Author: Regency

Title: Blood Ties

Characters: Michael, Jason, Monica

Summary: After the recent death of his grandfather, Michael Corinthos III starts to wonder who he really is. He begins a journey to find out and it begins with a man on similar path, his Uncle Jason. Together, they find their way to somewhere safe.

Author’s Notes: Dedicated to the late and lamented Alan Quartermaine, Sr.

Disclaimer: I none of the characters depicted below. They are the sole property of ABC Daytime Television. If only they treated them that way…jackasses.

~~~

“What was he like,” Michael Corinthos III asked his mother last night. He was asking about his grandfather Alan, a man he never really knew and honestly couldn’t bring himself to miss. Maybe it was the weak part of him, but he was desperate to feel something for the man that had brought so many to tears. It didn’t seem right that he should be indifferent and in the dark about the person who he thought might have given him his mind for science.

Carly had shifted uncomfortably on the couch, tell-tale guilt on her face as she struggled to answer a question she’d never wanted him to ask. She’d stumbled through something unintelligible and vague, leaving him with no impression and a little suspicious.

“Your grandfather Alan was an incredible surgeon and so smart. He’s saved countless lives and he loved you more than you can ever know. Things kept you two apart, but I don’t want you to ever doubt his love.”

Michael had looked at her, trying to see past the tense lines on her face to the truth. He couldn’t; there wasn’t anything else. He’d nodded and told her good night. It was too early to sleep, but it was too late to sit with her when she couldn’t tell him something so elementary as the honest-to-God truth. He felt something shifting under his skin and he thought it might be his blood running backwards.

He ran up the stairs to his room and locked the door behind him. He looked around the place he’d called home for as many years as he could remember. It all felt so small now, like a tiny white lie run amok.

Suddenly angry for the one thing he’d ever been denied, he slammed his fist into his headboard. It creaked, but didn’t break. He was as insignificant to it as the truth was to his parents. They had given him their love, he thought, but they’d deprived him of something, something that felt so crucial now. He wanted it back, he wanted his grandfather and that unconditional love he didn’t understand.

Tears pricked at his dark brown eyes and he jammed his fists into them to stop the weakness. He wasn’t weak! He was a Corinthos--they were never weak. At least, he didn’t think they were. Were Quartermaines weak, he asked himself, wearily.

All he’d thought of since Alan’s funeral was what it meant to be in that family. He’d heard them talk about each other and call each other names, then he’d seen Jason with his grandmother, a doctor named Monica, holding her when she cried. A part of him had wanted to go to her, though she was a stranger to him, and hold her, too. If a woman who seemed so strong would fall apart when faced with his loss, how could Alan Quartermaine be bad? Michael didn’t understand that, he couldn’t. Nothing added up.

Now that he was old enough to put it together, it was all a joke to him. Why didn’t he know his grandfather, or his biological father’s cousins? They didn’t seem all that different from his mom and dad. He knew they loved him…Wasn’t that enough? He had questions his mother looked terrified he’d ask and he didn’t want to ask his dad; it would only hurt him and Michael didn’t want that. No, he wasn’t ready to turn everything upside down yet. Nonetheless, he wanted to know the truth and there was only one person he could ask.

He went to the phone on his bedside and dialed an old familiar number. His uncle picked up on the second ring. “Jason Morgan.”

“Jason, it’s Michael.” He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”

He heard Jason move to that old couch and sit down. His uncle had always made time for him. Honestly, this was the first time it had occurred to him that Jason was actually his father’s brother--Alan had been his father, too.

Michael looked guiltily at his bedroom door, outside of which his parents thought everything was still the same when nothing was. “What was my grandfather like?”

He heard the uncomfortable motions of a cornered man and he was frustrated that another person was thinking of a way not to answer him honestly. For once, Jason surprised him. “Michael, I don’t know. What I do know is that he loved us both. Me, a lot more that I deserved.”

Michael (Quartermaine) Corinthos III laid back on his bed and listened to his true uncle tell him all the half-truths he remembered about a man who wasn’t perfect, who wasn’t without prejudice, but that loved his family so fiercely that not protecting them enough was the one thing he would always regret. He took that regret to the grave and there was nothing to be done about it.

Michael disagreed. He spoke without thinking, not about Carly and Sonny, or about Morgan, or about anyone’s feelings but those of someone who was more of a stranger than his mother’s bodyguards.

“I want to see Monica,…my grandmother. She looked really sad and I don’t want her to think I didn’t care.”

“You don’t have to,” Jason soothed. Michael knew he thought useless platitudes were worthless at times likes this.

“Yeah, I do. I want to. Don’t tell mom and dad, but I need to know where I came from. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now. I’m not a Corinthos, even if that is my name. I need to know what I have to live up to. I wanna feel normal again. Maybe if I find out about my grandfather, and my father, I can.”

