Prompt – The minute I heard my first love story/ I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. / Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. / They're in each other all along. – Maulana Jalal'uddin Rumi.
Note – Thank you so much to Jen (nerson) for the wonderful prompt by one of my favorite Muslim poets, and surely one of the greatest Islamic thinkers of all time.
Fractured
Jason Morgan didn't believe in romance, that kind of fairy tale, meant-to-be love.
It was very unfortunate, really, that he didn't believe in it because all three of his best friends did. Sonny and Brenda, both of whom he had known forever before they fell in love and got married, wouldn't shut up about love at first sight and knowing you were meant for the other person and blah, blah, blah, all that crap. And Damien Spinelli, his former roommate that was now his colleague (strange how that worked out) was nursing a crush of courtly love proportions and similarly was incapable of shutting the hell up about it.
Jason, however, stubbornly held out and wouldn't buy into that. It wasn't that he doubted fairy tale love existed. It sure did for Sonny and Brenda. Sonny had known the minute he accidentally spit out a mouthful of red wine on Brenda's white dress (damn that Luke Spencer for having such fucking hilarious stories) that she was the one for him. Brenda needed some convincing, but she was now just as madly in love with him as he had been with her at that moment.
No, it was just that Jason doubted it existed for him. He wasn't the romantic sort. He didn't know shit about flowers or candy or jewelry, or what wine went best with what, or what to say to women when they, you know, said things. He was basically good for motorcycle rides, beer, the occasional game of pool, and compulsive globe-trotting.
There just wasn't time in his busy schedule for finding that one girl that made him feel like he'd been hit by a thunderbolt.
Dear God, now he was quoting the Godfather.
Well, at least he wasn't always quoting Pretty Woman like Brenda. If he ever started doing that, he'd be honor-bound to shoot himself.
That kind of love just wasn't his thing. It wasn't his thing because he couldn't imagine how something like that would work: just waking up one day, a day like any other, and finding yourself staring into the face of a woman and just knowing that you were meant to be with her for the rest of your life.
That worked for Sonny, but Sonny had always been a little different. A little less than normal.
That worked for Spinelli, too, kind of, but Spinelli was young and foolish enough to think that his first crush was actually that fairy-tale love. And besides, no one could ever make the mistake of saying that Spinelli was normal, to boot.
And if Sonny, Brenda, and Spinelli didn't have enough fun needling him about his lack of romantic ways, nothing could stop them from laying into him when he found that half-piece of red glass.
He was on the beach with all of them once, the first time Sonny and Brenda took their twin girls to the ocean. And as Adella and Julia wiggled their toes in the surf, Jason paced along behind them and their parents and nearly cut his foot on that piece of damn glass that lay in the sand.
He hadn't even thought it was a half-piece at first. He just thought that it was some damn jagged thing that some fucking idiot left on the surf for two little girls to possibly cut their foot on during their first goddamn trip to the ocean side.
But Spinelli had noticed him inspecting the filmy thing and toddled right over to poke his damn nose where it didn't belong.
And then Sonny had come over. And then Brenda.
And then Jason hadn't been able to hear the end of it.
All three of those loons decided immediately that the junky little thing was half of a larger disc of red glass, vibrant as blood, and that it had broken off from the greater whole. Someone, somewhere in the world, must have the other half, they all decided, and that broken piece had journeyed all the way across the world, across thousands and thousands of miles, to wash up at his feet. And that someone somewhere in the world that had the other half was destined to meet up with Jason so that they could unite the two pieces.
Then they had all concluded this long supposition by saying they hoped to God that the someone somewhere in the world was a girl.
Jason had almost tossed that damn thing back into the ocean at that second. The only reason he held on to it was because he didn't want to set a bad example in front of Michael and his little sisters and litter. Also, it was because he didn't want the jagged thing to wash up on another beach somewhere further down south where someone else was taking his or her twin girls to the seaside for the first time.
That was the only reason he slipped the damn thing into his pocket. He kept looking for ways to dispose of it, too. Obviously, throwing it in the ocean was out. He tried to throw it away in his garbage can at home, but that was when he remembered that Michael's puppy Skipper liked to get into the garbage and he wouldn't forgive himself if the kids lost their damn dog just because he wanted to throw the glass out.
So he kept it.
He dropped it on his windowsill and left it there for a week until he saw a pigeon sitting on the same ledge that one morning, not two inches away from the red glass. So he left the glass on his bathroom counter, no big deal. But then one day he'd dropped his heavy four-bladed razor and almost flipped that piece of glass into the toilet.
So he put it on his nightstand. He put it right behind his lamp, right toward the middle, but it had still somehow managed to fall off. And when he finally found it after a frantic ten minutes of feeling around in the thick carpet and even behind his heavy king-sized bed, Jason slipped it into his pocket and kept it there.
He kept it there when he went out on an assignment for Sonny. He kept it there when he attended Julia and Adella's first birthday party. He kept it there when he went to the hospital's charity drive – the same night he nearly gave his old grandfather a heart attack by showing up in his jeans and leather jacket.
