A/N: My offering for the 2010 RTN Special Fan Fiction Challenge for Father's Day honoring Jason Morgan as a father. The quote I chose is complex but, I think, speaks to the many layers of the Jason Morgan we all fell in love with and not the character to which he's been reduced. For those of you unfamiliar with my writing, italics indicates interior thought and/or flashbacks. This is a one-shot. It's quite long and covers a lot of ground. This story is to honor all the men reading, to all the men in our lives who are fathers by blood, fathers in the true sense, and fathers of the heart. Enjoy, Lisa

SOMEDAY YOU'LL UNDERSTAND

Prompt:

"Until you have a son of your own . . . you will never know the joy, the love
beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son.

You will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more
than he is and to pass something good and hopeful into the hands of his son.

And you will never know the heartbreak of the fathers who are haunted by the personal
demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be."
~ Kent Nerburn, Author and Theologian

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Saturday, June 16, 2035

Queen of Angels Church - Port Charles, New York

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"Who presents this child for baptism?"

"His mother and I do," I answered as my wife and I looked down at our month-old infant son. Looking up I could see both my parents sitting side-by-side. I think my Dad was trying not to look proud. He always did that, tried to hide his feelings. Sometimes it was as though he didn't think he was entitled to have feelings like pride.

"Someday you'll understand."

I must've heard my Mom say this a million times. About Dad. It took me a long time to understand anything about my father. Some things about him were simple. Always keep your word, be as honest as possible, take responsibility for what you do, respect others, be forgiving. Other things were much more complicated.

Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure I understand him now. I remember when I first really met him. He'd been away for a long time.

I'd heard about him. Cam and I both heard about him from Mom and Gramma Monica. Cam already knew him a little because he was older than I was and remembered him coming to visit or to play with him in the park. But this was the first day I met him that I remember. It was not long after my eighth birthday at Gramma Monica's house.

Mom had shown me a lot of pictures of Jason Morgan. He was her good friend, but I didn't know until later that he was my Dad. She told me all about how he rode a motorcycle and how much he loved me. She told me that he thought about me all the time. Every day. And that one of the reasons he wasn't here with us was because he was doing something to protect his nephew, Michael, and as soon as he was finished he would be coming home and I could meet him.

She told me about the night I was born and how she had been in trouble and was all alone during a really bad storm. But Jason came and took her to the hospital. He stayed the whole time until I was born. She told me he was the very first person to hold me.

I remember that day I met him. I didn't know I was going to and that was probably a good thing. Cam and I had gone to Gramma Monica's to wish Grandfather Q a happy Father's Day. Looking back I realized that Jason, my Dad, was nervous when he saw me and Cam come into the room.

"Jason!" Cam cried out as he entered the room. I remember watching as Cam ran to the tall man and he was scooped up right away. My brother gave him a big hug and the tall man just squeezed him so tight I was afraid Cam wouldn't be able to breathe.

I remember being a little bit scared of him. He was so tall. He was so big. And he had a scar on his face to the side of his chin. It was long. Mom took my hand and walked me over to him.

"Jake, this is Jason, I've been telling you about him and you've been making pictures for him." I tried to pull away and then he sank down to my level.

"Hi, Jake," he said it so softly, even softer than Mom. "It's really good to see you, again."

He looked up at my Mom and then got up to talk to her. He said he didn't want to scare me and that he'd go so we could have a good time with Grandfather.

"Jake, don't be scared of Jason," Cam said. "He's really nice. He used to play motorcycles with me when I was little." Cam pulled on my hand, "Come-on!"

My brother looked up at Jason, "Jason you gonna be home now . . ."

That day no one really explained where he was that he couldn't be home. I didn't find out until years later that my father was in prison with my cousin Michael. That long scar on his jaw was from one of many knife fights he had defending Michael. I didn't find out a lot of things about Dad for a long time.

But, as I look back, I guess there are a lot of things kids don't know about their parents. It's probably because we're too young to understand their adult reasoning. Maybe because some of the decisions our parents make are just dumb. I know there are things I already don't want my son knowing about me.

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I focused on my son as Father Coates
asked, "What name have you chosen for this child?"

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I remember the day Jason and Mom got married. I was nine and Cam was twelve and it was a hot August day. I wasn't so sure about it. I mean, I liked Jason well enough but it had always been me and Cam and Mom. And now Jason was going to be living with us, too. It seemed weird.

That same day they told me and Cam that Jason was my natural father and was going to adopt Cam. I remember Cam laughed and told them that he already knew that Jason was my Dad. He said we looked alike.

Finding out that Jason was my Dad was something I didn't find funny at all. Oh, I had my suspicions because I do look an awful lot like him. But it took me a long time before I called him 'Dad' – a very long time. Not until I was well past my tenth birthday, almost eleven. Looking back now I regret that I made him wait so long, but I was a kid.

