One Shot Flash Fics.

Those stories that actually don't end up in a series.


Freedom Prompt - Hot As A Firecracker
Homeless Prompt - Backstabbing B!tch
The Things We Do For Our Friends Prompt - First Base
A Distinguished Gentleman Prompt - Blank Check
Snow Bound Prompt - "What goes around, comes around."
Close Quarters Prompt - Silk Stalkings
Chocolate and Carbohydrates Prompt - I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down...
No Experience Required Prompt - I Believe
On The Air Prompt - Champagne wishes and caviar dreams
Nighttime Ritual Prompt - Dance as if no one is watching
Down For the Count Prompt - I'll beat him so bad he'll need a shoehorn to put his hat on. ~Muhammad Ali, 1965
A Man's Presence Prompt - Ripped Jeans
Negotiations Prompt - Courage isn't the absence of fear, it is the presence of fear, yet the will to go on.
Bill of Goods Prompt - They painted up your secrets with the lies they told to you.
Shadow of Intrigue Prompt - Fog Filled Streets
Sweet Tooth - Or 'And now for something completely saccharine' Prompt - Famous Monster
Pay 'Til It Hurts Prompt - I'm twice the bitch you think you are
Easy Was Yesterday Prompt - Anything to do with military service (Prompt posted Veteran's Day)
Wacky Day Prompt - You know what they say: if the shoe hurts, wear it.
Flight or Fight Prompt - Tequila makes my clothes fall off
One In The Hand Prompt - Crackheads aren't all that detail oriented.
Road Trip Prompt - Let's not argue
Death Calls Twice Prompt - When it appears you have killed the monster, never check to see if it's really dead
Honor and Duty Prompt - A pumpkin and a princess
Clansmen Prompt - "You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everybody dances with the Grim Reaper." ~ Robert Alton Harris
Freedom
Prompt - Hot As A Firecracker

Happy Independence Day.

As Elizabeth sat in the little bar nestled on the beach, she raised her rum-filled drink and made a silent toast to the Fourth of July before she remembered it that back in Port Charles it was still the third. Sometimes she still got confused about the time zone changes with the International Dateline. Never the matter. It was the fourth here, and she might as well drink a glass to freedom.

Her freedom certainly hadn't come cheap, but she was.

"I don't wanna be free. I wanna be with Lucky."

What a crock. After turning down Jason and twisting herself inside out and sideways because she thought she owed it to Lucky, she finally realized it was all too much. When Helena ordered Nikolas to kill her and he went to Sonny to ensure help get her to safety until the whole thing blew over, she knew she had to get away from everything permanently. Living in Port Charles was either going to kill her, or make her go stark raving mad.

So while she was down on Sonny's island, she went to him and pleaded for his help. Above and beyond what he'd already done for her. Thankfully he agreed. When Nikolas called to tell her that Lucky was free, the brainwashing was over, he was shocked to find out she was gone. Only Sonny knew where she was. Instead, he got a letter telling him she hoped Lucky was alright, but she realized that she wasn't being fair to herself by staying with him just because of promises made long ago. She'd let him go while they thought he was dead, and it was time she did something that made her happy.

She got a nice letter in return saying he would miss her but he understood. He didn't like it, but he would agree to her request and let the town of Port Charles continue to think she was dead. The only other people who would know the truth would be Emily, her grandmother, and of course Sonny.

Thanks to Sonny she got a new name, a new identity and a new place to live. The Marshall Islands were small, out of the way, hard to reach and she had lots of sun, sand, water and inspiration for her paintings. She also could do whatever she wanted, without anyone telling her she needed to remember Lucky and how grateful she should be to have him back. She was glad for Luke and Laura that their son was alive, but that was all she felt anymore.

She loved her new home. She once thought that in order to truly live she had to reside in a place with four seasons. She needed snow at Christmas, flowers in the spring and changing leaves in the fall. Instead she had warm winters, balmy springs and the summer was gearing up to be a scorcher. Elizabeth loved it all. She could walk out the door onto the beach, lay on the sand in the shade, and she'd learned how to surf and ride a jet ski. It wasn't quite as fast as the back of Jason's bike, but she was learning to make do.

Because the one thing she wouldn't do was ask Sonny about Jason. She knew she'd hurt him when she turned him down and ran back to Lucky, just because she'd finally realized what Jason was trying to tell her that day in the park didn't give her the right to suddenly barge into his life by seeking him out. She doubted he'd would, but she told Emily and Sonny that should he ask, they could tell him she was alive and remembering how to be happy. She hadn't gone so far as to tell Sonny not to tell him where she was, because she was afraid to even give hope to the thought.

No, she was doing this on her own. She'd accepted the loan from Sonny to get started here, she wasn't going to fall back into the old - and harmful - habit of leaning on Jason all the time. Been there, done that, and she wasn't pulling him into the path of her destruction again. She hadn't been fair to him, he had the right to find whatever happiness he could free from her.

"Another one?" the bartender asked, pausing to wipe the moisture off the bar in front of her.

"No thanks," she shook her head.

"Kinda early in the day isn't it, Kris?"

"It's a bit of a celebration today," she smiled. "Special occasion."

She laid some money on the bar and gathered her things to go. "See ya, Don."

"Catch ya later, kid," he waved with his towel and turned to fill a mug of beer for a waiting customer.

Sliding off the stool, she turned for the door and stopped short. Sitting at a table next to the wall, staring at her was the man she thought she'd never see again. His hair was a little shorter, lightened by the sun, and he hadn't taken his blue eyes off hers since she turned around. Despite the heat, she felt a cold sweat break out on the small of her back and she looked away. Glancing back he was still there and still staring at her.

She forced herself to move until she was inches away from her table. "J-Jason? What?what are you doing here?"

He pushed out the seat across from him with his foot and she followed his wordless command by sitting. "I'm looking for you," he said, his voice loud enough for her to hear but soft enough that it was drowned out in the small murmurs of the bar. "And wondering why I had to find out you weren't dead from Emily."

She fiddled with the strap of her bag and looked down at the worn table top. Clearing her throat before she could speak, she finally looked up and met his searching gaze. "I...I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me again. Especially after the way we left things that day in the park."

"You didn't think I'd want to know that you were alive?" he asked as he leaned back. His eyes were slightly wounded.

"I-I didn't think you'd find out," she shrugged lamely. "The two people you would keep in contact with knew I wasn't dead so it wasn't like they were going to say something."

Plus, she'd learned much to her dismay that Jason never asked about her, and had made it known he'd rather they didn't volunteer information on her life. Emily said he only sent postcards to Lila to brighten her spirits and let her know he was alive; there was no chance of his grandmother inadvertently letting the information slip.

"I called Carly," he said.

"And I'm sure she couldn't wait to let you know," she grumbled bitterly. That was one nice thing about this situation. She never had to deal with the caustic blonde. She called Sonny's cell or Johnny if she needed anything.

"Then when I'm talking to Sonny, angry at him because he never said anything to me, he told me it was a lie. For ten minutes I thought you were dead...and that was ten minutes too long."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. And she was. She hadn't thought about the possibility of Carly telling him. And she could only imagine how his best friend had crowed while giving him that information. "But why did you come here? I mean, Sonny told you I was alive."

"I came here," he leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table, "because I wanted to see you. Is that alright with you?"

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Homeless
Prompt - Backstabbing B!tch

Some men had all the luck. Jason Morgan had none.

He returned home to the annoying discovering the locks on his door had been changed. Sure, he'd been gone for a while; it was hard to give exact time-tables on his line of work. Mercenary work didn't exactly come with a suit, tie and 9 to 5 business hours. It also wasn't real conducive to calling, faxing or writing, so months could pass with no contact between him and the folks back home.

She said she understood it was his job. She was a free-lance journalist; she was gone for periods of time herself. Seemed like a perfect match.

Apparently it wasn't so perfect when he returned home after nine months with no contact at all. The locks had been changed, and once he employed one of many talents and picked them, he discovered the apartment had been changed as well.

Gone was the modern furniture with its clean lines. Gone was his book-shelf and all of his many travel books, how-to manuals and history tomes. In its place was flowered chintz, Impressionistic artwork, and a great big picture of his girlfriend with another guy. On their wedding day.

Charley, the groom, a little pencil-necked bow-tie wearing geek with a pocket protector who looked ready to wet his pants when he came into the front room to inspect the noise and found his wife's ex-boyfriend standing there instead, told him she took over the lease when it came up for renewal and he was no where to be found. The accountant, or whatever it was the guy did, nearly tripped over his feet as he scurried to the closet and pulled out an old Army duffle bag Jason had purchased many years ago, that contained all of his clothes and possessions he left behind. Except the books. The books the little lying tramp had sold to a used book store. And what books they didn't want, she dumped in a Salvation Army bin in the hopes they could do something with them.

Apparently all those moments where she told him she accepted him, that she didn't mind his absences, were nothing but a lie. He didn't mind so much that his clothes were stuffed into the duffle bag, after apparently meeting with the business end of her sewing shears, what got him were the books. He started buying those books so he'd know about places he might go, and for her to know about places he'd seen. She said she loved them. Most of all she knew he liked them. Which is why he didn't think for a minute they'd ended up at bookstore, she'd probably used them as kindling in the bedroom fireplace.

So, here he was, homeless, with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and a whole bunch of money. A pretty pathetic existence he decided, especially on a Saturday night in a bar where everyone around him was hooking up and heading home. Good thing for him, Jake rented rooms, and almost never hung out the No Vacancy sign.

Finally the blonde bartender walked out of the backroom and towards the cash register. Her tanned and weathered face bloomed with a smile when she saw him sitting at the end of the bar and she grabbed a fresh bottle of beer as she made her way towards him. "Hey, stranger, nice to see you back in our neck of the woods."

"Hey, Jake," he grinned, accepting the beer and taking a long pull. "Just got back. And found out a few things changed while I was gone."

His friend's frown was immediate. "I read it in the paper. Couldn't believe it. Or when she had the nerve to show up here and act like she hadn't just stabbed you in the back while you were away. I made it quite clear she wasn't welcome here anymore. Besides," she grinned, "I didn't think it was exactly her husband's choice of place."

No, it probably wasn't. And he couldn't help but feel vindicated at the older woman's protectiveness of him and kicking out the little viper. "So, how 'bout a room? Since I'm obviously homeless."

"Oh, sweetie," she tsked, her frown deepening. "You know I would, but I rented the last room yesterday. To her, actually."

He looked up at the waitress that walked behind the counter. She moved with grace and ease, filling up shot glasses and pouring beer, while perched atop ridiculously high-heeled boots. Her outfit though, was a little too classy for Jake's, even if it did mold to her figure like a second skin. He could appreciate it, but his libido was taking a backseat to his annoyance that she'd taken the last room. She looked like she could afford to stay some place better, why didn't she head off there instead of taking what should rightfully be his?

As he watched her move around the bar, filling orders and fending off the horny dock-workers' wandering hands, his ire grew. She looked like the Kelly's crowd. That perky little ponytail, that bounced with each step she took, her bright smile, even in the face of lecherous looks and grabs, told him she'd fit right in. He could almost swear there was something familiar about him, like she had served him coffee and chili there.

Searching through his mental file of faces, it kept eluding him, which only served to fuel the frustration of the night. Finally as she walked towards to ask him if he wanted another beer it struck him. "Lizzie...Lizzie Webber."

She paused, her hands dropping to her sides as they fisted. "Excuse me?"

"You're Lizzie Webber. Lucky Spencer's girlfriend, right?"

"Ex-girlfriend," she replied frostily. "And who are you?"

"Jason Morgan," he supplied.

"Nice to meet you," she replied in a manner that let him know it was anything but. "Can I get you anything?"

"My room," he replied, her attitude making him remember his own anger.

"Your room?" She crossed her arms over her chest and cattily arched an eyebrow.

He studied her, not realizing he was blatantly staring at the way her t-shirt pulled tight across her breasts until she dropped her hand and smacked the counter, pulling his gaze up to her murderous gaze. "What are you doing here, kid? Clearly you know the Spencer family. Why aren't you rooming at Kelly's or Bobbie's brownstone? You don't have to be living here. And I need the room. So do me a favor and go call your boyfriend. Make his night, and make mine."

"Go screw yourself you over-bearing pig," she snapped and turned on her heel. She stalked out from behind the bar, across the uneven wood planks and started up the stairs to the rooms. He wasn't about to be deterred and followed.

He made it upstairs just in time to see her disappear into a room, and slam the door behind her. In six long strides he was standing in front of it, pounding on the faded paint of the door. Just when he was ready to threaten to force it open with his shoulder, the door flew open and he had a Louisville Slugger shoved in his face.

"Let's get one thing perfectly straight, Mister Morgan, I am not going to make your night by giving up my room. And the Spencer family would as soon spit on me as give me a place to stay. I used to live at Kelly's. I actually worked there. But it's amazing how quickly a family that said you were just like a daughter to them can turn on you and prove that blood is thicker than water."

Her cheeks were flushed with anger, but it was the tears in her eyes that made him pause. He hated when women cried. Couldn't stand it. It's why he never accepted a job where he had to kill a woman. Hated the way they'd start blubbering and begging for their lives. Men begging for their lives and crying like little girls didn't bother him a bit. But the sight of one little slip of a woman with tears threatening to crest at any moment had his anger suddenly melting away over not having a place to stay. Instead he wanted to go pound Lucky Spencer and his family into the ground for whatever it was they'd done to her to reduce her to this.

"So just get out of here," she continued on, her voice growing husky as her eyes shimmered even more. "If you need a place to stay, I can give you my sister's number. She's always ready and willing to let any stray mutt into her bed, just look at the way she opened it to Lucky. So...I'm keeping this room...and you...and you..."

The bat dropped to her side and she turned back on him standing at the door in an attempt to hide the tears that had begun to stream down her face. He stepped inside and shut the door softly behind him. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry."

He reached for her shoulder, but she twisted out of his grasp. "Can you just go please?"

"Look, Lizzie, I'm sorry. I...I just got home and found out my girlfriend got married and moved in with her new husband into my apartment. I took it out on you."

She turned slightly, offering him a glimpse of her profile and swiped at cheeks. "My sister slept with my boyfriend and when he kicked me out of the room we shared at Kelly's his aunt took his side. That's why I ended up at Jake's."

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said, and paused when she flinched.

She pivoted her head, offering him a glimpse of her large, wounded eyes. "I really hate the name Lizzie. Lizzie and Lucky, what a perfect pair. Do...do you think you could call me Elizabeth?"

"Anything you want, Elizabeth," he smiled reassuringly. "Anything you want."

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The Things We Do For Our Friends
Prompt - First Base

"Tell me again why we're doing this," Elizabeth leaned over to whisper to her best friend Emily as she stood eyeing the room.

"Because it's Saturday night, it's a sports bar, there are guys everywhere, very few girls. It's a total easy score."

Elizabeth looked around the bar, the flicker of multiple TV screens casting a blue glow over the entire place. Yes, there were men galore here, but they all seemed to have their eyes glued to the TV. And even if by some miracle every single station went to commercial immediately, did she want the attention of the people here? Most of them were overweight, forty-somethings with wedding bands firmly ensconced on their pudgy fingers. This was not the image Emily had described to them when she burst into her room and declared that they had to get out of the apartment, take a break from college before the dreaded reality of mid-terms loomed too closely.

While Emily was her best friend, had been since they were six, she just didn't seem to realize that Elizabeth hadn't bloomed like she had. Emily was the socialite, not in terms of money, but just in personality. Her friend could walk into a room and command everyone's attention simply by her effusive laughter and self-confident air. In a room full of strangers, Emily was suddenly everyone's new best friend. The only attention anyone ever paid Elizabeth was the one time she wore a white shirt and a black skirt and she was mistaken for the serving help.

A bubbling peal of laughter echoed up from a corner, and Elizabeth knew without even looking that Emily had found what she came for and headed off without letting her know. Taking a sip of her Sprite - someone was going to need to be sober to make sure they got home safely - Elizabeth twisted on her seat and saw her best friend sitting at a table with what had to be the only three men their age. She was sure if she went over there, Emily would introduce her with enthusiasm and the men would accept her simply because she was the bubbly brunette's friend. Shaking her head, she decided she wanted no part of that tonight.

She was tired of being included in groups simply because the men were all wrapped around Emily's little finger. She was sick of being the person people let tag along out of pity. She was fed up with guys who only paid attention to her, asked for her phone number, simply because Emily had turned her attentions to one of their friends and she was the consolation prize.

"Hey," Emily's enthused voice floated to her over her shoulder. "I met these three incredibly hot men. You should come join us."

Elizabeth looked up and saw her friend's dancing eyes, and shook her head. "I'm not feeling up to it tonight, Em. I think the noise is giving me a headache and I just want to find a quiet corner to sit in. Really, just go ahead and have fun. You deserve it."

Emily frowned and gave a quick glance at the men that were waiting. "Do you want to go home? We could go."

Elizabeth shook her head. She didn't want to go home where she would feel the need to go back and study, so if she had to sit here in a place she didn't want to be just so she could avoid studying, she'd do it. "Nah, I don't want to spoil your fun. Go ahead."

"You're sure?"

"Go," she ordered. "Have fun."

"Okay, but if you change your mind or feel worse and want to go, just come get me."

She smiled, and nodded, but she'd put up with the noise and the fact that she was bored beyond belief because Emily deserved it. Emily had transferred her scholarship and joined in her in this tiny college town when Elizabeth broke up with her slimy ex-boyfriend who gave her a hunk of glass, but got another woman pregnant. Why should Emily sit alone night after night just because Elizabeth had no desire to get back out there?

She grabbed her glass and slowly picked her way through the room to the side opposite where Emily and her court were sitting. Shouldering her way past several excited sports fans, she finally found a table in the corner and sank wearily down into a chair. She would be hidden in the shadows and hopefully she wouldn't have to deal with anybody but the occasional waitress she flagged down to refill her Sprite.

Just as she was beginning to think that she might be able to survive this night, someone headed directly for her table and pulled out a chair. "Go away, I'm not interested," she said to the shadow who joined her.

The man - it had to be a man based on his size - started and leaned back in his chair. "What are you doing here?"

"I think I should be asking you that," she replied. "Since I was sitting here first."

"Uh, I don't think so, sweetheart. I've been sitting here for the past two hours aside from the five minutes I just spent in the head."

She leaned forward and squinted, trying to put a face to the voice that carried from the other side of the table. Fair hair, cut in spikes, and when the man turned his face, the light reflected one pale blue eye which was regarding her in equal curiosity. "Who are you hiding from? And more importantly why?"

Luckily the man didn't think she was a nutcase out on temporary furlough based on that amazingly bad taste question, but he just tipped his head in a vague direction that could have encompassed most of the bar. "My roommates. They love this place; drug me down here against my will tonight. Said I needed to do something besides reading Popular Science or Car and Driver. They think I should watch sports."

"Don't like sports?" she asked with a raised brow she knew he couldn't see. Maybe it was because the man across from her was mostly in shadow, maybe the bartender had spiked her Sprite, all she knew was she found it somehow easy to talk to him and she'd said more to him than she had to her drycleaner of three years.

"Not to watch them. I'll play them, but I don't see the purpose of sitting around drinking beer and eating peanuts and cheering like an idiot."

"Me neither," she informed him. "But that's not so surprising since I'm a girl. I thought it was ingrained in all men to congregate to sports like a duck to water."

He laughed and she could vaguely see him shake his head. "No, I got the mechanic gene. Put a wrench in my hand and I'll spend hours looking for the reason the timing belt ticks every so slightly. But sports...I don't get 'em. So, who are you hiding from?"

" My roommate," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "She doesn't like coming to these places by herself, and I figure why should I rain on her parade simply because I'd rather stay home and read about 17th century European painters. She's off on the other side talking to some guys and I didn't feel like joining them tonight."

"So instead you tried to steal my table." He said it with no malice in his voice and she sensed he understood her desire to hide perfectly and didn't mind the intrusion.

"Something like that. I'm Elizabeth," she said, feeling the need to introduce herself to the stranger whose life she'd just barged into.

"Jason," he supplied.

Her ice cubs clinked in her glass and he scooted his chair back. "Want a refill? The waitress won't see us over here so if you wait for her you could die of thirst. I was actually thinking about getting something for me."

"Oh, you don't have to bother," she shook her head.

"It's no bother," he assured her. "I was getting up anyways. Besides, now that I know I've got someone saving my table, I don't have to wait so long for my next Sprite."

Even though he couldn't see it, her eyebrows rose into her hairline. "Sprite? You the designated driver tonight?"

He chuckled and said, "Something like that. So, can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure," she smiled, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. "I'll have a Sprite."

A Distinguished Gentleman
Prompt - Blank Check

"I'd like to make a donation to your foundation."

Elizabeth Webber thought she'd be ill as she stood behind the counter, watching Courtney Corinthos hook another sucker on her line and slowly reel him in. The blonde giggled ever so slightly, "That's so generous of you, Mr. Morgan, but I don't know."

"You don't know?" the entrepreneurial newcomer frowned. "Your foundation helps hundreds of under-privileged children. With my donation, Ms. Corinthos, you could increase that to a thousand. What's not to know about that?"

"Well," she said coyly, "I hardly know you. How do I know you're legitimate? You could be like Luis Alcazar and his brother Lorenzo who tried to donate to my foundation simply to throw the IRS off their trail. I've made it a strict policy to only accept donations from the most discriminating people."

Now Elizabeth knew she was definitely going to be ill. And the baby inside her apparently felt the same way as it suddenly rolled, passing across her bladder and kicking her sharply in her already upset stomach. She winced and paused in the sugar shakers she was feeling and rubbed her swollen stomach soothingly. "Easy, little one," she murmured. "Hopefully she'll be gone soon."

"How could I convince you?" Jason Morgan, self-made millionaire at age 25, self-made billionaire at age 29, asked. "I think it's a very...noble thing you're doing, Ms. Corinthos-"

"Please, call me Courtney," she interrupted sweetly. Elizabeth's teeth hurt at the saccharine levels rising off the charts.

"Courtney," he amended with a smile. "I'd like to help out. Port Charles is a lovely place; nice, quiet community. A place a person could put down roots...maybe even start a family."

"Are you looking to do that? Put down roots, I mean," the blonde blushed slightly.

"I'm thinking about it. I've seen practically all there is to see. Maybe it's time to start thinking about the future beyond the bottom line and company mergers."

Running a perfectly manicured finger around the edge of her glass, Courtney tipped her head to the side. "Hmm, then it sounds like you might be just the kind of person we're looking to cultivate a partnership with."

That's not all Courtney would be looking to cultivate, but hey, who was Elizabeth to say? Just because she'd wagered Jasper Jacks ten million dollars she wouldn't sleep with him for a period of three months, and broke that wager five weeks in, didn't mean that Courtney wasn't doing this for the children. Maybe Elizabeth shouldn't be so hasty to judge. After all, Jason Morgan might not be interested. He could be gay. He could not like perfect teeth, golden tans and big boobs. He may not. He could actually have more sense than a goose and think with the head on his shoulders...

Looking up as Mr. Morgan smiled charmingly and reached into his suit pocket and pull out his check book, while Courtney wrote down what looked to be her phone number on a slip of paper, Elizabeth decided maybe he was just like every other stupid man in the world. And considering she'd been knocked up and then dumped by such a guy, she decided maybe Jason Morgan deserved whatever he got from his relationship with Courtney Corinthos. She grabbed the coffee pot and went out into the dining room to fill the cup of a new customer and decided she didn't care anymore about what was happening at table eight. Jason Morgan could profess his infatuation for the foundation's head and ask her to fly off with her to Monte Carlo, she wasn't going to bat an eyelash.

Halfway back to the counter to put in the order for liver and onions, the baby delivered a solid kick to her lower back and she paused, gripping the back of a chair and taking a deep breath until the pain subsided. "I know, squirt, I hate liver and onion night too. Could give me a bit of a break though considering I've got three more hours in this shift?"

She'd barely made it to the counter when she heard Courtney call out, "Elizabeth? Could we get some more coffee here?"

Sure, couldn't ask that while I was out there, she rolled her eyes, before turning around and plastering a smile on her face. "Sure."

Slipping the order into the wheel for Don, she picked the coffee pot back up and slowly made her way to Courtney's table. The first thing she noticed was Jason Morgan wasn't there. "Did you want the check as well?" she asked, pouring more coffee for Courtney.

"No," she shook her head. "He just had to step outside to take a phone call. He'll be right back. What's good for dessert tonight? Anything you would recommend to go...for two?"

She wasn't going to rise to the bait or the waggle of the blonde's eyebrows. If she did, her clenching stomach would probably revolt. "The pecan pie is always good."

"I'm allergic to pecans," Courtney snapped irritated. "You know that."

"Oh, right," she replied dully.

She didn't care if Courtney was allergic or not. She didn't register on Elizabeth's radar like some of her other customers. Not like Mr. Whitman who just walked in for his Thursday night meatloaf. Elizabeth had made sure to set aside some of her brownies from earlier in the day because she knew he liked to have a special treat every once in a while. The door opened again and Jason Morgan walked back inside, taking off his overcoat. "Would you like some more coffee?" she asked him.

"Thank you," he smiled. "Do you want to think about dessert, Courtney, or would you like to order now?"

"I'll wait," she smiled sweetly, once again demure and kind. Yeah, Jason Morgan was a chump and he deserved whatever heartache, and headache, he got from the fool.




Four hours later, Elizabeth leaned against the polish walnut paneling in the elevator whisking her up to the penthouse level of the Port Charles Hotel. When she shown up, asking if she could leave a note for Mr. Morgan, the desk clerk had called up to the businessman's suite and he asked that she come up and deliver the message to him in person. All she wanted to do was go home, sit down and put up her swollen feet. But no, she had to be a good Samaritan and walk the sixteen blocks out of her way to come here.

Stepping off the elevator, she was distinctly aware that she smelled disgustingly like liver and onions, her hair was dropping in her eyes, and the baby was not giving her a moment's rest. She crossed the marble foyer and knocked on the gold-inlaid door, her other hand pressing against the wall as the baby did a double somersault and lodged her foot right under Elizabeth's ribs. "Give is a rest, would ya?"

"I'm sorry?"

She looked up and groaned as she saw Jason Morgan standing in the doorway of the suite, in a wheat colored sweater and black pants. "Not you," she mumbled on a blush. "The baby's been quite active tonight; I was just talking to her."

"Come in, Ms. Webber," he said, stepping back from the doorway and inviting her inside. "Would you like to sit down? Could I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I really can't stay long. I need to get home before it gets too late. I just wanted to return something you dropped at the diner."

Jason arched an eyebrow and Elizabeth pulled out a folded check from the pocket of her swing coat. "When I was putting up the chairs and sweeping the floor, I saw this lying there. I figured it must have dropped when you were giving Courtney a donation for her foundation. You really should be more careful with your checkbook, Mr. Morgan."