He even kept it there when he drove up to Canada, and again when he flew out to the West Coast. The first time he took the glass out of the country was when he had a meeting in London with one of Sonny's long-time associates. Then they went to Venezuela, making a little detour to Buenos Aires on the way home. The next time, it was Madrid, and then Sydney, Australia.
And before long, he was so damn attached to that jagged little thing (that he had cut his finger on more times than he cared to remember while turning it over and over in his hands) that Sonny and Brenda and Spinelli all took to giving him secret indulgent smiles when they noticed him absently patting his pocket in the middle of a conversation or during a dull moment.
Because no matter how much Jason protested, they already knew whether he did or not: he was hoping just a little himself.
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"So where are you going this time?"
Jason glanced up from the map that he had lain open on Sonny's massive dining room table. "I'm thinking Venice."
"You've been there before."
"Sure, on business," he agreed, quickly reaching out to cover the corner of the table before three-year-old Adella could brain herself on it as she scurried after her sister. "Several times on business. But I've never had the time to stop and see it. It's nice, peaceful, historic, cultured…"
"On the water," Sonny added, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his coffee mug.
Jason glared at him, well used to this form of teasing. His best friends and Spinelli had quickly picked up on the fact that whenever Jason traveled for leisure, he picked cities and towns located on the water rather than land-locked destinations. He never thought it was a big deal, but those three still got a kick out of it.
"So what are you going to do there?" Sonny asked, neatly changing the subject. "Got any plans made so far?"
He shook his head. "None."
Except…
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Sonny looked up as Jason let himself into Penthouse IV some three weeks later. He smiled to himself, set down the day's paper, and stood to welcome his friend home with a clap on the back. "So? How'd it go?"
He shook his head as Brenda, who had heard the door open, trotted out from the kitchen and threw her arms around his neck. "Venice was a bust."
She pulled back and gave him a little smile. "You didn't find her, huh?"
Jason rolled his eyes. "Brenda…"
"Fine, fine," she replied, throwing her hands in the air. "I won't say a word. So, did you bring us back anything?"
He couldn't quite help but chuckle as he motioned to the black bag sitting by the door. "Presents for you and the kids in there."
Sonny waited until Brenda was out of earshot, safely rooting through his dirty clothes to find the gifts he'd brought them. "So…where are you going next?"
Jason scratched his chin. "I'm thinking Egypt."
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"Uncle Jason! Uncle Jason!"
Two twin cries of delight from two twin girls welcomed him home as Jason trudged into his best friend's penthouse. Four year-old Adella and Julia wrapped themselves around his legs, making them walk them over to the couch, and refused to let go.
"You're home! You're home!"
He flopped down on the couch and, grunting, swung both legs up on to the cushions. Only then did the little girls relinquish their hold on his legs – but only so they could crawl all over him until they were each settled against his side.
"Did you bring us stuff?"
Michael catapulted himself down the stairs as Jason gave his nieces a kiss on the forehead. "Yeah, I did. Over by the door. Michael, you wanna get that for your sisters, bud?"
He was already dragging the duffel bag over. "Sure. Where are they? This little pocket here?" He reached inside without waiting for Jason's reply. "Cool! Here, Addie, Julie, these ones are yours."
The little girls ripped through the plastic bags as Michael hopped up onto the armrest. "So, are you here to stay for a while, Uncle Jason?"
"…For a while, yeah," he replied carefully.
"Where are you going next?"
Jason considered it for a moment. "I think I'm going to France."
Michael shook the little glass snowball he had received. "Why do you travel so much?"
"…I just like to see the world, buddy."
The little boy shook the globe again and gave his uncle a cheeky look. "That's not what Mom says."
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"Where are you going?"
"Venice."
Brenda planted a hand on her hip. "You've been there before."
"For business."
"For pleasure, too," she pointed out. "Remember? You went to Venice, then Cairo, then Spain, then the coast of France, then India, then Finland, then you went to Morocco, then-"
"And now I'm going to Venice," Jason got out through gritted teeth as he zipped up his bag. "You planning on stopping me?"
Brenda frowned. "Well, no, of course not, I don't really have a reason-"
"Good," he replied, briskly striding past her. "See you in a couple weeks."
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"Signorina! You are back!"
Elizabeth Webber smiled at the elderly sailor standing on the dock as he helped pull her up from her little sailboat. It was one that she rented whenever she was on the island just because it was convenient to get around in, and she loved the water.
"Yes, I am," she replied happily. "I was in Venice and thought to make a trip down here, for old time's sake."
His leathered face cracked into a wide, beaming smile as he patted her hand and led her past his fleet of fishing boats. "Always good to see you, Miss Elizabeth. I am glad you come back. Where you go to?"
"Well, I've been to France, England and Spain this past year," she answered slowly, thinking back to her most recent exploits. As an art student and part-time photographer, she traveled frequently and took every opportunity she could to get out and see the world. It had all started about five years ago when her school-funded grant to study religious artwork in Italy took her to the island of Murano for the first time. That was when she'd discovered the traveling bug, and she'd been on the move ever since.