One of the first things I think I remember noticing about my Dad is that he's always quiet. And he seemed, sometimes to not want to be around us. Like at the ball field or when we had stuff for school. I remember he used to get even quieter when he would come and people would whisper about him. Mom told me that even when I didn't see him at my soccer games he was there. She'd point to where he'd be standing watching from the end of the field or from the woods by the field.

I didn't understand why he couldn't sit with her and the other parents. And she tried to explain to me then that in a lot of ways my Dad was really shy. But also he didn't want me and Cam to hear people call him names or call us names because he was our father. My eleven year old brain really didn't get it and again Mom said, "Someday you'll understand. Someday when you're older. You'll understand."

The other thing I remember is that he never yelled. Ever. And he was always happy to see us, me and Cam. He always told us that we were good kids and was happy when we had a good game or had fun with a friend. Mom used to like him to read to her and it became almost a nightly thing in our house to listen to Dad read to us before we went to bed, unless he couldn't be there. Sometimes he wouldn't be able to because he was working. I didn't find out until years later that working was a euphemism for 'arrested' or detained by the PCPD in some way.

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Father Coates prayed over my son, "I believe in God the
Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth . . ."

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That was the other thing that was different about my Dad from other Dads. Mom said he had a really dangerous job and that there were a lot of people that didn't like him. She told us we had people protecting us that we couldn't see. It wasn't until I was thirteen that we had to have guards around us that we knew about. My guards are Greg, Donny and Travis.

Oddly enough, they still work for Dad and they're here today. They were also one of the reasons I got into my first fight at school right before the end of the term. And that I found out more about Dad than I think he wanted me to know.

Chuckie Graham and I had been waiting outside Father Callen's office for about twenty minutes when I saw, to my horror, my father walking through the doors to the office. 'Where's Mom?' I took the icepack off my eye and pulled myself up straighter on the bench as he approached.

"Whataya afraid of your Pop?" Chuckie Graham taunted, "He gonna beat you up or somethin' like he does everyone else?"

I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief, "My Dad would never hurt me. He doesn't hurt anyone . . ."

"You're such a dope, Morgan!" Chuckie whispered snidely and pushed me from the side, "Donchya know that your Pop kills people? That he was in jail, that he carries a gun, that he's a criminal?" He snorted, "I'll bet he's gonna . . ."

Chuckie didn't get to finish his thought as the target of his filth, my father, reached me. I stood up to greet him.

"Jake," he said softly as he carefully put his hand under my chin and looked at my now quickly blackening eye, "put the icepack back on, like this," he brought my hand up with the pack in it and positioned it under and to the side instead of over the eye, "it'll work better this way." I just nodded.

I was a little bit nervous. Not of him, of the fact that I just had a fight at school and 'no fighting' was one of my Dad's biggest rules. Neither Cam nor I were big rule breakers, and the girls were too little to break any, so I really had no idea what consequences to expect.

The outer doors crashed open and suddenly I could see my Dad get tense. "YOU!" Someone yelled and as my Dad slowly turned around I could see Chuckie's father storming towards us.

He poked a finger at my father, "Your kid shouldn't be anywhere near mine! He's a thug, just like . . ."

"STOP!"

I actually took a step back and so did Mr. Graham as my father roared at him. I'd never heard that sound come out of my Dad. Not ever. I don't think I even knew he could be that loud. Even Father Callen's office door flew open.

My father turned in front of Mr. Graham and the voice that came out of him made my stomach do flip-flops. It was a low, angry growl, "Don't you ever call my son names. Do you understand me, Mr. Graham? You call me whatever you want. You be as nasty as you want to me, but do NOT EVER call my son names." My Dad took a step closer to the already white Mr. Graham, "Are we clear?" Mr. Graham just nodded.

Dad turned back to me and quietly apologized to the principle, "I'm sorry for the disturbance, Father." Father Callen nodded and indicated for my Dad to go into his office, "Let's talk, Mr. Morgan."

While Dad was in the office with Father Callen, I moved away from Chuckie and the way Mr. Graham was looking at me made me a little uncomfortable. I'd heard my Dad called these names before and it always bothered me, but I couldn't help thinking why Mr. Graham thought he and Dad were so different. They both looked the same on the outside, nice suits, big cars, big houses, lots of money, both were business men. How did that make my Dad a 'thug' and Mr. Graham not a thug?

It was almost half an hour before Father Callen opened his door and my father came out. He didn't look angry, but he looked upset. He shook hands with the priest and then turned towards me and took me gently by the shoulders, picked up my book bag and walked me out.

The only thing he asked me was if my eye was feeling better and if I was hurt anywhere else. As we left the front office, Greg fell in behind us and two of my father's guards, led us out of the school. Dad didn't say anything until we got home. Mom met us at the door and I could see that she was upset too.

