I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection. ~ Freud

A big vote of thanks goes out to Sterryvit for encouraging me to write this story and for being a great sounding board and devil's advocate.

A/N: This is a Jason story. There will be Liason but you will have to be patient and wait for it. I hope you enjoy it, Lisa

***

October 16, 2010

He approached the room at the end of the hall. It was quiet. It was serene. The soft blue that wrapped the walls reflected the soft warm lights that lit the room. In the morning the sun streaming through the windows on either side of the bed would bathe the room in a cheeriness that belied the room's purpose.

The bed was the center of the room. Not just by location, but by its occupant. Everything in the room, every person who entered was centered on the small body enveloped in the soft blankets that covered the bed.

He entered as softly as he always did. He was here for his usual weekly visit. He took up his usual seat at the left side of the bed. He opened the book continuing from where he left off last week. This was a new book for them. This book was about Denmark. And he read . . .

Jutland and its 400 surrounding islands form one of Europe's smallest countries. Denmark has an abundance of picturesque villages and towns, historic castles and monuments, and a coastline that varies from broad sandy beaches to small coves and gentle fjords.

Throughout the country, low rolling hills provide a constant succession of attractive views; there are cool and shady forests of beech trees, extensive areas of heathland, a beautiful lake district, sand dunes and white cliffs resembling those of Dover; nor should one forget the Danish islands, each of which has its own unique attractions.

The Danes have taken strong measures to keep their coastline clean and tidy, keen for visitors to sample the many unspoilt beaches. Inland from the 4,800km (3,000 miles) of beaches . . .

As she approached the room she knew he would be here tonight. He came once a week, but never the same night as the week before. He came in the small hours and never at the same time. He came when the fewest people would see him. He came in quietly and spoke to no one. He came in the same heavy boots that somehow never made a sound. But the air in the room told you he was here. And then you heard the sound; the steady sound of an unusually melodious and steady voice talking, endlessly talking, to the small figure in the bed.

. . . and unspoiled islands, you'll find a landscape eminently suitable for cycling. Ferries ply between the mainland and the islands, competing with awesome bridges like the 16km (10 miles) Øresund link to Sweden. Ranks of huge white wind turbines are a feature of the modern Danish landscape.

She came in on quiet feet, feet that seemed to almost float over the floor. She came into the already quiet room to check on the small figure in the bed. She ministered to her small patient with a gentleness that matched the serenity of the room; and did nothing to interrupt the flow of the large man's roughly gentle voice as he read to her small charge.

You could almost miss the low and constant beeping sounds of the machines discretely positioned to be unnoticed. But as she checked each one, the readouts of vital signs, the ubiquitous bags that surreptitiously dripped life-sustaining fluids into the youngsters still developing body, and took the piece of paper off the machine that assured all who cared for the boy that his brain was still locked away and still functioned.

As she finished her nightly tasks, he looked up at her for a brief few seconds and gave his usual acknowledging nod. His eyes, his eyes said so much, but mostly she saw gratitude for her gentle and respectful care. He continued to read . . .

Amidst such tranquility, it now seems almost surreal to consider that this country once spawned a notoriously violent seafaring race of people, the Vikings, feared throughout northwest Europe. Today, visitors to Denmark find a country that is peaceful, introspective, neutral and egalitarian. Its hallmarks are world-class design and uniformly high standards that apply equally to its accommodation and transport. Cuisine is excellent, especially in the realm of dairy products and scrumptious pastries. Add to this a people both amiable and helpful, with a facility for languages, and the result is an overwhelming sense of welcome.

Copenhagen. Copenhagen is the modern metropolis that never forgot its history. It's a captivating, friendly city where your senses can roam and where there's always something wonderful around the next corner. Copenhagen is the largest city in Denmark and its capital. It is a wonderful cobblestoned city with many quaint medieval streets and buildings, that has something for everyone, but there is more to Denmark than its capital, and any visitor to the country is strongly advised to explore elsewhere too.

As the merest streaks of the sun started to break through the night's darkness he left the room as quietly as he had come. By habit the staff knew that he would be gone by this time. He was always gone by this time. It had been this way since the young boy had arrived almost two and a half years ago.

*

As I started to dry off from my shower I heard the familiar clatter of Jason's keys as they landed on his desk. I heard the heaviness of his usually light step as he walked to the kitchen to grab a cup of the steaming black brew that was already waiting for him.

Returning from these particular all-night excursions my taciturn friend seemed to be even quieter than usual and for a man who rarely spoke that was indeed a feat. On these mornings it was my practice to steer clear of my most revered and esteemed friend. Not out of fear, out of respect.

I wasn't exactly certain where Stone Cold went on these nights, although I had my suspicions. They were never the same night, but each week Stone Cold would disappear, would be unreachable, for the majority of the night. It was one of the few times he took a squad of guards with him. And upon returning home Stone Cold needed decompression time but not the same as when he had been involved in a fight or off plying his supposedly nefarious profession – this was different.

As I came down the stairs my friend and mentor was just taking a seat on the sofa. The fatigue radiated from Jason's body as he set his cup on the table and scrubbed his hands across his face.

"Good Morning, Stone Cold," I said quietly as I came down the stairs into the living room.

"Hey, Spinelli."

"I am glad to see that you have returned safely once again from your all-night departure to unknown whereabouts and doings."

