(Well, here's the first chapter of the sequel to Like A Criminal! Yeah, yeah. Took long enough. Enjoy, anywho! Let me know what you think. I'm really not very interested in continuing, considering how terrible the current storyline is.)

Chapter 1:

Perfect was a distant memory.

Sighing and feeling very much like the world around her had come to a complete standstill, Samantha McCall rinsed the remaining dishes listlessly, watching idly as the water ran down the smooth surface, taking the remains of a hearty meal with it. A vague thought concerning what the original order had looked like entered her mind, but, as bored as she was, she did not give it any time of day. It fluttered around uselessly for a moment, then vanished, essentially committing consciousness suicide.

Sam missed the pent house. She missed the way life had been. She missed the danger, and the fun; the terrible ordeals and the blissful moments. She missed Jason. It wasn't that she was broken without him. Life moved on, and she was forced to soldier along with it. She could manage, living here, working here. Doing what she needed to survive. But she was lonely and miserable, unable to stomach any company. She just missed him.

Kelly's was the home for any wayward traveler bereft of better accommodations. It was home to vagabond and miscreant alike, indiscriminate when it came to past or future. At one time it even housed one of the most terrible murderers Port Charles had ever seen. And that was saying quite a lot, considering the city was home to some of the largest mob circles in the state.

There were only a handful of rooms above the restaurant, but somehow Mike Corbin always managed to have one open when it was needed. So when he had come out from the kitchen to see Sam sitting at his counter, soaking wet from the rain with a middle-sized trunk on the stool beside her he had instantly known what he had to do. He gave her a room and a job, no questions asked, no money required. That was three weeks ago, and he still didn't know the story.

Sam found serving customers tedious and obnoxious, and was effectively fired from that position after waiting on two tables. He moved her to the back, giving her simple kitchen jobs to waste her time on as she mused and pouted over the miserable turn her life had taken. Mike was sensitive to her predicament, giving her not only the space, but the quiet she needed to mull things over. She really did appreciate his generosity, guilt finding a more comfortable home in her consciousness the longer she took to thank him.

Washing dishes wasn't exactly her ideal job, but it covered the rent and kept her hands from being idle. It was a shame that same sense of occupation didn't stretch to her thoughts. She found herself washing the same plate for ten minutes or more, her eyes staring without sight as she let the faucet wash the soap away. Her mind took her to times and places she loved, making her long for some way of getting back there. These memories were inexplicably linked to her devious side, and as they rolled across her inner vision she silently fashioned plans to make them a reality once more.

One thing she knew to be true, even as everything else crumbled around her, was that Jason was an honest man. If ever she actually tried to ensnare him in a lie, to force them back together through an elaborate plot, he would never forgive her. It wouldn't work. And besides, that was much more a Carly thing. Sam knew there was another answer.

If she could just find it, everything would stop hurting.

Three weeks. The longest month she had ever lived, and the end was still a long way off. She didn't sleep very well at nights, when the loneliness was at its worst. It crept into her mind through the corners of her eyes, no matter how tightly she shut her eyes. It trickled through her veins like liquid, snaking through the most private zones of her body, leaving her feeling violated and helpless. Actually falling to sleep was no better, giving in to nightmares and, sometimes even worse, sensual remembrances.

Working in the diner, while somehow distracting, was almost a waking nightmare in itself. When she was working in the back she felt reasonably okay, easing into a pattern of work and thought. But there was someone, everyday, asking about her at the front desk.

It was usually Alexis, checking in every day to see if her daughter was okay, if she wanted to come back home, if she would at least come out and talk to her mother. All Mike could tell her was 'no', and she would leave only to return again whenever her busy schedule would allow. Mike was a father, and understood Alexis's pain. He came back to check with Sam each time, despite knowing the answer he would get.

He didn't realize that both women were deeply grateful for this one simple action.

Sometimes it was others, friends or just busybodies. Sam gave none of them heed. The one man she ever wanted to talk to never showed up, never came to see her personally. She knew some of the inconspicuous men, the ones that brought up the subject of the 'quiet girl doing dishes in the back' casually, were just gathering information for Jason. They left with nothing more than when they came in. She would continue to shut them out until Jason came down personally.

She heard Mike talking to someone at the counter, two male voices drifting back to her. She shut off the faucet and proceeded to dry the last of the dishes slowly, her ears perked, her attention forward while her back greeted anyone trying to look through the kitchen. Without the running water the conversation was clearer, but not perfect. She picked up the key words, the man speaking with Mike doing so in a low, mumbled tone. Missed words or not, Sam couldn't help but note the surprise in Mike's voice.