All Dad said to her was, "It's time." I remember that he sounded really different than he had before. And Mom just rubbed his arm and said really softly that she understood. Mom called out for Rosalie, the nanny for the two-year-old twins, Emmie, actually, Monica Emilia, and Lilabee, really Lilabeth March, to keep the girls busy. Dad called Cam's guard, Jess, to bring him home as soon as possible.

I wasn't sure what was going on and I had no idea why we had to wait for Cam. But we did. Dad took me into the bathroom and looked at the eye again. He examined me like Gramma Monica would have. Mom brought me a fresh icepack and again Dad asked me if Chuckie had punched me anywhere else and if it hurt. I told him only in the stomach and in the shoulder. He made me take my shirt off so he could look. There were just a few bruises.

"I'm sorry this happened, Jake," he apologized to me. I was more than a little surprised. "Go get changed and then come down. I want to talk to you about what happened with Chuckie." He was about to leave the bathroom when I stopped him. But my words froze in my mouth. He just patiently waited for me to say something.

"Dad," I finally choked out, "it was my fault. I'm the one who should apologize." I could feel my stomach twist into knots. "I hit Chuckie first . . ."

He nodded, "I know. Father Callen told me . . ."

"I broke the 'no fighting' rule," I gulped as my stomach came up into my throat, "I got you called to school, and Mr. Graham . . ."

"Jake," he said quietly, "you don't worry about Mr. Graham."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry that I fought with Chuckie." I tried to get my breathing under control, but I couldn't look at him, "I'm sorry that I embarrassed you . . ."

He put his hand on my shoulder, "You didn't. You never could. This happened because Chuckie's been listening to his Dad say things about me. And," he lifted my head up to meet his eyes, "correct me if I'm wrong. Father Callen told me that Brother Evan's broke up the fight and Chuckie was calling Mom names."

I just nodded. I was trying not to be a baby and start crying.

"You defended your Mom, Jake, as you should," Dad said in that patient tone he always uses. "There are some things I didn't want to have to talk to you about yet, but it seems I do." He scrubbed his hands over his face, "I don't like you fighting. It doesn't solve anything. It just makes more problems," he sighed, "trust me on this. I spent a lot of years doing nothing but fighting. We can talk about that later." I nodded.

"You're grounded for two weeks and we'll come up with something you can do in that time to learn that fighting is not always the best course of action, okay?"

That was the night Cam and I learned who Jason Morgan, our Dad, really was and used to be. We already knew some of it. We looked him up on the internet because we'd heard a lot of the things people said when they thought we couldn't hear them. I hope I remember, now that I'm an adult, that children aren't deaf.

When Dad told us about himself it was brutally honest. He didn't keep anything back that he could tell us. After Cam came home and all four of us sat in Dad's office I remember the first thing he said to us. He looked over at Mom and she nodded and put her hand over his.

He looked at me and Cam squarely and said in a steady voice, "I'm a criminal."

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Father Coates asked my cousin, Michael, and his wife, Joanna, to answer on
behalf of my son, "Do you renounce Satan?"

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After Dad told me and Cam about his criminal life he explained a lot of things about why he wasn't with us in the beginning. He tried to explain that he stayed away from us on purpose so that we wouldn't have to be a part of his life and so that his enemies wouldn't be able to hurt us. I already knew about being kidnapped. I grew up knowing and then Cam and I found it on the internet.

That night Dad and Mom explained that after he brought me back they decided that we couldn't be a family. It was hard to understand that we finally did become a family and it was still dangerous. My father apologized for that and for the guards. He told us that most of the business he did now was not illegal. It was quite legal

and was not a danger to anyone. But, he still had enemies and obligations from his former life and they don't go away just because you changed your mind.

It was the ultimate lesson in the consequences of actions.

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"And all his works?"
Michael and Joanna answered, "We do."

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When I talked to Mom and asked her about Dad going to prison to protect cousin Michael she tried to explain why Dad had to do it. That he made a promise to Michael as a baby and he had to see it through. I didn't understand why he could be with Michael but not with us. Mom tried to explain the relationship that Dad had with Michael.

She tried to explain how Aunt Carly had made Dad responsible for Michael as a baby. She told me about Michael getting shot and how Dad felt responsible for that because he didn't do something he should have. Mom told me it was very complicated and that Dad wanted to make amends to Michael for putting him at risk. I didn't find out the whole story until years later.

She said that, at the time, Dad thought we'd be better off without him. She also told me that she thought we'd be safer away from Dad and his world so she asked him to stay away and he did. He wanted to protect us. I wasn't sure how to feel about my Mom asking my Dad to stay away from me. I really didn't understand any of it.

I couldn't hide the anger I felt from Mom and even though she tried to explain I didn't get it. It was one of those times she told me again, "Someday you'll understand, Jake. Someday you'll know and understand."

And all of a sudden at almost fourteen years old I felt an odd mix of abandonment and guilt that being the natural son of Jason Morgan made it impossible for my parents to be together for the first eight years of my life.

