web of duty
"Only enemies speak the truth. Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty." -- Stephen King
Author's Note: This is not, I repeat not, the sequel to Song. This is spoiler spec fic based on the new information we received about Ric and ***** as of 2/4. If you want to remain spoiler-free, I suggest not reading this.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose.
*
He hadn't been expecting this, not this. There were a great many other things he had planned on, always planned on, because the game went the same way every other time. He knew how to play it, and he was the best at it. But he hadn't been expecting this.
A girl.
All of his carefully constructed plans had been shot to hell the instant he had seen her at the bar, correcting him about the drink and then, in her sometimes-condescending way, told him that it wasn't her drink. He had wanted her almost immediately.
He tried to deny it, especially to himself. He had tried only to harmlessly flirt with her. It was all good fun in the beginning. He would come to Port Charles, do his job, and then leave, just like he had done in South America. That girl had fallen in love with him, and it hadn't been his fault. She had gotten too attached, too quickly. Poor girl.
He stood at the door to Kelly's, watching her. Elizabeth Webber. She wasn't supposed to be funny and smart and talented and sweet and caring and beautiful. God, was she gorgeous. It was only supposed to be a challenge, another game he had written the rules to. She was so beautiful, and she didn't even know it. That was part of the appeal. And angry-she got angry, and he loved that about her.
She was closing up on her own, because Courtney had skipped out and the other girl had a date with her boyfriend or something. It was Valentine's Day, after all.
He wanted to spend it with her.
Only a day before, twenty-four silly little hours before, she had kissed him and told him she wanted him, and his skin had hummed because he had wanted her so much. He was so deep and he didn't even know it, didn't even know it until he turned her down. He hadn't even known how much, how deeply he had begun to feel for her until he heard the words coming out of his mouth.
She had been so upset with him, but he knew that some of her passion was rooted in Jason, and that made his heart burn with jealousy. She didn't want Jason, she wanted him, and he knew it, could see that in her eyes, hear that in her voice. She made no pretensions about it.
All he had wanted to do was take her right there, just devour her whole on his bed and keep her safe inside of him forever and ever. She wouldn't have been able to comprehend the intensity with which he felt for her.
He had told her that it wasn't the right time for a sexual relationship, and he had been telling the truth. He wanted so much more than that from her, but he was too afraid to ask it of her. He was too afraid to even admit to himself that he had let this girl in, let her break under his skin, enveloping him. It was in her smiles and her teasing and her beautiful eyes and her sheer intelligence and the subtle ways she encouraged him. It was in her absolute trust of him, even though he was a bad, bad man. That's where it was.
He ran his fingers over the glass, wanting to go inside and take her in his arms and kiss her until the sun came up the next morning, but he had too much to do, too many plans that would simply fall apart if he her inside, if he let her get to him.
God, how he wanted to let her get to him. He wanted her to heal his demons. He wanted to take her away from Port Charles and all of its hoodlums; he wanted to take her away from people like Jason Morgan, who would suck a beautiful human being like her into his world, chew her up, and then spit out her bones, leaving nothing of the girl who had once been. Elizabeth was strong, but they were stronger.
How had he let his precious walls crumble? It was going to be so easy. The Corinthos family was going to be so incredibly easy to take apart, because of the lies, because of the fear, because of their carefully constructed web of power.
He had made plans long before he had ever met Elizabeth Webber. He couldn't change them, not now. Not even for her.
The thought of the hurt in her eyes, the pain she would feel when she found out about his betrayal, made him sick. He didn't owe her anything, but her inherent trust in him would lead her to pain, and he hated himself. She tried so hard and so many times to make the rest of the world happy; he wondered what would happen if she tried to make herself happy for once.
He traced the contour of her face through the glass, and then he withdrew his hand, slid it into his glove, and then turned and left, preparing for what he had been preparing for so long.
*
She stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the top landing, debating. If she went up, would she look desperate?
If she stayed away, would she curse herself?
It was Valentine's Day, after all. And on Valentine's Day, people deserved to be with who they wanted to be with. And Elizabeth Webber wanted to be with Ric Lansing on Valentine's Day.