Michael held his breath as Jason seemed to pace. Finally, he heard his closest friend stop moving.

“I’m going to the Quartermaine Mansion, if you’ll take me.” The question hung between them, with a plea trailing behind it.

“All right.” This was the most insane thing Michael had ever asked of him. “Meet me outside in twenty minutes. If anyone sees us, tell them you’re spending the night with me.”

“Okay. Thanks, Uncle Jason.” Wow, he hadn’t called him that in years.

They both hung up. Michael sat in stunned silence for a long while not quite sure what he’d just started. Whatever it was, it felt right. At least, that’s what he told himself. He hopped off the bed and dug through his closet for a bag. He stuffed some clothes inside and a notebook, so he could write it all down. He might never get another chance like this. He planned to make the most of it.

He put his ear to the door for the sound of his mother coming. He heard Jax’s voice. They’d be occupied for most of the night, he thought, making up or breaking up. Whichever it was this time. He wrote a short note on a piece of paper from the tablet and left it under his baseball mitt on his pillows.

With his bag high on his back, he looked both way out of his of his bedroom window. It was a straight drop, but there was a tree close enough to jump onto. He stepped onto the ledge and said a really fast prayer. He held his breath and pushed off hard with his legs.

He slammed bodily into the limbs and clung to the first one he reached. It shook with his weight and wind rocked them both. He closed his eyes tight and took deep calming breaths. He didn’t want to die right now.

He peeked down and saw that the ground wasn’t as far away as he’d expected. He also saw his uncle looking up at him as if he was nuts. Maybe he was, considering what he’d left the house to do. Jason stood under him and held out his arms, which Michael thought was an equally crazy idea. Yet, he let go of the rough tree and allowed himself to fall.

Jason caught him with minimal stumbling and set him on the ground. “That was a really dumb thing to do. What were you thinking jumping out of the window like that? You could’ve broken your neck.”

Michael shrugged and brushed fallen leaves from his clothes. “You’d do it.”

“I’m not you.”

“You’re my uncle.” His words made Jason squirm and look away. Michael wasn’t sure what Jason saw when he looked at him. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Jason straightened up his jacket and led Michael quietly out of the backward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m different.” He crouched behind Jason who glared at one Carly’s guards who’d stopped to ask why he was here. The guy moved quickly in the direction he’d come without asking anything else.

“I look at you the way I always have.” They ran across the front yard with furtive looks towards the glowing downstairs rooms.

“No, you look at me like I’m someone else. Did you look at Alan like you look at me?”

Jason pulled his bike out of the bushes just inside the gates to Carly’s house. He nodded at the guard inside the security post to open the gates. Michael crawled alongside the bike so he couldn’t be seen.

They slipped out onto the road with Jason still pushing the motorcycle. Michael walked with him until they came to the end of the residential block. He didn’t really care if anyone saw him anymore. What he was doing sort of felt like the right thing to do, even if it hurt some people he loved.

Jason threw his leg over the seat and revved his engine up. “Get on,” Jason nodded at him and held the bike steady while Michael climbed on behind him. “Helmet.”

“You don’t wear one.”

“No, but I have brain damage already. The only thing that can happen now is I die. You could end up like me and I don’t want that for you. Put on the helmet.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Okay.” He slung the hard hat firmly onto his head and fastened it shut. “Done.”

“All right.” Jason revved the bike up one last time. “Hold on.” Michael clung to Jason’s leather jacket. They roared into dark of the night, leaving his mother and her almost-lover behind, and his little brother who was sleeping without any idea that his family was undergoing a change.

They didn’t talk as they rode; Michael was too busy thinking of what questions he would ask and Jason had never been much for small talk. Michael was aware that lights were switching on behind them, but knowing that only made him laugh. It felt right to disturb the peace a little.

He was nervous, really. The Quartermaines were a den of lions, his dad had told him, not to be trusted or consoled. Michael wasn’t a fool though, he knew there were things Sonny didn’t tell him or wasn’t truthful about. He’d come to expect it, so he tried to forget everything he’d ever been told about his grandfather’s family. He would be polite like his parents had taught him--he would represent the Corinthos family charm well. In doing so, he hoped they wouldn’t tear him apart.

At last, they came to the street where the Quartermaines lived. Jason cut off his bike and motioned for Michael to hop off. At his questioning look, Jason told him that he didn’t want to cause a scene. Michael frowned but followed his uncle as he rolled his bike down the well-lit street.

They came to a high iron gates and for the first time tonight Michael thought he might’ve made a bad decision. It looked like a boarding school or a prison back there. The house was so big and forbidding that it was nearly alive. Lights shone from various windows, peering down at them like angry eyes on an angry face. Michael blinked and the scene changed; it was just a house, bigger than the one he lived in, but only a house.