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"I anoint you with the oil of salvation . . ."

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My high school years were a little on the crazy side at times. It was weird going to school with guards all the time. Eventually, I got used to it and so did the other kids. And my guards were cool. They didn't get in the way or do stupid things for me. They let me live my life while they watched out for me. But that didn't mean I was the model student I probably should have been or that I know now my parents deserved.

Looking back I realize that Dad never disrespected us as kids the way some parents do. If you stepped out of line there was no screaming or hitting, there was discussion and a consequence. And Mom and Dad didn't have a lot of rules, we had really simple ones. No physical fighting, No lying or cheating, Be respectful to and obey Mom and our teachers, Be respectful and polite to others, Attend Mass on Sunday, Do your assigned chores timely, Follow the rules at school.

That was it, the Seven Morgan Rules. Easy. Not at sixteen.

In some ways Dad was a little strict and I didn't get it. He was always really concerned that other people in town thought well of us so that, as he put it, "we wouldn't be tarred with the same brush as he was." He didn't care what people thought of him. He'd step in at school functions, if he came openly, and let people say crappy things to him and never say a word. If they did it to us, it wasn't pretty.

In an odd way his, I don't know, strictness was a way to protect us from the often evil things people said about and to him. But, at sixteen I was having a really hard time with it and I think it made me act out even more. Nothing really big or earth shattering, just enough to try to get under Dad's skin. I wasn't really successful. The man had the patience of a saint and that was irritating, too.

Every time I got grounded Mom would try to talk to me about why I was doing the things I was. I couldn't make her understand because I didn't understand myself. I didn't understand why Dad could be a criminal but we had to walk the straight and narrow.

Mom tried to explain it to me. She tried to explain that Dad knew what it was like to be looked down upon for behavior that was deemed unacceptable, but I refused to get it. She told me that there would be a day I'd understand, that someday I'd understand all the things I didn't then.

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Father Coates asked Godparents, Michael and Joanna, on behalf of my son,
"Do you believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth?"

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Looking back I think I did it to test him. To see if he'd, I don't know, love me less since I was the one responsible for keeping my parents apart. My senior year at St. Thomas Prep I got in trouble with the soccer team. After winning the state division championship our celebration included vandalizing the school gym in a stupid prank. It was the first and last time I ever heard Dad lose his temper.

As I came out of the interrogation room I heard one of the officers berating my father. "So, now we've got a second generation coming up, huh, Morgan?" My Dad was signing some forms which I assumed were for my release. "Passing on the family trade?" The officer was goading Dad.

Dad said nothing. He turned to his attorney, Ms. Miller, "Are we done?" She nodded.

He came over to me and said quietly, "Let's get you out of here." And he put his hand on my shoulder and guided me through the PCPD and into the limo.

He didn't say a word the entire ride home. I kept looking over at him and trying to get a read on his mood. This was the worst thing I'd ever done and somehow I couldn't imagine how he wouldn't be really angry. My stomach had been doing flip-flops since the school called the cops and it wasn't getting any calmer as I waited for Dad to finally blast me.

Mom met us at the door. She looked at me with a very sad expression and I felt about three inches tall. I looked over at Dad and I could see that his face was finally tight with an anger I didn't want any part of but was its direct cause.

Suddenly, Dad slumped against the chest in the hallway, and the sigh he let loose sounded as though all the breath had been sucked out of him. He looked at Mom and just told her he was sorry. Dad never held back on an apology. If he thought you deserved one, he gave it. If he thought he was wrong about something he apologized and made amends. It was a major component of who he was. Today, he was apologizing to my mother and I wasn't sure why. She told him it would be all right.

"Jake, are you okay, honey?" She asked me in her usual concerned way.

I was taken by surprise by that, but finally answered, "Yes, Mom, I'm all right."

I stood rooted and waiting for Dad to yell or reproach me, but he was studying his hands the way he did when he was trying to control his emotions. After a few moments he just removed his suit jacket. I could see the muscles in his arms cording with tension as he concentrated on rolling up his sleeves.

I finally heard my Mom's voice, again.

"Good," she nodded, "I'm glad you're all right," she glanced at the clock and turned back to me with a small smile, "Jake, it's almost two, why don't you get to bed. We'll talk about this in the morning." I nodded and looked over to my father who just nodded in agreement with my mother.

I quickly made my way upstairs. As I reached the middle landing I heard my Mom talking to Dad.

"Jason?" Mom's voice was soothing, "This is not your fault."

I saw and heard him stalk off into the back Den. Mom waited a minute before following him. And that's when I finally heard my father get angry. But not at me. At himself.

I could hear him yelling about how he did this. That if he'd been a better father then I wouldn't be getting into so much trouble. That if he'd been able to be more involved that something like this would never have happened. And that he was just as bad as Sonny. Hearing that was like a knife to my gut.

