all right,” Grace smirks, “she’s just made a few changes recently.”

“What do you want?” Craig closes his eyes and leans against the door.  “What the hell do you want from me, Marlena?”

“Want?”  Grace laughs.  “I’m not sure that I *want* anything from you.”  She pauses and then carefully leans towards him, like a large cat, hunting her prey.  He tenses as she flicks her tongue across his bottom lip.  “I already got everything I ever wanted from you, Dr. Wesley.”

With that, she pushes him aside and opens the office door, leaving him stunned and panicked as he contemplates just what she could do to his career and personal life.

As she walks out through the anteroom, she stops at Cynthia’s desk and shrewdly eyes the secretary.

“Please make sure that you lock the office after Dr. Wesley leaves Cynthia.”

Cynthia nods, her eyes wide and she watches Grace continue to the door.

“Oh, by the way Cynthia,” Grace adds casually, “you’re fired.  Please clear your desk.  I’d like you gone by the time I come back.”

Chapter XXXV – Weak Square

“Abe,” John knocks on the door of the busy commander’s office and nods his head at his former partner.  “Just got your message.  What’s up partner?”

“John,” Abe looks up from the report he is going over with an sergeant and waves the man away.  “Jenkins, check on those forensics results and Halley, move on that information, will you?”

The office clears quickly, and John’s feeling of foreboding amplifies.  There is something off here and he’s not sure that he’s going to want to know what it is.

“So what’s all this about here Abe?” he indicates the officers outside the office.  “Busy night?”

“You could say that,” Abe sighs and pulls over a chair, propping his feet up on it and stretching.  He looks as though he hasn’t slept for days.  John has some fair idea of how he must feel.

“So what did you want?”  John pulls up his own chair and spins it around before he sits down.  “It sounded important,” he adds, resting his arms on the back of the seat.

“It is,” Abe sighs and rubs his face wearily.  “At least, the D.A.’s office intends to make it so.”

“The D.A.’s office?  What the hell have they got to do with anything?” John asks, a little confused.

“They’ve been down here all morning, making my life a misery,” Abe picks up his empty coffee mug and weighs it thoughtfully.

“I remember how it can be partner, but that doesn’t tell me why you got me up here,” John presses, his blue eyes boring into Abe.

“It’s Marlena,” Abe says eventually.  “One of her patients killed himself last night.”

“That’s rough,” John shrugs, “but it’s a hazard of her job Abe.  These things are bound to happen sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know that John,” Abe looks frustrated and a little worried and it has John on edge.  “But the problem is that this kid left a note that *implicates* Marlena.  Says she *encouraged* him to take his own life.  And he killed himself with sleeping pills that she prescribed only last week.”

“So…” John shrugs, still not understanding the predicament.  “He was obviously disturbed… confused.”  He pauses for a moment as embryonic understanding starts to unfurl inside him.  “They think this was *deliberate*?”  He’s absolutely horrified that anyone would even *think* that of Marlena.  Surreal doesn’t even begin to cover this.  “C’mon Abe, this is *Doc* we’re talking about.  The idea that she would deliberately hurt someone is completely *nuts*.”

“John, buddy, you know that and I know that…” Abe pauses and he sounds unconvinced for a moment, “but the D.A.’s office… they got wind of this note and now they’re asking questions.”

“What *kind* of questions?” John can feel all his muscles tensing as he waits for Abe’s answer.

“About the fact that Marlena is the one link in three different incidents.” Abe’s voice is husky and strained.  He feels like he is betraying his friends by even uttering this out loud.  But it has to be said.

“Three inci…..” John’s eyes widen in horror as he looks at Abe.  “Abe… you can’t be serious!”

“They know Hope was alone with Marlena when she had her accident and they want us to bring Marlena in for questioning,” Abe looks pained as he places his mug back on the desk.  “John, they want us to consider Marlena as a suspect in Roman’s murder.”

~

“Grace.”  The rich baritone makes Grace jump as she enters the penthouse, and she immediately drops her shopping bags as she stares at him angrily.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“I have come to see you,” Stefano straightens his suit, notably discomfited and Grace raises her eyebrows.

“Well, I got that much,” her tone is not short on sarcasm.  “You could at least have called.  I might have plans.”

“Your plans can wait,” Stefano growls.  “First I want an explanation.”

“An explanation?” Grace doesn’t like his tone and it makes her defiant as she crosses the floor in front of him to mix herself a drink.

“Your drink can also wait,” Stefano catches her arm, his face stormy.  “Grace, I want to know what you had to do with Hope Williams’ ‘accident’.”

“Hope?” Grace looks surprised and then she looks down at Stefano’s thick fingers enclosing her upper arm in their grip.  “Do you *mind*?”  She pulls herself from his clutches with palpable ire and continues to the liquor cabinet.  “Your *questions* can wait for my *drink*.”

Stefano crosses the floor in three steps and crashes closed the cupboard that she has just opened.  “Do *not* cross me, Grace.  I *asked* you a question.”

Grace takes an involuntary step backward and scrambles for her composure in the face of Stefano’s anger.  “No Stefano, you didn’t *ask* me a question, you *demanded* an explanation.  And now I’m asking myself why you are so *suddenly* interested in Hope Williams.”

“Just answer me, Grace,” Stefano snarls, backing her up against the wall.  “Did you cause Hope’s accident?”  

Grace feels a thrill course through her in the face of Stefano’s anger and her breathing quickens.   “Why do you *care*?” she asks as she narrows her eyes in thought.  “You couldn’t stand the *real* Gina and you’ve displayed no concern for her doppelganger until now…” she studies his face, her shrewd mind quickly calculating the reasons behind this sudden about-face.

“I only want to know what part you played in her accident,” Stefano reiterates, a victim of intense frustration.  “Grace, you try my patience.”

“All right, all right,” Grace shrugs.  “She came here accusing me of not being Marlena and was threatening to go to John and the Brady’s.  I couldn’t let that happen.”  She looks at Stefano defiantly.  “She followed me up the staircase and I took the opportunity that presented itself.”  A smile touches her lips, “She deserved everything she got, if you ask me.”

~

“They *what*?” John stares at Abe in disbelief.  “Abraham, that is the most *ridiculous* thing I’ve ever heard.  Marlena?  We are talking about the same person?”

“Look John,” Abe holds up his hands, the palms of his hands pink against the background of his dark jacket.  “I know how absurd this all seems.  Believe me, I had the same reaction when the assistant D.A. came down here.   But buddy, they *are* insistent.  They see a connection and they want us to investigate it.”

“Abe, do you have any idea what that might do to Doc?” John demands.  “If she thought that she was suspected of murdering Roman?  He’s her ex-husband, the father of her *kids* for chrissake!  She loved him, the idea that she could have anything at *all* to do with his death…” he shudders at the thought of Marlena having to endure that after everything she’s been through lately.

“John, if I refuse to investigate Marlena…” Abe shrugs.  “It’s my job, you know that.”

“And she’s your *friend*,” John says with shades of accusation in his voice.  “Abe, you can’t do that to her.  There’s no evidence for God’s *sake*.  This is just like Pat Hamilton and her vindictive witch-hunt.”  

“Pat happened to be right for the most part,” Abe reminds him.

“Marlena…” John falters momentarily.  “Abe you know those circumstances could never be repeated.  Anyway, Pat was *wrong*.  That *thing* was *not* Marlena.”

“John, I’m not saying…”  Abe sighs and brings his elbows down on the desk with a thump.  “John, there *is* tenuous evidence.  There were two blonde hairs found at the scene.  They want us to do a DNA workup against Marlena.”

“*What?*” John pushes himself off of the chair in disgust and paces across the office angrily.  “It’s *Roman* Abe, he saw his family all the time.  Even if it *was* Marlena’s hair, there would be any number of reasons why her hair could have been there.  She could have hugged Roman last time he was wearing that shirt….”

“The hairs weren’t found anywhere near the body,” Abe almost dreads John’s reaction to this piece of information.

But the reaction is not immediate as John simply stares at Abe.

“You sound like you think she did it.”  

It is an accusation rather than a statement and Abe can only shake his head.

“John, I know Marlena.  I’ve known her for more years than I care to remember.  I *know* she could never hurt anyone, much less Roman.  But buddy, this is eerie.  It’s too much like when Marlena….”

“She’s *not* Abe,” John thumps his fist on Abe’s desk with barely concealed anger.  “Yeah, she’s hurt and confused and mixed up, but she is *not* possessed and she is *not* a killer.  End of story.”

“John,” Abe looks up at his friend with weary, faded eyes.  He has seen too much death in this past month and it is telling. “I have to question her.  I have no choice.”

John stares at his friend and then sinks back down onto his chair.  He knows Abe is right. If the D.A.’s office is demanding it, there is not much Abe can do.  He can maybe delay it a few days, that is all, but he can’t subvert the course of ‘justice’, as arbitrary as it is in this town.

“Let me talk to her first,” he says quietly.  “Let me find out what I can for you.  Where she was that night….”

“All right,” Abe nods his head.  “That sounds fair.  I’ll do what I can to delay things at this end.  Maybe by then we will have found Roman’s killer.”

“Maybe,” John agrees.

“You think she’ll listen to you?  That she’ll talk to you?” Abe asks, suddenly remembering the last time he saw John and Marlena together.

“We’re having dinner tonight,” John nods.  “After the accident with Hope, Doc was pretty shaken up.  I persuaded her to have dinner with me in the hopes that we could talk things through.”

“That’s good,” Abe nods with the glimmer of a smile. “I hope it goes well for you, my friend.”

John finally manages a smile, but his cobalt eyes convey an air of sadness and uncertainty.  “So do I Abraham, so do I.”

~

“”I *didn’t* ask you, Grace,” Stefano snarls angrily as he spins away from Grace, trying to rein in his temper.  

“I still don’t understand why this is a problem for you.”  Grace comes up behind him and he feels her hand slide seductively over his shoulder.  “I would have thought you’d be grateful to have that *bitch* incapacitated.  After all, she has a few too many secrets about you locked up inside that vapid head of hers, doesn’t she?”

“*Grateful?*” He roars as he turns abruptly.  “*GRATEFUL?!*”  He backs her up against the wall again, his glistening ebony eyes boring into her.  “Do you have *any* idea what you’ve done?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Grace’s eyes widen as he grasps her wrist and slams it against the lemon yellow wall.  Her breathing quickens and her tongue slides slowly along her upper lip.  “Better yet, why don’t we skip the explanations and go right to the punishment?”  She smiles suggestively and Stefano tenses.

“Grace!” he snaps, his voice tinged with both anger and lust.  She is maddening and infuriating and so *very* desirable.  He hates that she can distract him so easily, but at the same time, that is what makes her so much of a challenge.  It is what makes her so very *Grace*.

“Stefano…” she undoes the top two buttons of his shirt and runs her hand over the hot skin just below his throat.  She can feel his pulse pounding madly and she looks up at him from under seductively dark lashes.  “If you’re so angry with me, why don’t you *do* something about it?”

His grip on her wrist tightens until it is almost painful and he presses his heavy bulk up against her.  “Is that what you want Grace,” he growls in her ear.  “Do you really want to feel the full force of my rage right now?”

Grace gasps as he grabs her hair and wrenches her head backwards, his tongue and lips hot on her throat and a soft moan slips from her lips.  But there is no affirmative answer from her and after a long moment, Stefano releases her and steps backwards.

Grace stares at him with rampant curiosity as he walks away from her.

“Why?” she asks eventually.  “Why is it that scrawny imbecile is so important to you?”

Stefano sighs resignedly and turns to face her.  “I am not concerned about Hope Williams. I could care less about her.  However, the child she is carrying…. *was* carrying….” he looks away.  “That child could very well have been *my* child.”

Chapter XXXVI – Decisive Move

“No,” Grace shakes her head, confused by Stefano’s claim.  “The child was Black’s.”

“*Maybe* it was John Black’s,” Stefano growls, “or maybe it was mine.  We will never know now.”

“*Yours*?”  Grace’s expression slowly transforms into one of disgust.  “*You?*  *YOU* slept with that *slut*?”

“Why not?” Stefano shrugs.

Grace glares at him for a moment and then turns away from him, trying to process the implications of this new information.  Information he has withheld from her.  Quite deliberately.

“So let me get this straight,” her expression tightens as she turns back to him.  “This could have been your baby or it could have been Black’s.  So you slept with that whore on the submarine too?”

“Are the details really important, Grace?” Stefano almost dares her to disagree with him.

“Well, since you used only part of this information to persuade me to take part in your little scheme to destroy the Brady’s, then yes, I think they *are* important,” Grace replies angrily, her voice rising as she speaks.  “How *dare* you come storming in here demanding to know what I did to Hope when you don’t even have the *nerve* to tell me you *screwed* the bitch!”

“*That* is enough Grace!” Stefano growls.

“Oh, I haven’t even *started* yet!” Grace spits back as she snatches up a glass from the open cabinet and splashes a quantity of vodka into it.  Without so much as a beat, she swallows a mouthful of the transparent liquid, gasping as the neat alcohol hits the back of her throat, full force.  “You think I give the first *fuck* if that brat was yours?”

“The point was not whether you care or not,” Stefano replies with equal venom.  “I lost Peter and Kristen because of the Brady’s.  And now through your actions, a child is dead.  A child that might have been my son or daughter.  You think I care how *you* feel about it Grace?”  He’s still for a moment as she glares back at him.  Then he speaks again, his voice carefully controlled this time.  “It seems to me that you *do* care however…” he takes a step toward her, “otherwise you wouldn’t be quite so… distressed….”  

He reaches out and lays a hand on her arm in a gesture of reconciliation, but she yanks her arm away, malice in her glare.

“Don’t touch me you *bastard*,” she hisses.  “Keep your filthy hands off me!”

“Grace…” Stefano’s anger is still close to the surface, but he knows that Grace is a loose cannon in this state.  “You need not be jealous of Gina or Hope.  Or anyone.”

“Jealous?”  A high pitch laugh dies, strangled in her throat.  “You think I’d be jealous of *that*?”

“Well then…” Stefano’s ebony eyes drill into her.  “If that is indeed the case, then there is no problem.”

“That’s where you’re *wrong*,” Grace refuses to be subdued.  “You manipulated me,” she narrows her eyes.  “You deliberately told me only half the story in order to get your own way.”  She pauses briefly to consider her words.  “I thought we were partners.  You should have told me.”

“Why?” Stefano shrugs.  “What difference would it have made?  John still slept with Hope, whether he fathered the child or not.”

“God, you’re a *bastard*,” Grace finishes her drink and slams the glass down on the counter.  “Sometimes I wonder why I bother to listen to you at all.”

“Grace…” Stefano says firmly.  “It is not important.  I did what I had to do.  You must not let this affect our relationship.”

“How can it *not* affect our relationship?” she demands furiously, her voice rising again until she is almost screaming at him.   “You let me rot in a marriage to that *bastard* Lamont and not just him, but John Black as well. And instead of doing what you could to get me back, you were off on a fucking *submarine*, fucking *her*.”

“I do not have to justify myself to you or anyone, Grace.” Stefano bellows, her refusal to listen to him making him almost as angry as the reason that brought him here.

“*Fine*!”  She screams at him, “then get *out* of my house!”

“I am not going *anywhere*!”  His fingers seize her arm as she pushes past him, and he roughly yanks her back to face him.

“I *said*, don’t *touch* me!”  Grace’s immediate impression is that he is trying to dominate her, and it only feeds her fury.  In a split-second, instinctual reaction, she pulls back her hand and slaps him violently on the cheek, venting all her rage in one blow.  

Hardly missing a beat, Stefano lets go of her left arm and catches her free wrist in a vicelike grip and pulls her to him.  His right arm slides around her waist and he kisses her firmly.  Grace struggles briefly and then gives in.  As irate as she is, she suddenly finds herself very aroused and she closes her eyes as she feels his hand release her wrist and skim the golden skin of her arm.

No!  The voice that sounds in her head is foreign, but she is overcome by a sudden revulsion and she struggles to escape from Stefano’s grasp.  She feels claustrophobic and all she wants to do is get out of his clutches.

“Grace?”  Stefano sees the shock on her face, and he lets her go, almost despite himself.  He had not intended to kiss her like that, but she had been so vibrantly beautiful in her rage, and it had been the only way he could think of to get her to shut up for more than two seconds.

Grace takes a step back and stares at him as she tries to gain her equilibrium. She has never felt like that around Stefano before, and it has thrown her completely off-balance.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”  She tears her eyes away from his and she quickly turns and makes her way to the stairs before he can see past the mask of indifference.  “You can show yourself out.”

“Grace.”   Stefano’s voice is compelling, and she finds herself turning back to look at him as she stands on the first stair.  “Do not make this more than it has to be.”

“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to discuss it?” she asks pointedly.  She is tiring of his blustering and his demands.  “I will make of it whatever I damn well please Stefano.  *You* are in no position to tell me what to think.”

“Grace, I just want-“

“Stefano, I have plans,” she says sharply.  “Please leave.  I will call you tomorrow if that’s what it takes to convince you to go.”

Stefano looks at her with suspicion.  “Plans?”

Grace sighs and looks down at him from over the banister.  “You have to trust me Stefano,” she says facetiously. “After all, isn’t that what you are asking *me* to do?”  She reaches the top of the staircase, and she stops in thought.  “Unless of course there’s some other deep, dark, *dirty* secrets that you’ve neglected to tell me that you feel might impact on my ability to do the task you have set me.”

“Of course not,” Stefano says darkly.

“Good,” she nods.  “Then I will talk to you tomorrow.”

~

John shifts his weight uneasily from foot to foot as he ascends to the penthouse apartment in the elevator.  Checking his cufflinks with nervous fingers, he looks around the confined space.  He’s trying not to focus on what is going to happen tonight, he’s only grateful that she has agreed to have dinner with him.  Anything else at this point will be a bonus.

Finally, the elevator slows, the doors slide open and he exits into the corridor outside Marlena’s front door.  He steps up to the door and pauses to run his fingers across the familiar numbers.  All he can think for a moment is how much he hates being away from this place, being away from her.

And suddenly the thought hits him that if he fails tonight, if he makes a hash of things again… he could well lose her.  Forever.  He can’t even conceive of a life without Marlena and just the prospect is enough to make him break into a cold sweat. After everything they have gone through to be together, it seems inconceivable that their marriage could fall apart like this.  But the fact is that it has.  And if he doesn’t do something about it now, then every day she grows further away from him and very soon he may not be able to reach her at all.

“Dear God,” he says softly.  “If you never hear another one of my prayers, please hear this one.  *Please* help me to remind Marlena of what we have together and why we need one another.  It might be selfish, but I need her in my life more that I can put into words.  I can’t do this without her…”

He takes a deep breath and bowing his head, he closes his eyes.  A moment later, he lifts his head and opening his eyes again, he knocks firmly on the door.

He waits for a moment and when there is no answer, he lifts his hand to knock again.  But he doesn’t have to as the door opens, and Marlena stands in the doorway.  He blinks and opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t for a long moment.  

She looks absolutely stunning in a golden gown that is split up to her thigh and as she turns to usher him into the apartment, he can see that the back of the dress is cut down to almost her hips, the halter-neck the only piece of the fabric that seems to be holding the dress to her.  She looks so tantalizingly available and yet so forbidden at the same time.

“Marlena…” he shakes his head.  “You look….  God, you’re so beautiful.”  

Grace smiles mysteriously and then picks up her purse from the dresser.  “I changed my mind,” she says without preamble.  “I do want to go out for dinner after all.”

“You do?” John raises his eyebrows, almost disappointed by her request.  He had thought that the privacy of the penthouse would be better for talking, but if she wants to go out, then there will hopefully be plenty of time for that later.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she looks a little uncertain and John grins.

“Mind?  Doc, you know I’d crawl across broken glass for you.”

“Well, that’s a little extreme,” she laughs, “I’m just suggesting Tuscany.”

“Anything you want sweetheart,” John picks up the golden wrap that is on the dresser and slides it around her shoulders, taking the opportunity to brush his hand across her golden skin.

The feeling of his touch makes Grace shiver and she pulls away from him, feeling strangely breathless and uncomfortable.  “Well, that’s what I want.”  She tries to sound nonchalant, but her voice is tight and choked.

“Let’s go then.”   John is fully aware of the effect he just had on her, but after the last few weeks, he’s not taking anything for granted.  He’s going to be ultra-careful and he’s only going to go as fast as she is happy with.  The last thing he wants to do is force himself on her and make her angry again.

“Marlena!”  Maggie looks surprised as John and Grace walk into Tuscany.  Firstly, that Marlena is here with John and secondly, that she is here at all given what happened with Hope last night.

“Maggie,” Grace says easily, “do you have a table for two.  Somewhere… *private*…” she adds suggestively as she links her hand with John’s.  John takes the opportunity that is proffered and wraps his fingers around hers, squeezing them gently as they follow Maggie to a table at the back of the restaurant.

“I’ll send a waiter right over,” Maggie smiles.  “It’s good to see you two together.”

“Thank you,” Grace says nothing else, but waits as John pulls out her chair.  

When they are seated and Maggie is gone, Grace looks at John.  “Honey, I need to go to the powder room.  Why don’t you order for both of us?”

“Are you sure?” John asks uncertainly.

“Baby,” Grace leans across the table and John gets an eyeful of her cleavage.  And then he feels her tongue caressing his bottom lips and he almost stops breathing.  “Don’t you always know what I like?” she asks with a smirk before she stands up.

“Uh….” John can only nod as his heart pounds in his ears.  

Grace moves to where he sits and places her hand on his shoulder and then with practiced ease, she turns around so that her arm is curled around his neck.  Then she leans close to his head and whispers in his ear.  He can feel her breath, moist and intimate against his skin, but it is nothing compared to the effect her words have on him.  “I have one request.  Make it very *hot*…”

Chapter XXXVII – Overload

John swallows, his throat suddenly parched as he watches Marlena leave the table, her hips swaying as she crosses the room.  He’s quite aware that he’s not the only one watching her too; there are any number of men here who would be happy to be in his place.  But even so, or maybe even because of that fact, he’s finding himself quite unnerved by her sudden change of heart.

Only yesterday she was flinging accusations at him, leaving him and their family in no doubt of the kind of fury and pain she was feeling.  And now, it was as though all that was a dream, as though it has been wiped away, overnight.  

Could her reaction to Hope’s accident have brought about such a change?  Maybe that is what it was, sometimes reminders of how precious life is can have a profound effect on people.  And Marlena, feeling more deeply than most…  

John sighs and shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts.  Maybe, but *this*, this provocative flirting isn’t entirely like Marlena either.  She’s flirty and playful yes, but this is something else altogether. 

“Still,” he mutters to himself, “at least she’s not screaming at you.  That’s got to be a start, hasn’t it?”

~

Grace smiles to herself as she exits the ladies.  This could hardly be more perfect.  After her spat with Stefano, she had known that he would have her followed.  His pride would not allow her to gain the upper hand.

Well Stefano, if you want to know what I’m up to, you’re going to find out my darling.  She intends to thoroughly enjoy herself and if she can make Stefano mightily uncomfortable in the process, then all the better.  He deserves some of his own after all…

Grace’s sharp eyes flick across the restaurant to a couple sitting not far from where she and John are seated.  She had seen them when she and John had arrived and she knows Craig saw her.  Pleasure suffuses her as she starts towards them.  She can’t *wait* to avail herself of the pleasure of watching him squirm.

“Dr. Wesley,” she comes up behind him and her smile broadens when she sees him flinch at the sound of her voice.  “And your charming wife.  How *are* you Nancy?”

“I’m just fine Marlena,” Nancy nods, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.  “And you?”

“It’s been an interesting day,” Grace looks at Craig who is studying his dinner assiduously.  “I’m sure Craig told you about our little problem.”  

She almost laughs out loud as she sees Craig jump and his head snaps around to look at her.  She ignores his pleading eyes as she looks back at Nancy.

“Oh I heard about that poor boy, I’m so sorry Marlena…” Nancy says with as much sincerity as she can muster.  There is something about Marlena Evans that she just doesn’t trust.  Especially when she sees the woman looking at Craig so predatorily.

“Yes, it’s really too bad.” Grace feigns something akin to sadness.  “Some people are just beyond our reach though.  It’s something we all have to come to terms with sooner or later.  Don’t you think so Craig?”

“Wha-?” Craig’s knuckles have blanched, his fingers are wrapped so tightly around his knife.  “Uh… yeah.”  He nods painfully carefully avoiding Nancy’s curious glance as he prays that Marlena will go away.

“How are things with your daughter, Nancy?” Grace asks casually.  “I’ll bet she’s missing Belle.”

“Uh… well, they’re difficult,” Nancy shrugs.  “You know how teenagers are.”

“I certainly do,” Grace says sympathetically.  “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we get together for lunch tomorrow?  We can compare notes on our daughters and all the other wonderful things married life has to offer.”

“Well…” Nancy thinks about it for a moment.  Maybe it would be a good idea to check Marlena Evans out from a closer angle.  It couldn’t hurt anyway.

“Uh…” Craig desperately interrupts.  “Weren’t you going to take Chloe shopping tomorrow?”

“Well, we could meet the day after tomorrow then,” Grace shrugs, trying to suppress her grin as she watches Craig flounder.

“No, tomorrow is fine,” Nancy nods, confused by Craig’s interruption.

“Okay then, I’ll look forward to it.  And Craig,” Grace lays her hand on Craig’s shoulder and squeezes it as she leans over to murmur in his ear.  “I promise you; I’ll have that letter on your desk by lunchtime.”

~

John’s lips thin as he watches Marlena place her hand on Craig Wesley’s shoulder and lean over and he can’t help the bolt of jealousy that sears its way through him.  The sight of her with that man has brought back the memories that he has almost successfully suppressed until tonight.  Memories of seeing her in Wesley’s arms.  More than once.  

And then there was Bo….  Bo was adamant that she had tried to seduce him and honestly, the guy has no motive for lying. Not in the state he is in.  Normally John would never believe that of Marlena, but he has seen it with his own eyes.  So, what the hell is she playing at?

“John?”  He blinks as she comes back to the table.  “What’s wrong?”

“What is going on between you and Wesley?” he asks curtly.

“What do you mean what’s going on?” she asks nonchalantly as she slides into her chair.  

John sees Craig glance in their direction, and he grimaces.  “I mean you were kissing him down on the pier the other day Marlena.”

“Oh John,” she sighs, dropping her purse on the table.  “And here I thought there was a slim possibility we might get through the entire night without arguing.”

“If you recall, most of the arguing has been at your end,” John retorts.  “I’m just asking you a question.  A valid one I think, considering you *are* still my wife.”

“As you seem to remind me every five minutes, yes,” Grace bites the inside of her lip.  She will not let him make her angry, she has too much riding on this.  “Tell me, what do you *think* is going on?

“I….” John looks over at Craig Wesley.  The man is holding his wife’s hand and he is taking to her with an intensity that could easily be mistaken for guilt.  If it is indeed a mistake.  “All I can say Doc, is if you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s *damn* well working.”

“Oh,” a slow smile curls her lips sensuously, “is it?”

“Doc…”  John’s jaw clenches as he struggles to stay calm.  There are so many things he wants to say to her right now.  He wants to rage at her for being so stubborn and for lashing out and hurting the people that love her.  And he wants to take her in her arms and profess his love to her.  And he wants to be angry at her for being so unfair to Belle and for playing with Bo’s emotions.  And mostly he just wants wash all her pain away and feel her skin against his as he makes love to her.   “Doc, you *know* it kills me when I see you with another man.  Baby, it always has.  The thought that I could lose you, that I might not have you in my life….”  He shudders as he says the words.

“Nothing.” She interrupts him, shrugging easily.  “There’s nothing going on.  It was nothing honey, really.”

“It didn’t look like nothing Doc,” he says, his midnight blue eyes echoing the vulnerability that he feels.  “Not when I found you down at the pier it didn’t.”

“I was angry,” she says softly, taking his hand in hers.  “I was acting out and trying to find ways to punish you for what you did with Hope…” Grace looks down, hoping that he’s buying her act. But she suspects at this point, he’ll be so desperate for an explanation, he’ll buy just about anything.

“Excuse me,” Grace looks up as the wine waiter interrupts with the bottle of champagne that John has ordered, and she smiles at John appreciatively.  The man knows how to order a good bottle of champagne, she’ll give him that at least. 

They wait as the waiter pours their drinks and their entrées are delivered and then Grace lays her hand over John’s.  “Honey, I really don’t want to talk about all this tonight.  I just want us to enjoy each other’s company for a change.  Surely there’s enough time for all this tomorrow?”

With a smile, she picks up her champagne flute and waits for him to pick up his.  “To…” she smiles seductively as she reaches out and straightens his tie infinitesimally, “new beginnings.  And to us.”

“To us,” John nods and taps his glass against hers, watching then as she swallows the honeyed liquid. “But honey, there is something I need to-“

“Shhhh,” Grace raises her index finger to his lips and silences him.  “It’s not negotiable John.  If I don’t enjoy myself, I’m going home.  By myself.  Do we understand each other?” 

“Loud and clear sweetheart,” he grins suddenly. The way she is talking, there is definitely a chance that she won’t be going home *alone* tonight.  And if that’s the case then there is certainly plenty of time to talk about all this later.  Even Abe’s questions can wait until tomorrow.  She’s right after all, neither of them have enjoyed themselves for far too long.

“Good,” she slips her shoe off and with practiced ease, she slides the arch of her foot up John’s calf.  “I had a feeling you might see it my way.”

~

“What the hell does she think she’s doing?” Stefano growls to Bart as he watches Grace inside the restaurant.  She is laughing and flirting with John Black of all people and there is nothing Stefano can do about it without blowing everything.  “Did I *not* tell her to stay away from Black?”  He is furious that she would put their plans in such jeopardy.  And for what?  Is this her idea of revenge for their fight this afternoon?  For sleeping with Hope and not telling her about it.  

“*Damn* her.”  He bangs his powerful fist on the dash of the car.  “Confounded woman.  Can she not take *one* order without defying me in some way?”

“She always was trouble, Stefano,” Bart dares to agree with his master.  “You’ll never be able to trust her.”

Stefano turns to stare at him, his fury at Grace’s defiance needing an outlet somewhere. 

“Bart, if I *ever* so much as *hear* a *whisper* that you have been talking about Grace like that again, I will have you torn limb from limb.  Do you understand me?”  He glares at the man and Bart nods nervously.

Stefano turns back to the restaurant and trains his opera glasses on Grace once again.  She is laughing at something Black has said and Stefano narrows his eyes.  “You might think she is yours John, but you will find out very soon that she was *never* yours.  Grace will always be mine and you will witness her in my arms and in my bed before all this is done.”

~

“Oh,” Grace wipes the corner of one eye as her giggles subside.  She really hates to admit it to herself, but John Black has a power to make her laugh that few other men have possessed.  “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, deadly,” John’s smile fades as he reaches out to wipe away a stray tear from Marlena’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.  Her skin is so warm where he touches her that he can hardly help himself as he cups her cheek with his palm.  

“You’re so beautiful Doc and I miss you *so* much.”  There is agony in his voice and passion in his eyes as he looks at her and Grace finds herself pulling abruptly away from his touch.

“I…” her heart is pounding against her ribs as he continues to stare at her and she looks away, unable to maintain eye contact.  She’s suddenly nervous and afraid and she’s quite off-balance.

One of her fists clenches unconsciously under the table as she reaches for her champagne glass.   She takes a good mouthful as the music swells behind them, and the bubbles tickle her nose as she swallows the champagne.

“I’m sorry baby,” John says softly, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that being away from you makes me a little crazy…” he pauses and then shakes his head… “no, make that a lot crazy.  I don’t want to push things here, but I do want you to know how I feel.”

“Um…” Grace takes a deep breath, attempting to regain her control as she looks up at him.  “Why don’t we dance?”

“Dance?”  John is having a hard time keeping up with her moods tonight, but then it’s not the first time.  “Sure honey, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s exactly what I want.”  One corner of her mouth curls into a seductive smile as he stands up and holds out his hand.  She takes it and stands, following him to the dance floor, which is only sparsely populated at this point in the evening.

When they are on the dance floor, he takes her right hand and holds it against his chest.  Then with a familiarity that breeds only desire, he slides his arm around the bare flesh of her back and pulls her close to him.

“It feels good to have you close again, baby,” he whispers as he presses his cheek to hers.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Shhhh,” Grace whispers, “too much talking and not enough dancing.”  Pulling her hand from where he holds it against him, she slides it around his neck and presses her body against him.  And then she begins to sway in time with the music, the feeling of her body moving against his driving John wild.

Her breath is warm against his neck as she hums with the soft melody and John moans when he feels her tongue slide gently up the side of his throat until she reaches his earlobe.  Then gently, she flicks her tongue across the sensitive skin before blowing the tiniest amount of cool air against the moist skin.

“Doc!” John begins as he tries to pull back from her, but she maintains her grasp on him.

“Ssshhh baby,” she whispers against his ear.  “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“But honey-“

“John,” Grace’s voice is little more than a murmur, but nevertheless, there is steel in her tone.  “If you want to come home with me tonight, I suggest you play along.  Okay?”

“Uh…” John quickly flicks mentally through his options.  He doesn’t have many.  And if she wants to torture him just a little more as she extracts a final ounce of revenge, then he can hardly argue with her.  Especially when it’s so exquisitely pleasurable.  “Whatever you say Doc.’

“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” she draws one of her hands from around his neck and slides it around his waist until it’s flat against John’s butt.  And then, looking directly at Craig, she grins as she squeezes it.  “Because if you play your cards right tonight, John Black, you’re going to have a night that you’ll never forget….”

Chapter XXXVIII – Doubled Pawns

“Uh… Doc…” John’s eyes dart wildly around the room as he wonders who might be watching Marlena’s little display.

“What?” she whispers with ill-disguised amusement, “are you ashamed to be seen with me, John Black?”

“Oh *God* no!” John pulls back and looks at her in amazement.  “*Never* that, Doc.”

“Well, good,” one corner of her mouth curls up into a smirk as she winds one arm sensuously around his neck.  “I was about to get offended.  And,” she raises her other arm and John watches, enrapt, as her perfect cherry red lips close around the tip of her index finger.  She sucks on it gently and then she uses the same finger to outline John’s lips, leaving traces of her taste tantalizingly in her wake.  “I don’t think you want to offend me tonight, do you baby?”

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Marlena?” John rasps but he stops short as she shoots him a glance that says he’d better watch where he is going with this.  “I’m not saying I don’t like it honey….”

“I’m glad you’re not saying that,” Grace grins as she leans closer to him, though a moment ago that might have seemed impossible, somehow she manages it.  “Because then I might feel compelled not to do *this*,” she draws her tongue along his lower lip and John moans.

“Hmmmm, like that baby?” she murmurs as she grinds herself against him.

“Oh *God* Doc!” he gasps as she practically wraps herself around him.

“I want you John,” she tells him softly, but the aggression in her voice makes him shiver.  “I want you so bad I can *taste* it.”

With that, she nibbles on his lower lip and John blindly tangles his hand in her upswept hair as he seeks out her mouth and kisses her with all his pent-up longing and need.

“Doc,” he gasps when he finally lets her go.  His cerulean eyes are wide in amazement as she smiles sexily at him.

“Can you taste it too?” she asks suggestively with a raised eyebrow.  “How about the bathroom?  I’m sure we can find a free wall somewhere…”

“Marlena!”  John can’t believe what’s coming out of her mouth.  Not that it isn’t making him extremely horny, but, it so….. so *not* like Marlena…

“Relax baby,” she grins, “I’m only joking.”

Sliding one arm from around his neck, she twists elegantly in his arms until she has her back against him.  With one arm still arched around his neck, she begins to rub herself against him in time with the sensual melody.  

“I have…” she leans her head back against his chest as she moves up, “a much more private audience in mind.”

“And that would be…?” at this point, John is barely aware that there is anyone else in the restaurant, even though half the diners are staring at the pair on the dance floor.  The small part of him that is aware realizes that she is so goddamn beautiful and sexy that every man in the place wants her, and every woman probably hates her.  But he no longer cares what anyone thinks, he is so bewitched by the spell she is weaving.

“And spoil the surprise?” she closes her eyes and lets herself revel in the sensual feeling of their bodies moving in perfect harmony.  “Now why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know, since it seems your objective tonight is to tease me until I go mad,” John growls before he runs his lips along her jaw.

“Am I succeeding?” Grace’s breathing quickens as his tongue flicks over her earlobe.

“You can consider yourself a one hundred percent, unqualified success baby,” he lifts his fingers to her face and turns her head so he can kiss her.  After a moment, she turns in his arms again so that they are facing and then she breaks off the kiss.

“Let’s have some dessert shall we?” she says brightly.

“Uh,” John blinks and looks at her, a little disconcerted.  “Sure.”

They make their way back to their table and John pulls out Grace’s chair.  Sitting, Grace drains her champagne and reaches out to pour herself another.  Taking the bottle from her, John pours her a glass of the sparkling drink.  Patting her purse with a grin Grace looks at John.  “So, what did you order for us, stud?”

John raises one his eyebrow but lets her comment pass.  Instead, he whips the lid off the dish that is waiting on the table.  Looking up expectantly, he is surprised to see the blank look on her face.

Grace looks at the strawberries and whipped cream and then up at John.  Seeing his confusion, she immediately realizes she has made a slip and she covers her lack of concern with a smile.  “They look beautiful honey.”

John takes a deep breath, unsettled by her distinct lack of reaction and picks up a berry between his thumb and forefinger.

“I wanted to remind you of all the good times.  Of how good we can be together.  Doc I know it’s been rough lately, but I really believe we can get through this if we only work together.” He dips the berry in the cream and then lifts it between them.  “Kind of like the strawberry and the cream.  Separately they’re pretty good right?  But together they combine to produce something extraordinary.”  

Grace gazes at the berry, a memory floating near the surface of her consciousness, a memory of being with Roman…. in front of a fire… with strawberries and cream…. rapture…

Shaking her head, she comes back to the present as John continues.  “That’s how I think we are Doc.  Separately we’re pretty good.   But together, we’re something special.  And I don’t want to lose that…. not for a stupid mistake…. not for anything.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Grace tells him as she slides from her chair and settles herself on his lap.  Taking another mouthful of her champagne, she places it on the table with a wicked grin.  “How about, you show me what you can do with your…” she fastens her fingers around his wrist and lifts the berry to her mouth.  With a sensual swipe of her tongue, she licks the cream from the berry.

John swallows heavily as the perfect heart-shaped fruit disappears into her mouth and she chews, a trickle of juice appearing at the corner of her lips.  Pulling her to him, John wastes no time in cleaning the juice from her chin and he kisses her fervently, the sweet taste of the fruit obliterated by his need for her.

“Why don’t you two take it somewhere a little more *private*!?”

John and Grace wear identical startled expressions as they look up at the voice and see Craig Wesley standing in front of the table.  He is obviously drunk, and he has the anger of a jealous lover scripted all over his face.

“Craig!”  Nancy hisses as she grabs at his arm, trying to drag him away.

“Why don’t you mind your own *business* Wesley?” John fires back as he folds his arm possessively around Marlena’s waist.

“Hard to when you’re practically having *sex* in the middle of the restaurant!” Craig spits furiously.  Turning his gaze on Grace, his face darkens even further.  “God, you really *are* a bitch!”

John’s temper snaps as he hears Craig Wesley insult Marlena.  He manages to slide her off his lap and he’s up in one smooth move, his fingers bunching in the lapels of Craig’s jacket.

“Craig!” Nancy squeals, but she is completely ignored.

“Don’t you *dare* talk to my wife like that Wesley,” he roars irately.  “If you want to *walk* out of here, I suggest you apologize to the lady.”

“Apologize!?” Craig snorts, but a split second later, he feels like his teeth have been loosened from their sockets as John shakes him violently.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” John growls with understated viciousness.  “Because I *would* enjoy it.  Do you understand me?”

Craig looks at Grace and he’s sure there is a smile lurking somewhere in that enigmatic expression.

“What’s going on here?”  Maggie hurries over with a harried waiter in tow.

“Dr. Wesley was just about to apologize to Marlena.”  He pushes Craig away from him with a measure of disgust.  “Weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Craig concedes, feeling suddenly far too sober for his own liking.  “I’m sorry Marlena, I was out of line.”  

Grace says nothing, only gazes at him from under lush black lashes and then turns away.  “John, honey, lets go shall we?”

“Are you sure?” he is concerned as he curls his palms around her warm upper arms.

“Sure,” she nods as she picks up her purse.  Shooting a glance back at Craig, she leaves him in no doubt of her feelings for him.  “I think we’re done here anyway.”

“John, Marlena, I’m so sorry,” Maggie offers as John drapes Grace’s wrap around her shoulders.

“Please don’t worry Maggie,” John says as he watches an embarrassed Nancy drag Craig from the restaurant.  The whole incident has made him very uneasy and all he wants to do is get out of here. 

“I’ve never seen him behave like that,” Maggie shrugs as she watches Craig and Nancy disappear from view.  “I don’t understand it, he’s here a lot and usually he’s so controlled.”

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch,” Grace’s laugh breaks the solemnity of the situation.  “No matter, it’s over now. “

“I’m so sorry again.”  Maggie still looks distressed as John straightens his jacket.  “Dinner is, of course, on me.”

“On no, Maggie,” John shakes his head as he pulls out his credit card.  “It was hardly something you had any control over.”

“No, I insist,” Maggie’s soft features transform into a smile.  “Just seeing the two of you together again is payment enough anyway.”

It is when they are out in the parking lot that John turns to Grace and finally asks the question that is nagging at him, even though he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Why is it that he’s so upset with you, Doc?”

Grace stops and looks at John, her eyes smoky in the dim light.  “What do you mean?” she asks with practised innocence.

“You know what I mean.” John says shortly.  “I’ve seen you with him more than once…. I’m not stupid Marlena.”

“Oh… that,” she smiles and draws near to him.  “I was only trying to make you jealous, honey.”

“You succeeded,” he growls crossly as she slides her hand inside his jacket.

“It was a harmless little flirtation,” she looks up at him, her dark lashes fluttering.  “Well, it was supposed to be.  But he wanted more than that.”  She sighs lightly.  “He propositioned me and when I turned him down,” she shrugs, without the slightest bit of remorse, “he didn’t like it.  And he’s been taking it out on me ever since.”

“That sonofa-” John’s eyes narrow as he revives the urge to knock Craig Wesley’s teeth down his throat.  “I’ll fucking *kill* that smarmy little bastard!”

“Now, now honey,” she murmurs, excited by the unadulterated anger in his voice.  “Is it all that important?”

“Doc,” his face hardens as he looks at her.  “He’s in a position of power over at that hospital…”

“John,” her smile is extremely seductive.  “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

“I don’t want you to handle him, Marlena,” John’s head is whirling with jealousy and anger at Craig Wesley’s presumptuousness.  “I don’t want that asshole *near* you, you hear me?”

“Gosh…” she runs her hand down over his abdomen.  “That sounds a little like an order….”

“I’m not joking, Marlena,” John clamps his hands around her upper arms, determination and protectiveness warring with the knowledge that he can’t push things too far with her.  Not when he is so close, not when she is practically in his arms again.  “If he so much as comes near you again, I won’t be responsible for what I do to him.”  Images of Marlena with Craig down at the pier flash in front of his eyes and he has the sudden urge to hunt down Wesley and introduce him to the meaning of severe pain.

“Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be trying it again,” Grace chuckles cruelly and John feels an icy prickling crawling along his spine.  

He tries to shake off the sensation by telling himself silently that it is the thought of Craig touching Marlena.  In truth, the thought of that is enough to send flames of jealousy snaking through his blood until it is almost overwhelming and the thought of Marlena welcoming his touch, if even only to make John jealous is almost too much for him to control.  “If he does, I’ll tear his fucking throat out,” he grinds out viciously and under his touch, Grace shivers, her hazel eyes large with unadulterated lust.

“It doesn’t matter, baby,” Grace has a wicked smile on her face and as her hand wanders down to John’s crotch.  “*He* doesn’t matter.  We’ve got more important things to think about.”

” Doc!” John groans as she strokes him through the fabric of his pants and his eyes drift closed.  He wants to stay focussed on the issue of Craig Wesley but the way she’s moving her hand…  “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good,” she grins as she leans close to him, her breath warm against his neck.  “I want you baby.  I want to feel you moving inside me-“

“Oh, God, Marlena,” John roughly pulls her hand away as he opens his eyes.  “You carry on with that and you’ll get us both into big trouble.”

“Spoilsport,” Grace laughs.  She pauses briefly, judging just how far she can push him.  “Okay, let’s go to your place.”

  

“My place?” he looks a little confused.

“The Salem Inn, silly.”  She pulls on his hand as she starts towards the car.

“But what about the penthouse?” his brows knit and he frowns.

“I don’t want to go home,” she shrugs.  “Humor me John.  I want to go to the Inn.  It’s either that or I go home alone.”

John is silent for a minute and then he nods.  “I don’t get it, but if that’s what you want…”

“Oh, you *will* get it,” she assures him as she leads the way to the car.  She lets John open the door for her and she climbs in, letting the split in her skirt fall open to reveal a fair amount of bronzed skin.  “You’ll definitely get it, honey.”

“With a promise like that, how can I refuse?” John smiles as he leans in to kiss her and he can still taste the strawberries on her lips.  “I love you, Doc.”

“Just shut up and get in the car Don Juan,” she laughs as she pulls the door closed.  

But as John walks around the car to the driver’s side, her mouth curls into a decidedly more devious smile.  He’ll get it all right.  What she has planned for him, he’s not likely to forget in a hurry…. 

Chapter IXL – Smothered Mate

John is almost beside himself by the time they make it to the Salem Inn.  Grace’s hands have been on an exploration mission in the car and as they walk into the lobby, he finds himself feeling extremely uncomfortable.  Thankfully, it’s only dimly lit and the lone desk clerk seems more interested in his game of Snood than in the couple returning from dinner.

“Elevators, Doc,” John tries to detach Grace from his neck, but she only giggles, the vibration of her lips against his skin serving to exacerbate his arousal almost painfully.  He manages to hit the button to call the elevator before he pulls her fully into his arms and searches out her lips with his own.

Her kiss is unusually demanding and passionate as she wraps her arms around his neck.  John groans again as he feels her tongue dart across his lips and he barely hears the ring announcing the arrival of the elevator behind them.

Somehow, they manage to get through the door of the carriage before it closes and John pushes Grace up against the wall.  He reaches out blindly and hopes what he hits is the button for the fourth floor.  One hand knits into her hair, which is starting to fall out of its clips, while the other slides down the bare skin of her back until it meets with fabric.

He moves against her as they continue to kiss and Grace moans slightly as his tongue enters her mouth possessively.  She can’t think of much more than the way he feels against her, how much his touch turns her on and how much she wants to have him at her mercy.

The elevator shudders to a halt as John’s hands continue to drive her wild and they are so caught up in each other that neither of them notices when the doors slide effortlessly open.

“Disgusting!”  John freezes as he hears the voice, and he looks over his shoulder at the old woman staring at him from the corridor.  “You could at least take the lady somewhere decent, young man.”

“Uh…” John’s hand descends down Grace’s arm and takes her hand. “We were just on our way…”

The old woman narrows her rheumy eyes and then shakes her head.  “Young people these days… no sense of decorum…”

She shakes her head and shuffles into the elevator while John and Grace exit and she is still muttering to herself as the door closes.

Grace simply looks at John and bursts into a torrent of giggles.  John has to practically support her as she leans against him and throws her head back, the laughter coming throaty and loud.  He grins as she laughs and thinks that he hasn’t heard her laugh like that for a long time.  A long, long time.

He says nothing however as he leads her down the corridor to his room and fishes out the key from his pocket.  As he twists the key in the lock, he feels Grace come up behind him and she wraps her arms around his neck.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers.  It’s almost inaudible, but it has the effect of jumpstarting John’s heart and every other part of his body.  He turns his head to look at her, not at all sure what has gotten into her tonight but not sure he doesn’t like it either.  “What?” she loosens her arms and John turns around.

“I….” he shakes his head.  “You’re just different tonight, Doc.”

“Is that a bad thing?”  A slow smile steals over her lips as she tugs at his tie.  It had been loosened in the car and now she undoes it and pulls it slowly from under his collar.  “I wouldn’t want to get predictable now, would I?”

“Oh, you’re anything but predictable baby.” 

He opens the door behind him, and they enter the room.  Grace drops John’s tie and her purse on the desk and looks around the room with a small smile.  

Perfect.  

“Do you want a drink, Doc?” John asks with a hint of nervousness as he motions at the mini bar.  “Or I could call room service for a bottle of champagne?”

“Ummm…,” she turns to him, her face shadowed in the soft light.  Raising her eyebrows, she steps towards him.  “Didn’t I just tell you what I want?”

“Uh….” John is fast losing all sense of reasoning as she approaches him, the intent on her face obvious.  “I’m sorry….” he says awkwardly.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  For some reason, I feel as though this is like a first time…” he shakes his head in frustration.  “I know… it sounds stupid….”

“It *sounds* like you’re talking *way* too much to me…” she says in a husky voice as she slips her hands under the lapels of his jacket.  “What I have in mind for tonight doesn’t involve a whole lot….” she pushes the jacket off over his broad shoulders and looks up at him provocatively, “…of talking.”

“Oh, Doc,” he reaches up to pull the clips from her hair as she unbuttons his shirt.  He loosens her hair with his fingers, and he smiles as it tumbles down to her shoulders.  At the same time, Grace slides her hands inside his half-open shirt and lets her fingers explore the unfamiliar terrain of John’s chest.  Quickly, he removes the shirt and then pulls her to him.  “You’re quite a woman, you know that?” he grins.

“Oh yes, I do know that,” she nods as she pulls him over to the bed.  

She glides one hand up through the coarse hair that covers his chest, her eyes heavy lidded as they follow her exploration.  However, John interrupts her as she reaches his shoulder and he pulls off his shirt.  Licking her lips, Grace gazes at him appreciatively, her eyes taking in the broadly muscled chest and strong arms.  She’s going to enjoy herself tonight and she’s going to show John Black the time of his life.  The poor fool isn’t even going to know what hit him.

“Why don’t you tell me…” she lowers herself onto the bed and lays back on her elbows, looking up at him seductively.  “….what you want to do John?”

“Uh,” John swallows as he looks down at her.  “I don’t get it Doc…”

“Oh, come on John,” she’s getting a little frustrated with his unwillingness to play along with her.  “We’ve been apart for weeks now.  Don’t tell me you haven’t dreamt about making love to me, that you haven’t fantasized about it.”  She pushes herself up until she is kneeling on the bed in front of him and she smiles wickedly as she fastens her fingers around the buckle of his belt.  “So, tell me what you want to do to this body.  Tell me what kind of games you want to play, baby.”

“No games Doc,” John shakes his head as he climbs onto the bed next to her and takes her hand in his.  “This isn’t about games, and I don’t understand why you feel the need to make this into something less than what it should be.”

Grace feels distinctly uncomfortable with his obvious display of affection, and she swallows with difficulty.  It’s been making her more and more unnerved as the evening has worn on and this is about as much as she can take of it.  She is too used to getting her own way to let anyone else get theirs.  And besides, he wants to make love to *Marlena* and Grace will not have that.

She pulls her hand back from his angrily and narrows her eyes.  “*I’m* making it less?” she shoots back before she shakes her head.  “*Damn* you John Black!”  Abruptly she gets up from the bed and grabs her purse from the desk.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”  John ‘s totally thrown by her sudden change in mood and it is just enough to strain the last remnant of good temper he’s been holding onto.  Something has to give here and it’s not going to be him.  

He sprints to the door and gets there before she does, blocking her exit from the room.  “I asked you where you think you’re going,” he repeats angrily.

“Home!” her eyes flare with indignation as she faces him.

“What the fuck is wrong now?” he shakes his head in confusion.  “I don’t get it.”

“So? Tell someone who gives a damn!”  She tries to push past him to the door, but he pushes her up against the wall, gripping her wrists in his fingers.

“Marlena, I *swear* you’re going to drive me crazy with all this changing your mind crap.  But I know one thing and that’s that you are *not* leaving here tonight.”

“Oh?  And who says?” she pushes against him with all her strength, but he is too strong for her and just to make her a little more at his mercy, he pins her hands above her head.

“*I* say,” he growls as he leans in towards her.

Grace’s breath falters in her throat as his lips hover just out of reach of hers and she closes her eyes almost against her will.

“Damn you,” she whispers right before he takes her lips with his own.  Groaning as he pushes up against her, her lips part and his tongue forces its way into her mouth, demanding submission from her.  She struggles momentarily, but it is futile.  He has her right where he wants her and what’s more, she’s enjoying it far too much to make him stop.  John doesn’t even notice as her purse drops to the ground with an audible thud.

“I won’t let you leave Doc,” he murmurs.  “Not now, not ever.”  He doesn’t wait for her reply but draws his lips across her jaw and down the side of her neck.  Grace’s breathing quickens as he sucks on the tender skin of her throat before travelling on down to her collarbone and drifting his mouth across to the hollow of her throat with a tender caress.

“Sure, of yourself, aren’t you?”  She gasps as he bites her, not quite as gently as she might have expected.

“Not where you’re concerned, lady,” he answers with a gruff voice as he works his way back up to her mouth.  “You keep me guessing daily.”

“John,” she pants as he moves his body against her again.  It’s a rolling movement that starts with his hips and she can feel the hardness that signifies his need for her.  “Oh God, I want you.”

“I want you too Doc,” he gives her a taste of his kiss and then pulls away.  “But not just your body, baby.  I want your heart and your soul too.  I don’t want to have to play any games with you.  Not now.”

“All right,” Grace nods breathlessly as she looks at him, his blue eyes endless, like a world of ocean.  “No more games.”  For now.  She adds silently.  She doesn’t really care what he wants or what he thinks will happen.  All she wants now is one thing and she will say whatever he wants to hear in order to get it.

“That’s my girl,” John loosens his grip on her hands and slowly moves his palms down her arms.

Grace’s nose flares slightly as she lowers her hands to his chest and she slides them down over his taut abdomen.  With almost frightening flair, she has his pants unbuckled and undone before she lets them drop around his ankles.

John kicks them away as he feels her mouth on his neck and he groans as he her tongue snakes over his hot skin.  His hands desperately slide down over the gold fabric of her dress and skim her hips as she sucks on his skin in steadily growing and arousing intensity.  Her hands slip inside the waistband of his boxers and she removes them as he grabs handfuls of her dress and yanks the skirt upwards.

“Oh God John,” she leans back against the wall as his hands dive under her skirt and his eyes widen as he discovers that she is already sans lingerie.  “John…” her voice is breathy and desperate as her hands, which are on his hips, try and pull him closer.  ” I need you.  *Please*.”

She hooks one slender leg around his warm thigh and John grasps her jaw between demanding fingers and kisses her brutally.  He wants her so badly that he’s almost afraid that he’ll hurt her in his urgency, but every move she makes only incites him until he can hardly control himself.

He curls one hand down under her thigh and lifts her leg higher. “Doc,” he groans as he drives forward.  “Oh Doc, oh baby.”

Grace cries out as she feels him enter her and her teeth seize the tender flesh beneath them.  John feels the sharp pain where she bites his jaw, and it is followed a second later by the feeling of her nails digging into his shoulders.

It *should* be painful, and in some ways it is, but mostly it is torturously exquisite as she rakes her fingers over his back, leaving parallel red welts in her wake.

Grace whimpers as he thrusts into her, forcing her back against the wall, one hand still under her thigh, one now in her hair.  He smothers the noise that issues from her mouth with his own and he kisses her hungrily as they start to move together.

Grace can hardly keep her senses about her as John slams her against the wall again and again.  She had forgotten that sex could be this good.  Indeed, she’s not sure that it *has* ever been this good.  All she knows is she wants more. 

Binding her arms tightly around his neck, she levers herself upwards slightly and lifts her other leg.  John adjusts his position slightly and helps her so that she can wrap her legs around him.  The gold foil of her dress rustles as John grinds her against the wall again and Grace cries out loudly.

Grinning, John drops his face to her neck again and inhales her familiar scent before he draws his tongue across the tender skin.  There’s something immensely reassuring about her fragrance, and he immediately finds himself even more aroused than he had been a moment before.

“Oh God Doc,” he growls before he kisses her again.  “I love you so much.  Don’t ever leave me again.”

Grace says nothing, she’s too busy concentrating on the rising tide of her orgasm and it hits her even before John has finished his plea.  Her cry is anything but muted as John thrusts into her, giving her all the pleasure he can without going too far himself.

When her body finally relaxes, she opens her eyes, astonishment registering quite plainly.  John grins again and shifts his hands further under her buttocks so that he is supporting her and he carries her across to the bed.  

He lowers himself onto the bed so that he is sitting, and she uncrosses her legs from around his waist and tucks her legs under her so that she is kneeling.  She gives him a delicious smile as she shakes her head, her golden hair falling around her shoulders.  “Ready for some fun baby?” she asks as she reaches to her side and unzips her dress.

John watches her, rapt, and he nods.  Grace reaches up and uses one hand to brush her hair out of the way, but suddenly John’s hands are in the mix and he is holding her hair for her.  Smiling, she undoes the halter-neck of her dress and holds the front to her as the straps fall over her wrist.

“You never told me what you wanted to do to me John,” she whispers as she leans forward and flicks her tongue across his earlobe.  “Do you wanna fuck me baby?  You wanna come inside me while I’m screaming your name?”

“Jesus Doc!” John groans as she moves her hips slightly and her grin widens.  She has him right where she wants him now.  “Hmmm?” she tightens her knees against his hips and slides her tongue inside his ear in a move that sends John’s senses reeling.  “You wanna tie me up baby?  Is that your fantasy, fucking me while I’m tied to the bed?”  She moves again on his lap and John groans though he’s not sure whether it’s the way she’s moving or her words.  Or both.  “You could do anything you wanted to me, I’d be at your mercy…”

“Marlena!” John has to force himself to push her back.

“What?” her mouth is curled into a mischievous and sensuously lazy grin and it is all John can do not to kiss her.  “Have some fun baby, let your imagination go wild, I know it can.”  She looks across at the wall where they had been only minutes before and then back at him.  “It’s just a game, honey.”

“I told you,” he delves his hand under her dress and skims upwards with the lightest of touches.  “No games.  Not tonight.”

“Why not?” she raises her arms and lets him remove the dress.  He tosses it on the floor and then moves his hands slowly down her arms as though memorising the feel of her skin under his touch.   His pulse pounds in his throat as he looks at her and he knows that his nervousness stems from the feeling that even as he’s holding her, she’s slipping through his fingers.

“Because I love *you*,” he says softly.  “And I want to make love to *you*, not some fantasy in my head.  I don’t know why I have to explain this to you, Marlena.  I really am at a loss here…”

“You talk too much,” Grace’s laughter covers her anger at his response and without a moment’s hesitation; she pushes him down on the bed. 

“Doc…” he tries to get up again, but she pins his wrists to the bed with strong hands.

“Shut up John,” she says as she leans over to kiss him.

John’s eyes close as she begins to move atop him, her hips rotating in incredible circles and then he feels her tongue on his chest and he opens his eyes to see a silken waterfall of blonde hair trailing over his shoulders.  A moment later, he lets out a yelp of pain as her teeth fasten on his nipple.  But the pain quickly fades as she starts to work her tongue around it and his own hips begin to echo her moves.

Lifting her head from him, Grace sits upright and rocks her hips faster as John joins in.  He is quite gorgeous as she watches him try and restrain himself.  His chiselled chest is rising and falling swiftly with each breath he takes and she can see the tiny muscle that quivers in his cheek as he concentrates on the pleasure she is giving him.  At this moment she can see why Marlena was so enamoured of this man.  If it weren’t for the thousand and one reasons why she hates him and why Stefano would kill her if she got involved with John, she might actually be tempted.  But as it is…. she has this one night to avail herself of his substantial charms before she hits him with her parting gift…

Releasing her grip on his wrists, she throws her head back, lifting her hands to rake her fingers through her hair.  

John looks up at her in amazement, watching her as she moves.  She’s so beautiful he can barely believe she is his.  And he came so close to losing her…  He slides his hands up her thighs and over her hips until they rest against the small of her back and then with practiced ease, he flips her over so that she is suddenly beneath him.  Grace opens her eyes in shock and he sees a flicker of annoyance cross her expression.  Before she can express it, however, he kisses her.

Still moving his hips with hers, he works his way down her throat and over her chest until he reaches her breasts.  He loves her breasts.  Well, he loves every single part of her beautiful body, but he loves her breasts especially.  His tongue latches onto one of her nipples and Grace cries out loudly as he begins to suck at it in time with their lovemaking.  The combined feeling of him, hard and urgent inside her and his mouth hot and insistent on her skin is enough to drive her to a second climax and she screams his name as her hips strain beneath him.  He continues to move against her as her moans quieten and almost immediately she is moving with him again.

John is caught unawares as she pushes him and he rolls over so that she is on top of him again.  Grinning wickedly, she looks down at him.  “I can’t be the only one having all the fun now, can I?” she points out prettily.  John can only shake his head as her fingernails edge across his chest, creating trails of fire in his skin.

And her hips rock against his and her thumbs brush his nipples only to be replaced by her insistent mouth again and again.  He groans loudly and his hands grope blindly for hers.

“Oh God, Doc….” he moans as he thrusts wildly into her.

” John…” her fingers slide between his and their palms meet as she tightens around him.  “Yeah, that’s it baby…. tell me… tell me how good it feels.”

“Oh,” he pants, unable to verbalize much of anything at all. “Oh fuck….”

Grace might have laughed if she wasn’t so caught up in how incredibly ecstatic this was feeling.  “You feel so good Doc,” he tightens his grip on her hands as he opens his eyes and finds hers.  “So damn good…”

“Come with me John,” she urges breathlessly.  “I want to feel you come inside me.”  Her hips grind against him relentlessly and John is groaning uncontrollably now.  ” Tell me John,” she demands vehemently.  “I want you to tell me how it feels when you come.”

“Oh God, Doc,” the provocative tone of her voice, combined with the way she is moving against him is just too much and he drives forcefully into her as he comes.  “Marlena, oh God, Marlena.”

Moving with him, Grace achieves her third orgasm as he comes inside her, and her cries mingle with his for what seems to her like an eternity.

Finally, she slides off him, exhausted and hot and John gathers her into his arms.  He buries his face in her hair and inhales for a long moment as she takes deep breaths.  He doesn’t know why, but he still feels uneasy.  In fact, he feels worse than he did earlier on today, and he can’t shake the feeling that this is all just *wrong*.  And that if he doesn’t figure it out soon, everything is going to crash down around his ears.

Chapter XL – Advantage 

“Oh wow,” Grace stretches, luxuriating in the blissful feel of tired muscles as they extend and relax.  “That was incredible.”  With a grin, she turns to John who is lying next to her, staring at the ceiling.  “Did you enjoy yourself honey?”

“Uh…yeah,” John doesn’t sound very sure as he nods.

“John?” Grace props herself up on her elbow and looks at him.  “What’s wrong?”

John’s heart thumps as he looks at her.  He doesn’t want to upset her but he can’t lie to her.  “I don’t know baby.  I just….” he shakes his head, his eyes dark and uncertain.  “I can’t help this feeling that there’s something missing.  I don’t even know what it is, it’s just….” he trails off as he realizes exactly what it is.  

There is no tenderness between them.  

Part of what has made their relationship and their marriage so special is the love and tenderness that exists between them.  Or *had* existed.  Somehow, almost as if it was overnight, the tenderness and the affection has dissipated and he lies here, as if next to a stranger, with only the twin familiarities of her body and her scent to guide him.

“Maybe you’re expecting too much,” Grace says harshly as she lets her head fall back to the pillow with a soft whoomp.  She’s angry again now as she feels him, unmoving beside her.  She’s just had some of the best sex in living memory and yet somehow, she’s not good enough for him?

Stefano’s words come back to haunt her ….mind my warning about John Black.  Be careful where he is concerned.  He could cause us trouble…  and her muscles tense.  Maybe John’s problem is that he is expecting a docile compliant Marlena.  Grace is probably a little more than he bargained for.

“I just want *you* Doc,” he says softly, confirming her suppositions.  “I want it to be how it was between us.  I miss you.”

“Things have changed John,” she says with as little malice as she can manage.  She doesn’t want to tip her hand, not now.  “*I’ve* changed.  I’m doing the best that I can.”

“I know you are, sweetheart.”  John rolls onto his side and reaches out to draw his index finger down the side of her face.  “And I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I hurt you so badly that you felt you *had* to change.”

Grace closes her eyes as his gentle touch moves down over her shoulder.  The feeling of his hands on her skin is like nothing she has ever felt before.  She can’t explain it.  She doesn’t *want* to explain it.  She doesn’t even want to think about it.

All she knows is that when she is around him, she starts to feel out of control and that’s not something she wants to get used to.  But a small voice inside her is beginning to question if that’s all it is.  Because lying in his arms feels so damn good.  Or it would do if it didn’t make her so freaked out.

“I love you Marlena.  Maybe I don’t tell you enough; maybe what I did makes you disbelieve it.  But it’s the truth.”  The anguish and the emotion in his voice are obvious, even to Grace and her fists curl into balls beneath the covers.  The inner conflict is growing even as he speaks and she has to fight to not listen to his words.  To tell herself that they are just that, words.  And that he doesn’t really mean them.  “I *love* you.  I’ll never stop loving you.”

It’s too much for her and shrugging off his touch, Grace sits upright.  Without looking at him, she drags the sheet from the bed and goes to the window.  John watches her with hurt eyes as she twists the sheet around her body.

“I’m sorry,” he says hesitantly.  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She says nothing in reply and John feels his stomach churning again.  “Doc?”  He sits up.  “Come back to bed honey.”  When she doesn’t move, he sighs, the tiny indication of frustration and regret swelling in the space between them.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.  Everything I say seems to get me into trouble lately.”

Grace turns back to him, but he can’t see the expression on her face.  All he can see is her body, outlined by the gleam of old streetlamps and draped in a hotel sheet, she looks like some kind of living Venus.  She pauses for a long moment, drawing out the tension until it is almost unbearable and then she walks past the foot of the bed, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” John asks desperately.  “Doc, you can’t go, not now!”

She says nothing, but she crouches to pick up the purse, which lays abandoned and forgotten by the door.  Staring at it, she has only one motive in mind.  Revenge.  She’s going to make him pay for deserting her…. For deserting Marlena and hurting her.  God, she hates him just for the way he makes her feel when he looks at her and she wants to hurt him and make him suffer just for that alone….

“I’m not going,” she tells him as she walks back towards the bed.  Placing the purse on the bed stand, she climbs onto the rumpled sheets.  “Not yet anyway.  But you have to understand, John, things aren’t how they used to be.  They’re *never* going to *be* how they used to be.  When you slept with Hope,” she shrugs, “it changed everything, and we all have to live with that.  *All* of us.”

“You don’t know *how* much I wish I could undo it, honey,” his voice is choked as he leans back against the uncomfortable wrought iron bedstead.

“It’s done,” Grace shrugs again.  “We need to get on with our lives.”

“That’s all I want Doc,” John reaches out and takes her hand in his.  “Just for you and I to get past this and move forward.  Together.”

“Well,” Grace shakes her head so that her hair rustles gently.  “You need to realize that the playing field has changed.  *You* don’t make the rules anymore.”  She slowly unwinds the sheet as she edges closer to him.  “Now we’re making them up, as we go…”

John starts with surprise as she moves astride his hips and leans over to kiss him.  He responds immediately to the feel of her mouth on his and the caresses of her hands over his chest.  She begins to move her hips again and he groans immediately as the stimulation brings him to immediate arousal.

He is so consumed with the way she feels that he fails to notice that she has pulled her purse off the nightstand.

“That’s right,” she whispers against his ear as her warm hair falls around his face. “You see John, *this* time, I’m going to get what I want.”

“What is it you want, Doc?” he grunts as she sucks deliberately on his earlobe and he misses the sound of a small click to the left of him.

“I want….” She drags her tongue down over his throat and he tips his head backwards.  “I want to play a game.”

John’s head jerks around as he feels the snap of cool metal around his wrist.  “What the -?”  By the time he realizes that he is handcuffed to the bedstead, Grace has his other wrist similarly confined.

“Marlena!” He yanks on the cuffs but they only bite into his skin as the bedstead shakes slightly.  “What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing.” Grace grins wickedly and John’s blood runs suddenly icy.  He feels like he’s trapped in some sort of nightmare where a stranger wears Marlena’s face and he can’t wake up.

“This game is called ‘see how it feels when you think you have something, only to find out you never really had it at all’.”  Grace stares down at him, her hands still trailing over the soft hair that covers his chest.  She feels much better now, back in control and the look on his face just makes everything perfect.  “You know, it’s too bad….” she says, almost as though to herself.  “The sex really was great.”

“What are you talking about Doc?” John demands desperately.  “What’s going on?”

Grace sighs as she climbs off him and checks her purse to make sure her keys are still there.  “You *really* don’t get it, do you?”

“Get *what*?” John strains to look at her as she swings her legs off the bed and retrieves her dress from the floor.  But his jaw goes slack with realization as he sees the gown in her hands.

“You *really* thought I’d come *back* to you?” she laughs cruelly.  “After what you did to me?  You *really* thought I was going to come back and be your door-mat so you could walk all over me again?”  She shakes her head as she slips the dress over her hips.

John can only stare at her as she fastens the halter neck of her dress at the nape of her neck and pulls out the few stray locks of hair that have gotten caught underneath it.  Doing up the zip at the side of the dress, she smooths the golden fabric over her thighs and then looks at him.

“Make the most of it, John,” she says coldly.  “It’s the last time you’ll be seeing my body.”

“So, this was what?” he asks hoarsely.  “Some kind of twisted *revenge*?”

“You could certainly call it that,” she shrugs as she goes to the mirror and pins her hair up.  “It was enjoyable revenge though.”  She grins.  “At least for me, anyway.”

“All this…” he looks around the room and then up at the handcuffs that chain him to the bed.  “Dinner, everything was part of a plan to make me *suffer*?”

“That about covers it babe,” Grace turns back to him with a smirk on her face.  “You have to admit that it was rather inspired.”

“*Inspired*?” John stares at her in shock.  “Are you crazy?”

“No,” Grace shakes her head with a delighted grin.  “I *was* bitter, but I rather think I’m over that now.”

She picks up the phone and waits till the receptionist answers.  “HI there, this is Dr. Evans in 412.  I’d like to order a taxi please.”  She pauses as the receptionist confirms her request and then she drops the receiver on the table next to the phone.  John can hear the beep as it disconnects and he stares up at her, comprehension and disbelief written all over his face.

“Doc, you can’t-“

“Who says?” she goes to the door and picks up her shoes.  “I rather think I *can*, and what’s more, I *am*.

“Doc, you can’t *leave* me here,” he says frantically.  “You can’t *do* this.”

“Well… bye honey!”  She opens the door and then turns around.  “It was fun.”  Just to rub it in even further, she blows him a kiss and then she exits the room.

“Marlena!!” his voice is muffled as she pulls the door to and she is careful to hang a request for maid service on the handle.  

“MARLENA!!!”  His voice follows her down the corridor, only fading when she reaches the elevator.  

As the doors slide closed, she allows herself the luxury of a throaty chuckle.   

She hopes he’s not found too soon.  That wouldn’t do at all.  She wants him to have a nice long period of confinement, one in which he can reflect on all the wrongs he has done her.

As it happens, it is unfortunate for John that this is a very quiet month in Salem.  The only other guests on the third and fourth floors of the Salem Inn are either too far away to hear him, or else they are fast asleep with the aid of some fairly potent pharmaceuticals. 

“Ahhh John,” she leans back against the wall her shoes dangling from her hand as she closes her eyes.  “Stefano was right, you certainly presented more of a challenge than I thought you would.”  She takes a deeply satisfied breath and opens her eyes.  “But you should know that no-one ever beats me.”  She draws her hand sensually over her shoulder, her skin still warm from the lovemaking and smiles.  “No-one.”

Chapter XLI – Discovered Attack

“MARLENA!!!” John screams hoarsely for the last time before he slumps back to the bed.  He doesn’t even know why he’s calling her Marlena.  That’s not her name, he knows that now.  

He squeezes his eyes tightly closed, a rebuttal against the notion forming inside him even as the idea takes shape.

No, no it’s *Doc*.  She’s hurt, she’s angry… she’s just….

He feels a dull ache burrow into his chest as an image of her forms against his eyelids.  He sees the vindictive smile that she left him with as she shut the door and he shivers as he feels the fog closing in on him.  

Fragments of memories swim into his consciousness, blurring at the edges as the reality around him dissolves into a cacophony of static noise and vision.  He sees her astride him and then dancing at the penthouse grill, her strange gold eyes ensnaring him as she laughs.  Dragging against the tide of time, he sees her looking down at Hope’s crumpled form, at Roman’s funeral, leaving with Stefano….  And then further back again, he sees her dishevelled and beautiful in Craig Wesley’s arms.  He relives the feeling of having her in his arms again as he pushes her against the pier support and kisses her hard….

The images flow even faster now, Marlena hurling the picture at him in the penthouse.  Throwing her wedding ring at him in her office.  Her cruel angry words as she tells him she wants him out of her life.  Marlena sending Belle away, Marlena in the hospital telling him she needs time….  Marlena…. Marlena….

Lashes spring open, revealing pained blue eyes as John’s mind finally accepts the truth that his heart and soul already know.

She’s not Marlena.

The truth is, he’s known it for a long time, but he’s been in denial.  At least until the moment ‘she’ told him she was ‘playing’.  

He had known it then, even if he hadn’t quite been ready to admit it.  He’d known with a cold, hard certainty; the tone of her voice and the iciness in her eyes had said it all.  She, whoever the woman is that inhabits the body he knows so well, is not Marlena.  

He yanks fruitlessly at the unyielding metal that keeps him manacled to the bedstead and he wonders how the hell he’s going to get out of this.  The steel is cutting into his wrists and his shoulders are starting to get stiff from the awkward position he finds himself in, but he’s stuck, well and truly.  Beside him, the phone sends its monotonous warning tone telling him it’s off the hook.  As if he doesn’t know.

He stills and tries to quell the bile that burns his throat and churns in his stomach.  Everything is starting to make sense now.  The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why he hasn’t seen it before now. 

Marlena would never do the things that this woman has done.  She would not deliberately hurt him and hurt her family in such a cruel, calculated way.  She wouldn’t…. would she?  

He shivers as he realizes that even now, he’s trying to convince himself that his worst fear has not been realized.  Trying to ignore what should have been patently obvious to all of them weeks ago.  Certainly, to him.  He knows Marlena, he loves her with everything that he is, and he knows this is not her.  None of this is her, not the clothes, not the words that come from her mouth, not the way she has treated her friends and family, not her sudden familiarity with DiMera….

His face darkens as he thinks of Marlena…. or whoever the hell she is, leaving St. Luke’s with Stefano.  He should have known it then.  Hell, the old bastard had pretty much implied it when John had confronted him at his house.  However, John had been too busy wallowing in guilt and self-pity to put all the pieces of the jigsaw together.

“Dammit,” he spits out the word in disgust as he twists against his bonds, metal scraping against metal with no measure of success.  He grits his teeth as he pulls against the handcuffs, the metal biting painfully into his wrists.  He strains, grunting as the nerves in his wrists and shoulders scream with pain, but when he finally collapses back against the sheets, his efforts show little achievement.  He is effectively trapped here until someone finds him.  It’s not a prospect he is comfortable with, but he has little other choice.

He closes his eyes again, but they fly open a scant second later as the image of his cell at Maison Blanche fills his mind.  His taut body starts to tremble as memories of being helpless at Stefano’s mercy flood his conscious thoughts.

He doesn’t want to recall that time.  He doesn’t want to relive that hell.  And yet, he seems unable to stop it.  Unable to stem the flood of memories and emotions that wash over him.  

Instead, they are insistent and insidious, and he can feel it as though it was yesterday.  The pain, the hunger and the utter exhaustion.  The mental torture, knowing that Marlena was suffering because of him.  Self-awareness, starting to slowly ebb away under the influence of DiMera’s drugs.

But perhaps the worst and most pernicious memory is lying in the cell, bound by his chains, knowing that if he succumbs, there will be no way he can protect *her* from that *bastard* DiMera….

John groans as he feels himself drift back into the hellhole DiMera created for him down in Louisiana.  Stefano had known that his one weakness was Marlena and he had exploited it ruthlessly.  He had known John would do anything for the woman he loved, that he would *die* for her if it became necessary.  He had known it and he had used it without mercy.

Even then DiMera had wanted Marlena.  It had been part of his game, playing them off against each other, using their exquisite love to control and torture them until they broke.  It had been a catch 22, John had submitted to DiMera to keep him from hurting Marlena, but in doing so, he had risked her safety.  

As it turned out, he had risked her very soul.  

It had been a most brutally excruciating agony for him down in that dank, desolate cell, knowing that whatever he did, he could not save her.

John feels the droning inside his head growing, and it is almost as if he can feel DiMera’s nightmarish drugs sizzling under his skin.  

There is no Marlena to save him now.  No Marlena to ground him, to bring him back from the brink when he teeters on the edge of a hell that Stefano DiMera created.

The Marlena he loves knows his heart and soul and she would know the terror that is now flooding him.  She would never leave him here to face it on his own.  She would never inflict it on him.  

The reality is, this Marlena knows too… but she revels in it.

It is only by the force of his extremely strong will that he is able to bring his focus back to the present and he shakes his head as though to clear it of the insidious humming.

 “What has he done to you, Doc?” his voice cracks, hollow and tormented.  It *was* DiMera’s doing, he knows that unequivocally.  But when and how? 

He blinks away the grittiness that is plaguing his eyes and he stares at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind so that he can concentrate.  The only way he can save her is if he knows what happened to her.  Stefano won’t tell him, that’s for sure.  So, he is left with his own deductive reasoning for now.

His mind traces back the last few weeks far more slowly and deliberately than his previous spree through the painful recollections.  He moves through everything that has happened, cataloguing each event and storing them away.  They only confirm what he now knows.  They only make him feel like a stupid, blind fool.  Until he reaches the day that he and Marlena encountered Stefano at Salem Place and he knows, without a doubt, that is when it happened.

He remembers how she woke in the hospital, strange eyes and a strange voice demanding to speak to Stefano.  She had lost consciousness as Marlena and she had awakened, an alien in Marlena’s skin.

John wrenches at the manacles that bind him to the bedhead again, oblivious to the smarting of his now-tender wrists.  It is all but obliterated by the rage and pain that fill his battered soul.  An utterance of frustration that slips from his lips immediately swells into a howl that fills the room with raw, animalistic emotion. The grief and anger escape unfettered, needing to find expression before he can move onto something more constructive. 

It seems as though it is minutes later that his scream peters out and he lays limp against the damp and twisted sheeting.

Exhausted, his mind drifts for long minutes until he finds his way back to the reasoning that he wants so badly to avoid.  He knows he can’t.  He must work out whom this woman is and how she came to exist.  If he can’t do that, he may well have no hope of ever seeing the woman he loves again.  And that’s his biggest fear.  That, like at Maison Blanche, he will not be able to save her, he will fail her again and this time it will be utterly final.

He knows the reality is that whatever Stefano did to Marlena, he did when she was missing those four years.  The thought makes John want to vomit as he considers just what Stefano may have had Marlena doing.  After all, he had used Gina and John himself as thieves and mercenaries.  It only makes sense that he would carry on his twisted schemes with Marlena.

“Oh Jesus,” he mumbles as he thinks of Stefano and Marlena together.  There are so many things right now that he doesn’t want to even contemplate.  Including the relationship between Stefano and Marlena, which now takes on a whole new slant, and one that makes him want to tear Stefano’s limbs from his body, one by one.

Marlena…. He can’t keep thinking of her as Marlena.  If he does that, it’s going to drive him crazy, he knows.  He has to separate this woman from Marlena inside his head if he is to stay in control of this nightmare he finds himself in.  He wonders for a moment what she calls herself, but the question itself is enough to make his skin crawl.  It is hard enough to know that Gina has lived like a parasite inside Hope.  It is hard enough to know that somewhere inside him, a mercenary lurks, waiting for a chink in his defences.  But to know that Marlena has been violated in that way, to know that Stefano has instilled one of his perverted creations into Marlena, that he has deliberately corrupted the goodness that is the very essence of Marlena, is hideous.

“DAMN YOU DIMERA!” John screams, twisting wildly on the bed, the cuffs clanging, but never releasing their hold on him.  “Fuck!”  He suddenly realizes one of his wrists is chafed raw and is bleeding, and the pain rouses him from his outburst.

He can’t afford to lose control.  He has to find out why Stefano created this vixen and then he has to work out how to get rid of her and bring Marlena back.  Without Marlena, there is nothing.  He can’t live without her, the last few weeks has been proof enough of that.

A grimace passes across his face as his thinks that Abe was closer to the truth than either of them knew.  And then his heartbeat seems to still and everything grows cold.

“Oh, my fucking God.”  The sight of her smiling callously down at Hope’s body springs forth in his mind and he feels the chill creep over his body.  He had sworn to Abe that Marlena had nothing to do with Hope’s accident, or Roman’s death.  After all, he had argued, she was Marlena, and Marlena would never hurt anyone, much less the people she loved….

A deep dread unfurls in his stomach and his whole body tenses.  If she, if this woman, did have something to do with Roman’s death… he may never even have an opportunity to get near enough to her to figure out how to bring Marlena back.  And even if he succeeds in saving Marlena, how the hell is she going to prove she had nothing to do with Roman’s death if all the evidence points to her?

John’s immediate world is silent as the implications slide one after another into his awareness and he barely notices as something snaps within him.  All concerns aside from Marlena suddenly seem utterly unimportant. If he fails to save her, then nothing matters, not ethical considerations, not friendships, not *anything*.  He will do whatever it takes to get her back, to hold her again.  

Whatever it takes.

~

Grace doesn’t even bother turning on the lights of the penthouse as she closes the door behind her and she drops her shoes and purse before she turns wearily for the stairs.

“Would you like to explain where you have been this evening?” Stefano’s voice comes deep and angry from behind her.  

Spinning around, Grace fixes him with a baleful glare.  “What are you doing here?”

“Wondering where *exactly* you have been for the last four hours.” Stefano steps out of the shadows, his face dark with anger.

“Since when did you start keeping tabs on me, Stefano?” she demands furiously.  After tonight, the last thing she feels like is having this conversation.  Her happy mood had evaporated in the taxi, leaving her feeling very much unsettled and it is making her more than a little pissed off.

“Since I discovered you were at Tuscany acting like a common *whore* with John Black!” Stefano roars as he grabs her wrist.  “What the *hell* do you think you are doing, Grace?”

His answer is a violent slap against his cheek and she wrenches her arm from his strong grasp.  “Me?” she screams at him.  “*You* have the *nerve* to call *me* a whore when you fucked Gina?”  She looks at him in disgust.  “How *dare* you.”

“One has nothing to do with the other,” Stefano narrows his eyes, his rage palpable.  He knows she slept with John tonight, she has that glow about her, that sated, satisfied look she gets when she has gratified her voracious sexual appetite.  And the knowledge is enough to drive him to distraction, knowing that she will not share all of herself with him, but yet will give her body to *John Black* of all people.

“No, because *I’m* actually married to John, while you had Hope Williams think she was *Gina* to make her sleep with you.”  Grace’s jaw sets and she shakes her hair back over her shoulder.  “You may as well have raped the woman, it’s much the same thing in the end.” 

“It is *not* the same thing.”  Stefano has the decency to look horrified at her accusation, but his rebuttal seems a little stilted.

“You keep trying to tell yourself that,” Grace gives him the once over, her revulsion quite flagrant.  “In the meantime though, I’m going to bed.”

“We haven’t finished our conversation,” Stefano yanks her arm as she turns away and she pulls it back furiously.

“Get your hands off me,” she hisses.  “And get out of my house.  You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“I am only looking out for your interests Grace,” Stefano’s voice holds a warning note.

“I’m not some feeble debutante, Stefano,” Grace retorts angrily.  “I’ll look out for my *own* interests thank you.”

“John Black…” Stefano starts

“John Black will no longer be a threat,” Grace says assuredly.  “He is neutralized for the time being.

“Are you quite sure about that?” Stefano is obviously unconvinced.

“I left him with a parting gift that guarantees the end of John and Marlena’s marriage,” Grace suddenly looks very pleased with herself.  “Believe me Stefano, John is not going to be a problem.”

Stefano raises his eyebrows, still sceptical of Grace’s claims.  However, he knows there is no point arguing with her any further tonight.  The more he tries to tighten his grip on her, the more she will slip through his fingers.  He has to play the next few weeks very carefully or he could well lose her.  It is a thought that is untenable.  

“All right Grace,” he nods his head, “I will accept your assurances, for now.”

“How *kind* of you,” her sarcasm rears as he turns for the door.  “I’m *ever* so grateful.”

“Don’t push me Grace,” Stefano warns as he opens the door.

“Don’t threaten me Stefano,” she returns his glare with a shrewd one of her own.  “I don’t take well to threats.”

“Will you call me?” he ignores her comment.

“Maybe,” she shrugs carelessly and Stefano bites back his retort when he sees the recalcitrance in her eyes.  As angry as he is with her, he knows her too well and he knows he can’t afford to push her right now.  The last thing he wants to do is push her right back into John Black’s arms.  That would be utterly disastrous.  So instead, he turns, and he hears the door click closed behind him.  Sighing, he sets off for the elevator.

Chapter XLII – Break-up Sacrifice

“Dammit, John!”  Abe slams down the receiver once again, his frustration getting the better of him.  The phone in John’s room at the Salem Inn seems to have been engaged since Abe started trying and John is not answering his cell phone.  Abe desperately needs to get in touch with him thanks to a visit first thing from the D.A.’s office.  They are insisting that Abe questions Marlena in relation to Roman’s death and Abe can’t stall them much longer.  

He needs to locate John and find out if he managed to talk to Marlena about this last night.  Because the way things are going, Abe is going to have no choice but to talk to her himself if John has had no success.

He thumps the desk with the heel of his palm and looks up at the busy office.  Against the far wall, the pictures of Roman’s body stand out, starkly mocking him and his lack of progress in this case.

Still, if he gets this business with Marlena over, he can at least go back to the job of finding Roman’s killer.  Standing up, he adjusts his shoulder holster and pulls on his jacket.  If he can’t get John on the phone, he’s just going to have to go and see his friend in person.

~

You didn’t know….you didn’t know it wasn’t *her*, did you John?  You made love to *me* and you didn’t even care that it wasn’t *her*….  

The mocking laughter that sounds in his dream fades rapidly as John wakes with a start, his bleary eyes focussing on the sad water-stain that marks the ceiling above his bed.

“That’s not true,” he whispers as though the phantom of his dream is still with him.  “I knew…. I knew it wasn’t you, Doc.”  He moves slightly and his muscles protest excruciatingly.  “*Dammit*!”  He winces as he tries to look at the clock, but *she* must have pulled the plug from the wall at some point and he has no idea what the time is.  He has been dozing on and off, when his mind is not racing at a thousand miles an hour, but he is still no closer to getting out of his predicament.  

“How am I going to get you back Doc?  Who is she baby, and what is she doing here instead of you?”  It’s odd, but talking out loud like this to Marlena somehow helps John feel closer to her, like she is simply asleep and all he has to do is find her and wake her up.

It’s an oversimplified way of looking at it, he knows, but otherwise he feels so damn helpless….  And the last thing he needs to feel is helpless, not if he’s going to find out how to get Marlena back.

His mind is so busy turning over the problem, he doesn’t even hear the key in the door and the first sign he has that the housemaid has entered the room is the rapid-fire string of Hail Mary’s that come from the woman at the doorway.

John looks up to see her spin away in embarrassment and he yanks at the cuffs.

“NO! Don’t go!” he pleads.  “Please, you have to help me!”

The Hispanic woman stops, and John can feel his heart hammering in his chest.  He isn’t sure who is more embarrassed as she turns around.

“Senor?” she keeps her eyes averted from him as she waits, and John can feel his face heat with the rising blush.

“Uh…”  for a moment he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him.  “I… I need you to get someone who can cut through these handcuffs.”  He rattles the cuffs, ignoring the pain in his wrists and shoulders.  “Can you do that for me?”

“Si senor,” she nods, her eyes still averted, and she turns quickly, as though desperate to escape from the room.  John bets it’s not far from the truth.

“Uh…” he clears his throat slightly to gain her attention before she leaves the room, and she stops several feet short of the door.  He can see the tension in her shoulders, and he can tell she is dreading his question.  “Uh, I don’t suppose you could throw a sheet over me…. what did you say your name was?” 

He waits for a reply, and he thinks for a moment that she might simply ignore his request but finally, she turns around once again.  

“Consuela, senor,” she mutters as she scurries to the bed, her eyes downcast.  Grabbing the sheet, she flings it over his body, not even stopping to look and see if she has covered him effectively.  “Consuela Martinez.”

“Well, Consuela Martinez, my name is John Black and if you get me someone who can get these handcuffs off me, there’ll be a reward in it for you,” John tells her as the sheet settles over his lower body.

“Si senor,” Consuelo repeats with a nod of the head.  She turns for the door, with a sudden air of determination and John smiles grimly.  At least now he’s closer to getting out of here, even if he’s no closer to working out how to get Marlena back.

~

Grace turns over in bed, her skin slithering across the satin sheets, her blonde hair sprawling across the blood red pillow.  The sunlight flickers across a slender leg and slowly crawls over the inert body as she whimpers softly.

Candlelight… golden candlelight and red wine as they sit on the sofa, entwined in each other’s arms.  She can still taste the strawberries…. the sweetness lingers along with the taste of him.

~It’s research.~

~Mmmm, research this.~

~Yeah… it’s *important* research.~

~Yeah well… so’s your neck….~

His lips burn a trail into her flesh and her pulse leaps under his touch.

~…. and your nose.  Have I ever told you how much I love your nose?~

~You do?~

~Mmmmm~

~Ohhh~

~Mmmmm-hmmm~

His thumb slides along her jaw and his lips are sweet and warm against hers.  

~Mmmm…. Honey?~

~Mmmm-hmm?~

~*Tell me*~

~Doc?~

~Mm-hmm?~ 

~Do you want me to stop?~

~No.~

~Shut up.~

He kisses her again, softly, delicately and then pulls back to look at her, his eyes darkly intense and passionate.  She can feel his thumb stroking her face again and she trembles with the strength of the feelings welling up inside her.

~I love you.~

~I love you too.~

Gasping, Grace sits bolt upright in bed, chilled and shaking.  She glances around her, her eyes wide with confusion and something that closely resembles fear.  It takes her several moments to get her bearings, and when she does, she pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them as she wills herself back to a state of calm.

“Dammit!” she curses as she leans over to grab her robe.  Pulling it on over her shoulders, she runs her hands up over her face and through her tangled blonde hair.  “*Damn* him.”

Her head is aching as she climbs off the bed and looks around the bedroom.  She realizes almost immediately there is nothing left of John’s to take her frustration out on, and it makes her only angrier.

“This is not *happening* to me,” she screams as she picks a hairbrush up off the dresser and hurls it across the room.  It bounces off the wall harmlessly but the bottle of Marlena’s perfume that follows it does not fare so well.  The crystal shatters, liquid trickling down the wall and a pungent scent pervading the air.

Turning on her heel, Grace storms from the room, her robe streaming behind her.

~

“John?” Abe steps uncertainly into the room as the maintenance man packs up his tools.  John is sitting on the bed with a sheet wrapped around him and he’s rubbing his wrists.  The remains of two pairs of handcuffs lie on the bed-stand next to the phone, which remains off the hook.

“Hey partner,” John looks up at Abe, embarrassment flooding his face.  He’s already realized he can’t explain to Abe exactly what happened here without tipping him off that Marlena is not Marlena.  And if Abe knows that the playing field changes totally.  John cannot allow that, not now.

“What’s going on here, buddy?” Abe’s brow furrows as the maintenance man leaves the room.  “I’ve been trying to call you for a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, well… uh,” John clears his throat, his face flushed with mortification.  “It’s a long story, Abraham.”

“Try me, John.”  Abe looks seriously concerned for his friend as he sinks into a chair across from the bed.  He sees John’s clothes strewn across the floor and notices that his wrists are chafed and bleeding.  

“I guess….” John stretches his arms and winces as his muscles complain.  “I said something that really pissed Marlena off.”  He shrugs painfully.  “So what’s new huh?”

“*Marlena* did this?” Abe’s eyes flick to the handcuffs disbelievingly.

“Abe, some questions are better left unanswered,” John manages the shadow of a grin and hopes that if… no, *when* he gets Marlena back, she will forgive him for this.  This among so many, many things.

“Woah,” Abe blinks, shaking his head. “That just doesn’t seem like Marlena, John.  To do something like that.”

“Like I said partner,” John avoids Abe’s eyes and instead he stands up and goes to his suitcase, pulling out a pair of boxers.  “There are some things couples just keep private.  I said something at the wrong moment.  Nothing more to it than that.”

“I’m surprised you’re taking it so well,” Abe still sounds slightly suspicious and John turns back to him, this time firming up his smile.

“I had most of the night to reflect on my stupidity.  Doc didn’t mean it.  It was supposed to be a harmless bit of fun.”  He looks at the ruined handcuffs on the bed-stand and has to stop himself from flinching too visibly.  “I don’t think she even realized that I couldn’t get out of the damn things.  They were supposed to be trick ones, y’know?”

Abe is silent as he watches John turn back to his suitcase and pull out a pair of blue jeans.  He purses his lips thoughtfully and John takes the opportunity to make for the bathroom where he can shower quickly and get changed.  When he comes out, Abe is still staring at the suitcase.

“What’s the matter partner, don’t you believe me?” he chuckles lightly as he pulls a t-shirt from the case and pulls it on over his damp head.

“No, it’s not that…” Abe shakes his head as he looks up at John.  “I guess you were right, a little too much information.”  He laughs, but the rich, dark laughter seems unusually strained, and his face reverts back to seriousness immediately.  “Did you get a chance to talk to Marlena about where she was the night Roman was killed?”

“You know what…?” John shrugs.  “I was going to, but the topic just didn’t come up.  And I figured I’d talk to her in the morning but then…” he looks over at the bed and shrugs again.

Abe’s eyes narrow suspiciously as John turns away again.  There’s something about all this that John is not telling him, he’s sure about that.  He’s just not sure what it is yet.

“Dammit!” he growls as he rubs his hand over his face.  “That wasn’t what I wanted to hear John.  I’ve had the D.A.’s office on my doorstep this morning.  They’re not going to rest until I get Marlena in for questioning.”

“*No*.”  John says a little too quickly.  “No, Abe you can’t do that.”

“I have no *choice*, John.” Abe pushes himself out of his chair.  “You know that as well as I do.”

“Abe, this is *Doc*!” John reiterates.  “We both know she didn’t do it, so why make her suffer needlessly?”  He only hopes that his eyes don’t disclose the doubt that is starting to escalate within him.  “That’s what it is Abe, a waste of time.  Why the hell do we need to drag Marlena into it?  She has nothing at all to do with Roman’s death, we know that, so why do you want to hurt her?”

“The very *last* thing I want to do John, is hurt Marlena,” Abe says, a touch of anger colouring his words.  “I’ve tried everything I can to get the D.A.’s office to drop it, but they’re insisting.  They’re insisting she is questioned *today*.  I can’t ignore that.”

A knock on the door interrupts the argument before it can intensify any further and John doesn’t even look at Abe as he storms towards the door and yanks it open.

“Yes?” he snaps at the stranger standing in the corridor.

“Mr. Black?” the man asks with a foreign accent.  “Mr. John Black?”

“Yes?” John looks a little chary as he puts his rests his forearm on the door-frame and leans against it.  “Can I help you?”

“I just need to serve you with these.”  He hands John a large envelope and nods.  “I’m sorry Mr. Black.  Have a nice day.”  With those incongruous words, he turns and walks back down the corridor, leaving John staring at the envelope in his hand.

“What is it buddy?” Abe asks as John turns back to the room and pushes the door closed behind him.

“I don’t know….” John can’t discern anything from the envelope, which is blank, other than the fact that it bears his name.  Turning it over, he tears the flap open and slips his hand inside.  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

He pulls out the sheaf of papers and Abe can’t help but notice that he pales as he reads the front cover.

“John?” he prompts quietly.

“I don’t believe it,” John mumbles hoarsely as he looks up at Abe.  “They’re divorce papers.  Marlena’s filing for divorce.”

Chapter XLIII – Eccentric Development 

“*Divorce?*” Abe’s eyes widen.  Ever since John and Marlena had finally made it back into each other’s arms, he had always thought if anyone’s love would be indestructible, it would be theirs.  But then, he hadn’t exactly counted on the not inconsiderable roadblock posed by John and Hope’s rendezvous.

John says nothing but sinks into the chair.  He keeps trying to tell himself that it is not *Marlena* that has done this, that a stranger is tugging on the threads of his life that are slowly unravelling around and inside him.  But right at this moment, it seems like very cold comfort indeed as he stares at the petition for divorce that rests in his hands.

“I’m sorry buddy,” Abe says quietly.  “I really am.”

“Yeah,” John nods slowly, as though he hasn’t heard a word that Abe has said.

“John…” Abe sighs.  He really doesn’t want to do this, but he really has no choice.  “I have to question her.  You know I can’t stall any longer.”

Still staring at the papers, John nods slowly.  “Whatever you have to do man,” he says softly.  

Abe nods and he goes over to John, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “You know where to find me if you need someone to talk to John.”

There is only silence in reply.  Abe wishes there was something he could do to help, but he knows there is nothing anyone can do for John now.  There is no way to ease his pain, and things are only going to get worse from here on in.  All Abe can do is be the best friend he can.

Nodding, he pats John’s shoulder and exhales with a sigh before he leaves the room.  It’s only when he’s gone that John turns his head to look at the doorway.  Then he looks back at the papers in his hands and his expression hardens.  “*Whatever* you have to do.”

~

“Nancy,” Grace knocks on the door of Nancy’s office and looks around the dingy little room.  “Hi, I’m not too early am I?”

“Early?” Nancy looks confused and then her expression sharpens into surprise.  “Oh, lunch!”

“Mmmm-hmmmm,” Grace’s smile can only be described as predatory as she invites herself into the room.  “You’re not going to let those silly boys spoil all our fun are you?”  She raises her eyebrows as though she is issuing a challenge, and Nancy looks down at the paperwork on her desk and then looks up at Grace, smiling uneasily.

Her apprehension is not eased as she gets a good look at her proposed lunch date.  Grace is wearing strappy lime sandals beneath sand-coloured capris, both of which look exceedingly expensive.  And wrapped around her upper body is a wisp of a silk georgette blouse worn over what looks like a matching bra-top, both in a pink and lime print.  It’s completely inappropriate for work, but then, Nancy supposes, Marlena isn’t intending to work today.  Not by the look of the envelope she holds in her hands anyway.

“I just have to go up and drop this on your husband’s desk first,” Grace flutters the envelope in front of her when she sees Nancy’s eyes light on it.  “Why don’t you come up with me?”

“Uh….” Nancy isn’t quite sure what is going on with Marlena, but after Craig’s outburst at the restaurant last night, she is feeling more than a little mistrustful of both her husband and of Marlena.  So maybe it will be interesting and informative if she does join Marlena.  “Sure, why not.  Just let me get my purse.”

“Great!”  Grace wanders to the door, swinging her car keys off her finger with a devious smile.  “This *will* be fun!”

“Excuse me…. *excuse* me Dr. Evans, you can’t go in there,” Craig’s P.A. lunges desperately for the door, but Grace gets there just before she does.

“Oh, can’t I?” Grace raises her eyebrows in mock innocence before she turns the handle and pushes on the door in front of her.  Behind her, Nancy trots past the P.A. and into Craig’s office.  She is a little surprised to see two of the most influential members of the board sitting with Craig.

“I just came to drop off my resignation as promised, Dr. Wesley,” Grace smiles at the two board members sitting on the couch.  “It will save you the trouble of firing me, after all.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Craig smiles awkwardly at Mr. Winston and stands, pulling Grace to one side.  “What the *hell* do you think you’re doing Marlena?”

“Uh…. resigning?”  She pulls back slightly; her head tilted and looks at him in surprise.  “Isn’t that what I said I would do, or am I forgetting something?”

“*Jesus*, I’m just trying to talk the board members into letting this drop.” Craig whispers frantically.  “I’m doing what you asked Marlena.”

“There’s still the little matter of the note,” Grace shrugs.  ” Anyway, I think things will be *much* more exciting this way, don’t you?” her smile is vindictive as she turns back around.

Craig’s eyes widen as he realizes that Nancy is also in the office and he pales.  Grabbing Grace’s upper arm, he pulls her back and hisses in her ear.  “Marlena, for *God’s* sake, I am *begging* you not to do this.”

“Do what?” she turns back to him, fluttering her lashes.  “Destroy your life and your career, as you’ve tried to destroy mine?”

“That’s not true Marlena and you *know* it,” Craig’s hands are shaking as he meets her icy gaze.

“Does it really matter?” her sensuous lips curve into an amused smirk as she notes the beads of perspiration that are erupting on his forehead.  “Isn’t this all just a game in the end?  And, after all…” she steps a little closer to him and lays her hand on his forearm.  Craig swallows hard, his adam’s apple sticking in his throat as he realizes that Nancy is watching him like a hawk.  Grace continues, as though blissfully unaware of his extreme discomfort.  Or rather, gratified by it.  “…we both know I *always* end up on top.”

She leaves Craig blinking as she turns back to the two bemused board members and smiles charmingly.  “You’ll want to read that letter straight away.  I think you’ll find it raises a few questions that Dr. Wesley here might be good enough to answer for you.”  Turning to the apprehensive Nancy Wesley, she smiles brightly.  “All right, time for lunch.”

“*No*,” Craig starts desperately.

“Oh, come on Craig, I know you’re a slave driver, but even your wife deserves a lunch break, surely.”  Grace chuckles, the sound caught low in her throat as she turns back to look at Craig.

“Nancy…” Craig looks like a rabbit caught in headlights as he tries to think of a reason why Nancy shouldn’t lunch with Marlena. 

“I won’t be long honey,” Nancy is still a little lost as to what is going on, but she is determined to find out.  “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Awww, isn’t that sweet?”  Grace turns her gaze on the board members.  “So nice that your Chief of Staff is *so* devoted to his job and family, don’t you think?”  With a flick of her head, she turns back to Craig.  “Doctor.”  And with that, she sweeps past Nancy and out of the office.

~

“Hey Benny,” John greets the officer in charge as he wanders into the cop shop.  A quick glance around confirms that neither Abe or Bo are around and a little of John’s tension dissolves.  

“Hey John,” Benny looks up from his paperwork at John.  “Commander Carver catch up with ya?”

“Yeah,” John nods, “actually he asked me to come back and pick up a forensics report for him.”

“Report huh?” Benny looks over at Abe’s desk.  “Can’t say as I’ve seen anything come up from forensics this morning, John.”

“He said something about it being a rush job,” John shrugs.  “Maybe it’s still down in the lab.”

“You wanna wait?  You know where the coffee is right?” Benny picks up his coffee mug and looks distastefully at the sludge that has gathered in the bottom.  “I’ll go down and check it out for you.  What’d you say the report was on?”

“Don’t let me interrupt your work Benny,” John says swiftly.  “I know the way, I’ll just go and check with them myself.”

“Okay,” Benny shrugs, “I’d avoid the coffee too, man.”

“Yeah,” John laughs uncomfortably.  “It’s never been the best has it?”

“Department never gets any less stingy.” Benny cracks a smile as he pushes himself back from the desk and picks up his mug.  “Still, when it’s all you’ve got, you make do.”

“Thanks Benny, I’ll catch you later.” 

“Sure thing John.”  Benny nods, his interest already waning as he shuffles away.

John rubs his taut neck and glances at the retreating officer.  His heart is pounding as he considers the risk he is about to take.  He feels bad lying to Benny like that, he’s known the guy for years and he hates the idea that he is going to betray his trust, but he has no choice.  Not if he is going to save Marlena.  

~

Nancy sits stiffly in the chair across from Grace and studies her intently as the blonde peruses the wine menu.  When the waiter arrives, Grace’s manner exudes sexuality as she orders a martini and her eyes follow the young man appreciatively as he heads back to the bar.

“Delicious, isn’t he?” Grace turns back to Nancy, her hazel eyes glittering with the thrill of discovery.

“Well… I suppose so,” Nancy blinks uncomfortably.  She hasn’t spent extended amounts of time with Marlena before, but even so, she can’t help but be struck by the difference in that Marlena and the one before her.   Marlena has always struck her as being gentle and kind, maybe a little too *nice* for Nancy’s tastes.  But lately, all her first impressions of Marlena are being blown out of the water.  Nothing about *this* Marlena seems nice at all.

“Oh well, of course, I forget you are so *happily* married,” Grace doesn’t make any effort to hide the scorn that slices through her words and Nancy flinches.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demands stiltedly.

“Oh, come on Nancy, *dear*,” Grace leans back in her chair with an amused expression.  “Surely we can be frank now.”

“Frank about *what*?” Nancy’s eyes narrow as Grace watches the young waiter place the martini and Nancy’s glass of wine on the table.  The young man is aware of her scrutiny, and he blushes as she smiles at him.  “*Marlena*!”  Nancy attempts to recapture Grace’s attention as it wanders away with the waiter.  “I asked you a question!”

“Hmmm?” Grace tears her gaze away from the boy and looks back at Nancy.  “I’m sorry?”

“Why do I doubt it?” Nancy retorts, her irritation clear.  “Would you just tell me what you meant and be done with it?”

“What I meant about…?” Grace manages to convey an air of confusion as she shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

“About being frank and that crack about my marriage,” Nancy has abandoned any pretence at friendliness as she leans against the table.  “You’re obviously trying to tell me something, so why don’t you spit it out?”

“Oh.”  Grace looks startled for a moment and then to Nancy’s surprise, controlled giggles erupt from her throat.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you knew.  I really thought you’d have at least some inkling.”

“Knew what?” Nancy feels sick as Grace’s eyes glitter with glee. 

“Oh Nancy, honey,” Grace shakes her head in mock pity before she takes a sip of her martini.  “Why do you think Craig was so desperate for us not to have lunch?  Didn’t it occur to you that all those late nights at the hospital *weren’t* just because he’s such a *dedicated* administrator.” She breaks into a grin as she thinks of the hours spent with Craig at the penthouse or in one of their respective offices.  And then she focuses back on Nancy’s horrified face and she bites back her smile, albeit mostly unsuccessfully.  

“‘Fraid not.”  She shrugs as though her culpability in the affair is merely an afterthought.  “He wasn’t putting in all that overtime at the office Nancy dear.  He *was* working overtime, but it was pursuing rather more…” she clears her throat, “pleasurable activities.”  

Nancy’s eyes widen and she shakes her head.  “No…” her voice comes out as a mere squeak in her rebuttal of Grace’s claim.  “No, he wouldn’t…”

“He would,” Grace’s mouth curls into a lazy, pleasure-filled smile.  “And he did.  Quite frequently might I add.”  

She sighs as she toys with her martini glass.  “It’s unfortunate that he took it so badly when I ended it,” she fixes Nancy with a hard golden stare.  “First last night and this ridiculous vendetta he’s embarked upon….”  She raises perfectly shaped brows and takes a sip of her drink.  “You see, he doesn’t understand who he’s up against.  Although,” she allows herself a hint of a smile, “I think he’s starting to gain a small appreciation.” 

Nancy can only stare at Grace, stunned and shattered by the revelations that have been thrust into her consciousness.

“I think you are too.” Grace smiles ruthlessly.  Then without pause, she drains her martini and places the glass on the table.  “No-one messes with me Nancy, you and your *husband* would do well to remember that.”  Standing up she looks over at the waiter who is returning her gaze quite unabashedly.  “You can pick up the bill, can’t you?  I suddenly have something important I need to attend to.”

~

John is grateful he chose lunchtime to make his foray down to the lab.  The only person there is a lab assistant who is sorting files over on the far bench.

“Can I help you?” she asks the moment John enters the room.

“Yeah.”  John nods casually.  “Commander Carver asked me to come down and see if there were any further reports finished on the Brady case.”

“Oh,” the young woman looks around helplessly.  “I really couldn’t tell you that myself, I’d have to find Dave.”

“Dave Carson?” John raises one eyebrow.  It’s useful that there are still names he knows down here, but the risk is that those names will place him here once the shit hits the fan. 

“Yeah,” the petite brunette nods.  “You know him?”

“We go way back,” John nods.

“Well, perhaps I could go and find him for you,” she nods as though it’s a fantastic idea.  “What did you say your name was?”

I didn’t.  “Andy Sommers.”

“Okay then Andy, I’m Janelle.  If you just want to wait, I’ll be right back,” she waves her hand vaguely before she leaves the room.

Immediately John scans the desks closest to him.  He has to find what he’s looking for and get out of here before Dave gets back from the cafeteria.  Dave always had his lunch in the cafeteria; John doubts it has changed even after all these years.  Thankfully the layout of the lab has not changed too much either since he was working in this station as Commander, and he quickly works out where the forensics on Roman’s case are being stored.  

Rifling through the file, he finds the labelled bag he is looking for and his sharp eyes identify the blonde hair inside.  Slipping the bag inside his jacket, he looks around him.  

“Sorry guys,” he murmurs before he slips out of the room.

Chapter XLIV- White Square Weakness

The sunlight outside is golden and the shadows long as Grace arrives back at the penthouse.  All in all, it has been another excellent day.  Her lawyer has confirmed that John received the papers and Craig Wesley should be in a world of trouble right about now.  Further to that, John’s credit card is tucked safely inside her purse after quite the workout this afternoon.  She is satisfied.

She drops her afternoon’s purchases inside the front door, and heads over to the liquor cabinet where she mixes herself a large martini.

“Cheers, Grace,” her voice is almost lilting as she lifts the glass to her reflection in the mirror.  “Here’s to getting out of this godforsaken little dump of a town.”  

She takes a sip just as the doorbell rings and her beautiful face is marred by a frown.  Her prescience is proved accurate as she opens the front door to reveal Abraham Carver and a uniformed officer and her ebullient mood shatters.

“Abe?” she says uncertainly.

“Marlena,” Abe’s velvety eyes look sorrowful.  “I’m sorry to have to do this with no warning.”

“Do what?” Grace takes a step backwards.  “What’s going on Abe?”

“John was going to talk to you about it, but…” Abe shrugs.  “The DA’s office has been getting on my case.  They seem to think that I should question you in relation to Roman’s murder.”

“Question *me*?” Grace plays up her surprise.  She had wondered if this was coming after finding out that Craig had passed on Braden Davies note to the police.  Even so, it catches her a little unawares.  Still, this is all part of the job and it’s not like she’s not good at what she does.  “Abe, I told you before, I don’t have any idea who might have wanted to kill Roman.”

“Can we come in?” Abe motions to the living room and Grace blinks. 

“Uh, of course.”  She shows them in and closes the door behind them.  Taking a good mouthful of her martini, she follows them to the couches and sits down opposite Abe.

“Marlena….” Abe hates this, he utterly loathes this part of his job.  If he had any other option, he would not be here.  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you where you were, the night Roman was killed.”

“Where….” Grace’s eyes widen in feigned shock as she stares at Abe.  “Where *I* was?”

“I’m sorry, Marlena, I *know* this seems insane, but I have to ask you this to get them off my back.  You understand.”  This last sentence is said hopefully but Grace doesn’t help him out.

“No….” she shakes her head and gulps down her martini before she sets the glass down on the table with a shaking hand.  “No, I don’t understand.  Are you telling me you think I had something to do with Roman’s mu-” she breaks off, her breath catching in her throat even as her lower lip begins to quiver.  “Oh *God*, Abe!”

“No Marlena,” Abe pushes himself from the couch and goes to sit beside Grace.  Taking her hands in his, he runs his thumbs soothingly over the back of them.  “*I* don’t think that.  No-one who knows you could even entertain the thought.  But I *have* to ask you these questions.  It’s a formality, nothing more.”  

She raises watery golden eyes to his and stifles a sob.  “It’s been such an awful few weeks, Abe.”

“I know it has,” he nods sympathetically.  “I’m really sorry Marlena, perhaps there would be a better time.  I could come back in the morning?”

“Oh…” she looks hopeful but then shakes her head.  “No, you might as well get it over with I guess.”

“Are you sure?” he looks uncertain as she uses the back of her hand to slick away the tears on her cheeks.

“Can we just get it over with?” she sounds miserable as she looks over at the second officer who stands uncomfortably by the bookcase.  “I’m sure we all have better things we could be doing.”

“All right then,” Abe releases her hands.  He suddenly wishes John were here to lend Marlena his support.  But then after what evidently happened last night, maybe that wouldn’t expedite matters.  “I know this is hard, so just answer me in your own time, okay?”  She nods but Abe can see that she is still close to tears.  For a moment he thinks of just leaving and telling the D.A.’s office that they can screw their directives.  But then, he thinks better of it.  “Marlena, can you tell me where you were the night Roman was killed?”

“Um….” Grace takes a deep breath, quelling her own nerves.  This is a delicate balancing act but she figures the fewer people around to interrupt her concentration, the better.  “I think I was alone here at the penthouse for a few hours and then I had a meeting at the hospital.”

“A meeting?” Abe looks surprised.  “At night?”

“Well… yes,” Grace manages to look a little embarrassed.  “It wasn’t exactly a *business* meeting, Abe.”

“Oh.”  Abe’s chocolate eyes widen as he gets her implication.  He pauses for a moment as Grace stares down at her hands.  “Marlena, I have to ask who you saw at the hospital.”

“Abe….” she looks away, relishing the drama, but wary of overplaying her hand.  She knows Marlena well enough to know that she is not a drama queen.  Anything but.

“I’m sorry,” Abe is distressed as he sees what he thinks is Marlena’s pain.  “I *have* to ask.”

Grace takes a deep breath and wipes the few stray tears that linger on her lashes and then she turns back to Abe.  “I know,” she says, her voice husky with feigned emotion.  Closing her eyes, she runs her hand over them.  “It was Craig Wesley. I was with Craig.”   Suddenly she pulls her hand away from her face and looks at Abe.  “Oh.  He might not want to admit that though.”

“Let me worry about that,” Abe says gently.  

Secretly he is shocked by Marlena’s revelation, but he doesn’t want to pass judgement on her.  She’s one of his best friends and she must have been through hell in the last couple of months.  She must have because he can’t even imagine Marlena looking at anyone other than John.  She’s just not that sort of person.  But then, he hadn’t thought John that kind of person either….

“So, you drove to the hospital and met him there?” he prompts.

“Outside the hospital,” Grace says quietly.  “In the staff carpark.”

“At what time, do you remember?”

“I guess….” Grace looks away, trying to gauge how far she can push the envelope.  Being that Craig was at dinner with members of the board that night, probably not far.  “….it was dark, so it must have been after nine.”

“Can you be more specific?” Abe pushes her.

“If I could be more specific, don’t you think I would have just *been* more specific?” she snaps impatiently.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Abe apologizes again and he swallows almost painfully.  This is possibly one of the most unpleasant tasks he’s ever had to undertake.  He’s seen and heard much more today than he ever needed to see or hear.  And it’s not over yet.  “So where did you go after that?”

“Well…” Grace purses her lips thoughtfully.  Every moment of that evening is etched in her mind with sinful clarity and a tremor of pleasure shudders up her spine as she remembers. “We stayed in the parking lot for a while,” she clears her throat in fake embarrassment, “and then Craig came back here for a nightcap.”

“Did anyone see you at the hospital?” Abe suddenly realizes that the phrasing of his question could be considered a little indelicate and he feels his cheeks warming.

“No,” she shakes her head, seemingly not aware of his discomfort.  “Not that I’m aware.  We weren’t there for all that long.”

“You came straight back here?” Abe asks, carefully showing no sign of his feelings.  “In separate cars?”

“Yes.” She nods.  “That’s right.  And he left around an hour later.”

“And before you went to meet Wesley, you were here on your own?” Abe knows that when Roman’s body was found at around ten pm, he had already been dead several hours.  Which is long before Marlena’s encounter with Craig Wesley.  Grace nods her head silently and he continues.  “Were you here all afternoon?”

“No,” she shakes her head.  “I was in at the hospital earlier that day.  I had a *terrible* fight with John and I was very upset.” Her lower lip trembles as she looks up at Abe.  “He didn’t want to tell anyone the truth about Hope’s baby and it was tearing me apart.  I know I haven’t behaved very well, but Abe, I’ve just been so distraught.”

“I know,” Abe takes her hands in his again and nods solemnly.  “I know, Marlena.”

“So, we had a fight and I told him I wanted him to move out.”  She sighs deeply.  “Stefano was the only other person that knew the truth, so I went straight around there to….” she drifts off and then looks down, shaking her head gently.  “Oh, I don’t know what I hoped to do.  Get him to admit to some kind of nefarious scheme where he’d forced them to have sex, I don’t know.”

“But he didn’t.”  Abe is appalled that Marlena went to Stefano, but not completely surprised.  He knows she doesn’t give up until she has an answer, and this is one question that needs an answer.

“No…” Grace shakes her head, trying to block out the memory of Stefano telling her he’d slept with Gina.  That he could have been the father of Hope’s baby.  “No, he toyed with me for a while.  You know how he is.”  She looks down at her hands again, hoping she sounds sincere.  “I was so confused; I didn’t know what to think.  He told me he could tell me why it happened,” she laughs softly, the sound bitter and cutting.  “He played me Abe, he played me like a Stradivarius.  That’s why I went with him after Roman’s funeral.  God knows *why* I thought he was going to stand by his word…. I should have known better than that.”  Sighing, she pushes herself from the sofa and wraps her arms around her body as she walks towards the window, seemingly lost in thought.

“Did he tell you *anything*?” Abe’s voice is husky with emotion.

“That Hope-” she stops herself and shakes her head, “that *Gina* acted of her own volition.  As did John.  There was no programming to tell John to cheat on his wife, he just did it because he wanted to Abe.”

“John told me what happened Marlena, that somehow the mercenary took over and he didn’t remember any of it,” Abe tries to argue his friend’s case.

“Oh, he was there,” Grace says bitterly, not turning around.  “Abe if having just married the woman you love isn’t enough incentive to fight off someone taking over your mind, then what is?”  She turns around and fixes him with an icy stare.  “He managed it in Maison Blanche, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know Marlena,” Abe says sorrowfully, “I can’t say what John could or couldn’t fight off.  I wasn’t there, I don’t *know* for sure.  But I trust John and I *do* know he has *never* loved anyone the way he loves you.”  The conviction in his voice takes Grace aback a little and she swallows sharply.  “If he couldn’t overcome the brainwashing or whatever it was Gina did to him for your sake, then I don’t think there is any way he could have done it at all.”

“Your faith in him is *so* touching,” she shoots back acerbically.

“I’ve known John for a long time Marlena,” Abe says quite simply.  “And I know what you mean to him.  I see it in his eyes every time I talk to him lately, I see how hard it is for him without you.  And I was there when he got the papers this morning and I am telling you, I have never seen a man more devastated.”

“I thought you were here to question me about Roman’s death, not give me a lecture on why I should take my cheating husband back,” Grace snaps, her annoyance spilling into her words.

“I didn’t say that,” Abe raises his eyebrows taking note of Marlena’s increased agitation where John is concerned.

“Well, are you finished?” Grace asks irritably.  “Because there are things I could be doing, you know.”

“No,” Abe shakes his head.  He’s a little thrown by Marlena’s sudden mood shift and all his cop instincts are suddenly on the alert.  “No, I’m not finished yet.  We were talking about Stefano; can you tell me how long you were at his place?”

“Oh,” Grace blinks, suddenly realizing the mistake she has made.  Abe’s manner has subtly changed, but it is obvious enough to Grace that she realizes that she has made him suspicious. “Ummm, I’m not sure.  I suppose I was there for about half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes…” she shakes her head, her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders.  “That’s all I can tell you.”

“And then you came straight back here?”  Abe consults his notebook, scribbling in the details that Grace feeds him.

“Yes, I think so.” Grace moves back to the couch opposite Abe and lowers herself, so she is sitting on the edge.

“Can you remember what time that might have been?” Abe looks up at her, his expression completely impassive.

“Time?” Grace’s eyes flick over the carpet in front of her.  “I…. sometime late afternoon?”

“And you didn’t go out again until you went to the hospital to meet Craig Wesley at around nine?”

“That’s right,” she nods innocently.  Oh, apart from the two hours I went to the warehouse and beat the living crap out of that piece of shit, Lamont.  “Abe, you know me, you’ve known me for longer than I care to remember,” she says softly.  “I had nothing to do with Roman’s death.”  Lamont on the other hand….

Abe regards her for a moment and then nods.  “I know that Marlena.  But I do have to ask you these questions.”

She says nothing, but nods acquiescently.  

~

John stands on the shore of the river and looks around him.  The area is deserted which is why he picked this particular spot, and he crouches down on the stony river bank.  He’s collected several bits of driftwood and twigs and he has piled them on a large, flat boulder.   Pulling a lighter out of his jacket pocket, he flicks the top open and sets the wavering flame to the pile of debris.  The dry grass twists as the embryonic flames lick at it and then it withers to ash as the fire takes hold, consuming the small twigs and then curling around the larger pieces of driftwood.

When John is satisfied that the fire is hungry enough, he takes the plastic bag containing the blonde strands of hair from his jacket pocket and stares at them.  What he has done, what he is about to do is a felony.  But he could care less if it means he gets the chance to save Marlena.  He could well lose his friendship with Abe over this, but again, he can live with that if it means he can keep Marlena, or whoever she is out of a jail cell and work out how the hell to get his wife back.  That is *all* in the world that means anything to him right now.  He won’t lose her again.  He can’t.

“For you Doc,” he whispers as he drops the bag on the fire and watches the plastic bubble and burn.  He hunches over, his eyes stinging and raw from the smoke and watches it for a long while, until well after the fire has died away to hot ashes.  He is still replaying moments from the last few weeks in his head, with every memory his certainty becoming sharper and more excruciating.  

He wonders if Hope had stumbled on the truth.  It would certainly give Mar ….it would certainly give *her* motive to try and put Hope out of commission, that is for sure.  And if she is willing to go to those lengths in order to keep her secret then John knows he cannot let her find out that he knows the truth.  He is going to have to play things very close to his chest until he figures out what the hell to do.

“So, who are you?” he picks up a smooth, worn stone and worries it with his fingers.  “Where do you come from and what use does Stefano have for you?”  He shuts his mouth and swallows heavily, the sudden nausea suddenly overwhelming.  He’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that question.  He does know if Stefano has laid one finger on Marlena, he will make him wish he had never been born.  He no longer cares about consequences.  He simply needs his wife.  Nothing else matters.

Right now all he knows is that he needs more information.  And he’s not going to get that sitting on the riverbank.  Scuffing the fire with his boot he turns and climbs back up to his Jeep.

Chapter XLV- Pawn Break

Grace watches Abe as he finishes up the call on his cell phone.  He doesn’t look at all happy as he turns back to her.

“I’m sorry about that Marlena.”

“Not at all,” she smiles graciously.  “Some trouble?”

“Could be,” Abe suddenly looks very tired.  The call was from one of his senior officers.  When the lab had gone to start the DNA tests on the hair found at the scene of Roman’s murder, the evidence was missing. Add to that a mysterious visitor in the lab this afternoon fitting John’s description and things are not looking good.  “Just another headache to deal with.  You know how it is.”

“Yes I do know how it is,” Grace’s expression is almost kindly.  “Married to a cop or two, remember?”

“I remember,” Abe tries to smile, but it is strained thanks to the discomfort he feels.  Something is very not right here.  He hasn’t quite managed to put his finger on it yet, but he can feel it very succinctly.

“Was there anything else you wanted to know?”  Grace asks blandly.

“What? Oh, uh,” Abe looks down at his notebook.  He has questioned her about the night of Roman’s death and also about the night of Hope’s accident.  Her answers are almost too perfect, which is unnerving.  It’s unnerving that he should even be thinking this way.  

He consults his notebook, discomfort etched on his face as he reads the words inscribed there.  He has been asking Marlena about the sleeping pills she had prescribed for Braden Davies when his phone had gone.

“So you prescribed the pills after you thought you were making some headway with him.”  He reiterates.  “His death really came as a complete surprise to you then.”

“Abe, do you really think I’d be that careless that I’d prescribe sleeping pills if I thought a patient was suicidal?” Grace asks, sounding a little hurt.

“No,” Abe shakes his head.  “No, I know how conscientious you are and how much you care for people.”  He gives her a small, regretful smile and squeezes her hand.  “I just have to ask, it’s my job Marlena.”

Grace pauses for a moment.  Abe Carver is such a fine, upstanding officer of the law it makes her almost nauseous.  All these saccharine Salemites really are getting on her last nerve.

“I know.”  She nods, although it takes some effort.  “We both have jobs that entail a lot of responsibility Abe.  We just do the best we can within the parameters we are given.  Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, sometimes we make mistakes.  We’re only human after all.”  She offers him a small smile and she sees the warmth return to his eyes.  But she suspects it will not end here.  Unfortunately, she’s going to need some help.  Some leverage maybe.

“Yes, we are.”  Abe flips his notebook closed and tightens his fingers around hers once more before he stands up.  “Okay, I have to go run damage control down at the station.”  He takes a deep breath before asking his next question.  One that could well prove moot anyway if the evidence really is missing.  However, he must follow procedure.  “There is one more thing, Marlena.  We’re going to need you to provide a sample for DNA analysis in order to exclude you from our investigations.  I’ll send a technician around tomorrow to take it, if that’s all right with you.”

“Uh,” Grace’s face remains impassive but her mind is racing.  If they want DNA samples, there must be some evidence at the scene.  She had been sure that she had eliminated all evidence that might link her to Lamont’s murder, but it was possible she supposed that there might have been something small that she had missed.  And if that was so….  

“Sure Abe.”  She sounds remarkably unruffled as she stands and follows him to the door.  “Whatever you need.  And if there’s any other way I can help, just let me know.  I have nothing to hide after all.”  She shrugs and then looks a little embarrassed.  “Well, I would prefer it if the thing about Craig didn’t become public knowledge.”

“Does John know?” Abe asks uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Grace nods slowly as her mind switches from thoughts of the possible evidence to thinking of John.  It would be utterly perfect for John to learn of his wife’s infidelity from his best friend. “Yes, he knows.”

“Marlena…” Abe starts to say something and then realizes he has no idea what to say to her.  This piece of news doesn’t fit at all into the picture of what he saw this morning.  Not that that made any sense either but….

“Yes Abe?” she looks expectant and so innocent he wonders how he could think anything bad of her.

“Nothing,” he shrugs and manages a smile as his fellow officer walks to the elevator.  “I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Sure.”  She nods and waves her fingers in the air in a vague gesture of farewell as she closes the door.

~

John sits in his Jeep and watches Abe and Lt. Majors climb into the squad car.  It is only when they are gone that he slides out of his vehicle and locks it behind him. 

He drums his fingers nervously on the panelling of the elevator as it ascends the building.  He knows this could blow up in his face, be he desperately needs to get more information about who she is before he can work out what to do.  And he knows he doesn’t have any time to lose.  Once they realize that evidence has gone missing at the station all hell is going to break loose and he wants to have a plan of action in place before that happens.

The door slides open at the top floor, and he walks quietly to the door of the penthouse.  He listens at the door for a few minutes and starts as he hears Marlena’s voice.  However, after a moment, it fades, and he realizes that she has gone upstairs.  With his heart pounding in his throat and his palms slick with perspiration, he slides his key silently into the lock and opens the door.  

He pokes his head inside and when he is satisfied that she is not in visual range, he slips inside and closes the door.  With practiced stealth, he crosses the room quickly and conceals himself out on the terrace.  It is a risky strategy, but he has very few options right now.

The risk pays off only moments later as Grace descends from the upper floor and enters the living area.  She is still on the phone, and she crosses the floor to look at herself in the mirror.

“No, I’m telling you, he suspects something,” John hears her say and he listens intently even as he watches her preening in the mirror.  “No, I told you, I was careful.  You *know* how good I am at my job Stefano; I don’t screw up.”

John sucks in his breath sharply at the sound of Stefano’s name.  He barely expected to have such definite confirmation of his suspicions so quickly and the realization of what this all means chills him.

“Well, I don’t know,” she snaps irritably.  I’m just telling you what he told me.  They want a sample so maybe there *is* some kind of evidence.”  There is a pause, and she rolls her eyes.  “I’m only asking you to do something about it,” Grace runs her fingers lazily through her hair.  “After all, you’re always telling me how all powerful you are.  Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is.”  She relaxes a little as she listens to Stefano and then she shrugs.  “I don’t care what, just do it.”  

She pauses as she listens to Stefano speak and then a wicked smile curls her beautiful lips.  “Oh, you really are incorrigible my darling.  All right, why don’t you name your price, and we’ll see if I can be persuaded.”

John feels as though all the breath has been pummelled from his body as he listens to the woman in Marlena’s body flirt with Stefano DiMera.  He doesn’t even want to know what Stefano is suggesting.  The thought that she might let Stefano close to her; that she might let that evil old man desecrate Marlena’s body is almost too much for him to bear.

He feels as if he is frozen into place as Grace sashays across to the sofa and lowers herself onto the broad cushions.  Reclining against the pillows, she kicks off her shoes and stretches one arm out over her head.  Despite his disgust at what he has just heard, John can’t help the surge of lust the crashes through him at the sight of her.

She giggles sexily and crosses one leg over the other.  “I do believe you’re propositioning me Mr. DiMera,” she purrs.  “Well, I suppose that’s an interesting way of looking at it.”  She sighs and the smile falls away.  “We could just *leave* you know.  I’m starting to find Salem tedious in the extreme.”  

John’s eyes widen as he realizes what she is talking about. If she was to leave Salem….  

“Interpol never had any success before, what makes you think they’d be successful this time?” Grace asks testily.  “Stefano, I want out.  I want to get away from this dump, and away from these idiots.  I’ve done what you asked of me, can we just go back to Paris now?”

She waits as Stefano talks and she rolls her eyes.  “That has nothing to do with *anything*.  It’s over.  I had a little fun at his expense, that’s all.  I don’t know why you’re so upset about it.”  Another pause.  “And this from the man that felt it prudent to not mention the little, but rather important fact that he slept with Hope Brady.  Give me a break, Stefano.”

John feels as though all the blood is slowly draining from his body as he listens to this woman unknowingly reveal her and DiMera’s secrets one by one.  Stefano *did* sleep with Hope on the sub and the baby she carried could have been DiMera’s and not his.  But obviously Marlena’s alter-ego hadn’t known that until recently.  Although John is not sure that he likes the fact that she is so annoyed about it.  It almost sounds like there is jealousy threading her words as she speaks.

“So what?  You’ll take care of it?”  She sits up and a smile spreads across her face but even that is foreign to John.  For a moment she doesn’t even look anything like Marlena.  “All right, I’ll wait a little while longer.  A *little*, Stefano.  That doesn’t mean a month, or even a fortnight.”  She listens to the voice on the other end of the phone and her smile broadens.  “I thought you’d see it my way.”  She slides off the sofa and heads for the staircase again.  

John strains but he can no longer hear her words as she makes her way up the stairs, and he leans back against the cool concrete of the terrace wall.  He can’t believe what he just heard.  He had thought himself prepared for the worst, but to hear it unequivocally like that has floored him.  

The Marlena he knows and loves has been obliterated, replaced by a woman who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on those around her.  For the first time, he is grateful that she sent Belle away so early though he thinks that was probably self-preservation more than anything.  Belle would have seen through her façade immediately.  He can’t believe that he didn’t.

“Oh my God, Doc,” he whispers, the grief consuming him.  The reality is that he may never see Marlena again.  And that thought, that possibility, completely numbs him.  For a long moment he feels paralysed by fear and then with a start he realizes he can’t think like that.  He has to believe that he can get her back if he’s going to succeed.

“I won’t let that happen.” He whispers fiercely, blinking back the tears as he turns back to the window.  “I won’t let that old bastard take you from me again.  So help me Doc, if I have to kill him, if I have to break every bone in his miserable body, I will find out a way to get you back.”

~

Stefano puts down the phone, a pleased smile creeping across his lips.  Rubbing his hands together, he chuckles as he walks over and pours himself a scotch.

“So, my darling Grace,” he lifts his glass, as though toasting his success.  “You come to me once more for help.”  He chuckles lightly as he considers the irony of the situation.  Only last night she had been hurling abuse at him and now she is asking him for a favor.  It is almost too perfect.  He has her once again within his grasp, and this time he is going to wield his power over her with expert precision.  “You know the value of my influence, my dear.  But we are two of a kind, Grace and you know as well as I do, that everything comes at a price.”  

He walks over to the window and takes a mouthful of the hundred-year-old scotch, pausing as the mellow amber liquid scorches his tongue and throat.  “However, we also agree on one thing.  It is time to leave Salem.  The further you are from John Black,” Stefano sneers as he spits out John’s name, “the better.”

 

Chapter XLVI- Denuding Sacrifice

John’s breath catches in his throat as he sees her skip down the stairs.  She has changed out of the skimpy outfit she was wearing before, but this one isn’t much better.  Her white blouse is sheer silk and low cut, and it drifts softly over a short black skirt, which has a split up one thigh.  However, knee-high black leather boots transform what might have been a subtly feminine outfit into something else altogether.  As she pins her hair up, she looks downright vampy.

John’s eyes follow her as she checks her makeup in the mirror and then starts to cross the room back to the front door.  He freezes as she suddenly stops short and turns around slowly.  She looks speculatively across in his direction, and he ducks back out of sight as she walks slowly towards the windows.  His heartbeat pounds in his chest, the adrenaline flooding through him as she chews on her lip, her golden eyes narrowed.  Then she stops, looks at her watch and turns back to head for the door. It is only when John is convinced that she is gone that he lets out the breath he is holding.

Closing his eyes, he groans noiselessly.  She might not be Marlena, but it’s still Marlena’s body and he still wants her.  He can’t help the very physical reactions he has to her; he never has been able to help them and it makes him feel exceedingly guilty in this case.  

He takes a moment and then enters the living room again.  He needs to see what else he can find out about this stranger before she comes back.  Before things get even more screwed up.  Before she slips out of his fingers forever.

His determination renewed, he steps back into the living room and looks around.  He is immediately struck by the fact that there are absolutely no pictures in the room anymore.  And not even just pictures of him.  There are no pictures of any of the children.

He sighs heavily as he goes to the desk and pulls open the drawers.  There are several credit card receipts stuffed messily on top of Marlena’s papers and he smooths them out and looks over them.  Disbelief is etched on his face as he takes note of the charges.  Whoever she is, she likes to spend money.  Folding the receipts, he stuffs them in his pocket and closes the drawer.  

Upstairs, he stops long enough to poke his head into Belle’s room.  Nothing has changed and he is grateful, not for the first time that Belle is away from Salem.  The only thing that he can imagine that would be worse than what is actually happening is that if Belle had been hurt by this woman claiming to be her mother.

He shivers as he remembers again the chilling smile as she looked down on Hope.  A would-be murderess in her blood red gown, a goddess fallen from on high.

John clenches his fists as he moves purposefully to the bedroom.  Opening the door, he is assaulted by her scent.  Not Marlena’s.  Marlena has been stripped from this room as surely as she has been stripped from his life.  He aches physically as he walks into the room, the embracing familiarity of his wife deleted as though it had never existed.

He looks at the bed, the cream satin sheets rumpled, a silk negligee draped carelessly across the covers.  He fingers it and wants to weep.  He feels so empty without her and with every step the void inside him stretches out to engulf everything.

There is an empty martini glass on the bed stand beside the phone and another on the dressing table.  Clothes are strewn across the sofa.  The door of the armoire hangs open, revealing clothes that John has never seen before.  None of it is Marlena.  None of it.

Going to the bureau, John pulls open one of the drawers.  His heart stops at the sight of the lingerie inside.  He skims shaking fingers across the crimson and black lace.  It all looks excessively expensive and he’s sure it is.  He is also sure he’s paid for it all.

He swallows, but the saliva sticks in his throat.  He can’t help but envisage Marlena in some of this stuff and his body betrays him at the mere thought.  He slams the drawer, literally trembling as he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the omnipresent headache that clouds his objectivity.

He gives a short, hard bark of a laugh.  Objectivity?  Where Marlena is concerned?  Since when has he ever been objective about Marlena?  He loves her so much it’s as though the man he is, is slowly crumbling inside without her.  Even without the ever-present pressure of the mercenary, he is not sure he could endure this.  

He turns and looks at the negligee on the bed, a seductive bronze coloured number.  He picks it up and sits on the bed, unsure whether he wants to hold it close because it is a tenuous link to her body or cast it away because it represents everything about her that is not Marlena.

His eyes drift closed again as he recalls a time once before when he was fighting for her.  At least that time, he had known who the enemy was.  Even if it was Roman Brady.  

He can still see Marlena as if it were yesterday.  Standing there in her virginal white nightgown and in the back yard of the house they once shared.  They’d fought over the possibility that he was the father of the baby she carried, that precious life that he had wanted so badly to be his.  He had known then that it would tie them together, that the strands of their love would be bound together in one tiny, perfect, incredible human being.  And he had known that somehow, that child would make her his forever.  

Since then, they have fought so hard, such tiring battles, and just when he thought they had overcome everything…  

He can’t be sorry for the child Hope has lost.  To him, that child was an abomination, conceived from deceit and violation.  The complete antithesis of everything that Belle represents.  He hasn’t even been to see the unconscious Hope in the hospital.  Just the sight of her repulses him to a level that he cannot even comprehend.

His heart pounds as his fists clench and the flimsy fabric of the nightgown tears under the strain.  He looks down in shock, dropping the sheath so that it spills onto the floor, but he cannot tear his eyes from it for several moments.  Finally, he stands and with an empty heart, goes to Marlena’s dresser and begins wildly pulling open drawers.  A mere fifteen minutes later, he leaves the apartment, knowing little more than when he went in.

Back at the Salem Inn, John slams the door of his jeep closed with a little more force than is necessary and with agitation marking his strides, he walks through the front door of the hotel.

The reality is that there was nothing much at all to help him at the penthouse.  Simply more visual proof that it is no longer Marlena in their midst.  All her clothing has changed, her scent is gone, another in its place.  And still there is no *hard* evidence to prove anything.  He supposes he should be glad.  At least there is nothing that he can find to connect her to Roman’s death.  

He steps into the elevator and hits the button to his floor.  He starts as a hand waves in between the sliding doors and his heart feels as though it slows as Abe enters the elevator.

Abe waits until they are moving before he turns to John.  “Would you like to tell me what the *hell* you thought you were doing?”

“I’m sorry?” John returns his glare with a helpless look.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Abe growls.  “Do you realize what kind of a position you’ve put me in?”

“I’m sorry,” John still manages to look confused.  “I *don’t* know what you’re talking about Abraham.”  He’s already determined that the best way to handle this is to play dumb.  

The elevator doors slide open on the fourth floor and John steps out.  Abe follows him, staying silent until he reaches his room.  Once they are inside, Abe slams the door shut and turns to glower at John.

“I told you about that evidence under strictest confidence John.  What you did was a *felony*.  You could serve time for this.”

“Hey, wait, wait man,” John holds up his hands.  “*What* are you talking about?  If I’m being accused of something you might do me the courtesy of telling me what it is.”

Abe stares at him in exasperation and then spins away, running the fingers of his right hand through his hair.  “John, don’t play dumb with me, okay?  I’ve known you for far too long.”

“Abe,” John sighs and drops into the chair behind him.  “You’ve completely lost me.”

Abe lets out a noise of pure frustration before he turns back to John.  “Those hairs that I told you about this morning.  They *disappeared* this afternoon.  Right after someone answering *your* description visited the lab.”  Abe pauses but there is no answer from John.  

He sighs and shakes his head.  “John, Benny said you were at the station asking about some lab result that I supposedly wanted.  You said you would go down there and get it yourself and shortly thereafter Janelle Singer talked to a man who called himself Andy Sommers in the lab.  She went to get Dave Carson and when they came back, Andy was gone.  Along with the evidence.”

“I don’t know what to tell you man,” John shrugs.  “I talked to Benny sure, and I even said that I was going down to the lab, but I was really just trying to get him out of your office.”

“And why would you want to do that?” Abe frowns.

“I was trying to help you Abraham,” John looks disconsolate.  “I know you’re having a hard time with this and with the D.A….  Well, I thought if I had a look over the files, I might see something you missed.”  His expression becomes earnest.  “You know, I thought fresh eyes and all.”

“And did you?” Abe asks, not believing John’s story for a minute.  “See something I had missed, I mean?”

“I only wish I had.” John pushes himself up from the chair and goes to pour himself a glass of water.  

“So you’re saying the fact that Janelle Singer identified you from a photograph is a complete co-incidence,” Abe demands.

“I guess that’s what I’m saying,” John turns back to Abe.  “Why would I do something that stupid, Abe?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself for the last hour,” Abe replies pointedly.  “Why would John risk a jail term to remove forensic evidence from the station?”  He pauses as he gets up from the bed.  “And then of course the same answer keeps hitting me over the head.  That evidence could possibly link John’s wife to a murder.”

“That’s ridiculous,” John scoffs at Abe’s suggestion.  “We’ve had this conversation, Abraham.  Marlena had nothing to do with Roman’s death.”

“You know what John?” Abe looks at him, suspicion clearly evident in his eyes.  “I thought that at first, but there’s something going on that you’re not telling me.”  His lips are thin as he takes a step towards John.  “You’re my best friend John, you and Marlena mean the world to me.  But I have a responsibility to get to the bottom of this.  I know one thing right now, and that’s that you are both lying to me.  And I’m telling you, I’m going to find out why.”

With that, Abe turns and walks towards the door.

“Abe,” John blurts out and Abe stops and turns back to look at him.  “Knock yourself out man,” John shrugs again.  “I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find, but if you want to waste your time….”

“John,” Abe takes a step back towards his friend.  “In one day, I find out Marlena left you handcuffed to a bed, *she* tells me she had an affair with Craig Wesley and then I find you have betrayed my friendship,” there is pain in his words as he speaks, “and stolen important evidence.  I’ll be damned if there’s not *something* going on.”

“Marlena told you *what*?” John staggers backward slightly, feeling as though his heart has been torn from his chest.  Abe’s words ring deafeningly in his ears, even as he speaks.

“On the night Roman was murdered, Marlena met up with Craig Wesley,” Abe sees the colour drain from John’s face and he realizes what he’s done.  “She told me you knew John.  She said she’d told you.”  He watches John turn away and the pain in the room is almost palpable.  “God, John I’m sorry, I had no idea…”

“Just go,” John’s voice is rough as he lays his hand against the wall, almost as though he is trying to hold himself up.  “Just get outta here.”

“John…” Abe feels like absolute shit.

“I said get *out*,” John roars as he turns back to Abe and Abe gets the immediate impression of a wounded animal.  Swallowing, he nods and quietly leaves.

Chapter XLVII – Fianchetto

John sinks to the bed, his breathing ragged.  Marlena… she’d lied to him.  She’d been playing around with Wesley all along.  He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the pain that is building behind his eyes.  It takes him a moment to remember that the woman he is thinking of as Marlena, is no longer his wife, but a stranger.  Somehow, that doesn’t make him feel too much better.  

He knows what this woman is like, she’s voracious and she is into power games.  It really shouldn’t surprise him that she’s had another man in her bed, but still the mere thought is enough to make him shake with anger and fear.  If she’s had Craig in her bed, then who is to say there haven’t been others.  And how many others?

“Oh God!”  John squeezes his eyes closed and rocks forward.  The revelations and the stresses of the day are starting to take their toll and when a vision of Marlena talking to Stefano flicks onto his closed eyelids, he suddenly finds himself running for the bathroom.

Leaning over the toilet, he empties the meagre contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl, coughing as he retches.  When he is done, he turns to look at himself in the mirror.  

He looks like hell.  His eyes are bloodshot, and he hasn’t shaved since yesterday.  His skin is pale, and his wrists are still raw.  If *she* could see him now, he doesn’t doubt she would be very pleased with her handiwork.

~

“My dear,” Stefano hands Grace her obligatory martini with a conciliatory smile.  Grace takes it but she doesn’t bother to hide the distrust in her eyes.    Stefano ignores it for the time being however and he lifts up his own glass.  “To Paris,” he toasts with a broad grin.

“Paris.”  Grace touches the edge of her crystal glass against his with a small smile.  She takes a mouthful of the concoction and lets the alcohol flood her tastebuds before she swallows it.

“Grace,” Stefano puts down his glass and takes her hand in his.  “Can we not call a truce?  Can we not put this business with Gina behind us?”

“I don’t know,” Grace shrugs, “can we?”

“Is it really so unforgivable?” Stefano asks easily.  “You have had your revenge with John, can we not now go back to where we were?”