He had made her feel so stupid, only a day before. She had felt so incredibly dumb, and yet at the same time, she had been so thankful to him, for everything he had done. She had been so close to ruining it, to ruining whatever it was that was happening between her and Ric. She couldn't afford that, not now.
She had thrown herself at him, because she was upset with Jason, because she was upset at herself, but her feelings had boiled down to some very simple, very universal feelings: she had to make sure she wasn't defective, that a man could still find her attractive. And waiting had ruined so many other things, and she didn't want to wait for Ric. She didn't want to hesitate, like she had hesitated with Jason.
"Oh, God, I'm repulsive," she had said to him after he had pulled her hands away from his chest and told her he didn't think the time was right for a sexual relationship.
"Oh, yeah," he had scoffed. "Right. Nobody in the world could possibly find you attractive."
She had somehow missed the irony, and somewhere in her head, in her mortification, she had thought he was turning serious on her, and she said, "I know, isn't it terrible?"
"It's a ludicrous idea," he had replied.
"What, someone wanting me?"
He had looked at her mock-sternly and said, "No. Anybody not."
She looked up at the stairs again, and she debated again. He was older, more mature, more experienced. Maybe she was just a silly schoolgirl to him. Maybe he wasn't looking for anything more than a little flirting, a little kissing, some casual dates. Maybe she had misinterpreted everything she thought was happening between them. There were so many maybes, and they were just as bad as the what ifs.
She was scared as hell.
At some point, the fear was going to ruin her life. And she wasn't going to let it be today. Not today, not on Valentine's Day. If he wasn't there, she'd see him the next day. But if he was there . . . well, she'd have to play it by ear after that point.
Elizabeth Webber was going to get her man. For once.
She braced herself and walked up the stairs to Ric's room. She let her fist fall heavily against the wood of his door, and she felt her heart pounding, pulsing, as she waited for him to open it. She heard movement from within, and she knew he had to be there.
The door finally opened, and she felt the smile spread across her face, joy at just seeing him.
But something was out of place.
Something.
She didn't know what it was. Not at first.
Then it slowly began to come to her, pieces of a puzzle that didn't fit at first, but on second try were actually correct. He was buttoning his shirt. His hair was mussed, curls trying to break free of his carefully combed coif. His eyes widened when he saw her, sheer surprise coloring his face red.
She had broken through the poker exterior.
His eyes couldn't lie to her, not in the moment she had caught him. He was guilty as hell.
But guilty of what?
"What are you doing here?" he asked her at the same time that she said, "What's going on?" She heard her own tone, brittle and sharp. She had put her guard up, unwilling to let him con her.
She looked over his shoulder and she could see, just barely, a woman's feet dangling off the end of the bed. She looked at him, locking her gaze on his, and she pushed open the door all the way with her right hand. It swung open, revealing the woman on the bed.
In the bed. Almost.
Carly Corinthos, naked, it appeared, barely covered by Ric's sheet.
Carly Corinthos.
Her brain couldn't comprehend it.
"Oh, I see," she said slowly, softly, quietly. "I get it now. I was . . . cover."
"No-" he started to say, but she cut him off.
"Don't lie to me anymore. I hate it when people lie. Just-let it go. It's fine," she told him, knowing, feeling with every fibre of her being that it wasn't fine.
Shaking but trying to hide it, she turned away from Ric and started down the hall away from him. Her hands were shaking, throbbing, and she wanted to break down and cry, but she was so numb that she wasn't even sure that she could cry.
"Elizabeth, wait-" Ric called after her, and she kept moving, forcing her feet to keep plodding down the hallway.
She felt his hand tighten around her upper arm, and she turned when he pulled at her. "What?" she demanded, her voice stronger than she expected it to be. "You don't owe me any explanations."
"No, I don't," was his reply.
"That's fine," she said again. "It's fine. I'm going home now." Then she stopped and dropped her voice. If she could have, she would have imploded and taken him with her.
She had wanted him so badly, still wanted him. She could picture herself in a relationship with him, holding him, caring for him, laughing with him, having intellectual conversations with him. And it had all been shattered in a moment.
"How long has this-" she started, but she broke off, realizing that she didn't want to know. "Happy Valentine's Day," she whispered to him, and she turned around and walked away from him.
To be continued . . .
((I'll make it better, I promise!))