Cam and I knew about Sonny Corinthos and the problems he caused for my father and his own son, Michael. I wanted to go in there and tell him that he was a good father. That he was so much better than the other Dads I knew, than all my friend's Dads. But I didn't.

I'm not sure how long I stood there. He didn't go on too much longer. He's not talkative and that holds true, I guess, in yelling. I wasn't sure, it was the first time I heard it. I felt eyes on the back of my neck and turned to see Cam, who was home from school, watching me. Next to him, looking a bit scared was our five-year-old baby brother, Alan Quinn, we call him Quinn. The girls were still asleep.

Shortly after I'd gone upstairs Mom came to see me. She said she was just checking that I was all right.

I told her I was and as she was about to leave I stopped her.

"Mom?"

"Yeah," she smiled at me and came to sit next to me on the bed.

"I'm really sorry about tonight. I was stupid. The whole team was stupid," I could feel that lump you get in your throat when you don't want to cry, hell, I was eighteen. "Mom," I forced myself to look at her, "I'm so sorry. I know that I've embarrassed you and Dad. I've embarrassed myself." I had to look away for a moment so I didn't make a baby of myself.

"Jake, I appreciate your apology," she stroked my arm and I finally turned to look at her. "We'll talk about this after breakfast and Dad's going to see what can be done with the courts."

I looked at her for a long few seconds. "I heard him," it came out practically in a whisper, "I never heard him yell like that." I turned towards her, even sitting down I towered over my petite Mom, "Why would he blame himself for what I did?"

She tilted her head at me and smiled that smile she always has when she's trying to explain our Dad to us. "Oh, Jake," she shook her head slightly. "Your Dad is one of the simplest and most complicated men I've ever known. When he got the call from the PCPD that you'd been arrested all he could think about was what they would do to the son of Jason Morgan. He was so worried for you. He was so scared." She must have seen the surprise I felt but was trying to hide.

"Yes, Jake, scared for you."

Mom and I talked for a bit about why Dad would be afraid for me. About how the PCPD hated him and still only thought of him as a criminal. That was the night I learned about all the times growing up that Dad had been hauled in by the cops on nuisance charges. I still didn't understand why he'd be angry at himself and not at me. But Mom told me once again, that someday I'd understand.

That was probably about the thousandth time I'd heard that. I remember wondering exactly when I would understand.

I understand today. Not totally, but better.

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I caught my father's eye as Father Coates asked, "Will you be baptized?"

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Spending the summer before college doing Community Service and working to pay off the fine levied by the court had a profound effect on me. Knowing that my father blamed himself for what I'd done caused me to have a major attitude shift. That was also the summer my cousin Michael and I became a lot closer.

Mom kept trying to explain my Dad to me but for some reason I wasn't getting it. That summer I went to Michael to talk about Dad. Michael was a presence in our lives but I'd never talked to him specifically about Dad. I figured he'd know Dad pretty well after spending four years in prison with him. Boy, did I get an earful.

College and Grad school went off without too much turmoil. I studied architecture and business. It was an odd combination but growing up and traveling with Dad who really admired the architecture of ancient cities and watching Mom paint all the time it was kind of a natural evolution. Cam had studied political science but doubled in business too. After graduate school he went to work for one of the Morgan philanthropic organizations.

In my last year as an undergrad I finally knew the direction I wanted to take. Telling Dad about my change of plans was going to be interesting. Not difficult, just unexpected. He always stressed that we could be anything in life that we wanted. I had decided that I wanted to work with him.

Coming into the house that rainy Saturday afternoon, I heard the happy squeal of laughter coming from the large solarium at the back of the house. I stood in the wide double doorway and watched Dad building something on the floor with Quinn, our own eight-year-old construction hound, while Michael's little girl, Caroline, nine, played with my ten-year-old sisters Emmie and Lilabee. Dad always got a kick out of playing with us when we were younger and it was nice to see that being fifty-five hadn't changed that.

I felt a hand clap down on my shoulder, "Jake!"

Turning, I was happy to see my cousin, "Hey, Michael." He pulled me into a hug, "how are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"Good, thanks. You here to see your Dad, or just visiting?" Before Jake could answer, Michael called out, "Uncle Jason!"

My Dad looked up from his task with Quinn and one of his usual small smiles broke out as he quickly rose to his feet. He whispered something to my little brother and walked toward us, "Jake!" He pulled me into a hug, "We didn't expect you until tonight."

"Hi, Dad. Practice was cancelled," I nodded outside, "weather, so I was able to come earlier."

"Mom can't wait to see you," he gave my shoulder a small squeeze, "she's upstairs in her studio."

"I'll run up and say hello," I started to turn away, and then turned back, "Dad?" With an upward tilt of his chin he indicated for me to continue. "Can I talk to you later?"

After dinner Dad and I went into his study. I have to admit I was nervous. I didn't know how he'd feel about or if he'd want me to work for him. Both my father and I are on the quiet side so we can sit for hours without saying anything. Cam would have been rambling since walking through the door. He was like Mom. I was more like Dad.

