A/N: Well, it's certainly been a minute since I last mustered enough brain power to sit down and write something! Imagine my surprise when my muse started with the poking around after being AWOL for the past few years. Can't say I'm disappointed—JaSam is slowly making a comeback, which means I have plenty to work with and dammit, I've missed them.

Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing relating to General Hospitalor its affiliates.

"our scars remind us (that the past is real)"

by marissa-christina

With hearts pounding in a synchronized cadence and overheated skin still shining with sweat, the two basked in the afterglow of their impromptu romp, hands still wandering lazily against each other. The silence that had fallen between them was comfortable and familiar in the very best of ways and as their breathing began to even out and their bodies curled together beneath a thin sheet, Jason discovered that he was ticklish.

The light brush of her fingers against a spot on his ribs elicited a strangled chuckle out of him, cutting though the pleasant quiet that had settled over the room. Sam giggled softly, propping herself up on her elbow as she trailed her fingers up his torso. "Sorry," she said, her smile bright and a little mischievous in the darkness. Jason grunted and caught her hand before she tried it again, tugging her over him so she lay sprawled across his chest. Sam sighed happily and made herself comfortable, smiling again when she felt Jason's fingers begin to trace shapes along her shoulder blades.

Inevitably, her hands began to wander once more and she found herself unconsciously seeking out the familiar indentations that dotted his lower ribcage, the pads of her fingers gently tracing the raised scar tissue she found there. The motion was soothing and she began to drift off, not noticing Jason had stopped his ministrations until he cleared his throat and shifted against her. "Gunshot wound," he said quietly, though his tone was vague, almost questioning.

Sam pondered the best way to respond, knowing that he was curious, if not a little wary; he had expressed more of an interest in his former professional dealings as of late, but she was cautious with how she handled his questions. She was unsure how much Elizabeth had shared with him during their time together—unsure if the woman had really even known the backstory to each one of Jason's many, many scars the way Sam did.

"I think this was one of the first ones you ever got after you woke up from the original accident and started working for Sonny," she murmured, pushing herself up to look closer. Jason said nothing for a long while and Sam bit her lip as she rubbed her thumb across the shiny skin. She gasped quietly when he reached up and grasped her hand, sliding it a little higher.

"And this one?"

Repeating the motion, she furrowed her brow and tried to remember. "Another mob hit. Probably at least fifteen years old."

Jason sighed and maneuvered himself upright, rolling his head back against the headboard and staring at the ceiling with a blank expression. Sam pursed her lips as she rested her chin on her crossed arms, tilting her head to look up at him. "Hey," she inquired softly, tapping his chin. "Talk to me."

Jason frowned as he tried to formulate a response, the questions on his tongue but he unable to find it in himself to convey them to her.

It had been a shock to him, the first time he'd been able to truly look at himself. Still reeling from the amnesia and the reconstructed face he now sported, he was horrified by the numerous scars he found scattered along his body when he'd finally been able to get to a mirror. The kicker, though, was that he instinctively knew their origin, in addition to systematically taking into account the level of accuracy each one required and how much damage would have been inflicted—a habit that felt as easy as breathing and horrified him worse than the scars themselves.

Elizabeth hadn't ever commented on them, rarely engaging him the few times he voiced his concerns over where they came from, content to instead wave them off as a life once lived and maybe one he was better off forgetting. "It doesn't matter anymore," she'd said quietly one night as she tugged his shirt down, wrapping her arms around his middle and smiling at him in the mirror placed before them. "Wherever they came from, whatever you did to get them…that doesn't matter now. All that matters is you and me and the boys."

And so he did, shoving all his thoughts and questions in the deepest corner of his broken brain. In those moments, he was so grateful for Elizabeth's quiet acceptance that he never once considered there being any motive behind her persistence in him keeping his eyes on the future and focusing on the life he was about to start with the woman who had helped pull him from the dark.

The woman, he later discovered, that had done nothing but keep him in the dark.

The bitterness he felt at the thought was interrupted when Sam pushed herself off of his chest, swinging a leg over his body until she was effectively straddling his lap. The thin sheet fell to pool at her waist. Jason groaned quietly at the sight and the sensation, the sudden warmth between them evoking an immediate, visceral response that both startled and delighted him. He couldn't stop his hands from reaching for her hips, nor his eyes from wandering to her breasts, bare and perfect before him, her star necklace sparkling faintly from the moonlight that peeked through the window. Sam, to her credit, let him stare without an ounce of shame or reservation. "You hardly ever talked, before," she said finally, coaxing him to look away from her body and meet her eyes instead. They were warm and shimmering with a patience that he couldn't comprehend. "And I got really good at guessing what you were thinking." She poked his temple for emphasis, her lips curling upwards.

The words struck a chord within him, ringing with a familiarity that he couldn't place. "You've said that to me before, haven't you?" he asked, searching her face. Sam stroked his cheek, her smile fading as she nodded.