Jason activated the intercom on the brick wall. After a moment, a deep voice came through. Michael remembered it, the housekeeper Alice.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jason. I need to speak with…” He looked down to Michael for approval. His nephew could only nod. “I need to speak with Monica.”

There was a brief pause before the voice came again. “All right, come in.” A buzzer sounded and the gates slowly swung apart to admit Jason and Michael. Jason parked his motorcycle on the stone driveway, concealing it behind one of Lila Quartermaine’s rosebushes.

Michael lagged behind his uncle as they approached the mansion’s front entrance. He started to shove his hand into his pockets, but realized that doing that made him look nervous--Corinthos men were never nervous. Holding his chin up high, his clasped his hands in front of him and nodded for Jason to knock.

Not a second more than necessary passed before the door opened. It wasn’t the housekeeper like he’d expected. It was Monica, his grandmother, the woman Alan had loved all his life. His palms began to sweat and he didn’t doubt he was turning as red as the hair on his head. He wasn’t brave anymore; he didn’t want to be brave. His throat was tight but he tried to speak anyway.

“I’m sorry he’s gone. I’m really really sorry.”

Monica took a small step towards him, a bright wave of tears shining in his eyes. He did the only thing he could--he closed the gap between them and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him and it felt awkward, strange in its unfamiliarity. As surreal as it was to hug her, he couldn’t let go. This was a part of who he was, what he’d sought out tonight and found. This was his history, the only connection left to the father who had given him life and to his father who’d tried to love him and failed. So many questions scrambled for attention first, but he couldn’t voice one.

Monica stroked his hair. “I’m so glad you came.”

He looked up to her though she wasn’t much taller than he was. “I had to. I need to know where I come from and you’re the only one who can tell me.”

She nodded and dried the fallen tears from her face. Her expression changed to one of peace. It was just a mask, he noticed, so he wouldn’t see how much she was hurting. His mother wore one sometimes. He prayed he hadn’t made a mistake in coming here tonight.

“Come in. Both of you,” she invited even her son who’d shrunken to the shadows to Michael’s right.

Michael had almost forgotten his uncle was there; he’d grown so quiet in the presence of his reunion with Monica. Although he was exactly where he knew he needed to be, he didn’t want to be here if Jason wasn’t. His dad’s words were still there somewhere, haunting him.

“Come on, Jason. Come with me.”

Jason rubbed his jaw, his eyes flickering between where he’d hidden his bike and the warmth in Monica’s face. Michael could tell he’d rather be anywhere else, but his most selfish self wanted Jason to overcome his reservations and find Alan with him.

Without a word, his uncle nodded and followed them inside the house.

Michael took in the foyer with new eyes, searching for signs of a man like Alan Quartermaine. It stung when he realized he had no idea what he was searching for. Monica led them to the living room.

“Wait here for a moment. There are some things you should see.” She walked out.

Michael rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans and tried to figure out where he was supposed to sit, if he was supposed to sit at all. Jason dropped into a lone chair by the door. Taking cues from his uncle he went to the beige overstuffed chair next to the bar and sat down. It was comfortable--warm. He settled into it, laying his head back on the headrest and staring at the ceiling. Time passed, but it didn’t feel wasted.

“That was your grandfather’s favorite chair,” Monica announced, scaring Michael out of his thoughts, almost out of the chair.

He rubbed the careworn fabric and nodded. “It’s nice.”

Monica smiled and sat down on the couch. She was carrying a bunch of dusty portfolios in her arms. “I thought you’d like to see your grandfather when he was young.”

Michael sat forward in his chair, interested, while at the same time anxious about what he’d see. She flipped the stiff pages until she came to one the made her smile grow. He took the book from her and immediately recognized the face.

“It’s my father.”

She chuckled. “They do look a lot alike, don’t they? No, that’s Alan Quartermaine, Sr. the day I married him.”

Michael touched the smiling face and frowned at the emptiness accompanying the memory. “He looked happy.”

His grandmother pursed her lips sullenly. “I like to think he was. I like to think he was happy most of the years we were together.” She closed her eyes helplessly and put her hand over her heart.

“I bet he was.” Although his wanted to go to her like he’d promised Jason he would, his body was too heavy to move and the chance left before he could. Her mask came back and she was flipping through another album.

“Look, it’s Jason and Alan on Christmas morning--this must’ve been fifteen years ago.”

Michael got up from his chair to look over her shoulder. A Jason he didn’t recognize was sitting on this very couch with his father and they were holding up a matched set of really ugly sweaters.

“Wow,” was all he could say. Between the sweaters and terrible haircut his uncle was sporting in the photo, he was at a loss. “Uncle Jason looked really different then.”