Finally, he asked, "What's up?"

I wiped my sweating palms on the top of my slacks, and sucked in a small breath. He was watching me and waiting for me to talk to him.

"Jake?"

"Yes, sir."

He leaned toward me and his voice was laced with concern as he asked, "What is it? Is there a problem?"

"No, sir. No problems," I assured him.

I got up and paced away from him. Looking around his inner sanctum it always surprised me how many pictures of us he had around him. I finally swung around to look back at him. "Dad, I've been accepted to graduate school for a combination law degree and Master's in business."

He was surprised and he didn't hide it, but asked calmly, "What about architecture, Jake?"

"I changed my mind," I explained as I retook my seat opposite him. Perching on the very edge I continued, "If you'll allow it, I'd like to work for you when I graduate." I saw his surprise but for once I took a page from my brother's book and just rushed on, "Dad, a degree in architecture does nothing to position me for a career with your companies, but a degree in law and a Master's in business will. It's a four-year program instead of three . . ."

"Jake," he interrupted softly, "are you sure?" He looked long at me, "You've talked about architecture since you were a teenager. This is a drastic change for you." He leaned closer to me and put his hand on my knee, "I would love to work with you, but are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sure."

We spent the next hour discussing my future and my education. Dad explained to me that he still had enemies from his old life but that any business that I'd be involved in was strictly legitimate. He also explained that working for him could open me to some ridicule by the town and other members of the business world. He said it didn't happen too often now, but it did still happen.

Out of your mind – that's what I would've told anyone, who told me I'd want to work for my Dad. At least four or five years ago that's what I'd've said. But, things change. People grow. And I was starting to understand him better.

Maybe I understood Dad better because of Allison. I met her my senior year and she was going to attend the same grad school. When I talked to her about Dad, she had some unique insights. Maybe because she was a psych major or maybe because, as she explained it, I didn't believe Mom because deep-down I figured Mom was taking Dad's side. I don't know if that's true. Mom was always really honest with us about Dad.

Whatever it was, I was starting to understand Dad better and that's all that mattered to me.

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I locked eyes and held hands with Allison, my beautiful wife,
as Father Coates, raised our son to the congregation, "I present to you, Jason Edward Morgan."

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After the church cleared I looked around for him. I wasn't sure how he'd react to us naming the baby for him and Grandfather. We'd been calling the baby 'Jem' since the day he was born.

I finally saw him standing with Father Coates, who'd been my father's priest since my cousin Michael was a baby. It meant a lot to me that he agreed to officiate at my son's baptism. He'd done Cam's daughter, Audrey Lynn, last year and I know that meant a lot to my father.

I looked around the church where I spent so much time growing up. Dad was here every Sunday unless he was working. It was comforting to know that my son would be coming here too.

"Jake!"

I turned to see Allison beckoning me. "Gramma Monica's waiting," she whispered loudly, "come on!"

Mom wanted to have the baptismal reception in the solarium at our family home. We could never say, 'no,' to her, plus, she was a Grams now and you just don't say 'no' to a Grams. My sisters were helping out and even though Mom had staff to do things for her, she still insisted on doing certain things herself. I think Sandy and Nora were just used to working with Mom after all these years.

The center of attention, the newly baptized, Jason Edward, was blissfully sleeping while everyone partied around him. All the usual people were here, the Godparents, Michael and Joanna and their two kids, Caroline and Michael Morgan. Aunt Carly, Dad's best friend, was here with her husband, Pierre, and their youngest daughter, Michelle. Dad's other best friend, Spinelli was here with his wife, fashion editor, Maxie and their two kids, Jason Macklin and Georgiana Morgan. It was amazing how many people named their kids, in some way, after my Dad.

Josslyn was home from Europe with her fiancé, Jean-Claude. Morgan was here with his wife, Vivienne, and their two boys, Jax and Jason 'JT' Thomas. Aunt Brenda was here with her husband, Paul, but her two kids stayed behind in Europe because her daughter, Victoria, was expecting and so was her son, Evan's wife, Sarah.

And there were tons of people from the Morgan and ELQ businesses including Dad's recently retired attorney, Diane Miller and her husband Max Giambetti who's worked for Dad since before I was born. I found out when I first started to work summers during law school for Ms. Miller that my father engendered a loyalty from his people she'd never seen before. Old employees turned over responsibilities to their kids, their nephews and nieces. She told me that my father was the most trusted person among those who knew and worked for him that she'd ever experienced. She called it a phenomenon.

Right now I was looking for that phenomenon I knew as, 'Dad.'

"Grams," I whispered, coming up behind my Mom, "where's Dad?"

"Hey, honey," she dropped a kiss on my cheek, "Jem was such a good boy," she smiled at her sleeping

grandson. She turned back to me, "Dad will be back, why don't you wait for him in his study," she smiled wider at me, "that was quite the surprise you sprung on him, he was a little overwhelmed."