She figured the scowl on his face was because she was trying to make a lame joke to break the unease that had grown the moment she walked in, a figurative bull in a china shop. She didn't fit in his opulent penthouse anymore than he really fit in at Kelly's in his thousand dollar suit, sitting next to denim and flannel clad dockworkers and middle-incomed retired folks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Here."

He ignored the paper being thrust at him and appraised her slowly. "You were putting up the chairs and sweeping. In your condition?"

Hackles raised she would have flung the check at him if it would have done more than merely flutter to the ground. "I am not an invalid just because I'm pregnant."

"No, no, I didn't mean that," he quickly apologized. "What I meant was it looks like the baby's dropped, clearly it has to be uncomfortable bending over. Wasn't there anybody there to help you?"

"Did you see anybody else there tonight?" she asked, still not mollified.

He shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Ms. Webber, I didn't mean to insult you. When you are you due?"

"Next week." She wasn't going to be snowed by this sweet-talker. Why wouldn't he just take the blasted check and let her get on her way?

"And you're still working? I admire your spirit."

"Spirit has nothing to do with it, Mr. Morgan," she said coolly. "I need the money. Kelly's doesn't exactly have health insurance."

"Your husband doesn't either?"

"What husband?" she snorted. "And before you stick your foot further in your mouth, let me save you the trouble. There's no father either. He took off the day he saw the EPT box in the bathroom garbage. My family and I haven't spoken in years, so it's just me and the little one here. So can you please just take your stupid check and let me get on my way. I don't like walking home after a certain time of night."

"I'm curious," he said, still not making a move to take the check. "It clearly sounds like you're in a bit of a financial pinch-"

"A pinch?" she interrupted. "The way things are going, my kid's gonna be a good candidate for Courtney's foundation."

"Then why not just keep the check?"

Do not spit on the man. Do not spit on the man. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, counting to ten. "Because I am not a thief, Mr. Morgan."

She turned for the door, not trusting herself to say anything further to him. Placing the check on the table in the entryway, she reached for the brass doorknob when his voice stopped her.

"Ms. Webber, I do apologize. Contrary to what you might think of me, I know exactly what type of person Ms. Corinthos is. While her foundation is noble, it's also a dime a dozen and she could get grants from anybody. I'd rather give my money to someone who is truly going to use, who is worthy of it. While you were off helping the mother of three clean up spilt French fries and ketchup without complaint and watching her other children while she took her baby to the bathroom to change it's diaper, Ms. Corinthos filled me on your situation as she termed it. I also heard her Jekyll and Hyde conversation with you while I was outside on the phone. I wasn't on the phone, I was testing her."

He took a step closer to her and picked up the check. "Just like I was testing you Ms. Webber. If you had not returned this check to me tonight, I would have canceled it. It doesn't draw from one of my main accounts; there was no worry of my funds being depleted. But you came over to bring it to me. When you are clearly tired, clearly overworked, and clearly underappreciated at your job, you went out of your way to do the right thing."

Producing a pen from his pocket, he quickly filled in the dollar field of the check and put her name as the recipient. Handing it to her, he smiled warmly. "The Morgan Foundation would rather give funds to people who could truly use them, rather than going through other sources. You, Ms. Webber, look like you could benefit more than Ms. Corinthos ever would."

He placed the check in her hand and she stared in amazement. Twenty-five thousand dollars. It would cover her medical expenses the government assistant didn't, allow them to move to a better apartment, and she could maybe even enroll in that cosmetology course she'd had her eye on. The baby dipped and pressed down painfully sharp on her pelvis and she clenched the check in her hand. Even the baby seemed to be giving her seal of approval to the situation.

"Ms. Webber?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"I think..." She paused, gasped and reached out for a table, she found his studying hand instead as he supported her while her knees threatened to buckle. "I think I'm in labor."

To read more...Click Here

Snow Bound
Prompt - "What goes around, comes around."

Being broke sucked. There was no way to sugar-coat it. When she was young and going to school, well, it was fashionable to be called a starving student. When she was struggling to establish herself as an artist in the city, she hung out with plenty of other starving artists who got together and commiserated while encouraging each other to keep pursuing their dreams. But a person can only eat so many packets of Ramen Noodles bought on sale for 10 packs for a dollar before going stark raving mad...and longing for a nice, juicy steak.

After taking temp jobs and pounding the pavement even harder to get her art recognized, she was forced to admit defeat when she ended up in the hospital with pneumonia and her grandmother was called. She in turn called her brother living in the city, but who so far hadn't bothered to acknowledge her existence, and he came over from his cushy private medical practice to treat her. As well as lecture on how the family had stood by and watched her destroy herself long enough in the name of some silly dream; it was time she got serious and joined the family business.

Her grandmother would let her move back home and help her go back to school, but only if Elizabeth promised to study medicine. She didn't have to be a doctor, she didn't even have to be a nurse, she could be an X-Ray tech, a physical therapist, anything, so long as she agreed to move back to Port Charles and work at General Hospital.

It was a hard thing to eat crow and swallow her pride, especially after hopping on a Greyhound Bus when she turned 18 and telling her grandmother she would become an artist or die trying but she was never going to work in the medical field. So it was only fitting that she was now on a Greyhound Bus heading back to Port Charles. Steven couldn't get time away from his busy practice to drive her home, and Audrey only sent enough money for a bus ticket. Her family seemed determined to brow beat her to death, since the pneumonia hadn't done it.

She shifted on the seat and leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, staring past her reflection at the dark landscape sliding past. There were only a few people left on the bus, end of the line was in Port Charles, and there were only a few other unfortunate souls going the entire distance. She'd read for a while, listened to music until she was tired, and yet sleep eluded her. So she sat in the dark and stared out, thankful that she wasn't able to see the scenery. It was bad enough she was going back, she didn't need to see the dreary snow-covered landscape.

Eventually the motion of the bus, the hum of the engine and the heat of the bus lulled her and she found her head resting heavier against the window and her eyelids drooping. Maybe she'd be finally able to sleep, and pass the hour and a half until they reached home. The sudden jerk of the bus, veering sharply to the left before correcting back smacked her head into the window and brought her out of her nearly sleeping state. Rubbing her head, she put one hand on the seat back in front of her and stood up slightly, trying to see the driver in front. The bus jerked again and several passengers' confused murmurs drifted softly forward.

She sat back down in her seat and pressed against the back. Whatever was going on, she probably didn't want to be standing up. Maybe the driver hit black ice; maybe there was an animal on the road. Whatever it was, he didn't need to be badgered by his passengers. She was just going to sit quietly?and maybe say a few silent prayers.

The bus jerked again, veering sharply to the left, then overcorrecting to the right, pitching violently on its tires. Rubber squealed, and then came the sickening grind of metal on metal before the guardrail snapped and the bus plunged into darkness.




She was uncertain how much time passed before she regained consciousness. It was long enough for her to be cold, and covered by a fine layer of snow that must have drifted in from a blown out window above her. Slowly she took inventory of her body and realized she was lying against the side of the bus, which was now serving as its floor. Her head pounded, and her body ached, but as she slowly tested each limb she sighed in relief that they could move and that they didn't appear to be broken.

"Hello?" she called out, struggling to sit. Pain and nausea swept through her and she stopped, breathing deeply to keep from throwing up.

"Hello?"

A moan drifted up from behind her, and she called out again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Here," a weak, male voice called out. "I'm back here. I can't move."

Slowly she stood, swaying on her feet as she hung onto seats and moved towards the back of the bus. Several seats had come loose, hanging haphazardly on only a few bolts and it was a struggle to only walk ten feet. Encountering a set of seats lying on their side across the bus, she wanted to sit down and weep. There was no way she could climb over them, and she knew she didn't have the strength to move it.

She leaned against the ceiling of the bus, now the wall, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Instead her fingers came back wet and sticky, and she could tell in the faint light that it was blood. No wonder her head throbbed each time her heart beat.

The mysterious voice called out to her as she braced her hands against the wall and tried to keep from passing out. She never liked the sight of blood, much less her own. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," she said faintly, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Yeah, I just had to rest. There...there's some chairs blocking my way. I-I don't know if I can move them."

"I'm right behind them," he said. "Come on, I know you can do it."

"I can't," she said, giving in to the panic quelling up inside her. "I can barely stand up, there's no way I can move two seats bolted together."

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice low, assuring, getting through her panic and calming her down. "What's your name?"

"E-Elizabeth."

"Okay, Elizabeth, I'm Jason. Better than calling 'Hey, You' right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, then this is what you're going to do, Elizabeth. I'm pinned down, but I can push with one leg against the seats. If you pull them towards you, they'll be smaller and easier to climb over. Do you think you can do that? You pull while I push?"

She took a deep breath, the panic abiding and looked at the seats. "Yeah, I...I can try."

"Great. Okay. When you're ready, you tell me and I'll push."

It took several long minutes, many encouraging words, and her nearly passing out twice from the exertion that caused her blood to flow freer down her face, but just when she was ready to again call defeat, the seats toppled and she scrambled back frantically. She was breathing heavy, cold sweat running down her back and her arms felt rubbery, but she pressed on. Now that the seats were no longer an insurmountable obstacle, Jason needed her help. Slowly, she crawled over the seat backs until the disembodied voice finally took form.

What she saw made her back up and promptly throw up behind her. Two bodies were on the floor, one partially on top of the other. She assumed Jason was the one on the bottom, the one without the piece of metal sticking out of his back.

"Hey," his voice drifted up from the floor. "You alright?"

"He's dead. He's dead...you have a dead body on top of you."

"Yes, I know," he said, his voice a bit harsh and it cut through the fog enshrouding her. This wasn't the time for gentle kindness, and Jason seemed to instinctively know it. "I'd like to get him off me, but see, there's a problem."

"What-what kind of problem?"

"I can't move my arm to push him off me, so you're going to have to help."

"You want me to touch him?" she asked, her voice rising sharply.

"I know it's not pleasant, Elizabeth, but you can do it. You've got to do it. You can't leave me here to freeze to death."

"Of course, of course," she shook her head, and immediately regretted the action. "Of course."

Slowly she crept forward, and slid off the seat, making sure not to step on either of the bodies below her. It was cramped and she was trying hard not stare at, or focus on the fact, that she was crouched over a dead body. "Okay, I'll grab him and you try to wiggle out."

"I will," Jason said, "but there's one other thing."

"What now?" she cried.

"We're handcuffed together. You've got to get the key and unlock us."

That made her sit back on her heels. Handcuffed together. Unless this was some kinky little game, one of the men below her was a criminal, and one was a cop. The question was, which one? What if she unlocked the guy, only to be taken hostage by him?

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up at Jason, and studied his face carefully in what little light there was. It was hard to tell in near darkness if the man she was speaking to was on the right or the wrong side of the law.

"Elizabeth?" he tried again.

"Where," her voice was hoarse and she cleared it raggedly. "Umm...where's the key?"

"It's in my left pant's pocket. Underneath the body. You've got to move him, and get it out, then unlock us."

The key was in Jason's pocket. Letting out a breath and clenching her teeth together in a smile to suppress the gag reflex, the grabbed the body and heaved. Even without the man being dead, he would have been hard to move, but finally she maneuvered him enough that she could try to get the key. Sliding her hand into the pocket of Jason's trousers she prayed she ran into metal soon, and not anything else. Finally, her fingers brushed against, and then grasped the key.

"I've got it."

"Great," Jason said in relief. "Okay, undo the lock. I've had all I can stand of ol' Mike over there."

Her hands were trembling as she tried to find the hole in the darkness. She fumbled once and it almost slipped from her slick fingers, but she held on and soon they both heard the unmistakable sound of the lock releasing. Once his arm was free, Jason pushed and Mike rolled farther away, allowing him to scoot back and then stand up. He seemed huge in the darkness and Elizabeth felt her throat go dry as Jason bent down and wrapped his long fingers around her upper arm, and pull her to her feet.

"Come on, Elizabeth, let's get out of here."

Close Quarters
Prompt - Silk Stalkings

"You're standing on my foot."

"Quit poking me in the ribs."

"Well, I'd stop if you moved your hunk of lead foot off mine. Geez, lay off the dessert, bub, or pretty soon I'll have to start calling you Tub-O-Man."

"Webber, put a sock in it."

"Bite me, Morgan. I'm not the genius who teleported us into this closet. Why don't you use your handy little powers and get us out of here."

"Because you know the directive," he growled. "We can't use our powers where there's the possibility of others seeing us. It could cause panic, pandemonium-"

"So help me if you bring up the dangers to the timeline one more time I am going to use my powers to move your nose to your neck. And then what'll you do?"

"Careful, Webber, I'd hate to accidentally teleport you Banner Prime on our way home."

She stilled and counted to ten so that she didn't actually follow through on her threat and move his nose to the middle of his neck. "Low blow," she hissed. "I will get you for that."

Finally the door swung open and the pair tumbled out into the darkened room. Elizabeth stood for a second, relief filling her pores as she was able to breathe again. Being squashed in a closet with Jason Morgan, while at any other time might be enjoyable and she'd pay her last Regil to make it happen, wasn't her idea of a good time at this moment. Not when they were on a mission and the space was too cramped for her to properly take advantage of the situation.

"You ready?"

She wasn't, but that wasn't going to stop them from completing the mission. "Yeah, sure. By the way, what psycho-nut job actually locks a broom closet inside his house?"

"I don't think it's actually him," Jason said, switching on his light and heading out of the room on the pre-selected and memorized route. "I think the maid does it."

"The maid?"

"His file says that he and the staff engaged in a battle of sorts," he shrugged, the gesture barely visible in the dark. She sensed the movement more than she actually saw it. A curse or a blessing, depending on her disposition and the moment, she was acutely aware of the slightest movement of anyone, but especially him. "They do it so that he knows just who runs the household."

"Okay," she drawled. "Can I just point out that Earthlings are incredibly strange? Every time we pop onto their little planet I never figure them out and I just leave more confused than ever."

"You mean this isn't a natural state for you?"

"Funny," she said, moving the desk just slightly so that he tripped on it, and then suspending him in mid-air, just to prove to him who was really in charge of this mission.

"Webber," he growled. "Stop jerking around, and let's get out of here before someone comes down for a glass of water and spots us in here."

She set him back aright and arched a brow at him. "Fine. Where exactly did The Council say it was?"

"They said it was in his study, in his file cabinet."

"Great, more locks to pick. Think you can manage to do it quicker this time, Morgan?"

"Patience, Webber. Popping a lock can't be rushed. You have to take your time, line everything up just right, and apply just the right amount of pressure at just the right time, otherwise things can go bust."

Okay, that had to be her imagination, or else Morgan hadn't been to the brew houses over in Acer lately, because that almost sounded sexual. And his body heat rose slightly, his blood vessels expanding in interesting parts of his body. Maybe she was just tired. Because while she and Jason always, as Johnny has so eloquently put it a couple of months ago, bickered like an old married couple, there was a line they never crossed. They were the best recovery team in the unit. They instinctually knew each other's every move, moved in perfect synch and had a 100% retrieval rate on the very first attempt. But they never went beyond that. Maybe he was just trying to pay her back for her little telekinesis trick.

They reached the study and mercifully the door was unlocked. Maybe with luck the file cabinet would be as well. Of course as Jason tested the handle and they were met with a faint click and the drawer remaining closed, she realized they could only get lucky once. Jason set to work, while she listened to the house. Everybody that she could sense was asleep and she whispered under her breath to keep them that way.

The soft click of the lock being opened was echoed a second later by the faint ping of tumblers falling into place in another lock.

"Morgan," she whispered.

"Keep your panties on, Webber, I've got it open."

A door opened, and the soft tap of shoes on a hardwood floor echoed in the hallway, along with the body readings of a very awake person.

"Morgan."

"I've got it. Quit your fussing and I'll teleport us out of here at any minute."

"Morgan," she hissed, and he stilled, looking at her sharply. "Someone just came in the house."

He softly, but quickly closed the file drawer, remembering to push in the lock, and grabbed her arm. "Come on."

"Are you crazy, we can't teleport now. The blinding flash of light might just tip someone off that something's going on."

"I know," he replied. "Come on."

He firmly yanked on her arm and pulled her into a small, black room. Oh no, not another closet. She looked up at him, ready to speak, but he placed his hand over her mouth as the door opened to the study and a light clicked on somewhere. Faint light permeated the space, signaling they were very much not alone. But the light wasn't enough. After already being trapped once, she couldn't do again.

They all had their weaknesses, those special little phobias that kept them from accepting certain assignments. Jason had seemed invincible, but she'd discovered his. Bats. He hated bats. Of course the bats on Tarsus were big enough to carry away a full-grown man. Her weakness was small places. She hated them. And already she could feel her breathing growing shallow.

"It's okay," Jason whispered in her ear, so faint she herself could barely hear it. "This guy'll be gone any second and then we can get out of here. Hang on, Webber. You're strong, I know you can do it."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and terror and shook her head. Removing his hand from her mouth he swept errant strands of hair escaped from her ponytail back behind her ears. "You can do it."

She shook her head and stretched up on her toes, curling her fists into his suit as she pleaded. "Teleport us."

"I can't, Elizabeth, and you know it."

He'd never called her Elizabeth. Webber, Web, Liz, E, and a host of other nicknames - some good, some she'd rather forget - but this was the first time he'd ever called her Elizabeth. It wormed its way through the growing panic.

"That's it, Elizabeth, come on, focus on me. You can fight this. Can you knock over the umbrella stand out in the foyer? Give us a distraction, Elizabeth and I'll take us back home. I just can't risk doing it with him right in the room."

She nodded and focused her mind. Recalling the stand perfectly from the countless hours they'd spent studying schematics and photographs she reached out, wrapping her mind around it and pulling. But it only wobbled, and didn't actually fall. Sweat broke out on her brow and she shook her head, fear clawing it's way back into her mind.

"Come on, Elizabeth," he whispered, rubbing her shoulders. "Fight this, and knock that old bucket over."

She took a deep breath and expelled it, then once again reached out. This time the picture was clearer, more focused and this time when she pulled it clattered noisily to the ground, umbrellas sliding across the polished floor.

"What the-?" the man growled on the other side of the door. "What was that?"

She looked at him, pleading with her eyes but he shook his head. "Not yet. We have to make sure he's gone."

Her fists tightened and she opened her mouth, when suddenly his lips were on hers. She was stunned at first, standing stiffly, taken off guard at his move, but as his lips moved over hers, caressing them with such infinite tenderness, yet firmness, she couldn't help but be pulled into the kiss. Her dreams were finally coming true. She was kissing Jason Morgan, and it was better than everything she'd ever imagined or heard.

From out in the foyer a muffled bellow for the maid rang through the house and Jason pulled back, looking down at her. "We can go home now."

Her heart sank to her toes. He'd only kissed her to shut her up. Humiliation flushed quick and hot on her face and she waited for him to transport them home. But they remained in the closet still and she shifted impatiently, then finally drug her gaze up to his. "What are you waiting for, Morgan? Let's go."

"Do you always taste like strawberries?" he asked. Before she could process his question, he was kissing her again, and then in a flash of light they were headed home.

Chocolate and Carbohydrates
Prompt - I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down...

Family.

Family sucked. In Elizabeth's experience they didn't love you unconditionally. They circled around you like vultures; looking for your weaknesses so they could prey on them, exploit them to their benefit. Her so-called father had preyed on her sense of guilt that her mother had died while in childbirth with her, and had turned her into his virtual slave as she got older. From the time she was old enough to wield a broom properly, she was the one who cleaned the house. And when she finally got old enough to reach into the oven without burning herself, she took over the cooking duties from her older sister.

She did the laundry, cooked the meals, and cleaned the house. She was the perfect little wife that she'd stolen from the family by the mere fact of surviving instead of dying and letting her mother live. It didn't matter that her grades were abysmal because she was too exhausted to do her homework after all her chores, or that she sometimes fell asleep in class. It didn't matter to her family. So long as they had a hot dinner and her dad got to sit around in the barcelounger drinking beer and watching sports in his underwear, everything was fine.

That was why she ran away when she was 15 years old and hid out on the streets. She learned to avoid the police and charitable do-gooders who wanted to get her into shelters. She was afraid she'd be found in a shelter and end up back in Hell. For three years she lived on the streets, learning to avoid pimps and drug dealers and things that went bump in the night. She'd become a thief and a scam artist, until the day she picked the wrong mark.

In his cashmere coat and expensive leather shoes, she figured she could pick his pocket and it certainly wouldn't hurt him any. But Sonny Corinthos was wise to her when she bumped into him and tried to relieve him of his wallet. He grabbed her wrist, hard enough to show her he meant business, but not hard enough to hurt. She figured she was done for. He would call the cops and she would spend the next year back in Colorado, or worse, she'd bounce around foster care.

Instead he took her to a giant warehouse and she nearly left a puddle on the floor of his car. A warehouse on the docks. And that's when she remembered the rumors she'd heard on the street shortly after she arrived in this dinky New York town. Sonny Corinthos was the boss of this town, the mafia don who ran the place with an iron fist. He was going to take her to an abandoned warehouse and kill her, or maybe just chop off her hand like they did in other parts of the world.

Instead, he'd walked her into a bustling warehouse, forklifts running, burlap sacks filled with coffee beans and invited her up to his office. He also sent one of the men in suits, clearly working for the non-coffee side of his business, out to a local diner and had enough food brought back to feed a small army. She packed it all away, eating so fast she nearly made herself sick.

He didn't judge her, he didn't tell her she shouldn't be on the streets, instead he offered her a job answering phones down in the warehouse. He found her a place to stay, his mother-in-law rented out rooms and the redheaded nurse welcomed her in with open arms. Sonny gave her an advance on her extremely generous salary so that she could buy some clothes instead of the rags she was wearing.

In time, he became her family, watching out for her, making sure she was safe and protected and encouraging her to study for her GED and even go to night school if she wanted. When she turned 18, he organized a huge birthday party for her to celebrate her official step into adulthood. And that was when she met Jason.

Jason Morgan was Sonny's business partner, but he didn't look anything like what she imagined a partner of Sonny's would. He wore jeans and t-shirt and a leather jacket when the weather turned cold. He drank beer from a bottle instead of champagne and he drove around on a Harley instead of a limo. He also didn't know Elizabeth existed, and paraded a string of women past her for three long years while she lusted after him from afar.

Then came the night that everything changed. For her 21st birthday Sonny wanted to hold a fancy party for her. Champagne and little fancy appetizers like water cress on rye crackers, and a huge dinner. Johnny convinced Sonny to tone down the party, hold it on a night different than her actual birthday, and then she went out with Johnny and Max with every intention to get drunk off her butt and pick up a guy and sleep with him. Maybe with enough alcohol she could forget about Jason Morgan for a night and concentrate on herself.

When Johnny and Max's phones went off simultaneously and they had to go check on a situation, she insisted she didn't need a ride home and continued on with the first part of her plan and began actively working on the second. That was when Jason had walked into Jake's bar and plopped himself down at her table and insisted to know what she was doing here alone and did Jake know she was under aged? She whipped out her wallet, showed him that she was perfectly legal and then told him to go screw himself or one of the many women that she'd bought flowers and chocolates for and had delivered on his behalf.

She didn't remember much about the rest of the night, except that he wouldn't leave her alone, and she woke up the next morning extremely frustrated. Sheepishly sliding into work thirty minutes late she was surprised to find hot chocolate on her desk and a blueberry muffin. She figured Sonny had done it, until she found out that whatever the problem was from the night before had necessitated him and Johnny flying down to the island for five days. But every morning when she came into work, a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles and some sort of muffin or pastry was sitting on her desk. It continued even after Sonny returned and was there no matter how early she came into work. And nobody would say a thing about who was doing it.

She regarded each man curiously who worked in the warehouse. Everyone from the guards to the forklift driver but she couldn't figure out who was behind it. Until one day three months later she was sitting at Jake's nursing a drink when a waitress came up to her table and delivered a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles. Compliments of the man at the bar. Jason flashed her a crooked grin as he crossed the room and sat down at her table.

What happened next seemed surreal. He'd been the person delivering her chocolate and carbohydrates every morning. All he would say is they'd had an interesting conversation on her birthday and he began to look at a few things differently. He never told her what she'd said to him, though. But he asked her out on a date and she wasn't stupid enough to say no. He would probably go back to being a jerk after this, and she was going to have at least one moment all for her.

However, one date turned into two into three into dozens, and small gifts began to accompany the daily hot chocolate. Then one morning she woke up in his bed and he walked into the room, freshly showered and wearing only a pair of sweats as he carried a tray with hot chocolate for her, a cup of coffee for him, and a little velvet box set in between. They were married three days later with their friends in attendance and she cried when she felt like she'd finally gained a family that she'd always dreamed of.

And then she met Jason's family.

She'd heard about the Quartermaines he was estranged from, but it wasn't until Edward Quartermaine cornered her at Kelly's one lunch hour and introduced himself as her grandfather-in-law and welcomed her into the family that she fully understood their poisonous nature. One look at the gray business tycoon and she knew that she should count her fingers when she got her hand back just to make sure she had them all. Edward told her that he hoped that now that she and Jason were married that she could convince him to come back into the family fold. Surely as a senior vice-president he could provide better for a wife and any future children they might have.

The old codger dogged her steps for weeks, oblivious to the guards who would escort him out of the warehouse, or form a shield in front of her on the street. It wasn't until Jason had walked into Kelly's to greet her for lunch and instead found Edward once again interrupting his meal that things changed. Jason grabbed Edward and forced him outside, and when he came back inside he merely said that the old man wouldn't be bothering her anymore. And he hadn't.

But she figured that was all about to change.

Rubbing her hand over her forehead she sighed as she picked up the white stick and double-checked that indeed there were two blue lines. Pregnant. She was thrilled and terrified all at the same time. She and Jason hadn't discussed children, would he feel that it was too soon? And most importantly what about his family? Once Edward saw her walking around town in six months with the distinctive lump under her shirt that couldn't be hid by bulky sweaters, she figured he'd start in again. She really, really wanted to avoid that.

She heard the front door slam and she looked up, wiping her palms across the thighs of her pants and opened the bathroom door. Jason was in a thunderous mood, his jacket had been flung across the room, puddling on the floor and she watched as he walked out of the kitchen, a beer bottle in hand. He set it on the edge of the pool table, picked up the cue and slammed it into the balls with tremendous force.

"Jason?"

He dropped the stick and whirled around, surprised to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Elizabeth? What are you doing home?"

"I wasn't feeling well so Sonny told me to go. Are you alright?"

He ignored her question and immediately crossed the room and steered her towards the couch. Brushing the hair off her forehead he peered with concern into her eyes. "Are you okay? Do we need to call a doctor?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "What happened? I thought you went to have tea with Lila."

"Edward showed up and started in on me again."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled furiously. His eyebrows pulled down in a frown and he pressed his thumb against her mouth, forcing her to release her lip. "Elizabeth? What is it?"

"I...I..." She started twice and couldn't seem to make herself say the words. What if he spent the next eight months and beyond having to fight off Edward and resented the fact?