“Do you really think it’s that easy?”  Grace raises her eyebrows.  “Stefano, how can we go back to where we were when I no longer respect you?”

“Because I slept with Gina?” Stefano demands tightly.

“Because you took advantage of your power over her.”  Grace pulls her hand from his and takes a mouthful of her martini.  “I really thought you a better man than that.”  She looks at him from under lush dark lashes.”  After all, there were all those opportunities when you had *Marlena* at your mercy…. and yet you didn’t sleep with *her*.  So why Hope?”

“Because Gina was willing,” Stefano doesn’t miss a beat.  “She came to me of her own accord Grace.  And Marlena never did.  I would never take a woman without her consent.”

“*Hope* didn’t give her consent,” Grace narrows her eyes.  “Your logic is flawed Stefano.”

“I apologize if my actions offend you Grace,” Stefano’s eyes burn blackly, “but by your *own* logic, if *you* were to come to me at any time, I *must* refuse you.   Is that really how you feel?”

“The circumstances are different,” Grace sets her drink on the table and crosses her arms.  “You implanted Gina in Hope.  You controlled her.  You don’t control me.”  She sees the truth in his eyes as she speaks and her lips twitch into an embryonic smile.  “I am who I am Stefano, I’m not one of your creations and I will *not* be dictated to.”

Stefano pauses, taking a mouthful of the fine old brandy and ruminating on her words.  Eventually, his expression slips into an easy smile.  “You certainly are who you are. Grace,” Stefano laughs heartily, but there is very little actual mirth in the sound.  “You keep me on my toes every day, my dear.”  He makes a show of bowing to her.  “I concede the point.  You are right, my actions were deplorable.  You, and Hope Brady, have my deepest apologies.”  He is smiling and Grace knows him well enough to know his words are somewhat sincere and it goes a little way toward appeasing her anger at him.  “So, tell me Grace, how is it that I might make amends?”

“Hmmmm….” she lets herself relax a little and she smiles at him playfully as she flutters her lashes.  “Let me think about that for a while.  I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something.”

~

John looks up at the sound of banging on his door and he groans.  Who the hell could this be now?  He thinks about ignoring it, but the banging continues, and it is starting to intrude on the headache that is buried behind his eyes.

“All right, all *right*,” he mutters as he makes his way to the door.  Swinging it open he sees Nancy Wesley standing in front of him and he groans audibly.

“What do you want?” he asks rudely as Nancy pushes past him and storms into the room.

“I’ve come to tell you that you had better keep your wife away from my husband or there’s going to be *hell* to pay.” Nancy glares at him.

“Don’t you think you should be directing this at my wife?” John asks bluntly.  “I mean, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m no longer living with her.”

“Your wife has been screwing my husband,” Nancy hisses completely ignoring John’s words, “and now she’s trying to screw him out of a job.”  Her lips thin as she stares him down.  “And I won’t have it.  I’m telling you to tell her to back off.”

“Listen lady, I couldn’t give a fuck about your husband or his job.  In fact,” John snarls furiously, “if your husband doesn’t stay the fuck away from my *wife* he’s going to spend the next six months eating through a straw.  Do we understand each other?”

Nancy blinks several times and then stands up a little straighter.  “Are you threatening Craig?”

John looks at her for a moment and then laughs bitterly, the sound taut and harsh.  “You catch on fast.”  He turns away, trying to resist the overpowering urge to put his fist through something.    

“Well, I…” Nancy stares at him, flustered by his rudeness.  

“I’d get out of her while the going is good,” he advises barely able to keep control of himself.

“Your wife is trying to ruin Craig’s career,” Nancy says finally.  “I won’t let her do that.”

“Look, lady,” John whirls around to face Nancy, his hands balled into tight fists.  “I told you, *get* *out* of my room.  NOW!”

The volume of his voice swells and Nancy flinches.  It only takes her a moment and then she turns and hurries from the room.  John follows her to the door and then slams it after her, the wood shuddering and creaking as it settles into place.

“*DAMN*!  John swipes an angry arm over the desk, sending papers and other small objects flying.  “*DAMN* you old man!”  He leans his fists on the desk and looks up at his reflection in the mirror, once again seeing the reddened eyes and drawn face of a stranger.  

That same stranger sizzles inside his head urging him on, feeding on his anger and his pain as he fights for control of his mind.  It’s as though there are two separate personalities battling for control inside him and he knows that if he loses his focus, the mercenary will cut loose, and he will lose himself completely in the murky depths of Stefano DiMera’s hellish creation.  But if he does, then who will save Marlena?

No, the only choice is to stay focused on his fight to bring Marlena back, to try and reach beyond the stranger that inhabits her body and find the woman he loves.  He’s beaten the Devil once; surely, he can beat Stefano and his twisted creations now.  

The face looks back at him and he sees eerie evidence of the eyes of the man that destroyed Marlena’s life.  “Damn *you*!” he bellows as he lashes out with his fist.  The mirror shatters under the force of his blow, fracturing and splitting into long, razor-sharp shards.  John pulls his fist back and inspects his bleeding knuckles with an air of detached bemusement before his breath catches suddenly and inexplicably in his chest.

He closes his eyes tightly and grinds his teeth together, every muscle in his jaw tensed and solid.  His bloody fingers unfurl, and he places his hand flat on the surface of the desk.  The breath comes hard and determined as he fights with everything he has.  “Will…. not …. let…. you …. win…” he spits out in short, determined bursts.

It is touch and go for a moment, but slowly he feels control flood him, his muscles responding both to instinct and command as they tense and flex.  His expression is hard and resolute, his eyes an icy arctic blue as he parts his eyelids and turns to the window.  It is not yet evening, and the sun still shines low across the city.  Ignoring his shredded fingers, John turns and stalks over to the phone.

He waits impatiently as the phone rings.  His heart beats in his throat at the prospect of what he is about to do.  He’s not sure if he has any right to do this, any right to expect help from a once loyal source.  But he can’t see any other choice right now.

Finally a weary voice comes on the other end and greets him.

“Bo,” John ventures uncertainly.  “I know that I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but I need your help.  Can you meet me at the Cheatin’ Heart in half an hour?”

~

Grace wipes her mouth with the corner of her napkin and allows Stefano to help her from her chair before she drops the crisp linen square on the dinner plate in front of her.

“Can I interest you in a brandy, my dear?” Stefano walks over to the expensive crystal decanter that sits on the sideboard.  

“Hmmm?” Grace doesn’t appear to be listening as she moves to the fireplace.  There is a chess game set up between the two armchairs there and it is seemingly in play.  Picking up one of the ebony pawns, she slides and elegant thumb along the shiny black surface.

“Ahhh,” Stefano smiles as he brings her snifter to her.  “Recalling the hours I taught you how to play chess, Grace?”

“Recalling the hours that I used to whip you, Stefano,” she laughs silkily as she takes the glass from him.

“Oh, is that so?” Stefano reaches up and brushes her hair away from her face with a reverent touch.  “And I suppose you think you could beat me now?”  He lifts his eyebrows, his words loaded with suggestion.

“Darling, I could take you inside four moves.”  The pawn is still in her hand as she lifts her fingers to straighten his tie with infinitesimal care. “You and I both know that.”

“Your self-assurance always was your strong point, Grace.”  Stefano laughs as he moves away from her and eases himself into the leather armchair.  “Very well then.  Show me just how very good you are.”

“My pleasure.”  

The corner of Grace’s mouth curls into a smile and she looks carefully at the board before placing the pawn back in the empty square that it has come from.  With very little change in her expression, she lifts a white bishop from the board and makes a long move along the diagonal to his side of the board.  Stefano raises one eyebrow and analyzes the board as she takes a mouthful of the smooth old brandy.

While he is considering his options, she wanders away from the fireplace over to where the laptop is whirring quietly on the desk.  She runs her fingers lightly over the touch-pad and watches the task bar as it slowly mounts, the numbers ticking inexorably by on the screen.  Her smile broadens slightly and she reaches out, touching her fingertips to the screen as though she can almost feel the money as it filters past.

“All right my dear,” Stefano leans back eventually.  “Your second move?”

Grace slides out from behind the desk and comes back to stand over the board.  Her shrewd glance quickly deduces his move, and it is one she has anticipated.  She declines his offered pawn piece and instead moves one of her own pawns.  Stefano nods and takes her bishop with a lazy grin.  

Grace takes a mouthful of her brandy and looks as though she is considering her next move carefully.  She already knows exactly what she is going to do.  While Stefano is brilliant, he is also slightly predictable, and she knows he utilizes his queen maybe more than he should.  It is a weakness he has, and she doesn’t fault him for it.  But it allows him to be played and manipulated and Grace has absolutely no compunction in taking advantage of that fact.

Reaching out her-well manicured fingers, she slides a knight between two pawns and replaces Stefano’s pawn.  The jet marble is cool in her hand as she rolls it around in her fingers, waiting to see if Stefano takes her bait.

Her wait lengthens and she becomes bored again, wandering back to where the computer is doing its thing.  The bank account is one of Stefano’s many and is located in the Cayman Islands.  It is rapidly swelling but eyeing the numbers, Grace hits a couple of keys and ends the transaction.

Making sure that everything is secure and locked down, she punches in the number of another bank account, this time in Hong Kong.  Looking down at one of the several cards beside the small but powerful machine, she punches in the numbers and then hits several buttons with the aid of the touchpad.

The task bar pops up and begins to move slowly, signifying the transfer.  Grace pats the machine and then goes back to where Stefano is still scrutinizing the play.  She can tell he has misgivings, but the temptation is too great as he moves the queen over to displace the white knight.

With a grin, Grace moves her own queen and swipes Stefano’s from the board.  Stefano’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes his king is trapped between Grace’s queen and her pawn.

“Checkmate.”  She finishes her brandy and sets the snifter on the table next to the defunct game.  

“You always were easy, Stefano.”

Chapter XLVIII – Conjugate Squares

“Get that down you.”  John places a beer in front of Bo and turns his back to the bar.  Downing half of his own beer in one hit, he eyes the crowd.  Even now, at this place, Marlena is at the forefront of his mind.  He remembers years ago, her telling him she had been here with Carly when Roman and Bo had been missing.  They had had some kind of “girls night out” bonding thing going on.  But God only knew what had compelled them to come down to this place.  He closes his eyes briefly as he contemplates all the time he has lost with Marlena, and he sighs noiselessly.  He can’t keep torturing himself like this or he’s going to lose it.

“So what’s going on bro?” Bo turns to him as he takes a mouthful of his beer, but he stops at the sight of John.  “Man, you look like *shit*!”

“Thanks little brother,” John grunts before he takes another mouthful of his beer.  “I’ve been better.”

“Sorry man,” Bo shrugs although he’s having a hard time raising a fair amount of sympathy for John.  After all, it’s Bo’s fiancée that is lying in the hospital in a coma.  John might have lost a child but Bo, could lose a hell of a lot more. 

“Yeah,” John nods uncertainly.  There’s a slight edge to Bo’s voice that intensifies his doubts from earlier and he wonders if he’s made a mistake thinking he can come to Bo for help.  “Bo, look, you know I’m so damn sorry about all of this.  If there was any way I could take back time and change what happened with…” he trails off as he sees the flicker in Bo’s eyes.  Bo doesn’t answer him, so he tries again.  “How is Hope doing?”

“About the same.”  Bo takes another mouthful of the tepid beer and makes a face.  “You know, sometimes I think I could *kill* you for what happened…” he sighs, “but, then I remember how Hope was when she was Gina.  I know this wasn’t your fault, John.  As much as I want someone to blame for what happened to her, I know it isn’t you.”  He runs frustrated fingers through his hair.  “I wish it was, it would make things a hell of a lot simpler.”

“Maybe in the short term…” John relaxes slightly as he puts his beer down and leans on the bar.  “But looking for revenge isn’t going to help Hope, Bo.  Not in the long term.  We all have to come to terms with what happened.  We were all victims here, especially you and Doc but if we don’t deal with it, it’s going to tear us all apart.”

“It looks as though it’s doing a damn good job already,” Bo grouses.  “You should have told us when you first knew John.”

“Maybe…” John’s voice drops and then he nods his head, “okay, yeah.  You’re right, I should have told you.  It was wrong, I was a coward and I apologize.”

“Accepted.”  Bo nods with the hint of a smile.  “So what’s up?  I don’t have a whole lot of time, bro.”

“I know, and I appreciate you taking the time out to meet me,” John slams his glass on the counter and waves over the bartender to refill it as he switches gears in the conversation.  “But the thing is, I need this to stay between you and me Bo.  Abe can’t know about this.”

“Abe…” Bo shakes his head uncertainly.  “John, you’re not going to ask me to do anything illegal are you?”

“No Bo, c’mon!”  John looks slightly aggrieved at Bo’s suggestion.  “Look, I know we’ve had our differences over the years, but I still think of you as my little brother and you are the first person I consider turning to when I need some help.  I don’t think that will ever change.”  The bartender pushes the now-full beer glass back to John and John throws a twenty-dollar bill at him.  Pulling Bo to a quieter corner of the shabby bar, he continues.

“I trust you with my life Bo, but I need to know that you trust me too.  I know I betrayed your trust with Hope, but you have to believe me, I didn’t know what I was doing.  And there is no way I would ever knowingly put you in danger or ask you to do something illegal.”

Bo hears his words and allows them to sink in as he considers them and everything else that has happened lately.

“I do believe you.”  He feels profound relief as he says the words and realizes that he means them.  Even two minutes ago when he had told John that it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t been one hundred percent convinced.  But now, suddenly, he is, and it makes things a hell of a lot easier to handle.  He grins at John.  “I believe you, bro.  It just took me a while to come around, that’s all.”

“Good.”  John lets out the breath that he has been holding and he manages a tight smile too.  “I know it’s not going to be easy Bo, but I can’t tell you how much that means to me right now.”

“Hey, I still think of you as my brother too,” Bo claps his hand on John’s shoulder, “so whatever help you need, I’m your man.”

“And no Abe,” John reiterates.

“No Abe.” Bo takes a gulp of the beer.  “Cross my heart man.”

“Okay,” John takes a deep breath and nods.  “I think Stefano is planning something.  I’m not sure what, but I have reason to believe he may be leaving Salem, possibly for Europe, within the next couple of weeks.”

“So we’ll be rid of the bastard for once and for all then,” Bo muses.

“You really think we could get that lucky?” John raises his eyebrows in an obvious display of disbelief.   “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m worried about Doc.  With everything that’s happened lately, she’s just not in a great frame of mind and I’m worried that Stefano is going to take advantage of that.”

“You think maybe DiMera is gonna try something on Marlena, *again*?” 

“What better time Bo?” John asks impatiently.  “We all have our own problems to deal with.  Doc is unprotected over there, and she’s distracted.  Our guard’s down and Stefano is going to walk right in there and take what he wants.  And what he wants is still Doc.  You can bet your life on that.”  His knuckles are white, they are wrapped so tightly around the handle of the beer glass, and he takes another swig of the amber liquid.

“All right, so what do you need me to do?” Bo asks.

“Find out the old man’s travel plans.” John says carefully.  “If he’s planning to take a plane, a bus or an aircraft carrier out of this place, I want to know about it.”

“And what about Marlena?” Bo raises his eyebrows.  “Maybe I should talk to her-“

“No.” John shakes his head swiftly.  He can’t let her know he is on to her even in the smallest way.  If she knows that John suspects she is leaving town, there is no telling what she will do.  “The last thing I want is Marlena to have to look over her shoulder every five minutes wondering if Stefano is after her again.  No, we can take care of this without her ever having to know, Bo.”

“Are you sure?” Bo frowns, his brows knitting.

“Let me handle that end of it okay?”  John slaps Bo on the arm.  “She’s my wife, let me decide what’s best there.”  He shrugs.  “Besides, you’ve got enough on your plate.  But if you can find that information out for me, I’ll owe you an even bigger one than I do already.”

~

It has been raining out and the wet pavement is smeared with reflections of red and pink neon lights as Grace walks up to the nightclub, the black leather jacket skimming the hem of her skirt.  Pushing the door open, she walks inside and looks around.  

The club is smoky, the lighting dim and the music is appropriately loud.  Grace surveys the patrons of the club and after several moments, her eyes alight on a likely quartet of boys in the corner.  They have already taken note of her entrance and one of them nudges his friend with an appreciative grin.  Grace bites back a smile of her own and makes her way to the bar, ordering a martini from the beefy bartender.

She watches him mix it with a slight air of distaste as he pours the alcohol into a cocktail shaker and agitates it briskly.  He sloshes it into a glass and then drops an olive into the mixture before he hands it to Grace.

“Thanks,” she says with more than a hint of sarcasm, but the bartender completely misses it as he rings the martini up on the till.

“I’ve got it,” a voice says beside her and she turns to find the boys from the corner are now surrounding her.  The tall blonde one passes the bartender a ten dollar bill and then introduces himself.

“Hi there, I’m Simon,” he grins.  “And these guys are Nick, Andy and Roger.”

“Grace.”  Grace extends her hand and each of the young men shakes it in turn.  Simon is the last but, instead of shaking her hand, he bends over and deposits a kiss with a small flourish.  The rest of the guys groan as Simon grins.  “So, I don’t think we’ve seen you around here before.  New to town?”

“Not exactly,” Grace takes a sip of her martini and unbelts her jacket.

“Well, you’re not a regular here,” one of the young men observes.  “I mean, we are here all the time and we’ve never seen you before.”

“You think you’d remember me?” Grace raises her eyebrows, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“Uh, yeah,” Nick looks her up and down.  “I think that’s pretty much a given.”

“So tell me, what do you boys do in the daylight hours?” Grace sways her hips slightly to the music.

“We’re lawyers,” Roger replies.  “We work for Pearson and Clegg uptown.”

“All of you?” Grace puts her glass down on a nearby table and slides her jacket down over her shoulders.  “My word, how do any of the girls there get *any* work done?”

Nick helps slip her jacket off and then offers to take it to the coat check for her.  She watches him go and then turns to Simon.  “So, is one of you boys going to ask me to dance?”

~

It’s after one in the morning when Grace finally unlocks the penthouse door.  Simon is behind her and his hands slide around her waist and up over her breasts as he nibbles on her neck.  Grace laughs as he whispers something in her ear and his hand dives under her skirt. 

“Oh, you’re *such* a bad boy.”  She twists in his arms, and he kisses her as she kicks the door open with the heel of her boot.  Drawing him with her, she backs into the penthouse, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as his own hands explore her behind.  She pushes the door closed before she continues to explore his lips and mouth.

“Just as well you like that.” Simon chuckles richly as he wraps the fingers of one hand in her hair and pulls her head backwards.  Grace gasps as he sucks on the tender flesh at the base of her throat and she feels lust tugging at her nerves, sending tremors through her body as his mouth moves over her skin.

“Get* away* from her!”  The words are a wounded bellow, and for a moment, Grace doesn’t know what the hell is happening.  It’s only a moment later though that she realizes that John has bodily torn the boy from her and has thrown him against the wall.

“Who are you?” Simon demands insolently in the near dark of the penthouse living room.

“I’m her *husband*,” John snarls furiously.  He’s been sitting on the sofa waiting for Marlena, or whatever the hell she calls herself, for the better part of three hours.  He had prepared himself for lots of things, but he hadn’t expected *this*.  

He doesn’t even know why he hadn’t.  He knows he *should* have, but the thought was just too painful.  And the reality is even worse.  Seeing another man touching her.  *Kissing* her.  Knowing that she intends to take him into her bed and let him make love to her….  The knowledge assaults John, battering him, crushing him until his restraint lies in tatters.

Glaring at the impertinent young man he narrows his eyes.  “And if you know what’s good for you kid, you’re going to get out of here right now and never come back.”

“You’re married?” Simon pants as he looks at Grace.

“I’m divorcing him,” Grace says succinctly.  “Get out, John.”

“Shut up, Marlena.”  John doesn’t even look at her.

“You don’t talk to a lady like that,” Simon stands up straight and then with a burst of courage, he pushes John backwards.  Ignoring the fact that John’s expression darkens, he walks past him and back to where Grace is standing, fascinated by the exchange.  John ‘s fists tighten as he watches the young man slide his arm around Marlena’s shoulders.  “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You wanna *bet*, punk?”  John spins the young guy around and plants him with a right hook that sends him staggering back against the door.  “No-one messes with my *wife*,” he slams Simon back against the door.  “*No-one*.  You hearing me?”

“Get *fucked*, you bastard!” Simon takes a swing at John and connects with his right eye.  John reacts immediately as he slams a fist into Simon’s midsection.  The young man doubles over, winded and John sends him sprawling with an uppercut.

Grace watches all this, her lips parted and reddened and her breathing shallow.  She’d had no idea that John was going to be here, but it’s quite delicious all the same.

“Listen, you lousy little fuck,” John’s voice is ragged as he drags Simon into a standing position.  “You get the hell out of here, you hear me?”  

Simon manages to draw his battered features into a sneer, and he spits at John right before hitting him with another right hook.  He follows it with an uppercut and manages a chuckle.  The sound of laughter completely snaps any discipline John has left and he starts pummelling the boy.  Blood splatters the natural grain of the wood as Simon’s lip splits and his eyes begin to swell.

Grace watches, rapt, as John deals to the kid, but after a moment she realizes that John is in real danger of doing some serious damage to him.  Deciding it wouldn’t be prudent to try and explain away a severely injured young man in her apartment to Abe on top of the business with Lamont, she steps forward.

“John.  John!  Cut it out!”  John doesn’t appear to hear her as he continues to beat the shit out of Simon.  “JOHN!” Grace manages to hold back John’s arm and she slips in between John and his victim.  “For God’s sake, you’ll kill the boy.”

“Maybe he deserves it,” John growls wrathfully.

“Maybe we both got a little more than we bargained for,” Grace purrs, pushing John back slightly as Simon staggers to his feet behind her.  

“Let him go John, it’s me you’re angry with, isn’t it?”  She smiles sexily as she slides one hand around the nape of his neck and leans forward with a breathy whisper.  “I’ve been a bad, *bad* girl John, don’t you want to punish me?”

“*Doc*,” John closes his eyes, trying to fight his desire for her.  He knows she’s not Marlena, but *god* the things her body does to him are criminal.  Behind her, he hears the kid Simon mutter something about weirdos before he stumbles out the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Chapter XLIX – Queen Hunt

“C’mon John,” Grace leans forward a little and swipes her tongue across his earlobe.  John shudders, his heart pounding in his chest and his body aflame with need for her.  “You want me.  You want to take me right now,” she hooks one leg around his calf and presses up against him.  John can feel the long leather boots through the denim of his jeans and it’s only making things worse.  “So why don’t you?”

He’s unable to answer as she smothers any thought of a reply with a kiss that swamps him in lust.  Reaching down, he slides his fingers along the underside of her thigh and draws it upwards.  Grace uses his grip to gain some purchase and before he realizes what has happened, her legs are wrapped around his hips and he is kissing her like his life depends on it.

“That’s it,” Grace purrs against his ear as he buries his face in her neck, his lips hot against her skin.  “What do you want to do to me baby?”

“Doc,” John groans, trying to fight his attraction to her.

“No talking John,” she whispers, “it just gets you into trouble.”

She kisses him again but when he tries to pull away from her kiss, she nips at his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.  “Now *you’re* being a bad boy…” she says in a huskily erotic voice.  

However, it seems she’s misjudged her tactics as John tenses.

“Enough Marlena!” He disentangles himself from her and sets her down.  “What the *hell* do you think you’re playing at?”

With the hint of a smile, Grace shrugs and walks away.  She’s not about to give John the pleasure of getting her upset.  Not when he’s so obviously jumped off the deep end himself.  “*DAMMIT*, *answer* me!”  He stalks after her and catches her arm, swinging her back around to face him.

“Whatever do you mean John?” she asks. 

“Christ, would you stop playing with me!” John feels the fury growing inside him.  Face to face with her now, he wonders how he could have ever thought that she was Marlena.  She’s nothing like the woman he loves.  She’s hard and calculating and it seems that she doesn’t care who she hurts.  Or rather, the more people she hurts, the better.  “Abe told me about *Wesley*, and now I find you here with that punk…”

“I think a little turn about is fair play, don’t you?” she replies snippily, a touch of bitterness swelling in her words.

“God, it’s *hardly* the same thing!”  John throws his hands up in the air.

“Oh no, that’s right, thanks for refreshing my memory,” Grace retorts, with acid delight.  “You screwed Hope after pledging your undying love to me in a wedding ceremony in front of all our friends and family.  I, on the other hand, was betrayed by you.  I’m now separated from you and filing for divorce and I think a little bit of fun is merely what the doctor ordered.  Different?”  She smiles wickedly.  “I guess so.”

John is deflated by her argument and his guilt takes the edge off his anger.  “Maybe.  But where does it stop, Marlena?” he asks, the name sticking in his throat.  It’s not easy to call her by Marlena’s name, but he doesn’t want to raise her suspicions.  “When is it that I’ve been punished enough?”

“Is there such a thing as enough?” she narrows her eyes as she pulls from his grip.  “Anyway, why shouldn’t I enjoy myself?  You did, after all, hmmm?”

“I barely even *remember* it,” John says exasperatedly as he watches her pour herself a martini.  Marlena barely drinks, let alone knows how to fix a martini with such care, and the sight of this creature behaving so unlike his Doc suddenly leaves him breathless and aching.  

He misses her so much it’s like a physical pain.  It’s as though someone has torn out half his heart and left him with a raw, gaping wound in its stead.

“I’m sure you remember Olivia.”  Grace turns back to him.  “Yvette.  Diana.”  She takes a mouthful of her martini.  “Oh and of course I *know* you remember dear, *sweet* Isabella.  And Kristen.”  The sarcasm that laces her words is scything.

“What the hell does that have to do…?” John’s brow creases as he tries to figure this comment into the very little he knows of this woman.  “Honey, you know that *none* of them compares to how I feel about you.  Not even IzzyB.”

“How very tragic for you then.”  Grace chuckles as she walks towards the stairs.  “Seeing as I’m divorcing you.”

“I haven’t said I’m signing the papers.”  John raises one eyebrow.  “What makes you think I’m going to agree to a divorce?”

“You don’t have any choice, *honey*.”  Grace turns and looks back over her shoulder at him.  “You see John, I’m going to be leaving Salem shortly.  I think it’s best this way, don’t you?  At least then, we can both move on with our lives.  Just think…” she grins nastily, “if Hope pulls through you could try for another demon spawn.”

The last comment is enough to break John’s resolve and he crosses the living room in several steps and tears the drink from her hand and pitches it against the wall, where it shatters noisily.  Wrapping steely fingers around her wrists he pulls her close to him.

“I’m not letting you go, Marlena.  I won’t let you do this.  I *need* you.”  John can only hope that Marlena is still somewhere inside and that he can reach her.  That she can feel his love and his fear for her.  “Stop the fucking games and *talk* to me about how you’re feeling for God’s sake.  I want to *hear* the anger and the pain.  I want to hear it all and then maybe we can sort this thing out.”

“You don’t *get* that privilege any more John,” Grace fights back, tearing her hands from his grip, as angry with herself as she is at him.  She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let him upset her and here she is once again, feeling uncomfortable and irate. “I’m not having this conversation with you, so you’d better get used to that idea.”

“I’m *never* going to get used to that idea,” he replies passionately.  “You should *know* that about me, Marlena.  I’m never going to willingly let you go.  You mean *everything* to me.”  

“You’re a *liar*!”  She shouts as she lashes out, her open palm connecting with the side of his face.  “Get the fuck *out* of my house!”

“I’m not going *anywhere*,” John grabs her wrist again and backs her up against the wall.  “I know you still love me, Doc.  The mere fact that you’re so damn angry with me is enough to prove that.  What on earth makes you think I’d give up on you, knowing that?”

“I don’t love you.” Grace’s lips thin as she glowers at him.  “You killed that, John.  You killed any love I ever had for you when you screwed around on me.”

“Uh-uh.”  John shakes his head.  As much as she’s not Marlena, he can sense a thread of the woman he loves within her and that gives him hope.  Her emotions, although chaotic and an unknown quantity, seem real enough and he only has one option at this point.  “You *do* still love me, Doc.  You forget, I know you.”

“You know *nothing*.” Grace spits as he moves closer.

As much as she loathes him and intends to throw him out of the penthouse, she has never wanted him more than she does right now.  Every nerve in her body screams with the impact of his proximity and she struggles not to let it show.  

She fails miserably as he sandwiches her to the wall and slides his tongue between her willing lips.  She whimpers softly and tips her head back slightly as he kisses her hard and she feels his hands slip from her wrists to her shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly over her collarbones.

Drawing back slightly, John grins in victory.  “You do still love me baby and I’m not letting you go.  Trust that.”  

Grace blinks rapidly, fury quickly replacing the lack of balance his kiss had provoked.  “Screw you,” she hisses as she pushes him backwards.  Her eyes narrow as she tries to gather her composure.

“Not this time.”  He shakes his head, his eyes dark and unreadable.  Reaching out, he draws his index finger softly over the curve of her cheek.  “Not while we’re both hurt and angry, that’s not going to solve anything.”  He pauses as he sees the shiver that she tries so hard to hide and his mouth quirks in an odd half-smile.  “I’m going to go now.  But I’ll be back.  You can count on it.”

With that, and leaving Grace totally off-balance, he turns for the door.  Grace stares after him for a moment, her heart pounding and a palpable rage swelling inside her.  Her lips pale and thin, she storms after him as he opens the door.

“Sign those papers John, and save us all a lot of misery.”  John turns around in the doorway to look at her and he reads a multitude of emotions in her eyes.  Emotions he is not even sure she would admit to.  Placing her hand on the door, she sneers at him.    “Don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.”

John stiffens, wondering if he has pushed her too far.  The last thing he wants to do is make her question the fact that he might suspect her true nature.  And for all his superficial self-assurance, he is still terrified.  Especially with the confirmation of her intended departure.  It makes things all the more desperate and failure all the more imminent.  But failure is the one outcome that he can’t consider.  To fail Marlena again is unthinkable.

Hiding his thoughts with an outwardly impassive expression, he leaves the penthouse, pausing to look at her from the open doorway.

“If you never believe another thing in your life Marlena, believe that I *love* you.  I married you because I want to spend the rest of my life sharing everything with you.  That will never change, even if you divorce me and even if you leave Salem.  My love will always be with you.  Running away is not going to change that fact.” He smiles sadly.  “I tried that once and I never even got off the ground, if you recall.”

“Enough of the sob story,” she rolls her eyes.  “Just sign the damn papers.”  With that parting comment, she slams the door violently closed, not even waiting to see if John steps out of the way in time to avoid it.

John stares at the door as he hears the lock click into place and his stomach turns.  He is fast running out of options.  Between Abe and the police department and the knowledge that she is planning to leave, he is stuck between a rock and a hard place and playing safe isn’t going to get him anywhere but in major trouble.  He has to come up with a plan and he has to do it soon, or he’s screwed.  They all are.

Upstairs, in the penthouse, Grace slams the door in the bedroom and goes to the armoire.  Pulling out a suitcase from the bottom, she throws it on the bed and yanks open the top drawers of the bureau.  With furious determination, she begins to grab jewelry boxes from one of the drawers and dump them unceremoniously in the empty case.  When the drawers are bare, she yanks them out of the chest and lets them crash on the floor.  Pulling out the drawer below, she begins to collect handfuls of expensive lingerie and she flings them in the case.  

After a while, her manic rage begins to subside, and she looks at the case.  An almost hysterical giggle bubbles up in her throat as she realizes just to what extent she has lost control of her emotions.  It angers her that John can have such an effect on her and the fact that her first instinct is to run from him only makes it worse.

She had been sure that the stunt in the hotel room would be all it would take to break him, but he appears to be made of sterner stuff.  And that both intrigues and alarms her.  She has already allowed him to get too close and she is starting to think that maybe Stefano is right, and she has underestimated him.  And yet, despite all this, she can’t seem to shake the growing desire she feels for him.  He does things to her body that she has never felt before and it bothers her.  

And not only that.  To her surprise, she realizes that she can’t seem to predict his next move.  Not like, say Craig, who was the epitome of obvious.  She’s lost control of this situation and while she knows that she should get out before things get completely out of hand, she rather perversely finds herself more and more tempted to stay and play the game with him.  Aside from Stefano, she has never come up against a man who provides such a challenge.  It galls her that it should be John Black of all people and it has forced her to respect a man she would rather despise.

She needs to control him, to dominate him.  The desire to see him crawling at her feet, begging for her to throw him a crumb almost overwhelms the need to escape the dreariness of Salem.  The challenge of breaking him, of seeing him bend to her will, would almost be worth her staying.  If only it weren’t for the damned police and their tiresome investigation of Lamont’s death.

Sighing, she begins to rearrange the contents of the suitcase.  She still has to pack; they will be leaving Salem inside forty-eight hours if everything goes according to plan.

A box in the suitcase catches her eye and she pulls it out and opens it.  Nestled inside is a charm bracelet.  It seems a strange keepsake but one that she assumes is in line with Marlena’s sentimental nature.  She rolls her eyes but still she fingers the charms, wondering what banal significance Marlena attached to such baubles.

— No, not just charms.  Those are good luck charms for your second chance at life —

Her eyes widen slightly and she drops the bauble as though it has sent a jolt of electricity through her fingers.  Her throat is suddenly dry and palms clammy with sweat as she looks at the offending jumble of gold.

–…and we have an angel, for protection and guidance…–

Trembling, Grace snatches up the bracelet and tucks it back into the box, snapping the lid closed almost violently.  Wrenching open the top drawer of her dresser, she stuffs it inside and then closes it.

Gritting her teeth, she does her best to tuck the unwelcome memories into a forgotten corner of her mind as she heads downstairs to pour herself a very stiff martini.

Chapter L – Dislodging Manoeuvre

The knocking on the door is persistent and John pries open one bloodshot eye.

“Who is it?”

“John, it’s Bo.  Let me in man, I have that information you wanted.”

John is up and pulling on his jeans almost before the words are out of Bo’s mouth.  He pulls open the door, trying to ignore the pounding headache that has settled in behind his eyes and wordlessly ushers Bo inside.

“You were right,” Bo nods exhaustedly.  He has been up all night drilling contacts for information and trying to separate truth from fabrication.  “The old man is up to something all right.”

“No kidding,” John rubs cold fingers across his closed eyelids.  “What did you find out?”

“As far as a I can work it out, and he’s laid a lot of false trails, Stefano has a private jet on the tarmac at Salem Airport.  The pilot has filed a flight plan for Europe.  Leaving tomorrow night.”

“So that’s it then?”  John feels his stomach sinking practically through the floor.  “*Tomorrow night*?”  

“Well whatever he’s doing, it’s tomorrow night.”  Bo shrugs, working his fingers over the stiff muscles in his neck.  “But it’s not necessarily on the jet.  He’s got a luxury yacht moored down river *and* a chopper scheduled to fly into Ridgecrest at midnight.  And those are the ones that we know of for sure.”

John looks at Bo, his eyes dark with anger and fear.  “He’s going to take her Bo.  The old bastard is going to try and take her from me again… and I’m not sure I can stop it this time.”

~

“Grace,” Stefano comes up behind Grace as she looks idly at the display in the window of Ballistix.  A white pair of hip hugging rio pants skim the hot pink stiletto sandals that she wears.  The sandals match the hot pink tank top and her hair is pinned up on top of her head.   “My dear, as always, you look stunning.”  He leers at her slightly.  “Are you prepared for our imminent departure?”  

Grace turns around, a smile shading her lips as she slides off her designer sunglasses.  “Well, that rather depends, doesn’t it?”

“On what, my dear?”  Stefano takes the bag in her hand, and they slowly walk through the mall together.

“On the *details* of our imminent departure.”  She trails her fingers across the toughened glass of the jewelry store window, her eyes registering the glitter of the diamonds behind it.

“Tomorrow night,” Stefano touches her arm and she turns to look at him.  “We will drive an hour south of Salem.  There is a private airfield there.  I have chartered a plane from there to New York.  From there it is merely a commercial flight to Stuttgart.”

“Commercial?” Grace looks distinctly unimpressed.

“It is the last thing John Black will be expecting,” Stefano’s lips stretch into a fleshy smile.  “Before he realizes it, you will have slipped from his fingers and he will not find us again.”

“Good.” Grace says stiffly.  She has been edgy all morning and even this news does nothing to dissipate the anxiety that has been building inside her.   “And the arrangements with the D.A.?”

“All under control, Grace,” Stefano has an air of assurance about him that relaxes her slightly and she allows herself the luxury of a smile.  “The wheels are in motion; you will not have to worry about the Salem Police department for much longer.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  They both turn at the sound of the voice and find a furious Sami glaring at them, her arms crossed in front of her.  Grace says nothing, wondering how much of the conversation Sami has heard.  “How could you talk to him as though nothing is wrong?  How could you even look at him and not care how much he has hurt your family.  What the hell is wrong with you Mom?”  She doesn’t wait for a reply but turns back to Stefano.  Taking a step towards him, she narrows steely eyes.  “You stay the *hell* away from my family and if I ever so much as see you lay a hand on my mother again, I *swear* I will kill you myself.”

“Ahhh,” Stefano chuckles richly, “my dear Miss Brady, quite the little lioness these days.  I see you inherited your sense of determination and fire from your parents.”

“You see *nothing*, Stefano.” Sami hisses.  “You don’t know the first thing about my family.  All you see is your own twisted agenda.”  Her eyes shine with tears.  “If there was any kind of justice in the world, you would be the one that was dead, not my father.”  She takes another step towards Stefano so that she is practically eyeball to eyeball with him.  “I hope you rot in *hell* for the things that you have done.”

“Samantha, that is enough.”  Grace finally speaks up.

“Don’t you *dare* try and defend him to me.”  Sami spins around to fix her furious glare on her mother.  “I don’t care if he’s supposed to have turned over a new leaf.  Stefano DiMera never does *anything* if there’s nothing in it for him.  *You* know that better than anybody.”

She looks back at Stefano, who is watching them with a touch of amusement, and she lets out an exclamation of frustration.  Grabbing Grace’s arm, she pulls her away from Stefano.  When they are out of sight of him, Sami finally stops and faces her mother, her hands on her hips.

“What the hell is going on with you Mom?”

“I’m sorry?” Grace merely raises her eyebrows as she tucks her purse under her arm.

“I can’t believe you.  You act like…” Sami lets out a grunt of frustration as she eyes her mother.  “I don’t even know *what* you’re acting like, it’s too weird.  And you’re talking to *him*?  Like he’s just another friend you encounter at the mall?”

“Hardly, Samantha,” Grace’s voice is hard and cold.

“God, I feel as though I don’t even know you anymore.  Belle called me the other night in tears because you haven’t called her in two weeks.  Two weeks, Mom.  This is *Belle* we’re talking about.”

“I’ve been busy and I don’t exactly need your censure on top of everything else that’s going on in my life, Sami,” Grace narrows her eyes.  “If you feel like you don’t know me then maybe it’s time you take a good hard look at the way you treat other people and maybe you’d understand why they don’t want to be around you anymore.”

“Oh hey Mom, people in glasshouses…” Sami returns angrily but after a moment, she softens and looks away.  When she looks back, there is pain in her eyes.  “Y’know, I thought we’d gotten our relationship back on track.  Guess I was wrong huh?”

“Yeah,” Grace wrinkles her nose, sarcasm heavy on every syllable, “guess you were.”

Sami takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to turn and walk away.  It’s obvious that’s the reaction her mother is trying to provoke, why she’s not sure, but she won’t give her the pleasure.

“I heard about what you’re doing.  Divorcing John, I mean.”  She chews the inside of her lip for a moment.  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing Mom?  I mean, you guys love each other so much.  I know John made a terrible mistake, sure but….”

“But *nothing*, Sami,” Grace spits the words out swiftly and with an almost violent conciseness.  Her lips are set in a thin line as she glares at Marlena’s suddenly holier than thou daughter.  “You wouldn’t understand what John’s betrayal did to our marriage.  You’re so ready to step up to the plate with a lie to further your own agenda but you never realized how they destroy any love and affection that exists between people.  Well, it’s time somebody told you the truth, sweetheart.”  The endearment is twisted into something horrible as it rolls off Grace’s tongue.  “Lies destroy trust.  They disintegrate every emotion they touch, and you Sami, have killed anything I ever felt for you.  You might be my daughter, but you have the morals of a guttersnipe.”  The corner of her lips curl into an embittered smile.  “I guess you get those along with your brains, from your father.  So please don’t talk to me about whether I am doing the right thing or not.  My husband and my family have caused me nothing but grief and I’d divorce the lot of you if I could.”

Sami can only stare at Grace, her eyes wide and two identical red spots burning on her cheeks.  She feels as though all the breath has been sucked from her lungs and her stomach hurts.  And then the tears prickle in her eyes, hot and embarrassing as Grace stares at her with scorn.

“Mom.. I…I..” she flounders for something to say, but there is nothing.  There is nothing that can make this right, nothing that can even make it bearable.  Turning, she flicks the tears from her eyes and runs blindly, not even knowing where she’s headed.  All she knows is that she can’t be here.  She can’t face this.  She can’t….

Grace wears a satisfied smile as she watches the young woman dash from the mall.  She turns when she hears Stefano’s laugh, and she slides her sunglasses back on.

“Find something amusing my darling?”

“Grace, your perversity sometimes shocks even me,” he takes her arm, and they walk again.  “Poor little Sami Brady.  Such cruel words from her own mother.”

“Well, they say the truth hurts,” Grace shrugs languidly.  “The patronizing little bitch had it coming.”

“No doubt,” Stefano nods.

Grace slows to a stop, an idea forming along with the wicked smile on her lips.

“Actually, there are a few of Marlena’s so-called friends and family around here who could do with hearing some home truths…”  She lifts one eyebrow.  “What say, since we’re out of here tomorrow, you and I take in a little lunch.  At the Brady Pub?”

~

“So, your guy will call if there is any more news?” It seems like the thousandth time John has asked that particular question and Bo nods tiredly.  

“I can’t do too much without tipping Abe off, but I have a couple of guys watching DiMera and his place.  He won’t be able to do too much without us knowing about it.”

“And he’s down here?” John looks around the busy mall.

“Somewhere, yeah.” Bo nods, scanning the patrons with experienced eyes.  “He won’t be too far away.”

John rounds the corner just before Bo, but he pulls up short when a young woman runs straight into him.

“Woah, woah, wait up there.”  Without even being aware of it, a flicker of recognition passes through him, and he places his hands on her shoulders.  “Samantha?”  She slowly raises her eyes to meet his, watery mascara smeared across her cheeks.  “Sami, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He quickly leads her to a bench and sits her down, motioning for Bo to get her some water from the nearby café.  “Can you tell me what happened, Sami?”

Sami opens her mouth to say something, but seeing his concern, a strangled sob is all that escapes.  She buries her face in her hands and allows the tears to fall as John folds an arm around her shaking shoulders.

It seems like an eternity later that Sami finally pulls herself together enough to lift her head.  Wiping her face with her fingers, she merely seems to smudge the mascara further over her skin.  She sniffs and looks sideways at John.

“Sorry,” she ventures.

“Sorry?  For what?” John frowns.

“For this.”  She waves her hands in the air as she tries to fight off more tears.  “It’s so dumb.”

“Not if something upset you honey,” John waits for Bo to pass her the water and a wad of napkins he’s swiped from dotcom.  “Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want-“

“It’s Mom,” she blurts out as she shreds one of the napkins between her fingers.  “I….” she looks angry with herself as she unsuccessfully fights the tears, and she flicks her hand across her face in pure frustration.  “I was only trying to help y’know?”

“What happened with your Mom?” Bo asks impatiently.  He’s silenced however, by a look from John as he slides onto the bench alongside Sami.

“Did Marlena say something to you, peanut?”

Sami blinks disconcertedly.  “Uh… she was talking to Stefano.  And then I … I asked her if she was sure she was doing the right thing… leaving you, I mean.”  She takes a deep breath.  “John, she was….” she shakes her head, her pained eyes wide.  “She wasn’t Mom at all.  The things she said…”

“Listen to me Samantha,” John’s voice drops, “don’t listen to her, okay?  She’s really mixed up at the moment and she doesn’t mean the things that she’s saying.”

“Aren’t times of stress when how you really feel comes out?” Sami asks miserably, her whole demeanour practically begging John to argue with her.

“No,” John shakes his head.  “Times of stress are when you say the things you don’t really mean.  They’re when you try and hurt people because you are hurting yourself.  It’s not fair Sami, but it’s human nature, and your mom, you’re right, she isn’t herself right now.  Just cut her a little slack okay, and don’t take her words to heart.  The Marlena I know would never purposely hurt her children.  Or anyone, for that matter.”

That seems to give Sami cause for pause and she looks at him as she wipes the moisture from under her eyes.  “You’re worried about her.”

“And you’re a very perceptive young woman,” John attempts a smile, but he doesn’t quite pull it off.  If *she* is going after members of Marlena’s family now, who is next?  “I love her, Sami.”

“I know you do,” Sami nods.  “And I think if anyone can get through to her, John it has to be you.”

“I’m glad you have such faith in me,” he smiles ruefully.

“Someone has to, John,” Sami replies, such a shivering urgency in her voice, John feels his stomach turn.  “Someone has to or I think we’re going to lose her.”

~

“Well, well.”  Stefano and Grace stand just inside the Brady pub watching the amusing little scene unfold before them.  Maggie and Caroline Brady are engaged in a heated discussion about Bo and Hope.  

It is not long before the disagreement escalates into a fight and Maggie turns to storm out of the pub. It is then that she sees Grace standing next to Stefano.  When she had last seen Marlena and John at Tuscany, she had not been privy to the circumstances that had preceded Hope’s accident.  Now she knew everything, including John and Hope’s liaison in Hawaii and the fact that Hope had found Marlena with Bo on the boat.

But as much as her heart breaks for Marlena’s pain, she cannot condone what she sees in front of her.  Marlena in the company of the one man ultimately responsible for this whole nightmare.

“Marlena, what the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, her blazing temper barely below explosion point.

“Well good afternoon, Maggie, it’s nice to see you too.” Grace’s sweet reply is tempered with a good deal of sarcasm.

Maggie’s eyes flash with anger at the cutting edge to Grace’s words.  “You know, I’m having a great deal of trouble understanding anything that’s going on here, but you… with Stefano DiMera… after everything he’s done to your family and mine.”  She shakes her head, her fiery red hair flicking across her shoulders with the force of her ire.  “That about takes the cake.”

“Dear Maggie,” Stefano lays his hand possessively on Grace’s arm and her lips twitch in amusement.  “Why is it that everyone in this town is so very quick to judge?”

‘*Quick*?”  Maggie’s eyes widen in incredulity.  “You’ve spent twenty years toying with our lives, *tormenting* us and you think that’s *quick*?”  She turns her gaze back to Grace.  “I don’t understand you any more Marlena.  We are your friends; we could help you through this.”

“And how could you do that Maggie?” Grace asks scathingly.  “You can barely say a civil word to anyone in the Brady family.  Your *niece* was the one that whored herself for my husband, somehow I think that creates a conflict of interests, don’t you?”

“My *niece*, is lying in the hospital.”  Maggie’s face pales with barely suppressed fury.  “They don’t know if she will make it and you don’t seem to care at all.”

“That would be because I don’t particularly,” Grace replies airily.  “I’d apologize for my lack of concern but given that Hope screwed me over without the first thought, I don’t feel particularly inclined to care about her wellbeing right now.”

A chill runs through Maggie as she hears the steel behind Grace’s words.  The hazel eyes that are usually so warm and welcoming are now cold and calculating and Maggie has the sudden impression that she is looking into the face of a stranger.

“Marlena…” Her voice is hollow and clammy, sticking to the sides of her throat as she tries to spit the words out.  “What is wrong with you?  You’re scaring me, this isn’t like you at all.”

“Your concern … well it could be touching, but I really think it’s somewhat hypocritical since the first thing you did when I walked in here was attack me.”  Grace’s expression slides easily into an affronted grimace.  “I don’t need your judgements, Maggie. I don’t need your anger and I sure as hell don’t need your half-hearted attempts at friendship.”  She narrows her eyes, her pupils dilating into inky pools.  “Get out of my sight.”

Maggie bristles, her posture stiffening as she glares back at Grace and then without a word, she pushes past Stefano and slams the door of the pub behind her.  Grace looks at Stefano and then up at the bar where Shawn and Caroline are watching her, disbelief etched on their faces.

And then, to everyone’s amazement, she laughs.

Chapter LI – Knight Defender

Aware that Shawn and Caroline are watching her with equal measures concern and disgust, Grace makes a show of leading Stefano to a booth where she slides onto the bench.  When she is seated, he eases onto the bench across from her, laughter barely concealed behind his pursed lips.

Grace’s eyes glitter with danger as she waits for the inevitable interruption that is about to occur.  It doesn’t take long.

“Marlena, darlin’ you know you are always welcome here,” Shawn’s heavily accented voice cuts the air.  “But not in the company you’re choosin’ to keep right now.”

“Shawn, all we want is to see a menu,” Grace’s words are soft and placating.

“I will not serve *that* man,” Shawn practically spits in DiMera’s direction.  “Not in my home.  Why would you even bring him here, Marlena?”

“Why not?” Grace shrugs carelessly.

“Darlin’, I know you’ve been through hell these last few months, but I swear even the good Lord in heaven above would not understand why you are doin’ this to your family.”

“What *exactly* am I doing to my family?”  Grace challenges him.  “Standing up for myself?  Making my own decisions?  Not being a doormat?  Why is it that I’m always expected to consider the feelings of my so-called family first and my own life can go to hell?”

“Marlena, that’s not true.”  Caroline comes up behind her husband, providing the semblance of a united front.

“You keep telling yourself that Caroline,” Grace places her purse on the table.  “And in the meantime, my money is either welcome here, or it’s not.  I would like to see a menu, please.”

“While you choose to bring *him* here, it’s not.” Caroline utters the words with a thunderous expression.  “After what he’s done… how can you ask us to be civil to him?  How could you be civil to him yourself?  He’s playing with your life even now, Marlena.  He is responsible for Gina and for every terrible thing that has happened to this family.  What happened between John and Hope was *his* fault, you must realize that.”

“Perhaps if this family stopped looking for a scapegoat and started taking responsibility for their own actions…”  Grace pauses as the bell on the door jangles noisily.  She’s not even sure what it is that compels her to raise her eyes in that direction, but she finds herself looking directly at John.  The crystalline eyes that are growing so familiar are shadowed by pain and frustration and he grows pale at the sight of her sitting across from Stefano.

Inexplicably, her heartbeat speeds up and she feels her hands grow clammy.  Stefano, noticing the flush creeping over her cheeks, immediately knows exactly who it is that has entered the pub.  He turns around and when he sees John, his expression darkens into a scowl.

Bo enters behind John and stops when he sees the silent tableau.  His brow creases when he realizes Marlena is sitting across from none other than Stefano DiMera.

“What the hell?”  He mutters under his breath.  He takes a step toward the table where his parents stand, but John places a hand on his arm.

“Leave it Bo, now’s not the time.”

“John, he’s in my folk’s pub.  With *your* wife.”  Bo’s temper rises as he watches Stefano turn back to Marlena and say something inaudible.

John, fighting himself to contain his rage, turns to Bo.  The last thing he needs now is for Bo to provoke ‘her’ into revealing herself.  The mercenary is simmering below the surface of his skin, and he is afraid that if the situation erupts, he will lose control.  And if that happens, he knows without a doubt it will all be over.

“Let it go little brother, she’s still trying to punish me.  I don’t want to play games with her any more, okay?”

“If this is a game, it’s a pretty fucked up one,” Bo glares murderously at the back of DiMera’s head as Shawn and Caroline cross the floor to where they stand.

“John,” Shawn greets him curtly.  Caroline doesn’t say anything, she just looks at Bo uncertainly.  So much has happened since Marlena’s revelations here in the pub several days ago but even they hadn’t been prepared to see John and Bo walk in as if nothing had occurred.

“Shawn, Caroline…” John shrugs uneasily.  “I’m sorry, I really am.”

‘What is going on here, son?” Shawn demands, his voice tight with grief.  “It seems as if the world is goin’ mad.  Caroline and me, we can’t make sense of it.”

“I know Pop.”  The name chokes in John’s throat.  These good people, they never did anything to warrant this, to lose their son, to be entangled in DiMera’s interminable schemes.  He swallows as his eyes meet the sorrowful stare of Caroline’s.  “I’m going to make this better.  I’m going to fix it, I promise you all.”

“Can it be fixed?” Caroline shakes her head as she turns back to look at Marlena.

Grace is watching the exchange with a shrewd gaze, much to Stefano’s chagrin.

“Grace,” he waits as she turns her attention to him.  

“Mmmm?”

“If the Brady’s will not serve us, perhaps it is time to go elsewhere.”  His voice is a low velvety rumble, but it does nothing to hide his irritation.  Despite the fact that he enjoys seeing the Brady’s so confused and vulnerable, he is wary that any time now, someone will realize that Grace is no longer Marlena.  And that will serve to undo all the damage they have wrought.  The last thing he needs is for the Brady’s to band together in order to save Marlena.

“Oh no,” she seems oblivious to his concern as she smiles.  “I think our ends are being much better achieved while we sit here.”  

Her gaze wanders back to John and the Brady’s.  Even as she’s sitting there, she can feel John’s hands on her skin and her breathing quickens imperceptibly.  John, almost as if he senses he is being watched, lifts his eyes and she feels a flutter in the put of her stomach, accompanied by a surge of lust.

God, she wants him.  She wants him more than she can ever remember wanting anything.  And her desire is beginning to supersede *want*.  She craves him, the taste of him, and the way he feels when he moves beneath her….

“Grace!” Stefano hisses, drawing her focus back away from John.  “Grace, your attention is wandering.  You must stay focussed.  John Black is not worth your time or your attention.”  

He is becoming wary of Grace’s interest in John.  He knows her well and he has never seen her this infatuated.  She is usually the epitome of control and icy calm, and to see her so obviously affected by Black’s mere presence…  But after all, he must never forget that Grace was borne from Marlena.  She is not like Gina, something separate, a discrete personality installed over the one that was already there.  No, Grace, although she will never admit it, comes from somewhere within Marlena.  A Marlena hardened by circumstance and stripped of all conscience.

It fascinates Stefano how utterly unlike Marlena she is, and yet at the same time, the essence of Marlena remains.  The strength, the fiery spirit, the sharp wit.  She is just magnificent, and he refuses to lose her again.

“It is merely interest, Stefano.”  She pats his hand with a fair amount of condescension.  “You have no reason to be jealous.”

“It is hardly jealousy my dear,” he raises one busy eyebrow as she looks at him, her golden eyes filled with challenge and mystery.  “I’m merely concerned that the Brady’s will figure out the truth.”

“Those idiots?” Her laughter captures the attention of John and the Brady’s.  “Oh please!”

“Do not write off these people,” Stefano warns her.  “They have proved worthy opponents over the years.”

“My opinion of you is dropping by the day Stefano,” Grace returns scathingly.

Stefano reigns in his anger as he glares at her.  He would almost enjoy seeing her discover just how wrong she is, if there wasn’t so much at stake.  If he didn’t think he was in danger of losing her.

“If you will excuse me, my dear,” he says stiffly.  “I have just remembered a call I must make.  He slides out of the booth as Grace watches him curiously.  She says nothing as he walks out of the pub, all eyes trained on his back.

The moment he has left the building, John lays his hand on Caroline’s arm and then takes his leave of his surrogate family.

As casually as he can, he walks over to where she sits.  “You know, you don’t have to punish the Brady’s too,” he says softly as he slips in across from her.  She merely stares at him, her expression unreadable.  “Punish me all you like,” he continues.  “I deserve it.  I can handle it.  But don’t punish these people.  They’re good people.”  He raises one eyebrow.  “What did they ever do to you?”

“What did they ever do *for* me?” Grace shrugs.  “Unless it suited them, I mean.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” John leans back against the vinyl seat.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Grace replies bitterly.  “I’m tired of being the whipping girl around here John.  If you’d all just mind your own business, I’m sure we can get along just fine.”

Bo has edged close enough to hear the conversation and at Grace’s comment, he can’t contain himself any longer.  

“If your business is with Stefano DiMera and you bring it into my parents pub then it becomes our business, Marlena.”

“Oh look, it’s the Brady cavalry to the rescue, how sweet,” Grace says acidly.  “Back for another round of tell Marlena what a horrible person she is, are we?”

“Doc-” John stops and shakes his head with a sigh.  The name still comes naturally enough but everything else….  There’s no point trying to get through to her.  Whoever she is.

“Marlena dear, I don’t understand why you are so angry with us,” Caroline interrupts tearily.  “What is it that we did?”

“Where do I start?” Grace replies bitingly.  “Oh, I know.  How about where everything, as usual, became my fault.  My husband screws someone else on our honeymoon and suddenly *I’m* the one that’s not understanding enough.  Hope comes to harangue me in my own house and gets so carried away that she has an accident and suddenly everyone’s looking at me like I’m some kind of psychopath.”

“No, no that’s not true darlin’.” Shawn interjects, upset by her implications.

“*Please* don’t presume to tell me what I see or feel.  Or think,” she adds with a dangerous glare.  “If you all want to delude yourselves into thinking you’re a functional family, go right ahead.  But I’m not part of it.”

“You haven’t even asked how Hope is,” Bo says quietly.

“*Excuse* me?” Grace blinks in astonishment.  “We are talking about Hope here, right?  The whore that stole my husband away on our *honeymoon* and screwed him, *and* our marriage?”

“That wasn’t Hope,” Bo snaps back angrily.  “She said it was Gina and I believe her.”

“Well, more fool you then,” Grace laughs, but the sound is tight and pained.

“You sound like you’re glad she’s in the hospital,” Bo spits back accusingly.

“I’d be happier if she was *dead*,” The tone of Grace’s reply is downright nasty and Bo actually takes a step backwards.

“Marlena!”  Caroline is shocked as she looks at Grace through suddenly wary eyes.

“What?” Grace raises her eyebrows like she has no idea what the fuss is about.  “I’m just being *honest*.  I don’t know why everyone in this town has a problem with that.”  She narrows her eyes.  “Or maybe I do.  You’ve spent so long fabricating your perfect little lives with your perfect little families that you’re perfected the art of lying to each other and to yourselves.”  She looks at Bo again.  “The truth Bo?  I couldn’t care less what happens to your *precious* princess, in fact-“

“All right,” John is already out of his seat and has her arm.  “That’s *enough*.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” she smirks viciously.

“You’re going to shut up, *now*.”  John pulls on her arm until she is left with no choice but to slide out of the booth.  “And you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going *anywhere* with you,” she snarls.  Her heart is pounding and her skin burning as she pulls her arm from his grip.  Drawing her hand back she lets fly, her hand connecting with his face so hard it leaves a white print in its wake.  “You’re a *pig* and I wouldn’t go anywhere with you if you were the last person left on this earth!”

With that, she swipes her purse off the table and marches out of the pub.  

Outside, Stefano has just finished his call.  Sliding his cell phone into the top pocket of his jacket, he looks at Grace with coolly appraising eyes.  She appears flustered and it strengthens his resolve.

Moving closer to her, he takes her arm and steers her away from the door of the pub.

“Grace, I want you to go home right now and pack your things.”  She opens her mouth to speak but he raises one thick finger to her lips.  “No questions.  Just pack everything you want to take with you.  We are leaving Salem for Europe, tonight.  And we will not be returning.  Ever.”

Chapter LII – Overload

It is a few moments before anyone speaks.  They are too shocked by Marlena’s exit to know what to say.  Finally, Caroline turns to John, her face pallid.

“John, what is *wrong* with her?”

“She’s not herself, Caroline,” John stares at the door sadly.  “I wish I could tell you more than that, but that’s as much as I know at the moment.”

“We have to help her!” Shawn claps his hand around John’s upper arm.  “Son, this can’t go on.”

“I know Pop,” John turns to his one-time family with pleading eyes.  “Please, you have to trust me on this.  I’m doing everything I can at this point.  I just need you to stay out of it for the moment until I can work out how to get through to her.”

“John,” Bo is clearly uncertain.  “You said you thought DiMera might try and snatch Marlena.  It seems to me at this point he wouldn’t have to try very hard.”

John is silent for a moment as he considers how much to tell the people in front of him.  The people who have had their lives torn apart because of what he has done and its effect on the woman they all love.  That he loves more than anything else in this life.

“Bo,” he runs his fingers over the stiff stubble on his chin.  “You all have to know that Marlena would never do the things she’s done, would never say the things she’s said…. not under any normal kind of circumstances.”  

He turns his gaze to the woman he still thinks of as a mother.  He wants to trust these people.  They’re the closest thing to a family he’s known and if anyone can help him, they can.  Without Marlena, he’s drifting but the Brady’s could be just the anchor he needs to steady himself if he’s going to get her back.

But even as these thoughts fly through his head, he dismisses them.  He can’t tell them.  Roman was their son.  If he was to tell them the truth, that Marlena is no longer Marlena, how could he expect them to stay silent?  Bo would be sure to put two and two together.  He has to know that she is a suspect in Roman’s death and if he were to find out this was not Marlena, he might feel it his duty to tell Abe.  And the moment Abe finds out the truth, he will piece the jigsaw together.  This is the one piece he is missing, and John has no intention of handing it to him on a silver platter.

There is too much at stake here to risk it.  To put the Brady’s in that situation.  It wouldn’t be fair.

“We know son,” Shawn says carefully, almost as if he is reading John’s thoughts.

“Go on,” Caroline adds with an air of expectation.

“I wish I knew what else to tell you.”  John lets out a weary sigh and runs his fingers through his dark hair.  “Other than to beg for your patience -“

He is interrupted by the musical shrill of Bo’s cell phone and he turns to Bo, who looks apologetic.  The timing is fortuitous, and he nods, trying not to appear grateful for the interruption.  Bo moves a short distance away and his shoulders visibly tighten as he speaks into the receiver.  Finally, he ends the call and walks back to his family.

“There’s action at Ridgecrest,” he looks directly at John.  “The old man is on the move.”

The news triggers a chain of chemical reactions in John’s body.  His heart thumps and his palms grow clammy.  Fear coils in the pit of his stomach, waiting to strike, to incapacitate him and, for a moment, he feels the blinding intensity of a headache that begins to unleash inside his head.

He clenches his fist, the nails digging deeply into the heels of his palms, and he concentrates on the pain in his hands, willing the pain in his head to retreat, the mercenary with it.  As long as he can keep a memory of Marlena in his head, he knows he can beat this.

“John?”  Caroline’s worried voice splits through the middle of the pain and as suddenly as it came, the headache is gone.

“I’m okay, Ma,” he says without thinking.  Caroline blinks as he turns to Bo.  “I need you to find Stefano and stay on his tail for me.  I don’t want him to make a move without knowing about it.  You think you can handle that?”

Bo nods.  “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find Marlena,” John says with grim determination.

~

Abe is sitting in his car outside the Salem Inn when he receives the call.  When he is done, he flips his cell phone closed and looks at his partner in disbelief.

“What is it, Abe?” 

He looks at the phone and then looks back at Adams.  “That was the assistant D.A.  The office wants us to drop the investigation into Marlena.”

“But they were the ones that insisted we pursue Dr. Evans as a suspect!”  Adams looks as disgruntled as Abe feels.  

“I know.”  Abe nods, but there is anger in his movements.  He has the distinct feeling that he is being played here but he can’t quite work out how, or by whom.

He will get to the bottom of it though, of that, he is sure.

~

John pulls up across the road from the Salem Inn and immediately sees Abe getting out of the car across the street.

“Oh well, there goes that idea,” he mutters to himself. 

Barely pausing to think, he guns the accelerator, and he is gone before Abe enters the hotel.

~

It’s cool at the penthouse, the muggy heat of the day has been swept away by rainclouds and wind.  There appears to be a storm brewing and Grace has changed into black leather pants and a white linen shirt which hangs loose over a tightly-fitted tank-top.  Her hair is tied into a loose knot at the back of her head, a few strands escaping to frame her reddened cheeks.  The attire should make the trip easier, at least until they get on the plane in New York.

But the convocation of thunderclouds outside is only one of the storms fermenting in Salem.  Grace jams a leather jacket into her case with white-hot venom.  Damn John Black!  Damn the man for thinking he can order her around.  For having the nerve to think he can tell her what to do.

She hates his smugness and his supercilious attitude.  She hates him for thinking that she is so weak that she can’t help but fall for his limited charms.  She hates him for his bogus chivalry and fake concern for his family and his poor, pathetic wife.

“Why pretend you care now, John?” she mutters heatedly as she stuffs lingerie into the spaces left in her case.  “You never bothered before.”  She stalks over to the bedside table and yanks the top-drawer open.  Then she turns it upside down over the bed so that the contents tumble haphazardly and skid over the satin sheet.  She rummages in the mess that litters the bed and comes up with a small, burnished pistol.  

Her fingers swiftly slip into the crevices, a gesture that is completely unconscious as she removes the safety catch.  “You self-righteous, arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Sorry you feel like that, Doc.”

She jumps, her body reacting with infuriating abruptness, as his hand closes over the gun, his other arm looping easily around her neck.  “But I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t have quite such an upper hand right now.”

John eases the safety back into place and then quickly draws the tiny but deadly weapon behind him, tucking it into the waistband between his worn blue jeans and the maroon shirt that he wears.  The maroon shirt and blue jeans that send Grace’s mind reeling back through the years.

He still looks the same as he did all those years ago.  Maybe a little more weight and a little less hair, but essentially, he is still the same man that is harboured in those fugitive memories

“Get *away* from me,” Grace struggles against his powerful grip, furious that she let him sneak up on her like that.  She’s a professional, she knows better than that.  Her instincts should have picked him up the moment he walked into the room.  She should have been able to take him with one hand tied behind her back.

“Sorry pretty lady,” he tightens his grip on her.  “Can’t do that.”

“Don’t you *dare* call me that!” She practically screams at him, and her struggles begin anew.  “Don’t you dare!”

“Wha-?”  John is taken aback by the vehemence of her demand.

“You think I’m another one of your harem of bimbos?” she manages to twist in his arms and with an almighty shove, she pushes herself back out of his arms and she stumbles back against the bed.  John automatically reaches out to stop her from falling, but she simply yanks her arm from his grip and looks up at him from a semi-sitting position on the bed.  “*Don’t* touch me.”

“Harem?  What the hell are you talking about?”  He is genuinely confused as she glares up at him with burning amber eyes and he is starting to get flustered by her closeness.

“You’re not very imaginative, are you John?” she says scathingly.  “Yvette, Diana, Isabella.  You called them all pretty lady.  I’ll bet you even whispered sweet ‘pretty lady’s’ in Hope’s ear when you fucked her on our honeymoon.”

“How would you know what I called Yvette and Diana?” John asks coldly.  Grace’s cheeks burn as she returns his stare, and she thinks of the photos and the videos provided by Stefano on their island haven.  She thinks of how John couldn’t even be bothered searching for her while he bedded a succession of dim-witted women.  She remembers watching his face on the screen as he laughed with each of them and how it felt as her heart hardened, and the pain crystallized into anger and hatred.

“I know you, John,” she answers with icy precision.  “That’s how I know.”

“You planning on going somewhere?” he nods at the open suitcase on the bed.

“I told you, I’m leaving Salem.”  She pushes herself from the bed finally and flips the lid of the suitcase closed.  “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

“Oh, better than you think,” he raises one eyebrow.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” she wrenches the zip closed on the suitcase.

“It means I know my wife.”  He takes a step towards her.  “And you’ve underestimated me if you think I’m going to give up on her.”  The intensity in his eyes throws Grace and she feels her throat constricting.  

He knows.  

“What the hell are you talking about?” she snaps angrily.  She will not give herself away willingly.  Not yet.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” John narrows his eyes.  “I’m not quite as stupid as you seem to think.”

“John, you really aren’t making any sense,” she pushes past him and grabs her leather coat from the sofa.

“No, for the first time since this whole nightmare began, everything *is* making sense,” he grabs her and yanks the coat from her hands.  His fingers are like steel around her wrists as he pulls her close to him.  Grace has no choice but to stare up into his eyes.  Icy rage burns within them.   “I don’t know who you are, but I’m giving you notice.  You picked the wrong person to go up against.  I *will* get Marlena back.”

“John, you’re scaring me.”  Her voice trembles as she speaks, and she hates herself for the weakness that suddenly manifests as a fluttering in her stomach.  “Ow, you’re *hurting* me.”

“Doesn’t even begin to compare to the campaign you’ve been waging,” he growls, barely managing to keep a cap on his anger.

“John-” Tears gather precipitously along the base of her lashes as she looks up at him.  “*Please*.”  It’s a whisper, but it vibrates through her body and moisture spills over her right cheek.

John’s stomach lurches, his face blanching an ashen gray at the look of her.  She’s so beautiful.  It’s almost as though he can see Marlena behind her eyes and it both frightens him and provides him with the spark of hope he so desperately needs.

Instinctively, he loosens his grip on her wrists.  But he immediately realizes that he has allowed himself to be manipulated again as her fists plough into his middle several times before she delivers an explosive roundhouse kick into the same area.  

He staggers backwards, his eyes widening.  

“Don’t mess with me John.”  There is danger lurking in her voice as he rubs her wrists.  This isn’t a battle you’re going to win.  Give it up now.”

“No way.”  He straightens, his eyes drilling into her.  “I’ll *never* give up on Marlena.  Haven’t you worked that out yet?  I will follow you to the ends of the fucking *earth* and I *will* get her back.”  A small muscle in his cheek flickers as he takes a step towards her.  “You know, the *devil* couldn’t beat our love, what makes you think you have a hope in hell?”

“And how are you going to stop me, John?”  There is scornful laughter contained within her taunt as she pulls on her coat.  “Are you going to tie me up and torture me until I…,” she raises her eyebrows and the tip of her tongue swipes across her upper lip, “break?”

“*Christ*, enough with the games!” John barks as he moves in front of her again.

“Oh,” a throaty laugh erupts from her as she stares him down.  “Does that get you excited honey?”  She narrows her eyes and reaches out to lay a hand against his chest.  His heart is pounding beneath his ribs and she looks up at him, a slight flush on her cheeks.  “You want to inflict pain on me?  You want to see me cry?”

John’s lips tighten into a pale, bloodless grimace.  “What I want,” his voice is hoarse as he grabs her hand and wrenches it away from him.  “Is my *wife*.  And I don’t care what I have to do,” he makes a quick move with his free hand and Grace suddenly looks down in surprise to see the glint of metal around her wrist.  “I *will* get her back.”

“Don’t count on it!” Grace snarls back her response as she twists in his arms.  She’s stronger than John expected, and she almost manages to break free but he lunges for her and tackles her.  They fall to the ground together and John manages to pull her arms behind her back, and he cuffs her wrists together.

“You’re not *listening*!” he spits while he yanks on her arms, forcing her to sit up.  She winces with obvious pain but she’s stubborn and does not make a sound.  “I said I’ll do *anything* to get her back.  I’m a desperate man, so don’t mess with me.  Don’t play games.”

“So sayeth the man with the handcuffs,” her lips twist into a half-smile.

“Turn about is fair play, don’t you think?”  His words are forced as he tries to catch his breath.  “That’s as far as it goes.”

“Big threats.”  Grace widens her eyes and flutters her lashes.  “Kinda hollow though.  If you hurt me, what chance do you think you have of getting *her* back?”  Her heart is thumping uncontrollably in her chest as she stares at John, challenging him, provoking him.

“I’m prepared to take my chances,” he glares back at her.  She is breathing heavily and with her flushed cheeks and golden eyes she is almost irresistibly beautiful.  For a moment, he has to fight the urge to kiss her, and that moment is all she needs to recognize it for what it is.

Her chest rises and falls as she stares hungrily at his lips.  Finally, she lifts her eyes to meet his.  “I know you want me.”

“I *want* my wife,” he replies angrily.

“You *want* this body,” Grace insists, edging closer to him.  The cuffs are digging into her wrists, and she glances down at them.  “You have me at your mercy.”  Her gaze flicks back to his molten, longing stare.  “You could do *anything* you wanted to me.”  In an overtly sexual gesture, she slides her tongue along her lower lip, leaving it crimson and shining.  “There’s no-one here to stop you, John.  How about it, for old times’ sake?  You can take me here, right now, on the floor.”   She leans closer to him.  So close he can feel her breath against his cheek, hot and sweet and her voice slides like warm honey through his veins.  “You can fuck me until I’m screaming, and nobody will ever know the difference.”

John is silent for a long moment and then he speaks, his voice dark and rasping, his face contorted with disgust.  

“I’d know the difference.”

Grace simply laughs.

A tremor ripples through John’s body.  That laugh.  It takes him back ten, even fifteen years.  It takes him back to the time he was Roman and the love for Marlena which had felt like, and still feels like, it had always existed.  But *she* is not Marlena and he needs to move if he is to have any hope of making it out of here with her.

“Get up!”  He grimaces as he pulls on her arm.  They both climb to their feet and John stares at her.  “We’re going to get out of here and you’re going to co-operate with me.”

“Or what?” Grace coos, her eyes glittering treacherously.  “You’re going to hit me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” John mutters.  Unceremoniously, he yanks on her arm and she stumbles towards him.  “Just play nice,” he shakes his head, “whatever you call yourself, and I’ll do the same.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” she smirks.  She is glad to finally be free of the pesky Marlena and there is a certain perverse joy that she gets from seeing the pain in John’s eyes every time she says something that is so very un-Marlena.

“We’re going now,” he ignores her as he pushes her in the direction of the bedroom door.

“I do not think so John.”  The voice comes from the doorway.  Stefano DiMera’s voice.

Chapter LIII – Open Game

John and Grace both stop short as Stefano steps into the doorway, a gun in his hand.  Behind him stands a man who looks like he could be Petrov’s brother.

“It’s about time you got here,” Grace says petulantly.  “Now make him undo me.”

“John?” Stefano moves into the room, the gun trained on John.  “Do as Marlena asks.”

“We both know she’s not Marlena, so you can give up the charade old man,” John spits with barely contained fury.

“I told you he would figure it out, my dear,” Stefano raises his eyebrows with the slightest hint of amusement.

“Can your gloating wait Stefano?” she demands irritably.  “At least until I can get out of these damn handcuffs and out of this drab apartment.”

“John,” Stefano waves the gun at him as he moves to Grace’s side.  “We are waiting.  I would hate to have to kill you over something so meaningless.”

John says nothing but pulls the key out of his pocket and silently unlocks the handcuffs.  “Good.”  Stefano hands his gun to his associate and waits as Grace slides her hand behind John and pulls her own pistol out of the waistband of his pants. 

Then, with a possessive smile, he lifts his hand and smooths the dishevelled locks of hair around Grace’s face.  His thick fingers skim over her the curve of her cheek and down to her décolletage.  John watches him, the old man with eyes beady and domineering, as he touches his prize, his chest puffing with arrogance and lust at the thought of finally owning her.  

And the buzzing in John’s head explodes at last into a cacophony of sound, a bloating of rage.  A sudden outburst of action.  

He lunges for Stefano, blindly.  There is no thought in his head, just a need.  A bloodlust that must be satisfied.

And then, everything goes black.

When he comes to, the room is empty.  His cell phone is trilling as it digs uncomfortably into his side.  Rolling over, he groans as his head threatens to split open.  With great effort, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone.  Flipping it open, he grunts a cursory greeting.

“John, it’s Bo.  Where are you man?”

“Ugh.  Doc’s place.”  He manages to pull himself upright and prop himself up against the bed.

“But…” Bo sounds confused.  “Stefano just left there.  With Marlena.”

“I know.”  John rubs his neck and groans heavily.  “I got jumped.  Where are you?”

There is a grave sigh on the other end of the line and then Bo speaks again.  “I was following them, but I was cut off by some goon not far from the apartment and I lost ’em.”

“Dammit Bo, how could you let them get away?” John growls in anger, trying to ignore the pounding of his head.

“I’m sorry bro,” Bo sounds almost as frustrated as John feels.

Which direction are they heading?” John grabs hold of the bedding, but his hands slip on the satin sheets.  “Dammit!”

“Are you okay?” Bo asks with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” John snaps as he manages to push himself upright and staggers towards the door.  

“Where are they going, little brother?”

“South.  Ish.”  Bo sounds resigned.  “Could be Ridgecrest.  Could be somewhere else.  Do you want me to call Abe?  He can put an APB out on them.  It’ll be the best way of finding them.”

“*No*!”  John bites back.  “No police, Bo.  Head for Ridgecrest.  If they’re going there, see if you can head them off.”

“And where are you going?” Bo demands.

“I’ll know when I get there.” 

Down in the parking basement, John climbs into his Jeep and tries to ignore the pounding that has taken residence in the base of his skull.  Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and puts his hands on the steering wheel.

He’s not even sure what he’s doing, how he’s going to find them.  He just knows that where Marlena is concerned, he has learnt by bitter experience to trust his instincts.

His eyes snap open.  Twisting the key in the ignition, he peels out of the basement, leaving only a hazy mist of burnt rubber.

~

“Dammit, aren’t we there *yet* Stefano?”  Grace looks at her watch with increasing tetchiness.

“Almost, my dear.”  Stefano peers out of the window into the gathering darkness.  “Alexi?”

“Ten minutes at the most, Mr Dimera,” the disembodied voice floats out of the front seat of the car.

“Good.”  Stefano glances across at Grace who is fidgeting in her seat.  “You don’t seem terribly excited to finally be leaving Salem.”

“I’m ecstatic.”  Grace’s delivery of the words is a dead monotone and Stefano reaches over to lay a hand on her knee.  However, she flinches and pulls her leg away from him.

Stefano frowns.  “Grace.  Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she snaps edgily.  “What could possibly be wrong?  I’m getting out of Dullsville, USA.  Time for celebrations.”

“One would think so,” Stefano quirks one eyebrow.  “And yet…”  his mouth hardens as he watches her pick at her nails.  “And yet, I find myself wondering if you would rather have gone with John Black.”

Grace turns to him, her eyes widened in disbelief and exasperation.  “Gone with John?  Are you out of your *mind*?” Her tawny eyes narrow in the darkness.  “*My* only question is what the hell took you so long to get to the apartment in the first place?”

“I apologize my dear, I had some final arrangements to make.  Bo Brady was following us on the way to pick you up.”  Stefano steals a quick glance at Alexi and is reassured by his curt nod.

“You lost him though, right?”  There is a small catch in Grace’s voice and Stefano does not miss it.

“Of *course* we did, Grace,” Stefano folds his meaty hand over hers.  “Do you think we would allow anything to go wrong?  Now, when we are so close to freedom?” 

“Well, it’s not like you’ve had great success escaping from Salem without mishap before,” Grace reminds him peevishly before she turns to look out of the window.

“Ah yes, but before I had to contend with Marlena’s tiresome refusals.  Now I have your complete co-operation.”  He feels her fingers twitch under his.  “I *do* have your complete co-operation, do I not, my dear?”

Grace turns to look at him from under heavy eyelashes.  “Was that a rhetorical question?” she demands.  “Because if you’re questioning my loyalty…”

“Of course I am not questioning your loyalty, Grace,” Stefano pauses.  “Although, I must confess, your lack of enthusiasm does give me cause for concern.”

“I’m tired,” Grace replies softly.  “I’m tired of the Brady’s and of John Black and his interminable, *insufferable* self-importance.  Believe me, my darling, I am happier to leave this godforsaken dump of a town than anyone.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Stefano smiles graciously and with a small, covert smile of her own, Grace slides her fingers between his.

~

“There’s no sign of anyone up here John,” Bo thumps his steering wheel in frustration.  “I’ve seen a couple of DiMera’s men… but I don’t think they’re coming here.”

“It’s okay Bo.”  The voice comes, crisp with static, through the cell phone.  “Stay there in case they double back on themselves.  I wouldn’t put it past the old man to pull a trick like that.”

“But…” Bo pauses.  “John, let me call Abe.  *Marlena* is at stake here.  I don’t get-“

“Bo.  Trust me, okay.  I can’t get Abe involved in this.”  John’s voice is curt and loaded with urgency and it stops Bo dead for a moment.

“Oookay,” he says slowly.  “Where are you, bro?”

“I’m not really sure,” John fudges.  “I’m just following a hunch.  You just stay there, and I’ll call you again soon.”

“But-” Bo’s intended argument is met by the sudden sound of a disconnected line, and he looks at the phone in frustration.  “Dammit John, what are you playing at?”

He flips the phone onto the passenger’s seat and looks straight ahead at the grounds of Ridgecrest.  There is something going on here.  Why won’t John let him call Abe?  Unless…

Bo’s heartbeat speeds up and his blood cools.  He had thought nothing of Abe’s investigation of Marlena.  He knows it was ordered by the D.A. and that Abe had had no other choice.  But with Marlena’s strange behaviour and John’s insistence that Abe be kept out of it….

He suddenly feels sick to his stomach as pieces of the puzzle slot into place.

“Oh *shit*.”  What was it that John had said?  Marlena is not herself at the moment…

He sits for a moment, torn.  He is a cop, but John and Marlena are his friends.  And Roman was your brother.  If Marlena… if she is Marlena… had something to do with his death, you owe it to Roman and to Mom and Pop.  And to Hope…

He groans as he remembers Marlena on the boat and how unlike Marlena she had seemed.  And he reaches for the phone again.

~

The headlights of the jeep penetrate the inky blackness only meters ahead of John.  He hopes to God that there is nothing on the road anywhere ahead of him, because at this speed, he will never be able to stop.  

And yet, he is prepared to take that risk.  It can’t be far now and somewhere inside him; he knows he is on the right track.  He can feel her, almost as though she is calling him, drawing him in.  Whether it is to his ruin or his redemption he is not yet sure.

He just prays that he will make it in time.

His heart skips a beat as he sees the lights of the airfield in the distance.  It is a small, private airfield, one that he knows of only from his days on the force.  They had run a successful bust on a smuggling operation that had been running out of that airfield back in the late 80’s.  Back when Stefano had been holding Marlena.  Back when he had been messing with her head the same way he had messed with John’s.

John’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel.  He wants to kill Stefano for hurting Marlena.  For touching her.  He can’t get the visual of them out of his mind and it makes the urgency to find them even more intense.

“You just played your last game old man,” he mutters as he pulls up beside the airfield.

~

Grace sits in the back seat of the Mercedes and looks impatiently at her watch.  Looking up, she peers out of the window once again.  A short distance away, a plane sits on the tarmac.  She is waiting while Stefano briefs the pilot and makes sure everything is secure before he comes back for her.  They should be in the air within fifteen minutes.

~

John steals silently up behind the black Mercedes SUV and looks over at the plane.  He will only have a few minutes, at most.  With measured sureness, he adjusts his grip on the gun in his hand and slides around the side of the car.  *She* is in there and the only person that stands between them is DiMera’s henchman.  And John intends to make sure he won’t be standing for long.

Stealthily, he makes it to the driver’s door and in a smooth movement, he pulls the door open with one hand and points his gun at the Petrov doppelganger with the other.

“Get out,” he growls.  “I’m not real afraid to use this.  So, make it fast.”

Alexi starts but he sees the deadly intention in John’s eyes, and he suddenly realizes that he is stuck between a rock and a hard place.  If he lets the woman go, Stefano will have him killed.  But this Black character looks like he could get there first if he doesn’t get some co-operation, and soon.

“John.”  Grace’s amused voice comes from the back seat.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”  John grabs the front of Alexi’s shirt and bodily rips him from his seat.  Alexi has no chance to gain his balance and he lands heavily on the tarmac.  Without hesitation, John squeezes the trigger and unloads a round into the beefy Russian.

The man howls in pain as he clutches his leg and rolls away.  At the same time, John hears the click of a car door, and he whirls around and takes off at a sprint.  Grace is running for the plane but while she is fast, she is not fast enough, and John catches up to her in a matter of moments.

“Don’t fight me,” John commands in a low, cold voice as his arm grips her around her middle.

“What, are you going to shoot me too?” she demands in a splittingly sarcastic tone.

“I have almost a full clip left.  So don’t tempt me.”  He digs the gun in her ribs and forces her to turn around.

“What, and hurt your precious Marlena?” she lets out a short, hard laugh.

“Marlena’s not here right now.  I’d be hurting you.  And at the moment, it’s not exactly an idea that upsets me too much.”  He digs the gun further into her ribs and she flinches.  “Head back to the car.”

Grace says nothing for a moment and then she takes a deep breath and begins to scream.  “Stefano!  Stefano, help!  It’s John.  *Help* me!”

“Oh Christ!”  John only wastes a split second and then he brings the gun up.  With a hard fast blow, he brings the butt of it down on Grace’s head and she crumples in his arms.  “Sorry Doc,” he mutters cursorily.

Knowing he has no time to waste, John twists her in his arms and then ducking down, he throws her over his shoulder.  He starts off at a fast jog towards the Mercedes, the driver’s door is facing away from the plane which means he has to skirt the front end of it and as he does, he sees Alexi has made it back to the car door and is reaching for a cell phone.

“I don’t think so,” John discharges another bullet into the henchman’s leg and Alexi screams in pain.  

His scream is echoed by shouting from the plane as Stefano realizes what is happening.  John ignores the yelling and uses his foot to shove Alexi away from the car.  Wrenching open the back door, he unceremoniously dumps Grace inside and then slams it shut.

Jumping in the front, he closes his own door and hits the central locking.  He jumps as he hears the sound of a gun, and he ducks as he twists the key in the ignition.  The motor immediately roars to life, and he hits the accelerator, just as a bullet punches the rear window, shattering it completely.

“Shit!”  John careens wildly across the airstrip, heading directly for the gate.  His heart is pounding in his throat as he guides the car across the rough ribbon of earth and grass that stands between him and freedom.  The car lurches as he hits a large hole, and he desperately tries to keep control of the vehicle. He feels a thump as she hits the back of his seat, and he winces.

And then they are back on the pitch and through the gate. The tires scream in protest as John wrenches the wheel a full one hundred and eighty degrees as he turns onto the road, and he hits the brakes at the same time.  The car slows as he straightens up and then he stabs the accelerator again.

He smiles grimly as the speedometer climbs and the headlights split the darkness.  He might have won the battle, but he knows the war is not over yet.  

Not by a long shot.

Chapter LIV – Pawn Break

Pain. Darkness.  Noise.  Pain. Movement. Pain.  Pain.

The agonizing tearing pain inside her skull threatens to reverse her consciousness as Grace tries to lift her head.  She moans softly and drops her head back down, but that isn’t much better as she bounces against the pliable leather she is lying on.  The jostling exacerbates the pain; every bump shooting hot spikes of agony through her head.

For a long while, she just stays put, trying to gain her bearings and gather some strength as she wills the pain away.  Beyond her eyelids, it seems dark still.  There’s no heat from the sun and she construes that it is not yet dawn.  Of course, she won’t know until she opens her eyes, but the thought of that induces a nauseous flutter in her stomach and she curls her legs up.

She’s not sure how much time has passed when she finally allows her eyelids to flicker open.  She is staring at the roof of the car, and it shimmers back and forth until she blinks several times.  Rolling her head to the side, she can see John’s arm.  He’s sitting in the driver’s seat and the sleeve of his shirt is rolled up, revealing the wiry muscles of his forearm.

Beyond John, there is darkness.  They appear to be on an open road, maybe an interstate.  Wherever they are, it’s the middle of nowhere because there are no lights.  

She lifts her head slightly but there is no sign of dawn anywhere on the horizon.  There is no way of telling where they are or where they are going.   She drops her head back to the seat with a throaty groan.

“Good.  I was starting to get a little worried.”  John is looking at her and she glares at him before he flicks his eyes back to the road.  His voice is even and devoid of emotion and it only serves to escalate Grace’s bad temper.

“Too bad you weren’t so worried when you just about cracked my skull open,” she says acerbically as she lifts her hand to her forehead.

“Sorry about that,” John replies in a tone that makes it clear how very *not* sorry he is.  “Unfortunately, you didn’t leave me much choice.”

Grace glares murderously at him.  She can’t believe she let herself get into this situation.  He should never have been able to take her.  Why the *hell* had she screamed for Stefano?  Why hadn’t she fought him on her own terms?

Because he had a gun and he was looking to be pretty liberal with the distribution of the bullets, a small voice in the back of her head reasons.  

Somehow it doesn’t help that much.  She doesn’t want reasonable explanations.  She wants out of here.  She wants to be in Europe spending John’s money and flirting with Stefano.

Her anger flares up, treacherous and unyielding.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” she demands scathingly.  The pain is still blinding and it’s making her nauseous and cranky.  “You have to know I’ll find some way to get away from you.  And of course, Stefano *will* hunt you down.”  She pauses as she struggles to prop herself up slightly.  Then she smirks, despite the pounding in her head.  

The expression on her face catches John unawares and slices neatly through the wall he has constructed so carefully around his emotions in the last few hours.  He knows she’s not Marlena, and he accepts that.  Intellectually.  But to hear her talk, to see her eyes and her lips move in some twisted perversion of the woman he loves, it makes him want to cry.

“Your quest is hopeless anyway.  Your sweet, naïve Marlena is gone.  Nothing you can do with me, or to me,” she lifts one expressive eyebrow, ” is going to change that.  You might as well accept it and save yourself a lot of misery.”

Her words shatter John’s self-assurance and for a moment he feels a wave of panic careen through him.  He’s on the run from the law and he has no idea what to do, or where to go.  He has no idea how to go about finding Marlena, or even if she can be found.  And then his panic passes and his resolve strengthens.  Marlena.  She’s his reason and she’s his resolve.  It’s that simple.

“It’s not going to happen,” he shakes his head, his voice firm and sure.  “You’re a liar.  Of course you want me to believe that Marlena is unreachable.  Which is exactly why I don’t think she is.  And I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do.”

Grace is infuriated by his smug replies.  She wants to rattle him.  She wants to scare him so badly that he won’t know where to turn.  She wants to destroy every tiny shred of hope that thrives inside his faithless heart.  She will not allow him to have the upper hand.

“Oh, you can believe me, honey,” she chuckles dryly.  And then she goes for the jugular.  “Your poor *fragile* Marlena is gone.  It was *you* that broke her, John.  You tore her heart out and you destroyed her faith in you.  What makes you think she’d *want* to come back to you, even if she could?”

Her words hit their intended target and John feels the panic well up inside him again.  He knows what she’s trying to do, but the fact is, there’s more than a grain of truth to her words.   His breath falters.  He feels like he has been punched in the gut and he can’t find the way to draw the air back into his lungs.  

Get a grip on yourself, Black.  She’s trying to unnerve you.  She’s lying, you know she’s damn good at that.  Don’t let her get in the way.  Doc needs you.  She wouldn’t *want* this.  She wouldn’t *want* to abandon Sami and Belle….

The thought of Marlena and his daughters brings him to the center he is so desperately seeking, and he manages to take a deep breath.

After a long moment his voice comes, low and hollow.  “So, what do you call yourself?  If I’m stuck with you for the appreciable future, I may as well know what to call you.”

Grace, more angered than ever by his refusal to bite, pulls herself upright, her pants groaning against the leather upholstery, and slides her gaze up to the rear-view mirror.  She is met by the shadowed reflection of John’s piercing azure eyes as he watches her.  “That would make things a little easy, don’t you think?  Why should I give everything away at the first sign of a question?”

“I only asked your name,” his tone is short.  “Unless you *want* me to keep calling you Marlena.”

“You wouldn’t.”  She raises her eyebrows and then winces as they hit a bump in the road.  “Damn!  Can’t you watch where you’re going?”  She lifts one hand to and gingerly feels the lump on the back of her head.

“Sorry Marlena,” John says flippantly.

“Grace,” she snarls in return, as she clasps her forehead.  “Goddamn it, the name is Grace.  Now would you slow down before my head explodes.”

“Sorry, can’t do that.” John feels almost relieved as he leans over and pulls open the glove box.  He seems to have come through round one, if not a winner, then at least relatively intact.  It’s a start.

Inside the compartment are the painkillers he’d found earlier, and he pulls them out and tosses them at her.  ” Here, take a couple, they should help.  There’s a bottle of water in the back of the seat.”

“Oh, thanks *so* much.”  Her reply is less than gracious.  However, she pulls the top off the bottle and empties several round tablets into her hand.  Snapping the top back on the bottle she drops it and reaches for the water.  With a quick slug of the clear liquid, she washes the pills down and then leans back against the seat and closes her eyes.  

“So, where are we going, stud?”

“I guess we’ll know when we get there,” John answers evasively.  After all, even if he had a good idea where they are headed, or even *any* idea, he’s hardly going to want to give her a head start by sharing that knowledge.  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep in the meantime?”

“Oh, and miss all the witty repartee?” she says cuttingly.  “Not likely.”

“D-”  He feels a pang, a physical pain in his chest as he cuts himself off.  She’s not his Doc.  This woman, this hard, cruel woman is nothing like Marlena.  

“Grace.”  The name sounds foreign on his tongue.  His mouth feels heavy and blurry and slack, and he suddenly feels sick again.  What if she’s right?  What if she’s right and he can’t get Marlena back?  What if his carelessness and his weakness have destroyed her completely?  How the hell would he live with that? 

“Yes?”  She grins, despite the pounding headache.  She suspects she has finally unsettled him, and it amuses her.  If she’s going to be stuck with him any amount of time, she’s going to use every bit of leverage she can.  She’s going to make him wish he had never laid eyes on her.  Or Marlena.

“We’re not stopping any time soon,” he says harshly.  “So do us both a favor and get some rest.”

“Hey stud, you were the one that dragged me on this little joyride,” she rolls one shoulder and then the other, feeling a slight crackling in her joints.  “You think I’m at all inclined to make things easy for you?  I mean, I’d much rather be shopping in New York than stuck in the middle of nowhere with *you*.”  Her tone is scathing.  “What on earth makes you think I’d want to do you *any* favors?”

“Well, we’re even then,” he says irritably, pressing tired fingers into the stiff muscles in the pack of his neck.  “Because if you think I care that you would rather be shopping then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

Grace winds herself up for a snappy retort, but the nausea hits her again and all she can do is close her eyes.  God, she’s not sure she can stand being stuck with him for any extended period of time.  Any time at all is going to be pushing things.  

She has to find a way out of this nightmare, and soon.  She’s damned if she’s going to wait for Stefano to come and rescue her like some tired, hackneyed damsel in distress.  No fucking way.  She’s going to find a way to get herself out of this, and she’s going to do it quickly.

“So,” she says in a deceptively gentle voice.  “Not even the slightest clue where we’re going?”  She opens her eyes fractionally and notes that there is a slight glow in the sky ahead of them.  The sweetly lulling glow of a city lighting the night.  A beacon of civilization that beckons to her.

“Not even the slightest,” John intones.  “Go to sleep, Grace.”

“And miss all those informative exit signs?” she chuckles, the sound buried deep in her throat.  “I don’t think so Mr. Black.”

John sighs lightly and then shakes his head.  She’s starting to get on his nerves, and he knows she’s not going to make this easy for him.  She’s right, why should she?  He’s abducted her and he doesn’t even have any idea where they’re going, let alone what they’re going to do when they get there.  

Sometime in the middle of the night, he decided that going east was too obvious.  Bo and Abe would know to look for him there.  The fact that he knows portions of West Virginia can only count against him in this situation.  And so, somewhere around Lexington, Kentucky, he’d swung a right and headed south on an interstate.  

But he’s fully aware that he’s going to have to get off the main roads soon.  The cell phone rang once before he turned it off and he knows Bo’s suspicions are going to be full blown by now.  

If Bo’s reported back to Abe, then he is screwed.  There are going to be hundreds of cops on his ass and his only chance is to take back roads and hope he can stay out of their way.  On his side is the fact that they are unlikely to know the vehicle he is travelling in quite yet.  But the moment they find the Jeep and deduce that he has Stefano’s car, it won’t be long before they track down the registration.

And then of course as Grace so gleefully pointed out earlier, Stefano will be looking for them.  And knowing DiMera as he does, the possibility that the old man will find them seems much more likely than the cops locating them at this point.

“Music?” John offers, turning on the radio.  He needs to get his mind off the track it’s currently on and maybe the radio will be a double blessing and shut her up too.  “What do you like?”

“I don’t,” her tone is clipped.  “It’s an unnecessary distraction.”

“I would have thought, being Stefano’s lackey, you would have developed an interest in opera,” John observes, watching her in the rear view mirror.  He sees her stiffen slightly in the semi-darkness and it confirms his thoughts.

“I am *not* Stefano’s lackey,” she spits out angrily.  “Maybe that is what you were.  And Gina.  But I was *never* his lackey.”

“So, what are you then?” John raises one eyebrow lazily.  “His concubine?”

Anger flares inside Grace until she realizes that is exactly his intention.  He is trying to provoke her into revealing maybe more than she intends to at this time.  A tiny smile flits across her face at the realization that he is playing her at her own game.  She could almost admire that.  If it didn’t piss her off quite so much.

A throaty chuckle covers the irritation.  “Why, does the thought of me sleeping with Stefano turn you on?”

 

Now it’s John’s turn to tense, his fingers tighten on the steering wheel and his knuckles bleach an almost white.  His heart thuds slowly in his chest, the blood shuddering through the arteries in his throat, threatening to choke him.  The familiar drone slides insidiously into his head and he has to close his eyes for a moment.  Marlena.  Focus on Doc and getting her back.

“*John!*” 

He opens his eyes just as the eighteen-wheeler sounds its horn and he yanks hard on the steering wheel, pulling the car back into its own lane as the truck overtakes them. 

“Christ, are you trying to get yourself killed?” she demands furiously.  “If you are, don’t take me along with you, okay?”

There is a thick and stifling silence between them that lengthens as John refuses to answer her.  He doesn’t trust himself to.  He doesn’t want to hear what else might come from her mouth.  What other images she might conjure to torture him.  And so, he switches on the radio anyway, tuning it to a classical station which offers the soothing sounds of tinkling pianos.

After a while, Grace settles back in the seat and tries to make out the features of the landscape as they rush by. Only a few minutes pass before she sees the sign she’s been waiting to see.  The sign that tells her they’re only thirty-eight miles north of Knoxville.

“Tennessee?” she murmurs disbelievingly.  “We’re in *Tennessee*?”

“Sorry if it doesn’t quite meet your expectations,” John shoots back, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

Grace shrugs, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  She’s actually getting under his skin and it amuses her no end.  The drugs are starting to kick in and she’s ready for some fun.  “I’m just wondering exactly what there is in Tennessee.”

“Depends on if you intend to stop there or not,” John replies in even, measured tones.  There is a small pause and then he mutters a curse under his breath.

“What?” Her interest is aroused by the unexpected expletive.

“We’re getting low on gas,” he peers into the darkness.

“Oh.”  A smile lights up her face.  “You mean, we have to stop?”

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” John growls in reply.  The last thing he wants to do is deal with her trying to get away while there are people around, even if it is the middle of the night.

“Me?” Grace says innocently and then laughs.  “Darling, I intend to be a little more inventive than that.  Give me some credit at least.”

“Don’t *call* me that!”  His fingers curl even more tightly around the steering wheel, his whole body tense and on edge as he tries to filter out the static that her words are creating inside his head.

“What?” she grins at the artlessness that sounds in her voice.  Each extra little annoyance she can create is a reward in itself, but it is also adding up to her broader goal.

John shifts uncomfortably in the front seat, the leather creaking under him.  He’s tired and stiff and on edge.  Every moment with her is hard.  Trying to hold out against her mind games, trying not to despair of getting through to Marlena.  Trying *not* to remember how he made love to her….

He is profoundly grateful when he spies an exit that sports an Exxon station.  He quickly pulls off the interstate and makes the short loop around to the gas station.

There are a couple of trucks and one other car lined up in the predawn darkness.  Their drivers are bathed in garish fluorescent light as they lazily pump their gas and stand around looking disinterestedly into the receding night.

“Just stay here and be quiet,” John orders curtly as he opens the door and climbs out.  His limbs protest slightly as he stretches, his muscles cramped from the overnight journey.

He turns to the pump, knowing he has to make this quick, and digs into his jacket.  He pulls out a worn back wallet and not for one moment does he take his eyes off Grace as he flips open his wallet and slides out a credit card.  It is only then that he turns and looks at the pump, sliding his card through the slot and punching in his pin as he listens intently for any sign of the car door behind him.

Inside the car, Grace surreptitiously slides across the back seat to the door that is furthest from John.  But when she tries to open it, she finds that it’s secured. 

“Bastard!” she mutters under her breath as she realizes he must have stopped sometime during her period of unconsciousness and flipped the child locks on the back doors.

She looks back to where John is standing at the pump, looking at his credit card.  She smirks as he pulls out another card and starts the process again.  What an idiot.

But that’s only a momentary diversion.  She has to get out of here.  This could be her best chance to get away from him.  And if she does?  She looks over at the truckers and shudders.  They don’t exactly look like the rescuing type.  And besides, if she can just get to a place where she can hide out, she has enough of her own money in the pocket of her coat to make her way back to Salem.  She doesn’t need rescuing.  By anybody.

Her glance slips to John again and he seems to still be engrossed in the problem of the credit cards.  It’s time to make her move.  Ignoring her sore neck and head, knowing she’s suffered much worse and still made it out in one piece, she quickly clambers through the gap between the front seats and throws open the front passenger door.

John hears the door and turns just in time to see her jump out of the front of the car and take off towards the road at a sprint.

“*Dammit!*”  His yell is thick with fury as he skirts the back of the car and takes off in pursuit of her, his heels hitting the pavement possibly faster than they  ever have in his life.  He can’t let her get away from him now.  He can’t lose her.

But she’s faster than he expected, her adrenaline has kicked in whereas his was exhausted six hours back in Salem.  He chases her down the road and slowly, almost miraculously, he gains on her.  Grace, her breath laboured, can practically feel him on her heels as her boots hit the hard surface.  With increasing urgency, she veers towards the grass verge.   This is her only chance.  She’s so close.  So fucking close…

Her heart pounds in her throat as she feels him right behind her and she feels a burst of fear in her gut.  It’s not a feeling she’s used to, and it spurs her onward.  She can’t give in; she can’t lose this fight.  She glances down at the road and knows that’s where she has to go.  She has no other choice.  

So, taking the only chance she has, she throws herself down the steep slope that leads back down to the interstate.

Chapter LV – Mine Square

Grace tumbles over and over, grass in her face, rocks tearing at her clothes and flesh as she skims them.  She reaches the bottom of the slope quickly, covered in grass and twigs but still in one piece.  

Still, John is only feet behind her as she climbs to her feet and begins to run towards the interstate.  There are trees on the other side and if she can only get across the road, she is sure she will be able to lose him in the undergrowth.

She doesn’t make it that far.  

John grabs her arm feet from the road and swings her back around to face him.  They are both struggling for breath. Grace’s hair has fallen out of her ponytail, and she haphazardly brushes it away, smearing dirt across her cheek as she does so.  She has a tear in the arm of her leather coat and grass stains on her white shirt.  John’s face is red, and his clothes haven’t fared much better.  There is a large rip in the knee of his jeans, and he already has a discoloured swelling rising on his forehead where he hit a rock on the way down.

“What the *hell* do you think you’re doing?” His demand is beset with rage and Grace blanches slightly.  She recovers immediately though and starts on her own offensive.

“What does it look I’m doing you moron?!”  She wrenches her arm free.  “You *really* think I want to be stuck in a car with you, roaming through redneck, hillbilly country?”

“No, obviously you’d rather be trying to get *killed* on the interstate or in the woods.”  John’s disgust is evident in every word.

“Maybe it’s preferable to spending time with you, you arrogant *jerk*!”  She narrows her eyes.  “And besides, I can look after myself.  I know it’s probably hard to believe since your precious Marlena was so incapable of doing anything to help herself-“

“Don’t you *dare* talk about her like that,” John grips her again, his fingers digging into the hard muscles of her upper arm.  

He is so close to losing control and he feels like he’s fighting a losing battle.  Just looking into Marlena’s face to find a stranger staring back at him makes him feel as though he’s being torn in two.  

His head pounds, the weird buzzing sound growing and reverberating inside his skull.  Like a circular saw slicing through his consciousness, drenching his world in violent shades of red.  Right before it splits his life open and scoops out his soul and crushes it into countless tortured shards.

“I’m warning you right now,” he breathes heavily.  “Don’t try this again.”

“Or *what*?” she scoffs at his advice.  “What will you do John?

She isn’t prepared for the rapid movement of his hand as it wraps in her hair.  He pulls her head back suddenly and brutally and leans forward, his breath hot on her cheek as his lips hover by her left ear.  

“Grace,” the name is bitter on his lips, “you don’t want to try me.”

Grace is shaken as he releases her and she stares at him for a long moment.

“You wouldn’t *dare* hurt me,” she challenges, in a low, dangerous tone.

“I’m not going to argue with you.”  He grabs her wrist and roughly yanks her in the direction of the gas station.  “You’d better learn to live by my rules.  Fast.”

“Jesus!”  She stumbles as he half drags her up the hill.  “Take it easy, will you?”

John doesn’t answer, simply leans over and grasps hold of his wallet, which he had dropped halfway down the embankment.

She takes that opportunity to wrench herself free from his grip and she scrambles back down the slope.  John lets out a grunt of pure rage and throws himself at her, knocking her to the ground.  Grace yelps and tries to struggle from under his bulk, but he grabs hold of her jacket and pulls her back so that she is lying beneath him.

“I *said*, don’t mess with me, lady.”  His lips are thin and pale and his eyes are wild.  They are enough to make Grace shiver.

“Okay, okay.”  Her voice is hoarse as she stares up at him.  There’s something about his expression that is sending off warning signals and she’s not prepared to risk upsetting him any further.  Not right now.

He doesn’t say anything more, just climbs to his feet and pulls her up too.  His shoulders are tight as he climbs up the slope, pulling her behind him. 

As they reach the station, several of the patrons look at him suspiciously as he pulls open the back door and forces Grace to duck inside.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this,” he tells her, his voice strangely cold and dead.  “But you haven’t left me any choice.”  He leans over her and opens the centre console.  

Grace hears the clank of metal brushing against metal and frowns as he pulls out the handcuffs he brought with him from the penthouse.  “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“Never more so.”  He snaps one unforgiving loop around her wrist and then tugs her arm toward him so he can fasten the other cuff to the door handle.  “Now stay there and shut the hell up while I get the gas.”  He doesn’t wait for her answer, just slams the door and locks the car.  With a scowl on his face, he stalks off to pay for the petrol. 

~

Bo sits listlessly at his desk while Abe barks orders at the phone receiver.  He can’t believe he was so stupid.  That he didn’t see what was so obvious.  And now John’s gone and gotten himself in a world of trouble.

Yeah, *sure* I can trust you.  Thanks for nothing, bro.

“Bo?” he looks up to find Abe standing in front of him.  “We’re going to find them, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, right.”  Bo nods.  It doesn’t make him feel any better.  “And when you do, you arrest Marlena, or whoever she is, for Roman’s murder.”

“Not if the D.A.’s office has anything to do with it,” Abe looks grim.  “All of a sudden they’ve done a one-eighty.  They are convinced Marlena is not connected and they want us to stay away from her.”

“There’s only one reason that would happen,” Bo frowns

“Right.” Abe nods as he sits on the desk.  “And we both know it starts with Stefano DiMera.”  

“Which pretty much points to the fact that she did it and he’s trying to cover it up,” Bo adds miserably.  

“And we can’t touch her.” Abe adds.  “Whoever she is.”

“He was my *brother* Abe.” Bo’s eyes crease at the corners, his voice cracking slightly.

“He was my friend, Bo,” Abe’s rich, raw voice conveys his own anguish.  “I know.  But without the hairs, I’m not even sure we have a case.  And DiMera will make this impossible for us to pursue.”

“John will make it impossible.” Bo rubs his forehead tiredly.  “*Dammit*.  I wish I knew how I should feel right now.  Because I just feel damn confused and angry.  And I’m not sure who I’m angry *at*.”  He looks up at Abe, his brown eyes pleading.  His phone starts ringing but he ignores it.  “Why would she kill him, Abe?  Who is she that she would kill *Roman*?  He would have given his life for Marlena.”

“I don’t know, Bo,” Abe shakes his head as he picks up the phone.  “I don’t know.”  He switches his attention to the phone.  “Carver.”  There is a pause as he takes in the news and then he nods.  “Thanks, I’ll tell him.  And we’ll be right there.”

 

“They found them?” Bo asks, but his voice is devoid of optimism.  Either way, this will not end well.

“No,” Abe breaks out into a grin and his eyes come to life.  “It’s great news.  Hope’s regained consciousness.”

~

Inside the Exxon, John throws a twenty-dollar bill at the attendant.  The young guy looks slightly embarrassed as he processes the money and John is about to leave when a voice sounds behind him.

“Hey dude.  What’s with giving the lady such a hard time?” 

 

He turns to find himself face to face with a trucker.  The man is bigger than John and there is a life’s worth of experience written on his craggy face.

“It’s none of your damn business,” John mutters angrily.

“If you’re mistreatin’ a lady, I’m gonna make it my business.”  The other man takes a step towards John, his manner menacing.

“Look, she’s my wife.  We had a fight.  It’s no big deal.”  John says impatiently.  “We’ve been driving all night and we’re both tired and frustrated.  It’s nothing, honestly.  Look,” he points to the bruise on his temple, “I’m more banged up than she is.”

The trucker looks at the attendant, who shrugs faintly, and then looks back at John.

“I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”  His warning is blatant.

“Yeah.  Thanks.” John gives him a cursory nod and then heads for the door.  The last thing he needs is to aggravate anyone any more than he already has.  The thought of truckers up and down the country watching out for him isn’t exactly comforting.

At the car, he quickly sets about filling the tank, keeping an eye alternately on Grace, who is staring out of the window, and on the trucker who is staring straight back at him.

When he is finished, he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat, throwing his wallet on the seat next to him.  He starts up the car and pulls out of the gas station, his expression set in a grimace.

~

At the hospital, Bo finally sees a sight that fills his heart as he clasps Hope’s warm hand and looks into her eyes.

“Hey Fancy-Face,” he croaks.  “I was afraid I was never going to see that beautiful smile again.”

“Hey Brady,” her voice is little more than a whisper.  “I’m a hard one to keep down.”

“You sure got that right,” Bo can’t help the chuckle that slips out, or the tear that slides from his right eye.  “You scared me Hope.  Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay.” Hope nods slowly, a smile curving her lips.  “You got a deal.”

A noise from the doorway catches her attention and she looks past Bo to where Abe stands.  “Bo, there’s something I need to tell you.”  Her voice is quiet and her eyes flicker in Abe’s direction.  “It’s about Marlena.”

“It’s okay Fancy-Face,” Bo’s gaze never wavers.  “Abe knows.  We both do.”

“You know that she’s not Marlena?” Hope’s expression is full of worry.

“Yeah, we’re pretty sure she’s not.” Bo nods.  “She was responsible for this?” He indicates the hospital bed.

“It wasn’t Marlena’s fault.” Hope clarifies.  “Whoever it was, whoever *she* is, she’s not Marlena.   She admitted that to me, that’s why she did this.  She didn’t want me talking.”

“I’m sure she didn’t.” Bo’s heart sinks.

“Bo, we have to help her,” Hope tightens her hand around his, her eyes imploring.  “We have to help bring Marlena back.”

“I’m afraid,” Abe says from the doorway, “if she had something to do with Roman’s death, we might not be able to help her.”

~

There is another long period of silence as they head towards the city.  Towards the east, Grace can see the faint glow that heralds the new day.  And then buildings and lights of the city obliterate it.

Somewhere south of the main city area, John mutters something under his breath and then takes an exit off the interstate.

“What?” Grace asks wearily.  She’s tired.  The headache, the tussle at the gas station and having to travel with the interminably boring John Black is taking it’s toll.

“Nothing.” The single word is curt and loaded with annoyance.

“Well obviously it’s *something* since suddenly we’re headed for a back road and you’re all pissed off,” Grace answers snappishly.  “Oh but I forget, you’ve hardly been Mr. Convivial now, have you.”

“Do you have *any* idea how annoying you are?” John deliberately uncurls flexes his fingers from the steering wheel and flexes them.

“Me?  Annoying?”  Grace laughs.  “Gosh, really?”

There is silence from the front and she sighs.  “So really.   What’s the big problem?”

“Who said there’s a problem?” John takes another exit, the sign indicating the road will take him through a town called Maryville.  It looks quiet enough, away from the trucks and the cops.  With any kind of luck.

“You think just because I’m not Marlena that I can’t read you like a book?” she asks.  She’s damned if she’ll let him brush her off like that.  She’s curious now and she wants to know what’s going on.  Not least because if John’s upset, that means it could well benefit her.

“You don’t seem to have done too well so far,” he points out.

“But I’m right this time,” she raises her eyebrows.

There’s a pause and then John sighs.  “The gas station wouldn’t accept my credit cards.  They’ve been stopped.  Bo must have told Abe that I have you and he’s had them cut off.”  He looks at her in the rear-view mirror.  “They were about to arrest you for Roman’s murder, you know.  And they were probably about to arrest me for interfering in a criminal investigation.  So, as of right now, we’re on the run from the law, as well as from Stefano.” 

For John’s part, he’s tired too.  He just wants to stop and sleep.  And somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes that he could and when he wakes up, he’d find himself in bed with the wife he loves, and this would all be a hideous nightmare.

His mind has drifted, and he’s not prepared for the laughter that erupts from the back seat.  It only serves to increase his irritation.  The woman won’t take anything seriously.  “Mind telling me what the hell is so funny?”

“Oh,” Grace manages to rein in the giggles, but only just.  It’s so incredibly perfect.  She had secretly wanted to be there at the moment he learnt of the ultimate form of her revenge.  It almost makes this joyride worth it.  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about the murder charge, John. Stefano’s taken care of that.”
“Stefano…?” John’s brow furrows.

“It’s not the cops who’ve cut off your credit.”  She adds, not giving him time to process the implications of what she’s just said.

“What do you mean it’s not the cops?” he seems genuinely confused.  “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, honey, the *bank* cut your credit because you have no funds,” she eases herself back against the leather with a self-satisfied grin. 

“What do you mean I have no funds?” The words are tentative at first as though they are foreign on his tongue.  As though he doesn’t understand their meaning.  And then he repeats himself, the words heavy with anger and confusion.  “What do you mean I have no funds?  I’m a millionaire.  Of course I have *funds*.”  

“Not any more,” she shrugs, her lips twitching at the corners.  She’s enjoying the fact that she has one up on him.  Especially because he knows as well as she does that they’re not going to get anywhere without any cash. “I’ve been in Salem a good couple of months John.  I’ve had your credit card and access to your bank accounts.  You really think I’m not going to use it to my advantage?”  She smirks as she sees his eyes widen in the mirror.  “I’ve been siphoning your money into Stefano’s various Swiss bank accounts ever since I arrived.  I made the final transfer the other night.”  The nonchalance in her voice leaves John speechless.  “My guess is that if you’d checked your messages at the hotel, you’d find there were a few from the bank. “

She shrugs again not quite able to keep the smile from forming.  “You have *no* money, John.  You’re broke.”  Her mouth curves into a lazy smirk.  “I like my revenge best serve with a liberal sprinkling of cold, hard greenbacks.”  

John can’t even speak; he’s too stunned to even look at her.  In the back seat, Grace rattles the handcuff that keeps her fastened to the car door and props one slender leg on the centre console of the car.  As she leans forward, her voice drops to a whisper.  

“Payback’s a *bitch*, hmmmm?”

Chapter LVI – Stalemate

John focuses on the road in front of him for a moment.  He can’t even think how to feel.  And then instinctively, he yanks on the steering wheel and pulls over to the side of the road.

“*Payback?*”  He looks incredulous.  “For *what*?”

Grace shrugs carelessly.  “Take your pick, John.  Although I’m not quite sure why it is that I need to furnish you with a reason.”

“Because you *stole* my money!”  His face is tight with grief and anger.  “My life wasn’t enough for you?”

“What would you like me to say?” Grace cocks one eyebrow.  And then, in a breathy voice, “Gee, I’m sorry I took all your money honey, I promise I’ll never do it again.”  Her eyes narrow as she glares back at him.  “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your sad life or your money.  You’re a rich, middle-aged fuck-up, John.  The money simply made you marginally less boring than you actually are.    You know, maybe if you had to *work* for something in your life, you wouldn’t take the rest of it for granted.  Maybe you wouldn’t screw your wife over because she might actually *mean* something to you.”

“My *wife* means *everything* to me,” John says desperately.  “I don’t *care* about the money.  I couldn’t give a *shit* about the money.  All I’ve *ever* wanted in my life is Marlena.”

“You had a great way of showing it,” Grace says bitterly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” John shakes his head.  “Would you stop being so damn cryptic?”
“It was nothing,” Grace demurs, angry with herself for the emotions that are threatening to cloud her judgement.

“You know, I don’t have to sit here and justify my life to you,” John replies.  “I don’t have to prove how much I love her.”

“Yeah, well maybe you do.”  She gives him a sly smile that catches him off-guard.  “You did say you’d do *anything* to get her back.”  She raises her brows, her eyes flashing a breath-taking, burnished gold.  “If you’re so convinced, she’s locked up somewhere inside me, you might want to try playing nice for a change.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.  He doesn’t know how to deal with this woman who wears Marlena’s face but who twists his every word and who breaks his heart every time he looks at her.  He stares instead into the distance, his body rigid.  Battling the intense fight or flight sensations that flood him, he takes deep breaths. 

He chooses not to answer her taunts and instead, he turns and asks her the question that has been haunting him for days.

“Did you kill Roman?”

“What do you think?”  Her eyes sparkle obscenely as she smirks at him.  “Or do you want details?”  Her voice is soft, but it worms its way in between John’s mental defences, each word twisting his heart, slowly tearing him apart.  “Do you want to hear how his nose sounded as it shattered under the heel of my palm?  Or how he begged for his *pitiful* life as I held the gun to his head?”

“All right, all right!” John shouts, turning away from her, his stomach churning.  He doesn’t want to hear.  Doesn’t want to see Roman’s last, terrified moments through her perverse eyes.  Doesn’t want to imagine the death of his friend at the hands of a woman he thought he knew.  And loved.

His whole body is trembling as he turns back to her.  His eyes are bloodshot and vivid with pain.  “Why?” he whispers.  “Why him?”

“Why not?  She barely blinks as she looks back at him.  Her voice is hard and caustic and it cuts through the thick atmosphere between them.  “He was disgusting and obnoxious.  Believe me, I did you all a favor.”

“A *what*?” John stares at her, his expression glazed.  He can’t bear this.  He can’t…. what kind of a monster is she that she would take pleasure in the death of an innocent man?  That she would brutally murder the father of Marlena’s children?

No, Marlena wouldn’t want this.  

And then the nausea comes, welling up and exploding inside him.   If Marlena is still inside her, how could she let this happen?  How could she just stand by…?  And then a second, more prescient wave of emotion.  The same way you stood by when *he* screwed Gina.

A shudder sweeps through him as he fumbles with the door handle.  Finally, he pushes the door open and he stumbles out of the car before collapses to his knees. 

 His skin is clammy as he retches uncontrollably, his stomach already painfully empty.  The acid stings, his eyes burn, his body shivers and aches.  Please, God.  Please don’t this be all that’s left.  I *need* her.  I can’t do this without her.  I can’t *be* without her.

Gasping, he crumples uncomfortably against the front wheel of his car, and he wipes his face with his sleeve.  He can’t do this.  He can’t keep letting her shake him like this.  He has to remain resolute.  He has to gain the upper hand and he has to work *her* emotionally.  That’s the only way he’ll ever be able to break through the walls that this ‘Grace’ has built around Marlena.

From inside the car, Grace watches his feet from under the open door.  Her expression conveys an equal measure of interest and disgust.  He’s providing no challenge at all.  He’s making it far too easy for her and she’s aggravated by the shallow display of vulnerability.

Since when did John Black care about the man purporting to be Roman Brady?  In between stuttering bouts of pursuing Marlena, from what Grace can gather, John has never particularly shown any interest in Roman at all.  He’s been far too absorbed in his own life to care about anyone else.  Not even his own children warrant a great deal of attention most of the time.  

So, the great dramatic display of emotion is simply tedious and boring and she wishes he’d just get on with it.   His anger is so much more appealing.  There is so much more to work with inside the rage and fear.  It makes her stomach lurch with excitement just thinking about John in the penthouse the night she brought that boy home.  

*That’s* the John she wants to play with, that she wants to taunt and manipulate.  Not this weak, half-assed idiot with a hero complex.  This merely makes her uncomfortable and edgy.  It makes her desperate to get back to civilization.  And Stefano.

She rolls her eyes as he climbs back inside the car and pulls the seatbelt into place.  He doesn’t even look at her as he starts the car again.  He’s obviously heard more than he bargained for, because there are no more questions, for now.

Bored, she looks out the window as John pulls back onto the road and she notes that the sky is brightening, bringing a pale wash of colour to the landscape around them.  

And suddenly she realizes she is both tired and exceedingly hungry.

“So, do you intend to feed me any time soon?”  She lifts one eyebrow.  

John says nothing, just focuses on the road in front of him.

Annoyed, she continues.  “Or is that part of your plan?  Starve me until I’m incoherent and then have your way with me.  Or whatever it is that you intend to do.”  She pauses and then with an edge to her voice, “what exactly is it that you intend to do, John?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to feed you with no money,” John says tonelessly, ignoring her pointed question.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she chuckles.  “You weren’t Stefano’s mercenary for nothing.”

“I was Stefano’s mercenary because he fucked with my head and rewired my brain with his microchips,” John says, his voice strong and unequivocal.  

“Are you sure about that?” Her words take on a strangely lilting tone. 

“I’m sure.”  There is nothing he is surer about right now.  “I never had a choice in it.  Stefano brainwashed me.  He used me.  Like he’s using Marlena.”  He indicates and pulls out to pass a particularly slow car.  “You’re nothing but a leech that he planted inside Marlena’s head.”

“Stefano had nothing to do with me, John,” she says smoothly.  She’s not going to let him think she’s some freak invention of Stefano’s.  She’s autonomous and the sooner he realizes that, the better.  “I’m not the result of some surgically implanted chip.  He didn’t have to mess with Marlena’s head.  You did a good enough job of that for him.”

“You’re lying,” the muscle in John’s jaw twitches.  “I know DiMera’s MO.  He wanted to mess with the Brady family and what better way than you?”

“What better way indeed?”  One corner of her mouth curls into a lazy smile.  “But my point, John, is that I’m not some stray personality he planted inside Marlena’s head with the aid of technological gadgetry.”  She pauses, twisting slightly, stretching one slender leg slightly and propping her booted foot up on the leather seat.  

“I’m simply what’s left after you remove all the,” she wrinkles her nose slightly, “sweet, *precious* naïveté of your beloved Marlena.”  She brushes the hair back off her face in a sensual gesture and smiles.  “Honey, I’m Marlena without the weakness or the bland, pastel bedside manner.  Without that boring, pesky moral compass.”

“That’s bullshit!” John snaps.  “I *know* my wife.  She would never even *think* of doing the things you’ve done.  She couldn’t hurt the people she loved.  Marlena would never do that.”

Grace quirks one eyebrow and shrugs.  “You believe what you want to believe, John.  Whatever, y’know?”  She leans forward slightly in a conspiratorial manner.  “But when you decide you want to know more, let me know, okay?”

“I know everything I need to know,” John’s voice is gruff.

“Whatever you say, honey.”  She leans back into the corner where the seat meets the door.  “Let me know what you’re going to do about food too.  I’d like to eat some time this week.”  

She doesn’t wait for his answer but closes her eyes with a small sigh and tries to ignore the whir of the engine.

The sun is considerably higher in the sky when her eyelids flutter open.  John is settling back in his seat, and he turns and tosses her a sandwich with a grim expression.  He starts the car immediately and pulls out of the parking lot.  They are still heading south but the road is evidently a backroad and the countryside around them is lush, verdant pasture.  

Grace wrinkles her nose disdainfully at the lukewarm object in her hands and then looks up at John.

“This is it?  This is my breakfast?”

“Your lunch too,” he replies tonelessly.  “Make the most of it.  I’m almost out of cash.”

“Well,” she stretches, rolling her head slightly to ease the stiffness out of her neck.  “That’s going to make running away rather interesting, isn’t it?”

“I’ll figure something out.”  John unwraps his sandwich and tosses the wrapper in the passenger’s seat.  ‘As you pointed out earlier, I was Stefano’s mercenary.  You’d do well to remember that.”

“You think that makes you special?” Her lips curl into a sneer.  “You think that the fact that I could take Roman is just a lucky fluke?”  She watches as John chews on his sandwich.  Suddenly, he looks almost green.  “He’s hardly the first man I’ve killed, John.  Stefano’s people are exceptional at what they do.  You should know that.”  

Grace drops her lunch, and it lands on the seat beside her with a thud.  Then she leans forward, propping her chin in her hand. “John, every move you know, I know.  And more.”  Her lips form a perfect pout for a moment and then they slide easily into a knowing smile.  “I know *everything* that’s going on inside your head honey, and I’m always going to be one step ahead of you.”

John feels the half-eaten food settling in his stomach, like a leaden weight.  He’s seething with anger, although he’s not quite sure where he should focus it.  At Grace?  At DiMera?  At himself?  He’s a man of action and he feels frustrated and impotent because right now, there’s nothing he can do but drive.  There’s no-one he can confront; no-one he can throttle in order to make this right.  DiMera is the only conceivable source of any answers and right now to try and seek out those answers would be like walking into hell and delivering Marlena into the devil’s arms.  He will not do that.  He will die before he lets DiMera get his hands on Marlena.  Or Grace.

Grace watches him intently as he stares into the brightly sunlit landscape ahead of them.  She can’t quite work him out, despite her protestations to the contrary.  She wishes she could, it would make things a lot simpler.  

She still loathes him.  He’s arrogant and self-serving and worthy only of her contempt.  Except that if she’s honest, she no longer feels only contempt for him.  Instead, despite what she knows of him, despite everything he’s done to her and to Stefano, she’s intrigued.  And challenged.

She had expected him to roll over much earlier than this.  It doesn’t make sense.

Fourteen years ago, he had abandoned her to the mercies of Orpheus and the wildly churning sea.  Her plane had crashed but there had been no bodies.  

He had known.  

She had seen the messages that had been sent to him when she had been found.  She had lived and died through the silence that ensued.  

He had left her to fend for herself against the likes of Lamont.  He had let her warmth and compassion shrivel inside as she had witnessed his dalliances with the other women.  He had forgotten all about her as he’d moved on and moved in with Diana.  And she had responded by learning that to care meant only to be weak.  That to allow any kind of compassion or love to remain in her heart was only going to cause her pain.  And then. Stefano and his people had effectively trained any kind of morality out of her.  

It had started as a way to please Stefano, to thank him for everything he had done for her.  He had asked her to do several small jobs for him and her success had brought them both a great deal of satisfaction.  At first, she’d found it difficult, but the end had justified the means, and she had done it for that reason.  And then, after a while, she had started to get off on the power.  Inflicting pain on people was pleasurable simply because it was the only time she knew that she was the one completely in control.  And as time went on, control became the one thing that she could rely one.  The one constant in her life.  And beyond the control, there was the certainty that she would never again let anyone hurt her like Roman Brady had hurt her.  She would hurt them before they even came close enough to try.

She and Stefano had become a formidable team in the two and half years they’d worked in tandem in Europe.  Until the night she’d had that damned accident and the long-dormant Marlena had come back to life and made her way back to Salem.  Only to be rejected by her damn fool husband.

He hadn’t cared then, so why the hell does he care so much now?  Grace can’t work it out.  

Her eyes drift away from John to the softly rolling countryside.  She will work it out.  She will tear the layers off John one by one until he is raw and bleeding and she knows exactly what makes him tick.  And then she will break him, once and for all.

Chapter LVII – Outpost

Grace is jolted from her dozing state as the car rolls to a stop and a small frown pinches her brow as she looks around, slightly disoriented.

They are in a steep valley.  The hills on either side are carpeted thickly with trees and foam tipped water tumbles over rocks on her right.  Looking skyward, it appears that the weather has closed in since she’s been sleeping and the clouds above them are dark and ominous.

A muffled curse comes from the front as John slams his hand against the dash.

“What now?” she asks irritably. 

There’s no answer, but the car lurches forward slightly.  She frowns again as they swing into a small, gravelled road.  John edges the car to the side of the road and with a final splutter of the engine, he nudges it into a ditch behind some dense undergrowth.

Grace is thrown forward as the SUV crashes into the hole and her arm is wrenched heavily where she’s still manacled to the car.  She groans and clutches at her shoulder as she glares accusingly at John.

“Thanks so much for the warning, asshole.”

John remains silent, his lips tightly pursed as he pushes the door open.  A stifling burst of hot, humid air greets him as he climbs out of the vehicle and plants his feet firmly on the ground.  The atmosphere around him vibrates with moisture and electricity.  There’s a storm brewing and they’d best find shelter before it hits.

Moving around the rear of the skewed Mercedes, he stares at Grace through the tinted window.  Part of him would just like to leave her there.  He wishes… there’s so much he wishes, but right now it’s wasted energy.  He needs to get her out of here before the storm hits.  And before things get any more difficult.

“Care to tell me what the *hell* you think you’re doing?” Grace demands furiously as he pulls the door ajar.  “Have you gone completely nuts??”

“There was a light on the dash,” John says cursorily, not looking at her but instead unlocking the cuff that is attached to the car.  “Something went wrong with the car, and we lost power.  So, we’re stuck here.”

“It’s the middle of fucking *nowhere*,” Grace’s voice raises several decibels.

“Exactly,” John deadpans.  “This is as good a place as any.”  

He pulls her roughly from the car and snaps the handcuff around his own wrist.  He’s not about to take any chances.

“Oh my God,” Grace breathes, “you really have lost the plot, haven’t you?”

“Think whatever you like,” John takes her by the hand and looks into the undergrowth.  There’s a small trail that leads off to their right.  It seems like a good place to start.  “Crazy or not, you’re coming with me.  So, you may as well shut up and get used to the idea.”

“It’s forest, John.  We have no idea what’s up there.  There could be bears, snakes… moonshiners… anything.  It’s not safe.”  She’s starting to sound desperate, and it elicits a grim smile from John.

“You spent a good deal of time earlier today telling me how you know every move that I know.”  He folds her arm back behind her and gives her a push towards the overgrown path.  “It’s time to put your money where your mouth is, *Grace*.  If you’re a DiMera operative, you’ve been trained in jungle warfare along with the rest of it.  This is a walk in the park.”

She stumbles slightly and a branch whips past her arm as she moves along the trail.  She’s silent for a moment and then, “you’re an absolute *bastard*,” she hisses.  John says nothing and she stops short in the middle of the trail.  “What about my case?” she asks.

“What about it?” John sounds disinterested.

“It has all my *stuff* in it,” she says angrily.  “You expect me to wear these clothes for the next…” she twists to look at him.  “Exactly how long do you intend to spend tramping around in the woods?”

“As long as it takes to work out how to get my wife back,” John tells her curtly.  “And unless you want to carry your case around, it’s staying in the car.”  He pauses for a moment and then, seemingly contrarily, he turns, pulling on her hand.

“I thought you said we weren’t taking it?” Grace is confused.  

“I’m not,” John reiterates as he pulls open the trunk of the vehicle and pulls Grace’s case to him.  There is a combination padlock on it and he turns to look at Grace.  She shrugs indifferently but she doesn’t get the reaction she expects.  Instead, John just shrugs in return and digs in his pocket.  After a moment, he pulls out a pocket knife and flicks it open.  

“Are you cr-” Grace’s diatribe is cut short as John stabs the fabric of the case with the blade of the knife and begins to carve a hole.  “John!”  She stares in disbelief as he finishes tearing the hole with his hand and then starts pulling out shredded silk blouses.  It only takes him seconds to empty the case and then taking his knife, he slits the lining in the bottom of the bag.  Quickly he slides his hand inside and pulls out a wad of papers.  Included are two passports, one is Marlena’s and one is in the name of Grace Boudreaux.  Also included is a wad of cash in large bills.  He says nothing, just stuffs the papers inside his shirt and turns back to the woods.  

Grace sighs as he yanks on her arm and she grabs a pair of pants and an unmarked shirt, along with a small make-up bag which she stuffs in her pocket, and then follows him.

They have been trekking uphill for what seems like hours, when a flash of lightening stops Grace in her tracks.  John, now behind her, runs into her as the thunder sounds overhead.  Grace jumps and John utters a soft curse as the rain begins to fall.  Huge drops batter the canopy overhead as the day grows darker and increasingly oppressive.

“We have to keep moving,” John pushes Grace onward.  

“It would help if I knew *where* we were going,” Grace whips around and faces up to John, her eyes blazing.  “You’re going to get us killed out here, you *ass.*”  How exactly is that going to help your precious Marlena?”

“Grace, if you don’t shut your mouth, so help me I’ll…”

“Yeah?”  She challenges him, her lips pursed and her honey eyes glittering in the half light.  “What’re you going to do John?  How do you propose-”  She’s interrupted as he grabs her and kisses her roughly.  She gasps and tries to ignore the pounding of her heart and the fluttering of her stomach.

When John pushes away from her, his eyes contain a challenge.  “Any questions?” he demands.  Grace merely shakes her head, unable to trust herself enough to control any words that might come out of her mouth. “Good.”  John’s voice is raw and gravelly, but she searches his eyes and  can find no evidence of any affect the kiss has had on him.

She realizes that he is the only man beside Stefano who has ever stood up to her.  Who has ever had any kind of power over her.  It both intrigues and infuriates her and it strengthens her resolve to beat him.  She will win this battle of wills.  She will break him.  She has to.

With a tiny smile curling her lips, she turns and starts up the hill again.

John’s crumpled maroon shirt is soaked with rain, and it’s plastered to him by the time he pulls Grace to a halt, almost an hour later.  She can’t help but glance at the curve of his muscles under the drenched fabric and her breath catches in her throat.  Whatever she might think of him, he is quite beautiful.

“There” he rasps breathlessly as he points through the trees.  Grace turns almost reluctantly and sees a ramshackle cabin in the distance.  With determination, she shrugs.  It’s better than nothing and if they’re really lucky, it might even be dry.  She starts in the direction of the cabin but John pulls her back.  “What?  No arguments?”  He raises one eyebrow.  “It’s hardly the Ritz.”

“I don’t need luxury,” she smirks unexpectedly.  “Right now, I have other needs I have to satisfy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” John is getting weary of this dance they are performing.  He doesn’t know what to expect from her one moment to the next and it is taking its toll.  And there’s not just that.  He shouldn’t have kissed her.  He hadn’t been able to resist the temptation.  At that moment she looked so beautiful and reminded him so much of the feisty, no-nonsense Marlena he had fallen in love with all those years ago, and he had acted on instinct.  But the feeling of her lips against his had been enough to stir up all the pain and anger again and even worse, his desire for her, and he is having a hard time keeping all those emotions in check.  On top of all that, the way her white blouse is clinging to her in the rain is enough to completely shatter his concentration and that’s the last thing he needs.  

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Grace slides her hand into his and curls her fingers around his broad ones.  She flicks the slippery hair out of her face and the combined sensations squeeze at John’s heart like it is in a vice.  “C’mon stud, let’s see if this place is habitable.”

John barely has to force the door of the deserted cabin and it swings inward, hanging awkwardly off rickety hinges.  Keeping Grace safely behind him, he slips the pistol from his waistband and scans the interior of the dilapidated building.

It has obviously not been occupied for quite several years, the thick layer of dust over all the surfaces attests to that. However, in the corner, a mess of leaves lines the bottom of an open cupboard, evidence of a one-time raccoon occupation.  Other signs of rodent infestation are sparse, but still evident.

Holstering his gun, John ventures in, pulling Grace with him.  She looks around, and her nose wrinkles slightly.  Then she takes a deep breath and her shoulders set.  “It could be worse, I guess,” she ventures.

John doesn’t look at her.  He can’t bring himself to, but he pulls her over towards the old cast iron bed.  His heart pounding and his breath heavy, he fishes for keys in his pocket and unlocks the cuff around his wrist.  He’s just about to fasten it to the bed when Grace lays her hand on his.

“You don’t need to do that,” she says softly.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, you expect me to believe that?” John tries to keep his eyes averted but she shifts slightly and he can’t help but see the rain slick skin that disappears beneath her translucent blouse.

“Yes, I expect you to believe that,” her chest rises and falls swiftly as she catches her breath from the long hike.  She shrugs, “where would I go?  It’s not exactly the safest place to go roaming around on one’s own.  Even if I had the slightest idea where I was I don’t think I’d be that foolhardy.”

John lifts his eyes and studies her face.  He doesn’t see any deception in those honey brown eyes, but then, he mentally berates himself, they’re no longer Marlena’s eyes.  He can’t read them like he used to be able to.  He can’t trust her.  He can never let himself be lulled into that kind of false sense of security.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he closes the manacle around the ancient bedstead.  “I have to be sure.”

“Sure of what?” she asks, a bitter tinge to her voice.  “That I’ll starve to death with you?  Or that I’ll get pneumonia before you do?”

“No-one’s….” John interrupts himself with a snort of disgust.  “I’m going out to find some wood.”

“Well, I’ll be here when you get back honey,” Grace calls after him caustically.  “I’m not going anywhere.”   

She makes a noise that signals her own irritation as sounds of his retreat fade.  Turning, she looks down distastefully at the old bed as she throws her drenched set of spare clothing over the bedstead.  Leaning over, she tests the bed with one hand.  It squeaks slightly and she grimaces at the feel of the lumpy mattress beneath her hand.  She peels back the dusty old blanket and sheets with evident distaste but she’s gratified to find the mattress shows no recent signs of rodent infestation.  

“Thank heaven for small mercies” she murmurs as she pulls the small zippered bag from her pocket and eases herself down into a sitting position.  “Right now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”  The corner of her mouth curls into a pleased smile as she pulls out a bobby pin and sets to work on the manacle around her wrist.

It only takes a minute before she is rewarded by a tiny click and the metal bracelet swings open.  She grins as she stands, rubbing her wrist.  “Okay stud, let’s see who’s in control now…”

Chapter LVIII – Minor Exchange

“Looks like we won’t die of pneumonia after all,” John kicks the door open and dumps a pile of wood next to the fireplace.  “We may even be able to get our clothes dr-“

He looks up and his heart sinks as he sees the handcuffs dangling from the bedstead.  “FUCK!” He yells as he slams his hand into the wall.  “DAMMIT!”  he can’t believe he has come all this way, just to lose her now.  How could he have been so damn *stupid* as to leave her alone?  He should have *known* she’d have something up her sleeve.  She always does.

Immediately he spins on a muddy heel and strides desperately to the door.  She is nowhere in sight.  “Jesus….. Doc…. what am I going to do?”  He rubs his face wearily.

“What’s wrong?”  Her voice sends his heart pounding and his head snaps around.  She is standing in the doorway of the lean-to that lists against the back of the cabin.  She is drying her hair with a threadbare old towel and she has shed her sodden leather pants, leaving her in just her saturated shirt and some skimpy underwear that leaves little to the imagination.  “What’s the problem, honey?”

“Uh,” John attempts to swallow but it sticks in his parched throat, and he coughs.  Shutting the door, he moves towards her and then stops, exhausted and frustrated.  The silence stretches between them as he sinks into a chair, fatigue nibbling at his nerves.

Grace lowers her towel and runs her fingers through her hair as she looks at him expectantly.

“I…. I thought you were gone.”  He flicks his fingers in the direction of the bed as his face grows red.  

“Oh,” one corner of Grace’s lips curl up into a smile.  “You really thought I was going to do a vanishing act, huh?”  She saunters across the room to where he sits, the smile still lingering on her lips.  “I told you,” she lowers herself so that she is straddling his lap and her voice becomes smoky and alluring, “you can trust me.  I’m not going anywhere.”

John shudders as she draws two fingers across his shoulder and down across the skin exposed by the open buttons of his shirt.

“How about we forget the fire and create our own heat?” she suggests with a lascivious grin before she slides her hand under his shirt.

“No!”  His voice is hoarse as he closes his fingers around her wrist and pushes her almost off of his lap.  “No.”  His voice firms and he glares at her with an indignant glare.  “I can’t.”

“You can’t,” she raises her eyebrows, her hazel eyes growing cold and hard, “or you won’t?”

“All right,” John stands, pressing her away from him as he turns and goes to the fireplace.  He’s exhausted from the long drive and the constant stress of dealing with her. “I won’t.  I won’t betray Marlena like that.”

“You already did,” Grace’s words are soft and insinuate their way into his soul.  “You already did betray her John.  You slept with Hope on your honeymoon.  And then you slept with me, and you didn’t even know it wasn’t your *wife*.”

There is silence for a moment and then John’s voice erupts into the void between them, making her flinch.

“I *know* what I did!”  He rages, thumping his hand against the wall before turns to look at her, misery etched on his face.  “Every morning I wake with the knowledge of what I did.  So, tell me something I *don’t* know, Grace.  Tell me… because nothing you could say could hurt me more than I hurt her.”  His voice drops to little more than a whisper as he turns and crouches down by the fireplace.  “I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”

“Marlena is gone, John,” Grace moves up behind him.  “How can you betray a woman that doesn’t even exist anymore?”  She kneels behind him and lays her hand on his back, words silken and beguiling.  “John, honey, why torture yourself?”

John clenches his fists on the ground in front of him and squeezes his eyes shut.  Her query stabs at the fragile shroud of belief that he holds around himself like a mantle.  A shield that protects him from the hopelessness that could be his future.  A belief that Marlena is not gone forever.  That she will come back to him.

“Marlena is *not* gone,” he shouts as he turns around to face her.  They are nose to nose and the agony in his eyes is so palpable, Grace sways back on her knees in surprise.  “I will *not* not believe that.  And I would rather spend the rest of my life alone and miserable before I give up on her and try and forget her.  I will *never* forget her, do you *get* that?”

“Is that so?” One perfect raised eyebrow accompanies the cynical exclamation.  “Forgive me if I find that a *little* hard to swallow, Mr. Black.”

“You seem to mistake me for someone who would care what you think,” he mutters as he turns and begins to throw logs on the long-abandoned fire.

“Oh, *that* I don’t,” she replies bitterly.  “Why would you start now?”

“Excuse me?” John snaps.  “What the hell are you talking about?  You destroy my life and now hurl accusations at me.”  He turns and narrows his eyes.  “Listen to me, lady.  I don’t care what you think or how you feel.  I just care about getting my wife back.  So, you’d better get used to the idea that you won’t be around forever.  I’m going to undo whatever Stefano did to Marlena and I’m going to strip you from her body so that she never knows you existed.  You and all the heinous things you’ve done.”

“Is that so?”  Grace’s lips thin.  “Kind of hard to hide the fact that her hands are the same ones that held a gun to Roman’s head and pulled the trigger.  John, there’s blood all over your precious Marlena’s hands, you wouldn’t even begin to know how much.”  Her nose flares slightly, and her expression sends chills through John.  “So don’t you *dare* threaten me.”

“I let you hurt too many people in this town,” he says hoarsely.  “I won’t let you hurt her too.”

“Hurt her?”  Grace laughs bitterly.  “Honey, I’m here because of the pain *you* inflicted on her.  You’re in a big, complicated glasshouse, Johnny boy.  Watch those stones now.”

“All right,” John crosses his arms as he sits back on his heels.  “You seem so adamant that it was my fault that you appeared.  So why don’t you explain to me how that happened?  That Stefano had you, that he messed with your head and that somehow it was still my damn *fault*.”  His eyes hold a challenge as he stares her down.

“Stefano *saved* me,” Grace pushes herself up from the floor and moves across to the window.  Her body is starting to ache, and her head is pounding.  She’s tired and she’s not even sure what she’s saying, except that she wants to hurt him.  No-one turns her down.

“*You* left Marlena to Orpheus.  You left her for *dead*.”

“There was a plane crash,” John replies defensively.  “I saw the plane go down.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know how she could have survived that.  They told me you were-” he corrects himself, “*she* was dead….” 

“Sure,” the single syllable is laden with scorn.  “And you believed them.  How convenient for you.”  Her eyebrows lift disdainfully.  ” Meant you didn’t have to go looking for her, didn’t it?  You could forget she existed, and you could move onto the next conquest.”

“They told me she was *dead*,” John reiterates angrily.  “I had no idea…  dammit, how could I have known?”  He will fight the good fight until he is blue in the face, but the reality is that the guilt is eating him alive.  The guilt that he left her to Stefano’s clutches.  The knowledge that she suffered because of his inaction and he’s not sure he can forgive himself for that, so how can expect her to forgive him?  The guilt and self-doubt is etched in every line of exhaustion on his face, but it doesn’t seem to move Grace to any kind of sympathy.

“You tell me.” She moves back towards him, wrapping her arms around herself and John has the sudden impression that she is trying to protect herself.  Her face is pinched, but he can’t tell if it’s with anger or with pain.  “You were willing to believe she was alive when you were with Diana.  So why not when she disappeared?  Was it just that she was *inconvenient*?”  Now there is definite pain in her voice and John’s stomach sinks.