I nodded, "I understand. Tell Allison where I am if she needs me, okay?" Mom nodded and I took off for Dad's study.

As I walked out of the solarium, Cam and his wife, Meredith came over. "Hey, Jake," Cam clapped me on the shoulder as he always did. "The kid did good."

Meredith giggled, "Not like Audrey Lynn, she wailed."

Cam looked around the gathering, '"You looking for Dad?" I nodded. "You really surprised him . . . go, you know where he is."

I knocked softly on the door just in case he was still inside even though I was pretty sure he wasn't. Mom told me where he was in her own special way. I eased the door open.

Dad's study was different from any other room in the house. It was almost stark in its simplicity, a desk and chair, walls of bookshelves filled with books and pictures of his kids and Mom, and now grandkids. It also included a sofa and two chairs, efficient lighting and a pool table. Not that our house was elaborately decorated, Mom didn't do elaborate, she did comfortable.

I strolled over to the double French doors and looked out over the lawn towards the small octagonal structure in the distance that was mostly used by my Dad. I'm pretty sure it was one of the selling features of the estate for him. And I'm fairly certain that we were the only family I knew that had our own chapel.

It's where we could always find Dad when he was stressed or needed alone time. Not because he was some religious nut, he wasn't. But he once told me he liked the quiet and he would go there to think. The night I got arrested he was there for the rest of the night. I think that was my worst punishment.

It wasn't long before I saw him striding across the lawn back to his study. At sixty-one his hair had just begun to be streaked with grey, but his face and body still had a youthful vigor. He still submitted himself to a grueling daily workout.

As he came through the door, he smiled and grabbed me into a hug, "Thank you, Jake." I could hear his voice crack with emotion. And I almost broke myself.

He squeezed me the same way he did when I was a kid and I'd gotten hurt, with enough tender force as though trying to push his strength into me. It felt really good to return that embrace. As we finally pulled away from each other he silently invited me to sit with him.

"I know it was a surprise, I wanted it to be," I admitted, "but, I'm glad you're pleased."

"Jake, it was really unexpected," he gave me his trademark half smile, "I'm just wondering how Grandfather would like sharing his name with the name of a hooligan?"

I couldn't keep the chuckle in and it was good to hear my Dad make the rare joke. He joined me with a small smile before he asked, "You were waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir, I was, I need to talk to you."

Ever polite, even to his kids, he offered me a drink. As I declined he took his usual seat in the arm chair to the right of the sofa.

"Sit, Jake, please."

I took my usual spot on the long sofa, "Dad," it came out in little more than a whisper. I'm not sure how to say what I want to say.I cleared my throat, and started again, "Dad," I looked into a pair of eyes that matched mine and found him, as always, patiently listening. Suddenly, I felt the need to get up and I paced back to the French doors for a moment.

I could feel my stomach roil with nervous energy. I wasn't afraid of him, never really had been. As a kid sometimes I was afraid of a reaction, but not of him, nervous about a consequence, but never of him. Turning back to my father I saw him sitting back in his chair and just waiting. The man had the patience of a freakin' saint.

I reclaimed my seat and leaned toward him and started again.

"Every time I got into trouble or didn't understand something that I saw you do or heard you say I would ask Mom about it," I finally let out in a rush, and I could see the surprise on his face.

"Mom used to try to explain why you did some of the things you did, like not always coming to school things or some of our sports games." I looked away from him for a moment and then locked my gaze with his, "That time I got arrested . . . I thought for sure I'd done it," I dropped my eyes from his and then quickly looked back up, "I was trying to get under your skin back then . . ."

He nodded and said calmly that he knew that. And it was my turn to be surprised.

"You knew? And you just let me?"

Dad leaned toward me with his elbows on his knees like he always did, "You were angry and you had a right to be," he said softly, "Your Mom and I just tried to let you do what you needed without getting into too much trouble," he sighed, "but . . ."

"Dad," I interrupted, "you didn't screw up if you're going to take the blame for me vandalizing the gym. That was all me. And see, that's what I'm talking about. I heard you blame yourself that night and later Mom tried to explain but," I looked long at my Dad's stoic face, "I didn't get it and she said what she always did, that someday I'd understand."

I laughed at myself, "If Mom said that once, she said it a hundred times, 'Someday you'll understand, Jake. Someday you'll know why your Dad does what he does' . . . someday," I had to chuckle a bit at the memory of it, "I used to wonder when someday would come. When would I really get it?"

I kneaded the back of my neck to release some tension, "Dad," I looked him in the eye the way he taught us, "I think I get it, now. I think I was starting to get it a few years ago as I got older, but when Jem was born I really started to understand all the things you sacrificed, you and Mom, for me and for Cam."