"Elizabeth?"

"I... I know we didn't talk about this, Jason, and I know it's going to create a mess with your family-"

"Elizabeth, what's wrong?" he pressed again.

"I took a test today...I'm pregnant."

"You're pregnant?"

She nodded mutely, anxious to see some sort of reaction from him. When he pulled her in for a slow, powerful, sensual kiss, she began to think that maybe his initial reaction wouldn't be anger. "Are you sure?"

"The box says it's 99.3% accurate."

"We'll have you get a test done at the hospital to make sure," he proclaimed. "Do you want to go now?"

"No," she shook her head. "I want to talk about what your family's going to say about this."

"They're not my family anymore than the people back in Colorado are yours. The only person I care about is Lila, and she'll control Edward and make sure he doesn't bother you or the baby."

"How can you be sure?"

"You haven't seen her around Edward yet, but she cuts through his bluster and refuses to let him get away with anything. She'll make him stay away from you, or she'll make his life miserable and he'll cave before the end of a week."

"Okay," she said in a daze. "I'll just take your word on that. You're happy about this?"

"I'm thrilled about this," he corrected her. "I know you don't remember that night at Jake's, but that was the night I fell in love with you and knew I wanted to have a family with you."

She peered at him in disbelief. "That night? What on earth did I say to you that made you go from a louse with a different woman every week to the man who was leaving hot chocolate on my desk?"

"Uh-uh," he shook his head. "That's still my secret. Let's just say you painted a very interesting picture, and I knew at that moment I wasn't letting you walk out of my life. Now, come on, let's get to the hospital and have Bobbie confirm that you're pregnant, okay?"

No Experience Required
Prompt - I Believe

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

Good grief, she'd turned into The Little Engine That Could. She'd also apparently turned into Charlie Brown. And now she was just going to sit right down and go through the list of children's books and television specials that she could think of. From Nestor The Long-Eared Donkey to Peter Cottontail, she would just stay in her warm, comfy seat and see just how many characters she could remember. Would it be better to start alphabetically or maybe she should start seasonally. Either way, she had lots of time.

When a person has decided to procrastinate or avoid a situation, it's amazing the things one can think of. And Elizabeth Webber should know. She was a first-class procrastinator. And an avoider of phenomenal talent.

So, since she had decided that she would rather sit in a dirty, dingy, smelly and sticky - yep, that was grape Hubba Bubba she just stuck her hand in - bus station, instead of marching to the ticket counter and actually purchasing a ticket, she had all the time in the world. After all, it wasn't like the place was going to go anywhere. Towns did not just pick up and move in the middle of the night. So what if she didn't get there tomorrow, or next week...or even next month? Podunk, Nowhere would still be there. Waiting for her. Whenever she decided to get up and go buy a ticket.

It was good to pace these things. No sense in rushing off willy-nilly like a silly little school girl. Things of these magnitude took timing, finesse, and meticulous attention to detail.

After all, it wasn't every day one made the decision to move back home. Being seven months pregnant. Six months after their boyfriend dumped them after finding the little white stick with two pink lines. She needed to have what she was going to say down pat. No stammering or stuttering in front of her parents. Webbers did not stammer or stutter. They probably also didn't get knocked up out of wedlock...but why quibble with the details?

Okay...she could do this. She would just get up, march right on over to the ticket counter, and purchase herself a ticket. Right after she headed to the bathroom, because Junior had decided to make her bladder his personal little soccer ball. No sense making a puddle on the floor and embarrassing herself further.

Struggling to her feet, she slung her purse and her bag over her shoulder and headed off for the restroom. Just a quick pit stop and then she'd go buy her ticket.




"Are you okay, ma'am?"

She broke away from staring at the ticket counter, with the plump middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter instead of the bald guy that had been there when she arrived six hours ago, and looked up to see a guy in grease-covered overalls standing in front of her. His wheat colored hair stood in spikes, or at least it would have if half of it wasn't plastered to his head with what looked like residual motor oil, but what struck her most was the genuine concern etched on his face.

"I-I'm fine," she smiled up at him.

He sat down in the chair across from her, still absently wiping his hands with an oil-smudged rag, the concern deepening into a frown. "Are you sure? I...I don't mean to pry, but I've seen you sitting here all day. Are you waiting for someone? Or...or do you need any help?"

Mortified that the mechanic thought she probably couldn't pay for a ticket, she shook her head, as heat bloomed on her cheeks. "No, no, I'm alright. I'm just...I'm chicken."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sitting here eating stale vending machine food-"

"I'd be careful with some of that stuff," he interrupted smoothly. "I think some of that stuff has been in there since before Carter was in office."

She laughed, the first one since she decided earlier that week that she was going to have to suck up her pride and head home to ask her parents for help. "Thanks. No wonder those Mother's brownies were hard enough to pound nails with."

"So, what are you avoiding?" he asked, with a small twitch of his lips when she fell silent.

"I'm avoiding going home. I...I'm pregnant-"

"Really? I thought maybe you were smuggling a basketball."

She shook her head at his mirth-filled words. "Funny. I'm embarrassed to go home and ask my parents for help. They don't know about the baby."

"And you don't think they'll help you?" he asked, the jovial nature sliding away as he leaned forward.

"I think they'd probably rather stand around lecturing me on how I was so stupid as to believe my lying, sack of sh...crap," she quickly amended seeing little red-head girl pop up on the seat behind him to look at her, "boyfriend actually loved me and wanted to marry me, and how could I not take precaution to prevent getting pregnant, than actually help me."

"Why?

"Because I split the minute I turned eighteen and took off with a guy eight years older than me against their advice and wishes. And I haven't called or written except to send Christmas cards for the past six years. And now they'll just see that I'm coming home because I'm in a bind, and frankly I think they'd rather give me a bucket of warm spit as opposed to helping me out."

"Nice folks," he said. "Makes me feel like a heel for the thoughts I've been having about how I wish the company had promoted me anywhere but where my parents had retired to. Suddenly the thought of my mother smothering me with knitted sweaters and homemade soup doesn't sound like such a hardship."

"No, it really doesn't," she said, a little more bitterness in her voice than she meant to show.

He swallowed and looked away, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "So...so where's home?"

"Port Charles, New York."

"Port Charles?" She expected him to ask where's that?. "That's where my folks retired to."

"They retired to Port Charles? People don't retire to Port Charles. They escape to places like Miami or Boca Raton looking to escape the snow and lake effect cold. They don't voluntarily move there."

He shrugged. "What can I say? They're unique. They actually like snow."

"Are they aliens?"

Laughing he shook his head. "Nope. Just a bit off center. So, come on."

"What?"

"Come on. Let's get your ticket. I'm on the bus out this evening, I get to travel free as an employee of the company so my bags are in the back, but I'd like some company so I'm not stuck talking to the bus driver the entire time. What'dya say?"

She didn't know his name, unless his name really was Rufus like it said on his overalls, but she found herself nodding and letting him pick up her bags and lead her up to the ticket counter. Maybe if she had someone to talk to she wouldn't spend the next two days working herself into a frenzy about seeing her parents for the first time in six years, while clearly carrying their grandchild.




Elizabeth sat in the cab of the pickup, biting nervously on her bottom lip as Jason drove them to her parents' house. After nearly forty-eight straight hours on the bus together, there was hardly anything they didn't know about each other. He knew that she used to put frogs in her sister Sarah's bed and let their brother Steven take the blame for it, and she knew that he worked as a mechanic for the bus line so that he had plenty of spare time to restore vintage motorcycles which he then sold at a tidy profit. She knew that the scar on his forehead came from falling out of the tree house in his backyard when he was seven and his brother was nine and they thought if they used their mom's curtains they'd be able to fly like Superman. And he knew she was absolutely terrified of seeing her parents again, and that such fear could actually induce hiccups.

"Relax," he said, glancing over at her as he turned onto the street where she grew up. "I'm sure it can't be as bad as you think it'll be. And even if it is, you'll figure something out. You won't have your baby in a cardboard box under the railroad tracks."

"No, no, it's a van down by the river," she said, trying to chuckle, but instead causing her voice to break. "The house with the blue trim."

He stopped the truck and turned off the ignition, leaning his arms on the steering wheel as he peered at her house. "Looks rather festive."

Indeed it did, with its ribbons and wreaths and snow at the edges of the porch steps, it looked like a regular Currier and Ives scene straight out of a magazine. He looked over at her and grinned reassuringly. "You ready?"

"Sure," she said, even though she wanted to tell him to just drive away and take her back to the bus station.

He came around to her side of the truck and opened the door, giving her his hand so she wouldn't slip as she stepped onto the curb. Her mother must have been doing the dishes and seen the strange vehicle pull up, because they had just started up the walk when the front door opened and her mother stepped out on the porch. Immediately her questioning look turned into a scowl.

"Elizabeth?"

She stopped, and Jason paused as well. "Hi, Mom."

"What are you doing here?" her mother asked, perusing her from head to foot and lingering on the obvious bump under her coat. "And where's the guy you took off with? What happen, he knock you up and leave you and now you came crawling home expecting your father and I to spend our hard-earned money feeding you and your bastard kid?"

Tears stung her eyes and she couldn't have spoken if her life depended on it. She was mortified that Jason was standing beside her as her mother pegged her life perfectly in thirty seconds. She turned towards Jason, intending to tell him to take her anywhere but here and instead found him missing. Looking up she saw him standing partially in front of her, two steps away from her mother. Reaching for him, to prevent him from trying to defend her honor, her hand dropped to her side when Jason said.

"Actually, Mrs.Webber, Elizabeth and I just came to let you know we'd moved to Port Charles."

"And who are you?" her mother snipped, her lips and eyes in thin, suspicious slits.

"I'm her husband, Jason."

On The Air
Prompt - Champagne wishes and caviar dreams

Driving on the holidays was not Jason Morgan's favorite thing to do. The roads were icy, and inevitably there was some idiot who drank too much and then drove like Mario Andretti. They seemed to think that just because their little sports car could outrun his 18 wheeler they were invincible. They apparently didn't understand the laws of physics and the fact that a smaller mass was crushed by a bigger mass. More than once he'd passed the tangled, twisted remains of a car that had earlier zoomed by him, honking and flipping him the bird and he'd know that there was no way - barring an amazing miracle - that the people inside could have survived.

But Jason was single, estranged from his family and so usually he ended up taking the holiday drives so that his fellow drivers could spend time with their families. The Smith kids would be happier with Daddy home, and they shouldn't have to suffer through a fatherless Christmas or New Year's just because Jason was a scrooge. So, he'd grumblingly switch routes and throw his duffle bag into the back of his cab and head off on a lonely stretch of highway with his collection of CDs and his CB radio to keep him company.

But when Johnny asked him to switch routes this time, he'd grumbled a little less. Sure he didn't act like he was happy to go, because he didn't want everyone and their dog asking him to switch all the time, but this was the route he was hoping he'd get asked to cover first. This was one place he didn't mind so much going to, one town he didn't mind making deliveries for. Because Jason Morgan, beer drinker, tattooed and proud owner of a Don't Mess With Me attitude, was smitten.

He always timed his drive so that he neared the town late at night. He didn't mind parking his rig at the store, grabbing his bag and catching a couple of hours sleep in dive motel, because it meant he'd get to hear her. Elizabeth Webber, the late night DJ for one of the local radio stations. She had a voice like whiskey late on a southern night. She had a smooth and easy-going manner, often taking callers on the air and listening to their requests, or their problems, or their joys, and she played music that he loved. Because she had the night spot she got away with a little more diversity than would probably have been tolerated during the day, but he loved that she'd play Lynard Skynyrd one moment and then Elvis Presley the next.

Watching the mile marker signs, he knew he was getting close to the time when he could turn on his radio and get a signal. He only hoped that she was on the air tonight, that she wasn't home celebrating with family or friends. He wanted to hear her voice drifting through the speakers in his door.

Sure, she could be married, or maybe she had a steady boyfriend, but he didn't care. Her voice had come to permeate his soul. He felt that she was talking just for him. He didn't often dream, and if he did he rarely remembered them, but she had come to haunt his dreams. Her voice would wrap around him like silk, enticing him, teasing him, and he remembered every time he dreamed about her. Even if he didn't know what she looked like.

Finally he passed by mile marker 114 and he reached out and turned on his radio. He scanned through the stations until he hit hers, and then waited for the song to end and the DJ's voice to come on. As the Eagles song ended, he smiled in the darkness when he realized he'd been rewarded for his act of kindness towards Johnny. Elizabeth's voice drifted lazily into the cab, and all was well in Jason's world for this trip.

"And that was 'Tequila Sunrise' by the Eagles," Elizabeth said. "Coming up we have..."

He settled back into his seat as her easy chatter filled the air. He hoped this was one of her talkative nights, or at least one of her talkative breaks and she would go for a while, talking about the artists, or some concert she'd been to recently. He'd even settle for her taking a caller to request a song or make a dedication. Anything as long as it kept her from putting another song on too quickly.

The miles melted away, bringing him closer to Port Charles. All too quickly he was exiting the freeway and making his way down the deserted city streets until he reached his destination and pulled around the back. The store owner never minded that he arrived early and parked at the store. It meant he got his delivery unloaded quicker and the inventory could be on the shelves sooner. Elizabeth's voice and the music he played kept him company until he sat in the idling truck, going over the paperwork needed for the next day.

When she signed off the air and started the music again, he turned off the engine, bringing stillness to the night. Slowly he gathered his duffle bag, climbed down from the cab, and walked across the parking lot to head out for some food and a place to sleep. He'd been in the town enough times to know which streets to avoid, which diners stayed open all night and served hot, decent food, and where he could sleep without being bitten by bugs. It was all anti-climatic though, because the best part of the night was over.

Maybe one of these days he'd actually call into the radio station to request a song, just to hear her say his name. Even if he never did, he didn't care. Her voice was soothing and friendly, and that was enough. He was realist and knew that meeting her wouldn't change anything, except maybe shatter the illusion in his head. She was perfect, just the way things were, and he wasn't going to change a thing. He'd keep coming to Port Charles and listening to her on the radio, and she'd continue to be the bright spot of his trip. Sometimes, things were fine just the way they were.

Nighttime Ritual
Prompt - Dance as if no one is watching

He hated upstairs neighbors. Hated having people walk on his ceiling. Jason Morgan would gladly walk nine flights of stairs if he had to simply to have no one live above him.

So he was mad when he heard the music floating down through the vents and invading his privacy. He was angry when he heard the thumps on the floor as his new neighbor apparently decided it was time to break in his apartment with a little get-together. Which would probably consist of 30 people crammed into a two bedroom apartment and copious amounts of alcohol until 3 in the morning. And he was downright pissed that the landlord had rented the space above him when the idiot knew that Jason was interested in the unit.

So he sat in his leather chair, feet propped up, cold beer in his hand and tried to ignore the music as the volume increased and the thumps became more frequent. But the more he tried to ignore it, the louder it seemed to become until it felt like he had his head tied to the speaker. So he got up and decided to fix something to eat. Maybe if he distracted himself it wouldn't seem so bad. But the lunch meat in his refrigerator had gone bad and he didn't feel like eating a mustard sandwich, so now he was irritated and hungry.

"Great," he grumbled, tossing the rancid meat in the trash along with the bread he'd already slathered with mustard. Walking out of the kitchen he noticed he had mustard streaked on his fingers, so he used the universal male napkin - his pants - and swiped the offending condiment off before plopping back down in the leather chair and plunking his motorcycle boots up on the wooden coffee table.

He picked back up his magazine and tried to concentrate on the words in front of him, but it was no use. All he could think about was the nuisance of a neighbor clomping around like a hippo upstairs. Sure, he could go get the earplugs out of the top dresser drawer and put them in, but why should he? After all, this was his home and he had a right to sit here while enjoying the latest issues of Popular Mechanics and a cold beer without having to stuff foam in his ears because some yahoo didn't have the common courtesy of a gnat.

With a muffled curse he tossed the magazine onto the table and watched in annoyance as it slid across the surface and dropped onto the floor. He was going to put a stop to this here and now. He had moved in after the previous upstairs dwellers, so when he went up and complained about their weekend parties, they had just laughed and said to suck it up because nobody had complained before. Well, this time he had seniority in the neighbor relationship and he was going to let the jerk know right up front that he didn't want to be subjected to the weekly theme parties.

Nodding with resolution he grabbed his keys and stalked out the door of his apartment and headed for the stairs. 9-F was going to find out just what he thought of their taste in music, and apartment etiquette. He by-passed the rickety, slow, and mostly out-of-order elevator, and bounded up the stairs to the next floor.

When he stepped into the hallway, he noticed how much quieter the place was. But he wasn't fooled. The insulation between units side to side was great, the insulation between floors sucked. Just because he may not hear much noise now, didn't mean he was going to make the sucker mistake of going back down to his apartment. Because he knew the minute he walked into his house the music would be just as loud.

Putting on his best you have pissed me off face he strode to 9-F and knocked on the door. The door swung in and he figured the partiers had left the door partially opened so their friends could just come right on in. So he took advantage of the situation and walked inside.

Instead of finding a room crammed full of people getting plastered, he saw a petite brunette dancing around the room as some group he recognized but couldn't place their name, blared from the portable CD player on the shelves. She twirled and spun, swayed and rocked...all the while holding a little baby in her arms. He stood in the entryway to the room and stared in bafflement, his voice mute. The song ended and she walked across the room and pressed a button, plunging the room into silence. He held his breath afraid to startle her and cause her to drop the baby she was holding.

"Finally," she sighed, and then she walked towards one of the bedrooms and disappeared inside.

He was backing up to get outside and knock on her door so she wouldn't know he'd walked in on her, when she came back out and gasped in fright while raising her hand to her mouth.

Immediately he held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, feeling like a pervert and not quite knowing why while stammering over himself to explain why he was standing inside her apartment. "I'm sorry. I knocked on the door but it was open and I was just...I thought there was a party going on. I'll just go."




To say Elizabeth Webber was tired was an understatement. She'd moved cross-town, up nine flights of stairs, and then headed off to work where she worked a full-shift and then came home and tried to get her cranky and headstrong son to sleep. Her head hurt, her feet ached, and all she wanted to do was sit on her couch with her feet up, eat a sandwich while drinking a cup of hot chocolate. The last thing she expected to see when she walked out of Cameron's bedroom was a strange man standing in her kitchen.

She was frightened and confused as she listened to his rambling explanation of what he was doing there, and despite her initial fright she wasn't rushing over to call 911 and report an intruder. She was curious as to what he was saying, and she always figured the best way to deal with something was head on. Don't beat around the bush, don't pussy-foot around with formalities. So instead of chasing the man out of her apartment, she said, "Wait."

He paused, and stood poised to flight as he regarded her warily. "What?"

"I'm confused why you're here and how you got inside."

"I knocked on the door and it opened. With the music going I thought there was a party and I was going to talk to you about turning it down. Instead you..."

"Were dancing my son to sleep," she said as she stepped away from Cameron's door. "I didn't realize the music was so loud."

"It wasn't once I got inside," he quickly said, "but for some reason the sound travels between the floors so it sounds like a concert arena sitting below you."

She blinked and knew she was missing vital information here. "What?"

"I...I live in 8-F. Below you. Sound travels down through the vents or something, I don't really know, but what sounds like a fun level up here can sound like I'm standing behind a jumbo jet down in my apartment. The previous guys who lived here through parties every weekend and I..."

"You were going to come up and yell at me 'cause you thought I was doing the same," she said, a smile hooking up one side of her mouth.

"Something like that," he confessed.

"I'm sorry about the music. I'll try to make sure it's not so noisy next time. But I gotta tell you, sometimes it's the only way I can get my son to go to sleep."

When he stared at her like she'd just spoken Korean she said, "I worked at a club when I was pregnant with him, and he seems to think that loud noise and me dancing around with him is just like being back in the womb and he falls right to sleep. I'll try to use a lower volume."

"So you use it to put him to sleep?"

She nodded with a laugh. "It sounds nuts, I know. But it works and sometimes I'm just too tired to rock him to sleep or listen to him scream so five or ten minutes of dancing puts him out like a light."

The man relaxed and gave her what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Well, I guess that's no so bad then. I was just worried it was going to turn into party central here."

She laughed and shook her head. "Nope, by the time I get home from work I'm all partied out. I just want to put my feet up, eat some dinner and watch a little A&E."

When they fell silent she said, "I'm...I'm Elizabeth, by the way. Elizabeth Webber, and you briefly saw my son Cameron."

"I'm Jason Morgan," he said, stepping forward to accept her outstretched hand and shake it. "8-F."

"You said that," she grinned. "So, Mr. Jason Morgan, 8-F, did you eat already or was it just your pants?"

"What?"

"I asked if you ate. Because I'm starving and I didn't want to be rude when I started to fix my pastrami on rye sandwich by not offering you some."

"No," he shook his head, "I haven't eaten. But I should get out of your hair."

"Trust me, you're not in my hair. And if I offered you something to eat, then I meant it. It'll be nice to talk to a guy who's not trying to ask me out on a date, or asking me to fix him up with one of the waitresses, or who's not three months old. So, are you hungry?"

"Is the pastrami deli sliced?"

She grinned as she headed into the kitchen. "Is there any other way to have it?"

Down For The Count
Prompt - I'll beat him so bad he'll need a shoehorn to put his hat on. ~Muhammad Ali, 1965

There she was again.

She passed him on the street, her long hair flowing in gently curled waves over her shoulder to the middle of her back, her full, pouty, perfectly kissable lips curved into just a whisper of a smile, and her violet eyes dancing at him as she watched him unabashedly. She always seemed to be coming out of the gym as he was going into it, and her fresh scent was a welcome gift before he went in and was assaulted with the smell of sweat and old socks that hadn't been washed in far too long.

He only knew her first name, having overheard it one day as a friend called out to her just before she got into a cab. Elizabeth. He had tried to get information on her, but the gym was extremely protective of its members' information, and since it wasn't a business he or Sonny owned, he couldn't use his influence to get some time on the computer and search for her picture and find a corresponding last name. Although, if he did get her last name, he wasn't sure what he'd do with it. Call her up and ask her out on a date? He wasn't exactly a dinner and a movie kinda guy.

Besides, he rather liked the anonymous nature of their encounters. She always smiled at him, had even tossed him a saucy wink one day, and although he couldn't be sure, he liked to imagine it was her hand that had brushed over his backside when they were jostled together in a crowd on the sidewalk the day a fire alarm forced everyone out of the gym before he could get inside. She had been in workout wear that day; a simple, no-nonsense light green tank top paired with blue shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail and her feet were clad in scuffed sneakers. But even then, she still smelled good.

She apparently liked their game just the way it was, because she never stopped. She never lingered. She never tried to talk to him. She would walk past him, flash a slightly provocative Mona Lisa smile at him, and add just a little extra swing to her hips as she headed towards the street. Because she knew he was watching. He always watched her go by. And he appreciated her curves, admired the muscles that were defined without being over-the-top, and liked that she wasn't afraid to sweat and that she was just as religious about her workouts as he was. Of course, he had increased his trips to the gym all in the hopes of seeing her.

"Jason."

He shook his head, clearing the lust from his eyes as he turned back to his companions. His straight face didn't fool them at all; their mouths were twisted with unrepentant smirks. The only one not openly mocking him was Milo. The guard had made the mistake of making an appreciative comment regarding her jean-encased bottom, before his brother smacked him on the arm and informed the newest member of their workout group that she was the woman Jason had been drooling over for two months. He'd turned beet red, stammered and looked like he would have shot himself in the foot if Jason had ordered him too. Instead, Jason let him off with a harsh glare, and settled for Milo looking intently at the sidewalk each time she walked past.

"Why don't you ever say something to her?" Johnny asked, his green eyes twinkling with a freedom because he was one of the few people who could get away with teasing him. "You know, do something besides stare at her butt as she walks away."

"You could have a cab waiting for her one day," Francis suggested. "Talk to her as you help her in."

"Maybe even get her phone number," Max chimed in helpfully.

Milo remained resolutely, and smartly, mute. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at a crack in the sidewalk.

"I don't know," Jason shook his head. Sometimes things were best left the way they were, and trying to alter them could prove disastrous. What if he did talk to her and discovered she was married, or dating someone seriously? Then he would feel uncomfortable smiling at her every morning and watching her hypnotic walk to the cab. "Come on," he changed the subject gruffly, "let's get going."

The four men sighed and rolled their shoulders as they followed him inside the gym. They turned to the left, away from the circuit machines and frou-frou yoga room, and went straight for the free weights and boxing ring.

"You know what you need," Johnny said as they set down their bags and prepared to warm up. "A night out. You should come with us tomorrow night. There's a boxing event down at the community center. Some really good matches, excellent boxers we've seen before. I think you'd be impressed."

Jason hedged. While he honed his sparring skills because in their line of work he needed to know how to throw a good punch and evade the ones coming at him, he had never been a very big fan of watching men pummel each other in the name of sport.

"Come on," Francis added his voice. "I think you might just be surprised."

Not really having anything better to do aside from listen to Carly harp on him about his non-existent love life and offer to set him up with someone, Jason agreed. It would shut the four guards up and maybe even keep them from teasing him, and it might just give him a distraction from the elusive Elizabeth.




Jason followed along behind Johnny and Francis as they made their way down to their seats. Max and Milo were on duty tonight, so it was just the three of them. The floor was already sticky with spilt sodas and beers, and littered popcorn and nachos just added to the mess. The men approached the ring, and slid into their metal seats two rows back from the canvas mats and Jason leaned back before flicking open the program to look at the names of the boxers. Not that they would mean anything to him, but he did it just for something to do.

They had arrived late due to a meeting with the Escobar family that ran a little over - mobsters were getting so unreasonable these days, always wanting more than the bargain was negotiated for - and an intermission of sorts with someone sounding like he was strangling a cat instead of singing blared through the speakers. Sounded like the yahoo should have stuck to karaoke night at the bar when the patrons would be drunk and wouldn't care that he was about to make their eardrums bleed. With a grimace, Jason sighed and resumed scanning the names.

After the intermission E. Webber was due to fight J. Anderson. Looking over their past wins, it looked like Webber was the person to bet on. Five knock-outs, three T.K.O.'s, one draw and one loss in the past three months compared to Anderson's two knock-outs, four draws and three losses. Then Jason let his eyes skim over their stats, wondering what category the fighters were in.

He frowned and blinked, wondering if the program was a misprint. E. Webber: five-foot-two, one hundred ten pounds. He knew all boxers weren't the size of George Forman, but this seemed really small. What kind of match had Johnny and Francis brought him to? Midget boxing?

"Hey," he growled, nudging Johnny's arm and almost causing the other man to slosh his beer over the rim of his cup. "What's this?"

Johnny looked over where Jason's finger was stabbing the paper and shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"I've never heard a boxer this small."

Johnny was about to reply, but then the announcer stepped into the ring and the crowd's excitement level kicked up a notch. Or maybe they were just relieved to have the cat strangler finally gone.