“You really believe that don’t you?” he asks, realization dawning in his voice, the guilt burgeoning with every word.  “You believe I that abandoned her.  That I didn’t care enough to find her.”

“Well, didn’t you?”  Grace steels herself, her jaw tensing as she faces him.  “You didn’t come and rescue her John.  *Stefano* was the one that found me.  *He* was the one that nursed me back to health.  *He* looked after me.  *He* made me feel wanted and loved.  And don’t tell me you didn’t know I was still alive.  I *know* you knew.”  

She is furious now, two bright red spots burning high on her cheeks as she recalls the empty nights of uncertainty.  Nights that she lay awake as flickers of memories strayed into her consciousness and she tried desperately to grab hold of them.  To enlarge on them.  To understand why the man that haunted her was no longer by her side.  Nights that she wept, wondering why he had not come to find her.  

“And what the *hell* did you do John?  You forgot me, you deliberately *ignored* me, and you stayed in *my* house and made kissy face with your *girlfriends*. You’re damn right I believe you abandoned me.”

The hush falls heavily between them as she feels his azure eyes burn right into her soul and then she turns around.  She has said much more than she intended.  More than she ever wanted him to know.  She’s exhausted and she wishes she could take everything back, but she knows that she can’t.   She can only try and halt the flow of information now.

“I don’t understand.”  The tenuousness of his voice makes her wince, but she ignores him and continues to the window.  “Marlena, she knows how much I love her.  She knew back then.  She would have known I would *never* abandon her.” It is almost as though he is talking to himself as he heaves himself into a chair and stares down at his hands.  “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”  Grace abstractedly lays her cheek against the window, her face burning.

“No!”  The exclamation punctuates the moment between them. “You can’t just stop there!”  He pushes himself up from the fire and crosses the room. Desperately, he grabs her by the upper arms, turning her so that she faces him.  “Stefano must have brainwashed Doc to make her think that.  What the hell did he do to her?” he growls agitatedly. 

He is breathing heavily, and his fingers are like iron bars around her arms as Grace faces him.  He reeks of desperation and there is a wild fear that shines in his darkened eyes.  The utter agony relayed by his face and every nerve in his body is enough to take her breath away.  This… this can’t be right.  It can’t be real…

“Tell me!” he yells at her, and she jumps noticeably.  He curses himself silently and he relaxes his grip a little.

“He didn’t do *anything*, John.  There *was* no brainwashing.”  She shivers as he absently caresses her arms with his thumbs.  “It was what *happened*.”  She becomes angry again as she remembers the pictures and videos that Stefano had been so loathe to let her see.  “Stop *lying*.  I know you knew.  I saw the communiqué that was sent to you.  And I saw the pictures of you with your *whores*.”  She wrenches herself away from him trying to deny the unexpected pain that she feels.  Pain that she’d thought long dead and buried.  “What the hell did you expect?  For Marlena to be *happy* for you?”

John frowns, his brow furrowing as he watches her walk back to the fire.  This doesn’t make sense.  Why would she have thought that he would leave her out there if he’d had any idea that she was alive?  Marlena would know that he would do anything in his power to find her….  She’d known him.  She’d known that his world revolved around her.  So why would she open herself to Stefano’s twisted lies?  Why would she think…?

His eyes widen.  “She didn’t know because she didn’t remember.”  He stalks towards her.  “I’m right, aren’t I?  You had amnesia when Stefano found you.  That’s why he could feed you any perverted bullshit he wanted, and you didn’t know any better.”

“He didn’t feed me *anything*,” Grace spits back.  “I *know* what happened, John.  I *saw* the pictures.  I saw *you*.  You looked *oh* so grief-stricken with your string of *sluts*.”

“That’s enough!”  John grabs her wrist and pulls her to him.  “The reason you saw those pictures is because Stefano *wanted* you to see them.  I never *got* any communiqué.  You really think Stefano would have told me you were still alive?  When he could use you for his own fucking *evil* schemes?”  He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief.   “I’m betting you didn’t see the nights I held the kids and we cried ourselves to sleep.  You didn’t see the days I practically sleepwalked through because I was so heartbroken.”  His voice softens as he draws her close.  “He duped you Grace.  The old man lied to you for his own purposes.  So he could *use* you.  And you fell for it, hook, line and sinker.”

“You’re a *liar*.”  Her voice is incredibly quiet, but it’s laden with fury.

“The old man is the liar, Grace.  Marlena knows that.  Too bad you don’t have her smarts.”  He raises one eyebrow and then turns from her.  He almost can’t believe his own level of control confronted with these revelations, but he refuses to let her see how shaken he is.

“Oh, we are talking about the same woman that was your doormat for the last – how many years is it now?” she demands caustically.  “The same woman who couldn’t work out that Hope’s brat was yours?”  She sniggers.  “Give me a break.”

“I don’t want to hear your thoughts on Marlena,” John tells her tersely before he crouches down again.  The muscles in his cheek twitch violently as he picks up a log.

Grace scrutinizes him as he begins to build the fire.  His shoulders are hunched protectively and everything about his attitude tells her this conversation is over.  Finally, her lips pursed in an upward curve, she shrugs and turns back to the open door.

Beyond the cabin, the rain still falls in sheets, rattling against the old, shingled roof and almost obliterating the woods within Grace’s vision.  She moves listlessly to the door and steps outside, silently contemplating John’s words and her own thoughts, ignoring the fact that the rain is once again lashing her.

A brilliant flash of lightening is immediately followed by a clap of thunder, and it momentarily blinds her.  Before she knows what is happening, she feels a hand on her arm and John yanks her back inside and slams the door shut.  

“Are you *nuts*?” he demands as he pushes her towards the centre of the room.  “The storm is practically overhead.  The whole point of stopping here is so that we aren’t exposed to it.”

 

“I…” she opens her mouth to speak but is surprised to find there is no snappy retort waiting to spring back at him.  In fact, she doesn’t feel at all like herself right now.  Her head hurts and she feels dizzy and she wishes she were anywhere but here.  John’s expression is one of pure annoyance and she suddenly finds herself shivering.  

“I’m…. I’m cold,” she finally spits out between chattering teeth.  

John is evidently as disconcerted by her lack of sarcasm as she is, and it takes him a moment to recover.  He casts his glance quickly around the cabin and finally settles for grabbing the tattered blanket from the bed.  He wraps it gently around her before he leads her over to the fireplace and seats her in one of the rattletrap old chairs.

“Stay there, I’ll get the fire going,” he says with an unusual tenderness in his voice.  She nods and he finishes building the fire and picks up the ancient book of matches that he’d found next to the fire.  Praying that they’re still viable, he strikes one.  It is completely unresponsive, and his lips tighten as he tries again.  Still nothing and he throws the dead match into the fire.  

The next match gives him fleeting hope as it splutters but it fizzles out almost as fast, the fugitive yellow flame melting into blue and then puttering into nothingness.

“Damn!” he throws it into the fire and tries again.  The next two matches yield much the same results, and he is starting to give up hope when one finally catches.  He touches it to the twigs on top of the pile of wood he has laid and watches as the flames begin to lick and curl around them.

When he is certain the fire has caught light, he turns back to Grace.  She has her knees pulled up and her eyes closed, and he wonders what is going on inside that twisted mind.

He’s not sure he wants to know.

Chapter LVIX – Control of Center

“Where *are* they?” Stefano roars as a glass shatters on the wall in front of him.  The man before him turns to look at the brandy that drips down the stone surface and swallows fearfully.  “I *told* you not to report back to me until you had them, did I not?”  Stefano’s eyes narrow menacingly and his meaty fist slams down on the desk in front of him.

“Uh, yes Mr. DiMera,” he swallows again.  “Uh, but…”

“But *what*?” Stefano’s words are crisp and his intent deadly.  He is beyond furious.  The idea that John Black has Grace has twisted in his gut until his rage has made him almost irrational.

“Sir, Mr. DiMera sir, we…. that is to say… the- there…” the man stammers, cowering like a terrified mouse in front of his employer.  A man whom he knows will utilize *any* measures necessary to retake what he considers his.

“OUT with it, you idiot!”  Stefano’s knuckles whiten as he resists the urge to take his fury out on this incompetent fool.

 

“There has been no trace of them, Sir.  We have scoured the country and they seem to have disappeared without a…”  The expression on DiMera’s face causes a cold frisson to flicker from his head to his feet and he trips over his words, “well, without a trace. Sir.”  He swallows again and his stomach grows tight and nauseous as he hears the door open behind him.

“People do *not* just disappear into thin air,” Stefano hisses softly.  “They are out there.  *Find* them.” His black eyes shine with malice and the ‘or else’ lingers, unspoken, in the air.  The man nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and fear.  Without saying a word, he turns and scampers from the room, brushing past Alexi as he does so.  

Stefano regards his henchman with a sneer.  “You have something to add, Alexi?”

The beefy blond man wobbles on his crutches and then steadies himself.  “I ….”  He pauses for a moment and then shakes his head.  Suggesting that if Grace wanted to be found, she would have been located by now, isn’t going to curry him any favors with his boss.  He’s already in deep with DiMera for letting Black take her.  Despite the bullet holes in his leg.  “Nothing, Stefano.  They’ll find them.”

Stefano’s gaze bores into Alexi, as though he can sense the Russian’s thoughts.    At last, he lowers his sights to the chessboard over by the fire.  To the Queen and the pawn that face each other across an expanse of black and white marble.

“Grace is *mine*.  John Black will *not* have her.  If he thinks he can, he is a *fool*.”  He spits the words out with vitriol.  John Black has taken one to many liberties.  Stefano is tired of him, bored with the game.

In two giant strides, he gains the chess board and seizes the pawn in his fist.  With an almighty roar, he hurls the piece into the fireplace where it comes to rest, pale and battered and smothered in ashes.

“I will *crush* you John Black.  The Phoenix does not lose!” Stefano rails stormily at the insignificant piece.   He stands there in impotent fury for a moment before he turns away from Alexi and storms from the room, slamming the door so hard that the walls shudder.

Left alone in the study, Alexi watches the door for a long while, his expression thoughtful.

~

The air is heavy and moist in the dilapidated cabin as John’s eyes blink open.  He curses himself for falling asleep until he realizes she is still stretched out on the dingy bed.

As he watches, she stretches languidly in her sleep. John can’t help but stare at her legs, long and tanned, her muscles taut and sinewy.  And where her blouse falls open and reveals the tiny panties she wears….  

His heart pounds and he turns away mouth dry.  He can’t continue to indulge in such fancy.  She is *not* Marlena.  She is not his wife and his desire for her is a dangerous thing.  He needs to get it under control before it begins to control him. 

He pushes his aching body from the chair and makes hastily for the door.  As he closes it silently behind him, Grace opens one eye and the corner of her mouth curls up into a sly smile.

The morning sun is blistering and John strips off his soaked shirt before he picks up the axe once again.  He hefts it in his hands, and a wry grin crosses his lips fleetingly.  His life is filled with small ironies and this moment is certainly not the least of them.  Outside a cabin chopping wood on a swelteringly hot summer day, trying to fight his attraction to an entity that wears Marlena’s face and would ensnare him with her body.  

“I beat the devil, you better believe I can beat you, Grace,” he mutters as he hauls the axe up.  The dark, tarnished blade slices an arc through the air before it splinters the log in two.  “I *will* find Marlena again.”  He grunts as he swings the axe again and then he works in silence.  

It is only in his head that the words spin and collide until they make him dizzy and sick with guilt and fear.

<<You were willing to believe she was alive when you were with Diana.  So why not when she disappeared?  Was it just that she was *inconvenient*?>> 

John shakes his head, trying to dispel the angry words that drill the inside of his skull with ever increasing intensity. 

<<You didn’t come and rescue her John.  *Stefano* was the one that found me…*He* made me feel wanted and loved.  And don’t tell me you didn’t know I was still alive.  I *know* you knew.>> 

“*NO!*” His grip tightens on the ancient, worn handle as muscles twitch and tighten under his ruddy skin.  Everything sizzles.

He knows what is happening and he desperately tries to summon the power to halt it.  Or at least slow it down.

The words that echo in his head from the night before, that soul-destroying torrent of words that had passed between them.  Hell, every conversation that he has had with this woman since she appeared, is feeding the mercenary’s blackened psyche, and in turn, Stefano’s bloodthirsty creation is tightening his stranglehold on John’s mind and soul.

And what terrifies John most of all is that he knows instinctively that the mercenary is eager to claim Grace as his mate.  Somewhere inside him, he knows that the darkness that threatens his sanity recognizes it’s equal in Grace and is craving the competition and ruthless passion that she will provoke.  And the worst part is that there are moments that John is sorely tempted to give in and let the mercenary have his way.  To forget every appalling thing he has done and everything he has lost and just let the mercenary and Grace battle it out.

He feels his blood stir at the mere thought and his heart pounds as he brings the axe down violently, splitting the log in front of him like it is butter.  He can’t even let himself contemplate the possibility.  If he can’t bring Marlena back, if he loses himself, there is no telling what mayhem he and Grace could create.  How many of those that they love that they might hurt.  Or destroy.

He can’t let that happen.

“Damn you,” he mutters as he splits another log, although he is not altogether sure who he is consigning to hell.  Whether it is Stefano, Grace or the mercenary, or maybe all three of them, he is just not sure. 

<<You’re damn right I believe you abandoned me.>>

“Shut up,” he hisses to the voice inside his head, and he knows who it is he blames.  That he hates.  

Himself.

Almost as soon as the thought enters his head, he feels her.  Her eyes sear into his back with more heat than the sun and he can smell her scent.  It seems to envelop him, wrapping him up in a cloak of warm, moist air and her.  Marlena.  Grace.  His mate.  Both he and the creature inside him are connected to her.  Tethered to her by invisible strands of need and lust and pain.  And love.

He wants her so badly he is suddenly shaking as he turns around to look at her. Every strand of her spun-gold hair glistens in the sun and her cherry lips are parted with an air of amusement.  She is barefoot, her tanned legs stretching up lean and smooth to disappear beneath the hem of her crumpled white blouse.  She holds two battered metal mugs in one hand and a tin in the other.

She is gorgeous.  

Every nerve and every synapse in John’s body screams as he stares at her.  All he can think is how he wants to throw her against the wall of the cabin and bury himself inside her.  Driving heat and unutterable softness and every shred of ecstasy and suffering that he merits.

His breath comes in short bursts as he feels himself harden even more.  He thinks, with a certain ironic detachment, that he hadn’t imagined that might be possible.

The predicament John finds himself in is not lost on Grace as her gaze sweeps over him.

“I was going to say, I hoped you weren’t visualizing me when you were swinging that axe, but I rather think I’ll reverse my position on that.”  Her eyes sparkle as she sets the tin implements on the ground, and she wets her lip and makes a point of glancing at his crotch as she straightens.  “You look like you’re in a bit of a tight spot there, baby.”  Her grin is wicked.  “Why don’t you let me give you a helping hand?”

“Don’t *touch* me!”  It is all he can do to dredge up the words and they come out hoarse and unconvincing.

Grace moves until she is only inches from him.  “I don’t think you really mean that.”  She can feel the electricity that crackles between them, every place on her skin that he has ever touched, every path his hands and mouth have ever worshipped tingles until they sting with need to have him touch her again.  “You can keep fighting it John, but we both know it’s only a matter of time before you give in.”  She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.  “Why don’t you just do us both a favor and give in now?”  She reaches out her hand and slides it over the rough denim of his jeans and her voice lowers.  “I’m every wet dream you ever had, John, you just need to reach out and take me.”

John groans as she begins to stroke him, and his head swims with the heat and her scent and the pure agonizing bliss that her touch brings.  

And inside him, a voice urges him to do it.  To take her and lose himself in her golden mantle.  To allow her to possess him and wipe away everything.  To fuck himself into oblivion…

Chapter LX – Cross-Check

John!

His eyes snap open and he struggles for breath for a moment.  His senses return in a rush, and he realizes that she is still touching him.  With a sharp jolt, he grabs her hand, and searches her eyes for any hint of what he thinks just occurred.

She looks as if she could devour him whole.

A shudder runs through him as he realizes what he was so close to doing.  The very same thing he had sworn to her the night before that he would never do.  Give in to her.  And give up on Marlena.

He releases her hand as though it is red hot and stumbles backwards with a stricken expression on his face.  Marlena, please forgive me.  For I know not what to do…

“Stay away from me!” His voice reaches a rasping crescendo as he holds his hands out in front of him.  But mere digits and limbs can’t protect him from the turmoil inside.  All the control he had maintained the night before quickly dissolves when faced with the threat of his own weakening resolve.  “Don’t!  Don’t touch me again!  I’m warning you…”

“Or what, John?” She laughs but the sound is brittle, underlain with anger and scorn.  “You’ll hurt me?  You’ll *kill* me?  That would make it rather hard to bring back your *precious* Doc, don’t you think?”

“Stop!” He snarls furiously as his hands curl into large fists.  “Stop baiting me.  Stop playing so many fucking *games*.  I’m sick of your *bullshit* and it’s going to stop.  *Now*!”

“Says you and who’s army?”  Grace raises one lazy eyebrow.  “You really think you have what it takes to scare me, John?  I do what I want, when I want.”  She takes a step toward him and crosses her arms in front of her body.  She’s fully aware that the vee of her blouse reveals her more than ample cleavage and since she suspects that John is weakening, this might be just the thing that puts him over the edge.  “I do what I want, and I do *who* I want.  And John, I intend to do you.  One way or another.  So,” the corner of her mouth curls up as she sees his eyes drop and then flick back up to meet hers, “you can fight me, and then I can have you, or you can just give in and find out what you’ve been missing…”

“I *know* what I’m missing,” John feels the muscles tightening beneath his skin, and he tries to fight the growing murmurs that crackle inside his skull.  “I’m missing my wife.”  He sucks in a deep breath through his nose as his jaw sets and he musters all the determination he can .  “You can’t compare to Marlena.  You’re a mere shadow of her.”

“Didn’t seem to bother Craig when he fucked me in your bed,” Grace says cruelly.  Her anger has blossomed into rage that is not tempered with any kind of need for control.  She has one objective and that is to strip John raw.  “Craig didn’t seem to know or care about the difference between me and your sainted Doc.  He was too busy enjoying himself as I fucked him senseless, right under your nose.”

Her words deal John an excruciating body-blow.  He finds himself gasping for air as the pain inside his chest explodes and the humming in his head mushrooms into deafening shrieks.  

<<Your wife has been screwing my husband…>>

Grace feels a thrill of satisfaction as John’s eyes betray his agony.  You asked for it, John.  And you more than deserve it.  Ruthlessly, she zeroes in for the kill.

“I had him over and over again, honey.  I rode him until he screamed Marlena’s name.  Isn’t that ironic?”  She chuckles.  “He wanted to leave Nancy for me, but by then I’d moved on.”  She narrows her eyes.  “And there were others, John.  You want names and places?”  Her speech slows and she enunciates the words, driving her point home.  “Do you want every little, hot, sticky detail?”

“*No*!” John bellows, the sound akin to a large beast in pain.  “Enough!  You’ve made your point!”

“There was a point?” Grace shrugs casually.

“God, what the hell do you *want* from me?” John can barely stand to be so close to her but at the same time, he can’t find the strength to move away.  “You tell me you hate me, that you blame me for abandoning you.  So, why the hell aren’t you running back to Stefano?  Why are you still here trying to seduce me?”  He shakes his head, the cacophony inside reaching unbearable levels.

“Because you owe me,” Grace’s reply is nothing less than glacial.  “And I intend to collect.”

“I don’t have anything left to give you,” John grinds out the words.

“Your body will do for starters,” she reaches out a hand and trails one finger down through the wiry hair of his chest.  And once I’m done with that, I’ll break your spirit and your soul.  “You can pay up now, if you prefer,” a crooked smile spreads across her lips as she flattens her palm against his abdominal muscles and she feels them jump madly.  “There’s no-one for miles.  No-one will know…” 

John groans as her left hand slides up his denim-clad thigh.  All he’s aware of now is the searing heat of her touch and the roaring clamor in his head.

<<You could do *anything* you wanted to me. There’s no-one here to stop you John. How about it, for old times sake? You can take me here, right now, on the floor..>>

“I… I… I….  Want…” John’s distantly aware his lips are moving but the words are not his.  And then he feels his consciousness slipping into shadows.

“What do you want, John?”  Grace senses the change immediately and it excites her beyond measure.  Her desire escalates and she presses herself against him, her lips against his ear and her breaths short and shallow.  “Do you want to take me now?”

<<You can fuck me until I’m screaming and nobody will ever know the difference.>>

“Want. *You*.” He pushes her backwards and slams her up against the wall of the ramshackle cabin.   Grace gasps as he pins her, and his mouth takes hers with nothing less than brutality.  His teeth draw blood from her lower lip, and she groans as she feels him wrench her blouse from her shoulders.  His mouth and teeth continue to mark her as he claims her flesh and she shudders as she feels his hand slide between her legs.

“Oh *God*,“ she gasps.  “John, oh yes, that’s it.  Oh, that…” her breath comes in short gasps as he tears away her panties and continues to stroke her with his fingers while his mouth moves down to the swell of her breasts, “that… oh my God…oh, please…”

John…*please*!

He spins suddenly out of the blackness and knows with a dizzying clarity where the voice in his head comes from.  He can’t let her down again.

His senses struggle into consciousness and everything hits him at once.  The feel of her, the taste and the scent… he is enveloped in her and he is simultaneously intoxicated and disgusted.

“*Marlena*.”  The sound of her name is exquisite and so utterly right that it fills him with complete conviction.

“I’m not Marlena,” Grace’s voice sounds irately.  “*Dammit*, I am NOT Marlena.”

“That’s right, you’re not,” John peels himself from her and looks at her coldly.  “But she’s inside you.  She’s not gone, I *know* that now.  I belong to her and *you* will never bring me any pleasure.  You have no soul, you’re incapable of being a fraction of the woman Marlena is.”

“I don’t fucking *believe* this!”  Grace pulls her shirt back on and wraps it around naked body.  Her body that screams with nerves on fire with need for him.  Her body that shakes with rage and frustration.   “You know what?  Fuck *you* too, John.   You fucking, pompous, self-righteous *bastard*.”

She can’t believe this.  She had him.  She *had* him, she knows she did.  He was hers.  He was practically inside her, had given himself over to the utter, fucking, *bliss* of claiming her and becoming hers.  He wasn’t even fighting.

And then… nothing.  

“You know what?”  She demands, her eyes blazing, her voice scything in tone and volume.  “I don’t need this bullshit.  I don’t need *you*, John.  You can’t treat me like some worthless piece of *shit* you brought in on your shoe.  Your precious Marlena might have put up with that, but I will *not*.“ Her lips curl into an ugly sneer.  “You keep pining for something that is lost to you forever.  Just don’t expect me to hang around and watch you drown in that denial you’ve been brewing, okay?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” John almost laughs as he picks his shirt up from the ground and pulls it on over his shoulders.  “Marlena and I have a connection.  My *soul* is tied to hers.”  Her rage is disconcerting, but not as much as the knowledge of what he has almost done, once again.  However, this time, the truth will be his armour.  “You can tell me she’s gone all you want, but I *feel* her inside you.  It doesn’t matter how deep down you try and bury her Grace, I *know* she’s there.  I heard her inside my head just now, she doesn’t want you to win any more than I do.”

“Oh my God,” Grace looks horrified, and she takes a step backward.  “You’re crazy.   You’re fucking *crazy*.  You think you *heard* her?” She stares at him for a moment before she shakes her head and holds up her palm towards him.  “Do me a favor and stay away from me, all right?  Just leave me alone.”  Her eyes narrow and her parting remark is loaded with scorn “I’m sure you and the voices in your head will be very happy together.”

She starts towards the cabin and John follows her.  When he enters, he finds her pulling on the skin-tight black pants that she’d pulled from the car.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks in a tone that is somewhere approaching reasonable.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”  She buttons the pants and pulls off the blouse that she is wearing.

“Uh…” John finds himself looking away as she pulls on her bra and then a red shirt that buttons closely across her breasts.

“I’m *leaving*,” she doesn’t even look at him as she drags her fingers through her tangled blonde hair.  “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Iiii… don’t think so,” John raises a single eyebrow as he watches her sit on the bed and pull on first one boot and then the other.  He still feels unsettled, and he is struggling for control, but Grace’s reaction to his refusal of her has surprised him.  Suddenly he is the one in control and she is ready to flee, although he’s not sure that she recognizes that yet.  If she did, he doubts she’d be running. It’s not part of her game-plan, he’s sure.  She’s operating on pure instinct.  He’s never had her more where he wants her and he’s not going to lose this opportunity.  “You told me you didn’t know where you’d be going.  You told me there was no point in trying to escape.”

“I lied,” she says baldly as she zips up her boots.

“What a surprise,” he lets out a brittle laugh.  “I doubt you have it in you to be honest.  About anything.”

“I honestly hate you,” she glares at him as she stands.  “How about that?”

“Yeah, it’s really obvious with you trying to seduce me every three point five seconds.  You think *I’m* pathetic and you’re the one who’s so desperate to get laid she chooses the person she hates more than anyone.”  John forces a grin in the hopes it will piss her off even more.  

It appears he’s succeeded as the flat of her palm connects with the side of his face.  “Fuck you, John Black!” She’s boiling over with wrath, her heart pounding and her breath short and shallow as she confronts him.

“Baby, I know you want to,” his voice is soft but undeniably mocking her as he steps closer.  “I give you an A for effort too.  But see, I know that this is just a game to you.  You think you hate me, but you can’t stay away from me, just like I can’t stay away from you.  And we both know why, don’t we?”  Her name drifts unspoken between them.  “You want to be in control.  But I’m the one man that you can’t have.  And the only man you want.  And that drives you crazy.”  

He knows as he utters the words that they are true.  She thinks this is simply a power struggle.  If she can seduce him then she will have won, and she can break his spirit.  And to a certain extent, she is correct.

“You’re used to getting your own way, Grace.  You’re nothing more than a spoiled child.  And you think if you have me, you’ll get tired of me and then you can forget about me.”  He smirks as he reaches out his hand and draws a fingertip over the skin that is revealed by her shirt.  “But you’re wrong.”  He leans in, his breath warm against the side of her face.  “You feel that?  The way your skin sings?  The beating of your heart?  The way you ache for me to touch you?”  He can feel it and he knows that it is just the same for her.  It always has been.  “That’s never going away.  All the time that Marlena and I spent apart, my body never stopped craving her. You can walk away from me, but you’ll never find anyone to fill or subdue the need you feel for me.”  He pulls his face back and meets her bottomless golden gaze.  “You’ll search for me in the eyes and the arms of every man you meet, and you’ll never find anything that approaches what you and I have.”  Almost reverently, he slides his hand up and cups her cheek tenderly.

Grace feels herself drowning in the ocean of his eyes and her heart hammers against her ribcage.  And she feels as though there will never be anything like breathing again, she is so full of need and so full of him.

“Then why are you fighting me?” she whispers plaintively.  She sounds weak but at this moment she doesn’t care.  The blood in her screams for him until she is dizzy, and she closes her hand around his wrist to steady herself.  The wrist attached to the hand that holds her in his palm.  “I know you want me, why won’t you take me?”

“Because you’re not her.”  His words are soft and gentle with the full force of a sledgehammer.  “Because what you and I could have doesn’t even begin to compare to the magic that Marlena and I create just by holding each other.  Because I won’t sully the memory of the woman that gives reason to my every *day* by *settling* for mere *sex* with you.”  He drops his hand, the tenderness fading from his eyes.  “What we had that night was meaningless.  It was unsatisfying and left me empty and wanting Marlena.  So, tell me why I’d want to do that to myself again?”

It is with horror that Grace realizes that her eyes are swimming with tears.  She had sworn all those years ago, back on Stefano’s Caribbean hideaway, that she would never expose herself to this kind of pain again.  She would never let anyone hurt her like Roman Brady had.    She can’t believe she’s let it happen again.

“You’re a *pig*!” she hisses and angrily she swipes at her cheeks with the back of her fingers.  

The gesture is so utterly Marlena that it takes John’s breath away.  His expression softens.  “Listen,” he starts. “I’m s-“

“Screw you!” she cuts him off with a right hook that sends him reeling.  It’s followed up by a roundhouse kick to the stomach that really does leave him gasping for breath.  

By the time he recovers and makes it outside, there is no sign of her.

“Dammit!” he slams the door shut behind him, sending a shudder through the ancient structure.  He can’t believe he went that far.  He’d meant to slip inside her defenses, not batter them until there was nothing left.  Good one Black, can’t you do *anything* right?  First you don’t even *know* that she’s not Marlena and then you piss her off so much that she disappears completely.

He scans the trees in front of him, trying to pick up some trace of her among the undergrowth.  

There is nothing until the chilling sound of her scream reaches him.

The Exchange Variation

 

Chapter LXI – Bind

The sound of Grace’s scream cuts through the air and John’s heart rate spikes as he is flooded with fear.

 

“Grace!  Where are you?”  There is nothing and he feels panic welling as he takes off at a sprint in the direction that he thinks the sound came from.  “Hang on, I’m coming to get you.  Just hold on!”  

 

Jesus, please let her be all right.  Please don’t let anything have happened to her.  Please God, if I never ask you for anything else again, please let her be all right!

 

He crashes through the undergrowth, his heart in his mouth.  “Where are you?!”  A branch whips him in the face and he slaps a hand to his cheek, feeling the warm blood seep between his fingers.  “Damnit!  *Grace*!”

 

He hears another shriek from nearby and he veers to his right before he even has a conscious thought.  His instinct is vindicated as he sees a flash of red in front of him.

 

She is struggling to get to her feet, but even as she does, she crumples to the ground again.  There is no cry of pain this time, but John can see the agony on her face as he nears her.  It doesn’t quell the relief that floods him as he asses her situation and reaches the conclusion that she’s in no critical danger.

 

“What happened?” he demands as he reaches her.

 

“Stay away from me!” her words are muffled by the sob that she chokes back.

 

“Let me have a look at it,” he crouches down beside her and reaches for the leg she is grasping.

 

“I said STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!”   She flails at him with her fists as he tries to get close to her.  “Don’t you *dare* touch me!”

 

“Look, we can do this the easy way,” John growls as he grabs her wrists.  He holds them tight between them so that she can’t avoid his gaze.  “Or we can do it the hard way.  I don’t really care which it is, but we’re going to do it, okay?  You’re not going anywhere on that ankle without my help, and we both know it.”

 

“You know *shit*!” Grace tries to look away, but he has her caught fast.  She is helpless, more than ever and she can’t stand it. 

 

“Okay, you had your chance!” he pulls her upwards as he stands and before she realizes what has happened, she is slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and he is walking back in the direction of the cabin.

 

“Put me down!  You *bastard*, put me down!”  She hammers ineffectually against his buttocks and gives a shriek of anger as he bursts into laughter.  “What the *hell*!?”

 

“I was just thinking that for a woman who claims to be nothing like Doc, you couldn’t be more like her at this moment.  Déjà vu is a funny thing.”  He can’t help the smile that curves his lips as his memory traces the distant paths back to West Virginia and the beautiful, spirited lady doctor that had fought him during every step of their journey of discovery.

 

“What the hell are you-“ Grace falls silent as she has her own sudden flash of déjà vu.  She tries to shrug the memory away, but it is tenacious, and she is faced with the vision of a much younger John and her own intense attraction to him.  No!  Marlena’s attraction.

 

Her body goes limp, and she shuts her eyes tightly, willing the surge of pain in her chest to dissipate.  She can’t do this.  She has to focus on working out how to get away from John.

 

Like you’ll be going anywhere on that ankle…  She grits her teeth in frustration and anger at her own stupidity.  She’s let John Black rattle her and as a result, she’s done the unforgivable.  She’s been careless and now she has to face the fact that she won’t be going anywhere in a hurry.  Whether she likes it or not, she is stuck with John in that dingy shack for the foreseeable future.

 

John stops abruptly and she realizes they are back at the cabin.  He bends over and sets her on the ground and points to the tree stump.  “Sit down.”

 

“I don’t take orders-“

 

“I said, *sit down*!”  John is not brooking any argument.

 

Grace narrows her eyes resentfully, but she takes a seat on the stump without any further disagreement.  However, her body language impresses upon John that she is anything but compliant.

 

“You know that was stupid, don’t you?” John echoes her thoughts as he unzips her boot.

 

“When I want the benefit of your infinite wisdom, I’ll ask for i-” Grace bites back a cry of pain as he slides her boot off and examines her rapidly swelling ankle.

 

“It’s not broken, just badly sprained,” he looks up at her.  “Looks like we won’t be going anywhere for a couple of days.”

 

Grace glares at him and then looks away in disgust.  The disgust is as much at herself as at him.  She can feel the tears stinging her eyes and she despises herself for her weakness.  For allowing him to get to her so much that she fled, like a scared child.

 

She can barely comprehend what has happened this morning.  One moment, she was completely in control, she had John just where she wanted him, and the next, she was charging through the woods like a wounded animal.

 

She has forgotten the very first rules she learnt under Stefano’s tutelage.  Don’t let them in.  Don’t let them see you.  Don’t let them hurt you or scare you.  

 

She can recall Stefano watching her proudly as she completed her training.  On an idyllic island paradise, she had fought her first adversary and she had killed him.  Even now, she can taste the thrill and the lust that coursed through her as she severed his jugular with her favorite blade.

 

Stefano had smiled and then roared with laughter as she had sauntered up to him, the blood of the dead man still on her hands and claimed a passionate kiss from him.

 

He had taken a step back and looked at her with admiration.   You have the power.  You *are* the power.  Grace, you own this world, go out and take what is rightfully yours.

 

And she had.  

 

Together they had taken so much.  They had deceived and plundered and destroyed and she had loved every moment of it.  The mere thrill of the chase and kill was enough to satisfy her, although a good, hard man at the end of it all was always a welcome bonus.  It was one that Stefano had always allowed her.  He had known that to refuse her this would be to risk losing her.  

 

She refused to be shackled, her free spirit needed to soar.  And it had, until she had woken in a hospital room and seen John Black.

 

Dammit!  She can’t understand why she can’t just kill him and be done with it.  There are so many ways she could do it.  She can make it clean and quick, and she can walk away, free of his hold on her.  Or she can make it slow and painful, she can make him beg for his life and then listen to his screams as she takes it away.  A smile curves her lips as she imagines his face as he realizes his beloved ‘Marlena’ is going to destroy him.

 

John is watching her, and her expression sends chills through him as she turns back and casts her gaze over him.

 

“What?” he demands.

 

“Just thinking…” she says offhandedly.

 

“About what?”  He can’t help himself.  She’s thrown him again with her change of moods and he has to know what’s on her mind now.

 

“You don’t want to know.”  She raises her eyebrows, and her smile is cool.  Keep him off-balance Grace.  Don’t let him in, don’t let him see you.

 

Part of her would almost like to share her thoughts with him.  It would be worth it, just to see the expression on his face.  But, she knows, there is plenty of time for that.  She’s not ready to kill him yet.  It wouldn’t be satisfying enough.  She needs to own him body and soul.  When she’s broken him, then the real fun will begin.

 

Until then, she needs to play the game.  And she knows, after this morning, that she needs to change the rules.  It’s time for a new tack.  Outright, aggressive seduction hasn’t worked so it’s time to get subtle.  It’s not a word that she dusts off from her vocabulary often, but she’s capable of it.  She knows when men won’t be seduced, it’s usually because they want to think they’re doing the seducing.

 

“Stay there,” John growls as he pushes himself off his knees.

 

“Like you so brilliantly pointed out,” she smiles sweetly, “I won’t be going anywhere.”

 

John ignores the acidity in her voice and heads for the cabin.  A minute later, he emerges with a towel which he proceeds to tear into strips.  

 

“There’s no ice, but at least we can strap it to stop it swelling any further,” he kneels again.

“My, my, you certainly are sharp with the observations today, aren’t you, John?”  There is a hint of laughter in her voice, and she raises her ankle slightly as John drops his head.  “See, a little astuteness and I’m putty in your hands,” there is almost a purr in her voice as she adds, “well, at least, I’d like to be…”

 

“Stop it.”  His voice is low, but there is force in it.  “We’ve just been through this.”

 

“I know,” she grins, “but I never get tired of seeing you squirm, baby.”

 

“Don’t call me that!”  His teeth are gritted, and he pulls the fabric in his fingers a little harder than he anticipated.

 

“Ow!”  Grace’s breath catches but she recovers immediately.  “Okay, rough is good, I can do rough.  Or you can do me rough, whatever you prefer.”

 

“Jesus, would you just let it be!”  John raises his head, his eyes hard.  “I’m not interested.  How many different ways do I have to say it?”

 

“Doesn’t matter how many times you say it John,” her eyes glitter seductively as she reaches out and draws a finger down his forearm. “As long as your body tells me otherwise, I’m not going to believe a word you say.”

 

For all the control he’d had earlier, John has none of it now.  She has turned the tables and she is back in command.  And with the mere application of her touch, John can feel the anger and the desire rising, fighting for dominance inside of him.  He can feel the churning in his stomach and the nerves burning under his tightening, stretching skin.  She’s right, he wants her.  He wants her so much it’s physically painful.

 

“Listen!”  He angrily yanks the fabric around her ankle and fastens it in a knot.  He can’t even look at her as he spits the words out, staccato and painfully sharp. “I *don’t* *want* you.  I can’t *stand* you.  I’m going to get my wife back and you’re only getting in the way, and you’re pissing me *off*, so shut the hell up and leave me alone!”

 

He’s surprised when there is no snappy retort and even more surprised when he looks up and sees her expression.  She is simply blinking in shock and for a moment, she looks so like Marlena, it takes his breath away.

 

The silence stretches between them as their gaze locks.  The moment seems interminable, and John’s confusion grows with each second.  He can’t keep up with her and he’s unsure whether this is just another phase in her game.  Whatever it is, he knows he can’t let her get to him.  Can’t let her get under his skin, or he’s doomed.

 

Finally, Grace breaks the spell by pulling away from John and trying to get up.  She smothers a gasp of pain as she tries to put some weight on her ankle and John is immediately by her side.  

 

“Here, let me.”

 

“I’m fine.”  Her voice is husky.  “Leave me alone.”

 

“Look,” John’s voice softens. “Don’t be so damn stubborn.  At least let me help you get to the cabin.”

 

She bats away his hands angrily and her voice cracks as she speaks.  “I don’t *want* your help.”

 

“Well, you’re going to get it, whether you like it or not.”  He gives her no other warning but scoops her up in his arms.  He’s not prepared for the stifled sob that escapes her as she looks away and he feels something akin to guilt sweep through him.

 

He says nothing.  He can’t be sure what is real and what are her lies.  He doesn’t trust her any more than he would trust Stefano.  But he has to find a way of breaking through to Marlena and he has to do it soon.  Because if he doesn’t, he knows Grace will become too much of a temptation to the mercenary and they will both be lost forever.

Chapter LXII – Pawn Islands 

The night is hot and sticky, the door is open but there is nothing even approaching a breeze to cool off the night air.  The humidity is oppressive as it wraps around the restless occupants of the cabin.

 

John watches her as she sleeps, her long, dark eyelashes sweeping the curve of her cheek.  Her breathing is low and regular.  He can almost imagine it is Doc, lying there, only feet away….

 

He exhales softly and turns back to the empty fireplace.  That way lies madness.  That way, and it seems almost every other way he turns lately.  He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through this.  How is he going to contain the mercenary and reach Marlena?  It is starting to feel like a race against time.  Someone is going to break, and he’s not sure which one of them it will be.  

 

The past few days she has withdrawn, become quiet and almost listless and it worries him almost more than the aggressive forcefulness she exhibited before.  She has given up her pursuit of him and will hardly even look at him.

 

And he’s no closer to working out how to reach Marlena.  Every day that slides by, he feels the tightness in his head grow a little more.  He feels himself slip away a fragment at a time, and he feels his resolve and his determination to stay away from her weaken just a fraction.

 

He makes a strangled moan of rage and frustration deep in his throat as he shakes his head.  He can’t afford to think like that.  He has to win.  He has to get Marlena back.  God only knows what kind of havoc Grace and the mercenary within him would create together.  What kind of damage they might do to their family.

 

His head turns suddenly at the sound of a soft whimper from the bed, and he watches her mouth twitch.  She mumbles something softly and he inclines his head, trying to catch her words.

 

She whimpers again, and this time, the words that slip from her lips are clearer.

 

“Roman… help…”

 

John feels his heart pounding as he crouches down beside the bed.  There is a tiny furrow between her eyebrows as she blows out a tiny breath and John can feel it as a physical pain in his chest.  He loves her so much, he would do anything for Marlena.  He would die for her.  

 

He will, if that’s what it takes to get her back.

 

“Doc?” he whispers with utmost care.  “Doc, baby, can you hear me?”

 

There is silence, and then, “Roman?”

 

“Doc, it’s John,” he lays his hand gently over hers.  “Sweetheart, I’m here.  I’m going to help you.  It’s safe to come back now baby.  Please come back to me.  I need you.  We all need you.”

 

He wants to scoop her up in his arms and hold her to him.  He would give anything to see her golden eyes looking back at him and know that she is there, with him.  It is almost too tempting, but he knows he cannot push his luck.

 

He waits through the silence, the twitching muscle in his jaw the only indicating the strain he is feeling.  

 

It seems like forever before she whimpers again.  And then he hears the word that makes his heart leap.  “John?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me baby.  I’m here.”  He curls his hand around hers and squeezes.  “I miss you so much Doc.  *Please* come back.”

 

“Cold,” she shivers slightly.  “It’s so cold.”

 

John’s heart pounds raggedly in his chest.  How can she be cold?  It’s so hot and he can even see the light sheen of moisture on her skin in the soft moonlight that peeps through the window.  

 

And yet, the chill in her voice sounds so genuine.  If he really is talking to Marlena, where is she that she is so cold?  And so far away?

 

He watches her for the longest moment.  And then, at last, he gives in and climbs onto the bed next to her.  She sighs softly as he moves behind her and curls around her, enfolding her in his arms.  The heat where their bodies touch is ferocious, and John has to will himself not to run his hands over her skin.  The feel of her against him is utterly compelling and he closes his eyes, nuzzling her softly.

 

“I’ve got you Doc,” he murmurs into her hair.  “I’m not letting you go.  You gotta believe that.”  There is silence but she is practically shaking with unconscious fearfulness in his arms.  “Baby, where are you?” he asks, his voice soft and tender.  “Tell me how to get you back.”

 

There is no reply, she just shivers, and he holds her tighter.  It hurts, that she is so close and yet he cannot reach her.  And it hurts even more that this is all his fault.

 

“I’m sorry Doc.  I’m *so* sorry for hurting you.  For all the things I have done to you.  I never knew.”  His voice cracks slightly and he takes a deep breath to steady himself.  “Baby, you have to believe that.  If I could take all those things on myself, if I knew how to take that pain away from you, you know I would.  A thousand times.”

 

There is no reply.  Just her breathing and the loud chirp of insects outside.

Grace awakes, feeling as though she’s wringing with sweat.  She realizes why a moment later as she finds John’s arms wrapped tightly around her.  Her eyes widen in the gloom of early morning and then a tiny smirk plays around the edges of her lips.  Perfect.

 

She turns over carefully and looks at him.  He is fast asleep, the thick hair on his chest brushing her arm as she moves.  She thinks he looks more relaxed than he has in a long time.  His defences are down, but she doesn’t think now is quite the right time.  She’s tried to rush things before, and it doesn’t work.  John prefers coy and innocent and that’s what she intends to give him.  For the moment.

 

Schooling her expression into one of irritation, she pokes him in the arm.

John wakes with a start to find her staring back at him.  She is still lying in his arms and her eyes are narrowed.

 

“M- morning,” he says carefully.  She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just presses her lips together. 

 

“Well, well, well. So, did you sleep well?”  Her voice is caustic and as she raises her eyebrows, John’s heart sinks.

 

“I-I’m so-”  He cuts himself off.  He has nothing to apologize for.  Not to her, at least.  “It’s not what you think.  You seemed… cold,” he trails off lamely.

 

“Cold?  Couldn’t you come up with something even *slightly* believable?” Her expression hovers between anger and amusement and then suddenly, a half-smile that curls her reddened lips.  She can’t help herself, the look of alarm on his face is utterly adorable and it’s too much fun to tease him.  Besides, if she was to withdraw completely, he might get suspicious.  “Baby,” her voice becomes velvety soft as she trails her fingers up his arm.  “You know if you want me,” she insinuates her foot between his bare calves and forces a slender leg between his.  John groans as she slides up against him, “all you have to do,” she brings her knee up gently, pressing herself against him as he becomes immediately aroused, “is ask.”

 

“Grace,” his voice is strained and desperate.  He wants… oh god, what doesn’t he want?  He loves and adores Marlena, but the games this woman plays with him, with the body he loves, they are driving him to the limit of his self-control.  “Please…”

 

“Please what, baby?” the silky rustle of her voice barely penetrates the fog of lust enshrouding him as her sticky bare skin moves rhythmically against his.  “Please lick me?”  There is a tiny chuckle and then John shudders as her tongue rasps against his throat.  He tastes of salt and sweat and maleness and Grace finds herself even more turned on.  She grinds herself against his thigh and moves her lips over to his ear.  “Please do me?”  There is only a whimper from John, and she grins as she reaches down and begins to stroke him.  “Please wrap your warm, wet tongue around me and blow me?”

 

“Ohhhhhh!”  John groans as he thrusts against her almost involuntarily and then panting, he rolls her roughly onto her back and growls as he takes her lips.

 

Grace nearly screams with delight as he brings his leg up between hers and plunges his tongue into her mouth.  His hands are all over her and she can feel him tearing at her shirt.  It’s almost too easy.

 

His mouth pulls at her skin, and she gasps as she feels his hand on her breast.  He is driving her almost insane with desire and she arches her back, groaning as he bites and licks her throat, his knee still moving roughly between her legs.  He’s brutal with desire and she can feel something different, something rough and merciless coursing through his blood.

 

Oh God, it’s everything she could have asked for.  And yet…

 

“Stop!”  She pushes him away, gasping for breath.  “Don’t!”

 

He looks completely dazed as she pushes him further away.  She scrambles up to the head of the bed, pulling tanned, slender legs up in front of her and her shirt tighter around her body.

 

“Wha-?” John blinks rapidly and then it’s as though a switch clicks inside him, and Grace sees understanding in John’s eyes and shame flood his cheeks.

 

Nothing is said for a long minute and then John’s brow creases.

 

“Why did you stop me?” he asks quizzically.  “I don’t understand.  I’m grateful but I don’t…” he stumbles to a halt and shakes his head in confusion.

 

He studies the silent, inscrutable woman before him, as she stares back.  Marlena is usually an open book to him, but Grace has him completely flummoxed.  Not least because of her unexpected, unexplainable mood changes, which seem to be becoming more and more frequent.

 

“I….” Grace avoids his eyes with uncharacteristic awkwardness. John says nothing and continues to watch her closely.  He’s not sure whether he buys this or whether it’s just another one of her very skillful games.

 

She raises her eyes to his with more certainty.  “I want you.”  Her voice is hoarse with lust.  “I’ve made no secret of that.  But you want *her*.”  There is venom in her voice and John has no doubt how much Grace loathes her alter-ego.  But then her voice softens in such a way that it sends a shiver of dread and hunger through John.  “But I’m telling you now. When we next make love,” she raises her brows and smirks, “it’s going to be because you want *me*.”

 

“We won’t be making love.” John says quietly.  “We won’t even be having sex.”

 

“We’d be making the beast with two backs right now if I hadn’t stopped you,” she replies darkly, her eyebrows twitching up a fraction.  “In fact, you still want me.” She glances downwards indicating the bulge barely covered by his boxer shorts and her lips twitch in amusement.  And then her voice is liquid velvet, it’s dark, smooth sex and John can almost swear she is weaving a spell around him with just her voice and her words.  “Just tell me you want me, baby, tell me that you want to be inside *me* and I’m yours.”  

 

He stares at her for a long moment, the wordless battle continuing apace in his head.  And then, he angrily tears his gaze away from her.  “This conversation is pointless,” he grunts furiously as he pushes himself from the bed and stalks outside.

 

Grace watches him go and her expression breaks into a self-congratulatory smirk.  A taste of his own medicine is just what the doctor ordered.  She has the upper hand he is frustrated and confused.  And hers for the taking…

Chapter LXIII – Vulnerability

The time drags by as Grace waits for John’s return.  It’s unbelievably hot, the height of summer in Tennessee is stultifying with its thick, moist air and smoldering sun.  She closes her eyes and leans languidly back against the trunk of the tree she is sitting beneath.  Her thoughts drift and she curiously finds herself thinking about Marlena and John’s children.  

 

What a strange mix they are.  Girls that love and despise their mother.  Boys who are oddly absent from the family dynamic.  She wonders what happened to Samantha and Eric while Marlena was gone.  While she, Grace, ventured forth with Stefano across Europe, plundering and destroying lives.  A sly grin flits across her lips.  If only they had known the strong, brutal, sensual side of their mother, the side that existed, was personified in herself.  How much might they hate her then?

 

She wonders too what would happen if she broke John.  Bound him to her in blood and pain.  Released the cruelty that she knows simmers just below the surface.  She knows it is there, she’s seen it behind his eyes.  In the ripple of his muscles as he holds himself from her.  Beneath the snarl of his voice as he snaps at her.

 

It makes her shiver.  It makes her hot.  She knows, if only she could draw out the beast that lurks in the shadows of John’s mind, they could wreak havoc together.  They could cause the kind of chaos and pain she’s only dreamed about.  And how much would Marlena’s *precious* children hate her then?

 

John sees her immediately as he storms back towards the cabin.  His mood is still black; he can’t quite manage to shake the lust and the rage that seethe inside him.  Just the sight of her raises his hackles.  And other things.  

 

She is sitting against a tree, her eyes closed and a tiny smile playing about her lush mouth.  One bronzed leg is bent, revealing a white flash of her low-rise panties.  His mouth is immediately parched as he imagines her body, hidden beneath the white shirt.  Her blonde hair falls half-over her face and he envisions it brushing over his chest as she licks her way up his body….

 

Stop it.  Fucking *stop* it, right now Black!  You can’t afford to play her games.  You can’t do this now.  You have to control the play.  You *know* that.  So get with it.

 

He takes a deep breath and comes to where she sits.

“Grace.”    

 

She’d heard his approach, but she had simply enjoyed the knowledge that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her and she had made the moment last as long as she could.

 

Now, she opens her hazel eyes wide, and looks up at him with a mixture of curiosity and false innocence.  Until she actually sees him, that is.  

 

She takes in the vision of him, his torso strewn by glittering drops of water from the stream, his dark hair, slicked back and his eyes, bluer than should be humanly possible.  And his boxer shorts, plastered to him, embracing every masculine plane they cover…

 

Her jaw drops slightly and then she recovers, with a small but eminently appreciative smile.  “Hi stud,” her voice is husky and almost hopeful.

 

“I want you to tell me,” he completely ignores her greeting and lowers himself to the ground next to her, “what you remember from when Stefano found you.  After the plane crash.”

 

Grace almost recoils physically at the question.  It’s not what she expected and it’s certainly not the direction she wanted their conversation to go in.

 

“What?  I don’t remember anything much.”

 

“Bullshit.”  John grabs her wrist.  “If you are what you say you are, a person in your own right and not just some fucked up, implanted personality that Stefano used to rape Marlena’s mind, then you’ll remember what happened.  You’ll remember *something* from when you woke up.  You’ll remember those feelings.”

 

“So, I remember them.” She abruptly wrenches her arm from his grip and rubs her wrist angrily.  “What makes you think I have *any* desire to share those memories with you?”

 

“Because you want to hurt me.  You want me to believe that you are a product of the way I failed Marlena.”  There is rage and pain in John’s voice.  He’s not hiding anything anymore.  “If you refuse to tell me then I know you’re lying.  You’re just another fucking DiMera puppet, following his rules and dancing to the old man’s tune.”

 

“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?” she grins.  “You’d love to be able to pin this all on Stefano.”  Then her smile fades and bitterness seeps through her voice.  “Then you can abdicate responsibility for this, along with the rest of the fucked-up mess that is your life.”

 

“Shut up with the fucking psychological analysis.” John’s eyes narrow.  “Tell me what I want to know.”

 

“Or what?” Grace shrugs her shoulders.  “You’ll tell mommy on me?”  The smirk is back now, with a decidedly sexual invitation to it.  “You’ll beat me up?”  She scrambles onto her knees and pulls her shirt open to reveal her décolletage.  “Hit me with your best shot, baby.”

 

John just takes a deep breath and glares at her with more than a hint of irritation.

 

“Oh Black, you’re no fun when you don’t bite.”  The smile doesn’t leave her face as she pulls her shirt closed and settles back against the tree.  She stretches out her leg and draws a dusty toe down his calf.  “So exactly what do you want to know?”

 

“What’s the first thing you remember?” John catches her foot and firmly removes it.  He doesn’t dare to hope that she might actually yield and tell him what he wants to know.  But it is worth trying.  If he can uncover how it is she came to inhabit Marlena’s body, he might just stumble upon the way to expel her.

 

He waits expectantly as she considers her answer.

 

She watches him watching her and she wonders why it is that he is asking her this.  And why he is asking it now.  And how amusing it might be to play his game for a while.

 

“It’s a jumble,” she says slowly.  “The first thing I remember is noise.  I don’t know if it was the accident itself, or if it was the storm or the waves,” she shrugs with a hint of manufactured vulnerability.  “Maybe it was all of the above.”

 

“Go on,” he urges her.  There’s no sign of anything akin to sympathy in his manner.

 

“I remember thinking I was going to drown.  I remember water and struggling, and I remember being pulled down.  It hurt, it was black and there were flashes of light.  I think maybe I hit something, some wreckage or some rocks,” she shudders, “and that’s it until I woke up in a bed.”

 

“Bed?” he asks.  “Where?”

 

“In a room,” her eyes narrow.  “Do you intend to keep interrupting?  Do you really want to hear my answer or shall I just let you tell the story?”

 

“Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t look sorry at all.  “Carry on.”

 

“I don’t remember much,” she shrugs, “just that it was all white.  It was incredibly quiet and every day the sun came through the blinds and just fell short of the bed.”

 

If she closes her eyes, she can almost see the room, smell the disinfectant… feel the overwhelming terror that had pervaded her.  But that is something she will never reveal.  Those feelings she had upon awakening.  When she had possessed nothing except the memory of a desperate struggle for survival in the violent waves.  She’d been utterly lost, alone with the darkness.  No memories to shape her identity, nothing to hold onto, no past and no future.

 

She looks at him, banishing the memories with a flick of her blonde mane.

 

“I could hear the sea too,” she says, almost wistfully.  “It lulled me to sleep at night.”  That wasn’t strictly true either.  Not at first, at least.  She had barely slept when she had first woken completely.  Her utter confusion and the flashes of inexplicable terror accompanied by unknown images inside her head had seen to that.

 

“After that,” she grins, “I remember every sweet, bloody moment on that island.”

 

“Tell me.”  His rasping voice reveals his trepidation.  He’s not sure he wants to hear the story.  The pleasure on her face is enough to turn his stomach.  He hates to think what that might be about.  And yet, perversely, his curiosity is piqued and if he’s to find out how Grace came to be embodied in his wife, he has to eke out every last fact he can.

 

“You really want to know?”  She reads the turmoil of emotions on his face correctly and grins triumphantly as he pales and then nods.  “Well,” she leans forward conspiratorially.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, stud.”

 

“Just tell me what you remember,” he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

 

“The doctors were surprised to see I was awake,” she laughs, the sound pure sex and it sends a thrill through John that he can’t contain.  He would give anything to be able to touch her now.  To take her against that tree…

 

He shakes his head, his heart pounding as he wills himself to focus on her words.  He can’t lose his focus.  Not now.  He has a feeling he’s getting close and he can’t give up on her now.

 

“They didn’t know yet that nothing keeps me down for long.”  She smirks, glancing down at his boxers, letting her words and her intent linger in the air.  Or you either baby…

 

“And you had amnesia?”  John directs the conversation away from her innuendo.

 

“I suppose you could call it that, yes,” she shrugs.

 

“How?”

 

“How should I know?”  She’s not about to tell him about the severe head trauma or the fact that she’d been in a six-month coma before she’d awoken.  The facts in this conversation are being strictly divulged on a need-to-know basis and he definitely doesn’t need to know that.  “They couldn’t explain it,” she grins at John’s frustration.  She knows his game and she’s not about to play it by his rules.  “Sorry to disappoint,” she smiles sweetly.  “But to move on with the story, and I know you’re going to *love* this bit; the next time I awoke, Stefano was there, at my bedside.”

 

She can recall the moment as if it were yesterday.  The magnetism he exuded, the way he held her gaze….

 

“So,” he smiled magnanimously, “and how are you feeling, my dear?”

 

“Sore,” she croaked, her voice rusty with disuse.  “Uh…”

 

“Yes?” Stefano arched one bushy eyebrow and her breath caught in her throat as fear swamped her.  Who was he?  She had the feeling she knew him but…?

 

“Where am I?” Her voice faltered and Stefano’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

 

“It’s all right my dear, you are safe and among friends.”

 

“I…” her eyes filled with tears, “I don’t remember…”

 

“I know,” he laid an enormous hand on hers and patted it.  “The doctors told me.  But I assure you, you are safe.”

 

“Do you know me?” she whispered.

 

“Know you?” he roared with laughter and a chill swept across her skin.  “My dear Marlena, we are mortal enemies.”

 

“Enemies?” Confusion grew.  “But you said I was among friends.”

 

“And so you are.”  He patted her hand again and then picked it up, his own fingers dwarfing hers.  “But please, let me explain.  My name is Stefano DiMera.  We lived in the same town, but your husband took a disliking to me.  He poisoned you against me.”

 

“My husband?” she looked down at her bare hands, devoid of rings or any sign of belonging.  “But…where is he?”

 

“That, you should well ask,” Stefano looked grim.  “He left you for dead.  After the accident that left you here…” he indicated the hospital bed she lay in.  “He left you for dead.  He walked away and now he has another woman in your bed.”

 

She flinched, a pain filling her chest that left her gasping for breath.  She didn’t even remember this husband and yet, the pain of his betrayal was agonizing.  She was married and she’d woken with no memory, she had woken alone.  Discarded.

 

“I am sorry,” Stefano’s voice was low and rumbling, the soft purr of it almost soothing.  If not for the fear and anger that tore at her insides.  “But you should know the truth.  You know you were in a plane accident?”  She nodded numbly.  “Your husband made a cursory search for you off the coast of Florida.  And then he went back to the Midwest and resumed his life.  He and your children barely mention you anymore.”

 

“Why?” Whereas before she had been hollow and bereft of knowledge, now she felt as though she was brimming with grief, anger and betrayal.  She didn’t understand how her past could be a complete blank and yet she could feel this loss.  And yet, she did.  And she wanted a reason for it.

 

“Who knows why men do the things they do?” Stefano’s smile was hard, and she shivered.  “Your husband is a fool, and he grows bored quickly.  Maybe your ‘death’ was convenient for him?” He shrugged and she grew breathless.

 

“You think *he* was the reason for the accident?” she was almost shaking.  “You think he tried to kill me?”

 

“I do not know,” Stefano shrugged but she was left in no doubt as to his thoughts on the matter.   “All I know, my dear, is that I have taken care of you ever since.”  His expression softened as he took her hand again.  “I care for you very deeply.  And I wish to give you the chance to be what you never had the chance to be back in Salem.  I want you to blossom and show the strength I know you are blessed with.”  He saw her reticence and reached out and cupped her cheek in his heavy palm.  “I *do* care for you.  More than your family *ever* could.”

 

She found herself riding on the swell of his voice, his exotic accent and rolling r’s.  She was captured by his magnetism, and she could not draw herself from his gaze.  She was a tumult of emotions and questions.  But ultimately, she had no answers.  And no choice, but to trust him, for now.

 

“What…”  She took a breath and bit her lip hesitantly.  And then she plunged forward.  “What is my name?”

 

“Do you really want to know?” Stefano asked.  “My dear, you can be *anything* you want to be.  I can make you a *queen*.”  The passion in his voice mesmerized her.  “I’ll offer you all the world, if only you’ll trust me.”  She swallowed as he bound her with his dark gaze.  “Do you really want to tie yourself to a family that abandoned you so heartlessly?”

 

She looked at him.  What he was offering…  She had no idea where she came from, but deep inside her, she could feel the misery and a fear of the unknown past.  A past that she didn’t know she could trust.

 

And what he was offering?  Anything she wanted?  The opportunity to reinvent herself?

 

Somewhere inside her, the shadows sang a seductive song.  The opportunity never to feel this fear and powerlessness again.  Now, *that* was something to covet.

 

“No,” she shook her head.  “I don’t want to know.  I’ll choose my own name.”

 

“A wise decision.”  Stefano looked triumphant and for a moment, she felt the misgivings.  And then she banished them.  This was her choice.  Her opportunity to control her own destiny.  At last.

 

“Grace.”  She said, after a moment, a smile slowly breaking across her face.  “My name will be Grace.”

“After that,” she grins, “life became fun.”  She pulls her legs up in front of her and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees.  “He had me trained in just about anything your pretty head could dream of.”  She grins happily.  “I learnt to kill men twice my size,” she raises an eyebrow, “and I learnt to enjoy it.  The power and the control.  Stefano made good on his promise.  He gave me *anything* I could ever dream of wanting, and more besides.”

 

“He bought you and he corrupted you,” John passes judgment harshly.

 

“No,” she shakes her head, her moss-green eyes glinting in the sunlight.  “He taught me to take what I wanted in this world.”  Her expression hardens, “he taught me not to allow people like *you* to walk all over me.  He showed me what power is all about.  Everything else,” she smirks, “is all me.  I *was* your weak, pathetic Marlena once,” she shrugs, “and then I grew up and I made my life into what I wanted.”

 

“Marlena wouldn’t have wanted *that*,” John winces.  This is painful for him, but it’s what he wanted, and he has to see it through.  He already has much more than he had ever expected to glean from her, and he is starting to see how Stefano had managed to manipulate the situation.

 

“Marlena is a *fool*!” Grace spits, scornfully.  “A subservient, pitiful fool.”

 

“And you think being a murderer is what gives you strength?” he demands angrily.  “*You’re* the fool, Grace.”

 

“Well, you’d know,” she replies enigmatically.

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

 

“Oh, come *on* Father John,” she chuckles contemptuously.  “You’ve got plenty of blood on your hands.  Don’t tell me you never *enjoyed* it.”

 

“I never enjoyed it,” he says, dully.

 

“Not the feeling of their bones breaking under your fingers?  The gasping as you crushed their windpipe?” she smiles, her lips red and full.  “Not even the feeling of their hot, sticky blood oozing over your hands and spilling on the floor?  The look in their eyes as they realize that your face is the last thing they will *ever* see?”

 

“You’re *twisted*!” he shudders.

 

“For once, you’re right,” she leans forward, her arms pressing her breasts together so that her cleavage spills out of her shirt.  “But don’t tell me it doesn’t make you just that *little*, bit, *hot*.”

 

John swallows and looks away.  He can’t deny that her darkness, her shadows sing to the blackness that lies within him.  Her demons call to his with a strength that scares him.  Because he knows it would be so easy to give in…

 

“I killed Orpheus, you know.”  She recaptures his attention, his head turning sharply.  “He was one of the first.”

 

What?” John sounds pained.

 

“Aww, don’t tell me you’re sorry,” she is thoroughly enjoying this, despite her earlier misgivings, “he had it coming.”

 

“What did Stefano tell you about him?” John whispers.  He can’t understand how she thinks he abandoned her if he knew the truth about Orpheus.

 

“That he was the one who took me from you.  That the accident was his fault.”  She shrugs.  “For a while I thought maybe you *had* paid to have me killed, but then I saw how much hatred lay behind his eyes when he talked of you.”  She takes a deep breath and leans back against the tree, stretching languidly, like a cat in the hot sun.  “I almost liked him then.”

 

“So, why did you kill him?” John’s voice keeps getting hoarser.  He can’t believe she would think that he would want to hurt her.  He can’t believe how much Stefano distorted and twisted the truth to poison her mind against him.  Or… maybe he can.  He knows if he ever gets his hands on the old man again, there will be bloodshed.  And this time, he won’t stop until DiMera is dead.  He has ruined too many lives.

 

“Why not?” she shrugs.  “He might have been the instrument of my resurrection, but he was a weak, stupid man.”  She sneers.  “He was obsessed with petty motivations.  And he thought he could play games with me.  He thought he was dealing with *Marlena*.”  The bitterness in her voice is almost overwhelming.  “He soon discovered he wasn’t.”

 

She doesn’t tell John that like Lamont, Orpheus had bailed her up in her bedroom and had torn blindly at her clothes, all the time, screaming that she would pay for Roman’s blunders.

 

She doesn’t tell him that unlike Lamont, he had locked the door.  She doesn’t tell him that by the time Stefano’s men had battered the door down, he was on top of her, inside her, thrusting, grunting, swearing at her, bawling at her that she could blame Roman for this.  She doesn’t tell him of the agony and the pain and the uncontrollable panic and how she had screamed and begged and pleaded and then sobbed helplessly as he raped her.  She doesn’t tell him that she had worn the bruises for weeks, that Stefano had been the one that had held her while she had wept, that he had arranged for the abortion of Orpheus’ child.

 

She doesn’t tell him that when she had recovered, Stefano had offered her Orpheus and unlike with Lamont, she had accepted his offer.  She doesn’t tell him that the rape had hardened her in a way Stefano’s machinations never could have.  That Orpheus had destroyed the last shreds of softness, the few remnants of Marlena glimmering within her.

 

Mostly she doesn’t tell John any of this, because she doesn’t remember it.  She has obliterated the memory, her murder of Orpheus neatly covering the agony beneath, like the moon blotting out the sun in a solar eclipse.  Only the flames of her hatred lick at the edges of the truth.

 

She had spent hours playing with him, a game of cat and mouse that had ended up with her torturing him with a razor blade and a cigarette lighter.  He had screamed for mercy before she had straddled his lap kissed him and whispered in his ear that if he were a good boy, she would put him out of his misery.

 

She had felt him harden beneath her and she had laughed cruelly, grinding herself against him until she had shuddered with the release.  

 

Then she had turned to find Stefano watching her and she had smiled wantonly at him and blown him a kiss before dragging Orpheus to the nearby tub.

 

She had plunged his head unto the tepid water and held it there as he had fought to escape, his struggles growing weaker and weaker as she pulled him out and dunked him in the water repeatedly.

 

Finally, he failed to resist any longer and she had left him there, face down in the water to go and claim her congratulatory kiss from Stefano.

 

“It wasn’t exactly a challenge,” she finishes pleasantly, “but it was a fun way to spend an afternoon.” 

 

John can’t find a thing to say to her.  He’d known she was perverse, that she got her kicks from hurting people, but this is something else, all together.  That she would kill Orpheus for no real reason and get off on it….

 

He just stares at her.  She’s more a stranger than ever.  And if, as she claims, she is a personality developed within Marlena’s psyche… a claim that is appearing more and more to be true… then how much of a stranger is Marlena to him?

 

“What’s the matter sweetheart?” she smiles.  “Cat got your tongue?”

 

Silence.

 

“John?”  She cocks her head on one side.

 

“I didn’t,” he offers finally.  “I would have given *anything* to get Marlena back.  I tried everything I could to get them to search for her, but they said it was hopeless.  That there was no way you could have survived the accident.”

 

“But I did, didn’t I?” she says softly, a malicious glint in her eye.

 

“Yes,” he says dully.  “*You* did.”  He doesn’t know where to go next.  He feels as though he is up against a brick wall.  He’s run out of ideas, out of tactics.  He feels beaten and defeated.  He’s failed Marlena again, like so many times before.  

 

Grace is right.  This *is* all his fault.  He should have protected Marlena from Orpheus.  That bastard had snatched her from right under his nose and that had been the beginning of the end.  For all of them.  And maybe Orpheus had deserved to die.  But not by Marlena’s hands.  Not his good, sweet Marlena.  She was the one that made everything *right*.  She was the one that anchored him with her goodness, like the sun to his war-god Mars.

 

He drops his face into his hands with a soft moan and Grace snickers quietly.

 

Check.

Chapter LXIV – Blackmar Gambit

It’s almost dinner time when they speak again.  He has trapped a rabbit and spent the afternoon silently preparing a stew for them to eat.  Grace has been sitting in the sun alternately dozing and watching him work.

 

“How much do *you* remember of your past?” Grace asks suddenly as she watches him stir the stew.

 

“Very little before I met Doc,” he says quietly.  “But that’s not a hardship.  I don’t need to know.”

 

“Afraid of what you’ll find out?” she raises an eyebrow.

 

“What I already know has destroyed my family,” John replies tightly.  “Why would I want to enlarge on that?”

 

“Suppose what you know isn’t the whole truth?” Grace purses her lips and raises her right eyebrow.  “You told me yourself that there was a ‘chip’ or something controlling you.’  She sounds derisive when she mentions the chip and John wonders what she is up to.  “How do you know what is fact and what is fiction?”

 

“I don’t,” he admits, shaking his head.  “But Stefano is hardly likely to open up and lay it all out in front of me, is he?”

 

“No,” she smiles warmly, “but *I* might.”

 

It takes a moment to sink in and then John looks up sharply.  “What do you mean, *you* might?”

 

Grace smiles.  She has him, hook, line and sinker.  It’s time to get this party started and it’s obviously not going to happen in this dump in the woods in the middle of nowhere.  She has the bait and the means to use it.  And she knows John will bite.  He always does.

 

“I mean,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “I know where Stefano keeps all his documentation.  Every file he has on you, everything to do with Father John, with Gina, with Roman Brady and John Black; I know where it all is.”

 

“And why didn’t you share this little tidbit of information before?” John demands, trying to keep his ire under control.

 

She shrugs delicately.   “You never asked?”

 

“And why would you offer it to me now?” he doesn’t trust her an inch.  This has to be some kind of trap.

 

“Because I’m bored.”  It’s true enough.  “I want to get back to civilization.  I want to get out of,” her nose wrinkles in distaste as she motions to the cabin and surrounding woods.  ” And because I want to make a deal with you.”

 

“What kind of deal?”  He’s wary and rightly enough.

 

“I’ll take you to where it’s all kept, and you’ll let me go.”  She acts as though this is the most simple and natural request in the world.  She knows it isn’t.

 

“No *fucking* way!” he growls, his head beginning to ache again.  “I don’t care about my past.  I care about my *wife*.  I want my *wife* back, dammit!  *Nothing* else matters to me.  How many times do I have to *say* it?”

 

“And how long do we have to carry on this impasse?” Grace retorts, her impatience getting the better of her.  “John, she’s *not* coming back.  Deal with it.”

 

“I will *never* accept that!” he yells at her, his face red, his throat corded with rage.  “*NEVER*!”  He lashes out at the closest thing in his field of vision and his hand connects with the metal pot hanging over the fire.  The pot clangs against the rocks and the stew spills all over the ground.  John utters a curse and clutches his burnt hand.

 

“Oh, well *done*.” Grace snarls.

 

“Shut *up*.” John scowls at her murderously.  

 

Grace says nothing but pushes herself up and marches to the cabin.  She’s been concealing the fact that her ankle is well healed, but she’s finally had it.  She’s out of here, whether he intends it or not.

 

“Where are you going?” John demands.

 

“Anywhere where you’re *not*!” She throws the words over her shoulder as she enters the ramshackle building.  He meets her as she comes out, her blonde hair tied in a make-shift ponytail and her shirt sticking to her in the heat.  In her hands are the fake passport and the wad of cash.  

 

“You’re not going *anywhere*,” he growls threateningly.

 

“Want to *bet*?” she brings her knee up hard between his legs and laughs at his howl of pain.  “So long, *stud*!”  

 

She pushes him aside and takes off at a jog, retracing the steps she thinks they took up the hill.  She doesn’t bother to hide her tracks; she knows he’ll be after her soon.  In fact, she’s counting on it.  She simply wants a good head start.

 

Eventually, she finds the car, noting it’s still well-hidden.  It seems Stefano is no closer to locating them then.  Good.  She has been hoping that would be the case.  She has plans for John, and Stefano turning up too early will ruin them.  She knows Stefano will never approve of her sleeping with the enemy so it’s best not to involve him.  She also knows he will be furious to know that she is running with John as a willing participant rather than a prisoner, but so be it.  He will forgive her.  

 

Although he might punish her first.

 

She shivers with delight at the thought.  She adores Stefano and she loves his games even more.  She knows he will never *really* hurt her, she means too much to him and they are two of a kind.  He will simply engage in one of his power plays and she will play his game until she can tease him out of his rage.  It’s happened before, and it will again.

 

She pulls John’s keys out of her pocket and unlocks the trunk, flinging open her suitcase in a fluid motion.  Quickly she strips off the clothes she is wearing and slips on a pair of khaki cargoes and a tight, white vest.  She rummages through her bag and emerges with a pair of white Nikes and slides them on.  Then quickly she grabs a pouch from the bag and unzips it.  It turns inside out and quickly takes shape in the form of a rucksack.  She stuffs several items from her suitcase, along with the passport and the money into the bag and zips it closed.  Tossing the keys into the back of the car, she turns and shades her eyes as she heads for the road.

 

As she reaches it, she surveys the scene in front of her.  The sun is setting across the valley, the light spreading a golden web across the trees and the sparkling water of the river.  Behind her, she can hear John scrambling down the hill.  She doesn’t have any time to waste.

 

Quickly, she crosses the road and scans the riverbank.  Her eyes glitter as she finds what she’s looking for about half a mile downstream.  She takes off at a jog, ignoring the twinges in her ankle as she hears John close on her heels.

She reaches the boat before he reaches her.  She throws her bag in the wooden dinghy and climbs into it.  Judging that he’s almost close enough to leap for the boat, she pulls on the rope that moors the boat to the rickety jetty and uses an oar to push the boat away into the current.  

 

She glares at him as he pounds onto the jetty.  

 

“Stop!” he pants.

 

“Fuck off!”  No point in making it easy for him, right?

 

“Grace.  Stop!”  He runs to the end of the jetty and teeters dangerously.  “Look, I’ll go with you.  You’re on.  The deal I mean.”  He gasps for breath as she watches him, her expression one of suspicion.

 

“I thought *nothing* else mattered to you?”  She pushes on the oar, maintaining her distance from the jetty.

 

“It doesn’t,” he shrugs.  “But you’re right.  This is an impasse.  And I’ll make the deal with you and hope it comes out my way.  That’s all.”

 

“What, that Saint Marlena makes her long-awaited reappearance before you have to let me go?”  She laughs.  “Don’t hold your breath, John.”

 

“I’ll take my chances.”  He raises his eyebrows.  “Obviously it’s either that or walk away from you now, and I’m not prepared to do that.  You’re too important to me.”

 

“Oh, my *hero*,” she fans herself in mock admiration.  “How touching.”

 

“Well?” John crosses his arms.  “Do we have a deal?”  He waits, his heart pounding.  She has to know he’s lying.  He’ll never let her go, not willingly.  And if he’s forced to, he’ll hunt her to the ends of the earth.

 

“I’m thinking.”  She knows he’s lying.  And he knows she knows.  The muscle in his cheek, twitching madly, gives it away.  He’s a hopeless liar.  How Marlena ever fell for his bullshit, she’ll never understand.

 

“Okay,” she says slowly.  “We have a deal.”

 

She doesn’t care if he’s lying.  When she gets him where she wants him, his lies won’t matter.  Not in the slightest.

 

Chapter LXV – Candidate Move

Grace watches John’s muscles bunch and ripple under his skin as he pulls hard on the oars.  He gleams with a sheen of sweat and her breathing becomes shallow as she imagines him moving atop her, her legs wrapped around his hips and her mouth on his chest.

 

She squirms, her thighs tightening as she looks away from him, willing herself to stop fantasizing about him.  It’s getting out of control, and if there’s one thing Grace abhors, it’s not being in control.

 

John says nothing.  He is lost in his own thoughts.  Memories of the past.  Of West Virginia, of the explosion where Orpheus had taken Marlena.  Of vendettas that were never even his to begin with.

 

He’s fought Stefano for her, he’s fought Roman, and he’s even fought the Devil.  But in the end, the only people that have come between them are themselves.  He has made so many mistakes; he has let his own personal demons almost destroy him.  Them.  And now, if this person inhabiting his wife’s body has been born from the shattered remains of Marlena as she claims?  

 

How the hell can he fight that? 

 

And it’s his fault.  Every last shred of it.

 

John!

 

His head snaps up and he is caught by her unblinking amber stare.

 

Doc?

 

His heart pounds with exertion, heat and unbridled hope.  Maybe it’s wishful thinking but again, in the depths of despair, when he most needs her, is it too much to hope that she is reaching out to him?  From beneath Grace’s suffocating hold, has she found a chink in the barbed, enraged defenses?

 

Or maybe she is taking advantage of the cracks he has sensed in the past few days.  Maybe he is on the right track after all.  Maybe some more pushing and he can widen those cracks enough that Marlena can find her way.  Just maybe, he can give her the strength she needs.  And she can give him the strength to keep going.

 

Doc, baby.  Please hang on.  Please, I need you.  You have to be strong, you have to fight her.  For me…. For our kids….

 

He waits, all his hope and desire and need pouring into the slicing of the oars through the glittering water.  And… there’s nothing.  Grace’s eyes hold his until he thinks he cannot breathe anymore, and then she turns away to look at the shore.

 

John falters, suddenly wondering if he has imagined the whole thing.  If he is so desperate to find Marlena that he is seeing hints of her where there are none.

 

He channels the frustration he feels into powerful strokes on the oars, and he continues to watch Grace, his blue eyes intense and demanding.  He watches as all the tension goes out of her body and she emits a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttering closed.  And he wonders if she is aware of the battle she just fought.

The sun is sinking beyond the wooded valley as John pulls the boat up on the shore.  They are beyond the valley now and the countryside is eerily quiet.  Grace looks towards the rapidly sinking sun. 

 

“We need to head west,” she says determinedly as she turns to John.  “I’m calling the shots now, we work by my rules, okay?”

 

“No, not okay,” John’s cheek twitches again.  “How do I know you’re not leading me into a trap?  We’re not exactly on trusting terms here, Grace.”

 

“You don’t know,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.  “But right now, Johnny boy, you simply don’t have any other choices.  We can’t rent a room or hire a car because your credit cards are…” she chuckles, “a little defunct.  Besides, the cops and Stefano would be onto us before you could snap those…” she looks at his hand and smirks, “very skillful fingers…”

 

“Grace-” he starts.

 

“Listen John,” she puts her hands on her hips, “this is the deal.  I know where we’re going, and I’ll get us there.  You just follow quietly, like the *good* boy I know you are.”

 

He can hardly miss her sarcasm, but he chooses to ignore it.  He’ll play her game.  While it suits him.  They stare at each other for a long moment and then he lowers his head and shakes it with a rueful grin.

 

“Right then.  I guess you’d better lead the way.”  His sudden ceding of control to her disarms her slightly and it takes her a moment to respond.

 

“Okay,” she nods and turns back towards the setting sun.  “This way.”

The sky darkens into an electric blue, edged with a ruffle of gold.  They continue to walk.

 

“Are you planning on stopping any time soon or are you intending to walk straight on to Texas?” John enquires, sarcastically.  His body is starting to tire, and he can see that Grace is exhausted.

 

“I-” she’s cut short abruptly as she stumbles.

 

“Woah!” John catches her and she clings to him for a moment.  Their eyes meet in the dusky light and John feels his heart racing.

 

“*John?*” she whispers, almost piteously.  John clutches her, hardly daring to breathe as he searches her face for the answer to his question.

 

But almost as quickly as the change has come over here, suddenly Grace blinks and shakes her head.

 

“What!?” she demands as she shoves John roughly away from her.  The skin between her brows creases as he continues to look at her.  “John, *what*?!”

 

He swallows and pulls himself together.  As much as he can, anyway.  If he just saw what he thinks he saw, it might be the breakthrough he’s been looking for.

 

“It’s nothing,” he looks away.  “Look, you’re dead on your feet and I’m not much better.  Let’s find somewhere to stay for the night and then we can decide what to do in the morning.”

 

Grace looks like she’s about to argue and then thinks better of it.  “All right,” she shrugs, “you win.  You have somewhere in mind?” 

 

“It looks like there might be a barn over there beyond those trees,” John points to a stand of firs close by.  “Won’t exactly be five star, but it’ll be a roof over our heads.”

 

“Fine,” Grace replies irritably as she starts to walk.

 

“Hey!” John covers the ground between them in a few steps and grabs her arm.  “What did I do now?”

 

“Nothing.”  She pulls her arm away from him and continues to walk.  

 

“Nothing?”   He can’t help himself, he’s worn out, and she’s getting on his last nerve.  “You almost fall, I catch you and then you get all pissy with me.  What the hell is that about?”

 

She doesn’t answer.

 

He catches up with her again, fuming.  “Is this about your ‘I’m so tough I don’t need to be rescued by anyone’ complex?  Or are you just that scared of how you feel about me that you can’t deal with me helping or even *touching* you?”

 

“ME?”  Grace turns on him.  “Scared of YOU?”  She gives a loud and forced laugh.  “That’s rich, coming from you.  You mean *nothing* to me.”

 

“I didn’t say scared of *me*,” his lip flickers into a ghost of a smile.  “I said how *you feel* about me.  Your actions speak louder than your words, Grace.”  

 

John knows he has hit a weak spot as he sees her visibly react.  Grace gives him a hostile look and then turns away, taking a deep breath.  She knows he’s provoking her – looking for a reaction and she’s giving him one.

 

She manages to calm herself and then turns back, looking at him with a measure of amusement and irritation.  “Don’t flatter yourself John.”

 

With that, she continues in the direction of the trees.

They enter the dilapidated barn and Grace looks about her, distinctly unimpressed.  It’s filthy, but she’s wise enough to know that it’s the best and safest place they are going to find for the night.  They have a long way to go and since they can’t use credit for fear of being traced, she has to make her cash last as long as she is able.

 

Gingerly she drops into a pile of hay, her exhaustion at long last getting the better of her.  She looks incredulously at John.  “Are you just going to stand there or…?”

 

John shakes his head.  “You stay there.  I’m going to go and find us some food.” 

 

“Food?”  Her skepticism grows.  “Right, you plan to pluck it out of thin air then?”

 

“Look,” John says wearily, “we haven’t eaten a decent meal in days and both of us need food if we’re going to keep on going.  I’ll find us something, okay?”

 

“Whatever you say, McGyver.”  She shrugs and watches him as he shambles towards the barn door and disappears into the blankness of the night.  After a moment, she sighs and closes her eyes and leans back on the hay.  She struggles against the overwhelming exhaustion for all of a scant minute before succumbing to the heaviness that overtakes her.  Sleep wastes no time in claiming her.

Chapter LXVI – Exchange

She comes to, to find John standing over her, a lamp in his hand.

 

“Hey there Sleeping Beauty,” he smiles almost tenderly and Grace feels a tight pain in her chest that almost leaves her breathless.  And frightens her.  Not that she’ll ever admit it.  “I’ve got us some dinner.”

 

“Dinner?” Her voice is a husky whisper.

 

“Yeah,” he crouches down beside her, placing the lamp carefully on a wooden box.  “The farmhouse that this barn belongs to?  The owners are out and I, uh, borrowed a few morsels.”

 

“You *stole* dinner?” she laughs disbelievingly.  “John ‘I never put a foot wrong’ Black *stole* us dinner?”

 

“Yeeaaah, well,” he shrugs with a grin, happy that the tension between them has dissolved for just a moment.  “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

 

“Well, it’s hardly going to bother me, is it?” she throws him a wickedly mischievous glance and then rummages through the box in front of her.  There’s cold chicken, salad, cheese, pate and bread.  Suddenly she feels even more ravenous than she had just a moment ago.

 

“Oh my!” She looks at him, her eyes sparkling with nearly childlike anticipation. 

John’s breath catches in his throat as he struggles to remember that she’s not Marlena.  Everything about her at this moment, the way her eyes glow amber in this soft light, the sound of her voice.  He has to fight himself not to touch her.  Not to reach out and caress her cheek or feel the softness of her hair.  His need for her is almost overwhelming and he has to look down at the box or he knows she will read it in his eyes.  Read how close he is to giving in to her at this moment, when she is so much like the woman he loves.  

 

“I’m almost impressed!” she continues, not missing a beat.

 

He smiles to himself, her words breaking the spell.  And more than that, he feels like he’s getting somewhere, that he’s breaking down her defenses and getting close to the real Marlena.  He’s starting to feel her, almost like a palpable presence and it brings him more hope than he’s had for days. 

 

He clears his throat.  “Well, I don’t know about you,” he says lightly, “but I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

 

It doesn’t take them long to demolish the contents of the box, stuffing themselves until they feel they can barely face another bite of food.

 

John throws down a crust of bread and lays back on the hay groaning, almost painfully.  Grace chuckles lightly.  “Careful Black, you don’t want to get fat now.”  

 

She leans back and props herself up on her elbow.  Her gaze is seductive, almost predatory.  “Of course, if you want, I can help you work some of those calories off.  I’m sure I can think of a way…”  Her beautiful lips curl into a suggestive smile.

 

Her words and tone immediately sends John’s heart racing and he has to school his expression into one of indifference. 

 

“Why don’t you give it up?” he says as casually as he can manage.  “You know it’s not going to happen.”

 

“No,” she replies seriously.  “I don’t know that.  I don’t know that at all.”

 

He has no answer to that as she holds his gaze.  He feels like she can see deep into his soul.  He feels like she can see his weakness, his desire for her which is almost unfathomable.  Uncontrollable.

 

Despite himself, he leans over and gently wipes a smudge of mayonnaise off her chin with his thumb.  Silently, their eyes still locked, she takes hold of his wrist and raises his thumb to her mouth.  Slowly and seductively, she licks the mayonnaise off his thumb, curling her warm and moist tongue over his skin so sensually he’s almost exploding with longing. 

 

She releases his hand and John pulls it away, slowly curling it into a fist as the tension between them is electric.

 

“I don’t know that at all,” she repeats.    

 

John looks away from her, clearly deeply unsettled by what has just passed between them and she smiles knowingly.  She gets the reaction a moment later as he pushes himself off the ground and stalks off into the darkness.

 

However, she is surprised and gratified when he returns a moment later with a cooler in his hand.  He sits down beside her again and places the small box between them.

 

“What’s this?” she asks curiously.  She’s not entirely sure what he’s up to.  And she’s not sure she likes being surprised by him.

 

“Open it and find out.”  He looks at her expectantly.

 

“Pandora’s box?” She looks at him from under heavy lashes.  “How do I know if I can trust you.”

 

“You don’t,” he smiles smugly.  “But as you’ve told me a number of times, I’m not about to hurt Marlena, am I?”

 

“I’m not Marlena.” She says simply.

 

“I realize that.”  He answers.

 

There is silence between them for a moment as they stare at each other.  Grace is the first to look away and she places her hands over the top of the cooler and takes a deep breath.  Something is happening between them, something she can’t control.  Something she’s not sure she wants to stop.

 

“Open it,” John urges, his voice a warm caress in the stillness of the night.

 

She opens it.

 

Inside is a bowl of strawberries and a bowl of whipped cream.

 

~~ The crackling fire warms the crispness of the night air.  Around her floats the strains of a voice as warm as honey.  She lies in front of the fire, in his arms. His hands are cradling her face and he kisses her.  He draws his lips across her cheek to her ear and then down again, before enfolding her in his arms.  

 

After a moment, he pulls away from her.  The smile on his face makes her toes curl. 

 

She reaches out her index finger and rests the tip against his chin.  Her voice is little more than a tremulous whisper.   “Wait.”

 

He smiles, curious. “Mmm?”

 

She whispers it again. “Wait.”

 

He understands and his eyes grow drowsy with desire.  “Mmmmm…”

 

She turns her head with a smile while he kisses her cheek.  His lips are soft and warm, and his touch sends tendrils of lust snaking through her body.  

 

She reaches down and with one hand, gracefully picks up a strawberry.  With infinite care, dragging the moment out as long as she possibly can, she brings it up and offers it to him.  He takes it into his mouth, but before he can chew on it, she rests her finger momentarily on his lips. His eyes widen as she reaches back down and scoops up some whipped cream with her fingers.  The cream is warm and heavy as she smears it between and all over his lips.  He chews for a moment on the lush berry, but stops as she leans over him and with little swipes of her tongue, begins to lick the cream from around his mouth.

 

She kisses the last remaining traces away and he fervently returns her advances.  His lips work their way down her neck as her breathing become shallow and her skin flushes with desire.

 

She abandons all sense of awareness of the moment and surrenders herself to the divine feeling of him moving against her.  Of his mouth on her skin.  Of his devotion.

 

She’s barely aware she’s vocalizing her feelings as she moans his name.  “Oh! …Ooh. Roman! *Roman*…”  ~~

 

The memory sears through Grace’s mind, blazing a trail of feelings so intense they smother all in their path.  For a moment it’s pure agony as she experiences that moment, the burning light of Marlena’s desire for her husband scorching everything else into nothingness.

 

“Hey,” John crouches beside her, gently covering her hand with his. “Are you okay?”

 

She doesn’t answer, but in the dying lamplight, he can see her tawny eyes are glassy with tears.

 

“Hey,” he repeats, with more compassion this time.  “Grace, sweetheart…”

 

“No!”  She skitters away from him and clutches at her hand, her fingers harshly rubbing the skin, as though trying to erase the memory of his touch.  “NO.  I won’t….  It’s not…”  

 

She stares at him, her mossy eyes those of a scared and confused child.  The tears spill over the fringe of lashes and spill down her cheeks.

 

“Baby,” he can’t help the term of endearment.  At the sight of her torment, it slips out as naturally as his breath.  “What’s wrong?  I didn’t mean to upset-“

 

“No- nothing’s wrong.”  Her hands ball up into tight fists as she scrambles up from the hay.  “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…”  She repeats the words to herself as if they are a litany.  As if somehow repeating them will make them true.

 

“You’re obviously *not* fine,” John finds himself somewhere between concerned and hopeful.  This is what he had hoped for.  The strawberries have triggered something within her.  “What is it?  The strawberries?”

 

“It’s NOTHING!” she shouts furiously, smearing her tears away with a shaking hand.  “Leave me alone!”

 

She makes for the door, but John catches her before she can escape into the inky night.  

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, his arms wrapping around her waist.  “You remember something, don’t you?  The strawberries, you remember something about the strawberries.”  He tries to gauge her reaction to his words, but she refuses to look at him.  Instead she struggles to release herself from his grip.  He notes her fists and deliberately alters his hold so that his fingers clamp around her wrists like a pair of vices.

 

“What did you remember?  Why are you so upset Grace?” he demands angrily.  “Doesn’t the memory match up to all the bullshit the old man fed you?”  

 

She says nothing, still refusing to look at him.  Frustrated, he shakes her, his voice rising with passion and rage.

 

“What the hell does it take to get *through* to you?  You saw it.  You *felt* it just now.”  So much emotion comes out with his words that Grace shivers unconsciously.  “Don’t deny it, I *know* you did.  You remembered.  How much Marlena loved me and how much I *adored* her.”  

 

She hears his voice crack and sneaks a look at him.  Her glance turns into a stare as she realizes he is crying.  The tears streak down the careworn skin and his azure eyes plead with her.

 

“Please, you have to believe me.  I loved her.  I would have died for her.  It all but *killed* me when I thought she was dead.”  His voice is gravelly now and all the fight has gone out of his body.  “Whatever you remembered, you have to know… we were nothing like what Stefano told you.  I loved you from the day I met you and I will love you till the day I die.”

 

“Marlena,” she whispers tiredly.  “You’ll love *Marlena*.”

 

His shoulders slump and she pulls her arms from his grip.  She moves away from him and stands in the doorway.  Above her, the stars stretch eternally steadfast in their watch over the earth.

 

“It doesn’t matter anymore John,” she says distractedly.  “It doesn’t matter what was the truth and what wasn’t.”  She gives a short, bitter laugh.  “In the end it’s all lies.  Everything we are is lies.  Why should this be any different?”

 

“No,” he comes up behind her and places his hands on her shoulders.  He can feel her shiver as he presses his body against hers.  “Not everything.  Not our feelings.  Our emotions.  Not the love we choose to share.  Those aren’t lies.”

 

“They’re all lies,” Grace murmurs, closing her eyes as his musky smell envelops her.  “Feelings betray you, emotions blind you to the truth.  In the end, they’re just another worthless lie.”

 

“You’re incredibly cynical,” John says softly.  “What is it you’re afraid of?”  He pauses, knowing she won’t answer.  “Is it that once you drop these facades of control and indifference that you’ll just dissolve into her.  Into Marlena?”

 

“You are so full of *shit*!” She steps away from his touch and immediately her body cries out with the loss of him.  Silently she damns the betrayal, even as she fights for control with her head.  She doesn’t want to be having this conversation.  It’s confusing her.  It’s scaring her.  She’s completely out of control – her thoughts, her emotions, the desire and need and… the feelings.  She doesn’t want these feelings.  She doesn’t want any of it.  

 

“You’re running scared, Grace.”  The deep pools of his gaze bore into her.  “You might try and tell yourself that what you’re feeling is lies, but the truth is, you’re lying to yourself.  You’ve never allowed yourself to love or to be loved.  You’re so scared of feeling *anything* you choose to feel nothing but anger and hatred.”

 

Grace’s face flashes with ire.  “Oh, and who made you a psychoanalyst?”

 

“I’ve just been observing,” he shrugs his shoulders.  “When it comes down to it, you’re pretty predictable really.”

 

“Yeah well,” she whips her hand across his cheek, delivering a stinging slap that leaves red welts on his weather-beaten skin.  “Obviously not *that* predictable.”

Chapter LXVI I- Black Square Weakness

As she lies in the darkness, she can feel him nearby.  Her body calls out for him, and she bites her lip in frustration.  She knows he’s not sleeping either.  He doesn’t trust her, and he’s right not to.  

 

Every fiber of her being says that now is the time to go.  To run, to call Stefano and just escape from this torment.  And yet, she looks at him and she can’t.  She’s drawn to him; she’s bound to him in this game they’re playing and she can’t just give it up.

 

She takes a deep breath and wills her pounding heart to settle.

 

That’s right Grace.  The game, you’ve lost sight of the game.  Get it together, because right now you’re in danger of losing it all together.

 

It was those damn strawberries that had unsettled her so.  The stray memory that belonged to another time and another woman.  It was the sweetness of it, so beguiling, that disturbed her.  The passion, she can deal with.  Passion she can relate to.  But sweetness?  Goodness?  That’s foreign and she doesn’t want a bar of it.

 

Sweetness only leads to weakness.  Love to loss.  She won’t suffer the way Marlena did.  She won’t ever feel that agony again.

 

A memory tugs at the corners of her mind.  A memory so vicious and cruel that it is tucked away beyond remembering.  Just a hint of the pain is enough to steel her against the intrusion of the sweet, contented memories.

 

She won’t succumb, not again.  She has a game to win.

The following day is spent mostly in a silent fog of their own thoughts.  They walk across fields and roads until they stumble upon a small town.  Neither of them is even sure where they are, but this seems like manna to them, with the opportunity to find a meal and maybe even a ride.  

 

It’s late afternoon as they enter the local greasy spoon.  The woman behind the garish orange counter is a study in Southern inhospitality.  She smacks on her gum as she eyes them suspiciously.

 

“Whadya want?”  Her demand is accompanied by the sweeping back of her scraggly red hair with one unkempt hand.  Grace shudders at the sight of the woman’s filthy fingernails and her enormous girth and she looks studiously at the menu as John orders them coffee and bacon, eggs and hash browns.

 

They sit down, acutely aware of the hostile stares of the townsfolk gathered at the tables near the counter.

 

“Do we really have to eat *here*?” Grace asks, her distaste hanging in the air.

 

“Look, you can go on and try and find somewhere else, but I’m tired.  I need a break.”  John drops his head into his hands and rubs his forehead.  He’s been battling this headache all day and it’s gathering in intensity.  With no more indications from Grace that Marlena is anywhere close, he is finding it hard to maintain the hope he’d had the previous evening.

 

Everything seems to be fading.  His hope, his strength.  Everything except for this damn headache.  It’s threatening to engulf him and he’s almost beyond fighting it.

 

Grace’s reply is forestalled by the waitress slamming their coffees down on the table.  The black liquid sloshes over the side of the cup and Grace glares back after her.  

 

“So much for service with a smile,” she mutters.

 

John ignores her and reaches for the stewed black liquid that passes as coffee.  He gulps it down greedily, pausing only to grimace at the bitterness before he drops the cup back to the table.

 

“God you’re a miserable bastard,” Grace observes.  “What the hell did Marlena see in you?”

 

“Maybe it’s just that I’ve got nothing to be happy about.” John snaps back.  “I’ve lost my wife, I’m stuck in the back of beyond with you and I have no money.  I’m on the run from the law because you killed a man that is like a *brother* to me, I have DiMera on my tail probably trying to extract some new kind of twisted and evil revenge and by now, I’m sure our whole family hates me.”  He looks up at her, his blue eyes sodden with misery.  “So, what have I got to smile about, tell me that, would you?”

 

Grace says nothing, just looks at him dispassionately.  “Self-pity isn’t a terribly attractive quality in a person,” she raises her eyebrows.  “So, you’ve lost what was never yours to begin with.  Where’s the problem?”

 

“Never mine….?” His forehead folds into creases of pain.  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

 

“The only one who tells the truth, apparently.”  Grace hisses viciously.  “You’re not part of that family.  All you’ll ever be is an outsider looking in.  They only accept you because they think *have* to.  Because of their darling, precious Marlena.”

 

“That’s not true,” John growls, the pain pounding the insides of his skull envelope him as her words drill through him.  “It’s not true…”

 

“Of course it’s true,” she laughs scornfully, ignoring the massive bulk of the waitress as she flings plates of congealed potato and charred bacon in front of them.  “You saw the way they looked at you when they found out about you and Hope.  They couldn’t *stand* you.  The moment they thought you’d betrayed Marlena; they were ready to feed you to the lions.”

 

“No…” John’s whisper is barely audible as his eyes drop to his meal.

 

“And as for *Roman*…” she continues.  “Don’t bother shedding any tears for that miserable excuse for a human being.”  She shudders as she picks up her fork.  The remnants of rage she bears toward Lamont cling to her still.  Even extinguishing his miserable life hasn’t erased the memory of his touch.  Her skin crawls just thinking about him.

 

“No!”  John’s reply is more forceful.  He looks up to find her eyes, golden and predatory, staring at him.  “Roman is a… *was* a good man.  I won’t let you talk about him like that.” 

 

“Roman’s not the man you thought he was John.”  Her mouth is fixed in a thin, hard line.  Her expression speaks of her hatred and John shivers.

 

“Wh…what are you saying?” he stutters as the waitress splashes more lukewarm coffee into his mug.

 

“Do I have to explain *everything* to you?” She asks in exasperation as she picks up a fork and stabs a lump of shriveled bacon.  “Honestly John, sometimes you are so dense.”

 

“Or you just get a kick out of being deliberately vague,” he mutters as he spears some shredded potato.  It’s obvious he’s not going to get anything more out of her as she retreats to the safety of silence, and he turns his concentration to the unappetizing mess that is his meal.

After they’ve finished, Grace tosses a few bills on the table, and they walk out into the dying afternoon.  Grace shields her eyes against the sun and looks down the street.

 

“Oh, my Lordy, I think I see sal-vay-shun,” she says in an exaggerated southern drawl.  John’s eyes follow to where her finger is pointing, and he feels his spirits inexplicably rise at the sight of the podunk little car lot down the street.

 

The owner is just as distrustful of them as the waitress, but he accepts their offer on a rundown old jeep and his eyes brighten considerably when Grace hands him an array of bills to conclude the deal.

 

“Well then,” he hands her the keys in exchange.  “Mighty nice doin’ business with you ma’am.  You be sure to stop by if you’re ever this way again.”

 

“I very much doubt we will be,” Grace says derisively.  If she never sees another hick town like this, it will be far too soon.

By the time the sun sets, they are far away from the town.  John is dozing in the passenger’s seat when Grace pulls off the interstate.  He struggles to consciousness, his eyelids assaulted buy the violent blinking of neon above him.  He cracks an eye open and looks across at her.

 

“Where are we?” he asks wearily.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you. But I need a comfortable bed, even if it’s only for one night.”  She looks almost as tired as he feels but she manages a flicker of a smile.  “And a hot bath.  What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath.”

 

“Can we afford it?” he asks cautiously.  They’ve discussed money already and his lack of it.  She has quite a bit of cash and she has credit cards, but she’s not prepared to use them unless they get desperate.  Cards are far too easily traced while cash affords them the luxury of being nameless faces for as long as possible.  At least until she gets what she wants from him.

 

“Not every night,” she says airily, “but tonight won’t break the bank.”  She opens the door of the old jalopy and slides out.  “Why don’t you stay here, stud.  I’ll get us a room.”

It’s hardly the most salubrious of motels, but when they open the door to their room, it seems almost like luxury.  John stops when he sees the double bed and he turns and looks at Grace, pointedly.

 

“What?”  She shrugs.  “It’s all they had.  Anyway,” she grins, “it’s nice and cosy, right?”

 

“Go and have your bath,” he growls as he collapses on the bed.  His headache has abated slightly, but it’s left him drained and bereft of fight.

 

“It’s big enough for two…” she calls from the bathroom.  “Wanna come and soap my back, big boy?”

 

He chooses not to answer, just groans and rolls over, burying his face in the harsh synthetic fabric of the bedspread. 

 

In the bathroom, Grace grins as she sets the bath running.  She watches the water collect in the bottom of the tub, wisps of steam drifting lazily from the rippling surface.  

 

When it’s full enough, she sheds her clothes and steps into the water.  It’s almost unbearably hot, but she likes it that way.  She leans back against the end of the tub and sighs contentedly.  The heat strips away her aches and pains and soothes her tired muscles.  

 

As she relaxes, she allows her mind to wander into a fantasy where John is in the bath with her, stroking her shoulders, moving his hands across her slippery skin, kissing her… entering her…

 

Suddenly, John’s face turns into Lamont’s, and she can feel him with her, touching her.  He slides against her, and she can feel him inside her, thrusting into her….

 

Her eyes snap open in terror and she screams, short and sharp.

 

Almost instantly, John is in the bathroom with her, sliding in his sock clad feet to her side.  

 

“What is it?!” he demands breathlessly.  “Grace, what’s wrong?”

 

“No….” she whimpers, “Oh god, *no*!”

 

“Grace?”  He crouches beside the bath, studying her as his heart pounds in his chest.  It’s almost as if she’s completely unaware that he’s even there.  She’s hunched over in the bath, her arms wrapped around herself and she’s staring at the surface of the water, a tortured expression marring her beautiful face.  

 

Gently he reaches out and touches her shoulder.  “What is it, baby?”

 

“Don’t *touch* me!” She snarls as she violently bats his hand away.  “Dear God, don’t touch me, *ever* again.”

 

“What?”  The skin between his brows deepens into well-worn furrows.  

 

“Bastard!”  she whispers, a tear trickling down her cheek.  “How *could* he?  How could he do that to me?”

 

“What are you talking about?”  John is even more confused.  He eases himself onto his knees and shakes his head.  “Grace, you’re not making any sense.”

 

Suddenly she seems to see him and angrily she flicks away the tears with slender fingers.  “Get out.”  Her voice is low and vicious.  “Get out and leave me alone.”

 

John doesn’t say anything, just looks at her in confusion and concern.

 

“I *said*,” her voice rises as she grabs the bar of cheap, complimentary soap. “GET OUT!”  She hurls the bar of soap, and it flies at him, catching him above the eye.  

 

“Okay, okay!”  He raises his hands in surrender and then pushes himself from the floor.  Shrugging, he rubs the tender spot on his forehead as he heads for the door.  “I’ll be out here if you need me.”

 

In the bath, Grace shivers fiercely, despite the heat of the water.  She feels like weeping, but she will not allow herself the weakness.  She will not allow *anyone* to get the better of her, least of all Lamont or Stefano.

 

“God, you *bastard*!” she curses again.  She’s furious at Stefano for putting her in close proximity with that animal.  She doesn’t care if it was Marlena, they share the same body and as such, Lamont has as much defiled her as Marlena.  

 

She shudders.  How could Marlena have thought that *creep* was Roman Brady?  How could she have allowed him to touch her?  To fuck her like the whore he thought she was.

 

“Oh God,” she moans, the nausea welling up inside her.  She drips water all over the tiles as she stumbles to the toilet and retches uncontrollably.  

 

Sinking to the floor by the white porcelain, she leans back against the dirty white wall and shivers, her vision growing dim and porous.  It takes only seconds for a nebulous gray fog to smother all thoughts in her head and she slides down the wall, coming to a rest on the frigid white tiled floor.

Chapter LXVIII – Queen’s Gambit

The bathroom is silent for long minutes and John starts to worry.  Grace’s behaviour is so bizarre and out of character for her and he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on inside her head.  One moment she’s making smart cracks and the next moment she’s practically hysterical and she’s throwing up.  It’s not like her and he’s starting to wonder if he’s been pushing her too hard.

 

He waits for another minute, but he can’t hear anything from beyond the slightly ajar door.  Feeling nervous, he stands and works his way to the entrance of the bathroom.  When he can’t see her through the crack in the door, he pushes it open and catches his breath when he sees her naked body prone on the floor.

 

It only takes him three steps to get across the room and he pulls her into his arms.

 

“Grace….?”  He smooths the damp, tousled hair from her face and leans closer.  “Hey, wake up sweethe-”  He checks himself at the use of the endearment he uses for Marlena.  At moments like this it’s increasingly hard to remember that she’s not Marlena.  That she’s not the woman he loves.

 

She lays still and cool in his arms, her body slack and heavy.  He frowns and scoops her up in his arms.   In the bedroom, he lays her down on the bed and peels back the covers.  He maneuvers her onto the clean, cool sheet and takes her hand as he sits beside her.

 

“You can wake up now,” he says softly.  Entreatingly.  “You’re safe now.  Come back to me.”  He stops and looks at her with curiosity.  “Doc?  Can you hear me?  I’m here baby.  I want you back so badly…” he trails off, the words choking in his throat.  “Please come back to me.”

 

She lays deathly still and pale and John chews the inside of his lip as his fingers trace nervous patterns over the back of her hand.  What happened to her?  What made her react that way?  She had seemed utterly irrational in the bathroom, almost terrified.

 

That wasn’t like Grace at all, it was almost like the woman’s raison d’etre was eliminating all fear from her life.  But maybe if she didn’t acknowledge fear, fear might be the one thing that had the power to break her.

 

He shakes his head.  None of it makes any sense.  But then what of this nightmare *does* make sense?  He hasn’t been able to fathom Grace and her motivations.  Her emotions.

 

Her desires are easy enough.  She has the destructive force of an emotional hurricane.  She hates Marlena and all that she stands for and she seems to want to hurt anybody that loved her alter-ego.  As though by destroying everything Marlena stands for, she will destroy Marlena’s whole existence.

 

He frowns.  For someone who refuses to admit she feels fear, Grace seems to spend her whole time running from any kind of emotion.

 

His mind picks back through the debris of the past few weeks.  The information that she has given him.  Some of it has been willingly, some she is not even aware she imparted.  He’s just not entirely sure how it all fits together.  He’s missing something.  Something important, he just wishes he could work out what it is.

 

His heart jumps as she stirs, and his attention suddenly focuses completely on her and this moment.

 

“Sweetheart?”  A look of pain flashes across her face and his heart twists.  He smooths his fingers over her hair.  “C’mon Lady, wake up.  You’re safe now.”

 

Her eyelashes flutter.  “John?”  Her whisper is quavering and contains a myriad of questions.

 

“I’m here,” he smiles, his blue eyes bright with hope.  “I’m always here.”

 

“I know.”  Amber entangles him in a web of unspoken words and hopes.  “I…” she looks at her delicate hand in his oversized paw.  “What happened?”

 

“I’m not sure,” his lips twitch at the corners.  “You fell.”

 

“I fell.”  She repeats.  “I fell?”

 

“Yeah,” John swallows, his heart pounding.  He has to know.  “Doc?”

 

“Mmmmm?” She blinks, her eyelashes fanning against pale cheeks.  “John, where are we?”

 

“Doc!”  His mouth drops open as his gaze sweeps over her.  “Oh my God, Doc?”

 

“John?” she looks confused, but there is laughter lurking in the corner of her smile.  “What’s going on?  What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong!’  His breath is short as he laughs.  “No, everything’s right.  Now it’s all right baby, it’s… it’s perfect!”

 

“John,” she does laugh now, strong and happy.  “John, you’re not making any sense!”

 

“I know I’m not,” his glee is almost intoxicating as he pulls her into his arms and holds her close.  “It doesn’t matter baby, I’ll explain it all later.  What matters now is that you’re safe.  You’re here and you’re safe and I will never, *never* let anyone hurt you, ever again.”

 

“Mmmmm,” she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close.  “I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, I do like the result.”

 

John loosens his grip and brings his palm around to cup her cheek.  He stares at her intently, his bright azure gaze studying every curve of her face.

 

“John, what?” she smiles gently.  “What *is* going on?”

 

“You know how much I love you, right?” his words are fiercely intense and her smile fades into concern.  

 

“Of course I do, you silly!”  She raises her hand to his face and caresses her thumb across the plain of his cheek.  “And I love you.”

 

“Oh Doc…” he grins and lets his body relax into her embrace.  “You make me the happiest man alive.  If I didn’t know how lucky I was to have you before, I sure as hell do now.”

 

“Mmmmm,” she closes her eyes and leans forward, nuzzling the roughness of his unshaven cheek.  “I guess lucky runs in the family.”  With a deft move, she reaches down and delves a hand under his t-shirt, laying it against his lean stomach. 

 

The weeks of pent up sexual desire flood into his consciousness and John groans as her fingers tremble across his skin.

 

“Doc…”

 

“Mmmmm?” her lips skim the ragged edge of his almost-beard and seek out his.  He gasps for breath as she nibbles tenderly on his lower lip.  At her touch, all verbal ability flees him and all he can do is to lay her back on the bed and smother her with kisses.

 

She moans as he pulls back and looks at her.  Skin that was pale is now flushed and her lips are scarlet and slightly parted.  Her golden eyes flash with need as she reaches for the bottom of his shirt.

 

“Show me how lucky you are, baby,” she pleads; her voice husky and her breathing reedy.  She pulls on his shirt, and he raises his arms, allowing her to work it up and over his head.  She discards it carelessly and eases herself up in the bed, running her fingers through the rough hair on his chest.  She looks up with wild eyes and slides her hand around behind his neck, pulling him back down to the bed with her.

 

“Mmmm.”  He bends his mouth to her neck and begins to kiss her.  She rolls her head back and gasps at the feeling of his lips and teeth.  She’s consumed completely by her need to feel him against her, and she forcefully rolls him over, unwrapping herself from the constrictive sheets.  Her naked body arches against him as his mouth leaves a moist trail down to her breast.

 

“Oh, God… John!”  Her cry is lost in a sob as he rolls his tongue around a tight nipple and her fingernails dig into his back as he rolls her over again and brings his hand up to her other breast.  

 

Her hands slip down to the waistband of his jeans, and she locates his belt buckle.  With deft fingers, she undoes it and pulls it free.  Disengaging himself, John looks up and finds her smoky amber eyes looking back at him.  They are almost bottomless pools of lust and for a moment he stops what he is doing and stares back at her.

 

“Please. Make love to me John,” she says softly.  “I don’t know why, but I need it.  I need to feel you; right here, right now.”

 

His moment of misgiving is washed away with the tiny, sweet smile that follows her words.  The sexy, wanton, gorgeous smile that is completely Marlena.

 

He reaches out with his hand and brushes his thumb over her lips with an answering smile of his own.  And then he reaches down and fumbles with the fly of his jeans.  

 

With a throaty laugh, she helps him wriggle out of the offending denim prison.  He has long dispensed with his boxers and he groans as he slides a leg in between hers and feels the heaven of her skin, warm against his.

 

She reaches for his lips and kisses him softly and gently.  With her tongue, she parts them and enters his mouth.  In reply, he increases the insistence of the kiss, his fingers lacing in her hair as he moves with her.

 

She grinds herself against his thigh, desperate for release as he begins to kiss her neck again.  His tongue investigates all the familiar, intimate hollows and curves of her neck as she writhes against him.

 

Her moaning becomes more adamant as he becomes aware of the heat and wetness of her moving against him.  And then the sharp, exquisite pain of her teeth gripping the skin of his shoulder as the waves of her first orgasm sweep over her.

 

“God… Doc!”  He grunts, the sound and feel of her sweeping away all sense of reason.  Everything is instinctual, everything is touch and sound and warmth.  And lust.

 

“John!” she gasps, as his hands find hers, fingers entwining tightly as he pulls her hands above her head. He moves his leg away from her and  “Oh… oh… more.  Please, *more*!”

 

She lets out a shuddering moan as he takes her nipple in his mouth again, plundering her nerves with his tongue.  Exquisite trails of fire run down her skin to collect in the delicious moisture between her legs.  She sobs in delight as he bites gently on the sensitive nub and her hands clench in fists around his.

 

She moves deliberately and rhythmically as he ministers to her body, worshipping it with unhurried and decisive sweeps of his lips and tongue.

 

“Oh….” The moans are coming in short, static gasps now as he moves between her legs.  “John, please!”  She pins him with a sensual glare as he remains raised above her for a long moment, teasing her with the expectation of impending bliss.

 

And then he dives into her, into her sweetly welcoming warmth.  Into the hot, wet pleasure that envelops him.  She cries out as he enters her and she wraps her legs around his hips, welcoming him utterly.

 

He is lost to all thought as he moves, thrusting and sliding against her. The sweetly familiar and suddenly new sensation of her damp skin against his is utter ecstasy and the sound of her whimpers in his ear drives him wild.

 

“John,” she gasps again as she throws her head back and arches her body against him.  And then she’s sliding down towards a shattering orgasm, every muscle tensing as she wraps around him, pulsing and driving and screaming as the sweet agony floods her consciousness.

 

And John can’t hold on any longer as the sound and feel of her drives him to a point of near frenzy.  A cacophony of sound explodes in his head as he slams into her and a white-hot fire of liquid ecstasy pounds through his body to the point where they are joined.

 

And at last John collapses into her embrace, his head against her chest.  He can hear her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.  But instead of the joy he expects to feel, he feels curiously bereft.

 

He knows exactly why that is a moment later when he feels and then hears the deep rumble of laughter erupt from her.

 

A cold nausea spreads from his gut through every part of his body.  Scrambling away from her, he turns horrified eyes to meet with hers.

 

“Hi stud!” she chuckles.  “So, did the earth move for you, *baby*? 

 

Chapter LXIX – Pawn Sacrifice

NO!

 

The denial sears through his head as he stares at her in mute horror.  All the relief and delight he’d been feeling just moments ago splinter as he looks into her eyes and sees nothing of his wife in their golden depths.

 

“You…” he gags on the words, which refuse to spill from his throat.

 

“Yes, John.”  Her smile is full of bitter amusement.  “Me.  *Not* Marlena.”  She pauses and sniggers cruelly.  “Oh, you mean you fell for it *again*?  Gosh John, what ever happened to knowing your wife?  To stopping at *nothing* to bring her back?”  Her words are laced with malice, her eyes narrowed and cold.  “You’re a *fool*.  Face it, you lose again, John.”

 

“NO!” he roars, his face white with rage.  Inside him, his emotions are swirling into a maelstrom.  It can’t be… he can’t…  

 

A voice hisses insidiously inside his skull.  Taunts him.  You’ve betrayed her again John. You’ve lost her… for good this time.

 

“*NOOO!*” He stumbles across the room, catching sight of himself in the mirror.  He looks like hell, his face obscured by hair, but the torment of his soul lays bare in wounded blue eyes.  

 

His vision is ensnared by her as she walks up behind him, naked and defiant.

 

“John.”  She smiles cunningly.  She can see his pain, the never-ending fight he wages with the darker forces that inhabit him.  “Give *in* to it baby,” she entreats him, drawing her fingers lightly down his back.  “You know you want to.  It’s there, all that *anger* and rage.”  She licks her upper lip in unconscious anticipation.  She almost has him within her grasp at last.  He’s almost *hers* and she’s not about to let him go.  She wants to own him, body and soul.  She wants what Marlena had before she destroys it completely.  “Give in John.  You know deep down that you want to-“

 

“*NO!*” He clutches her wrist and sways around to face her.  His face is purple with rage and his head buzzes with the unremitting howl of sound and pain.  It’s growing until he can barely think, barely hang on to who he is.

 

Don’t fight it John.  He’s not even sure if that’s her or if it’s the voice in his head now.  He’s losing the battle and her glittering eyes only hasten the slide into the fog.

 

“Won’t…” he growls.  “Can’t let you… do this.”

 

“You don’t have any *choice*, John.”  Her laughter is derisive.  “It’s happening.  You’ve lost and *he’s* won.”

 

“*He…*”  Who’s *he*?  The rush of sound deafens him, blinds all his senses and he stumbles against her.

 

“Woah there,” she says softly.  And then he can hear the husky laughter in her voices as she moves his hand to her breast and strokes it across her nipple.  “Why don’t you just give it up and enjoy it John.  You *know* it’s what you want…” 

 

Fury detonates within him, and he lurches around, blindly seeking something to hit.  Something to assuage his pain.  In a jerky, violent movement he sweeps up the chair that sits at the desk behind him he hurls it at the mirror.  It’s accompanied by a bellow of unutterable anguish as the glass shatters into smithereens.

 

“*NOOOOO!*” His anguish continues as he yanks a chest of drawers off its legs and onto its side. 

 

Grace steps back and watches in satisfaction as he wreaks a trail of destruction around the room.  Lamps, the television, the telephone; all suffer at his hands as he takes his agony out in the only way left to him.  

 

And when, at last, his anger is spent, he sinks to the ground beside the bed, his head cradled in his hands.

 

And he stops fighting.  Stops fighting the noise and the pain.  Stops fighting the guilt.  

 

Marlena is lost.  You have nothing left to fight for.

 

And then he sinks into the darkness.

Grace watches him, an expectant and elated smirk plastered across her face.  And yet, there is a hint of nervousness as she lifts her index finger to her lips and bites on the nail. 

 

It had all been so easy once she had come to and found John carrying her to the bed.  He had practically done all the work for her.  He was so desperate for his precious Marlena to make her longed-for appearance that he had fallen for her act, hook, line and sinker.  Not that it had been hard, simply lie back and let him do all the work.  She’d just played the good little sexually inhibited Stepford Wife and he had eaten it up.  Almost like he’d wanted to, like he’d gotten tired of the game.  Almost like he’d wanted a reason to give into her….

 

And she’d basked in every single second of it.  The way he had looked at her, the way he’d touched her…  And somewhere deep down she is sure he’d known the truth.  That he was making love to her.  Grace.  Like she always said he would.

 

Quietly, she crawls onto the bed and eases herself down onto the crumpled sheets so that her head is level with his.  

 

“Given up yet?” she whispers in his ear.

 

Her heart pounds suddenly as he looks up at her, his eyes black and unfathomable.

 

“What do *you* think?”  There is the hint of a sneer lingering around his mouth and then he launches himself up and onto the bed, pinning her on her back.  His hands trap her arms against the hard mattress and his knees flank hers.  She’s not yet trapped, but she knows with certainty, the moment she tries to move, he will have her helpless.

 

She searches his face and finds John’s cerulean eyes staring back at her.  But in their depths, there is no John.  A stranger is staring back at her.  A stranger that something within her recognizes.  A stranger she wants.  More than anything.

 

“So, what happens now?” she asks, her voice strained, her body shivering with anticipation.  He says nothing and she wets her lips unconsciously.

 

And unexpectedly, she is on her feet, and he slams her against the wall, his forearm across her throat.

 

“Now…,” his voice is deep and gravelly, “now we play the game *my* way.”

 

“Oh?”  She lifts an eyebrow, even as her pulse rockets.  Her breath is coming in short, rapid beats and she raises trembling fingers to his chest.  “Is that right?”

 

“*Damn* right.”  With a growl, he drops his lips to hers and immediately snares her lower lip between his teeth.  Grace gasps as he bites her and a moment later, she tastes the heavy, metallic tang of blood spill onto her tongue.

 

And then it is swept away by the sensation of his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her breasts.  

 

She hungrily returns his searing kisses, her arms locking around his neck as she tries to pull him towards her.  He fights her, grabbing her arms and crashing them back against the wall.  His fingers are brutally tight around her upper arms as he jams his knee in between her legs and continues to kiss her.

 

She moans wantonly and drops her head back as he makes his way down her neck, alternately biting and sucking at her flesh as though it is his salvation.  She bucks against his leg and gasps as he grinds his thigh against her.

 

His grip on her is excruciating as he lowers his mouth to her breasts.  He is equally as harsh with her nipples and all she can do is to whimper as his teeth continue their sweet torture.

 

For as much as his ministrations sting, they are also turning her on beyond anything she thought possible.  She is painfully close to orgasm, just from the feeling of his mouth on her breasts.  

 

With unconscious desperation, she repositions herself, sliding her thigh up his and hooking her calf below his firm and delectable ass.  He growls into the softness of her breast and then raises his eyes to hers.  Grace shivers at the blackness she perceives beneath the eternal blue.  She could almost swear there was no soul there… if she didn’t know better.

 

“Who are you?” she demands fiercely.

 

“John.”  He releases her arm and slides his hand under her thigh.  He raises an eyebrow and smirks at her.  “I’m *John Black*.” 

 

“Oh…”  She shivers at his words.  Her eyes widen and she gasps as he lifts her and slams her against the wall again.  In a rough movement, he thrusts and it is accompanied by a guttural snarl as her wet warmth claims him.

 

Grace cries out her pleasure and is quick to move her other leg to embrace his hips as he continues to drive into her.  It is fast and brutal and there is no tenderness.  It is just a frenzy of lust and flesh as a sheen of sweat builds up over their bodies and their cries crescendo.  

 

It is pure and instinctive; raw animal sex as they climax together, Grace wrapped around his body, every muscle tensed with the ecstasy of release.

 

When they are done, he carries her over to the bed and deposits her on the crumpled sheets.  He starts to walk away, but she touches his hand, stopping him.  He turns to look at her and she is chilled by the iciness of his stare.  And suddenly she feels an ache that almost reduces her to tears.

 

John is gone.

 

Pull it together Grace.  This is what you wanted.  You wanted *this* John.  The John that doesn’t play by the rules.  The John that Stefano told you about.

 

“What?” he asks dispassionately.

 

“What do you remember?” Her voice is firm and steady as she holds his gaze.  This is the most important moment.  When they establish their strength in relation to one another.  When he learns that she is not to be toyed with.

 

“Remember?”  He raises one eyebrow.  “Enough.”

 

Grace says nothing, but a tiny smile shifts her lips.  This could be interesting.

 

“Oh?”  She leans back against the pillow and watches him from under her lashes.  “And how much is enough?”

 

He smirks at her.  He remembers plenty.  He’s been struggling out of the darkness for months now.  He’s been fighting the shackles of Dimera’s machinations and the strict moral fiber of ‘John Black’.  And now, finally, with her help, he has his freedom.

 

“Enough to know,” he eyes her with a voracious leer, “that you’re quite a woman.”  

 

“Is that right?”  She tries, unsuccessfully, to hide her own smile.

 

He says nothing for a moment, just gives her a long and frankly appraising stare.  “What’s your story?”  He demands eventually.  “Really.  What’s your agenda?”

 

“Freedom.”  She purses her lips.  “And to win.”

 

“Win what?”  He raises an eyebrow.  

 

She pauses for a long moment, taking the opportunity to rake his beautiful body with her gaze.  “*Everything*,” she tells him succinctly.

 

He looks at her for a moment and then his mouth curls into an amused smile and a laugh erupts from his throat.  There’s no feeling behind the laughter though.  No soul.

 

Grace shivers, a splinter of misgiving worming its way into her emotions.  She takes a deep breath and shakes the unwelcome feeling off.   This is what she wanted.  She’s destroyed John and now she has *this* John, as brutal and as formidable as she is.  *This* John won’t let petty emotions get in the way.  He won’t let the shackles of honesty and righteousness bind him.

 

Together, they will take on the world.  And take everything they want from it.

Chapter LXX – Disorganization

“I’ll just *bet* Stefano is crazy about you,” John nears the bed, returning her blatant gaze with one of his own.  He takes in her lush curves and the spun gold of her hair.  The sardonic curve of her lips makes his heart beat a little faster.  “You’re exactly the kind of woman that reduces the old man to a mass of quivering jello.  I’ll bet you have him wrapped around that… exquisite little finger of yours.…”

 

She returns his predatory smile as he runs a hand casually up her calf.  

 

“Stefano…” her eyebrows lift with just the hint of a smile reaching the hazels below.  She really needs to find out exactly what John Black *did* for Stefano. “Well, I suppose you could say we make a good team.”

 

“A good team.”  He repeats her words with a touch of sarcasm.  “I can imagine.  I assume you took over where Gina left off?”

 

Grace freezes.  This is the question she’s been dreading.  She schools her expression into one of indifference.

 

“Gina!” She deliberately scoffs at the mention of her predecessor.  “Gina was a waste of good oxygen.  Stefano couldn’t wait to be rid of her.”

 

John laughs again, coldness and cruelty echoing through the vibrations of his mirth.

 

“Be thankful you didn’t have to work with the stupid bitch.  It was the longest job I was ever assigned when Stefano had us working together.”  His face takes on an expression of disgust as he remembers his time with the ‘Princess’.  “I had to pretend to ‘have feelings’,” the sarcasm drips from his words as he rolls his eyes, “just to get her to finish the damn job.  I can’t even express how many times I almost threw her off a building.”

 

Grace can barely contain her glee as she hears him talk about Gina.  She knows what happened on the submarine with John and Hope.  When they’d supposedly been influenced by the feelings of their former personas.  For a moment she had been convinced this John was going to reveal his *grand passion* for Gina.  And that would complicate matters far too much.  

 

Besides.  How could she ever respect a man who had loved, or wanted, Gina?

 

“I must say,” her eyes glitter, “I’m rather glad to hear that.”  

 

“The old man,” he says carefully, “is the only person who has ever told me what to do…”  He smiles, baring white, even teeth.  Which suddenly look predatory.  “At least the only person who ever lived to tell the story.”

 

A thrill runs through her.  He’s challenging her, already.  Stefano must have known that this would happen.  That mercenary man John Black would be the one person beside him who could provide her with the contest of wills she craves.

 

She’s beaten Marlena’s John Black into submission.  She’s broken him and now she’s left with… John Black.  mercenary man.  The incarnation of Stefano’s most valued pawn.  

 

She looks him up and down, her gaze lingering on the planes of hard muscle and curves of hot flesh.  Her body tenses and the rivulets of lust congregate in her groin as he returns her ravenous gaze.

 

“If that’s a challenge, John,” she licks her lips, “you may just have met your match.”

 

John returns her come-on with a chilled smile.

 

“Don’t count on it, Blondie,” he raises an eyebrow but at the same time, he eases himself down on the bed, next to her.  “I live my life by one set of rules.”  He runs the palm of his hand over her breast and up to her neck, where he circles the delicate flesh with calloused fingers..  “My own.”

 

Grace feels a fleeting surge of emotion.  A pain which she can’t, or won’t, pinpoint.  Instead, she ignores it, pushing it back into her unconscious.  “And if *I* don’t want to live by your rules?”

 

John shrugs.  “Don’t see anything shackling us together, do you?”

 

Grace starts to shake her head but finds herself gasping instead as his fingers weave through her hair and her eyes flutter closed.  

 

“*She* might have been *his* wife,” he growls, even as his fingers travel over her throat and her jaw, “but I’m a free agent.  You slow me down, Blondie, and we’re history.”

 

Cinnamon eyes open, and she lifts them to meet the intensity of his gaze.  The wintry blueness strips her defenses for a moment and a stinging pain shoots through her chest.

 

“And if I don’t slow you down?”

 

“I’m sure we can come to some,” his hand slips down over her breasts and seeks the lush curve where her waist meets her hip, “kind of accommodation.”

 

“I’m no mere bedfellow,” she shakes her head with a warning glare.  “You might think you’ve got all the aces John, but you’d be wrong.”

 

“Oh, believe me,” he grins sadistically, “I’m not about to underestimate you.  I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”  With a single, smooth moment, he pulls her towards him and rolls over so that she is astride him.  “And I’m quite impressed.”

 

“Is that right?”  A small smile steals across her lips.  He’s going to be a challenge all right.  Like nothing else she’s ever encountered.  Like no-one else.

 

“That’s right.”  He sucks in a fierce breath and then groans as she takes him in her hand.  “Oh fuck *me*.”

 

Her throaty laughter fills the room.  “Only if you ask nicely.”  

 

~

 

The next morning Grace wakes up to find the space next to her empty.  With a fleeting echo of fear sounding in her head, her eyes search the Spartan room.  It is, of course, also empty.

 

With a curse that would make a construction worker blush, she pulls on a shirt and yanks open the door.  She takes a step and then stops short, her heart pounding.

 

John is sitting, wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs, on the steps of the balcony, a cigarette between his finger and thumb.  A thin stream of smoke curls from his nose and up to dissolve into the moist and heavy air.

 

“Thought I’d done a runner huh?” he drawls before lifting the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply.  “Damn I’ve missed that.”

 

“Missed what?” she leans against the door, crossing her arms defensively.

 

“Nicotine,” he closes his eyes and leans his head back, blowing a long stream of smoke through his nose.  

 

“How?”  She wants him to look at her, to acknowledge her, but she’s not going to force the issue.  She needs to be careful.  He’s smart and he’s dangerous and she needs to win each round of the dance with cunning and perseverance.  “I mean, I don’t understand how you remember what John Black lived.”

 

He’s silent as he appears to contemplate her question.  Beyond the dusty parking lot in front of the strip of motel rooms, eighteen-wheelers thunder past.  It’s not even nine and already the heat is rising, the full force of summer rushing to meet them with unseemly haste.

 

Grace brushes the hair out of her face and gazes out over the concrete jungle that stretches out from the motel.  How anything can live here, let alone people, she doesn’t know, or even want to understand.  This kind of life is so far removed from her own that it’s almost as though it’s another planet.  And she hates it.

 

“John Black.”  He sneers as he stubs out the cigarette and flicks it into the weeds that grow at the side of the porch.  “Weak bastard,” he pauses to pick up the cigarette packet and draw out another smoke.  He taps it against the packet and then lifts it to his lips. He looks as though he’s going to toss the packet to one side but suddenly he turns to look at Grace and holds it out.  “Want one?” he asks, smoke bouncing up and down between his lips as he talks.

 

“No.  Thank you.”  She shakes her head, a look of distaste lingering as he turns back.  In a single movement, he drops the packet by his feet and swipes up a box of matches.  He strikes one and cupping his fingers around it, he carefully holds it to the end of the cigarette.  The tobacco flares and glows as he shakes the flame from the match, and he takes another lungful of the noxious smoke.  “Christ that feels good.”  He rolls his head back again and closes his eyes, simply enjoying the feeling of the smoke and the nicotine as it winds through his head and into his blood.

 

His words and his actions have a distinctly sexual overtone and Grace is discomforted to find herself turned on as she watches him.  She wants him to want her as much… no, much more than he wants that packet of cigarettes.

 

“What was I saying?”  His voice shakes her from her thoughts and finally he turns to look at her.  “You think he was weak, don’t you?”

 

“Do I?” she counters.  She’s not about to give away anything.

 

“Of course you do,” he grins wickedly.  “And you’re right.  But not in the way you think.”

 

“Oh?”  Her arms tighten across her middle.

 

“His love for her was the only thing that kept him together.”  John smirks.  “I was there the whole time.  Once that fucking stupid chip had gone, I was simply waiting for the chink in the defenses.  But as long as he loved her, as long as he thought he could save her, it kept him on top.”

 

Grace feels like her cheeks are burning as she looks at him.  She swallows, trying to moisten a suddenly parched throat.

 

“He didn’t love her,” she avows stubbornly, almost desperately.

 

“Of course he did,” his eyes narrow as he watches her reaction.  “You know, for such an intelligent woman, sometimes you really are stupid.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grace snaps with a coldness that counteracts the heat of the day.  “How dare you!”

 

“Pretty easily,” he shrugs.  “Listen Blondie, he was *crazy* about Marlena.  Always has been, ever since… well, forever.  And you might look like her, but babe, he would never have loved you like that.”  He grins, a feral gleam in his blue eyes.  

 

“Is that supposed to upset me?” she raises her eyebrows, even though inside, there’s a turmoil of feelings that she can’t even name that threatens to eat her inside out.

 

“I don’t know,” he raises his eyebrow in return.  “Does it?”

 

She wants to shoot back some biting retort that will stop him dead in his tracks.  Wants to wipe that smug smile from his face and prove to him that he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on in her head.  

 

But she can’t.  Can’t find the words.  Couldn’t spit them out over the lump in her throat even if she could find them.

 

“You’ll be much better off with me.”  He winks suggestively at her in a way that makes her feel almost dirty, and then turns back to contemplate the trucks that roar past.

 

Grace glares at the back of his head, her chest rising and falling in barely contained rage.  Twin red patches burn on her cheeks and beneath her still-crossed arms, her hands are clenched into whitened fists.

 

Self-righteous, arrogant *bastard*!  How dare he!  He knows *nothing*.  She takes an unsteady breath, trying to calm herself before she speaks again.  She won’t let him see that he has hit his mark.  After all, it’s not like she wanted John to love her.  It’s not like any of it is important to her at all.  She just wanted to win, that’s all.  

 

Just wanted to break John, and she’d done that.

 

“Well, if you want to stick with *me*,” she says haughtily, “you’d better be ready to go in ten minutes.  Because I’m out of here at nine, whether you’re with me or not.”

 

She doesn’t wait for his answer, just turns back to the room and slams the door behind her. 

Chapter LXXI – Balance of Position

The humidity has already penetrated the walls and twisted into the dimmest recesses of the room.  Irritably, she crosses the floor and picks up a pile of discarded clothing.  She hears the door open behind her and chooses to ignore him as she makes her way to the bathroom.

 

She’s about to enter it when he grabs her arms and spins her around to face him.

 

His face is inexpressibly cold, his eyes pinpoints of frigid blue in a sun-darkened face.

 

“Don’t threaten me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and there is a vicious undertone that sends a chill coursing over Grace’s skin.   

 

“Don’t threaten you!”  She laughs condescendingly.  “Babe, if I ever threaten you, you’ll know all about it.  You might think you’re the big man about town, but you don’t want to take me on.  You think you have me pegged, but you know nothing about me.”

 

“You don’t think I’ve been watching you from behind *his* eyes for the past two months?” John Black growls as he steps closer to her.  Her eyes narrow as she glares at him, defiantly standing her ground.  “Sweetheart, I had you worked out from day one.  So don’t think you can surprise me.”

 

“You can think what you want,” her heart is pounding as she continues to hold his icy stare.  “The fact remains, you only know what you’ve seen.”  She lifts her finger to his face and points at him deliberately.  She knows it’ll provoke him, and she doesn’t care.  In fact, provocation is what she wants right now.  Her voice is low and glacial as she continues.  “I’m telling you, you don’t know me, and you don’t want to mess with me.  I happen to know you’re not as clever as you think you are, so why don’t you just *back* off.”

 

His reaction is as anticipated as he grabs the hand in his face and shoves her roughly against the wall.

 

“Listen lady,” his voice is little more than a slow, gravelly rasp in the stultifying heat of the room.  “I won’t say this more than once.”  He pushes up against her, pinning her to the wall, his face mere inches from hers.  “I don’t like games; I don’t take orders and I won’t be hanging around if you continue to push me.”  He flashes an arrogant grin.  “I’ve seen too many of the old man’s conquests, I know his M.O., how he breaks people, how he trains them, and I know the games he plays.”  His grip softens and he takes a small step back.  “Believe me, I’ve seen enough like you to know exactly what you’re about.”

 

Grace is silent for a moment and then a slow, fierce smile curls her lips.  “Well then,” she says softly, “looks like you have me pegged.”  She steps away from the wall and makes to walk away.  But after a couple of steps, she turns back to look at John.  “Except, you know…”

 

With a lightning fast movement, she attacks him, a whirl of punches and kicks that catches him totally off guard.  He staggers for a moment and then grabs her arm and sweeps her feet out from under her.  But unexpectedly, she takes him down with her and she is up on her feet before he even realizes what has happened.

 

He climbs to his feet angrily and lunges for her with a roar.  She sidesteps him and brings him crashing to the ground with a well-placed kick.  This time, however, he drags her down on top of him and he tries to grab her arms.  She breaks free and deals him a right hook that momentarily blinds him.

 

“I’m not one of Stefano’s conquests,” she grunts as she hits him again, “and I’m not any kind of example of his M.O.”

 

John manages to grab both her wrists now and he spits blood from his mouth onto the soiled carpet as he stares at her.

 

“Stefano didn’t make me and he doesn’t control me,” she hisses, “which means you have *no* hope.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” John counters hoarsely.  He’s not about to let this blonde bitch get the better of him.  No matter how attractive she might be, she’s still just a woman, and he’s not being brought low by a mere woman.

 

 She twists her arm, trying to escape his grip and he tries to right himself at the same time as fighting to keep hold of her.  Their struggle intensifies as she breaks one hand free and scrambles a little away from him.

 

He growls and lunges for her again, smacking her backwards so that she hits the ground with a thump that leaves her winded.  In that moment he is on top of her, and she is flailing at him.  

 

He falls back with a curse as her nails catch his face, scratching parallel grooves from his forehead down across his cheek. 

 

“Fucking HELL,” he yells as she struggles upwards, “you *BITCH*.”

 

“Told you not to underestimate me.”  She’s almost laughing.  Well, she would be if she wasn’t so breathless.  

 

And then he’s upon her again, throwing her back onto the bed and he’s over her and all he wants to do, with every fiber of his being, is hit her.  

 

But he can’t.

 

And it’s nothing to do with the way she’s looking up at him, her golden eyes wild and hostile.  Nothing to do with her full lips, nothing to do with the way she’s panting, her full breasts rising and falling so that he can see glimpses of her nipples through the torn shirt.

 

It’s nothing to do with that, although now he has stopped, that has definitely captured his full attention.

 

What stopped him, though he’s not even aware of it now, is the voice in the back of his head.  The voice that does not belong to him.

 

And then he’s completely forgotten about the voice as moves his body atop hers and claims her mouth with his own.

 

Grace struggles briefly beneath him, but his mouth on hers and the feeling of his hardness digging into her belly soon puts paid to any thoughts of resisting any further.

 

Instead, she moans and arches her back, baring her neck to him.  He immediately takes up on her offer and slides his mouth down to her neck, sucking and biting on the hot, salty flesh, his hands twisting into her tangled hair.

 

Grace’s hands slip down over his shoulders and her fingernails dig furrows into his back as he works her skin with ravenous lips.

 

Within the span of a moment, she is tugging on the waistband of his boxers and between them they struggle to remove the sweat-soaked garment.   Then, rolling onto one elbow, John one-handedly rips the remainder of the buttons from Grace’s shirt and she gasps as he roughly yanks it over her shoulders.

 

Retaliating, she reaches down and slides her hand around his cock, squeezing roughly as she draws her cupped fingers up his throbbing length.  John groans and tries to extricate himself from her grip.  His attempt is unsuccessful however and she pushes him onto his back and straddles him in a quick movement.

 

“Jesus Christ!”  He doesn’t even attempt to collect his breath as she lowers herself onto him, sliding down around him, enveloping him a slick, moist warmth that brings him almost to orgasm the moment he is entirely inside her.

 

He manages to gather himself though and looks up at her through the haze of pleasure and lust.  She looks incredible above him, riding him like she was born to it.  Her hair is messy, and her lips are red, and her eyes are closed as she tightens her thighs, thrusting against him.

 

Grace is beyond any kind of rational thought.  All she can feel is the tension building within her as she dances atop him.  She can feel him inside her, his hands on her and the burning echo where his mouth plundered her neck and lips.  And she can feel the wave rising as he hits the spot again and again and again….

 

And she grabs his arms and cries out as her orgasm thunders through her body, her muscles and nerves and blood singing with the crashing pleasure of release.  And the sound of her and the feeling of her clenching around him sends John’s consciousness reeling as he grunts and tightens and thrusts until every last bit of pleasure has been ridden into extinction.  

 

And then Grace settles on top of him, and the room is silent. 

Its several moments before she gathers enough energy to roll off him and she collapses onto the thin damp sheets of the bed and lays staring at the ceiling.  She’s not entirely sure exactly what just happened.  Well, she knows what happened, she’s just not sure who came out on top….

 

For a moment there, he had almost frightened her and then his aggression had suddenly dissolved into lust and as much as she might have wanted to resist him, it was too easy and too gratifying a way to exit what had become a potentially very dangerous situation.

 

She has let him goad her into doing something stupid and she has to be damn careful that didn’t happen again.  He isn’t Marlena’s John, and she can’t count on his feelings for Marlena to protect her from his wrath.  And while she is more than capable of looking after herself in a physical fight, there is no point in going *looking* for trouble.

 

Situations like this morning’s have a habit of escalating and usually ended up in someone getting seriously hurt.  Or seriously dead.  And it isn’t usually her.  Well, ever her.  And she isn’t ready to part with John’s company just yet.  He will be useful if she wants to get to Stefano’s property and find the information she’s looking for.  

 

The information that will just finish the Brady family off well and truly.

She looks over at him to find him staring at her.  His expression is unreadable, and she chooses to look instead at the mess she has made of his face.  There is blood congealing in the scratch that runs from his hairline to the middle of his cheek and his lip is swollen and split.  She’s probably covered in his blood, she realizes, as she lifts her fingers to her neck.

 

“I guess we won’t be leaving at nine after all,” John offers in a raspy voice.  “You want the bathroom first or…”

 

“No, you,” Grace says quietly.  And then, as he struggles from the bed, “I… I’m sorry ab-about….” she trails off, waving lamely at his face.

 

John looks at her for a long moment but says nothing as he turns and heads for the bathroom.  

 

Grace exhales a long breath she’s been holding and flops her head back down on the bed.  The next few days are going to be interesting, to say the least….

Chapter LXXII – Windmill

It is close to an hour later when they leave the motel.  And still, not a word has been spoken between them.

 

The silence lengthens as they swing out of the parking lot and onto the road.

 

Grace is driving but she slides sideway glances at John as she navigates their way back onto the interstate.  She has no idea what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.  He still looks like he wants to kill her.

 

Still, he *had* asked for it.  With his obnoxious superiority complex and his refusal to respect that she is very much her own person.  He had deserved every moment of it.  

 

Except…

 

She squirms slightly in her seat as she slides him another look.  That moment when she had surrendered to him, when they had lost themselves in that precarious eruption of sexual rage, had unnerved her.  But it had also turned her on incredibly.  She’s not sure she wants to go there again.  Or if she can resist going there.

 

For his part, John is very aware of her looks, and he deliberately ignores her, his face like thunder as he gazes out of the window at the scenery that hurtles by.  The raw scoring on his cheek throbs and burns, forcing him to constantly revisit the earlier events in the motel room.

 

He’s not even sure what happened.  All of a sudden, she’d attacked him, and they’d been fighting and then they’d been fucking.  And Jesus, the fucking had been fucking *unbelievable*.

 

He shifts uncomfortably, realizing he’s getting hard, just thinking about it.  

 

He’s not used to feeling like this about a woman.  Any woman.  He’s not used to letting *anyone* have this kind of effect on him.  He’s a free agent.  He chooses to work for the old man, but the moment Stefano gets too demanding, he walks away.   

 

And his sexual encounters are just that.  Encounters.  No emotion and rarely any lust.  He doesn’t feel the need for anything more than a release.  Anything more is an intrusion on his life.  On his freedom.

 

That’s the reason Stefano trusted him.  The reason he didn’t try and control John.  Because Stefano knew him for the cold, calculating son-of-a-bitch he was, and the old man knew nothing would come between John and his work.  Those who tried always regretted it.  If they lived to, that was.

 

And now, this woman… who looks like his wife but who attacks like a wildcat and who fucks like some kind of angelic whore.  And even despite the fact that he’s showered and scrubbed, the scent of her still lingers on him and it’s driving him wild.  

 

And he hates it.

