Title: "Structural Integrity"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: GH
Rating/Classification: PG, angst, Lorenzo, second person pov.
Disclaimer: I do not own this character, but *damn*, Ted King sure does. He's phenomenal.
Summary: A filler for 9/9/04, before Lois stops by his apartment. Lorenzo is the last of the Alcazars...

You are the last of the Alcazars. The last man standing. The end of the dynasty that never was. There will be no pillars inscribed with names. No history books. No popes and presidents and poisoners.

Sage would laugh to hear you compare her to Lucrezia Borgia, a murderous viper. No... no, she would scrunch up her nose and tilt her head and pretend she had no idea who Lucrezia was, forcing you to play professor and explain. And midway through the lecture, she would feign sleep...the cacophony of her fake snoring drowning out your voice. How someone could sing like an angel and sound so utterly obnoxious, you had no idea. But oh...oh, she managed. "Uncle Lorenzooooooooo...I need to stay out till midnight!"

"The hell you do, Young Lady," you would tell her. And when you say it now, you punctuate it with a swig of liquor. You're on the vodka now. Bourbon will be next. The last of the Alcazars and the illustrious Jack Daniels. So, perhaps you're not truly alone. "The hell you do," you whisper, again, shoving the papers from your desk with one careless sweep of your hand.

Druglords. Arms dealers. Killers. Monsters. She was...she was going to be a pop star. A *pop* star. How ridiculous. Someone caught in a vastly different money machine, swimming with different sharks. But, oh...she loved it. Her eyes sparkled. And you thought...you thought it was safe. Safer than your life. Than her father's.

You thought wrong. So wrong.

And you're still standing.

At least until you collapse.

You...the foundation of your family now. Faulty. Uneven. Structurally unsound. Yet you manage to survive. You must be smarter than they were. Luckier. Oh, so lucky.

You toast to your father, to your dear, sainted, mother. You whisper a prayer for your Tia Teresa and hope that your uncle Marco is roasting in the fires of Hell. You go back as many generations as you can remember before you come back and call Luis a "cabron" and far more vulgar things.

He wasn't even the first to hold Sage after she was born. It was you. The doctor handed her to you...because he couldn't be bothered to leave, to attend to the unfortunate young woman he impregnated. "Take care of it, Enzito," he'd murmured, waving his hand. "As you take care of everything."

And so you did. You went to the hospital, finding that Paloma had all ready coded and been pronounced dead. A neat solution to that particular problem. "Ah, Senor Alcazar..." and that was somewhat accurate, who you were, so you nodded. "Your daughter."

To strangers, your brother could have been your twin, not your elder, and you were forever correcting the misapprehension. But, before you could do so, the nurse placed a tiny little being in your arms. Warm and wrapped in pink. Her hair was dark, wispy, and her mouth opened in a perfect 'o' as she took a breath.

You were all ready enthralled...but it was her eyes that finished you. So dark, so deep. Accusatory. As if she knew you weren't her father, that her mother was dead, and...and perhaps even that she would die at sixteen in a freezer. But babies forget those first moments of wisdom, don't they? Otherwise, all humans would walk into the world far better armed for the dangers... for the cruelties. Still...still, she stared up at you and unmanned you. Far older than five minutes. Timeless. "Sage," you called her, instinctively. "You're my wise little Sage."

"Preciosa," you called her. "Mi alma," you said. She was your first love, your truest. And Sophie laughed when you showed her a picture a few days later. "I've been dethroned by a younger woman!" You tucked the picture back in your pocket and simply smiled. "This throne was never yours, Love. Nor this particular crown."

"You have *another* crown for me, then?"

"Of course! But you'll have to be Princess...not Queen."

Less than six weeks later, she was dead...and it was Sage who comforted you. With her chubby little fists and her kisses, wet with your tears.

"I'll always have you, *si*?" you asked her, and she cooed and nodded and promised you forever.

Is this her idea of forever?

To be memorialized in a song that no one will remember in a year?

You are the last of the Alcazars. The last man standing. The end of the dynasty that never was. There will be no pillars inscribed with names. No history books. No popes and presidents and poisoners.

And there will be no hope.

Because it should have been her. She should have been the first of many. The beginning of something new.

A ground-breaking.

Now...now, the only thing breaking... is you.



September 9, 2004.

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