"Laaaaadies and gentlemen," the announcer drawled, flashing a smile that had to be caps, "get ready for our next event."

The crowd on the other side of the arena buzzed to life. Some were cheering, some were booing, but everyone was watching the boxer that made her way up to the boxing ring. Johnny stood, but he wasn't watching J. Anderson climb into the ring with her trainer, he was turned and looking at the aisle to Jason's left.

"Girl's boxing?" Jason accused him. "You brought me to girl's boxing? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you'd like it," Johnny shrugged and then craned his neck when the people behind them began to cheer. "You gotta see this gal. She's amazing."

A petite woman walked up the aisle to cheers from the arena and then up the steps to the ring. Her trainer, a big man with frizzy hair and a crocodile print purple shirt, stepped on the bottom two ropes and pulled up the top one to let her into the ring. Dark hair was pulled back in a braid that stuck out from underneath a sparring mask. Apparently girls were too sissified to box without them.

"I'm outta here," Jason groused as he shook his head. "I'm not stickin' around for this."

And then E. Webber turned to the corner to talk to her trainer and Jason stopped dead in his tracks. Her violet eyes flicked over the man's shoulder and scanned the crowd, passing over Jason, stopping and doubling back. Then they held.

Jason felt the air go out of his lungs. It was her. E. Webber was none other than his Elizabeth. Her mouth curved up ever-so-slightly at the corners as she continued to unabashedly watch him, and then she snapped her gaze back to the man beside her when he slipped her mouth guard in and reached for the red satin robe draped over her shoulders.

"You're going?" Johnny asked, glancing sideways at Jason who hadn't moved.

With a shake of his head, Jason peeled off his leather jacket and let it fall to the seat behind him. Elizabeth walked to the center of the ring, touched gloves with her opponent and then sprang up onto the balls of her feet in preparation of the match.

"No," Jason answered, staring intently at the brunette boxer. "I'm not going anywhere."

A Man's Presence
Prompt - Ripped Jeans

"Jason!"

A smile broke out across his face as he stepped into the room and saw the brown-haired little boy jump up from the table he was sitting at and race across the room to tackle him around the legs in a tight hug.

"Hey, Cam," he said affectionately, ruffling his hand through the boy's hair. "How are you? Ready to go?"

"Not yet," the little boy pouted. "Mama says I can't outside until I finish my letters."

"Ah," he nodded, walking with the boy back to the table where Leticia, his tutor and nanny, was waiting patiently for her charge to return.

"Hi, Mr. Morgan," she greeted him. No matter how many times he'd told her to call him Jason, she never did.

Cameron tugged on Jason's hand and looked up, with a pout he'd definitely inherited from his mother. "Can you help me?"

Jason crouched down by the table and looked at the papers before the little boy. It was apparently time to practice forming his letters; today was m's and Cameron had stopped halfway through the page.

"Leticia's always 'minding me about my monkey tails," the boy complained. "I think they're fine, but she keeps telling me to do them again."

"You'll get them," he tried to encourage the boy and keep his spirits up. Cameron was a bright boy, knew his colors, shapes, letters and numbers, could spell simple words and add and subtract simple equations, all before he would begin kindergarten in the fall. The only problem was, his hand couldn't seem to keep up with his brain and the little boy struggled with his writing. He'd rather be watching a DVD on volcanoes and telling Jason endless factoids about the different types and famous eruptions, or be outside riding his bike. So he'd dig his heels in and fight against his writing practice.

"Tell you what," Jason suggested with a nod towards the tutor, "I'll sit here with you. I'll look them over instead of Leticia. Then when you're done, we can go outside and do something."

"Bikes?" the little boy asked, his eyes widening. "No, soccer."

"Alright," he agreed. "Soccer. But only if you get your m's done."

"It's a deal," Cameron said enthusiastically and bent his head to his paper and began writing.

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," Leticia said as she stood and headed for the door. "I'll let Ms. Webber know you two are going out."

Jason nodded, his tongue suddenly filling up his mouth and making it impossible for him to speak. He was glad that Leticia had offered, because he wasn't sure how he was going to handle the possible encounter with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Webber, all five-foot-two of her, could tie Jason up into worse knots than a sailor. When he'd first applied for the job of bodyguard, he thought he would be protecting her as she traveled around the country to book signings and speaking engagements. It had sounded like a pretty cushy job after years of stress and danger guarding diplomats while in the Secret Service. He'd figured, how much danger could an author be in, despite how successful her books were? What he hadn't realized was that the job opening was for the chief bodyguard of her son.

The job had turned out to be much more than keeping him safe on outings to the park or when he went off to Gymboree. Elizabeth had hired him to be a male presence in her son's life since she was a single mother. She didn't mention a father; he didn't ask. Instead, he kicked a soccer ball around the back yard and helped the boy learn how to hit a baseball from a pitching machine for kids because his mother was hopelessly inept in sports and she wanted him to grow up being active. She would join Cameron when she could, often rearranging her schedule to stay up late to write, but Jason had realized during the first couple of times he saw her that she was indeed not athletically inclined, despite how hard she tried.

In many ways, he was more of a friend to Cameron than a protector. He'd helped the little boy learn how to brake on his bike, taught him how to throw a ball, and some days spent more time with him than Leticia did. While it wasn't what Jason had anticipated when he'd taken the job, he didn't mind. Cameron Webber had grown from an adorable toddler of almost two to a fun and precocious boy of five. Jason had seen all the phases and interests he'd gone through, from Chuggin' Charlie to the latest desire to build a homemade volcano in the backyard. He watched more animated movies than the war movies he'd amassed while in the Service, and had seen them so many times that even if Cameron hadn't watched a particular movie in a year, Jason could still quote dialogue from it. He knew when all the cool Happy Meal toys were coming out at McDonald's, and he understood that ketchup was considered a food group. Quite a change from when he'd stood on the side of a dining room snagging a canapé when he could while being bored mindless by ambassadors and diplomats hobnobbing and making political deals.

While he didn't often understand why the boy needed a bodyguard, he read any and all threats that came in against Elizabeth, and by extension Cameron, from crazed fans who identified more with Kathy Bates in Misery than their mothers - but those letters were few and far between, he took his job seriously and never forgot that he was supposed to keep the five year old safe. He'd inspected the schools Elizabeth had considered sending her son to, and when she decided on Rushmore Academy because it seemed the best fit - challenging enough to keep Cameron from being bored, but still recognizing that children that young needed plenty of activities and time outside to just be free - he'd met with the administrators and arranged for his charge's safety while inside the grounds. While Jason wouldn't be inside the classrooms, he wouldn't be relegated to a room in the corner of the building. He'd be close enough to be effective, but discreet enough to not worry the other parents.

"Cameron."

"Mommy!"

Once more the little boy was up and out of his seat and across the room. Jason stood automatically, but shifted slightly on his feet. The unease continued when the little boy pulled his mother over to the work table and then proudly picked up his worksheet.

"I finished my m's."

Elizabeth took the sheet and looked at it, her face brightening before she reached out and hugged her son's shoulders. "Good job, honey. Listen, before you go outside, I need to talk to Jason. So why don't you go down to the kitchen and ask Sonny for a cookie?"

"Alright," he shouted and tore out of the room at top speed.

Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the bright rug covered with town buildings and streets and waited. When the silence dragged on, he raised his head, glancing at his employer out of the corner of his eye and was surprised to see her flushed and staring at the rug as well. Neither of them knew what to say or how to act around each other right now. Where they once had been able to laugh and talk, now they stammered, answered with short sentences, or in general avoided each other while relaying messages through other people. Apparently having seen each other naked had erased their previous ease.

His hands curled into fists in his pockets, the nails digging into his flesh. It was either that, or he'd be tempted to touch her. To once again feel the silk of her skin under his. And considering that she was his employer and he wasn't being paid to guard her body, and especially not that closely, he figured he should just keep his hands to himself.

He certainly hadn't planned on sleeping with Elizabeth Webber. Sure, he'd noticed she was a beautiful woman. A man would have to be blind not to. But Jason was a professional, and he knew his boundaries. Besides, she had never once shown an interest in him beyond his task of keeping her son safe and the only delight she showed was that he was kind to Cameron and had a rapport with the young boy. But it had happened, one glorious night over three weeks ago, and since then he couldn't seem to be around her and think of anything else.

"Um, I...I need to talk to you," Elizabeth finally said, still not meeting his eye.

"Alright," he said hesitantly, wondering what was going on. He wondered if she had come to tell him she was letting him go, something he'd half-feared ever since that night.

"It...it, uh, has to do with the night of the blackout," she stammered out, twisting her fingers together and still not looking at him.

He swallowed once, then a second time and finally found his voice. "Okay."

"I want you to know that I...I don't make a habit of..." she trailed off and he took pity on her. Didn't make her finish her sentence.

"I...I never thought you did," he said softly. In fact, he'd hardly ever seen her go on a date in all the time he'd been working for her. She seemed to prefer to spend what free time she had with her son.

"I just...Cameron's father...he..." She trailed to a stop and she let out a huff of breath that fluttered her bangs. "We weren't together and I'd never call the night a mistake since it gave me Cameron, but..."

"Elizabeth?" he asked, even more confused than ever by her babbling. "What..."

"I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow," she said and his first thought was why she was telling him that instead of her bodyguard. "With my OB/GYN."

Suddenly it clicked. Clanging loudly into place in his brain. Her unease, talking about Cameron, going to her doctor. She was...his eyes widened and his voice was hoarse when he asked, "Are you...are you pregnant?"

"I...I think I am."

Negotiations
Prompt - Courage isn't the absence of fear, it is the presence of fear, yet the will to go on.

Elizabeth Webber liked to believe she ran a classy place. Sure Kelly's diner wasn't the fanciest place in town; that would be the Port Charles Grille ran by the snooty Quartermaine family. And she certainly wasn't going to get rich since she insisted on keeping the menu affordable and paying her waitresses decently. And even though the diner was close to the docks, she liked to believe it was a place where a decent, hardworking family could come in and get a home-style meal in a friendly atmosphere. Which, given the number of regular customers and families who dropped by on their way home from sports practice, she believed she succeeded.

So it was disconcerting when things didn't go as she thought they should.

It wasn't that they were short a waitress tonight; having emergency appendectomy really couldn't be avoided and there was no point in getting upset about it. It wasn't even that the cook had slipped and sprained his ankle and so was slower in the kitchen than normal; the pipe under the sink was supposed to be repaired tonight after the diner closed down, the plumber promised. And it wasn't even that some idiot kids had been roughhousing earlier in the afternoon and bumped into the jukebox causing it to no longer play; she hated the thing after a couple of hours and was glad for some peace and quiet. No, it was the two men in suits at table number 5 that had her angry enough to spit right now.

They also had her frightened.

It was odd, that she should fear having any contact with men who looked perfectly respectable. With their three piece suits, Italian leather loafers and expertly cut hair, they looked like businessmen, or even doctors, headed home and just stopping in for a quick bite to eat. But they weren't businessmen. At least not in anything legitimate. And that was why she was standing in the kitchen, willing herself to stop shaking like an Aspen tree and go out there and serve the men their dinners.

She could do this. She would do this. After all, she'd kicked burly dockworkers out of her diner when they'd grown coarse and had started swearing in front of a family with two little children. And then she'd enforced her ban on them when they tried to come back later that week. She hadn't even came up to their shoulders, but she'd scolded them like a hen and had shamed them, cowed them, and the next time they came back, they apologized, deeply and sincerely, for their behavior and promised that if she let them come back all they'd do was eat her famous chili and leave. She told them she'd think on it and after a month she finally relented and let them return. They'd stayed true to their word and when some new customers had gotten a little rowdy one day they'd spoken up before she had the chance and told them that 'Ms. Webber ran a respectable joint' and if they wanted to talk like that they could take it elsewhere.

So, she told herself, that having handled that situation she could certainly deal with this one. She had to. Because she was the owner she couldn't in good conscience subject one of her waitresses to dealing with the men out there.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the tray and then stepped out into the dining room. The men immediately looked at her, making her feel like she was on the menu, and watched her every move despite her studied indifference towards them. Their features were similar, she realized, so much so that they could be related. An odd thing to notice about people who were harassing her.

"Here you are," she said, setting one plate down, "pork chops and mashed potatoes. And here is your chicken fried steak. Do you need any refills on your drinks?"

"No, Ms. Webber," the beefier of the two said, "just a moment of your time."

"Sorry," she clutched the tray under her arm. "We're short-handed tonight. No time to talk."

Before she could walk away, the thinner man grabbed hold of her arm, but in such a manner that the rest of the diners couldn't see. She stiffened and told herself not to flinch. When she tried to take a step back to break the man's hold, he kept her firmly in place, even pulled her closer.

"We have a message from our boss," the first one said, his voice light and casual as if he was asking about dessert. "It would behoove you to listen, Ms. Webber. After all, we'd hate for something to happen to your place here, or even worse, one of your employees."

Fear seized her, squeezing her insides in a painful vice. She may be stubborn, but she wasn't going to subject her employees to threats. "Fine," she clipped out, "we can talk outside."

They stood from their table, and the one not holding onto her arm pulled out a fifty and dropped it beside their uneaten food. Then, she was gently, and with mock gallantry escorted outside her diner. The courtyard was empty, the spring weather not yet warm enough for the citizens of Port Charles to eat outside, and Elizabeth hoped that the shiver that went through her would be put down to the fact that she was wearing a short sleeved shirt and didn't have a jacket with her. But by the self-satisfied smirk on the thinner man's face she believed he knew exactly why she'd shivered.

Once the door was closed and they were no longer standing in front of the large plate glass windows, she wrenched her arm away from the goon and held the serving tray in front of her defensively. "Alright," she fairly spat at them, "what do you want?"

"Our boss isn't happy that you haven't agreed to his terms yet," the spokesman for the duo explained.

"Yeah, well as flattering as it is," she said insincerely, "I'm going to have to pass."

"That wouldn't be wise, Ms. Webber," he said with an even tone, but it still sent icy shivers down her spine.

"I am not going to give twenty percent of my earnings to your boss for protection," said through gritted teeth. "I've never done it before."

"Times change," the smaller one said ominously.

"Food industry's a fickle business," the bigger one said casually, waving a beefy palm through the air. "Take your pipes in there, for instance. A plumber's coming tonight, right? It'd be a shame if he couldn't make it. If no one could make it. Pipe'd keep leaking, creating a safety hazard for your employees, running up your water bill; eventually...that pipe could burst. Flood your whole place out. That'd be a shame."

The second one tsked mockingly at her. She swallowed nervously and a stone of dread settled in her stomach. They would try to put her out of business. They'd harass her suppliers, threaten her employees, and sabotage her place. All because she wouldn't pay their extortion.

Licking her lips, she squared her shoulders and was prepared to tell them to try their best when they heard footsteps echoing on the walk to the courtyard. She looked over, just as a leather jacket-clad man came into view. What really caught her attention wasn't the nice way he filled out the denim jeans he wore, it was the 9 mm in his hand that was pointed straight at her.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

It was only after the two men attempted to turn and flee, only to be stopped by armed men on the other side of the courtyard did she realize that the gunman wasn't talking to her. He was talking to the two messengers. Oh, she was going to be a witness to a mob fight.

"We've told Alcazar to stay in his territory," the man with the gun hissed lethally, a cobra ready to strike at a moment's notice. "What are you doing here?"

"Just getting a bite to eat," the beefy one lied with more ease than Elizabeth would have possessed at that moment.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked, taking another threatening step closer.

"N-no, Mr. Morgan." The man's composure was slipping.

"You're trying to set up a racket here, threatening Ms. Webber if she doesn't pay your boss." Mr. Morgan took another step and the gun was now level with the other man's heart. Elizabeth was rooted to her place and stunned that even though she'd never seen the man step foot in her diner, Mr. Morgan knew her name. "Sonny won't stand for it."

"We...we were just following orders."

"That's what the Nazis said," Morgan shook his head scornfully. "That argument didn't work for them either. Since you were just delivering your boss' message, you can take one back to him in return. Elizabeth Webber will not pay him to protect her diner. Kelly's is in Sonny's territory, she's under our protection. Anyone who comes near her again will be dealt with. Is that understood?"

"Ye-yes," the other man nodded.

Morgan turned to the thinner man and growled. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," he nodded immediately. "We understand."

"Good," the mobster said. "Get out of here and don't let us ever see you or any of Alcazar's men around here again. Or we'll come after you two first."

The two men nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to get away, and Mr. Morgan waited until they were out of sight before lowering his gun and then tucking it into the waistband at the back of his pants. The line of his shoulders softened, and his face lost its hardness as he turned to Elizabeth and asked, "Are you alright?"

She looked up into his gentle blue eyes and wondered why she'd ever thought them hard as ice when he first stepped into her courtyard. She nodded and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. Taking a deep breath to try again, she wondered why she felt dizzy all of the sudden. Mr. Morgan took a step towards her, concern shadowing his features.

"Ms. Webber?" he asked, his voice sounding distant.

She looked at him, wondering why he looked so funny. And then Elizabeth Webber did something she'd never done before in her life: she performed a perfect swoon and fainted into a mobster's arms.

Bill of Goods
Prompt - They painted up your secrets with the lies they told to you.

Jason Morgan hated to rely on other people. He figured he was the only person he could always count on, it was in his own best interest to never betray himself after all, and so he kept reliance on other people down to a minimum. Or at least didn't care about reliance regarding non-essential things. If the garbage people went on strike, it wasn't going to get him killed if it piled up on the curb for a few days or he had to throw it into the back of his friend's truck and take it do the dump himself.

But on the truly essential things, Jason relied on himself. Or a select group of people he'd been through the crucible with and knew that each person was someone he could count on. That the man he called on would not sell him out to the highest bidder or leave him when the chips were down. They were men he called his brothers, people he considered his family, despite not being related. He'd learned that blood meant nothing and a close relative could become a person's worst enemy. So Jason picked and chose the people he associated with very carefully.

It was one of his survival rules, a code he'd come to live by in his life. They were simple, efficient, and not overly complicated. Rely on yourself. Don't abandon your family. Never trust a woman. That particular rule of life had been learned after discovering the woman he was involved with had begun sleeping with the enemy and was working to bring him down. He hadn't needed the second lesson of finding his girlfriend in bed with his ex-brother to find out that family and women couldn't be trusted at all, but it had happened anyways. That was when he'd walked away from both, became a loner traveling the world and procuring goods that other people couldn't find.

In his travels he'd become pretty proficient at doing things for himself. He'd acquired skills they didn't teach in the Boy Scouts, and he doubted they taught 'em in the Marines either considering their dubious nature, but they worked for him. And that was what was important. He could build a raft and not have it sink in the middle of the river, he could pilot any number of boats, and he could even fly several different types of airplanes. The one skill he'd never acquired was how to fly a helicopter. They were darn twitchy beasts, and he rarely found himself in a situation where he couldn't fly an airplane to his destination so there was no need to take some of his downtime to learn. He should have known better.

To get to where he needed to be now, he needed a helicopter. There was no place to land an airplane and even if he could find a spot, the runway would be too short to not send him into the trees on either take off or landing. So, he had to find himself a helicopter pilot. Well, actually, he'd already found him, he just had to find the man and the machine, pay him the second half of the payment and get out of Caracas.

The problem was, the kind of people who would fly him where he needed to go and not ask the questions he couldn't answer or draw government notice he was definitely anxious to avoid, weren't exactly in the best parts of town. And considering he'd entered the country illegally, was about to perform an extraction that was bound to make a few government officials just a wee bit unhappy, he really didn't want to walk around advertising his presence.

With his leather bag slung over his shoulder, he walked along the side street, searching for the name of the bar where he'd meet his ride to the airfield, such as it was, outside of town. Except that he couldn't find the bar, he didn't want to keep walking up and down the street looking for it and drawing attention to himself, and if he didn't find the place soon, he'd miss his contact and be out five thousand dollars. Then he'd have to start the process all over again.

"Looking for someone?"

He turned at the sound of the voice, flawless English in the middle of rapid-fire Spanish. The woman, petite and brunette, could have been a native, except for the clear, unaccented English that flowed from her lips as she shifted to lean her shoulder against the post next to her and repeated, "Looking for someone?"

"Nothing I can buy from you," he dismissed her, clearly pegging her a prostituta looking to score some American dollars.

"You don't even know what I'm offering," she answered, not taking offense to his clearly insulting insinuation. He didn't know if he should be amazed, or annoyed. Considering he was going to lose his contact, he settled on annoyed.

"Look," he eyed her up and down, taking in her baggy pants, muddy boots, and oversized sweater. Funny, she didn't look like the normal streetwalkers, but that was probably part of what kept her from being rounded up. "Look, miss, you're wasting your time."

"And so are you," she quipped back, still unaffected by his curt attitude.

"Manny Ruiz isn't going to meet you at El Gato Negro," she informed him. "You made a mistake trusting him. Ruiz took your cash, and hightailed it out of town early this morning."

"And you know this how?" he asked. Not only did she know who he was supposed to meet and where, she was now claiming that his helicopter pilot had disappeared.

"I always know my competition," she answered smoothly.

"Your competition?" Now his gaze swept up her once more, not in an appraisal of her charms, but in appraisal of what she was clearly insinuating. She was a pilot like Ruiz. He barely kept his snort of disbelief inside. "You're a pilot?"

She pushed herself off the wooden post and ambled past him, "Yep."

Rooted where he was, he tracked her progress to a beat-up jeep at the end of the street. She quickly spoke in Spanish to a street urchin who was perched on top, tossed him a handful of coins and then climbed up into the vehicle. She pulled out a dirty baseball cap, placed it on her head and looked back at him.

"I can help you," she told him, her soft voice carrying down the street. "Take you where you need to go."

Jason walked down the refuse-lined street until he reached the jeep that at one time might have been blue, now it was mostly rust colored. "For how much?"

"I'll give you a ten percent discount on what Ruiz charged you. Half now, half once we get the States."

He raised a brow. "The States?"

"You're American, aren't you?" she challenged him, raising a brow as well. "Well, I've grown tired of Caracas, and I figure now's as good a time as any to leave. I figure if you're desperate enough to hire Ruiz, you're obviously not looking for attention. That's probably a situation I'd want to avoid, so it makes sense to leave when you do."

She was too smooth, knew too much of the situation, despite him telling her nothing, and he didn't like it. It didn't sit well in his gut, made him suspicious, and it went against every rule he lived by in his life. Don't trust a woman, always rely on yourself, and if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. And he would have told her no, except for the fourth rule in his life; never abandon your brothers. And right now, he needed to rescue a brother and this little waif was the best opportunity, the only opportunity, he had to do so. He'd have to keep an eye on her. And if she tried anything funny, she'd learn that he wasn't too much of a gentleman to stop him from hurting a woman. Because a betrayer was a betrayer and it hurt just as much when a woman stuck the knife in as when a man did.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was time to lay down a few ground rules. "But let's get a few things straight. It's ten percent now, the rest when we get to the States."

"You gonna buy my fuel?" she asked. "'Cause ten percent certainly won't cover my expenses for the long flight. So, think on that while we get out of here."

"I'm not done yet, so we're not leaving."

"Yeah, we are. Or at least, I am," she told him. "Because the cops are due to make a sweep of the area in about ten minutes, and I'm assuming having them wonder why two Americans are down here instead of uptown is something you want to avoid. So I suggest you climb in, untwist your undies, and let's talk on the way to my helicopter."

Reluctantly he climbed inside, and within minutes they were expertly negotiating the tight turns of side streets that were taking them out of town and towards the area where her helicopter obviously was.

"So where was Ruiz supposed to take you?" she yelled, her voice nearly lost on the wind.

"Cerro El Ávila," he said, and then threw his hands up to brace against the dash when she suddenly slammed on the brakes and spun the car to the side, stopping them neatly in the road. "Are you nuts?"

"Are you?" she shot back at him. "You wanna go where?"

"Cerro El Ávila," he repeated. "There's a government compound up there my friend is being held; I intend to get him out."

"Government compound?" she said scornfully as she reached in the back of her jeep for his bag. He watched her incredulously as she tossed it out and onto the side of the road. "You got some bad information, buddy. Somebody obviously sold you a cock-and-bull story, because there is no government compound up there. Secret or otherwise. The only thing up there is drug runners and mafioso and anybody who goes up there either is involved with them, or gets sent home in little boxes. If your friend was able to contact you to tell you to come get him...then clearly he's not all he's cracked up to be."

"Listen, honey-"

"Elizabeth," she corrected him. "Nobody calls me honey."

"Listen, Elizabeth," he hissed, leaning closer to her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Lorenzo Alcazar doesn't run drugs, he's not in the mob, and he is in danger."

"Lorenzo Alcazar?" she questioned with that same scornful disbelief. "He's your friend?"

When he nodded, she actually reached up and patted his cheek sympathetically. "Aw, honey, I'm sorry to tell you this, but your friend is one of the biggest criminals there is down here."

Shadow of Intrigue
Prompt - Fog Filled Streets

Rain fell against the windows, adding a soft noise to the otherwise quiet hallway as Elizabeth Webber stepped off the elevator and headed down the carpeted hallway. The wind sounded like it was picking up, and pretty soon the light rain that had been falling all afternoon would turn into a heavy storm. It was a good thing she didn't have to go out tonight. She didn't want to try to make it across town to her apartment, dealing with the Underground or trying to find a cab. The ambassador was a kind man who felt that her apartment was too far away, and so he'd offered her a room in the guest wing for tonight when he heard the weather report. It was clear that Sonny Corinthos wasn't used to London yet, a storm like this wouldn't keep the natives inside, but he felt she had no business going outside.

So she stayed, to keep her boss happy. And also because it made her happy. She liked the rain when she was indoors, curled up with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Not when she was outside having to splash through puddles in her Wellies. She always had a change of clothes in her office in case of emergency, there were extra toiletries in the guest bath for their distinguished visitors, and she would be able to get a good night sleep and beat everyone into work in the morning. Just as soon as she could fall asleep.

Taking a deep breath, she paused to wipe her damp hands over her slacks, thankful the material was a light brown, and then she pushed open the swinging door into the embassy's kitchen. The room was empty and she was equal parts relieved and disappointed. But told herself it was for the best. She could fix herself a cup of chamomile tea, take it up to her room, and try to relax enough to get some rest. And try not to think about the fact that she would be sleeping under the same roof as him.

She had just put the kettle on the stove, when a door opened and footsteps echoed into the kitchen. Turning automatically, Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat, trapped somewhere behind her fast beating heart that had just taken up residence. He had just stepped into the kitchen.

Jason Morgan, personal chef to Ambassador Sonny Corinthos, paused from reading the piece of paper in his hand and looked up. His clear blue eyes locked with hers and the room spiked in temperature. There was no denying he was gorgeous man. Half the female staff had taken to hanging out in the kitchen when they didn't need to just to catch a glimpse of him, and some had actually propositioned him. Elizabeth hadn't wanted to act like the squealing school girls so she'd admired, and lusted, after him from afar. But that didn't mean she wasn't acutely aware of his schedule, where he went and what he did in the embassy. After all, she told herself, it was her job to know as the personal aide to the ambassador.