 

Hates that she is inside his head.  Hates that it’s just possible she might be right, and she might not be as predictable as he’d imagined.  Hates that he can’t stop thinking about how she feels, the things she does to his body…

 

He makes a growling noise deep in his throat and unconsciously clenches his fists.   The sooner he can ditch her and get back to his own life, the better.  His own life… uncompromising, hard and simple

 

Gina hadn’t been like this.  Gina had been nothing more than a diversion.  A warm body, something and nothing.  Gina had been easy to walk away from.  She hadn’t wanted it to be easy.  She had made it as difficult as fucking possible with her screeching and her tantrums.  But at the end of the day, or more importantly, in the long dark hours, he had never thought of her.

 

But where Gina was dark, angular planes and cold, soulless sex; this woman is…. anything but.  This blonde sexpot, she is intriguing and captivating and utterly breathtaking….

 

…. and he still hates it….

 

“Are you planning to ignore me for the rest of the trip or….?”  Her tone is implacable.  

 

She’s not used to being ignored.  She doesn’t like it and she’s not prepared to put up with it.  She doesn’t care how angry he is, or how unstable.  She’s had enough of this crap.

 

She’s pissed off.

 

“That’s the plan, yeah” he snarls, continuing to watch the swamps as they flick past his window.

 

“Well,” her voice is low and even, but it holds a low and unmistakable warning.  “Change the plan.  I don’t hold well with being ignored.”

 

“You don’t have a choice.”  He narrows his eyes and flicks his gaze in her direction.  She looks about as furious as he feels.

 

“Is that right?” she raises one eyebrow and then stabs on the brakes.

 

John curses as the tires shriek against the asphalt and the jalopy groans to an abrupt halt.  Behind them there is the squealing of horns as cars swerve into the outside lane and he sees the flashing of fingers as vehicles rip past.

 

“Get out,” Grace deadpans.

 

He turns on her, his face crimson.  “Are you fucking *crazy*?”

 

“No, I’m fucking *furious*,” she rounds on him, her cinnamon eyes flashing with yet unexpressed wrath.  

 

“Don’t *fuck* with me John.  I will NOT put up with it.  I don’t take shit from *anyone*, and I am NOT simply a warm body for your pleasure.  You either treat me like an equal, like a fucking *human being*, or you can get out.”  Her eyes flash and John has no doubt that she is deadly serious.   He feels a sliver of misgiving in his heart as she utters her final words.  “Make your decision.  NOW.”

 

“All right, fine,” he mutters.

 

“What was that?”  She ignores the horn of the eighteen-wheeler that is slowing up in the lane behind her.

 

John takes a deep breath, trying desperately to ignore the urge to throttle her.  Instead, he grimaces.  “This isn’t a situation I expected.”

 

“What?  Actually meeting your match?”  She demands.  “A *woman* who is your match?”

 

The honking behind them has grown almost deafening and John cringes at the roaring of brakes.  Beside him, Grace is as cool as can be.

 

“John?”

 

“Just move the *fucking car*!” he screams at her.  “I’m sorry I underestimated you.  I’m sorry if I upset you.  Just move the *GODDAMN FUCKING CAR*.”

 

Grace’s mouth curls into a satisfied half smile as she taps the accelerator, and they move forward again.

 

“I’m glad we understand one another,” she says mildly.

 

“I understand that you’re fucking *nuts*,” he replies with unabated hostility.

 

“Well, if you want to change your mind and get out….” she pauses and lets the silence speak instead.   She knows she has him hooked.  If he *really* couldn’t stand her, he’d already be gone.  He would have left after they’d fucked.  Hell, they probably wouldn’t even have gotten that far.    

 

He says nothing, just looks at her, his eyes narrowing.  And suddenly, against all reason, she realizes that he’s no longer radiating fury.  Instead, there is a familiar look in his blue eyes.  A look that makes her stomach flip and her knees weak.

 

“Pull off,” he growls.

 

She says nothing, just takes the off ramp he indicates, trying to still the trembling of her fingers on the steering wheel.  He’s still staring at her as she pulls into the parking lot of a Comfort Inn, his indigo glare searing her nerves until they are as taut as piano strings.

 

“Get out.”  His voice is harsh and the sound of it grates against her already frayed senses.  She doesn’t understand how he can do this to her with merely a look and she’s also not quite sure why she doesn’t even care.  “Go to the last stall in the ladies,” he is saying.  “I’ll meet you in there in a couple of minutes.”

 

She looks at him for a moment, trying to judge his sincerity.  The last thing she needs is to come back out and find he has disappeared with the car.  

 

But his expression makes her swallow convulsively.  He is all fire and lust.  It’s almost as if he has expanded to fill her whole world.  There is nothing she needs but to have him.  Possess him.  Have him possess her.

 

Her mouth is suddenly parched.  She wants him so badly it literally hurts.

 

Without a word, she palms the keys and slips out of the car.  She looks back only once as she reaches the entrance to the hotel.  He is standing at the back of the jalopy, watching her, a lustful smirk playing on his lips.  She smiles in return and enters the building.

 

There are two male clerks on the desk and they, along with the porter, all stop as Grace glides across the lobby.  She’s wearing a sundress, strappy sandals and not much else and she looks distinctly like one of Hitchcock’s ice goddesses.

 

“Can I help you ma’am?” the porter asks desperately, his eyes wide as she passes.

 

“No thank you,” she flashes him a quick smile as she spots the bathroom sign and heads towards it.  He watches her go, his jaw dropping slightly at the sight of all that blonde hair and bronzed skin.

 

“Yeah Jimmy, I’d just bet I know what kind of help you had in mind,” Drew calls from the desk, a chuckle in his voice.  “Dame like that wouldn’t even give a chump like you a second look.”

 

“Oh yeah, and what would you know about it?” Jimmy pulls awkwardly on his waistcoat.

 

“*Jesus* she was *hot*,” the other clerk stare in the direction of the bathroom, completely ignoring the exchange between his friends.  “What I wouldn’t fucking *give*…”

 

“Yeah…” Jimmy stared distantly at the door, “can you imagine those legs wrapped around you-“

 

Jimmy’s feet suddenly lose all connection with the ground and at the same time, his tie tightens around his neck.  Before he knows it, he is smashed face first into the wall.  And he is painfully aware that there is a hand holding the collar of his shirt and another wrenching his arm up behind his back.

 

“I’d curb your overactive imagination if I was you, kid,” a voice snarls nastily in his ear.  “I ever hear you talk about a lady like that again and you’ll be lucky if you find a woman that won’t run screaming from the room when you walk in.  You get my drift, son?”

 

“Ye…yes sir,” Jimmy stammers.  He’s been threatened before but this guy fucking *means* it, he can tell.  And he’s terrified.

 

“Good.”  The voice hisses.  “Now what do you say, you miserable little turd?”

 

Jimmy doesn’t quite know what he means, and he is silent for just a split-second too long.  “I *said*, what do you fucking *say*?”

 

He gives a scream of pain as the hand that is holding his arm moves in a way that should be a physical impossibility.  Jimmy hears the cracking of bone in his forearm, and he tries not to cry.  “I… I’m sorry… won’t do it again… I promise…”  He’s babbling, he knows, and he doesn’t care.  He just wants this psychopath to go away and leave him alone.  Actually, he just wants to go home and pack all of his stuff and leave this godforsaken place.

 

“Good kid, glad to hear it.”  John releases his hostage and Jimmy crumples to the ground.  

 

He leaves the boy there and raises his eyebrow as he saunters past the desk clerks.  They avert their eyes and frantically pretend to be busy shuffling through papers.  Which is as it should be.  No-one will bother them now.

 

Grace is waiting for him in the bathroom stall, and he enters and locks the door behind them.  With a predatory expression, he pushes her back against the door.

 

“You fucking annoy the ever living *crap* outta me, you know that?”  He says as he runs coarse fingers across her shoulder, flipping down the strap of her dress.

 

“Yeah,” she gasps, as his mouth seeks out the soft flesh of her neck.  “I know…oh…”  her eyes open wide as she feels his hand under her skirt. ” I know that.”

 

“Good.”  He slides his fingers up the inside of her thigh as his lips find hers.  “Because you drive me fucking crazy.”  And then his tongue is inside her mouth and his hands are tearing at her flimsy panties.  And she kisses him as if her life depends on it.  She can’t get enough of him, and he can’t get enough of her and it was as though they were created to love and hate and drive each other insane.  

 

Her fingers are in his hair and her tongue tangles with his and she gasps as his fingers slide inside her.  And she moans and rolls her head back against the door as he pulls her dress down and bends his head to her breast.  And it’s all soft and hard and fire and destruction and she sobs as he brings her to the brink of orgasm with the softest of touches.

 

Then he pulls away and unbuckles his jeans.   Grace struggles for air and braces herself against the door as he drops the denims around his ankles.

 

“Oh *God*!”  She’s barely coherent as he enters her. As he moves, his fingers are unthreading her ponytail, spreading shimmering hair around her shoulders.  With a grin, he moves in, inhaling her fragrance, burying his face in her golden mane.

 

“Your legs,” he whispers in her ear between snatched breaths as he slides a hand down one naked thigh.  “I want you to wrap those fucking incredible legs around me.”

 

“Oh god, John,” she moans as she wraps her arms around his neck and allows him to lift her up against the door.  She crosses her ankles across his ass, the dangling straps of her heels chafing his skin as she moves against him.

 

“Oh Jesus,” he buries his face in her cleavage as he thrusts into her.  “Christ woman, I don’t know what the hell you’ve done to me, but whatever it is, don’t stop doing it.”

 

“Oh… oh…. oh John….oh God…” her fingers dig into the flesh of his shoulders as he pounds her against the door.  And then she’s practically wrapped completely around him as she shudders and screams through her climax.  John grunts and wraps his fingers in her hair, abruptly pulling her down to kiss him as he comes.

 

But, suddenly and inexplicably as she buries her face in his neck, tears lace her lashes.  The bewildering pain that swells inside her is as unfathomable as it is disconcerting.  She doesn’t want to analyze it, she doesn’t even want to acknowledge it.  It feels threatening and dangerous and…. so. fucking. *empty*.

 

She can’t even look at him as he wordlessly untangles her and lets her down.  Instead, she sets about busily straightening her dress and hair as he saunters out of the stall and turns on a tap as though he hasn’t a care in the world. 

 

When they leave the bathroom ten minutes later, the desk clerks wordlessly watch them go.  Jimmy is nowhere to be seen.

 

It is not until the jalopy has peeled out of the parking lot that Drew dares to speak.  

“Jesus H. Christ,” is all he manages to spit out.

Chapter LXXIII- Kibitz

“So, where are we going?” John asks as Grace pulls her hair back into a loose chignon.  He is driving as she resurrects some semblance of order about herself.  

 

She crosses her legs and arranges her skirt and John’s eyes drift from the bare skin of her thigh, up to her face.   She grins at him, knowing he both loves and hates her teasing him.

 

“New Orleans,” she answers as she smooths the cotton around her cleavage.

 

“Orleans?”  He frowns.  “Didn’t you know that Maison Blanche burnt?  It was razed, there’s nothing left there.  If that’s where we’re going, it’s a waste of time; you’re not going to find anything there.”

 

“Of course I know that,” she rolls her eyes.  “Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

 

“No,” he shakes his head, letting a slightly admiring smile slip.  “That, I certainly don’t.”

 

“Glad to hear it.”  She brushes long, slender fingers down his arm.  “However, while I’m *not* stupid, apparently your alter ego, and the rest of the Salem numbskulls are.  I can’t believe they missed such an obvious clue.”

 

“What do you mean?”  John concentrates on the interstate, speeding up the car to over-take another truck.

 

“Stefano.”  She says, as if it’s self-explanatory.  “He’s clever, but sometimes he’s dreadfully predictable.” 

 

“Well…yeah,” John agrees.  “But I’m still not entirely following you.”

 

“There.”  She points at an exit that indicates a route to New Orleans.  John pulls on the steering wheel and moves the vehicle over to the exit lane.  “Think about it John.  Think about *Stefano*.  Of *all* people, you should get it.  You were John Black, the pawn.  Kept at Maison Blanche. It’s a home square, sure.  But what makes *anyone* think that it’s the *only* home square?”

 

“Are you saying… that he has another house….?”  John’s eyes flick to her as he navigates the exit onto the new interstate route.  Grace looks pleased with herself.

 

“Of course he does John, where do you think we stayed when we were in the States?  He was always too aware that you might remember Maison Blanche, he was hardly going to keep me there if there was a danger you, or rather *Marlena’s* John, might stumble across that memory.  He’s always had adjacent “home squares” as he calls them.”

 

“Let me guess,” John says drolly, “Maison Noir?”

 

“Well done,” she replies with a hint of sarcasm.  “Like I said.  Predictable to a fault at times.”

 

“But I thought everything went up in flames in the fire.”

 

“No, not *everything*,” she tucks a few more strands of hair into the twist, as though this conversation is mostly meaningless.  “Apparently Stefano moved much of the most important paperwork when he had us-” she pauses as an image flashes through her mind.  

 

John, gaunt and filthy, his hair and beard matted.  His wrists manacled.  Anguish in his eyes as he looks at her.

 

“Uh…” she looks away, breathless.  Those are *not* her memories.  They’re NOT.  She doesn’t want them.  She doesn’t want any…..

 

“I can give you everything you want Stefano, and I will… if you let Marlena *go!*”

 

Her heart is pounding again and in her mind’s eye she can see John’s eyes burning as he looks at her.  As he raises the spoon to his mouth and takes a tremulous sip of the soup.

 

Grace looks down at her shaking hands and she bites her lower lip, hard.  She can’t let… she can’t *do* this.  She has to stay strong.  Marlena and John, they’re distant history.  She doesn’t want anything of them…. she doesn’t…

 

“What?”  John’s voice intrudes on her thoughts, and she takes a quick and surprised breath.  He seems completely oblivious to her distress.  “*Us*?”

 

“Well, I… I mean,” she stammers briefly before she pulls herself together, “I mean, um… uh… when he was holding John and Marlena prisoner down there.”

 

She wants to repeat it, to convince herself that John and Marlena are two separate entities and nothing to do with the two of them here in the car, right now.  But the images that are flashing through her head belie that thought.  

 

John in chains, his clothes ragged…. Stefano’s hands on her body…. Rom-, no, *Lamont* arriving…

 

She shudders, suddenly feeling nauseous.  “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

 

~

 

“Mr DiMera, sir,” the redheaded young man is tentative when he knocks on the half-opened door.

 

“Come.”  The normally cultured, baritone voice is little more than a menacing snarl and it is hardly inviting.  But he cannot turn back now.  He has been hand-picked to convey this news to the boss-man.  It is his responsibility.  No-one seems sure how Stefano will take the news and so they have left it to this young recruit to ride out the storm.  To bear the brunt of any ill-tempered outbursts that might ensue.

 

“Uh…sir…” he stands, legs apart, his hands behind his back.  It’s the legacy of the military regime under which Stefano has all his staff trained.  The discipline of his “family” is almost legendary among the circles in which Stefano moves.  And this new member has no intention of letting DiMera down.

 

“Yes?”  Stefano doesn’t even look up from the paperwork on his desk.  It is all he has done since Grace disappeared with John Black.  Shuffle paper from one side of his desk to the other.  It is the only thing that has stopped him from killing someone.

 

“We, uh, there was some intel on the wires a couple of minutes ago… about…”  He trails off, not knowing how to phrase the rest of the information.  No-one even dares to mention Grace’s name in DiMera’s presence.  She uses no last name and Stefano deems only top echelon members of his organization worthy of using her “given” name.  And John Black… well the mere mention of his name, of late, is enough to drive Stefano into an uncontrollable rage.

 

“About… *what*?!” Stefano is looking up at him now, the expression on his face one of pure malevolence.  The last thing he wants is to be interrupted with more pointless ramblings of his so far ineffectual “intelligence” network.  Every lead they’ve come up with so far has finished in a dead end so infuriating that he’s at the point of firing every single one of the imbeciles.

 

“Uh… there’s a motel in Louisiana sir….”

 

“And what *about* this godforsaken motel, boy?”  Stefano roars, pushing his chair out from his desk and raising himself to his full, intimidating bulky height.  “What about it?”

 

“Um, well….” Internally the young man is cringing, but he manages to stand his ground in front of his incensed employer.  “A couple… uh, well they matched the description of John Black and uh…”  he visibly flinches as he says her name, “your Grace, Mr. DiMera.  They stayed there for the night last night.”

 

“Louisiana?” Stefano snarls, the implications tumbling through his head almost faster than he can keep up with them.  If this is Grace… what the *hell* is she doing taking John to New Orleans?  

 

He has no doubt that if it is them, Grace is taking John Black there.  It has become painfully apparent to Stefano that Grace is a willing participant in this flight.  He had known before he had taken her to the airstrip that night that she was already infatuated with Black.  His only hope had been to remove her from the United States until he’d had John Black dealt with.  Had him killed if necessary.

 

But he hadn’t counted on John’s desperation.  Once again, he had underestimated Marlena’s husband, and he had paid the price.  He is still paying the price.  He has lost Grace.

 

For the moment.

 

But he has every intention of reclaiming her.  If he must kill John Black with his own hands to do it.  His eyes narrow, glowing with obsidian malice.  He *will* have her, no matter the obstacles.  He will *not* be denied.   

 

“Yes sir,” the young man is nodding.  “They paid cash, but the motel owner swore it was them.  He wasn’t happy because it seems they smashed up the room well and good.”

 

“Smashed it?”  Stefano is suddenly intrigued.

 

“Yeah,” the redheaded boy is relaxing visibly.  “The guy said they seemed pissed off with each other when they arrived, *and* when they left.”

 

“Interrrresting…”  Stefano’s r’s tumble lightly over his tongue as he contemplates this news.  Maybe things aren’t quite as bad as he’s imagined.  “And he positively identified them?”  

 

“From photographs, yes sir,” the recruit nods his head, clearly relieved at Stefano’s reaction.

 

“Good.”  Stefano looks down at his desk, sliding a piece of paper away from a photograph of a blonde woman.  A picture of Grace.   

 

With the first smile he’s allowed himself in weeks, he picks up the photograph and studies it closely.  “I want my plane ready to leave in two hours.  Have the pilot file a flight plan to New Orleans.”

 

“Yes *Sir*!”  The kid salutes him and turns, almost fleeing the room, he is so thankful for the reprieve.

 

Stefano lifts his free hand to the photo and draws thick fingers over the beautiful visage.  “I’m coming to collect what is *mine*.”  He pulls the picture to the breast of his jacket and a rapturous look crosses his face.  “And at last, after all this time, Grace my darling, you *will* submit to me….”  

 

He pauses and then pulls the photo back, looking at it again.  A darkness crosses his face and he talks again, as if to the photo.  “You *will* be mine.  Even if it means John Black must die…”

 

~

 

“You don’t want to talk about it?”  John gives a short, hard laugh.  “Well, that’s a turn up for the books.”

 

“How do you mean?”  Grace demands, despite herself.

 

“I mean,” John smirks, “All you ever want to seem to do is talk.  When you’re not wanting to fuck me, that is….”

 

She says nothing, just turns away from him and looks out of the window.  They are getting closer to the city but for now, John knows where he is going.  He was held at Maison Blanche after all.  Twice.

 

“Guess you managed to hang onto some of the ol’ Doc’s shrinkadelic tendencies huh?”  He grins, knowing he’s finally gotten to her.  It’s about time she got a taste of her own medicine.  “Tell me, was she as much of a wildcat in the sack as you?  Have to admit, that part of it’s a bit hazy…”  She doesn’t answer and he continues to needle her.  “Damn shame that really.  Would have liked to have compared the two of you.  Something tells me she would have been a hell of a ride….”

 

“Shut. Up.”  Grace hisses, almost silently.  “Just shut the *fuck* up.”

 

“Why?”  John chuckles, clearly enjoying himself.  “Maybe I should just ask the old man.  I’m sure he’s done the comparison testing.  Be interesting knowing which model he’d *really* like to get his hands on…”

 

“You *really* are a pig.”  She scowls, turning to glare at him.

 

“You just figured that out, babe?”  He laughs.  “Stefano didn’t exactly employ me because of my love of puppies.”  He loses the laughter, his face suddenly blank and frigid.  “In fact, I hate the nasty yapping little fuckers.”  

 

“Oh and here I thought you were all about the soft and fuzzy stuff,” her voice is icy with sarcasm.  “Tell me John, do you think you’re being funny?  Because I don’t.  I think you’re being incredibly offensive…” she turns a gaze on him that is so sharp it looks as though it could slice right through him.  “…and you should know, I don’t take kindly to provocation.”

 

“Hey, settle down, Blondie,” his enjoyment of the situation seems to abate a little.  “Just having a little fun here.”

 

“At my expense?”  She is *clearly* not amused.  “John, don’t flatter yourself, okay?  You might be trying to prove to yourself that I’m dispensable, but believe me, I’m more than happy to cut you lose after this is over.”

 

“This?”  He raises an eyebrow.  “And what exactly does *this* consist of sweetheart?  What exactly are you after in the ‘House of Darkness’, anyway?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” she replies angrily.  “I realize it’s in your nature to be a condescending prick, but please try and curb it.  For the moment.”

 

“Or what?”  He laughs.  “What exactly do you think you’re going to do?”

 

“Oh…” she looks around her and then without warning, she reaches out of the half-open window.  She doesn’t hesitate for even a moment as she smashes the wing mirror of the car with the heel of her palm.  Despite the rushing wind, she manages to extract a piece of the broken glass and with an evil smirk, she pulls it into the car and draws one jagged edge across the skin of John’s forearm.  

 

He yelps and pulls his arm away from her, the car serving violently as he attempts to pull it back under control.  “I’m sure I can think of something,” she chuckles.

 

“You’re fucking *crazy*!” He takes the staring wheel with the injured hand and slaps his good hand over the trickling blood.  Part of him wants to stop, pull over the car and teach her a lesson she won’t forget.  A lesson that will make her regret crossing him.  But a small voice inside his head tells him that if he gives into his anger, he might be the one that regrets it.

 

She’s something all right.  Hell, he’s certainly starting to see why the old man is so obsessed with her.  She’s dangerous and she might well be insane, but John kinda respects that.  He can deal with that.  He lives that.

 

He could learn to… well, not love her… he doesn’t love.  Period.  But he’s pretty sure already that he would never get tired of her.  She’s a challenge.  She’s… well, she’s a kindred spirit.  If he believed in such things, that is.

 

“Mmm-hmmm…”  A smile plays around her lips as she watches him.  “But you get my point, don’t you?”

 

John says nothing, but Grace can see the muscle in his jaw twitching crazily.  The same way John’s had.  The other John’s…. *her* John….

 

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he replies curtly, not willing to give anything away.  Not quite yet anyway.  “What do you want at DiMera’s?”

 

Grace draws her hand through tangled blonde hair, trying to shake the image of John as he was.  She can’t afford to have these feelings… she can’t afford to feel *anything*.  She has a job to do and….   What *is* she doing this for?

 

She no longer needs the information.  Not for the purpose of breaking John, anyway.  It’s surplus to requirement.

 

But still…. She wants it.    She’s not even entirely sure *why* she wants it.  She just knows she does.  Wants to hold that information in her hands and read it for herself.  Wants to know if there’s anything more Stefano has hidden from her….

 

Anything *more*….?  Jesus! She can’t even believe she’s having this conversation with herself.

 

“I want the truth,” she replies imperturbably as she turns away and looks out of the window towards the city.  “Just the truth…. for once…”

Chapter LXXIV- Discovered Check

It’s almost dark when they crawl up alongside the curb near Stefano’s secondary house.  It’s on the outskirts of New Orleans, not close to the location of Maison Blanche, but not too far either.

 

They have stopped in the city for a meal and a little necessary shopping.  They both now wear fitting black clothes and carry flashlights and a variety of useful weapons.  If they encounter trouble, they are more than equipped to handle it.

 

The problem still seems to be, handling each other.  

 

Things have gone from bad to worse since they arrived in the city, and they are barely talking as Grace kills the motor and stares out across the gathering gloom.  

 

“I still say this is a ridiculous plan,” John says as he slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it.

 

“Do you *have* to do that in the car?” Grace replies irritably.

 

“We may as well be walking up the drive and knocking on the old man’s door,” John draws on the cigarette and lazily exhales in her direction.  Grace gives a sigh of exasperation and rolls down her window.  John drapes his arm over the back of her seat and leans back, taking another long drag of the cigarette.  “You know, right?  He’ll have cameras sweeping every inch of that fucker.  A fucking *mouse* won’t be able to move in there without someone knowing about it and reporting it back to DiMera.  And *you* think we’re going to get in there without him finding out?”

 

“I didn’t *say* that.”  She turns to him, her expression stony.  “I’m fully aware that Stefano will know we’re there.  He’ll probably be on a plane down here before we’ve even stepped through the door.”

 

“If I know the old man,” John raises an eyebrow, “he’s probably on a plane down here already.”

 

“Probably,” Grace purses her lips and then shrugs with a small nod.  “Probably, yes.”

 

“Well then…” John reaches out and brushes her hair from her shoulder.  The gesture makes Grace’s stomach flip.  It should be a tender gesture… before…. it would have been.  Even when John couldn’t stand her, he was still inexplicably tender with her.  It seemed to be part of who he was, it was in his nature.  And God help her, she misses that.      

 

You can’t miss him.  He never really existed.  You didn’t want him and now he’s gone.  He belongs to Marlena.  He belongs to a world that’s dead and buried.

 

“But you see, don’t you…?”  She turns to him with determination flashing in her golden eyes.  “We don’t need to run now.  It was *John* that wanted to escape Stefano.  It was *John’s* agenda.  Is there any point in following it any longer?”  She looks back at the house again, her gaze becoming distant.  But there’s a challenge in her voice as she speaks again.  “So, are you scared of Stefano?”

 

“You know I’m not,” he growls, but there’s a sudden air of possessiveness about him as he leans towards her.

 

“Well, neither am I.”  She turns back to him, her eyes bright.  “Stefano has been good to me.”

 

“So, you’re going to go in there and wrap your arms around the old bastard’s neck?”  John asks cynically.  “You’re going to throw a welcome party?”

 

“Well…. No.”  She shakes her head.  “I’m not sure *what* I’m going to do.  I just know that there’s some information in there I want.  What happens next…?”  She shrugs her shoulders.  “I’ll deal with that when it comes.”  A small smile curls her lips.  “I rather like the unexpected.” 

 

John sighs heavily.  He’s not so keen on the unexpected.  The unexpected has bitten him in the ass before, after all.  The unexpected has stolen fifteen years of his life and it has brought him to a time and place he doesn’t know.  That he’s not sure he cares to know.

 

But then….

 

“Look John,” she turns to him, exasperation is evident in her voice.  “If you don’t want to come in with me, you don’t have to.  Just leave now.  I know what I want and it’s for me alone.  There’s really no reason for you to come along at all…”

 

He is silent as he looks at Grace, looks at her golden hair and the determined set of her jaw, and he feels his cock stir.  Yes, the unexpected can be bad but shit, it can also be fucking miraculous….

 

“You trying to get rid of me Gracie?”  There is wicked laughter in his voice as he reaches out and strokes her thigh.  “You know, it’s probably time the old man realized he’s not the only one calling the shots.”

 

He doesn’t see her roll her eyes in the darkness.  “Okay then, let’s just get on with it.  The sooner we get moving, the sooner we get…” she pauses, realizing she doesn’t even have any idea what the outcome of this evening is likely to be.  “Well, wherever we’re going….”

 

~

 

It is late when Abe comes into the Brady pub.  He is dog tired and it shows.   There are nights where he doesn’t sleep at all, nights where he leaves Lexie in bed and pads down to the living room.  There he just sits and stares alternately at his cell phone and at the computer screen waiting for some kind of message.  Something that will help him figure out where the hell John is.  And where he has taken Marlena.  Or the woman who used to be Marlena.

 

It’s not a police matter anymore.  Thanks to the DA’s office and their dodgy orders, the investigation into Roman’s death is dead and buried.  Which doesn’t sit well with Abraham Carver.  But he has no control.  And maybe, if Marlena is involved…  He hates to think it as an honest police officer… but maybe it is best for all those that he loves.

 

The thought of arresting Marlena and what it would do to Sami and Eric and well, the rest of the Brady family…  Abe can’t even imagine it.  

 

The honest truth is he can’t imagine what on this earth would drive Marlena to hurt Roman, let alone kill him.  Marlena simply wouldn’t do it.  She has been one of his closest friends as long as he can remember.  She doesn’t have it in her to hurt another human being, let alone her ex-husband.  

 

If Marlena is involved, it can’t be his Marlena.  It must be, as Hope claims, some kind of DiMera invention, some kind of implanted personality.  It’s the *only* thing that can explain everything that has happened, and all Marlena’s bizarre behavior.  It’s the only reason that John would have done the things he has done.  He must have been utterly desperate.

 

Despite all these suppositions, the bare fact is that John and Marlena are still missing.  They can theorize all they like but until they can talk to John and Marlena and find the truth, they are only theories.  And in the meantime, Samantha is slowly losing the plot and the rest of the Brady family is unraveling.  His friends have suffered so much, he just wants to do *something*, God, *anything* to help them.  To make it better for them.

 

And now, he might have just the thing.

 

“Hey Caroline,” he greets the Brady matriarch.  “Are Bo and Hope around?”

 

“They’re in the back,” she gestures to the door that leads into the Brady living quarters.  He follows her, noting how tired and stressed she looks.  Of course, having just lost her son, it’s not entirely surprising.  But even so, he knows Caroline and he knows how she feels about John and Marlena.  They might as well be her own children; she cares for them that deeply.  And on top of Roman’s death, this disappearance is wearing heavy on her.

 

In the living room, Hope is sitting on the sofa, leaning against her husband.  She still looks wan, but at least there is a smile on her face.  She is talking to Shawn-Douglas, but the room falls silent as Abe enters.

 

“Hey Abraham,” Bo manages a tight smile.  “What’s up?”

 

“Uh,” Abe looks uncertainly at Shawn-D.

 

“It’s okay Abe,” Hope reaches out and pats Shawn-D on the knee.  “Shawn knows what’s going on.”

 

“Can’t help but know when it’s all that the whole family is talking about,” Shawn shrugs.  “I’m just glad Belle’s not here to know what’s going down.”

 

“She doesn’t know anything about what’s going on with her Mom and Dad?” Abe asks as he sits on the sofa opposite Bo and Hope. 

 

“No,” Shawn shakes his head.  “Unless Sami’s blabbed in the past couple of days, she doesn’t know.  And I guess she would have called if she’d heard anything.”

 

“Small mercies,” Hope nods wanly as she sees the expression on Abe’s face.  “I don’t know that we’ll be able to keep it from Belle or Marlena’s parents much longer though.  Belle is sure to start asking questions soon.”

 

“Yeah, and Sami’s more than liable to give her the most outrageous answers she can come up with.” Bo shakes his head.  “That girl is a liability.”

 

“Well, hopefully we won’t need to cross that bridge,” Abe interjects.  “That’s what I came to tell you.  Our contact called in.  DiMera’s jet is in the air.  The pilot has filed a flight plan to New Orleans International.”

 

“He’s going to…” Bo’s brow furrows.  “Does he have property down there?  He hasn’t rebuilt Maison Blanche, has he?”

 

“No, that was the first thing I checked,” Abe holds out a sheaf of paper and Bo takes it, leafing through briefly.  “Maison Blanche is scheduled for redevelopment, but building hasn’t started yet.  But there are several,” he indicates the papers, “other possibilities.”

 

“And we think he’s gone down there…?” Hope raises one eyebrow.

 

“Yeah,” Abe’s voice comes low and husky with suppressed emotion.  “There’s only one reason DiMera would leave Salem now.”

 

“Because he knows where they are.”  Bo concludes with a nod.

 

“Well then, what are we waiting for?”  Hope immediately swings her legs off of the sofa.  “How soon can we get a flight?”

 

~

 

When they reach the perimeter of the mansion, John looks at Grace with a ‘told you so’ expression.  She ignores the feeling of trepidation that is growing in the pit of her stomach and instead inspects the window in front of her.

 

“Where’s the security?” John hisses.  “The dogs?  The guards?  The fucking floodlights?!  We’re walking into a fucking trap, Grace.”

 

“No *shit* Sherlock,” she bites back.  “And I’ve already told you, *I* don’t care.  I have no reason to fear Stefano.”  She turns her head and smiles slyly.  The moonlight lays a frosting of silver over her hair and catches the glint in her eyes.  For a moment John finds himself mesmerized by her beauty and he barely hears her words.  “But if you’re scared of Stefano, off you go.  You can run off like the *coward* you are.”

 

It takes him a moment before his brain catches up with her taunts, but when it does, his expression darkens.

 

“Go on,” she takes a step towards him defiantly.  She is right in his face when she speaks again, her lips thin and disdain in her eyes.  “Run off with your tail between your legs.”

 

“*You*,” he takes her by surprise, slamming her up against the wall, his hand around her neck.  The sudden impact leaves her gasping for breath as he leans in, “need to learn when to *shut* the *fuck* *up*.”  His hand tightens around her throat, and she feels panic flaring in the pit of her stomach.  “One day that pretty mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble that it can’t get you out of.” John snarls.

 

Grace glares at him with untamed rage and then spits in his face.  He gives a guttural chuckle and presses in against her as she struggles.  “Come to think of it Gracie,” he whispers in her ear.  His breath is hot and wet against her skin and she feels her body betray her in its reaction to his closeness.  “How about you keep those gorgeous lips *shut* unless they’re wrapped around my cock, hmmm?”

 

“You-” Her utterance of disgust is cut off as his mouth covers hers and she is shocked and furious to find herself kissing him back.  She stops struggling as he deftly unbuttons his pants and then takes her hand and slides it down inside his boxers.

 

He groans loudly as she curls her fingers around him, and he almost staggers backwards as she pulls away the hand from her throat and slides down the wall.  And then she’s on the ground in front of him, on her knees, looking up at him in the glittering moonlight.

 

“Oh *fuck*, yeah,” he croaks as she frees his cock from his boxers and wraps her hand around his length.  He swears he could almost come from just watching the way she parts her lips.  He can see just a glimpse her tongue as-

 

“FUCK!!”  He staggers away from her, and sinks to the ground, tears in his eyes as he cradles his balls.  “You-.”  He gasps as another wave of pain hits him.  “Bitch!”

 

He had been so busy watching her face, he had been unaware of the hand that grabbed his testicles in a vice-like grip until it was way, way too late.

 

“Don’t,” Grace climbs to her feet and dusts off her knees, “you *ever* talk to me like that again.  Don’t you *dare*.”  She rubs her throat and takes a deep breath, trying to steady her frayed nerves.  She’s starting to think that maybe she’s made a momentous mistake by destroying John Black and bringing this misogynistic psychopath to the surface.  It’s not a feeling she likes, either the knowledge that she has made a mistake, or the fact that she can’t undo it.

 

John says nothing, he just closes his eyes and tries to regain some kind of equilibrium.  Finally, the waves of agony subside, and he manages to lurch to his feet.   “You’re a fucking crazy bitch,” he mutters as he pulls up his pants.

 

“No, I’m a strong bitch who doesn’t take any *shit*,” she pulls her hair behind her shoulder and then crosses her arms in front of her.  She’s utterly furious.  She can’t ever remember being this angry.  “Let’s get one thing straight John.  You might not need me, but *newsflash* baby,” she smiles, but there is no humor behind her expression.  There’s no warmth, just an iciness that even takes John by surprise. “I don’t need *you*.  It might be hard to believe but really, I think I can do just fine without you.”  Her eyes glitter in the frozen light.  “And contrary to what you seem to believe, you are *not* God’s gift, and I *can* resist you.”  She’s not entirely sure that *that’s* one hundred percent true, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to let him use sex, use the reactions of her own body, to control her.  

 

“So, if you plan to stick around, you’d better listen.”  Her voice drops to a sibilant whisper as she takes several steps towards him and raises her finger to point in his face.  “If you ever, *ever* try a stunt like that again, I won’t just crush your balls, I’ll fucking remove them all together.”  Now she allows herself a small, satisfied smile and it grows when she sees the uncertainty flicker across John’s face.  “Got it, stud?”

 

There is a long silence, as John seems to evaluate her words and then finally, his lips curl into an oily smile.  “Sure.  I got it, *Boss*.”  His tone of voice conveys nothing but sarcasm.  “Hands off.  Message received loud and clear.”

 

“Is it?” she’s disbelieving, with clear reason to be.

 

He raises an eyebrow suggestively and smirks again and Grace emits a tired sigh.  Choosing to ignore him, she turns her back and goes back to the house.  John’s smile fades immediately, and his expression grows dark and dangerous.  No-one tells him what to do.  Not even the old man.  And especially not his bimbo.

Still, there will be plenty of time later to put the bitch straight.

 

He follows her to the window and watches silently as she feels around the edges of the sill and the sash.  When she draws out a long slender piece of metal, he clears his throat to catch her attention.

 

“Won’t the window be alarmed?” he asks.

 

“Not this one,” she slides the piece of metal between the sill and the sash of the window and leans over to get a better view.  She jiggles it slightly and then moves it carefully towards the center of the window.  “Stefano has this particular window free from alarms because he generally has it open when he’s in residence.  With all the other security safeguards, it’s safe enough, so it’s easier for him to keep it off the circuits.  Besides,” she shrugs, “I don’t think any of them are alarmed tonight.  They’ve been expecting us.”

 

“As you so eloquently put it,” John places his hand on the window sill and takes a step that brings him right up behind Grace.  With a malicious grin, he leans over the top of her and whispers in her ear, “no *shit* Sherlock.”

 

Grace grimaces and then there is a click from the window and with a laugh, she quickly withdraws the metal implement.  John is too quick though and he has taken a step back before her elbow makes contact with his midsection.  “Nice try Gracie,” he chuckles.  “Better luck next time.”

 

She doesn’t even turn around.  “Fuck off,” she says with venom.

 

“Sorry, not yet sweetheart.”  He’s definitely enjoying this now.  She’s something else and he’s not ready to walk away from her yet.  He knows every single one of her buttons and he’s enjoying pushing them far too much.  And then there’s DiMera.  When Stefano finds out his beloved Grace has been fucking the prodigal son, he’s going to lose the plot.  And John wants to be there to see the old man go apoplectic.  He’s always enjoying putting one over on the old bastard, and it’s been far too long.

 

And then there’s the small matter of John Black’s money.  He wants it back.  It’s rightfully his and he wants it.  It will free him from Stefano, it might well buy him Grace, and it will finance the kind of lifestyle he has always known he was destined for.

 

“Too bad,” Grace snaps back as she quietly slides the window up.  It scrapes slightly and she stops, listening intently.  When she is satisfied, she continues to open the window.  At the same time, her voice drops to a mere whisper.   “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you might reconsider if I added a please on the end?”

 

“‘Fraid so Blondie.” he whispers back.  “You want to get rid of me too badly for me to want to leave.”

 

“Great,” she mutters as she places her hands on the window sill.  “Fucking great.”

There’s no more talking as John places his hands around Grace’s hips and helps boost her through the window.  He follows a minute later and as his boots hit the floor with a muffled thud, he looks around him.  

 

This is obviously Stefano’s study, although this is more of a sitting area.  There are a couple of comfortable sofas and a low table in here.  Opposite the windows the wall consists of a floor to ceiling bookcase, aside from the large opening which leads through to what must be Stefano’s desk.

 

Grace seems to ignore all of this and moves noiselessly out of the room and into the darkened anteroom.  She has her flashlight in her hands, but there is enough ambient light that she doesn’t need to use it.  Yet.

 

“What are we looking for?” John comes up behind Grace and hisses the question.  Surely any information will be in the study.  That is, after all, the point of having a study.  “Isn’t all his paperwork in there?”

 

“Not the important stuff,” Grace whispers back, shaking her head.  “This *is* Stefano.  Nothing is ever simple.”  She continues into the sitting room but she doesn’t stop there.  It’s in the dining room that she stops and surveys the room

 

It’s more than clear by now that there are no alarms, no servants.  They have a clear run of the place.  Which means that either Stefano is about to arrive, or he’s already here.  Waiting for her.

 

Well, there’s only one way to find out….

 

She switches on her flashlight and runs it over the paneling that lines the end wall of the room.  She frowns for a moment and then steps forward and runs her hand over the sculpted edge of one of the lower panels.  John realizes he’s holding his breath as he watches her run her fingers along the curve of wood and he looks around furtively.  The place seems to be deserted.  But seems is definitely a different matter than is.  Either the old man is losing his touch, or they are being followed by one, or probably several cameras on an advanced security system.

 

He hears a click and a quiet exhalation of breath and he turns back to where Grace is swinging open a portion of the paneling.

 

“A secret passage.”  He chuckles under his breath.  “How DiMera.”

 

“Shhhh!” Grace hushes him as she steps inside the wall.  She lifts her head and surveys the darkness that greets her.  The air is stale in here.  Maybe Stefano has not yet reached the mansion.  “Okay.”  Her voice is still little more than a whisper as her flashlight beam cuts the darkness.  “Let’s go.”

 

The paneling door closes behind them as they make their way down the passageway.  John is almost on top of Grace when she stops. He looks over her shoulder and down the steep stairway that disappears into the murk.  It is cooler down here, now that they have left the oppressive summer night behind.  Now that they are disappearing into the bowels of Stefano’s lair.

 

Grace uses the light from her flashlight to carefully pick her way down the steps, while her hand caresses the chill stone walls.  

 

John follows, growing increasingly curious about what the old man has locked away down here.  Stefano’s primary weapon has always been information.  He has always had an unflinching ability to lay his hands on the most destructive facts about his enemies and he has used that unique knowledge, those secrets and truths to manipulate and destroy them.  

 

John is fully aware that was Gina’s primary function.  She could cajole, seduce and outright steal secrets from a multitude of weak-willed men.  Any other thievery she undertook for DiMera was merely a sideshow.  And somehow he has no doubt that Grace was even better at it than Gina.  He bets that between her thighs, even the most taciturn of Stefano’s adversaries had spilt secrets they weren’t even aware they had.

 

No wonder Stefano had been so furious when he had lost her.  No wonder he was… no, *is* so obsessed with her.  

 

And yet, according to her, the old man has never *had* her.  Never sampled the sinfully abundant pleasures of that magnificent body…

 

He shakes his head with a grin.  Man, Stefano is going to be pissed when he gets here.  And John is going to rub his nose in every fucking horny minute that he has spent with Grace.  The pawn takes the Queen, Steffy.  Again and again and again…

 

He’s feeling turned on again, just thinking about it.  About her.  She’s like a fucking drug in his system.  She’s irritating and there are moments he could kill her.  But damn, he’s hot for her.  Maybe later, when Stefano gets here, he’ll take her again for the benefit of the cameras this time.  That’ll *really* chap Stefano’s ass.

 

His train of thought is interrupted as they come to a large room.  Off it, lie several more rooms.  To the left, there is a steel door which, when John tries it, is very definitely locked.

 

Grace ignores him and heads for the doorway on the right.  Inside, she flicks on the light-switch and waits for her eyes to adjust.  It’s just the way she remembers it.  One wall lined with filing cabinets, numbered and labeled alphabetically.  At the end of the room where she has entered, there is a large desk with a laptop computer and a comfortable leather chair.  Against the brick wall opposite the cabinets, there is a long, leather couch which is dappled with large, comfortable cushions.

 

As John enters behind her, she goes to the desk and opens the laptop.  He’s surprised when she doesn’t turn it on.  Instead, she upends it and slides across the catch that releases the battery.  Deftly she slides the battery out and then slides her slender fingers just inside the now-empty cavity.

 

She emerges with a small key and turns to John with a cocky smile.  “Sometimes he’s too predictable.”

 

John says nothing as his eyes follow her across the room to the first in the bank of cabinets.  God, she’s so fucking hot, he could take her here, right now.  He could…. but he won’t.  He wants to know what it is that’s got her burning to slip into Stefano’s own fortress.  What the hell could be so important?

 

He strolls over to where she is riffling through the files in the bottom draw.  The draw that bears the legend Be – Bu.  John immediately recognizes the significance of what she’s looking at but before he can catch a glimpse of the file she is fingering through, she gives a cry of triumph and snatches out several pieces of paper.

 

“What is it?” he demands.  “What the hell is so important that you were willing to walk straight into DiMera’s arms?  Are you planning on telling me *now*?”

 

“Well, that depends, John,” she pushes the drawer closed and straightens up.  With a quick flick of her fingers, she has the papers folded and she slides them into the waistband of her pants.  Smoothing her top over the papers, she continues.  “The question is, do you really want to know?”  She raises a finger and taps it against the side of her nose.  “After all, too much knowledge is a dangerous thi-“

 

She stops short, feeling a prickling at the back of her neck.  With her heart racing, she pastes a smile on her face and turns to the doorway.

 

“Hello my darling.” It’s an overly airy greeting, inspired by the impassive expression on Stefano’s face.   She knows, she’s always known, the best way to handle him and her smile becomes immediately seductive as she saunters towards the spot where he stands, arms crossed.   “What on earth took you so long?”

Chapter LXXV- Undermining Sacrifice

Stefano’s heart thumps rapidly in his immense chest as Grace approaches him.  She is, as always, astoundingly beautiful.  She is thinner than she was when he last saw her, but it only serves to define and intensify her icy exquisiteness.  She stops in front of him and with deliberate care; she places a kiss on his unmoving lips.

 

“I’ve missed you,” she says quietly, and she places a hand on his arm.  “Please forgive me?”

 

“And why should I forgive you, Grace?” he asks her unsympathetically.  His eyes narrow.  “You have betrayed me.”

 

“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence.  “I haven’t.”

 

Behind her, John snorts loudly and she freezes, for just a moment.  

 

It is a moment too long.

 

“Enough!”  Stefano growls menacingly.  He doesn’t want to deal with her now.  John Black is his first priority.  Grace’s… punishments… there are plenty of time for those.  “Go to your room.  We shall settle this *later*.”

 

“Stefano-” she starts to protest.

 

“I *said*,” his voice is low and restrained, but there is fury burning in his eyes and she senses he could lose his control at any moment.  He unfolds his arms and points at the doorway.  And suddenly his voice explodes, a rich, deep roar of anger and exasperation.  “*GO*!”

 

She thinks for a moment about arguing; she is angry that he has humiliated her in front of John, sending her to her room like a child.  But something tells her that just this once, it would be best to accede to his command.  Stefano is not a man to be trifled with, and she owes him far too much to betray him even more than she already has.

 

Without a word, her cheeks redden and with downcast eyes, she slips from the room.

 

“Man, how’d you do that?”  John is almost admiring as he watches Grace depart.  “I couldn’t get the bitch to shut up the whole fucking time I was stuck with her.”  He grins conceitedly.  “Not that that was a problem during the *actual* fucking time.”  He swaggers across the room until his face is inches from Stefano’s.  “Dame is an absolute *spitfire* in the sack, don’t you think?”

 

Stefano keeps his eyes fixed on John’s as he maintains a chilling silence.  John is aware of being intensely scrutinized as DiMera walks past him, circling until he is standing in the center of the room.  John swivels in front of the doorway, staring smugly at his one-time boss.

 

“What’s up old man?” he grins, but there is bitterness and ill-concealed rancor behind the smile.  It’s starting to hit him *exactly* what Stefano has done to him.  “No welcome home for your most… *trusted* servant?”

 

Stefano’s lips twitch and purse as he clasps his hands behind his back.  After a moment, he laughs.  “Well, well, well.  John Black.  What an interesting and unexpected development.”

 

“Awww, c’mon now Stef,” John drawls, “surely you must have known I’d show my ugly mug sooner or later.”  He’s getting even more resentful now.  “But I guess maybe you were pretty much hoping I’d stay hidden and buried.  After all,” a scowl wipes any semblance of a smile from his lips, his expression growing shadowed and ugly.  He’s well aware that with Stefano, the best form of defence is offence and he’s certainly got plenty to be offended about.

 

“How the hell were you going to explain how it was that you left me in that godforsaken fucking backwater-piece-of-shit town for, uh, what was it?”  He stops, glacial eyes boring into Stefano’s and then his voice grows razor-sharp  “Oh, that’s right  Fifteen. Fucking. Years.” 

 

And still, Stefano remains silent.  Just looking John up and down.  Evaluating him.  Judging him.

 

“Well?”  John demands hoarsely.  “What is it?  You must have an explanation.  Some fucking *reason* you left me to rot like that.  What, did you just *forget* about me?  Was it, was *I*, inconvenient?”

 

“John, John, John…”  Stefano sighs, shaking his head.  “You really have no idea…”

 

“Well why don’t you tell me old man?” John says, scathingly.  “Why don’t you actually try *telling* me, instead of hoarding it away like all your other dirty secrets.  Because I’d really like to know what the hell happened.”

 

Stefano simply looks at him.  He really hadn’t been expecting this and he’s not entirely sure how to handle such a loose cannon.  The whole reason he’d gotten rid of John in the first place was because he was simply too unpredictable to be trusted any more.  Unpredictable and unstable.

 

And now, here he is, faced with a man who, to all intents and purposes, has been long dead and buried.

 

John taps his foot, waiting petulantly for Stefano’s answer.  

 

“John,” Stefano says carefully, as though each word is a step in a field of landmines. “I did try and recover you.  Years ago, when I had… John and Marlena in New Orleans.  At Maison Blanche.  Perhaps you don’t remember.  Your…” he clears his throat, “your alter-ego was strong but I tried my best to break him, to release you…”

 

He frowns, as unbidden images of Marlena in stockings dance before his eyes.  He had been *so* close, so close to both destroying John and claiming Marlena as his own.  Maybe if he had, Grace might have re-emerged far earlier.  Maybe…  With a start, he shakes his head and pulls himself together.  He can’t afford to think like this.  What is done is done.  Now it is time to deal with the consequences.

 

“I was doing everything I could, John, to reawaken you.  To demolish the *other* John,” he spits out the words as though they leave a bad taste in his mouth, and in truth, they do.  John has been the bane of his life for far too long.  Both incarnations.

 

“However,” he continues, “*he*, your alter-ego John, proved too strong.  He was not willing to relinquish his life. Or…”

 

“*Her*,” growls John, his contempt for the other John threading every word he speaks.  “It’s always about *her*.”

 

Stefano shifts uncomfortably.  “Yes, it is.  It always has been.”  He sighs then, a long and tired sigh.  He suddenly feels very old and jaded.  “I intended to break John and release you.  Then, and only then, I would have Marlena.  She would have known there was nothing else left to her and she would have accepted me.  Failing that, I thought, if nothing else, I might be able to bring Grace back from wherever she was trapped.”

 

John laughs short and hard.  “Wouldn’t let Grace hear you talking like that.  She might get the impression she’s second best.  And you and I both know; she wouldn’t take kindly to *that*.”

 

“I’m not here to discuss Grace, *or* Marlena with you,” Stefano blurts out angrily.  “This is not *my* trial.”

 

“Oh, but it’s mine?”  John raises one eyebrow.  “Riiiight.  Well, at least we know where we stand.”  He pauses, staring at Stefano, trying to calculate exactly what is going on in the head of his former boss.  Finally, he narrows his eyes and makes a decision.  “Well, sorry Steffy boy.  I *want* to discuss Grace.  After all, that’s what all this is *about*, isn’t it?”

 

And when Stefano doesn’t answer.  “I gotta say, you’ve done quite the job there Stef.  With the spitfire.  But I’m guessing it didn’t go quite as anticipated, did it?”  He gives and acid laugh.  “What’s wrong, you lose your touch, old man?”

 

Stefano still says nothing.  He knows John is taunting him, trying to get a reaction.  He will not give him the pleasure.  He has the advantage of knowing exactly how this will end, so he has the luxury of giving John the rope to hang himself in the meantime.

 

And yet, as they watch each other, ever wary, like circling predators, John knows that this is the one thing that can destroy Stefano.  Marlena/Grace is his obsession.  She consumes him, apparently like nothing else ever has.  At least nothing that John has ever been privy to.  And John knows that he can use this to drive Stefano insane with jealousy and rage.  The fact that he’s had both Marlena and Grace for the past fifteen years.  Both her heart and her body.  While Stefano has stood by like an impotent fool.  

 

“So,” he says, “you left me there.  In Salem.  All that time.  All that time in her bed.”  He shakes his head with an insolent smile.  “That must have really chapped your ass, imagining me there, night after night with those fucking *gorgeous* legs wrapped around my waist.”  He laughs, warming to his topic as he sees Stefano’s expression grow equally cold.  “Bet it gave you nightmares.  Bet you woke up in a cold sweat with the image of her lips wrapped around my cock engraved on your eyelids.  And then….!”  He clasps his hands behind his back and paces into the room, passing Stefano and stopping at the sofa.  With a deliberately blasé expression, he dropped onto the sofa and made himself comfortable, stretching long legs out and crossing them.  “*Then* you tried to get me back.  Bet you were ready to kill John Black at that point, huh?”  He grins.  “But who fought you?  Who escaped and who went back to *her* bed?  Ahhh,” he shakes his head with a shit-eating grin.  “All for the love of a woman.  How fucking romantic.”  

 

He cocks his head on one side, raising an eyebrow and the smile slips from his face.  “That must have *really* pissed you off.  All that time.  Him in her bed.  *Me* in her bed.  And guess what Steffy?”  His grin is back and this time it is almost maniacal.  “Nothing much has changed.”

 

Stefano’s breath sharpens.  He does not wish to hear this, to have his worst fears confirmed.  Grace was supposed to be loyal to *him*.  She was supposed to abide with *him*.

 

And yet… she had chosen to come here, to New Orleans.  She obviously had some control in this situation and yet, she had not returned to him.  She had not even contacted him.  She had come here instead.

 

Would she have waited here for him, if he had not arrived tonight?  Or would she have continued to run from him?  Would she have stolen from him, plundered his belongings, as well as his heart and would she have taken John with her?  Would she have continued to play Bonnie to John’s Clyde?  Even Stefano has to admit, they might have made a formidable team.

 

The muscles in his jaw tighten as he tries to banish the visuals from his head.  The thought, the imagined image of Grace’s body wrapped around John’s is almost worse than that which used to torture him every time he thought of Marlena and her husband.  It’s his worst nightmare.  Even when they no longer know who they are, even when they are strangers to the world at large, John and Marlena are still drawn together, they are still bound by some indefinable connection.

 

And there John is, sitting, looking so smug.  Stefano could kill him, right now.  Expunge him from the world, take him from Marlena, from Grace.  And he wants to.  God, he wants to.  He is *sick* of this man and his interference.  Stefano is sick of the constant wrench John throws in his plans.  And most of all, he is sick of the fact that John is always in his way.  Without John, Marlena would have broken long ago.  And Stefano hates him for that fact alone.  

 

He’s left it too long; he’s been too soft.  And it’s time to harden up.

 

John watches Stefano and he sees the reactions that are etched all over his face.  The angry set of his eyebrows, the thinning of his lips.  He’s getting to the old man, and it gives him a hell of a lot of pleasure.  He might well be digging his own grave, but he’s going to fucking well enjoy doing it.

 

“So, Stefano,” he says, “Grace.  Let’s talk about Grace for a while.  Quite a job you’ve done there.  She’s some woman.  But,” he holds up a hand, shifting himself so that he’s a little more comfortable.  “There’s something I don’t understand…”

 

“And what is that?” Stefano asks calmly.  He’ll indulge John for a moment.  For just a moment.  After all, he isn’t going to have very many of those left.

 

“Why exactly is it, you’ve never fucked her?”  John raises one eyebrow very pointedly.  “Surely, you’re not telling me she wouldn’t *have* you?”  The smile is back now, and Stefano has to resist the urge to wipe the smarmy grin off John’s face.  “After all, you are the almighty Stefano DiMera.  I mean, Gina fucked you.  But then,” he looks thoughtful for a moment, “Gina would fuck anybody.”

 

Stefano’s face reddens, as John continues.  “Well let me tell you old man, you’re missing out on something there.  Because my *God*, that woman is skilled like you would not believe.”  He takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, making it obvious he’s already hard.  Just thinking about her.  “She’ll ride you until you fucking see stars.  And then she’ll ride you some more until you erupt like a fucking geyser and then she’ll laugh.  And you’ll just want more.  She’s a walking fucking wet-dream and she’ll blow your mind,” at this, he laughs, knowing every single word is more incendiary than the last.  “If she’ll touch you in the first place, that is.”

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Stefano hisses.  There is rage in the air, pure, unmitigated hatred as his voice gathers in decibels.  “You have no respect for anything.  You only have your own, pitiful self-interest, your own desires.  That is all you care for.  Grace is *not* a toy, she is not a *trophy* for you to boast about like a…” he casts about for the words he wants, becoming more enraged as every moment passes.  “A juvenile schoolboy.”

 

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, old man,” John’s own expression contorts into one of equal anger.  “Grace *is* a trophy.  She’s my prize for finally breaking free of that fucking *prison* you trapped me in.”  He pushes himself up from the couch now and takes the two steps to confront Stefano.  “And you need to face facts DiMera.  I beat you.  I’ve had something that you want so bad you can fucking *taste* it.  And you *know* she wanted me.  But she’s never wanted you.  So, who’s laughing now?”

 

Stefano is literally shaking with fury, but he knows he can’t risk giving into his anger.  Not yet.  But he can’t afford to turn his back on his adversary either.  He will not run like a dog with a tail between his legs.  

 

“What the hell happened to you, old man?” John demands, eyes ablaze with the power of this triumph.  Stefano had once dominated his whole world.  But no longer.  “You were powerful, you were the strongest fucker out there.  They were all fucking terrified of you.”  His ensuing snort is riddled with derision.  “And now, here you are.  A wretched, lovesick old dog chasing after some *dame* that thinks she’s too good for you and won’t even give you the time of day.”  He shakes his head.  “Lame, Stefano.  Lame.  Especially by your standards.”

 

Stefano is literally shaking with rage as he takes a step towards John.  “You know *nothing*, John.  You have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

“Of course I do,” John says with a sneer.  “I know enough about you, and I know *plenty* enough about her.”  His mouth curls into the semblance of a smile.  “And I’m telling you now, when I leave here tonight, she’ll be coming with me.”

 

Stefano gives him a long, cold, hard stare.  “You are not going *anywhere*,” he utters the threat with no fanfare.  It is a simple fact.

 

“What, you gonna try and get rid of me?”  John growls his defiance.  He’s not scared of Stefano, not any longer.  The old man has lost his teeth, he is no longer a threat.  “You never managed it before, so what’s different now?”

 

“I don’t need to get rid of you, John,” Stefano says with a nasty grin.  “You see, the thing is, you don’t even *exist*.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”  John tries not to let his confusion show.  Stefano will not unfoot him, not now.

 

“Exactly what I said,” Stefano is shrewd and almost triumphant.  “You do not *exist*.  You are the walking dead, John.  You offer me no threat, no challenge.”

 

“You’ve fucking lost the *plot* old man,” John’s laughter rings out, echoing in the enclosed space.  “Of course I exist, I’m standing here, aren’t I?  What the hell are you on?”

 

“I’m not *on* anything John,” Stefano chuckles, enjoying himself for the first time in a long time.  John is now on the back foot and that is where he will keep him.  Until he is done.    “I am simply telling you what you should know.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Grace already knows.  Why do you think she came here tonight?”

 

“Knows *what*?”  John frowns, deeply irritated by Stefano’s hinting and evasiveness.  “Look Stefano, if you’ve got something to say, spit it the hell out, or I’ll be on my way.”

 

“What do you remember…” Stefano begins slowly, “of your arrival in Salem?”

 

John frowns.  Well damn, he hadn’t been expecting *that*.

 

“Nothing.”  He replies carefully.  “I was trapped, remember?   I don’t remember anything until…”

 

“Maison Blanche,” Stefano finishes for him.  “Yes John, there is a reason for that.  You think you’ve put together the puzzle of your past, but what you don’t realize is, there’s one piece missing.  When you returned to Salem, under the guise of Roman Brady, what you didn’t realize was that you are only a remnant of the John Black that used to work for me.  *That* John died in nineteen-eighty-four.  You are simply an amalgam of the scraps we managed to salvage from his mind before he took his final breath.”  

Stefano says all this in a completely matter-of-fact tone, but John looks at him as though he has utterly lost the plot.

 

“You’re fucking with me,” he says finally.  “For fuck’s sake Stefano.  That’s *insane*.  Shit like that doesn’t *happen*.”

 

“Not usually, no,” Stefano shakes his head with a smile that bespeaks the pleasure that he is getting from finally revealing the truth that has been hidden for so long.  “But in this case, it did.  You are nothing but an imprint, an echo trapped in a body that is not yours.”

 

“Not mine?”  John is reeling, his mind trying to process this insanity. It can’t be true, it doesn’t make any fucking *sense*.  How can he be….?  He desperately searches his mind for the months leading up to his departure for Salem.  But he can’t…. there’s nothing there.  “No….” he shakes his head, horrified at the implications.  It’s not…. he can’t be….  “No, you’re *lying*.  Jesus, tell me you’re fucking lying you *bastard*!”

 

“No, I am not lying,” Stefano is the one that is smug now.  The one that is victorious.  At the very last, he will lay waste to the secret he has spent the past two decades guarding.  The secret that has brought him so much amusement and yet has threatened to destroy him several times over.  

 

But no more.  This is the end.

 

“The truth is, John Black, you are nothing more than a series of electrical impulses that are firing inside the head of the man that was once Roman Brady….”

Chapter LXXVI – Sight of the Board

On leaving the stone stronghold, Grace had found herself in the hands of one of Stefano’s thugs.  He had gripped her shoulder with vice-like fingers and unceremoniously marched her back up the stairs to the house and then up to the living quarters.

 

She hadn’t been surprised to find her room just as she left it.  She’s even less surprised to hear the door being locked behind her.

 

She looks around her, running her fingers down the exquisitely carved strut of the four-poster bed and then across the silken throw which lies in a graceful swathe at foot of the bed.  Everything in this room, Grace had chosen, over ten years previously.  And it is all exactly as she had left it.  Like a silent shrine.

 

Curiously, she crosses to the armoire and pulls the door open.  Inside is a selection of new clothes.  They are certainly not the clothes she left behind.  They are new; very stylish and *very* expensive.  She raises her eyebrows as she runs her hands across the beautiful selection of fabrics and allows herself a small smile. Stefano has always been fond of surprising her.  And spoiling her.  Even now, after everything she has done…

 

She pulls out a silken nightgown and robe set and lays them on the bed before she heads for the bathroom.  

 

Again, it is just how she left it.  There is even a bottle of Obsession on the counter.  The sight of it makes her smile in appreciation.  Stefano certainly knows the way to her heart.

 

The bathroom is all cream marble and gold fittings, and it makes quite a marked contrast to the life she has lived for the past few weeks.  As she leans over the tub and turns on the hot tap, she wonders what the hell she could have been thinking.  John might have given her a thrill, he might have been a challenge, but can he really match all this?  Even with all his money, she can’t imagine he would be capable of creating the kind of paradise Stefano can build her.

 

She pours some luxurious oil into the bath and watches it swirl and disappear into the deepening pool of water as she ponders her situation.  

 

She could well have taken the goon, she could have made a run for it, but what was the point?  There is nowhere to go, even if she wanted to.  Plus, she owes Stefano an explanation, at the very least.  

 

And more than that, she is curious to see what happens next.

 

Stefano is furious, she knows that much.  She’s not sure she blames him.  And she has no doubt that John is down there right now, blabbing about everything that happened between them in the past few days…

 

She groans in frustration.  The moment Stefano knows for sure that she’s slept with John, things are going to get even worse than they are now.  

 

Of course, that is not to say that she won’t be able to charm Stefano out of his fit of pique; he’s been unhappy with her choice of bed partners before now and he probably will be again.  He always forgives her, in the end.  The problem is that John’s big mouth is likely to make that particular *end* a little more difficult to achieve than it usually is.  The balance of power has shifted and she’s not even sure where it sits any more. She’s going to have to tread very carefully.

 

Of course, she’s not entirely sure that John is going to actually *survive* this encounter.  She’s rarely seen Stefano that angry before.  And when he has been, it’s never been pretty.  The outcome usually involves a lot of pain… for someone.

 

She’s pretty sure that Stefano gets off on it, but then, that’s not surprising, they really are two of a kind.

 

And maybe it’s a good thing that John will be out of her life at long last.  

 

Maybe….

 

She blinks, feeling an unfamiliar hot pricking behind her eyelids and furiously she wipes the stray moisture away.  She’s not upset.  She has no reason to be.  John means nothing to her.  He was just a dalliance, a means to pass the time until she could return to Stefano.  To the life she wants and deserves.

 

And besides.  He’s gone now, anyway.  Her John.  Marlena’s John.

 

With a fierce sniff, she turns off the tap and runs her hand through the water.  And then, unconsciously biting her lip, she slips off her top and slides the sheaf of papers from out of her waistband.  

 

She looks at them for a moment and then, with a shake of her head, she places them at the end of the bath, on the tiled surround.  

 

Quickly, she divests herself of the rest of her clothes and steps into the scalding hot bath.  With a pleasurable groan, she lowers herself into the water and leans back, closing her eyes.

 

God, how long is it since she’s actually felt *clean*?  Even though she’d bathed in that dreary motel in the back of beyond, it had been miserable and dirty enough that rather than scrubbing her clean, it had seemed that even more filth had seeped into her pores.

 

She slides down into the water, letting it wash over the top of her head.  After a long moment, she breaks the surface, gasping and sluicing the water from her face with her fingers.

 

Trying to ignore the thoughts that slip insidiously into her consciousness, she rapidly sets about washing her hair and soaping her body from head to toe.  When she finally feels clean, she refills the bath and settles back for a few minutes of relaxation.

 

Then the wad of papers catches her eye, and she stares at it.

 

What’s the point?  She knows it’s true.  

 

He duped you, Grace. The old man lied to you for his own purposes. So, he could *use* you. And you fell for it, hook, line and sinker

 

“No!”  The exclamation is audible as she squeezes her eyes closed, trying to dismiss the memories of his anguish that are starting to haunt her.  

 

I’m betting you didn’t see the nights I held the kids and we cried ourselves to sleep. You didn’t see the days I practically sleepwalked through because I was so heartbroken.

 

That can’t be true.  It can’t.  Stefano was the one that looked after her.  That promised her the world.  Roman Brady, he was *nothing*.  He’d let Stefano take him from his family…

 

He’d *let* Stefano….?

 

The truth is, she doesn’t know anything about Roman Brady beyond the fragments of Marlena’s memory that she had gathered after the plane crash.  Stefano had never furnished her with any information about her past life with Roman.  Aside from the fact that he had abandoned her and had a string of new women.  That had been enough.

 

She had never asked for more.  She’d never wanted to know….

 

She wants to know now.

 

She dries her trembling hands and reaches out for the papers, ignoring the shudder that spills through her as she unfolds them.

 

Clipped to the front of the paper are three photographs.  One shows John as he appeared on his return to Salem in 1986.  The second is an interim shot, apparently taken at some time during his facial reconstruction.  The third shows him as he had been before Stefano’s team had started the process of rebuilding him in John Black’s image.  Grace has very few memories of Marlena’s life prior to her time with Stefano, but the photo she holds in her hand tugs at a remembrance which has been locked away for years.  

 

This is the same photograph Marlena had found in West Virginia.  The one that had revealed John Black’s true identity.

 

Grace’s free hand curls into a fist as she looks at the face before her.  She’s not even sure *what* she feels any more.  She *should* feel anger and revulsion, not least because Lamont has worn this face for so long.  And yet, instead she just feels a wave of loneliness envelop her.  She’s tired of feeling like this.  Torn.  Empty.

 

Dead inside.

 

Things have changed.  *She* has changed in some way she can’t even define.  She doesn’t know what to believe.  Who to trust.

 

Maybe they’re all lying.  Maybe she can’t trust anyone but herself.

 

But suddenly she’s so fucking tired.  She wants to be safe and she wants honesty and….*god*… she doesn’t know *what* she wants any more.

 

Two minutes ago, it seemed simple.  But now…?  And the thing that is really fucking with her head is that she doesn’t. know. *why*.

 

Sighing, she unclips the photos and drops them over the side of the bath, onto the tiled floor.  Then she begins to read.

 

Before this moment, the only knowledge that Grace had of the original John Black was that he had worked from Stefano in the late seventies and early eighties.  It had never seemed necessary to know more than the most basic of facts, but this file fills in the missing pieces.

 

John Black had been a priest in a parish here in Louisiana.  His family had sent him into the church in the hope that it would bring some kind of discipline to his life.  But he had been weak in the faith and in the flesh and when Stefano had discovered his dalliance with Kristen’s mother, Stefano had methodically tortured and brutalized him until he had sworn undying fealty to Stefano and his organization.  

 

In time, he had become one of Stefano’s most trusted and loyal servants and he had worked in tandem with the Princess in order to appropriate certain items for Stefano.  This included tangible rewards like jewelry and other valuables, but more importantly, they had gained access to confidential and intensely personal information from and about their targets.  Information which Stefano had then used to blackmail and destroy his enemies.

 

None of this surprises Grace.  These are exactly the same kind of assignments that Stefano had given her. 

 

DiMera prefers simply to provide a catalyst and then watch his opponent self-destruct.  He gets intense pleasure from watching those that have crossed him suffer pain of their own making.  

 

Sometimes, of course, it’s not that easy.  Sometimes they have to get their hands dirty.  And according to this, John Black certainly did.

 

And then, in 1982, Stefano had stumbled across some intelligence that had caused him to send Gina and John into the heart of Soviet Russia.  They were seeking the details of a new and highly experimental memory transfer technique developed by KGB scientists.  While this new technology was still in developmental stages it involved recording sequences of electrical impulses and chemical reactions from one individual and then inducing the same patterns in a recipient individual.  And the early results were said to be spectacular.

 

Stefano had decided he wanted it.  Funded by the growing wealth at his fingertips made available by John, Gina and others, he intended to induce a fast-track development of this new technology.  And so, he had sent his two top employees to infiltrate the KGB.

 

It had come close to being a fatal venture.  Both John and Gina had come close to being captured.  And while they managed to return to France and deliver the information to Stefano, they had both been struck down by a mysterious illness. 

 

Stefano’s teams of doctors and scientists had never been able to determine the mystery infection and had concluded that they had contracted it somehow while inside the KGB.  Whether it had been accidental or a deliberate infection by the Russians, Stefano had never known.

 

The pair had made a long, tortuous journey towards recovery.  But while they finally regained their physical health, their mental health had slowly deteriorated.  As the months passed, both of them had become increasingly erratic and unstable.  Due to John’s already violent nature, he had grown dangerously unpredictable and Stefano, to his utmost regret, had been forced to have him terminated.  Permanently.

 

It had almost destroyed Stefano at the time.  John had been like a son to him and while he had delayed the decision as long as he possibly could, in the end, he had been forced to take action when John had attacked him in a frenzy of animalistic rage.

 

However, before all this had happened, when the decline in the pair had become evident Stefano had ordered his scientific protégés to test the Russian technology.  They had successfully retrieved both John and Gina’s complete brain patterns and they had stored them away for future reference.

 

And then the injured Roman Brady had fallen straight into Stefano’s hands.

 

~

 

“Of course it is *true*,” Stefano growls forcefully.  “Roman Brady fell from a cliff and he… *you* were close to death.  It was the *perfect* opportunity.  I had not yet had the opportunity to transfer a complete set of memories.  Since I cared not if you lived or died…” he grins, showing a set of perfectly white teeth, “you were the perfect *rat* on which to experiment.”

 

“You’re lying,” John’s denials are growing weaker and more desperate by the minute.  He doesn’t want to believe Stefano.  He can’t be Roman Brady.  He *can’t*.  He saw… John saw Roman Brady lying battered and dead on the floor of a Salem warehouse.

 

This doesn’t make any sense.  Except that it does, it makes far too much sense for comfort.

 

“I am *not* lying, *Roman*.”  Stefano’s tongue spills out the R’s in a rolling stream  and he laughs at his adversary’s obvious distress.  “It was the ultimate revenge.  Roman Brady, rebuilt as my pawn.  I would strip you of everything you had been.  Everything you were.   I destroyed Roman Brady and made you into a blank canvas.  And then I recreated you in John Black’s image and I wrote his memories into your brain.  What better way to repay you for all that you had done to thwart my plans?”

 

~

 

It had all gone according to plan.  The doctors had systematically set about using drugs and other therapies to weaken Roman’s mental defenses.  Then they had implanted a microchip into the base of his skull, grafting it directly to his brain stem.  This microchip was encoded with a complex set of instructions which when triggered would instruct his brain to begin producing the patterns of electrical impulses and chemical chains that had been extracted from John Black.

 

The doctors had triggered the microchip in small and then increasing doses while the world class reconstructive surgeons had done their work.  They had monitored him carefully to pick up any signs of rejection of the process, but everything seemed to be going perfectly.

 

It had been a long and arduous process, but just when it was all coming together, Roman had suddenly made a break for freedom.  And it had seemed that he had enough of his own memories, or at least enough of Roman Brady’s instincts, to head right back home to Salem.

 

Clearly, there had still been enough of Roman in existence that he had convinced Marlena and they had resumed their married life together.  Much to Stefano’s chagrin.

 

~

 

“And then, by the most fortunate happenstance,” Stefano’s eyebrows rise with a twitch that betrays his enjoyment of John’s discomfort.  “The beautiful Marlena fell into my hands.  And she remembered *nothing* of her life with Roman Brady.”  A laugh rolls from his chest, rich and malevolent.  It had been one of those strokes of luck that turns out to define one’s life.  “How easy it was to mould her.  How innocent and *trusting* she was.”  

 

He pauses, a malicious smile curling his lips as he tells John how easy it had all been.  How Lamont had been a willingly complicit ally in the staged attack on the vulnerable Marlena.  How when she had still not broken, he had engineered her ‘encounter’ with Orpheus.  The brutality of it had been regrettable, he can’t deny that, and if the situation were to have arisen today, he might not choose the same path, given his feelings for Marlena.

 

However, at that time, Marlena had meant nothing more to him than a means to punish her husband.  Roman had thwarted his plans over and over again.  And even Marlena herself.  He had owed her some kind of reckoning for almost killing him, after all.    Taking her to replace her husband as a thief and assassin had some kind of twisted symmetry that brought Stefano great pleasure.

 

And truly, the end had justified the means.  Orpheus had destroyed the spark of defiance that still burnt even in an amnesiac Marlena.  And Grace had emerged from the battered remnants of Marlena’s soul.  

 

She had been his *greatest* triumph.

 

Stefano is glad that none of these details are in the dossier that Grace has taken upstairs with her.  He has no idea what affect that knowledge would have on her.  It’s not a risk he is prepared to take.

 

After he had ‘rescued’ her, he had ensured that the doctors had hypnotized her in order that she would not remember the memories of the rape.  It was far better that she believe she killed Orpheus simply for the enjoyment of it.  He felt it would set a precedent.  

 

And that it had.

 

John stands stock still, taking in Stefano’s words even while he doesn’t really hear him.  He is enveloped in a kind of fog and Stefano sounds like he is standing at the other end of a long tunnel.  The words echo inside John’s head, but he doesn’t really understand them.

 

The only thing that sounds clearly inside the maelstrom that fills his head are the words Stefano uttered what seems now like days ago.

 

You don’t even *exist*.  You are the walking dead, John.

 

~

 

Grace shivers in the cooling water and drops the papers to the floor.  She suddenly feels as though someone has walked over her grave.  Her heart is thumping, and her skin turns to gooseflesh as she turns to the door.

 

The room is empty, but it is enough to make her hasten out of the bath and wrap herself in a huge fluffy bath sheet.  Pulling the plug, she retrieves the file from the floor and makes her way back to the bedroom.

 

She looks out of the window into the gathering blackness, but she sees nothing.  Feeling uncomfortable, she pulls the window closed a little and then climbs onto the massive bed, settling among the plush down pillows.

 

Scanning the page, she finds the spot where she left off and she continues to read.

 

~

 

“So, I set you a series of ‘tests’.”  Stefano turns and moves back to the desk.  He spins the leather chair around and seats himself down in it, leaning back into the creaking leather with ease.  He looks amused at John’s bewildered state as he continues his explanation.  

 

“These were triggers that the doctors had devised in case such a thing happened.  If Roman proved to be strong enough to resist the brainwashing, these triggers would serve as switches for the microchip.  They would switch it on for short periods of time, unleashing John Black… memory by memory.”

 

There is no response from John, but Stefano persists with his narrative of the series of events.  Even despite all the errors and unexpected delays and hitches in the plan, it has a kind of Machiavellian poetry to it.  Especially given John Black’s re-emergence at this late date.

 

Fully over his fit of pique at Grace’s defiance, he is enjoying himself immensely.  He will deal with her later but for now, it is his final revenge on Roman Brady, and he is going to revel in every single moment of it.

 

~

 

Grace skims Marlena’s missing years with interest.  Stefano had used hints of Marlena’s continued existence to taunt Roman.  She remembers that.  Roman had abandoned the search and moved on with Diana and Stefano had gleefully used it to push home the point that Roman had never really loved her.

 

Not that she really needed convincing by that point.

 

There is more in the file about music triggers and something about pagodas being used to trigger John Black’s memories, but she doesn’t find that particularly interesting.  

 

What is interesting is what comes next.

 

Stefano’s decision to send Lamont back to Salem.

 

By now the technique for memory transfer had been refined and perfected and Stefano had decided that it was time to shake up Roman Brady’s life.  

 

Lamont was the perfect choice.  He was becoming a liability, he knew too much and Stefano, it seems, had taken the opportunity to silence him.

 

Grace frowns as she reads this section again.

 

“He knew too much?”  She voices the words out loud.  “Never mind the fact that he was a perverted, fucking would-be *rapist*!”  Her lips whiten as she tries to calm herself down.   Still, it’s not like he can ever try it again.  Not now he’s pushing up daisies.

 

She allows herself a satisfied smile and goes back to reading.

 

~

 

Stefano’s smile abruptly disappears as he recalls what happened next.

 

“We had just made a start on the process of transforming Lamont into Roman Brady, when Grace suffered a terrible accident.”  

 

He closes his eyes briefly, as he recalls the moment when he had been told that Grace had fallen from the house in the Hampshire countryside.  It had been shockingly unexpected, and it had almost broken Stefano’s heart when he had seen her, pale and bruised in the hospital bed.

 

She had lapsed into a coma shortly thereafter and the doctor’s prognosis was grim.  It was unlikely, they said, that she would ever recover.

 

Stefano had continued to hope but after several months, he had ordered the doctors to transfer her to San Christobal.  To have her so close was pure torture and so he had banished her far away.

 

Only for his Sleeping Beauty to wake from her slumber shortly after her arrival.

 

He had rushed to the island, but the doctors had immediately informed him that the woman that had awoken was very definitely not his Grace.  And there was no hope that Grace would ever re-emerge.

 

Heartsick all over again, Stefano had ordered that Marlena be sedated indefinitely and he left the island immediately.

 

“On my arrival back in America,” Stefano shifts in the chair, his elbows on the arms and his fingers interlaced, “and the news that Robert Lamont’s transformation was complete, I had, what you might call,” his smile is back again, “a change of heart.  What better way to torture Roman Brady than return his long-lost wife to him on the eve of his betrothal to the *lovely* Isabella?  And then to snatch her away again, along with his own identity.”

 

He laughs again, long and loud.  It had been a thing of beauty, this plan.  And it had worked like a charm.  Roman and Marlena had followed the clues to San Christobal and there they had found Lamont.

 

With their return to Salem Stefano had anticipated the inevitable DNA tests and he had bribed a lab technician in ISA central.  The lad had simply switched the samples and he had walked away with a million dollars in his pocket.  It was unfortunate for him that he had been hit by a car soon afterward, but those in the DiMera Organization knew well that a little knowledge was a dangerous thing.  Stefano couldn’t have the boy having a change of heart and telling a supervisor.  And a million dollars was a million dollars, after all.

 

And so Lamont had assumed the identity of Roman Brady and John was forced to try and build a new identity from a handful of memories.

 

~

 

Grace is riveted to the page as she continues to read.  Despite her annoyance at Stefano’s multitudes of lies and omissions, she is full of admiration for the ingenuity of his plan.  It seems that every single hindrance that has threatened to derail Stefano’s goal to ultimately destroy Roman Brady, has been turned into an advantage.

 

She reads on through another DNA swap that had identified John as Forrest Alamain, Isabella’s death and ‘John’ and Marlena’s affair.  The fact that it was Lamont in Marlena’s bed through those years still brings bile to her throat if she thinks about it too closely.  So, she chooses to skim through those bits.

 

It’s clear though, that the man really did think he was Roman Brady, and Marlena’s affair with John had just about destroyed him.

 

And so, all had continued according to Stefano’s wishes until John had become involved with Kristen.  That was an unexpected twist that had caused Stefano a considerable grievance.

 

He was in an impossible situation.  Kristen would not listen to him, and he could not reveal John as the true Roman Brady and so he had devised another option.  He had reinvoked the triggers that would uncover more of John Black’s buried memories.

 

Through carefully selected fragments of music and mysterious jigsaw puzzle pieces, Stefano had lured John down to Maison Blanche.  And then he had used John to lure Marlena down too.

 

Determined to once and for all expunge all of Roman’s memories, Stefano had set about systematically drugging and torturing him.  And then he had used Marlena to break him even further.

 

Stefano had known that John would willingly lay down his life for his wife, even despite his ignorance of his true identity.  He had always loved her; he would always try to protect her.  And this would prove his undoing.  He would lose everything he was for the love of her.  But even that would not save her.

 

Realizing the double opportunity that lay before him, Stefano had swiftly and definitively severed the final strands of Marlena’s ‘supposed’ marriage to the Roman imposter.  His intention, as soon as the transformation of John Black was complete, was to break Marlena.  Once she had lost everything dear to her, once she thought both John and Roman had turned their backs on her, Stefano hoped that then Grace might re-emerge.

 

~

 

“However, the beautiful Marlena’s temptation proved rather too strong.”  Stefano’s eyes develop a rather faraway look as he finds himself once more in his study with Marlena teasing him.  Seducing him.  It’s a memory he has tried to banish, but alas, as Marlena has found her way into his heart, so the memory haunts his thoughts.  It is one of his only regrets on the return of his beloved Grace.  That Marlena will never dance like that for him again.  Willingly.

 

“She was quite *remarkable*,” he says quietly.  “As well as finding in her, aspects of the woman I had lost in Grace, I also discovered more in Marlena to admire.  Her tenacity, her passion, her loyalty…..”  He ignores the sequitur and plunges straight on.  “I found these qualities intriguing and enthralling.  I must confess, I desired her almost immediately.  And through the following years, I became more and more enamored of her.  Her strength in the face of adversity was quite enchanting.”

 

~

 

Grace reads on with growing distaste as the file details what is evidently Stefano’s growing obsession with Marlena.  Through Kristen and John’s discovery of the real John Black’s foray into the religious orders.  The file describes Roman’s exorcism of the demon that possessed Marlena and supposes that although Roman himself had never taken holy orders, he had been brought up strong in the faith by his Irish Catholic parents.  That, in combination with his intense and undying love for his wife and his willingness to give his soul for hers is the only thing that had saved her.

 

Grace swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.  Putting down the papers, she wanders to the bathroom, and fills a glass from the tap.  She drinks it rapidly and then fills it again.  

 

Raising her eyes slowly, she looks at herself in the mirror.  She is pale beneath the golden tan of her skin and her moss-green eyes carry a haunted quality.  She doesn’t quite feel herself…

 

She shakes her head sharply, trying to shake the melancholic feeling that has her so ill at ease.  “Pull it together, Grace!” she whispers fiercely.  “Don’t be such a schmuck.  You can’t afford to get emotional over this.  He’s gone.  *Deal* with it.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she turns away from the mirror and carries the glass back into the bedroom.  There, she places it next to the bed and drops the towel to the floor.  Smiling, she picks up the delicate silk and pulls it over her head.  Then she lets the beautiful bias-cut gown slither down her body before pulling on the robe over the top.

 

~

 

“I am sure you remember much of the rest,” Stefano is getting bored now.  Besides that, he notes that John seems to be recovering.  “In the last few years, the chip in your head started to malfunction.  It no longer responded to our triggers.  Instead, it triggered of its own accord at random intervals.  The doctors tell me it may have even come loose.  So, from then, up to now, as you know John, the only thing that has kept *you* at bay, is the strength of Roman Brady’s will.”

 

John has definitely returned to himself now.  He’s looking right *at* Stefano instead of looking through him and his anger has reignited.  In fact, he is positively seething.

 

“You’re full of *shit* old man,” he grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching like mad.  “You expect me to believe this piece of fucking crap story you’ve concocted?  What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

 

“Oh, it’s true, John,” Stefano raises himself from his chair, straightening his jacket.  “What do I have to gain from telling you such a fabrication?  Mmmm?”  He raises an eyebrow.  “Really John, I have better things to do with my time.”

 

“NO!”  John shouts in sheer desperation.  “It’s not true.  You *bastard*, it’s not *true*!”

 

“John-” Stefano starts.

 

But the moment he does, John suddenly seems to make up his mind.  “Shut the fuck up!” he grunts as he pushes Stefano away and sprints for the door.  

 

Outside he is confronted with one of Stefano’s heavies, but the man is slacking, clearly not expecting John’s emergence from the room quite yet and John is able to swing a right hook at the man that knocks him for six.

 

Ignoring the bellowing of an irate Stefano, John runs for the stairs and takes them two at a time.  At the top, he enters the dining room and makes for the staircase in the antechamber.

 

Upstairs.  Stefano had sent Grace upstairs.  

 

She’ll tell him the truth.  She’ll tell him that the old man is lying.  She will….

 

She has to….

 

Chapter LXXVII – Pawn Race

At the top of the stairs, John sees another thug standing outside what he presumes is Grace’s room.  Before the man can react to John’s appearance, John leans over and slips a knife out of his boot.

 

His death is quick and relatively painless as John slits his throat.  He dies with a quiet gurgle and a look of surprise on his face.

 

With a blank expression, John drags the body away from the door as a wash of blood soaks into the cream carpet.  Then he turns to the door and wrenches the key in the lock.

Grace drops the papers from her hand as she hears the key turn.  Suddenly her heart is pounding as she anticipates Stefano’s anger.  The blizzard of emotions that swirls inside her barely stands still long enough for her to recognize any of them.  She just knows she wants to sort this out.  There are answers she wants from Stefano.

 

But it’s not Stefano who steps through the door.

 

“John,” she gasps, horrified at the sight of the blood that is smeared over his hands.  “What the hell have you done!?”

 

John ignores her for a moment and instead locks the door behind him.  He slips the key in his pocket and then advances on her.  His eyes are dark, almost black and there is a malignance in them that gives Grace chills.

 

“Who am I?” he demands without pre-emption.

 

“What?”  Now that he is closer she can see the dark patches on his clothing and she realizes that it is more blood.  “John, what have you done?  Is Stefano….?”

 

“Shut UP and answer the damn *question*!”  John shouts at her.

 

“Don’t you *dare* tell me what to do!” she hisses defiantly.  “I will not be bullied by *you*.”

 

John gives a roar of fury and exasperation and launches himself across the room at her, throwing her against the wall.  The impact winds her momentarily and in that moment, John’s hand is around her throat, staining her with blood and he’s glaring at her.

 

And the hatred and malice in those eyes terrifies her.

 

“Listen *lady*,” he rasps the words as his indigo eyes bore into her.  “I don’t give a *shit* what you want, or what you think.  I just want the fucking *truth* for once.”

 

Grace grits her teeth, trying to ignore the panic that is rising in the pit of her belly.

 

“What do you want to know?” she croaks.

 

“The old man tried to feed me some bullshit about Roman Brady.” John rasps.  His pupils are dilated, and Grace realizes in a moment of shocking clarity that he is completely unbalanced.  “I want you to tell me the truth.”  He grins, baring white teeth in a weather beaten face.  “You know as well as I do.  I’m John Black, right?”

 

She just stares at him, saying nothing.  

 

“*RIGHT*?”  He roars, tightening his grip on her so that she has to struggle to take a breath.  Her eyes widen as she wraps her hands around his wrist and tries to loosen his grip.  He obliges her and she gasps, sucking in a deep breath as her heart races uncontrollably.

 

She could lie to him, she could tell him what he wants to hear, but it’s only delaying the inevitable.  Even if he chooses to believe her, he’ll find the papers on the floor and then this will start all over again.

 

“No,” she says hoarsely.  “You are…. you *used* to be Roman Brady.”

 

John’s nostrils flare and the muscles flicker where he clenches his jaw.  “*Liar*,” he finally manages to spit out.

 

“I’m not lying,” she says indignantly.  “You were born 26th August, 1951 to Shawn and Caroline Brady.  If you don’t like it, then that’s tough shit.”

 

John’s face reddens with rage, his complexion growing dark and livid as his breathing becomes labored.  His head is pounding, and his thinking is becoming erratic and more irrational by the moment.

 

“I’m John Black!”  He insists frantically.  “You know I’m John Black.”

 

“No, you’re *not*!”  She finally garners the strength to push him away and she glares at him, almost daring him to challenge her again.  “You have John Black’s memory and you’ve clearly inherited more than his fair share of insanity, but you *are* Roman Brady.  Deal with it!”

 

She’s angry enough now to try and push past him.  And that’s all it takes for John Black to snap.  He’s had more than enough of this arrogant whore of Stefano’s and her stuck-up posturing.

 

“Bitch!”  He grabs her arm and her shoulder and slams her back against the wall.  Her eyes widen in shock as she sees the mania flaring in his eyes.  “You think you can fucking tell me what to do?  You think you’re better than me, that you can taunt me and play the fucking cock-tease and then fucking *walk away* from me?”

 

He thrusts himself against her until they are nose to nose, and he is staring right into those golden eyes.  Her alarm grows exponentially as his hot breath caresses her face. 

 

“I’ll *prove* to you that I’m *not* Roman fucking Brady.”  He laughs but the sound is cold and sharp, and it cuts through Grace like the blade of a knife.

 

“John,” she is shaking now and she berates herself for her weakness.  “John, you don’t want to do-“

 

“Of *course* I fucking want to do this!”  He roars at her.  “That’s your fucking *problem* woman, you think you fucking know *everything*.”  He narrows his eyes and then his lips curve into the merest hint of a smile.

 

A wave of terror hits Grace as he presses his lips against hers and rams his thigh between her legs.  Pressing her lips tightly together, she ignores the tears that spill from her eyes and pushes against his body, trying to dislodge him.

 

Unfortunately, he takes her by surprise and still controlling her wrist with a vice-like grip, he flings her around and onto the bed.

She screams as he is immediately on top of her, his thighs on the outside of hers, gripping them almost painfully and his torso pinning her to the bed.  She struggles beneath the weight of him, trying to escape, her free arm flails, and she manages to lodge it under his chin, desperately pushing his head back.

 

Angrily, he rolls his head away and takes a swipe at her, his palm connecting loudly with the side of her face, dazing her slightly.  

 

“Behave yourself, Grace, or this could get nasty.”  He laughs as he grasps one end of her robe tie, slipping the silk out from under her.

 

“No, John,” she begs as he quickly binds her wrists together and then knots them to the carved poster at the corner of the bed.  “Please… please don’t…”

 

~

 

Stefano is halfway up the stairs when he hears Grace scream.  He is bleeding from a gash in his forehead, cut when John had pushed him against the cabinets.  And he is limping.  Behind him, the heavy from downstairs is nursing a black eye.

 

At the sound of Grace’s terrified scream, Stefano’s heart lurches in his chest and he hastens up to the landing.  He’s not completely surprised to see the body in the middle of the hallway, but it increases his misgivings tenfold as he staggers towards Grace’s door.

 

His worst fears are realized when he rattles the door and realizes that John has locked it from the inside.  With increasing frustration, he turns to the man behind him.  “Find another key!” he orders angrily and then turns back to the door.

 

“Grace!”  He pounds on the door, fear burgeoning in his heart with every passing moment.  “Grace!”

 

~

 

“Stefano!” she half-screams, half sobs as she hears the continued pounding on the other side of the thick door.  “Help me!  Please help me!”

 

“Old man’s not going to help you now!”  John spits in a fit of rage.  “All DiMera ever does is ruin shit.  Everything he fucking *touches* withers and dies.  He’s like a fucking *disease*.”

 

“John…” Grace cries desperately, tears streaming down her face. “Roman…. Please, *Roman*….  Don’t let him do this!”

 

“FUCK Roman Brady,” John snarls as he lifts himself off her.  His head is killing him now.  Throbbing like a fucking jackhammer.  But he will not give in.  He’s…. he’s got something to prove.  To this *whore*, to  DiMera.  To himself.

 

With deliberate and chilling intent, he wraps one hand around her throat and the other he uses to shove the hem of the flimsy nightgown up her legs.  There is an insane gleam in his eyes as he looks down at her exposed flesh and Grace squeezes her eyes shut as she hears the tearing of fabric and then she screams, trying to drown out the sound.  

 

Trying to drown out the memories.

 

Because suddenly she feels like she’s drowning, herself.  Reality seems to be disintegrating around her and she sees not only John coming at her, but also Lamont… and then… Oh God!  *Orpheus.*   And there is tearing and screaming, screaming…. screaming.  And they are shouting at her.  Calling her names.  Trying to break her.  Trying to make her….  

 

The faces come at her again.  Eyes filled with evil, vile lips spilling out putrid laughter.  And there is pain.  God, there is so much *pain*….  It’s all hands and voices and pain and she wants to die.  God, why couldn’t he have just let me die?  Pain…. *agony* and this unutterable emptiness.  Anything… god, *death*… would have been better than this pain.

 

On the other side of the door, the pounding intensifies, and Grace’s sobbing reaches a crescendo.

 

“Please…” she pleads in a halting whisper, although it’s no longer aimed at anyone in particular.  She just knows that she’d rather die than go through this again.  Dying now would be preferable to the waves of grief and fear that are coming in great choking waves.  

But on top of her, John’s lost in a hell of his own.

 

The headache has suddenly become so intense that it’s crippling him.  He jerks, as though in spasm as the woman below him blurs and distorts.  But he can still hear her screams and her sobs, and they tear at him, each tiny sound sending daggers of pain through his head.

 

And then she whispers that name and he knows in that instant that he has lost the battle.

 

“Roman, please help me…”

 

MARLENA!

 

And everything that John Black is and knows, shatters.  It is almost as though one moment he is looking in a mirror that reflects his life and the next moment… that mirror explodes as though hit by a wrecking ball.  The shards and fragments of his life, of everything he remembers, everything he is, scatter and fade.  And then at last… there is nothing left.

It’s a moment before Grace realizes that John has come to complete stillness and silence on top of her.  Still choking back fearful tears, she opens her eyes.

 

Roman Brady looks completely horrified as he stares back at her, his azure eyes conveying the abject shock that has grabbed him.

 

And then suddenly, he scrambles desperately off the bed, stumbling as he pushes himself away from the bed.  Away from her.  His back hits the wall and he shakes his head, moaning.  

 

“Jesus,” he rasps.  “God, what have I done?  Oh God…”

 

His mouth fills with bile but he manages for force it down.  He can’t be weak now.  He has to face this.  He has to…

 

Grace is still crying as she drops her head back to the bed and painfully, she rolls onto her side and curls into a ball, burying her face in the covers.

 

“Shit!”  Roman isn’t quite sure if she’ll let him anywhere near her.  But he can’t just leave her like that.  Christ, Brady, pull yourself together!  She needs you.  It doesn’t matter if she’ll accept it or not.  You have to do *something*….

 

Shaking, he makes his way to the other side of the bed and unpicks the knotted silk with trembling fingers.  Her wrists are already bruised where the cord has cut into her flesh and he has to suppress a physical wave of nausea as she moans.

 

She draws her arms down into herself, curling into even more of a fetal position.  Outside the room, Stefano is still banging on the door and cursing furiously, but Roman barely hears him.

 

He doesn’t remember very much of what has just happened.  It seems nothing more than a distant, fragmented memory, shrouded in the fog of time.  He only knows that her cries had awoken him, given him strength to fight John Black.  She might not be Marlena, but… there are ways in which she is still the woman he loves.  He would *die* rather than hurt her.  And he sure as hell isn’t going to let John Black use his body to do it.

 

Quietly, he edges onto the bed beside her and with nervous fingers, he shifts her robe, smoothing it over the still naked flesh.  He feels her shudder under his touch and he snatches his fingers back guiltily.

 

“Don’t *touch* me,” she cries mutedly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tears swimming in his own eyes.  “God, I am *so* sorry.”

 

Painfully, Grace lifts her head from the bedcovers.  Her eye is already puffy and bruised.  “If you’re sorry,” she whispers, “then just *leave* *me* *alone*.”

 

“It wasn’t…” Roman starts and then his voice fades.  It wasn’t him?  Why would that matter to her?  She has just been attacked and almost violated.  By a man that had worn this face.  How can he expect her to forgive him?

 

“Grace,” he says softly.  “I would never have let him hurt you.  You *know* me.  All the time we’ve spent together.  Stefano told you I never loved you… but you know *better* than that now….”  

 

After a painfully long moment of silence, punctuated only by Stefano’s shouts, Grace uncurls slightly and pulls the robe around her.

It’s at that moment that Stefano’s henchman finally comes back with a key and Stefano unlocks the door.  It swings open violently, hitting the dresser beside it and bouncing back slightly as Stefano strides into the room.  

 

He takes one look at Grace and directs his full fury at Roman.

 

“Get *away* from her, John!” he bellows, his distress quite clear as he crosses the room to the bed.

 

Roman, however, has no intention of leaving Grace, and he blithely ignores Stefano’s order.  Instead, he catches her gaze with his own, dark and pleading.  He has to find some way to connect with Marlena.  He knows she’s inside there.  He knows now that Grace simply exists to protect Marlena from the pain that she has suffered.  Both the pain he has caused and the pain Stefano has manipulated.  And he can’t hate her for that.  He can’t blame her for the wrongs that have brought her to life.

 

After all, she is part of the woman he loves.  

 

He’s so entranced by the play of emotions in her eyes that he is taken by surprise when Stefano’s goon yanks him from the bed and sends him stumbling across the room.  He stills himself on the sill of the open window as Stefano sits on the edge of the bed.

 

“Grace, my darling, are you all right?”  Stefano reaches out to her, but she flinches away from his touch, scrambling backwards to the head of the bed, shrinking into the pile of pillows.

 

“Stay away from me!” she says angrily.  She doesn’t want his comfort, doesn’t want his concern.  She just wants… she wants….  Her head aches and the tears start again, and she clenches her fists to her.  “Leave me alone!”

 

“You heard her,” Roman growls, his heart breaking for her.  For both the little girl lost that is Grace and for his wife.  “Get away from her.”

 

“I rather think you should be the very *last* to speak, John,” Stefano turns to his opponent, his voice full of rage.  “You have gone *too* far this time!  Simmons-”  He indicates to his goon who immediately pulls a gun on Roman.  “I have had enough of this *imposter*.  He has overstayed his welcome.”  His visage twists into a grim approximation of a smile.  He would prefer to be present, but Grace needs his attention, his care right now.

 

“It is time.  Take him downstairs and *dispose* of him.”

Chapter LXXVIII – Check 

Silence reigns for a moment following Stefano’s order.  But despite Stefano’s words, the words that could well seal his fate tonight, Roman only has eyes for Grace.

 

And she can’t help but return his stare.  She feels angry and violated and torn, but most of all, she feels terrified.  Terrified that she’ll never get the chance to see him again.  To talk to him.  To touch him.

 

“No…” she finally tears her eyes from Roman’s and turns to Stefano.  “No, you *can’t*, Stefano.  He’s *not* John Black anymore.  Not now.”

 

This is unexpected and Stefano holds his hand up, stopping Simmons in his tracks.  Then he turns with a raised eyebrow and a sense of foreboding.

 

“What?” Roman manages a taut smile, despite the gun that is trained on him.  “No welcome back, Stefano?”

 

“Roman Brady,” Stefano says with no small amount of disgust.  “I would say it was an unexpected pleasure.  But I will not lie.”

 

“You never were good with the pleasantries, were you DiMera?” Roman’s eyes flick to Grace.  She is looking at Stefano with an unreadable expression.  And then she turns her gaze back to Roman.  “So what?  You just going to have me killed?  Keep Grace caged like an animal?”  He is serious now as he looks at Grace with a measure of defiance and sadness.  “Because she’ll never stay with you willingly.  Not now she knows the truth.  Not now she knows all the lies you’ve told.”

 

“Grace will know that whatever I have done, I have done with only her best interests at heart.”   Stefano turns back to Grace, his black eyes filled with confidence.  “I am truly sorry my dear that you had to suffer this.”

 

“You lied to me,” she whispers weakly.  She no longer knows what to think or believe or what to feel.  She’s devastated.  Violated.  And so lost.  “All the way through.  You lied to me Stefano.”  The tears are coming again, and she wipes them away furiously with the back of her fingers.  A gesture which makes Roman’s heart skip a beat.  “Why?”

 

“Do you not think that if Roman Brady had *really* loved you, he would not have scoured the *earth* to find you when you had disappeared?” Stefano demands angrily.  He will not let Roman take this situation and use it to manipulate Grace.  If she chooses to believe him, it could be disastrous.  “My love, I was trying to protect you.  He hurt Marlena again and *again* after her return to Salem.  I was trying to save you from that pain.”

 

“That’s *bullshit* DiMera, and we *all* know it,” Roman rasps.  His hands are curled into tight fists as he resists the urge to fly at DiMera and pummel him into capitulation.  He knows that he can’t do that though, it would be like signing his own death warrant.   “It was all a game to you.  To hurt and manipulate her and twist her for your own devious ends.” His impossibly blue eyes lock with Stefano’s as he continues to accuse the man he hates most in this world.  The man that has tried time and time again to destroy his life.  “You hurt her, and you used her in order to punish *me*.”  He ‘s shaking again as he begins to recall Stefano’s narrative in the room below. “You *bastard*, she was innocent.  She was broken and *vulnerable* and you just made it *so* much worse.”

 

“And what of you, Roman?”  Stefano sneers.  “Leaving her to her fate.  If she was broken, it was only because she washed up on the rocks that way.  You could have pursued her, but you were far too ready to believe the worst, and you left her in my hands.”

 

“Stop it!”  Grace screams as she pushes shaking fingers to her pounding temples.  Her heart is thumping in her chest and her body is telling her to flee the room and this confrontation.  But she can’t move.  Her body is battered and broken.  She needs rest and she just wants all of them gone.  She wants to bury herself in sleep and alcohol and just forget any of this ever happened.  “I don’t want to hear any more.   You’re both as bad as each other.  I can’t even *think* anymore.  How can I trust either of you to be honest about *anything*?”

 

“Grace,” Stefano says softly.  “I never meant to hurt you.  You must believe that.  And Roman, he….” He indicates the state of her with a pained wave.  “Look at what he has *done* to you. “

 

“Roman didn’t lay a finger on me,” Grace hisses before closing her eyes and dropping her head.  The pain in her head combined with the throbbing where John had hit her is making her nauseous.  She takes a stilting breath and then opens her eyes.  Stefano practically recoils at the hatred manifest in the cinnamon depths.  “That was all down to your ‘creation’, John Black.  It was only Roman that stopped John from…”  She stops short, swallowing convulsively at the memory of John’s rage-filled eyes and the sound of tearing silk…

 

By the window, Roman lets out a quiet breath of thanks.  He had been unsure that Grace would understand or be able to differentiate between him and John.  That doesn’t decrease his guilt any, but at least it brings him a little bit of hope.

 

“Pah!”  Stefano waves his hand.  “I am tired of this, who is to blame, who is the guilty party.  Grace, I have looked after you, I have loved you as no-one else could.”  He places a chunky hand against his heart as a questionable softness enters his voice.  “I have given you everything you desired and I will give you the world.  What more can I offer you?”

 

“How about the truth, for a start.”  Roman retorts bitterly.  He won’t let Stefano twist this around again.  He hates to do this, but if he protects her now, he’ll only be leaving her open to more pain and more destruction in the long run.  And she deserves to know.  Deserves the truth.

 

“How about you tell her how you set her up.  How you sent Lamont to attack her so that you could rescue her.  And when that didn’t work, you let that *animal* Orpheus loose on her.”  Tears fill his eyes as he sees the horrified look on Grace’s face, and he feels like he’s slowly dying inside.  He really hadn’t wanted her to find out this way.  But the way things are going, he might not have the chance to tell her later.  And he has to make her understand… has to ensure that if anything happens to him, that she doesn’t fall for any more of Stefano’s lies.

 

If he has to tell her the truth, if he has to hurt her like that to protect her… he will do it.  Because he will die before he lets Stefano hurt her again.  But the problem is, this situation is looking more and more hopeless.  And he could well not be around to protect her after today.

 

The thought tears his heart apart as he watches her horror-struck gaze turn to Stefano.

 

“He is lying, Grace,” Stefano presents the denial swiftly, his heart pounding.  This is a disaster; he hadn’t anticipated Roman remembering so much of their conversation. IF he can’t convince her that this is a lie, he could lose her tonight.  And he will *not* lose her.  Roman Brady *cannot* win.  His expression turns ugly as he turns and looks at Roman.  “There is no truth to what he says.  He merely wishes to cause you more pain by trying to discredit me.  This… this cruel fallacy comes only from Roman Brady’s desperation to save his own *pathetic*,” he spits the word out as though it is poison on his tongue, “skin.”

 

“No.”  Roman shakes his head, his eyes readily betraying the fury and the hatred that course through him.  But they immediately soften as he turns to Grace.  

 

“You know I’m telling the truth, baby.”  He speaks directly to her, oblivious to the face that he uses such a heartrending term of endearment.  Grace notices it though and her breath catches in her throat.   “How the hell do I know what happened with Orpheus unless he told me?  *You* told me you killed the bastard, but you never told me what he did to you….”  The agony he feels is etched in every line of his face, as he pleads with her and every word he speaks is like a gentle caress.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

 

His every instinct tells him to pull her into his arms and hold her close.  He wants to protect her against the pain, but he can’t.  He can’t *ever* make it go away.  He can’t undo what Orpheus did to her.  He can’t even avenge her.  Stefano is right in that aspect at least.  He failed her and he left her to DiMera’s sick, twisted machinations.  And he will *never* forgive himself for that.

 

On the bed, Grace feels increasingly sick.  Every nerve in her body is wound tight and she feels as though every word that is spoken in this room is a missile being hurled at her ever-weakening armour.  

 

And now, after everything, this disclosure, this… horrific revelation.  It’s too much to bear.  Roman is telling the truth, she knows that.  Of course he is.  How *could* he have known?  *She* hadn’t even known until tonight.  That was a memory trapped inside her head, buried deep beneath the shit Stefano had fed her.

 

Stefano, her self-avowed protector, her father figure, her mentor.  Had engineered….

 

Oh God…  Oh God, no….

 

“Grace…” Stefano starts.

 

“No. *Don’t*!”  She holds up her hand, her fury getting the better of her as she turns her outraged glare on him.  Her voice rises with every word.  She is so angry she could *kill* him.  “Don’t say it, you *bastard*.  Don’t even *talk* to me.”  Her breath is coming short and panicked as she pulls the gown tighter around herself.  Her knuckles are white with tension and fear and her head feels like it’s about to explode.  “I can’t listen to your lies any more.  I *won’t*.”

 

“Well…” Stefano’s face becomes hard and brutal.  If words cannot convince her, then he will have to find another way.  “I am disappointed to hear that, Grace.”  He pushes himself up from the bed, keeping his eyes on Roman as he crosses the room to Simmons.  He takes the gun from the lackey’s hand and motions with his head to the bed.  “I have decided that I would prefer to see this commission through myself.  Please make sure that the lovely Grace does not leave the room.”

 

He notes Grace’s paling face and laughs cruelly.  “You think I would let Roman Brady go just because you wished it Grace?  After all, if you care for him so, what better reason could I have to see him dead?”

 

“No!”  Grace starts across the bed in the direction of Roman, but Simmons is too quick for her, and he drags her from the bed, wrapping two huge arms around her like bands of steel.  She screams in anger and struggles, but she’s weakened by the aftermath of the fight with John and by the incapacitating headache, so he holds her back with no trouble.

 

“Leave her alone!’  Roman shouts angrily, starting towards Grace.

 

“Stay where you are, Roman,” Stefano warns as he loosens the safety on the gun.  “You wouldn’t want the lady to get hurt now, would you?”  He laughs as Roman stops short, his dread clearly evident.  “Yes, that’s right *Mister* Brady.  You have officially run out of options.  Grace can plead for clemency, but I am not inclined to listen tonight.” He shrugs.  “Maybe I will have regrets tomorrow, but I doubt it.  You have been a thorn in my side for *far* too long.  And I will enjoy your death, far more than I have enjoyed your life.”

 

“No!”  Grace starts to struggle again in Simmons’ arms.  “Stefano, *no*!  You can’t!  If you ever loved me, *please*….”

 

“I have loved you *Grace*,” Stefano’s eyes narrow with ire.  “And I continue to love you, despite your betrayals.  And yet, I will be prepared to forgive you for all these transgressions.  But I will *not* spare Roman Brady.”

 

“You’re a *pig*,” she spits, struggling in the thug’s arms like a wildcat.  And Roman watches her, watches the fire flash in her golden eyes as she fights the inevitable.  And his heart quickens, hammering in his chest with the twin rhythms of love and hope.

 

“You’re a lying, deceiving *bastard*!”  She continues to shout at him as she flails at her captor.  “You never *loved* me.   You don’t know what love is.  You’re incapable of it.  And I will *die* before I ever beg your forgiveness and you will burn in *hell* before you ever lay another hand on me.”

 

“Doc?”  Roman breathes the endearment like the answer is the difference between life and death.  And truly, for him, it is.  Without Marlena, there is no life worth living.  And if he can see her, touch her for just a moment… this will all be worth it.

 

“NOOOOO!” Stefano screams in rage as he recognizes the truth an instant after Roman.  He will not let Roman have her… he will not let the woman he covets slip from his grasp at the final hurdle….

 

“Roman!”  Tears spill from Marlena’s eyes and with a final spurt of adrenaline, she kicks her foot up between her captor’s legs.  Simmons groans with pain and drops her before he falls to his knees.  

 

And with a cry of joy, Marlena dashes towards Roman… at the same time as Stefano fires the revolver……

Chapter LXXIX- Pinned

It is as though the entire moment slows down almost to a standstill as Roman stretches out his arms to catch his wife.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

 

And then he hears the sound of the gun firing and it takes a moment for his brain to register what has happened.

 

And in that moment Marlena collapses into his arms, blood seeping across the back of her silken robe….

 

“NOOOO!”  He screams as he drops to the ground, cradling his wife in his arms.  The tears wash over his cheeks as his shaking, bloodstained hands caress her face.  “Doc, baby, don’t let him do this.  Don’t leave me now.  Not now when we’ve finally found each other again…”

 

An appalled Stefano just stands there, the gun in his hand, dangling by his side.  He watches, half-stunned as Roman rocks Marlena in his arms, his tears spilling over her waxen cheeks.

 

“C’mon baby, just open your eyes,” he begs her as his shaking fingers pull her robe closer around her.  “Just talk to me….  *Please*.  Don’t leave me.  Marlena, I need you.  I can’t get through this without you.  You’re my *reason*, baby.  You’re all I want, all I’ll *ever* need, just dammit, don’t leave me Doc, don’t leave me… ”  His words dissolve into a litany of garbled sounds as the tears overwhelm him and he hugs her to his body in desperation.

“Drop the gun, DiMera!”  The command comes from the doorway and Stefano turns to find Abe Carver and Bo Brady with their guns trained on both him and Simmons.

 

“That’s enough, old man!” Bo orders with a sneer as his eyes flick across to John and Marlena.  “Drop the *gun* or it might just be construed as resisting arrest.  And then I just might be forced to shoot you.”  He grins nastily.  “Of course, *I* don’t have a problem with that, so really it’s up to you.”

 

“It’s *over* Stefano,” Abe warns him.  “Just put it down so we can get Marlena some help.”

 

Stefano stares at him blankly and then, like a man utterly beaten, he drops the gun on the floor and puts his hands in the air.

 

Bo is the first one into the room and he holds his gun on Stefano until he stands face to face with DiMera.

 

“Go on old man,” he mutters.  “Give me a reason to put a bullet in you.”

 

“Bo.”  Hope’s voice sounds sternly from the doorway.  “

 

“Damn!”  Bo grins.  “Looks like you’re saved again DiMera.”  He leans forward and whispers confidentially, “don’t count on it happening next time.  One of these days you and me, we’re going to get up close and personal and only one of us will come out alive.”

 

“Well, don’t count on it being *you* then, Captain Brady,” Stefano growls, finally coming back to himself as he sees the paramedics rush past them.    

 

“I don’t think you’re going to be the one dictating terms, somehow Stefano,” Bo sees Stefano’s gaze drift over to where John is cradling Marlena on the floor and his mouth twitches into a sneer.  “*Forget* it old man.  You’ve done all the damage you’re going to do to this family.  You’re going down so far and so long, no fucker is going to be able to even *find* you.”

 

With that, he grabs Stefano by the scruff of the neck and points the gun in his back.  “Up against the wall, old man!”

 

Abe enters the room with his gun drawn and looks at the officer next to him.  “Reilly, search the ‘suspect’,” he says the word with a look of distaste.  Stefano is no more a suspect than Ted Bundy. “Cuff him and read him his Miranda rights.  Then I want you and McRae to go with the prisoner and Captain Brady.  I want him down at the station as soon as possible.  And I want at least three officers with him at *all* times.  You understand me?”

 

“Yes sir,” the state officer salutes Abe and then turns away to assist Bo.

At the same time, across the room Roman is almost completely oblivious to everything else that is going on in the room as he holds Marlena to him.  Her blood is soaking into his shirt, but he doesn’t even notice it.  Just keeps murmuring to her, pleading with her.

 

And then Hope is there beside him.  She’s joined swiftly by what seems like a dozen paramedics and they are asking him to let go of his wife.  But it’s like they are a thousand miles away and he is trapped in a world where there is only Marlena.  A world she is slowly slipping away from him.  And the harder he tries to hold onto her, the more she slips away.

 

He’s playing it, over and over in his head, trying to work out if he could have done anything differently.  If he’d not been watching her, if he’d seen DiMera getting ready to fire?  He could have moved forward, got in the way….  There must have been *something* he could have done….

 

But God, those eyes… her smile… he couldn’t do anything but just be captivated by her.  He’d waited so long to see those eyes, the warmth, the love they hold…  When she was Grace, they’d been hard, almost dead.  All that was beautiful and generous and kind about Marlena had been locked away inside, buried deep beneath the brittle shell that had been Grace.

 

But he understands now, understands why she had needed Grace.  Grace had protected her vulnerabilities when nobody else could.  Or would.  Grace had been hard to live with, God, she’d been sheer hell, but he’s grateful to her now.  Because without her, he’s not sure Marlena would have survived.  

 

Doc, come back to me.  You have no idea how much I need you.  Oh God, if I never ask anything of you again, please, I can’t lose her now.  Please, I’m begging you….

All of a sudden, something cuts through the fog, it’s like a ray of light.  He’s not sure what it is, but he can see her face in his mind’s eye, her radiant smile, her golden eyes glittering with joy and love.

 

“Come on John,” Hope is saying, gently.  “You have to let the paramedics help her.  It’s the best thing you can do now, it’s the best way to help her, let them look after her.”

 

“C’mon buddy,” Abe’s voice cuts across the murmuring of the paramedics and Roman opens his eyes.  “That’s it.  Let these guys take care of Marlena.  They’re the best ones to take care of her now.”

 

“That’s it Mr. Black,” one of the paramedics is gently loosening his arm now and slowly Roman looks around the gathered group of concerned faces.  He’s still scared; he still doesn’t want to let her out of his sight.  But for now, he knows that Abe is right.

 

Gently he lets go of Marlena and watches as the paramedics quickly and gently assess her wound.  Hope has her arm around him as they watch Marlena being strapped into a stretcher and then the female paramedic comes back over to them.

 

“Mr. Black, my name is Sally,” the female paramedic says with a small smile that Roman assumes is meant to be reassuring.  “Now, we need to get your wife to the hospital right away.  The doctors will take her straight into surgery.”  Her green eyes are soft and sympathetic.    “I know this must be frightening for you.  But you can rest assured; she’s in the best of hands, both ours and the doctors.”

 

“Can I go with her?” Roman asks, his blue eyes wild with tiredness and fear.  The paramedic looks at Abe who nods.

 

“Of course you can Mr. Black,” she smiles, “if you follow us down now?”

 

“Right.”  Roman nods and allows Hope and Abe to help him up.  He’s been running on adrenaline for hours, but he’s all out now.  He’s completely exhausted but he’ll stay awake for as long as it takes.  Until he can see Marlena again.  Until he knows she’s going to be all right.

 

As he stands, something catches his eye.  The corner of a piece of paper that is sticking out from under the bed.

 

Taking his leave of Hope and Abe, he staggers over and slides a sheaf of papers out from under the luxurious fabrics that skirt the bed.  Picking it up, he sees John Black’s face staring back at him from the topmost photograph that is pinned to the front page.

 

So, this is the file that Grace took….

 

“What’s that John?” Hope comes up behind him, her curiosity getting the better of her.

 

Roman turns around, a tired and slightly manic smile on his worn face and hands the file to her.  “Take a look for yourself,” he says, “I’m sure it makes interesting reading.”

 

He turns for the door and before either Hope or Abe can react, he is gone; rushing to catch up to the paramedics and his wife.

 

“What is it?” Abe’s frown deepens as he sees the shock register on Hope’s face.

 

She has flicked through the photos and is scanning the first page of the document.  “Hope? What on earth is it?”

 

Hope turns to him, her mouth open.  “Oh my God!  Oh God, Abe.  This is….”  She looks from the paper to Abe.  “These papers are from Stefano’s files.”  Her eyes are wide with astonishment as she hands the papers to Abe, her hands literally shaking.  “According to this; John is NOT John Black, Abe.  He’s Roman Brady.”

 

~

 

Forty-six hours later

 

“Listen Bo, I’m not going to argue this any longer,” Roman says irritably as Hope and Abe look on.  “When the test results come in, then come and talk to me.  I’ve got far bigger things to worry about right now.  Like my wife.”

 

He turns to where Marlena lays motionless in the hospital bed.  Her surgery had been more complicated than the paramedics had originally anticipated, and she still hasn’t awoken.  The doctors seem to be hedging their bets, both about Marlena’s physical injuries and the mental trauma she has sustained.  There have been no guarantees, no assurances.  The surgeon has said now that all they can do is wait for her to awaken.

 

If she awakens.

 

Roman still hasn’t slept more than a twenty-minute stretch since they all arrived at the hospital.  He has spent most of that time at Marlena’s bedside, recounting the past few weeks to Abe and Hope.  And then repeating the implausible story to a disbelieving Bo.

 

There have been questions and doctors and tests and more questions.  He has given samples of his DNA to be matched both against Bo’s and against Shawn and Caroline’s.  And through all of this, Marlena has not left his mind for even a split second.

 

Every moment he has been able to spend at her bedside, he has been there.  It has been almost impossible for Hope and Abe to drag him away, even for a shower and a meal.  He is terrified that if he leaves her, even for a moment, something will happen to her.  And he will lose her again.  For good this time.

 

And the last thing he needs now is to be bickering with Bo.  Bo who doesn’t want to believe that his brother is still alive.  Because if this is his brother, then the man he has called brother for all these years, the man they have all taken into their homes, is nothing but a DiMera lackey.  And a would-be rapist at that.

 

It is easier to believe that Roman is dead and that this file and John’s outrageous story are fabrications than to face the implications if his words are truth.

 

“Look, I’m just trying to get this straight-” Bo persists.  “You said-“

 

“Oh, for goodness sake, Brady!” Hope explodes irritably.  She believes Roman; she knows after all, what Stefano and his team of cronies are capable of.  “Give your brother a break.  There will be plenty of time for this later.”

 

“I’m not trying to be difficult Hope, I’m just…. I don’t see how you can all just *buy* this.”  Bo looks aggrieved as he tries to explain himself.  “I mean, this is easily just another one of Stefano’s lies.  We all know that he lives to play games with our heads.  We could believe this and then we could just as easily turn around in three years’ time and find out that it’s all just another one of DiMera’s lies.”

 

“Look Bo, you believe what you want, okay?” Roman is utterly irritated at the way Bo can still wind him up.  Even after all these years.  It’s almost as though the knowledge that he is really Roman Brady, the revelation of his true identity has brought back all those natural sibling instincts in the way he interacts with his brother.  And he’s doesn’t like it.  Not right now, anyway.

 

He turns to Bo, the annoyance etched plainly across his weary face.  “Right at this point in time, I couldn’t give a shit *what* you believe.  All I want to do is be with my wife and if you can’t let me do that in peace then-“

 

“Okay, okay,” Abe holds up his hands and directs an annoyed look at Bo.  “I think we should let Jo-”  He stops himself with an self-conscious glance at Roman.  “I think Roman could use a break.”

 

“Thanks buddy,” Roman nods his head.  It’s going to take a long time to get used to being called Roman again.  Maybe as long as it will take them to get used to calling him Roman.

 

Bo glowers as he stares at his brother and then with a nudge from Hope, he turns on his heel and stalks from the room.  Hope throws Roman an apologetic look and follows him.

 

“Abraham,” Roman grasps Abe’s wrist as he starts towards the door.  “I mean it, man.  Thank you.  For everything.”

 

“Hey,” A deep chuckle rumbles in Abe’s throat.  “What are friends for?”  He looks at Roman for a moment, his eyes searching the unshaven face, and lingering on the red-rimmed eyes that glow as intensely azure as ever.  “Hell, Roman, it’s me that should be thanking you.”

 

“What for?”  Roman looks confused and Abe sees him reaching out to wrap his hand around Marlena’s.  Whether he’s looking for some kind of comfort or support, Abe doesn’t know.  It’s likely it’s nothing more than an unconscious effort to seek a sense of calm; to know that she is close.  After all, Marlena is the one person that has always believed in him.

 

“For not holding it against me.” Abe sighs.  He can understand why Bo doesn’t want to believe this is Roman.  They’d all welcomed the imposter with open arms, turned their back on the man they had loved and known as Roman for his whole life.  And Roman had been all but ostracized by the people that had once loved and supported him.

 

It had only been Marlena that had followed her heart.  Despite what her logic had told her, despite the opposition and often downright nastiness of her friends and family, she had been drawn time and again to Roman.  She has always been his support, his strength and his heart.  And he has been hers.  It makes too much sense for it not to be so.

 

“I should have known,” Abe sighs.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

“How could you have known?” Roman’s face flickers into a tired smile.  “Abraham, I was wearing a different face and I lost the memories of who I was before.  *He*,” the smile falls from his face as he thinks of Lamont.  Of what he did to Marlena.  He feels sick for a moment as he thinks of the years Lamont had spent in his home and in his bed and he has to look away to compose himself.  “He had all the aces, Abe.  Stefano saw to that.”  He looks back at his friend, sees the sympathy and the guilt in the familiar brown eyes.  “There was no way I could compete with that.  Stefano’s scheme worked like a charm.”

 

“I know,” Abe grimaces.  “But that doesn’t make me feel any better.  I feel like I should have known somehow.  I… we all turned our backs on you.”

 

“I don’t blame you,” Roman shrugs tiredly.  “Maybe I should, probably I could if I put my mind to it.  But it was the old man’s doing.  For us to all tear ourselves apart over what happened… we’d just be handing him victory on a plate.”

 

Abe says nothing, he knows Roman is right.  Rationally he knows that.  But he doesn’t know if Roman will feel the same once the shock has worn off.  Especially once he returns to Salem and sees his family.  And if, God forbid, anything were to happen to Marlena….

 

Abe’s gaze falls upon Marlena, lying still and ashen against starched hospital pillows.  Her blonde hair splays out over the harsh white cotton, only disturbed where Roman has touched it, run his fingers through it as he sits with her.

 

If Marlena doesn’t survive this, God only knows what will happen.  All bets will be off.

 

“Listen Roman, why don’t you get some rest?” Abe tries to reason with his friend.

 

“No Abe, I need to be here for Doc.”  Roman rubs weary fingers over his face, as though trying to rub the creases from his weatherworn skin.  “I need to be here,” he repeats.  “I’ve failed her so many times Abe, you have to understand…”

 

“I understand J-” Abe stops himself again.  “I’m sorry man.  I mean Roman.”

 

Roman shrugs.  He doesn’t care what they call him right now.  All he cares about is seeing Marlena’s eyes again.  All he cares about is holding her in his arms and knowing she is all right.  Knowing that he can take her home and spend the rest of his life making up for the time he has lost with her.

 

“The thing is, buddy, you aren’t going to be any help to her if you’re dead on your feet.  You need some rest, something to eat.  She needs you to stay strong now.”  Abe lays his hand on Roman’s shoulder.  “You haven’t failed her this time Roman.  She’s here and she’s safe.  None of us could have asked anything more of you.”

 

“Couldn’t you?” Roman squeezes Marlena’s hand and drops his head, his eyes sore and dry, suddenly prickling painfully.  “I keep thinking that there must have been something I could have done….”  His voice trails off into a pained whisper.  If they knew, if any of them really knew what he had done, would they still be so ready to praise him?

 

“It’s done now, Roman,” Abe tells him gently.  “Just focus on the future.  Marlena will make it through this.  We all will.”

 

Roman turns his head and looks at his wife.  “She has to Abe.  She just has to.  Because if she doesn’t,” his voice cracks, tears gathering painfully in his eyes, “I don’t know how the hell I’ll survive this, I really don’t.”

Chapter LXXX – Minority Attack

“Roman,” Abe lays his hand on Roman’s shoulder.  “Just come for a while.  Get something to eat.”

 

“No.” Roman shakes his head, his eyes fixed on Marlena’s face.  Pale and serene like a modern-day Sleeping Beauty.  If only his kiss could be so potent.  If only he could bring her back to life with the force of his love for her.  “No.”  He swallows, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth.  “I can’t leave her Abe.  I can’t do it.”  A point of moisture trickles over lined skin, disappearing into the forest of stubble that carpets his chin.  “Do you understand what it’s like to stand on a precipice, Abraham?  To know that in a moment, a split-second your life could end?”  He draws his thumb over the back of her hand, oddly fascinated by the complex and fragile interplay of blood and bone beneath the skin.  “If Marlena d….”  He squeezes his eyes closed, tears spilling from his lashes.  He can’t even say the words.  The next words come choked and gravelly.  “Abe, it’ll kill me.  I can’t do this without her anymore.  I can’t live in this world without her, I just can’t.”

 

His breath is spilling from him, being snatched away moment upon moment by the pain that emanates from the very center of his being.  It feels as though his heart is being torn from his chest and he can’t stop the tears.

 

Abe is taken aback a little by the strength of Roman’s words, the passion and anguish that thread every syllable he speaks.  He knows how much Roman loves Marlena, has always loved her.  But now it seems even more intense, if such a thing is possible.  Like the trials they have suffered have bound them into a unit that can never be split asunder.

 

“Roman, you can’t think like that.  You have to stay positive.  For her.  For yourself.”  Abe feels lost, powerless to help his friend.  He feels like he’s standing on the outside of a bubble that contains only Roman and Marlena.

 

“You know,” Roman laughs, the sound hollow and bitter.  “For these past few months, the only focus I’ve had is Marlena.  When I lost her, when she became Grace… it was a big fucking reality check.  I’ve treated her like shit, Abe.  I’ve come and gone from her life and she’s always been there, supporting me and loving me.  I left her in the hands of a man that….” he halts, tripping over the words and the intention behind them.  He still can’t process what happened to Marlena in those years that she was missing.  What Stefano did to her.  It’s like a nightmare that he can’t wake from.  “Jesus Abe.  Grace *hated* me for what happened to Marlena.  How the hell am I supposed to make that up to her?”

 

“You take it one step, one day at a time, Roman,” Abe says softly.  “Marlena is an incredible woman.  She has always forgiven you and she always will.  She loves you.”

 

“I don’t deserve that love,” Roman says miserably.  His gaze hasn’t shifted from Marlena’s face for even a second.  “I hurt her over and over.  I left her in DiMera’s hands, I left her to be violated and abused and hurt.  And then when she came back to Salem I did it all over again.”

 

His head falls again, and his hand raises, covering his eyes.  It remains there for a brief moment and then Roman wipes it down his face, obliterating the tears that linger on his face.  

 

“Roman!”  Abe’s voice is low and fierce.  “Don’t do this to yourself.  Don’t beat yourself up like this.  It’s not helping her at all.”

 

“All that time, Abe,” Roman speaks on, as though unaware that Abe has even spoken.  “All that time, when I could have been with her.  And I was with Isabella and then Kristen.  God, all that time when I was with Kristen, and it was hurting Marlena.  And I just let myself be manipulated while Kristen rubbed it in Doc’s face.  I was so weak and stupid.  And then Hope… on our *honeymoon*!”  He drops Marlena’s hand and looks away.  “How can I ever expect her to forgive me?  How can she even look at me after everything I’ve done?”

 

Abe moves around to face Roman, and he places his hands on Roman’s shoulders again, giving him a firm shake. “Roman, you have to stop this!”  His eyes are intense as he glares at Roman.  “You think Marlena needs this self-pitying from you?  She is your wife.  She married you again because she loves you.  More than I’ve ever seen one person love another.  Maybe you don’t deserve her, but my God, you have her.  And right now, she needs you to be strong for her.  She needs you to fight for her, to give her a reason to heal.  To wake up.  All this guilt and self-hatred you’re drowning in isn’t going to give her that reason.  So maybe it’s time to stop thinking of yourself and start thinking of your wife.”

 

Roman looks up at Abe, his bloodshot eyes conveying his surprise.  And then, to Abe’s profound relief, his lips tremble into a tiny smile, and he nods.  “You’re a good man, Abraham.  A damn fine friend.”    

 

“Both you and Marlena inspire me to be a good friend,” Abe says quietly.  “So don’t let me down.  Don’t let her down.”

 

Roman holds Abe’s eyes for a long moment, his thoughts and emotions playing across his face like it is a movie screen.  And then he nods, slow and deliberate. 

 

“You know I’ve never loved *anyone* like I love Doc.”  He turns back to look at her, reaching out with shaking fingers to touch her face.  “I’ve been such a fool, but it ends here Abe.  If I get the chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.  I’ll be the best husband I can be.  I’ll give her everything she needs and anything she wants.”

 

“You make sure you do that.”  Abe allows himself a small chuckle.  He has his own misgivings about what will happen on their return to Salem, but for now, he will keep them under wraps.  “Listen buddy, since you’re not going to have a break, I’ll leave you here.  I need a break, something to eat.  Why don’t you try and get a little rest here and I’ll bring you something back from the cafeteria later?”

 

“Sounds good man, thanks.”  Roman looks gratefully up at Abe again.  “And thanks for being a friend.  I needed it.”

 

“Listen John, any ti-”  Abe can’t help but smile when he sees the weary grin curl Roman’s lips.  “God, that’s going to take some getting used to,” he concedes.  “What I *meant* to say was – any time, Roman.  Any time you need a friend, I’ll always be here for you.”

 

Roman nods with a smile that follows Abe from the room.  

After a moment, he turns back to where Marlena is still and silent, swamped by hospital linens.  He listens for a moment to the machine that beeps out the strokes of her life and then he silently moves to the other side of the bed and climbs onto it, edging down beside her.  He lays his head on the pillow next to hers and lifts his hand to stroke her hair.

 

“Hey baby,” he whispers, his voice breaking again.  “I guess you heard all that, right?  Abe’s right, I’m being selfish.  I…. I get all wrapped up in myself…” he swallows, his eyes glassy with tears again.  “I look at you lying there and I can touch you and smell you but it’s…”  He sighs, his fingers sliding through strands of silky soft hair.  “It’s not enough.  It’s just not enough, Marlena.  See, I had you for a moment there, a split second, I had you.  After all those months, finally, you were there… and then you were gone.  And I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to do this without you.”  Another break in his voice forces him to stop for a moment and gather his composure.  And then he continues, his chest thumping in long, aching beats as he traces the contours of her face with the pad of his thumb.  “This living thing, it’s too hard baby.  I need you, I need to be able to hold you and talk to you and share everything with you.  And I know I don’t deserve that, I don’t deserve anything from you, forgiveness, love….”  He cracks again and a sob slips from his throat.  His hand tenses, curling into a fist, clutching at her hair.  “I don’t deserve it, but Marlena, I need it.  I need you baby, I’m *nothing* without you, don’t you know that?”

 

Silence.

 

There’s nothing from Marlena.  No flicker of life, no alteration in her breathing.  She just lays still and deathly silent.  

Roman presses his lips together to try and stop them from quivering, but they only tremble more with the threat of incipient tears.  “Please Marlena,” he begs her desperately.  “Please baby, if not for me, then for Belle.  And Sami and Eric and Carrie.  They need you sweetheart, just as much as I do.  For all of us, please fight this.  Please baby, don’t let DiMera win now.”

 

And still, there’s nothing, just cold, sterile silence, punctured only by the incessant beeping of the monitor above them.

 

Roman closes his eyes and buries his face in the pillow.  

 

~

 

“You read the file, Brady.”  Hope is furious at her husband as they stand outside the door to Marlena’s ICU room.  “How much more proof do you need?”

 

“I’ll believe it when I see the DNA results,” Bo argues stubbornly.  “It’s all too far-fetched, Hope.  I want to believe Roman’s alive as much as you do but-“

 

“Do you?” Hope crosses her arms and stares at Bo, her eyes flashing with anger.  “I mean, do you really, Bo?  If it means you have to lose some of that damn stubborn pride of yours and admit you are wrong?”  Her lips are set in a harsh line as she regards him.  “That’s your brother in there Bo and you’re turning your back on him simply because you can’t bring yourself to admit you’ve been wrong.  About a lot of things.  I have to wonder if you don’t want to find out that John is Roman because it’s going to mean a lot of apologizing on your behalf.”

 

“That’s not fair.” Bo is taken aback by the venom in her voice and he shakes his head accordingly.  “Of course I hope he’s Roman.  Yes, it will mean…”  he stops, thinking about exactly what it will mean for his family.  And Roman and Marlena’s family.  “It’s going to be hard for all of us to come to terms with….”

 

He looks away from Hope, peering through the window to where Roman lies on the bed beside Marlena.  God, this really does have the potential to turn the whole family upside down.  Everything that they thought they knew, the foundations they have built their lives on for the past ten years, will be torn down.  God only knows what it will do to Sami.  If he’s finding it hard to accept it, how the hell will Sami?

 

“Bo,” Hope’s voice softens as she slips her arm around Bo’s waist, her eyes following Bo’s gaze.  “It’s okay to be scared.  It *is* going to be hard.  But I think we both know in our hearts what those results are going to say when they come in.  And when we return to Salem, Roman is going to need all the love and support he can get from all of us to deal with this.  And Marlena…”  Her voice trails off, not daring to speak the words which hang heavily in the air.  

 

If she survives.

“Hey, there you are,” Abe strolls down the corridor towards them, a bag in his hand.  “Bo, I just had a call from Caroline.  She’s getting insistent about wanting some explanations.  I think you’d better talk to her.”

 

They’ve only given the family the most cursory of explanations, that they have located Marlena and John but that there has been an accident and Marlena is in hospital.  With all the uncertainty surrounding John’s identity, they had agreed that it would be better to have some time to process the whole thing and get some definitive answers from the DNA tests before they go ahead and tell everyone the truth.  Assuming it turns out to be the truth.  

 

Bo had adamantly maintained that there was no point in upsetting his parents and Roman’s children by getting their hopes up when this might turn out to be another DiMera trick.  And given the fact that there is some suspicion within the family now about Marlena’s role in ‘Roman’s’ death, Bo had also felt it might be as well to keep the true extent of her condition quiet.  

 

Abe and Hope had misgivings about the whole thing.   However, seeing the state that Roman was in over Marlena’s condition, they had quietly agreed between themselves that it might be best for Roman and Marlena if Roman had some quiet space and time to spend with his wife.  Whatever the outcome.

 

“What am I supposed to say?” Bo looks at Hope helplessly.  “I can’t tell them Hope, I can’t put them through that.  Not until we know the truth.”

 

“You can’t blame them for wanting to know the truth, Brady,” Hope shrugs.  “You don’t ask your folks to give DNA samples every day for no reason.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Bo looks back through the window to where John lays, his arm around Marlena.  This is so damn confusing.  In the past few weeks, he has been on a rollercoaster of emotions.  For a while, was furious at John for lying to him and betraying his trust.  He’d used Bo, called on his guilt and his loyalty to help him snatch Marlena from under Stefano’s nose.  

 

And then the hell of finding that Marlena was possibly implicated in Roman’s death.  The idea had almost crippled him.  Still does, if he lets himself think that way.  Even if she was not *Marlena* at the time?  But if he could forgive Hope for what she has done as Gina, how can he blame Marlena?

 

Except that it was *Roman*.  His brother.

 

She had murdered him in cold blood, put a gun to his head and blown his brains out. Without so much as flickering an eyelash.  Leaving his funeral with Stefano DiMera, she had carried on her life as though nothing had happened.

 

He’s had nightmares about it, how it must have felt for Roman in those last moments, seeing the face of the woman he loved as she held a gun to his head.

 

And now they’re telling him that wasn’t Roman at all.  That John has been Roman all along.  Like that makes it somehow better that Marlena or notMarlena killed a man.  Except that it *would* make it better.  Because it wouldn’t be Roman.  And because there was a reason.  And he hates that he even feels like that, except that he does and he’s glad he does because it makes things simpler.

 

But it all hurts so much.  The choice, to prefer that he turned his back on his own brother or that his brother was murdered by his own ex-wife.  What the hell kind of choice is that?

 

“But nothing, Bo.” Hope says softly. “Look, I can call them tonight and stall them for a day or so, but you need to face this.  Those results are going to take another couple of days to come in.  Can you make Shawn and Caroline wait that long without some kind of explanation?  Is it fair to leave the family in the dark about Marlena?  Do we have the right to make that choice for them? I mean, if… God forbid, if Marlena were to…. if she doesn’t survive this Bo, will they thank us for keeping them in the dark?  Whatever it is she did?”

 

“Hope, you can’t ask me to make that choice,” Bo says, desperately.  “Not right now.”

 

“You already made that choice Bo.  I’m asking you to think about it a little more carefully.  There’s more to consider here than just your feelings.”  Hope sighs and grabs Bo’s cell phone out of his hand.  She holds his eyes for a long moment and then she shakes her head, her long chestnut hair rustling softly as it swings about her shoulders.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

Abe watches her walk down the hall and then turns back to Bo.  He feels some sympathy for his friend, but Hope has made good points.  Bo needs to start considering everyone else instead of staying stuck inside his own head, mulling on his own feelings.

 

Bo looks past him to where Roman is stirring on the bed, drawing Marlena’s hand up and kissing it.  He feels such a turmoil of emotions when he looks at the pair of them that it’s becoming impossible to tease them out and make sense of them.  He needs some solid answers, the what ifs are driving him insane, and he just doesn’t want to put the family through this same hell.  He wants to take definitive answers home to them and then they can all deal with whatever the truth is.  That’s not selfish, that’s just protecting his family.  Isn’t it?

 

“I’m just going to drop these sandwiches in to Roman,” Abe tells Bo and turns to open the door before Bo can reply.  Bo frowns and follows Abe.  He stops at the doorway and watches as Roman looks up with tired, reddened eyes.

 

“Here,” Abe holds out the paper bag uncertainly.  There is no response from Roman and Abe puts the bag on the bedside cabinet.  Bo chews on his lip as Abe asks Roman if he needs anything else.  And then, almost despite his best intentions, he takes a step into the room.

 

“John-” He says the name apprehensively and the goal of his attention sighs and turns to him. 

 

“What is it, Bo?”  He struggles into a sitting position, one leg dangling from the bed.  But his fingers are still entwined with Marlena’s.  Bo feels slightly ill as he looks from her to John.

 

“I…” he swallows back the bile.  “Look, I just wanted to say….” he fidgets nervously, his eyes flicking around the room, looking for something to alight on.  Something that is not John or Marlena.  “I don’t want to upset you man.  I know this is hell for you.  I went through it not that long ago myself.  I…”  He meets Roman’s eyes, his gaze hard and intractable.  “I don’t want to make things worse.  But you have to understand how hard this is for me.  For the family.  There’s… what Marlena…”  he swallows again, feeling sick to his stomach.  “What she did and-“

 

“She wasn’t Marlena,” Roman growls back, his eyes darkly intense.  “Any more than Gina was Hope.”

 

“I get that,” Bo nods quickly.  “I do, but… it was Roman.  Maybe-” he says quickly as he sees Abe’s look of disgust.  “Okay, maybe it wasn’t Roman, but we knew him for ten years as Roman.  And she…” his eyes alight momentarily on his one-time sister-in-law and he shakes his head, unable to continue.  “And I’m having a hard enough time wrapping my head around that one.  And now you expect me to accept that everything I’ve known for ten years is a lie.  And it makes things better except that…” he looks up at Roman again, his brown eyes anguished.  “Except that fuck man, it makes things so fucked up that I don’t know how we make any sense of them.  That DiMera had Marlena and then he had Hope and he sent this imposter back and we all accepted him as Roman.  And-“

 

“You don’t think I get all that Bo?”   Roman says angrily.  He lays Marlena’s hand down on the bed clothes and pushes himself off the bed, taking two steps towards his erstwhile brother.  “You don’t think I understand how fucking complicated this is for *everyone*?  I just found out I’ve lost ten years of what should have been my life and I still don’t remember anything prior to coming to Salem in 1986.  I’m having a fucking hard enough time believing it myself.  So don’t tell me how fucking *hard* this is for you, okay?”  His lips compress into a thin white line as he tries to rein in his anger.  The skin between his eyebrows creases into deep folds as he looks over at his wife and then back at Bo.  

 

“You see, it’s like this, little brother.  Marlena is lying in this bed because of what DiMera did.  And what I *didn’t* do.  While I lived my life back home with Yvette and Diana, DiMera was slowly destroying her.  He was tearing her apart, piece by piece.”  Roman swallows, his mouth suddenly parched, his throat almost closed up.  “He arranged for that *bastard* Lamont, the same man that you’ve been calling brother for ten years, the same man you sent into her bed when you welcomed him into the family, to *attack* her.”  The corners of his mouth are turned down and air blows noisily through his nostrils as he tries to control his temper.  “And then, when that wasn’t enough, he orchestrated a meeting between her and Orpheus.”  

 

His hands ball into fists as he tries to banish the images from his head, the images that have haunted him from the moment he released her into the paramedic’s care.  “While I was lying in my bed at home, making love to some woman that in hindsight means *nothing* to me, Orpheus was *raping* her, Bo.”  Bo flinches as Roman says the words but Roman pays no attention to his reactions.  “He violated her, he ripped out her heart and soul.  He destroyed every little shred of kindness and softness in her.  And I *let* it happen.  I should have been out there searching for her.  If there was even the shred of a chance that she had survived, I should have searched for the rest of my life for her.  And instead, I took the easy route out.  Maybe I wanted to believe that she was dead because the alternative was too painful.”  He looks at Marlena again and he brings his fists in front of him, his face contorted in pain.  “But look how the alternative turned out.”

 

“Roman,” Abe’s voice fills the room, velvety rich.  “Don’t.  Don’t do this to yourself.”

 

“Why Abe?” Roman looks across at Abe, the misery just pouring off him in waves.  “It’s all the truth.  I left her to that madman and then when he sent Lamont to Salem, I believed all of *you* and I walked away from my wife.  From the one person I should have fought for above everything.  I left her to that….” his lips tremble with barely suppressed fury, “that *animal*.  So don’t you *dare* tell me how difficult this is for you.  Because, little brother, until you’ve walked in my shoes,” he turns and points at the bed, his whole body shaking now, “or Marlena’s, you don’t fucking know *anything*!”

 

Bo holds Roman’s eyes, his whole body tense and alive with nervous energy.  He feels overwhelmed, overloaded with information and emotions that he simply has no way to process.

 

And then, like a slow-motion nightmare that seems to last forever, the monitor that has been blipping quietly behind Marlena’s bed suddenly ceases it’s even, sonorous tones and instead begins to spill out a long, monotone hum that fills them all with horror.

Chapter LXXXI – Isolated Queen’s Pawn

Bo is terrified as he looks at Roman who looks across at Abe and then at his wife.  He looks completely lost, floundering in exhausted panic as he looks helplessly back at Abe.  By the time Abe has gathered his wits enough to bark an order at Bo to call a doctor, medical staff are already flooding into the room.

 

The three men find themselves shuffled out of the room by over-efficient nurses and the door closes firmly behind them, the blinds at the windows immediately following suit.

 

Roman turns bewilderedly, looking at the blank door in front of him.  His eyes are wide with confusion as he turns to Abe.

 

“What-?” he begins, looking like a lost child.  And then suddenly, it seems to hit him, and he staggers back, hitting the door heavily with the plane of his back.  Then he is gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably as his knees give way and he slides down the door, landing in a heap on the floor.

