Tracy glared malevolently at a stack of colored wooden blocks and spared him only a passing glance as he sat down. On contemplation, he couldn’t decide if she was frustrated because she couldn’t figure out what to do with them or if she was tired of seeing them. At this point, Tracy’s recall of any routine object was a crapshoot at best. Even in this state, she remained unpredictable.

He missed her at home.

“How are you, sweetheart? You feeling all right?”

Tracy lifted her eyes from her stationary opponents to look at the man who visited her most days and always had something interesting, though easily forgettable, to say. She blinked and nodded before slumping back down to gaze angrily at the multi-colored bricks on the tabletop. She wanted to do something with them, but she wasn’t sure what. Frustrated, she swept them away and inclined her chin, satisfied, at the loud racket they made as they bounced on the floor.

Luke narrowed his eyes at her, disapprovingly, and bent down to pick up the mess she’d made. He waved off the orderlies and nurse-in-charge. They knew Tracy was a troublemaker, but they let him deal with her when he was around. He was about the only one she’d behave for. He and Dillon, anyway.

He was well aware of how long it had been since Young Spielberg had stopped in to see his mother. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sympathetic to his stepson. He was, but he would never abandon Tracy in this place. No, it wasn’t a cruel place--the people were kind enough, he supposed, on a good day--and it was clean and accredited. She was well cared-for, if nothing else, but she wasn’t home where she belonged. She needed familiar things to get better, he had told her son in the beginning--when he still believed the woman he had married would come back to him.

That had been a year ago. After the madness of Laura’s return and inevitable deterioration into disassociation had taken its toll and his words had sunk in. He had been the one to find her, in her bedroom on the floor. There had been an empty glass near her hand.

He remembered her not breathing, her heart pumping so slowly he missed it entirely. He remembered screaming a god-awful scream for Alan or Monica or anyone who would come. He remembered shaking her still form, fearing the slightly cobalt hue of her lips. Alan had come, Monica close behind, and pushed him aside. There was a hushed, busy tension in the air as they worked. His sister-in-law yelled for Alice to call an ambulance and she disappeared, her heavy footsteps echoing behind her.

The paramedics came to find Alan still performing CPR on Tracy to keep blood pumping to her brain. Their questions had been by rote, uninvolved, because it wasn’t someone they knew, they loved, they needed. He’d watched them unpack a defibrillator and attempt to shock his wife back to life. Twice, three times. Then, there was an urgency. He climbed into the back of the ambulance with her and hadn’t left her side until they’d arrived at General Hospital.

Having lost her former distraction to the stone-faced nurse-in-charge, Tracy began to observe Luke, who appeared deeply lost in thought. Walking her fingers across the cool plastic surface, she covered his hand with hers. Jerked from his memories, he jumped and she pulled away suddenly, surprised and somewhat embarrassed. She looked at her hands and began to inspect her well kempt nails.

“I’m not being very good company, am I,” he asked his stately companion, despite her obvious intention not to be disturbed from her nail watching. He rested his head on his hands and smiled at her a little, putting aside those damned demons a while longer. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking of old friends. Especially one I miss very much.”

She didn’t respond to his attempt at conversation. She chewed busily on her bottom lip, and made eyes at the contraptions littering other patients’ desks. Now that she’d lost her own…

“No, you cannot have theirs, Tracy,” he stated firmly.

She mumbled faintly and gave him a dirty look if she’d ever given one in her life. Somewhere in that head of hers, Tracy Quartermaine Spencer lived and he missed her so much.

He’d been warned when they’d finally settled her into a room that she probably wouldn’t be the same. She’d suffered a stroke, they said. It was all the strain, the distress, the tension. Her body couldn’t take anymore. Years spent drinking more than she should’ve hadn’t been in her favor either. So, when she’d opened her eyes and shown no recognition, he’d fled as fast and as far as he could. Not only had he pushed her over the verge, but he’d knocked her clear into the abyss. There was no longer a Mrs. Luke Spencer left.

Two days later, he’d resurfaced at the Quartermaine Mansion and made her welfare his business. He was her husband and the only one entitled to decide what happened to her next. He didn’t make comparisons to Laura, though others, many others, did. The fact that he’d had her admitted to Shadybrook was a matter of convenience, and because he knew she’d never want to live this way in front of her family. Even if she didn’t remember her pride, he would.

“Hey, Tracy.”

She slid her eyes sideways towards him.

“You wanna go out? Maybe get some sun, some air. What do ya say?”

She nodded and took his proffered hand. He stood and led her to the nurse at the front desk of the visiting room.

“Hey, I wanna take the misses out today. Can you get her ready in the next half hour?”

The nurse shifted her eyes between them questioningly, but nodded nonetheless.

“Yes, sir.” She guided Tracy out and back to her room where she’d be dressed to face the world.

He was sitting on the bench when the French doors opened to bring out his dearly beloved. The nurse slipped back inside and left them alone. He looked back at her, unable to stifle the rush of affection that hit him sometimes when he saw her like this.