"Before that I went to Afghanistan and took pictures of the caves," Elizabeth added. "I also went to Nepal and looked at the statues of Buddha. You know of Buddha?"
"Yes, yes, I see pictures," he replied jovially. "Where else you go to?"
"I went to South Africa and Madagascar, and I went to Brazil, then I went to the ruins in Mexico." She let out a happy sigh and tilted her head back, basking in the warm Italian sun. "And now I'm back here."
"We miss you these three months," the old man confessed. "Last time you were here, you only had dinner with me and my wife and then you go, always go, go, go. This time you stay, yes?"
"Yes," she laughed, following him off the pier and into the market area where the locals set up shop for the tourists. There was a time when she had been one here. "Yes, for a little while. I'm tired of traveling."
"Seen all there is to see, eh?"
"No," Elizabeth admitted, her smile dimming a little. "Just having trouble finding what I'm looking for."
His brows pulled together. "What are you looking for?"
"I don't know."
The old man burst into laughter. "I give you good luck in finding it, then!"
Elizabeth smiled in reply, realizing full well how silly she sounded, but it was nothing surprising. After all, she'd always been a foolishly romantic woman and such vague, circular answers were common coming from her.
"Come, come, we go see Marta," he announced, referring to his wife. "She be so happy to see you."
"Is she here?"
"In the market," he explained, gesturing to the stalls. "She come back now because her eyes better now since the surgery. She makes glass again."
Elizabeth brightened visibly, her hand already reaching for her pocket. "Really? She's making her glass wares again?"
He nodded. "Yes, yes. Just like she was when you come here first time. Come, come, her new stall is this way. She get better spot, out of the sun. Better for the eyes."
Elizabeth checked the stalls they passed for the familiar face of his wife who always made her chocolate-dipped strawberry cannolis when she was in town. And then she spotted it: the handsome dark stall with its display of glittering little figurines and vases and sculptures, all crafted by Marta's hand. She had a customer at the moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blonde hair, and he was staring intently at a blue disc he held in his hands.
The old woman spotted her before Elizabeth could step up. "Elizabeth! You come back!"
The blonde man looked up in vague annoyance as the old woman swept out of the stall and wrapped Elizabeth up in a bear hug. He gave her a quick once-over and must have found her lacking because he went back to studying the glasswares.
"I'm back," Elizabeth agreed happily, trying not to look over Marta's shoulder at her only present customer. "I'm so glad you're making your glass again!"
"Me, too, bambina," she replied. "It is better than sitting in house all day, doing nothing. And I have gotten better. You look?"
She grabbed Elizabeth's hand and pulled her in front of the stall, leading her up right next to the blonde man, and quickly made her way behind the counter. "See? I get very better. Make lots of new things now. This statue Signore holds – new technique."
The blonde man apparently felt compelled to lift up the sculpture he was inspecting so Elizabeth could see it, then he quickly set it down without so much as a word or a smile.
"You like something, bambina, you take," Marta insisted, gesturing to the stall. "Always you like something when you come here – this time you take. I say so."
"Take the animal statue," her husband interjected, pointing to the dozen or so figurines. "Very good work."
Marta beamed proudly at the praise while Elizabeth troubled her lip. "Actually, Marta, I was wondering…"
"Yes? What you wonder?"
"Do you remember what I bought from your stall the first time we met?" Elizabeth reached for her pocket, her fingers searching out the scrap of silk she kept it in. "It was a disc of glass in my favorite color, but I broke it by accident before I left Venice. I dropped it on the dock and it shattered."
The blonde man turned his face toward hers the merest fraction of an inch.
She found the handkerchief and spread it open in her hand. "The next time I came back, you had shut down the stall. I kept it with me but I think it's time to get rid of it now. Could I have another?"
Marta rose to her toes to peer into the handkerchief. "What you buy, darling? What you need other of?"
Elizabeth lay the handkerchief down on the wooden stall, showing her the half-piece of vibrant red glass. "This. I've given up hope finding the other half."
The elderly sailor began to laugh. "Oh, no, Miss Elizabeth, it's a big world – you never find the other half. Best to get a new one."
The blonde man, who had been eavesdropping most rudely on their conversation, cleared his throat. Elizabeth looked up at him, vaguely annoyed, and her eyes widened when he pulled a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and lay it down on the table.
Marta looked at her husband, then at Elizabeth, who was staring down at the little cloth bundle, and slowly reached out to unwrap it. She saw the contents of the handkerchief first and let out a little gasp, quickly sweeping it up into her hand and moving it over to Elizabeth's silk scrap.
Her fingers covered the pieces and when she drew her hands away, Jason and Elizabeth found themselves looking at a single disc of the most vibrant ruby red, winking up at them in the light sunlight.
Marta smiled cheekily at the young couple. "It fit very good. Still want a new one?"