 

“Jesus,” he whispers in between shallow, uncontrolled breaths.  He’s not crying yet, he’s too shocked, too frightened to feel anything but this utterly numbing terror.  “No.  Please God, no.  Don’t take her from me.  Please, not now.”

 

“God, what’s happened?”  Hope rushes the last few steps towards the huddled group.  “Is it-?”

 

“She’s-” Bo’s aghast gaze swings from Roman to Hope.  “I think her heart… stopped.  The doctors, they’re all in there…”

 

“Oh God,” Hope tucks the cell phone in the pocket of her jeans and kneels beside Roman.

 

“Roman?”

 

“Get away from me,” Roman’s head snaps up, his eyes wild with fear.  “Don’t *touch* me.  If it hadn’t been for *you* none of this would-“

 

“*Hey*!” Bo interrupts angrily as he helps Hope up and wraps his arm around her waist protectively.  “That’s enough!  You said yourself in there that Hope isn’t responsible for what Gina did.  Don’t take this out on her, that’s not fair.”

 

“Not *fair*!?”  Roman glares at Bo incredulously and his voice rises until it is an irate shout.  “What the *fucking hell* about this is fucking *fair*?”  He drops his head into his hands again, his fingers threading through his thick, dark hair.  And he rocks forward, his voice anguished.  “Christ, this can’t be happening to me.  Please, let this not be happening.  I’ll give *anything*, just don’t take her away from me…”

 

“Roman,” Abe is crouching beside Roman now, touching his arm lightly.  “C’mon man, this isn’t a good place to sit.  Come over and sit on the seats here.”  He’s grateful when Roman doesn’t shout and doesn’t fight him.  He simply looks up at Abe with fearful blue eyes that lay his soul so bare that it cuts a swathe through Abe’s defenses.

 

Abe feels his own eyes fill with tears as Roman lets him help him up and then they both slump into the seating opposite the ICU door.  The door that separates Roman from the sliver of hope and faith on which his life now depends.

 

The seconds tick by interminably slowly as they wait, Abe and Roman side by side.  Bo and Hope stand a small distance away, Bo’s arms around his wife as they all watch the door for an answer.  An answer that seems to be taking an eternity to arrive.

 

They watch as a nurse leaves the room, rushing quickly away before any of them can corner her.  And then another doctor arrives, slipping into the room without so much as a word.  

 

Once more, the minutes tick by and Roman’s head drops into his hand.  His mind drifts back through the years.  He’s come close to losing her too many times.  He’s grieved her more than any man should grieve a woman.  And yet, if he loses her now, he will never stop grieving.  He can’t imagine waking into a world that she does not inhabit.  He can’t imagine seeing the sun, smiling, talking with friends, while he knows that she is not somewhere nearby.

 

Even if she hates him, even if she will never forgive him.  Even if he can never kiss her, touch her, make love to her again, he needs to know she is somewhere in his world.  Somewhere safe, being loved and honored the way she deserves.

 

But God, just the thought of seeing her and not being able to touch her….  He’s tried that before and it’s killed him slowly but surely.  Even while he was with Kristen, he’d been able to think of nothing but Marlena.

 

Kristen…

 

He feels sick again.  All that time wasted.  All the lies…. how the hell can any of them separate the lies from the truth anymore?

 

“Roman.”  He feels a nudge from Abe in his ribs and he looks up expectantly, his heart drumming loudly against his ribs.  He stands as the doctor reaches them.

“Mr. Black?” the doctor raises his eyebrows wearily as he folds his arms across a clipboard that he holds in front of him.

 

“Is she-” Roman’s heart is in his throat as he awaits the doctor’s answer.  “My wife.”  His voice shakes as he forces out the words.  “What’s happened?  Is she….”  He can’t even voice the options.

 

But the doctor relieves him from any need to question further.  He’s clearly sympathetic to Roman’s plight as he reaches out and lays a hand on Roman’s arm.

 

“Your wife is a fighter Mr. Black.  She’s fine.” The doctor pulls his hand back and rubs his face tiredly.  Then he adds a qualifier.  “For the moment.  But I wouldn’t like to go through that again.”  He gives Roman a significant look.  “Next time we might not be so lucky.”

 

It takes Roman a moment to digest his words and when he does, his knees buckle with the relief.  It’s only Abe grabbing his arm that keeps him upright.

 

“Thank God!” His head rolls back and he looks skyward gratefully.  “Oh, thank you, God!”

 

“And thank you, doctor,” Abe nods at the doctor, his relief not as profound as Roman’s, but no less evident.

 

“Yeah,” Roman pulls himself together and looks straight at the doctor, his intensely cobalt eyes conveying his gratefulness.  “God, thank you.  Really.  I don’t know what I would have done-“

 

“Well, the most important thing is to make sure this doesn’t happen again Mr. Black.”  The doctor’s glance travels to where Bo and Hope stand and then moves back to Roman.  “Perhaps any future arguments can take place *outside* your wife’s room so as to not upset her unnecessarily?”

“Yes, of course.” Roman nods, chagrined.  Once again, he has been so wrapped up in his own pain and selfishness that he has put Marlena’s needs aside.  And he’s almost paid the ultimate price.  He can’t do it again.  From now on, every waking thought has to be focused on her and what he can do for her.  What he can promise her.  What he can give her.  He looks up at the doctor.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

“Good.”  The doctor nods his head.  “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you Mr. Black, your wife has been through a series of very traumatic events.  Right now, she needs all the support you can give her, but she also needs the peace to heal.”  He consults the clipboard briefly and nods before looking back at Roman. “As such we think it would be best if Mrs. Black is limited to only one visitor at a time.  And only for short periods.  Twenty minutes every couple of hours.”

 

“No,” Roman shakes his head desperately, his bloodshot eyes registering his horror at this development.  “No, I have to be in there with her.”

 

“No, you don’t.”  The doctor shakes his head.  “Quite frankly, Mr. Black, I think you’d be more use to your wife if you got some rest.”

 

“I can’t leave her,” Roman reaches out and grabs the man’s white lab coat, his expression pleading.  “Please.  What if she wakes up and I’m not there?  You don’t understand, I can’t leave her.  I need to be with her.”

 

“I’m sorry Mr. Black, but this is about what your *wife* needs,” the doctor says, not unsympathetically.  “The moment there is any change, we will call you.”

 

“You won’t need to,” Roman says stubbornly.  “I’m not going anywhere.  If I can’t be by her bedside, then I’ll wait out here.”  He points at the seats behind him.  “As long as it takes.”

 

“It could be days.”  The doctor shrugs.  “Weeks even.”

 

“Then I’ll wait days.  Or weeks.”  Roman’s jaw is set in an obstinate line, the muscle in his cheek twitching.  “I’m not leaving my wife.”

The doctor sighs, his shoulders drooping.  By this time, most relatives have given in to their weariness.  Most are glad to be told that they need to leave, to go home and rest.  It gives them an escape clause without having to make a conscious decision to leave the bedside of their loved one.

 

But evidently not this John Black.  He is determined not to leave his wife for even a moment.  Of course, if even half of what the doctor has read in the case notes is true, he’s not sure he can blame the poor bastard.

 

“All right,” he shrugs.  “I can’t stop you from waiting out here, Mr. Black.  I personally think you’d be much better off going and having a good rest and a decent meal.  But I can’t make you do that.”  He shakes his head.  “However, it’s still only twenty minutes in with your wife.  Then the nurse will ask you to leave.  She’ll let you know when you can go back in.”

 

“Can I go in now?” Roman asks wearily.  He doesn’t care about the minutiae of the rules.  He just wants to see Marlena, to see with his own eyes that she is all right.  That she is safe.

 

“In about ten minutes.”  The doctor consults his watch.  “I’ll let the nurse know and she can tell you when you can go in.”

 

Roman nods and rubs his fingers across his forehead, trying to massage away the headache which stretches like a steel band around his head.  “Thanks.”

 

The doctor nods and heads back to Marlena’s room.  Roman slumps into the chair behind him and drops his head into his hands.

 

“Fight?” He hears Hope demanding through the haze of exhaustion that envelops him.  “Brady, so help me, if you’ve starting trouble again….”

 

Roman looks up to see Bo give him a fleeting look, his expression downcast.  “I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly.  “I just wanted to tell J-…  I wanted him to understand why I was feeling like I was… am…” he shakes his head in frustration.  “Oh God, what’s the use?”

 

“Don’t give him a hard time, Hope.” Roman’s voice feels low and unfamiliar as it rumbles in his chest.  “He’s telling you the truth.  It was my fault really, I’ve just been feeling so damned….” he closes his eyes and shakes his head, “responsible for everything that’s happened.”  He opens his eyes again, tears spilling over tired, lined skin as he looks at the closed door in front of him.  “It’s been eating me alive, and I think I just snapped.  Bo happened to be in the way, that’s all.  And…” he compresses his lips into a thin line and shakes his head, “it was Marlena that suffered the most.  Isn’t that typical of me?”  He shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the moisture from his face with angry strokes of his fingers.  “I’m in pain and so Marlena’s the one that gets burnt.”  He gives a tight, bitter laugh.  “What the hell does she see in me, anyway?”

 

“Roman,” Hope approaches him quietly.  “I know it seems like that now, when everything seems so messed up.  But she loves you because you’re a wonderful man, you have to believe that.”

 

“Hope,” Roman holds his hand up.  He appreciates her efforts and her intentions, but his skin still has the tendency to crawl when she gets too close and right now, she’s really the last person he needs to counsel him on his relationship with Marlena.  “All due respect, but I really don’t need your input right now.”  He looks up and sees the flicker of hurt in her eyes and he feels bad for her.  And for what they have all suffered.  But it doesn’t change the way he feels.  

 

He sighs and straightens his back.  “Look, Hope, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. That was unfair of me.”

 

“You were distraught.” Bo has come up behind Hope now and she is reaching for his hand, seeking his support and comfort as she speaks.  “I knew that.  It’s okay.”

 

“It wasn’t fair,” Roman repeats.  “But the fact is, we all still have a hell of a lot of healing to do.  We have a lot to come to terms with.  And right now, I need to focus on my wife.  And I’m finding it difficult to do that when you’re standing there reminding me of everything I have to feel guilty about.”  

 

He looks up at her, meeting her eyes.  Her jaw is set, and she is gripping Bo’s hand as though her life depends on it.  But other than that, she shows no reaction to his words.  But he knows Hope better than that.  Knows how upset she is by her lack of reaction.  “Look, I know that’s not fair of me, because I know you’ve been through hell too and none of it was your fault any more than it was mine, or Doc’s.  But it’s how I feel, Hope.  I’m sorry, I wish it wasn’t.”

 

Hope’s lower lip trembles for the briefest of moments and then, slowly, she nods.

 

“I know.  I’m so sorry Roman, I just wanted to help.  I wanted to make up for some of the havoc… Gina caused.”  She looks down and swallows, looking back at John with dark eyes set in a pale face.  “But I guess it’s too raw still.”

 

“While Marlena’s still in that room, fighting for her life, yeah, it is,” Roman says tersely.  And then he nods tiredly.  “But truly, thank you for understanding.  When all this is over, maybe we’ll all find some way to mend the damage that has been done by DiMera.”

 

“We have to,” Bo says simply, “or the old man has won, once and for all.”

 

Roman holds his brother’s gaze for a long moment.  And then he realizes that something is happening.  There are flickers there, images long buried that threaten to solidify and become something substantial.  He can’t quite grasp them, can’t quite define the nebulous edges, but he knows they are there, all the same.

 

The thought both exhilarates and terrifies him.

 

But now is not the time to chase after long dead ghosts.  There will be plenty of time for that.  When Marlena is in his arms again, whole and complete.  That’s his only priority now.  Pursuit of the past can happen when he is standing on solid ground once again.

 

Because Bo is right.  If he lets anger separate him from his family, then DiMera will have won.  And there is no way in hell he will let Stefano have that pleasure.  He’s already taken far too much from them.

 

“Yeah,” Roman gives Bo a rueful smile.  “You’re right little brother.  For once.”

 

The hint of a smile flits across Bo’s face and he wraps his arms around Hope.  “Hey beautiful, whaddya say we go back to the hotel and get some shut-eye?”

 

“Sounds good,” Hope murmurs, clearly grateful for Bo’s support.  He bends a head and drops a kiss on the top of her head.  “Call us, if there’s any change?” she asks Abe quietly.  Abe nods his assent silently and Hope pauses, looking at Roman.  Then, with a shake of her head, she lets Bo turn her away.

 

Roman ignores their retreat.  He’s staring at the door to Marlena’s ICU room again, willing the nurse to come out and tell him he can see her.  All this waiting is really wearing on his nerves, but he knows there’s nothing he can do.  He has no choice but to simply wait.  Wait as long as it takes.

 

“Are you okay?” Abe asks quietly as he lowers himself into the seat next to Roman.

 

“Yeah,” Roman leans back in the chair and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh.  “I know I’m being selfish Abe; I know that.  But I have to be right now.  To maintain my sanity.  If I’m going to be any use to Marlena, I need to focus all my energy on her.”

 

“He-he-hey,” Abe holds up his hands and grins.  “No need to explain to me.  You were just being honest buddy.  I respect that.”

 

Roman breathes heavily through his nostrils, slumping in his chair as he allows his taut muscles some release.  Then he opens his left eye and turns his head so that he can see Abe.  “Thanks man,” is all he says.

 

They sit there that way for what seems like hours.  In truth it’s probably only half an hour but it drags interminably.  But despite that, the silence between them is comfortable.  Companionable, even.  They are friends who understand each other, friends that have finally found where they fit together again.  

 

Roman likes the feeling.  It’s familiar and he’s missed it.

 

“Mr. Black?”  He looks up to find a pretty nurse walking towards him.  “You can see your wife now if you’d like.”

 

“I’d like, yeah,” his nod is followed by a yawn that he is unable to stifle, and the nurse gives him a sympathetic smile as he pushes himself wearily from the seat.  “Go and get some rest man,” he tells Abe, “no point in both of us hanging around here all night.”

 

“No,” Abe shakes his head, “you need the moral support.  I’m staying.”

 

“Seriously Abe,” Roman shakes his head.  “I’m fine.  I’ll just curl up here on the seat and take a nap when they kick me outta Doc’s room.  But you,” he raises his eyebrows, “I need you to be on top of things.  DiMera’s still in that jail cell downtown and I need you to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere he’s not supposed to go.”

 

Abe nods resignedly. “Okay, you have a good point.  I’ll go back to the hotel. But please, make sure you call me if you need me.  If anything happens.”

 

“You know I will man,” Roman smiles, clapping his hand on Abe’s shoulder.  “You’ll be the first to know, my friend.  The first to know.”

Chapter LXXXII- Zwischenzug

Fifty-seven hours later

 

Roman is sound asleep.  He sits next to Marlena’s bed, his head bowed. His cheek rests solidly against the stark white blanket that covers his wife.

 

He still has not left the hospital, and he’s only snatched an hour or so of sleep here and there for days now.  He’s unreservedly exhausted and the constant stress and anxiety is taking its toll.

 

But still, he refuses to leave.  Even the medical staff have given up trying to persuade him.  They’ve realized that it’s hopeless.  The most they’ve been able to get him to do is have a shower and change his clothes.  Other than that, Roman will not leave his wife’s side.  Not for a moment.

 

The doctor that had ordered the twenty-minute visits had rescinded that same order yesterday when it had become apparent that his patient’s husband was not going anywhere.  And with the lack of change in her condition, he had decided that it was better to have her husband in the room with her, out of harm’s way rather than cluttering up the corridor outside the room.  There can still be only one visitor at a time, but Roman is in there for most of the twenty-four hours that a day gives him.

 

He sleeps uneasily and he twitches and moans, his hand searching across the white expanse until it finds Marlena’s.  His fingers twine with hers and he mutters something softly.

 

And then almost inaudibly, a soft whimper slips from Marlena’s throat.

 

Roman’s head rises as though he has heard a gunshot, although, in truth, he has not consciously heard anything.  Not anything he can remember.

 

But still, he knows something has just happened.  Something has disturbed him.  He looks at Marlena with bleary eyes and shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of sleep that lingers, obscuring rational thought.

 

There is no change.  Marlena still lies in the same position, long lashes sweeping over high porcelain cheeks. 

 

Roman pushes himself away from the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing at his scalp to try and eliminate the headache that has taken up residence there.  He looks around, but everything is as it was when he had laid his head down.

 

With a sigh, he reaches up and brushes the back of his fingers over her cheek, being careful not to disturb the clear tube that runs under her nose and across her face.  She looks so fragile, like a china doll and there are some moments where he’s almost afraid to touch her, lest she break.

 

“C’mon Doc.” He breathes heavily.  “Come back to me baby.  You have to fight; you have to do this.”  His eyes crinkle at the corners, always a good indicator that he is fighting tears.  “C’mon honey.  If it’s not for me, then do it for the kids.  Do it for Belle and Sami.  They need you Marlena, they need their mother.  Don’t let them down baby!” 

 

His lower lip trembles as he waits for the reply that never comes.  And then the frustration gets the better of him.  “Come on now Marlena.  Wake up, baby.  Just wake up, dammit!”  His breath catches in his throat, and he swings his head away in disgust.  Yeah, because getting angry at her is really going to make her want to come back.

 

He sighs and rubs his thumb over the back of her hand, studying the long, graceful fingers that are both gentle and strong.

 

“I’m sorry baby.  I know I can be an idiot.  And I know I’ve hurt you.  God knows, I know that, and I regret every single thing I ever did that caused you pain.”  He clenches his jaw and swallows over an arid tongue.  “But see, you’re safe now honey and I *promise* I’ll never ever hurt you again.  I’ll devote my life to giving you everything.  If that’s what you want.  And if you don’t want it…me…” he stumbles over the words, the pain in his chest suddenly intensifying.  “Well, I just need you in my life, however much or little that is, Doc.  I know it’s selfish, but I need you somewhere, somehow in my world.   I can’t bear waking up every morning knowing you’re not somewhere near.”  He squeezes her hand tighter and then lifts it to his cheek, cradling the palm against the thick stubble that has re-grown since his last effort at shaving in the hospital bathroom. “God, I can’t bear spending the next thirty, forty, years feeling like this, Marlena.  I can’t bear the thought of never seeing your smile, or hearing you laugh….”

 

His voice breaks and he looks away at the ceiling, trying to control his bubbling emotions.  When he glances back his eyes catch the envelope on the cabinet on the other side of the bed.

 

“The results are in Marlena.  Did I tell you that?”  He says so much to her, the same things over and over again that he forgets what he has told her, or how many times he has told her it.  Still, as long as he’s talking, trying to communicate with her, that’s the important thing.  If she would open her eyes and tell him to shut up and stop repeating himself – that would make him the happiest man in the world.

 

“Bo and Hope brought them over.”  He gives her a weak smile.  “Bo wanted me to open them.  You can imagine.  He’s certainly stubborn, that brother of mine.”  He frowns.  “Couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t open the envelope.  Of course he wants to know, and so do I.  But it doesn’t seem right doing it without you there, Doc.”  His frown transforms into the hint of an apologetic smile, and he resumes his exploration of her hand with his thumb.  “Truth is, I was a little nervous.  And then I realized something.  See, the family, they turned their backs on me.”  He frowns again, his forehead folding into furrows.  “They didn’t mean to; they were doing what they thought was right.  But you were the one that believed in me, that always tried to reach out to me when I was at my lowest ebb.  And I still don’t remember anything before the time I came to Salem as the Pawn.”  He shrugs.  “Maybe one day I will, but for now…” he lifts her hand and kisses it with the gentlest of touches.  “My life started the day I saw you in that hospital, Marlena.  I felt at that moment that you were the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes on.  I couldn’t remember anyone or anything, but I was certain of that.  And you were immediately all I could think of.  So really, it’s not all that important.  Whether I’m Roman or just some random stranger who happened to have been thrust into your life…”  He gives her a loving smile and kisses her fingers again.  “Either way, the only thing that really matters to me Marlena is that I get to share my life with you.  Whoever I am….”

 

A sudden image of Grace flashes before him.  She’s beneath him, golden eyes huge and terror-filled and there is the sound of tearing silk.

 

“No!” he mutters, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.  “Jesus, *no*, that was not me.  I would never hurt you like that baby, you have to believe me!”

 

He drops his head onto the cover, the white cotton soaking up the moisture that slides from his eyes.  He’s had the same nightmare several times in the past couple of days.  It’s haunting him, both John Black’s actions and his near failure to stop the alien personality from demolishing Marlena’s final reserves of strength and sanity.  He doubts he will ever be able to forget the past week.  He’s not sure he ever should.

 

“I’m sorry baby,” he whispers, “You have no idea how sorry I am.  If I just had the chance to tell you… to see your eyes and tell you how I felt… feel…”

 

It’s a while before he lifts his head again, the room silent but for the now-familiar tiny blips of the monitor above the head of the bed.  The room looks fuzzy for a moment as his eyes attempt to focus.  He’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, and he knows that soon he’s going to have to give in and sleep for at least a few hours.  His body is on the verge of closing down and he’s going to collapse if he doesn’t start listening to it.

 

“Don’t want to leave you baby,” he murmurs.  “But I’m so tired.  So damn tired I can hardly think straight.”  He sighs and leans his elbow on the bed, propping up his head with failing fingers.  He smiles and closes his eyes.  “Do you know how incredible you looked when I first saw you in that hospital?”  One corner of his mouth twists upwards in an ironic grin.  “Seems like our lives have been filled with first times.  Remember when you were in hospital after you took that dive off that apartment building?  You gave me a fright then.”  He chuckles softly.  “You’re good at doing that.  Frightening the hell out of me.”  His smile falters then and he takes a deep breath.  “I’ll never forget that night on the pier.  When you came back to me.  Damn, but you looked like an angel.  Like the most exquisite, beautiful angel, appearing out of the mist.  I couldn’t believe it when I touched you and you were real….”  His eyes flutter open, dry and sore and he looks at her.  “You’re still the most beautiful woman that ever walked God’s earth.  How the hell did I get so lucky?”

 

The beeps chime a rhythmic beat that fill the silence of the room as his eyes drift closed again.

 

With a start, he lifts his head, his eyes fluttering open.  “C’mon baby,” he says softly, “You’re killing me here.  I can’t eat; I can’t sleep… my body’s going to pack up soon.  Give a guy a break and open those pretty eyes of yours….”

 

He takes a deep breath and hefts himself out of his chair, perching himself on the edge of the bed instead.  Maybe if he’s less comfortable, he’ll be less inclined to let the exhaustion beat him.

 

“I was thinking, you know,” he continues.  “About what an ass I’ve been.  You’ve got every right to hate me, you know.  I’ve had too much time lately to think of all the things that I’ve done wrong in the past ten years.  And there’s way too many of them.” He draws the palm of his hand down her thigh, just the feel of her next to him somehow comforting.  “It started when I let you walk away Doc.  I know I had Isabella, and you know I loved her.  But it was never anything like what we had.  I think she always knew she was second best, that’s why she resented you for so long.  I never meant to hurt her, but I think I did because she knew, deep down that if you’d so much as looked at me the right way…”  He sighs.  “If I’d known baby, if I’d had an inkling that he was the kind of man he was… I *never* would have let him anywhere near you.  I guess Stefano did a pretty good job on him though.  And a good job on all of us too.”

 

He pauses, thinking of the day that Kristen had wheeled the Roman doppelganger into the middle of their wedding.  How different things might have been….

 

“And then there was Kristen.”  He sighs, dropping his head guiltily.  Then he looks up at her again, his hand reaching to hold hers again.  “Jesus, how could I have been so blind, Doc?   I am *so* sorry she hurt you so much.  You know, it all makes a lot more sense now, this far down the track.  I see things a lot more clearly; I see how she must have hurt you and how you kept silent to protect me.  But God I wish you’d said something; I wish you hadn’t been so damned noble, Doc.  Always looking out for everyone else and putting yourself last.  Why do you do that?”  His eyes crinkle at the corners again as the pain of his omnipresent guilt swells, making his chest ache.  “Why?  You should have known your happiness was more important to me than *anything*.  But you didn’t, did you?  Didn’t know that because I didn’t tell you.  Just kept on blindly ignoring what was right in front of my face.”  

 

He gives a snort of disgust, “I should have known.  Christ, a woman like you?  All you had to do was click your fingers and any man would have come running.  But you didn’t, just lived your life, bearing the burden, watching me behave like a complete *ass*.  Jesus, Doc, why’d you even *look* at me after everything I put you through?”

 

The machines behind Marlena continue their long, even beeping.

 

Roman is silent for a long while, lost in his own thoughts.  And then his eyelids flutter closed and his head droops.  With a jerk, comes to wakefulness again, and shakes his head rapidly, trying to rid himself of the fatigue that plagues him.

 

“Listen baby,” he says softly, “I gotta go get some coffee.  I think I should mainline it.  I need something to keep me awake.  Unless, you know, you want to wake up.  Because that would sure as hell give me a boost.”  He gives her a rueful smile.  “Guess not, huh?  Listen, I’ll be back as soon as I can.  Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

 

With a long and weary sigh, he unfolds his limbs and slides off the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud, the impact rolling through his body like a wave until it vibrates in his teeth.  Everything feels tired, not just his head and his eyes, but his whole body, down to his teeth feels utterly shattered.

 

“Be right back babe,” he runs the palm of his hand down her leg and then turns for the door.

 

He opens it to exit and sees Bo sitting in the seat opposite the room.  He doesn’t look at all happy and the very last thing Roman feels like is an argument with his little brother about why he won’t open the results to the DNA test.

 

But that’s not what makes him stop short.

 

What makes him stop are the hairs that stand up on the back of his neck.  That familiar feeling that envelopes him like a warm fog, the connection, the comfort of knowing she is near.

 

His heart hammers in his chest, racing so fast he feels breathless, as slowly he turns around and meets those eyes he knows and loves so well….

 

“Marlena! Sweetheart, thank *God*!” He retraces his steps to the side of her bed, a smile etched across his weary face.  “How are you feeling baby?  I was so worried about you, I thought…. God, I was so afraid…”  He realizes he’s babbling as a shadow of something unfamiliar passes across her face.  She’s not smiling, in fact her expression is all but blank and a sudden panic grips Roman as he stops short.

 

“Baby?” he asks softly.  “Are you okay?  How do you feel?”

 

She’s silent for a moment and then her voice comes in a grating whisper.  “Tired,” she says, “and sore.  What the hell happened to me?”

 

“You…” he pauses, unsure how to proceed.  Part of him hopes she doesn’t remember anything of the past few months, that he can break it gently to her when she’s a bit stronger.  And part of him is terrified that if she doesn’t remember any of it, then Grace will come calling again.  He’s not sure he’s strong enough to handle that again.  “You had an accident, Doc,” he tells her gently.  “What… what’s the last thing you remember?”

 

She blinks rapidly, her eyes growing distant for a moment.  And then with a start, she looks at Roman, her eyes wide.  

“Salem Place.  We were at Salem Place.  And…” a tiny frown twists her mouth as she looks away.  Her eyes flick back and forth as she tries to remember and the frown grows, echoed by the creasing of the skin between her brows, “Stefano was there.  He…”  She stops abruptly and looks up at Roman, a flush staining her cheeks as she swallows.  “Oh John,” she shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears.

 

“Marlena, I am *so* sorry,” he says softly.  “You have no idea how sorry I am.  And we need to talk about it.  We need to sit down and have a good long talk about it.  I have a hell of a lot to explain to you and a hell of a lot to make up to you, if…” he stops, taking a deep breath, “if you’ll let me.  But right now, I think I should get the doctor in here.  Check you over.”

 

He gives her a tentative smile and reaches out to touch her face.  But she flinches, turns her head away before he gets the chance.  And he draws back his hand, like he’s been burnt, gasping for breath at the pain that resounds in his chest.

 

He clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together as he turns away from her, trying not to let her coldness upset him.  He knows she has every right to be upset, knows he has no claim to her love or her benevolence.

 

“John?”  Her voice comes from behind him.  Soft and terrified.  “John, please… don’t leave me.”

 

He swings around immediately and takes the one step that takes him back to her bedside, his heart pounding as he takes in the fear in her eyes, the panic that freezes her face.

 

“Hey baby,” he snatches up her nearest hand in his.  “It’s okay, you’re fine.  Nobody is going to hurt you now.  I promise you.”  He bends his head towards hers with a smile that belies his turmoil.

 

“I had…” her voice is tiny, her eyes brimming with fear.  Her hands tremble as she pulls them away from him, curls them into fists, drawing them up in front of her.  “I had a nightmare.  I…”  She bites her bottom lip.  “I dreamed… I…” her eyes flick away from Roman, trying to find something, anything else to focus on.  But she can’t find it.  Instead, looks back at him, honeyed eyes pleading, desperate for reassurance.  “Roman.  It… was Roman.  I…” her lower lip trembles and Roman feels a pounding in his chest.  A deep-seated distress for her that swamps him.  “I hurt him, John.  I… shot him.”  And then her voice literally drops an octave as she expresses her deepest fear.   “I *killed* him.  Why would I do that?”  She grits her teeth, trying to quell the rising panic. “Why would my subconscious come up with something like that?”

 

Roman pauses for a moment, unable to form the words.   He’s not sure what to say that will comfort her.  He knows he can’t lie to her.  He’s never been able to lie to her, not deliberately.  But he can’t tell her the truth either.  Not like this, not when they’re both so unprepared.

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says softly, reaching out to cover her fists with his large palms.  “It’ll be okay, I promise you, baby.  I’ll look after you.”

 

Marlena holds his eyes for what seems like long moments, searching the cerulean depths for some explanation.  Some kind of truth.  And the longer the silence lasts, the harder her heart thumps in her chest.  And the more her horror grows.

 

“It’s not, is it?” she asks in an almost inaudible whisper.  “It’s not a dream.  It happened.  It really happened.”

 

Roman tries to look away, but he is skewered by her anguished gaze.  He chews absently on his lower lip trying to find the words that will comfort her, that will stall her questions, at least for a few minutes.  He doesn’t want to be having this conversation now.  He’s worried that he might say something that will upset her too much.  She’s too fragile right now, he’s come too close to losing her to take any risks.

 

If he can just get the doctor in here to look her over and ask some advice on what he should say to her….  But he can’t just ignore her questions, can’t ignore the pain etched across her frightened face.

Gently he perches on the side of the bed and runs his thumb across her forehead, sweeping stray locks of hair from her eyes.

 

“There’s a lot I have to tell you Marlena.  A lot has happened in the past few months.  But the most important thing you need to know is that whatever happened, it was not your fault.  You were simply protecting yourself, sweetheart.”  He pauses, taking her hand in his, squeezing it as though his life and hers depends on it.  Her expression is confused and more than a little disbelieving.  “It’s okay Doc, I’ll explain it all as soon as I can, but you need to know…that man… he wasn’t Roman Brady.  You don’t need to feel guilty, because he wasn’t Roman.”

 

Marlena peers back at him, her anxiety and misapprehension drawn all over her ashen features.  How can he be so calm about this?  She remembers it.  It’s not a firm memory, it’s almost like watching her life through a movie camera, images and emotions that are not hers, but yet still hers.   

 

But she remembers it all right.  She’s numb from the remembering but she can see it in her mind’s eye; putting a gun to Roman’s head and she recalls the accompanying emotion as she emptied the clip into his brain.  He was her ex-husband, the father of her children.  But she had murdered him, and she had enjoyed doing it.

 

She can’t live with this knowledge, it’s horrific, it’s soul-destroying, and she doesn’t understand how John can sit there as though nothing has happened.

 

It’s at that moment that Bo appears in the doorway.  

 

Marlena takes one look at his face and new images, new memories wash over her.  Fragmented, jumbled, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  She has no reference, no frame to put them together.  But she knows that like her memory of Roman, they are real.  They’re not some terrible nightmare conjured by her tortured brain.  They are horrifically real.

 

She instinctively tries to move away from him, tries to scramble up the bed, but she’s stopped by a searing pain that slices through her side and her abdomen.  She gasps heavily, her eyes wide and glassy as she fights the nausea and the dizziness.  John quickly wraps his arm around her shoulder, helping her to lie back down against the pillows.

 

She stares back up into his beautiful indigo eyes, seeking some tiny measure of comfort.  She might not deserve it, but whatever she’s done, she knows he will be there for her.  She’s not entirely sure how she knows, but she does know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he will always be there for her.

 

The knowledge is both terrifying and breathtaking.

 

He smiles softly at her, drawing his fingers down the side of her face.  “It’s okay Doc,” he whispers, “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

In the doorway, Bo takes a step forward.  “John?” he begins.

 

“Not now Bo,” John answers curtly.  “Now is not a good time.  I need to spend some time with my wife.  Privately.”  He turns around to eye Bo with a clear warning that he shouldn’t say anything further.  “Please will you find me a doctor, I need to know that she’s okay.”

 

Bo pauses for a moment, as if he’s going to argue with John, but then Marlena hears the sound of his footsteps receding from the room.

 

She continues to look at John, her eyes imploring, and she curls her fingers around his wrist.

 

“What happened to me?” she asks desperately.  “I need to know.”

 

“Shhhhh.”  John seats himself on the bed next to her and attempts to calm her, stroking her hair tenderly.  “Just trust me, baby.  I’ll tell you everything, as soon as I can.  But right now, I need to make sure that you’re all right.  I need to get a doctor in here to look you over.  You have no idea how scared I’ve been for the last few days.  I thought I was going to lose you, lose you for real this time.  And I couldn’t have taken it.”

 

She shakes her head.  She’s miserable and she aches inside and out.  “How can you love me after what I’ve done?  I don’t know, don’t understand…”  She shakes her head again, utterly lost.  They’re just images, but they mean something.  Something real.  She’s hurt people.  “What have I done?  What is it you need to tell me?  Have I… is it…?” she swallows again, too frightened to even voice the thought that is burned into her consciousness.  “Is it the same as… before?”

 

“No!” John says immediately, grasping her hand tightly.  “No Doc, it’s not… you weren’t… possessed,” he assures her.  

 

“Oh…” she oddly feels a sense of something akin to disappointment.  As horrendous as that prospect is, at least it would provide some kind of explanation for the upsetting images and sensations that flicker through her head.  She drops her head and tries to gather her composure.  But she fails when he squeezes her hand again, sweeping his thumb across the back of her hand and she looks up at him, her lashes trembling with tears.  “I’ve done terrible things John.  You don’t understand…”

 

He gives her a tiny smile.  “Don’t you realize yet, sweetheart?  I’ll love you until the end of this world, until the end of *eternity*.  I’ll love you no matter who you are or what you do.  I can’t *not* love you, Marlena.  I’ve tried to put you behind me, for both our sakes, but the reality is, it will never happen.  You are my world; you’re my reason for *being*.  I’ll never *stop* loving you.”

 

Big, fat tear drops roll silently down her cheeks and she presses her lips together as she stares at him.  Then she folds up her arms, hiding the lower part of her face behind whitened fists.

 

She can’t bear the sympathy in his smile, the utter devotion in his eyes.  She doesn’t deserve them; she doesn’t deserve any of it.  

 

He reaches out and wipes away the tears with the pads of his thumbs as fast as they fall.  “I love you, Doc.  You’ll never get rid of me, baby.  Believe it.”  He sighs, cocking his head on one side.  “I’ve got so much to make up to you and I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing just that.  So don’t you worry about what I think of you.  If you can forgive me the things I’ve done, then I sure as hell can forgive you.”

 

Marlena closes her eyes, unable to bear any longer the love and comfort she sees radiating from his gaze.  She doesn’t deserve to be loved by him.  Not if the images that are flashing behind her eyelids bear any resemblance to the truth.

 

It’s like watching a movie, a jumbled movie of a life she hasn’t lived.  Memories that she has that are not hers and yet have residence inside her head.  Faces that she knows, faces that she loves.  Faces that are those of strangers.  But they all bear a similarity.  The pain and the fear.  Tears and anger and violence.  God help her…. so much blood… and so much pain.

 

If even a part of what these images tell her is true, if this is her world now, she’s not sure wants any part of it.  And once John finds out what she’s done, once he has some idea of the terrible things she has done… there’s no way he will be able to love her.   She’ll be alone, as she deserves to be.  

 

And if she’s alone, if he turns his back on her, she might as well be dead.

 

And maybe she deserves that too….

Chapter LXXXIII- Close Game

Roman winces as Marlena rolls her head away.  The torment on her face is killing him.  He’s about to try again but there is a noise behind him, and he sees the doctor that has entered the room, closing the door behind her.  

 

The young woman smiles as she picks up the chart from the end of the bed and Roman takes the opportunity to indicate that he wants to talk to her.  He needs some answers quickly.  He needs to know how far to take this, how much he can tell Marlena without the risk of causing her any more trauma than she is already suffering.  

 

He pushes himself from the bed, running his fingers down Marlena’s forearm before he takes his leave of her.  She flinches at his touch, but she doesn’t pull away.  That’s something, at least.

 

His chest aches as he walks to the corner of the room with the doctor.  He knows the hell that she must be going through.  He’d give anything to take it away; he’d do anything for her.  But he knows he can’t make this better, there is no magic wand, no panacea to ease her grief.

 

He briefly explains to the doctor that Marlena is starting to remember the things that happened while she was Grace.  And that he has no idea what he should tell her, if anything.

 

The doctor looks concerned.

 

“Clearly, the secondary personality has broken down,” she says softly.  “The need to protect your wife must have ended with the confrontation that occurred.  In some ways this is good because it means the personalities are merging naturally.”  Her expressive face conveys the fact that the news is not all good.  “However, it could present a problem in that your wife’s mental and emotional state is still very fragile and these memories are going to overwhelm her.  And we can’t control the rate at which these memories will return.”

 

She glances over at Marlena and chews on her lip briefly before consulting her watch.  “Listen, I’ll give your wife a quick examination and then I’ll see if I can find one of our consultant psychiatrists to come down.  They’ll be able to explain this process and give you better guidance then I could ever hope to.”

 

She frowns again, laying her hand on Roman’s arm as he looks over at his wife, doubt and concern swimming in his weary blue eyes.  “At this point, Mr. Black, there’s not much else we can do.  I could sedate her, but I don’t think that’s a wise option considering she’s taken this long to recover from the surgery.”

 

“So, I just have to wing it, huh?” Roman rubs his hand across his face, his exhaustion clearly evident and then nods.  “Right.”

 

The doctor, not knowing what else to say, moves across to the bed where Marlena lays prone and tense.

 

“Hello Mrs. Black,” she greets her patient with a gentle voice.  “I’m glad to see you’re awake, we were a little worried about you there for a while.”  Marlena doesn’t respond.  “I’d just like to have a look at your dressing and check your vitals, if that’s okay with you.”

 

Marlena’s eyes are still closed, her arms bunched tightly against her chest.  Roman gently strokes her forearm.  

 

“C’mon Doc,” he says tenderly.  “It’s okay, you can trust her.  Just let her do her job and then we’ll… we…” he stops, stumbling over his words as though his tongue suddenly doesn’t fit in his mouth.  He swallows and takes a deep breath.  “We’ll have that talk I promised you.”

 

Marlena slowly pries open her eyes and finds herself looking straight at John again.  “It’s okay,” he tells her softly.  It’s going to be okay.”  His words are unexpectedly soothing, and she relaxes a little, unfolding her arms.

 

The doctor stands on the other side of the bed and she slowly swivels her head to meet the eyes of the young woman.  A girl who looks like she’s barely out of school.  Marlena takes in her white coat and stethoscope.  Her name badge is pinned on the left side of her coat and it tells Marlena that her name is Dr. Josie Simpson.

 

“Hi there Mrs. Black,” she offers a sweet smile and puts a hand on Marlena’s arm.  Marlena flinches involuntarily and closes her eyes, relaxing only when John squeezes her hand.

 

“It’s okay,” the young woman says calmly and not without sympathy. “I’m just here to see that you’re okay, that’s all.  I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

 

Marlena looks back at her and then biting her lip, gives a nod so tiny as barely to exist.  Dr. Simpson takes that as her assent and sets about examining her.  Marlena remains motionless, looking into the distance and moving only as she is asked to.

 

She doesn’t understand any of this; none of it makes any sense.  Maybe it’s some horrible nightmare and she’ll wake up soon.  She bites her lower lip, tears gathering along her lashes.  If only it were.

 

“It’s okay baby,” John whispers, reaching out to her.  She grabs his hand gratefully as the doctor draws back the bedding and asks her to roll over slightly.  Marlena winces as Josie peels back the folds of her hospital gown and carefully checks the dressing on her wound.  

 

A wound that is a complete mystery to her.

 

Josie nods.  “It’s looking good Mrs. Black.  You were very lucky; the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs.  You should make a full recovery and hopefully you shouldn’t be confined to this bed for too long.”  She smiles congenially as she drops the gown back into place and then smooths back the bedcovers.  “If you’re anything like the majority of our patients, you won’t want to be stuck in here for too long!”

 

Marlena feels a cold pricking creep over her skin and a surge of nausea overtakes her as she looks at John.

 

“Bullet?”

 

“Yeah,” John nods, looking askance at the young woman before he looks back at her. “That’s part of what I’ve gotta tell you, sweetheart.”

 

“Right.”  Josie looks uncomfortable as she realizes her gaffe and she attempts a smile that fades miserably.  “I’ll get going then.  And Mr. Black, I will do as we discussed.”

 

Marlena watches John as he nods in her direction, his lips pursed in serious contemplation.  A second ripple of fear sweeps across her as the woman leaves the room.  And when he looks back at her, she can’t meet his eyes.

 

Instead, she stares at the plastic that is taped to the back of her hand.  The drip that disappears inexplicably into a vein, treating her for something she has no memory of.

 

Roman watches her, reading correctly the despair that is settling over her.  He can’t bear to see her like this, it’s almost worse than having Grace to contend with.  At least she had some spark of life, some resistance in her.

 

“C’mon baby,” He says firmly.  “I need you to listen to what I’ve got to tell you.”

 

She shakes her head with a grimace, tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

“I don’t want to know,” she whispers, ignoring the moisture that drips from her jaw.  “I… don’t think I can bear it.”

 

Roman shakes his head, reaching out and stroking her hair with hands that suddenly feel large and clumsy.  “I know you’re remembering some things, sweetheart.  But you’ve got to let me put them in context for you.  Once you understand everything, it’s going to be a lot easier for you to cope with.”  

 

His eyes flick to the envelope that is propped up on the cabinet next to the bed.

 

“If I’m not wrong,” he says, “there’s something that might help all of this make a bit more sense to you when I tell you.”

 

She looks at him in dismay.  “How can any of this make any sense at all?”  Her face crumples again.  “John, you don’t know…. the images that I’m seeing… they’re frightening… terrifying.  If even *half* of these bear any semblance of truth…”

 

“Shhhh.”  He puts his fingers against her lips.  “Just listen to me.  *Trust* me.  It’s not as bad as you think.  And that’s all you need to know right now.  Just wait for a minute.”

 

Roman gets up from the bed and moves around to the other side, sliding the envelope off the cabinet.  The stiff paper crackles between his fingers.  His heart is in his mouth, he’s been waiting for this answer for days now.  He hopes to God that these results say what he wants them to say or it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder to convince Marlena that she’s not responsible for everything that happened.  As much as he wants to be Roman Brady, he wants her happiness a hell of a lot more.  He’d give anything just to see her smile again.

 

“What is it?” Marlena asks him, her curiosity getting the better of her.

 

“Why don’t you open it and see?”  John places the envelope in her hand and withdraws his shaking fingers.  “I don’t think I can.”

 

Marlena’s brow folds into concerned creases as she fingers the thick, expensive envelope.  She looks at him and then looks back at the envelope.  It’s sealed and it’s clearly important, but there are no markings on the front.  No clue as to what it might be.

 

“Open it,” he asks with a strange edge to his voice. “Please.”

 

She raises her eyebrows, flicking a bemused glance at him and then lays the envelope flat in front of her.  Sliding an elegant nail under the corner of the flap, she tears her way along the top of the fold.

 

Her heart is beating unaccountably fast as she slides a piece of paper from the envelope.  She unfolds it and smooths it flat in front of her.  Scanning the contents of the single piece of paper, she blinks, twice, expecting the words to change.  But they don’t.

 

These are DNA results.  From the ISA’s lab.  DNA results that….

 

“What… what does it say?” he asks, haltingly.

 

Wordlessly, Marlena hands him the sheet of paper and watches his eyes as he reads it.  There’s no surprise there, simply quiet acceptance.

 

“I don’t understand,” she says in a tiny voice as she stares at him, examining the face that is so familiar to her.  So loved.  “How can this be?  How can it be true?”

 

Roman folds the paper up and places it back on the nightstand.  He slips back onto the bed next to her and takes her hand, kissing the back of it gently.  Then he turns it over and kisses her palm.  Her heart thumps violently as she waits for his answer.

 

“Because DiMera played the ultimate game of chess with us.  And he got away with it for far longer than he should have.”  He raises his eyebrows and gives her a regretful smile.  “He played us,” Roman continues, his gaze drilling into her, peeling back the layers of her confused emotions and finding the way straight to her wounded heart.  “But he didn’t count on the fact that you and I would continue to find our way back to each other.  It must have killed him that our hearts knew the truth, even if our heads couldn’t accept it.  You loved the person, not the name.  A name doesn’t make a person; it never made us anything less or more than we were.  We love a person, not an idea.  At least, you did, and hope you still do.”  He squeezes her hand and reaches out to cup her cheek in his palm.  He gently caresses the blush that spreads across her cheek and gives her a smile that is so tender and intimate it makes her soul sing.  “I know I sure as hell do.” 

 

Marlena simply stares at him.  She has no idea what to say.  She doesn’t have the words to express the tumult of emotions that are crashing around inside her.  The earlier fear and anguish are still there but now they are overlaid by a joy that is so profound it threatens to swamp everything else.  She doesn’t know how to express it.  So, instead, she just looks at him and studies his beloved face.  She knows that face intimately, knows every single inch of skin, every single muscle that lies beneath.  She knows the way he smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners when he does.  She knows the way his eyes meet hers and the way it leaves her breathless when it happens.

 

It’s a face that she’s known by more than one name, but maybe her heart has always known the truth.  She’s never been able to deny her love for him.  Not deep down.

 

Even before she knew he was Roman the first time, even when she thought he could be Stefano, there was still something within her that was drawn to him.  Inexplicable as it was at the time.  She’s always loved him, from the moment she met him.  And now she knows why.  Not just because he’s Roman, but because her heart is bound to his.  And it always will be.

 

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Roman asks.  He sounds nervous and she loves him for it.  She couldn’t love him anymore if she tried.

 

She shakes her head, managing the hint of a smile.  She can feel the tears again, threading beads of moisture between her lashes.  “I don’t know what to say.  I wish I had some idea what…” she trails off and closes her mouth, pressing her lips together as she tries to stem the threatening sobs.

 

“I know it’s a shock,” he replies softly.  “I wish I could have prepared you for it.”  He stops, clenching his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flickering beneath the tanned skin.  “I hope… I hope it makes you happy.”

 

“Happy?”  She’s astonished that he can even think she would feel otherwise.  “Jo-,” she stops short with a mixture of shock and joy.  “Roman.”  She looks at him as she repeats his name, rolling the word around on her tongue, examining the feel of it.  “Roman.”  She reaches out, ignoring the pain that glances through her stomach and touches her fingertips to his unshaven face.  She traces the lines that span out from his bloodshot, fatigued eyes; smooths her touch over the creases in his forehead.  He looks utterly exhausted, ready to drop and she suddenly realizes that he’s probably not slept in days.

 

“Roman.”  She breathes his name again, almost as though it’s a prayer.  “It makes me unbelievably happy.”  She gives a short, pained laugh.  “I don’t get it.  I don’t understand it.  But I believe it and it makes me…”  She stops again, fear prickling, crawling over her skin like flame licking at her senses.  It makes her happy, but it also opens up an arsenal of potentially destructive questions.

 

“Who was he?” she asks plaintively.  “If you’re Roman, who was *he*?”

 

“He,” Roman takes a deep breath, trying to work out how to frame these next revelations.  He wonders where the hell the psychiatrist has gotten to.  If he does this wrong, god only knows how Marlena will react.  He is fixed by her eyes though, that heart-wrenching mixture of vulnerability and curiosity that makes him weak with love for her.  It lays him bare and unable to deny her.  He has to tell her something, he can’t stall forever.   

 

“He… his name was Robert Lamont.  He was one of Stefano’s employees.  Like Stefano changed my face and gave me the real John Black’s memories, he did the same for this Lamont.  Gave him my face and my life in memories.”

 

“But….” Marlena eyelids flash closed and then open again as she digests this information.  “That means… all that time….”  Her eyes widen as she looks intensely at Roman.  She feels queasy.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, a look of regret crossing his face.  “I know.  That’s something we’re going to have to come to terms with.  Together,” he adds quickly.  “We’ve got one of DiMera’s files that explains it all much better than I can.  You can read it when you’re ready.  When you’re stronger.”  He squeezes her hand firmly.  He doesn’t want to dwell on the specter of Lamont.  That raises too many potential questions.  Questions that he is not yet ready to answer.  

 

“You’ve got Stefano’s files?”  She starts to get agitated now.  “What the hell is going on, Jo-.”  She stops short, catching herself.  “Roman.  I’m sorry.”

 

“S’okay, Doc,” he grins, even despite himself.  “It’s going to take me a while to get used to it too.  Abe keeps doing the same thing.”

 

“Abe knows?”  She frowns, her eyes filling with tears.  She feels very tired and very lost.  She just wants *something* to make sense.  Anything will do.  Anything to give her some kind of foothold, to provide some kind of comfort.

 

“Hey, it’s okay baby,” Roman leans closer and slips his arm around her shoulder.  She fights for a moment and then surrenders, lifting her arms to slide them around his neck.  A quick intake of breath betrays the pain that spears through her abdomen.  But she ignores it and buries her face in Roman’s neck.

 

That’s the comfort she needs, the solidness of him, the familiar smell.  He’s right, whatever name he goes by, she still loves him just as much.  She always has.  Whether he’s Roman or not is essentially not important.  What is important is that he is here, with her.  That he loves her; that she knows she can depend on him, despite everything.

 

Of course, the fact that he is Roman complicates almost every facet of their life, past and present.  But that’s something she can think about later.  Right now, those complications pale into insignificance beside the images that haunt her.  That echo against her closed eyelids.

 

Finally, she sighs softly and lifts her head, turning it to find his eyes.  He’s so close, his gaze feels like it’s searing her soul.  She feels like he can see right through her, see the hideousness which is spilling out from mind and her heart.  She closes her eyes and drops her head.  If he could really see, he wouldn’t sit there so calmly.  He wouldn’t regard her so tenderly.  The reality is, as much as she’s depending on his love, his being there for her, the truth is she has to prepare herself.  Because once he knows what she’s done…. there’s no way he will support her.

 

The thought makes her feel physically ill and she avoids his eyes as she opens her own, pulling away from him as she lays back against the pillows.  

 

Roman feels her tense in his arms and he frowns inwardly.  He knows her so well, knows that this isn’t good.  She’s retreating inside her head, blaming herself without all the facts at hand.  He can’t let her do that.  He won’t.  He doesn’t care what Grace did when under Stefano’s tutelage.  However bad it was, it wasn’t Marlena’s fault.  She was brutalized and manipulated.  She was made vulnerable and torn down until there was nothing left but the simple and furious desire to survive.  He can’t hold her responsible for anything that happened as a result.

 

“Does the name Grace mean anything to you?” he asks quietly.

 

“Grace?”  She still refuses to look at him, just directs her gaze at the blanket that covers the bed as she shakes her head.  “No.  Who is Grace?”

 

Roman reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away, tucking it below the covers as the other hand curls into a ball beside her.  “Who is Grace?” she repeats, more harshly this time.

 

“You remembered being in Salem Place, with DiMera,” Roman says carefully, “but nothing after that.  Right?”  Marlena nods, her lips thinning.  But she still refuses to look at him.  “Well, you had… there was an accident, sweetheart.  You hit your head.  And when you woke up in the hospital, you weren’t …exactly *yourself*, Doc.”

 

Marlena says nothing, but Roman notes her demeanor changes slightly.  She swallows heavily and her complexion pales.

 

“You woke and you immediately demanded to talk to Stefano.  Then you pretty much threw me out of the penthouse straight away and you were behaving so strangely.  I couldn’t even get near enough to you that I could talk to you, but it wasn’t until later that I realized exactly what had happened.”

 

“You’re telling me I became one of Stefano’s creations.” Marlena says in a choked voice.  She finally meets his eyes, and he sees she is crying again.  “One of his monsters.”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Roman nods.  He contemplates lying to her, but he doubts that will help matters for long.  She’s an intelligent woman; there will be too many discrepancies if he tries to pull the wool over her eyes now.  And will she trust anything else he says once she knows he lied to her?  “But it’s a little more complex than that, Marlena.”

 

“Complex how?” her voice trembles as she asks, her eyes imploring him to help her to understand.  To make some sense of this for her.  Somehow.

 

“I…” Roman shakes his head, lost for words.  Despite his previous musings, he can’t bear telling her again.  Breaking the truth to Grace the first time had been distressing.  He’d had no choice then, in order to protect her from Stefano; he’d been forced to blurt it out.  But now?  When Marlena is so fragile?  How the hell can he throw that at her? It will destroy her all over again.

 

The hushed breaking of waves on the beach beckon, balmy air caressing her skin as she steps out onto the terrace.  The sweet, cloying scent of frangipani and jasmine threads around her, enclosing her in a cloud of tropical delight.

 

Behind her, a voice sounds.  And it makes her freeze….

 

“Roman…”  Marlena’s eyes are tightly closed, her voice is nothing more than a whisper.  Her hand blindly gropes for his.  Her heart is hammering crazily as the images crash faster and faster into her consciousness.  Stefano.  The alluring cerulean swathe of the Caribbean Ocean laid out in front of her.    Lamont, those eyes burning with hatred….

 

She feels Roman’s hand close around hers and she clutches at it like it’s a lifeline.  Like she’s sinking, which truly, she is.  Because she can’t stop this.  Now the floodgates have opened, the trickle of memories has become a torrent.  Everything is falling into place.  And it’s making her sick to her stomach.

 

A minute ago, she was desperate for all this to make sense – now she wishes it didn’t.  Everything is closing in on her…. the rape, the murders, everything she did for Stefano….  The alien emotions that inhabit her skin, the feelings she recalls, but has never felt.  It’s all there, the anger, the hatred, the desperate relentlessness to keep it all buried as she fought for some kind of purchase in Stefano’s world.  

 

And then there’s the past few months.  The look on Roman’s face as he’d seen her with Craig.  Hope and Bo on the boat.  Lamont’s fetid breath on her face as he fought her in the warehouse.  Roman’s despair as he realized it was not Marlena he was making love to.  John Black’s insane fury….   And every bit of it, every memory, crushes her soul just a little bit more.

 

“It’s okay baby,” Roman whispers.  She feels his hand slip around her neck, and she tenses even more.  But he seems to ignore it and instead he leans close to her, offering his warmth and his love for her comfort.  She gives a strangled sob and untangles her hand from his.  Then she slides her arms around his neck and pulls him even closer.  He rests his forehead against hers and she cries vast, forlorn sobs.  

 

Roman says nothing, he just lets her cry.  Lets her spill her grief, the sobs slowly easing the unbearable ache in her chest.  Through the fog of her misery, she can feel the flat of his palm rubbing the back of her neck and the soft, murmuring noises of reassurance that he makes.  If she didn’t already love him so much, she could fall in love with him all over again.

 

She can’t say how long it’s been when the tears finally cease and give way to small hiccups.  Roman wordlessly lifts his hand to her face and caresses her cheek with his palm.  A muted sob escapes her as he presses a tender kiss to her forehead.  She covers his hand with hers and looks into his eyes.  There’s nothing there but love, understanding and acceptance.

 

“You remembered.”  It’s a statement, not a question.  She nods numbly, biting her lower lip.  “Everything?”  He seems uncertain.  How can she know if it’s everything?  But she does know, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

 

“Everything.”  The single word is hoarse and inflected with so many emotions it’s impossible to tease one out from the next.

 

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he sighs, stroking her hair.  “I hoped that we’d have a bit more time to prepare you.  The last thing I wanted was for this to hit you all at once.”  He searches her eyes, trying to assess how she is coping.  She looks back at him, her gaze warm and clear.  “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “maybe it’s best to get it all over at once.  Now we can deal with it all in one go.”

 

Marlena shakes her head, her eyes glassy with tears.  “I can’t deal with it,” she whispers.  “Roman, you’ve got no idea of the terrible things I’ve done.”

 

Roman’s expression steels.  “Stop it Marlena,” he says sternly. “It wasn’t you.  It was Grace.”

 

“Grace *is* me,” she argues.  “She’s part of me, she came from me.  How can I not take responsibility for that?  For her actions?”  She looks away from him, her lower lip trembling.  These next words are maybe the hardest she’s ever had to say.  They hold so much horror and they have the power to change her life for ever.  “Roman, I’ve *killed* people. I’ve murdered people… with these… hands.”  The tears spill from her eyes and her chin trembles as she continues to avoid his eyes.  “I can’t *live* with that.”

 

“Listen to me, Marlena,” Roman says gruffly.  His fingers grip her chin firmly and force her to meet his eyes.  “You’re going to *have* to.  Because *I* can’t live without *you*.  I need you.  Your children need you.  You think I don’t know how this feels?  You think I haven’t lived with the same knowledge every day for the past few years?”

 

“But it wasn’t *you*,” Marlena inclines her head.  “It was the *real* John Black, his memories.  *You* never hurt anyone, Roman.  You couldn’t.”

 

“You’re missing the point, Doc,” Roman replies carefully.  “I believed they were *my* memories.  I believed with my whole heart that I had done those things.  And I learned to live with that knowledge.  And you helped me do that.”  He smiles gratefully at her.  “You didn’t care what horrors my past held; you loved and accepted me just as I was.  That was, you told me, another lifetime.  That I was a different man now and you had faith in me.  You had so much faith in me baby, that after a while, I started to have faith in me too.  And that was all down to you.  I don’t know if I would have survived if I hadn’t had you there by my side.  I don’t think I would have.  So, you see,” he cradles her face in his oversized hands and leans in to press a kiss to her lips.  “I don’t *care* what Grace did.  I don’t care who you were back then.  It wasn’t even your fault, after the things that Stefano did to you… Grace became who she was because it was the only way to survive.”

 

He pauses, taking a deep breath.  He holds her eyes, noting the bright, warm intelligence that shine from them.  She’s listening to him which is a good start.  He only hopes he can get her to actually *hear* him.

 

“Look honey, I’m hardly perfect.  Maybe those things didn’t turn out to be true, but I still carried that madman around in my head for almost twenty years.  I mean, hell, it was his fault, *my* fault that you’re in this situation anyway.  If I hadn’t… on our honeymoon… if I…” he drops his hands and his eyes, unable to bear the pain that flares across her face.

 

He takes a deep breath and bites on his lower lip trying to still the shaking of his hands.  He can’t bear the fact that it’s his weakness that has caused her all this pain.  But he is reassured when her fingers steal across his with a comforting touch.

 

“You might say that I never did anything Doc, but the fact that we’re here right now… that’s a direct result of what I did.  What John Black did with Gina in Hawaii.”  He clenches his jaw and looks up, meeting her eyes.  Her brow is creased between her eyes, and he knows she is struggling to make sense of what he is saying.  Struggling to apportion the blame to herself while absolving him.  He also knows she is far too logical a person to be able to do that successfully for long.

 

“Listen baby, I know you feel guilty and I know you’re frightened.  I am too.  But we can come to terms with this.  We can get through it together.”  He wraps his hand around hers.  “I know I’ve let you down, I know I’ve hurt you and betrayed you, but, Doc, it all ends now.”  A tentative smile touches his eyes as he notes the softening of her expression.  “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Marlena.  I’m going to be beside you, holding you every step of the way. I promise you.”  

 

“I do love you,” she says softly, her eyes dancing as he smiles at her.  “And I want to believe you.  I really do.”

 

“Well then,” he shrugs.  “Do you trust me?”

 

“Of course I trust you,” she says gently, “I just know that none of this is simple.  Roman, I’ve got blood on my hands.  I killed… that man,” she shudders, and a wave of nausea passes through her.  “Abe… the police, the DA’s office, they’re not going to just let that go.”

 

“Actually, that’s one thing that we *can* thank Stefano for,” Roman chuckles at the irony.  “The file on Lamont’s death is officially dead and buried, thanks to pressure from the DA’s Office.  They have no evidence and no proof.”

 

“But I *murdered* him, Roman,” Marlena’s eyes filled with tears again.  “I know what he did to me. I remember it all in excruciating detail.”  Her breath catches in her throat and Roman squeezes her hand.  “But that doesn’t justify murder.  I can’t just walk around, living my life as normal and pretend it didn’t happen.  And it wasn’t just him, and it wasn’t just Orpheus…”

 

“*You* didn’t do it!” Roman argues passionately.  “Doc, what good would it do to drag all this up again?  How would your being punished and going to jail help things?  Don’t you think we’ve all been through enough?   The kids already have enough to deal with.  If you went to jail, we’d all suffer.  I think we’ve suffered enough, at Stefano’s hands.  Please, *please* don’t let him take you away from us again.”

 

Marlena is crying again and Roman senses this could go either way.

 

“Listen baby,” he says tentatively, “Do you hold me responsible for what happened at Stefano’s?”

 

She blinks, looking back at him questioningly.

 

“What John Black did,” he says haltingly.  “What he almost did to you.  To Grace.”

 

Marlena’s eyes widen.  She’d successfully managed to put that to the back of her mind until now.  She looks at him for a moment, lips trembling.  And then she shakes her head.  “Of course I don’t blame *you*,” she replies.  “It wasn’t you.  Anyway, you stopped him.”

 

Roman gives her a lopsided smile.  “It was *you* that gave me the strength to stop him,” he tells her.  “I knew you were in there somewhere, if only I could just reach you.  And then all of a sudden, I heard your voice.  It wasn’t the first time, but I knew you were so close…. It gave me the strength to fight him.  To beat him, once and for all.  But if I’m not responsible for John’s actions,” he concludes, “then you’re not responsible for Grace’s.”

 

“It’s different, Roman.” She refuses to take his words onboard.  “John Black was a different person, he wasn’t you, he was thrust upon you by Stefano’s unholy interference.  Grace, she was part of me,” she looks at him sadly.  “I can feel her.  I can feel her, right here,” she thumps on her chest with her fist.  “I feel her sadness.  Her anger.  Her *rage*.”

 

“Exactly,” Roman nods assuredly.  “*Her* rage.  Not yours.  Look, I know this is complicated baby, but you told me that Kim wasn’t responsible for Lacey’s actions.  So how can you be responsible for Grace’s?”

 

“Because I should have been *better* than that,” Marlena cries as she tries to struggle from his embrace.  “I should have known, I should have been able to-“

 

“Should *nothing*!” Roman interrupts her angrily as he holds her close.  He will not let her push him away, not this time.  “Goddammit Marlena.  Stop trying to be Superwoman.  Terrible things happened to you, you coped the best way you could.  Please don’t punish me and our children by claiming some misguided accountability for something that is truly not your fault.”

 

Marlena attempts to struggle for a moment longer and then all of a sudden, the fight seems to go out of her.  She crumples in his arms, her face tear-stained, her body shaking.  “I just don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to face anyone again.”  Her voice is fraught with distress.  “The things that Grace did, in my name…”  Roman is relieved that she finally seems to be making this distinction.  “My patients,” she continues. “Oh God, Braden, that poor boy…”  She bites the inside of her lower lip and looks at Roman.  “Even if this stays out of court, Roman, I’ll never be able to practice again.  I’m going to be struck from the medical register, at the very least.”

 

“Hey,” Roman shrugs, with a nonchalant smile, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”  A voice comes from the doorway.  Marlena blanches as she hears the familiar timbre of the voice.  She looks up to find Hope’s expression is softly sympathetic.  

 

Hope walks up to the end of the bed and Roman wonders how long she has been standing there.  “Marlena-“

 

Marlena presses her lips together and shakes her head.  She feels so terribly guilty for what she did to Hope, she can barely verbalize the words.  

 

“Hope.  I am *so* sorry.”

 

Hope lifts her shoulders and drops them in an easy shrug.  Her smile is warm.  “Don’t apologize,” she says.  “It wasn’t you.  I know that, and Bo knows that.  Don’t feel guilty for something that wasn’t your fault.  I understand what you’re feeling better than just about anyone.  Well, besides Roman.”  She gives Roman a sympathetic smile and he realizes that she has heard enough of the conversations so far to know exactly where to take this.  And he feels insanely grateful to her for entering the room and taking part in this.  She doesn’t have to, but it means a hell of a lot that she would.

 

Hope moves to the side of the bed and props herself on the edge of the bed.  “*I* was your replacement, Marlena.  Or rather, the Gina inside my head replaced Grace.  I did the same things you did.  Whether Gina was some creation of Stefano’s or whether she was part of me… either way, she was inside my head and she used me and my body.”  Her face is utterly still and somber as she tries to convey the passion with which she believes the words she is saying.  “I did those things too.  Horrible things.  Gina *hurt* people.  And I wish to God she hadn’t, or that I could have somehow been strong enough to stop her.  Both of us might think we could have fought it, but the truth is Marlena, if we could have, we *would* have.  Who in their right minds would let someone make them do the things that Grace and Gina did?”  Marlena returns her sad gaze, but she says nothing.  “So, unless you’re going to condemn me, there’s no point in blaming yourself.”

 

“But Hope-” Marlena starts.

 

“No buts,” Hope replies firmly.  “It’s over and done with.  It’s in the past.  You have a family back in Salem who adore you.  We all love you and I personally would like to put this last couple of years behind us.  I’d like us to all be able to start again and move forward.”

 

Roman smiles at her appreciatively.  “Thanks Hope.  And actually, to that end, I think there’s something that you and Bo want to see.”  He nods at the folded letter which is propped on the bedside cabinet.  Hope freezes and looks in the direction that he indicates.  Then, swallowing, she leans over and picks up the piece of paper.

 

At the same moment, Bo appears in the doorway.  Hope turns and looks at him, the piece of paper in her hands.  He deserves to see this at the same time she does.  She slips from the bed and walks towards him.  When she’s in front of him, she unfolds the paper and her eyes skim the details, alighting on the line of results that she’s been expecting.  She lets out a deep breath and then hands the sheet to Bo.

 

He pales as he reads it.  All five lines of results – Shawn, Caroline, Bo, Sami and Belle – match John’s DNA.  *Roman’s* DNA.  That’s it, the definitive truth.  This man is his brother, has always been his brother. 

 

Bo rubs his eyes with his knuckles and then looks awkwardly up at his brother.  Marlena is reminded of a recalcitrant child who has been caught out.  The guilt is resonating in his eyes, and she can’t help but feel for him.  Bo’s never been good at admitting that he’s wrong.  He’ll fight the truth until the bitter end, find excuses for not accepting it, for ignoring it.  But eventually he will come to terms with it.  It’s Sami she’s worried about.  She can’t even imagine how Sami’s going to take the news.

 

“Roman.”  Bo’s voice is hoarse and breaks as it reaches the end of the loaded word.

 

Roman slowly smiles.  “It’s okay, little brother,” he says, “I know.”

 

Bo looks at the piece of paper again, biting hard on his lower lip.  Then he looks at Roman.  Suddenly, without a word, he thrusts the letter back at Hope and turns on his heel, rushing from the room.

 

Hope sighs.  “I’m sorry Roman,” she says softly.  “It’s going to take him a while to get used to it.”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Roman grins ruefully.  “I know as well as anyone, what Bo’s like.  He’s a good kid; it’s just that he needs to realize that he’s not the only one that this affects.”

 

“Oh, I think he knows that,” Hope looks towards the door, “I think that’s part of the problem.  Listen” She waves the paper at them, “I’m going to go and give Abe the good news.”  She gives Marlena a hopeful smile.  “It’s really great that… you’re okay.  It’s wonderful that you’re okay.”  She stumbles over her words slightly and Marlena is touched by her nervousness.  “I just wanted you to know… I’m sorry too about everything that’s happened.  We all love you both and we’re all going to help you get through this.”  

 

She looks as though she’s going to say something more, but obviously thinking better of it; she closes her mouth and takes a calming breath.  She looks down at the letter and then back at Roman.  With a firm nod, she smiles and then turns and exits the room.

 

Roman turns back to Marlena.  “Did that… convince you any?” He raises his eyebrows doubtfully.  “Please Doc, we’ve got to give it some time.  We’ve got to take this one step at a time and deal with the issues, the problems as they arrive.  I know it all seems overwhelming right now, but if you trust me, we’ll make it through this together.”

 

Marlena’s gaze drifts from the doorway back to Roman.  She’s still biting her lip, but it seems more pensive and thoughtful than distressed now.  

 

Finally, she nods her head.  “You know what?”  She offers him a reserved smile.  “I think you’re right.  I think we will.  There’s just one thing, Roman.”

 

“What?” he asks eagerly.  “Anything Doc, anything.”

 

“I’ll make you a deal.  I promise to trust you if you promise to be patient with me.  This isn’t going to be easy for me.  I feel so many emotions right now, I’m not sure I can make any sense of them.  But I want to try.  For you and for us.  For all the time we’ve lost. I’ll be *damned* if I’ll let Stefano take anything more away from me.”  

 

A look of determination crosses her face and her jaw sets.  Roman is immediately reminded of Grace and he can’t help but smile.  If she’s retained even half of Grace’s fire and determination, she really will be fine.  

 

They’ll both be fine.

 

Chapter LXXXIV- Doubled

It’s quite some hours later when Roman finally sees Bo again.  After Hope’s departure, the psychiatrist had finally shown up and he had spent some time talking to Roman and Marlena, counseling them on what the immediate future might hold.  He’d been kind and gentle, offering reassurance and no sign of shock or censure at the small tidbits Marlena had revealed.  He had spent some time with each of them individually, giving them reassurance and guidance on the best way to work through the next few weeks.  When Marlena had balked at the idea of seeing a psychiatrist within her circle of professional acquaintances, he had offered to refer her to an old friend of his, a doctor who promised the utmost of discretion.  

 

It had been when Marlena had finally started yawning that the doctor had called time, promising to stop by in the morning.  Roman had held Marlena until she had fallen asleep and then, at her urging, he had finally given in and gone back to the hotel for a shower and a good night’s rest.

He’s tucking into a hearty breakfast when there’s a knock on his door.  He opens it to find Bo standing there defiantly.

 

“Come in, Bo.”  Roman turns back to the room, Bo following him.  “What can I do for you?”

 

“I just came to say…” Bo’s tone is almost aggressive, “it wasn’t because of you that I didn’t want to believe it, it’s just that I… there are other things to consider.  The rest of the family.  Mom and Pop.  Sami.  It’s going to take them a long time to get over this.  They’ve mourned Roman three times now and…” 

 

Roman holds up his hand.  “It’s okay Bo; you don’t have to explain it to me.  I understand all the implications.  I know it’s a hard thing to wrap your head around.  It’s going to take *me* a while.”  I don’t expect you all to throw parties or to turn around and accept me with open arms.  We’ve got a lot of making up to do, a lot of talking and explaining.”

 

“Roman, we couldn’t have known.”  Bo is defensive, almost completely ignoring his brother’s previous words.  Or the fact that he had spoken at all.  “DiMera had it all sewn up.  He fixed the original DNA tests.  We couldn’t have known.”

 

“I know that Bo,” Roman grins.  He’s so happy that Marlena’s safe and that she seems to be coping with the truth that everything else is paling into insignificance.  He’s not about to give his brother a hard time.  What’s the point?  It’s all long gone now; recriminations are hardly going to change things.  It’s time to move forward and leave the past where it belongs.  He’s been given an incredible opportunity, a second chance with his wife and his family.  He doesn’t want to be angry anymore, he just wants to make the best of every moment he is given.

 

“You want something to eat?”  He waves a hand at the food.  “‘Cuz there’s far more there than I can manage.  My stomach has shrunk over the past few weeks.”  

 

Bo looks at the meal and then looks down at the floor.  His bravado is clearly faltering.  He looks back at his brother and Roman sees the vulnerable little boy lost again, the look that Bo always has when he feels guilty or ashamed.  It’s a look that triggers memories… memories he’s not sure he’s really having.  Maybe it’s just wishful thinking….

 

“Roman…. I’m sorry, man.”  The words come out as a strangled whisper, and it seems they almost surprise Bo as much as they do Roman.  Roman feels an intense pang of sympathy for his younger brother.

 

“Sorry for what?”  He shrugs diffidently, but the gesture covers a throng of conflicting emotions.  Compassion and gratitude.  Anger and betrayal.  Happiness.  Grief.  Like Marlena, he’s having trouble truly making sense of these new revelations and the feelings they evoke.  He doesn’t want to be angry and resentful.  And he doesn’t, or at least he hasn’t, until now.  The joy of having Marlena back, the beauty of holding her in his arms as she fell asleep; that has overshadowed everything else.  As long as he focuses on Marlena, everything makes sense.  

 

But now he is faced with Bo’s apology, and it brings the very real truth home.  His family had abandoned him, turned their back on him.  When he had needed them most, they had evicted him from their lives.  And instead of loving him, they had embraced the wolf in their midst.

 

But how can he blame them for that?  *He* had believed that Lamont was Roman, just as much as everybody else had.  They are all victims of Stefano, just as much as he and Marlena are.

 

“You couldn’t have known.”  He echoes Bo’s words, but his voice is dull and unconvincing.

 

Bo is silent for a moment, digesting Roman’s words and his demeanor.  His defensiveness bubbles up again and he opens his mouth and angrily blurts out Roman’s name before he can stop himself. 

 

Roman simply raises his eyebrows.

 

The simple gesture stops Bo in his tracks, and he looks both surprised and chagrined.  He looks away from Roman for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

 

“I’m sorry man,” his shoulders slump as though he is admitting defeat.  He shuffles to the bed and throws himself down on it.  Roman remains silent but he slouches into the couch and crosses a foot over his knee.

 

“I guess… I guess I just feel guilty,” Bo admits unhappily.  “I feel like I should have known.  You’re my brother man.  My flesh and blood.  I feel like that should have counted; I should have just *known*.”

 

Roman sighs.  He suddenly feels very tired again.  One night of sleep is not going to make up for the past few days, or the weeks that stretch behind them.  “How could you have known, Bo?”  He rubs his newly clean-shaven chin.  It feels odd after all this time.  “I understand why you feel like you do and yes, part of me feels angry and bitter that I’ve lost so much time with my family.  Part of me feels angry at you, at Mom and Pop….”  He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, scratching his head.  “But if I look at it logically, Bo, I know there’s no way that you could have known the truth.  He looked like Roman, he had Roman’s memories, the DNA test *said* he was Roman.  How could any of us fight that sort of certainty?”

 

“We couldn’t.”  Bo shrugs, accepting Roman’s words.  “Believe me man, the first time I saw Ro-” he stops himself short. “The first time I saw that guy… I didn’t want to believe he was my brother.”

 

“I know you didn’t bro,” Roman gives him a sad smile.  “You weren’t the only one, trust me.”

 

“It was Mom, she seemed so certain.  And then the DNA.  I couldn’t argue with that. I was just the kid, the hothead.”  He looks a little resentful for a moment.  “The one that never got anything right.  How could I argue with them?  With proof like that?”

 

“I fought it as long as I could.” Roman’s eyes develop a distant gleam.  “I couldn’t believe it.  I *knew* I was Roman Brady.  That was who I was; it was my identity, my life.  I knew it like I knew how to breathe.  And then, in a single moment, they took that all away from me.”  He blinks and picks at an eyebrow with his fingers, an unconscious gesture of discomfort.  

 

“I remember that day like it was yesterday.  In Mom and Pop’s kitchen.  They fed me some cock and bull story about a birthday that I didn’t have.  They knew I didn’t remember anything from before I came to Salem.  And *he* did.”  He drops his hand and looks across at Bo, his azure eyes piercing.  His voice is buried deep in the back of his throat now, his words carrying a smoky growl that conveys just how much he is hurting.  “They broke my heart, Bo.  They rejected me and they welcomed him into the family without a backward glance.  I lost my family and my home.  I lost my kids, those kids that I’d spent the last five years raising and loving.  Do you have any idea how fucking hard it was to walk away from them?”  He sighs again and closes his eyes.  

 

Bo waits, awkwardly digesting his brother’s words.

 

Roman finally opens his eyes and Bo’s heart hammers painfully in his chest as he sees the extent of the resentment and betrayal in Roman’s weary eyes.  “Of course Sami hates me.” Roman continues, his voice rasping with the weight of his anger.  “I abandoned her.  Abandoned them all.  Walked out and left my own children in the hands of a total fucking stranger.”  His voice cracks and he drops his head, passing his hands over his face, trying to cover his distress and failing.

 

“Hey, listen, you didn’t have any more choice than I did.” Bo pushes himself into a sitting position.  “DiMera fucked us all over.”

 

“Christ, when I think of all the time we’ve wasted…” Roman lets out a long, weary breath and leans forward in his seat, staring at the congealing egg and bacon on the plate before him.  He aches.  Every part of him aches, inside and out.  It’s as though all this time, he’s been holding onto all this pain, he’s had it locked inside a dark and forgotten corner of his head and his heart.  And now it’s free, and it’s poisoning him.

 

“The very worst thing was walking away from Marlena.”  His voice is so low now it’s almost inaudible.  But still, it is laced with years of withheld misery and loss.  “Maybe it should have been the kids,” he adds, his fingers straying to his wedding ring which he twists unthinkingly around his finger; “maybe I’m the shitty father Sami accuses me of being… but it was losing Marlena that *really* destroyed me.”

 

“But you did have Isabella,” Bo points out carefully.  “You loved her.”

 

“Of course I loved her,” Roman lifts his head to meet Bo’s questioning eyes.  “I loved her as much as I could, Bo.  She gave me something to hold onto when I’d lost *everything* else, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.  But even she knew, deep down, that my heart belonged to Marlena.  It always has and it always will.”

 

“Yeah, well that much is obvious,” Bo’s smile is poignant as he considers his sister.  “And yeah, I think she knew it too.  But she loved you and she was grateful for what she had.  But I think she knew that if Roman… if *he* hadn’t turned up, there would have been no contest.”

 

“I hope it didn’t hurt her too much,” Roman purses his lips as he settles deep into his thoughts.  “She deserved better than I could give her.”

 

“Like I said,” Bo yawns, his own tiredness getting the better of him.  He’d hardly slept last night for mulling over this whole situation in his head.  It had been the tossing and turning that had finally driven Hope to tell him that if he didn’t talk to Roman this morning, she’d throw him out of her room tonight.  “I’m pretty sure she was happy with what she had.  She always seemed to be when I talked to her, anyway.”  He gives Roman a wistful smile.  “I still miss her.  At least you made her last few months happy.”

 

“I miss her too Bo, from time to time.”  Roman joins his smile with one of his own.  “Mostly, I wish she could see the fine young man that Brady is growing into.  She’d be so proud.”

 

“Yeah,” Bo nods, “that she would.”  He gives Roman a sober look.  “That all seems so long ago.  And here we are, revisiting it all again.  I was so sure you were my brother and then I was faced with a person that made a lie of that.  I felt guilty for believing you were Roman, for letting you take over his life….”  His expression bears the weight of his misery as he speaks.  “And now that’s all turned on its damn head and I feel guilty for believing *he* was Roman and for letting him take away your family.  I just don’t seem to be able to get a grip on how I *should* be feeling, or how to deal with any of it.”

 

“I don’t think there *is* a ‘should’, Bo.” Roman lets out a harsh laugh.  “This is hardly a textbook situation.  Anyway,” he grins lazily, “Doc will tell you that there’s no *should* when it comes to feelings.  You just feel what you feel, and you find some way to deal with it.”

 

“And how the hell are we supposed to do that?” Bo demands, an irrational burst of anger firing him up again.  Abstract answers that don’t make sense have never been his forte.  He’s a man that needs solid facts, solid resolutions.  And there are no answers to this nightmare.  Just more questions.  “Find a way?  This is all fucking bullshit.  *Fuck* DiMera and his fucking games.”

 

Roman says nothing, just waits silently as the words settle in the heavy air between them.  And then, “Have you read DiMera’s file?” he asks quietly.

 

“Several times over, man,” Bo shrugs casually but the gesture belies the tension in his shoulders.  “At first I didn’t want to believe it.  But it made sense.  Too much damn sense.  I feel like kicking myself – we should have seen it.”

 

“The old man was too good at what he did, Bo,” Roman says firmly as he leans forward in his seat.  He fixes intensely indigo eyes on his brother.  “He held the aces – the knowledge and the proof; and when we got too close to the truth, he had the ability to slide it away.  Right under our noses.”  He gives a bitter laugh that really sounds like more of a snarl.  “Guess we should be thankful that we got the time that we did as family.  If his brainwashing had gone as planned at the beginning, if I hadn’t managed to make it back to Salem….”

 

Bo blinks, he hasn’t thought of it like that, but Roman is right.  It could have been a hell of a lot worse.

 

“So,” Roman takes a deep breath, “you do believe I’m *me* then?”

 

“Yeah,” Bo nods.  “I’ve gotta admit, I fought it, man.  Right to the end.  But I called Shane.  He met his messenger off the plane with the samples and he got two independent labs to do the tests along with the ISA lab.  All the results came up identical.  He told me there’s no way that all of them could have been faked.  He personally stood in the ISA lab while they ran the tests….”  He stops and rubs his fingers through the bristles that carpet his chin.  “I’m really sorry Roman.  I should have believed you from the beginning.”

 

“Why did I know that even the test results wouldn’t convince you?” Roman grins again.  It’s so like Bo, to refuse the truth even when it is staring him in the face.  Sometimes Roman wonders how it is that Bo ever made it through the police academy with such a willfully stubborn streak.

 

“Roman, we’ve been screwed over so many times… I just had to make sure this was for real.”  Bo hunches over, his elbows on his knees and he carefully inspects his fingers.  “I couldn’t put Mom and Pop through all this for it all to turn out to be a lie *again*.  Speaking of which….” he turns his head and shoots a look at his brother.  “I need to know what you want me to tell them.  They’ve been on my case the last few days after we asked them for the samples for the tests.  They want to know what’s going on.”

 

“Jesus, I haven’t even had time to think about that, Bo.” Roman slumps back in his seat and runs his fingers through too-long hair.  “I guess….” he stops as he thinks about it, “yeah, I want to tell them in person.  They deserve that.  Hell, *I* deserve that.  It’s not exactly something you can spill casually over the phone and Sami…” he frowns, “poor Sami, she’s not going to take this well.  She’s going to need a lot of explanation and a lot of support.  I think Doc and I should be there to provide it for her.”  He pauses, thinking again of his wife and how best he can help her to cope with what has happened.  “I think it would be good for Marlena too – I don’t want all the attention on her when we get home – she needs time and space to heal.  I think if the family can focus on me rather than what happened to her…”

 

“What she did, you mean…” Bo’s voice is stripped of all warmth.

 

“There’s no proof she did anything.”  Roman’s eyes narrow in warning.  “Lay off her, Bo.  I’ll put up with a lot of things, but when it comes to Marlena, there’s a strict line.  Go over it and I won’t be responsible for what I do.”  His whole body is tense, the telltale muscle flickering in his jaw.  “Doc’s been through a hell of a time.  And *whatever* happened to that *bastard* Lamont, he got everything he fucking deserved.”

 

He falters and looks away suddenly.  “Bo, go easy on her, will you?”  He is choked and in the sunlight that streams through the window, Bo sees the glitter of moisture on the plane of his cheek.  “She feels so damn responsible for all this and… I can’t… I can’t lose her again.  I don’t care what she-  I don’t care what Grace did.  I just need her in my life and I need her to need that too.”

 

Bo sighs.  He wants to give Roman what he wants.  He wants to be able to promise and keep that promise.  He wants to be able to look at Marlena and not remember what those hands of hers have done.  But he’s just not sure he can.  And maybe that makes him a hypocrite, but he’s gotta be honest if nothing else.

 

“Roman, I-“

 

“Bo, she’s going to blame herself for this, she’s going to punish herself.  It’s what Doc does.  How the hell is it going to help her if everyone else turns their backs on her?  How is that going to make anything right?  It’s not going to change what happened.  It’s not going to help you or Hope or *me*.  Or our children.”

 

Bo remains silent, digesting Roman’s words but when Roman turns his gaze back towards the room, he finds he has to avert his eyes.

 

“Bo,” Roman’s voice is as sharp as a blade.  “Do you think of Marlena as family?  Or even as a friend?” 

 

“Of course I do, Roman,” he rubs his beard uncomfortably.  “I always have, man.  I was just so damn *angry* with her when I thought she’d betrayed Roman.  And then, when…” his stomach roils slightly as he recalls the battered body of the man they’d thought of as his brother.

 

“You know what the irony is, little brother?” the tell-tale muscle in Roman’s jaw twitches rapidly as he looks straight at Bo, his angry glare boring through Bo’s defenses.  “It’s that while you thought she was betraying “Roman”, she was, in fact the *only* person that ever stood by me.  Even when she thought I wasn’t Roman, she took care of me.  She’s the only reason I survived when everything was taken away from me.  My family, my children, the love of my life…  I lost everything.  I lost her, but she was still there.  She was always there and I’m damned if I’m going to let her go now.  I’m damned if I’ll let you or *anyone* else throw her to the wolves because of something that wasn’t under her control.”  

 

Roman’s fists are flexing unconsciously, and Bo is taken aback by the strength of his rage.  “I wasn’t-” he starts.

 

“The bottom line is little brother, Marlena and I come as a package.  I would *die* for that woman, and if you don’t want her in the family, then you don’t get me.  It’s that simple.”

 

“It’s not that cut and dried Roman,” Bo argues.  “I don’t want to hurt Marlena, I don’t want to blame her or be angry at her-“

 

“Then *don’t*!” Roman growls.

 

“What, in the same way you’re not angry at Hope?” Bo spits back with sudden fury.  He hates it when Roman tells him what to do and this is no exception.  “You had no right to speak to her the way you did in the hospital.  But you did, because what she did, what Gina did, hurt you.  Well, what Marlena… Grace did, hurt me.”  His face is ruddy, his shoulders tense as he tries to outstare his brother.  “It could have cost me the woman *I* love.  It’s just not that simple.  I’m going to need some time to come to terms with all this.”

 

“Well, take your time,” Roman says coldly, “just don’t take your confusion or your anger out on Marlena. I won’t put up with it.  I’ll take her away from Salem for good rather than put her through that again.”  His jaw is set, and Bo knows that this is no idle threat.  He might not have known he was his brother, but he knows this man so well.  Knows how far he will go for this woman.  He will turn his back on the family and walk away without a second glance in order to protect her.

 

Bo can’t let that happen.

 

He takes in a long breath and nods slowly.  “Okay,” he says slowly, “I understand where you’re coming from, I really do.  And I promise I won’t take it out on Marlena.  I’m just… cut me some slack otherwise.  Let me do this at my own pace.”

 

“As long as you don’t blame Doc, as long as you don’t make her feel any more guilty than she already is…” Roman shrugs tiredly.  “That’s all I’m asking Bo.  Just… even if you can’t be supportive, at least don’t add to her pain, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Bo gives his brother a diffident smile.  He will do what Roman asks because after all this time, he can’t bear the thought that he’s just got his brother back in order to lose him again.  

 

And more than that, he really does think of Marlena as family and it had thrown him yesterday, seeing her in the hospital bed, seeing how unhappy and pale she had been.  He sighs and holds out his hand in an offering of peace and cooperation.  “Roman, I promise I’ll be as supportive as I can.  And I’ll try my best not to hurt her anymore.  Honestly, I love Marlena too, always have.  And I don’t want her to be hurt any more than she already has been.  And besides, the old man has done too much damage, I’ll be damned if I’ll be the tool for him to inflict more.”

 

“I’m glad to hear you say that little brother,” Roman sighs in relief.  “I’d hate to make an enemy of you when I’ve only just got you back.”

 

“Hey, we’re family, right?” Bo grins, but it’s a weak effort and it falls from his face even more quickly than it came.  “Family sticks together.”

 

“Family,” Roman muses softly.  “Yeah. I guess we do.” 

 

“Hey, Roman,” Bo says, trying to claw back a bit of ground with his brother. “It’s going to be okay you know.  The family will be happy.  Just give them a bit of time to absorb it all… come to terms with it and everything.”

 

Roman nods, silently lost in thought.  “Tell Mom and Pop… tell them it was a false alarm,” he says after a long pause.  “Tell them it was nothing in the end, they don’t need to worry themselves.  It’s going to be a couple of weeks at least before Marlena will be well enough to travel and there’s no point in leaving them in suspense like that.  Tell them you thought there might be something, but you were mistaken.  When we get home, we’ll tell them the truth.”

 

“Sounds fair,” Bo nods.  “So, how is Marlena taking all this?  How is she doing?”

 

“She’s doing as well as you could expect,” Roman’s expression softens and his blue eyes take on a far-away sheen.  “She’s confused and conflicted like all of us…. well, worse.  There are moments when she won’t even look at me.  Because she thinks I’ll see the monster inside.”  He sighs.  “I don’t know that she gets that all that time, I was living with the monster.  With Grace.  I was so desperate to get Marlena back, I almost ignored who and what she was.  And then when Marlena was unconscious, all I could think of was the moment she woke up, the moment I could hold her again and see her smile.  And I never really considered how the hell I was going to handle her knowing the truth and what it would do to her.  I mean… I don’t even think I’ve seen her this fragile, this devastated.  Even after the devil…” he trails off in disgust.  

 

“Christ, how much should one person be expected to bear, Bo?”  He looks up at his younger brother, his chin trembling for a moment before he gets a grip on himself.  “I’m so scared for her, I want to make this all okay and I know that I just can’t, no matter how much I want it.”  He’s clenching his fist and he ploughs it into a pillow angrily, trying to vent some of his frustration.  “I’m powerless to help her and that’s the most frustrating thing of all.”

 

“I know, bro.” In his mind’s eye, Bo sees Hope in Ernesto’s cage.  And then he recalls her face when she found him with Billie during their abortive wedding day several years ago.  He knows only too well the things Roman has faced in the name of love.

 

“I guess at least she won’t be torn between me and Roman anymore,” Roman offers disjointedly.

 

Bo laughs at the irony.  “She never was man.  That was obvious to anyone that knew her.  What she felt for him was some kind of duty and loyalty with a huge helping of guilt.  Her heart was always with you; she fucking adores you, man.  Hope and I always knew that we talked about it any number of times over the years.  That’s why it was all so weird when she….”   He trails off recalling the afternoon on the boat and he wonders for a moment if he will ever be able to fully banish that hour from his mind.

 

“Thanks, little brother,” Roman smiles ruefully.  He notes Bo’s suddenly strained expression but chooses to ignore it.  They’ve come to their agreement; it’s down to Bo now to deal with the demons in his own head.  He has enough to worry about with Marlena.  He looks at his watch pointedly and then pushes himself from the sofa.  “Gotta tell you, it’s good to hear that.  These past few years have been so messed up I think I’ve started to question even those things which I know inside out.”

 

“Yeah, I hear you on that one.”  Bo gives him a worn smile.  “Listen bro, I know you wanna get outta here and go see Marlena, but before you do, I just need you to know that you and her….” he gives Roman a boyish smile, “whatever happens when we get back to Salem, we’re your family and we’ll make sure you’re all right for as long as you need it.”

 

Roman is taken aback for a moment.  Bo’s smile takes him right back to a time that… by rights, he shouldn’t be remembering.  But he can see it, as plain as day.  A five-year-old Bo, handing him a birthday card he’d made in class.  And the smile, so full of hope and nervousness.

 

“I…” he falters, and then shakes off the odd sensation.  “Thanks Bo, I’m really grateful for that.”  He pushes himself from the sofa and his mouth curls into regretful kind of a half-smile.  He’s starting to dread their return to Salem, what with the family and their money situation.  He really is touched at Bo’s words; he just wishes they weren’t needed.

 

“Just remember it, okay?” Bo finally makes his move too, sliding off the bed and stretching as he unfolds his limbs.  “Don’t be all stubborn and proud like you usually are?  Just remember that you have Marlena to look after too.”

 

“Believe me,” Roman nods his head, utterly serious now, “I’ll never forget that fact.”

 

“Good.  Glad to hear it.  Right,” Bo looks at his watch too and notes the progression of the morning hours.  “Hey, it’s getting late man.  Your gorgeous wife will be wondering where the hell you are!”  He claps Roman on the back.  “So, you want a lift to the hospital?”

 

“Yeah,” Roman relaxes into a genuine smile and Bo grins back at him.  “That would be great, little brother.  Thanks.”

 

Bo pulls the keys of the rental car out of his pocket.  “Right, let’s stop by my room and find Hope first and then we can be on our way….”

Chapter LXXXV- Little Center

Marlena is dozing when Roman arrives.  He enters the room silently and stands watching her for a long moment.  The sight of her pale drawn face makes him breathless, and he aches for her.  She whimpers in her sleep, and he immediately crosses the room to the side of her bed.  She is clearly dreaming and her forehead creases into worried lines as her fist clenches by her side.

 

Roman sighs softly and plays his fingers gently over her curled hand.  “Doc?  Marlena baby, it’s me.  C’mon, wake up now.  It’s just a dream.”  

 

She doesn’t react to his words, just rolls her head to the side, the tears on her cheeks glittering.  Roman sighs and squeezes her fist.  She doesn’t react and he frowns as he props himself on the edge of the bed and lifts her hand into his lap.  Then he leans over and with the pad of his thumb, he gently brushes the stray tears from her face.

 

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs.  “It’s okay, you’re safe now.  I won’t let anybody hurt you, I promise.”  She doesn’t stir and the creases between his eyebrows deepen.  He lifts her hand and absently presses his lips against her knuckles as he watches her ashen face.  He shouldn’t have left her; he shouldn’t have stayed away so long.  What if she’s lapsed back into a coma?  Or worse what if-

 

Relief floods him as her eyelashes start to flutter and then she slowly opens her eyes.

 

“Hey girl,” he says softly, “there you are.  I was getting worried.”

 

“Mmmm?”  She’s slightly dazed and it takes her a moment to locate herself.  “Oh no,” she manages a watery smile, “I’m fine.”

 

Roman frowns again as Marlena lifts her hand and winces with pain.  She pauses and then passes her hand across her forehead, brushing her bangs from her face.  “You don’t look like you feel fine,” he says with obvious concern.  “Do you need some pain relief?  Should I call the doctor?”

 

“Roman,” her mouth curls into an amused smile as she slips her fingers between his and squeezes his hand, “really, I’m fine.  You don’t have to worry so much.”

 

“I’ll *always* worry, Doc!”  His eyes are glistening as he holds hers with an intense stare.  “To see you in pain, it kills me, don’t you know that?”

 

She stares at him for a beat before she answers, and he suddenly realizes that he has no idea what is going through her head.  She is no longer Grace, but she’s not quite his Marlena anymore either.  Well, she *is* his Marlena but she’s more than that, somehow different and enigmatic….

 

“I know that,” her lips flutter into a gentle smile.  “Of course I know that.  But I’m fine.”

 

Roman takes a deep breath and studies her face.  She is wan beneath the sun-kissed skin and there are deep smudges of grey beneath her eyes.  She looks tired and…. haunted.  “How did you sleep, baby?” he asks, his thumb absently stroking the back of her hand.

 

“I…” her smile fades, her voice becoming thin and tremulous.  “Okay I guess.”

 

“You *guess*?” Roman raises one eyebrow.

 

“Oh Roman,” she sighs.  “Can we not talk about it right now?  I’m so tired of thinking about it.  I just want to…. can’t we talk about something else?”  Roman bites on the inside of his lip.  He knows as well as she does that they have to face the truth of what has happened to them at some point.  But she’s right, that time doesn’t have to be right now.  She’s emotionally drained, that much is clear.  He wonders if she’s even slept at all.  The least he can do for her this morning is try and bring her some peace and keep her mind from the memories and the fears that haunt her.  

 

He nods with the hint of a smile and her face brightens.  She squeezes Roman’s hand.  “Let’s start again, shall we?  How are you this morning, Mr. Brady?”  

 

“I’m just fine Mrs.-” he pauses, blinking for a moment.  “What do I call you?  Mrs. Brady?  Mrs. Black?”

 

“Brady?”  Marlena holds his eyes for a moment and then despite herself, she begins to laugh.  “Oh Roman.  Poor Brady!”

 

“Brady Brady?” Roman chuckles at the irony.  “Well, that’s unfortunate.  Poor kid might have an identity crisis like his old man.”

 

Marlena smiles, her eyes glittering as she reaches her fingers out and touches his face.  He closes his eyes, breathing in her scent as he nestles his cheek into the curve of her palm.  “It’s just a name,” she whispers, her breath stolen by the beauty of him and what he is to her.  “You’re still *you*.  John Black.  Roman Brady.   The man I have always loved and will always love.”

 

Roman lifts heartbreakingly vivid eyes to hers and she swallows.  A world of words passes between them without the need to utter a single one and she feels tears gather in his eyes.  She has spent half the night lying awake, reliving all the terrible things Grace has said and done to him.  Grace…. her alter ego, the personality her mind manufactured to protect her.  The personality that had all but destroyed everything she held dear.  

 

And yet, here he is, still loving her, more than ever, if that’s at all possible.  She’s sure she doesn’t deserve it… part of her wants to, feels she should, turn him away.  But that would hurt him even more than he’s already been hurt, and she will not be the cause of more pain.  Roman has lost so much of his life to lies and deceit.  So has she.  Now is the time to help him to heal and maybe in the process she can find some peace.  

 

Maybe.

 

“Well, I guess if I’m legally Roman Brady,” he looks at the bare finger on her left hand and then lifts it, “and you’re legally Mrs. John Black, we’re gonna need to get that changed.  Guess we need to get married again.”

 

“Again!?” Marlena laughs, a weary, joyous laugh that fills him with happiness.  “Roman, four weddings?  Isn’t that a little excessive?”  

 

Roman’s eyes sparkle as he leans in to her.  “I couldn’t ever marry you enough Doc.    I love you; I adore you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”  He brushes his lips against hers and she moans softly, just breathing him in, the feel of him and the scent of him.  Like he’s paradise that she almost lost and then clutched hold of at the last moment.  He grins and lifts his hand to her hair, tucking strands of spun gold behind her ear.  “I want to celebrate that *as* Roman Brady with *all* my family around me.  Four times, four hundred times, it would never be sufficient to tell the world how much I love you.”

 

“Oh Roman…” Her eyes dance with flecks of amber and her skin is still golden from the time spent in the sun in the Tennessee mountains.  Her nose and cheeks are dusted with a smattering of freckles and Roman finds himself wanting to kiss each and every one of them.

 

“Marlena,” he says huskily as he takes her hand, “will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Roman Brady?  Yes, *again*.”  His lips flicker with the hint of a smile as she looks at him solemnly.

“Anywhere you are my love, I will always follow,” she holds his eyes with hers, the light and the love for him dancing within them.  “Of course I will marry you, Roman.  Just name the time and the place and I will be there by your side.  Don’t imagine I don’t know how much I owe you or how much you’ve risked for me.  If I have to spend the rest of my life showing you what you mean to me, it won’t be long enough.”

 

Roman swallows, squeezing her fingers within his oversized hand.  He feels dizzy for a moment, overwhelmed by her expression of her love for him and knowing how lucky he is that she shares the same feelings he has for her.

 

“God I love you,” he says quietly.  “I wish I could even start to put it into words, the feelings I have for you.  When I thought I’d lost you again…” 

He starts to shake his head, but she puts her fingers to his lips and shakes hers instead.  “Shhhh…” is all she says.

 

He nods and curls his fingers around her wrist and then lifting his hand, he kisses her palm with gentle surrender.  “Listen baby, there is something you should know.  I’m afraid it won’t be a big wedding,” he gives her a crooked kind of half-smile.  “in fact, nothing’s going to be big for a while.  We’re…. well, I’m kinda broke now.”

 

“Oh,” she looks a little nonplussed and then understanding sweeps across her features.  For a moment, her expression holds a little guilt and then a quiet acceptance brings a soft smile to her face.  “Yes, I guess we are.”  She blinks and then she shrugs, as though this is of little more consequence than if he’d said there was no fruit in the fruit bowl.

 

Roman exhales the breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding and his face breaks into a wide smile.  He’s astonished at how relieved he suddenly feels, and his smile is nothing less than radiant.  He knows she understands.  That she feels like he does, even though he wasn’t fully aware he felt it until now.  And it couldn’t make him happier.  “You know what sweetheart?” he gives a slight chuckle.  “I don’t think I care.  The money was never anything more than a complication anyway.  As long as I’ve got you, that’s all I need in this world.”

 

“Well, we do have to eat Roman,” she can’t help the smile that echoes his.  If he thought this news was going to upset her, he couldn’t be more wrong.  She’s not even sure why, other than she’s craving simplicity, just the idea of being with him, going to sleep with him, waking up with him and doing all the things they used to do together before life got so crazy.  She doesn’t understand why she feels like the past ten years has been wiped from her life, but for a moment, it does.  And she’s grateful for it, even if it’s just a fleeting glimpse of how their life could be once all this madness is behind them.

 

But there are some realities to consider.  “You do realize I won’t be practicing when we return to Sal-…” she falters as she contemplates their return home.  The faces and the fingers that will be pointing at her.  She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready for that.

 

“Hey,” Roman drops a kiss on the tip of her nose and twines his fingers between hers.  “It’s going to be fine.  Don’t worry about it.  I promise you; I won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

 

“You can’t protect me from the Medical Council, Roman,” she whispers.  “They’ll strike me off the register this time, for sure.  And even if they didn’t, who will ever trust me again?  A psychiatrist with MPD?”  She smiles bitterly at the irony.  “Hardly inspires confidence, does it?”  She sighs and drops her eyes, fastidiously studying the starched cotton that covers her legs.  “To be honest, I don’t think I could ever trust myself with a patient again.  To know that I could be capable of such vile, cruel words.  That I could….” her lips tremble and a lone tear spills down her cheek.  “That I could hurt people like that….”

 

“Hey,” Roman grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces her to look at him.  “We’ve been through this, Doc.  It wasn’t you.  Wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I don’t believe that Roman.” She says softly.  “I can’t believe I didn’t have any control over the things she did.  She was part of me, she was what my mind invented to protect me.  She *is* me.  You need to face that.”

 

“Marlena, she is nothing like you,” Roman says in a fierce whisper.  “The things that Stefano did to you…. he broke you.  He shattered you and then he twisted her out of your remains.  Listen baby,” he cups her cheek in his hand, still holding her gaze, “he might not have done it in the same way he did with Hope and I, but he brainwashed you, fed you lies to make you believe I had given up on you.  And when that didn’t work, he brutalized you.  Maybe not with his own hands, but it was on his orders.  It was his orders, his choices that unleashed Grace.  It wasn’t yours.”

 

Marlena shudders, splinters of the memories that have been haunting her all night prickling at her consciousness.  She doesn’t want to remember them, doesn’t want to relive any of those moments.  Either Grace’s or before Grace.  But she knows from experience that they will come.  She remembers they happened and the details, sketchy as they are, will filter into her consciousness piece by awful piece until she is confronted by everything that she has done and has been done to her.

 

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she whispers as the tears come swiftly now, coursing over paling cheeks.

 

“Of course you’re strong enough,” Roman tells her gently.  “And in the moments when you feel like you aren’t, I’ll be your strength.

 

Marlena says nothing, just sighs and closes her eyes, a thin stream of tears trickling over her cheeks.  With a frown, Roman edges onto the bed next to her and curls his arms gently around her broken body.  She stiffens for a moment, as though to resist his embrace and then she sags against him, burying her face in the warmth of his shirt.

 

“I’ll take care of you Marlena,” he tells her quietly.  “I’ll be the strong one for a change.  You’ve had to be strong for so long, for so much of our life together.  You’ve had to bear too much.  Well, now I’m going to be the one that’s strong for you.  I’ll be your rock, the one you can lean on.”  He kisses the top of her head, stopping just long enough to inhale the fragrance of sunshine, tinged with the slight edge of hospital.  

 

After a moment, Marlena lifts her head.  “Roman.”  She swallows, searching his eyes with her own, “you always *have* been, don’t you *know* that?”

 

He smiles a little and then shakes his head.  “I just know that without you, I’m all at sea.  Don’t know if I’m coming or going.  It’s only you that makes sense of it all, Doc.  I just can’t bear life without you.”

 

“You won’t ever have to again,” she says solemnly, lifting her hand to cup his cheek and then pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.  “I promise you that.”  She starts to pull away, but his arms stiffen and he captures her lips again with his, deepening the kiss.  Marlena feels a thrill that ripples down the length of her body as his tongue parts her lips and slips into her mouth.  She gives a tiny moan as he showers her with soft, gentle, insistent kisses, and then she finds herself responding in kind, her fingers clutching at his hair and her tongue colliding with his.

 

Finally, gasping for breath, they come apart and they simply stare at each other in wonder for the longest of moments.  Roman reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers tender, belying the hunger in his gaze.  

 

Suddenly struck by the memory of a violent struggle in a dingy hotel room, Marlena shivers breathlessly and averts her eyes.  Her heart is pounding, and she presses her lips together, struggling for composure. 

 

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Roman asks, but his words are tentative.  He’s seen her slight shudder and felt the stiffening of her body against his.  He’s known this was coming.  That it will come, often and painfully over the next few weeks.  And he also knows Marlena’s usual way of dealing with pain and anger.  He won’t let her do it this time.  

 

“Nothing,” her voice is husky but then she looks up at him with unusually bright eyes.  “Roman, how is Belle?  And Sami?”

 

“I haven’t talked to them, but Bo talked to Mom and Pop, and they said all the kids are fine.”  Roman knows what she is trying to do.  “Doc, what’s going on?  How are you feeling?  Really?”

 

“I’m fine, honey,” her answer is a little too quick and her smile a little too forced.

 

“Marlena, you’re not being honest with me.”  He looks at her from earnest eyes fringed with impossibly dark lashes and his forehead is creased into lines of concern.  “C’mon baby, talk to me.  Tell me why you just pulled away from me.  What were you thinking about?”

 

Marlena stares at him.  She swallows but her tongue and throat are so dry they stick, and she drops her head.  “You know me too well.”  Her voice is trembling now, all the fight has gone from her.  She feels so tired and so confused.  “I keep thinking,” she says, her voice strained, “well, wondering really, how she was different to me.  I’ve been awake half the night.  Nightmares.  Things I… she said… she did.  And I can see them, I can even feel some of the things she felt.  But I don’t understand her.  Why she did those things.  How she could hurt you,” her voice becomes strangled, and she chokes the words out, “the way she did.”

 

She looks up at him now, her face strained and haunted.  “What was she like Roman?  Grace.  What was she like?”

 

Chapter LXXXVI – Analysis

“Is it really important?” Roman asks gently.  “She’s gone now baby.  She doesn’t have the power to hurt anyone anymore.”

 

“It’s important to me,” she clutches at the cover, her knuckles white.  “Please Roman, you asked me to be honest with you.  I need you to help me.  To help me understand how I got here.  Maybe if I understand *her*, I’ll be able to understand what happened to me.”

 

“You really think so?  Or is it just another way to punish yourself, Doc?” Roman strokes her hair.

 

“I don’t know!” she cries her anguish as she looks up at him.  Her amber eyes are dark with misery.  “I don’t know, Roman.  But I….. when I close my eyes, I see you through hers.  What she did to you…. it was unforgivable.”

 

“Nothing to forgive,” Roman tells her, but his voice is a little too rough and she can almost feel the spike of pain that shoots through him as he thinks of Grace and her punishments.  She feels his pain inside hers, a sharp stinging ache that spreads through her chest and makes her shake.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

 

“Doc, don’t!”  His voice cracks like a whip and he sees her recoil at the harshness in his tone.  He moans noiselessly and he pulls her into his arms.  Her only reply is a whimper, drawn from her, both by the pain in her abdomen and by the emotion that floods her.  And yet, she melds into the shape of his embrace and breathes him in desperately.  “Baby, please don’t do this,” he trembles as he buries his face in her hair.  “She’s gone.  It’s over.”

 

“It’s not over,” Marlena says dully, her voice muffled against his shirt.  “Roman, it’ll never be over as long as the things she did haunt us.”  She presses against him, leaning back until she can see his eyes and hold his gaze with her own.  He flinches and she sees the unspoken fear that has gripped him.  She takes a deep breath.  “Honey, if we pretend, they never happened; they’ll only grow bigger.  Those things, those memories will be a silent elephant in the corner of the room until we are smothered by the silence.  By the truth of what Stefano forced us to become.”

 

Roman is silent as he holds her, digesting the import of her words, trying to understand what she is saying.  

 

He knows she’s right.  Ignoring the obvious only serves to bring it into sharper focus.  She will wonder and dwell and flagellate herself with underserved guilt.  And meanwhile, he will wake in the middle of the night with cold sweats.  He will relive again and again the snap of metal around his wrists in a lonely hotel room.  And he will hear over and over, the cold brilliance of her laughter in a deserted shack in the middle of a sweltering Tennessee summer.  And in the end, they will drown in the inescapable memories.  

 

But he’s frightened.  Of saying the wrong thing.  Of hurting her again.  Of reliving the hell of those months where he thought he might never hear the warmth of her voice again and feel the touch of her mouth on his.

 

He swallows.  “Doc… Doc…” the words stick in his throat, the gummy parched feeling of trying to talk through his fear almost choking him.   “I just… I don’t know if I can…”

 

Marlena pulls away from him.  “It’s all right, Roman,” she tells him gently.  “I’m not going to break.  Don’t be afraid of hurting me.  I’m tougher than you think.”

 

He raises his eyebrows, his eyes so gentle and concerned that it brings tears to hers.  “Are you?” he asks, reaching up to touch her face with shaking fingers.  “Do you realize how close I came to losing you?  Do you have any idea how precious you are to me?”

 

She holds his eyes for a moment and then inclines her head, the hot tears spilling over her cheeks.  “I know,” she whispers.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“I don’t want you to be sorry, baby,” his fingers find her chin and gently he lifts her head.  Her eyes are luminous; sorrow drenched with a golden intensity that takes his breath away.  “I just… I want to do the right thing.  I just need to be sure what the right thing is first, okay?”

 

“Please trust me, John,” she says and then her eyes widen, and she catches her lower lip between her teeth.  They look at each other for a moment and then a slow smile breaks across his face.  An answering smile trembles on her lips for a moment and then she lifts her hand to his face.  “I love you,” she whispers.  “Oh, how I love you.”

 

“I love you too baby,” he buries his fingers in her hair and bends his head to hers.  Their kiss is long and sweet, a gentle surrender to each other and to the entity that is them, forever entwined beyond physical and rational knowledge.

 

She sighs gently as he leans her back against the pillow and she catches his oversized hand in between her delicate fingers.  “Please talk to me Roman,” she pleads with him.  “Let’s just start and if it gets too much for either of us, then we can stop.”  She seeks out the impossible blue of his eyes with her own.  “Please.  I can’t even begin to think about anything else until I can put this to rest.”

 

Roman sighs and a tiny smile plays around her lips as she realizes he’s about to capitulate.  

 

“What do you want to know?” he asks, clearly quelling his misgivings as he weaves his fingers in between hers.

 

“I…” She’s lost for words for a moment.  What does she want to know?  What is the answer she is seeking from all this?  What sense does she hope to make from the past few months, or the past fifteen years of her life?  “I don’t really know exactly.” It’s a careful reply.  She might not know what she’s looking for, but she’s spent her life asking the right questions, eliciting answers that only become clear once the questions have been asked.  She’ll know what she’s looking for when she gets there.

 

“What was she like?”  She studies him carefully as she lays the words before him.  “Grace.”  She says the name like it is a foreign word, a word which has no meaning and yet contains a world of dangerous possibilities.  “I suppose I want to know what you thought of her?  How was she different from me? And did you like her?”

 

“Woah, woah!”  Roman holds up his hands in what is meant to be a gesture of easy humor.  But Marlena knows him too well and sees the unease and even the fear behind the motion.  “One thing at a time, okay?”

 

“Oookay…” she swallows and carefully thinks about how to rephrase the questions swirling around in her head.  “Well, I think I really….” she stops and blinks.  “What did you think of her, Roman?”

 

“I….” he squeezes her hand in response, his mind racing ahead, trying to find the right verbal path through this minefield he finds himself in.  “Well, she… she was quite a woman.”  He gives a little shrug and a rueful smile.

 

Marlena looks at him for a moment and then draws back ever so slightly as though trying to maintain him in her field of vision.  “How do you mean, ‘quite a woman’?”

“Honestly Doc,” a nervous laugh erupts from his throat before he can stop it, “I’m not sure what I mean.  I don’t know even how to start to describe her.”

 

“Well, try Roman.”  She is starting to sound irritable now and Roman gets a brief flash of Grace standing in the penthouse, all silk and steely calm.

 

“She was… well, there were elements of you in there, obviously.  She was strong and as sexy as hell just like you.”  He grins at her, trying to lighten the moment but fails miserably as she just stares back at him.  There is an uncomfortable silence, and he stares at their intertwined fingers for a long moment but she offers him no respite, just waits for him to continue.

 

“This isn’t easy for me Doc,” he says finally.  “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.  I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

 

“Just tell me the truth, Roman,” she says softly, finally reaching out to stroke his cheek with the side of her thumb.  “How can the truth be wrong?”

 

“Because she was all wrong!” he cries in anguish.  “She looked like you but all she cared about was herself and what she wanted.  She didn’t care who she hurt on the way, in fact she seemed to take pleasure in hurting people.”  Marlena flinches in reaction to his words and he breaks off for a moment, upset with himself and with her.  “Is this what you want to hear, Doc?  Is this really going to help you?  Or us?”

 

Marlena swallows, tears swimming in her eyes as she looks away from him, trying to gather her composure.   “Don’t make me do this, Marlena,” he begs her in a low voice.  “Don’t make me relive that.”

 

“Was she really that bad?” Marlena asks, the tremor in her voice quite audible.  “That you can’t even bear to think about her?  Was I really that awful?”

 

“Doc, it wasn’t you!” he growls his frustration and pulls his hand from hers, lifting it to his head and jamming his fingers through thick, graying hair.  Pushing himself from the bed, he spins away from her and paces across the room, his agitation echoing every step.

 

“And yet you thought it was me for how long?” Marlena fights back, her voice thick with tears.  “Weeks?  Or was it months?”

 

“Doc!”  He just stares at her, his mouth open for a moment, his face paling.  “You… you can’t really mean that!”  She’s silent; her hazel eyes wide and haunted as she stares back at him.  “You… she wouldn’t let me get close enough that I could know….  I knew something was going on… something was wrong.”  He stops for a moment and then he crosses the room to her side in what seems like a single step.  Dropping to his haunches by the side of her bed, he looks up at her, his eyes a searing blue.  “Baby, I’m sorry.  I couldn’t be more sorry that I didn’t realize sooner what was wrong.  I just didn’t want to believe it, I just was so heartbroken when I thought I’d lost you, I couldn’t think straight.”

 

“Oh Roman,” she whispers, “I’m sorry; I didn’t really mean that, you know I didn’t.  I’m just… I’m trying to make sense of it all.  I feel like there’s a tornado in my head whipping all of the pieces and the memories around until I feel sick with the confusion.”  She drops her head and lifts a hand to wipe the tears that fall.  “I’m so sorry I hurt you like that.  What I… she did at the Salem Inn… leaving you there… that was unforgivable.”  She edges her eyes up, dreading the expression she will find staring back at her.  What she finds is even worse than her expectations.  He looks so sad, and for a fleeting moment, so broken, that she can hardly bear it.  “Oh Roman,” is all she can say in reply.

 

He holds her eyes for a long moment and then as though he has made a decision, he shakes his head gently.  “Listen,” he climbs up and sits on the bed beside her, taking her hand.  “I told you that Grace was quite a woman.  Well, it’s true.  She was tough, feisty and she had a hell of a sharp tongue on her,” he grins, trying to ease the tension between them.  “But her bravado was just that.  Bravado.  She had this façade of not caring and she tried to make out she didn’t care about anything or anyone.  I think she spent a lot of time trying to convince herself she didn’t care about anything.  Well, anything except revenge.”  He looks down at her fingers and rubs his thumb over the back of them in a soothing gesture.  “She made it obvious pretty quickly that was her goal.  She wanted to hurt me, break me.  That was her game, to take revenge and then to move on…. with Stefano.”

 

“Joh-” Marlena catches herself but Roman holds up his hand and shakes his head.  If he stops now, he’s liable to let the nerves catch up with him and he realizes now why she needs this.  Maybe he needs to put it into words too.  Maybe that’s the only way to vanquish the demons unleashed by Grace and by DiMera.

 

“No, let me finish Doc, please.  You wanted to know this, so let me tell the story, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers but her hand clutches at his arm and he feels the fear radiate from her in waves.

 

“Grace was supposed to protect you, but inside I think she held all your pain and anger and she used it as a shield and as a weapon.  She tried to pretend to the world, and I guess to herself, that nothing could hurt her, or even get to her.  But she was kidding herself.”  His mouth curls into a sad, rueful smile.  His eyes hold hers, warm and familiar and she feels comforted, despite the churning of her stomach.  “There was enough of you in her that she couldn’t escape the truth.  That truth that you and I will always be drawn to each other.  Come what may Doc, it’s me and you.  For eternity.  That’s the way it’s always gonna *be*.”  His expression matches the intensity of his voice, and Marlena trembles as though his words have a physical impact on her.  

 

“But see, there were times that she reminded me of nothing more than a frightened child, holding desperately to the anger that gave her a reason to exist.   And I think part of me loved part of her because she was part of you.”  He squeezes her hand, knowing as he says the words that they are true.  Part of him had loved that fractured, desperate woman, had wanted to soothe all her pain away.  Part of him had hated her too and that was the hardest part to come to terms with, maybe for both of them.  

 

“Sounds like you had her all worked out,” Marlena says softly.  Roman hears a hint of steel and maybe sarcasm in her voice and he smiles despite himself.  Maybe there is a hint of Grace living in Marlena too.  Maybe that’s something that he’ll have to learn to deal with, the fusion of Grace into his beloved Marlena, reimbuing her with a strength and feistiness that have been so long subdued.

 

“I didn’t have a choice,” he shrugs.  “The night she left me cuffed to that bed and I realized what had happened, I knew I had to work *her* out before I could ever get close enough to reach *you*.”  

 

“Was it bad?” she asks apprehensively.   “You… being left there, I mean.”

 

Roman swallows, wondering how much to tell her.  Her face is pale, and her hand is still clutching at his, but her eyes meet his without flinching and she looks resolute.  “Yeah,” he nods, “It was pretty bad.  Brought back a lot of demons, y’know?”  He bites his lip and looks away.  “For a while there, all I could see was the hell of that dungeon in Maison Blanche, the hopelessness and the helplessness.  Knowing that every moment I lay there in that fucking *hellhole*, I was a moment closer to losing you forever.  Knowing that Stefano could have done anything to you, and I was powerless to stop it because every moment I was losing more and more of myself to the blackness.  It almost drove me insane then and this time…” he stops, his lip curling in disgust as he strokes his eyebrow absently.  Then he swallows and looks back at her.  “I realized I was willing to do *anything* to get you back.  That *nothing* mattered to me but you and that without you I was as lost and as adrift as I’d ever been.  I may as well have been the mercenary, been DiMera’s man through and through, because without you, I was lost.  I was *nothing*.”  He stops and squares his shoulders.  “No, that’s wrong.  Without you I *am* nothing.  You need to know that, Doc.”

 

“No, Roman,” she cries, “that’s not true.  You know that’s not true.  You have your family, you have the children….”

 

“And I love them all, Marlena.  Of course I do.  But what use am I to them when I’m so broken without you that I can’t even function?” he pleads, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.  “All I could think about was protecting you.  There was evidence to link you to the scene of Roman’s murder and Doc, I *destroyed* it.”  He shakes his head, almost disbelieving of what he knows so well is true.  “I stole it from the lab and I went out by the lake and burnt it and I didn’t give a shit because all I knew was that I needed to get you back and I couldn’t do that if she was locked up in a prison cell where I couldn’t get to her.  Or you.”

 

Marlena doesn’t say anything in return.  She can’t, she’s struck silent in the face of his remembered despair, in awe of his desperation and the lengths he would go to in order to save her.  She had known, she had remembered his relentlessness, even in the face of Grace’s anger and hatred.  He had never given up on her, even when he had weakened, when the mercenary had taken over, he had still been there, waiting for the opportunity to finally reach her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, her voice husky and strained.  Her throat is sore with the effort of holding back the tears, but she refuses to break down.  Roman needs her to be strong, they are both going to need so much strength and courage to make it through this.  She has to be strong for him as he must be strong for her.  “Roman, I’m so sorry I… she left you there.  I’m so sorry for everything she did to you.  I can remember….” she stumbles over the words briefly and bites her lip nervously.  Roman opens his mouth to soothe her, but she holds up her hand, shaking her head.  And then with a deep breath, “I remember her feelings, the anger and the hatred.  It was so…. it feels like a dream, you know?  A nightmare.  That I could have those kinds of feelings for *you*.”

 

“You were manipulated Doc,” Roman tells her gently.

 

“I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that those memories are in my head.  That in some way I lived through that with you and with her and that she did those things to you.  That she *hurt* you so much.  And I’m just…. I’m so sorry Roman.”

 

“Maybe I deserved it,” he shrugs noncommittally.  

 

“No!” she looks horrified.  “Roman, you didn’t deserve that, you didn’t!”

 

“Hang on a minute Doc,” he looks down at her hands in his and he squeezes her fingers gently.  

“Maybe I did.  Maybe Grace had good cause to be angry with me.  Maybe you did too, for that matter.”  He sighs and looks up at her, his eyes betraying the guilt he feels.   “I should have come for you when Stefano had you on that island.  I should have known, *something* should have told me you were still alive and I… I blew it Marlena.  I let you down when you needed me the most.  And then I continued to let you down.  I’ve hurt you so many times…. I,” he looks so anguished her heart breaks for him.  She wants to reach out and soothe away his pain, but she knows she can’t.  Like her, his pain is his to own, his guilt to deal with in his own time.  He reaches out and brushes her hair behind her ear.  “If anyone here needs to apologize, it’s me.  It was my foolishness that hurt you so much and gave Grace the opportunity to do what she did.  I’ve spent far too much time taking you for granted and I swear I am never going to do that again.”

 

“Roman,” her eyes soften, and she reaches out to touch his face.  She seems tentative and almost scared as she whispers “We can get through this.  Can’t we?”

 

Roman freezes for a moment, a lump forming in his throat as he holds her eyes.  He can’t believe that she would even let the thought cross her mind.  But then…. after all the times he has let her down… how can he blame her for doubting?  

 

“Of course we can sweetheart.”  He offers her the merest hint of a smile and he closes his fingers around hers.  Then his brow folds into in intensely sincere expression and he presses his lips together, studying her beautiful face for a long moment.  “Listen baby, we’ve both been through our own kinds of hell.  I… when I thought I had lost you, when I made love to Grace thinking she was you and then I realized the truth… if I was ever going to give up on us, it would have been then.”  He lets his lips curl into a smile now and shakes his head firmly.  “But just like when I was in those damn chains in Maison Blanche, both times Doc, you were the one thing that could have and the one thing that *did* save me.  You.”  He repeats the word like it’s a hymn or a prayer and the smile lights his eyes, giving the blue an almost electric quality.  Marlena feels momentarily giddy under the force of his gaze, and she grasps his hand to steady herself.   Roman continues, acutely aware of the affect he is having on her and glad of it.  If she understands how much she means to him, how much he needed to save her, maybe it will lighten the load of her guilt, just a little.   

 

“I always knew that somehow, you were somewhere close, and *you* were the light that held back that darkness.  You saved me Doc, and without you, I’m nothing.  So, we have to get through this.  We’re in the best place we’ve ever been to get through this,” he smiles.  “We’ve gone through so much and we’ve been forced to face our past.  What’s important here is that we need to be honest with each other about what we’ve been through and what we’re feeling.  This isn’t about blaming ourselves or sinking into the guilt.  We need to help each other through this, it’s been a hell of an ordeal and I want it to bring us closer.  We can’t let the hurt and the guilt drive a wedge between us.  You get me?”

 

“I get you,” a hint of laughter echoes in her eyes, “Roman?”

 

“Mmmm?” he smiles at her, his eyes folding into familiar, loved creases at the corners.

 

“Who exactly *is* the shrink in this family?”

“I learnt from the best,” he laughs, reaching out to pull her to him and burying his nose in her hair.  She sighs and melts against him happily.  He’s right, of course.  They’ve both made mistakes but then they’ve both been faced with situations that would have broken lesser people.  That would have destroyed lesser couples.  Now is the time to deal with the past and then put it behind them, once and for all.

 

“She doesn’t sound like she was a very pleasant person.” Irony is strong in her voice as she leans back in his arms and smooths his hair away from his temple.  “Grace, I mean.  Was it strange for you?  Seeing my face and knowing I wasn’t there?”  She sees his face as he lies back against the pillow, his arms around her shoulders, and laughs despite herself, despite the fluttering in her stomach and the odd nausea that shimmers through her when he starts talking about her alter ego.  “Okay, that was a stupid question.  Of course it was strange.  But how was she different from me?  It must have been so confusing for you.”

 

“It was really weird at first.  She was all hard edges and anger and…. she… she used her body like a weapon.” He smiles softly at her, “Doc, sometimes I think you don’t have a clue how beautiful, how incredibly sexy you are.  But Grace?  She knew it, she knew every bit of it, and she played with it and played everyone around her.”  He gives an ironic grin as he thinks of Grace that night at Tuscany, playing him and Craig and every damn guy in the whole place.  “She was something, all right.  And she gave the impression of being incredibly strong, almost powerful; but really, when it was just her and me, when I started to catch the glimpses of the woman behind the façade, she was just brittle, like there was an empty void inside.  There was no gentleness and no softness.  She was really nothing like you, Doc.”  He reaches out to caress her face and she holds his eyes, searching the cerulean depths, finding only sincerity and comfort in them.

 

“It’s like she did everything she could to avoid being anything like you because she wanted to see you as weak.  She wanted to hate you like she hated me.  Maybe because she hated me *so* much and she knew you loved me despite all the idiotic things I have done.”  He smiles faintly.  “And because I’d hurt you so badly, she judged you as weak for loving me.  She had such an agenda, but it was all based on lies and manipulation by DiMera, and the closer she got to the truth of that, the more I saw this raw vulnerability that filled the empty space behind the façade.  The anger and hatred and vitriol were nothing more than a defence mechanism.  And the closer she came to the truth, the more vicious and hell-bent on destruction she became.  She couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest for a moment because if she had, she might have seen the truth about me and about you and about herself.  And it would have rendered her existence pointless.  Which of course, in the end, it did.”  He takes a deep breath, looking away from Marlena for a moment, searching for an internal equilibrium as he recalls that horrific night at DiMera’s compound.  That he had allowed the mercenary Black to come so close to destroying both Grace and Marlena instead of saving her would always haunt him.  

 

“I think sometimes that’s what kept me going, through everything.” He turns back to her, tears glittering in his eyes.  “Seeing those glimpses of her, of how scared she really was beneath all the bullshit.  It was then I felt like I was closest to connecting with you and I couldn’t help but feel some little kind of tenderness towards her.”

 

“Wow.”  Marlena raises her eyebrows.  She’s surprised, actually stunned, at Roman’s insight.  She knows she probably shouldn’t be, after all, he’s a sensitive man and he knows her better than anybody ever has, or ever will.  But that he understands such a broken and twisted character as Grace leaves her in awe of him.  Once again.  

 

It also leaves her a little unsettled.

 

“Well, I had a lot of time to think about her.”  He gives a rueful sigh.  “While I was with her, and I had to concentrate on how to reach you… how was I going to do that if I didn’t understand what made her tick?  And of course, I’ve had plenty of time to think about everything since you’ve been here in the hospital.  Hindsight makes things clearer, I guess.”

 

“I suppose you did.”  Marlena frowns uncertainly.  The fluttering and the nausea are back, but she pushes them both down, ignoring them as best she can.  “It’s just….  I don’t know… you say tenderness… was that all it was?” He gives her an odd look, as though he understands what she is asking but at the same time, he doesn’t understand at all.  She shrugs, not sure she understands it herself.  “It’s just strange, Roman; hearing you talk about someone else, but knowing somehow… it was me too.”

 

“I suppose…” his surprised look is replaced by one of soft humor and adoration.   “Sometimes I’d catch a look or a glance or a moment of softness and I would see you.  Sometimes I wanted so much to see you that I think I saw glimpses of you where there weren’t any.  And she played on that.  But yeah, I don’t know that I’d call it love but… we had a complex relationship.  She was the barrier I had to break through to get to you, but she was a personality in her own right and she was… interesting.  I,” he suddenly smiles, an odd rueful smile.  “I think that’s what she wanted, you know. In the end.  For me to love her, for her.  Not because she was something of you, but for who she was.  She’d been hurt by Stefano and Lamont and Orpheus….” Marlena shudders at that name, feeling a surge of nausea as she presses her eyes tightly closed.  “Oh baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” he pulls her into him again, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head.  “I’m such an idiot!”

“No,” Marlena’s voice spills out, choked but sure.  “No, I have to face it.  It happened; I need to deal with it.”

“Not right now you don’t,” Roman shakes his head and strokes her hair with his fingers.  “There’s plenty of time for that, but not right now.”  He feels Marlena shudder and then slowly relax in his arms and he lets out a long breath.

“Go on,” her voice is muffled against his t-shirt.  “You were saying about Grace.  Wanting you to love her…” she pulls back and looks at him, blinking her luminous hazel eyes with unconcealed admiration.  “I’m… a little surprised at that, I have to admit.”

 

“What, that she’d be crazy about me?” he gives a rich throaty laugh and Marlena finds herself smiling back at him.  

 

“Why wouldn’t she be?” she asks him softly.  “No, more that you could actually tell that.  After all… she put you through.  You could still see that?”  She doesn’t utter the thoughts that follow.

 

You still loved me enough to know that about me? That despite what I had become, I would always need you to love me?

 

“I don’t know when I realized it.”  Roman shrugs.  “Maybe it’s something I only realized in retrospect.  Or maybe I knew it that night in the barn….”  He trails off and raises his eyebrows, thinking of that night in the middle of nowhere.  The night when Grace had been so fragile, so drawn out of paper and air that he might have scratched the surface and seen through to the stars beyond.

 

In her turn, Marlena looks away, hazel eyes searching the distance for shreds of a memory within a memory.  Flashes of straw and lanterns and starry skies fill her vision.  Strawberries and cream and fire and a fear so potent that it had threatened to shatter her into a billion shards of nothingness.

 

She inclines her head, only an inch or so, but he knows from that, that she remembers.  Some of it, at least.  That night when Grace had been at her most vulnerable, right before she’d broken him completely.

 

“She craved admiration and she needed to be in control, to dominate,” Roman continues, his fingers smoothing Marlena’s hair against her shoulder.  “But I think that what she really wanted was love and affection.  I think she got damn tired keeping that guard up all the time, that tough sarcasm and bitchiness she wore like armor… must have been wearing,” he smiles at the irony, “sure was wearing on me.  But the bond that you and I share,” he smiles, twirling a strand of gold around his index fingers, “I think that maybe it was natural that she should seek some kind of affection or even love from me.  Even if she wasn’t wholly aware that was what she was doing or what she really wanted.”

 

“You don’t think she knew what she was doing?”  Despite herself, Marlena is increasingly interested in Roman’s assessment of her alter-ego.  If she can just divorce her personal feelings from the situation, just ignore the memories and emotions that lurk at the edges of her self-control, it becomes a fascinating psychiatric study of amnesia and split personalities.  Well, it has the potential to, but that’s all a rather big “if”.  Marlena shivers imperceptibly, the chill eddying down her spine and settling in the pit of her stomach.  She could swear she hasn’t moved at all, but Roman’s oversized palm settles over the back of her hand and he looks at her, an expression of concern clouding his beautiful face.  

 

Her own lips twitch into a smile.  He knows her so well, it’s almost instinctual.  And how lucky she is that it is so.  She came so close to being lost to her family forever.  If Stefano had managed to steer his course.  If it hadn’t been for Roman…

 

“Oh, she knew what she was doing,” Roman gives a forced laugh.  “Every move she made was deliberate.  But I think that sometimes she lied to herself about the reasons for what she did.  I mean, even when John Black took over….” he shrugs carelessly, but Marlena can see the tension in his shoulders and reaches up with a slight wince at the pain.  The sensation of her fingers as they curl around the nape of his neck is soothing and he relaxes a little.  She returns his warm smile and encourages him to continue with little more than the raising of her eyebrows.

“Well, what use did she really have for him?  Or he for her, come to that.  They would have been far better off going their separate ways – the people they were… they were hardly compatible.  But beyond all that, somewhere underneath the hurt and the anger, even when we were different people all together, I think… I know… something within us still recognized that bond we have, still needed everything we are to each other.  We were still drawn intrinsically, obsessively, together.”  

 

He grins at the admission and at the expression on Marlena’s face, her raised eyebrows, a skepticism, laced with an honest admission of the truth of his words.  Roman knows that whatever he does, wherever or whoever he is, he will always be obsessed with her.  And she with him.   

 

He takes her hand and weaves his fingers between hers.  “Grace didn’t count on that,” he tells her.  “Didn’t count on your strength and courage, or the strength of your love for me.”

 

“And John Black didn’t count on your strength either,” Marlena says quietly.  “If you hadn’t.-“

 

“I should never have let it get to that point in the first place, Roman growls angrily, pulling his hand from hers.  Every time he thinks about the confrontation in the bedroom, he dies a little inside.  “Doc-“

 

“Roman, *don’t*!”  Marlena shakes her head firmly.  “I won’t have you feeling guilty over something that didn’t even happen.  Stefano tortured and manipulated you and he planted a demon inside your head.  And then Grace brought him to life.  And you can’t expect to convince me that I’m not culpable for Grace’s actions and then take responsibility for John Black’s cruelty.  Or his insanity.”  Her glance at him is full of significance.  “The logic doesn’t follow.”

 

Roman stares at her for a long moment, perhaps trying to conjure an argument that will circumvent her rationality.  But eventually he is forced to concede defeat.  His shoulders slump and he nods.  He understands her argument and it makes eminent sense but still, he will never ever forgive himself for so directly contributing to almost completely destroying the woman he loves.  The woman he would die for.  He’ll never forgive himself and he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to redeem himself for it.  He just can’t ever mention it to her again, that’s all.

 

“Good.”  Marlena nods, apparently contented with his silence as an answer.  “After all, it’s like you told me; we can bury ourselves in the guilt and never move past this, or we can put it behind us and work out where we go from here.”  She lifts an eyebrow and gives him a gently suggestive smile.

 

Roman looks at her with a captivated expression and then gives her a dirty grin.  “Well, I know where I’d like to go.”  He leans into her, cupping her face with his roughened palm.  Marlena gives a happy sigh and closes her eyes as he brings his mouth closer to hers.

 

She feels him linger for a moment, his lips barely brushing hers and then a thrill of pleasure travels her body, her nerves tingling with the familiar and yet strange sensation of having him close.

 

And then his mouth is on hers, his lips teasing and caressing, his tongue dancing and colliding with hers.  Her body is warm, her stomach dancing and jumping and she can barely feel the pain of her wound.  It’s as though his touch can wash away the world, just for a moment, can transport her to a place in the universe where it’s just her and him and utter bliss.

 

When he finally pulls away from her, she looks a little dazed and all she can do is smile.  He smiles back at her, shaking fingers touching her face, his head light with the joy of having her in his arms.  Of being able to love her and laugh with her.  Of being and of being with her.  

 

“Roman?” she whispers.

 

“Mmmmm?” his murmured reply has a degree of distraction about it as he stares at her, drinking her in.

 

“I love you,” she says simply and with a radiant smile.  “I just love you so much.”

 

“I love you too Marlena,” he replies, his fingers in her hair, his head bending to hers again.  His head swimming with the scent of her and the joy of having her in his arms once again.  “Dear God I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more….”

Chapter LXXXVII – Holes

“I’m not happy about this.”  Roman takes Marlena’s arm and pulls her back towards him.  “Doc, you don’t have to do this.  Let’s just go home now.  It’s over.”  He’s agitated and there’s a hint of desperation shading his voice.  “Let’s just go home.”

 

“No, Roman.” Marlena shakes her head; her expression is resolute.  It’s an expression that scares him, just a little bit.  It reminds him of Grace.  It reminds him that this Marlena is not completely the Marlena he’s grown so used to.  “We talked about this.  It’s something I need to do.  You know that.”

 

“I…” Roman falters as she turns to him and gently places her hands on his upper arms.  He stands for a moment longer with his mouth open, apparently engaged in an internal debate as to whether to continue.

 

“Please Roman,” her voice is gentler now, with a hint of pleading.  She knows he only wants to protect her.  But she also knows that she needs to move on from this episode on her own terms.  Roman can’t protect her from the nightmares when they come, and he can’t protect her from the anger and the fear she feels.  She has to face that on her own.  And she has to start here.  “Just let me do this.  He can’t hurt me.  Not now.  Just let me look at him, this one time and say what I need to say.”

 

Roman sighs, a multitude of misgivings gnawing at the pit of his stomach.  He wants to give her what she needs but at the same time, the thought of even letting her be in the same vicinity as DiMera makes his skin crawl.

 

“Roman, Marlena!” They turn in unison at the sound of the familiar voice, the smooth, velvet tones oddly welcoming in such a foreign environment.  “Hey Marlena, it’s so good to see you up and about!”  

 

Abe enfolds her in a bear of a hug and Marlena laughs.  “Not as good as it feels to be out of that room.  If I never have to eat another hospital meal, it’ll be too soon!”

 

“Well, I’m sure that there are some folks in Salem who are eager to see your beautiful face.”  Abe slings his arm around her shoulders and turns to Roman.  “You still headed back this afternoon?”  

 

Roman nods.  “Two tickets booked for three o’clock.  You sure you want to take the flight with the old man, Abraham?  Can’t the feds take care of that?”

 

“You wanna trust anyone else with DiMera?” Abe raises his eyebrows expressively.  “With his history?”  

 

“No.”  Marlena hurriedly shakes her head.  “No Abe.  Thank you for taking care of it.  I don’t think I could feel easy if you weren’t there keeping an eye on things.”

 

“I want to see DiMera stay behind bars as much as anyone, Marlena,” Abe glances at her with an intensely serious expression.  “What he did to you… if I couldn’t be sure he was going to be locked away for a long, long time… I don’t know if I could be held responsible for what I might do.”

 

“You and me both partner,” Roman growls, taking Marlena’s hand protectively.  “And that’s why I don’t want you seeing him today, Doc.  If he were to hurt you any more….”

 

“He can’t hurt me anymore,” Marlena says softly looking first at her husband and then shooting a pleading glance at Abe.  “I really appreciate how much you both care, and how protective you are, but I don’t need it.  Really.  I can look after myself where Stefano is concerned.  Well, at least while he’s behind bars.”  Her lips twitch into a wan ghost of a smile.  “And I have things I need to say to him.”

 

“Doc…” She gives him a sharp look and he sighs in defeat.  “I’m standing right beside you, okay?  You can see him, but I’m gonna be there.  And if I think he’s trying to get to you, to upset you or hurt you, then all bets are off, okay?”  

 

He waits for her argument, but she only looks at him with her golden eyes and a knowing smile that says, ‘okay baby, if that’s all it’ll take to make you happy…have at it.’

 

“I’ll be there too,” Abe nods.  “And Doggett, that’s the FBI agent who’s handling the DiMera case,” he tells Marlena.  “If you feel like DiMera is threatening you in any way, you just say the word and we’ll get you out of there, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Marlena shrugs easily but winces at the sudden stabbing pain in her side.  Her wound has healed enough for the doctors to let her out of hospital, but remnants of the pain keep flaring when she least expects them.  She stops with a small gasp of pain.  “Don’t-” she holds up her hand in Roman’s direction.  “I’m fine, Roman, please don’t fuss anymore.”  She loves him so, but really, his overprotectiveness is getting on her last nerve already and they’ve barely even left the hospital.

 

She turns to Abe who is watching Roman with the hint of an ironic smile.  “Okay,” she takes a steady breath and smiles as the pain ebbs.  “Take me to him, Abe.”  He raises his eyebrows and waits for a moment, waiting for Roman’s assent.  He’s amused to see Marlena turn a steely gaze on her husband.  A look passes between them, and Roman’s doubtful nod comes only a moment later.  Abe is well used to this unspoken communication between Roman and Marlena but even so, he is awed to see how much trust and understanding exists between the two of them, especially given everything that has happened to them and between them.

 

“Okay,” he says in a gruffly emotional voice.  His eyes are bright as he looks down the corridor in front of them, “it’s this way.”

Marlena’s heart thumps uncontrollably swiftly as she steps into the holding area in front of Stefano’s cell.  Her mouth is sticky and dry, and she has to fight the sudden urge she has to grab Roman’s hand and flee the building.

 

Instead, she steps further into the room so that she is only feet away from the bars.  

 

DiMera stares out her with muted interest.

 

“Ahhhh, the beautiful Dr Evans.”  He raises one black beetling eyebrow and leans lazily over the back of the chair he is sitting in.  “To what do I owe the inestimable pleasure of your presence?”

 

Marlena swallows, her throat parched and sore.  “I came to see for myself that you are where you should be,” she says in a husky, emotional voice.  Roman steps up behind her and wraps his hand around her trembling fingers.

 

“Ah, Marlena, Marlena, Marlena…” Stefano clicks his tongue against his teeth as he swings himself off of his chair and propels his bulky body upwards.  With a nonchalant swagger, he thrusts his hands deep into his pockets and makes his way towards the bars.  “You disappoint me.”  His baritone voice vibrates deep in his barrel-like chest as he faces her.  “I expected more of you than this.  More….” his eyes narrow, the obsidian depths reflecting only the hardness of his voice.  “My Grace would have never shown such weakness.”

 

“You think I’m weak Stefano?” Marlena takes a step towards him.  Her mouth curls into a harsh smile and she gives a sharp chuckle.  “You really have no idea, do you?”  Her eyes narrow and they shimmer a deep moss green in the half-light of the cells.

 

“You think Grace was strong?  That what you did to me made her some kind of indestructible warrior for your cause?”  She forces another laugh, but she is feeling more certain now, surer that she is doing the right thing.   “Stefano, you made Grace, I’ll grant you that.  You made her, all right.  You broke and twisted *me* and built her out of the ruins of what was left.  She couldn’t have been anything but your creation.  She was your weapon, but she wasn’t *strong*.”  Marlena’s voice is scornful now, deathly cold and loaded with rage.  But she is as controlled as she has ever been.  Far more controlled than Grace ever had it in her power to be.

 

He says nothing, simply stares at her from eyes as black as jet, the hint of a sneer playing around his lips.

 

She’s not intimidated.  She refuses to ever be intimidated by him again.  He’s taken too much from her, but he’s also given her the truth, despite himself.  She’s whole again, she knows exactly who she is and what she wants.  And she will stop at nothing to protect that.

 

“Everything you *touch* you destroy, Stefano!”  She slips her hand from Roman’s and takes another step towards the bars that separate her from her enemy.  “Grace, Gina, Kristen and Peter… that’s hardly even scratching the surface.  You might have created Grace but you doomed her in the very same breath.  She was nothing but pain and lies.  She was never *real*, she only existed to mask the emptiness you left when you ripped out my heart.”  Tears glitter briefly in her eyes and then she takes a deep breath, summoning the strength so long inaccessible.   “And as soon as I discovered the truth, your house of cards came tumbling down.”  She glares at him now, incandescent with simmering fury and he actually takes a faltering step backwards from the bars.  “So tell me Stefano, how is it that Grace was strong when she broke the moment your lies crumbled?”

 

“You know nothing about her,” Stefano spits, clearly unnerved by Marlena’s manner and her words.  “Grace was much, much more than simply a weapon, Marlena.  She was…” his voice falters for a moment and then his shoulders straighten almost imperceptibly.  “She was *magnificent*.”  His lips twitch and his eyes glitter almost obscenely as he regains his composure.  He will not waver before Marlena Evans, of all people.  Despite everything, he will never give up his quest for her and now, more than ever it is imperative that he hold his ground.  Only this way will he win her respect.  Only this way will she know that he is worthy of her, that she is destined to be his, however much she denies the fact.

 

He reaches out and curls the fingers of one heavy hand around a steel bar and then he bares his teeth in a smile that can only be described as feral.  “Ahhh Marlena, I shall miss my beautiful Grace very much.”