"Hi," she said, realizing that she'd been silent and staring. "I...I was just fixing myself a drink. Hope you don't mind."

He shrugged and then shook his head. "No, that's fine. I'm not like the last person, I don't mind if others come into the kitchen."

A corner of her mouth quirked up. "Guess you heard about Cook, huh?"

"Ambassador Quartermaine's chef who scared half the wait staff and ran off the other?" He nodded. "Yeah. I heard about her."

"She hated when anyone who wasn't supposed to be here invaded her domain. Of course, I wouldn't have been here anyways," she said with honesty, "If Edward were still the ambassador."

"Yeah, Sonny told me that you were staying because of the storm," Jason stated as he folded the paper and put it in his back pocket. Then he walked towards the cupboard and pulled out a saucer and cup, set it on a tray and then turned to her. "What are you drinking tonight?"

"What?" she shook her head, clearing away the trance she'd fallen into watching the graceful dichotomy he presented? Jason Morgan was a man who looked like he belonged on Sonny Corinthos' security detail, not in his kitchen. He was strong and powerful, with clearly defined muscles evident under his white shirt and tailored pants, yet he moved with ease and proficiency in the kitchen and she'd been lucky enough to taste his creations to know the man had some true culinary genius. He wasn't a security ape undercover in the kitchen who bumbled around; the man created meals that would make a CIA graduate weep, and his desserts were coveted by everyone.

"What are you drinking, tonight?" Jason repeated, just a hint of amusement glittering in his eye as if he knew her thoughts. "Hot cocoa? I think I have some of that Dutch blend around here that Sonny mentioned you like."

"How does he know about that?" she asked in bewilderment.

"Sonny likes to know what his people like and don't like. To him they're more than just staff, or low-level grunts," Jason informed her locating the tin of chocolate and holding it up.

She shook her head as she said, "Thank you, but not tonight. I was actually hoping for some chamomile tea or something to help me fall asleep."

"Oh," he immediately put the tin back and searched another shelf. "Mrs. Corinthos has a hard time sleeping sometimes as well, she swears by this."

He pulled out a tin of tea, and scooped some into a metal steeping ball. No bags of tea around here. When the kettle whistled, he gently took her arm just above her elbow and steered her towards her seat, then set about making her tea. She sat mutely, content to just watch him and listen to him as he told her about the tea blend and how Mrs. Corinthos had found it in some Far East country back when she was a model, back before she married a man with career political aspirations, and how ever since Jason had known the Corinthos family this seemed to work for even the toughest cases of insomnia.

When the tea had been steeped just right, he poured her a cup, and then pulled out a packet of cookies and set a few on a plate. Then he brought the whole thing over to the table and placed it before her. Elizabeth picked it up, bringing it up to inhale the aroma wafting up from the cup. She could detect orange, and something else she couldn't quite name, as she brought it to her lips for a sip. Unable to mask the grimace quickly enough, she set it back down and went to murmur some innocuous comment, but Jason was chuckling slightly.

"Honey or sugar?" he asked. "Personally, I think that honey makes it more palatable, plus if you're trying to fall asleep it's better than sugar."

"Thank you," she told him. "Honey, please."

The wind picked up as he went to the cupboard to retrieve the jar of honey, a cold, lonely whine whipping around the corner of the embassy. Jason paused on his way back, and tilted his head to the side. Then he returned to the table and set the jar down. "There you go."

"Thank you," she told him once again, adding some in and watching the hot liquid dissolve it as her spoon swirled through the brown liquid. "I'll be fine here; if you had something you needed to do. You were reading something when you came in-"

"Just the finalized menu for the tomorrow," he shook his head. "I don't mind keeping you company. Unless you'd rather-"

"No," she instantly said and shook her head. Then lowered her head to hide a wince. That had sounded too eager. But when she hazarded a glance at him through her lashes, he didn't look put out like he did when the other ladies ogled and made up excuses to be around him. Instead, he poured himself a cup of coffee and then joined her at the table, reaching out and snagging a cookie off the tray.

"So you've known the ambassador for a while?" she asked. "One of the first notes the transition team gave us was that you would be accompanying Sonny to his post. That you went everywhere he did."

Jason shrugged off-handedly, almost looking embarrassed to be talking about himself. Or maybe he just didn't like to flaunt his relationship with the ambassador. "We've known each other for a while now. Sonny likes good food, doesn't like breaking in a new person to his tastes and palate, so he makes it a caveat. Since he's one of the best diplomats around and can handle even the most bull-headed person, he gets a lot of leeway."

Elizabeth was about to comment when the wind picked up again, a shrill whine that had Jason's head snapping up in confusion. "Don't worry," she said, "it always sounds like that between the buildings when a big storm hits."

"That's not wind," he shook his head.

Whether he was going to say more, or whether she would have, they would never know. Because the next minute they were plunged into darkness. And then a faint thump sounded somewhere from up above them. She sensed Jason stand, an alertness infusing the room like the charge of electricity from the storm outside. She heard him move, and then felt his hands on her arms, lifting her out of the chair.

"Jason?" she questioned. "What's going on?"

"Come on," he instructed her, one hand on her arm as he directed her in front of him. He seemed to know where he was going in the dark, despite having only been at the embassy a little over a month. They paused and she heard a drawer open, and something was pulled out.

"Here," he pressed a flashlight into her hand and she instinctively felt for the switch and turned it on.

In the light she was startled to see that he was reaching back into the drawer, which wasn't filled with knives or other kitchen utensils. He pulled a gun, slid a clip in, chambered a round, and disengaged the safety. Then he stuffed a couple of extra clips into his trouser pants. He looked as natural handling the weapon as he did when he'd made her tea twenty minutes earlier and she was struck by the sudden transformation. He pulled another gun out of the drawer, tucked it into the waistband of his pants and then pulled out yet another gun. She peeked into the drawer to see what else was in the endless treasure chest, but discovered it was empty of weapons. The only thing left was a radio which he pulled out and set on the counter.

"Can you use one of these?" he asked her, holding up the third gun.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she shakily nodded her head. "Not very well, but I've had some training."

"Good," he pressed it into her hand. "You stay behind me, keep the flashlight, turn it off when I tell you to, and stay if I say so."

If the situation wasn't so desperate, the muffled clack-clack of automatic gunfire drifted down to them, she would have bristled at being commanded like a dog.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him, when he started to move, leaving her behind at the drawer.

"Come on," he commanded her. "We need to find out what's going on, and we need to make sure Sonny's safe."

"What?" she shook her head. "That's what his security detail's for."

He took a step back towards her, clipping the radio onto his belt. "Elizabeth, I'm not just Sonny's chef, I'm on his security detail."

"Oh," she said, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise. "That makes sense. You seemed too buff to be a cook."

"Come on," he said. "I need to get to Sonny, but I'm not leaving you behind. So you need to move. Now."

Sweet Tooth - Or 'And now for something completely saccharine'
Prompt - Famous Monster

"Let's go!"

Jason came down the stairs of the penthouse, unable to contain a smile at Cameron's enthusiastic, and impatient, bouncing. The little boy was dressed in a black and gray suit, black cape billowing behind him as he raced around the living room, climbing up on the overstuffed chairs and couch and jumping off. After a particularly high jump which resulted in Cameron executing a clumsy, and loud, tuck and roll, Jason figured he better intervene. If Elizabeth came downstairs and found that he was letting her son jump off the furniture, she would undoubtedly be upset with them. And he didn't want her upset.

"Hey, Cameron," he said, lifting the boy off the arm of the couch to prevent Batman from taking flight, "we need to wait for your mom."

The little boy pouted, clearly not pleased with having his daring leaps curtailed, and also being forced to wait.

"She's coming, right?"

"She is," he confirmed. "She's just getting your sister dressed."

"Why?" the little boy asked. "It's not like she can eat any of the candy. She's a baby."

"I know," Jason agreed. "But someone once told me that sometimes the tradition and the excitement is more important. Your mom wants to take pictures of the two of you, to have for herself and to show you later when you get older. It's important to her."

Which made it important to Jason as well. His daughter's first Halloween. In a year full of firsts, this was an exciting one. The Fourth of July picnic hadn't been very interesting to the almost two month old, and Elizabeth hadn't wanted to go to the park because she didn't want their little girl startled by the loud noises. But now, at five months old, she was sitting up, looking around more and Elizabeth was excited to dress her up as a pumpkin and take her around in the stroller. They were going to go to Sonny's house, Audrey's, Bobbie's, and then to the hospital.

Jason was a bit uncomfortable with the whole process, but he had cleared his schedule and agreed to go the first time Elizabeth brought it up. He wanted to be there with his daughter, and he wanted to be there with Cameron and Elizabeth. While he agreed with Cameron that the little girl was really too young to be able to enjoy the day, and they certainly couldn't give her any of the candy she collected in her plastic ghost, he was looking forward to having another picture to place in the album Elizabeth was creating along with one to put in a frame on his desk and in his wallet.

Of course, Cameron's picture would be placed beside them, because Jason didn't distinguish between the two children. While Cameron called him Jason still, the little boy had found his very own place in Jason's heart. He was a part of Elizabeth, he had become a part of Jason's life, and for the enforcer, it was as simple as that. They had become a family, however unconventional, and that was what mattered to Jason. Cameron was his child, even if he never said so out loud, and so his pictures were placed in the penthouse and at Jason's office. When Jason opened up his wallet, Cameron's face smiled up at him along with his daughter. Even if Elizabeth didn't know about it.

Elizabeth may be living in his home with their daughter, but his relationship with her was a little more unsettled. He knew where he stood with the children, with Elizabeth, life was a complete guessing game. A year ago, his life had turned upside down when Elizabeth showed him the paternity test results that said he was the father of her baby. He had renewed his offer to marry her, and she had repeated her refusal. She would not be with him because he felt obligated to take care of her and her children, but she also was quick to assure him that she would never keep him from his child. She would not disrupt his life any further than what she already had, and she had been almost desperate in her vocalization that she didn't want their child to ruin his happiness with Sam.

Yet, that was what happened anyways. Not due to anything Elizabeth did, but because of Sam. His tentative reunion with her could not withstand her insecurities and jealousies and when she spread it to the entire town that Elizabeth had seduced Jason and trapped him by getting pregnant with his baby, it wasn't just the fickle friends who turned on Elizabeth that were the problem, it was the business associates who now knew how to strike at Jason that forced Elizabeth to move in for her protection. Sam couldn't abide another woman, and another child, living in the home she'd once had with him and had become more vocal in her attacks and finally told Jason that he had to choose. Her, or his child. When Jason had stood there in disbelief that she would even ask such a thing, she took his silence as a decision and walked away.

The months following that encounter had been tough on things between him and Elizabeth because she felt responsible and was terribly apologetic. He tried to assure her, just like he tried to assure her it was not her fault that Lucky went back on pills after learning the truth. He told her that they weren't responsible for others actions and it wasn't until February that things finally began to settle down for them. But he still had the feeling that Elizabeth believed he would rather be with Sam, that he would rather be having a child with her instead of Elizabeth, and Jason didn't know how to tell her that wasn't the case.

He loved their child, but he also loved Elizabeth. For herself. Not simply because she was the mother of his daughter, but because their friendship had developed and deepened and she had enriched his life. But she still slept in a separate bedroom, she tried to be unobtrusive in his life, and when they were out together with the children and she saw Sam across the room, she would always look at him with such regret and sympathy that he would turn away which probably only served to reinforce her erroneous beliefs. He couldn't tell her that while he felt bad for Sam, he wouldn't trade a moment of his life, and he didn't regret anything that had happened. He was happy, but he didn't think Elizabeth was, and he didn't what to do.

"Mommy!"

Jason looked up and smiled as the two most important women in his life walked down the stairs. While he loved the squirming pumpkin, it was the woman holding her who captured Jason's attention. She was simply dressed, in jeans and a sweater despite Cameron's earlier pleas for her to dress up with them, and was adjusting the green stem hat that their daughter was attempting to pull off her head but was unable to because of the Velcro strap.

Jason opened the door and told Enzo to call down to the garage to get the car ready, then took the baby from Elizabeth's arms so that she could slip on her coat. She picked up the diaper bag, took Cameron's hand despite his protests that Batman didn't hold his mother's hand, and the family headed out to the elevator where the little boy did his job and pressed the button to call the car.

Jason bounced his little girl lightly in his arms as they waited and then during the descent to the garage, and then buckled her into the car seat in the limo. Elizabeth had helped Cameron into his and then seated herself next to him. Across from Jason. It was a common habit with her. Always putting distance between them. It frustrated him, wondering if he'd ever be able to bridge it. But he put those thoughts aside, and smiled as he listened as Cameron proved he was truly his mother's son by rambling on about all the places they were going to go, who he couldn't wait to see and show off his baby sister to, while wondering how much candy he'd get. When the little boy fell temporarily silent and looked out the window, Jason took the opportunity to let his gaze drift from the son to the mother and was caught off guard to see a wistful shadow pass over Elizabeth's face before she tucked it away and smiled at him and their daughter. As the car stopped at their first location, he was left wondering what the look had meant and as a consequence was less attentive to Carly and the boys who were visiting their dad.




Jason looked up as he heard soft footsteps on the stairs and a feeling of contentment came over him when he realized it was Elizabeth instead of Cameron attempting to sneak back downstairs. She gave him a small smile as she crossed the room and picked up the little boy's discarded cape and hood from where they'd been tossed on the pool table. Once they were folded and set on the table by the stairs, she sank down into the couch and sighed as she put her feet up on the coffee table. He closed the account book he'd been looking over and joined her on the couch, making sure not to crowd her too closely but still close enough to be able to reach out to touch her. Not that he ever did.

"He finally go to sleep?"

"Yeah," she nodded, not lifting her head off the plush cushions. "I think you got the easy kid tonight. I never even heard her fuss."

"She was asleep before the end of her bottle," he confirmed. "That's why you get to put her to bed tomorrow and I get Cameron. You know he'll be excited again tomorrow since he's planned a party for your birthday."

"Great," she chuckled ruefully. "More sugar."

"He's excited," Jason shrugged. "And he's certain you'll love this cake even more than you did Nemo last year."

Elizabeth laughed lightly as she smiled at the memory and Jason was once again overwhelmed with just how beautiful she was. This time he didn't stop himself from reaching out and brushing the hair off her shoulder, pulling the strands away from her face. The move caused Elizabeth to open her eyes and turn her head to regard him; clearly she hadn't been expecting the contact.

"I enjoyed tonight," he told her, his hand still lingering on her shoulder, his thumb brushing light circles over the fabric of her top.

"I did too. The kids were very excited," she smiled, once again, inserting the children into the conversation and distancing it from her. "I'm glad you could come."

"So am I. I wouldn't have missed it. I'm glad you asked me."

"Jason, you're her father, I would never-"

"That's not just why I came," he told her with a shake of his head. "I came because you asked me. I came because I wanted to spend time with you."

It was the closest he'd ever come to saying that this whole arrangement wasn't just because of their daughter, or providing for her and her children. It was because of her. Elizabeth's eyes opened wide as his hand slid up from her shoulder to cup the back of her neck, his fingers threading through her silky hair.

"Jason?" she asked on a breathless whisper.

"This isn't just about our daughter, Elizabeth," he told her, using his hold to bring her closer. He didn't have to exert much pressure, she was willing to move towards him, a sign he considered encouraging. "I love her, just like I love Cameron, and just like I love you. We're a family, and I'm happy about that...you're the one I want to be with. Not because of obligation."

Tears spiked her lashes, but utter peace and joy crossed her face as she moved that much closer to him.

"I'm here because I want to be here, too," she said, her eyes drifting down to his lips. "Not just because of-"

That was all he needed to hear and he leaned forward, closing the distance between them and capturing her lips. They'd work everything out later, he'd give her the ring that had been sitting in his drawer for months tomorrow for her birthday, he'd tell her he wanted to adopt Cameron...tonight though, tonight was simply about them.

Pay 'Til It Hurts
Prompt - I'm twice the bitch you think you are

Elizabeth Webber hated Jason Morgan. Not in a cute, oh you annoy me but I still want to kiss you, and maybe even jump your bones, kind of way. Elizabeth Webber would be perfectly happy if she opened up the newspaper one morning and read a headline announcing his death. Or if she turned on the six o'clock news and saw the main story was about him being arrested and shipped off to prison for...anything. Then she'd pray that he made an enemy inside and they stuck a shiv between his ribs while he was in the shower.

At least then he'd be out of her hair. And she could get on with her life, completely Jason Morgan free. It would be a really amazing thing. She'd almost contemplate trying to make it happen, but she wouldn't give the scum-sucking lowlife the satisfaction of knowing she'd stooped to dirty tricks. If the IRS suddenly audited him, he would accuse her of using one of her contacts - as if Jasper Jacks didn't have anything better to do in his life but order one of his flunkies to investigate her enemy - to bring him down. And if his supply line for his business suddenly dried up, he would accuse her of having her uncle Lorenzo Alcazar use his slightly shady connections to disrupt Jason's shipments.

The accusations would be true, and because of that, Jason Morgan would get the upper hand. He'd claim that she couldn't win in life unless she had someone doing her work for her. He'd taunt her and say that he was the better businessman and the only reason she'd gotten the upper hand was because she had to cheat. She knew he would say those things, because it be exactly what she would say if he were to pull the same maneuvers. She'd cattily say that he couldn't handle being bested by a woman and so he'd set out to sabotage her.

It was an odd arrangement, and it was the only thing they could actually agree on; by unspoken agreement, they would not attempt illegal tricks on the other person. But that was the only thing they could agree on, and everything else was fair game. They competed for everything. Clients, contracts, suppliers and who could get the better discount and which company could deliver the better product and get it to the customer the quickest. They competed in the non-business arena as well. Charities had learned this quickly and so both of them were always invited to the same fundraisers. The committee chairperson knew that Jason Morgan and Elizabeth Webber would donate, and donate generously all in an attempt to outdo the other person.

Of course, that was only if the donations were anonymous to the public. The charity officials knew how much each person had donated, because they opened the sealed envelopes with the checks, but the amounts were never disclosed to the people. Because that would just be vulgar. And they never accepted having a building, or a hospital wing named after them, because again, it wasn't about the personal gratification, it was about helping others. All the while secretly hoping that this time they'd written the bigger check. They would meet on neutral ground near the dance floor and try to get the other one to admit how big of a check they'd written, all the while knowing the amount would never be disclosed, but unable to resist the verbal repartee. The jabs and digs made behind seemingly benign smiles, while alluding to scandal and hopes that the other one suddenly disappeared off the face of the earth...it was all part of game they played.

They knew it, the business community knew it, the whole town knew it. If Elizabeth left work today and saw Jason Morgan on fire in the middle of the street, she wouldn't even spit on him in the hopes of putting out the flames. If she were lying on the street in a puddle of her own blood, Morgan wouldn't even slow down as he went past her. It was understood, it was talked about, it was common knowledge.

So when Jason Morgan hadn't returned from his weekend ski trip and therefore lost a very important client to her company, she hadn't batted an eyelash. She'd gained a very lucrative client because of his incompetence. Score one for Team Webber. And she really didn't give any further thought to why Morgan hadn't shown up. As incomprehensible as it was to her, some women apparently found him attractive and actually wanted to date the slug. There was no accounting for taste, and some women didn't have it. She didn't waste her time thinking about his love life, and if he stayed behind to romance some ski bunny, well, he wouldn't be the first man to lose his head to love and it benefited her nicely.

But when a week had passed and Jason Morgan still hadn't returned to Port Charles and his secretary and the company vice-presidents were getting worried because they couldn't get in touch with him, the police began to investigate. They tracked his last known whereabouts, checked the routes between here and there, and looked for anything suspicious. And they found it in spades. Which was why she'd been dragged from her boardroom, in handcuffs, and brought down to the police station. She was being investigated for her rival's disappearance.

"I didn't do anything," she repeated calmly. "I was in town all last week while Mr. Morgan was out of town. I didn't even know where he went until I got a call from Luke Spencer telling me that Morgan had flaked on their meeting and if I wanted the job it was mine."

"But it's common knowledge that you hate the man," District Attorney Ric Lansing said, a smarmy smile painted across his face that only his mother would believe was innocent. And that was only if she were blinded by love.

"We don't like each other," Elizabeth corrected coolly. "Because we're competing business interests. But hate would be a bit strong."

"Really?" the oily man asked, leaning forward with a gleeful grin. "So when you threatened to kill him two weeks ago, I suppose that was all a misunderstanding?"

"I haven't spoken to Jason Morgan in three months," she rebutted. "At the Nurse's Ball."

"Witnesses said that on the Wednesday before he went out of town, you were spotted outside of the Corinthos Coffee Shoppe yelling at him and telling him that you would see him eliminated from off the face of the earth if that was the last thing you did." He looked up from the notes before him and said, "That sounds like a threat to me."

"When was this?" Alexis Davis, Elizabeth's attorney, asked casually, not looking up from the yellow legal pad she was making notes on.

"On the Wednesday before he went out of town."

"So that was two weeks ago?" she further clarified.

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"In the afternoon."

"Then I'm afraid your witnesses are either lying, or they're misinformed," Alexis said, finally looking up and piercing a gaze at the D.A. over the rim of her tortoise shell glasses. "Because I was with Ms. Webber all afternoon on that day."

"Oh, how convenient," Lansing smirked. "Your lawyer giving you an alibi."

"If you think that I might be lying for my client," she said, unruffled by the man's acidic bark of disbelief. "Then you can ask Lila Quartermaine. That Wednesday happened to be the date of her monthly tea party. Elizabeth was there the entire time. Along with Bobbie Spencer, Monica and Tracy Quartermaine, Emily Cassadine and Felicia Jones. I believe that the house staff also saw Ms. Webber there."

Ric looked like someone had just stuck a pin in him. His arrogance deflated rapidly, replaced with unhappiness. "We'll...we'll have to check that out."

"You do that," Alexis nodded at him, standing up and motioning for Elizabeth to as well. "In the meantime, you have nothing to hold my client on, so I suggest you release her."

Lansing sighed in discontent, but opened up the door and motioned for a cop to come in and undo Elizabeth's handcuffs. She calmly submitted to the procedure, didn't give the pigs the satisfaction of rubbing her wrists to ease the chaffing, and followed Alexis out of the interrogation room.

"You're free to go, Ms. Webber," the D.A. said unnecessarily. "But don't leave town in case we have more questions for you."

"If you have further questions, you will direct them through me. Any further contact with my client and I'll bring harassment charges against you," Alexis said for the sheer joie de vivre of antagonizing Lansing. "In the meantime, have a nice day."

"Thank you, Alexis," Elizabeth said as they reached the limo on the street waiting for them.

"You're welcome," the lawyer smiled. "For the fun of taking on Lansing, it almost seems wrong to bill you, but of course, I won't lose my head completely."

"Of course not," she laughed.

"I suppose I should say the normal lawyerly things here," Alexis said, merely out of formality and to clear her own conscience. "Don't leave town, don't give the police an excuse to bring you in, and if they do, don't talk until I get there. No matter what."

"Understood," Elizabeth told her. "Can I drop you off back at the office?"

"That'll be fine," her lawyer answered.

Once Alexis was back at her law practice, Elizabeth told her driver to take her home. She was done at the office for the day, because she had some things she needed to figure out. Jason Morgan was missing and while that normally wouldn't bother her too much, the fact that she was a suspect was going to galvanize her into action. Someone had gone to some work to set her up and nobody did that to Elizabeth Webber and got away with it.




It was late when she showed up, but not too late. The place was still crowded, all the better for her not to stand out and be noticed by too many people. She managed to catch his eye as she nodded to him, and then slipped into his office to wait. It wasn't long. Within a few minutes, the door opened and Mitchell Coleman walked in.

"Beth," he smiled at her. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," she said.

"Never figured otherwise," he shrugged, not offended by the nature of their relationship. They weren't friends, but he provided information when she needed it, and in return she compensated him.

"Jason Morgan's missing," she told him. "And I was hauled down to the PCPD today for an official interview into his disappearance."

When he raised his bushy eyebrow, she said, "It's common knowledge Jason and I are..."

"Enemies," the bartender supplied.

"Antagonistic," she softened. "But, someone told the police that they saw me threaten him the day of Lila Quartermaine's tea party. Clearly I can't be in two places at once, so I need to find out who's impersonating me and setting me up."

"Aww, and here I thought you might be concerned about Morgan," Coleman snickered.

"Fat chance," she retorted. "However, if I have to find him and drag his worthless butt back here to prove that I didn't kill him, then so be it. So I need your help. You hear things in town; heard anything about a petite brunette who's recently picked a fight with Jason Morgan?"

Coleman leaned back in his chair, and thoughtfully scratched at his beard. "I've heard there's a new player sniffing around town, even heard rumblings that it's a woman."

"Faith Roscoe isn't exactly petite, nor is she brunette," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Not Faith," he shook his head. "Someone even newer. Possibly connected to some people out of Miami."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow. "A name, Mitchell? Have you heard a name?"

"Might be the Ruizes."

"Not the people in Miami," she snapped at him. "The woman who is apparently trying to set me up."

"Oh," he shrugged. "I might have heard something."

She sighed and reached into her jacket, pulling out the thinnest envelope. She opened it, pulled out a few bills and took a step towards the desk, letting him see there were more in the folded paper. "I'd appreciate any help you can give me, Mitchell."

"I'm sure you would, Beth," he told him and didn't pick up the money she laid on the desk, but instead leaned farther back in his chair.

"I heard the name Sam," he said.

She extracted a couple more bills. "Anything else?"

"She's staying in some flea-infested rat trap over on Bidwell."

The envelope emptied, "Anything more?"

"I think I heard something about a boat, that she recently came up from the Carolinas."

She placed the money on the desk and turned for the door. "You've been a big help, Mitch. If any of this pans out, I'll be very grateful. Just as I'll be grateful if you hear anything else and pass it along."

"And where are you going to be, Beth?" he asked.

"Where else?" she smirked. "Finding everything I can on the woman who seems determined to get me and Morgan out of the way, and then rescuing the man who is going to choke on the fact that he'll owe me for the rest of his life."

Easy Was Yesterday
Prompt - Anything to do with military service (Prompt posted Veteran's Day)

The only easy day was yesterday. Jason Morgan had heard that phrase quite often during his time in BUDS, particularly during Hell Week as he was aspiring to become a Navy SEAL years ago. After he and his training mates would collapse on the beach at the end of a grueling day, fatigued, in pain and eyeing the drop out bell with a little more than just casual interest, they would commiserate and say that yesterday had definitely been easier. But they persevered, he didn't ring the bell and he graduated from Basic Underwater Demolition School to become a SEAL. That had been easy compared to today.