"Okay, I'll go back and see if she wants to talk today…" Mike said warily. She heard his footsteps drawing near and turned to face him, letting the dish crash gracelessly back into the water, the towel with it. She tilted her head at him expectantly, her hands on her hips. He smiled warmly, nodding his head back towards the counter, "Feel like having a conversation with my son?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. Now she understood why Mike had sounded so taken back. What could he possibly want? Next to Jason, Sam considered Sonny the least likely of people to come and talk to her. Intrigued, she smiled wanly and nodded. Mike beamed for a moment, then, stone faced, led her back to the counter as if he couldn't trust her to find it without getting lost in the maze of ovens and storage shelves.

Sonny Corinthos sat at the bar, a plate with a half eaten slice of apple pie sitting before him. He was dressed in a dark navy button up shirt and a suave blazer, complimented by black trousers, dark tie and slicked back hair. Sam nodded at him, admitting privately that it was the best she had seen him look in a long time. But appearances were deceiving, and Sonny epitomized that adage. Mike left them under the guise of waiting on a table.

Separated by the counter, Sam and Sonny made eye contact and searched the others eyes carefully. It was the mobster that broke the silence that was quickly passing beyond the realm of simple awkwardness. He cleared his throat and offered her a smile, and she returned the favor with only a slight hesitation.

"How are you doing?" He asked, playing with the fork on his plate. A thousand rehearsed sarcastic remarks circled through her mind, but she somehow ignored them all.

"I'm okay. Tired. Bitter. Lonely. But I'm okay."

"Yeah, that sounds great." He chuckled with an ease that belonged only to Sonny, his dimpled cheeks betraying a sweet side he often tried to hide. She smiled at the man she once almost had a child with, feeling a bond of friendship she had long since forgotten about. It pulled at her heart and made her sigh. Still grinning, he continued, "I'm sorry. I want you to be okay. I have to ask you for a favor, and I want you to agree because you want to, not because…"

Smiles faded, laughter died away. Sam's eyes were keen, her mind sharp. She didn't miss the wince as Sonny tried to stop his words before they came out. The slight stutter, the moment that went on a bit too long. She shook her head and leaned forward on the counter, getting as close to him as she could without threatening him.

"Because… it has something to do with Jason?" She asked with pointed emphasis on the name of her former lover. Her interest was more than piqued, "Do you want me to help you get your business back from him? Because I won't, Sonny. I'm mad at him, but I could never… I can't betray him. You know that. I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't."

Sonny nodded, "You're right. I shouldn't even ask you. Don't apologize. In fact, I'm sorry." He stood and reached across the counter. She thought for a moment that he wanted to shake her hand, and she began to proffer it. He caught her off guard, his strong arm around her shoulder before she could realize it. The counter between them made the hug awkward, but Sonny kept his hold firm for a long time. Almost too long a time. Sam began to feel comfortable rather than the opposite, and closed her eyes. Sonny let her go and looked straight into her face, looking her over once more before turning and leaving the diner.

Mike sauntered over, seemingly by accident, and feigned a surprised look, "Did Michael leave?"

"Yeah…" Sam said, slightly uncomfortable, "Talk about weird. I… I'm just going to get back to work…" She waved and lied in three syllables, escaping from the kitchen entirely and retreating to her room. Mike didn't stop her.

There was no getting her mind around what that conversation could have possibly been about. There was simply no understanding Sonny at all these days. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved in that. He had so many issues to work through: throwing herself and all of her own problems into that bag would not end happily for either of them. Still, she had to wonder: why would he take the time to visit her when she had already told him, weeks earlier, that she would not betray Jason to him? He could have forgotten, but that didn't seem the case. The way he smiled, the words he used, the look in his eyes all seemed to add to some answer she couldn't see.

He seemed so normal, and at the same time, completely unhinged.

Shuddering against an imaginary cold, she moved to her bed and flopped down, kicking off her shoes. She buried her face in her pillows, hoping that pressure on her forehead would some how stop the thoughts that were bleeding through her skull. It failed miserably, a pillow flying across the room in result. Sitting up on the bed now, she looked around for something to do. Her phone was sitting on the table next to the bed, the screen lit up.

Grabbing it and flipping it open she saw she had eight missed calls. Forget your phone for one afternoon and everyone wants to talk to you. Sighing, she called her voice mail and reclined, the unfriendly robotic voice feeding her information she already knew before getting to the actual messages.

A familiar voice came to her ears. A familiar tingle crawled through her stomach. She listened intently, everything else that was familiar melting away. The message went on, and she listened without breath. She didn't want to miss a word.

There was no going back to Perfect.