 

“What’s there to miss?” Marlena shrugs defiantly but beneath the easy gesture, her body is taut and there is an almost violent hostility radiating from her with every word that she speaks.  “It’s not as though she ever would have let you *touch* her.”  

 

DiMera says nothing, merely stares at her.  But his smile falls away almost involuntarily, and Marlena knows she has met her mark.  “You might have created that monster Stefano, but you were only ever the means to her end.”  Her pale lips curl into a darkly amused smile as she watches the emotions and the anger flicker across his face.  She knows him well.  Too well, in fact.  

 

“Once she found John, she didn’t need you any longer.  And you always knew that would happen,” she gives a laugh laced with irony, “that’s why you were so desperate to keep her away from him.  But you were fooling yourself.  You always were delusional.”  Her eyes glitter darkly as she regards him with a shake of her golden head.  “You could never have held her.  You could never have *touched* her, not really.  She would never have respected you and once you had desecrated her like that, she wouldn’t have been your perfect goddess anymore.  It would have been a marriage made in hell, never to be consummated.  And in the end, the wanting her and not being able to have her would have driven you crazy,” she whispers the word with a smile on her lips, “and you would have done anything to have her.  And in return, she would have destroyed you, and you know it.”

 

This is too much for Stefano and he takes an aggressive step towards the bars.  A growl rumbles deep in his throat.  “If I had wanted her, she would have *begged* for me and she would have liked it!”  His eyes are ebony black and filled with a fury that burns bitterly cold.  “And you are wrong Marlena.  Grace was *not* weak.  She had no moral code to bind her to your misguided sense of justice and fair play.  And she did not have your frailty.  Your emotion has always been your weakness.  Your family, your love for them.”  He sneers as his eyes flick to Roman and back again.  And then he smiles a greedy, vengeful smile, sending a shiver through her.  “I freed Grace from those bonds, *I* gave her independence and the freedom to wield her will in any way she saw fit.  She was *not* weak!”  He spits the words at her furiously.

 

“My love for my family is my greatest strength.”  Marlena’s voice fills the cold space between them, ringing cold and brilliant against the stone and steel.  “You still don’t get that, do you?”  She shakes her head, incredulous that after all these years Stefano can still regard her love for Roman as her weakness.   “You lose, *every* time, because you can never understand the love that brings Roman and I together is what makes us so strong.  It’s what sustains us in the face of *anything* you throw at us.”  She swallows, her heart thumping as she takes another step towards Stefano.  She can feel Roman stir behind her, and she deftly slips her hand behind her back and waves him into silence.  She needs this, needs to confront her demons at long last.  This demon, at least.

 

“Individually, Roman and I are strong,” she continues, her eyes wide, her voice steeled with the knowledge that she is absolutely right and that she is so much more than Stefano could ever hope to be because she has the power to know this one fact.  “Roman is an extraordinary human being.  You know that, otherwise you would never have marked him as such a worthy adversary.”  She gives Stefano a knowing smile.  “You warned Grace about him.  You *knew* that once she fell into his orbit, you would lose her.  But you never understood why.”  She turns to look at Roman, her eyes softening as they meet his.  “Granted, any woman would be drawn to him.  He’s such a wonderful man; he has so much to offer any woman.  And he is so… so beautiful.”  She turns back to Stefano, her smile full of love and hope and joy.  In return Stefano can only scowl darkly

 

“But I share so much more than that with Roman….. Grace…  on a soul level, she couldn’t ignore the pull she felt to him.  Because she’s part of me and because beneath everything, Roman was still the same *incredible* man I fell in love with.”  Her voice is strong and full of passion.  “And because we’re strong individually, but together, our love makes us so much more.  It can overcome anything Stefano.  It overcame the devil and it sure as hell can overcome anything you throw at us.”    She takes another step forward and grasps the bars that stand between her and her adversary.  He is so close now that she can almost feel his breath on her skin.  She recalls his hands touching her as Grace inhabited her body and her skin crawls.

 

She lowers her voice, her eyes boring into him as she speaks.  “Together Roman and I are stronger than you can even *hope* to imagine.  And you could never understand that, because you are not capable of love.” Stefano stares back at her, his face taut and his lips thinned with rage.  Marlena doesn’t back away, doesn’t even flinch in the face of his fury.  Her own matches it, but it is fuelled by her righteous anger at what has been done to her and what she has done under the tutelage of the monster before her.  And the knowledge that she has Roman at her back is all that she needs to spur her on to say what needs to be said.  “Love is selfless.  It’s a sense of wholeness and a knowing that there is someone in this world who has seen your soul and loved you for every single thing you are.  It’s accepting and it’s unconditional.  It doesn’t discriminate for weaknesses or flaws.  It simply embraces them and transforms them into something more.  It’s a sense of peace and a sense of being part of something so much more than you could ever be by yourself.  Love is finding your place in the world and giving you every reason you need to keep it.  But you’re not capable of putting another individual before yourself, Stefano.  Even your children you see as a means to an end.  *You* are the fool.  You are a sad, pathetic old man and you are *finally* where you belong.  These walls will give you all the love and adulation you deserve.  All the love you are capable of returning.”

 

“Do you really think these walls can hold me?” Stefano hisses, his voice low and malevolent.  “You are the fool Marlena, if you think that you understand what I do and do not know.”

 

He looks up from Marlena and smirks at Roman.  “Ahhh, John, your wife is full of righteous anger and stubborn pride.  But I wonder if now you can forget Grace.  If you can ignore the moments you had with her.  She was… rather different from your lovely wife, no?”

 

“His name is *Roman*.”  Marlena’s voice is threaded with barely contained wrath.  “And Grace is part of me, so I hardly think that Roman will be ignoring anything.”

 

“Part of you, is she?”  Stefano raises his eyebrows, and his rasping voice is dangerous.  “Which part is that?  The part that had Roman Brady in her bed or the part that killed Lamont in cold blood?  Or how about the part that all but destroyed her family and enjoyed every moment of it?”  He looks at her, his malevolent gaze boring right through her.  “I’d be very careful Marlena, in claiming Grace and her…. talents,” he smirks unconscionably.  “You might find yourself accountable for more than you bargained for.”

 

“I know exactly what I am accountable for, Stefano.”  She narrows her eyes and tosses her head, her golden hair shimmering in the low light.  Stefano stiffens, sucking in a rapid breath.  “I also know which of us is in this prison cell.  And you had better believe that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you stay in this cell or one very much like it.”

 

“And does that include torture and murder?” Stefano’s lips curl once again into an eloquent smirk.

 

“That includes testifying in every court in the land if I have to,” Marlena glares at him, golden eyes burning with hatred.  “That includes telling anyone who will listen what you did you me, what you had others do to me and what *I* did for you.  If I have to pay for that with my own freedom, then so be it.  It will be worth it, to know that you will never hurt anyone I love again.”  Stefano is silent, seemingly lost for a retort and Marlena chuckles bitterly, her eyes shimmering with tears.  “It’s that word again, isn’t it?  Love.  How do you answer that?  Oh, that’s right, you try to destroy it.”  She lifts a hand and flicks away the tears before they have a chance to tumble over her cheeks.  “Well, you failed, Stefano.  Once again, you failed.  Roman and I found each other *again*, and we’re going to have the rest of our lives to live and love and be happy while you rot behind these bars.” Stefano glowers at her but she doesn’t flinch, she only gives him a look that leaves him in no doubt of how she feels about him.  

 

And deep within him, his resolve to have her, to take her and bend her and break her until she is at last his, grows yet more pronounced.  

 

“I hope you think about us every day for the rest of your miserable life,” her fingers tighten around the bars and she leans forward, lowering her voice so that only he can hear the words that are uttered in a quiet and deadly tone.  “I hope you think of how happy we are and it eats you up inside.  I hope you think of what you did to me, how you tried to *destroy* me and how you failed.  I want you to think of me in Roman’s arms and know that you will never be able to *touch* me again.”

 

“I did not try to destroy you, Marlena,” Stefano replies in a low, guttural voice.  “I only ever wanted to love you.  You think I don’t understand love?  I have only done the things I have done because I loved.  I loved you and I wished for your love in return.  And for that you would have me “rot” in jail.”

 

“For trying to destroy my family in the name of that thing you are calling love…. I would see you *dead* if I could!” Marlena hisses.  “That’s not *love*.  That’s a sick, twisted *obsession*.  What you claim as love is a grotesque parody.  You wouldn’t have the first idea how to truly *love* someone.  All you really do is covet that which you want to own and control and corrupt.”  She feels nauseated as she looks at him, so close that she could reach out and wrap her fingers around his neck….  she squeezes the metal bars even more tightly, her head swimming with the overwhelming disgust and anger that she feels.

 

“I *love* you, Marlena,” Stefano returns in a low fierce whisper.  “You would deny my love and why?  Because you fear what you might find inside yourself should you choose to admit it?  That Grace lives in you yet, yearning and fighting to be free, as I will fight….” he shakes his head, his breath short and hot on her fingers as he leans close.  “I *will* have you Marlena.  I will not think of you with John.”  His voice is fiercely passionate now and his eyes burn with a fever that is uncomfortably close to insanity.  Marlena shivers, her throat dry again as his whispered words continue to wash over her.  “I will *not* give up that which is the only thing I have left to gain.  I will come for you Marlena, that, I promise you.  Watch your beautiful young family and enjoy them while you can.  Because I will be coming, when you least expect it.”

 

“If you lay so much as a finger on any member of my family and I will *kill* you old Stefano,” she hisses violently.  She is shaking now; her knuckles bleached white where they are wrapped around the bars.  “You know I can do it and I *promise* you, I will.  I will *not* let you take anything more from me or my family.”  She pauses for a moment, forcedly gathering her composure.  And then she is still and her face is perfectly pale, all smooth lines and porcelain planes as she glares at him.  “Stay away from us or you’ll pay.”

 

She flinches with the light touch of Roman’s fingers on her shoulder and her heart thunders out of control for a moment.  He curls a protective hand around her waist.  “C’mon Doc, let’s get out of here.”  His voice is harsh beside her ear and she can feel the tension emanating from him as he reaches out and lays a hand over one of hers.  She can’t say anything for a moment and then she feels him peeling her fingers from the bars and she sags against him slightly, silently grateful for his support.

 

“Ahhhh, John.  Ever the handsome hero, riding to the rescue of the fair Marlena, once again.”  Stefano chuckles darkly.  “Although I might watch her if I was you.  It would appear that my beautiful Grace has not completely left us.”  He smirks and leans against the bars casually.  “I have to wonder how you, such an upstanding man, once an officer of the law, can love and trust a woman who can take another’s life with such….” he pauses, savoring the moment as both Roman and Marlena glare at him, “such *pleasure*.”

 

“Rot in *hell* Stefano,” Marlena snarls at him, struggling weakly in Roman’s arms.

 

Stefano only throws his head back and roars with laughter.  “That I might do, Marlena.  That I might do.  But if we consider the blood that your beautiful hands have shed, I rather think we might be bedfellows in eternity in that case.”

 

“Well one more won’t hurt then, will it?” She tears herself from Roman’s arms and grabs the bars with both hands, her voice rising to an almost panicked shout.  “I swear I will kill you Stefano.  You stay away from my family, or you’ll regret it.”

 

“Hey! Come on Doc,” Roman is seriously worried now and he pulls Marlena bodily away from the bars and wraps his arms around her.  “C’mon baby, s’okay…”  He turns to see Abe at his side, his chocolate eyes deeply concerned.  “Get her out of here Abe,” he murmurs and allows Abe to slip his arm around the shaking Marlena.  He watches Abe talking to her softly as he guides her from the room.  

 

Then he turns back to Stefano.

 

And smiles.

 

“She won’t kill you, of course,” he says almost conversationally.  “Because she won’t have a chance.  If anyone gets the pleasure of killing you, old man, it’ll be me.”  His smile falls from his face and his expression hardens.  His eyes are like chips of frigid blue ice as he faces down Stefano. 

 

Stefano waits for a moment and then, “what John?  No more words?  No threats and warnings?”

 

“The name is Roman Brady, old man.” Roman says, his voice laced with hatred.  “And you and I both know what the score is.  Doc… she’s the words person.  Me, all I need are my hands.”  He curls his right hand into a fist and rests it against the palm of his left.  “You understand me?”

 

“Ah come now Roman,” Stefano grins knowingly, “surely you can do better than that.  After all, you are so protective of your beautiful wife.  It must pain you to know how close I was to having her.”

 

“You’ll never have her,” Roman growls.  “You’re going to rot in a jail cell.  You’re never going to see sunlight again, you old bastard, much less see my wife.”

 

“Are you sure about that, Roman?” Stefano raises his eyebrows.  “I have a long reach.  I have many friends and many favors to call in.  If not, then why is Grace not in custody now?  Why is she not facing a capital charge over the murder of “Roman Brady”?”

 

“He was NOT Roman Brady,” Roman’s cheek twitches with the effort of keeping his muscles taut.  “And you better think twice before you make threats against my wife, DiMera.  I’ll see you dead before you can hurt her again.”

 

At this, Stefano roars with laughter again.  “Your threats are hollow, John.  How many times now have you threatened to kill me?  If you really meant to do it, you would have done it by now.”  He smiles again, his teeth showing, his smile as predatory as a shark.  “You have had ample opportunity.  And yet, you stand back, uttering these facile, impotent threats and all the while, delivering your beautiful wife into my hands time and again.” 

 

“And you’ve gotten lazy and incompetent.”  Roman snorts a little, his laugh bitter and cynical.  “Let me make you this promise Stefano.”  His voice grows low and hollow, and as cold and sharp as steel.  “This is no empty threat.  You crossed a line.  You almost destroyed her and that I will not forgive.  You might be safe now, behind those bars.  But if I ever see your face again, if I find out you’ve ever been anywhere near my family again, you won’t even see me coming.”

 

“Brave words John, but somehow I wonder if you would have the fortitude to carry them through.”  Stefano is still all bravado and forced amusement, but Roman can see the pallor that touches his skin and the doubt that shadows his eyes. 

 

“Believe me, old man,” he laughs harshly and then continues with gravel-laden voice, “I spent enough time with that cockroach of a mercenary you created crawling around my brain to learn a thing or two.  And I know what you did to her.  I’ll live every moment of that with her for the rest of our lives and so help me God, if I get my hands on you DiMera, it *won’t* be fast and it *won’t* be painless.”

 

Stefano is silent for a moment in the face of Roman’s menacing threat.  Roman waits for his caustic retort but it doesn’t come.  Instead, there is a glimmer of surprise and grudging alarm in Stefano’s inky eyes.  

 

With a slow, satisfied smile that creeps across taut lips, Roman turns his back on his nemesis and leaves the cells.

Chapter LXXXVIII – Overprotection

“Hey, Doc?  Sweetheart?”  Roman touches her arm and she starts slightly.  “Are you feeling okay?” He asks her this solicitously as she turns dreamy eyes on him.

 

“Mmmm?”  She hums the reply with listless inattention; as though she is a lifetime away from him, lost and fragmented.  And then she sees his concern and in an instant, she seems to come alive again; her awareness floods back to the present and she smiles, almost guiltily.  “Oh, yes.  Of course I am.”  She sees the disbelief flash in his eyes, and she starts with a too quick, too earnest smile.  “I’m fine, Roman.”

 

“You don’t….” he frowns, looking past her for a moment, his own gaze drifting to the endless expanse of sky beyond the window of the plane.  Then he looks back at her, his eyes soft and concerned.  “You didn’t look fine Marlena.  You looked like you were a million miles away.  You weren’t with me at all.”

 

“I was… I was just….”  She emits a gentle sigh, and a tiny smile brushes her lips.  “There’s a lot going on in my head, Roman.  It’s a lot to absorb.  To put into some kind of…. order.”  Her eyes narrow and she looks down at her pale hands, clasped tightly in her lap.  “You think I shouldn’t have gone.”  The words are quiet, but hard.  There’s an anger behind them that makes Roman start in surprise.

 

“I think it was…” he raises one eyebrow and looks at her cautiously.  “Well, it didn’t exactly-” He stops himself again and takes a deep breath.  Letting her bait him right now is not a good idea.  She needs his support more than she needs to know that he thinks she was wrong.  There’ll be plenty of time for that later.  When she’s not so fragile.  When she’s not so raw and broken.

 

“Doc,” he says gently as he covers her hands with his.  “I understand.  You have to do what you have to do.  I just… I’m worried about you, is all.  You’re right; you’ve had a lot to absorb.  A lot of things have changed now and we have a lot to deal with.  I just want you to know you can trust me and I want you to know that we are going to work this through together, no matter what happens.”

 

“No matter what?”  Her voice is wavering, small and plaintive and almost lost in the dull drone of the jet engines and the quiet hubbub of the people in the seats that surround them.  “Even if our children look at me like I’m some kind of monster?  Even if I’m taken to the medical counsel and stripped of all my qualifications?  Even if we have no money because I destroyed everything we had?”  Her eyes grow red, and she bites her lower lip until it is ghostly white.  Then she closes her eyes and looks away, unable to bear the way Roman’s returned stare blazes its way deep into her soul.  She has no protection with him, no way to shield herself from his evaluation.  He knows her so intimately that it’s useless to hide from him.  He knows that she hates herself for everything she has done as Grace, yet he won’t allow her to seek due punishment for her crimes.  Or even to apologize for them.  

 

But while logic tells her that he’s right, it is rendered impotent by the guilt, anger and grief that flood her head and her soul.  And her heart feels as though it is being torn from her every time a memory flutters mercilessly into her consciousness.

 

“Oh Doc.”  His words are like droplets of sorrow that spill into the chasm that lays between them and the sadness in his voice slices through her like a knife.  She screws her eyes tighter closed, but the action proves as useless in stemming the tide of self-hatred and guilt as any other she has tried in the past few weeks.  She’d thought she had it under control; and then she’d seen Stefano.  Allowed his malevolent black gaze to unfold all the secrets she’d been holding close within her.  Let his malicious words and his pernicious laughter crawl over her skin and pierce the fragile shell that she had woven to hold her shattered self together.  He had broken her all over again and of course, Roman was right, she never should have gone.  

 

And now, here she is, flying to face her family.  People who should never be asked to forgive the things that she’s done.  She’s not ready.  She’s not at all sure she’ll ever be ready to face that, to see the doubt and the questions in their eyes.  To face them knowing that they know what she has done.  They’ll try to hide it, of course. They’ll paint too bright smiles on their faces and clutch at her with hands slightly too tight.  They will endeavor to welcome her back into the heart of the family like nothing has happened.  But they will know, and she will know that they know.  And she’s not sure that she can bear that.  She can’t forgive herself, so why should she expect any more from them?

 

“I’m sorry, Roman,” she turns her head away again, as though she is searching for something in the far powder blue distance.  “I just don’t think I can do it.”

 

“Do what?” he asks, the anxiety he feels spilling through into the harshness of his tone.

 

“I don’t know.”  She shrugs listlessly.  “All of it.  Any of it.”

 

“You’re not making sense, baby,” he says, unable to keep the desperation he feels from seeping through into the urgency of his tone.  “We said we were going to do this together.  You were going to try.  It’s not just you; it’s our children.  Belle.  And Sami…”

 

“You think Sami is going to accept any of this?” she turns on him, her anger suddenly scalding.  “Roman, she *loved* that man.  She thought he was her father and even if he wasn’t, she loved him for ten years.  And *I* was the one that killed him.”  She holds out her hands, fingers trembling.  Her voice is low and fierce as she spits the words at him.  “These hands.  Killed a man.  And not just one.  And you expect me to face my daughters, knowing that they will find out the things I did?”

 

“Doc…” Roman stops, unsure what to say to her.  He’s tried all the tacks he knows to approach her with this.  He can only reinforce what he has told her before; he can’t bring anything new to the table, not now.  This is a battle he can’t help her fight, the one against her own guilty conscience.  He can only be there beside her, to catch her when she falls.  

 

He touches her hands lightly, intending to take them in his, but she snatches them away before he can fold his fingers around hers.  As though she can’t even bear to allow him to ease her guilt with some kind of comfort.  Frowning, he shakes his head.  “Marlena, I know this is hard, but do you think it will be any easier for the kids to accept if you’re not there to explain it to them?  If you hide yourself away, do you think it will be any easier on them?”

 

“I don’t know what I think!” she cries before burying her face in her shaking hands.  Roman pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her.  He presses his lips to the top of her head, smelling the familiar, sweet fragrance of her as she fights her internal battle within the safety of his embrace.  Finally, she lifts her head and looks up into his bright blue eyes.  “I don’t know what to do, Roman,” she says, almost pleads, in a strangled whisper.  “I don’t know what to think, what to feel.  I keep trying to fight this, to be strong but I… it feels like a war is going on inside my head and I don’t know that I have the strength to fight it and to explain and defend myself to our family too.”

 

“Okay.” That argument makes sense to him and he nods gently.  He’s not going to force her to do anything she’s not ready to do.  He knows how hard this is for her, he’s fought similar battles himself and without her he would have foundered.  She had never asked anything more of him than to travel the journey with him at his pace.  He can do as much for her.  “It’s okay, sweetheart.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.  We’ll go home and we’ll talk to the family only when you’re up to it, okay?”

 

Marlena looks up at him, searching his face for an indication of the truth behind his words.  “Are you sure?” she asks tentatively.

 

“Absolutely I’m sure,” he nods with a tender smile.  It melts into a serious and concerned expression as he lifts a hand and strokes a damp strand of hair from her cheek.  “I know you’ve been through hell.  I’m not going to add to it for you.  We’ll take this at your pace, okay?”

 

“And what about the girls?” Marlena asks, recalling his earlier words.  Concern shades her golden eyes as she thinks of Sami and Belle and her last interactions with her children.  She’d hurt them so much and so coldly and deliberately.  Particularly, the idea of facing Sami now, after she finally seemed to be coming to terms with the past fills her with dread.

 

“I’ll talk to the kids,” Roman assures her, running a soothing hand over her hair.  “*All* of them.  We’ll all just have to manage the best we can for the time-being, mmmm?”

 

“Mmmm.” Marlena forces a wavering smile and nods.  But she finds herself feeling far from convinced as she leans her head on his shoulder.  In fact, rather than feeling relieved, she feels even more nervous and conflicted than she did before.  

Marlena looks around her as Roman closes the door and drops their meager baggage on the floor.  This is home, but it doesn’t feel like her home.  Not like the comfortable haven she’s loved for so long.  This place is ingrained with a foreign presence.  

 

The ghost of Grace lives on here.  She exists in the spaces between the known and the unknown.  In the extravagant accessories, throws and cushions on the couches.  The conspicuous lack of familiar pictures.  In strange, sexy clothes and shoes carelessly strewn around the room.  In the dirty martini glasses sitting and lying on various surfaces.

 

Roman follows her gaze and feels himself cringe as he sees the wreckage that Grace has left behind her.  It is an all too harsh reminder of the ordeal they have both been through.  Like picking the scab from a still raw wound.

 

Marlena winces and slides her hand up to rest against her bandaged side.  She leans heavily against the table and Roman is immediately beside her, his hands gently insistent on her upper arms.  

 

“Why don’t you go upstairs and have a rest, Marlena?”  The tension emanating through his hands and in his voice doesn’t help and Marlena feels her nerves tighten, augmenting the throbbing in her side with lancing pains.  She bites on her lower lip to keep from crying out and shakes her head.  

 

“Will it be any better up there?” she asks in a strained voice.  From the memories that she can call on, she doesn’t expect that it will be.  Roman’s face confirms her thoughts.  “Didn’t think so,” she forces a harsh laugh between gritted teeth.  She manages a smile before inclining her head and kissing him on the cheek.  “Anyway, I’ve had enough lying down to last me a lifetime.  I think I could use some fresh air though.”  She wrinkles her nose, a scant defense against Grace’s pungent perfume which lingers in the air, as impossible to ignore as the other reminders of her presence.  “I think I’ll go and sit on the terrace for a while.”

 

“Are you sure?” Roman’s voice trails after her as she walks across the living room, ignoring the detritus that litters her home and her life.  She nods, barely trusting herself to speak as she makes for the French doors.  She won’t break down again, she won’t let herself.  She has to be strong, has to fight through this for his sake.  For her children’s sake.  For the sake of her own sanity.

 

Opening the doors, she takes in the early summer evening as the long rays of ancient sunlight spread across the roofs below her.  Up here the air has lost some of the sultry heaviness she’s been associating with the long, hot days in New Orleans and she’s grateful for the relief.  She takes several deep breaths and then lowers herself into a chair.

 

She can hear Roman moving about the living room, but she doesn’t turn to watch him.  It doesn’t really matter what he does.  Even if he eliminates every trace of evidence that Grace ever existed, she’ll still know.  Because Marlena can still feel her.  Inside her head.

 

She can still feel Grace’s rage and her fire.  She can still remember how it felt to *be* Grace inside her skin, to feel those alien feelings.  To burn with hatred and anger and passion.  And to feel so damn invincible.  

 

Truth be told, what’s really messing with her head is that she’s not sure she wants to stop feeling those things.  She’s not so sure that she just wants to go back to being Marlena.  To go back to being the perfect mother, perfect wife and lover.  For so long she’s been missing something, some spark, something of herself that was so strong and self-sufficient.  Grace wouldn’t have let Kristen walk all over her.  Grace wouldn’t have let Stefano toy with her like a cat with some kind of helpless plaything.  And she knows the Marlena of old wouldn’t have either.  Grace might have been many things that Marlena doesn’t like, but beneath all the things that Stefano twisted her into, there is a grain of a truth that is part of Marlena, whether she likes it or not.  Part of herself that she lost when Grace was locked away inside her unconscious mind.

 

So, now she just has to work out how the hell to put it all back together.  To draw a fresh, whole Marlena out of the broken ruins she holds inside this battered shell of the woman she once was.  Whomever she was.  Marlena is not even sure she knows anymore who she was.  She certainly has no idea who she will be in light of what she now knows about her missing years.  She’s as much a stranger to herself as Grace ever was and it’s a very odd feeling.

 

She sighs and rubs her hands over her face.  It’s a moment before she realizes that Roman is talking on the phone and she finds herself listening to the one-sided conversation.  At the least, it’s a blessed distraction from the storm of questions she keeps asking herself.

 

“Listen, can you put them off?  She’s tired, it was a long flight and she’s still in pain.  She’s just not up to it.”  A pause.  “They’re there now?”  Another pause.  She can imagine Roman pursing his lips, maybe stroking his eyebrow in discomfort.  “Well, I don’t know…. just tell them something.  Tell them we were delayed and we’re not home yet.”  A long pause this time and she leans back to see if she can see Roman’s reaction.  However, the ache in her side flares with the stretch and she gasps in pain.  Clasping her hand to her stomach again, she turns when she hears footsteps and she sees Roman appear at the door, concern clouding his eyes,

 

She mouths the words “I’m okay” to him and he nods silently.  All the time, the phone is still at his ear.  Finally, he sighs.  With a glance to make sure Marlena is really all right, he turns and re-enters the living room, as if intending to take the conversation away from her earshot.  If that’s his objective however, he fails miserably.  It’s a still day and as he continues to talk, his hushed voice carries well on the warm air.  

 

“Well I guess I’d better come down then.”  He sounds resigned and there’s something else in his tone.  Maybe it’s anxiety, maybe apprehension.  Either way, he’s clearly dreading the confrontation to come.  “I really wanted to do this with Doc, but if you don’t think they’re going to be satisfied with another delay…”  Another pause and then, “No.  No, you’re right, Bo.  Of course it’s not fair on them.  They need answers and we’ve asked them to wait long enough.”

 

Marlena watches him as he moves father away from her.  She has to strain to hear him now, but even while she does, she’s not really listening.  She’s thinking of the stress on his face.  Wondering why she expects him to take the burden when it’s really hers to shoulder.  She’s being utterly selfish if she expects him to face their family by himself.  This should be his celebration, his homecoming.  This is joyous news to share with the family and instead he will be faced with questions that are unanswerable and demands for explanations that are impossible to give.

 

Surely, after everything she has put him through in the past few months, she owes it to him to stand with him shoulder to shoulder.  The questions are hers to answer, the explanations hers to give.  Whatever they might be.  She has to face her family at some point.  She has to start being strong some time.  She can’t always hide behind Roman.  Not now.  Not ever.  He can’t protect her from this any more than he could protect her from Grace herself.  This is her battle, not his.

 

And it awes and amazes and hurts her that he would take on that battle for her without even a second thought.  That he would allow her the luxury of hiding, of burying her head in the sand.  Even though it might be the worst thing for her, she knows he can’t bear to see her in pain.  He’d do anything to protect her, he’s proven that.  He proves it every day.  Whatever Grace had thought of him, she couldn’t have been more wrong about how far he would go to protect her.  To save her.

 

Her eyes glitter in the sunlight as she watches him jam a hand in his pocket and turn around.  He flashes her a strained smile and then turns away again.  God, she loves that man.  She loves him beyond reason, and she won’t let him save her again.  At least, not from this.

 

By the time she manages to raise herself from the chair and make her way to the open doors, he has finished his call.

 

“Heeey,” he comes towards her with his hands outstretched.  “I thought you were resting.”

“I was.”  She puts her hands in his, marveling at how frail they look.  No wonder he feels that he has to protect her.  She must look so helpless.  She has been so helpless; she’s let herself become a victim time and time again.  But, no more.  These frail hands have done things that she can’t even grasp.  She’s not the person she was.  And she’s completely the person she was, more than ever.  She’s not fragile, not with Roman by her side.  She can take on the world with him at her side.  And more than that, she *can* face her family.  She’s ashamed and she’s scared but they deserve explanations and Roman deserves so much more than she can ever give him.

 

She smiles at him, a feeling of serenity flooding her soul.

 

“Listen Doc, that was Bo on the phone,” he says.  He has composed himself to face her, to ease her guilt and the twitch in his cheek the only thing to betray the tension he feels.  “Uh, the family is there already so I don’t think I can put this off.  I’ll have to go and –“

“Roman,” she puts her fingers up to his lips and stills his speech.  “It’s okay; you don’t have to do this on your own.”  Confusion clouds his eyes, and she smiles as she strokes the hair at his temple.  “I changed my mind,” she says simply.  “I’m sorry; I never should have expected you to have to bear this weight by yourself.”

 

“I don’t mind, honey,” he says quickly as he returns her smile with an all too convincing one of his own.  “Really.  You don’t have to.”

 

“Yes.  I do.”  She nods a solid affirmation of her words.  “I owe a lot of people explanations and apologies.  Putting it off isn’t going to make things easier for me.  I’ve thought about it, and I know I need to do it now.  No putting it off, no running and hiding, no letting you do my dirty work.  That isn’t fair on you and it’s not fair on our family.  And honestly, it’s not fair on me either.  It’s not who I am.  Not any longer.”

 

She smiles as she says the words.  They feel right and strong and she feels better for saying them.  Slightly more solid, more whole.  She knows she has a long, long way to go, but she knows that these are the first steps on the right path.

 

Chapter LXXXIX – Active Defence

Sami leans against the wall by the blackened fireplace watching her younger sister.  Belle is standing nearby, giggling and talking with Shawn-Douglas.  It’s so glaringly obvious that Belle has a crush on Sami’s cousin, and it makes Sami feel uncomfortable and not a little queasy.  She knows Belle’s not related to the Brady’s by blood but even so, it’s weird.  No matter how much she tells herself that, reminds herself of the facts as they are, it just doesn’t feel right.  Not right at all.  

 

She looks across at her aunt and notes the concern on Hope’s face as she takes in the same scene.  Clearly, she’s not the only one that feels uneasy about the situation.  She wonders if she should say something.  To Belle.  To Bo and Hope.  But what would she say?  Really?  I think you should keep your son away from my sister.  ‘Cuz I find it really gross.  Yeah, that’d go down well.  

 

But really, shouldn’t it be Belle’s *parents* that say something?  Or have a problem with it?  Or are at least, like, *here* to have a damn opinion on the whole business?  But no.  True to form, when Marlena’s children could *really* use her support and advice, she’s nowhere to be seen.  She and her husband have disappeared, once again.  

 

“Hey sis!”  She whirls at the sound of the voice that is so familiar it almost hurts and immediately throws her arms around her brother.  

“Eric!  You came back!”  She doesn’t know if she’s ever been happier to see her twin than she is today.  He’d gone back to Colorado to tie up some loose ends a few months ago and somehow, he’d become entangled in them.

 

“Yeah well, when Uncle Bo called, he said this meeting was really important.”  Eric flashes a brilliant smile.  “So how could I say no?  Especially when it means seeing my sister.  And my *baby* sister.  Hey there pipsqueak!” He ruffles the hair on Belle’s head as she moves across the room to greet him.  She smiles widely and then flings her arms around him in joyful welcome. 

 

“Eric, I didn’t know you were coming home!”

 

“Neither did I; until last night.”  Eric squeezes her hand with a shrug.  “If I’d known I would have kept you company on the plane last week.”  He turns and looks around him.  “So, anyone know what’s going on?  What this is about?”

 

“Uncle Bo wouldn’t say, but I think…” Sami follows his gaze as it tracks the small gathering of familiar faces.  Hope, standing close to the kitchen, next to Shawn and Caroline.  Uncle Bo deep in conversation with Aunt Kayla, who had arrived about an hour ago.  Shawn-D, standing alone now, next to the door that leads to the pub beyond.    Not many of them, a small and intimate family gathering.  The only people missing, aside from Carrie, are John and her mother.  

 

“I think it’s something to do with Mom.  Bo, Hope and Abe took off in a real hurry a few weeks ago.   And there’ve been all sorts of weird things going on since.  I told you Mom was behaving really weirdly.”

 

“I believe that the words were ‘even more of an uber-bitch than usual’.”  He raises his eyebrows skeptically.  “So, what was it, Sam?  More of the same or really weird?”  When Sami glares at him, he laughs.  “Poor Mom, she just can’t catch a break with you, can she?”  Seeing Sami’s anger, he laughs and punches her lightly on the arm.  “Relax Sami, I’m just kidding ya.  Anyway, I thought you’d finally started to patch things up with Mom and John?”

 

“You clearly haven’t had any contact with our mother for months.”  Sami says coolly.  

 

“Neither have you, by the sounds of it,” Eric shrugs casually but Sami can tell there is concern underlying his frivolity.  She knows Eric too well to miss the signs.  Well, he can be concerned about Mom, she no longer cares.

 

Sami is roused from her ruminations by a hush that filters through the room, each person falling silent in what seems like a ripple effect.  Sami follows Eric’s eyes to see her mother standing uncertainly in the doorway, John solidly behind her, his hand covering hers.  Despite the fact that she’d halfway been expecting this, Sami feels a stab of anger that floods through her.  How *dare* they just show up here, like nothing has happened?  

 

“Hey everyone,” John’s warm voice fills the room, but it is followed by a burst of nervous laughter.  “Thanks for coming.”

 

“Mom!” Belle’s voice is a squeak of joy and Sami feels an intense burst of annoyance as the teenager pushes past her and launches herself into her mother’s arms.

 

“Oh Belle!”  Marlena’s arms fold around her daughter almost of their own accord but Sami sees the grimace that crosses her face and her annoyance at Belle turns to pity.  So, nothing’s changed then.  Poor Belle, she’s got a shock in store.

 

Sami’s jaw sets in defiance.  Well that’s fine.  But they better not expect her to stand here and watch the floor show.  Not this time.  She’s had enough of that from Marlena, enough of watching her family become confused and hurt as they glimpse the true nature of the woman Dr. Marlena Evans Black really is.

 

She takes a step to start a determined exit but she’s arrested when she hears Marlena’s cry of pain and sees the ashen hue of her face as John holds her upright.

 

“Oh God, mom, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize!”  Belle is stricken and stands by helplessly as John helps Marlena across to the sofa, which she sinks into with a pained groan.

 

“It’s okay baby girl,” Marlena struggles to smile although her eyes are sparkling with tears which Sami watches her surreptitiously brush away with her fingertips.  “Of course you didn’t know.”

 

“Know what?” Sami hears herself say in a harsh, cold voice.  For all she knows, this is simply a ploy to gain Marlena some sympathy.  She’s not going to be so easily taken in.  But she can’t help but swallow reflexively when Marlena looks up at her.  Those beautiful golden eyes look haunted by misery.  She’s never seen Marlena look at her like this.  She’s seen guilt and she’s seen a myriad of emotions from joy to grief, but she’s never seen this… this… she can’t even put a name to it.  Whatever it is though, it effectively stops her in her tracks, her mouth dry and her feet suddenly like lead.

 

“Your mother was involved in a…. an accident, Sami.” John says, his hand on Marlena’s shoulder.

“What kind of accident Mom?” Belle’s cornflower blue eyes are wide with amazement and a tremor of fear she hadn’t even known was appropriate before this moment.

 

Marlena bites on her lower lip and lifts her head to meet John’s eyes.  He nods and she forces a half smile before turning back to Belle.  “That’s part of what we want to tell you all.  About what’s happened over the past few weeks… well, months really.”

 

She casts her eye around the room, meeting the critical gaze of her family.  Her gaze lingers for a long moment on Eric’s face, but Sami can’t read the emotions that flicker through her eyes at the sight of her son.   Then she stops as she meets Caroline’s eyes.  Sami sees Marlena recoil slightly and feels a twinge of gratification.  Good.  They’re not going to make it easy for her then.  

 

“Caroline?” Marlena’s voice is husky with emotion and doubt.  “Is that okay?  Are you all right with me being here?”  There is a long pause as Caroline looks at Marlena with narrowed eyes, her lips pursed in anger and disapproval.  It’s a look Sami knows from her grandmother only too well. 

 

Marlena reaches for John’s hand, seeking some kind of comfort as they seemingly stand united against their family. 

 

Caroline takes a breath and speaks.  Her words are sharp; emotionally she feels very hurt and angry and very betrayed by her once daughter-in-law.  “You said and did things here Marlena.  Things that I…” she looks at Shawn, who smiles at her and places his hand against the small of her back.  “Things that *we* didn’t and still do not understand.”  She pauses, taking a breath to compose herself.  “We *lost* *Roman* and you seemed to do all you could to add to our pain.”  Caroline’s eyes glitter and her lips tremble but she pulls herself together to utter a final thought.  “Our world was shattered, and you just wanted to ruin us further.”  

 

Sami has an overwhelming urge to applaud her grandmother and just as irresistible an urge to turn around and scream at her mother to get out and never come back.  But she’s waylaid by the soft, mournful sound of Marlena’s voice which is laden with a sorrow what stops her cold.

 

“I know it seems like that,” she says quietly.  “And nothing I can say will take away that pain.  And I am *so* sorry for that, I truly am.”  Her words are reflected by the profound sorrow in her eyes and Sami feels a momentary twinge of empathy for her mother before she realizes what is happening and she deliberately smothers it.  “So, if you really want me to, I’ll go.”  Marlena nods, never wavering from Caroline’s icy stare.  “But Caroline, Shawn; *please*at least hear John out.  Don’t punish him for the things that I have done.”  She’s pleading with them as though her life, or John’s, depends on it.  “He has some things to tell you that you *need* to know.”

 

“*No* Doc,” John shakes his head forcefully, his face dark with anger.  His piercing gaze sweeps the room, finally resting on Shawn and Caroline Brady.  “You’re Marlena’s *family*,” he spits out the words as if they are a curse, his voice expressing the pain that the anger won’t let his face show.  “She’s been there for you; she’s loved and looked after you; she’s helped you more than any of you can ever comprehend.  And all she wants to do is explain what happened to her.  At the very least, you owe her that much.”

 

Sami feels a flash of irrational anger blossom in her gut, and she steps forward defiantly.  “How dare you presume to tell this family what to do, John!?  You have nothing to do-“

 

“Samantha!”  Bo stalks from where he stands with Kayla over to where John stands, his expression a clear warning to Sami to stop before she says something that none of them can take back.  And before Sami can utter a single word in retort, Hope moves from beside Caroline, and goes to stand beside Bo.  

 

“Ro…”  She seems to suddenly stall mid-word and for a moment, Sami could swear she was just about to start talking about what Roman would have wanted.   “John is right.”  She continues after a moment, turning to look directly at the older generation of Brady’s.  “Marlena’s been a part of this family for as long as I can remember.  And for that reason alone, you owe it to her to hear her out.”  She turns her head and smiles at Marlena, a warm and compassionate smile.  “She’s never turned her back on any of us, no matter what we’ve done.”

 

“Hope, you’ve heard what she has to say?” Shawn asks stiffly, slipping his arm around his wife’s shoulders and guiding her towards the group gathered around the sofas and the fireplace.  Kayla and Shawn-D follow them so that they are all clustered in a small group around the sofa where Marlena sits.

 

“We both have, Pop.” Bo slaps his palm on Shawn’s shoulder.  “And you should too.  Trust us, okay?”

 

Shawn turns his head to look at Caroline.  She meets his eyes with her own uncertain ones.  Sami bites her lower lip as she watches an unspoken conversation that seems to pass between them.  Finally, they appear to come to a decision and Caroline turns back to where Marlena sits stiffly on the sofa, her arms wrapped around her middle.

 

“We will listen to what you have to say.”  The anger and hurt she still clearly feels seeps into her voice, frosting her tone until it is sharp and icy.  “I don’t know what your excuse can be, but it must be a good one to convince Bo and Hope.”

 

Marlena sighs and unfolds her arms.  One hand grips the other tightly and they lay uncomfortably in her lap as she speaks.  “It’s not an excuse, Caroline.  *Nothing* can excuse the things that I said and did.  But maybe it’s an explanation.  And an abject apology.  That’s what I’m offering.”

 

Caroline stares at her for a long moment, and then she nods and it’s almost like the tension in the room collapses with that one movement.  

 

But not for Sami.  

 

She feels angrier than ever.   They were all betrayed by Marlena and that they should just sit quietly in the face of pointless explanations and apologies doesn’t seem right to her.  Nothing can make what was done and said right.

 

Even John.  Why John would even want to have anything to do with Marlena after the way she’s treated him, Sami can’t imagine.  He must be a glutton for punishment.  At least her dad knew when to get out.  Saw Marlena for what she really was….

 

But he didn’t really get out, did he…?

 

Sami clenches her jaw as she watches Marlena prepare to make her lame excuses and tearful apologies.  She can’t think those thoughts.  She can’t go down that road again; she can’t allow herself to think like that.

 

It had been shortly after Marlena and John had disappeared from Salem that Sami had overheard the two nurses talking in the staffroom at the hospital.

 

You’ll never believe what I heard.  My cousin Bernie works down at the station, and she says that Dr. Evans is a suspect.  In that murder; of the Police Commander.  Her ex-husband.

 

Sami had marched into the staffroom and just about torn the head off that idiotic nurse.  She had been severely reprimanded for it, of course, but it had been worth it.  Her mother was not the world’s greatest mother, true enough.  But that didn’t make her a murderer.  If there’s one thing Sami knows, it’s that her mother is not a murderer.  No way.  

 

But still, every time she thinks of her father and of her mother at the funeral, leaving with Stefano DiMera, every time she thinks of Hope falling down the stairs at the penthouse, she feels a sick, churning feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Um… I’m not exactly sure where to start.”  Marlena’s voice intrudes on Sami’s thoughts and for once, she is momentarily content to listen to her mother and to give up the endless questions that are chasing their way through her head.

 

“How about at the beginning, Doc?” John suggests gently.  Hope has settled onto the sofa, next to Marlena and John grabs a chair and swings it around so that the back is facing the group.  Belle has moved back to stand beside Eric, and he is watching Marlena intently.  “I suggest you pull up a seat folks,” John adjusts the chair so that it is close enough that he can still have contact with Marlena and then he swings his booted foot across the chair and sits on it, propping his forearms on the chair back.  “This could take a while.”

 

There’s silence then everyone waiting expectantly, all eyes trained on Marlena.  Then she takes a deep breath.

 

“You’ll all know that a couple of months ago, I had an accident.”  Her lips flicker into a pained half-smile at the distant memory.  “I hit my head.  And when I woke up, the first thing I did was tell John I wanted him to move out.”  She glances directly at Sami for what seems like the first time, but Sami refuses to give her anything in return.  No look of pity or sympathy.  There’s nothing that Marlena can say that will persuade Sami that what she did was justified or that there is any kind of reason to excuse her cruel words and behavior.

 

“What John didn’t know then, what none of you could have known was that *I* wasn’t the one that woke up.”  She frowns awkwardly.  “I suppose you could say, for lack of a better term, a different personality awoke while I stayed dormant.”

 

“What, you mean like when Mom was Princess Gina?” Shawn-Douglas blurts out.

 

“Not exactly the same; but it was along the same lines, yes.”  Marlena nods.

 

“Oh c’mon Mom, that’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?” Sami snaps angrily.  That’s an opportune excuse if ever she heard it.  “So what, you’re saying ‘hey, I was a bitch but don’t blame me.  After all… not my fault ‘cos hey… wasn’t *me*’.  That’s pretty lame.”

 

“Samantha Gene.” John’s voice holds a note of steely anger, a warning that makes Sami’s stomach flip.  She can’t remember the last time he used that voice with her, but it was a long time ago.

 

“I’m not saying it wasn’t me, Sami,” her mother says quiet resignation.  “In a lot of respects, Grace *was* me.  She wasn’t like Princess Gina; she wasn’t a creation of Stefano’s.  She came from inside me but she was…” Marlena runs out of words here and in a gesture of desperate anxiety runs her fingers through her hair.

 

“That’s not strictly true Doc,” John tells her.  “Grace was a creation of Stefano’s in many ways.  You know that.”  He turns back to the assembled group, his cerulean eyes unusually bright.

 

“When Marlena disappeared from our lives thirteen years ago, we know she ended up in Stefano DiMera’s care.  What we didn’t know until recently was that for most of the time Stefano had her, she was conscious.”  

 

“I didn’t remember any of this until a few weeks ago.”  Marlena says simply.  “But this is what we’ve been able to piece together from these new memories and things that I’ve read and been told in the past few weeks.”

 

“Grace told me some of it when we were holed up after we left Salem,” John adds.  “I’ll explain that later, but if any of this seems disjointed, it simply that we’re still trying to piece it together ourselves.”  He looks over at Marlena and she smiles, her eyes darkly glittering in the sinking sunlight that pours through the windows behind Sami.

 

“When I woke up after the plane crash, it was the strangest feeling.  I didn’t know anything; I had no idea who I was or what had happened.  I had nothing of my past to hold onto, just the immediate moment.”  She goes on to describe the immediate days following and the presence of the stranger at her bedside.  The man who had introduced himself as Stefano DiMera.

 

“I didn’t know any better.”  She shakes her head as if berating herself silently, even though her words say differently.  “I thought he was my rescuer and my protector.  He was kind to me, or so I thought at the time, and I grew very quickly to depend on him and to trust him.  So, when I started having memories of Roman and my family,” she glances at John and then at Sami and Eric, her expression clearly apologetic, “and he told me that Roman simply hadn’t bothered to make the effort to find me, I’m afraid I believed him.”

 

“Oh, but how could you believe him!?”  Caroline exclaims angrily.  Her anger clearly hasn’t abated any and Sami silently gives her grandmother another cheer.  “Roman *never* would have abandoned you if he’d had any idea that you were alive!”  This cuts Sami’s glee short, however and she narrows her eyes angrily.

 

“Can we *please* stop calling him Roman?” she points at John furiously.  “That man is not my father and he is not fit to use my father’s name.”

 

Again, John looks at her, his blue eyes cold and brittle as ice.  There’s a fury in them and an anguish that momentarily leaves her head spinning and she has to clutch at the mantelpiece behind her to catch her balance.

 

However, he appears to ignore her outburst and instead, he addresses Caroline.  “She believed Stefano because he played her.  Because he knew exactly the things that would break her heart, even if she didn’t remember why they should.  He showed her pictures of me with other women.  Of Samantha, Eric and Carrie laughing and playing.  Of all of us getting on with our lives.  She couldn’t have known that we thought she was dead.”  He directs another angry look at Caroline and then casts it around the room.  Sami is not sure exactly whom he is angry at now, whether it is Stefano or them.  Or maybe himself.  “He lied to her, and he twisted what little she knew until she didn’t know it any longer.  And then, when she was at her most lost and vulnerable, thinking no-one but Stefano cared for her, he arranged for one of his thugs, a man called Lamont, to attack her.”  

 

Sami flinches at the word and she sees Marlena close her eyes as if trying to will away the memories of that day.  For the first time, Sami can’t help but see her mother’s pained reaction as genuine and it makes her uncomfortable and scared.  She’s not sure she wants to hear what comes next.  She tightens her grip on the fireplace surround and presses her lips together as John continues.  

 

“Stefano came back to the compound and stopped Lamont just in time.  Grace had no idea that Stefano had planned the whole thing, to scare her half to death and to reinforce his status as her protector.  But even then, it seems she was still too strong.  He had to break her completely before he could make her into what he wanted.”  He lets his words sink in to the slightly bewildered gathering.

 

“Honey,” Marlena’s voice is shockingly husky and anguished as it shatters the silence.  “I don’t think we need to go into any more detail.  Not with the kids here.”  Sami looks at Belle, who is standing beside Shawn-D and is as pale as a ghost.  She looks like she’s about to throw up and Sami kind of knows how she feels.  Eric, beside her looks as furious as she’s ever seen him and she knows that if he saw Stefano now, he’d probably try and kill him with his bare hands.  

 

If it hadn’t been enough that he’d taken their mother away, kept her locked up in a hospital room, a sleeping ghost, now they find that she was attacked and abused… and…. God… is there even worse than that?

 

John looks around and sees Belle’s face.  Sami gets the impression that he’s so caught up in his anger that he’s almost surprised by the fact that Belle is still there.  Pushing himself from his chair, he strides over to Belle and takes her face in his large palms.  His expression is soft and gentle, and Sami feels a stab of irrational jealousy as she watches the intimate father and daughter moment.  

 

She’ll never have another of those, never be that close to anyone again, anyone who loves her as unconditionally as John and Marlena love their precious Isabella.

 

She looks away, trying to shake the feelings of envy and loss.  She doesn’t want to feel like that about her sister.  Belle is innocent in all of this, and Sami loves her, almost despite herself.

 

“Izzy, I’m sorry baby,” John tells her tenderly.  “I didn’t mean…. I don’t want to upset you.”  Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he pulls her close and then turns to face Sami and Eric.  “I don’t want to upset any of you.  But I want you all to understand what your mother”, he looks around at the rest of the family, “what Marlena went through all those years ago.  When the old man did what he did to her; and Marlena’s right, I’m not going into any more details there; but what he did, it broke her; completely destroyed her spirit and her fight.  And what was left, what he manipulated and twisted after all she closed down, was the personality that became Grace.  And it’s Grace that we’ve all been living with for the past few months….”

Chapter XC – Elimination Sacrifice

“Hang on a minute John,” Eric holds out his hand, stopping Roman in his tracks.  “Back up a little bit.  You said DiMera…” he pauses here, clearly too distressed to be able to repeat Roman word for word.  “You said… to make her into what he wanted.  What the hell does that mean?”

 

There is an uncomfortable silence as Roman fails to present an immediate answer to the question.  Marlena feels ill as she watches the faces of her children, their confusion and their fear in the face of such an unknown.  She’d known this was going to be hard; that was a given.  But it’s even harder than she had imagined.  Every second seems interminable, every flinch like a knife through her conscience. 

 

“He means that he wanted someone to do his dirty work,” Bo steps in to break the uncomfortable silence and relieve the pressure on Roman and Marlena.  “Stefano deals in information.  You all know that for Stefano, knowledge is power; and there are ways that a woman can get information out of a man….”  He shrugs, leaving the rest to their imagination.  “So he used Grace and Princess Gina to get that information.  Among other things.”

 

“How?” Sami demands, wild-eyed, her expression demanding of Marlena things that she is not sure she can give.  Not honestly, not without destroying herself in her children’s eyes.  “What did you do for him?  What can a woman-” she stops short, her face coloring as she realizes what she is asking.  “Mom, you *slept* with them?  You *whored* yourself out for Stefano DiMera?”

 

The disgust on her daughter’s face cuts Marlena to the core.  She knows how Sami feels; it’s only a reflection of how she feels about herself.  About the things she has done.  And if Sami can’t forgive her for this, how is she going to forgive her for the *truly* despicable things she has done?

 

A dark despair seeps through her as she searches for an answer to Sami’s scathing questions.  To admit to being essentially no better than a prostitute; to seducing men for their secrets. And so much worse….  What kind of a woman is she?  What depths has she sunk to?

 

A touch on her shoulder rouses her from her anguish

 

And it brings her a glimmer of comfort.  Without him, she’d be truly lost; she knows that without a doubt.  When she feels like she’s drowning, like she’s about to submerge beneath the desolation forever, all she has to do is look at him or feel his touch and it’s as though she’s been thrown a lifeline.

 

“Your *mother* did nothing of the sort, Samantha.”  Roman is clearly very angry with Sami and it pains Marlena to hear the distress in both their voices.  This should be a joyous day for all of them and instead once again, all she has brought them is pain and misery.

 

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it was *Grace*,” Sami says sarcastically, flinging her head around to catch individual eyes in the assembled group.  “Convenient, isn’t it?  That she doesn’t have to take responsibility for the things she’s done?  As usual, Marlena Evans Black picks up a get out of jail free card to excuse her heinous actions.”  She turns her attention to Marlena again and she feels the full force of Sami’s rage directed right at her.  “So, exactly what else did you do for him, mother dearest?  For this man who ‘so-called’ tortured and abused you?  What exactly did you do, how far did you go?”

 

Marlena feels as though she is drenched in a chill sweat as she faces her outraged daughter, and she intrinsically knows that this night is make or break for Sami.  The truth is that the things that Marlena did as Grace are inexcusable and are a completely justifiable reason for Sami to turn her back on Marlena forever.  

 

“The truth is – I did terrible things, Samantha.”  Her voice trembles, on the verge of breaking as she faces her daughter, unflinchingly.  “Things I am deeply ashamed of.  Things that I can never go back and undo, no matter how much I might wish to.”

 

“Did you…” Sami’s voice has dropped to a whisper as the question that has been torturing her, burning a hole in her skull, forces itself out from between parched lips.  “People have been saying… that you left…”  She swallows, her throat dry and sticky with the horror of what she is asking.  “Did you have… anything to do with what happened to Daddy?”

 

There is an audible gasp in the room and Marlena finds herself looking up at Shawn and Caroline almost without volition.  This is the question that she has been dreading.  The question that she is not sure if she can answer.  The white lie she is not sure she can tell.  And yet, she must, if she is to preserve her children’s innocence.  If she is not to destroy her family completely.

 

“No Sami,” she says in a strong clear voice that belies her churning stomach.  “I didn’t.  I didn’t… hurt your father.  Not like that.”  It’s not a lie after all.  Not even a white lie.  At least, not strictly speaking.  And yet, she feels like a liar; another shame to add to her list.

 

“How can you even *ask* that?” Belle turns a furious, pale and tear-streaked face on her sister.  “How could you think that Mom would *ever* hurt Roman?  That she could hurt *anyone*?”

 

“Oh, get real Belle,” Sami snaps defensively, her eyes flashing with guilt and rage.  “Don’t be so naïve.  She’s just *told* us that she did.  You really think Stefano DiMera just prostituted her out without extracting his pound of flesh?  And for God’s sake, my mother hurts people like it’s a hobby of hers.”

 

“Samantha, that is *ENOUGH*!” Roman explodes; standing and throwing his chair aside in one movement before he takes a step towards his erstwhile daughter.  “Your mother has been to *hell* and back-”

 

“No, my mother has put *us* all through hell!” Sami cries, tears filling her eyes.

 

“Oh, give it a break Sam!” Eric says harshly.  “For once, this isn’t about you.  For God’s sake, just let Mom and John tell us what *happened*.  You can throw your tantrum later when the rest of us at least know what’s been going on!”

 

“I don’t want to know what happened!” Sami chokes out the words through hysterical tears.  “It doesn’t change anything.  My dad is still dead and nothing has changed.   I don’t want to know.  I just don’t want to know!”

 

“Well, I do, so just shut the hell up!” Eric orders her with a ferocity that stops everything dead for a moment.

 

“Stop it!” Marlena breaks the shocked silence, fighting back her own tears.  “Please, just stop it, all of you.  I know that this might not change anything for you, Sami.  For any of you.  I hurt you all and I don’t expect you to forgive me.  How can I after the things I have done?  But please, just hear me out until the end.  *Please*.”

 

“Marlena, they don’t need to forgive you,” Hope says, passionately.  “It wasn’t *you* that did those things.”

 

“Oh Hope,” Marlena tries to smile, the tears glistening in her eyes and spilling over her lower lashes as she speaks.  “Thank you so much.  Honestly, thank you, you don’t know how much it means to me.  But the truth is,” her lower lip trembles for a moment and then she steels herself, her palms flat on her knees.  “It *was* me that did those things.”  She looks down at her fingers which are shaking.  Curling them into her palm, she takes a deep breath and looks up at Hope again.  “Sami is right; Grace is a part of me, however despicable she was.  And I have to live with that.  I have to work out how to live with myself, and I can’t expect anyone else to do that if I can’t, can I?”

 

Roman has moved back from the confrontation with Sami and is now standing beside the sofa.  He puts his hand on her shoulder, his fingers tight against cotton and bare skin and she knows he’s having a hard time controlling himself.  She knows he wants to shout at them all and tell them to stop being so hard on her, but she wills him to keep his temper in check for the moment.  

 

They’d had this conversation outside the pub; he knows she has to walk this road in her own way at her own speed and she has to fight her own battles.  She just prays he keeps that in mind.  His family needs him just as much as she does and the last thing she wants him to do is alienate himself from them before they even have a chance to learn the truth.

 

“Marlena, you had no conscious knowledge of what Grace was doing when she was doing it.  You had no way of stopping her.”  Hope sounds half-way triumphant as it breaks in over the top of Marlena’s musings.  “So how can we hold you responsible, knowing you couldn’t have stopped them?”

 

“Because something inside me is clearly capable of those things, Hope.”  Marlena’s voice is clear and strong now.  A sense of peace has descended over her again and she feels freed by the knowledge that her family will make their own choices.  Choices based on the truth, not on lies and whitewashes.  If they love her, they have to love her for everything that she is, the good and the awful.  This is the choice before them.  She has to learn to live with herself and she can do that.  She knows that now.  But her family has to make the same journey in their own time.  It’s not a journey she can make them take.  It’s entirely up to them.  “I can’t say I like it, but it’s the truth.  Something inside me, some grain of who I am can be hard and cruel and enjoyed inflicting pain.  And I’m sorry,” she casts her eyes around the room, meeting the shocked stares of her family.  “I’m so, *so* very sorry that you all had to find that out the way you did.  I wish it had stayed hidden and forgotten, but it didn’t.  And now you all have to make your choice.”

 

“What choice Mommy?” Belle whimpers like a frightened child and Marlena turns to her, her heart aching for her youngest child.  Of all of them, Belle should not have to deal with this.  Should not have to hear the things she’s hearing.  

 

“Oh Belle, baby girl…” Marlena sighs.  She knows Belle will never turn her back on her, just like Roman won’t.  She’ll never be able to believe the worst of her mother; her sweet innocence won’t let her entertain such notions.  At least, not unless she is forced to.  It breaks Marlena’s heart that she has to hear any of this. 

 

“She means we need to make a choice,” Eric says, staring at Marlena as though he’s seeing her for the first time; like she’s a stranger who has walked into the room and has suddenly announced that she is his long lost mother.  “About whether we accept what she’s saying.  About who she is, that she can be Mom *and* Grace and that she’s not taking the ‘get out of jail free’ card, as Sam so charmingly put it.”  

 

The room falls silent as he stares at Marlena.  She swears she can feel him looking inside her soul, pulling her to pieces and examining each little sliver of raw brokenness sheltering inside her wounded body.  “So….,” he sighs in frustration.  “Look Mom, I’m sorry if I don’t get this.  I’m sorry that I have to ask this, but I really need to know… to understand…”  His eyes flick to Roman and he swallows nervously but he forges ahead anyway.  “I don’t understand how you could get to that point.  How… *why*….”  He shakes his head.  “My understanding is that John had Dad’s memories somehow imprinted in his head.  As did Hope with Princess Gina.  But you…. this… Grace wasn’t like that?”  

 

“No.”  Marlena shakes her head pensively and chews on her lower lip for a moment.  “No, she was just the part of me that was left when the rest of me was gone.”

 

“After *what*?” Eric pushes harder.  “What the hell did he do to you that made you… shut down like that?  I’m sorry Mom, I just don’t get it.  You’re an amazing woman, you always have been.  You’re so strong and you’re warm and compassionate and caring about everyone around you.  So much love… and you’re asking me to believe that you just transformed into this….” he shakes his head bewilderedly, “… this *monster* of a woman because… why?  Because John didn’t come and find you?  Because Stefano told you lies?  I know there has to be more to it than that and I just… I need to know what it is so I can put all the pieces together in my own head.”

 

Marlena is silent for a long moment and she realizes she is gritting her teeth together, clenching the muscles in her jaw, much the same as Roman is doing beside her as they both try and walk this tightrope.  She can feel Roman’s hand tight on her shoulder and she curls her hands more tightly into whitened fists to try and quell the panic she feels.  She desperately wants not to remember this part of it.  She wants to pretend it never happened, that she never suffered like that.  And she definitely doesn’t want to talk about it, to spell out her agony in front of her friends.  In front of her children…..

 

“What Stefano did to your mother was unbelievably cruel.” Hope says quietly, clearly seeing Marlena’s distress.   “He may as well have tortured her, although that would never have been as effective.  Just trust me….” She looks Marlena directly in the eye and Marlena knows that she understands the utter desolation Marlena had felt in those horrific moments and days following Orpheus’ attack.  “No-one could have gone through that and not been irreparably broken inside.”

 

“But what “*was* it?” Eric demands, pained in his confusion.  “I keep wondering if maybe Stefano…” he pauses and swallows, brushing his fingers uncomfortably through his hair.  “But if he…. touched… if he did that to you… why would you trust him?  Why would you do things for him?  It doesn’t make sense.”

 

Marlena presses her fingers over her mouth to keep from crying out.  Eric is so close to the truth that she can no longer pretend it’s easier for them not to know.  It’s obvious that this is going to torture him and maybe the things that his imagination can conjure would be more painful than the truth.

 

“It wasn’t Stefano.”  She almost surprises herself more with her words than she does anyone else.  She feels Roman’s hand lift and his arm slide around her shoulder.  Gratefully, she moves along the sofa and allows him room to sit down.  This bit she can’t do alone.  She needs his strength to lend to her own.  

 

“You don’t need to do this, Doc,” he murmurs as he strokes her arm comfortingly.

 

“Well, clearly, I do,” she replies, a little too brightly, her voice sharp and brittle.  She holds her son’s challenging gaze for a moment and then turns to Belle.  “Isabella, sweetheart; I don’t know that I want you hearing this.”

 

“I want to stay, Mom.” Belle says quietly.  “I want to know what happened to you.”  She pauses, her face set in an expression of stubbornness that reminds Marlena of both Sami and Roman.  Then she looks at her brother and takes a step towards him.  “I want to understand too.”

 

Eric gives her a sympathetic smile and holds his hand out.  Belle reaches towards him and slips hers into it. She moves to stand at his side and then faces her parents again.

 

“It’s not very nice, Izzy,” Roman says gently.  “I think it would be better if you and Sami-“

 

“Oh no.”  Sami shakes her head; that same implacably stubborn expression pasted across her beautiful face.  “I’m not going anywhere.  No way.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to know any more Sam?”  Eric fails to keep the sarcasm from seeping into his voice.

 

“Shut up, Eric!” Sami hisses furiously.  And then at Roman; “You can’t make me go!”

 

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, Samantha,” he replies evenly.  “But in return, I will ask that you please let your mother say what she needs to say.  Without interruption,” he adds pointedly.  “This is hard enough for her as it is.”

 

Sami purses her lips angrily but says nothing that indicates she refuses to comply with Roman’s request.

 

“Right,” Eric says softly.  “So, Mom.  The girls are staying.”

 

Marlena nods, steeling herself to pick through these new and painful memories.  She hasn’t even talked about this with Roman yet and of everyone, she dreads his reaction the most.  

 

“Okay.  Well…” she bites on her lower lip, her brow gathering into furrows.  “R-”  She stops and checks herself.  “*John* told you… I didn’t remember anything much at all.  Just snatches of memories; faces and names and very little else.  And it took an awfully long time for my body to heal.  I had head injuries that caused the amnesia and I was lost and terrified and felt like I had utterly no control over my life.  Stefano invested a lot of time making me feel safe and comfortable and convincing me that I could trust him. Of course, now that I look back on it all, I can see how he continued to cultivate those negative feelings and fears I had even while appearing to provide me with all the comfort and safety I craved.”  She shakes her head, disgusted with herself.  “I could ask myself a thousand times over why on earth or even *how* could I have trusted him, but he… well, we all know that he is clever.  He knew exactly the right things to do and say.  He knew my weaknesses and he played on them masterfully.”  She shakes her head again and takes a moment to brush her hair back, tucking it nervously behind her ear before she continues.

 

“I was terrified when I awoke.  All I could remember was the feeling of being dragged under the waves, of almost drowning.  And I didn’t understand why my husband wasn’t coming to find me.  Stefano even suggested that maybe Roman had engineered the accident somehow.  And for a while, I thought maybe he could have.”  She turns to Roman, her guilt and shame written all over her face.

 

“It’s okay baby,” he tells her with a gentle rub of her arm before he presses a kiss to her cheek.  “I understand.  You didn’t know.  How could you?”

 

“I should have known,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.  “In *here*,” she presses her hand to her chest.  “I should have known and *trusted* you.”

 

“How could you when I didn’t come to find you?” Roman shakes his head.  “C’mon,” he drops his voice so it is low and soft enough that only she can hear it and it sends shivers through her.  “Be strong now.  No more guilt.  You can do it.  I have so much faith in you.”

 

She can’t help but smile at him.  He is so, *so* good to her.  She’s so damn lucky; she’ll never spend a day where she’s not grateful to have him by her side.

 

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, to steady herself.  Staring at the mantelpiece behind Sami, she continues, trying to keep her voice as steady and unemotional as she can.  This will be much easier to tell if she has no kind of emotional connection to it, either in reliving the memories or in the reaction of others to them.  Unwaveringly, she tells them of the letters that Stefano had shown her, the pictures and videos of Roman and the children.  Of the fear and confusion she felt; and the anger hardening day by day as she remained trapped and dependent on Stefano’s good will.  

 

Then she tells them of Lamont’s attack; how he had at first tried to seduce her and when she had rebuffed him how he had snarled at her and half-torn her dress from her body before Stefano’s fortuitous reappearance had put a stop to the nightmarish scenario.

 

“Stefano said that he could take care of Lamont,” Marlena gives a visible shudder, and the emotion seems to ripple through everyone gathered in the room.  “That I just had to say the word.  Just had to say I wanted him dead, and it would be done.  But even then, I didn’t want revenge, I just wanted to feel safe and in control of my life.  Everything had been so out of control, just even…” she feels Roman’s arms tighten around her and she can’t help but look up at him.  “Not knowing who you are.  I felt completely out of control.  I felt terrified and scared and angry, and I floundered around trying to find something to hold onto.”

 

“I know…” Roman smiles sadly and gives her a gentle kiss.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that baby.  I really am.”

 

Marlena can’t manage a smile in return so instead, she weaves her fingers in between his where they are resting against her arm.  “Anyway,” her voice is a little harder now, and a little flatter and more emotionless.  “I guess that still wasn’t enough for Stefano.  He wanted more from Grace than that.  So, he introduced me to the man who had caused all this misery in the first place.  Orpheus.”  

 

A small murmur shimmers through the group and Caroline speaks up.

 

“But I thought John had killed Orpheus?”

 

“So did I, Caroline.”  Roman shrugs, his nonchalance belying his anger and pain at the knowledge that this mistake has caused so much agony for Marlena and his family.  “Apparently I didn’t kill him dead *enough*.”

 

Marlena ignores the interchange between Roman and Caroline.  She’s determined to get this over and done with and a divergence on the matter of Orpheus’ temporary resurrection from the dead isn’t going to aid that end.  “During the time on the Island, I spent just enough time with Orpheus to know that he was bordering on insanity.  He scared me, but I was strangely drawn to him, maybe because he was the only really tangible link I had to my past life, the only person besides Stefano that could tell me anything about Roman.  About myself.”  She shrugs dejectedly.  “Whatever the reason, it was stupidity.  I should have known better.”

 

Untangling her hand from Roman’s, she brushes it over her mouth.  It feels so dry that her tongue suddenly feels as though it is welded to the top of her mouth.  And if she closes her eyes, she can see Orpheus’ malevolent black eyes boring into her and his hot breath ragged against her skin.  She feels hot and cold and clammy, and she feels sick to her stomach as the rush of images comes in waves of increasing hideousness.

 

“You okay sweetheart?” Roman is immediately brushing the hair from her damp forehead.  “You’re terribly pale.”  Unable to trust herself to speak for the moment, Marlena simply nods.  “Caroline, can we have a glass of water?” Roman asks urgently.  Caroline nods and bustles quickly into the kitchen.  The glass of water makes its way back to the sofa via Shawn and Bo and Marlena takes it gratefully, but taking a deep gulp of it, she can’t help but wish it was something stronger.

 

She puts the glass on the table in front of her and takes a deep breath, blowing it out between pursed lips.  “Well, I suppose I don’t need to spell the rest of it out,” she grimaces as she stares intently at the glass.  “I knew I was in trouble when I saw him in the doorway of my bedroom.  Stupidly, I never even thought to wonder how it was that he’d come to be in that part of the compound.  I don’t think I really had time or even wanted to wonder.”  She sighs and looks up at Eric.  Sami has crept to his side now and the three siblings stand in a huddle, the twins with one arm around each other and the other around their baby sister who stands in front of them.  

 

The three of them wear nearly identical pained and horrified expressions and that is almost Marlena’s undoing.  She presses her lips together, struggling with her emotions, feeling some of the bleakness that smothered her in those terrible days that followed the attack and the aftermath.  

 

“I don’t remember much about it, even now,” she says in a low, choked voice.  “I’ve tried very hard to not remember.  Afterwards, I had a broken cheekbone and wrist and a dislocated shoulder, so I guess I fought him,” her shoulders lift slightly in a disconsolate shrug and Roman’s fingers tighten on her arm.  “But he’d locked the door and there’s only so much you can fight.  I was still recovering from the crash, so I wasn’t strong anyway….” She trails off, dropping her eyes to the table in front of her again.  In a sudden movement, she lifts her fingers and presses her thumb and forefinger to her eyes.

 

Part of her is waiting for something; in truth, she is waiting for Sami to retort, to tell her she’s lying, to deny that this could have happened to her mother; or that it should have made a difference.  But there is nothing, no denials or retorts; there is just stunned silence from her children and everyone else.

 

“Anyway, it happened.  And afterwards I just felt numb.  Like the only way to stop the pain was to just retreat somewhere.  To a place nothing could touch me.”  Her hands feel cold and clammy, and she rubs her palms against the long linen skirt that falls in loose, graceful folds across her legs.  “And I might have gotten through it, might have been able to recover from it, but that Stefano quietly had his doctors run some tests.  When the pregnancy test came back positive, I just cracked.  My life was already in ruins and then I found out I was carrying Orpheus’ child.”  Her voice is choked again, and her face ashen as she looks beyond Shawn and Caroline into a past too painful to remember. 

 

“I couldn’t even bear to look at my own body,” she lifts her hand to flick away unwelcome tears and her voice cracks uncontrollably.  “I felt like something disgusting was growing inside it.  A parasite.  And a reminder of everything I had lost and everything that had happened to me.  So, Stefano convinced me that the only thing to do was to terminate the pregnancy.”  Her jaw sets in a tense line and her hands curl into tight balls in front of her.  “And I let them do it.  It was only afterwards that I realized that I hadn’t….”  Her vision grows blurred, and she presses her eyes closed, but it is too late to stop the tears that spill from her lashes and roll down her pale cheeks.  “I didn’t know…” she whispers “I just let them do it and I tried not to think about it.  I’m still trying not to think about it.”  

 

Behind her, Marlena hears Bo’s sharp exclamation of “Holy shit!” and it magnifies the anguish and guilt she is feeling.  She shouldn’t have done this; she should have talked to Roman about this first.  This is so unfair to him but she hadn‘t even thought about it, hadn’t really remembered or realized until it had all come spilling out of her just now.  

 

She turns to Roman her eyes huge and luminously golden, full of suffering and guilt.  “I’m so sorry. I should have told you this before now.  But I’ve been trying to push it to the back of my mind.  I’ve been trying so hard not to think about any of it, not to remember the way it felt…. That was the worst time of my life; that… I was in so much pain and that was what brought Grace forth.  I just… I couldn’t bring myself to…”

 

“Shhhh,” Roman almost manages to cover his own shock and distress but she can see it there, simmering beneath the surface and it elicits a broken sob from her.  

 

“I’m *so* sorry, Roman,” her words are muffled between her sobs as she looks down to where his hand is now gently stroking her thigh.  “It might have been your baby and I didn’t even think… and now I’ll never know.  I’m *so* sorry….”

The Exchange Variation

 

Chapter XCI – King Hunt

“Stop it, Marlena.” 

 

Roman’s words are augmented by his touch, impossibly gentle against her skin. With a whispered word of love, he brushes his lips across her forehead and then tenderly, he touches his fingers beneath her chin and raises her head so that she has to look at him. 

 

“Listen sweetheart. You did what you had to do to survive. I mean, you think I would have wanted you to go through with a pregnancy, thinking it might be Orpheus’ kid?” He gives her a half-smile, meant to reassure her but she feels so wretched she’s not sure that anything can make her feel better right now. She could almost welcome the oblivion of being Grace, just to ease this agony. 

 

Which, of course, is the whole point. 

 

“All I need to know,” Roman tells her as he wraps both of his arms around her and pulls her close to him, “is that I got you back. I got you back in my arms and that’s *all* I care about. The rest is just water under the bridge. It’s the past and it’s finished and done with. And I don’t want you revisiting it and making yourself ill over it, okay?”

 

Almost without pausing, he looks up at his children, singling Eric out with his intense gaze. “Understand now, kid?” he demands, almost cruelly. 

 

“Yeah,” Eric’s voice comes but it’s hoarse and strained. “God, I’m sorry Mom. Really, I had *no* idea.”

 

When she finds her voice, it’s hoarse and it sounds flat and empty to her own ears. “Of course you didn’t, honey,” she tells him wearily. “I wish you didn’t have to know. I wish none of this had come about. But it did and so…” she shrugs, almost welcoming the numbing effect of the exhaustion as it seeps through her body.

 

There’s a silence and Marlena finds herself looking up at Sami. Her daughter, her arms still around Belle, returns her stare with a guarded, almost suspicious one of her own. She looks as if she wants to say something, as if she almost starts and then stops herself. Belle just looks distraught, with her eyes closed and tears trickling down her cheeks and Marlena feels her heart breaking all over again.

 

Roman, his insides churning with grief and rage, can barely speak for a long moment. He’d had no idea this was coming; the depths that Stefano has sunk to shock even him. The pain that Marlena must have suffered; the loneliness and grief… but he can’t let himself think about that right now. He has to stay strong so that she can lean on him. He has to see her through this before they can have the private space to grieve that they both so badly need. But right now, he needs to get them all past this, has to make sure they keep moving onward.

 

So, he takes over the narrative again, deftly moving the family beyond the years spent in Stefano’s employ to the recent months. He explains again about the accident and how when Marlena had awoken, it was Grace that had taken over Marlena’s life. The room is silent but for his words, which fall into the shocked and soundless space that separates them all.

 

“I think all of us knew that something was wrong with Marlena, that something was going on with her and she wasn’t behaving like the Marlena we know and love.”

 

“Understatement of the year, bro.” Bo manages to spit out the words, aimed at breaking the silence, at easing the tension a little. In that vein, he raises his eyebrows and then directs a wry grin at his older brother. 

 

“Yeah,” Roman allows himself a rueful smile, grateful to Bo for giving him some badly needed support. “Grace was hell-bent on getting some kind of revenge for the pain she felt I had caused her.” He looks at Caroline and Shawn, his eyebrows raised and a half-frown curling his mouth. “She wanted us *all* to suffer for abandoning her. But I think that deep down there was more going on than just that. I think she couldn’t bear that we all seemed to love Marlena so much. She couldn’t reconcile it with what Stefano had told her. And her entire existence as Grace depended on that series of lies. So, she needed to prove herself right. She wanted to make us hate Marlena, to abandon her like we did before so that she could feel justified in what she had done, in who she was.”

 

“Wow,” Marlena is shaken as she looks at him with new eyes. This insight is as unexpected as it is accurate. Although she’s not sure why that should be so, she still finds herself a little unnerved by his assessment of her. Of Grace. “You’ve really thought about this.”

 

“I’ve thought about nothing else since I worked out that she wasn’t you, Doc.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he looks at her thoughtfully before lifting his fingers to brush the remnants of the tears from her cheeks. “I should have figured it out long before I did. It wasn’t you; you never would have said the things you said. However true the words were, you never would have deliberately set out to hurt me. Or any of us.”

 

“But I did,” she whispers sadly.

 

“No, not *you*.” He shakes his head firmly. Then he turns back to his parents. “Anyway, when I did figure it out, I knew that the only way to get Marlena back was to get Grace away from Stefano and work on trying to reach Marlena somehow. So that was what I did.” He looks around the family, his eyes sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before we left Salem. I really wanted to; you have to believe me. But I was scared that if Grace worked out that I was onto her, she’d skip town and I’d never be able to get close to her again. I’d have lost my only chance at getting Doc back if that happened and I couldn’t risk that.”

 

“You couldn’t have clued us in and trusted us not to let on?” Sami asks angrily. “You must have seen that we were all hurt and confused and wondering what the hell was going on.”

 

“Of course I did Samantha,” Roman says with more patience than his daughter deserves. “But if I’d told you, then your reaction to her would have changed. Grace was a very smart lady, and she would have picked up on it, no matter how good an actress you were. And the rest of you… it was the same situation. I knew Grace was very wary and cautious and I also knew Stefano was keeping a close eye on the situation. And as it turned out, they *were* planning to leave town, which is why I had to make my move and grab her when I did. All I could do was hope to God that I could find a way to get Marlena back before Stefano caught up with us. And that you would all understand why I had to do it that way.”

 

“Well, obviously, it worked, son.” Shawn nods at Marlena. “I have to confess, I was right upset at ye, so I was. But now, I feel I understand why ye did what ye had to do.”

 

“I think we both do,” Caroline looks at her husband for a long moment and then she turns to Roman and Marlena on the couch, her expression infinitely softer and more sympathetic than it was earlier. “The things I said earlier Marlena. I apologize. Bo and John are right. We should have known that something was wrong. That you would never behave like that under normal circumstances. We’re…. *I’m* sorry. I should have had more faith in you.”

 

“Please don’t apologize, Caroline,” Marlena shakes her head defiantly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t know that I wasn’t… me. And besides that, what I did, the things I said, they were unforgivable in any context. The apologies are all mine to make, and I want you to know how sorry I am for all the things I said and did.” 

 

“The things that *Grace* said and did,” Roman corrects her, a smile dancing in his eyes. Marlena knows that now Caroline has cracked, he thinks the worst is over, that they have forgiven her and that they are coasting on the downhill run to home. She knows that’s not the case, but she will ride on his infectious enthusiasm for just a moment. After all, it’s a blessed relief not to feel the crushing weight of disapproval and blame even if for a few minutes.

 

“What happened then?” Belle asks; her face ashen as she struggles with the weight of all this new knowledge. Marlena desperately wants to go to her and take her in her arms but she’s not sure that’s the right thing to do now. Belle needs to be able to trust her again before she can accept comfort from her.

 

“It’s a long story,” Marlena smiles wearily, “that starts with a shack in the middle of Tennessee, of all places.”

 

“And it ends in New Orleans,” Roman finishes the sentence for her as he absently twists his fingers in her hair and rubs her upper arm with his other hand. 

 

“Let’s just say that your father was *very* intent on his task.” She smiles lovingly at her husband, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek with her fingers. “He would *not* give up, no matter what Grace threw at him. It didn’t matter how hard she fought him. He simply fought her harder. He was relentless and he *never* gave up. He was always there fighting for me and in the end…” she lifts her fingers to his temple and brushes his hair back in a gesture of such tenderness that for a moment, Roman feels like they are the only people in the room. “…Grace started to crack,” she finishes with a smile.

 

“She was a tough nut,” he returns her smile with a grin that brings an extra sparkle to her eyes. “She fought all right. But every so often, I could see through the chinks in her armour. Sometimes she was just like a spoilt, lost child. Sometimes….” he looks up at the children, his shimmering cerulean gaze meeting that of his middle daughter, “she reminded me of Samantha. Vulnerable and lost and frightened and trying to cover it all with a mask of anger and indifference.” He sees Sami start angrily and can’t help the tender smile that steals across his face. Then he turns back to Marlena, the smile turning into an incorrigible smirk. “And sometimes she was simply infuriating, and I could have quite cheerfully strangled her.” 

 

Marlena returns his smile before laying her head on his shoulder. She can feel the buzz of his voice deep within his chest, vibrating against her cheek as he talks. It’s comforting and it feels like the safest place she’s ever known, just nestled there against his chest. Momentarily, she wonders how she could ever give this all up, before she is caught up again in his words.

 

“But I just knew I had to keep trying and keep fighting to get to Doc. And all the while, the truth that Grace thought she knew, it was being worn away, little bit by little bit. So, she decided to head for New Orleans to find the truth. And I, of course, tagged along for the ride.” Marlena lifts her head again, taking a deep breath for the inevitable explosion she knows is about to come.

 

“What truth?” Kayla asks from where she stands, slightly behind her father.

 

“Hey there Kay!” Roman smiles at his younger sister, an irresistible flash of a grin that Marlena hasn’t seen for the longest time. “Well, see, it turns out Stefano had a second house down there that we didn’t know about. So, Grace and…I,” he looks at Marlena and she nods almost imperceptibly. They don’t need to know what the mercenary had done. They already know too many painful details; that can stay private. “Grace and I broke into the house and found Stefano’s secret stash of files. Dossiers on just about everything he’s ever been involved in.”

 

“Made some really interesting reading,” Bo adds. “What little we saw of it before the Feds got their hands on it, anyway. The material in that room alone is gonna send DiMera down for a long, long time.”

 

“Stefano DiMera is in jail?” Shawn Brady looks even more shocked.

 

“Actually, right about now, he’s in a plane with Abe and several FBI agents and they’re probably somewhere over Kentucky.” Bo grins. “We got the old man dead to rights. He’s gonna pay this time. For everything that he’s done. To all of us.”

 

“Stefano turned up in New Orleans while we were in his house, searching through the files.” Roman explains. “Grace found what she was looking for right before he arrived, so she stashed it and took it with her when DiMera sent her upstairs to wait for him. His plan, I guess, was to deal with me and then take her away where no-one could find her.”

 

“Deal with you?” Eric asks carefully.

 

“I’d become a liability,” Roman tells them all. “I was too close to Grace. Far too close. Stefano knew that she must have had a chance to escape and yet, she was still with me. He couldn’t abide that. I was interfering and that Grace was choosing me. Obviously,” He looks at Marlena, picking up a strand of hair and smoothing it over her shoulder, “he wanted Grace for himself. They had a strange relationship; she never would have touched him, but he was hopelessly in love with her. Just as he was with you, Doc. But at least Grace would work with him. He could have her close to him, have her do his bidding. Although in the end, he wouldn’t have been able to bear having her that close and not being able to touch her…” He looks at Marlena, passion glittering in his eyes. “I know only too well how that one works. It’s *hell* being able to look but always being just a little more than an arm’s length away.”

 

“That was your choice,” Marlena tells him, moving even closer to him so that she almost melds into him within the embrace of his arm.

 

“Only choice I could make baby,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t break down Grace’s defences by giving her what she wanted, could I?” He leans over and presses a tender kiss to her lips. “Was damn hard though,” he whispers before turning back to the family.

 

“Well, Stefano he decided he was going to have me killed.” There is a gasp from Belle, but Eric’s arm around her hugs her closer to him, wordlessly urging her to allow her father to tell the story in his own time. She takes the hint and says nothing more, simply looks at her father in anguish. “But before he got to that point, he took the time to tell me some home truths. He was furious with me, well, with the mercenary really, for not bending to his will, not playing his game. He had an agenda, and I didn’t fit into it. The same way I’d never really fit into it I guess.” He shrugs. “So, to punish me, he told me who I really am. Gave me back the past, dangled the truth in front of me in order that it would hurt all the more when he took it away forever.” His voice grows strained and haunted, his blue eyes growing dim with the memories of that hot, humid night in Louisiana. 

 

“Couldn’t believe him at first. But Grace confirmed it. The file she had, that she’d taken with her. It was all in there. I *hadn’t* been implanted with the memories of Roman Brady. The truth was, I’d been brainwashed and implanted with the memories of John Black. Father John Black, the priest and mercenary *did* work for Stefano all those years ago. But he died after a job gone wrong in Russia. So, Stefano used the pawn that had fallen into his hands.” He smiles grimly at the dawning realization that is flooding across the faces collected in front of him. “He took the man that was once Roman Brady and he made me into John Black.”

 

“No!” Caroline gasps, lifting her fists to her mouth. “No John!” She faces him defiantly. “Roman was here. He *died*!”

 

“And there were tests,” Kayla adds, her eyes shining with bewilderment. “Shane took DNA samples to the ISA lab. *Roman* was… Roman. Not you.”

 

“No,” Marlena says bitterly. The hatred in her voice is blistering. “He wasn’t Roman. Stefano pulled his greatest coup when he sent Lamont back in Roman’s place. I lived with that man for three years, thinking he was my husband. And all the time, he was Robert Lamont.”

 

“No, it can’t *be*,” Shawn whispers, horrified at the implications of what John and Marlena are saying. “He remembered…. He had Roman’s memories. All of Roman’s memories. He was our son, I know he was.”

 

“Pop,” Bo says gently. “I know this is hard to accept.” He grimaces. “Believe me, when they told me, *I* fought it as hard as I could. I read all the files but I couldn’t accept it was the truth.  Because what would it mean?  That we turned our back on Roman and welcomed a stranger into our family?  We turned our back on Roman…. And I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t accept it. But Hope…” he smiles at his wife and without equivocation she leaves her place on the sofa to come to his side. “She made me see sense. She made me really listen to what my heart was telling me and made me face some harsh truths. I didn’t want to believe John was really Roman because that meant I was guilty of abandoning my own brother. Of turning my back on the one person who had always looked out for me.”

 

“Noooo!” It’s a whispered moan from Sami and Marlena’s tears her gaze away from Bo and Hope to look at her daughter. She is standing emotionally stranded and miserable with her arms wrapped around herself in a protective gesture that makes Marlena’s heart ache. Her poor, wounded girl; how will she ever come to terms with this? How will she ever be able to reconcile with the knowledge of how this changes her childhood?

 

“I understand that you don’t want to believe this. Shawn, Caroline… Sami,” Hope says softly. “It turns everything you’ve known about your family for ten years on its head. It means that the man we thought was Roman, the man we all loved; was nothing more than Stefano’s would-be-rapist thug. A man he sent back to Salem to steal the real Roman’s place in the family. A man he sent to punish Marlena for daring to bury Grace and return to her life.” She gives a short, hollow laugh which strikes like a knife at everyone in the room. “God, what a magnificent plan! And you *all* fell for it. You played straight into his hands and helped him pull the rug out from under your son’s life.” She turns back to where Roman and Marlena sit on the sofa. “Marlena knew. Of all of us, Marlena knew. She was like a moth to a flame where Roman was concerned. Even though her head was fooled, Stefano could never make her heart lie.”

 

“No,” Marlena shakes her head sadly. “I was just as fooled as the rest of you. I accepted that… man…” her nose wrinkles in disgust and she pulls her fitted corduroy jacket closer around herself to ward off the imaginary chill in the air. “I took him into my home and into my bed.” She tenses and swallows convulsively. “I’m just as guilty as anyone here. More so, in fact. I turned my back on my own *husband*… for *what*?” Her eyes glisten as she looks up at Shawn and Caroline. “The DNA tests… Stefano paid someone at the ISA lab to switch them. That’s why we….” She stops short, her jaw trembling as she fights back more tears. 

 

“Uh-uh Marlena,” Hope shakes her head. “The truth is that Stefano might have fooled your head, but he couldn’t fool your heart. You wanted to love the man you *thought* was Roman, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to. You were drawn time and time again to John. You couldn’t stay away from him any more than you could stop breathing.”

 

“No!” Sami shouts and all faces turn in her direction. She is standing with tears streaming down her reddened face. “No! He is *not* my father! I know my father, I know who he is. John Black is NOT my father!”

 

“Oh honey!” Marlena cries involuntarily. She’d been so afraid of this. 

 

“NO!” Sami rages. “You’re liars! You want us to forgive you and you’ll do anything to take the blame off *you*, take the attention away from you.” Her sapphire eyes are flashing dangerously, her cheeks burning as the insults spill irrationally from her in a torrent of strangled half-screams. “You’ve lied and you’ve murdered and you’ve been Stefano’s *whore*, so why the hell should I believe you now!? You’re nothing but a filthy LIAR! God, both of you can GO TO HELL!”

 

Pushing her way past her stunned and distraught siblings, she dashes for the back door, sweeping a crystal vase from a side table so that it shatters in her wake. 

 

And then she is gone, the door shuddering in its frame as she slams it behind her.

 

There is a shocked, pained silence that follows, and it is broken by a sudden agonized exhalation of breath from Marlena before her hands fly to her mouth.

 

“Mom!” Belle almost trips over the table as she dives across the intervening space to her mother’s side. “Oh God, Mom, don’t listen to her. Please don’t listen to her. I don’t feel like that at all. None of us do!” 

 

She is crying and it is all Marlena can do not to dissolve into helpless sobs in Roman’s and Belle’s arms. But she doesn’t. She refuses to allow herself that kind of weakness in front of her family. She must be strong, for Roman. For all of them. Furrowing her brow, she presses her eyes tightly together and fights back the surge of pain.

 

“It’s okay Doc,” Roman whispers, pulling her to him. “It’s okay. She’ll get over this.”

 

“He’s right Mom,” Eric’s voice comes stilted and uncertain. “Sam’s stronger than you might think. She’ll work out what’s best for Samantha Gene Brady and then she’ll come back and expect us all to act as if nothing’s happened, as if she never said anything at all.” 

 

Marlena manages to look up at her son and she nods with weak attempt at a smile. “Listen, why don’t I go and see if I can find her?” Eric asks, running his fingers through his hair with obvious discomfort.

 

“No!” Marlena pushes herself upright, away from Roman, wincing at the pain which slashes through her side. “No. I’m going to go and find her. We’re going to talk this out, once and for all.”

 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Doc?” Roman asks darkly. The implication is clearly that he definitely doesn’t think that it’s a good idea at all. That he’s furious at his wayward daughter and thinks a good period of cooling off time is in order.

 

“Yes, I do actually,” Marlena nods, her words curt and to the point. “Sami needs to come to terms with this, and she needs to do it quickly. Before the guilt eats her alive. You *all* do,” she adds, looking at Roman’s family. “You spent ten years believing Lamont was your son. And I know it’s hard to let that belief go. But you *need* to, for Roman’s sake, and your own.” She says it without blame and without anger, but they can all feel the urgency and the pain that underpins her words. “He’s lost *so* much time with his family. He’s had his life taken away from him and you *owe* it to him not to take any more time and love from him.” There’s more than a hint of anger bleeding into her voice now and a challenge that does not brook any indifference. “And if you refuse to accept the truth, you’re only punishing him and you’re only hurting yourselves.”

 

She looks around at the uncertain gazes of Shawn, Caroline, Kayla and Eric. 

 

“Roman, for goodness sake; *show* them the DNA test results. I’ll go and find Sami.” She pushes herself away from him and stands up, biting the inside of her lip to stop from crying out as her wound pulls again.

 

“C’mon Doc,” Roman stands and catches her arm in one swift moment. He sighs at her angry, pained glance. “You’re not up to this, baby. You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember?”

 

“Roman, *please* let me go,” she says curtly, suddenly feeling immensely claustrophobic. “I think I know what I’m up to. I’m *fine*, I don’t need mollycoddling. What I do need is to find our daughter before she does something she very much regrets.” 

 

Marlena pulls her arm from Roman’s hand and brushes past him.

 

“Doc!” He practically leaps over the arm of the couch and chases her to the door. She’s in the doorway when she turns around to glare at him. The fury is emanating from her in waves and Roman stops short, held up by his surprise at the depth of anger he senses in her.

 

“Roman! Don’t you *dare*!” Her voice is a low hiss. “You *promised* me that I could do this the way I needed to do it. Wel,l right now I need to go and find my daughter and I need you to stay and talk to your family. And if you try and tell me once more that I’m an invalid, I think I’m going to scream.” She grits her teeth as she lays her hand on the doorknob. “So, I’m telling you now, just turn right around and go back to your family.” 

 

With that, she turns around and steps out of the pub, swinging the door behind her so that the slam of the door in the frame echoes through the empty square beyond.

 

Chapter XCII – Distant Opposition

“Shit!  Roman thumps the heel of his palm against the door and releases a grunt of frustration.  “Damn!  Damnit!”

 

“I’m…” Kayla stops herself, her blonde hair bouncing as she flicks her head from side to side.  “Wow.” She takes a deep breath as she gathers her thoughts.  “What happened down there, J-”  She stops herself as she realizes what the implications are of what she was just about to say.  And what changing it would mean.  She looks sideways at her parents and then bites her lower lip awkwardly as she looks up at Roman.  

 

Her oldest brother shrugs and shakes his head sadly.  He doesn’t really care right now what they think of him.  Whether they believe him or not.  After all, they turned their backs on him once before.  When everything was torn from him, when he lost himself.  When he lost Marlena.  

 

All that matters now is Marlena and that she is okay.  Everything else is secondary.

 

“What happened to Marlena, I mean.”  Kayla continues, as much trying to fill the awkward silence as anything.  This is just too much for her parents to digest and this might just give them a little time.  “Obviously she got her memory back.  But she’s not exactly the Marlena I remember any more.  I didn’t meet her when she was Grace but… ”

 

“Stefano was holding a gun on me,” Roman sighs as he makes his way back to where Kayla stands.  He leans against the wall, beside the door to the pub and runs his hand wearily across his face.  He speaks to her as if she is the only person in the room, his voice low and hard, telling only the facts.  

 

He has closed down now, all his emotion has departed with Marlena, his mind and his emotional commitment completely with her.  “He was going to kill me… but it was Marlena that got in the way of that bullet.  She fought Grace and she broke through, just in time to take that shot.  I don’t even know how long she was in surgery… it seemed like days.”

 

“Mom was in *surgery*… and you didn’t tell us?” Belle has followed her father across the room, and she asks the question in a small, angry voice.

 

“That was my fault Isabella,” Bo puts his hand on Belle’s shoulder.  “Your Dad was in no fit state to do anything.  He wouldn’t leave Marlena’s side for a minute.  Hope and I talked about calling and telling you all what had happened, but it was too complicated… with everything that had happened, and with what we knew… what we thought we knew….”

 

“We don’t care *how* complicated it was,” Eric interrupts furiously as he takes his younger sister’s hand.  “She’s our mother and you should have told us.”

 

“Yes, I probably should have.”  Bo sighs.  “Hope told me I should.  But I was too confused.  And I didn’t know how to explain.  What Marlena… your mother had done things back here in Salem.  There was a lot of anger and bitterness.  And people were starting to suspect-” 

 

“It was a judgement call,” Hope deliberately interrupts him, glaring at him furiously.  “Your uncle did what he thought was best.  There were going to be too many questions that we didn’t know how to answer.  About Marlena and about Roman.  And your father needed some time, he *needed* to be there for Marlena.  He needed to focus on *her*, he couldn’t do anything *but* that.  So, we decided to give them that time.  And we’re sorry if you don’t agree with our decision.”  She shrugs with a small frown.  “And if it was the *wrong* decision, I guess we’re sorry about that too.  But I really don’t think it was.”

 

“So, when she came to, after the surgery?” Kayla finds her way back to the original point.  “She was Marlena?”

 

“She was Marlena before Stefano shot her,” Roman says in a strained voice.  “But yeah, to answer your real question, she’s Grace too.  The doctors explained it to me.  The Grace part of her is still here because Marlena finding her way back to us… it was something that she forced to happen.  She fractured the Grace personality which is why she can now remember *everything* that happened to her.  Grace is still there to some degree.  Not that she would *ever* hurt anyone,” he adds hastily.

 

“Of course not,” Kayla assures him soothingly.  She lays her hand on his shoulder and peers up at him from under feathered blonde bangs.  “Marlena would never hurt anyone, I know that.  We all do.  But it must be hard for her.  For both of you.  To reconcile yourselves with what happened.  And knowing that you still have to deal with getting Marlena back to a normal place.”

 

“It *is* hard for her.”  Roman slumps against the wall, dropping his head into the palms of his hand.  Groaning softly, he pushes the heels of his palms up over his forehead, as if he is trying to iron out the furrows in his brow with the pressure of his hands.  “She has all these new memories and all this guilt which goes along with them.”  He looks up at Kayla, his blue eyes swimming with anguish.  “She wakes at night, crying… Kay, sometimes she’s *screaming* in agony and I don’t know how to make it better.  I don’t know how to take it away, how to help her to deal with the pain.  She’s got all this guilt and all these feelings she’s not used to.  I mean, the parts of her that were Grace were locked away for ten years.”  He looks at Kayla with tears in his eyes.  “It was like she lost a part of herself.  And now she’s found it again, but the price is just too high.  She *hates* what Grace did and what she stands for.  Sometimes she can’t even bring herself to look at me….”  He shakes his head, rubbing away the tears from his cheeks.  Kayla slides her arms around his shoulders and hugs him, kissing the top of his head in a sisterly gesture that is so spontaneous and so sweet it brings him a little sliver of calm in the midst of the torrents of emotion that wash past him.

 

He shakes his head and wipes his face as Kayla steps back.  “Kay, she’s carrying such a burden, I don’t know that she can bear it.  I know she won’t be able to without our help and our support.  Somehow, she has to work out how to merge all that guilt and all those feelings and memories and everything back into a whole, happy Marlena.”  He sighs, the exhaustion quickly overtaking him now.  “And I just don’t know how she’s gonna do it with the weight of this guilt, of everything Grace did hanging over her head.”

 

“Oh!” Kayla exclaims, her expression conveying her distress.  “It must be awful for both of you!”  She stills and then moves her hand from his shoulder and touches it to his cheek, studying his face.  She realizes with a guilty shock that he looks exhausted, like he’s barely slept for days.  His eyes are red-rimmed and there are dark circles under the sun-tanned skin.  She’d been so absorbed with the story, with the explanations; and with wondering what had happened to Marlena that she had neglected to really pay attention to the man that had once been her brother.  That is now her brother again.  “Look… Roman” she tries out the name and finds that while it feels strange, it also feels familiar and actually rather comfortable.  “Listen, if there’s anything I can do to help….  Either you or Marlena… well, I’m here for you, okay?”

 

It’s a genuine offer, but it feels like a lame effort in the face of what Roman and Marlena have just told them all.  The scars they both wear, the burden of guilt that both of them carry will take a long time to lighten.  This will take a long time to heal, and Kayla feels a whisper of despair from Roman as he takes her hand in his and attempts a weak smile.  

 

“Thanks Kay.  Marlena is really struggling to gain some equilibrium and I think I am too.  It’s good to know that you have our backs.”  His smile shimmers and fades into a trembling of his chin as he looks at her, pleading for the answers she doesn’t have to give.  “To be honest, I don’t really know what … how I’m going to help Marlena come to terms with this.  She’s drowning in it at the moment; she’s not coping with the knowledge of what Grace did.  She insists on taking all the guilt as her own and I don’t know how to convince her that she doesn’t *have* to.  That this burden isn’t one she has to bear alone.”  He groans, scraping his fingers through his short hair.   “I don’t know Kayla… If she keeps trying to atone for the wrongs Grace did… I’m afraid of where that will take her.  Where it will take both of us.”

 

~

 

Sami fiddles listlessly with a button on her jacket as she stares out into the inky blackness.  It is broken here and there by distant lights, muffled by the fog which drifts from the river to encroach on the pier.  

 

She doesn’t really know why she’s here.  Why she chose to come here instead of going home and just pretending that none of this has happened.  It’s too quiet down here and it leaves her far too much room to think about what she has just heard.  But she can’t seem to tear herself away.  She just keeps staring out at the blackness looking for some kind of answer to an unanswerable question.

 

She feels sick and angry and very, very conflicted.  Her head hurts with all the information she’s had thrown at her in the past hour.  It’s not fair of them to expect the family to take all this in, to listen to it all and accept it and just act like it’s a normal family conversation.  No normal family has these kinds of conversations.

 

She groans and rubs her temples with the tips of her fingers as she shifts on the bench.  The water laps at the old wooden pier, somehow soothing and somehow eating at her consciousness like a half-remembered memory.  Somewhere above her, the ancient wood creaks and there is an answering twinge of pain that shoots through her chest. 

 

“Would it really be so bad?”  Marlena’s voice comes floating disconnectedly out of the mist.  She appears a moment later, emerging from the mist all ghostly and golden, her arms wrapped closely around her.  “John being Roman, I mean.  Being your father.”

 

“I buried my father six weeks ago,” Sami says stiffly, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set into a thin line.  She’s hardly surprised to see Marlena here.  In fact, if she’d thought about it, she’d have realized it was inevitable really.  Why else had she come to the pier other than for her mother to find her?  “That’s the end of it,” she adds sulkily.

 

“We had DNA tests done, Samantha,” Marlena says softly as she comes to the bench where Sami sits.  Her linen skirt rustles quietly as she settles next to her daughter and looks out into the darkness. 

 

“Yeah, well, you had DNA tests done last time,” Sami tosses her head, flaxen hair slithering over her shoulder in a silken wave.  She cocks her head on one side and glares at her mother.  “And they said my dad was Roman Brady.”

 

“The ones done when your…” Marlena stops and shakes her head.  She bites the inside of her lip for a moment and tugs on the bottom of her jacket, as if to straighten both her attire and her thoughts.  “Like I said, those tests were switched.  These ones… Shane took them and stood in the lab while they were done.  There’s no doubting that John is Shawn and Caroline’s son.  And he *is* your father.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Sami retorts with stubborn ferocity.  “My father was *good* and *kind*.  He was a good man.  He was NOT a rapist.”

 

“Sami,” Marlena sighs as she reaches out to pick a stray hair from the blue cotton of Sami’s jacket.  She brushes it gently and then shrugs lightly.  “What do I have to gain by lying about this?  If I wasn’t absolutely one hundred percent sure that John is Roman… why would I do that to you?  To the family?”

 

“Because….” Sami searches the nothingness of the river for the words to express the multitude of thoughts and feelings that are bubbling up inside her at this moment.  Then she turns back to her mother, a fever burning deep within her to be heard and understood.  And mostly to be proved right.  “Dad *loved* us and he loved you.  You’re telling me that a so-called rapist… that someone who worked for Stefano could feel… could love us like that?  No.”  She bats away Marlena’s hand and scrambles up from the bench.  Her voice rises as she warms to her monologue.  

 

“No.  But you betrayed him and you destroyed him.  *You*,” she points at Marlena with a shaking finger, “*destroyed* our family.  And then for good measure, you tore us apart some more.  Whether you were Grace or whatever the hell you were thinking, you tore this family apart at the seams.”  She’s crying now and she damns herself for her weakness as she smears her palms across her face.

 

“And now,” her chin trembles as she wipes the remnants of mascara from her hands.  “Now, you come here with this ridiculous *story* and you think this makes it all right.  That these lies you say you found at Stefano’s, that they take away all the guilt and they somehow justify what you did to my father.  Well, they *don’t*.”

 

“How long are you going to hold this against me Sami?” The question is framed quietly and patiently, but there is a hardness behind the tone that gives lie to the casual nature of the asking.  Marlena leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees and clasping her hands together.  “How long are you going to keep using my mistakes as an excuse to punish me?”

 

“How long have you got?” Sami replies bitterly.  “Maybe if you stopped making it so easy for me to hate you, we might have a starting point.”

 

“Maybe if you started taking some responsibility for your own mistakes and stop using mine as excuses to justify them, we might have a better starting point,” Marlena suggests in a low, even tone.  

 

Sighing, she straightens up again and then, almost as an afterthought, she pushes herself up from the bench and walks over to the edge to the pier.  Letting her words sink into the soundless space between herself and Sami, she stares into the distant darkness, listening to the foghorns and the lap of water against unseen hulls.  This pier has seen so many years of her life, so many crises, so much pain and quite some amount of joy too.  It’s always been comforting, almost like walking into a safe embrace when she enters this space.  But she’s a different person now, with a different past and a whole new burden to carry.  

 

Part of her wishes she’d never set foot on this pier again.  When she’d come back to Salem, back to Roman’s embrace… wouldn’t it have been better for them, for all of them, if she’d simply never returned?  If they’d continued to believe her dead, Stefano never would have had a reason to send Lamont back as Roman…

 

But that’s a fallacy too.  Stefano had already made Lamont into Roman’s doppelganger, before she had awoken.  Before she had found Roman on this pier.  He would have taken her family, whether she was here or not.

 

This place is not safe anymore.  There are too many unanswerable questions, too many unknowns that torture her.  And the unknowns will stay just that.  Even if she wished, she can not walk back into the past and change her family’s future.  She knows that she has to face the future and deal with that and not allow herself to be waylaid by the possibilities of the past.

 

Her head hurts and she rubs her fingertips against the middle of her forehead as she turns back to Sami.

 

“Samantha, I love you more than life itself and I will always love you more than you’ll ever know, but it’s time for us both to move on.  I have paid for *eight* years for hurting the man we thought was your father.  For hurting you.  I have tried and tried to make it up to you, but quite frankly, I’m tired of it.  I’m tired of having my mistakes continually paraded as reasons to hate me.  As reasons for you to behave like a spoilt child.  And I if I’m honest with myself, I have lost the patience to continue to beg your forgiveness for something that is long past and forgotten by everyone but you.” 

 

Sami is as stunned by the manner in which Marlena says all this as she is by the words themselves.  Her tone is cold and emotionless, and her expression is almost a mask of indifference.  The difference between her normal reaction to this kind of conversation and this reaction is enough to freeze Sami’s insides and frighten her a little more than is comfortable.    “So, Samantha.  The ball is in your court where the past is concerned.  And as for ‘Roman’,” Marlena continues swiftly, “do you really think that it’s *easy* for me to know I wasted all that time… when I could have been with my *husband*?  That I turned my back on Roman and took that… that *animal* into my home and into my bed.  That I let him into *your* life?”  Her almond eyes narrow and a look of disgust flits across her face.  “Listen to me, Samantha.  John is my husband already.  I may not deserve him, but he loves me completely and unreservedly.  Whether he is Roman or not, makes no difference to the way I feel about him or the way he feels about me.  It doesn’t change what happened in our past, or how we live our future.  It doesn’t change *anything* for me.  It doesn’t make my guilt any less and it doesn’t make the knowledge of what I have done any easier to bear.  If anything, it makes things that much worse.  Now that I know the truth about Lamont, it’s one more thing to deal with.  Knowing that he touched me… that I let him make love to me….”  She trails off now and looks out across the river again, her eyes glistening in the twinkling half-lights of the boats that trail up and down the expanse of treacherous water.

 

“But he *loved* us!” Sami exclaims angrily.  She can’t believe this, can’t buy what Marlena is trying to sell.  No matter how much it might make sense.  No matter how much that tiny voice at the back of her head is whispering to her, softly cajoling her with impossible dreams.  “He didn’t pretend that.  He had… he remembered everything from his childhood.  He remembered his life with *you*.  He remembered *us* and he loved us.”  She shakes her head in confusion, feeling suddenly very lost and very lonely.  She misses her father so desperately it’s enough to take her breath away.  “He was a great dad, and you were happy with him for a while, I know you were.”

 

“Oh Sami, baby of course I was happy.”  Marlena looks back at her daughter and a regretful frown slips onto her face.  “I was back with *you*.  Back with my family.  And I *thought* I was back with my husband.  We all thought he was Roman, of course we did.  We had no reason to think otherwise.  Stefano had done an incredible job of making him look just like your father.  And obviously he had perfected the job of transferring Roman’s memories and personality…” she chews on the inside of her lower lips and Sami feels a sudden pang of fear.  

 

What if it’s true?  What if she really is telling the truth?

 

She shakes her head angrily as if to dislodge the perfidious thought before it creeps any further into her consciousness.

 

“I wanted to love Roman.  I wanted to be ‘in love’ with Roman,” her mother continues.  “But maybe something inside me knew that he wasn’t Roman.  He wasn’t *quite* the same man I had lost all those years before.  And the truth was, my heart still belonged to the man I had come back to.  The man that I had always loved.”

 

“And where was he?” Sami demands, crossing her arms in front of herself as she tries in vain to stop herself shaking. It’s a warm night but the air is moist with mist and in truth, the shivering is coming for somewhere deeper and more visceral.  “Where was the man who had been your husband?  And our father?”  Her lips pale as she presses them together.  “Would the *real* Roman Brady have walked away from his family like that?  Would he have left his home and let a stranger walk in and take what was his?”

 

“He had no *choice* Sami,” Marlena says softly and with infinite sadness.  “We gave him no other choice.  We *forced* him to believe Stefano’s propaganda and in that moment, everything was taken away from him.  He lost his children, his wife and his *name*.  He lost everything that told him who he was.”

 

“He just walked away from us,” Sami whispers, tears rolling from her lashes and trickling down her cheeks.  “*We* didn’t do anything.  We were just kids.  We didn’t ask to have two strangers walk into our life and take over like nothing had happened.  You’re telling me that *John* lost everything he knew.  Well, what about Eric and me?”  She dashes the tears away with shaking hands.  “At least Carrie remembered you and Dad.  But Eric and me, the only man we had ever known as our father… he just walked away from us.  He left us with two strangers, and he walked away and he never… even… looked… back.”

 

“Oh God, Sami!” Marlena looks appalled.  She takes several steps towards her distraught daughter.  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that was how you felt?”

 

“What good would it have done?” Sami demands, wiping tears angrily from her face.  “No-one bothered to ask us what *we* wanted.  And John… he didn’t stick around to find out what we wanted.  He didn’t want to spend time with us, did he?”

 

“Sami, it broke his *heart* to walk away from you,” Marlena’s voice cracks as she confronts her daughter.  “You… he didn’t *want* to walk away from you.  It wasn’t his choice.  He did what he thought was best for you.  We only wanted to make it easier on the two of you.  We thought it was confusing enough for you without being torn between two fathers.”  Her shoulders drop as she recalls those days, when Lamont had worn Roman’s face.  When she had tried to learn to love him again.  When all she had wanted was to feel John’s arms fold safely around her and never let go.  “And Roman, “ she feels the pain inside her chest like someone is plunging a knife into her, “the man we thought was Roman.  He didn’t want John anywhere near you.”

 

“Well, what about us?” All the fight has gone out of Sami, and her voice sounds low and plaintive.  “You did what you thought was best for us?  You didn’t even *know* us!  You certainly didn’t take the time to *ask* us what we wanted.”

 

Marlena can’t say anything for a long moment.  Her voice is caught in her throat, cauterized by the burning guilt and sorrow she feels, both for her children, and for Roman and herself.  And mostly for what they have all lost, thanks to Stefano DiMera.  

 

She knows how Sami feels, she knows the anger and the frustration and the anguish of what felt like John turning his back on them all.  It’s irrational, she knows that.  At least for her.  She wasn’t a child.  She had made decisions.  And she understands the complexity of the situation they had found themselves in.  She also knows that at gut level that she had been desperate for John to fight for her, to want her so much that he would refuse to step aside when ‘Roman’ returned.  

 

But he had been noble.  He had been stripped of everything he had known of himself, and his life and he had quietly removed himself from the Brady family and built himself a life as John Black.  He hadn’t really had any choice, Marlena knows that, neither of them had really had any other choice than to do what was ‘right’ and fair.  To give Isabella and Roman the families that were owed them.

 

But it had broken her heart.  And clearly, it had broken Sami’s too.  She had never really realized the impact of Lamont’s reappearance as Roman on her children.  She was so focused, so set on doing the right thing by her husband, on learning to live without John that she had neglected to realize how it had affected Sami and Eric.  And she’s still paying the price for that neglect.

 

“Samantha, if I could go back and change what happened, change the decisions I made, I would in a heartbeat.  I am *so* sorry it hurt you.  John and I, we did the best we could in an impossible situation.  We were trying to do what was right, by Roman, by Isabella.  I was trying to give you back the family I thought you needed.  The man I thought was your father.  I thought he deserved to have the chance to be your father.  I thought….”  She falters now, her strength failing with the renewed onslaught of emotions.  This has been an impossibly long day and she is utterly exhausted.

 

Struggling to hold back the tears, she holds her hands to her side and moans as she returns to the bench and lowers herself awkwardly to the seat.

 

“Mom, are you okay?” Sami’s concern for her mother overrides her anger and she moves forward to help Marlena seat herself on the bench.  Seeing her mother’s pallor and the light sheen of sweat that glistens on her face, she grips Marlena’s hand and runs a tentative hand over her forehead.  “God, what happened to you down there?  What was this accident?”

 

Marlena closes her eyes and waits for the wave of dizziness to pass.  Then she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, forcing a smile.  “I’m okay sweetie girl,” her voice is unsteady, and Sami can tell that she is lying.  Marlena grips her hand tightly, her gaze earnest as she looks into Sami’s blue eyes.  “Sami, I know you don’t want to believe that John is your father.  And honey, I understand why.  It pulls the rug out from under everything you thought you knew.  It changes your childhood entirely.  It’s been hard enough for you anyway, I know that.  Believe me, I *know* that.”  She reaches out and brushes away damp golden strands which are plastered to the side of Sami’s face.  “It makes a lie of everything we thought we knew.  All the time we spent as a family.  And I *know* you loved your Daddy.  So how are you supposed to even *start* to make sense of the fact that he is a completely different man than the one we thought we knew?  I don’t know…”  She sighs.  “It’s easy for me, I know that.  I love John anyway, whatever name he goes by and whichever face he wears.  Nothing could ever make me stop loving him and it makes no difference to me whether he is John or Roman or…. anyone at all.  But you have to understand Sami; that means I have absolutely no reason to lie.  You have to know that if I’m telling you John is really Roman Brady, it’s because I know *absolutely* that it’s true.  And even if I didn’t know it in my heart, your Uncle Bo had the ISA do DNA tests.”

 

Sami is aware of her mother watching her face as the flood of conflicting emotions washes across it.  She wants to look away, but she finds herself transfixed, lost in the warm golden embrace of her mother’s gaze and she can’t find anything to say for the longest time.  All the fight and rage she felt earlier seems to have leached from her body into the warm mist that shrouds them and all she can find in herself to continue the discussion is the residual shreds of stubbornness that she clings to.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says eventually.  “It’s all… it’s too much to take in.  I don’t know what to do… how I should feel…”

 

“You should feel however you need to feel,” Marlena tells her gently.  She strokes her thumb soothingly over the back of Sami’s hand.  “And you should do whatever feels right for you.  As long,” she adds significantly, “as you do it because you’ve thought about it and thought the consequences through.  And not just because it’s a gut reaction and certainly not because you want to punish someone.”

 

Sami bites her lip and looks away, her cheeks glowing hotly.

 

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, honey,” Marlena says softly.  “I just need to make sure you think about this.  You didn’t get a choice last time; you are quite right.  But this time, the choice *is* yours, Sami.  You can look at the results of the tests and you can choose to believe them or not.  It’s entirely up to you whether you choose to build a relationship with John as your father.  I’m not going to force you to do anything.  Neither of us are.”

 

“I want to…” Sami stops herself short biting on her lower lip so hard that it turns white.  “What if John… what if I did believe what you are telling me?  But John… why would he want to be my dad?  I’ve said *terrible* things to him.  I’ve…said terrible things to *both* of you.  All that time I tried… I wanted to keep you apart.  I made it as difficult as I could for you to be together because I was so *angry* at you.”   She faces her mother, not willingly, but somehow her eyes are drawn to Marlena’s even as she tries to turn away.  Her face burns with humiliation as things she has said to both John and her mother ring in her ears.  “Why would he… want to have anything to do with me?  For that matter, why do you?  After everything I’ve said and done to you… God, what did I say to you earlier? I was vile to you.”  She looks genuinely ashamed of herself and a little confused too.  “But you always come back for more, Mom.  I don’t get it.” 

 

“Oh Sami,” Marlena cocks her head on one side and regards her daughter for a long moment.  “You’re a mother, you must understand how much I love you.  How much I love *all* my children.  It’s unconditional.  You could do anything; you could say anything to me and I would still love you.  It hurts, of course it hurts.”  She holds her hands to her chest, as if to unconsciously protect her heart from the ever-present pain.  “It hurts more than *anything* when you say those things to me.  But I’ll never *ever* stop loving you or trying to be the best mother I can to you.  And the same goes for your father.”

 

“But he didn’t even know he was my father,” Sami cries weakly, her eyes filling with shamed tears.  

 

“That didn’t stop him loving you,” Marlena tells her as she cups the side of Sami’s face in the palm of her hand.  With a smile, she tucks the flaxen hair behind Sami’s ear and sweeps a waterfall of gold over her shoulder.  “He was your daddy for five years.  He loved you so much and it broke his heart when he couldn’t be your father anymore.  And Sami, he will *always* love you, I guarantee that.  But if you want him to be your father now, after everything that has been said and done, if you want to have a relationship with him, you’re going to have to work for it.  You’re *both* going to have to work to rebuild those bridges and to regain each other’s trust.”

 

She watches the light flicker in Sami’s eyes, the grief and guilt dancing backward and forward through a minefield of emotions.  “It’ll be okay sweetie girl,” she whispers tenderly.  “We both love you so much.”  

 

There is silence from Sami, a doubtful, mistrustful, frightened and hopeful silence as her gaze wavers from her mother to the nothingness of the water and then back again.

 

“Okay honey, well, it’s up to you.”  Marlena sighs wearily.

 

“I just have to think about it,” Sami says slowly.  “I understand what you’re saying.  I do Mom, but it’s not that easy.  If John is really my dad, then…” she looks down, inspecting her fingernails.  “I loved Dad and I miss him so much.  I can’t do this in five minutes.  I can’t make sense of it and just accept John is my dad and this other guy was a stranger.”  Her eyes flash stubbornly and her mouth sets in a thin line as she stares at her mother.  “He *wasn’t* a stranger to me.  He was my father and I loved him.  You can’t just expect me to turn my back on that like I had to with John.”

 

“I don’t expect anything Sami, I told you I want you to think about it carefully.”  Marlena raises her eyebrows.  “But consider this.  If you accept John is your father, then you still *have* a father.  You can miss Roman, but he’s gone, and you have to move forward.  You have to build a life without him; you have no choice in that. But now, you have the opportunity to have what you always wanted, your mother and father, together.  I know it’s not exactly the family that you expected, but it’s something.  And if you turn your back on that, you punish yourself more than you punish us.”

 

“I don’t want to punish anyone Mom!” Sami sounds exasperated now.  With a flash of irritation that sweeps across her face, she pushes herself from the bench and walks across to the edge of the pier.  She watches the lights glitter on the inky water, losing herself in the vast emptiness of the night.  

 

“You told me I should do what is right for me.”  She turns back to her mother, her face conveying all the hurt and confusion that she feels.  She looks so vulnerable, and she reminds Marlena of the small child she once was.  The little girl she came home to, the little girl’s life that was changed forever by Stefano’s lies and schemes.  “You can’t just expect me to welcome all this with open arms.  You tell me that you were this… that you did these things for Stefano.  That we were at home living a normal life and you were out sleeping with men for secrets and money.  And worse than that, you *murdered* people.  People who I’m assuming had wives and children and lives of their own.   And *then* you tell me that the man I called Daddy is really nothing more than Stefano’s plant.  That he was evil and he hurt you.  And that John is actually my father.”  Her chin trembles and her eyes are glazed as she glares at Marlena.  “Do you know what this feels like for me?  Do you have any idea what’s going on in my head right now?”

 

Marlena bites her lip and looks forlornly at her daughter.  No, she can’t imagine what this must feel like for Sami.  It’s hard enough for her to know how she’s feeling herself.  Looking beyond that to discern her family’s reaction to all this news is next to impossible.

 

“Well, it’s not that easy for me to process, Mom.  It’s really fucked up and honestly, *I* don’t know how I feel right now.  I don’t know what I want any more.  I’m angry and I’m confused.”  She’s stubborn again now, a firm set to her jaw and her eyes flashing defiance as she crosses her arms in front of her.  “So, Mom, you can do whatever it is that *you* need to do to make yourself feel better.  You can welcome John into the family with open arms and play happy families with Belle and Eric.  Honestly, I don’t really care what you do.  Just don’t expect me to jump to attention like everyone else.  Because I won’t.”    

 

With that, she turns on her heel and starts for the stairs, leaving Marlena staring after her in dismay.

 

Chapter XCIII – Anti-Positional

“Sami!”  Marlena gasps in pain, her eyes wide as she holds her hands to her side.  She bites back the tears and takes an unsteady breath and forces out her next words between gritted teeth.  “Please stop, Sami.”  

 

Sami stops short, her foot on the first step and simply waits with her back to her mother.  “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to-” Marlena stops short.  Despite her pain, her face conveys the fact that she realizes that Sami is in the right and she is clearly in the wrong.  “You’re right and I’m sorry.  I won’t push you anymore.  Your journey-”  She closes her eyes and leans forward, trying to fight off the dizziness again. It’s getting increasingly worse, and the pain is a constant throbbing in her side now.  

 

“Mom?” Sami’s voice sounds as though it is coming from miles away and Marlena has to call on all the strength that she can muster just to open her eyes and look over at her daughter.  Sami launches herself from the step and lands heavily on the pier.  She covers the distance between herself and Marlena in double-quick time and crouches down, her eyes bright with concern as she studies Marlena’s face.  “Mom, you look terrible.”

 

“Gosh, thanks.”  Marlena’s lips flicker into a strained smile.

 

“You want to tell me what happened to you down there?” Sami asks sharply.

 

“I got….” Marlena blows out a long breath between pursed lips, trying to steady her voice.  The pain recedes slightly, and she grips Sami’s hand with a shrug.  “It’s nothing really.  It’s not important.  Let’s just go back to the pub, shall we?”

 

“Mom-” Sami’s clearly frustrated but she apparently thinks better of arguing as she sees the shade of pain pass across Marlena’s face again.  “Okay, doesn’t *look* like nothing, but I’m not gonna argue right now.  You can tell me later once I’ve gotten you back to the pub.  You shouldn’t have come down here,” she says reproachfully as she helps Marlena.  “Here, put your arm around my shoulders.  I wish you’d tell me what happened.  I’m not a kid any more y’know.”

 

“I know you’re not, Sami.  And I promise, I’ll tell you later,” she lets out a muffled groan as Sami slides her hand around her waist.  “Oh, careful honey.  Not right there.”  She presses her lips together, but a whimper escapes her, and she staggers against Sami, the dizziness blurring her vision until she feels physically sick.  

 

“Doc!” 

 

There are several loud thuds and suddenly she feels strong arms around her, supporting her, gently lowering her back to the bench.  The feeling of him, his closeness and his strength and even his scent is just heaven, and she feels for a moment that she could melt into his arms and never be sad or unhappy again.

 

“C’mon baby, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s clearly scared and it sounds in his voice as he holds her close, his face nuzzling her hair.  “You know what the doctors said.  You’re supposed to be resting, not doing treks around the Salem piers, mmmm?”  Roman brushes the hair from her face and presses a kiss to her pale cheek.  

 

“I know,” she whispers, a tear trickling from the corner of her eye.  “I’m sorry, I just needed… I had to talk to Sami.”

 

“Samantha Gene?” He turns an accusatory glare on his daughter.  

 

“What?”  Sami demands sulkily.  “I was trying to help.”

 

“Help?” It’s an angry outburst from Roman, as though all the pent-up fury and frustration from the past few days finally are too much from him. “You think that outburst earlier was *helpful* to your mother?”

 

“We were just *talking*,” Sami attempts to defend herself.  “And I was… we were going back to the pub; I was trying to get her back to the pub.”

 

“She wouldn’t have been down here in the first place if she wasn’t trying to find you Samantha!”  Roman’s exasperation gets the better of him.  “Your mother shouldn’t have to try and appease you every time something happens that you don’t like.  Tell me, when the hell are you going to grow up and realize not everything is about *you*?”

 

Sami glares at him angrily, tears in her eyes and then she turns her anger on Marlena.  “I *told* you he wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

“I don’t if you’re going to continue behaving like a spoilt child!”  

 

“Roman!”  Marlena’s voice is sharp and cold, and it cuts through the rage echoing between her husband and daughter.  “Don’t!  For goodness’ sake, don’t.”

 

She looks to Sami who is shaking her head, her tear-filled eyes a world of anger and hurt.  “Sami.”  A horrible feeling trickles down Marlena’s spine as she watches her daughter’s face, and she reaches her hand out as though to catch Sami’s panic and anger before it gets the better of her.  But she is either too late or her effort is too ineffectual as her daughter turns and runs blindly up the stairs.

”Sami!” Marlena calls her daughter’s name but the sound of her own voice as it follows Sami out of sight signals the weariness and defeat that she feels.  

 

She drops her head into her hands for a moment, trying to recoup some strength and a firm footing.   Then she looks up at Roman, a flash of anger sparking in her eyes.  

 

“Well, thanks very much.”  She curls her fists into tight balls once again, exerting the one tiny piece of control she still feels like she has.  “I was just starting to get somewhere with her and now I’m back to square one.”

 

“Awww, c’mon Doc you can’t just expect me to let that go.  What she said to you in there, it was unforgivable.”  Despite his words, Roman looks embarrassed, to say the least.

 

“She said it to *me* Roman, and it was mine to deal with it.  And I was getting there.  I was really starting to get somewhere.  She was even coming around to the idea of you being her father.”  Her voice cracks and she presses her lips together.  

 

Blinking sore, gritty eyes she looks out over the water.  It’s dark and bleak and it matches her current mood.  She’s not used to feeling like this.  Feeling so angry; emotions that seem beyond her control.  And she hates it, hates that she feels so lost and off-balance.  Hates that she still feels so much like Grace at times.

 

Roman sits down beside her and gently strokes her hair with his fingertips.  “I’m sorry baby,” he apologizes softly.  “I really am.  But I won’t have her talking to you that way.  I just won’t.”

 

“But what she said was true, Roman.  Everything she said was *true*.”  She looks at him, her eyes dark and haunted by misery.   “I *have* lied and murdered.  I’ve lied to her… I did hurt the man she thought was her father and I made her think I didn’t.  I’ve hurt my family and they shouldn’t have to forgive the things I’ve done.  It’s too much to ask of them.  It’s not fair.  None of this is fair on any of them.”

 

“None of this is fair on any of us,” Roman says slowly.  “Least of all you Marlena.  Look, we all-“

 

“Do you know what she said to me?” Marlena interrupts him as if she isn’t even aware he has spoken.  Her voice is distant and dreamy.  Like she has retreated somewhere where he can barely reach her.   “She said she thinks you abandoned her.  That I came back and then Roman… Lamont… and we took the choice away from her.  You left her to two strangers and walked away.  And *I* did that.  It was *me* that believed he was Roman.  That convinced you to give up your family.  *I* took your children away from you.  I ruined your life and I ruined Sami and Eric’s life.  And then Grace finished the job.”  

 

She looks at him for a beat longer and then she turns away, as though seeking solace in the mist that drifts lazily in from the river.  Part of her would welcome the oblivion of the river, would drown herself in the blackness if she thought she could.  But that would only hurt her family more.  That would be weak and cowardly.  If she’s anything, she’s not a coward.

 

“Stop it.  Just *stop* it, Marlena. I can’t listen to this.” Roman says angrily.  He takes her hand in his, but she pulls it away almost immediately, folding her arms around her and staring into a past that has turned out to be fabricated on a lie.  “We all made our own decisions and our *own* choices.  *You* didn’t take my family away.  We both did what we thought was right.  What we thought was the best thing for Roman… *that* Roman and for the children.  We were trying to do the right thing with the wrong information.  If this is anybody’s fault, it’s Stefano’s.”

 

“I’m so *sick* of blaming Stefano for everything,” Marlena says angrily.  “If these were our own decisions, how is it that we always blame the bad outcomes on the DiMeras?  I should be strong enough to overcome that.  I should have been strong enough to fight him, to know the truth, to trust in you and instead I fell for every lie and every manipulation.  I’m tired of feeling weak and foolish, Roman.”

 

“You are *not* weak and you’re not foolish.”  Roman shakes his head sadly.  “Sweetheart, I *hate* that you would consider that for even a second.  You’ve just been through a hell of a time Doc, and you need to heal.  You were broken and that’s *not* your fault.  Stefano manipulated you, he helped break you, he used others to break you and you *can’t* blame yourself for that.  I won’t let you.  You’d have to be inhuman to withstand the kind of cruelty that you had to endure.  And the beautiful kind, compassionate generous woman I love is so *very* human.  That’s *why* I love you.  Not because you do everything right, not because you’re the perfect wife and mother, but because you’re vulnerable and you let me see the real you, the one that makes mistakes and hurts and *wants* to do the right thing but can’t always manage it.  *That’s* the Marlena I love with all my heart.  So don’t close yourself off from me, hmmm?”  

 

He touches his fingers to her cheek gently, a caress that is more than a touch, it’s a kind of communication in and of itself.  “Marlena, you’ve been through a hell of an ordeal and now you need to heal.  So, I’m sorry, Sami might be hurting and god, I love that kid to bits, I really do, but I won’t let her hurt you anymore.  Hurting others is not the right way to heal yourself.  Sami needs to learn that.  And I need to take care of you.  If I can’t protect you, what good am I to you?”

 

“What good are you?” Marlena shakes her head in amazement.  Then, her head cocked on an angle, her eyes soft and mesmerizing, she takes his face in her hands   “Roman, you’re my foundation.”  The weariness fades from her face as she speaks, her eyes come alive again and the gravity in her tone cuts through his defences, reaching inside of him, every word scything into his consciousness and embedding themselves in his memory.  “You keep me sane.  You’re the first thing I think about when I wake in the morning and the last thing at night.  Loving you is like breathing, I don’t know how to live without doing it.  I *can’t* live without doing it.  But honey… you can’t always protect me.”  Her persuasiveness dissolves into a heart-breaking matter-of-factness.  “Sometimes you have to let me fight my own battles.  And sometimes the truth hurts, but we have to hear it anyway.  We have to deal with the consequences of our actions.  That’s when we learn and that’s what makes us better people.”

 

“You couldn’t be a better person, Doc,” Roman says in a choked voice.

 

“Practically perfect in every way?”  Marlena gives him a slow, sad smile, her eyes soft with love for him.  “I don’t think so, honey.  Not by a long shot.”  She reaches her hand up and smooths her thumb across his cheek, as though trying to smooth away the years of hurt he has endured.  Her heart aches in her chest as she speaks; slow and sad and just a little desolate.  “Roman, I need you to lower that pedestal a little, baby, or I’m going to really hurt when I fall off.”

 

Roman shakes his head, his blue eyes impossibly vivid through tears that he is failing to fight back.  “Never gonna fall, Doc.”  His voice is rough and choked with emotion as he grabs her hand.  “I’m always going to be here to catch you.  That’s just the way it is.  You’re all I want.  All I need.”

 

She frowns and shakes her head, her brow furrowed, and her lips pressed together, fighting all the emotion that wells up inside her in the face of his insistence.  “You need your family.  And you need Sami.”  She stops, looking down at the big hands that enfold hers.  “And *she* needs you Roman.  More than you’ll ever know.  She needs a resolution to her childhood.  And she needs you to be patient with her and to give her a second chance.  And a third and a fourth chance if she needs them.”  She bites her lips, her eyes pleading with him to believe every word as if they are her last.  “Promise me that you’ll keep giving her chances?  She loves you so much you know, even if she doesn’t know how to show it.”

 

Roman feels heartsick, like he has lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting.  He doesn’t even know what he was fighting for, but her tone is so final and so defeated, it frightens him.

 

“Of course I promise Doc,” he attempts a smile but although his eyes crinkle at the corner, the light never touches his eyes.  “But we can work at it together.  All of us.  We all need second chances, right?”

 

“Right.”  Marlena gives him an enigmatic smile but unusually, he can’t read her, can’t fathom what is going on behind those beautiful eyes.  “Listen honey, I think we should be getting back to the pub, don’t you?  I… with any luck, Sami’s gone back there and even if she hasn’t, I’m sure the rest of the family will be wondering where we are by now.”

 

“Uh.. yeah.”  He’s thrown by her sudden switch of tack and it takes him a moment to realize that her suggestion is more than sensible.  He deliberately brushes aside his unease and helps his wife to her feet.  “Good idea Doc.  The sooner we get back to the pub, the sooner I can get you home and tucked up in bed, hmmm?”

 

“Mmmm…..bed…” she smiles at him now, her eyes glittering and a wistful echo threading itself through her voice.  “Sounds good to me, baby.  Let’s go.”

 

~

 

“She *what*?”  It’s more of a shriek than anything else as Sami swings around and glares at her uncle.

 

“I said she was *shot*.”  Bo is tired and he’s angry at Sami for her continuing obtuseness.  This evening is one big mind-fuck, he knows that better than anyone.  But Sami’s penchant for taking her anger and confusion out on everyone else wore thin a long, long time ago.  And he’s lost patience with it. “DiMera shot her… well, he tried to shoot Roman but your Mom got in the way.”  He frowns, the skin between his eyes pinched and painful.  

 

“And no-one thought to tell *us*?”  Sami demands angrily.  “Her children?  No-one thought that we might want to know she was, oh, I don’t know, hanging between *life* and *death*?”

 

“We’ve been through all this.”  Eric hunches over where he sits on the arm of the sofa and scowls at his sister.  “If you hadn’t acted like such an idiot and run away before, Sam, you’d have heard it all the first time.” 

 

“It wasn’t Dad’s choice.”  Belle says in a small voice from where she sits beside Caroline at the table.  “You know how he gets when something happens to Mom.  He can’t think about anything else.  If she was really…”  She trails off, swallowing before she drops her gaze to the table again.  Caroline slides her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders, a slightly bewilderment still shadowing her.

 

“This is all so…” Shawn-D is sitting, cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace.

 

“Fucked up.” Eric finishes for him without even turning around.  “This is completely fucking screwed up.  This is ridiculous, every last bit of it.  I can’t get my head around it at all.  Except that it’s so fucking screw-ball, it has to be true.  No-one would make shit like this up.”

 

“No,” Hope crosses the room to her son.  “No-one would make it up.  I’m sorry honey.”  She looks at Shawn with a regretful smile as she lowers herself to sit next to him.  She ruffles his hair affectionately, and then hugs her knees to her, looking at Sami and Belle.   “I’m sorry for all of you.  I know this doesn’t make any sense to you.  But before you feel too sorry for yourselves, think what it must feel like for your parents.”  She raises her eyebrows and leans her head on one side.  “They’ve lived this mad, crazy life, they’ve been torn away from each other, and they’ve been cheated of so many years.  They’ve been manipulated, they’ve been tortured physically and emotionally, and they’ve had to endure things that no normal person could endure.  But they’ve done it.  They’ve fought every step of the way to be together and to be with all of you.  The bottom line is that they love each other, and they love all of you very much.  They are good, loving, kind people and they deserve some happiness after this nightmare they’ve suffered.  And” she shrugs and lifts her hand, tossing long chestnut strands of hair over her shoulder, “we’ve got it within our power to make this part of it easier for them.  And yes, I know that we all have our reasons to doubt and be angry.”  

 

She smiles at the irony.  Hers is probably one of the best reasons of all, but the truth is, the joy of it is, she couldn’t care less.  For the first time in a long time, she and Bo are really connecting, they’re communicating about things that *really* matter and that feels amazing.  And besides that, she is so happy that they got Marlena back, that she has made things right with her, that she doesn’t care about what happened in the Penthouse that day.  As far as she’s concerned, Grace wasn’t Marlena and that’s the end of it.  

 

“But let’s face it, John… I mean Roman… and Marlena…. They’ve spent so many years trying to do what’s right for everyone else… isn’t it time for us to try and do what’s right for them?  And maybe help ourselves accept the past and the truth in the process?”

 

“You really think it will be that easy Hope, darlin’?”  Shawn asks uncertainly.  He’s not sure how he feels, what he thinks.  His grandsons are sure right in their eloquence.  This is certainly ‘fucked up’.

 

“I didn’t say it would be easy Shawn.”  One corner of Hope’s mouth turns downwards.  “I’m sure it won’t be easy at all.  But I’m talking about what’s *right*.  Not what’s easy.”

 

A thoughtful silence descends over the group.  Sami looks around the room, her eyes resting on each member of the family in turn, trying to discern their thoughts and feelings.  She knows they’re all confused but fucked up doesn’t even start to come close to describing how she feels.  She’s not even sure how she ended up back here except that her feet seemed to move of their own accord until she found herself at the back door to the Brady house behind the pub.  It’s like she’s caught in her mother’s gravitational pull, and she can’t free herself.  

 

She’s starting to think maybe deep down she doesn’t want to free herself.

 

On the way back to the pub she had replayed the conversation with her mother over and over.  Not to mention the confrontation with John.  And she finds it all coming back to a central question.  

 

What if I’m wrong?  

 

What if she’s has been wrong all these years?  All this time spent hating John.  Trying to drive a wedge between John and her mom.  All these emotions and energy invested in wanting her parents together.  And it turns out John is her dad, not Roman?   What if she’s wrong and she can’t admit it?  What if she throws away her last chance at rebuilding her life, coming to terms with her messed up childhood and moving forward?  What if… what if she’s wrong and she’s refusing to admit it only because that makes her look really bad, like the spoilt selfish child that people have always accused her of being.  What if she’s wrong and John really is Roman Brady, and he hates her for being such a vile bitch to him and to her mother?

 

She still has so much anger but now that she’s admitted it to herself, she knows that there is so much more too.  There’s guilt and self-hatred and utter terror.  There’s the hurt little girl who felt so abandoned by her father and there’s the teenager who had tried to rebuild a life with two strangers only to have it torn apart again by the actions of her mother.   When she slept with…. her ‘real’ father?

 

Digging her fingers into her temples, Sami throws herself onto the couch and closes her eyes.

 

“Do you know what this means? Belle’s voice intrudes into Sami’s safe, silent space and she feels her nerves tense even more.  “This means we have the same dad.   This means I’m not just your half-sister.  We’re like, totally full siblings!” 

 

“And you know what else it means?” Sami snaps irritably as she opens her eyes and directs a baleful glare at her younger sister.  “It means you and Shawn-D are totally *cousins*.”

 

“You being cruel to be kind, Sam, or just for the sake of it?” Eric says icily as he pushes himself from his perch on the arm of the sofa and goes to his little sister.

 

“Oh god, I’m sorry Belle!”  Sami feels like a total asshole when she opens her eyes and sees Belle’s reddened face.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“The hell you didn’t.” Eric retorts angrily.  “Jesus, Sami.  This isn’t just about you.  We’re all having a hard time with this.  This is a total mind-fuck for everyone, not just you.  And just because you’ve been a bitch to John for the past seven years and treated him like something you wouldn’t wipe off your shoe, doesn’t mean you get special dispensation to act like even more of a bitch.  That’s not going to make things right.  Not with Mom, not with…” he pauses, and Sami follows his gaze to the door, where Roman stands, his arm around his wife.  “Dad.”  Eric finishes his sentence in a strangled voice, and Sami swears she can almost hear his heart hammering from her place on the sofa.

 

Or maybe it’s her own heart that she can hear.

 

“Hey kid.”  Roman’s words are barely audible they are so loaded with emotion.  His eyes, pinpoints of vivid sapphire in a tanned, careworn face, sparkle; even from this distance Sami can see that he is on the verge of tears, and Marlena with him.  “Can’t tell you what it means to hear you say that,” Roman adds before he runs the heel of his palm under each eye.

 

“Feels kinda weird,” Eric admits as he watches his mother brush lingering moisture from Roman’s face in a gesture so tender and sweet that it is almost painful to watch.  “Guess I could get used it though,” he admits with an awkward and almost shy smile.  “If that’s okay with you.”

 

“Okay?” Roman exclaims with a throaty laugh.  “Okay?  Eric, it’s more than okay.  It’s the best gift you could have given me, kid.”  He grins at his son and the smile is infectious, spreading from Eric to Bo and then to the older generation of Brady’s.

 

Marlena can’t help but smile with them, but her good humour is felled with Roman’s next words.

 

“Eric, give me a hand here,” he asks the young man his grin easy and flippant.  “Help me get your mother to the couch.”  

 

“Sure thing,” Eric starts towards the door, but irritation gets the better of Marlena and she holds up her hands and swats at him until he comes to an uncertain standstill.  

 

“No.  No, please, I’m fine,” she says petulantly, hating the way she sounds even as she says the words.  She’s not even sure why she’s so upset and frustrated, just that she suddenly feels claustrophobic again and she knows she can’t let herself appear weak in front of her family.  Not now.  Not right now, there’s too much at stake.  “I told you before; I’m not an invalid, Roman.  I think can make it to the couch by myself, thank you.”

 

“Doc, I half carried you back from the pier, baby.”  His tone is low and concerned as he looks intently at her.  “You *are* an invalid; at least, you’re still recovering.  Overdoing it isn’t really on the agenda, you know?  The doctors said-”

 

“I know what the doctors said, Roman,” she snaps stubbornly as she faces him, swatting away his hands as he tries to slip them around her to support her again.  “I am one too, remember?  Or at least…. I was.”  She is momentarily distracted by a fleeting image of the poor boy Brandon who Grace had so callously treated and she gasps for breath as a wave of guilt almost cripples her.

 

“Doc?” Roman sounds confused and he is doing a poor job of hiding is concern as he reaches out for her again.  

 

That interlude is enough for her attention to shift again, and she finds herself snapping at Roman once again, taking her annoyance at herself out on him.  “Roman, I can take care of myself; please, don’t patronize me.”

 

Roman looks crestfallen and hurt as he takes a step back from her.  “Doc, I wasn’t trying to-“

 

“Oh Roman!”  She sees the anguish and fear in his eyes, and she feels it like a lance through her chest.  She can’t keep hurting him like this.  She’s hurt him so much and she just keeps on doing it.  These emotions and these reactions; the Grace in her; she has no idea how to control them, how to stop reacting to the intense bursts of fear, anger and irritation she feels. Even now, Grace is still taking out her pain and anger on Roman, and Marlena simply can’t bear that she’s the cause of even more hurt for her beloved husband.

 

Her shoulders fall and she reaches out for him, laying her hands on his and curling her fingers so that her fingertips rest against his palm.  “Honey I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean that.  I *really* didn’t.”  She inwardly curses the tears that well in her eyes and spill from her lashes.  This isn’t how she’d wanted this to go at all.  

 

“I know.”  He half-smiles but Marlena can still see the hurt behind his eyes, and she feels even more wretched.  “It’s okay baby,” he adds, trying to reassure her.  

 

“No, it’s not,” she shakes her head miserably.  “None of this is okay.”

 

“C’mon sweetheart,” Roman entreats her, with a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “It’s been a long, hard day.  You’re just tired.  Why don’t we say goodnight to the family and kids and head home, hmmm?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Marlena closes her eyes and presses her lips together.  Her chin trembles for a moment and her hands tighten on Roman’s.  Then her face stills and she opens her eyes; a clear, strange light burning in them.  Leaning upwards, she presses a long, tender kiss to his lips.   Her tears are wet on his cheeks as she moves back just enough so that she can hold his gaze, so that she can lose herself momentarily in those pools of never-ending blue.

 

“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” she whispers earnestly.  “I’d give my *life* to make you happy; you know that don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do, baby.”  The skin between those beautiful azure eyes deepens into familiar furrows that bespeak his concern.  “You know I do.”

 

“Don’t ever forget it,” she releases his hand and reaches up to smooth the hair from his temple back over his ear.  “Please, don’t ever forget how much I love you.”

 

Before he can reply, she pulls her remaining hand from his and turns to face her family.  She takes several steps into the room and then stops.

 

“Thank you for listening to me earlier,” she says in a firm clear voice.  “It… I told you I needed to explain.  So, you could understand.  I also needed to…. You needed to know about Roman.  He deserves *so* much, there’s so much time that he can never get back, but you can make a new future now with him and he deserves that.  And so do you.”  She looks at Sami now, her expression softening.  “Remember what we talked about Sami.  I know this is going to take time for you, but I trust you.  I have faith in you.  That you’ll do what is right, for you.  And for your father.”