"Only enemies speak the truth. Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty." -- Stephen King
Author's Note: This is not, I repeat not, the sequel to Song. This is spoiler spec fic based on the new information we received about Ric and ***** as of 2/4. If you want to remain spoiler-free, I suggest not reading this.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose.
*
He hadn't been expecting this, not this. There were a great many other things he had planned on, always planned on, because the game went the same way every other time. He knew how to play it, and he was the best at it. But he hadn't been expecting this.
A girl.
All of his carefully constructed plans had been shot to hell the instant he had seen her at the bar, correcting him about the drink and then, in her sometimes-condescending way, told him that it wasn't her drink. He had wanted her almost immediately.
He tried to deny it, especially to himself. He had tried only to harmlessly flirt with her. It was all good fun in the beginning. He would come to Port Charles, do his job, and then leave, just like he had done in South America. That girl had fallen in love with him, and it hadn't been his fault. She had gotten too attached, too quickly. Poor girl.
He stood at the door to Kelly's, watching her. Elizabeth Webber. She wasn't supposed to be funny and smart and talented and sweet and caring and beautiful. God, was she gorgeous. It was only supposed to be a challenge, another game he had written the rules to. She was so beautiful, and she didn't even know it. That was part of the appeal. And angry-she got angry, and he loved that about her.
She was closing up on her own, because Courtney had skipped out and the other girl had a date with her boyfriend or something. It was Valentine's Day, after all.
He wanted to spend it with her.
Only a day before, twenty-four silly little hours before, she had kissed him and told him she wanted him, and his skin had hummed because he had wanted her so much. He was so deep and he didn't even know it, didn't even know it until he turned her down. He hadn't even known how much, how deeply he had begun to feel for her until he heard the words coming out of his mouth.
She had been so upset with him, but he knew that some of her passion was rooted in Jason, and that made his heart burn with jealousy. She didn't want Jason, she wanted him, and he knew it, could see that in her eyes, hear that in her voice. She made no pretensions about it.
All he had wanted to do was take her right there, just devour her whole on his bed and keep her safe inside of him forever and ever. She wouldn't have been able to comprehend the intensity with which he felt for her.
He had told her that it wasn't the right time for a sexual relationship, and he had been telling the truth. He wanted so much more than that from her, but he was too afraid to ask it of her. He was too afraid to even admit to himself that he had let this girl in, let her break under his skin, enveloping him. It was in her smiles and her teasing and her beautiful eyes and her sheer intelligence and the subtle ways she encouraged him. It was in her absolute trust of him, even though he was a bad, bad man. That's where it was.
He ran his fingers over the glass, wanting to go inside and take her in his arms and kiss her until the sun came up the next morning, but he had too much to do, too many plans that would simply fall apart if he her inside, if he let her get to him.
God, how he wanted to let her get to him. He wanted her to heal his demons. He wanted to take her away from Port Charles and all of its hoodlums; he wanted to take her away from people like Jason Morgan, who would suck a beautiful human being like her into his world, chew her up, and then spit out her bones, leaving nothing of the girl who had once been. Elizabeth was strong, but they were stronger.
How had he let his precious walls crumble? It was going to be so easy. The Corinthos family was going to be so incredibly easy to take apart, because of the lies, because of the fear, because of their carefully constructed web of power.
He had made plans long before he had ever met Elizabeth Webber. He couldn't change them, not now. Not even for her.
The thought of the hurt in her eyes, the pain she would feel when she found out about his betrayal, made him sick. He didn't owe her anything, but her inherent trust in him would lead her to pain, and he hated himself. She tried so hard and so many times to make the rest of the world happy; he wondered what would happen if she tried to make herself happy for once.
He traced the contour of her face through the glass, and then he withdrew his hand, slid it into his glove, and then turned and left, preparing for what he had been preparing for so long.
*
She stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the top landing, debating. If she went up, would she look desperate?
If she stayed away, would she curse herself?
It was Valentine's Day, after all. And on Valentine's Day, people deserved to be with who they wanted to be with. And Elizabeth Webber wanted to be with Ric Lansing on Valentine's Day.