"You're not as different as you think, Jason."

"Sure. No new bullet holes to add to the collection," he said, meaning it as a joke but knowing that it fell short when she frowned. He clenched his jaw and looked away.

His dejected expression spurred her into action and she brought her hands up to cup his face and turn his head towards her again, narrowing her eyes when he tried to avoid her gaze. Images from the countless moments of the life they shared flashed through her mind and the part of her heart that beat solely for this man screamed at her to make him understand that the opinion he'd made about himself was so totally and completely wrong.

Emboldened, Sam glanced down, taking in the marks on his chest, letting her gaze trace the pattern they made against his skin. She knew those scars as well as she knew her own, and she appreciated what they represented as much as she despised how he received them. And she felt he was owed the chance to finally see them as she did, rather than take them at face value.

"A lot of these were the result of you working for Sonny," she admitted at long last, taking care to once again point them out. "but not all of them." Her fingers trailed over his right side towards the mark that had inspired this entire exchange, nails lightly tracing the neat little circle it made as she thought back to over a decade before, when her life had been in free-fall after losing her daughter. She could still hear Jason's frantic explanations as he pleaded her case to Sonny, could hear Reese Marshall's voice interrupt and the shots that followed. "You got this one defending me." His eyes flew up to hers against his will, mouth dropping open in surprise. Sam held his gaze, willing him to understand. "It was the first time anyone ever cared enough to bother."

She trailed her hand downwards, ignoring the way he tensed as she tapped the skin just above his right knee. "This one, too." She closed her eyes against the image of the tattooed psycho who had caused so much damage to them in the early days of their relationship, the one who had first stained their little Hawaiian haven with violence and blood and unwanted touches.

Jason remained silent as she lost herself in their memories, desperate to know more but unwilling to ask. But Sam seemed to understand as she took a few seconds to point out the other scars on his legs, explaining their significance the best she could. He winced when she pointed out one that was the result of protecting Elizabeth, the last one she could recall him receiving prior to his disappearance. Sam was quick to move on after that.

Jason raised his eyebrows when she poked at his left bicep, confused when she suddenly grinned. He cleared his throat and inclined his head, motioning towards the graze. "Something funny about that one?"

She laughed softly and her expression became somewhat chagrined. "Not so much funny as it was embarrassing," she admitted. "You can say that I was having an off night."

Jason gaped a little. "You—?"

Then he blinked.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Disbelief. He was in disbelief. And pain. His arm was on fire.

"With me? No, you told me to..to fire and—!" Disbelief and utter bafflement and maybe a little bit of indignation colored her voice.

"I can't—I can't believe that you…you shot me!"

"You told me to!" Scratch that: a lot of indignation.

Sam smiled wider, not noticing his dazed expression. "Yeah. Let it be known that it was purely by accident. Although it was kind of your fault." Her smile became a little pensive as her hand moved to his collarbone and it faded completely as she reached the next bullet wound. "This is the one that did it for us, though—the one that helped us that second time around."

The second flash happened before he could even process the first.

"Jason, promise me—promise me you're gonna live." Soft, desperate words punctuated by softer hands, keeping him grounded despite the unnatural heat scorching through his body, the throbbing ache in his shoulder and leg…

He looked at her then, his shoulders tense. Sam frowned, tilting her head in question. "Jason? Did you just—?" Clarity stole over her features and her lips parted in shock. "You remembered something?"

"I promised, didn't I?" he said, voice gravelly with the weight of his words. "I promised I'd live for you. Even before I knew what that meant."

Sam let out a shaky breath, her eyes misty. "You did," she whispered as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Jason responded in kind, banding his arms around her and pushing himself up until she was on her back and he was on top of her. Sam relished the weight of him, pulling him closer, moaning as her bare breasts connected with his chest. He groaned at the contact, briefly pulling back as he rested his forehead against hers, panting softly as his eyes—a darkened cobalt now—met hers. Her hands released his shoulders and then slowly moved down his back, brushing past hard, solid muscle, stopping only when she reached midway. Jason's breath caught in his throat when her fingers lightly caressed a sensitive spot just next to his spine, and her expression crumpled briefly as she traced the raised skin she found there. Eyes closing against the onslaught of emotion it invoked within her, she breathed deep, taking in his scent, feeling the warmth of his body against hers; reveling in the familiar comfort of his arms, marveling at the miracle she'd been given when he found his way back into her life.

Sam opened her eyes and reached up to cup his face between her hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks as she carefully looked him over. The features were a little different, the placement not quite the same in places, but his eyes…those beautiful blue eyes that scorched her soul, broke her spirit and built her back up more times than she could ever remember…they were the same.

Smiling brightly then, tears falling down her cheeks, she pulled him close and whispered against his lips. "You did, Jason."