 

Sami’s brow is furrowing now and she looks so like her father it’s almost heart-breaking to think how they’ve blinded themselves to the obvious for all these years.

 

“The thing is,” Marlena continues, moving further into the Brady’s living area, this home where she’s spent so many wonderful years as part of this loving, connected family.  “I realized something before, when I was talking to Sami down on the pier.”  She looks at Sami with a sad, regret-filled smile.   “I told her that we all have to take responsibility for our actions.  And how can I tell my daughter one thing and then do the complete opposite?  What kind of a person does that make me?”

 

“Doc?!” Roman sounds panicked behind her, but she simply puts out her hand and shakes her head.

 

“No, Roman.  I *have* to do this.”

 

“*No.* You *don’t*.”  Roman retorts in a low, desperate growl.

 

“Sami was right you see.”  There is an almost imperceptible break in Marlena’s voice as she feels Roman’s presence at her back, but she recovers her composure quickly and continues with her address.  “I *am* a liar.  I told you I didn’t hurt your father.”  She directs this at Sami, and she hopes to God that her beautiful young daughter can’t sense how hard her heart is beating or how clammy her palms are.  Weakness at this point will be her undoing.  “Well, I was being disingenuous.”  Her voice rings cold and brittle in the silent room.  “I didn’t hurt your father, but I *did* hurt *that* Roman.  I hurt Lamont.  I *murdered* Robert Lamont.”

 

Chapter XCIV – Diagonal Mate

There is a simultaneous explosion of noise from several quarters of the room, from Sami, Eric and Kayla.  From Shawn Brady who looks as pale as a ghost.  And behind her, Roman moans “Doc, no!” the sound slicing through her and leaving her breathless with the pain.  

 

Over towards the kitchen, there is a high-pitched moan and Marlena looks over to see Caroline clasp her granddaughter’s hands tightly.

 

“Oh Belle.  I’m *so* sorry baby,” she shakes her head sadly.  “You shouldn’t have to hear this, to know that I did these things.  I’d do *anything* for none of this to have happened, but it did.  I did these things, and you need to know the truth, because you’re going to hear it soon enough anyway.”

 

“What do you mean, Mom?”  Eric comes over to the sofa where Sami sits, now perched on the edge of it, her hands clasped and pressed against her mouth.  Her blue eyes are glassy with tears as she watches her mother’s every movement.  He stands next to the arm of the couch and faces his mother, his forehead deeply creased.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I’m talking about taking responsibility for my actions,” Marlena curses the tremor that has crept into her voice, and she crosses her arms in front of her as if defending herself from the onslaught of emotions that are pouring into the room.  “I took another person’s life, Eric.  And there wasn’t just him.  There were more, when I was working for Stefano.  I told you… I did terrible things.  Sami said something to me down on the pier and she was right.  What I did broke up families.  I took fathers from children.  Sons from mothers.  If Stefano should have to pay for taking Roman from you, then why do I get to walk away blame free?  Why do I tell Sami she has to take responsibility for her actions and then expect to walk away from my responsibilities?”

 

She turns to Bo now, carefully avoiding catching Roman in her line of sight.  “Bo, I’m confessing to the murder of Robert Lamont.  Is that sufficient to arrest me or Do you need a written confession?”

 

“Marlena, what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Roman explodes behind her.  Suddenly she feels his hands, his fingers curling around her upper arms as he pulls her around to face him.  His eyes are alive with anger and utter unmitigated terror as he demands an explanation.  “What are you *doing*?  We talked about this.  The kids need you.  *I* need you.  You’ve suffered enough.  We’ve lost enough.  I’m not losing you now, Doc.  *Not now*.”

 

“Roman,” she says his name softly, like a whispered prayer that he might find some kind of peace in her decision, as she has.  “Honey, I’m sorry.  I couldn’t tell you before…  I didn’t know until we were on the pier.  I know we talked about it but that was before.  Now, I know this is right.  I know what I have to do to make this right.”

 

“This doesn’t make things *right*, Marlena!”  He is practically shouting; angry tears trailing over his cheeks and dripping from his jaw.  “This is just insanity.  You expect me to just accept this?  To just let you walk out of my life?  You think a trip to the electric chair makes everything okay?  Or the rest of your life in prison?  You think that makes things right for the kids, gives them something concrete to be going on with?”  He looks at the children and then looks back at her in disgust.  “You think that the thought that their mother is paying for crimes that she didn’t even commit of her own free will is going to keep them warm at night?  Hold them when they cry?  Soothe their broken hearts?  Christ Marlena, *think* what you’re saying!”  

 

Marlena shakes her head, her own tears echoing glistening paths across the landscape of her pale face.

 

“I *have* thought about it,” she cries between choking sobs.  “I’ve thought about it from the moment I’ve woken up till the moment I’ve gone to sleep for the past three weeks.  When I *could* sleep,” she adds as she pushes her hair back off her face, her fingers pulling in damp, tangled hair.  “I’ve tried and tried to reconcile the knowledge of what I did with who I am… who I thought I was at least, and I just *can’t*.  I’ve hurt people.  I’ve *murdered* people, Roman. How do I live with that?  How do I just get up every morning and carry on as if everything is normal?  As if life is normal?  As if I’m still the same Marlena?  Because I’m not the same Marlena.”  

 

She pulls herself from his grasp and then turns around and looks at the horrified faces of her family as they stare at her.  It’s as if she’s a stranger, a foreigner in her own skin, a doppelganger who has snuck in with Marlena’s face and her voice and they are just now realizing that there is a outsider in their midst.  “I’ve hurt you all so deeply.  And I keep on hurting you.  I’m hurting you now.  Just before….” She turns back to Roman, her anguish written all over her face and her voice sounding more and more panicked.  “I could see it in your eyes.  Roman, I don’t know how to behave anymore, what to say.  I have all these feelings and these reactions, and I don’t know them and I don’t understand them and I simply don’t know what to do with them, or how to stop them.”  She clenches her teeth together and the feeling of her fingernails digging into her palms only intensifies the feeling of uncontrollable panic.  “I want to stop them, but I can’t, they just keep coming and I’m scared Roman.  I’m really scared I’ll hurt you.”

 

“You don’t *need* to stop them.”  Roman tells her, grabbing her wrists and holding them to his chest, her fists balled and tense against his heart.  “You won’t hurt me, Marlena.  You just need to learn how to manage them and deal with them and we can do that together, we really can,” he pleads with her, his desperation battling to get the better of hers.  “Please, honey, this isn’t the right way to deal with this.  We can get through this.  Together.”

 

“Roman,” she shakes her head, her jaw clenched tightly as she tries to retain control over her spiralling emotions. “I *can’t*.  You don’t understand.  I took Lamont to that warehouse, and I tied him up and left him there for a week with no food and no water.  Then I went back and *beat* him to within an inch of his life before I took a gun, put it to his head and made him beg before I blew his brains out.”  She stops and swallows, pulling herself away again so that she can wipe away her tears with the backs of her hands.  “Now do you want to tell me I shouldn’t pay for that?  Or that I’m not a danger to society and to all of you, when Grace is still in my head, fighting for control?”

 

“Marlena, you are *not* a danger to us *or* to society,” Roman reaches out to touch her hair, but he falters and drops his hand at the last minute.  Instead, his hands bunch into fists and he holds them in front of him, a signal of the intense frustration and passion he feels.  “I can cope with you hurting me.  I can cope with the Grace that comes out now and then.  What I can’t cope with is the thought of losing you.  Of seeing you only behind plexiglass once a week; or worse… never seeing you again.  I can’t do that, Doc.”  There is a fracture in his voice and the tears seep through, closing up his throat and drowning his words as he tries to speak.  “Please don’t ask me to do that, Marlena.  I *won’t* do that.”

 

She just looks at him with huge, anguished eyes; eyes burning with guilt and pain and the horror of the things she has seen and done.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.  “I’m not…. I just don’t want to hurt you Roman.”

 

“Well then, *don’t*!” He says fiercely, as though by just the force of his words, he can somehow drill through her skull and snatch out this ludicrous idea she’s gotten into her head.  “I won’t let you.”  His face becomes stubborn, his eyes blazing defiance.  “You do this Marlena, and I will find the best lawyers there are to defend you.  There’s not a jury in the world that would convict you on the evidence we’ll provide.”  

 

“I won’t accept them.”  Marlena argues, just as stubborn as her husband.  “I’ll plead guilty.  I’ll dismiss them; tell the court to send them away.  Anyway, you can’t afford to hire me any lawyers.  Not anymore.”

 

“I don’t care.”  Roman points at her furiously, trying to impress on her the seriousness of his words and his intentions.  “I’ll work ten damn jobs if I have to.  I’ll go to Victor and *beg* him to help me out.”  He points at her angrily, his finger shaking.  “I will *not* see you suffer for something you didn’t do.  That that old *bastard* forced upon you.  He destroyed you and he made you suffer.  He made *me* suffer, he took you away from me and now you want to help him do it again?”

 

“Roman, this isn’t just about you and me,” her voice drops to an agonized whisper.  “It’s about *justice*.  It’s about…” she stops short and then turns around, pointing at Sami with her own trembling finger.  “You heard Sami earlier.  Grace can’t be a ‘get out of jail free’ card for me.  I can’t pretend these things didn’t happen and that I wasn’t responsible for them.  I need to make reparation, it’s only right.”

 

“It’s *not* right.” Kayla stands against the wall, her arms folded.  Her eyes fixed on Marlena, she pushes herself from the wall and walks towards her sister-in-law, her face deadly serious.  “When Kim was Lacey… when she shot Roman….”  She stops blinking.  “Oh God, that wasn’t even Roman.”  She shakes her head, trying to make sense of what she is saying.  “Marlena, *you* counselled Kim then.  He was hanging between life and death, and you thought he was your husband but you didn’t blame her.  You didn’t tell her she was responsible for shooting her own brother.  What Lacey did, she was trying to protect Kim.  Because of what had happened to her.  How is that different from what you’ve gone through?”

 

“It’s not.”  Hope adds from her place on the floor by the fire.  “It’s not different at all.”  Her eyes are dark and intense as she stares at Marlena.  Marlena wrinkles her brow and shakes her head wearily.  Hope frowns stubbornly and shrugs.  “Well if that’s the case,  I guess if you really feel like you should pay for the things Grace did, then I’d better turn myself over to the cops too.”

 

“No!” Marlena exclaims, horrified at the thought that they are extrapolating this to come to such inconceivable conclusions.  “*No* Hope, it *is* different.  Kayla, Kim’s situation was different.  Yes Lacey was trying to protect herself, protect Kim. Grace was just… she was malicious.”

 

“So was Gina,” Hope shrugs nonchalantly.  Then she sighs and pushes herself from the floor.  Standing, she brushes down her jeans and then pulls her hair back behind her shoulder.  A stubborn expression settles on her face as she turns to Bo and holds out her arms, wrists upwards.  “What about it Brady?  You going to book us?”

 

“Hope, stop it,” Marlena says angrily.  “You’re not being fair. This isn’t a joke.”

 

“Who says I’m joking?” Hope’s flippancy melts away and her chocolate eyes grow intensely serious.  “You think I don’t feel the same guilt you do, Marlena?  That I don’t live with the knowledge of what I did, every day?  And now, if you’re responsible for what Grace did, if you can’t forgive yourself for not being able to break through Stefano’s manipulations and conditioning, how am I not supposed to hold myself to the same standards?”  

 

“It’s not the same,” Marlena says softly.  “Oh, Hope it’s not the same.  Gina wasn’t you.  Her actions came from… she was a person that wasn’t anything to do with you.  Like the mercenary wasn’t anything to do with Roman.  Stefano was a puppeteer and you were simply the bodies that he used.  But Grace,” she bangs her fist to her chest to emphasize her words, “she is part of *my* psyche.  She’s part of me, she came from me, and she exists within me still.  And I know that even if Stefano did manipulate me, if he did bring about Grace’s existence, the truth is still that she killed because she *enjoyed* it.  She enjoyed the power, the thrill it gave her to hold another person’s existence in her hands.  To taunt someone and see the fear in their eyes.  I remember all that,” she swallows, the tears welling again.  She flicks them away with shaking fingers and her head falls for a moment.  Then she looks up at Hope and slowly shakes her head.  “If I tried, I could remember every *word* she spoke to every victim.  Every inch of pain she ever inflicted. Every scream she elicited.  And every emotion she felt.  She *enjoyed* it.”  Her hands are cold and clammy, and she feels like vomiting as her own words echo in her ears.  She slowly looks at her family, at the Brady’s, at her children’s pale, tearstained faces.  At her dumbstruck husband.  And when she speaks again, her voice is hollow and dead.  “I can’t live with that.  I can’t face you all every day holding that knowledge inside me.”

 

There is a long moment of silence and then Eric moves from where he’s been standing next to his youngest sister.  She is buried within the crook of Caroline’s arm, her eyes tightly shut, and her hands screwed up in white fists as they lay on the table in front of her.

 

“So.  You can’t live with it, can’t face us and because of that, you’re running away?” Eric demands angrily.  “Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”  He angrily wipes the tears from his jaw with his palm and then stands face to face with her.  “Mom, you just gave us our family back. And now you’re talking about taking it away?   That’s not fair.  You think it’s only right and *just*?  What about what’s right for us?  Belle needs both of her parents.  So does Sami.”

 

“They are better off without me, Eric,” Marlena tells him, her voice drowning in unshed tears.  “You all are, truly.  I’m so sorry.”

 

“Who says?” Eric demands.  “What, you make that decision for all of us?  C’mon Mom.  You don’t know whether you’re coming or going.  You’re wracked with guilt; you almost *died* three weeks ago; you just had the shock of your life and you’re trying to reconcile a lifetime of lies.  Don’t you think you might not be the best judge of what *we* need at the moment?  Don’t you think it might be a decision that your children might want to make for themselves?  We *are* capable of it you know.”  Marlena makes to speak, but he holds up his hand with a stern grimace.  “No, forget about us.  I don’t even think you’re a good judge of what *you* need at the moment.  I mean really, what the hell is handing yourself over to the police going to accomplish?  Who is it going to help?  It’s not going to help Stefano’s victims.  They’re dead.  And he should be the one to pay for their murders.  He was the one that wanted them dead in the first place, wasn’t he?  And by the sounds of it, Grace was just the tool that he made to do the job.”  He stops, clenching his jaw and swallowing convulsively.  “You know… I didn’t think anything could make me hate DiMera more than I already did.  He took away my Mom and my Dad.  And then he took away my Dad again and he screwed up this family with every chance he got.  But I…. geez, nothing tops this.  What he did to you.”  His lips flicker, his face screwing up in barely contained rage.  “If I could get my hands on him…”

 

“You’d have to get in line kid,” Roman’s voice behind her is rasping and hoarse and it tears at Marlena’s heart like sandpaper.  “And don’t you doubt it Doc, I would enjoy every fucking minute of it.”

 

“Roman!  Don’t say that.” She cries, whirling around to face him again.  “Please, you can’t mean that.  That’s not who you are.”

 

“We all have it in us, Doc,” he says quietly.  “It’s just the right, or wrong combination of circumstances.  C’mon baby, you’re a shrink.  You know that we’re all capable of it if we’re pushed to the edge of reason.”

 

“And what if we are?” she demands, pushing her hair back out of her eyes.  Her tiredness is starting to get the better of her again and she closes her eyes momentarily.  She sways almost imperceptibly on the balls of her feet and then she opens her eyes again, not giving Roman a split second to react.  “Roman, that doesn’t excuse it.  That doesn’t give us free reign to act out, doesn’t give us any kind of dispensation to inflict that kind of pain on another human being.”

 

“Are you saying you don’t want to see Stefano suffer for what he did?” Roman raises his eyebrows.

 

“Not summary justice, no,” Marlena steps forward and lays her hand on his cheek.  “Not at your hands.”  Her voice is soft now, her eyes dancing as they alight on his.  “I don’t want you to have that on your conscience.  However much he might deserve it.  The knowledge of what you have done… it will eat you alive.”

 

“Like it’s eating you?” Belle’s voice comes from behind her, and Marlena closes her eyes.  Her daughter’s voice produces the most exquisite ache in her chest, a conflation of guilt and sorrow and she sways again reaching out to Roman to steady herself.

 

He takes the opportunity to grasp her upper arms again, gently this time and helps to support her weight as she turns around to face her youngest daughter.

 

“Mom, I don’t care what you did.” Belle says simply.  “I don’t care what Grace did, I don’t *care* if you remember it.  I know you feel bad that Grace hurt us, but everyone has told you again and again… that wasn’t *you*.   And Eric is right, if you confess, if you go to jail, what does that make right?  Whose life is made better by that?  Because it won’t be ours.  It won’t be yours.  And it sure as heck won’t be Dad’s.”  She looks at Roman and tosses her blonde hair with a half-smile on her face.  “He’s hopeless without you.  We won’t just lose a mother; we’ll lose both of you because Dad will be….” Her expression grows apologetic as she directs her words at her father.  “Sorry Dad, but it’s true.  You’ll be useless without her around to look after you.”

 

“No need to apologize, Izzy,” John gives her a thin smile in return.  “You’re quite right.  And if your mother thinks I’m going to give up on her now, after we’ve come this far, after I fought that hard to get her back, she’s got another thing coming.”

 

Marlena turns her head to look at Roman and then turns back to Belle.  She’d known that they wouldn’t make this easy for her.  But she’d been so sure she was right, so convinced that this was the right thing to do.  She’s drowning in guilt and she’s no good to her family like this.  Even more than that, she’s terrified that she’s a danger to them, that one day, out of the blue she will snap, she will break again, and Grace will be free to inflict all the damage she can on Roman and her family.

 

Marlena will die before she allows that to happen again; but if she couldn’t control Grace before, if she couldn’t stop her lying to and manipulating her family, if she couldn’t stop her hurting Roman… how the hell will she next time?

 

Unless, she’s far away from them where she has no opportunity to hurt them.

 

“Belle…” she says softly.  “I… the last thing I want to do is make things worse for any of you.”

 

“Well then, don’t!”  Belle cries, choking back a sob. 

 

“*Please* Marlena.”  Caroline has listened to all of this more or less silently.  She has learnt that the woman she thought of as her daughter hadn’t been Marlena.  She has learnt that the man she’d thought her son for nigh on ten years, wasn’t.  And the man she’d turned her back on all these years ago, is.  She’s learnt that Marlena had been shot and almost killed down in Louisiana and that no-one had told any of them this until now.  

 

She has watched Marlena’s pale face as she’s told her story, she’s seen the suffering etched in every line and the dark bruises under her eyes.  She has seen John (her son?) shed tears of fury and frustration; his eyes gritty and bloodshot.  She has seen the weariness and exhaustion that dog both of them, a deep tiredness that is so familiar that neither of them even seem aware that they feel it anymore.

 

And now there’s this.  A brutal and uncensored truth of what Grace had been capable of.  An example of the things she had done.

 

The man Caroline had called son, the man that had eaten at this table, had laughed with them had been murdered.  By Grace.  By malevolence wearing Marlena’s skin.

 

Caroline knows that Abe and Bo had shielded her from the truth.  She had seen it in their eyes when they had told her of finding Roman’s body.  

 

No Mom, he didn’t suffer.  It was fast.  It was merciful.  

 

Grace wasn’t merciful.  Grace was anger and pain and vitriol.  Grace had been brutalized and she had internalized that pain and made it hers to mete out in kind.  Roman had suffered all right.  He had screamed into the silence and then she had put a gun to his head and finished it once and for all.  She had killed her pain, but in doing so, she had magnified Marlena’s a hundredfold.

 

And she had brought this family to its knees.

 

And still the damage unfolds.  She looks at John… Roman…. Her son.  Oh God, her son.  His agony is raw and powerful, and it fills the air palpably until it’s choking everyone in the room.  She can hardly breathe with the intensity of emotion from Roman and from the children, so how in God’s name can Marlena think it would be better to walk away from them?  How can she think that it wouldn’t completely tear them apart?

 

All it will take is for Sami to realize that her mother’s accident was a result of finding out about Roman and Hope and the baby and she will most likely revert to type and lay all blame at Roman’s door.  She will refuse the truth and without Marlena to pull her up and to guide her, Sami will spiral into a self-destructive hell.

 

Caroline can’t let that happen.  Whatever Marlena did, whatever Grace did… whatever Roman did, whomever he was or is… she will not let her grandchildren suffer for it.

 

“Marlena, darling.”  Her voice is as mellow as Roman and Belle’s are distraught.  “Listen to me.  Your children need you.  They need your guidance and your love.  They need you in their family.  To lead their family.  And Roman needs you Marlena.  You told us before that we owed it to him to make up the time we lost.  That if we wasted any more time with him, we’d just be punishing him.  Well, what about you?” she asks simply.  “Roman fought for you.  He risked *everything* to bring you back to your family and this is your answer?  This is how you repay him?”

 

“Mom,” Roman starts uncomfortably.  

 

“No son,” Shawn speaks now.  “Your mother is right.  Someone needs to say these things.  Marlena… she needs to think of her family now, so she does.”

 

There’s a long silence and all eyes are on Marlena as she struggles with her emotions.  Struggles to construct an answer to her treasured youngest child.  Struggles to find an explanation that her mother-in-law will understand.  Struggles to contain the panic and anger warring inside of her.

 

Finally, she straightens and deliberately pulls her arms from Roman’s grasp.  She moves away from him, crossing her arms so that she stands in the middle of the room, her voice clear and icy cold.

 

“I can’t… I don’t expect *any* of you to understand why I have to do this.”  She faces Caroline and Shawn.  “You’re right, I do owe Roman more than this.  But I also owe him the chance at a future.  After everything I’ve done, I’m going to be a pariah in Salem.  Roman and the children deserve better than that.”  She sees the disagreement bubbling in Caroline, but she continues immediately, not allowing any reply. “Look, I know you’re angry with me, you’re confused, and I know it will hurt all of us.  But trust me, this is the right thing, and it’s the best thing, for all of you.  In the long run it will be the best thing.”  She swings back to look at Roman, resolute in her determination to stick to her line.  “Roman, sweetheart, I’m doing this for the good of all of you.  You *don’t* need me.  In fact, you’ll be better off without me.”  

 

Her voice fades, dissolving into tears that thicken her throat and paralyse her tongue.  But one last line echoes through the silence, husky with pain.  

 

“I’ll only hurt you if I stay.”

 

A discordant chorus of denials issues forth into the room, Roman Belle and Eric all battling to make themselves heard over the rest of their family.

 

Sami carefully pushes herself from the sofa and stands up to face her mother.  Her cheeks burn a bright scarlet and fury flashes in her eyes.  She takes a step towards Marlena and then stops, a look of disgust marring her pretty face.

 

“I will *never* speak to you again if you do this.” She says in a low, rage-filled voice.  “I will *never* forgive you.  You can’t just offer me my family back in one breath and then snatch it away in the next.”

 

“Sami-“  Marlena falls short.  Of everyone in this room, she had expected Sami to agree with her.  She’d expected Sami’s anger to carry her along to the logical conclusion.  Her mother had lied to her.  Had murdered her surrogate father.  Sami wouldn’t ever forgive that.  She couldn’t ever forgive that.  

 

Could she?

 

“Don’t *Sami* me!” Sami snarls wildly.  “You think you get to take the choice away from me again?  That this time *you* get to walk away?  Because this is the *right* thing to do?  Jesus Mom, you just got done telling me that John walked away because you all thought it was the right thing and now it turns out that you couldn’t have been more wrong.  So, what if you’re wrong now?  And believe me, you are so, *so* wrong.  We *do* need you.”  She flings her hand around, indicating the disparate family members that sit and stand miserably, watching this drama in its death throes.  “Have you actually *heard* anything that anyone has said here to you today?  Have you *listened* to your children?  Belle is beside herself over there.  And Eric….”  Her jaw juts out, trembling for a moment as she considers her next words. “Mom, you told me this decision was mine.  That this time I get to make a choice.  You *promised* me that we could be a family if I decided I wanted that.”

 

“I know I did,” Marlena whispers guiltily.

 

“Well I *do* want that.”  She bites her lower lip, realizing suddenly the import of what she has said.  She looks at Roman, her eyes softening and filling with a real and genuinely unexpected emotion.  “I want to make things right.  I want to get to know John-“ she stops herself and then blinks nervously, jamming her hands in her pockets as she does so.  “I want to get to know my father again.”

 

Marlena realizes that her intake of breath was audible when Sami looks back at her.  But this time her eyes are pleading.  “Look Mom, you’re scaring the hell out of all of us here. What you’re saying… it’s insanity.  You, going to jail… or worse… you think that’s taking responsibility?  Dealing with what happened?  What you did?”  Her lips thin as another flash of anger manifests itself in her expression and stance.  “Eric is right.  You can’t stand the guilt, you can’t face us and so you’re running away.  You’re punishing *us*, not yourself.”

 

“No, Sami, that’s not true!” Marlena’s eyes widen and her face proclaims her shock and her defensiveness.  “I would never… I’m doing this because I *love* you.”

 

“You’re doing it because you’re a coward,” Sami shoots back.  “Because you don’t have the guts to work with us to make it through this.  For us all to come to terms with the past.  You’d rather leave us to work it out on our own, to reconcile what we know of you with what Grace did.”

 

“No Sami!” Marlena’s voice rises in alarm.  “No, you’ve got it all wrong.  I’m not running away from you.  I’m trying to protect you.  I don’t….” she sighs and pulls her fingers through her hair awkwardly and her shoulders slump.  She presses her lips together and then moves to the sofa, perching herself on the arm with a pained grimace.  She looks at Roman who returns her look with one of hurt and confusion.  She shakes her head sadly and drops her face into her hands.  After a long moment, she runs her hands up through her hair and then looks up at her family.  “I don’t trust myself any more,” she says simply.  “I don’t trust myself around you.  Any of you.  I still feel Grace, I still feel the things she felt and I don’t know if I can say for sure that she’ll never come back.  And what if she does?  What if I get knocked down by a car or fall and hit my head and it gives Grace her opportunity?  I couldn’t stop her last time and I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop her again.”  She turns to Roman, her hazel eyes shimmering.  “I can’t take that chance.  I won’t hurt you again.”

 

“Doc…”  Roman steps closer to her but she holds her hands up as if to ward him off.  She can’t take this, this kindness and this concern.  This is breaking her heart.  She doesn’t *want* to walk away from them, she doesn’t want any of this but she can’t think of any other way to make sure her family is safe.  “You heard what the doctors said down there,” Roman says in a soft, soothing voice.  “Grace isn’t coming back.  Not now, not again.  The way you… when you came back to us, you broke through that wall.  She can’t come back.”

 

“The doctors don’t know that, Roman.” Marlena says irritably.  “They *think*, but they don’t *know*.  Not for sure.  I’m a psychiatrist and *I* know that there’s no way to say for sure that Grace won’t make reappearance.  And honey, I can’t take that risk.”  There’s an air of fierce determination about her now, her jaw is set stubbornly, and her hands are clenched in her lap.   “I won’t hurt you again.  Not *ever*.”

 

“Don’t *I* get a choice in this?” Roman asks, anger sinking into his voice and his demeanour.  “Marlena you’ll hurt me a lot more if you do this.  You’ll hurt me more than Grace ever did.  Or ever could.”

 

“No!” she cries, almost involuntarily, her fingers frantically scrabbling and clutching at her skirt.

 

“Yes!” He answers simply and with a passion that echoes in every corner of the room.  That wraps itself around and threads itself through every person present.  

 

“Don’t you *get* that yet, Doc?  I can deal with *anything* else.  I don’t think she’s coming back but I can manage Grace if she does.  I know what I’m up against now and I can get help.  But Doc, I *can’t* cope with not having you in my life.  God, I *just* got you back.  I just got my *family* back.  Don’t take that away from me.  *Please* Marlena.  Listen to me.  Listen to your *family*.”  

 

He fixes his eyes on his older daughter and smiles tentatively.  She takes a beat and then smiles back shyly and nods, her eyes glittering.  Then his eyes drift around the room, taking in the hopeful and tense looks on the faces of his family.  His parents and his children and his siblings.  They are all on the edge of a knife-blade here.  Marlena has no idea how much she holds them all together, how she is the lynchpin of their family.  Without her they could all just as easily fall apart.

 

He looks back at her and sees the doubt and uncertainty that collide within her.  She’s starting to waver; he knows that and he has to take this opportunity to drive under her defences and convince her of that which she knows in her heart is true.  

 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to protect us.”  He moves towards her until he is standing in front of her.  This time she doesn’t fend him off, she simply looks at him as he crouches in front of her and takes her hands in his.  The look in her eyes is shattering and it is all he can do to talk without breaking down in front of her.  He desperately wants to pull her into his arms and just never let her go. 

 

“You don’t need to pay for anything; you’ve already suffered far too much.  Let’s just deal with it and rebuild our lives.  Let us have the chance to work this through with you.  Give us the chance to make this family work.”  He pauses and leans his head forward, peering at her as she looks down at her lap.  Tears splash onto his fingers and he sighs inwardly, wishing he could just take all this pain away from her.  “Doc. I know you’re frightened of hurting us, but that’s our choice to take that risk and I think I speak for all of us when I say we’ll willingly take it in order to have you with us.”

 

“Of course we will,” Sami pitches in and Marlena swings her head around to look at her daughter again.  “Look Mom, we’ve all done things we regret…”  Marlena raises her eyebrows at the enormous understatement and Sami can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from her throat.  “Yeah, okay.  But you know what I mean.”  She shrugs with an awkward smile.  “And okay, yeah, you hurt us.  And you might hurt us again.  But Mom, it would hurt us far more to lose you.  Trust me on that one.”

 

Marlena doesn’t know what to say now; she’s all out of arguments, all out of energy to fight her husband and her children any longer.  Sami’s reaction has toppled her.  She’d been expecting a lot of things, but she hadn’t expected this.  At all.

 

“Please *Mom*,” Sami pleads quietly as she comes to her mother’s side.  Tentatively, she reaches out and touches a wisp of Marlena’s hair.  “Please.  I shouldn’t have said the things I said before.  I was wrong, I’ve been wrong about lots of things and I’m really, really sorry.  So please don’t do this, ‘kay?”

 

“Please Mom,” Belle echoes Sami quietly.  “Listen to her.  *Please*.”  Eric stands behind his sister with his arms around her shoulders and he only nods, his impossibly blue eyes once again shredding Marlena’s defences and leaving her naked and vulnerable.  

 

They all look so eager and so hopeful.  Belle’s tear-streaked face begs her silently to give in, to surrender this battle.  And to be honest, she’s not sure she can think of any valid argument that they haven’t already proved fallible.  They will fight her on this until she’s exhausted… well they’ve done that already, to be fair.  She feels utterly spent and more frustrated than she can express.  But too, she is beginning to feel a measure of hope and maybe even peace.  And of all people, Sami is the one that with her words has provided a possible course out of the quagmire of guilt.  If Sami can possibly forgive her… if she’s wrong about that…?

 

Slowly, she looks past her children to her mother and father-in-law and they both nod and smile at her.  By the wall, Kayla bites her lip and nods silently.

 

And then she comes to Bo.  

 

Bo Brady, cop and brother.  Officer of the law.  She looks at him and his eyes meet hers.  His face is completely impassive, his expression impenetrable as he stares back at her.  

 

She swallows and then looks down at Roman, her chest aching as she brushes the tears from her eyes.  “I confessed,” she says quietly, exhaustion dogging her every word. “I confessed to his murder with a police officer in the room.  This isn’t my decision any longer.” 

 

Roman turns and looks at Bo.  Bo looks at his brother as Roman stands up, drawing himself up to his full height.

 

“I’m not letting you take her Bo,” he says gruffly.  “I’m not letting her go.  The only way she’s going anywhere is if you come through me first and you’ll have to be prepared to *kill* me to do that.”

 

“Roman,” Hope’s voice comes from behind him, and the words trail past him as she moves across the room to stand in front of her husband.  “Bo isn’t going through anyone.  Are you, Brady?”

 

She raises her eyebrows.  Her hands with their long slender fingers rest on her hips as Bo contemplates her as well as Roman and Marlena.  The room falls completely silent for a long, excruciating moment as his eyes move between the three of them.  

 

“Well?  What about it, Bo?” Hope demands, anxiety creeping into her voice.

 

Bo lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.  “What about what?” He asks, evidently nonplussed.  “I have no idea what you’re all taking about. Haven’t heard a thing.”  He shrugs and directs his attention at his brother.  “Sorry bro, was I supposed to be paying attention?”

 

Roman’s mouth curls; one half into a lazy smile that after a moment, leisurely slides into a full grin.  

 

“Nah,” the light in his eyes dances merrily as he shakes his head.  “You didn’t miss anything important little brother.”

 

“Figured.”  Bo allows himself a grin of his own as he crosses the floor to where Roman stands and slaps him on the back.  Then he turns to Marlena.  He takes an extended moment to study her, his gaze scouring her from the inside out.  Moving across to where his brother stands, he mimics Roman’s actions of a few minutes earlier.  With a soft smile, he crouches down on the floor in front of her.

 

“Listen Marlena, none of us can understand what you’ve been through.  It must have been hell for you.  It must still feel like that hell is with you.”  His face speaks an odd sort of sureness and a deep and genuine caring for her as he takes her hands in his.  “But the God’s honest truth is that none of us wants to see you suffer any more.  You deserve a good life now.  You and Roman deserve some happiness.  Living a good life is the best revenge you can take against DiMera.”  His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug that tells her he thinks that there is no other option.  “So do it now.  Go home now and put the past behind you.  Start living your life; start rebuilding your family.”

 

Reaching up to her face, he lays the pads of his fingers on her cheeks in a tender gesture that floods her with shame.  She doesn’t understand why they are so ready to forgive all the terrible things that she has done.  She could explain it away as their love for Roman, but she knows that’s not it.  They love Roman as John, but they are still working towards an acceptance of the truth where he is concerned.  This is not simply a protection of his interests.  No, this is something else all together, and it humbles her deeply that they care for her so much they can put the horrors of what she has done to one side and consider her happiness above their own comfort.

 

Bo pushes himself from his knees and leans towards her.  His lips gently whisper a kiss against her forehead, and he murmurs, “don’t let them down Marlena.  They need you more than you’ll ever understand.”

 

He straightens up and turns to Roman again. “You look after her, man,” he says in a low guttural growl.  “Or you’ll have me to answer to.”

 

“I fully intend to look after her, little brother.”  Roman’s voice follows Bo as he moves backwards, finding his way back to his wife who slips her arm around him and gives him a proud, happy smile.   “In fact,” Roman adds as he turns back to Marlena.  He raises his eyebrows hopefully, “I’m pretty sure I’m going to drive her crazy trying to look after her.”

 

He waits to see if she will answer, but Marlena feels stuck in situ, paralysed beyond all reason.  The words won’t come, and neither will the tears.  She’s utterly terrified and the terror seems to have seized every bone and muscle and welded them into place until she is completely immovable.

 

The creases in Roman’s brows deepen and he stares at her stripping away each layer of her defences with that intimate, relentless gaze of his, the one that knows her and knows all her joy and all her pain.  The one where he can read her thoughts and turn out every secret she shelters inside her soul, picking them apart, piece by piece.  

 

She can only stare back at him, her emotions crashing together to meet in an indefinable confusion of hopes, doubts and fears.

 

“If she’ll let me.”  He adds, a note of fear trembling on the edge of his voice.

 

“Please Mom,” Sami says, stepping forward.  Her hands are clutching her blue jacket tightly around her and her jaw tightens as she looks first at Roman and then at her mother.  “Please, I promise I’ll *try* and be a better daughter.  If you’ll just give us a chance.  If you’ll give us some time to come-”

 

Marlena holds up her hands, as though flailing for some kind of defence against Sami’s words and it stills Sami into an anticipatory silence.  She bites her lower lip nervously and waits; her posture stiff and tense.

 

Marlena engages her eyes for a long moment.  Across the room, Belle fidgets impatiently and opens her mouth to pitch herself into the exchange.  But a look from her father and Eric’s hand tightening on her shoulder both combine to still her.

 

Marlena straightens her back, almost imperceptibly and looks at her husband.  The ghost of a smile plays around her lips.  

 

“Okay.”  

 

In the end, it’s that simple.  Her family wins.  They want her and they need her.  They won’t let her run away, and they’re right of course, that’s what she’s been trying to do.  She still feels an overwhelming urge to do it and probably will do for a long time.  She can’t bear the thought of hurting them again.  

 

But it’s also true that they are a family.  Roman and her children deserve the opportunity to be just that.  To forge something new and strong and precious.  She can’t take that from them.  She can’t make them pay for her transgressions.  She’ll just have to deal with those, come to terms with those herself.  In her own time and in her own way.

 

“Okay?” Roman’s looks like he can hardly believe his ears, in fact they all look like they are hardly able to believe… to hope that she might have finally given up this insane notion of hers.  “Doc, does that mean-?”

 

“It means, I give in.”   She turns her face up to his and a slow, weary smile curls her lips.  Then she looks over at Sami.  “You’re right, Samantha.   I’m being selfish to think that I can protect you by having myself locked away.  That doesn’t mean,” she adds quickly, “that I don’t deserve it.  I still think you’re all being ridiculously easy on me.  But,” she holds up her hands in surrender, “I can’t argue with you anymore.  I won’t.  I love you all far too much and I love your father,” she stops and looks back at Roman.  Her smile broadens, her eyes sparkling and the look that passes between them is so personal and so deeply intimate that it makes most of those present feel like they are intruding.  “I love your father more than I can ever possibly say.  And I want to make him happy.” She turns back to her children with a sad smile.  “I want to make you all happy and I want to be the kind of mother and wife that you can be proud of again.”

 

“You *are* Doc,” Roman says quietly as he steps in front of her and takes her hands.  “You already are.  You fought DiMera and you fought Grace and you won.  You came back to us.  And you’re here, and I know you’re frightened and confused, and you feel guilty.  And I know you really want to do the right thing.  So, you need to know that this *is* the right thing.  It really is.”  He cups her face, her impossibly soft skin warm against the rough calloused palm of his hand.   “Let me look after you now.  Let me show you how much I love you.  How much we all love you.”

 

Marlena leans her head into his touch and closes her eyes, just holding the moment, memorising the feel of his hand imprinted on her skin.  How she thought she could ever walk away from him; she has no idea.  In a moment, she has come to realize how irrational and ridiculous her plan had been.  Leaving her family to rebuild itself after the bombshell she has dropped on them?  Not even an option if she is honest.  They do need her.  And she needs them.  Everything else is immaterial.

 

Sniffing, Marlena grips Roman’s hands and lets him help her stand up.  Her eyes catch his and a long, intimate moment passes between the two of them, words that are unspoken, known and felt, and infused in their souls.  For that moment it is as though they are the only people in the room.  Then, taking an unsteady breath, Marlena curls one arm around Roman’s neck and lays her head against his shoulder.  Tenderly, she presses her lips against his neck and then his jaw.  

 

“Take me home, Roman,” she says simply.  “Please, take me home.”

 

Chapter XCV –  Visualization

It’s dark.  It’s so dark, Marlena can’t even see a foot in front of her.  

 

It’s dead in here.  No light, no sound.  No life.  

 

She fumbles along the wall to find the light switch but when she does, it’s dead as well.  Just the dull, empty clicks as she flicks it up and down. The panic rises in her throat like bile and she clamps her fingers into the palms of her hand to stop from screaming.  

 

Biting her lower lip, she moves forward, swallowed by the suffocating blackness.

 

“Hello Grace.”  The familiar resonant voice comes from no-where, snaking out of the darkness to bind her in utter terror.  Her heart pounds against her rib cage and she tries to back away but she finds herself transfixed, caught like a fly in his web.

 

“Stefano.”  Her voice is little more than a breath as her eyes finally adjust to the darkness.  He is standing by the window, his hands clasped across his barrel-like belly and his eyes glittering obscenely in the dim light that is beginning to filter into the room.

 

“You expected someone else?”  Soft.  Slick.  He moves towards her.  He’s almost gliding, moving closer and closer.  Her back is against the wall as he comes upon her.  “Ahhh, Grace.”  His teeth, glimmers of broken white in the darkness.  His hand, unyielding against her throat.  Against the pulse which is jumping under her skin.  His voice, oily and thick, slithering and coiling around her.  

 

She is pinned like a butterfly.  Spellbound.  Terrified.

 

“Grace, I have waited so long for this.” Her breath comes in short, jagged gasps as his fingers sweep over her shoulder and downwards.  “My darling,” he purrs, evil spilling from him, from his words and his touch.  His hands, one on her throat, one tracing the curve of her hip, sliding beneath her robe.  The expanse of her thigh, naked and vulnerable to his eager fingers.  “My Grace.“

 

“I’m not Grace!” she breathes helplessly.  “I’m *not* Grace.”  Tears course down pallid cheeks.  She’s paralysed with fear, and she doesn’t know why.  He doesn’t scare her.  

 

No, he doesn’t scare her; he utterly terrifies her.

 

“Shhhh…. my Queen.”  The gasp flickers on her lips and then is swallowed by his mouth, wet and demanding against hers.  The hand around her throat tightens, the other slips between her thighs, seeking to gain access to that which he has no right.

 

“No!”  She batters her hands against him, his shoulders and his chest and his face.  Manic laughter bubbles from him and he moves backwards just enough that she can see his face again.  

 

“Nooooo!”

Switch.

Not Stefano after all, but Orpheus.  Black, mad eyes glaring at her.  Insanity defined in the wicked laughter.  In the obscenities that spew viciously forth.  All flail at her defences as he comes for her again, his breath hot and fetid on her skin.

 

“NO!” Panic gives way to something else, a determined calm.  A knife in her hand slices through his skin like it is margarine.  Blood gushes from his throat as she wrenches the knife free.  Blood, hot and viscous.  Coating her hands and soaking into her clothes.  She tests the sticky weight of the knife in her hand.  It feels good and it feels right, and she feels *strong*.

 

She steps over his body, crumpled on the ground, her bare feet tracking blood across the pale carpet.  

 

“Brava!”  The voice comes from the darkness again but it doesn’t scare her now.  She’s found her power again.  Her life-force.  It was Orpheus’ blood.  It always comes down to the blood.

Switch.

“Doc?”  

 

She starts at the voice but she doesn’t react.  Instead, her head turns slowly to the right.  To the bed.

 

“Doc!?”  He’s pleading with her now and she can see why.  Spread-eagled, shackled to the bed.  Just like she’d left him at the inn.  Her heart jumps and she feels a flicker of desire ignite between her thighs.

 

“Roman.”  Her lips redden as she reaches the side of the bed and she licks them as she stands and stares at him.  He’s simply luscious.  She reaches out and touches his stomach and he groans with the jumping of the muscles under his skin.  With the twitching of his hard cock.

 

With a wicked smile, the tip of her tongue resting against her upper teeth, she draws the point of her knife ever so lightly along the underside of his shaft.  Blood wells up in beads in its wake and chuckles in delight as he gasps and moans incoherently.  “Poor baby,” she whispers, low and smoky as she trails her fingers after it.  “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

 

“God, Grace… *please*,” he groans.  “Please.  I *need* you.”  

 

“You *need* me?” she raises her eyebrows and brings the point of the knife to rest against the underside of his chin.  “Need me?”  She pauses.  “*Want* me?”
  

“*Love* you.”  Roman gasps.  “God, I love you.  I love you, Grace.  More than anything.”

 

“More than any*one*?” she demands harshly, pressing the point of the knife into his chin until the blood wells around the tip of the stained blade.

 

“You’re the *only* one,” he growls.  “And I need you.  I’m desperate, Grace.  Take mercy on me, woman.”

 

“Mercy.”  The word drops between them like a shard of ice.  “Now there’s a thought.”  

 

She climbs onto the bed, smearing blood across Marlena’s floral bedclothes as she straddles him.  He’s hard and he’s hot and the feeling of him inside her is utter bliss as she fucks him senseless.  

 

That’s as much mercy as she has within her now.

 

When she comes it’s hard and sweet and violent and she cries out with the release.

 

He cries her name and she smiles with satisfaction.

Switch.

A resonant crack echoes in the darkest corner of the room.  It is repeated and he emerges from the shadows, mouth curled maliciously.

 

“You know what to do now, Grace” he tells her, her name rolling from his tongue with a torrent of r’s.  “You know what you must do.”

 

He comes to stand beside the bed, beady eyes sweeping over Roman and up to her.  Aware of how vulnerable she is, she looks away.   But he reaches out to her, meaty fingers twitching.  Caresses her cheek.  Fingertips to her chin he lifts her face to his.

 

“It is your destiny, Grace.”

 

Panic flutters in her chest now.  Emotion returning, raw and primitive.  

 

“I don’t think I can.”

 

“You must,” he insists.  “You must if you are ever to be free.  Grace,” his voice silky smooth caresses and cajoles her.  “You *do* wish to be free, do you not?”

 

“Please, Stefano,” she aches and trembles and the knife is like a dead weight, welded to her hand.  She tries to drop the instrument but her fingers won’t unfold and she bites back the horror she suddenly feels as she realizes that she is covered in blood.  “Please don’t make me,” she whimpers.  “Please, I can’t.  Not Roman.  Not *Roman*.”

 

“Do it!” he snarls, all pretence of persuasion and ease evaporating with the narrowing of his eyes.  “I will have him dead, Grace.  And you must be the one to do it.”

 

“Noooo!”  Sobs tear from her throat as her hand lifts of its own accord.  She tries to stop it but her will is paralysed.  Her body is not hers any longer; it is only an instrument of his twisted desires.

 

She watches as though a shocked bystander. Takes her knife and weighs it carefully in her hand.  Brings it down in a single, powerful blow; slicing through his chest.

 

Roman offers no resistance, just stares at her in mournful surprise.  A single tear sparkles in the dim light as it rolls over his cheek and drips onto the pillow.  Her own tears drip from her jaw, mingling with the blood that wells from the wound in his chest.

 

Switch.

 

Laughter.  So manic that the answering bile burns her throat.  Orpheus stands beside Stefano, still giggling; his mad eyes flashing sadistically.  The knife is somehow in his neck again, sticking out at a crazy angle.  Blood bubbles from the wound.

 

A wet, spongy, uncomfortable warmth in her hands makes her look down.  A red mass of flesh pulses weakly between her fingers.  Roman’s heart.  His life in her grasp.

 

Her lips move soundlessly as she looks at him in abject horror.

 

His mouth opens and he croaks.  “Doc… S’okay Doc.”

 

“No!”  She sobs wildly, the tears blurring everything.  It’s not okay.  It will never be okay again.

 

“Give it to me, Grace.” Stefano rumbles, malevolence incarnate.  He rubs his hands together and then holds them out eagerly. “Give it to me.”

 

Against her will, her hands move, jerk towards him, blood dribbling in visceral streams down pale forearms.  Her lips move, desperate, pleading.  Begging. Soundless, punctured only by loud, hiccupping sobs.

Switch.

In his hands, the form is no longer a shapeless lump of muscle.  It stretches out a tiny arm with five perfect fingers.  They reach and close on emptiness.  A shrill cry erupts from the newborn as Stefano hands the bloody bundle on to Orpheus.  Orpheus laughs again and then melts away into the blackness.

 

“Nooooo!”  She screams now; screams bloody murder.  “NO Stefano!  Give him back!  Bring him back!”

 

“Yes!”  He hisses as she scrambles from the bed and flies at him, hands flailing.  “You are *mine* Grace.  *I* choose your life.  I dictate your future.  You have no choice.”

 

“I’m *not* yours,” she screams blindly, raining ineffectual blows upon his imposing bulk.  “I’m *not*.  I love Roman.  I *need* Roman!  Give him back!”

 

“Marlena!” 

 

His voice stops her, and she swings wildly around, golden hair obscuring her vision momentarily.

 

The voice comes from him, but not from him.  He lies stony, the blood congealing around the cavernous wound.  His eyes stare unseeing, his face a ghostly gray.  She moans as she reaches out for him.  He is cold to her touch.  Strange.  Lifeless.

 

“Roman!” she cries.  “Please….  I’m *sorry*.  Oh God….” Heart-wrenching sobs rip from her throat as she leans over him, pressing a kiss to his ash-blue lips.  Her tears splash on his face, trickling over slack planes of skin stretched over muscle and bone.  His eyes are grey and dim as she presses her face to his.  “Roman,” she whispers, utterly broken.  “Please don’t leave me.”

 

Switch.

 

Hands grab her arms and drag her away from the bed.  She struggles vainly as she is turned to face Stefano.  “Roman is *gone*!” he tells her viciously.  “He is dead and you are *mine* now, Grace.  You belong to me, to do with what I will.”

 

No!” She struggles violently, trying to break free of the invisible grip that holds her tight, iron fingers bruisingly tight, digging into chilled flesh. 

 

Yes!”  Stefano looms over her in the darkness, malevolence pouring off him in waves, so concentrated that she almost gags.  “I made you, Grace, and I own you, body and soul.  You will not defy me again!”

 

“I’m not Grace!” she screams at him, all the rage and confusion and agony of the past ten years exploding in a single sentence.  “I am *not* *Grace*, you bastard!  

 

“Oh yes you are,” he laughs pitilessly, “you will *always* be Grace.  Deep down you will always crave what I can offer you.  The freedom and the power of being your own woman.  To take what you want, from whom you want.  All you owe is your loyalty to me.  The rest is yours to take.”

 

“No!” she screams.  “NO!”

Switch.

“Marlena!”  His voice seems to fill every single corner of her room as it slices through her awareness.  She struggles for breath as she looks around wildly.

 

“Roman!” she cries frantically.  “ROMAN!”

 

“Doc, it’s okay,” he croons, words rising and falling and washing over her like waves.  “Wake up.  You’re having a bad dream, baby.  Wake up, you’re safe now.”

 

Gasping, sucking in breath like her life depends on it, her eyes snap open as she sits bolt upright in her bed.

 

She’s in her bedroom still, but sunlight pours in through the windows, splashing across the floor in bold strides of golden light.  The voile curtains flutter lightly in a warm breeze and Roman is by her side, his hand on her arm.

 

“You okay baby?” 

 

“Don’t touch me!” she scrambles back against the head of the bed.  “Oh God, don’t…” she gasps for breath, struggling for air in between hiccupping sobs.

 

“Marlena,” Roman reaches out to her, but stops short as she holds up her hands, blindly flailing at him.  “Doc, *listen* to me.”  She’s frightening him now.  She’s so distraught that he’s not even sure she knows where she is or what’s happening, let alone that it’s him there with her.  “Doc, it’s me, Roman.  You’re safe.  Everything’s okay, you were just dreaming, that’s all.  It was all just a bad dream.”

 

He’d taken her home last night and put her to bed immediately.  She was exhausted but with the dreams she’s been having lately, he’d been afraid that a normal night’s sleep wouldn’t be nearly enough.  So, he’d given her a tranquilizer that the doctor in Louisiana had prescribed, and she had slept.  She had slept well and long and without incident until about half an hour ago.  

 

This has been the worst one yet.  It has taken him nearly thirty minutes to wake her and even now she doesn’t seem to be fully awake and aware of what’s real and what’s the fiction created by her subconscious demons.

 

“Don’t!” she sobs as he tries to touch her again.  She bunches herself up against the pastel florals of the pillows and hugs her knees to her chest.  “Oh God!  Oh God… oh god… oh god…”  She shuts her eyes tightly and presses her face against her knees, rocking slightly as she moans into the powder blue satin of her nightgown.

 

“Marlena.”  His voice is firm now, but his jaw is clenched tautly as he stares at her helplessly.  “Marlena, please… let me help you sweetheart.  Talk to me.  It’s just a dream, you can’t let it have any power over you.”

 

She doesn’t seem to hear him, and he rubs the palm of his hand against his forehead, troubled by her disconnection.  She can’t keep on like this.  They can’t keep on like this, it’s taking its toll on both of them.  Marlena needs more help than he can give her.  And he needs help…  even if it’s just advice, someone to tell him the right things to do, to say…  She needs him so much and he’s so terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing that sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all.  And he knows that’s not right.  She deserves more from him than ineffectual half-efforts.

 

“Baby?”  He ventures forth again, reaching out a wary hand.  “Marlena?  Sweetheart?  Talk to me.  Tell me what just happened.”  He tentatively touches her arm, and she flinches away from him, shrinking in on herself.  But this time he doesn’t allow her the luxury of pulling away from him completely.  Instead, he keeps the contact with her and tightens his grip as he hears her intake of breath.  “You’re scaring me, Doc.”  There’s a certain amount of pleading in his voice.  “Come back to me sweetheart.  You’re here and you’re safe and I’m with you.  I’m not going to let *anyone* hurt you.  Not Stefano, not *anyone*.

 

There’s a pause, a moment of voluminous silence that seems to swallow them both.  Then Marlena looks up at him.

 

It’s almost as it if takes her a moment to register who he is and then the gathering tears magnify her cinnamon eyes, full of glittering grief in the morning sunlight.

 

Her chin trembles and the tears spill down her cheeks as she reaches out a quivering hand.  Confusion masks her misery as she touches her hand to his bare chest and looks at him with questioning eyes.

 

“Doc?” he reaches out and tucks her dishevelled hair messily behind her ear.  “It’s okay, honey.  I promise.”

 “Roman?”  Her voice wavers and is filled with bewilderment and it cleaves through him like no other sound can.

 

“Yeah baby, of course it’s me,” he reassures her, wondering what the hell she could have dreamed that made her this terrified and disoriented.  Truth be known, part of him is afraid to find out.

 

“Roman.”  Slow realization dawns on her beautiful face and then everything seems to fall into place and suddenly she’s his Marlena again and she’s here in the room with him once more.  “Oh God!  Roman!”  She unfolds herself from her hunched position against the pillows and stretches out to him.  He catches her in his arms and pulls her to him, folding her within his embrace and kissing her forehead and her hair with soft, fleeting kisses.  “Oh Roman!”  She presses herself against him, sobbing wildly as she touches her fingers to his shoulders and his neck and his face.  Folding her arms around him, she kisses his throat and his cheeks, finally finding his lips with hers.  Roman surrenders himself to the kiss as she sinks all her miserable desperation into the connection between them.  Her face is wet and she still shakes but she feels utterly perfect in his arms and he is simply content to just be there with her and kiss her for as long as she needs it.

 

At long last, she pulls back, panting as she touches her fingers to her lips.  She looks at him, drinking in his face, her eyes making a well-worn journey over the curves and planes of his features.  Then, with an almost imperceptible shudder, she lays her hand against his torso drawing her fingers down from his throat to the waistband of his boxers.

 

She begins to look up to meet his eyes, but unable to, she closes them and looks away.

 

“What is it, Marlena?” Roman asks gently.  “Tell me about it.  Maybe it will help.”

 

“It won’t help,” she chokes back a hiccup.  “Oh Roman…”  She presses her eyes more tightly closed and her lips purse whitely as she struggles with her emotions.  Clenching her fists, she takes a deep breath and blows it out.  Then she swallows and deliberately opens her eyes to look up at him.  “I can’t tell you,” she says in a deeply pained voice.

 

“Don’t you think it might help?” he asks softly, his hand catching one of hers and enveloping it.  “You keep holding all this pain inside you Doc, you keep trying to protect me, but it’s not working.  It comes out in the wrong way; it hurts you even more and I can’t bear it.”  His words are a little more fraught with distress than he intended and when he sees her flinch, he feels even worse.  “I can’t stand seeing you *do* this to yourself.”

 

“I don’t…” the words stall in her throat, and she shakes her head.  “Roman, if I tell you…” tears obscure her intended explanation, and she covers her eyes with her hand.  Taking a long shuddering breath, she deliberately wipes the tears from her face and looks at him again.  “I don’t think I could bear the way you would look at me if you knew…”

 

“Hey,” he tries a smile, but the result is wavering and uncertain, he knows.  And even if he’d managed to make it convincing, he knows she wouldn’t buy it for a minute.  She knows him too well; can see under any veneer he tries to paste on for her sake.  “Listen baby.  I think, after last night… you *know* I don’t care what you did.  So why would… you can’t help your dreams.  Why would I care what you dream?”

 

“Because I k…” she dissolves into tears again.  “I ki….  Oh *God*.  Roman, *how* can you love me?”

 

“Hey,” he leans forward and takes her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.  He fixes her with a gaze which is pure, concentrated azure passion, which teases the breath from her chest and then refuses to give it back.   “I love you because you’re the most *incredible* woman I’ve ever met.” His declaration is as fierce as his expression, and she shivers despite the warmth of the sun which is slowly creeping across the bed.  “I love you because you changed my life, again and again.  Because you gave me three beautiful children.  Because you’re brilliant and talented and you’re everything I’m not, but you still love me anyway.  I love you because you’re not straightforward, because you’re stubborn and you’re ferocious and you’d lay down your life for your principles, and for your children…. and for me….”  He sighs, recalling the sight of her dashing towards him.  Golden hair flying, eyes wide in panic, the torn nightdress fluttering as she reached for him…  

 

“Doc, you saved my life so many times.  Down in New Orleans, you didn’t even think *twice*.”  The pressure of his fingers increases, splayed against the sides of her face, holding her so that she can’t escape his incisive gaze.  “And yet you think what?  That because of Grace, you’re not worthy of my love?”  

 

She swallows, closing her eyes as she tries to gain some kind of composure.  The images from her nightmare keep feeding through her head, flashing in front of her eyes like it’s on a repetitive loop set just to torture her.

 

“You d- don’t get it,” she stutters as she wraps her fingers around his wrists and pulls his hands down.  “Roman, I….”  She bites her lower lip, wondering how she can tell him this, how she can reveal to him the truth about what is happening in her head.  How she can bear the look on his face.  But she has to protect him. He has to know what Grace is capable of.  He has to know the very worst.  Steeling herself, she spits out the words, each one whittling away a little more of her defences and her composure.  “Grace wanted to *kill* you.  She thought about killing you, I don’t know how many times, in those mountains.”

 

“She didn’t though, did she?” Roman asks softly.  “She had every opportunity; she could have done it ten times over.  But she didn’t.  And trust me; I know she thought about it.  I’d catch it in her eyes sometimes when I’d turn around and find her looking at me.  But I knew she wouldn’t.  She *couldn’t* Marlena, because no matter how much she thought she hated me, you and I… we’re linked.  It doesn’t matter who we think we are, what names we go by, deep down we’re linked.  We’re two halves of a bigger whole, it’s inextricable and Grace would no more hurt me than I could hurt you.”

 

“But she did.” Marlena feels his hands curl around hers and it is almost her undoing.  She looks down at his hands, at his wrists which still bear the faded scars of the night spent trapped at the Salem Inn.  “Roman, how could I have let her do that to you?  After everything you went through at Maison Blanche, she knew that would kill you, to be manacled like that.  She was deliberate, she wanted to break you, she wanted you to relive that hell.”

 

“She was trying to punish me,” Roman replies evenly, although his stomach is churning.  There are moments from the past few months that he can’t bear to think about, that cut too close to the bone, and this is one of them.  That time spend chained to the bed in the inn haunts him, it had come so close to sending him into the darkness and the thought of where they would be now if it had happened at that point is terrifying.  “And she knew what would hurt me, yeah.  But sweetheart, she didn’t hurt me physically.”  He releases one of her hands and touches his fingers under her chin.  He raises her head gently so that her eyes meet his.  “That’s what you’re worried about now, isn’t it?  Grace was in your dream and she… what did she do? ”

 

Marlena stares at him, every nerve in her body screaming with the horror of the vile things she just saw in her dream.    “I can’t tell you!”  She shakes her head and distraught, she wrenches her remaining hand free of his grip. Scrambling away from him, she slips off the bed, half stumbling, half falling in her effort to put some space between them.  Reaching for the window, she wrenches the window open and lurches onto the terrace.  Gasping for air, she desperately tries to quell the urge to throw up as she leans against the railing.

 

“Doc!” She feels his hands on her upper arms and she struggles weakly as he spins her around to face him.  “Doc,” he says urgently, “it doesn’t matter what Grace did in your dream.  What you did.  It was a nightmare.  It was just a *dream*.  It doesn’t have the power to hurt me.  And it doesn’t mean that you have to feel even more guilty than you already do.  All right, so what?  In your dream, Grace killed me?”  He shrugs imperturbably.  He’d known from the beginning really, from the moment she’d woken up crying and shaking and scrambling away from him.  There are not many things that could elicit that kind of extreme reaction from his wife.  “Well, I’m still here.  And I don’t think any less of you, sweetheart.  It’s not who you are.   Nothing bad is going to happen to me, okay baby?  Least of all because of Grace.”

 

“You don’t *know* that.”  Marlena says helplessly.

 

“I *do* know that, Doc,” he says fiercely.  “You might not feel like you know or trust yourself right now, but I’ve got more than enough faith and trust in you for both of us.”

 

“But….”  She struggles to find an argument that will stand up against what he is saying, but he seems so strong and so sure of what he is saying.  In the end, all she can do is cry.  She’s so tired of crying, so tired of feeling like this.  Like she will never be able to stop crying.  Like she’ll never be strong again.  Like she’ll never be able to trust herself and be entirely sure who Marlena Evans Brady is.

 

 “Roman, I’ve let you down so much…” her tears dribble over his fingers, but he ignores them.

 

“You’ve never let me down baby,” he leans his head on one side and looks at her sadly.  “You really think you’ve let me down?”

 

“The things that I did to you…  That I let Stefano do to us, to our family,” she gulps back an agonized sob.  “I was pregnant Roman.  I was *pregnant* and I let him kill my baby.”

 

“You did what you had to do to survive,” Roman tells her, a vein of steel sounding in his voice.  “You… what he did to you Doc…”  Tears well in his own eyes and he slides his hands down the side of her arms so that he catches her hands in his.  “I don’t know how you made it through that.  I don’t know how that didn’t just crush you completely.  You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known but that… baby, that was too much even for you.”

 

“I shouldn’t have let him do it;” she cries angrily.  “I should have been stronger than that.  I should have….” She looks away to the blue sky beyond the penthouse, desperate for an answer to the questions that are pounding in her head.  “Roman, what if that was our baby?  What if I killed our child?”

 

She looks back at him and the horror and misery he sees etched across her face break his heart all over again.  He’s thought about little else all night as he has lain, watching her sleep.  The same question had weighed heavy on his mind and his conscience.  For him it is not a question of Marlena ‘killing’ the child.  He truly believes she couldn’t have done anything else given the situation.  He wouldn’t have wanted her to do anything else.  She was utterly broken, and she needed to survive, however she could.

 

No, this was Stefano’s doing.  He had engineered the meetings between Grace and Orpheus.  And he had contrived to arrange the scenario in which Orpheus might find Marlena alone, knowing full well the extent of the madness which had claimed him.  A baby that resulted from Stefano’s manufactured rape would have been a bonus, a final nail in the proverbial coffin for the beautifully stubborn Marlena Evans Brady, and Stefano had played that to maximum advantage.

 

He’d as much told John Black all this in the dank little basement room in Maison Noir.  But what he *hadn’t* told him was that the child had been his.  And Roman Brady knows Stefano.  Knows his games and his machinations and he knows with every fiber of his being that if the baby that the doctors had terminated had been his, Stefano would have flaunted that fact in Roman’s face. He would have used it as a further tool of torture to undermine John Black and wound the lurking Roman Brady.  That he didn’t, tells Roman that the baby was Orpheus’. 

 

But he’d left Marlena with the niggling doubt that the baby might have been Roman’s; a further means to punish and control her.  He had to have known that the unanswered questions would haunt her mercilessly.

 

“That baby wasn’t ours Marlena,” he tells her in a hoarse voice.  “I’ve thought about this and I know the old man.  I know his bitter, twisted way of hurting people.  Of hurting us.  You know as well as I do that he uses the truth to destroy people.”  He tightens his hands around hers and leans forward slightly, nailing her to the railing with an intensity that leaves her shaken.  “Doc, if that baby had been ours, Stefano wouldn’t have been able to resist gloating about it.  Even if he’d managed to keep quiet about it all these years… which I doubt he would have done, he would have been sure to bring it up in New Orleans.  He would have told me that night in the house.  Or he would have told us in the jail.  He did everything he could to get under your skin the other day.  Honey, do you *really* imagine that if he’d that weapon in his arsenal, that he would have failed to use it?”

 

Marlena swallows nervously, looking away as she tries to process this logic.  Her guilt screams at her like a banshee, but Roman’s words touch a nerve within her.  They make too much sense for her to deny that he might be right.

 

“Look baby, if you need the proof, I’ll ask Abe to get the FBI to go over the files with a fine-tooth comb.  The answer has got to be in there somewhere.  But I’m telling you now, you were… that was Orpheus’ baby and if I’m honest Doc, I’m *glad* Stefano talked you into getting rid of it.”

 

“Roman-” She starts, her eyes flicking back to meet his.  

 

“I’m sorry baby, but it’s how I feel,” he shrugs.  “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being tied to that psychopath.  Children should come from love, not from violence and manipulation.  And I know that you would have loved that child with all your heart and you would have been the best mother it could have asked for… but ultimately, every time you looked in its eyes you would have seen that *animal* and what he did to you and it would have torn you apart.”  He curls his fingers and touches the back of them to her cheek.  “I couldn’t bear that, watching you deal with that every day for the rest of your life.  It’s bad enough seeing it now.”  

 

He looks so pained it makes her want to cry again so instead, she lifts her hand to lay it on his chest.  And focuses everything she has into that one point where her hand touches him.   It’s where they are connected, where she can feel the throb of his heartbeat beneath her palm.  It’s comforting, it brings her even more into the here and now which is exactly what she needs.  To listen to Roman and to feel his solidness and to just learn how to *be* again.   

 

Sensing her change in mood, Roman tenderly covers her hand with his and leans his head on one side, waiting for her to look up at him.  He knows she will; she always does.  They know each other better than they even know themselves.  It’s intuitive.  “I feel so helpless, baby,” he croaks.  “I want to take the pain away.  I want to make it all better for you and I know I can’t.  I don’t know if I’m doing or saying the right things and it scares me, the thought that I don’t know what I’m doing here.  I don’t know if I’m making it better or worse.”

 

“You could *never* make it worse.” Marlena shakes her head sadly.  “Oh Roman, don’t you know that you’re the only reason I’m still standing?  You’re the *only* reason I survived Stefano and Grace.  You’re the reason I’m still fighting.”

 

“The kids too,” Roman reminds her with a half-bitten smile.  “They all need you Doc, just as much as I do.”

 

“I know they do,” she says in a small voice.  “It was selfish of me to think otherwise.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry Roman, putting you and the children through that yesterday… it was selfish and cruel.”  She sighs, pulling away her hands from his and turning back to the open doorway.  The bedroom beyond is a dark reminder of her nightmares.  Not just the one from this morning, but the one she had lived through as Grace.  And the nightmares before that.  Her eyes fill with tears, and she dashes them away wearily.  She is so tired of crying.  So tired of the nightmares.  Tired of running from them.  

 

So tired of wasting time.

 

“Doc!”  She can feel him behind her and she closes her eyes as she feels him reach out to her.  There is an exquisite pain in her chest as she senses him hovering behind her, his hand close enough to touch but yet lingering, waiting for something indefinable.  And then he’s stroking her hair, his body fitting behind hers like they are two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle falling into place.  She struggles for breath, feeling dizzy as he slides his arms around her shoulders and buries his face in her hair.

 

“None of this is your fault,” he tells her soothingly.  “None of it.  You’ve been through hell, sweetheart.  We both have.  And it’s time to stop apologizing for it.  We’re spending so much time questioning the past; we’re letting Stefano steal even more time from us.  Let’s deal with this and then let’s start living again.  Start living in the present, start making our future.  Hmmmm?”

 

“Do you really think it’s that easy?” She asks wearily.  When he’s this near, things seem so simple.  His words seem like gospel truths, like his words can make her reality.  She wants so badly to believe that they can do as he says, that they can deal with this and move forward.  But she’s terrified too.  Terrified that she will fail him again.  That she will commit to a course of action that she’s incapable of following through and that she will fall and open his scars once again.

 

“I don’t think it’s easy at all, Doc.”  He reaches for her hands and brings them up in front of her, his wrists crossed over hers.  He kisses the sweet spot under her ear, where it meets her jaw and she shivers in his embrace.  “You need someone to talk to Marlena.  Someone who can help you better than I can, who has the tools to help you deal with what’s happened to you.”

 

“No!”  She shakes her head, clearly distressed at the thought.  “Roman, I can’t talk about all this to a stranger.  How could I tell a stranger the things I’ve done?  How could I sit there and… ?  No.”  She shakes her head again.  “No, I can’t.  Please don’t ask me to do that.”

 

“Doc,” Roman spins her around to face him.  “There must be someone.  There must… you must know someone… a colleague?  Someone that you trust.”

 

“A colleague?”  She looks at him as though he has gone a little bit crazy, and she is a little bit close to hysteria.  “A colleague?  Roman, no!  I can’t… I know they’re going to stop me practicing, but… you know, a stranger would be bad enough.  But a colleague….” She shakes her head again, blinking away the tears.  “Roman, I couldn’t *bear* it.”

 

“But…” He shakes his head in frustration and letting go of her, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Doc, I don’t know what to *do*.  I don’t seem to be any help to you.  You’re just… these nightmares are getting worse and you’re torturing yourself endlessly over things that are done and finished.  And I want to make it stop, I want to help you, but I don’t know *how*!” 

 

“Oh Roman, you do help me!” she cries.  Sighing, she lifts her hands, framing his weary face with gentle fingers.  “Honey I know this is hard for you, please don’t think I don’t understand what this is doing to you.”

 

“And that’s adding to your guilt Doc.” His brow furrows and his eyebrows knit together while his impossibly blue eyes spell out his anguish.  “It’s like a vicious circle and I don’t know how to break it.  I need some *help* here.  I need,” he exhales and looks away, biting his lower lip.  “I don’t know, maybe *I’m* the one that should be talking to someone.”

 

Marlena remains stock still for a long moment, looking at him, as though he’s a sudden revelation.  She needs to stop hurting him, she needs to stop making him pay for her sins.  This is as much about what he needs as what is right for her.  And he needs her to spread the load.  It’s too much for him, she’s expecting too much of him.  She’s being selfish again and she can’t be selfish any longer.  He deserves far more than that from her.  He deserves the very best she can give him, and that’s not self-recrimination and blame and guilt and endless tears.  He’s right, if they are going to survive this, she *has* to put the past behind her and she has to do it fast.

 

“I think maybe…” she swallows nervously, her tongue and throat parched.  “Maybe I could call Laura?  Do you think she… she might come if I asked her to?”  Her chin trembles and she curls her fists in front of her.  “So, I could speak to her I mean.  So she could….”  She presses her shaking lips together and looks away, her eyes shimmering with tears.  When she looks back, she is no more composed, but she continues anyway.  “I’m so sorry Roman.  I know I need help.  I’m just… I’m afraid.  It… with therapy… things usually get worse before they get better.”  She tries to compose herself, flicking away her tears with shuddering fingers.  “But I don’t know that I can face things getting any worse than they already are.”

 

“Hell, I know you’re scared, baby,” he reaches out for her and pulls her into his arms, hugging her close.  “But you are stronger than any person I’ve ever met and I *know* you can make it through this.  You’ve made it this far, the rest… that’s got to be a cinch, right?   And I promise you sweetheart, I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.  Wherever, whenever you need me.  I’m not going anywhere; I promise you that.  Okay?”

 

Burying her head against his shoulder, she nods mutely.

 

Not prepared to take that for an answer, Roman pushes her away slightly so that he can see her face.  “*Okay*?” he repeats hopefully.

 

“Okay,” she whispers with an almost imperceptible nod.  Then she takes a deep breath, her heart pounding jumpily as she slips her arms around his neck.  “Okay.  You’re right.  Of course, you’re right.  We can handle this togeth-”

 

She starts as the doorbell sounds and she looks back at Roman in confusion which is tinged with a sudden serving of inexplicable fear.

 

“S’okay baby,” he smiles, rubbing her arm soothingly.  “It’s probably just the kids.  Eric called earlier, said they were going to drop around and see you.  Hope that’s okay?”

 

“The kids?” She looks slightly confused.

 

“Yeah.  Eric and Belle.  Maybe Sami too, I guess.  Do you think you’re up to seeing them?” he asks gently.  “If not, I can send them away.  Tell them to come back tomorrow, if you would rather.”

 

“Oh,” she shakes her head as though she has suddenly realized what he is saying.  “Oh, no.  I…” she flutters her eyelashes as she looks up at him nervously.  “I should see them, shouldn’t I?”

 

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do Doc,” he says firmly.  “If you need to take some time, the kids will have to understand.  If you want some time on your own, or if you want me to just be here with you, just say the word.  Anything, just let me know what you need, okay?”

 

A small smile plays across her lips, her eyes softening as she brushes away the lingering tears from her cheeks.  “I have everything I’ll ever need, right here.”

She curls her arm around his neck and leans forward.  “Everything,” she repeats softly, her eyes intent on his.  He smiles at her and with the back of his fingers, he lifts the bangs where they fall across her eyes.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he slips his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, so that her body melts into his, “how *good* it feels to hear you say that, Doc.  For a while there, I think I’d lost all hope that I’d ever hear you say anything like that again.”  She opens her mouth to speak, but he presses his fingers to her lips with a gentle chuckle.  “Didn’t I say you weren’t allowed to apologize anymore?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.  “If I didn’t, I should have.  I’m just trying to say….” He sighs, his fingers brushing her cheek, tracing the line of her cheekbone.  His eyes are intent on hers, on just drinking her in and as the smile fades from his face, Marlena feels her temperature rising, her heartbeat stuttering and jumping.  “I feel *so* damn grateful to have you back.  And I don’t ever intend to let you go again, okay?”

 

“Oh…”  She is caught, all words and all rational thought suddenly taking their leave, so she is left defenceless, just stripped beneath his gaze.  “Ok.. okay”

 

The doorbell rings again and Marlena looks at the bedroom door, clearly flustered. 

 

“Oh man. The kids.” Roman shrugs regretfully, moving back so there is a little more space between them.  “What do you want me to do?  Tell them to come back later?  Tomorrow?”  He strokes her cheek.  “Just say the word, Doc.”

 

“No.” she gives him a wavering smile which is utterly unconvincing.  “No.  I should see them.  They’re… It’s our kids, right?”  Her smile broadens now, reaching her eyes so that they sparkle.  “I want to see them.  I think…. I think it would be good for me.  For all of us.”

 

“You sure?” Roman raises his eyebrows and looks at her his expression conveying both concern and a distinct lack of conviction about her ability to deal with yet more drama.

 

“I’m sure,” she nods and leans forward to kiss him softly.  “You go down and I’ll just get into something…” she looks down at the pale blue satin that clings almost inappropriately to her curves.  “A little more presentable.”  She gives him an almost embarrassed smile.  “I’ll follow you down  shortly, okay?”

 

Roman pauses for a moment, as if attempting to determine that she is fully committed to what she is saying.  She stares back and it is only when she raises her eyebrows slightly that he breaks and nods with a smile.  “Okay sweetheart.  If you’re sure.  We’ll see you in a little while.”

 

“You will,” she gives him a smile, the kind of smile that reaches straight into his chest and twists his heart till it aches with a sweetly exquisite pain that makes his knees feel like water.  He stands stock still as she kisses him and then tossing him another smile over her shoulder, she turns for the bathroom, that nightgown clinging in ways that make him more frustrated than he has any right to be.

 

He watches her disappear from sight, all sky blue and gold, softness and steel.  She’s the most incredible, most unbelievably strong woman he’s ever known.  And yet she’s also the most vulnerable, gentle, loving and wounded woman.  

 

He’ll never stop trying to figure her out; never stop being surprised, astounded and delighted by her.  He’ll never stop being frustrated by her.  

 

He’ll *never* stop loving her.  

 

Dear *god* he loves her.  More than it should be possible that a single, simple man could love a woman.  It consumes him, burns within him and makes him into so much more than he could be without her.  And he will do whatever it takes; *whatever* it takes to make sure she comes through this, that she recovers and heals and rebuilds her life. 

 

He hears the drumming of the shower as the water spatters against the tiles and regretfully, he turns and heads for the stairs….

Chapter XCVI – Overloading Sacrifice

“Daddy!”  Belle flies through the door, flinging herself into her father’s arms with a happy squeal.

 

“Hey Izzy, baby,” Roman laughs, hugging her tightly to him.  “It’s so good to see you.”  He looks over her shoulder to where Eric stands in the doorway.  “Hey kid.”  He greets his son with a hint of awkwardness.  It’s hard to know where he stands with any of the children after last night.  Things were said, sure, but in the cold hard light of day it’s hard to know what his reception will be.

 

“Hey…” Eric pauses and then as if forcing himself, “hey dad.”  And behind him, Sami appears, her face stony and her eyes as hard as flint.  Roman’s heart sinks as he sees her.  That’s his answer, then.  Belle, his baby; Eric, trying to do what is right and Samantha, as always, the stubborn thorn in his side.  The child that he cannot seem to reach, no matter how hard he tries.  The one that makes him feel like he failed as a father.  As a human being.

 

“Listen,” he says hoarsely, directing his attention towards Eric.  “If that feels too weird, if you don’t… well,” he pauses, tripping over his own tongue in an effort to make his son feel comfortable.  This is so important to him; he doesn’t want to push them.  He doesn’t want them to accept him as their father unless they truly believe it in their hearts.  Unless they truly want to.  Anything less than that would simply be a farce and would mean nothing.  It would just be more lies and he’s had his fill of lies.

 

He sighs, loosening his arms and releasing Belle.  She doesn’t take her leave though.  Instead, she stands alongside him, with her arm around his waist and faces Eric and Sami.  “I guess what I’m trying to say…   You don’t have to call me Dad.  Not until you’re ready.  Not unless you really want to.  I don’t… I’m not interested in forcing any of you to believe anything you’re not ready to believe.  To do anything you don’t want to do.  You call me whatever you want to call me, okay?”

 

“Ooookay…” Eric says carefully.  “And if I haven’t figured out what I want to call you yet?”  He shrugs, the gesture designed to carefully cover his confusion and distress.  But Roman sees right through it, can see how hard the kid is struggling with all of this and his heart goes out to Eric.  This is hard on all of them, but Sami and Eric have suffered more than most.  They’ve had so much torn away from them at such vulnerable ages; it’s not really surprising that either of them is screwed up.  

 

Truth be known, he’s surprised that Eric is as normal and well-adjusted as he is.  And maybe that’s as much down to him spending his teenage years with Marlena’s parents as anything.  He knows it hadn’t been Marlena’s choice.  It certainly wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he can hardly blame the kid.  Thrust into a new family with a mother and a father he didn’t know, he had chosen the opposite route to Sami.  Where she had embraced her new father a little too enthusiastically, Eric had chosen to remove himself from the family.  He had found the stability he’d craved with the grandparents he’d known all his life, half a country away in Colorado.  

 

Roman had never discussed it with Marlena.  After all, when he became John Black again, they weren’t his kids anymore.  He’d had no say in their upbringing, no part in the choices that were made regarding the children he’d raised and loved as his own.  

 

He knows, like he knows so much about her that is unspoken, that she wasn’t happy about Eric staying in Colorado.  She wasn’t happy and she had missed him terribly, but she had understood, and she had accepted it with that quiet grace of hers.  Loving him enough to let him do what was right for him.

 

Roman can understand why.  He might not have liked it either; he might have missed Eric more than he could ever have expressed to her or to anyone but in a lot of ways, he’s glad.  At the very least, it might make this transition a little easier.  After all, Eric was never particularly attached to Lamont as Roman.  Not like Samantha was.

 

“If you don’t know…”  He shrugs.  It’s something, he supposes.  Eric’s not dismissing him out of hand which means he’s thinking about it and he’s not completely averse to the idea of Roman being his father.  Roman can live with that for now.    “Well, I guess I don’t really know what to tell you.  I just don’t want either of you to think you have to pretend to feel something if you don’t feel it.  Just to make me happy.”  

 

“Well, that’s kind of you.”  Sami says acerbically, coming to stand behind Eric in the doorway.  Her arms are crossed defensively, the glitter on her pink t-shirt peeping out from behind tanned arms.  “But honestly, I don’t think we need your permission to make our own choices anymore.”

 

“Sami-“ Roman starts.

 

“Look John, I know how you feel about me.”  Her face is hard and impassive, her eyes flashing ice blue.  “You made that quite clear last night, down on the pier.  So why don’t we cut the crap huh?  I’m not doing anything to make you happy.  I’m just here for my mother.  So where is she?”

 

“Sam!”  Eric snaps angrily.

 

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Roman says wearily.  “I’ve heard it all before.”  He’s so utterly tired of Sami’s about faces that he’s not even sure he can find it in himself to fight her anymore.  Sami is going to do what Sami wants to do, no matter what any of them say.  “Your mother…” he tenses slightly, and Belle looks up at him in concern.

 

“What is it Dad?” she asks.  “She’s not…?” she trails off awkwardly, unsure how to phrase her question and Roman is left wondering what it is that she’s really asking.  Not threatening to give herself into the police again?  Not drowning in self-hatred and guilt?  Not struggling with every breath to keep herself together?

 

“She’s okay Izzy,” he answers all her unspoken questions with that simple answer.  “She’s just a bit fragile.  She had a hell of a nightmare this morning…” he swallows tightly, thinking of the way she had flailed at him and then shuddered uncontrollably in his arms.  How she can go through that torture every night and still function, he’s not quite sure.  He’s not sure she can for much longer either, come to that.  He only hopes that she will do as she promised and call Laura Horton.  She needs more help than he is capable of giving her and if she doesn’t ask for it, he might be forced to do it for her.  “It left her very shaken.  She just… she needs some love and some support right now.  She needs to know that we all love her and we’re here for her, no matter what.”

 

“Of course we’re here for her,” Sami retorts angrily.  “What the hell do you think last night was about?”

 

“When it comes to you Samantha,” Roman shakes his head wearily, “quite honestly, I’m damned if I know.”

 

~

 

It’s silent in the penthouse bedroom as Marlena emerges from the ensuite bathroom.  A salmon pink towel wrapped around her body and towelling her hair with another, she stands in front of the mirror regarding herself critically.  She’s tanned and toned and probably in the best shape she’s been in for years.  Those weeks in the woods were certainly good for something other than driving Roman crazy.  

 

She can’t help but smile as she thinks of him, chopping wood under the burning hot sun.  Grace had thrown everything she had at him, and she had almost broken him then.  Almost, but not quite. Not like she had in that grimy hotel room, in the fetid backwaters of the south.  In the languid draining heat, she had found his weakness, stripped away his defences and she had claimed her prize. 

 

Marlena remembers every excruciating moment of it.  It’s like staring through a broken window at the actions of another her.  A her that is intent on pleasure and pain in equal measure.  She can see her own hands, hear her own voice but it’s not her.  Not the her that she is now, anyway.  Not the her that loves Roman and would never, *ever* hurt him.  

 

Marlena sighs and pulls the towel from her hair.  She drops it next to her feet, her eyes caught by her reflection in the mirror again.  Those eyes are familiar and at the same time, they are like those of a stranger.  Someone she doesn’t care to know, or understand.  Someone who scares her.  She runs her fingers listlessly through wet strands of burnished gold.

 

What had Roman seen then?  Had he really thought it was her?  Or had he given in because he was tired of fighting?  Or is the real question the one that she’s too afraid to ask?  That on some level, he’d given in because he’d wanted Grace?  Wanted her obvious sexuality, wanted her aggressiveness.  Wanted *her* and not Marlena? 

 

He *had* wanted her.  Marlena has no doubt of that.  She remembers the way he’d looked at Grace, the lustful glances from heavy-lidded eyes.  The touches a little too lingering.  The disgust with himself as he’d reacted to her advances.

 

Marlena knows on a rational level that it’s *her* he’d wanted.  Grace *was* her, after all.  But on another, more visceral level, she can’t help hearing Stefano’s sinuously velvet words echo in her ears.

 

I wonder if now you can forget Grace.  If you can ignore the moments you had with her.  She was… rather different from your lovely wife, no?

 

She stares at herself for a moment longer, studying her face pale in an almost detached manner.  Then she turns away, suddenly feeling nauseous.  She doesn’t even recognize herself any longer, let alone have a clue who Marlena Evans Brady is.  She’d felt so strong, so sure of herself when she had walked into that jail in New Orleans, but in a few short minutes Stefano had stripped away all the pretence she had carefully fabricated.  He had splintered the brittle façade and exposed the insecurities and doubts she’d been shielding from Roman and from herself.  Doubts that are still haunting her.  Like Stefano haunts her dreams.  

 

She doesn’t doubt him.  He’s coming for her all right.  She doesn’t know where, she doesn’t know when, but he will be coming for her.

 

For the final showdown.

 

She rubs her fingers across her aching forehead the skin stinging beneath her fingers. Every nerve is on edge and for a moment, she feels like screaming.  The feeling is only exacerbated as she turns back to the bedroom, a space of familiarity and strangeness.  A space that was once safe.  

 

Once.  It seems like a long, long time ago.

 

Now, it’s just full of reminders.  And it’s not just Grace.  It’s everything that has happened here over the years.  It’s become overwhelming.  A space that should be her retreat and her haven has become a place of conflict and fear.  It has invaded her nightmares and she no longer feels comfortable here.  She no longer feels safe.  If she ever really felt safe at all.

 

Roman had made a cursory round of the room after he had brought her home and put her to bed.  But he hasn’t erased the deeper vestiges of Grace, the scars she’s left on Marlena’s home.  Her life.  

 

Not that she expects him to. No-one can do that.  Those scars run too deep.  She will always see them, knows that she will always feel them, no matter how far she moves beyond this point.  Grace, the things that Stefano did to her, have irretrievably fractured her life and nothing will ever be the same as it was.

 

Taking a deep breath, she moves to her armoire and opens it.  It doesn’t disappoint her expectations.  None of her familiar clothes are here.  The armoire is filled instead with flimsy silk and lace garments.  With skirts too short and blouses too scanty.  She fingers the beautifully inappropriate outfits with almost appalled curiosity and wonders how on earth her family and friends could have possibly missed such an obvious warning that all was not well in her world.

 

Her fingers skim a crumpled gold dress.  It looks vaguely familiar, and she pulls it out of the cupboard.  It is halter-neck and is split to the thigh and as she looks at it, she is suddenly assaulted by memories.  Craig Wesley’s darkly jealous face.  Roman grabbing him by his lapels.  Roman outside Tuscany, demanding to know what the relationship between her and Wesley was.  Roman in the lift at the Salem Inn.  

 

Roman beneath her, hot and sweaty, metal around his wrists and a horrified confusion echoing in his eyes.

 

She drops the dress as though it has burnt her fingers and she backs away from it, colliding with the end of the sofa.  Sitting down heavily, she drops her head into her hands.

 

Oh God.  

 

OH GOD, Craig Wesley.  She slept with Craig Wesley and then she’d admitted it in a letter to the hospital board.  She’d not only destroyed her own career, but she’d also most likely screwed his in the process.  How the hell is she ever going to face him or Nancy again?

 

And Roman.  How could she have left Roman there at the Inn like that?  How could Grace have been so wrong about him?  How could she have so deliberately set out to hurt him?  Marlena doesn’t understand why or how Grace could have believed Stefano’s lies, and even less how she could so deliberately have ignored what was before her very eyes.  And if she can’t understand something that fundamental about herself, how is she supposed to understand the other things that she did as Grace?  The pain and misery she spread are simply a mystery.  She’s not even sure she wants to understand how she could have become that person.  But she must, if she’s to stop it ever happening again.  If she’s to protect her family from that kind of agony.  

 

Roman is right, she needs to talk to someone, someone who can help her work out how to understand what she has done and how to prevent it ever happening again.

 

And right now, if she’s going to stop hurting Roman and the children, she has to pull herself together and carry on as though none of this is constantly battering the inside of her head.  She has to start being the strong, capable woman she knows she can be.

 

Marlena has some money laid aside, but they are going to need that to live on, at least until Roman finds work and she figures out what to do with the rest of her life.  She can’t afford to buy herself a whole new wardrobe, so she will have to salvage what she can from Grace’s outfits and supplement that with some careful purchases of her own.  The mere thought makes her feel a little sick with apprehension.  It’s one thing to ask her family to make a distinction between her and Grace.  It’s another all together to blur those lines by dressing in her alter-ego’s clothing.  But what other choice does she have?  Since Grace took the money that wasn’t Roman’s, they’re going to have to completely rethink the way they live their lives and where their priorities lie.  Not that she necessarily thinks that’s a bad thing.  It’s just going to be difficult for a while, that’s all.

 

Taking a deep breath, she gathers the towel around her and moves back to the armoire.  Pulling clothes out, she starts dropping them in two piles on the floor either side of her feet.  

 

~

 

“Sam, why don’t you just give the ‘tude a rest?” Eric bites angrily.  “Jesus, what Mom and John have been through in the past few weeks….  Just give them a break will you?”

 

“I’m just being honest about my feelings, Eric,” Sami retorts, her mouth pinched as she jams her hands more tightly under her upper arms.  “You might be able to pretend you’re okay with all this-“

 

“All right you two.”  Roman steps up and puts his hands between the bickering twins.  “Eric, take Belle and go and get a drink or something will you?  I want to talk to your sister here.”

 

“My pleasure,” Eric throws a final angry glare at his sister and takes Belle’s arm.  “C’mon squirt,” he says hoarsely.  “Come and remind me where Mom keeps stuff in this kitchen.”

 

“Mom wouldn’t have a clue where we keep half of anything,” Belle manages a tinkling laugh, despite the obvious tension in the room.  “You *know* she’s banned from the kitchen.”

 

Roman watches them until they have disappeared from sight and then he turns to his daughter.  Sami glares back for a moment and then turns and stalks to the French doors.  Roman waits for a moment and then follows her onto the balcony.  

 

Standing in the doorway, he looks past her, over the roofs of the city to the distant hills behind.  Everything is hazy and blue in the sticky mid-morning heat, but even the sluggishness of the day can’t dull the sharpness of the anger and pain he holds inside himself.  He feels as raw and vulnerable with his family as he ever has.  They’ve all turned their backs on him at one time or another and to open himself up to that kind of pain again is frightening.  But he’d done it last night.  Sami’s unexpected offer in the light of Marlena’s desperation had crept in under his defences and he had allowed himself to hope, just a little.  

 

He should have known better than that, really.  He should have known that he was going to get burnt by his erstwhile daughter.

 

“What changed?” he asks gruffly.

 

“I’m sorry?” Sami’s reply is tight and just a little too harsh to be natural.

 

“Between last night and this morning.”  Roman refuses to look at her, instead just continues to scan the horizon.  “Last night, you said you wanted to try and get to know your father.  To try and be a part of this family.  This morning you’re just here for your mom.”  His voice threatens to crack and he grinds his teeth together for a moment, the muscles in his cheek twitching as he battles to maintain some kind of composure.  “This morning everything is back to how it always was.  I was just wondering what changed, that’s all.”

 

“I was….” Sami bites the inside of her lip, watching Roman carefully.  “I…. nothing changed.  I was just trying to get Mom to see sense last night.  I would have said anything.  You shouldn’t have taken it seriously, John.”

 

He looks at her now, his face tight with pain.  “So when you said you wanted to make things right.  That you wanted to be part of this family, that was a lie?” he demands angrily.  “When you smiled at me; that was a lie too?”

 

“Look,” she starts uncomfortably, “John, I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression-“

 

“Bullshit!” 

 

Sami flinches at his outburst and pulls herself up so she is standing a little bit taller, every muscle tensed.  Her mouth purses as she looks at Roman. “I’m sorry?”  She repeats her earlier words, her voice harder now and more defiant.

 

“Cut the bullshit Samantha!”  Roman yells angrily as he directs a furiously hurt look at her.  “You’re a hell of a liar, but you *can’t* take back those things you said last night.  You can’t do it.  You and I both know you meant it then.  And then you went home and sometime between then and now, you convinced yourself all over again that you hated me and that I couldn’t *possibly* be your father.  You convinced yourself of that so you could continue to be as nasty and hateful to me as you have been for the past ten years.”  He shakes his head, looking down at the table in front of him.  “God, what the hell did I do to you Samantha?  What did I do that made you hate me *so* much?”

 

“You split up my parents,” Sami says in a choked voice.

 

“No…. oh no,” Roman shakes his head and catches Sami’s glance with his own pained azure gaze.  “*No*.  It’s much more than that.  It goes much deeper than that.  It has to.  Any normal person… what happened between your mother and I.  It was almost ten years ago.  You’ve grown into an adult with your own child since then Samantha.  You’ve made your own mistakes, told your own lies.”  He points his finger at Sami angrily.  “You couldn’t and haven’t ever lived up to the impossibly high standards you set for your mother, so I don’t think it’s that.  I think it goes much deeper than that.  And I want to know what it is.”

 

Sami clenches her own jaw now, her lips thinning into a white line, her cheeks burning scarlet as she faces her once-father.

 

“You’re wrong,” she snaps angrily.  “That’s it.  And that’s all of it.  You asked and I told you.”  She tosses her head, her hair falling in silken rivulets across her shoulders.  She’s defiant and almost flippant, as she always seems to be when faced with impossible situations.  She’s like a snake, she can slither out of the tightest corners with seeming ease, doubling back and retracing her tracks until she wears down her opponent with her deflections.  “And anyway, I don’t have to defend myself to *you*.  I’m here to see Mom, and you have no right to interrogate me like this!”  

 

Roman clenches his teeth together and breathes in deeply through his nose.  He’s trying almost desperately not to explode, not to take all his frustrations out on his daughter.  That wouldn’t be fair, but right now, she’s making it extraordinarily difficult for him to maintain any kind of self-control.  

 

“Samantha, whether you like it or not,” he carefully closes the door behind him, isolating the balcony from the rest of the apartment.  “I am married to your mother.  I am and will remain part of her life.  And right now, she needs my help, and she needs your help and she needs us not to be at each other’s throats.  She needs us to work together to support her through this.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Sami demands resentfully, “I’m here for my mother.  That’s all I’m interested in.”

 

“Then for God’s sake, start acting like an adult and at least make an effort with me here,” Roman exclaims, his anger and hurt getting the better of him.

 

“Why should I, when all you do is hurl abuse at me?” Sami retorts furiously.

 

“I’m trying to get some *sense* out of you,” Roman feels like he’s at his wits end.  “I’ve tried every tactic I can with you Sami.  I’ve tried being nice to you, I’ve tried being supportive, I’ve tried just waiting for you to get over your anger.  I’ve tried and tried to understand you and I just can’t.  You either lie to me or you simply won’t talk to me, and I don’t know what else to do.   So now all I’m left with is frustration and anger.”

 

Sami presses her lips together and looks at him for a moment and then she looks away over the city as if thinking about his words.  Unfolding her arms, she jams her hands in the pockets of her jeans before she looks back at him.  “Look,” she says, but he can tell the deliberately easy manner in which she speaks is an effort for her.  It’s not real, like so much about her is not real and honest.  “We can be civil in front of Mom.  If that’s what you’re worried about, I can do that.  I promise you; I won’t do anything to upset her.”  She shrugs nonchalantly.  “I know she needs our love and support right now and I am here for her.  So I’ll be nice to you for Mom’s sake, okay?”

 

“*No*!”  Roman thumps the wall beside the door with his furled fist and Sami jumps at the unexpected show of aggravation.  “No Samantha, it’s *not* okay.  That’s not *enough*.  It’s not enough for me.  Not after last night.”  He turns tortured eyes on her, his jaw quivering with the effort of keeping his emotions in check.  “I *know* what I saw.  I know what I felt from you last night and I want *that*.  You were this close.”  He presses his thumb and forefinger together.  “We got *this* close to connecting, to actually embarking on something worthwhile.”  He stops and shakes his head.  “I want my *daughter* back, dammit!  I want to know why I lost her, and I want her *back*.”

 

“I am *not* your daughter!” Sami replies fiercely.  

 

“You were once,” Roman reminds her plaintively.

 

“That was nothing but a DiMera *lie*,” Sami cries hastily.  “And this is just… it’s another one of his lies.  He’s doing this to Mom and to us and you’re *letting* him, John!  You’re torturing us all and for what?  So you can feel like you belong somewhere?  Well, you don’t belong with us!”  Her cheeks are red as she curls her fingers into her palms.  “John, just leave us alone.  Just leave *me* alone!”

 

She turns away from him and wraps her arms around herself.  It is clear that she wants to escape from the balcony, but Roman is blocking her only exit.

 

“No.”  He shakes his head.  “No Samantha, it’s not lies and you *know* it.  You don’t want to believe I am your father because…. *Why*?”  His anger and anguish sound in his gravelled voice.  “What the hell did I do to you?  Why is it *so* damned awful, the idea of me being your father?”

 

“You took my dad…” Sami‘s voice is choked as she turns her head to look at him.  Strands of gold drift across her face and she pulls them back with her fingers, her eyes eerily steady on his face.  She sounds so strong and so certain it’s almost breath-taking.  “You took his place; you took his family and his life.  You *stole* our childhood.”

 

“*Bullshit*!” Roman explodes with rage and Sami flinches at the unexpected fury directed at her.  “That is utter bullshit, Samantha.  You and I both know that if I hadn’t been in Salem, it wouldn’t have made any difference.  Even if that…. Even if he had been Roman… assuming for a moment that’s true.  Stefano had him.  And I didn’t have a clue who I was.  They *told* me I was Roman Brady.  Your mother, your grandparents….  I didn’t *steal* anything.  I was given this *gift*, this incredible gift.”  His eyes are glittering now, but Sami can’t see the expression on his face.  She has turned from him again, her hair falling half over her face as she tries to shield herself from his words, from the blistering emotion in his voice.  “I *loved* you kids.  All of you.  And we were *happy*, dammit.  We missed your mom, sure, but we didn’t want for love.  We had each other-“

 

“Oh *please*!” Sami spins around, her eyes flashing electric blue.  “You were acting out some little fantasy… Stefano had you programmed to be my dad… and all the while, my father was *rotting* on some island in the middle of *nowhere*.  He lost *everything*, his wife and his kids and his home.  And then when he came back, you tried to take everything from him again!”

 

Roman gives a short, pained laugh.  The irony of what Sami is saying is almost too much to bear.  That she will still afford that animal Lamont her sympathy and loyalty after everything she has heard is almost more than he can bear.

 

“Tried to take everything away…?” he shakes his head in amazement.  “Do you have *any* idea how hard it was for me to watch him walk in and take everything from *me*?  Do you have *any* idea how much it killed me to step aside and watch him become your father and Marlena’s husband?”

 

“Guess you forgot that last bit quick enough when it suited you,” Sami spits nastily.  She’s clearly finding it increasingly hard to restrain herself from making desperate stabs at the weak points in his defences.  She knows him well enough to pinpoint them with unerring accuracy and it only serves to inflame the argument further.  Roman is beyond being able to restrain himself.  There are things he has needed to say to Samantha for years and the dam has burst now.  She obviously hates him, his words aren’t going to change that, so he’s going to say what he feels and be damned for it.  He has nothing left to lose where Sami is concerned. 

 

“I *never* stopped loving your mother,” He growls furiously.  “I couldn’t bear seeing her with *him*, but I buried my feelings as deep as I could because I wanted *so* much for all of you to be happy.  But damn, I’m sorry Samantha, I’m human.  I lost everything and then I lost Isabella and I hit rock bottom.  I couldn’t see the way out and it was your mother that was there to save me, once again.   She was there to pick up the pieces, like she always was and always is.  And then we got stuck in that damn pit.  We thought we were going to *die* and… well, if I was going to die then there was no-one I would have rather been with….”  He grits his teeth together, thinking of the moment he had realized Marlena was in that hellhole.  And the sight of her covered in grime and all bruised and battered.  She was possibly the most beautiful thing he had seen.  How can anyone understand what they have been through?  The trauma and the desperation and the being there for each other, it had bound them together so strongly that nothing will ever break them apart.

 

“We *had* to be honest about how we felt.”  He continues, ignoring Sami’s dirty glare.  “Because if you can’t be honest when you’re facing death, then there’s not really much point in fighting to live.  And you know what?”  He points at her angrily.  “I’m so damn *sick* of apologizing to you and hearing your mother apologize to you and beg your forgiveness.  What happened was *not* to hurt you or the man we though was your father.  I didn’t set out to take anything away from anyone.  I just couldn’t stop *feeling*…. I couldn’t stop *loving* your mother.  And we were *human*.  We stumbled and we made mistakes that, you know…. I don’t even *want* to take back.  Loving Marlena was probably the only damn thing I did *right* during that time.”

 

“What, so Isabella and Brady were a mistake?” Sami asks snidely.  She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and unfolds her arms.  Her hands find her hips and she stands there confrontationally, daring him to open up and express the truth.  She wants to elicit the truth about how he really feels; the disdain, anger and downright hatred that he harbours towards her.  Maybe if they finally have an *honest* exchange, they can at least get to a place where they can agree to tolerate each other without this pathetic pretence at love and family building.

 

“Don’t twist my words Samantha,” Roman warns her in a low, dangerous voice.  “Don’t try and manipulate me.  You *know* I loved Isabella, but that…. “  he exhales with the realization of the words he has never said audibly before.  “Those feelings were *never* anywhere in the league of the depth of love felt for Marlena.  Isabella was the one thing that kept me sane when I lost all of you and I will always be grateful to her for that.  And yes, she deserved better than me.  She should have had a man that could give his whole heart to her like she did to me.  I always reserved far too much of myself for Marlena and for you kids, and I think deep down she knew that but she loved me anyway and for that reason, I was a lucky man.”

 

“Bet she’d be thrilled to hear that,” Sami exaggeratedly rolls her eyes.  “Gimme a break John.  You couldn’t *wait* to play happy families with Isabella.  You made that quite clear.”

 

“*What*?” Roman can’t believe his ears.  “What… why would you say that?”

 

“My father was barely through the door when you took off.  Do you know how that felt for Eric and me?” Sami demands bitterly, her eyes shining with a strange glimmering light.  “Our dad, the man we thought was our dad, that we’d grown up with, suddenly closed the door behind him and we were left with these *strangers*.”

 

“Hang on a minute,” Roman shakes his head, “So what now?  I stole his family.  Or I walked away from you.   Which is it?”

 

“It’s…” Sami stops short, her cheeks reddening.  “You’re twisting what I’m saying!”

 

“I’m not twisting anything Samantha,” Roman yells angrily.  “That’s *you*.  You’re so busy looking for a reason to hate me, you’ve started contradicting yourself!”

 

“I’m… you wanted to know, and I’m telling you,” she snaps stubbornly, her mouth pinched and her eyes narrowed.  “Eric and me, we were innocent.  All we ever wanted was to have a normal family.  But first Mom went…. You told us she was dead, she wasn’t coming back and then all of a sudden, she’s walking through the door, and we’re expected to understand and welcome her without any kind of real explanation or question.  And then you tell us this *other* guy is our real dad, and you pick up your stuff and walk out of our lives.”  She stops, her lower lip and her chin quivering slightly with her all too familiar over-dramatic flair as she faces him.  Folding her arms in front of her again, she takes a breath and continues.  “My father *never* would have walked out on me when I needed him.  He wouldn’t have left me with a stranger.  But you just…. *bam*, like that, you were gone!”   Her eyes momentarily fill with tears, revealing what looks like a moment of true vulnerability.  And then she musters up her righteous indignation again, her fists clenched and her face set in determined obstinacy.

 

“And *then* what?  You screw my mother; you fuck up her marriage to my father.  And *why*?  If you wanted her so badly, if you loved her so much, like you say you do, why didn’t you just *take* her?  She left my dad for you and then you waltzed off with Kristen *fucking* DiMera.”  Her voice is rising to a crescendo now as she builds into a genuine fury.  “You took Mom from Dad and then you dumped her when you got bored.  And you expect me to welcome you back into the family with open arms and pretend you’re the best thing that ever happened to her?  *You’re* the reason she’s in this mess and feeling so wretched in the first damn place!”

 

She’s scrambling now, Roman can tell.  She’s looking desperately for reasons and memories that will justify her behaviour and her irrational anger at him.  But he also knows that there’s more than a grain of truth in what she is saying.  In her scrambling, she is touching on deeper issues that she might not even want to admit to herself quite yet.

 

“You’re right, you *were* innocent,” Roman says quietly.  “And I’m so sorry if I hurt you.  If we hurt you.  But you need to get a few things straight Samantha.” His softness dissolves into steely determination.  “I didn’t walk out on you by choice.  If I could have done anything differently… and believe me, I’ve thought about it over the years… I would have done it in a heartbeat.  If I’d known how to fight for you, I would have done it.  But I did what I thought was best for you at the time.  I *thought*… I was led to believe that he was your father and that I didn’t belong in your life.  That I’d just be confusing you if I stuck around and fought for access to you.  It would have hurt your mom and it would have hurt you, no matter what you think.  So, I thought it was the right thing to do, as much as it hurt all of us.  And yeah, now I know I was wrong and that kills me, to think of all the time I lost with you because of DiMera’s lies.  Because of that… the impostor he sent back.  To know that he gets your love and loyalty and I get *nothing*, that DiMera took that away from me, that hurts.”  He thumps his fist against his chest, restrained tears slipping from the corners of his eyes and melting into the wetness on his cheeks.  “That fucking *kills* me, Samantha.  So yeah, no-one regrets what happened more than me.  I should have fought for you, I should have refused to believe them when they told me I wasn’t Roman Brady, that I wasn’t your Dad.  I should have known it, should have trusted what my heart was saying to me when it was screaming not to walk away from you all.  But I did and I’m sorry.  I’m *really* sorry.”

 

Sami says nothing, just stares at him, her eyes dry and bright and a small spot of red burning high on each cheek.

 

“But listen to me Sami, if you think *he* wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have walked out on you when you needed him…” his face darkens, and his shoulders tighten perceptibly.  “Samantha, he’d only been back a matter of months when he walked out on you and your mom.  He went to work on a police case, to find your Uncle Bo.  Your Mom was beside herself, she needed him, but the case was more important.  He couldn’t leave it to the Salem PD to find Bo,” he tells her bitterly, “*he* had to go.”  

 

John had never understood Roman’s willingness to leave his family after everything he’d been through.  He knows if it had been him, if he’d made it back to his family after seven long years in DiMera purgatory, nothing would have ever been able to pry him away from Marlena and the children, not even his brother.  

 

He’d watched bitterly from afar as ‘Roman’ had walked away from his family and he had tried to offer Marlena the only comfort he could in the circumstances, his friendship.  But it had killed him to see her in pain and for a long while, he’d harboured a great deal of anger and bitterness towards Roman for taking the incredible gift of his family for granted.  It had seemed like he’d taken his family back from John and then he’d dumped them, the moment something better and more exciting had come along.  And John had resented the hell out of him for it.  Still does, truth be known.  The knowledge that the man in question wasn’t really Roman Brady only brings all those emotions back to the surface and magnifies them a hundredfold. 

 

“And then,” he continues, not allowing Sami the chance to argue the facts, “when your Mom went missing, when we were in that pit, he sent you to Colorado, do you remember?”  He raises his eyebrows, almost daring her to disagree with him.  “You and Eric went to Colorado, because *he* sent you there.  It was too much for him to be expected to look after you alone I suppose.”  His tone is sarcastic now and it is invested with more than a hint of anger.  “I looked after you by myself for five years.  Yeah, I had help from your Grandparents, but I never would have *dreamed* of having you anywhere but with me.  And I did my *best*, Samantha.  I loved you kids more than life itself.”  He feels his words manifest as a pain that lances through his chest and his stomach.  He had loved those kids; he would have given his life for them.  And he hadn’t expected thanks or accolades for being their father.  But he had expected more than this.  More than reproach and antipathy for simply loving his children.  “But give *him* a month of trying to juggle you and the job,” he snaps angrily, “and he ships you out to Martha and Frank.  So really, he wouldn’t have walked out on you?  Are you *really* sure about that?”

 

“We w… we wanted….” Sami’s face has faded into an ashen color and her voice is weak and unconvincing.  “Dad was doing what was best for us.  And we wanted to stay in Colorado.”

 

“*I* did what I thought was best for you, but you don’t stand up for me, Samantha Gene.  My best was never good enough for you, never won me your loyalty, did it?”  He gives a short, bitter laugh, the sound harsh, like steel clashing against the stone walls of the penthouse.  “When they found us, when your Mom recovered from that ordeal, she wanted you to come back, but you’re right, you wanted to stay in Colorado.  You were settled by then.  But it doesn’t change the reality of what he did.  You need to stop seeing that man through your rose-colored glasses Samantha.  He’s not the man you believe he was.  I mean, you think your mom left him?”  he laughs again, but there is so much anguish in the sound that Sami flinches involuntarily.  “Christ, where the hell did you get that from?  You know better than that, Sami.  Marlena didn’t leave him.  She did everything in her power to get him to stay!”  He shakes his head with a rueful grimace.  “Yeah, hell I would have taken her, I would have married her in a *heartbeat* if she’d wanted that, but she didn’t.  She wanted to fight for her marriage…. what she thought was her marriage and for all of you.  She wanted to do the right thing but *he* was the one that walked out on her.  *Not* the other way round.  I can’t believe…”  

 

He aches for everything he has lost.  And for everything Sami was.  Everything she has lost.  His sweet innocent little Samantha Gene.  After Marlena had ‘died’, she had been the sunshine in his life.  Along with Eric and Carrie, she had given him the reason he had needed to get up every morning, to carry on and forge a new life for himself without his beloved wife.  And then she’d been taken from him and then at some point the sunshine became a raging thunder and it hurts.  It hurts more than she’ll ever be able to comprehend.  

 

“It just about *killed* me when he came to Salem.”  He says in a low, hoarse voice.  The tears are coming freely now, and he takes the time to wipe them away with his thumbs before he continues.  “I loved you so much and we *were* a normal family, however much you might want to deny it.”

 

Sami’s eyes fill with tears and as she shakes her head, the moisture drops from her lashes and skims her cheek before dripping from her jaw and spreading into dark pink patches on her t-shirt.

 

“Sami, we were *happy*.”  His voice holds a note of pleading that he doesn’t like, but he’s too tired and too close to the edge of reason to control it right now.  “I was *so* proud to be your father.  I went to your school plays and I taught you to ride your first bicycle.  I held you when you cried, when you’d grazed your knee and when little Tommy Morton called you nasty names.  I was your Daddy and *nothing* felt better than when you put your arms around my neck and hugged me tight and told me you loved me.  *Nothing*.”  His voice is scratchy and rough, and he is fighting the urge to cross the balcony and grab her and give her a good shake.  

 

Part of him, the part that is immensely frustrated by his obstinate daughter, thinks she needs some sense knocked into her.  The other part knows that won’t help in the slightest.  Sami is a lost cause and wishing won’t change that.  Saying the things he needs to say might at least help his sense of frustration.  At least if he knows he’s said everything there is to say, he can no longer blame himself for her wilfully deliberate misconstruction of their past.  “I loved you so much.”  He says it as much for himself as anything.  Because for once she is silent and he wants to get it out there.  Wants to make it heard without argument or denial.  “I know you don’t believe me,” he says softly, “but I *still* love you.  You’re my daughter and I love you.  It’s unconditional.  I might not always approve of the things you do, but I’ll *always* love you.”

 

Sami doesn’t say anything.  She simply shakes her head and backs up against the balcony railing.  Tears trickle down her pale cheeks as she stares at him.  Her chin quivers again as she tries to find the words and Roman senses a vulnerability within her that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

 

And then, almost as quickly as it came, it disappears and her jaw becomes firm and resolute and her fists clench into balls of pent-up rage.  

 

“You don’t love me,” she says coldly.  “You don’t even know me.  When have you spent time enough to even have a clue who I am?  All you ever do is look down on me, disapprove of me and hate me for the things I’ve done.”  She tosses her head, golden hair flashing in the sunlight.  “You can insult my father all you like and you can twist the past and tell whatever lies you need to, to Mom and to yourself, but I know what happened.  And I know how it felt.  I know who *really* loved me.”

 

Roman stares at her in disbelief.  He can’t believe that even Sami can be this obtuse.  It seems that she’s desperate to hold onto her version of the truth at all costs and damn the truth or anybody else’s feelings.  She has to be right, or her carefully constructed world will crumble and she will be left with a reality which will be cold comfort to a girl that has done such terrible things in the name of the things she believes.

 

“You are incredible.”  He gives a tense little chuckle.  “You talk about me twisting the past…?”  His jaw sets and he gives it a moment’s thought and then he advances on Sami.  She leans hard against the railing as he reaches out and grabs her wrist.  

 

“Ow, John, that hurts!” she cries as he pulls her to him.

 

“Nothing compared to the pain you’ve inflicted,” he growls.  “You want to see the past?”

 

“I don’t want to see anything!”  Sami resists as he drags her towards the door.  “Dammit John!  Stop it!  You’re hurting me.”

 

Roman says nothing, simply flings the door wide open and roughly pushes her through into the living room.  His fingers still wrapped around her wrist like a steel band, he propels her across the room and through the archway that leads to the study.

 

“Sit down!” he says gruffly, pushing her into the armchair by the desk.  She sits frozen in shock and apprehension as he pulls a large volume and slams if down on the surface in front of her.  She flinches as his hand swoops down and flips the album open.

 

“There!”  He stabs his finger at the photograph. It sits alone on the page and is framed by an expanse of white.  They are in the snow and Roman is crouching down, a huge grin on his face.  Carrie stands behind him, her pom-pom hat jauntily askew on her head.  On either knee sits a twin, both Sami and Eric bright-eyed and pink-cheeked in the crispness of the winter day.  They all look so happy that it hurts.  “You want to tell me that’s a lie?” he demands in a strangled voice.  “And what about….” He flips the page and there is another photo.  This one was clearly taken at Christmastime.  Roman is sitting by the fireplace; Sami curled up in his lap.  She’s asleep and he is cradling her and kissing the top of her head.  It’s a sweetly intimate moment between a father and his daughter and it elicits a muffled sob from Sami.

 

“We *were* happy,” Roman tells her huskily.  “And I *did* love you.  All of you kids.  More than life itself.”

 

Sami stares at the picture, unable to close her eyes or tear her gaze from the page.  She thinks for a moment that the image of her father holding her might be burned on her retinas to stay there forever so that she can never escape it.  Never escape the sweet sadness of it.  Never escape the breathless pain that blossoms in her chest as she stares at the image of the man who clearly adores the child he holds in his arms.

 

“You still left,” Sami’s voice is little more than a halting whisper.  The pain is growing now, and the tears blur her eyes, smearing the image in front of her into a generous blur.  “I loved you… I *worshipped* you… and you turned your back on me.  You walked out that door and I didn’t even *know* them.  And I was *so* scared,” she looks up at him, sapphire eyes glittering in the low light.  “I was so lonely.  I thought…” she swallows, almost choking on the grief and tears lodged in her throat.  “I thought you didn’t love me anymore.  How could you have left if you loved us?  Why couldn’t you fight for us?”  Her voice is plaintive, only a whisper of her previous anger now dogging her.

 

“I wish I had.” Roman says simply.  “You have no idea how much I wish I had… with every breath in my body…”  He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat.  “Look baby, I don’t blame you for being angry at me.  I’m furious at myself.  I *should* have fought tooth and nail to hold onto you.”  His expression softens and he reaches a tentative hand.  However, obviously thinking better of it, he falters and drops it.   “My only defence is that I thought I was doing what was right for you and your mom.  I was trying to save you pain, but I was wrong.  And if I could go back and do it all over again…”

 

He bites on the inside of his lip and then he turns to the bureau behind him.  Pulling open a drawer, he pulls out a box.  It’s around about the size of a shoe box but as he takes off the lid, Sami sees it is filled with well-worn pieces of paper, stacked up and tied in bundles with ribbons.  He takes one out and puts it on the desk in front of her.  Ignoring the tears that still trickle down her cheeks, she looks at him curiously and he nods.

”Go on,” he tells her.  “Look at them.”

 

She swallows, her heart hammering painfully in her chest.  Then, steeling herself, she rubs her hand over her face, wiping away the tears.  She can’t break down in front of John.  She *won’t*.  True, part of her wants to cut and run now.  To run and run and not look back.  But she can’t.  It’s as though something is holding her here.  Whether it’s her pride or her stubbornness, or whether it’s John’s sheer force of will, she doesn’t know.  She only knows she can’t leave.

 

And part of her doesn’t want to.

 

With shaking fingers, she pulls the bundle towards her and pulls on the ribbon.  It unravels and the pile topples.  She unfolds the top piece of paper and smooths it out.  It’s a worn child’s picture that has clearly been folded and unfolded until it is almost falling apart.  And at the top it bears a childish hand that she recognizes only too well.

 

To my Daddy.  I love you.  Samantha.

 

Oh. God.

She bites on her lower lip and leafs through the pile in front of her.  There are more pictures, pictures she’d drawn at kindergarten and at school.  Cards she’d picked for her father and filled with love and kisses.  More photos.  A note or two scribbled on the end of a letter from her grandmother in Colorado.  Copies of her school reports.  A newspaper clipping from when she won the spelling bee.

 

She swallows, her throat tight and thick with grief and confusion.  It doesn’t make sense.  That he kept all these things… why would he?  *Why* would he?

 

“I know every one of them by heart.”  Roman says softly.  “They kept me going through the dark times.  I never forgot you, Samantha.  I never stopped loving you.  I kept the memories close to me and I hoped that someday you could forgive me and I could share these memories with you again.”  He blinks away the tears.  “Guess… you’ll never forgive me, but this is as good a time as any.”  He turns back to the open drawer behind him.  “Actually, there’s something else…” he scrabbles around in the back of the drawer and pulls out another, smaller box.

 

“The Christmas after he came… I wanted to get you something special.  To show you… to let you know I still loved you and I hadn’t forgotten the bond we shared.  I got you this… your Mom told me it was too much, that you wouldn’t appreciate it.  But I knew… I remembered you’d seen them and you wanted them so badly….” 

 

He hands Sami the box.  She looks confused as she takes it from him.  Opening the box, she lifts out the antique hairbrush.  She fingers the tarnished silver, staring at the beautiful item in her hands.  Placing it back in the box, she looks up at her father.

 

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice wavers uncertainly as she wipes the tears from her face.  “But I don’t understand… why didn’t you give it to me?”

 

Roman smiles sadly.  “I did.”

 

He looks down at beautiful antique silver dressing table set which lies nestled in the box in Sami’s hand. He hadn’t been rich then and they had cost him a small fortune. He’d wanted so badly to please his daughter; he’d been so desperate to see her smile.  And then she’d tossed the offering aside in favor of lavishing her attention on the impostor.  

 

He’d been absolutely crushed and for a moment, as he watched Sami climb onto his rival’s lap, he’d felt a burst of jealousy and hatred so intense that it was overwhelming.  And then he had turned and found Marlena looking at him, her beautiful eyes expressing all the sympathy and sorrow that he knew she’d felt for him.  She had known how hard it was for him to let them go.  But he had.  He’d taken it as a sign.  His children had moved on. They were happy, and in the end, that was all he wanted for them.  To be safe and loved and gloriously happy.

 

The irony is almost too much to bear.

 

“But I don’t…” Sami shakes her head, looking down at the silver as it glitters in the dim light.  And then a glimmer of recognition, a half-remembered memory flirts around the edges of her consciousness.  Opening the box and seeing the present she had wanted so badly.  And then she had caught sight of her father, the disapproval and annoyance written all over his face.  Feeling guilty and confused, she had dropped the beautiful brush and climbed onto her father’s lap to give him a reassuring hug.  She doesn’t remember ever seeing them again.  

 

Horrified, she looks up at Roman.  He raises his eyebrows and nods with a sad, forlorn smile.

 

“I took them home.” He tells her in a matter of fact fashion that makes her ache.  “After you all left that day, your Granma found them among the wrapping paper.  She gave them to me and I figured…” he sighs.  “I guess I thought I’d give them to you when you were a little older.  But then you… everything happened and I just put them away.  I hoped that one day maybe we’d clear the air between us and that maybe we could… I don’t know….” he shrugs helplessly.  “I suppose I always hoped deep down that you’d remember how much I loved you and how much you loved me.  I….” he flicks his hand at the pile on the desk in front of her.  The photos. The pictures and cards.  The letters.  The gift.  “I don’t know what else to tell you Sami.  I’m not lying.  I’m sorry, I’m *so* sorry I hurt you.  If you think I abandoned you, but that was never my intention.  All I ever wanted was to be the best father I could…”

 

Sami looks at him and then looks at the cards and letters scattered in front of her.  Peeking through them is the picture of her on his lap.  Sleeping, curled up in his arms, safe and loved.  She’s shut them off for so long, locked off the memories and feelings.  Her father had walked out and left her in the arms of a stranger.  One moment, she’d been his little princess, and the next, she’d felt completely abandoned. For weeks, she’d cried herself to sleep when she knew Marlena and Roman couldn’t hear.   And she’d felt guilty.  For still loving ‘John’.  For the sadness in his eyes when he’d seen her with Roman….

 

So, she’d shifted allegiances because it was the easiest and least confusing thing to do.  

 

Her father hadn’t turned his back on her.  She’d turned her back on him.

 

The pain in her chest feels explosive now and she feels panicky and claustrophobic.  Tears blur her vision once again, the cards melting into the photographs, until there is one great splash of white in front of her.  

 

“Sami.”  His voice comes from her left and it’s just enough.  Just enough to topple her over the edge into full-blown panic.  Scrambling, she pushes away from the desk, spilling paper and books to the floor by her feet.  Blindly, she stumbles over them, desperately reaching for the door.  She has to get away, has to escape this.  The pressure, the weight on her chest, it’s unbearable.  It’s…

 

She’s just about at the door when he grabs her upper arms.  “Sami, baby, it’s okay,” he says urgently.  “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

“Stay away from me!” she screams.  “Get away from me!  Leave me alone!” she struggles weakly in his grip. Tears stream down her face and she pushes her hands against his chest ineffectually.  “I hate you!  I hate you, I *hate* you!  Let me go!  *Please* let me go.  Oh God, *please* let me go!”  She manages to tear herself from his grip and slams back against the wall, winding herself.  The sobs are coming thick and fast now and she’s crying in great choking sobs, the turmoil of emotions erupting from her in uncontrollable torrents of tears.  Slowly, she sags and sinks down the wall, crumpling in a heap on the floor.

 

And then he is next to her, his familiar scent both comforting and terrifying.  His arms, so tempting are a haven of hope and threaten despair.  “C’mon baby,” he pulls her into his embrace and kisses the top of her head.  “It’s okay, sweetheart.  It’s going to be okay.”

 

“Can’t,” she gasps.  “You hate me.  You *have* to hate me.”  All the things she’s done to him.  All the things she’s put them through.  She hated him for what?  Her own guilt?  Her own inability to love her real father more than him?  To love both of them?  She’d felt so guilty about loving John and not loving Roman that she’d overcompensated, and she’d turned from him, transforming her love into something painful and destructive.

 

He *must* hate her for the anger and hatred she’s spewed at them.  The lies she’s told and the pain she’s inflicted.  She tried to take Belle from them.  She tried to split them up.  She would have done anything to keep him from her mother.  She’s a vile, hateful, hideous excuse for a human being.  She doesn’t deserve his love. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s love.

 

“Hate you?” he asks gently, his voice soft and comforting, enveloping her completely in his soothing embrace.  “Baby, I could never hate you.  *Never*.”  He strokes her hair soothingly.  

 

“But…” she struggles half-heartedly her tears dissolving into strangled hiccups. “I did…. I’m a h… horrible person.  I’m all… I’m *wrong*.  I’m h… I’m hateful.”  

 

“Noooo…” he shakes his head and takes her face between the palms of his hands.  “Baby, you’ve done some terrible things, I know you have.  But you’re *not* a bad person.  I know that inside, you’re still the same sweet, beautiful Samantha Gene that I read stories and tucked into bed at night.  But you got mixed up.  You got hurt and I’m so sorry for that.  You’re not hateful and you’re *not* wrong.  You’ve done things that you should be ashamed of, but baby, I love you.  And I’ll always love you.  *Nothing* you could do would stop me loving you.”  He strokes her cheek with the side of his thumb, and she closes her eyes, sobbing silently surrendering herself to the agony.  “But listen to me honey, it is time you learnt this lesson.  You can’t keep using your hurt and your pain as an excuse.  Hurting other people isn’t going to make your own pain go away.  It’s only going to make it worse.   It’s only going to make you feel worse about yourself…. And I want so much more for you than that.  I want you to be *happy*.  I want you to be the beautiful, strong, intelligent and loving young woman I know you can be.  You’re a better person than you’ve been showing the world.  I know my baby girl can be so much more than that.”

 

His words hit their mark and Sami feels something inside her crack and shatter.  She can’t ever remember feeling this wretched before.  She can’t ever remember hating herself quite this much.  Or being quite so desperate for the forgiveness of someone else.  

 

“Oh God!”  her cry is tormented and as she prises her eyes open to bare herself to his blistering gaze, she feels as though he can see every terrible thing she’s ever done.  “Oh God, I’m so sorry!  I’m *so* sorry.”

 

“It’s okay baby,” he wraps his arms around her again and he smiles in surprise and delight as she curls her arms around his neck.  “I promise you; it’s going to be okay.”  She buries her face against his shoulder and her voice is so muffled that for a moment, he wonders if he is imagining her next words.  

 

“Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

Chapter XCVII – Centralisation

“Wow Mom!”  Eric’s eyes widen as Marlena descends the stairs.  “You look… wow!”

 

She is dressed in a short blue skirt which shows off her long, golden legs.  They disappear into cream pumps and her blouse is low cut enough to show tantalizing expanses of flesh.  

 

Marlena looks down at her clothes, her cheeks flushing.  “Is it… too much?”  She sighs as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.  “I’m…. Grace got rid of all my clothes.”

 

Eric and Belle pause for a beat and then Belle shakes her head.  “No, you look great Mom.”

 

“It is too much,” she sighs and bites her lower lip as she looks down at her clothes.  “I need to go shopping, but I can’t…” she stops short, looking at her children.  She wonders if it’s occurred to Belle yet that since John is Roman, his money does not belong to him.  She should wait so that she and Roman can tell the children together the situation they now find themselves in.

 

“Where is your father?”  She looks around.

 

“Um…” Belle looks to Eric, her cheeks flushing.

 

“He’s in the study,” Eric says without embarrassment.  “I think he’s giving Sami hell.”

 

“What?” Marlena’s brow furrows as she looks towards the archway that leads to the kitchen and to the study.  “I thought that Sami-“

 

“Sami never changes Mom, you should know that,” Eric interrupts as gently as he can, trying to soften the blow.  “I think it’s about time someone really told her how it is, and I think Jo…” he pauses and then gives her a wry grin.  “I think Dad is doing that now.  You guys have been too soft on her for years.  You buy into the guilt trips and let her manipulate you.  You need to stop letting her have her own way all the time.  If she doesn’t like the way things are, then she needs to learn to deal with it.  Not that she can change it by throwing a temper tantrum or making people feel guilty.”

 

Marlena doesn’t reply immediately.  She holds her son’s gaze steadfastly and then after a moment, she looks at Belle.  Belle inclines her head slightly to indicate her agreement with her brother and Marlena can’t help the smile that flickers into life and lights up her face.  “Well, obviously I did *something* right with the two of you.”

 

Eric is about to respond when the sound of Sami’s hysterical voice grabs their attention and he turns to look at the same time Belle and Marlena do,

 

“Stay away from me!  Get away from me!  Leave me alone!”  Marlena’s heart pounds as she hears Sami’s panicked cries.  And then the words become muffled, finally petering out into silence.  Marlena looks at Belle and Eric and then back towards the study.

 

“Leave it Mom,” Eric says quietly.  “Let them sort it out.”

 

“I…” Marlena’s voice fades before she even fully forms the thought.  It’s not that she doesn’t trust Roman with Sami. She knows they’ve had their differences, but Sami is his daughter.  His little girl.  He loves her and will always love her, no matter what she does.  No, it’s more that she doesn’t trust Sami with Roman’s heart.  He has had so much to deal with, so much loss, so much taken from him.  She doesn’t think she can bear to see him shattered once again.  She knows he’s gotten his hopes up once more.  Last night, she could see it in his eyes.  Just before they’d left the Brady’s, he had looked at Sami and his face had been full of hope and love.  He’d let his guard down and it seems Sami is taking full advantage of that fact.

 

“I can’t.”  The words are said angrily and decisively, and Belle tries to catch her mother as she stalks past them.  But Marlena shakes off Belle’s tentative touch and her mouth is set in a thin line as she comes to the study door.  The sounds inside are muffled now, quiet noises and murmurs and she stops uncertainly, her anger ebbing away.

 

She lays a hand on the door handle and bites her lip, momentarily unsure of what to do.  Then swallowing, she pushes the door open.  

 

Marlena is momentarily astounded by the scene she sees.  On the floor, near to the door, are Sami and Roman.  Sami is in her father’s arms, clinging to him for what appears to be dear life.  Roman looks up at Marlena and winks with a small smile.  

 

“It’s okay Doc,” he tells her quietly at her questioning look.  “We’re okay.  We’ll be out soon.”  It’s a firm and final answer.  We’re okay.  As Sami looks up at her, red rimmed blue eyes shining with misery and hope, she is struck by the connection that suddenly exists between her husband and her daughter.  There’s something there, something she hasn’t seen for years, since Lamont came into their lives.  And it’s something that makes her heart leap with joy.

 

She smiles softly at Sami, wondering what it is that brought the breakthrough, and as her gaze wanders further into the room, she sees the items on the desk.  Sweet tatters of long past memories; keepsakes that Roman has guarded and cherished despite everything that Sami had thrown at him ever since Lamont had taken his place in the family.  

 

She’s surprised and yet she’s not.  Over the years Roman has steadfastly refused to reveal his inner self to Sami.  She’s never been entirely sure whether it has been self-protection on his part or whether he was just unwilling to intrude once again on that part of her life.  A girl’s relationship with her father, he had once said, should be sacred.  He had loved Sami and he had missed her desperately, but he had known how much she loved Roman and he was not willing to muddy those waters.  At least, so he said.  She’s long suspected it was just as much about not opening himself up to rejection by Sami once again.  It had wounded him so much before, she completely understands why he hadn’t been prepared to open himself up to that kind of pain again.

 

But last night… last night she had seen the hope flare in his eyes.  Seen him softening, letting down the walls he has built to keep the pain of Sami’s anger and resentment out.

 

If she had turned on him once again, like Sami is wont to do… Marlena can’t imagine how he must have felt.  

 

She knows him, knows Roman, better than she knows herself.  At the moment, far, far better than she knows herself.  She knows how deeply he loves, how strongly he feels.  To start to open himself up to the possibility of a relationship with his daughter only to be shot down once again must have been the last straw.  Must have finally broken him down to the point where he felt he had nothing left to lose with Sami.  Where he’d laid everything on the table, literally.

 

She looks back at her husband, his arms tight around his daughter, Sami’s face buried once again in his neck, and she smiles.  Nodding, she blows him a silent kiss and then turns around and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

 

“What’s going on Mom?” Belle’s pale and solemn face greets her as she re-enters the living room. 

 

“Everything’s okay baby.”  Marlena smiles. It’s the first truly genuine smile she’s managed since all this started.  Since the day she became someone else.  At last, something good.  If something good can come of this, if she can piece her family back together, her family that has been broken and wounded for so long, then maybe this has all been worth it.  Maybe she can look behind her and not see a total wreck of a life, one that almost destroyed her and the people she loves.  Maybe she will have something to thank Grace and Stefano for, after all.

 

She comes to her children and takes Belle’s hands in hers.  “Let me look at you.”  She studies her youngest child with her warm cinnamon gaze.   “My, I think you’ve grown an inch since I last saw you.”  She smiles but her eyes sadden as she lets Belle’s left hand drop and lifts her fingers to rearrange her daughter’s hair where it spills over her shoulder.  “I’m so sorry sweetheart.  That I wasn’t here for you.  That I said the things to you that I did.”

 

“I’m just so glad you’re back, Mom,” Belle throws her arms around her mother and hugs her tightly.  “And it wasn’t so bad.  I had Granma and Granpa,” she lets go of Marlena and rocks back on her heels, turning to look at her older brother.  “And I had Eric to look after me.”  She smiles at him, almost shyly and with untrammelled adoration and Marlena can immediately see how close they have become.  

 

“Hey, you’re my kid sister,” Eric steps forward and slings his arm around Belle’s neck.  “Couldn’t leave you to the mercies of Granma and her endless milk and cookies, could I?”  He grins at his mother.  “Granma never changes Mom, you’ll be glad to know. Still trying to stuff us full of food the moment we walk through the door.”

 

“Well yes, that is good to know,” Marlena laughs.  “Oh Eric, it’s so good to see you.” She reaches out and takes his face between her hands, studying his features. He has matured and grown even more handsome since she had seen him last.  But there’s something in his eyes, a sadness that she has never seen before.  “Honey, are you okay?  Is everything okay back home?”

 

“Yeah,” his expression softens in the face of her concern.  He’s spent so little time with her and yet she knows him so well.  “Yeah Mom, things are fine.  But I’ve been… I don’t know, since Belle’s been there and now she’s gone…. I’ve been missing you all.  And those loose ends, they’re tied up now.”

 

“Loose ends?” Marlena asks with raised eyebrows, but under the question, there is an air of caring and compassion that Eric takes to mean that she understands.  Well, of course she understands, she’s loved and she’s lost.  She, more than anyone would understand the things he’s feeling.

 

“It’s done,” he says quietly, his voice heavy under the weariness he feels in his heart.  “Nothing more to say.”

 

“Oh baby, I’m sorry.” She pulls him to her and wraps her arms around his broad shoulders.  “If you want to talk about it…”

 

“Maybe some time,” he says softly.  “But not right now, Mom.  Right now, I want to concentrate on you and Dad and this crazy situation we’re all in.”

 

“Right now,” Marlena cups his face in the palms of her hands again.  “Right now, *I’m* just so glad you’re here.  And I know this seems crazy to you, but I’d love it if we could all just try and be normal,” she smiles softly, her golden eyes full of hope.  “Let’s just get back to normal as soon as we can.”

 

“Normal?”  Roman’s amused voice comes from behind her.  “Since when has our family ever been normal, Doc?”

 

They all turn to look at him.  

 

“Roman.”  A smile spreads across Marlena’s face.  For Roman, it’s like the sun has risen after a long, frigid storm and it’s glorious.  His daughter in his arms and his wife, beautiful and smiling.  If he could freeze this moment and keep it in his memory crisp and clear forever, he would.  He’s not sure anything could top this feeling.  As though it’s all lying in front of them now.  The rest of their lives.  Together and happy.

 

“Hey Doc,” he says softly.  And then, in answer to the unspoken question that shines in her eyes.  “We’re fine,” he says, tightening his arm around Samantha’s shoulders.  “We’ve sorted things out.”  He doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes tell her that she shouldn’t ask any more questions now.  He will tell her later, when they are alone the things that were said.  He will share everything with her, as he always does, and always will.  When the time is right.

 

“Mom?”  Sami’s voice is reedy, and she clings to Roman as though he will protect her from the consequences of the words she is about to say?

 

“Yes Sami?” Marlena’s voice is soft but there is a thread of steel running through the simple reply.  Marlena loves Sami, but she doesn’t trust her.  She’s so used to being hurt by her daughter, it’s almost second nature to ready herself for the next attack.

 

“I just…” Sami chokes back a sob.  “I wanted to say…” she clenches her jaw tightly, clearly battling the urge to break down.  Marlena watches as Sami curls her visible hand into a tight fist and swallows before taking a deep breath.  Roman’s arm around her shoulder tightens, bolstering her courage.  “I wanted…”  Her voice is strong, but she stops without any discernible reason and then her voice softens, as all the emotion she is struggling to control slips into it.  “Mom, I know I’ve done a lot of terrible things.  I’ve done terrible things to you, and I wanted…” a tear slips down her cheek, “I wanted you to know how sorry I am.  I did things and I hurt people, all for the wrong reasons.  For selfish reasons.  And I know I can’t make them right, but I can say sorry, and I can mean it and I can promise to change and be a better person.  Be a better daughter.  So that’s what I’m going to do.”  She takes another deep breath and looks up at Roman with a small smile.  He looks back at her, his smile full of love and pride and Marlena can see the immediate effect that his reaction has on their daughter.  Sami seems to fill with his love, to brighten until she is almost glowing, and Marlena can only wonder at the sudden transformation.  

 

Sami disengages herself from Roman’s embrace and steps forward until she is standing before her mother.  “I did mean what I said last night Mom.  I was frightened and I was stupid and I wanted to take it back this morning because I didn’t want to face the things I’ve done and the fact that I’ve fucked up over and over again and there wasn’t even any good reason-“ she stops short and shakes her head.  “No, there was never any good reason.  I know that.  I was selfish.  I’m so sorry I hurt you.  But I’m going to make it up to you.”  

 

Her words and her manner are so intense that Marlena is a little taken aback.  But her tearstained face and her shining blue eyes as well as Roman’s pleased smile combine to convince her that this time, Sami means what she’s saying.  That she really understands and accepts that her actions over the years following Stefano’s introduction of Lamont into their lives have been wholly objectionable.  And that she intends to make amends and change, at long last.  Marlena doesn’t imagine that it will be that easy, but if Samantha intends to try, then that’s enough for her.  That’s all she’s ever wanted from her daughter really.  An acknowledgement of past wrongs and for her to accept John for the man that he is.  For the father that he was and could still be.

 

“I promise,” Sami continues.  “Things are going to change from now on.  I’m going to be the daughter you always wanted.”

 

“Oh Sami,” Marlena reaches out and strokes Sami’s hair.  “Baby, you always *have* been.  You’ve *always* been all that I wanted.  Yes, you’ve done things I would rather you hadn’t.  We’ve had tough times, but you…. I told you last night.  I *love* you.  I’ll always love you.”

 

“Oh Mom!” Sami’s face crumples, her mother’s simple and frank declaration completely disarming her.  Marlena pulls her into her arms and hugs her close as Sami’s tears soak into the shoulder of her blouse.  “It’s okay baby,” she murmurs softly.  “It’s all going to be okay.”   

 

Then she looks over at Belle and Eric who stand silently watching the scene.  “I love all of you,” she says simply.  “The three of you and Carrie and Brady, you’re all that your father and I could have ever wanted.”

 

“Your Mom is right there,” Roman grins, moving to where Marlena is hugging Sami and he folds one arm around her.  With the other, he motions for Eric and Belle to join them.  Belle is the first to move and she slides in under Roman’s arm with a cry of “Group hug!” and a girlish giggle.

 

“Family hug!” Eric corrects her as he reaches the small congregation of his family and he curls his arm around his mother’s waist and grasps his father’s arm, enfolding his sisters into the middle of the family embrace.  They stand that way for several minutes, Sami’s muffled sobs finally quieting into small sniffles.  Then at last, she raises her head. 

 

Eric and Roman loosen their hold and the family group fragments enough so that Sami can look around at all of them.

 

“Thank you,” she says quietly.  “I know how lucky I am.  I know I’ve pushed it with all of you.  Pushed all of you away.  But you just keep coming back and giving me more chances.  This time I promise, I’m taking this chance with both hands.  This is going to be a new start for me.”

 

“It’s going to be a new start for all of us, sweetheart.” Roman tells her, taking her hands again.  “I’m so proud to be your father.  All of you make me so proud.”

 

“Both of us.  You make both of us so proud,” Marlena adds, slipping her arm around Roman’s waist.  Roman lets Sami’s hands slip from his and then he curls his arm around his wife and kisses the top of her head.

 

“And you,” he tells her, with a smile, “officially make me the luckiest man ever to walk the face of this earth.  Stefano tried to take this from me, tried to steal my family away, but it was only you that never let me go.  Even when I was at my lowest, when I just wanted to run away and try and forget everything I’d lost, you wouldn’t let me go.  You wouldn’t let me feel sorry for myself.”  His azure eyes shine fiercely from his suntanned face, willing her to hear his words and take them as gospel truth.  “You kept believing in me, even when I couldn’t believe in myself.  And you brought me back to this place.  Without you and without Grace, we never would have known the truth.”

 

“Without Grace…” she can’t help but smile at the irony.  That Grace, who had tried with all her might to destroy Roman, had ultimately given him the greatest gift that it was possible to give.  His family back.

 

“Yeah, without Grace….” He shrugs, the intensity dropping from his shoulders and his face as he returns her smile.  “So, I don’t want you feeling guilty any more, Doc.  Okay?”

 

Marlena raises her eyebrows and shrugs with an expression that is as eloquent as any words she can say.  Roman understands it to mean something like ‘Wanting me not to feel guilty is like wanting the rain not to fall or the sun not to set.  Wanting is all very well but having is an entirely different matter.’

 

She follows it up with a small smile and then, “I rang Laura.  She’s coming to visit next week.”

 

“Great!” Relief floods through the single word as he pulls her into a hug.  “Baby, that’s great news.”

 

“Don’t expect immediate miracles, Roman,” she warns him quietly.  “This is going to take time.  Quite some time.  There’s a lot to deal with.”

 

“I know it is, baby.  But as long as I know we’ve started down that road….” He cups her face in his hands and gives her a long, slow kiss.  “Listen, I know I said I’d stay here with you but since the kids are here, do you mind if I pop out for an hour?  I’ve got some errands to run,” he looks over at his children who are watching them, evidently quite intrigued by the exchange. “Is that okay with you guys, you don’t need to take off anywhere, do you?”

 

“No, we’re cool.”  Eric shrugs.  “I’m happy to hang out here for a while.”

 

“It’s okay honey,” Marlena gives him a tight smile.  “Your Dad is just being his usual overprotective self.  I’ll be fine if you have something else to do.”  She turns to her husband with a trace of irritation in her voice.  “I don’t need babysitting, Roman.”

 

“I didn’t say you did, sweetheart.” Roman says gently, “but since the kids are here, I thought they might like to keep you company.”  His smile fades and he becomes a little more serious.  “And honey, I know you.  You’ve been through a hellish time and you’re blaming yourself.  I’m not going to allow you any more time alone to dwell on it than I have to.  And if you don’t like that and if you think I’m being overprotective, then I’m sorry.  But I love you and I’m trying to do what’s best for you.  Because I’, damned if I’m going to watch you suffer any more than you absolutely have to, all right?”

 

Marlena’s eyes have drifted downwards during his speech and her cheeks have colored pink.  She is staring at her hands, her eyes downcast when he slides his fingers under her chin and lifts her head so she is forced to look at him.  “All right?” he asks again.  She looks at him from under her lashes and then after a beat, she nods.  

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  “I didn’t mean….”

 

“I know you didn’t,” he folds his arms around her and pulls her close.  “I just love you, Doc.  I love you so much.  I just want to make things better for you, you know?”

 

“I know.” She kisses him softly.  “Of course I know, Roman.  And I love you for it.  Just don’t think you have to wrap me in cotton wool, okay?  I am strong, I will make it through this.”

 

“I know you will.” Roman kisses her back.  “We’re all here to help you in any way you need it, okay?”  He looks at the kids.  “You sure you’re okay to stay with your mom?”

 

“Sure.”  Eric nods although there is a tinge of disappointment to his expression.  

 

“Honey, you don’t have to.”  Marlena picks up on the subtle clues to his mood and gives him a loving smile.  Of the three of them, Eric is the least predictable and she doesn’t want to push him too far, too fast.  “I’m sure the girls will stay if you have somewhere else to be.”

 

“Oh no, it’s not that,” Eric shakes his head, clearly surprised at her interpretation of his mood.  “Mom, I’m here because I *want* to spend time with you.  I feel… we almost lost you… again.  It made me realize, I’ve been taking you for granted.  You and the rest of the family.  So, I want to spend time with you.  As much time as I can… that’s why I’ve decided I’m moving home.”

 

“Eric!” Belle squeals loudly and she follows it up with a delighted giggle as she throws her arms around him.  “That’s great!  That’s so cool!”

 

“That *is* wonderful news, honey,” Marlena smiles warmly.  “Gosh, I’m so pleased.”  She moves from Roman’s side to take Eric’s hand.  “I have to admit, I’ve been hoping you might want to move home since you were here last.”

 

“Yeah well, you know I was thinking about it and then I kind of got caught up in life back in Colorado.  But there’s nothing keeping me there now, so I thought, new start with my family… what better opportunity, right?  Get to know my Dad… and my Mom all over again.”  He smiles at Marlena, his eyes sparkling, and she can see echoes of Roman in his features.  “So, you see, it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you,” Eric looks over at Roman, “I guess thought… I was just kinda hoping that we could *all* spend some time together.  Catch up as a family.”

 

“Hey kid,” Roman grins widely.  “We can still do that.  I’m only going out for an hour or two.  If you don’t have any other plans, when I get back, we can hang out all day if you like.”

 

“I’d like.”  Eric returns his father’s smile.  It is a tentative and hopeful gesture at the same time.

 

“Great,” Roman claps his hand on Eric’s shoulder and squeezes it briefly.  “Well, I’ll leave you to catch up with your Mom.  I’ll be back just as soon as I can, okay?”