Jake took a long look at his dad as he continued, "All the times you shielded us from the ugly things people said about you at your own expense, all the times you grounded me for making myself look bad, not for making you or Mom look bad, but for making myself look bad." I had to take a deep breath to keep my emotions in check. I didn't want to look like a baby, a twenty-eight year old baby, in front of my Dad.

Suddenly, I couldn't sit still. Usually, like Dad, I could be still for hours, but, not right now. I got up and walked back to the French doors. I looked out over the vast property where I grew up. I felt him come up behind me and I turned to face him.

"Thank you . . . it seems so inadequate for all you've done," I looked away for a moment and then back at the man who struggled so hard to be my Dad. "Thank you for protecting me and Cam, thank you for wanting more for us than you thought you could give, thank you for being a really good, compassionate and forgiving father. Oh, God, Dad, for so many things . . ."

"Jake," he interrupted me in that same patient and quiet tone I'd heard all my life, "You don't need to thank me. I'm your father and nothing, nothing compares to that. You're a father now and you'll see what I mean. Being your father and Cam's, being the father of Emmie and Lilabee and Quinn. Being a husband to Elizabeth are my best achievements."

"I understand that, Dad, but," I shook my head slightly as I studied this hard man with the soft heart, "I know what you went through when I was a baby. I know what Mom asked you to do, she told me and Michael told me some things that he learned while he was incarcerated with you and after he got out. Spinelli, Aunt Carly and Gramma Monica told me plenty, too."

I saw that scar that ran along the right edge of my father's jaw get white as the muscle ticked underneath it. It was a sure sign that he was trying to control his emotions. His eyes glistened with unchecked feeling, which happened so rarely.

"Dad," I had to swallow passed the searing shame that burned the back of my throat, "I used to blame myself that you and Mom couldn't be together and, I guess . . . oh, God, I was such an idiot . . . I tested you all through high school to see if you really did love me or if I was just an obligation," I dropped my gaze from his for a moment.

He had been leaning back against the bookcase when I heard him start to move toward me. I looked back over at him before he could stop me, "I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm sorry for every time I made you question yourself about me or made you think you were hurting me or not doing right by me." I took a step closer to him, "You have no idea what a good father you've been, you are. Kids at school envied me. Not because you were big, bad Jason Morgan, but because you never disrespected me the way other parents did their kids."

I had to swallow passed that lump you get that's made up of regret and gratitude, "Thank you for being my Dad, thank you for always protecting me and for making me better than I thought I could be."

Dad dipped his head slightly the way he does when he's uncomfortable, and I could see him shake it slightly, "Jake." He looked straight at me, "Jake," his jaw ticked again. As he struggled to get command of his emotions, he unexpectedly grabbed me into a quick hug and I felt myself lean into its comfort. As we pulled apart he continued in a hoarse whisper, "I'm so grateful for you. You've made me so proud, you, Cam . . . all of you. You've all given me much more than I . . ."

A soft knock interrupted us, and Dad quickly strode to the door, "Elizabeth," he dropped a kiss on her cheek.

"Here's our two guys," her soft voice floated into the room as she walked in with Jem. "Here's your Daddy." She looked up at me as I came toward her, "and here's your Grandpa," Mom tenderly stroked Dad's cheek as she placed Jem into his arms.

Dad cradled the small bundle of his grandson against his still broad chest. Looking down he smiled widely as Jem squirmed, "Hey, Jem. Your Daddy and I've been talking."

Jem stopped squirming at the sound of his Grandpa's voice, "I can't wait until you're old enough to talk with us. But that's not going to be for a while. I didn't get to do this with your Daddy . . . he's a really good guy." Dad started toward the French doors, "You know, tomorrow is Father's Day. It's this special day when you celebrate being a father. It's such an important job . . . and your Dad is going to be great . . ."

I watched Dad just talking to Jem the way he used to with the girls and Quinn, and Michael's kids and Audrey Lynn. I imagine he would have done it with me if he had the chance. Mom patted my arm and then walked over to Dad. She wrapped her slim arm around my Dad's waist as he opened his other arm to wrap around her. As Dad talked to their grandson, Mom rested her head on his chest.

I never knew that this day would be the 'someday' my Mom promised me would come.

I'm just glad it did.

I love watching my father – big, bad Jason Morgan – hold my son, his grandson.

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End notes and credits:Just a few tidbits of information I thought you might find interesting. One of the female twins in this fic, Lilabeth March Morgan bears as her middle name the maiden name of her Great-Grandmother, Audrey Hardy.

The banner quote: Jason saying goodbye to newborn Jake in the Nursery of General Hospital in May 2007.
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Disclaimer: All characters that are the property of ABC, Inc. and The Disney Corporation are fully acknowledged.

No copyright infringement intended. All character identities are merely borrowed for fun. Original characters, no matter

how small andstory concept are the property of the author publishing under the pen name, CMJavaGirl

Posted at RTN and The No Name, June 5, 2010

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