He was finding himself repeating the training motto quite often lately, and finding that it still held truth. Yesterday he had been working down in the Gulf of Mexico, contracted to demolish an old oil rig that needed to be replaced after the vicious hurricane season had left many of the rigs piles of twisted steel, and he'd been content. It was a well-paying job, he put the money into savings, kept his needs simple and in a couple of years he'd no longer have to wire bridges and structures to blow up and he could settle down and open up a custom motorcycle shop. That had been yesterday. Today...today a hurricane of a different sort blew into his life and let him know in no uncertain terms that easy was over.

Elizabeth Webber, all five-foot-two of her showed up at the pier as the boat was getting ready to leave to make the final inspection of the site and make sure the charges were ready, and wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd never met the woman before, but somehow he got dragged into her little melodrama she called a life, and she'd raised such a fuss, spun a web of lies that his boss had told him to go. The number two guy could cover on the job, Jason was clearly needed elsewhere. And then the boat left the dock and he was left standing next to someone he would gladly strangle except for the fact that she was a woman. And even then he was trying to remind himself to not hurt her.

After all, the woman was pregnant.

That much had been plain to see as she stood on the dock in her sleeveless summer maternity dress, the wind blowing and molding the cotton fabric to her curvaceous shape. When he and the men first saw her approaching them, an instinct to keep an eye on her and make sure she was safe had hit him. After all, it was dangerous around the water; he'd hate to see something happen to her. Now...now he was wondering if he'd taken a few too many blows the head during his time in the Navy and he wasn't quite right. Because even though she'd just cost him his job, wouldn't take no for an answer, and was all in all a general pain in his backside, he still found himself wanting to protect her.

And so that was why he was currently in a car with her driving north to New York. Because the source of her troubles was in New York. In the name of someone she'd never met, but whom he knew. Carly Benson, a hurricane in her own right who had blown through Jason's life and left him still picking up the pieces, had run off with Elizabeth's boyfriend and father of her baby. So she'd come to him of all people for help.

He didn't exactly know what he was supposed to do, but she had insisted he come along, and like a fool he'd ended up in the car with her. Now he felt like a lamb heading off to the slaughterhouse. He knew that something bad was coming at the end of this trip, he just didn't know what, and he was unable to get out of the situation.

He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning against the door so he could face her. "So, tell me again how exactly I'm supposed to help on this mission?"

"You will handle Carly Benson," she told him tersely. Not unlike a CO barking an order at him. While Jason might have followed orders in the military, he was out now, and he wasn't taking kindly to having someone boss him around.

"What if I don't want to?" he asked. "I worked rather hard to get her out of my life. At one time contemplated faking my own death just to make it happen. I'm not exactly eager to willingly tangle with her again."

She turned an appraising eye on him, sizing him up. It wasn't of the fun, potential sexual encounter kind of way; it was like meeting a new commanding officer and having him wonder whether Jason was man enough to do the job. Again, it wasn't a feeling Jason liked. He'd put those days behind him, was his own boss now. He especially didn't like having a woman make him feel emasculated somehow.

"You afraid of her?" she smirked.

"Afraid of what she'll wreck and leave me holding the pieces," he corrected her. As if there was a great deal of distinction there and Elizabeth Webber just wasn't seeing the subtle nuances.

"Yeah, well," she took one hand off the wheel and gestured vaguely towards her pregnant stomach, "she kinda came in and wrecked my life and left me holding the pieces."

"She ran off with your boyfriend," he stated, repeating her explanation.

"Yes," the brunette nodded just once. "Decided she wanted him, and she took him."

"You know," he said, "someone can't really make a person do something that a part of them doesn't already wish for."

She glanced out of the corner of her eye. "Say again, Freud?"

"If your boyfriend ran off with her," Jason shrugged, "maybe a part of him already wanted to leave you, and this was just the perfect opportunity."

He looked away, gazing at the horizon and was therefore caught off guard when a stinging blow smacked him in the chest. He looked back and was alarmed to find Elizabeth not watching the road but staring at him with angry, accusing, tear-filled eyes. The tears crested and fell as the car started the drift towards the shoulder of the road, the tires hitting the hazard stripe. But it didn't seem to make her notice, and he reached across the space, grabbed the wheel and then contorted himself into a human pretzel to get his leg across the divider space and push her foot off the accelerator, then shift to the brake and guide them safely to the side of the highway.

He took a deep breath, ready to explode at her for her carelessness, but was once again assaulted with stinging blows. Hormonal women; he hated dealing with them.

"So you're saying he wanted to leave me," she sobbed at him, accusing him like he was the rat bastard who'd run out on her. "I made him leave me."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm sure it wasn't you, after all, you're such a peach. I'm sure it was all him. He didn't know what a treasure he had on his hands."

"Oh," she huffed, hitting him again. "You're...you're mocking me."

Jason caught her wrists as she came in for another assault, automatically gentling his hold to not hurt her finely boned wrists. He didn't really want to hurt her; he just wanted to stop getting hit. He told himself that Elizabeth Webber was just upset. She was pregnant, her boyfriend ran off, with Crazy Carly, and the whole combination was just stressing her out.

With her wrists trapped and unable to slap him, she finally seemed to calm down. And then she just seemed to deflate like a tire with a nail in it. She leaned back in her seat, away from him and tugged against his hold. He let her go, instinctively knowing that he was free from further attacks, and then pulled his leg free after setting the gear so that the car was fully stopped. He expected her to sob further, rail and scream against her ex, but instead she just sniffled a few times, wiped her nose with a tissue she fished out of her purse and stared out the windshield.

"Are you okay?" he asked with a little trepidation.

"Yeah," she said with a final sniffle. "I...I'm sorry I went off on you, and nearly wrecked the car. I just...it hurt, what you said."

"I didn't say it to hurt you," he told her honestly. "I just wanted to point out that if the guy ran off, especially leaving you pregnant, then maybe he's not someone you want to go racing after to get back."

"Yeah," she said again, sinking back into the seat, looking a bit lost. "I just...he'd seemed so excited about the baby. When I told him, I was the one who was freaked out, who thought it wasn't the right time to have kids, I wasn't sure I was ready or if I even wanted to be a mother. But he...he was so steady, so calm, so sure that things happened for a reason and that this baby, and we, were meant to be. And I...I believed him. I became excited about it. And then, just a month ago..."

Her voice trailed off and she let out a sad laugh. "Was it only just a month ago? A month ago, just before Caroline Benson showed up in town, he asked me to marry him. Said our baby should be raised by parents who loved each other, who respected each other and who were married. And I agreed because I loved him. And then..."

"And then Carly happened," he said knowingly. "Coming in and doing what she does best...blowing people's lives apart."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yep. She set her sights on him and that was that. Nothing was going to stand in her way. She wanted to be Mrs. Michael Corinthos, Junior and nobody, not me, not our child, nothing was going to stand in her way. And he...he suddenly tossed me aside like yesterday's newspaper and went off with her."

"And so you want to go get him back?" Jason asked.

She shrugged, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "I don't know. I thought I did. Now, now I'm so angry and I want to hurt him somehow. Who knows how I'll feel by the time I actually reach Port Charles."

After a few minutes she sat up straight and looked at the road, making sure to check the mirrors before putting the car in drive and pulling back onto the road. When they reached an exit, she pulled off, crossed over the highway, and then got back on, this time going back the way they'd just come.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm taking you back," she told him. "I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess. I...I don't know what I'm going to do about Sonny and Carly, but it's not fair to you. I shouldn't have messed up your job, and I don't know what I was thinking making you come along and thinking that you could somehow get Carly to transfer her affections back to you leaving Sonny free again."

She gave a wry smile of apology. "I was a little desperate. But don't worry; you're free of my mess now."

As they headed towards Biloxi, Jason began to grow tense. Almost edgy. He should have felt relieved. He was free of his crazy captor, didn't have to deal with Carly Benson, and could get back to his nice, quiet, normal life. But he didn't feel relieved. He was worried. What would Elizabeth do now? Would she go and confront her ex-boyfriend? Or just move on? And what would she do if Sonny The Loser stayed hooked up with Carly The Crazy? He suspected she'd raise the baby on her own, no matter how tough things got. But just how tough would things get? Did she have a job? Did she have insurance? Did she have anyone to help her out?

He told himself that this was not his mess. He should be grateful she'd changed her mind and was taking him back. He should be angry she'd all but hijacked him off the docks and forced him into her car and was going to drive him all the way to New York.

And then his words came back to smack him in the face. Nobody could really force another person to do something they didn't already want to do. When he'd seen her standing there on the docks, lost and upset and obviously pregnant, a primal instinct had kicked in. He needed to help her. Whatever she asked him to do, he'd do it. And now...now that he was getting what he thought he wanted, it turned out it wasn't. How was he supposed to go back to work when he'd be wondering about Elizabeth Webber, a complete stranger until this morning?

He swore low under his breath and shook his head. "Stop the car."

"Wh-what?" Elizabeth asked, glancing over at him quickly, confusion written all over her face.

"Stop the car," he repeated. "And let's talk about this."

"Talk about this?" she parroted. "There's nothing to talk about. Look, I'm really sorry I went off the rails this morning, but this isn't your problem. I'll take you back and I'll figure out what I'm going to do."

He could let her do it, it's what she said she wanted. And yet, he couldn't. He couldn't leave her alone, not when he could help her.

"Yeah, I know you're not asking me to do this anymore, but," he shifted on his seat, and tugged on his ear. "I'm offering."

Her head whipped around to look at him, before focusing back on the road. "What?"

"I'm offering to help you," he told her. "So pull over and let's figure out what we're going to do."

Wacky Day
Prompt - You know what they say: if the shoe hurts, wear it.

It all started with the shoe on the wall. Opening line to Wacky Wednesday, one of Elizabeth Webber's favorite books. Had been ever since she was a child and her brother Steven would read to her before she went to bed. Their parents were too busy off at the hospital, so Steven would come in to her room, and read her a story every night. Wacky Wednesday was one of their favorites and they'd always look for the wrong things on the page, no matter how many times they read the book. They had them memorized, but it was a ritual, and she loved the time she spent with her brother.

But when she opened her eyes at 6:15 on a lazy summer morning and saw the man perched on her dresser in the corner, she screamed and then pulled the covers up to her chin while yelling at him that she was going to call 911. After all, only perverts sat on women's dressers while they were sleeping, and the white haired man with the black trench coat sure looked like a pervert. Or maybe just a crazy loon who looked like he should be pushing a shopping cart with one wobbly wheel behind the warehouses while he searched for recyclables to turn in for cash. He most certainly did not belong in her bedroom sitting on her furniture.

But when she reached for the phone, there was no dial tone. She got up, raced through the house, and tried every phone, including the cell phone in her purse. None of them worked. And then her door wouldn't open. All the while, the nut job on her dresser just laughed and took a swig from a hip flask.

"It's no use, darlin'," he drawled at her. "Your phones won't work and your door won't open, not until I tell Spinelli to let you out."

"Okay," she panted, as she leaned against the door and eyed him warily. "Obviously I'm dreaming. I'm having a horrible dream brought on by too much food. I'm hung over. Had too much tequila last night. I don't remember drinking tequila, or eating anything strange, but clearly I must have. Because this is all just a dream. I'm going to wake up and be relieved."

"Do you often talk to yourself?" the nut asked as he slid off her dresser and landed surprisingly light on his feet. "Lizbits, you're not dreaming. I'm here because I've been sent here to help you."

Her eyebrows crept dangerously close to her hairline. "Help me? Where? Into Shadybrooke?"

"No," the man shook his head. "I'm here to help you find your true love."

"Okay." Now it was her turn to drawl out the word. "You're here to help me find my true love? What are you, Cupid?"

"No, I'm Luke," he introduced himself. "You're guardian angel of sorts."

"Of sorts?" she questioned. "What's that mean?"

"It means that I'm supposed to be mostly retired and so I get the cases that don't require a lot of hands on attention. I supervise the lesser guardian angels and usually have them do the day-to-day stuff while still overseeing the cases."

"So you're a...manager of sorts?" she asked and figured if she kept having conversations with a figment of her imagination, then she was definitely going to be a candidate for Shadybrooke."

"Somethin' like that," he nodded and took out a cigar to stick in his teeth.

"I'm allergic," she said automatically.

"I know that," he said. "But relax. You won't be able to smell this. I'm on a different plane than you are. I just made it so you could see me because I had to intervene and I didn't want to waste time pussyfootin' around the whole situation."

"Intervene?" she asked. "I thought you said your cases didn't require a lot of attention."

"Normally they don't," he conceded, puffing away on his cigar. She was unable to smell it, and she thought she must be hallucinating this whole thing.

"So why are you intervening?" she asked.

"Because the angel I had on your case is about to screw up your life. I told Robert that Carly wasn't a good fit for you. She's supposed to be steering you towards Jason Morgan, but for the past couple of months she's been steering you away from him. Personally I think she's got a few screws loose upstairs and she's got the hots for him and thinks if she keeps you away from him she could have a shot. Clearly she's forgotten that she's not alive, that she's not a corporeal being, and she couldn't have him anyways, but like I said, she's not quite right and I'm now cleaning up her mess."

"Wait, wait," she said holding up her hand. "Jason Morgan? My love life and Jason Morgan?"

She turned away and raked her hands through her hair. "Okay, now I know I'm hallucinating."

"You're not hallucinating, Lizbits. You and Jason Morgan are destined to be together. It was decreed and we, as the guardian angels, are supposed to make it happen. Like I said, though, Carly's been steering you away from him and towards someone whose parents must have hated him because they named him after a dog."

"I like Lucky," she protested. "He's a good man. He's a cop, he's kind, he-"

"He's hooked on pills and is having an affair behind your back with the police commissioner's barely legal daughter," Luke cut her off. "She's pregnant and he's got a ring in his pocket, not for you, but for her. He's just staying with you to figure out how to clean out your checking account, as if you haven't already let him sponge enough money off you."

She rocked back on her feet and stared at Luke. "What?"

"Yep," the older man nodded. "Right now, he's meeting with her in a room above a two-bit diner with some awful chili. So you should get dressed and we'll go confront him. Or, actually you'll confront him; he won't be able to see me."

"Will I be able to see you?" she asked, half hoping and half fearing the answer.

"Of course," he confirmed.

She eyed him warily and then shook her head while heading to her bedroom. "Okay, but I better not see you while I'm getting dressed."

"I'm wounded, darlin'," he held up a hand to his chest. "You're like my own daughter, if I'd actually ever been able to have children what with not being a corporeal being and all. And I wouldn't dare invade your privacy that way."

The funny thing was, she actually believed him.




With Luke by her side in her car, and somehow communicating with someone named Spinelli, Elizabeth made it to Kelly's Diner in record time. She hit every light green, cars seemed to just melt out of her way, and even though her car said she was going to the speed limit, she felt like they were moving much faster. Luke just smirked when she commented on it.

She marched through the doors, headed straight for the stairs and went up to Lucky's room. She knocked, even though Luke told her she should just let him open it for her, and was dismayed to hear muffled sounds, one of them the voice of a female, before Lucky opened the door, with a hickey on his neck. She pushed through, after being nudged by Luke, and found Maxie Jones hiding in the closet. She railed at them both, blasted Lucky and told him she never wanted to see him again. Then as she was turning to leave, Mac Scorpio knocked on the door and found the whole melee. When she left, Mac was yelling at Lucky, threatening to fire him from the force while Maxie was pleading with her father to not hurt the father of her baby.

"I don't envy their angels," Luke shook his head. "Another foul up in the whole relationship department, but this time it wasn't one of mine who did it. Robert's going to be working overtime trying to fix all of this.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" she asked as she was sitting in her car rubbing her forehead wearily.

"Now, we get you hooked up with Morgan," Luke cackled brightly.

"Just like that?" she asked with a snap of her fingers. "I don't even know Jason Morgan. He and Lucky were kinda on opposite sides of the whole career spectrum. I'm sure he doesn't even know who I am."

"Oh," Luke raised his eyebrows, "he knows who you are, alright. His angel's done his job. The problem is, Morgan's just too noble to ever go after someone while they're involved with another person. So while he thought you were happy with Lucky, he just watched you from afar, drank a lot of beer, played a lot of pool, and took a lot of cold showers. He also happens to love going for rides on his motorcycle. Which...is where we're going to find him. So, let's go."

She looked at the grinning angel blankly. "Go where?"

"Up the cliff road, darlin'," he said with a wave of his hand. "Spinelli's got a lead on him, knows where he is and he'll arrange for your car to somehow stall right where Morgan will find you."

Her eyebrows dipped down and Elizabeth shook her head. "I...I don't know about this. It seems, it seems somehow dodgy. Going somewhere, just so that I can run into him, and then what are you going to do, hit him with a love wand or something and that'll be it? We don't have any choice in this? We don't have any agency? We just get led along wherever you feel like it, like we're puppets of some overgrown child?"

"Oh, geez," Luke groaned as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked up at the ceiling of her car and said, "We got an agency nut on our hands, Robert. She's refusing to go."

He sat in silence for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Yeah, alright. I can do that."

Elizabeth looked at him oddly for a minute and then asked, "What are you going to do?"

Luke sighed and then said, "Forgive me for this, darlin'. I'll try to be gentle."




Elizabeth was having the worst day ever. She woke up this morning and after discovering the milk in her refrigerator had gone sour, she stopped by Kelly's to get some breakfast and figured she'd stop in and surprise Lucky. Instead she got the surprise and found him in bed with Maxie Jones; the even bigger surprise was when the teenager said she was pregnant with Elizabeth's boyfriend's baby. After dumping the cheating slime, she took off for a drive to clear her head, not stopping to eat breakfast. Then a deer crossed the road, Elizabeth swerved to avoid it, and ended up crashing her car, hitting her head on the steering wheel and knocking herself unconscious. Her life pretty much sucked at this point. Especially when she discovered she'd left her cell phone at home and couldn't call anybody.

Her musings were cut short when the rumble of a vehicle was heard on the road and then a motorcycle rounded the corner. The rider slowed, and then stopped, when he saw her sitting on the ground next to her car. She'd stumbled when she tried to get out and just hadn't bothered trying to get up again. No sense fighting gravity at this point. The man was instantly recognizable; Jason Morgan was her friend Emily's older brother and she'd seen him around town and in the newspapers. She was glad to see a friendly face right now.

"Hey, Elizabeth, right?" he asked as he neared. When she nodded, he crouched down and peered at her. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "A deer ran in front of me, I..."

I lost control of my car.

"I lost control of my car."

I guess I wasn't really paying attention.

"I guess I wasn't really paying attention," she said with a shake of her head, and then winced when the bruise on her forehead throbbed.

He leaned forward and pushed her hands and hair out of the way too look at it. Staring straight at his chest she was suddenly struck with how good he smelled, and how caring he was. He probably wouldn't cheat on her with a barely legal teenager.

"The roads are twisty here," he said softly. "You really should pay attention."

I know, but I was upset.

"I know," she sighed, "but I was upset."

He looked down at her, his blue eyes tinged with concern. "Why?"

I found my boyfriend with another woman.

"I found my boyfriend with another woman," she said, and sniffled slightly.

The corners of his mouth turned down, "Lucky? He was cheating on you?"

She nodded, suddenly feeling her eyes sting. She normally wasn't the crying type, but right now all she wanted to do was lean her head against Jason Morgan's broad shoulders and just cry.

"I'm sorry," he told her, his hands feathering softly through the hair on her head. She didn't know why he was doing it, but it felt nice and she wasn't about to tell him to stop. "I...Emily told me you were seeing him. I can't believe he would cheat on someone as wonderful as you."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him in surprise. He thought she was wonderful? How come she'd never really noticed Jason before? In all the time she'd been friends with Emily, how come she'd never talked to him for more than a couple of minutes.

That was Carly.

She frowned and wondered where that thought came from and who the heck Carly was.

Nevermind. You think I'm wonderful?

"You think I'm wonderful?" she asked on a blush and was surprised to see a corresponding one creep up on Jason's cheeks.

He tugged on his ear, a cute gesture but lamentable because it meant he'd removed his hand from massaging her scalp, and cleared his throat. "Listen, let me help you. Would you like a ride?"

She looked over at his flying death trap and...

Don't shake your head; say 'I'd love one.'

"I'd love one," she told him.

Flight or Fight
Prompt - Tequila makes my clothes fall off

As a bartender, Jason Morgan had seen a lot of things. He'd seen traveling salesmen slip off their wedding bands and pick up a local girl, he'd seen breakups and make-ups, he'd seen payoffs and blackmail, and he'd seen quite a few bar fights. One time he'd even seen someone get their ear ripped off. He'd seen it all, and it was only when the action was really illegal, he didn't let pimps or drug dealers hang out in his place, or when it threatened to bust up his bar did he step in.

Most of the time he just poured the drinks, filled the peanut bowls, and kept an eye on the till. He didn't bother his customers, he listened when they wanted to spill their guts in the beer confessional, and he kept them supplied with drinks then made sure they got safely home. But every once in a while, a customer would catch his eye and he'd watch them with more than just a professional interest. Often it was a sixth sense he had, the person sitting at the table in the back wasn't all he was cracked up to be and that's when Jason would put his former skills as a bouncer to good use and toss the creep out on his ear.

But that was before the Hospital Brigade started frequenting his bar. Mitchell Coleman, owner of the Recovery Room where the nurses and doctors used to congregate, had called Jason when the former's bar went up in smoke due to faulty wiring. He just wanted to check that Tuesday nights were generally quiet at Jake's, since it was situated on the waterfront and all, before he recommended his customers take their clientele to Jason's. Considering the professional courtesy Coleman was extending him, Jason said the doctors and nurses would be fine, it really wasn't that busy on Tuesday and he'd be able to keep anyone in line who tried to cause some problems.

Of course, once the good lady doctors and nurses began coming in, Tuesday night traffic picked up a bit. But when they sat at the bar, didn't interact with others, and Jason didn't put up with anyone harassing them, the initial curiosity surge died down and the ladies were left in relative peace. They brought their troubles and woes from the job or their lives, but they didn't get any fresh ones at his bar. And they seemed to appreciate that, if their generous tips were any indication.

The ladies that came in to his bar seemed an unlikely group, but he supposed they were bonded together by the commonality of medicine. A shrink, an OB/GYN, a researcher, a med student and a surgical nurse where the ones who came in every week, though they were joined on occasion by other colleagues. But those five women were the heart of the group. And over the many weeks that they'd been coming to his bar for beer and tequila shots, he'd gotten to know them. As well as any bartender can get to know his clients. He knew their joys, their boys, their enemies and their sorrows. And he kept them all to himself as a good bartender should.

So he was surprised when on a busy Saturday night, when the place was crowded with dock workers and crewmen from the freighters, to see the nurse known as Elizabeth come through the door. She didn't come to the bar like she did every other time, she sat at a table on the side and ordered a bottle of tequila and one glass from the waitress. It didn't appear that she was expecting her friends to join her. She also didn't seem to be very aware of her surroundings, even though every man in her vicinity was aware of her. And Jason didn't like it.

He kept an eye on her as best he could through the crowd, and instructed the waitress to do the same. She was under no circumstances, to get any other liquor than what she had, and if the bottle reached a quarter empty too fast, Sheila was supposed to come get Jason and let him know. He wasn't going to have the nurse getting sick, or worse, on his watch. Jason also instructed the bouncers to keep an eye on her and try to make sure nobody harassed her.

"Jason?"

He looked up and met Sheila's worried face over the bar and instantly knew it was about the nurse at table four. "What is it?" he asked.

"She's blown through a fourth of the bottle and is well on her way to half," the redheaded waitress admitted.

"You were supposed to let me know," he told her sternly.

"We got busy," she shot back, "and I'm telling you now. So go over there and take care of her like you know you want to."

Jason glared at the waitress as she walked away, but Sheila did have a point. Jason did want to go talk to her, because he was worried about Elizabeth Spencer. When people acted out of character, Jason knew that things were wrong. He'd taken her and the other ladies of the Hospital Brigade's safety personally. He felt he'd owed it to them since Jake's wasn't the normal type of place they would hang out. And so he wanted to make sure that nobody harassed the nurse while she was in here well on her way to getting blitzed.

He poured two cups of coffee and headed over to her table, just in time by the looks of the dockworker sizing the petite woman up and standing up from his table. One stern look sent the man back to his seat and then out the door after his buddies guffawed at his abrupt change of plans. When he stopped at the table, the nurse looked up, her chestnut hair falling in thick waves around her face and her eyes soft and hazy with alcohol. She looked at him questioningly, but didn't say anything.

"I thought maybe you could use some coffee," he said as he sat down. "Slow down a little on the tequila. You don't have to make up for the fact that your friends aren't here."

She tipped her head to the side and tightened her hold on the tequila bottle. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I am a medical professional after all."

"You're also drunk," he told her. "And so you might want to sober up before you head back to your husband."

He passed the cup of coffee over to her and picked up his own to take a drink.

"My husband," she snorted. "What do you know about my husband?"

"That you think he's a good man," Jason stated. "He's a cop, a detective actually. I've heard you talking about him with the other ladies."

"Yeah, well, I'm a fool." She shook her head angrily. "He's not a good man. He's not a cop, even. He's a snake, and a cheat, and a criminal...and, he's no longer my husband."

Jason knew a few things about drunken ramblings, and figured that's what tonight was. She'd had a little tiff with the guy and she'd come in here to drink it away. He'd get her somewhat sober, put her in a cab and send her home. The next time she came in, she'd be singing the man's praises once more. If she even came back. Coleman nearly had the Recovery Room repaired; the Hospital Brigade would be heading back to their normal port of call.

"You don't even want to know?" she asked him, tipping her head once more to the side. "I thought that as a bartender, you'd be curious."

"Usually I just listen when people talk," he said. "I rarely have to ask questions."

"I think that I should have asked more of them," Elizabeth stated. "Like why he was always gone on an assignment, but I'd see his partner off duty. Like why he said he didn't want to start a family and was relieved when I got a negative pregnancy test a few months ago. Like why our money situation suddenly changed."

Jason sighed and crossed his arms, resting them on the table. He knew what those signs meant. Classic adulterer behavior. It was a shame really, a woman like her having her husband cheat on her. The guy must be an idiot. Jason couldn't imagine having a woman like Elizabeth Spencer in his life and then cheating on her with some floozy.

"Turns out," she continued on, "he was on the take."

His eyebrows rose up in surprise, he hadn't been expecting that. "What?"

"He was on the take," she repeated. "He was on Lorenzo Alcazar's payroll, the inside man in the police station. Ever wonder why the cops could never pin anything on the mobster? My husband was the reason. He tampered with evidence, tipped off Alcazar about police raids, and was even out doing low-level assignments for him. That's why Lucky is no longer on the police force and he's no longer my husband."

"You divorced him?"

"I'm a widow," she stated with a shake of her head.