She was wearing one of her long coats, a black camisole and a pair of lovingly tailored Chanel pants. Shyly, she pulled at her sleeves and shrugged. These were her out clothes. Normally, she could be found in something comfy and functional like sweats or anything 100% Sears cotton. She had seemed to show a preference for it to his surprise.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She smiled, uneasily. As much as she seemed to trust him, a certain skepticism hung about her when they were together. She walked towards him carefully, balancing rather thoughtlessly on her heels. Her body hadn’t forgotten how to wear the clothes, just the persona.

He patted the space beside him on the bench and moved over to make room for her. She dropped down and crossed her legs.

“You look amazing.”

She searched his eyes for sincerity and turned her head quickly when she found it. She wasn’t adept at communicating with others. No amount of therapy had resurrected that ability and she often felt at a disadvantage when she was with Luke. He was the only one who came, so only he mattered.

“I mean that.” He cupped her chin and turned her face towards him. “I do. I think you may have even lost a few pounds.”

She snorted and pulled out of his grasp.

“Ha!”

He chuckled. Little mannerisms like that were all he ever found in her company. Some were inherent and wouldn’t go away. They gave him hope, even if it was false hope.

“You are lovely, darlin.’” He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her into his side. She grudgingly yielded. After settling into his embrace, she softly exhaled.

He kissed her hair and told her very quietly how much he loved her. He spoke so that she wouldn’t hear, because it wasn’t a sentiment she quite understood. He couldn’t explain it with the blocks, or with flash cards, and his hands were poor instruments of instruction. So, he showed with this, this moment under the sky.

Only now, could he forget that she was gone, and pretend that what they’d had, whatever it was, had ever made sense.

“I love you, Spanky, and I miss you more than you can know.” He felt her playing contentedly with the buttons on his shirt and only held her closer.

Tracy shivered as the November air chilled for the coming sunset. Luke realized that their time together had to end again. It was getting too cold and the last thing he wanted was for her to get sick. Not on his account.

“All right, kiddo, time to call it a night.” He unwound her from his arms and leaned away to see her eyes dulled in grogginess. He offered his hand again, this time to take her in. She accepted once more and followed him dutifully back to the hospital, only slightly sluggish in her steps. It didn’t take much to knock her out these days.

He knocked on the double doors and the expected nurse peeked out, ready to accept her charge.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Spencer. You’re just in time for dinner.” Her cheer did not impress his wife. He squeezed her hand, signaling her to behave herself. She smiled with a somewhat dangerous edge. Sleepy or no, there was a little spunk left in her.

“Look, you’re just in time.” He beamed at Tracy. “I’ll be going, then. Gotta make sure things are running smoothly at the Star. You know what Fridays are like.” He touched her shoulders and kissed her cheek, lingeringly. “I’ll see you Monday, honey. Be good.” Her expression made no promises.

As Luke relinquished her hand, the nurse grabbed it and pulled Tracy into the hospital, jabbering animatedly as they went. Luke stood on the patio, watching her be taken away.

He was about to take his leave when the door burst open again. Tracy appeared once more, bewildered and flushed in front of him. He went to her, immediately concerned.

“Honey, what is it?”

She shook her head.

“Is something wrong?”

She continued to jerk her head in the negative

“Baby?” He wasn’t used to this anymore.

She reached out and laid her hand on his chest. She stood toe to toe with him and looked into his eyes.

“Luke.”

“Luke?” he questioned, unsure if she was really speaking his name. In the last twelve months, she’d hadn’t uttered the slightest recognition of anyone. Nevertheless, he had heard her speak his name.

She grinned triumphantly.

“Luke.”

With a whoop, he lifted her off her feet in a bear hug. She had said his name--his name! He set her back on the ground and held her face in his hands.

“Tracy.”

Her nose wrinkled with her smile.

“Spanky Buns.”

She rolled her eyes away from him.

“Okay, one step at a time. But, you’re in there, aren’t you? My Spanky.”

She nodded.

He kissed the tip of her nose and held her again.

“You’re back, baby. You’re back. Watch out world.”

Tracy melted into his chest, sighing in relief. They were coming back, the small things. She was remembering the tiny nuances of how she lived; how she liked her martinis and how long she preferred to wear her hair. Details that had distinguished her life from that of a character in a book. Then, there was her husband. He was in her head, somewhat apart of all she knew.

“Luke,” she sighed, playing softly on the word that led to everything else. She stroked his jaw, tickled by the coarseness of his beard.

He almost resisted the overwhelming impulse inside of him, almost. It hit him at his weakest, her voice. It sounded exactly the same, sultry and smoky. That ringing recognition that kept calling him back. It conquered him or he surrendered--whichever happened first and he gave in completely, the way he should have in the first place. Then, he fell in love again with Tracy Quartermaine Spencer.

His wife and kindred spirit.

The One.