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 Gracie 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 losing 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 fucking 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. And 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 fucking *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...."