 

“Okay.”  Eric nods and Roman looks past him to Sami.  “That okay with you sweetheart?”

 

“Sure,” she says quietly as Belle slips her hand into hers.  “It sounds good.”

 

“Okay then,” he turns to Marlena.  “I’ll get going then, Doc.  Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.  Take care of our kids while I’m gone.” He smiles, his eyes sparkling and then cups her hand in his cheek and leans forward to press a soft but passionate kiss to her lips.

 

“I will,” she whispers, covering his hand with her own.  “I love you Roman.”

 

“I know you do, baby, and I love you too.”  He kisses her again and then with a wave and a kiss blown to his children, he leaves Marlena and the children to catch up.

Chapter XCVIII- Minor Pieces

Laura leans on the railing of the penthouse terrace and looks out over the rooftops of Salem.  Visibly nothing much has changed; the city looks much the same as it looked when she left.  But it’s not the same.  She can feel the scars that stretch under the surface; that blight the lives of the friends she loves.

 

She’s been back mere hours.  She’s been in the country for much longer than that, establishing a practice in New York around six months ago after returning from Africa.  But as yet, she’d not taken the time to return to Salem.  After everything that had happened when she had lived here last time, she has finally managed to get her life back on an even keel and part of her hadn’t even wanted to contemplate setting foot again in the town that had taken over so much of her life.  But then, she’d received the call from Marlena, the usually strong voice of her friend so fragile and tear-filled that Laura can still recall the shock she felt upon realising that it was Marlena Evans begging for her help.   

 

So, as the first tremors of fall had brushed the leaves with gold and crystallized the air, she had stepped off a train and re-entered Salem.  Still unsure of what she might find, she came straight to Marlena’s.  She hasn’t even taken the time to stop by and see Jennifer and Abby.  Still, there will be plenty of time for that later.  

 

She’s talked to Marlena on the phone several times since that original call but hasn’t been able to establish much other than Marlena is defensive and closed off, unwilling to even touch upon what has happened in the context of a phone call.  She’d called and asked Laura’s help without really even explaining what had happened, simply trusting in Laura’s generosity and sense of compassion to bring her to Salem.

 

The man she’s always known as John Black but who has now unequivocally been proven to be Roman Brady has been more helpful, filling her in on as much detail as he can over the phone.  He has faxed her copies of Stefano DiMera’s files and has explained the timeline of events that gave rise to Grace and her subsequent actions.  And just as importantly, he has touched on some of the conversations he’s had with Marlena over the past few weeks.  

 

Some of the things he has told her have shocked Laura and given all that has happened over the past ten years, Laura had considered herself nigh on unshockable.

 

So, she knows what has happened, both years ago and over the past few months; and she knows Marlena’s resultant fears and guilt and self-recriminations.  And yet, when Roman had opened the door this morning and she had seen Marlena on the sofa, her stomach had lurched, and her heart had skipped a beat.  

 

Her dearest friend looks like a stranger.  Under the tanned skin she is so pale she is almost translucent.  Dark circles smudge the ghostly skin under her eyes, and she is so thin Laura can see the outline of each her ribs beneath her collarbones.  She looks like a ghost of the strong, resilient woman that Laura knows and loves.

 

Marlena had tried to smile when Laura had greeted her but the habitual brave front that she wears is riddled with so many fractures, it barely functions anymore.  And all Laura can think when she looks at her friend is that this is the thing that has finally broken her.  

 

After establishing that Marlena hasn’t slept more than an hour at a stretch for at least a week, the first thing Laura had done was administer a sedative to allow Marlena a dreamless sleep.  Until her body is able to provide the strength for her recuperation, her emotional state will just continue to deteriorate.  Laura’s first task is to ensure Marlena regains her physical strength.  Only then will they be able to start to work through the emotional minefield that has resulted from this latest DiMera induced calamity.

 

Laura has always wondered how Marlena has managed to stay sane through all the dramas that her family, Stefano DiMera and generally life, has thrown at her.  But now she thinks she has her answer.  

 

Everyone has their breaking point and Marlena has finally found hers.  And all those crises that she has managed to surmount, to conquer one by one, have finally come back to haunt her.  All those metaphorical demons she’s been subjugating, all the doubts, fears and emotional suffering that she’s so successfully managed to hide deep within herself are now flooding her psyche and she’s unable to escape, even when asleep.

 

Laura sighs.  This isn’t going to be a short journey for Marlena, nor an easy one.  

 

~

 

“Roman!  Roman, slow down!”  Roman has just left the lawyers office and is wandering wearily through Salem place when he hears Kayla’s voice.  He stops short and with a sigh, he turns around, stuffing the papers he is holding in the back pocket of his jeans.

 

“Hey there Kay,” he forces a pained smile and bends down to give his younger sister a tentative hug.

 

“Hi,” she pulls back, looking slightly awkward, her short, wavy blonde hair bouncing around her face as she shakes her head.  “I um, we haven’t seen you since… well, since you came home, Roman.  Mom and Dad have been wondering how you both are.  Well, we all have.”  The pain in her eyes betrays the hurt the family is feeling.  Since that night at the Brady pub almost a week ago, Roman has effectively shut them out, maintaining that Marlena needs time and space to heal before she is subjected to more grilling by the family.  But Kayla has a sneaking suspicion that it is not just Marlena that Roman is trying to protect.

 

Roman swallows awkwardly.   He’s tired and he doesn’t want to have this conversation right now.  He’s got too much on his plate with trying sort out the financial and legal mess that Grace and Stefano have left behind them.  And then there’s Marlena.  He’d known it was going to take a while for her to deal with this, but things are getting worse, not better.  He’s so worried about her he can barely concentrate on anything else.

 

So right at this moment, he would like nothing more than to just walk away from his sister without a word.  But he knows he can’t do that.  That’s just not something that Roman Brady would do, is it?  And yet he just doesn’t know how to be around his family right now.  He doesn’t know how to look at them and smile and pretend that everything is all right.

 

And he has Marlena to think of.

 

“I…. well, I told you, Marlena needs some time.”  He tries to smile again, but it’s more of a grimace that twitches on his lip and dies quickly away as Kayla crosses her arms.

“*Marlena* needs some time?” she asks pointedly.  

“Yes.”  His answer is a little too sharp and the words stick in his throat, jagged and painful.  “She’s been through hell Kay and she’s in a bad way.  She has terrible nightmares, every night.  She wakes up in a cold sweat, terrified of going back to sleep.  So neither of us are sleeping.”  He runs his hand over his face; new lines are etched there that Kayla has never seen before.  He does look exhausted, she can’t deny that.  “Laura Horton arrived this morning.  She’s going to stay with us for a while.  See if she can’t help Doc work through some of this… all this pain and this guilt she’s carrying.”

 

“I’m sure that will help her,” Kayla tells him gently.  

 

She suddenly feels guilty, she’s been thinking about Mom and Pop and their pain but it’s clear that Roman is deeply concerned about Marlena.  Kayla had assumed that Marlena would pick up and carry on after this, like she does every time she deals with a crisis.  But maybe this time things are different.  

 

But even if that’s the case, Roman shouldn’t shut them out.  He can’t be Marlena’s rock without support himself.  “But Roman,” she takes his hand in hers, noting the tension she feels as she curls her fingers around the back of his hand, “you need help too.  You need to lean on someone.  You can’t just keep being strong for Marlena; you have to let someone help you too.  And we’re your family.”  She looks up at him earnestly.  “We want to help you both.”

 

“I’m fine Kay.  And when Marlena feels better, so will I.”  His easy manner and his small shrug is a cover for the enormity of the emotions that he has been trying to hold down.  He’s been so focussed on Marlena, to the exclusion of all else that he hasn’t even stopped to think how he actually feels about all this.  About the Brady’s being his family.  About how he is going to find his way back into the arms of the family that turned their backs on him so easily.  If he wants to, even.  

 

Truth be told, he doesn’t really want to think about it at all.

 

But now, seeing his younger sister staring up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she waits for him to continue, he feels a tumultuous wave of emotions crash through the fragile barriers he has erected over the past few weeks.  

 

They hadn’t wanted to know him; they had proclaimed Lamont as the Roman wanderer returned and they had effectively left him adrift.  If it hadn’t been for Marlena, he doesn’t know what would have become of him all those years ago.   It’s so tempting to punish them for it, to hurt them like they have hurt him.  It would be so easy to tell them all that they have hurt him too much; to turn his back on them the way they did to him.  To protect himself from the rejection that the Brady’s have been far too good at where he and Marlena are concerned.

 

And yet, when all is said and done, they are his family.  They are his blood.  He can no more turn his back on them than he can his own children.  Or his wife.  And Marlena needs them right now.  If he’s really honest with himself, Kayla is right.  *He needs them right now*.  He’ll be strong for Marlena until they tear him from this earth, but he can’t do it alone.  He’s crumbling; he can feel himself shattering under Kayla’s touch and he needs to hold it together, for Marlena’s sake if nothing else.

 

The two of them can’t make it through this on their own, that much is self-evident.  They’ve been trying and it’s not working.  They need the love and support of their family and friends around them while they come to terms with the things they have done and the things that have been done to them.

 

All these thoughts scatter through his consciousness as he holds Kayla’s hand, and his blue eyes do little to hide the storm of emotions that play through him.  Kayla squeezes his hand in return and gives him an uncertain smile which flickers into an expression of worry laced with the tiniest bit of fear.  Despite the years of distance, she can read her brother like an open book, and she understands the merest hint of what he is feeling right now.

 

“It’s gonna be all right Roman, you know that,” Kayla says quietly.  “We’re here for you.  We *want* to be here for you, anyway.”  She reaches up and lays her fingers against his cheek.  “You and Marlena will get through this.  We’ll *all* get through this.  We’re the Brady’s,” she forces a smile, “that’s what we do, isn’t it?”

 

Roman lets out a sad, strained laugh.  “I guess it is.”

 

“Listen,” Kayla takes his hand and pulls on it, her smile a little too bright.  “Why don’t you come and see Mom and Pop.  They’re so eager to see you.  They have things they need to tell you.”

 

“Thanks Kayla,” he gives her a soft, tired smile in return. “I know you’re only trying to help.  But really, just… I need a little more time, okay?  Marlena is waiting for me back at the Penthouse and,” he pauses for a moment, thinking of Marlena’s tears this morning at the penthouse before Laura had arrived.  He feels easier about leaving her with Laura there but still, he feels her pull like an invisible thread that tugs at him every moment he is away from her.  “I just can’t be away from her that long Kay.  Not right now.”

 

Not ever if he has his way.  He’s spent far too much time separated from his wife, needless, wasted time.  He will not waste any more.  

“Tell Mom and Pop we’ll come over as soon as we’re ready.”  He sees her disappointment and despite himself, he feels bad.  “Just give me a few more days Kayla.  Just a few more, okay?  I have stuff I need to sort out.  Once I’ve taken care of things and once I’m sure Marlena’s feeling stronger, we’ll come over, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Kayla’s expression reveals her disappointment, but Roman knows she understands.  They are family, after all.  “Just… don’t leave it too long, okay?  They’ll think you’re avoiding them if you stay away.” She looks at him solemnly and there is a long pause.  And then, “I know you’ve got every reason to be angry with us all, Roman; but they are your parents.”

 

“I know Kay,” Roman exhales.  Kayla knows him too well and has pinpointed the problem with unerring accuracy as always.  He is angry and he does want to avoid them.  He is torn between the hurt and the knowledge that they are his blood and that the only way to true healing is to confront the pain head-on.  

 

But not today.

 

“I do know, and I promise you that as soon as I can, I’ll drop by the pub and see them.  Just not today, okay?”  He squeezes her shoulder and then before she can say anything more, he turns and stalks away, the papers sticking out of his jeans pocket, brushing the bottom of his jacket as he walks.

 

~

 

“Oh Carrie, that’s just wonderful news dear.” Caroline waves at Bo as she holds the receiver to her ear.  “No, of course I won’t.  I’ll leave it for you to tell them yourself.  And they have a lot to tell you too.”  Caroline can barely contain her joy as she squeezes Bo’s hand.  “I’ll send your Uncle Bo to pick you up from the airport the Friday after next.  We’re telling everyone to come to the pub at about seven, so you’ll be here in plenty of time.  All right dear, goodbye.”

 

Caroline puts the phone down on the bar and turns to her son.  “Carrie, she’s flying in for the party.  I told her you would pick her up.”

 

“I heard Ma,” Bo smiles indulgently.  He’s proud of how his parents have taken the news about their oldest son.  He knows it’s been hard for them.  Such sudden, explosive revelations have shaken their family to its core; and that dramatic night has been followed by a wintry silence from Roman and Marlena.  

 

And yet, despite their own pain, Caroline and Shawn are making every effort to understand that Roman and Marlena need time.  Time to come to terms with what has happened and time to start the healing that they so badly need.  

 

So instead of turning in and dwelling on the wrong that has been done both without and within the family, they have chosen to embrace the fact that their son has been returned to them and they are planning celebrations, the like of which Salem has not seen for many years.  “You didn’t tell her then?”

 

“No,” Caroline shakes her head, her smile dimming slightly.  “I don’t think she should hear that kind of news over the phone, do you?”

“No,” Bo throws himself down on a seat at a booth.  “I don’t think this is something you can explain over the phone.  Which is why *we* didn’t.”  He cocks one eyebrow as he looks at Caroline.  The understanding and courage they have shown can’t surely be all they are feeling.  “How are you taking it Ma?  I mean *really*?  You’re putting on a brave face and all, but are you and Pops doing with the whole deal?”

 

“Oh well,” Caroline opens her mouth and then seems to change her mind.  Sighing she deflates and slumps onto the seat opposite Bo.  “Well, I don’t really know, Bo dear.  On one hand, well, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?  John is Roman.  He’s back and Marlena is safe and…” she trails off, her gaze slipping into the distance. 

 

“And on the other hand?” Bo asks quietly.

 

“On the other hand….” She looks back at her youngest son, her eyes glistening.  “Is he ever going to want to speak to us again?  Bo,” her voice shakes as she reaches out to him, her hand clutching at his.  “We made terrible mistakes, didn’t we?  We turned our backs on Roman when he most needed us.  We didn’t even know our *own son*.”

 

“How could you have known Mom?”  Bo asks her earnestly.  It’s a question he’s asked himself over and over again.  The answer is obvious, but it doesn’t stop him feeling guilty.  Doesn’t stop him wanting to beat himself up everytime he thinks of the look on John’s face each time the family had shut him out.  “DiMera did a number on us all.  He sent that…” he grimaces, “that guy with Roman’s face and Roman’s memory.  How *could* we have known?”

 

“*I* should have known,” Caroline cries hoarsely.  This is the first time she has been able to vocalise what she’s feeling.  Shawn won’t talk about it, just insists that what’s done is done and now it’s time to look to the future.  She wishes it was that easy.  She’s furious.  At herself, at Stefano DiMera, at Lamont.  At the world for allowing this to happen to her boy.   “He’s my son, Bo.  He’s my blood and I *should* have known.  *I* was the one that convinced John that he was not Roman, remember?  I pushed my own son away and took a stranger into our family,” a tear trickles down her cheek.  “A stranger that,” her voice lowers to a whisper, “worked for Stefano DiMera.  That tried to rape Marlena.”  Tears spill over her cheeks and form dark round red circles on the red gingham checks of the tablecloth below her forearms.

 

“Yeah, it happened Ma and it sucks,” Bo lays his hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes.  “I know, believe me, I’ve been through all this with Hope over the past few weeks.  I feel guilty as hell.”  He gives a short, bitter laugh.  “I could barely look at him, at Roman, for the first couple of days.  All I could think was to wonder what the hell he must think of me.  The brother that turned his back on him.  But then I realised that guilt’s not going to help Roman.”  He sighs.  “Yeah Ma, we made terrible mistakes.  We were conned and we should have known but we didn’t.  And we gotta get over that fact.  Because we were there for him, even though we didn’t know he was Roman, we tried to be there for him when we could because he was still part of our family.  And because Roman needs us to be strong right now.  He needs us to be there for him.”

 

“I know that, Bo,” Caroline snaps, her mouth thinning.  She pulls her hand away from him and sits back, crossing her arms defensively.  “Don’t you think my *every* thought is how I can help him right now?  Don’t you think I just want to make things right for him?  To try and make up in just a little way for what I did to him?”  She shrugs sharply, the gesture accentuating the anger that shimmers through her voice.  “But how can I when he won’t see us?  Won’t even *talk* to me on the phone?”

 

“Are you talking about Roman?” Kayla’s voice cuts through Caroline’s gloom and they both turn their heads to see her in the doorway, “because I just saw him in Salem Place.”  She walks over and waits for Caroline to shift across the seat before she slides across onto the seat beside her.

 

“I know you’re upset he’s not been in touch Mom, and I asked him to drop in and see you but the way he was talking, things are pretty bad with Marlena right now.  He didn’t go into too many details, but Mom, I’ve never seen him look that tired before.  He’s terribly worried about her and he’s trying to take the whole load on his own shoulders.”

 

“Well, he can’t do that!” Caroline proclaims. And then, “that’s always been Roman’s problem.  He tries to do it all himself.  He just doesn’t know when to ask for help.”

 

“Usually he has Marlena,” Bo adds, “but this time…”

 

“Apparently Laura Horton has come back to Salem to help Marlena,” Kayla adds. “Roman said she’s going to be staying with them.  But that’s the thing.”  She shrugs.  “I know Laura will focus on Marlena and that’s great, but Roman’s been through almost as much as Marlena.  Having to deal with the fact that those things happened to Marlena when we all thought she was dead.  Then the things that happened on their honeymoon…”  She looks at Bo but doesn’t elaborate.  If this family detailed all their personal turmoil, they’d probably keep therapists in money for years to come.  “And then Grace, the mercenary, Stefano’s revelations and then coming so close to losing Marlena.  He’s got a lot to come to terms with.”  She sighs heavily.  “I think *he* probably needs as much help as Marlena does.  And I don’t know if he realises that.”

 

“Well, what can we do?” Caroline asks, her anger now fading into deep concern for her son and his wife.  Kayla is right.  Roman and Marlena have been asked to bear too much for mere humans to bear.

 

Kayla gives her a rueful smile and then folds her arm around Caroline’s shoulder.  “I’m not entirely sure, but I have a couple of ideas.  But what I do know is that we need to be strong for Roman right now Mom, even if he’s not here.  Because if I’m not wrong, he’s going to need us sooner than he thinks.”

Chapter XCIX – Smothered Mate

She backs up against the wall as she stares at him.  He advances with feral eyes, his lips parted in a snarl, his hands reaching for her, tearing at her clothes.  She flails at him, fending him off…  fighting off Orpheus… or is it Lamont… wearing Roman’s face…?  His face leers and it *is* Roman or John Black… it’s Roman wearing the face of the stranger who became her love… and then it’s Stefano and his breath is hot and fetid on her face, his hands on her, tearing at her clothes…

 

“Doc…” he pants hotly… “Doc, sweetheart, wake up…”

 

She wakes with a gasping sob, clutching the sheets to her, wet with her own perspiration.  And Roman is there, reaching for her, brushing the hair from her forehead, so concerned and loving and…

 

“Roman, don’t!” she pushes away his hands, half terrified, half furious.  She’s not even sure who she’s angry at anymore.  She just wants to stop feeling like this.  She’s so tired.  So tired and distraught, she feels like she’s barely functioning.

 

“Doc, I’m just…” he pulls away from her, giving her the space she clearly desires.  “I’m just trying to help you.”  He’s confused and his voice is little reproachful 

 

“Well, you’re not helping me,” she snaps at him, hating herself even as she says it.  She loves him so and for the past few weeks he’s been the only thing keeping her sane.  

 

She knows what it is, the rational psychiatrist buried deep beneath the trauma sees this exactly for what it is.  Post-traumatic stress and depression… but the harder she tries to apply her rational knowledge, the more she doubts herself and the deeper she sinks.

 

And every time she looks at Roman, she sees all the mistakes she has made, all the terrible things she has done.  She sees Lamont in her bed and Isabella in his and she just wants to change everything.  Everything about the past, everything about herself.  

 

She doesn’t know how to put this behind her and move forward.  Try as she might, she just seems stuck in this interminable loop of fear, regret and nightmares.

 

“Marlena,” he reaches towards her but his hand falters before he touches her.  “Baby, I don’t know what to do.  I want to make this better for you.  Tell me how to make it better…”  His blue eyes shine with tears.

 

“You can’t,” she says dully.  “Don’t you think if I knew how you could make it better, I’d have told you by now?” she looks at him, cinnamon eyes narrowed.   “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”  And now she hates herself even more as the hurt clouds his expression.  She can’t keep doing this to him.  She has to work out how the hell to stop doing this.  

 

“Roman,” Laura’s voice comes softly from the bedroom doorway.  He turns to meet her eyes while Marlena turns away to hide her falling tears.  Laura ventures several steps into the room, her expression sympathetic but firm.  “Roman, can I have a word?”

 

Roman looks back at his wife, his distress evident and then he looks back at Laura helplessly.

“Please?” she raises her eyebrows and then nods at the doorway.

 

Roman sighs and then reaches out to touch Marlena’s hair.  “I’ll be back in a minute Doc.”

 

Marlena swallows a sob and then looks back at him, nodding, unable to trust herself to say anything.  She watches him pull on some jeans and a clean shirt and then follow Laura from the room, his shoulders slumped and dejected and a fresh wave of sobs shimmer from her.  

 

She can’t be without him, but his devotion is so undeserved and although she hates to admit it, she feels smothered by it.  She needs some space to work out who she is now; the Marlena that this Grace monster has made her.  She needs to breathe and Roman is not letting her breathe.  He’s suffocating her.

 

And she feels so guilty for feeling this way about him.

 

She doesn’t blame him at all.  He loves her and he is worried about her, she understands that.  Quite honestly, she’s worried about herself.  But that doesn’t change things.  He wants to fix her and make things better.  That’s one of the things she’s always loved about him.  But he can’t fix this.  He can’t fix her.  The only person who can fix her is herself.

 

If she only had the first clue how to go about it.

 

~

 

“I know you’re trying to help her,” Laura says gently.  “But you’re not.”

 

“But how… I can’t just watch her go through all this and not *do* anything,” Roman runs his fingers through his hair and looks away for a moment, trying to compose himself.  Then, looking back at Laura, his expression painfully intense.  “What am I supposed to do?  Just walk away from her?  When she’s in pain, when she’s terrified, I’m just supposed to turn my back?”

 

“Of course not.” Laura shakes her head, “Roman, I’d never advocate that.  Of course not.  Listen,” she smiles gently, leaning her head on one side.  “You’re scared for her, which is perfectly natural, of course it is.  But she sees that, and it puts her under extra pressure.”  She raises her eyebrows slightly, the gesture underlining her intention.  “It makes her feel like she’s failing you by not getting better.  And it’s making her feel even worse about herself and everything that’s happened.  She feels like she’s letting you down all over again.”

 

“She’s *never* let me down!” Roman says fiercely.  “Doc’s never let me down, *ever*.”  

 

“I know that, and you know that,” Laura tells him patiently, “but Marlena thinks she has.  And it’s Marlena’s feelings that are the problem here.  Everything that she’s gone through, it’s finally telling on her.  She needs to come to the realisation herself that she’s not to blame for all this.  But Roman, only she can do that.”  She sighs, leaning back against the wall.  Roman looks uncertain but she can tell he is hearing what she says, and that’s a good start.  “You can tell her until she’s blue in the face, but until she understands that for herself, in her own heart, she’s not going to start feeling better.  And if you just continue to tell her, she’ll simply continue to feel guilty for not being able to believe you.”

 

“Well… what do I do?” Roman asks plaintively, his gold wedding ring glinting as he runs his fingers through his hair again.  He feels almost as lost as Marlena right now.  He hears what Laura is saying and despite himself, he knows in his heart, she’s right.  She’s the doc here, and as much as he hates it, she understands Marlena better than he does right now.  He has to trust her, that’s why she’s here.  If she can’t help Marlena, no-one can.  

 

The thought chills him to the core.  Doc has to get through this, she has to.  She cannot keep having these nightmares.  She can’t keep sinking the way she is.  “If I do this your way… tell me what to do Laura.”

 

“You need some support Roman.  Keeping all your attention focussed on Marlena is not helping either of you.”  She places her hand on his shoulder.  “Roman, you’ve got to accept that you can’t do this alone.  Marlena needs help and she needs more help than you can give her, which is why I am here.  But you need help too.”  Laura’s sympathy, her deep regret and pain at what her friends are going through underline each and every one of her words.  She’s never been more sincere in her advice to a patient or a friend.  

 

She has been watching Roman and Marlena over the past few days and she has quickly come to this conclusion.  And every interaction, every moment shared between them; both the sweet, intimate moments and those permeated with the frustration they both so evidently feel, have backed up her first impressions.  

 

They both have scars that need to heal, but by sticking so close by each other; they are only rubbing those wounds raw over and over again.  They need some space to breathe, to heal independently of each other.

 

And so yesterday, on her way back from going to see Jennifer, she had called in at the Brady pub to talk to Caroline Brady.  And that visit and subsequent conversations had added to her concern.  The Brady family feel shut out and they are also hurting and bear their own burden of guilt and pain.  

 

Laura can’t help feeling that the key to this whole mess is the fractured Brady family unit.  If they can help Roman, then he can be in a position to be the anchor that Marlena so badly needs him to be.

 

Roman takes a deep breath and then nods.  She’s right, he does need help.  He’s so tired he doesn’t even know which way is up any longer.  “You’re right,” he nods.  “I need help.  I know you have your hands full with Marlena, Laura, but can I ask you….?”

 

His tongue ties before he can get the words out.  He wants to ask for her help but she’s here for Marlena.  Marlena needs all her time and energy.  He’s selfish to ask her to split her time between them.  And he doesn’t even know if he can talk about everything that happened to him when Marlena was Grace.  And before that.  How he feels about the fact that she was Grace when Stefano had her.  That she killed for the old man.  That Orpheus raped her.  That Roman let all these things happen to her.  And that he almost let the mercenary break her completely.

 

No, he doesn’t want to talk about it.  He just wants someone to tell him the answers.  He wants Laura to tell him how to make things better for Doc and for himself and their children.  

 

“Listen,” Laura takes his hand and tugs on it.  “Come downstairs with me.”

 

Roman looks again at the closed bedroom door.  He can’t help thinking that Marlena needs Laura’s help right now, much more than he does.  She should be in there, not out here with him.

 

“She’ll be fine Roman.  It’s just a couple of minutes, that’s all.  Once I’ve said what I need to say, I’ll come back up here and spend some time with Marlena, okay?”

 

He pauses for a moment longer and then nods, following Laura down the stairs and sitting on the sofa when she indicates it.  She sits down next to him and takes his hand in his. 

 

“I want to help you Roman, and I will as much as I can,” she nods but looks apologetic at the same time, “but honestly, I don’t think I’m the kind of help you need.  You need help to process all the things you have been through and all the emotions you feel because of that.  But I think you need someone to talk to that you can trust.  Someone who knows you and has been through all these things with you.  Both of you.  It’s not just Marlena who has been through all this, Roman.  You’ve been through it with her.”  She looks over her shoulder at the living room which still bears the marks of Grace’s presence.  It’s going to take a long time for them to stop seeing Grace in their everyday life.  

 

“You’ve seen Grace hurt your friends and family.  You’ve lived as and overcome Stefano’s mercenary.  Marlena was shot and almost died for goodness’ sake!”  Laura realises that her voice is rising, so she takes a breath and a moment to gather herself.  When she speaks again, her tone is gentle and soothing once more.  “You need to talk about all those things Roman.  You need to talk about how they made you feel.  But Marlena can’t be that person for you.  She can’t listen to those things because she lived them herself.  Because they’ll make her feel worse about what happened.  About what she thinks she did to you.  So she can’t be that person for you.  Not right now.”

 

Roman says nothing, just stares at her for a long moment.  Then he looks away, at the newly framed picture of Marlena and Belle on the bookshelf.  There were so few of their things left in the living room when they had arrived back from Louisiana, and it seems to be taking an inordinately long time to put things back to normal.

 

Maybe because things are not normal at all.

 

Laura is right of course.  About all of it.  He can pretend all he likes that none of this has affected him.  He can try and carry on like everything is normal, but how can it be normal when he is Roman Brady and his wife almost died in his arms less than two months ago?

 

“So, who?” he asks, in a gravelly voice.  Although he already knows what Laura is going to say.  Because he knows she is right.  He needs his family.

 

She doesn’t even need to say anything as the doorbell chimes – he immediately knows who it will be.  Giving Laura a look that tells her he is both annoyed and grateful at the same time, he pushes himself from the sofa and makes his way to the door.  

 

Sure enough, when he opens it, he finds Caroline and Kayla standing there, twinned hopeful and expectant expressions on their faces.  “Why do I feel like I’ve just been set up?” he growls. 

 

“Probably because you have.”  Laura’s smile is calm and temperate.  She’s not embarrassed in the slightest about having engineered this.  She knows exactly what she’s doing and that she’s doing the right thing for all her friends.  “I called them this morning Roman, because I’ve been watching you with Marlena and I’ve been concerned that you both need some time out from each other.  You’re too much of a reminder of what’s happened and the things that you’ve discovered over the past few months to spend *all* your time together at the moment.”  She comes up to stand beside him.  “So, I think that you need your family right now.  And I know your mother wants to spend some time with you.  I think it will be good for all of you.”

 

Roman looks at Caroline’s hopeful face and he can’t deny that it makes him feel calm.  She’s his mother after all.  The mother that loved him and then spurned him.  

 

But hell, he’s made mistakes.  How can he point the finger and deny forgiveness to his parents of all people?  Stefano tricked everyone.  The old man faked them all out, and he wants to make his parents pay for that?

 

No, that’s not fair, and it’s not what he wants at all.  Not really.  He wants his family.  He wants to love them again and be loved by them. 

 

“Roman?”  Caroline says quietly.  “We just want to help you son.  That’s all.”

 

“I know Mom,” the corners of his mouth twitch into the smallest of smiles and then he leans in and hugs her tightly.  “I know that, I always knew it.”  He looks first at Kayla and then Laura with a rueful smile.  “I just didn’t know I really needed help.  Not until this morning.”

 

“Why don’t you go with your mom?  Spend the day and I’ll see to Marlena,” Laura suggests quietly.

 

Roman doesn’t even hesitate this time.  This is what he needs, he knows it.  And it’s also what Marlena needs.  Some breathing space, some time without him.  He’s not helping her, Laura is right.  His constant presence seems to just be making things worse.  He knows all the things she did.  The things Grace did and every time she looks at him, every time he looks at her, they see Grace standing between them.  And they have to be able to exorcise that ghost, or Grace will tear them apart.

 

“Just let me get my jacket,” he tells his mother and then to Laura, “you will look after her, won’t you.  Tell her where I’ve gone and if she needs me, for any reason, I’m just a phone call away.”

 

“That’s why I’m here,” Laura reminds him gently as she hands him his leather jacket.  “Trust me Roman.  You have to both trust me now.  I can help her, but only if she, and you, let me.”

 

“I know.” Roman nods his assent.  He’s never been good at letting go.  Particularly not where Marlena is concerned.  She’s his utmost concern at all times.  But he knows that there are times when he has to step back, even when it’s what he least wants to do.  And this is one of them.  He shrugs on his jacket and then stops, looking backwards up the stairs.

 

“I’ll call you in a few hours, keep you up to date,” Laura tells him.  “She’ll be fine.  You just go.  Let your family take care of *you* for a change.”  She pats him on the back nudging him in the direction of the door.  Kayla holds her hand out and entwines her fingers with Roman’s.

 

“C’mon Roman,” she tugs on his hand.  “Pop and Bo are waiting.”  

 

Roman smiles ruefully and then nods once more at Laura.  “Tell her I love her, Laura,” he says sadly.

  

“I will, but I think she already knows,” Laura chuckles, trying to lighten the moment.  And then Roman is gone, out the door and she is closing it behind him.

 

She locks the door behind her and then looks towards the stairs, sighing as she does so.  That was the easy bit.  

 

Now to tackle Marlena…

Chapter C – Combination

With unexpected trepidation, Laura mounts the stairs and makes her way back to Marlena’s bedroom.  She pauses a moment, adjusting her green linen skirt and smoothing down the cream blouse.  Then, taking a deep breath, she taps on the door a couple of times and then pushes it open.

 

“Marlena?”  She peers into the room which has fallen silent.  “Marlena, honey?”

 

“Over here.”  Marlena’s voice sounds dully in the empty room.  Laura advances into the room and sees her, where Roman had left her, swamped in his oversized navy pyjamas, with her arms wrapped around her knees.

 

Like the rest of the penthouse, the familiar has become strange in this bedroom that Grace tarnished.  The familiar floral comforter has gone, replaced with rich gold satins.  Marlena looks lost within a space that is no longer her home, but just another reminder of the hell she has endured.

 

“Roman’s gone out to spend some time with his family,” Laura perches on the edge of the bed.  Marlena looks at her for a long moment and then looks away.  Laura can sense the hostility from Marlena immediately and although on some level she expected it, she still experiences a jolt of surprise.  Still, she ploughs on, knowing that she has to push through the walls Marlena is building at some point.  That point might as well be now.  “I thought it was time we talked about what’s going on with you.”

 

“I don’t want to talk Laura,” Marlena says wearily, brushing her hand over her face and pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes.  “Not now.”

 

“Why?” Laura coaches her tone into neutrality.  “Why not now?”

 

“I’m tired,” Marlena picks at the edge of the comforter, avoiding Laura’s eyes.  “I just want to sleep.  If you could give me some more sedatives…”

 

“No,” Laura shakes her head firmly.  “You’ve had enough now, Marlena.  Enough sedatives.  The only way you’re going to be able to get a really good night’s sleep is to work through these feelings you’re having.”

 

“No!” Marlena glares at Laura for a moment, her eyes feverishly bright.  “Not today, Laura.  I’m not ready for it.”

 

“And when will you be ready for it?” Laura asks gently.  Pulling her light sweater more securely around her shoulders, she adjusts herself so that she is more comfortable on the bed.   “Marlena, it’s been weeks since it all happened.  When will you be ready to start dealing with it?”

 

“I don’t know, but not today.”  Marlena’s mouth pinches and her cheeks color as she stares back at her friend.  “Just *not* today, okay Laura?”  She throws back the comforter and slips out of bed.  “I need to get some air.”

 

“No, it’s *not* okay,” Laura’s tone is suddenly shot with steel.  Marlena can be evasive; putting on a front is almost as natural to her as breathing.  But this is different; there is a different flavor to her defensiveness now.  There is a brusqueness that Laura has never seen from Marlena.  At least not since she last returned to Salem.  

 

She slides off the edge of the bed and stands, the bed a golden barrier between the two of them.   “You can keep putting this off Marlena, but you know as well as I know that you have to confront it at some point.  You can’t pretend that this isn’t happening.  Not this time.  Because this is eating you up from the inside out.  Anyone who has eyes in their head can see that.”

 

“Don’t pretend you know how I feel Laura,” Marlena snaps back angrily, her cheeks flushing as she points a crooked index finger at her friend.  “You have no *idea* how I feel.  I have done such terrible things I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.  And the things that were done to me…” she trails off, swallowing dryly, as for a moment a hole opens up in her armour of anger.  But just as quickly, the shutters come back down and with her left hand; she dashes away the tear that has trickled from her lashes to her cheek.  “You have no right to dictate to me when I am ready to start dealing with everything that happened.” 

 

“*You* asked *me* to come here Marlena.”  Laura reminds her frostily.  “*You* asked for my help and I dropped everything to come back to Salem to be here for you.  I dropped my practice, my personal life and I came to help you.  At the very least, you owe me an explanation as to why you won’t take that help now that I’m here.”  When Marlena says nothing, she adds.  “I didn’t just come to be your babysitter, Marlena.  If that’s all I’m going to be, then I may as well go back to New York.”  

 

She waits for a response from Marlena.  When she doesn’t get one, she sighs heavily.  “Marlena, you and I both know this isn’t going away.  You must know that you’re suffering from PTSD and yes, you can medicate it away with sedatives, alcohol, sex… whatever your poison is; because that is the direction this will go in.”  She watches as Marlena shifts uneasily from one foot to the other.  Laura’s golden eyes soften as she watches the intense discomfort her friend is experiencing.  She would spare Marlena this if she could.  But she can’t.  Not any longer.   “Roman will watch you sink deeper and deeper into depression, your children will watch you suffer and you will be no good to any of them.  If by some miracle, you manage to function, it will be simply that.  Functioning.  You’ll get through each day but you won’t be able to escape *you*.”  She shakes her head sadly.  “You won’t be able to submerge these feelings, at least not permanently.  And one by one, you’ll drive all the people who love you away.  Because how can you let them love you when you don’t think you deserve to be loved?  Or helped?”   Her tone softens as she sees the tears glistening in Marlena’s eyes.  “I’ll tell you this once Marlena, and only once.  I can help you and I *will* help you, because you *do* deserve it.  You deserve my friendship and my help because you are a wonderful woman who has had the misfortune to have terrible things happen to you.  And as someone who has also had terrible things happen to her, I want to help you like you have helped me.”  She pauses for a beat, biting her lower lip for a moment.  She’s not sure she’s making her point effectively enough.  At least, she can’t see that Marlena is allowing herself to hear the words that are being said.  “But Marlena, you have to let me do that.  You have to help me help you.”      

 

She waits again, waiting for Marlena to say something.  Say anything.  Laura so desperately wants to reach her friend.  Wants to find the thing that will slip inside her defences and force her to accept the help that she so desperately needs.  Because if Marlena doesn’t accept her help, this isn’t going to end well, for any of them.

 

And yet, there is still silence from Marlena.  Still this unyielding stubbornness and, on some level, a refusal to accept that she is worthy of the love and caring that her family and friends would lavish on her, if only she would let them.  

 

“Marlena-” Lara stops short in utter frustration. “Listen honey, I love you.  I’d do anything to help you, you know that.  But if you don’t let me, then I can’t stay here, just marking time.  I have a life to lead, people who need my help.”  She raises her eyebrows, signifying her seriousness.  “If I can’t help you, then I won’t stick around.  I’ll go back to New York where there are people who are asking for my help and who will appreciate it.”  

 

When there is still no answer from Marlena, she simply shakes her head sadly and then turns to leave the room.

 

She’s halfway to the door when she hears the broken sob from Marlena.  She stops where she is but doesn’t turn around.  Marlena will have to ask for her help now.  That’s the only way this is going to work.  She can’t push Marlena anymore.  She can’t make her do anything.  This has to be Marlena’s choice and she has to choose it because she wants it.  Because she’s willing to open up and let Laura into her innermost feelings and fears in order to heal.

 

She stares down at her apple green court shoes as she waits.  After a heartbeat, or what feels like hours, her shoulders sag and she steps towards the door.

 

“Wait,” Marlena’s voice cracks as she speaks.  “Laura, wait.”  Laura stops again, waiting for the words she needs to hear.  “I’m sorry, you’re right, of course you are.” Marlena’s voice is choked with tears, her misery almost drowning her words.  “I’ve been selfish and ungrateful.  And after you’ve come all this way because I asked you to.”

 

Laura slowly pivots on her right foot so that she’s looking across the room at Marlena.  She says nothing.  Marlena’s arms are wrapped around her upper body and tears are rolling down her cheeks.  Laura’s chest hurts as she looks at her lost and lonely friend.  She wants so badly to make this better for Marlena.  If she could wave a magic wand and make all this go away, she would, in a heartbeat.  But she can’t.  They have to do the hard work together.

 

“I just don’t know where to start, Laura,” Marlena’s lips tremble as she tries to fight the tears.  “I can’t look at Roman without seeing the past.  Without seeing the things Grace did.  I can’t look at the apartment without seeing her.  I can’t see the family without wondering if they see Grace every time, they look at me.”  She is crying now, properly crying and she doesn’t even bother trying to wipe away the tears as they stream down her cheeks.   “Laura, Grace ruined my career, and she took all of our money; so I can’t even look to the future without seeing shadows of her there.  What kind of a future do we have, when I can’t look at the past without wanting to just blank it all out?  I just want to forget any of it ever happened and I can’t.”

 

“No, you can’t,” Laura agrees softly.  “But we can put it into perspective and make it easier for you to understand what happened and to stop blaming yourself for all of it.  We can put enough distance between you and what Grace did that it won’t feel this painful every time you think of the things that happened.”

 

“This painful?”  Marlena’s choked laugh is loaded with irony and anguish.  “Laura, I feel like I’m being *eviscerated* every time I *think* about the past.  And every time is *all* the time.”  Another sob comes unbidden from her, and she lurches forward, supporting herself on the bed.  Looking back up at Laura, her golden eyes are pleading.  “I feel like I’m going out of my mind.”

 

”Well, if you’re thinking about it all the time, then let’s talk about it, now.”  Laura walks purposefully back into the room.  “Marlena, you’re a therapist.  You know the theory.  You know it works.  And you know these feelings won’t go away, however long you try and stave it off.”

 

“Laura, the thought of talking about any of it makes me feel physically sick.”  Marlena takes a deep breath, now swiping at the tears and rubbing the moisture onto the voluminous pyjamas.  After a moment, she nods miserably.  “And you’re right, sedatives, alcohol…. Right now, any of it seems preferable to picking over the details.”  Her eyes burn fiercely as she looks up at Laura.  “The things I’ve seen, that I’ve done….  Laura, I can’t look in the mirror, so how are *you* going to be able to look at me?”

 

“I’m your friend, I love you.” Laura says simply.  “I won’t pass judgement on you.  I won’t think any less of you.”  She pauses and then, “have I ever before?” 

  

“No.”  Marlena shakes her head.  “No, you haven’t.”  Laura is right.  After all the things that have happened, after the hell she’s put her friends and family through, Laura has never once turned her back on Marlena.  She has always been there for her.  She would trust Laura with her life.  And she has to trust her now.    

 

“Where do we start?” Marlena asks simply.  Because she honestly has no clue where.  But she knows Laura is right, she has to do this.  For Roman, for her children, she has to be strong enough to face this and make it through to the other side.  They are counting on her, and she can’t let them down.

 

“You’re asking for my help then?” Laura asks pointedly.  She wants to get this straight at the outset.  It’s the only way this will work.

 

“Yes,” Marlena nods as she climbs back onto the bed, curling her knees up in front of her again.  She takes a deep breath and then with a trembling voice she adds, “I’m asking for your help Laura.  Please help me.” 

 

“Good,” Laura kicks off her shoes and climbs onto the bed next to Marlena.  “I’m here for as long as you need me.”  She reaches out to take Marlena’s hand in hers.  “As long as this takes, I’m in it with you, okay?”

 

Marlena takes a deep, shuddering breath in and then lets it out.  “Okay,” she nods.  She looks down at their entwined hands and then up at Laura, catching her eyes.  She feels desperate, a sinking woman clutching onto anything to keep her afloat.  But she knows Laura is the right person to help her.  She knows that and she is so grateful to Laura for not quitting on her when she has every right to.  “Thank you.  For being such a dear friend.  For not giving up on me.”

 

“I never will,” Laura smiles softly and squeezes Marlena’s hand.  “That’s what friendship is, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s a shame you weren’t here when Grace was,” Marlena says ruefully.  “I think she’d have had rather a harder time pulling the wool over your eyes than she did the rest of them.”  She pulls her hand away from Laura and settles herself back against the headboard.  Her knees are still doubled up in front of her chest, but her arms are looped more loosely around them now.

 

“Your friends and family?” Laura clarifies.  “Your work colleagues?”  Marlena nods silently.  “And how do you feel about that?  That they didn’t challenge Grace?”

 

“How could they have known?” Marlena shrugs indifferently but her words are unconvincing.

 

“How could they have failed to know *something* was wrong?” Laura asks reasonably.  “I mean, let’s face it, from all accounts, Grace behaved *nothing* like you, honey.”  

 

“Of course they knew something was *wrong*!” Marlena replies defensively.  “But how can I expect them to have known what to do?  She was manipulative, she was smart and she was ruthless.  I’m *glad* they didn’t figure it out, or more of them might have ended up like Hope.  Or worse.”  She shudders, thinking of Lamont, the sound of his nose breaking, the stench of urine and the light fading from his eyes as she pulled the trigger.  She takes a long, trembling breath as she considers anew what a monster Grace was and how she took such delight in hurting those that Marlena loves.

 

“Laura, how could she have been part of me and yet, done those things?”  She looks down at her small, pale hands.  She turns them over and studies her palms intently for a long moment.  “That’s the thing I really can’t seem to get to grips with.  She *killed*.  She was a murderer.  And I don’t understand how that came from me.”  She looks up at Laura with haunted eyes, shadowed with dark smudges of grief.  Her eyes plead with Laura an unspoken litany of entreaties, imploring her to give her some reason, any reason to explain away Grace’s horrific actions. 

 

“We all harbour some darkness, Marlena,” Laura reminds her gently.  “It’s human nature.  However well we subjugate it in every day life, every one of us has the capacity to do violent, terrible things, if pushed to the edge.  When it’s a fight for survival, you survive or you die, it’s that simple.”

 

“She wasn’t fighting to survive when she murdered Lamont,” Marlena refutes Laura’s supposition a little harshly.  “She did it because she *wanted* to.  Because on some level; in fact, on quite a number of levels; she enjoyed it.”  She glares at Laura, almost daring her to disagree.

 

“But when Grace came into existence… when the rest of you shut down, Marlena; you were fighting for survival then.”  Laura’s voice hardens proportionally to the importance of what she is saying.  She needs Marlena to hear this and to understand it logically.  If Laura can appeal to Marlena’s logical, professional side, it will temper the guilt she feels which is currently smothering every ounce of rationality she possesses.  “When Stefano held you captive, when Orpheus raped you.  *That* was the fight, right there.  The fight for your life, for your sanity.  You almost died and then you were violated in the most awful of ways…” she reaches out and takes Marlena’s hand again as her friend looks away, tears rolling down her cheeks once more.  

 

“Tell me about that.” Laura prods gently.  This is key.  She needs to get Marlena to voice her feelings about being held by Stefano, about the events that led to Grace emerging as the strong personality that pulled her through that time.  “Tell me what you remember of what happened during that time.”

 

“I can’t,” Marlena’s words come out in a hoarse whisper.  “Laura, I just *can’t*.”

 

“Yes, you can.”  Laura keeps her voice schooled in as calm and soothing tone as all her professional years of training and experience have taught her is needed at this point.  “It’s all in the past.  It can’t hurt you now.  It all happened years ago, and all the pain is back there.  All you’re doing is remembering.  It has no power to hurt you now.  Remember that.”  She rubs her thumb across the back of Marlena’s hand.  “You’re safe and I’m here with you.  They can’t hurt you now.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like it was years ago,” Marlena uses her free hand to wipe the tears from her face.  “It feels like it was yesterday.”  She reaches over to the bedside table and pulls a tissue from the box.  Dabbing at her nose, she sniffs.  “The nightmares I keep having… I keep seeing Orpheus… I keep seeing him come for me.  And then sometimes it becomes Lamont or Stefano, and sometimes it’s… sometimes it’s Roman…” a fresh wave of tears bubbles from her and she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.

 

“The nightmares are your subconscious talking to you.  Telling you that you need to sort out your emotions,” Laura tells her, her voice carefully devoid of emotion.  “You know that, right?  They bear no relation to what’s happening in your life now.”

 

“I know,” Marlena wipes her eyes again.  “I just… I woke from that dream this morning and Roman was there and I just… I was just…”

 

“Is that a problem?” Laura asks carefully.  This is the more uncertain ground.  Laura knows how to deal with the past.  The present is another matter.  “Are you…”  She thinks how best to frame her question. “Are you scared of Roman?”

 

“Oh no!”  Marlena looks shocked and shakes her head with utter certainty.  “How could I be scared of Roman?  He would never hurt me.”

 

“But he almost did, didn’t he?” Laura reminds her.  She’s treading on dangerous ground, but they need to tackle this.  And it’s an important point to make before they get back to talking about Grace.  “Down in New Orleans, in that bedroom….”  She sees Marlena’s shoulders tense and Marlena draws her hand away before Laura even knows what has happened.  With a flash, she suddenly realizes Marlena doesn’t know that she knows what happened in that room.  There had only been two people in that room and Marlena has no reason to know that Roman has told Laura what happened.   “Roman told me Marlena.  He felt I should know what happened when you were down there.  To help me understand the sequence of events that led to Grace fracturing and your primary identity reasserting.”

 

Marlena says nothing for a moment, digesting what Laura is telling her.  That Laura and Roman have talked.  Have discussed the things that he did… that she did…  And then, her voice stiff and oddly formal, she speaks again.  “That wasn’t Roman,” she informs Laura tersely.  “Roman was brainwashed and implanted with false memories by Stefano.  Roman wasn’t responsible for anything he did as Stefano’s mercenary.”

 

“And yet *you* are responsible for everything Grace did?” Laura points out the flaw in her logic.  

 

“*I* wasn’t brainwashed Laura,” Marlena’s voice hardens even more, the comforter bunching in her fist.  “There was no microchip, no implanted memories or personality.  Grace was my response to Stefano’s manipulations.  Of course I am wholly responsible for what she did.”  Her eyes flash defiantly as she stares at Laura.  “She is *me*.”

 

“Oh tosh!” Laura rolls her eyes, refusing to be intimidated or affected by Marlena’s emotional outbursts.  “Are you honestly trying to tell me with a straight face that what Stefano did to you while you were on that island wasn’t brainwashing?”  When Marlena doesn’t answer, she continues in a tone of indignation.  “Marlena, you underwent a systematic programme of emotional and physical abuse.  What Stefano did to you is a *textbook* case of a brainwashing my dear, and the sooner you see that, the better.”

 

“I think you’re overstating that somewhat,” Marlena’s mouth has thinned to a line as she regards Laura.  “Okay, so he manipulated me.  He twisted the truth and made me believe I’d been abandoned. That’s hardly brainwashing.

 

Laura chews the inside of her lower lip for a moment.  It shouldn’t be surprising that Marlena doesn’t see the reality of her captivity, even with this much distance.  And yet, it does surprise Laura.  Marlena’s a psychiatrist, and a damn good one.  This should be glaringly obvious to her.  But then again, Laura wasn’t the one inside the trauma, experiencing the manipulation, experiencing the storm of emotions.  It’s far easier to see the truth of a situation from a privileged outsider’s view.  

 

“All right, all right,” she nods slowly, thinking about how to use this knowledge.  “Let’s try it this way.  Let’s divorce the emotion from it if we can.  Okay, tell me Marlena, if your case file came across your desk, if this was someone else and you were being asked for a psychiatric evaluation of the case, how would you frame it?”

 

Marlena looks at her blankly, like Laura’s question makes no sense to her. Just the idea of being asked to give her professional judgement, even if it’s only on her own case, is anathema to her right now.  Given the havoc that Grace wreaked on her clients… it’s not something she wants to contemplate.

 

“Okay, let me start it then.”  She offers Marlena a small smile and pats her hand as a gesture of reassurance.  “Feel free to add to my notes whenever you feel you want to.”  She takes a deep breath.  “Right.  The patient is a mature, professional woman.  She is married with an adult family.  The patient suffered a number of complex traumas prior to the period in question.   These traumas included the death of her infant son, the death of her twin sister, sexual assault, repeated abductions and periods of captivity, the death of her husband and abduction of her children.  Many of these traumas, including the death of her husband, can be directly attributed to a man that we will call Antagonist A.  Two years subsequent to the death of her husband, she discovered that in fact that her husband was not dead, but had been physically altered and was suffering from retrograde amnesia.  She integrated her husband back into her life at which point, she suffered a head injury which led to a coma but was followed by full recovery. Subsequently the patient was again abducted and held by a man that we will call Antagonist B.”  Laura stops to take a breath and allow Marlena to digest.  “You with me so far?”

 

Marlena simply nods.  Laid out like that, her life looks like a complete train wreck.  She’s not sure she likes what this implies about her.

 

“While being held captive by Antagonist B, the patient was involved in a plane crash and was presumed dead by her family.  In fact, the patient woke after the accident to find herself in the company of Antagonist A, the man directly responsible for so many traumatic experiences.  The patient claims to not remember anything of her identity at this point.”

 

“Claims!?”  Marlena looks indignant.  “I *didn’t* remember anything.  I remembered how to eat and breathe and walk and talk, but that was about it.”

 

“This is ‘a patient’, remember?” Laura raises one eyebrow and lifts her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.  “No emotion, just facts.  This is important Marlena.  What’s your professional diagnosis of the patient’s memory loss?”

 

“Dissociative amnesia,” Marlena replies, almost without thinking.  Her face colors as Laura smiles.  “The patient is clearly suffering dissociative amnesia related to her prior traumas.  Awaking to find herself face to face with the man that has threatened her and her family so many times, her primary personality has retreated as a form of self-protection.”

 

“Good,” Laura nods, settling herself back against the bed head and tucking her feet up under her so that she is half facing Marlena.  “I agree totally.  So, we have a patient who is primarily suffering from dissociative amnesia and finds herself injured and in captivity thanks to Antagonist A.  This man, who could have assisted her to regain her memory, or even returned her to her family, instead chooses to lie to her and manipulate the truth using photographs and video of her husband and children with another woman.  He also reveals that he is holding Antagonist B captive alongside the patient, increasing her feelings of vulnerability and fear.”  Laura watches Marlena carefully throughout this monologue and is pleased to see that the anxiety that Marlena is exhibiting is not spiralling out of control.  “Despite, or maybe because of the fact that the patient is experiencing fragments of returning memory, Antagonist A deliberately fosters her feelings of insecurity and abandonment and sets himself up as a figure of security and protection.”

 

Laura waits for a moment in order that Marlena processes what she is saying.  Marlena, for her part, stares down at her hands as she fidgets with the corded edge of the comforter.  

 

“It’s reasonable to assume,” Laura continues, “that since the patient was being attended by doctors that she was being given daily doses of unspecified medications without being informed as to what those medications were.”

 

This time, Marlena nods without even waiting for Laura’s prompting.  And then, for the first time, she picks up Laura’s thread of reasoning and begins to pick out some logic of her own.  

 

Because, although her initial reaction had been to shy away from psychiatric evaluation of her situation, she has to admit Laura has a point.  It is far easier to apply reason and logic to her case if she pretends it is not her case.  And her professional knowledge is the one place she feels safe right now.  The one thing she still knows inside out.

 

“And since we would expect that experiencing memory fragments should lead to recovery of memories reasonably swiftly under normal circumstances, it’s also reasonable to assume that Antagonist A was medicating the patient with psychotropics or maybe a tropane alkaloid such as scopolamine in order that the recovery of memory was inhibited.”

 

“My thoughts exactly.”  Laura can’t help but allow herself a quietly jubilant smile.  She has Marlena now, has her on the right track.  Now she just needs to keep her there.  “But when the patient doesn’t respond in the way he wishes, he increases the abuse, arranging a near sexual assault on the patient.  Again, Antagonist A sets himself up as the rescuer and protector.  He offers to have her attacker executed, thereby impressing upon her both his ruthlessness in protecting her but also his ruthlessness against those who cross him.”

 

“He set up a perfect case of Stockholm syndrome,” Marlena’s voice is breathy and her eyes wide.  “He deliberately manipulated her so that she’d have no choice but to completely trust in him.”

 

“Yes, because on some level, she knew if she didn’t, she would potentially suffer the same fate as he was suggesting that her attacker should meet.”  Laura is pleased that Marlena is still divorcing her own emotion from the case.  It will make the next bit easier for her to bear.  “And yet, the patient continued to resist Antagonist A’s advances and continued to exhibit traits of her primary personality.”  Laura pauses for a moment, wanting to keep Marlena involved in the diagnosis as much as possible.  “What would you say Antagonist A’s motivation was in keeping the patient in captivity and the ongoing manipulation of her psychological state?”

 

Marlena thinks for a moment and then shifts her position so that she is facing Laura.  Her position is less defensive now, her feet curled under her and one hand playing with her engagement and wedding rings.  “I’d say his goal was to make her completely dependent on him.  He wanted to completely control her, and he wanted her to submit to his control.  He deliberately set up the situations which would maintain her amnesia and in fact push her towards a dissociative fugue state.  He wanted, if at all possible, to obliterate her primary identity, to have complete power over her.  And when she wouldn’t submit totally to his control, he went one step further to break her completely.”

 

“Right.  He saw the effect that the attempted sexual attack had on her, but it didn’t go far enough.  It had the desired effect to a limited degree, but he wanted to push the primary personality as far down as possible.  So, he repeated the experiment with Antagonist B.  He knew Antagonist B was unstable, knew he was violent.  He knew the patient already had a history of captivity with Antagonist B and was therefore, fearful of him.”

 

“So, he engineered it.  He released him and allowed that maniac to find me and….”  Marlena’s voice is shaking, and she is clasping her hands now, so Laura takes the opportunity to reach out and lay her hand over Marlena’s.  

 

“No emotions Marlena, remember?  Just facts.  You’re just diagnosing a case here.  Right now, that’s all we’re doing.  We’ll deal with the emotions later, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Marlena nods, takes in a deep breath and blows it out.  That helps, the reminder helps.  Her emotions are not going to help her understand the reality of what took place all those years ago.  They just complicate and cloud the issues.  “Okay, you’re right.  This is a case, that’s all.”  The tremor in her voice belies her words and a single tear trickles down her cheek as she wraps her arms firmly around her knees once again.

 

“I know it was horrific honey,” Laura tells her gently.  “I know that.  But you can’t continue to shut it away.  It’s breaking you, and I’m just trying to find the best way to help you through this, you know that.” She reaches out to touch Marlena’s shoulder, but Marlena abruptly shrugs her off, as though she can hardly bear anyone to touch her.   

 

“I know, Laura.”  Marlena’s voice is taut with barely controlled distress.  “I’m f-… can we just get this bit over and done with.  *Please*.”  

 

“Of course,” Laura nods her head, her heart breaking for her friend.  “Of course, we can.  Okay, as we know, the patient was a victim of a vicious sexual assault, the assailant being Antagonist B.  Immediately after the assault, Antagonist A was on hand to comfort the patient, to offer his protection and his assistance.  We know that it was at this point that the alternative identity started to emerge.”

 

“I think that really happened after the patient discovered she was pregnant,” Marlena swallows, her throat absolutely parched.  “Antagonist A inferred that the pregnancy was the result of the assault.”

 

“Is there any reason to believe that the patient was pregnant prior to the assault?” Laura asks carefully.  “It must have been weeks, if not months, since the patient had last been with her husband.  Did the patient have any symptoms of pregnancy in the weeks preceding the attack by Antagonist B?”

 

“I…” Marlena looks thoughtful, and almost grateful that Laura has raised this point.  “Not that I know of.  It was a long time ago, Laura.  I could be forgetting things.”

 

“I think the patient has to accept that in this case, Antagonist A was most likely telling the truth.  I don’t think asking that question gets us anywhere constructive.  At least, not now.”  Laura shifts uncomfortably.  This isn’t the ideal place to be conducting a therapy session, but she doesn’t want to break the thread of their progress right now.  “The patient had undergone a horrific ordeal.  I think we can predict that the patient was now suffering rape trauma syndrome, in addition to the dissociative amnesia.”

 

“Antagonist B is the one remaining connection the patient had with her husband.  And she felt drawn to him because of that.  She was desperate to better understand who her husband was and how he could just abandon her like that felt that maybe she could understand that through Antagonist B.  Shows how completely off her judgement was.”  The corner of Marlena’s mouth twitches upwards in a faltering half smile.  “She felt abandoned, insecure and isolated,” she says quietly.  “And completely dependent on the protection of Antagonist A.  When she was attacked, she felt on some level that she had failed Antagonist A.  That if she’d been more the woman he wanted her to be, that the attack wouldn’t have happened, that he would have protected her with more vigilance.  So, the retrograde amnesia became a fully-blown dissociative fugue with the emergence of an alternative personality.”

 

“A personality that developed in line with Antagonist A’s desires.  And we shouldn’t discount the desire the patient may have had to at least forge a partial independence; to defend herself from any further threats.”  Laura nods thoughtfully.  “You know as well as I do that in the reorganisation phase of individuals suffering RTS, violent fantasies of revenge are often common.  Antagonist A encouraged the patient to fulfil those fantasies, thereby overtly shaping the formation of the new identity.”

 

“Because she’d already refused his offer with Lamont and the result of that had been the attack by Orpheus… Antagonist B,” Marlena corrects herself quickly.  “So if she refused it a second time…”

 

“The trauma she’d suffered followed by the silent threat of escalating attacks was probably more than enough motivation for her to capitulate to Antagonist A’s desires.” Laura agrees.  “But it wasn’t enough for him that she agreed that her attacker should be executed.  No, Antagonist A knew he had her at this point and he wanted to push his advantage as far as possible.  If he could make her the instrument of her own revenge, to destroy the last link to her husband, then the transformation was complete.”

 

“She had no choice.”  It’s a completely matter-of-fact statement from Marlena and Laura feels her heart jump as she sees the realisation finally dawn in Marlena’s eyes.  There had been no choice, no other eventuality.  “She knew that she was expendable to him, just as Lamont and Orpheus were.  He didn’t give her any other impression.  At that point, Antagonist A just viewed her as a means to an end, and she was dispensable.  If she’d continued to refuse him, what use to him would she have been?”

 

“None,” Laura shakes her head sympathetically.  “None at all.  The irony, I suppose, is that the alternative personality learned how to successfully manipulate him to the point where she did make herself indispensable.  Do we have any idea how long she was in a coma after the second accident?”

 

“No,” Marlena shakes her head.  “I would say Grace was working for Stefano for a couple of years, from what I can recall.”

 

“So, a good six months then,” Laura gnaws on her lip thoughtfully.  “There must have come a point where Stefano gave up on hoping that you’d come out of the coma and accepted that Grace was never going to recover.  At that point, he’d chosen to have you sequestered away in San Cristobal.  The reminder of having you close, but in a coma, must have been untenable for him.”

 

Marlena nods slowly, and takes a deep breath, trying to put all the pieces together.  “So, why, when I awoke in San Cristobal, was I myself and not Grace?” she asks, her brow creased with confusion.  

 

Laura shifts from where she is sitting so that she is facing Marlena.  They are on safer territory now and she is happy for Marlena to start talking about the events in the first person.  “Because, when you *did* come out of the coma in San Cristobal, there was no Stefano there to trigger the immediate distress and fear you’d felt the first time.  We also have to contrast the situations going into the two accidents,” she reminds Marlena.  “The first accident you had been traumatised and held captive for an extended period of time.  Then you awoke to find Stefano at your bedside.  The second time, you had spent a period of time as Grace.  You’d felt confident in your ability to deal with Stefano and to deal with most situations you found yourself in.  You trusted Stefano; you had no reason to be frightened.  So, you had no reason to resurrect the Grace personality.  On some level, you knew you could handle whatever life threw at you.”

 

“And when Grace came back this time?” Marlena knows the answer really, but she wants Laura to spell it out for her.  Her voice is brittle as she asks the question that has been haunting her.  “Why couldn’t I handle finding out John had cheated on me?  Am I that weak that I couldn’t deal with what happened?  With the mercenary sleeping with Princess Gina?”

 

“Because it fed back into all those abandonment issues you, probably rightfully, have.”  Laura reminds her, not without compassion.  “Roman… John… he’d disappeared, and you felt lost and alone.  And then you find out he’d slept with Hope and what’s worse; he’d lied to you about it.  And Stefano was there, right there, feeding you the information that you didn’t want to hear.  Your worst fears realised.  John had betrayed you and you felt hurt and vulnerable.  So, you did what worked for you the last time.  You turned to Stefano, and you turned into Grace.”  She lifts one eyebrow.  “Also, you can’t forget the head trauma.  Emotionally for you, it was like a redux of ‘87 all over again.”

 

Marlena says nothing but presses her fingertips to her lips and looks away, blinking to stall the threatening tears.   

 

“Personally, I’m amazed it took that long,” Laura says lightly, moving her head to catch Marlena’s line of vision.  “If any normal person had been asked to endure all the ordeals you have, my friend, they’d have been either alcoholic or catatonic years ago.”

 

Marlena can’t stop the smile from curling her lips and she joins Laura in her throaty chuckle.  “I guess you have a point there,” she says quietly.

 

“Of course I do,” Laura reaches out and squeezes Marlena’s fingers.  “So how do you feel now?  Now that we’ve put things into perspective.  Are you still convinced that you’re a terrible person and you’re responsible for everything that happened?”

 

Marlena thinks for a long moment and then shakes her head slowly.  “I know what you’re saying, Laura.  I hear it all, and yes, I understand it rationally.  Grace was an understandable response to an impossible situation.  She allowed me to survive.”  She stops and takes a deep breath.  “I don’t know that it makes me feel any better about the things she did though.”  

 

“Marlena, you were traumatised, brainwashed and brutalised.  The things that happened to you broke you and Stefano manipulated what was left to fulfil his own twisted desires.  How can you possibly blame yourself for that?”  Laura feels frustrated beyond belief.  

 

“I don’t blame myself for that, Laura,” Marlena sighs, fingering the edging of the comforter once again.  “But… gosh honey, Grace was a murderer.  She killed people.  And she hurt my family.  And however we spin her emergence, she was and *is* a part of me.  I have her memories.  How am I supposed to not feel responsible for the things she did?  The blood of those men is on my hands, *whatever* they did to me.  And poor Braden Davies…” Her voice falters and she pushes away the comforter in disgust. 

 

Laura thinks for a beat and then decides that maybe it’s time for a change of scenery.

 

“Marlena, I’m going to get a drink of water,” she says gently.  “Can I get you one?”

 

“Oh Laura,” Marlena smiles gratefully as she realises how parched she really is.  And a break from this intense conversation is more than welcome. “Yes please.”  

 

“Why don’t we continue this downstairs in a couple of minutes?  I can get some water and make us some tea.”  Laura takes Marlena’s hand and squeezes it again.  “Why don’t you get changed?  You might feel more comfortable and in control if you’re dressed.”

 

“All right.”  Marlena smiles ruefully.  “Although I’m not sure how in control the wardrobe Grace left me with will ever make me feel.”

 

“I’m sure you can find something appropriate.”  Laura chuckles as she slips off the bed.

 

~

 

When Laura comes out of the kitchen she is grateful to see that Marlena is already in the living room.  The doors to the balcony are open and she is standing, leaning against the frame, staring out over the rooftops of Salem.  Before Laura speaks, she already knows that Marlena is a million miles away.

 

“Marlena?”  She sets the tray, laden with water, a teapot, cups and a milk jug down on the table.  “Marlena, honey?”

 

There is no answer, and she sighs as she straightens.  Quietly she walks over to where Marlena stands.  “You okay honey?”

 

“Mmmmm?” Marlena turns to Laura.  “Oh, yeah.  Sure.  Just peachy.”  The sarcasm is unmistakable.  “And before you tell me a cup of tea might help, it won’t.”

 

“No, nothing will make it feel better.  Not for a while.  But the talking will help.  Eventually.”

 

“You know what would really help?” Marlena’s expression is cold and her usually warm cinnamon eyes are flinty.  “If Stefano was dead.  That’s the only thing that would make me feel better at the moment.”

 

She has spent a lot of time thinking about this over the past few days.  Of all her regrets, and there are so very many; the fact that she didn’t kill him when she had the chance is the highest on her list.  Dead and buried in a concrete coffin.

 

“Laura, Grace killed people, so I know I’m capable of it.  So why didn’t I kill Stefano when I had the chance?”  Her hands curl into fists and she thumps the door frame angrily.  “Why couldn’t I just have rid the world of that miserable bastard?  We’d all be better off.” 

 

“Well, things would certainly have been different,” Laura concedes.  “And if I recall history correctly, you did try once.  Which should go a long way to helping you understand Grace.  We can all do terrible things when we’re pushed over the edge.  You were pushed so far over the edge that you didn’t know how to find your way back.”

 

“Because of Stefano,” Marlena says dully, looking once again out over the glittering city that she has lived in for so much of her life.  The city that has seen her heights and her very depths.  “It always comes back to Stefano, doesn’t it?”

 

“How does that make you feel?” 

 

“It terrifies me.” Marlena’s voice is raspy now and she swallows.  “Because I’m always looking over my shoulder, wondering what’s next.  He’s made it his life’s mission to destroy mine.”

 

“I don’t think he’d see it like that.” Laura counters reasonably as she lays her hand on Marlena’s arm.  “But he’s under lock and key now, Marlena.  He’s going to trial with a grand jury in just a few weeks and with the information you found in New Orleans, the case is watertight.”  She rubs Marlena’s arm comfortingly.  “He can’t hurt you anymore, honey.”

 

“Well, if you think that, you’re not as intelligent as I gave you credit for.”  A noise comes from Marlena that is supposed to be a laugh, but it sounds more like a bitter, choked cry and she turns and moves purposefully back into the room.  “Since when has Stefano ever allowed himself to end up inside a court room?  It’ll never come to that.”  She turns back to face Laura, her expression dark, her eyes glittering dangerously.  “He’ll be out of that cell before they even fix a date.  Mark my words.”

 

“Honey, I know in the past he has managed to escape prosecution, but the FBI have him.”  Laura shrugs.  Marlena is right, Stefano has form in this sort of thing, but surely this time he can’t escape justice.  This time they are wise to his tricks and schemes and this time, he will answer for his crimes.  “He’ll be watched around the clock.  There’s no way he’ll be able to escape this time.  You have to have faith that the law will do its job and you’ll get justice at long last.”

 

“Yes, because that’s served me so well in the past, hasn’t it?” Marlena sighs, wrapping her arms around herself.  “Oh Laura, I want to believe that he will get what he deserves, but I *know* Stefano.  He’ll find a way, he always does.  He’ll fake a heart attack, or he’ll bribe someone and he’ll be gone.  Until next time he shows up to make our lives a living hell.”

 

“He’s not invincible Marlena, he’s not immortal.”  Laura moves back into the room and comes to stand beside Marlena.  “He can’t bribe *everyone*.”

 

“No, but all it takes is one in the right place.  And he has endless resources.  For goodness’ sake, Grace just passed all John’s money over to him.”  She sighs irritably, brushing her hand over her forehead.  “And let’s not forget he managed to bribe someone in the ISA’s lab to switch Roman and Lamont’s DNA tests.  What Stefano wants; Stefano gets.  He as much as told me that in that jail cell in New Orleans.  Told me to enjoy the time I had with my family because he would be coming for me.”

 

“Oh Marlena,” Laura draws her friend into a hug.  She understands Marlena’s fears only too well and knows that she is right to be fearful of Stefano’s legendary ability to escape from the trickiest of situations.  He’s not known as the Phoenix for nothing.  “Honey, I totally understand your fears, but you can’t live your whole life frightened of looking around the next corner for fear Stefano might be lurking behind it.  What kind of way is that to live?”

 

“No way.” Marlena sighs and drops onto the sofa.  She curls her long legs up under her, the black knit crop pants and crisp white blouse hugging her ridiculously slender figure.  “But realistically, can you see any other way?  Even if I killed Stefano with my own hands, I still don’t think I’d trust him not to come after me.”

 

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Laura tries to lighten the mood, but her words fall flatly between them.  “Is that what’s behind the nightmares?” she asks softly, handing Marlena a glass of water.  “Your fear of Stefano?”

  

Marlena takes a mouthful of the cool water, letting it wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.  “Maybe,” she shrugs.  “I suppose that’s part of it, yes.  Stefano and what he’s done to me.  What he continues to do to me.”

 

“But isn’t that letting him win from behind bars?  Isn’t living your life looking over your shoulder – isn’t that just what he wants?”

 

“Of course it is.”  Marlena snaps irritably.  “I’m in a no-win situation Laura.  Stay here and worry about Stefano escaping.  Don’t worry and then get blindsided the next time he actions one of his schemes.”

 

“Okay, okay, I understand what you’re saying; but we can work on reducing that anxiety to manageable levels, all right?” Laura reassures her.  “You’re understandably fraught right now, with everything that’s happened.  You may feel that it’s more manageable in a few weeks’ time.  Let’s assume that he does get to court and ends up in a maximum-security facility, far, far away… then you can start to live your life a little more freely, right?”

 

“You’re making an awfully big assumption there Laura,” Marlena takes another mouthful of the water and then puts the glass down on the table.  Running her fingers through her hair, she nods carefully, “but for the sake of argument, yes, I suppose I can.”

 

“Have you talked to Roman about these fears?” Laura asks.

 

“No,” Marlena shakes her head.  “He’s worried enough about me as it is.”

 

“But don’t you think he’s feeling the same things?  Don’t you think sharing that worry would help both of you?  You need some strategies for coping with your anxiety.”

 

“Like what?” Marlena demands shortly.  “What on earth could make me feel better about the idea that Stefano is determined to have me?  You’ve just spent the past hour drumming into my head that he is the reason for all my woes.  And he told me himself that he is determined to have me.  That he won’t stop until he has.  So, tell me Laura.  How is telling Roman all that going to make either of us feel any better?”

 

“How many times has he tried that? How many times has he tried to interfere in your lives?” Laura points out reasonably as she pours a cup of tea for Marlena and herself.  “And he’s never succeeded.”  Marlena shoots her a look that makes her qualify her statement.  “Oh for short periods of time, maybe.  But ultimately, you and Roman always win out.  You always do and you always will.”

 

“And what if that one time, we don’t?” Marlena takes the mug of tea that Laura hands her and rests it on her knee.  “All it will take is that one time Laura.  For him to win.  For me to lose everything I hold dear.  Forever.”

 

“Well, what if he does come for you?” Laura challenges her.  There is no use in being fearful and anxious and just waiting like a victim.  That’s not the Marlena she knows, anyway.  “Maybe if you have some strategies to deal with that eventuality-“

 

“If he comes near me or my family again,” Marlena says, her voice dripping with vitriol, “I’ll kill him.  I swear it Laura, if Stefano so much as even *looks* in the direction of Roman or the children, or *anyone* I care about, I swear to God, I will kill him, once and for all.”

 

Chapter CI – Connected Pawn

“Here you go man,” Bo sets a cup of steaming coffee in front of Roman and then slumps into the seat beside Kayla.

 

“Thanks Bo,” Roman stares at the coffee while the rest of his family stare at him.

 

“How about I make some sandwiches?” Caroline suggests anxiously.  Roman is drawn, like he hasn’t eaten or slept properly in days.  Even if he wasn’t her son, even if he was just plain John Black, she’d still be worried about him.

 

“No, I’m fine Ma,” Roman shakes his head wearily.  “Coffee will do just fine.”  As though to prove his point, he picks up the cup and takes a slug of the strong, hot liquid.  Caroline remains unconvinced and Roman manages to force a smile onto his face for her sake.  “Seriously Mom, stop worrying.  I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t look fine Roman,” Kayla tells him bluntly.  “You look like hell.  You should have called us.”

 

“I know, and I’m sorry.”  He lifts his eyes from the coffee cup to meet hers and Kayla can tell he is being honest.  “I shouldn’t have shut you out, but Doc’s been so… I’ve been so worried about her, and I didn’t know what to do.  I haven’t wanted to leave her, but I don’t know how to help her.”

 

“Well, you can’t help her by not eating or sleeping Roman,” Caroline lays her hand over Roman’s.  “You need to take care of yourself son.  You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”   She takes a breath and then broaches the subject that she knows lies between them.  The elephant in the room that they need to acknowledge before Roman will start to let them in.  “Roman, listen… I know you have every right to be angry with us for what we did to you-“

 

“Ma,” Roman holds up his free hand.  “You did nothing to me.  It was Stefano, he snowed us all.”  A dark scowl passes across his face momentarily and then it is gone, just the weariness remaining.  “Yeah,” he nods for a moment, holding Caroline’s eyes and then he twists his hand, so he holds hers in his.  “Yeah, I’ll admit I’ve been feeling hurt and angry.  I won’t deny that.  But you know what?  *I’ve* made worse mistakes than that.  How can I blame you?  You just went by the evidence that was in front of you.  Lamont was convincing.  He looked like Roman, he had Roman’s memories and he had a DNA test that said he was Roman.  What were you supposed to do?”

 

“Listen to my heart,” Caroline tells him simply.  “I gave birth to you.  I should have known you were Roman.”

 

“With this face?” Roman chuckles darkly.  “Mom, stop giving yourself such a hard time.  The old man messed with our heads.  It’s what he does.”  He takes a deep breath and squeezes Caroline’s hand as he looks around the rest of his gathered family.  “It’s done now.  We know the truth, so let’s just forget about it all.  Please.  I don’t need you to blame yourself.  I need you to help me get through this.”  He pauses, his voice catching in his throat.  “I need you to help me help Doc get through this.”

 

“Of course,” Caroline nods, catching her lower lip between her teeth.  “How is she, Roman?”

 

“Bad,” he says simply, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears.  “She’s not sleeping, she barely eats, and I can’t get her to talk to me.  She’s… I’ve never seen her like this Ma.  All the things she’s been through before, she’s always been so strong… But this, this time she’s… broken.”

 

“Hasn’t Laura been able to help?” Bo asks, catching Kayla’s eye.

 

“Not really,” Roman sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.  “Doc won’t talk to her either.  She’s been supportive and she’s been giving Marlena sedatives so she can sleep, but there’s only so much of that that’s good for a person.  The moment she stops taking the sedatives, Marlena can’t close her eyes without having a nightmare and she just refuses to talk about them.  Or anything that happened really.”

 

“But she can’t carry on like this, surely?” Kayla asks, her brow creasing in concern.  “Neither of you can carry on like this Roman.  Clearly, you’re not sleeping either.  Maybe…” she hesitates for a moment and then she continues.  “Maybe Marlena needs more help that you can give right now.  You or Laura.  Maybe she needs-“

 

“Don’t say it Kay.”  Roman glares angrily at her.  “I’m not putting Marlena in a hospital.  I won’t do it.”

 

“But if it’s best for her, Roman…” Kayla replies as gently as she can.

 

“It’s not best for her,” Roman snaps, pushing himself out of the booth and stalking across the room.  He turns his glare back on Kayla as he slams his hand down on the bar.  “Doc needs to be surrounded by the people that love her, *not* by strangers.  She needs our love and support Kay, *not* to be shut away because we’re afraid for her and don’t know what the *hell* to do.”

 

“Hey.  Kay was just trying to help, Roman,” Bo says with a calmness that he does not feel.  

 

“It’s okay Bo,” Kayla says quietly, trying to stem the rising emotions that are filling the room, threatening to overwhelm them all.

 

“No, it’s not.”  Bo shakes his head as he looks over at his big brother.  He understands Roman’s turmoil and that he is hurting but he doesn’t need to take it out on Kayla. Or any of them.  

 

Despite the fact that Roman is here, he is still shutting them out with his defensiveness and anger.  “Bro, if you don’t think she’s right, that’s fine.  But don’t bite her head off for trying to help, okay?”  He rotates so that he is facing Roman, his back to his sister as he continues, unable to help himself now.  “I mean, what the hell are we supposed to do?  Just sit here and say nothing?”  He thumps his palm down on the table.  “C’mon Roman.  Marlena is our family too.  We *want* to help.  We want to be here to support both of you.  But you gotta tell us what to do man.  You gotta help us to help you!”

 

Roman sighs and leans against the bar, his elbows propped up and his head in his hands.  The silence stretches across the bar, paper thin.  As though any word, any noise could tear it all apart.  Tear Roman from them once again.

 

Caroline stares at Roman and then at her husband, barely daring to breathe.

 

Roman’s shoulders slump and shake silently and Caroline is out of her seat before she even knows what she’s doing.

 

“She’s going to be all right Roman,” she tells him softly as she slides her arm around his back.  “She’s so strong, she will get through this.”

 

“Will she ma?”  Roman turns his tearstained face to look at her, his eyes searing through her, begging her to give him some kind of comfort.  He is desperate, so desperate it is breaking him into pieces, and she would do anything to take his pain away.  *Anything*.  “Will, she?  Because I don’t know any more.  I got her back; I can hold her in my arms but she’s slipping through my fingers and I don’t know what to do to make it better.  I don’t know how to fix it.”

 

“Maybe, you can’t,” Caroline suggests, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks with her fingers.  “Roman, maybe you have to just trust that Marlena will find the strength to make it through this.  That you just have to give her the time and the space to find that strength within herself.  Like you said, she’s been through so much before and she’s coped with it all.  But this has gone deeper; it’s affected her sense of herself as a person.  Of course it will take her some time to find her equilibrium.  And as hard as it is for you and for all of us, maybe all we can do is to give her that time.”

 

“But she’s sinking Ma,” his voice shakes as more tears tumble down the weathered planes of his face.  “I can give her all the time in the world if that’s what I have to do… but at the moment, time is only making things worse.  The nightmares… my God Ma, it’s heart-breaking to watch her.  She’s so alone.  And I can’t help her because I think every time she looks at my face it just reminds her of all the terrible things Grace did.  And the things that the mercenary did… and would have done-” he can’t even bring himself to vocalise it.  How can she look at his face and not see the man that had almost violated her?  The mercenary who would have smashed her into tiny pieces if he’d had his way.

 

“I know, son,” Caroline pulls him to her and folds her arms around his large frame.  He buries his face in her shoulder and sobs.  “I know.  You’ve both been through so much.  But you have to have faith, Roman.”  She moves back out of the embrace and lays a lined hand on the coarse, stubbled flesh of his cheek.  “I think Marlena is in the right hands with Laura.  She trusts Laura, and Laura understands the things she has been through with Stefano.  After all, Laura has been there too.  So, you have to listen to her.  She hasn’t given up on Marlena, has she?”

 

Roman shakes his head, and sighs heavily.  “She’s going to talk to her today.  Try and make some headway.  That’s partly why she wanted me out of the house, I guess.  Thought it would be easier to get Marlena to open up without me there.”

 

“And she thought that maybe you could do with talking about what happened too I think?” Caroline slides her hand down his arm and squeezes his fingers in hers.  “Marlena’s not the only one that’s been suffering.  Or that has feelings about the things that happened.  What about you Roman?  How do you feel about everything that happened?  About the things you found out?”  Her eyes search Roman’s face for hints of what he is feeling.  “The things that Stefano did to you and Marlena, they were horrific.  You can’t just keep all the feelings about those things locked up inside you.”

 

Roman takes a deep breath and wipes away the traces of tears that still linger on his face with the back of his sleeve.  “I know Mom, but I can’t even think about how I feel about everything that’s happened until things are better with Doc.  If I even start to think about what happened… it just comes back to her.”

 

“Come back and sit down Roman,” Kayla calls across to him.  “Please.”

 

Roman nods wearily and shuffles back to the booth, pulling up a chair and turning it around so he can rest his arms atop its back.  

 

“Mom, Pop, Bo… can I have some time alone with Roman, please?”  Kayla asks them softly.  Caroline has misgivings but she nods all the same.  She knows that it is most likely to be a one-on-one conversation that will allow Roman to lower his defences.  And Kayla is probably the best of them all to initiate that conversation.  Roman will always try and be the strong, supportive son to Shawn and herself, but with his siblings, he is more likely to open up and give his true emotions free reign.  

 

And with Kim unable to make it back from California just yet, Kayla is definitely the best of them to undertake this.    

 

“We’ll just be in the back if you needs us,” she takes Shawn’s hand and together they make their way out of the bar.  Bo lingers, looking first at Kayla and then at Roman, unsure of whether he should really go, or not.

 

“Go,” Kayla tells him.  “We’ll be fine.  I’ll call you if we need you.”

 

“Okay,” Bo nods.  “You know where I am man.  Any time, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, Bo.  Thanks, little brother,” Roman holds his hand out.  Bo reaches out and shakes it, clapping his hand against Roman’s upper arm.  Roman watches him go and then turns back to Kayla.  “Why do I feel like I’m about to get a lecture Kay?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

 

“Because what you are saying is horseshit,” Kayla says, her emotions running close to the surface.  She knows Caroline hates to see Roman upset and that is part of why she has chosen to remove everyone else from this conversation.  Roman needs to get upset, he needs to get damn *angry* at the unfairness of what has been done to them.  “Roman, I get that you’re scared for Marlena, but to focus on her to the extent that you totally exclude *your* emotional reactions to everything that happened to the two of you is not good for you.  You’re both in denial if you think you can start to move past this thing without confronting what happened.” 

 

“I’m fully aware that I need to deal with it Kayla,” Roman’s fingers grip the back of the chair so hard that his knuckles blanch white.  “I just don’t think that now is the time.”

 

“And when will be the time?” Kayla demands as gently as she can.  “Roman, life outside of the penthouse is still carrying on.  Things are in motion…  Stefano’s trial is coming up.  Have you thought about that?  They’ll subpoena you to give evidence, you know that.”

 

“They won’t have to subpoena me,” Roman growls.  “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from that courtroom.”

 

“And do you think you’ll make a good witness if you haven’t discussed the things that he did?”  Kayla asks him bluntly.  “I mean, come on Roman, the man is a monster.  He’s done terrible, *appalling* things.  You said as much earlier.  He stole your life and your family from you.  He took Marlena, held her prisoner and had her-“

 

“*Stop* Kay,” the words tumble out of Roman’s mouth before she can finish her sentence.  He doesn’t want to hear it, not from her mouth.  He can feel the anxiety and rage rising inside him and he needs to contain them.  If he doesn’t, he doesn’t know what he might do.  He easily might demolish everything in this bar if he doesn’t keep control of his emotions.  And thinking about what Stefano did to Marlena when she was so helpless is just going to kick any kind of control he might be able to exhibit into touch.  “I know what Stefano has done.  Believe me, I know all the low-life, despicable things he’s done.”

 

“And you’re just going to be able to sit there in court and listen to all that?  And to testify without losing your cool?”  Kayla asks him, not without sympathy.

 

“I’ll have to.”  The muscle in his cheek twitches madly as he glowers darkly at his sister.  He understands why she’s doing this, but really, it isn’t helping him, much as she might think it is.

 

“When they go into detail about what he did to Marlena?  How he let Orpheus loose on her?  How he made her into a murderer?  You’ll sit there and just *listen* to all that Roman?  Really?  You’ll be able to sit there and just watch his smug, smirking face as they recount all the things they found in his files?”

 

“Shut *UP*!”  Roman flings his chair aside so it crashes into a nearby table.  “All right Kayla, you’ve made your goddamn point!”  He swings around, desperately looking for something to hit, something to break and at the same time, desperately trying not to give into the urge to just destroy everything in his path.  But the anger is too much and giving into his rage, he grabs another chair and smashes it against one of the booth tables several times until it splinters into firewood his hands.  And when he is finished with that one, he finds another to vent his frustration on.

 

Kayla cringes with every blow but she holds her hand up as she sees Bo’s face at the door which adjoins the bar to the living quarters.  Bo retreats and she waits patiently as Roman wears out his anger on the inanimate objects in the bar.

 

“What am I supposed to do?” he cries, turning back to her, his hands clenched in tight fists.  “Tell me Kay because I don’t know what I am supposed to do.  I want to *kill* the miserable sonofabitch.  When I think of what he did to Marlena I get so angry I just can’t *see* straight.”  As though to prove his point, he swipes at one of the shattered chair legs and smashes it several times against a table.  “*Damn! *Damnit*!”  He throws the splintered chunk of wood away and stalks across the room to the pub door.  Part of him wants to leave and to just keep going.  Just run until he has no energy for rational thought.  

 

Because thinking just brings him a rage and a despair that he can’t even begin to fathom.

 

“Roman,” he jumps as he feels Kayla’s hand on his shoulder.  And then all the energy seems to drain from him and his shoulders slump.  “Roman, it’s okay to feel all those things.”  She tells him gently.  “It’s okay to feel angry and frightened.  It’s *okay* to feel like you want to kill Stefano for what he did.  Any normal, sane person would.”  She gently pulls on his arm and turns him so that he is facing her.  His face is alive with pain, and he tries to turn away from her again.  “Roman, you can’t pretend this isn’t happening; that you’re not feeling the things you’re feeling.  If you do, if you don’t talk about them and let them out, they’ll end up becoming destructive and that’s not good for you or for Marlena.”

 

“I only want to make things easier for Doc,” he says helplessly.  “I want to make all this go away Kayla.  I want to make things right again.”  A tear trickles from one impossibly blue eye and Kayla just wants to take her older brother in her arms and in turn, make all his hurt and pain go away.  But neither of them has the power to do that, to turn back the clock and undo the havoc and the misery that Stefano has wrought.

 

“Come and sit down,” she tells him quietly, pulling him to a booth away from the wreckage he has just rained down on the pub.  He follows her meekly and sits where she indicates.  She slides in next to him and slips her arm around his broad shoulders.  He is hot and clammy but she doesn’t care.  He is her brother, returned to her at long last.  She loves him and she will do anything to help him get through this.

 

“Of course you want to help her, you love her.  You see her in pain, and you’d do anything to make that pain go away.  I get that, Roman.  We all do.  But you and I know that you can’t do that.  That’s Marlena’s journey.  You can walk it with her, but she’s the only one that can heal herself.  And you’re the only one that can heal yourself.”  She squeezes his forearm.  “We’re all here for you Roman.  Whatever you need, we’re here to give it to you.  Just let us.  Let us walk your journey with you.  We can support you and help you help her.”

 

Roman is silent for a moment that seems to stretch out to infinity.  The room is silent, almost palpably so.  And then he exhales and the sound seems to break the spell that has been woven out of his anger and pain.  “Thanks sis,” he says hoarsely.  “I’m sorry I’ve been shutting you out.  I just don’t…”  he shakes his head and sighs miserably.  “It’s been so long since I’ve had a family outside Marlena and the kids.  I got used to just…. relying on myself.  And Doc.”  He rubs his face with one calloused hand and then drops it back onto the table, staring at it.  All the time spent with Grace in those back woods of Tennessee have told on him in more ways than one.  Sometimes he hardly recognises the man that stares back at him from the mirror; all tanned and with lines etched into his face that he’s never seen before.  “I kinda forgot how it is to be close to you all, I guess.”

 

“I don’t blame you for it Roman.”  Kayla gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment.  He’s right; they hadn’t been there for him.  Even as John Black, they’d been his family for so long, they should have been there for him.  He was still family, whatever name he went by.  But they’d let him down, all of them.  “And I’m sorry that we let you forget what it was like to have your family around.  That was wrong of us, even if we didn’t know that you… were you.”  She manages a faltering smile but then her face becomes serious again.  He’s been opening up and she doesn’t want to allow him to close down their conversation just yet.  There’s too much he needs to talk about.  Too much that has happened that he needs to begin to process.  “Roman, how do you feel about Marlena?”

 

“What do you mean, how do I feel about her?” he looks confused.

 

“I mean… well Grace, and everything that she did to you.  She hurt so many people, and she would have gone with Stefano, if you hadn’t stopped her.  Surely you must feel *something* about everything that happened.  You must have some kind of residual feelings.  I wonder…” she stumbles and the flow of words stops awkwardly for a moment.  

 

“You wonder what, Kayla?”  Roman’s voice hardens in response to her probing questions.  

 

Kayla swallows and plays with the ring on her left hand.  “Well, I just wonder if there are some feelings you are trying to bury and maybe Marlena is picking up on them and that’s part of why she’s struggling so much.”

 

“What kind of feelings?  What exactly are you implying?”  Roman’s voice is bright and cold like a steel blade now and the stiffness has returned to his shoulders.   

 

“I’m not implying anything Roman,” Kayla sighs, irritated with herself for managing to bring his defensiveness back to the fore.  “I’m just asking.  I’m asking you to tell me how you feel.  That’s all.”

 

“I *love* Marlena,” he says simply.  “I’d do anything to see her safe and happy.  I have no other feelings.”

 

“Not even about Grace?” she asks softly.

 

“Not even about Grace.” He tells her dully.  He doesn’t understand why she is doing this.  It’s like picking scabs off barely healed wounds and he doesn’t see how it can help at all.

 

“So, you loved Grace too?  Despite everything she did to you.  And all the trouble she caused for so many people in Salem?”  She stops short of bringing up Lamont’s unfortunate demise.   For the moment.

 

“Of course I-” Roman stops short.  He’s suddenly shocked that he has no idea what to say.  He had been going to say that he didn’t love Grace.  But that simple sentence unlocks a whole plethora of emotions that he’s not sure he wants to even think about, let alone discuss with Kayla.  And he’s not even sure it’s entirely true.  Grace came from Marlena.  Of course she was a twisted, broken fragment of the woman he loves, but even so… had he loved Grace?  

 

On some level, the broken, fractured parts of himself that had been left after Stefano took his memories and his identity recognised something in Grace and was drawn to her.  He can’t deny that.  He had been so desperate and so focused on getting Marlena back; he had never allowed himself to consider Grace as a person.  She had simply been a barrier to getting Marlena back.  But he has to admit, all the time spent with her had been… frustrating and frightening but strangely exhilarating.  He doesn’t miss her.  But he doesn’t begrudge the time he spent with her either.  He wants to wish it all undone but he finds he can’t.  She was Marlena’s guardian during a time he couldn’t be.  And she was his journey to finding the truth about himself.  

 

She is inside Marlena.  He has to accept that.  Marlena has that darkness inside her, as he has his own.  Which is why they are, as they have ever been, a perfect fit.

 

“It’s complex,” he says finally.  “How I feel, about everything that happened.  How I feel about Grace.  I know she hurt people, but,” he shrugs, abandoning any pretence at caring what she thinks of what he says.  He doesn’t have the energy to be angry anymore.  “I love Marlena.  And Grace is part of her.”  He gives Kayla a half smile.  “Sure, I hated her while she was here.  I needed to get rid of her to get Marlena back.  So, I hated her but I was drawn to her and yes,” he nods vehemently, “part of me loved her because she’s part of Marlena.  And I don’t feel guilty about that.”

 

“I would never suggest you should,” Kayla tells him.  “In fact, I’m glad.  For both of you.  It’ll make things a lot easier.  But if you follow the logic through; if Grace is part of Marlena and Grace hurt the people you love, how do you reconcile that?”

 

“I could never be angry at Marlena for the things Grace did.” Again, Roman shrugs.  “I don’t know how I could.  And I don’t know if that follows any rules of logic.  But she was pushed to the edge, Kay.  Marlena went through hell when Stefano had her, and Grace was her response to an *impossible* situation. And this time…” he exhales, feeling the pain all over again, the look in her eyes when Stefano had told her where he had been on their honeymoon.  Who he had been with.  “Marlena broke because of the things I did.  And Grace lashed out and hurt me and the people she blamed for Marlena’s pain.”

 

“She hurt other people too,” Kayla reminds him.  “Roman, Grace *killed* people.”

 

“As have I,” Roman reminds her in a low, gravelly voice.  “Kayla, I told you, it’s not that simple.  She was put in a situation where that was the only way she could respond.”  He nods his head, thinking about a conversation he’d had with Laura several days ago.  “Stefano had Marlena right where he wanted her.  He took everything away from her, allowed her to be…. brutalized and then promised to be her saviour, if only she did what he wanted.”  Anger suffuses his face, flushing it a deep red as he relives the things that happened to Marlena.  As he has relived them over and over again since he found out what Stefano had done to her.  “He warped her, Kay.  He twisted her life until the only possible option she had was to become what he wanted her to be.  Otherwise, she was dead…” he grimaces, “or worse.”

 

“I see that,” Kayla tells him, laying her hand on his arm.  “Roman, I see the logic of it and I know it must be so hard to think of what happened to Marlena…”

 

“You have *NO* idea,” Roman snarls so violently that Kayla shrinks back slightly.  “Hard?  Kayla, it *kills* me, every time I think of it.  I should have *protected* her.  She’s my wife and I should have protected her from that.  Instead, I just left her to the evil, twisted devices of Orpheus and Stefano.”

 

“But you didn’t know!” Kayla shouldn’t be surprised at this, but somehow, she is.  It was so long ago, and she thought he’d resolved this guilt after Marlena’s return to Salem.  

 

“I should have known,” he says miserably.  “Stefano dropped enough hints.  He taunted me when I was with Diana, dropped clues that Marlena was still alive.”

 

“And ultimately, you came to the conclusion that it was just that.  Taunting.”  Kayla reminds him.  

 

“I should have known the old man wouldn’t do it without a damn good reason,” Roman smooths his finger over his eyebrow in an unconscious gesture, one he always does when he feels uncomfortable and upset.  “Kayla, I *should* have *known*.”

 

“There was *absolutely* *no* evidence that Marlena was alive, Roman,” Kayla shakes her head.  “Much less where she was.  Even if you had thought she might be alive, how would you have known where to start looking for her?  You know as well as I do that if Stefano doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.  That island he had her on was in the middle of nowhere.  It’s probably not even on any maps.  So how could you have found her?  How could you have protected her?”

 

“I should have never let Orpheus take her in the first place.” He’s crying now, the tears rolling silently down his cheeks.

 

“You did *everything* you could to save her, Roman.” Kayla’s heart is breaking for her big brother and the burden he carries.  “When Orpheus had her, when you thought she might be alive, you did *everything* you could.  And even if you had continued to search for her, you wouldn’t have found her, we both know that.  And Stefano would still have lied to Marlena.  Nothing would have been any different.  You couldn’t have done anything more.”

 

She slides her arm around his shoulder again and pulls him against her so that he can cry silently into shoulder.  They stay that way for what seems like hours, until Roman’s tears have abated and he feels calmer again.

 

“It terrifies me,” he tells her softly in a cracked voice, “how close I came to losing her again.  She would have left with Stefano.  And I would have been alone.”  He looks up at her with anguished eyes that are such a vivid sapphire blue that it leaves Kayla momentarily breathless.   “And now, Kay, it’s like she’s here but I’m losing her anyway.  Doc’s fading away, and I don’t know how to pull her back from the edge.”  He turns away again, staring down at the table.  “I’m so frightened she’s not going to recover from this, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive if she doesn’t get better.  I pinned everything on getting Marlena back, but to get her back, only to lose her to this?”  He rubs his hand over his face, smearing the traces of tears across his cheeks.  “I don’t know how to fight this, Kay.  I don’t know how to protect her from this.”

 

“You can’t,” Kayla says simply.  “But Roman, Marlena is so strong.  I don’t know that I’ve ever met anybody as strong as she is.  If anybody can make it through this, she can.”

 

“And if she doesn’t?” Roman asks, sounding for all the world like a lost, little boy.

 

“If she doesn’t?”  Kayla takes his hand.  “Only you can answer that question, Roman.  We’ll all be here for you, no matter what.  But it’s you that has to find a way forward.”

 

He stares at the table for a long minute and then slowly turns to Kayla.  “For better or worse.  When I married Marlena, that’s what I vowed.  She’s my life and I can’t imagine living without her.  I’ll be with her no matter what.  And I’ll help her through this, no matter what it takes or what it costs me.  I owe her everything, Kayla.”

 

“She’s lucky to have you Roman,” his sister tells him, but Roman gives a harsh mirthless chuckle in response.

 

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what had happened down in New Orleans,” he scowls.

 

“Why?” Kayla asks, frowning as she senses she is about to hear a new part of the tale, one that she’s not going to like.

 

“Because John Black had taken over.”  Roman sighs.  “We were in the middle of nowhere and… and Grace tricked me.  She made me think Marlena was back, that I’d won through, and Marlena had come back to me.”  He shakes his head, thinking of the pain that had shot through him as Grace had laughed, her trap sprung.  “But she hadn’t, it was Grace all the time.  And when I realizedshe wasn’t Marlena… it gave the mercenary his way to get in.  And he took over.  It was the mercenary that went with Grace to Maison Noir.  And when Stefano told him that he only existed in Roman Brady’s head…” he laughs bitterly.  “Well, that guy was never exactly stable, was he?”

 

“What did he do?” Kayla can sense Roman getting edgy beside her and judges it best to allow him some space so she slides out of the booth, allowing him the freedom to move around the bar again.  He takes it gladly and paces across the room to the bar where he turns to face her.

 

“What did he do?”  He cocks one eyebrow.  “He went to find Grace.  Knew she’d tell him the truth.  And when she did, he lost it and he…” he pauses, breathlessly.  “He attacked her.  Tied her to the bed and tried to force himself-” he stops to correct himself.  It was what it was; dressing it up in euphemisms doesn’t make it any more acceptable.  Or any less horrific.  “He was going to rape her Kay.  She had a hold over him too and he hated her for it.  He needed her submission.  Wanted to break her so that she would be nothing to him anymore.”

 

“But he didn’t..?” Kayla asks, horrified at Roman’s admission.  No wonder he’s so riddled with guilt.  “He didn’t… do it?”

 

“No.” Roman shakes his head, feeling strangely emotionless.  “No, I stopped him.  It was though something shattered and suddenly I woke up in my own head again.  And he was gone.”  He blinks, stopping to consider his words.  “I think it’s for good this time, I think this time I fought him, and I won.”

 

“Oh Roman…” Kayla exhales softly, her voice full of sympathy for his pain.  She considers the situation Roman must have found himself in, suddenly coming to his senses and seeing Marlena tied up beneath him.  “It must have been terrifying.”

 

“Not as much as when Stefano shot Marlena,” he tells her.  “That was when she beat Grace.  Stefano had forced his way into the room by that point.  He was going to shoot me and Marlena…” he can’t help the rueful smile that curls his lips.  “Well, you know Doc would never let Stefano hurt me if she could possibly help it.  She fought through and she ran to me as the old man fired.  Christ Kay, you don’t know fear until you see blood like that on the woman you love.”

 

“You two are amazing,” Kayla’s blue eyes sparkle and a warmth suffuses her voice that touches Roman deeply.  “Everything you’ve been through; all the crap Stefano throws at you and you’re *still* standing.  He’s taken you from each other, he’s tried everything he can to destroy the two of you and still, here you are.  Loving each other, refusing to let him win.  You’re inspirational.”

 

“I don’t know if you’d say that if you saw us this morning,” Roman tells her sombrely.

 

“Listen Roman, I know you’re worried, but I know Marlena.”  She smiles reassuringly.  “She might be down at the moment, but there’s no way that she’s out.  Things will turn around; I know they will.” 

 

“And if she’s called to testify at Stefano’s trial?” Roman asks quietly.  “Kay, how can I expect her to do that?  How can any of us expect her to face the old man across a courtroom and remember the things he did to her?  And the things she did for him?”

 

“The DA won’t make her testify if she’s not up to it,” Kayla reassures him.  

 

“I don’t know…” Roman shakes his head.  It’s all too complex.  The things that Grace did for Stefano, the people she hurt.  If Marlena relives that in court… he doesn’t even know what Stefano’s lawyer might throw at Marlena in a cross-examination.  In fact, it doesn’t even bear thinking about.  His blue eyes widen as he looks at his sister as though the thought has just occurred to him.  

 

“Kay, she *can’t* testify.  She’s still carrying way too much guilt.  She gets up there on the stand and starts taking responsibility for the things Stefano made Grace do and God know what will happen.”  He exhales heavily.  “But if she doesn’t testify….”

 

“Roman, Stefano is going down.” Bo’s voice slips into the room and he follows it.  “Whether or not Marlena testifies or even if you testify… that room in Maison Noir all those files.  They were enough to sink him for life, even without you personally overseeing his trial.  You don’t even need to be there if you don’t want to be.”

 

“I’ll be there.”  Roman says, his voice low and hard.  “Even if it’s just to make the old man is there standing in the dock.”  He stops suddenly then and it’s as though a bolt of lightning hits him.  His expression transmutes from anger to shock, with a momentary frisson of fear and then he’s back to anger again.  But this time the anger is laced with anxiety and Kayla is suddenly aware her brother is walking a tightrope of emotions once again.  “Christ, if I could, I’d watch the old man every second between now and the final breath the old bastard takes.  Just to make sure it’s him and not some escape stunt he’s pulled once again.”

 

“You really think he might have something planned?” Bo asks, slipping into the booth across from his siblings.

 

“Since when has Stefano not had anything planned?” Roman demands humourlessly.  “The old man is a past master at escaping justice.  I don’t expect this time to be any different.”

 

“He’s in maximum security, man.”  Bo reminds him.  “He’s in isolation with no visitors aside from his lawyer, who is searched every time he goes in.  There are two guards on him around the clock.  He’s not going anywhere, bro.”

 

“Yeah, heard that before,” Roman curls his hand into a fist and then flexes it out again.  “When did Stefano last stand trial?  For anything?”  

 

He can’t believe that it’s hardly occurred to him until now.  He’s been so worried about Marlena’s state of mind; he’s barely stopped to think about Stefano’s upcoming trial and more importantly, his legendary ability to evade justice.  “If I know the old man, he’s got a plan.  Either to escape or to walk free.”

 

“And how’s he going to do that?” Bo demands.  “We’ve got him under lock and key, Roman.  And we have enough evidence to send him down for the rest of his days.”

 

“Doesn’t mean it’ll happen.”  Roman rubs his hand over his brow, as though to try and erase the deep furrows there.  He can’t believe he’s been so stupid as to not even consider that Stefano might have a plan to walk free once again.  Or maybe he has considered it, but he has simply buried it because it is too horrific to consider.  After all, the old man had as good as told Marlena in that prison cell in New Orleans that he would soon be free.  And he will come for her when he is.

 

Roman feels a chill, deep in his soul. 

 

“Maybe that’s why Marlena’s struggling with these nightmares?” Kayla seems to read his mind.  “Because she’s afraid that Stefano is going to escape?” 

 

“Of course it is,” Roman groans, his head pounding.  “I’m such an idiot.”

 

“Well, you can reassure her it’s not going to happen,” Bo tells him seriously.  “Listen Roman, if it makes her feel better… if it makes you feel better man, I’ll go down there and take as many watches as I can myself.  Hell, between us, Abe, Hope and I can cover a watch between us.  We’ll make sure DiMera doesn’t go anywhere but into that courtroom.”

 

“Thanks Bo,” Roman smiles gratefully.  “But even if we get him to the courthouse, I have no doubt he’ll have another ace up his sleeve.  As much as I said I’d like to earlier, we can’t watch him for every hour of every day of the rest of his miserable life.”

 

“What if he does?” Kayla asks the question that has been filtering through Roman’s mind since he first thought of this possibility several minutes ago.  “God forbid, what if Stefano was to escape.  Or even worse, he’s not convicted?”  The expression on her face convinces Roman that unlike his younger brother, she has been persuaded her that this is a very real possibility.  And it’s one that scares her.  “What happens then?”

 

It only takes Roman a moment before he can summon his answer.

 

“Simple.”  He grinds out the words through bloodless lips.  “If he comes near Marlena or our children, or any of the family again…. I’ll kill him.”  Both of his hands curl into fists now and his calmness is frightening.  “It’s the only way he’ll ever stop, if he’s dead.  And I swear to God, I’ll do it.  I’ll kill the old bastard before I let him hurt Marlena or anyone I love ever again….”

Chapter CII – Luft

A soft golden light filters through her fluttering lashes as she opens her eyes.  She feels adrift for a moment, disoriented.  Something is different.

 

Something is wrong.  

 

And then, she realizes what it is.  She’s not been awoken by the nightmares.  No thumping heart and clammy skin.  No prickling of her skin.  No terror washing through her, obliterating any sense of stability she might have gained from her night’s rest.

 

She’s awaking with a sense of peace that she’s not felt for what seems like forever.

 

In her half-asleep state, she turns over to find Roman watching her.

 

“Morning beautiful,” he greets her with a gentle smile that fills her heart with inexplicable joy.

 

“Hi,” she smiles back at him, her voice husky as she stretches her arms above her head.  “What time is it?”

 

“A quarter past ten,” he brushes some stray strands of hair from her face and then leans over to plant a soft kiss on her lips.  “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.”

 

“I was,” her brows knit briefly in the middle as she considers her uninterrupted night’s sleep.  “I can’t quite believe it.  No nightmares…” she trails off with a tiny shudder, as the dreams that have plagued her swim before her eyes for the briefest of moments.

 

“Hey,” Roman brushes his thumb across her cheek again.  “That’s a good thing, right?”

 

“It’s a wonderful thing,” she shakes her head, dispelling the unwanted images and she smiles at him.  “The sessions with Laura are really starting to help.”

 

It’s been almost two weeks since her breakthrough session with Laura and she’s been committing to three hours every day to work through the residual emotions she has about what happened, about Grace and integrating back into her life.  It’s hard work, but it’s worth it; she is starting to see the benefits.  A good night’s sleep is an excellent reminder of that.

 

“Hold me?” she smiles shyly at Roman.  It feels like forever since they have been intimate and for the past few months, it seems like every time she has been in Roman’s arms it’s been because she’s been terrified.  She wants to remember how good it feels to be held by him, to smell his scent.  To feel his lips on hers.

 

“You don’t have to ask twice, Doc.”  He grins as he edges closer to her and eases his arms around her.  

 

She sighs as she settles into his embrace.  The familiar feel of his skin, warm against hers.  The musky, morning smell of him.  She closes her eyes and nuzzles his chest, feeling him kiss the top of her head.  This is magical.  After all they have been through, that they can find and trust and love each other the way they do, it’s a miracle.  It’s perfect. They are perfect.

 

“I love you,” she murmurs softly.   

 

“I love you too, baby,” his voice hums against the top of her head.  “I love you more every day.  I love your kindness and your strength and the way you always fight to do what’s right.”

 

A wave of guilt washes through her and she tenses momentarily.  “Not always,” she reminds him in a sombre tone.

 

“That wasn’t your fault,” he reminds her in return, his fingers stroking her hair, soothing her.  “I thought we’d established that, Doc.”

 

“Yes,” she sighs, pulling back from him slightly so that she can look him in the eyes.  She searches their blue depths for a moment and then gives him a fleeting smile.  “We have.  I know it intellectually, Roman.  I even believe it, in my head.  I am having a hard time convincing my heart though.”

 

“I understand,” he says simply.  “But you’ll get there, Doc.”  He strokes the side of her cheek with his crooked forefinger.  

 

“We both will.”  She draws her hand over his shoulder and down his back, visualising the tattoo etched there underneath her fingers.  Stefano has done so much to try and destroy them, but he has only served to strengthen their love, their unbreakable bond.

 

“Listen Doc, I uh..” he  closes his eyes and then shakes his head.  

 

“What?” she asks, concern creasing her brow.  “Roman?”

 

He scrutinises her for a long moment and then presents her with a forced smile.  “No, never mind, Doc.  This isn’t the right time, it can wait.  Just ignore me,” his smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Roman, what is it?”  She pulls away from him and pushes herself into an upright sitting position.  “What’s wrong?  You can’t just do that-”

 

She’s starting to sound panicked as he holds up his hands with the ghost of a smile. “Okay, okay!”  He reaches out to take her hand in his oversized one.  “Don’t get yourself upset, baby.  It’s nothing serious.  We just,” he chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, evidently trying to decide which words to use.  “Well, you know things have changed for us, financially.”

 

She nods her head without a word, but he sees her pale visibly.  “Hey, no blaming yourself, okay?  It wasn’t my money to begin with, as it turns out.  Now we know I’m *not* Forrest Alamain, Vivian is going to come looking for her money sooner or later anyway.  It just so happens that now she has to get it from Stefano.  Or the feds if they can track it down…”

 

“Unlikely,” Marlena shakes her head.  She knows exactly how well Stefano can hide away the things he doesn’t want found.  “Stefano has accounts hidden in places that no-one can touch them.”

 

“Well, anyway,” Roman shrugs his shoulders.  That’s not his concern anymore.  “The point is, we were living off money that was never ours to begin with.  Isabella’s money is safe because it’s tied up in the Toscano Foundation and in Brady’s trust fund.  But that means I can’t access it either.  Not that I would.”

 

“Which means…” Marlena doesn’t have to think through all the consequences of this particular act of vengeance meted out by her alter-ego.  She’s already turned them all over in her head a million times. She’s only been waiting for Roman to bring it up because she hasn’t been able to bring herself to.  To acknowledge another of Grace’s crimes that took place inside her skin.

 

“There’s no money left in Basic Black,” Roman tells her.  “It’s gone into liquidation.”

 

“You don’t have a job,” she concludes in a small voice.  “And neither do I.”  Marlena looks around her at the penthouse bedroom.  “We both know I’ll never practice as a psychiatrist again.”  She brushes away a traitorous tear that shimmers on her lower lashes.  She doesn’t even think she ever wants to practice again.  But to know that she doesn’t have a choice, that that has been taken away from her by Stefano like so much else.  

 

He has stripped so much from her.  He has taken years.  Time with her children.  Time with Roman.  He has taken life and laughter from her and left her with anger and fear.  He robbed her of her very self, her identity and he had twisted her into a raging, broken reflection of what he needed her to be.  And now he has taken the one thing that has always been hers and hers alone.  Her profession.  Her pride in being able to help people.  To help them towards peace and happiness.  Being a doctor is so much a part of who she is… how does she even start to find Marlena Evens again without that?

 

“Hey baby,” Roman rouses her from her reverie, his warm calloused palm cupping her cheek.  “It’s going to be okay.  You’ll find something new.  We both will.”

 

“I know… it’s just…”

 

“I know Doc,” Roman drops his hand and floats his thumb across the back of her fingers as he stares at her hand.  “I understand.  When I became John Black again all those years ago… it wasn’t just you and the kids and the family that I lost.  I wasn’t allowed to be a cop anymore.”  He tilts his head and looks at her.  There is no accusation in his eyes, just an empathy that makes her want to weep.  “That was who I was, you know?  Even if they took my name from me, I still knew how to be a cop.  And then they took that from me too.”

 

“Roman, I’m so-”  

 

Roman squeezes her hand.

 

“Doc, I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry again.  We’ve been through all that.  It’s done, it’s in the past.”  He sighs with the weight of all the things that are racing through his head.  Their past is a veritable minefield, but their future is no flower-filled meadow either.  “We need to put the past where it belongs, we’ve got a hell of a lot in front of us to overcome, it’s going to take all the energy we have to rebuild our lives.  Can’t we just leave all our mistakes and misfortunes behind us now?”

 

Marlena’s mouth stretches into a tight smile, and she nods her head acquiescently.  If only it were that easy.  Roman knows it’s not that easy.  But he’s right, of course he is.  Her smile becomes gentler and more natural, and she leans forward into his embrace.  “We can try, at least.” She tells him.

 

“Yeah,” he nods and kisses the top of his head.  “Cos listen Doc, what I was trying to say before.  We don’t really have any money left.  And baby, we have to live somehow.”

 

She looks around the bedroom once again, her train of thought returning to its starting point.  “And the upkeep on this place is too expensive.”

 

“Yeah, it is.” Roman leans back to look at her once again.  “We’ve still got the old house, but I don’t think either of us want to live there, am I right?”

 

“No,” she shudders lightly, thinking of all the nights she had shared with Lamont, the Roman-faced impostor in that house.  And the last night she had shared with him there.  Or rather, Grace had shared with him.  “I don’t think I ever want to see it again.”

 

“Well, good, because I’ve already had the estate agent around to look at it.  And as soon as I give her the word, she’ll put it up for sale.”  He pauses.  “This place too.  Are you okay with that, Doc?”

 

“More than okay,” she says firmly.  “Roman, this… this used to be my home but too much has happened here for me to want to stay.  All I can feel in any of these rooms is the ghost of Grace.  And Stefano,” she adds, although it hardly needs saying.  Stefano inhabits this penthouse as surely as she and Roman ever have.  Everywhere she turns are memories and ghosts of the past.  She shakes her head, golden hair tumbling around her shoulders and Roman sees a spark of strength and defiance in her eyes he’s not seen for the longest time.  “No, I want to go.  This place isn’t good for me.  It’s not good for us.”

 

“I’m really glad to hear you say that, sweetheart.”  He pulls her against him once again and she melts into his arms with a sigh.  “Because I couldn’t agree more.  I say we sell this place, sell the old house and find somewhere new for the two of us.  Somewhere where we can make a fresh start together.”

 

“Somewhere…?” she turns in his arms to look at him uncertainly. 

 

“Oh, I mean in Salem, Doc!” he grins.  “We’ve finally got our family back together, you think they’re going to let us walk out on them now?”

 

“Oh, no,” Marlena gives a relieved smile and a small chuckle.  “I think the kids would lock us up before they’d let us go anywhere.”

 

“Hey, speaking of the family,” Roman’s blue eyes glitter as he strokes her upper arm, “how do you feel about taking a small trip this afternoon?  To the pub.”  He says in reply to her unspoken question.  “I know Mom and Pop would love to see us.  And they’re not the only ones.”  He raises his eyebrows meaningfully,  “they haven’t given much away but they’ve informed me that we want to be there later on as there’s something, or, I got the impression, *someone*,” he pauses meaningfully “that we may want to see.”

 

“Someone huh?” Marlena forces a small, tight smile.  She might be feeling a little better and a little stronger but the thought of facing the whole family again, now that they know everything that she did as Grace, now that they’ve had time to digest it all, is a little daunting, to say the least.

 

“It’ll be okay Doc,” Roman reminds her gently.  “They’re our family, they love you and they don’t blame you for any of it.  You have to keep remembering that.”

 

“I know,” she sighs.  “I know they only have the best of intentions Roman, I just… being the centre of attention, the thought of everyone looking at me, knowing what I have done, and then being *kind* to me…” she picks a piece of lint off the bedding, “I’m still having a hard time with it.  That’s all.”

 

“I know baby, but it’s not going to get any easier if you keep running away from it, is it?”  Roman asks her gently.

 

“Hey, who’s the doctor here?” she lets out a watery laugh.

 

“I learned from the best,” Roman tells her.  It doesn’t have the desired affect though as her smile falters.  “C’mon Doc, be brave.” He encourages her only the way he can, nuzzling her cheek and then slipping in for a soft, gentle kiss.  

 

She sighs softly and then gives herself up to the embrace, sinking into his arms as he wraps them around her and returning his soft, small kisses with increasingly urgent ones of her own.  And then his hand is in her hair and his lips are on her throat, planting small burning fires across her skin.  And the fires spread and connect and suddenly it feels as though her body, her desire, which has been dormant since long before Grace subsumed her is suddenly exploding back into life.

 

Surprising even herself, she slides her hand down Roman’s back, nudging at the waistband of his boxers.  She swallows a small moan of frustration as he pulls back from her.  His question doesn’t translate into words and her answer is equally silent.  The hunger and need in her eyes are all that he needs.  

 

“Oh Doc,” he says gruffly before he pulls her back to him and kisses her with all the long pent-up desperation that he’s been feeling.  He needs this.  He needs her.  And she needs him to need her.

 

She’s still wearing his over-sized pyjama tops to bed, a repudiation of Grace’s overt sexiness.  She doesn’t seem to realise that seeing her walk around in a cotton pyjama top that barely covers her finely sculpted behind is sexier than any amount of exquisitely cut silk and lace.  He fumbles with the buttons and then gives up as she lifts her arms, allowing him to pull it up and over her head in one smooth movement. 

 

Then he’s allowing her to pull the boxers over his hips and shimmy them down his legs. 

 

And then they are naked together, skin against skin and she is warm, and she smells incredible and his hands are gliding over her body as he kisses her.  And she doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even hesitate as his fingers skim her scars and he kisses her with all the deep, abiding love for her that inhabits every cell of his body.

 

And then his hands slip between her legs, and he finds her wet and warm and ready for him.  She moans his name as he rolls her onto her back and he takes a moment to catch her golden eyes, heavy with lust and desire.  “Ready Marlena?”  He uses her name deliberately.  This is her and him, just two of them.  No-one else between them.  Not now.  Not ever again.  “Ready sweetheart?”

 

“Oh Roman, I love you,” she breathes as he enters her, slipping, sliding her into a momentary slice of heaven.  “Oh god, I love you so much.”

 

He maintains body contact as he moves, alternately kissing her and whispering her name as though it’s a kind of prayer.  She wraps as much of herself around him as she is able.  Her fingernails draw grooves in his tanned skin, and he groans throatily.  And his arms are under her, gripping her shoulders and if they were any closer, they would be one being.

 

And it builds and builds, and Marlena knows that despite everything, this is where she is meant to be.  With this man, with her husband, in this moment.  Everything that they have seen and done and experienced and still there are these corners of perfection that they bring to each other.  These moments of storm and serenity and flawlessness.  And then she’s not thinking any more.  She doesn’t know anything except the bliss of just being.  Of coming and going and riding the waves of their perfect harmony.

 

~

 

“Marlena, you look great!”  Laura enters the living area as Marlena reaches the bottom of the stairs.  The work has been hard and emotional and there have been times when Laura has wondered if she’s pushed Marlena too hard, but this afternoon, seeing the changes in her friend, she knows she’s done the right thing, pushing her so much and so fast.  Despite Roman’s fears, Laura had known Marlena would draw on reserves of inner strength that even she hadn’t been aware of.  Marlena’s the strongest person she’s ever known, and she’s proved that once again.  

 

Along with her demeanour, Marlena’s appearance has been improving day on day but this morning it’s like somebody has switched on a light within her, and it’s as though she has finally settled back into her own skin.  

 

Laura turns and bites back a smile as she sees Roman enter from the balcony and take in the vision that is his wife.  The frisson that passes between them takes Laura back several years and she realises exactly what it is that has transpired between them.  She couldn’t be more delighted for Marlena or for Roman.

 

“Doc, Laura’s right, you look amazing,” Roman takes Marlena’s hand.  He doesn’t have to lie, he’s being absolutely honest.  She’s wearing a white tailored top over a shimmering gold skirt and golden heels and her shining blonde hair is tucked into an expert twist, exposing her elegant neck and throat. She still needs to gain some more weight but she looks as close to Marlena as he’s seen her look for months.   That paper-white translucent pallor that’s been haunting her has dissipated at long last, and the smile that curves her lips is finally echoed in her eyes.  He takes a loose strand of golden hair and tucks it behind her ear and kisses her on the cheek.  “You ready?”

 

Marlena clutches his hand and nods. “Will you be meeting us there?” Marlena turns to Laura as though seeking reassurance from her friend and counsellor. 

 

“I’ll be there by the time you get there,” Laura assures her with a quick hug.

 

“But… we’re leaving now?” Laura is clearly not ready to leave yet and Marlena’s brow wrinkles with a small frown.

 

“It will all become clear, Doc,” Roman chuckles as he passes her a shawl and a golden purse that accentuates her outfit.  “C’mon, we got places to be.  See you soon, Laura.”

 

“See you there,” Laura sees them out of the penthouse and closes the door behind them with a smile.

 

~

 

“Where are we?”  Marlena laughs nervously as Roman manoeuvres her into place, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding her left hand.  The scarf which is tied loosely over her eyes is drenched in Grace’s scent, but she ignores that the best she can.  Grace is part of their enormously complicated past.  Now is the time to stop dwelling on what happened and to start building their future together.

 

“You ready, Doc?”  Roman squeezes her shoulder.  

 

“I’m ready.”  As I’m ever going to be.  She blinks as he removes the scarf, and the bright sunlight assaults her field of vision.  It takes a moment to understand what it is she is looking at.  And even then, she doesn’t understand it.  It’s a street-fronted office in one of the small office buildings between the pub and the wharf.  And standing in front of it is a besuited, brunette woman wearing glasses and holding a clipboard.

 

“Mr. Brady,” the woman shifts some keys into the hand that holds the clipboard and then holds out her hand to shake Roman’s hand.  Then she turns to Marlena and holds out her hand again.  She smiles brightly as she speaks again.  “Mrs. Brady, it’s nice to meet you at last.”

 

“Ahhh, yes.  You too.” Marlena tries to hide her confusion as she holds out her hand to complete the handshake.  She’s not sure whether she’s more thrown by being called Mrs. Brady again or by the familiarity of this woman with her husband and by association, with her.  

 

“This is Yvonne Grassmere, our estate agent,” Roman introduces the attractive young woman to her.  “She’s been helping me find this place.”  He waves vaguely at the office in front of them. “A few more days and it’ll be ours.”

 

“Just a few final formalities and we’re planning to sign the contracts on Wednesday.”  The dark-haired woman smiles sunnily and Marlena wonders if she intends for this to be some kind of clarification.  As if any of this could possibly be any less clear.

 

“Roman, what’s going on?” She frowns, her fingers finding some little comfort in twisting her wedding ring around and around, smoothing the warm metal against her skin.  “An office?  Really?  I thought you said we needed a *home*?”  She pauses and when there is no immediate answer, she adds with a plaintive note to her voice, “why are you buying us an office?”

 

“Oh,” Roman looks surprised and then suddenly contrite.  He’d been so eager… no, the truth was, he’d been desperate to start this new phase of their life; to bury the past as quickly as he could.  He’d needed to make changes and he had leaped into it without talking to her.  If he’s at all honest with himself, he hadn’t wanted to wait until she was ready to talk about it.  He hadn’t known when that would be, or if she’d ever even *be* ready, so he had just made the decisions and he had gone ahead and sold the loft and sunk the proceeds into this place.  And then this morning when they had started to talk about moving and the future and what they were going to do now that he was no longer a business mogul or a cop and she no longer a psychiatrist, he’d thought it the perfect time to tell her.

 

He’d wanted so much to surprise her but he’s starting to realise he’s gone about it in the wrong way.  Marlena needs stability and security right now, not surprises.  “Oh Doc, I’m sorry baby, I should have explained before I brought you here.”  He turns to Yvonne.  “Can you just give us a few minutes?” She apparently senses the need for discretion and nods as she hands him the keys before she melts away into the shadows.

 

“C’mon sweetheart,” he unlocks the door and opens it, urging Marlena to step inside before he closes the door behind her.  The room is empty aside from a single desk and chair which sit in the middle of the office.  The office is flooded with sunlight which streams through the big picture windows that overlook the river.  Roman follows her to the windows and wraps his arms around her as she stares across the river.  “I didn’t mean to unsettle you Doc,” he tells her softly, nuzzling her ear.  “I was excited and I didn’t think it through.  I should have known… I should have talked to you first.”

 

“Talked to me about what?” she turns in his arms, placing her hands on his shoulders.  She sees how worried he is, and she forces a small smile to prove to him she’s not going to fall apart at the first sign of something unexpected.  He has to stop worrying so much about her, it’s not healthy for either of them.  But the responsibility for that also lies with her.  She has to stop providing him with so many reasons to worry.  With a small sigh, she cups the side of his face with her palm.  “Roman, honey, can you just tell me what’s going on?”

 

“Doc, you know when we were talking this morning about what we’re going to do, now that Basic Black is gone?”  One side of his mouth flickers into a smile as hers is wiped from her face.  “Blank slate, right Doc?  New beginnings and new opportunities.  That’s how I want to look at this.  I mean, let’s be honest,” he takes a step back and indicates his own attire, the black leather jacket over the blue shirt and well-worn jeans, “I was never really cut out to be a fashion mogul, was I?”

 

She can’t help herself then as she bursts out laughing and he can’t resist taking her in his arms, his lips smothering her laughter and her sadness and her fears.

 

“Mmmmm,” she finally murmurs as she emerges from the long, delicious kisses.  “I know what you *are* cut out for.”

 

“Unfortunately, I don’t get paid for making love to you,” Roman trails a line of feathery kisses along her jaw.  “Worst luck.”

 

“Hmmmm,” she dips her head back, allowing him access to her neck and she shivers as he slides his lips into the hollow at the base of her throat.  “How do I go about resolving that particular injustice?”

 

“Funny you should ask that, Doc.” Roman tips her head up again and plants a final kiss on her lips before he lets her go and moves over to the desk which has been heretofore previously ignored.  

 

The dust-free surface holds only a telephone and a single manila folder.  Roman flips open the folder and takes out a sheet of paper.  Turning, he holds it out to her.  When she doesn’t immediately take it, he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at her.  “Problem, Doc?”

 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head with a devilish smile and then comes to him, taking the paper from his hands.  It’s blank, aside from a printed letterhead which reads:

Brady and Brady Investigations Ltd.

“What is this?” she asks, handing him back the paper.  He doesn’t reply, just hands her two business card.  The first reads 

 

Roman Brady

Private Investigator

Brady & Brady Investigations Ltd.

 

The second

 

Marlena Evans Brady

Private Investigator

Brady & Brady Investigations Ltd.

“Roman?” it’s a question, but it’s also the answer too.  He’s worked it out, for both of them.  He’s found the new way, taken the blank slate and started writing their new life on it. 

 

“Listen baby,” he starts, “it’s just an idea, right?  It’s… well I thought if I can’t be a cop anymore and you can’t be a doc then maybe we should just…  Well, we can still help people, right?  Just in a different way.”  He’s rambling now, but he doesn’t care.  He just wants to explain and to make sure she understands that this isn’t a fait accompli.  That if she hates the idea then he’ll close it down, right now.  No arguments, no questions asked.  “Doc, you don’t have to… if you don’t like this idea, I have plently of oth-”

 

She takes his open jacket in her hands and pulls him to her, cutting off his words with a passionate kiss.  And then he’s forgetting about arguments and words and offices and it’s just her and him and a suddenly not very empty desk….

 

Chapter CIII – Double Rook Sacrifice

Shadows are lengthening as Roman and Marlena walk slowly towards the pub.  There is a chill in the air that tells of autumn drawing in and the leaves on the trees are starting to drain of color.

 

Marlena can feel her stomach churning as they near the entrance to the pub.  She really doesn’t want to do this.  With all the work she has done with Laura over the past couple of weeks, she had thought herself ready for this.  But every nerve in her body is screaming at her to turn and run.  Run far, far away where she’ll never have to face any of the people she hurt again.  

 

They are close enough now to see the familiar and loved faces through the window.  The children she has spent enough time with that she feels safe and secure in their love and acceptance of her.  Likewise, Bo and Hope.  But Shawn and Caroline she hasn’t seen since that night in the pub when she told them the truth about who she had been and the things she had done.  And there are others that she hasn’t seen since Grace had been in control.  Maggie, Julie, Victor… so many people that she hurt. That she would have hurt if she’d had half the chance.

 

She sees Abe talking to Lexie and her panic flares.  She knows Abe suspected her involvement in Lamont’s death.  Can she really look him in the eyes and lie about what happened?  Can she really face any of them, knowing that she’s no longer the Marlena they knew and loved?  Because she’s not.  That Marlena is gone.  She’s as dead and buried as the late, non-lamented Lamont.  Marlena isn’t at all sure who Marlena Evans Brady is today, but she knows she’s not the same person that she was before Grace absconded with her life. 

 

Roman is two steps ahead of her but it’s as though he senses her apprehension and her turns almost before her own footsteps falter into nothingness.

 

“You okay, Doc?” he asks her quietly.

 

“Not really, no,” she shakes her head, her cheeks coloring.  Her voice comes out as little more than a whisper.  “Roman, I don’t think I can do this.”

 

“You *can* do this, Doc.”  His voice is firm and sure.  “You have to.  And these are the people that love you.  They love you and they want to be there for you.  For us,” he adds.  

 

“How do you know that?” she demands with a hint of defiance.  “You keep telling me that people will forgive, but Roman, why should they?”  She bites her bottom lip and wraps her arms around her bare upper arms, shivering with the cold and the apprehension she feels.  “Abe suspected that I killed Lamont.  He’s supposed to just forget about that?”

 

Roman sighs and then steps forward, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close to him.  “C’mon baby, I know you’re scared.”  His chest vibrates against her cheek as he speaks.  “But Abe was down in New Orleans with us, remember?” he reminds her gently.  “He knows what Stefano put you through.  He knows about Lamont.  He understands it all and he doesn’t blame you for anything that happened over the past few months.  Nobody does.  You really think Mom and Pop would let anybody into that pub who was going to give you a hard time?  All the people in there are there because they know the truth and they *still* love you and want you in their lives.”  The tone of his voice hardens a little.  He has discussed this with Laura.  The need for a little tough love when Marlena’s fears get the better of her.  He hates being hard on her when she is so vulnerable, but she needs to start facing her fears or they will become magnified out of all proportion.  “Are you really going to repay their love and loyalty by turning your back on them now?”

 

Marlena’s eyes shine brightly and her jaw clenches as she swallows and looks away, unable to face the challenge in his eyes.

 

Pull yourself together, Marlena.  The small steely voice inside her comes, unbidden.  Look what happened last time you didn’t.  Fall apart or get a grip on yourself.  Time to make a choice, Marlena Evans.

 

Pursing her lips, she flicks away the tears from her cheeks and takes a deep, steadying breath.  Then she looks back at her husband.

 

“All right,” she nods.  “You’re right.  Of course, you’re right.”  She steels herself, pushing her shoulders back and raising her chin slightly.  Her heart is pounding but the nausea is already fading.  It’s time to face the music.  “I’m ready.”  

 

~

 

At Salem International Airport, Bo Brady looks at the arrivals board with a deeply concerned frown. He looks at his watch once more before he pulls out his cell phone.  He stares at the face of it before he looks at the arrivals board again.  Then, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, he strides over to the information desk.

 

~

 

“Marlena!” Maggie is by her side even before she is through the door.  “Oh Marlena, it is so good to see you.”  Her long-time friend flings her arms around Marlena’s neck and hugs her closely before Marlena can even begin to react.  “I’m so sorry,” she is saying.  “Oh Marlena, I had no idea… Caroline told me everything.  I just want you to know how sorry we are that you went through…” she pulls back her green eyes sparkling with sympathy and pain at the knowledge she now bears.  “… well everything that you’ve gone through.  I can’t even imagine-”

 

“Maggie,” Marlena’s voice is throaty as she takes her friend’s hand and squeezes it tightly.  “*I’m* sorry.  For the things I said to you… before… when I was…”

 

“But it wasn’t you!” Maggie shrugs.  “You don’t need to apologize, Marlena.”

 

“I feel I do.” Marlena affirms, slowly and clearly.  “Maggie, what happened doesn’t completely absolve me of all blame.”  It’s suddenly hard to swallow over the dry lump in her throat and she steels herself for the words she needs to speak.  “I need you to understand that Grace is still part of me.  I didn’t just slough her off like an old skin.  She didn’t just disintegrate into nothingness… she’s as much a part of me as the old Marlena is.”  She looks around, realising that everyone has fallen silent and is looking at her.  She feels Roman’s hand take hers and she meets Laura’s eyes.  Laura nods and smiles encouragingly as she slides her arm around Jennifer’s shoulders.

 

“You should all know that.”  She feels perversely stronger as she says it, knowing that it is the truth, and her friends and family are going to forgive her and accept her back into their lives it has to be with the full knowledge of who she is and everything that she has been and can be.  “Grace was born out of the horrors I lived through, but she was me.  She was part of me.”  She takes her hand from Maggie’s and presses her palm to her chest.  “And she’s *still* part of me, she’s just not locked away in a corner of my head anymore.  I have to live with the things she did, with the memories.”  She passes her eyes over each of them in turn, making sure they are listening to her and that they understand that she is completely rational and understands the implications of what she is saying.  “I remember *everything* that happened to me ten years ago and I remember *everything* I did while I was Grace.  And I also remember everything that I did to every one of you over the past few months.  I’m working very hard to accept that, to understand it and to forgive myself.  But I don’t expect any of you to just automatically forgive me.  Because we’re friends.  Because we’re bound by blood.”  She looks at Sami now, practically daring her daughter.  If anyone turns on her, it will be Sami, she knows that.

 

“Grace was me and I can feel her inside me still.  Yes, she was who she was because of Stefano’s manipulations and abuses and violence.  She protected me when the woman you knew couldn’t protect herself.  But she came from somewhere inside me.  And what you need to know is that I am now both of those women.”  

 

She’s surprised that the more she speaks, the stronger she feels.  She’s spent so many years missing part of herself that she feels that somehow her truth was hidden from her family and friends too.  But now she’s laying it all on the table it feels like a burden is being lifted from her shoulders.  She’s finally free to be Marlena Evans again.  Not just a well-respected doctor or Roman’s wife or her children’s mother.  But herself, wholly and completely.  

 

“Somehow, those women, Marlena and Grace have combined to make the me I am now.”  She surprises even herself with the small smile that traces her lips “I have yet to figure out how I feel about that.  But you see, you all have to figure that out too.  I’m not the same woman I was.  Not when I was Grace.  But also, not when I was Marlena for the ten years after I returned from the hell that Stefano created for me.”  She turns to Roman and smooths her palm against the side of his face with a loving smile.  “That doesn’t mean I feel any differently about any of you.  I love you more than life itself.”  She turns back to find Sami again.  “*All* of you.  But I don’t expect you to feel the same about me.  Not after the things I did.  Not before you know who I am now.”

 

There is a beat when everything is silent and then it’s Sami who speaks.

 

“Are you *crazy* Mom?”  She pushes past the other guests until she’s standing in front of her mother her expression challenging and Marlena feels her heart sinking once again.  “You think we don’t know who you are?  Of *course* we know who you are.”  Then, to Marlena’s astonishment Sami laughs as she throws her arms around her mother.  “And actually, pretty much all of us think you’re pretty awesome.  We love *you*.  Whoever you think you are.  So, get used to it!”

 

Sami’s exclamation of acceptance breaks the tension in the room and suddenly there is laughter and words of agreement and Marlena is mobbed by friends and family trying to say their piece.  Which is generally that they don’t need time to accept the *new* her.  That they’ll take her anyway she comes.  That whether she seeks forgiveness and acceptance or not, she has it in abundance.  

 

For a moment, she seeks Roman’s eyes over Julie’s shoulder.  He has his arm around Kayla’s shoulder, and he is watching her with a smile that fills her heart with joy.  Her eyes widen helplessly as Julie envelops her in a suffocating hug and Roman shrugs, his expression a perfect melding of relief, amusement and more than just a hint of ‘I told you so’.

 

And with that, Marlena gives in.  Who is she to tell these people that they can’t love her?  They are better people than she is.  All she can do from now on is to try and be worthy of their love and their loyalty.

 

“She didn’t expect that, did she?” Sami asks her father as she sidles up to him, a smirk on her face.  “She was expecting ‘old Sami’.”

 

“I think she was, peanut.” Roman slips his free arm around her and she leans into him, leaning her head on his shoulder as she watches her grandparents welcome Marlena back into their home with smiles and love and joy.  They have their son back and they have her to thank.  However much she might disavow that fact, it is that.  A fact.  Not just that it had been Grace who had been instrumental in revealing the truth about Roman, but that Marlena herself had been his anchor when everyone else had cast him adrift.  Without Marlena in his life, Roman would have left Salem and been lost to them, maybe forever.  They have so much to thank her for.  And so many reasons to love her.  “Thanks sweetheart,” he adds quietly.  “It was the perfect thing to say.”

 

“You don’t need to thank me.” Sami watches Jennifer and Laura hugging Marlena and feels the kind of peace she’s never felt before as she sees Marlena smile and feels her father hugging her close.  “It’s true.  We love her.”

 

That peace is dispelled a moment later as Hope comes towards them, wearing an expression of deep concern.

 

“What is it Hope?” Roman asks immediately, a note of foreboding creeping into his voice.  “What’s happened?”

 

“It’s…” Hope pauses and then speaks in a low, urgent voice.  “Nothing, probably.  But… Bo thought you should know.  He went to the airport this afternoon.  To pick up Carrie.  She was supposed to be flying in from Geneva.  She wanted to surprise you and Marlena.”

 

“*Supposed* to be?” Roman’s arm tightens around Sami’s shoulder, and she slips her own around his waist.  Her heart has started to pound at the sudden tightening of his voice, at the darkening of his expression as well as the alarm in Hope’s voice.

 

“Well, that’s the thing.” Hope jams her fingers into her jeans pockets and shrugs, the casualness of her gesture poorly covering the panic she’s starting to feel.  “She didn’t get off the plane.  Bo waited for over an hour after the passengers cleared.  And then he had to wait for official permission to get the passenger manifest.”  Her voice falters and she has to clear her throat before she continues.  She’s aware of the fact that the pub has fallen silent again and Marlena is now standing behind her, the tension emanating from her in waves.  

 

“Carrie never got on that plane in Switzerland.” Hope finishes, her voice deep and strained.  

 

“Bo’s tried to call her?” Marlena moves to Roman’s side as Kayla steps aside, understanding that her brother and Marlena need each other right now.  When Hope nods mournfully, Marlena’s shoulders slump.  “Of course he has.”

 

“When she didn’t answer, he called Austin.  Who said he dropped Carrie off at the airport in plenty of time to make the flight.”  Hope presses her lips together, her brow furrowing in worry and fear. “What we know… all we know right now is that Carrie got to the airport, she checked her bags and got her boarding pass.  But she never got on the plane.” 

 

“And now no-one knows where she is.” Marlena feels as though she’s slipped into one of her nightmares as the sea of faces swims in front of her.    

 

“*Someone* knows where she is.” Roman’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but his face conveys all the fear and all the fury that course through him.

 

“But…” Marlena stops short, her face paling, her breaths shortening.  “He can’t.  He’s locked up.” She looks up into Roman’s face and sees her worst fears reflected there.  “Roman -”  Her hand clasps his as though it’s a lifeline.  “Roman, *no*!”

 

And then she sees Stefano in her mind’s eye.  His black eyes glinting behind iron bars.  His smile cruel and taunting.

 

“I will come for you Marlena, that, I promise you.  Watch your beautiful young family and enjoy them while you can.  Because I will be coming, when you least expect it.”

 

Oh, *God*.  This can’t be happening.  Not now. 

 

She struggles for breath, each gasp short and labored as Roman encircles her in his arms and holds her close, silently battling with his own fears.

 

And then she sees Abe coming towards them and something in his expression freezes her to the core.  She sags briefly in Roman’s arms, waves of dizziness washing over her.  And then she pulls herself together.  She can’t go to pieces now.  She *won’t*.  Not again.  Not *ever* again.

 

“Abraham.”  Roman’s voice is hoarse and for a moment it is just her and him, clinging to each other for dear life.  Waiting for the truth that they both know is undeniable.  DiMera has escaped custody.  

 

Stefano DiMera has their daughter.   

 

“I’m *so* sorry my friend.” Abe says sorrowfully.  “Agent Jones just called me.  They discovered his cell was empty at three o’clock this afternoon.  No-one can give me any explanations right now.”  His dark eyes trace their pallid, distressed faces.  “I *will* get answers, Roman.  I *promise* you of that.”

 

“It doesn’t matter how he did it,” Marlena says dully, the stillness of her voice belying the swirl of emotions taking place inside her.  “The only thing that matters is that he *did* it.  And now he has Carrie.”  Her jaw sets firmly, and she wipes away the tears that have fallen.  She has no room for tears now.  No room for weakness.  

 

“We don’t *know* that.” Kayla interjects, trying to be helpful. “We don’t know that the two are connected.”  But even as she says it, she knows it’s not true.  They all know it’s not true.

 

“Yes, we do Kay,” Roman confirms Marlena’s words.  He is furious and terrified.  This should not have happened.  They should not be going through this right now.  They were supposed to be picking up the pieces of their lives, not having everything blown to smithereens by DiMera once again.  But it’s a fact that the old man has their little girl.  Stefano has reset the chess board and he’s playing them once again.  “We do know.  Stefano warned us in New Orleans.  He as good as told us that *this*is what he would do.  And now he’s done it.”

 

He looks at the assembled faces, the pale, tear-stained, frightened and angry faces.  Waiting for his next words.  The next move.  And then he turns to Marlena.  Taking her face tenderly in his hands, he fixes her warm hazel eyes with his gaze, willing her to stay strong.

 

“I love you,” she says simply, letting him know that she is okay.  That she is strong.  That whatever Stefano throws at her now, she will survive.  *They* will survive.

 

“I love you too, Marlena.”  It’s all he needs.  The two of them, stronger than ever, united in a common goal.  “I’ll find her, Doc.  I promise you; I’ll get Carrie back.”  

 

“*We* will get her back,” Marlena corrects him.  “If you think you’re going anywhere without me Roman Brady, you are *very* much mistaken.”  She straightens slightly, squaring her shoulders, daring him to argue with her.

 

“Doc-” he takes the lapels of her shirt in his fingers.

 

“No, Roman.”  She shakes her head firmly.  Now that the worst has happened, now that her nightmares have been realized, she is finding reserves of strength she didn’t know existed.  Stefano is coming for her, just as he promised.  But this time, she will be ready for him.  “You know as well as I do that Stefano won’t be found unless he wants to be found.  And he wants Grace back, he told us that.”  Roman shakes his head, his impossibly blue eyes imploring with her to stop arguing, even as he knows she won’t.  As he knows she’s right.  

 

“Roman, he’s planning to use Carrie as bait.  That’s the way he operates.  You won’t find her on your own.  He wants me so I have to go to him.”  Roman shakes his head again, his eyes glassy with tears.  “It’s the only way, you know it is,” she tells him softly.  “We will find him.  *Together*.  And then we will *finish* this.  Once and for all.”  

 

“Yes,” he nods at last, his voice gruff with unspoken emotion.  “We will, Doc.  This time, one way or another, we *will* finish it.  I promise you.”

 

Wrapping their arms around each other they cling together tightly, drawing strength from their bond.  From their love.  From their certainty.

 

They will find Carrie and they will beat Stefano.  

 

And they will finish Stefano DiMera’s business with the Brady family.  

 

*Whatever* it takes.

The End

(Or is it?)