Jason's eyes widened once more. A widow. She was too young to be a widow. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she shook her head again. "I'm not. I would have divorced him anyways. But I'm the reason he's dead. I found some things I shouldn't have. Some papers with account numbers, shipping manifests, other things like that. It was all part of Alcazar's operation, and I picked up the wrong folder and took it to work. I gave it to my ex-husband the D.A.; we were selling some property we'd bought while we were married and had to deal with a bunch of paperwork. When Lucky came to the hospital to get the file back, Ric had some policemen there to arrest Lucky. They'd also arrested Lorenzo Alcazar."

"When did this happen?" Jason asked. He hadn't seen anything about this in the papers, and a bust this size would certainly have been splashed above the fold for weeks.

"Today," she sighed. "And tonight, someone slipped into Lucky's holding cell and killed him. Either that, or Lucky really is that much of a coward and hanged himself rather than face responsibility for what he's done."

"This happened today?" he asked in surprise. Now he understood her behavior. She was in shock. First stage of the grieving process.

"And now...now I'm marked."

Jason swallowed and blinked, certain he hadn't heard that right. "You're what?"

"I'm marked," she repeated flatly. Yep, she was definitely in shock. "I found this," she took a piece of paper out of her pocket and placed it on the table between them. Jason eyed it, but didn't pick it up.

"It was in my locker, I found it as I was rushing to the police station after Mac called me about Lucky. It said that Lucky was just the first, and I would soon be joining him. Don't forget," she said, "I'm also the reason Lorenzo Alcazar was arrested today. I doubt his associates are too pleased with that, or me."

"Did you tell the cops?" he immediately asked.

"And what are they going to do?" she snorted. "They couldn't stop Lucky from dying? Do you really think they're going to be able to protect me?"

She gave a shake of her head. "Nope, that's why I'm here. I plan on getting nice and drunk tonight. That way it won't hurt when Alcazar's men find me and kill me."

"Stay here," Jason ordered her as he suddenly stood up.

"Don't worry," she laughed flatly, snagging the tequila bottle he'd let go of. "I don't plan on moving until you toss me out of the bar."

"Good," he murmured, scanning the bar and then narrowing in on the people he was hoping to find.

He crossed the room, stopping at the corner table in front of a group of men who looked as out of place in his bar as Elizabeth did. They were dressed in suits and ties instead of flannel and jeans like the rest of the dockworkers.

"I need a favor," Jason said without preamble.

One of the men looked up, a tall man with searching green eyes. "What?"

"I need a favor," Jason repeated, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the table. "I need you to pass a message to your boss."

"Why should we?" another one asked. He was younger, probably more inexperienced given the way the other two men at the table glared at him when he spoke.

"Because I think Sonny Corinthos will be interested," he said. "See the brunette at the table by jukebox?"

The first man looked around Jason and nodded. "Yeah."

"She's Elizabeth Spencer and she's the reason Lorenzo Alcazar was arrested today. She's also been threatened by his associates and her husband's been killed. I want Mr. Corinthos to protect her."

"Why should he?" the previously silent man of the trio, a big, beefy mountain of a man, asked.

"Because if she dies, Lorenzo Alcazar will walk again," Jason stated. "I get that Sonny Corinthos might not care what happens to some nurse he doesn't know, but he probably doesn't want to see Alcazar back out on the street."

The first man looked up at Jason, "She's really Spencer's wife?"

"His widow," he answered. "And she's the one who found the file and gave it to the D.A."

"I'll make the call," he said, reaching into his suit for his cell phone. "Max, Milo, don't let her out of your sight. You realize, Mr. Morgan," the man Jason knew as Johnny said while he held the phone to his ear, "That you owe Mr. Corinthos."

Jason nodded, and knew that he could kiss a quarter of his profits every month good-bye. "Yeah."

One In The Hand
Prompt - Crackheads aren't all that detail oriented.

Elizabeth Webber hated set-ups. There was always something inherently dirty built in with a blind date. It made her feel like a loser who was unable to attract a man on her own. Plus, there was always a factor of fear in the situation. Despite what the person said, how much did they really know about the person they were sending her off to meet? For all they knew, the guy could be a homicidal maniac, or a pervert. Would he expect certain things of her because they'd been set up by mutual friends? She hated the whole awkwardness of the situation, and tried to avoid them when she could.

She hadn't been able to avoid it this time.

Her best friend and roommate Emily had arranged this particular set-up. Claimed that she had found the perfect man for Elizabeth, and all she needed to do was go meet him. Emily at least agreed with Elizabeth's personal rule of meet the guy for the first date at a neutral location; never have him pick her up at home.

The only problem with this was Emily was a flake. Her best friend would probably forget her head if it wasn't attached to her shoulders. She constantly flitted through life forgetting things. Car keys, wallet, purses were constantly hunted for, or dashed back into a store or restaurant for. Groceries had actually been left in the cart, in the parking lot as Emily drove away from the store. Elizabeth constantly felt like she was picking up after her friend, or making sure she had everything before they left the house or a restaurant. It was an exhausting way to live sometimes.

So, when Emily had declared that Elizabeth's dream man had been found and all she needed to do was meet him, Elizabeth had been skeptical. After all, she'd met men Emily had sworn were perfect for her before, only to want to stick a fork into her eyeball before the first course had been served. After the last time, when Elizabeth had feigned an attack of appendicitis simply to get out of the date, she'd told Emily that there would be no more set-ups. Ever again. And she meant it this time.

It had worked for all of six months.

Then Emily began talking about having found the perfect man for her. And wouldn't Elizabeth just at least consider meeting him? She could even meet him with Emily and Nikolas around to be a safety net. Elizabeth had staunchly refused.

When Emily moved out of their apartment and in with Nikolas, Elizabeth had breathed a sigh of relief. While she would miss her best friend, at least she might now get a reprieve from the blind date fix-up. No such luck. Emily continued to pester her, and Elizabeth dug her heels in stubbornly.

Until Elizabeth's boss had sprung a horrible announcement on her. The company's Winter Gala was in two weeks, it was black tie, and she was strongly encouraged to bring a date. Of all the backwoods, lame, borderline illegal practices... However, she'd heard enough about what happened if one showed up stag to the party, and decided that maybe just for one night she could put aside her indignation and go with someone. The only problem was there seemed to be a dearth of men available.

So, Elizabeth had called Emily and eaten crow. She left a message for her friend saying that she would be willing to meet the guy Emily had in mind, to see if they got along. And if they did, she'd invite him to be her escort to the Winter Gala. Then she'd either continue on, or say thank you, and change her phone number.

Emily had called back just as Elizabeth was about to enter a meeting, squealing with glee that Elizabeth had finally relented. She attempted to sing the guy's praises, but Elizabeth couldn't afford to be late to her meeting, so she'd had to cut her friend off. She'd also been unable to finalize plans of where to meet the guy, and Emily was heading out of town with Nikolas for a weekend of skiing, so Elizabeth told her to call her voice mail, or leave a message with her secretary and give her the details.

Emily had apparently decided to do one better. She'd dropped by and left a note on Elizabeth's desk on her way out of town. The only problem was, Emily had worse handwriting than a doctor. When her friend was excited, the illegibility factor increased. Emily had been ecstatic, and the note looked like Sanskrit. The only things Elizabeth had been able to make out was the name of the place they were supposed to meet, the word brother, and the first half of the time Elizabeth was supposed to be there. The first number was a 7. It could have been 7:00 or 7:30, so Elizabeth had shown up at Jake's a little before 7 o'clock and hoped for the best. She couldn't make out the guy's name, so she hoped that he at least knew hers.

With a sigh, Elizabeth checked her watch, and then looked at Emily's note once again. It was now after 8. She'd been sitting in the bar for over an hour, and her perfect man hadn't shown up yet. Squinting, Elizabeth wondered if maybe the 7 was actually a 9. In which case, Mr. Perfect wasn't late, she was incredibly early. And feeling like a fool. She knew this had been a bad idea. She could have just asked Emily to borrow Nikolas for the night of her company's party. That way she came with an escort, but didn't have to worry about any of the messy entanglements that went with dating. They would both know the score, and everything would be fine.

Maybe she should just go. On Monday she'd tell Emily that she'd changed her mind, she must have gotten the time wrong and she'd ask her friend to apologize to the guy and that'd be it. It really would be the best all around. She fished in her purse and pulled out enough money to cover the sodas she'd ordered, then stood and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair.

"Were you leaving?"

She jumped at the voice right behind her and turned around to face a man with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Like frost in winter, they were clear and haunting.

Giving a smile to cover her nervousness, she nodded. "Yeah. Unless by chance you're here because you know Emily?"

"Emily?" he echoed. "Emily Quartermaine?"

When she nodded, he did as well. "She's my sister."

This was Emily's brother? Since she'd already met A.J., she could only come to the conclusion that this was Jason Morgan, the black sheep of the Quartermaine family. Emily's brother. This was the guy that Emily had set her up with? Elizabeth swore to take back every bad thought she'd heaped upon Emily in the past hour. Maybe Emily had actually done something right, for a change.

"You're Jason?" she asked. Then she held out her hand. "I'm Elizabeth Webber. I used to be Emily's roommate until she moved in with Nikolas."

The wary look in Jason's eyes melted away and he gave a half grin. "Emily mentioned you quite a bit on the phone. Still does, actually."

"So when did you move back?" she asked, draping her coat once more over the back of the chair and gesturing towards the free one for Jason. He followed her move when she sat back down.

"I moved back a couple of weeks ago," he said. "I've been down in Puerto Rico for a couple of years for work."

"I bet Emily's excited to see you," Elizabeth stated. She was content to just make small talk for a little while. No sense in rushing right into the fact that they were there because Emily set them up. They could relax, talk, get to know each other a little bit before bringing up the Gala and the whole reason for tonight.

He shrugged a little. "I actually haven't had a chance to see her yet. We've talked, but I've been busy getting settled in, catching up with work."

"Did you get your apartment all set up?" she asked.

Jason shook his head. "I'm actually renting a room here," he said. "I don't need much space. Don't have very much."

"That's right," Elizabeth nodded. "Emily mentioned a couple of times you were a minimalist. Said all you need is a pool table, your motorcycle and a bottle of beer and you're happy."

"Yeah, pretty much," he agreed.

"So you must like living at Jake's," she said with a tip of her head towards the pool tables along the side of the room.

"I like to play when it's less crowded," he said, leaning forward and crossing his arms to rest against the table. "I don't like people trying to hustle me."

"Too bad," she said, the corners of her mouth tipping down slightly. "I was going to ask if you wanted to play a game. I thought you might be able to scare a few people away from a table."

When he eyed her curiously she gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I just meant because you're taller. I don't even bother trying to get a table when it's crowded because everyone just ignores me because of my size."

"You play?" he asked, a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"Your sister dragged me here more times than I can count and taught me how to play. Then she stopped coming when I started to beat her more than I lost."

"Would you like to play a game?" he asked, pushing back his chair and standing up.

"I'd love to," she smiled and stood as well. "Would you like anything to drink? I'll get them while you get us a table."

"A beer," he said. "Anything cold in a bottle."

"Simple enough," she grinned, "I'll be right back."

It was a lot more fun playing pool with Jason than with Emily. He actually made her have to think about her shots, he challenged her. They talked sporadically as they worked the table, slowly sharing a bit more about themselves. Jason was a man of few words, but Elizabeth decided that the words he did speak were enough. He was honest, thoughtful, and while she may not be ready to declare he was the perfect man for her, he was a lot better than any of the other losers Emily had tried to set her up with in the past.

There were only a few balls left on the table when the door to Jake's opened and someone pushed his way in. A few of the patrons grumbled as he stumbled into them, and Elizabeth and Jason looked up to watch his progress. When he seemed to be heading directly towards their table, Jason stiffened and Elizabeth looked at the stranger curiously.

"Elizabeth?" the tall, dark-haired man asked. He sounded out of breath, like he'd run here, and his hair was a little wild. She was glad the table was between them, because she didn't know the man and based on the almost frantic way he was looking at her, she wasn't sure she wanted to know him.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

His shoulders sagged, while his eyes brightened with relief. "I knew it. You're exactly as Emily described you."

Elizabeth glanced over at Jason, then back to the stranger. "Emily?"

He nodded. "I'm Lucky. Emily set us up. I'm sorry I'm late. I was supposed to meet you here at seven."

Confused, Elizabeth looked between Jason and Lucky, and didn't understand. She thought Jason was the fix up, and now Lucky came in claiming he was. "I...what?"

"Emily told me you agreed to finally meet me," Lucky said, wiping his palms across the front of his jeans. He still sounded breathless. "She said that you have a company party coming up and need a date for it, and thought that maybe we could go."

Elizabeth gave a little shake of her head. No, this wasn't how this night was supposed to go. She was enjoying playing pool with Jason, she was thinking that it would be nice to go the Gala with him. Who was this Lucky person now coming in to ruin it? And why did he look so strange?

"Listen," Jason said, speaking for the first time. "I think that you should sit down. Or maybe you should just go. Jake doesn't allow drugs in her place."

Elizabeth's eyes widened and she looked at the two men. Drugs? Then it seemed to click for her. The disheveled appearance, the rapid breathing...the guy was high as a kite. What kind of loser had Emily set her up with this time?

"I'm not on drugs," Lucky growled at Jason. "I'm just a little late for my date with Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He peered at her, almost desperate looking. "No, Emily told me that we were meeting here tonight. I'm Nikolas' brother; she thought it would be cool if the four of us went out some time."

"Sorry," she repeated again, lying, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm here with Jason."

She winced just a bit when Jason looked over at her sharply. She'd apologize to him later, once the drugged out man left.

"No," Lucky said, now getting agitated. "Emily told me."

"I doubt you know what she told you," Jason said, grabbing Lucky's arm and steering him towards the bouncers that were crossing the room. "But you need to go. And don't come back here again."

The closest bouncer grabbed Lucky's arm and started leading him towards the door; Lucky protested the entire way. Elizabeth stood there, arms limp at her side, and watched the spectacle. Once he was outside, she turned towards Jason and shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "For...for implying we were together. I just...I thought it might be the easiest way to get him to go."

A strange look crossed his face before he quickly shook it away. "It's okay. But why did my sister set you up with him?"

Road Trip
Prompt - Let's not argue

Elizabeth Webber needed a cigarette. Actually, right now, she would kill for one. And she had the perfect victim in mind. Jason Morgan; pain in her butt. She was ready to rip off his arm and beat him to death with it.

She wondered how her doing him a favor had turned into this.

Actually, it wasn't him she was doing the favor for, it was his sister Emily. All Elizabeth knew was that Emily was going to owe Elizabeth for this. Big time. She'd actually begun making a list of things to say and ask for when Emily said 'Thank you, Elizabeth, I owe you so much.' Her friend did, and this time Elizabeth was going to collect on it.

A blue road sign flashed by the passenger window, and Elizabeth closed her eyes in silent prayer. Gas station up ahead.

"Pull off at the next exit," she said, breaking the stone cold silence that enshrouded her car. Jason Morgan didn't like music on when he drove, so the radio was off. In fact, he'd actually slapped her hands when she tried to turn it on.

"No," he said, not taking his eyes off the road. "We have plenty of gas; you just ate a candy bar. There's no need to stop."

"I said there is," she told him. "So take the next exit."

"No."

"Look, you blockhead," she growled at him. "Pull off at the next exit and stop at the gas station."

"You have to pee?" he shot her a look. "You just peed when we filled gas."

"No, I don't need to pee," she huffed. "And even if I did, it's none of your business. We aren't in school, I don't need a hall pass from you. I want you to stop."

The exit whizzed by, he didn't get off the highway. She turned to glare at him. "Um, McFly, you missed the exit."

"I told you we're not stopping."

"You told me?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "And just who are you to tell me what we are and aren't going to do?"

"I'm driving," he stated, as if that explained everything.

"It's my car!" she shouted at him. "I didn't ask you to drive, I didn't want to drive. I asked for my keys back, I demanded my keys back and you won't give them back. In fact, you reached into my purse at the restaurant and took them out. That's stealing, you-"

"Now, now," he chided her. "Temper, temper."

"In about two seconds I'm going to show you temper, temper when I impale you with my high heel shoe."

"Look, kid," Jason said, glancing at her briefly before returning his gaze to the road.

"I am not a kid," she snapped.

"You're twenty-one."

"No," she shook her head. "Your sister is twenty-one. I happen to be twenty-five."

He looked at her again, this time a slightly longer, appraising look. "Really? You look younger than that. Emily said you guys were roommates before she moved back home."

"I was getting my masters," she informed him coolly. "Besides, it doesn't matter how old I am. This is my car. I'm giving you a ride because Emily asked me to. So stop acting like you're the boss and that you own everything. I want you to stop at the next town."

"Why?"

"Because I said so!" she shouted.

"You know, you're rather annoying," her obnoxious passenger turned anal captive told her.

"Yeah, well you're very annoying," Elizabeth shot back. "You take my keys, drive my car and tell me what I can and can't do and then don't even take anyone else's comfort into consideration. And Emily wonders why a great guy like you can't get a girlfriend. Gee, I wonder why. Nobody wants to date a jerk who thinks that women are their personal property."

She looked out the window and raked her hands through her hair, clenching her fingers in the strand and tugging. "I need a cigarette."

"You shouldn't smoke," Mr. Bossy informed her. "They're bad for you."

"Yeah," she arched a brow, "so's the gun you're carrying. But you don't see me passing judgment on you."

His startled gaze flew over to hers before once again returning to the road. Now he seemed slightly tenser, a little more uneasy around her. "How-"

"Did I know you were packing?" she asked with a shake of her head. "I'm not completely stupid, despite your less than stellar opinion of me. Besides, Emily's told me enough about you that I can read between the lines and figure out what you do for a living."

"I run a coffee warehouse," he said. A reply so rote and rehearsed she actually laughed. Did people really buy that?

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba." Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and then rolled her neck trying to relieve some of the tension. "I don't care what you do for a living, I'm not going to call the cops or turn you in. I simply don't like you because you're a jerk. You never asked if you could drive, you simply took the keys. You won't let me listen to my radio. When we stopped for gas, you wouldn't let me go in and get anything from the store after I got out of the bathroom because you insisted we had to leave and if I went into the store you'd actually leave me behind."

She twisted slightly on her seat so she could face him better. "Your sister would go on and on about you. How you were so wonderful, how you were so caring and thoughtful and considerate of other people. From where I'm sitting, I think she got you and your other brother confused."

"What?" Jason's head whipped around so fast he jerked his shoulders and the car swerved until Jason realized what he'd done and corrected the wheel.

"What?" she parroted. "I've met A.J. He came out and helped Emily pack up when she moved back home. He was polite, apologized for the disruption since I was in the middle of writing a paper, and then took all of us out to dinner before he and Emily left.

"You, on the other hand," she gave a pointed look to him, "have glared, glowered and snarled at me from the moment I picked you up. I was five minutes late because of an accident that slowed traffic and you asked me if I was always this inconsiderate and disrespectful. You complained when I turned on the radio to get the traffic report, and then when I put in a CD you huffed and puffed until I finally turned it off. You about bit my head off when I stopped for lunch, insisted we get it to go, and that's when you commandeered the keys to my vehicle and haven't given them up. It's now approaching dinner time and somehow I'm getting the feeling that you're not planning to stop for that or to sleep tonight. Do I get a lollipop for guessing correctly?"

"Do you always complain this much?" he asked with exasperation. "Or is simply the nicotine craving?"

"No, it's just a natural reaction to you," she smiled overly sweet at him. "I guess you just bring out the best in me."

"Lucky me," he grumbled.

"Look," she sighed with extreme annoyance. "If you hate the arrangement this much, let's just end it. We'll stop at the next town and put you on an airplane, or a bus, or rent you a car, or better yet...I'll just leave you on the side of the road."

Jason looked over at her and arched a disbelieving brow. "You need a cigarette that bad?"

"I think I'd take a hole in my head to be rid of you," she told him truthfully. "I don't understand why Emily begged me to help you out. Clearly, if you are who she's made you out to be, you have plenty of money. You could rent a plane and be home a lot quicker than this little trip will get you there."

"I like driving," he shrugged.

"You afraid of flying?"

"No."

"I just asked," she gave a shrug of her own. "I mean, some people hate to fly and they'd rather drive. No matter how long it takes. I just wondered if that was the case. But since it's not, why are you here?"

He shifted on his seat, leaning forward slightly before settling back once more. "Emily didn't want you driving by yourself."

Elizabeth laughed. "I thought Emily said you don't lie."

"What?" he puzzled.

"That is the biggest lie ever," she told him bluntly. "I one time drove a thousand miles by myself to help Emily out. I don't mind driving by myself, in fact I like it. I like to plan out trips, take the scenic route, stop at all those little roadside markers and see the world's largest rubber band ball. Emily knows that, she accepts it, and when I told her I was going to come out and visit her, she asked how long I thought it would take and where I was planning on stopping along the way. She wasn't at all worried."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elizabeth thought back to the sudden phone call she'd received from her friend, asking her for a huge favor. It had happened the day before she was supposed to go, and Emily had sounded desperate...almost panicked for Elizabeth to agree. Her brows furrowed as she tried to remember exactly what her friend had said. Somewhere in there was a clue to this situation, because it clearly wasn't what it appeared to be on the surface.

She turned to look at the man who was now looking way too intently at the road and asked, "What's the real reason Emily wanted me to give you a ride?"

Silence was her only answer.

"Was she trying to set us up?"

His jaw clenched.

"Was she just being cute...oh my best friend and my brother traveling together?"

Jason's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

"Did she get amnesia and forget who I really am?"

They passed a highway patrol car on the median and his hands clenched around the steering wheel.

"Did she get a lobotomy?"

Jason looked down at the speedometer and eased off the gas just a little, bringing them exactly to the speed limit.

"Was she abducted by aliens?"

The cop car pulled out onto the highway and Jason's shoulders tensed.

"Am I being used as a patsy?"

Jason gave himself away when his eyes darted towards her and then quickly away.

"You're using me, aren't you?" She ran her tongue over her teeth and hugged her arms around herself. "You're on the run from the cops and I'm your traveling companion. The cops are probably looking for your vehicle, looking for a man traveling alone, nobody would look twice at a couple traveling together."

He swallowed and looked once again in the mirror, then straight ahead as the highway patrol car drew level with them. She looked at Jason, then at the cop car, and then straight ahead as well. Her best friend had used her. Her brother was on the lam and Emily, Emily, had used her to help him out. She never would have believed it of her friend. She was half-tempted to suddenly start waving her arms hoping to attract the cop's gaze, or grab the wheel and force the car off the road. But instead, she sat there, staring straight ahead as the cop car passed them, kept going, and then pulled onto the divider between the two sides of the highway once more, this time facing the opposite direction.

Jason let out an imperceptible sigh and once the highway patrol car had disappeared over the horizon, he turned on the signal and exited the highway. "Do you have a map?"

"What?"

"Do you have a map?" he asked with impatience.

"Yes," she retorted. "Why?"

"Find out where this road goes and if it connects up to another highway or state route. I want to put some distance between us and the cop."

"Why should I?" she asked.

He looked over at her, his blue eyes snapping. "What?"

"Why should I?" she repeated. "You've practically held me hostage in my own car and now I find out that you're using me as an alibi. What's worse, my supposed best friend was in on it and set me up. So why exactly should I help you just because you're suddenly worried about yourself?"

"I'll stop and get you your cigarettes," he tried to bargain with her.

She laughed and scornfully tossed her head. "Buddy, you really do think I'm a fool, don't you? If you want my help and my cooperation, you're gonna have to do a whole lot better than some measly cigarettes."

"What do you want?" he asked. "Money? I can pay you for your inconvenience."

"Now I'm offended," Elizabeth tsked at him. "I don't want your money...I want the truth."

Death Calls Twice
Prompt - When it appears you have killed the monster, never check to see if it's really dead

Zander Smith was dead. Or at least, whatever foul, demonic beast that had possessed the unsuspecting man was actually dead. Elizabeth's blood thrummed with adrenaline and she leaned forward, resting her hands against her knees as she fought to catch her breath. Her parents thought her desire to run track had been a waste of time, she should have gone for a nice team sport that she could put on her college resume to show that she cooperated and worked well with others. Track was too isolated, too individual, it would label her for the loner she was.

Good thing she hadn't listened to her parents. Her track training had just saved her life. The volleyball team would have been useless in a situation like this.

"What the he-"

"Don't say it," Emily Bowen hissed from beside her as she clapped her hand over Elizabeth's mouth. The younger woman was panting harder than Elizabeth was, but she'd still rallied herself to prevent Elizabeth from invoking the name of evil. "We're already dealing with the foul beasts, we don't need to give them more power by speaking the name of their creator's residence."

"Alright," she agreed soothingly. She didn't entirely believe in not speaking the name, she felt that to not speak something in the name of fear gave fear too much power, but Emily had already seen enough tonight and there was no sense in agitating the brunette further just for another debate on the matter.

Trying a different tactic she asked, "What was that?"

"I don't know," her friend shook her head. "I've never seen one move like that before, and I've never seen them be able to actually walk across water before. That's always been an ability exclusive for angels and demi-gods."

"Until now," Elizabeth pointed out. "He was going to Spook Island and he wasn't going to bother to wait for the launch."

"Can we please not call it Spook Island?" Emily asked with a shudder as if someone had just walked over her grave. "I hate it when people call it that."

Elizabeth turned away in silence. Sometimes she wondered how exactly Emily had gotten involved in the Organization. In a world that was kill or be killed, there actually were shades of grey and Emily hadn't been forced to join. She'd chosen to, and one would think that when someone decided to become an active hunter of all things that went bump in the night, one would develop a thicker skin. But Emily had remained as wide-eyed frightened of things as the day she'd joined. While Elizabeth loved Emily like a sister, she did get annoyed with the younger woman sometimes.

"Fine," she huffed out, "he was headed for-"

"I know where he was heading," Emily interrupted. "But the only thing that matters now is that he's dead. You caught him in the neck with a silver knife at the same time I caught him in the back with a silver-tipped arrow. One minute he was up on the water, the next he was sinking like a stone. They can't survive water...so he's dead. We can head back and tell everyone that there's one less demon roaming around Port Charles."

"I don't know if I'd say that," Elizabeth hedged as she continued to scan the harbor. "The fact that he didn't shy away from the water, that he was able to walk on it...I think we're dealing with a different species all together. How do we know that water will end him?"

"If the water didn't kill him, then the knife and the arrow - and the fact that both of them were silver - should have done the trick." Emily walked up to her friend and placed her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "It's okay to relax now, Elizabeth. We got him. And we need to get back and check in with the others."

She didn't like it, she didn't have a good feeling about it, but Elizabeth was forced to go along with it. She would have felt much better if she'd actually seen the beast turn to ashes, then she'd know for sure that they'd killed the demon. But they'd just have to believe, to exercise a little faith as their leader always chided them to do, and accept that the logical conclusion was that they'd won this time. They certainly couldn't drag the harbor looking for a body that was supposed to vaporize upon destruction, and despite the fact that she was with her partner, it wasn't safe to stay much longer on the docks.