He felt her sadness again and wondered what he’d done to cause it. “We all did. Fifteen years is a long time.”

Tentatively, he sat down next to her. “I know. I haven’t even been alive that long yet.”

She laughed hoarsely. “I know.” She seemed to be about to say something, but stopped herself. She was looking at Jason.

Michael saw him becoming uncomfortable under her scrutiny and worried that he’d bolt. It was finally time to ask the question he’d come to ask. He grabbed Monica’s arm to get her attention.

“Monica, who was my grandfather? I mean, what was he like?” He thought he’d see that same lost look his mother had given him, telling him that Alan Quartermaine was made up of a bunch of words he couldn’t see but that meant something that was supposed to make him proud. His grandmother’s eyes weren’t lost or confused--they were clear as day--and he knew he’d come to the right place.

“He was a stubborn, stubborn man. He was selfish, short-tempered, and proud.” For moment, he thought she was angry. She was shaking and her cheeks were turning pink. “But he loved his family, and that includes you. I know he loved me, because whenever I hurt him, he would get so mad that he’d do crazy things to get back at me.”

Michael tipped his head, thinking of his parents’ latest reconciliation. “Like my mom and dad.”

Monica sat a long time without replying and when she did, she gave only a quick curt nod. “So, for all his faults--and there were many--he was as a good a man as any to be born into this family. And he’s worth remembering that way.”

He could see that she was at her breaking point. There was so much more he wanted to know--he was trying to stuff twelve years of quality time he’d never had into this visit, however impossible that was. He rubbed the face on the picture again. Alan Quartermaine was haunting him.

“I know it’s really late, but I was wondering if I could look at these pictures for a while. Just until I get tired. Then, I’ll leave.” He realized he was begging but he was willing to stoop so low for this. All of his answer were in these albums, waiting for him to notice them.

Jason made his presence known once again to object. “Michael, I’m sure Monica has other things that need her attention.”

She waved off his excuse. “It’s all right. I do have an early shift tomorrow, but the two of you are welcomed to stay and look at these for as long as you like.” Splitting affectionate glances between him and Jason, she withdrew for the night.

Michael slid from the couch to the rug and surrounded himself with the stack of memories. He picked up any one and began to weed through the complicated web of the Quartermaine past. A wedding portrait of Alan on the arm of a dark-haired woman with a funny smile. There was a motorcycle in the background, just like Jason’s. A panoramic picture of Dr. A. Quartermaine at the bedside of a sickly boy named Stone--he was almost smiling. A candid shot of his grandfather holding the woman he knew as the backstabber, but that some called Tracy. She was crying, they were crying.

Michael carefully peeled away the protective film covering the picture. He turned it over in his hands and read the neat words written on the back: Lila’s gone, but her love is forever. He replaced it with the same care, the message firmly stuck in his mind. Love is forever.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they’d gotten here, but he was sure hours had gone by before Jason left his self-imposed isolation in the corner of the room to sit on the floor with him. Michael only briefly lifted his head to see what his uncle was thinking, but his expression made no promises. They continued without talking.

The sun must be about to come up, he thought at some point. Still, they kept peeling over these especially chosen keepsakes for tiny snippets of the person neither of them knew. On the final page of a faded green album, he found a picture that gave him pause. He’d seen it before, but it caught him this time. It was Jason standing at a window with a baby in his arms, a little boy with bright red hair. He was wise enough to recognize himself.

This page was thicker than the others, he noted. Each page had contained a pouch in which to store mementos; so far the rest had been empty. He reached between the folds of the black page and pulled out a yellowish-brown piece of paper. It might’ve been white once, but it had been years since then

Seeing that Jason was preoccupied with other memories, Michael unfolded the paper to see a letter addressed to him. He narrowed his eyes at the painstakingly neat words. This was his grandfather.

Michael rubbed his eyes against the startling irritation in them. This was his grandfather, in his own words. A new strange ache bubbled up in his chest as he read it again.

Think kindly of me, Michael…

Afraid he would tear the thin sheet into pieces, he folded it until it was small enough to fit into his pocket. He looked up at his uncle, then around this big room and caught sight of a portrait on the mantle. He had that smile--Michael’s smile. This house was filled with shadows of smiles like this. He had never seen one.

“Jason.” His uncle looked at the sound of his voice, questioning. “I miss him.” He struggled to breathe again, past the inexplicable loss he felt. “I really miss him.”

Jason put aside the pictures he was holding to put an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “I know.”

Michael was haunted by Alan Quartermaine again. Out the corner of his eye, he thought he saw him in his favorite chair. But when he turned, no one was there.

So, he clung to what he knew.

I am with you in every dream and in every way. You are in my heart.

Now, Alan was in his.