My esteemed friend smiled a tired smile and being the soul of brevity, replied, "Yeah," and took another sip of the steaming black brew he favored not just in the mornings but around the clock.

"And all is well with you? No wounds? No problems that the harsh light of day will reveal from your weekly all-night clandestine excursion?" I asked, seeking both information and to lighten my friend's grey disposition.

"Spinelli, everything is fine. There is no reason for any concern. I wasn't doing anything dangerous." He assured me with a slight smile. "I'm going to take a shower and then we need to get started on the pier acquisition, we need to do a few things on the Michael Trust, and I want to talk to Monica about tonight." He got up from the couch with his usual alacrity and headed for the stairs.

"Stone Cold, don't forget you have an appointment with Diane today on the South American properties and with Giuseppe for the foundation."

"I know. Did the cleaner's drop off my tux? And did you print out every thing I needed?"

"Graciella put your tux in your closet and the printouts are on the desk." I said to his retreating back.

I was always glad to see my brooding friend regain his usual stoic footing. We had a bit of an odd relationship, the man I call my friend, my mentor, my master. He rescued me from certain death at the hands of the Darth Destructor Lorenzo Alcazar. He rescued me even though it was I, the Jackal, the Assassin of Cyber-Space that had arranged, at the behest of Alcazar, to create false and decidedly incriminating evidence against him and his organization. He rescued me while suffering a gunshot wound to his leg received in his first rescue attempt for my freedom, and, it should be noted, so that I could clear up the false evidence I had so convincingly laid.

I came to live with Stone Cold and the Goddess, his girlfriend at the time, only a few days later. I knew no one in Port Charles and he irritatedly took me in. I never would have expected that almost four years later that he would be my best friend, my mentor, a father and a brother to me.

It is with great awe and humility that I find myself in the exclusive circle of Jason Morgan's friends. Given my mentor's chosen profession, many would find it difficult to understand that being associated with such a man could bring any satisfaction to anyone except those who paid for his services.

I beg to differ. Jason Morgan is, to say the least, an unusual man, he is more honorable than most, his loyalty is never for sale, his integrity is beyond reproach, and at the same time he will tell you in no uncertain terms that he is not a good man. It makes me wonder how a good man should be defined.

I do not believe that a man is defined by his job, but rather by his actions in the world and to the people around him. Jason Morgan is not a 'good man' because he has been one of the most feared and deadly Organized Crime Enforcers and Assassins on the Eastern Seaboard and around the world for more than ten years. And now he is one of the most respected Organized Crime Lords on the East Coast and in Italy – he is a career criminal – alleged career criminal.

That I would be his chief confidant and keeper of his secret pain – is humbling and gratifying. I am sure there are many, many pains that my mentor does not share with me – it is never his wish to burden anyone unnecessarily. It is his goal to keep all those for whom he cares deeply as far away from harm as possible – this is the reason that he has removed himself from the people he cares for most, the love of his life, his son, well actually sons, his mother, his best friends.

It is an unsatisfying life for my friend for the most part, but he never complains – he accepts the choices he made and lives with the consequences of those choices. And from this self-imposed sentence he seeks no parole.

The New York Extended Care Facility

New York City, NY

October 16, 2010

"Hey, Mr. Man. How are you doing today?"

Smoothing the covers over him.

"It's a beautiful day out today. The leaves have all turned those beautiful colors. You remember the maple tree outside your room at home? Well, the leaves would match your hair." She gave a soft chuckle as she moved the hair away from her son's unseeing eyes.

"It's Morgan's birthday next week. You know he wants to see you so much. But, he doesn't understand, yet, that you can't wake up. He's still just a little boy . . . you're both my little boys." She picked up a picture of her two boys with her best friend.

"Your new little sister, Cari Jane is doing really well, she's starting to roll over and she wants to crawl so badly." Giggling a bit, "You should see Morgan with her . . . he tries so hard to help her, but you know she has to do it on her own. I wish you could see her."

After another thirty minutes of talking with her son, "Well, Mr. Man, it's getting late. I've got to get going. Tonight is the dance that Uncle Jason is giving in honor of Aunt Emily. It's the first annual Emily's Pink Ball and I promised your uncle that I would be there."

She brushed her son's hair out of his eyes again, and gently plumped his pillow.

"I know if Uncle Jason were here he would tell you about how everyone gets all dressed up and even though he doesn't like to he'll do it for Emily. Okay, Michael," she dropped a kiss on his cheek, "I have to go now if I'm going to get home in time."

She ran another smoothing hand over Michael's blankets.

"Uncle Jason sends his love. You have no idea how much he loves you, Michael. I know you are probably tired of hearing me say this all the time. Uncle Jason, and Mommy and Daddy, and Jax . . . we love you so much . . . we want you to always know that."

Carly left the quiet room, and left her son behind for another week until she could come again.

As she walked toward the elevators, one of the nurses stopped her, "Mrs. Jacks."

Carly turned to her.

"One of Michael's doctor's would like to speak with you."

"Is there a problem?" she asked the nurse nervously.

"No, I don't think so. Dr. Simonson wants to go over some changes in Michael's condition with you. His office is on the second floor."

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Disclaimer: All characters are the property of ABC, Inc. and The Disney Corporation. No copyright infringement intended. Character's identities are merely borrowed for fun.