The rule of two was good for most matters, and it for the most part kept everyone safe. But the docks were completely different. People rarely ventured down here during the day without a small group, to be here at night with only two was bordering on recklessness and potential suicide. She didn't need to get her butt pinned to the wall over this. They were allowed an exemption because they'd been in pursuit, but they wouldn't be forgiven for standing around here forever. If the head of their organization didn't chew her out, then his second in command certainly would and she didn't feel like enduring another lecture from the arrogant prick.

"Let's go," she told Emily and the other woman sagged with relief and fairly lit up like a Roman Candle.

As they headed up the stairs, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder and took one last scan of the water. She half-expected to see the demon rise from the water, and didn't know if she was disappointed or relieved when he didn't.




"Have all the teams reported in?" Sonny asked as he stood in front of his band of fighters.

"All but one," his second-in-command informed him. "Bowen and Webber haven't made it back in yet."

Sonny resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the antagonistic tone that entered Jason's voice at the statement. While Sonny was worried for the pair, Jason was ready to write them up for some sort of rule violation as if this was the military instead of a group of people fighting off things the Army denied existed and ran the other way when they happened to encounter.

There had been no set time for everyone to be back, just a general time when everyone seemed to gravitate home. But it wasn't unusual for someone to be late, especially if they'd encountered something and were in the middle of a fight. It was simply that the team not back yet was led by Elizabeth Webber and Jason went out of his way to find fault with her. Sonny had talked to the younger man, but nothing had made a difference with him yet. It appeared that it was time for another round of 'it wasn't Elizabeth's fault Damien Spinelli died'. For all the good it would do.

"Stop and be recognized." The sentry's cry alerted everyone of an approach on the building and Sonny sighed with relief when he heard the answer.

"Sir Andrew Aguecheek."

Some might say that passwords and the like were outdated, but in a time when someone could be possessed or turned in a heartbeat, passwords - which didn't survive in someone's memory after such an experience - proved to be a sure way of making sure only those true to the Organization entered. Twelfth Night was a good choice for this week because nobody expected a comedy about Christmas to be the source of their passwords.

"You're late," Jason growled at Elizabeth as she and Emily walked in.

"We ran into a little trouble," she snapped at him, dropping her bundle of weapons on the side table. "Zander, or the beast impersonating Zander, gave us a spot of trouble."

When Jason looked ready to continue on with her reprimand, Sonny silenced him with a piercing gaze and walked over to Elizabeth and Emily. "What do you mean?"

"He cornered us on patrol and we had to fight. As soon as Emily pulled out her cross-bow he suddenly turned and ran. We chased him down to the docks."

"The docks?" Jason growled, but Sonny cut him off again.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes," Emily answered at the same time Elizabeth said, "We think so."

The younger woman turned and glared at the shorter woman. "We did. There was no way he could have survived."

"What do you mean?" Luke Spencer asked as he approached the pair. "What happened?"

"We're pretty sure he died," Elizabeth hedged with a sideways glance at her friend. "But we didn't actually see it."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Jason grumbled from his position where he was leaning against the wall. "You've always been sloppy and more than once you've left without completing the job."

The room fell silent when the petite brunette delivered a stunning round-house kick to Jason's jaw. "That's it!" she snapped at him. "I am sorry that Spinelli died. You don't know how sorry I am that your grasshopper, the man who idolized you and stroked your already overinflated ego died that day. I didn't shoot him, I didn't serve him up on a silver platter to the other side; forgive me for not being able to fight off the three demons who had me trapped quickly enough. I suppose I should have just let the werewolf bite me so that they'd leave me alone sooner and then I could have rushed off to save the two of you."

"Elizabeth," Sonny said softly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. She roughly shook it off like it burned.

"You never told me it was three against one," Jason suddenly accused him. "You never told me there was a werewolf."

"Would it have made a difference?" Sonny asked him. Back then Jason had been devastated over the young boy's death and Elizabeth had been wracked with a huge case of survivor's guilt. She told him that if Jason blaming her gave him the ability to get back and fight then she would deal with it, so he'd never told the younger man exactly what had happened.

"Look," Elizabeth interrupted. "None of that matters. We've got new problems. The reason I said we're pretty sure Zander's gone is because he disappeared into the water when I hit him with a knife at the same time Emily caught him with her cross-bow."

"You mean he fell back into the water?" Luke asked. "It probably happened so fast you just missed the shower of ashes."

"No," she clarified. "He sank into the water because apparently he was no longer able to run across it with an arrow sticking out of his back and a knife in his throat."

Once again the room fell silent and Sonny took a deep breath before he asked to clarify. "You mean he was running on the water?"

This time it was Emily who spoke up. The quiet, soft-spoken young woman had always been a bit reticent, a bit shy, and always a bit spooked by the whole war they were engaged in. If she believed something, then she believed, and if she actually said she saw something, then everyone took it as absolute truth. She wasn't quick to judgment like Elizabeth.

"He never even stopped when he reached the edge of the pier," she told them. "He just leapt and kept running like it was concrete."

"On the water?" Jason repeated.

"And then he sank like a stone," Elizabeth finished the narrative. "We stayed there for a few minutes, trying to catch our breath and figure out what happened. I watched the water, trying to see if he broke the surface, or for anything, but we didn't stay there long. We didn't feel like getting another one of your fabulous lectures about being out on the docks and how it's too dangerous in small groups. I didn't need you blaming me for the death of another person too innocent to be mixed up in all this mess."

"Elizabeth," Jason sighed.

"Save it," she sneered at him. "I don't want your freaking pity. What I want to do is research what kind of creature can actually run on water, 'cause I think we've got a whole new mess of problems here. He was heading towards Spook Island and I don't have to tell you the implication of that."

She wouldn't, because that's where Spinelli had died during the last time Sonny had actually tired to storm the island in an attempt to drive out the demonic forces. He'd carried his own guilt over that mission. They knew it was the enclave for the forces they fought against, and it appeared that new recruits were arriving in the city. That was the last thing they needed.

"Stop and be recognized."

The sentry's cry caught everyone off guard because everyone was apparently present and accounted for.

"Ollie ollie oxen free."

The other-worldly laugh that followed alerted everyone to danger and immediately the Organization scrambled to grab their weapons.

"It can't be," Emily whispered, shaking like a leaf as she grabbed her cross-bow.

"Zander," Elizabeth hissed. "Guess the little punk didn't die."

"Guess you'd better get on that research Webber," Jason said as he picked up his own weapons and readied to head out into battle.

"After we dispatch him," she agreed.

"No," Jason countered as he placed his hand on her arm. He hadn't touched her since the night Spinelli died, when almost-lovers suddenly became adversaries. "You saw what he did, and you're the best one to figure out exactly what he is and how we can make sure he doesn't come back."

"But I'm not a researcher," she shook her head. "I'm skilled with the blade."

"You are," he admitted. "But you're our best hope, Elizabeth, and I'll hold them off long enough for you to find out what foul beast we're fighting."

"That could take hours," she hedged conservatively.

"Then here's hoping we have some good luck for once," he said with just a hint of a smile. Then he stepped forward and kissed her. "I'm trusting you with my life, Elizabeth...I know you won't let me down."

Then he ran from the building, ready to enter the fight and Elizabeth watched him go with a stunned expression until he left the room. Then she whirled on the woman next to her and with fierce determination said, "Come on, Emily. We've got some research to do."

Honor and Duty
Prompt - A pumpkin and a princess

Jason Morgan was a simple man who led an uncomplicated life. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to a court Healer, Jason had faced the possibility of death by drowning before the end of the first day. An illegitimate daughter could be tolerated, and Alan had enough of those, and a place found for them to serve. However, an illegitimate son was potential trouble. He could become bitter with resentment over having the luxuries of life denied him simply because of the accident of his birth and seek to kill the legitimate heir in an effort to elevate himself.

However, Alan was a sympathetic man, and he could not let his child be killed simply because he was too weak of a man to stop his philandering ways. As a Healer to the court's Steward, Alan called in a favor, or twelve, and arranged for his son to be fostered out to a Captain in the Army. The man already had a son, Jason would be treated as a second son, and he would be cared for and fed, and trained for a career.

It was no surprise that he followed in his foster father's footsteps and joined the Army. He was skilled with weaponry and hand-to-hand combat; he could fire a bow but his true brilliance lay in his swordsmanship. None who faced Jason Morgan's steel lived to tell the tale. It was that skill that promoted him through the ranks. The man was a born tactician and he could inspire his troops to follow him, because he led them at the front instead of directing them from the rear. He was not afraid of battle, and his men would gladly follow him anywhere.

He'd been offered a position near the palace, a chance to be at Court and to rest a while from his fighting. He turned down every opportunity. He had no desire to grow soft standing around wearing a pretty tunic and holding a ceremonial sword. He preferred his leather and mail, a well-used sword at his side, and good honest soldiers who would fight shoulder to shoulder with him. He didn't want to deal with the rats at Court who would as soon stab him in the back if they thought it would advance their careers. Leave politics and intrigues to the diplomats, Jason preferred to settle his debates with his sword.

His superiors and his father all told him that he'd never advance past Captain if he did not spend some time at Court. Jason told them he didn't care to. He had his band of men that he trusted, that he worked well with, and knew would follow his orders. Because of his exploits and deeds, he was given his choice of postings, and that was all that mattered to him. He desired to be on the front lines, not in a cushy pavilion towards the back where squires fetched him hot water to bathe in and someone polished his boots. A mountain stream washed off the grime and polished boots gave away ones position. Jason Morgan was a warrior, not a toy soldier.

Yet, even warriors cannot ignore a summons to the Palace. These came every-so-often and Jason had learned to use them to his advantage. His men traveled back with him and had the opportunity to sleep in barracks instead of rolled up in their cloaks on the ground. They were able to buy supplies, repair broken armaments and eat warm, decent meals that didn't consist of whatever they'd brought down that evening. So when the summons came, Jason didn't like it, but he told his men to break camp and head for the Palace. At least they'd be able to get warmer blankets and cloaks for the coming winter months.

After a warm bath, a trim of his hair and beard and putting on his best uniform, Jason presented himself to the Palace Guard commander and reported for duty. He was surprised when the page led him not to the Captain General's quarters where he would have been forced to turn down another attempt at a promotion, but instead towards the Court Steward's quarters. Jason had never been there before, and found himself uneasy at the thought. Everyone knew that the Steward was the true ruler of the land; the king was a spoiled child who preferred to chase skirts, spend money and drink himself into a stupor every night than actually bother himself with his people.

The Steward negotiated peace treaties, trade agreements, improvements and programs for the populace and did his best to make sure the people of the country could feed and care for themselves when their King would have spent all the money in the Treasury on his vices. While Michael Corinthos was an honorable man, he was a man who did not tolerate dissent and more than one person who thought to line his greedy pockets with ill-gotten gain has swung from the tower's battlements as a warning to others. For him to summon Jason meant that this was more than just an ordinary trip to the Palace, and that made Jason uncomfortable. One never knew with the Steward, it was said, because the man was mercurial and unpredictable. Jason didn't like unpredictability.

"Come in, Captain," the Steward said after the page announced him. Sweeping his arm in welcome. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Ale, if you have it," Jason answered. He didn't care for mead or mulled wines, a favorite among the Court.

"My sources told me you favored ale," the older man smiled, and Jason wondered which sources those were; the human kind or the psychic abilities the man was purported to have.

The Steward poured two mugs of ale and then gestured for Jason to sit. He did, because to refuse would be rude, but he was on his guard. It wasn't normal for a man of the Steward's stature to do domestic tasks and either he was putting on a show, or he was seeking privacy for their talk. Neither one set well with Jason.

"No doubt you are wondering why I asked for you to join me," Lord Corinthos said with what was no doubt supposed to be a disarming smile.

"Yes," Jason nodded simply. Although they both knew it had been a command as opposed to an invitation.

"I have a job I need performed, and I need someone with your skills to execute it."

"Execute it?" Jason asked, one brow slightly raised. He may be in the Army, but he was not a hired assassin available to eliminate a political rival.

"A poor choice of words," the Steward waved his hand disarmingly. "I need someone with your skills on this mission. Your valor, your integrity, your loyalty to Country and Crown, they are all vital to this task. You could say that the future of the country depends on it."

Jason was enough of a soldier that he knew when to stay quiet. Superior officers liked to unveil their grand plans in their own manner and he suspected that Lord Corinthos was no different. So he took another sip of his drink, enough to wet his lips but not enough to cloud his mind, and nodded his head.

"We have reason to believe that someone intends to kill one of the King's children."

A chilling thought, but Jason couldn't help asking, "Why do you need a soldier for this? Aren't the Palace Guards sufficiently trained?"

"They are," Lord Corinthos acknowledged, "but Elizabeth is not protected by Palace Guards."

Jason narrowed his eyes at the Steward. "The King has no child named Elizabeth."

"Not that he could officially claim," the other man admitted. "Elizabeth's mother was a courtesan and when it was discovered she was with child, she was established at the outer edges of the kingdom with a man willing to marry her and claim the child as his own. She has no knowledge of her true paternity and we had intended to keep it that way."

Disgust rolled through Jason. He himself had been pawned off on another family to hide the taint of his heritage, and the King himself done the same. At least Jason had learned the truth; Elizabeth had no idea her life was in danger due to her sire's true identity.

"We have learned that our neighbors to the south have discovered the King has another child, and they intend to use her as a bargaining chip to get a disputed tract of land without interference. Naturally the King does not wish for his daughter to be harmed."

"Naturally," Jason nearly sneered and the only reaction the Steward made was to raise his brow and sigh through his nose. "Since he can't send the Palace Guard without raising suspicion and officially laying claim to her, he intends to send the Army."

"I'm glad you understand, Captain," Lord Corinthos smiled. "You are to protect her at all costs and trust no one but the three men you personally select to accompany you on this mission. The rest of your patrol may take time to visit their families or may temporarily be assigned to another sector. They will be yours again to command once you have completed your assignment."

"And how long am I to be on this assignment?" Jason asked.

"Until I tell you she is safe," Lord Corinthos stated in a tone that brooked no opposition. Jason had the sudden feeling that this could take weeks, if not months.

"You will be compensated generously for your duties," the Steward said as he stood, signaling this meeting was over. He reached into his desk and drew out a sealed parchment, "this is the location of Maid Elizabeth's residence, a description of the child and a letter you are to deliver to Master Webber - her father - and him alone."

Jason nodded and tucked the scroll into his tunic and then bowed in response to the Steward's dismissal. As he made his way back to his men, his jaw clenched. He could only tell the three men he chose what their assignment was, and only when they were away from the Palace; the rest of his men would just have to accept their Captain had duties elsewhere. Jason was not looking forward to this assignment, and only hoped that it went better than the sinking feeling he had in his gut since the moment he'd received his orders.




He'd known right from the start that this mission was going to be trouble. He'd just never figured on how much.

He and his men had arrived in the far reaches of the kingdom just in time to save Elizabeth from the very people the Steward had feared. The village was burned, the Webber house had been the center point of the conflagration and her entire surrogate family had been murdered before her eyes. The young woman was in shock for the first night and that had actually been a blessing. Setting her before him on his mount, they rode far into the night until Max deemed it safe for them to take a few hours respite in an abandoned home.

As a steel-grey morning dawned, Elizabeth had demanded answers. Why had those men come after her? Why had they killed her family? And why had the leader of the group, before Jason dispatched him to his maker, claim that she was vital to their country's war against the King? Sadly, it had fallen to Jason to inform her of her parentage, and since the only father she had ever known was now dead, he let her read the letter the Steward had sent for Geoffrey Webber. She had wept for hours afterwards and his tunic had been thoroughly soaked by her tears.

Weeks turned into months and he and his small band of men roamed the countryside like nomads evading the roving groups of desperate men eager to be of service to the foreign king and capture the daughter of their enemy. The one place Jason wanted to go was off limits to him. She would be safest in the Palace, behind its thick walls and surrounded by its deep moat, but Lord Corinthos had forbidden her to come. Her very presence would set off an internal war, and he had to keep the country together to fight against their enemy. So Jason did his best and protected her, staying one step ahead of their enemies, and every day falling deeper into danger.

He hadn't meant to do it; in fact he'd fought against it. He avoided the not-quite-princess whenever he could - which wasn't easy given the circumstances - and was cold, distant and ever formal with her when he could not. She railed against him as the destroyer of her world for he had been the unfortunate deliverer of the news, but she knew it was he who oftentimes went without dinner so that she could have food in her belly at night. A grudging respect developed, and she stopped fighting against him so much. He no longer called her spoilt and could no more judge her for her sire's misstep than he could judge his own.

They bonded over their common heredity and she proved to be quite useful when things went from bad to worse and Milo caught a poisoned arrow-tip in his shoulder. They would sit in companionable silence at night after the others had rolled themselves into their cloaks, or sometimes she would amuse him with long, rambling tales that he listened to simply because he found he liked to see her smile and her infectious laughter. He knew he must not think these thoughts, regardless of being born on the wrong side of the blanket, she was still the king's daughter.

But Jason found that none of that mattered the night she kissed him, and it certainly didn't matter when he swore to her that he would gladly lay down his life to keep her safe. When this was all over, there would be a devil in the details to settle, but he knew one truth. He would ask the king for her hand, and he wouldn't accept any answer but yes. Besides, he had ace up his sleeve, she would go with him anywhere, and the king would want his grandchild born to parents who were wed. It was the least he could do for the daughter he could never actually acknowledge.

Clansmen
Prompt - "You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everybody dances with the Grim Reaper." ~ Robert Alton Harris

Mortals could really be so amusing. Death was inevitable, except for those lucky enough to be born with immortality, or those unfortunate enough to be cursed with it through unnatural means. Those who were by rights allowed to live forever spent their lifetimes hunting down those who were unnatural and did not belong free to roam around for eternity.

Humans never understood that inevitability. They did all they could to prolong their lives. With vitamins and supplements, exercise and deprivation, they did all they could to squeeze a couple of extra months, if not years, out of the thread of time and acted like they'd gained a major victory. How could it be a success, though, when a longer life was usually spent in a nursing home where the kids and grandkids might come by and visit and make sure your diapers were changed daily and that the staff wasn't robbing you blind?

It was why Jason Morgan thanked his lucky stars that he was never going to die of old age. While he might one day die, nothing could entirely prevent death due to war, he wouldn't be reduced to a doddering old fool gumming at his oatmeal and asking for Jeopardy! to be turned up by the nurse. He'd at least be allowed some dignity and if the gods were feeling conciliatory, he'd die with his boots on. He'd go down taking along some monster with him, and that would be enough for him.

It was why he tried to avoid cities when he could. He preferred the open country, searching out enclaves of evil and dispatching them. He had become a loner in the centuries he'd been alive, and the march of progress didn't interest him. He could take or leave a lot of the advances man had made over time, and it wasn't a hardship to him if he didn't have running water or electricity. He'd been around when electricity was discovered and read the newspapers that were all abuzz over indoor plumbing. He hadn't been particularly impressed.

His home, when he got the chance to actually go there, was a simple place. Oil lamps, wood burning fireplace, he went to bed when he grew tired of reading by a single candle and he rose with the sun. He had become a loner in the eons he'd been alive, and he didn't like the flashy nightclubs and the cities that never slept. He didn't like crowds and the only good use he had for cities were the bookstores they possessed.

But the evil he was bound by virtue of his birth to fight against wasn't content to hang out in the woods like they used to. Nobody went there anymore, they'd discovered, and so the monsters had adapted and learned to blend in, making themselves at home in metropolis after metropolis, being exposed to endless sources of life for them to feed off. So Jason was forced to follow them, and endure existence in a city, all to protect people who had no idea they were in danger.

Like Elizabeth Webber.

Right now she had no idea that she was in serious peril. Not that she was targeted for death; oh no, the creatures wanting to take her needed her alive. Very much alive. They needed her because she was a Healer.

Elizabeth Webber just thought she was a nurse, who'd studied hard, gave 110% to her job and had been fortunate enough to work beside good doctors who gave good care, performed delicate surgeries and prescribed the right medications to save her patients' lives. She had no idea that she, and she alone, was the reason her patients lived while so many others in similar circumstances and with similar illnesses did not. Because no one had told her that her mother was immortal and had been a powerful Healer in her own right. She believed that Monica Webber, wife to her father Jeff, had died in a rebel incursion in Uganda, instead of the ugly truth that she had died while fighting against the monsters intent on destroying the Black Continent.

Either Jeff Webber hadn't known, or he'd never told his daughter. It was an unfortunate oversight either way. Because Elizabeth would not understand his presence and why he was about to announce himself as her protector whether she liked it or not, and he had to do that before the foul beasts who were seeking her out needing her magical abilities to heal their leader grabbed her and impressed her into a lifetime of slavery. Since she was half-immortal, it would be a very long life.

Jason was now finding his loner lifestyle to be a detriment to him, because he had not yet found a way to approach Elizabeth. She worked at General Hospital during the day, and then spent most nights as a private nurse to an old woman whose family was paying Elizabeth handsomely to make the family's matriarch's last days on earth comfortable. They didn't know that Elizabeth was just prolonging her suffering because while she was powerful, she was also untrained. She had no idea that her mere presence was giving the woman just enough strength to remain alive, but wasn't actually healing her. Monica Webber could have healed the Quartermaine matriarch because she'd understood who and what she was, but her daughter Elizabeth had no idea because Monica hadn't lived long enough to impart her millennia of knowledge to her offspring.

Jason was determined to contact Elizabeth tonight. It was one of her two days off a week, a time when she would spend the evening in her apartment's laundry room making sure she had clean clothes until her next day off. Grocery shopping was tomorrow and it was too risky to be seen with her, and possibly abducting her from the store's parking lot. The laundry room was quiet, remote and would provide Jason a good opportunity to introduce himself and try to win her trust long enough so that they could talk. And if that didn't work, he could grab her clothes and her and drive her away on his motorcycle and no one would realize she was missing until she didn't show up for her shift at the hospital tomorrow.

It was a good plan in theory until Jason walked into the apartment complex's laundry room and saw that someone from the other side had the same idea and Elizabeth was amicably chatting up a pretty boy demon she thought was her new neighbor. Jason had always hated Lucky Spencer, and it would give him great delight to kill the foul creature before he left with Elizabeth.

He stepped into the room, his rubber-soled boots whispering silently over the linoleum floor, but the demon beside Elizabeth heard and looked over his shoulder quickly, his eyes flaring red when he spotted the Immortal. "What are you doing here, Morgan?"

Elizabeth looked up in surprise, both at Jason's sudden appearance and at the rapid change in the demeanor of the man beside her. Her hand went to her throat as she watched with wide blue eyes while Lucky stalked towards Jason.

"You should know better, Lucky, that I won't let you leave here with her."

"What?" the stunned Healer gasped. "What are you...I barely know him."

"That doesn't matter," the demon growled. "I've been watching you for a while, Elizabeth, just as I bet Jason has. We both want you...unfortunately for Morgan here, only one of us will win. Since he's too noble to hurt an innocent, I'll be leaving with the prize."

Elizabeth backed up away from the calculating gaze of the demon and while Lucky's attention was diverted Jason swung his fist, hitting the creature in the jaw and temporarily stunning him. As Lucky staggered back, Jason drew his weapon and swung down, the knife a silver arc, until it imbedded itself in the demon's chest. Elizabeth gasped, her color draining from her face and Jason reached out to grab her around the waist, while another hand reached for a second knife in case there were others around with Lucky.

"Don't touch him," Jason commanded sharply as Elizabeth tried to break free to help the injured man.

"He's hurt," she protested. "I'm a nurse."

"That's exactly why you can't touch him," he told her and then swore as Elizabeth's knees buckled when Lucky's flesh began to bubble and char as the demon beast was burned from the inside until he was nothing more than a pile of soot on the floor.

When he let her go to retrieve his knife, Elizabeth skittered away from him and demanded, "Who are you, and what...what just happened here?"

"I just saved your life," Jason stated. "And saved you from being taken by Lucky to his clan to heal his leader and being forced into a lifetime of slavery taking care of demons. So you might want to show a little gratitude."

Her brow arched up and Jason shook his head at the memory that action invoked. He had seen her mother do that so many times.

"What are you talking about, demons and slavery? There's..."

"There's no such thing?" Jason asked, quieting his voice as she stared at the scorch mark on the dingy flooring. "Look, I know this is a shock to you."

"No kidding," she said weakly as she sagged against the washer behind her. "I just...what happened here, tonight?"

"Listen," he tried gently. "I'll explain everything; who I am, who you are, your abilities, your mother...everything. But not here. We need to get you to safety because Lucky's clan wants you and when Lucky doesn't come back with you, others are going to come looking for you. I'd prefer we were gone when that happens."

She clearly was in shock, stunned enough that she nodded her head and picked up her clean laundry and walked to her apartment. Once inside, Jason kept one eye out the window while encouraging her to pack lightly, but warmly because they needed to get going.

"What do you know about my mother?" she asked him, startling him by breaking the silence.

"What?"

"You said you'd tell me everything, about me and my mother." She stopped and folded her arms over her chest. "I'm not leaving here until you tell me."

With a sigh, Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "You certainly have her stubbornness. Your mother's name is Monica."

"Anyone could find that out," she challenged him, and part of him was impressed that she wasn't just believing him blindly.

"She had a scar on her left forearm that she said she got when her brother pushed her off a fence, and she had a beauty mark on her left cheek that she always hid under make-up because she was self-conscious about it."

"Were you...were you in love with my mother?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head with a smile. "She was...she was part of my clan. A...distant cousin I guess you could say. We were born around the same time and we were friends."

Her eyebrows dipped in disbelief. "You're younger than my mother."

"Actually, I'm a couple of months older than her," he stated. "Or at least I would be if she were still alive. We were born three thousand years ago."

Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head, "Right. You expect me to believe that?"

"Whether you choose to believe it or not, Elizabeth," he told her, "It's the truth. You also have your mother's Healing abilities; it's what makes you a successful nurse. Many of your patients in the ER would die except for you sharing your strength and life force with them. Didn't you ever wonder why you were so drained after working at the hospital?"

"A twelve hour shift will tire anyone out," she countered.

"No, it's different for you, Elizabeth. You care about others and you don't want them to die, so without even realizing what you're doing, you share a part of yourself, a part of your soul with them and keep them alive. That's why Lucky was sent to capture you. And that's why I'm here to protect you."

He stepped forward and picked up her bag that she had placed at her feet. "I know that this sounds crazy and it's a lot to take in, but I...I have letters from your mother that she sent to me, and I...I have her journals and notes from when she was learning to focus and harness her power. You have to learn how to do that, Elizabeth, and you have to learn how to fight. Because there are more creatures like Lucky, and very few Healers like yourself. We need more of you in our fight, and I intend to make sure you stay alive long enough to make a difference."



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