He had made her feel so stupid, only a day before. She had felt so incredibly dumb, and yet at the same time, she had been so thankful to him, for everything he had done. She had been so close to ruining it, to ruining whatever it was that was happening between her and Ric. She couldn't afford that, not now.
She had thrown herself at him, because she was upset with Jason, because she was upset at herself, but her feelings had boiled down to some very simple, very universal feelings: she had to make sure she wasn't defective, that a man could still find her attractive. And waiting had ruined so many other things, and she didn't want to wait for Ric. She didn't want to hesitate, like she had hesitated with Jason.
"Oh, God, I'm repulsive," she had said to him after he had pulled her hands away from his chest and told her he didn't think the time was right for a sexual relationship.
"Oh, yeah," he had scoffed. "Right. Nobody in the world could possibly find you attractive."
She had somehow missed the irony, and somewhere in her head, in her mortification, she had thought he was turning serious on her, and she said, "I know, isn't it terrible?"
"It's a ludicrous idea," he had replied.
"What, someone wanting me?"
He had looked at her mock-sternly and said, "No. Anybody not."
She looked up at the stairs again, and she debated again. He was older, more mature, more experienced. Maybe she was just a silly schoolgirl to him. Maybe he wasn't looking for anything more than a little flirting, a little kissing, some casual dates. Maybe she had misinterpreted everything she thought was happening between them. There were so many maybes, and they were just as bad as the what ifs.
She was scared as hell.
At some point, the fear was going to ruin her life. And she wasn't going to let it be today. Not today, not on Valentine's Day. If he wasn't there, she'd see him the next day. But if he was there . . . well, she'd have to play it by ear after that point.
Elizabeth Webber was going to get her man. For once.
She braced herself and walked up the stairs to Ric's room. She let her fist fall heavily against the wood of his door, and she felt her heart pounding, pulsing, as she waited for him to open it. She heard movement from within, and she knew he had to be there.
The door finally opened, and she felt the smile spread across her face, joy at just seeing him.
But something was out of place.
Something.
She didn't know what it was. Not at first.
Then it slowly began to come to her, pieces of a puzzle that didn't fit at first, but on second try were actually correct. He was buttoning his shirt. His hair was mussed, curls trying to break free of his carefully combed coif. His eyes widened when he saw her, sheer surprise coloring his face red.
She had broken through the poker exterior.
His eyes couldn't lie to her, not in the moment she had caught him. He was guilty as hell.
But guilty of what?
"What are you doing here?" he asked her at the same time that she said, "What's going on?" She heard her own tone, brittle and sharp. She had put her guard up, unwilling to let him con her.
She looked over his shoulder and she could see, just barely, a woman's feet dangling off the end of the bed. She looked at him, locking her gaze on his, and she pushed open the door all the way with her right hand. It swung open, revealing the woman on the bed.
In the bed. Almost.
Carly Corinthos, naked, it appeared, barely covered by Ric's sheet.
Carly Corinthos.
Her brain couldn't comprehend it.
"Oh, I see," she said slowly, softly, quietly. "I get it now. I was . . . cover."
"No-" he started to say, but she cut him off.
"Don't lie to me anymore. I hate it when people lie. Just-let it go. It's fine," she told him, knowing, feeling with every fibre of her being that it wasn't fine.
Shaking but trying to hide it, she turned away from Ric and started down the hall away from him. Her hands were shaking, throbbing, and she wanted to break down and cry, but she was so numb that she wasn't even sure that she could cry.
"Elizabeth, wait-" Ric called after her, and she kept moving, forcing her feet to keep plodding down the hallway.
She felt his hand tighten around her upper arm, and she turned when he pulled at her. "What?" she demanded, her voice stronger than she expected it to be. "You don't owe me any explanations."
"No, I don't," was his reply.
"That's fine," she said again. "It's fine. I'm going home now." Then she stopped and dropped her voice. If she could have, she would have imploded and taken him with her.
She had wanted him so badly, still wanted him. She could picture herself in a relationship with him, holding him, caring for him, laughing with him, having intellectual conversations with him. And it had all been shattered in a moment.
"How long has this-" she started, but she broke off, realizing that she didn't want to know. "Happy Valentine's Day," she whispered to him, and she turned around and walked away from him.
To be continued . . .
((I'll make it better, I promise!))