A/N: It's Christmas Eve and to forestall any ghosts that might want to come along and point out the numerous ways in which I have erred, I clearly state that I have no rights to or claims upon either General Hospital or A Christmas Carol. I hope everyone has a lovely holiday.
Two in the Morning
"Emily!" Jason was moaning in his sleep as he tossed and turned in the tangled blankets and sheets of his bed. "Don't go, please come back!"
"Jason, ssh, son, you're all right. You need to wake up now, it's time."
The voice penetrated Jason's trapped state of being half awake and half asleep. It wasn't Emily's voice speaking, his mind was aware enough to recognize that and to peg it as being masculine. Yet, it had a very recognizable cadence which tugged at his memory. He opened his eyes but this time it appeared he had remembered to turn off the lamp on the night table before collapsing into the bed. 'When did this happen?' He thought with drowsy bewilderment as his fingers brushed against the washed softness of the t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he had worn to bed earlier in the night. He had neither any recollection of getting dressed to go out with Emily nor undressed when they returned.
"Jason? Are you with me son?"
He tried to make his exhausted, bewildered brain focus on whoever was speaking to him. His pupils had expanded to compensate for the darkness of the room and he managed to make out a bulky shape that was marginally denser and blacker seeming than the air surrounding it. The visitor was sitting on Jason's bed close by his head and Jason tardily realized there was a hand on his shoulder. He was mildly startled to discover that his first impulse wasn't to shrug off the uninvited contact.
"Who…who are you?" He mumbled, his mouth was dry and he still wasn't fully awake and free of the unhappy dream of Emily vanishing from his arms.
There was a soft, rueful chuckle and the hand lightly touching him was removed. Jason immediately regretted the loss of warmth communicated by the touch. "I thought maybe you could just tell but I suppose that was asking too much. Bad habits don't die when you do, more's the pity."
"Alan?" Jason was incredulous, first his sister and now his father.
Abruptly, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed while Alan without making a sound or even causing the bed to shift, moved over to the window, he just stood there, an indistinct form, patiently waiting. Jason reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light.
It was him all right, Alan Quartermaine. Jason hadn't been aware of the significance of his father's name after his accident. Maybe he had known before his brains got scrambled but that information was permanently sealed off in damaged nerve tissue that was never going to reveal what memories it possessed. No, as usual with such matters pertaining to information in any form, it was Spinelli who had brought it his mentor's attention. This was back in the early days of their residing together when things between them were unsettled while boundaries were still being established.
Spinelli hadn't even known Jason was considered at best a lapsed-though most definitely not a titular-Quartermaine. He found out by accident one day when he was visiting Lulu at the Quartermaine mansion. He saw a picture of Jason in his preppy days and could hardly believe his eyes. Then later when he queried Jason about his antecedents and got a grudging description of family members and their names, Spinelli became extremely excited when he first heard Jason's father's full name.
"Dude, that is so awesome. Your Dad is like named after one of the great action adventure heroes of classic lost world literature." Registering the totally blank look of irritated incomprehension which was the standard expression Jason wore with regard to the young hacker for the first six months of their acquaintance; Spinelli sighed and dashed upstairs to his room. He called back over his shoulder, "Stone Cold, the Jackal insists you remain rooted to that spot he has something to show you which will knock your proverbial socks off!"
Jason hadn't complied with Spinelli's instructions instead his roommate found him rooting around for a beer in the refrigerator as he breathlessly skidded to a stop almost knocking the brown bottle from his hand. Jason glared at him as he growled, "Watch it, Spinelli! This is the imported stuff."
"The Jackal offers fulsome apologies, Stone Cold," Spinelli was panting after his exertions and stared longingly into the refrigerator at the gleaming row of orange soda bottles just as Jason cruelly and deliberately shut the door, cutting them off from sight. "Um, well, yes," he mumbled as he valiantly tried not to take offense at the deliberately provoking action. He schooled his face the best he could into studied indifference. Spinelli was scrupulously careful to not upset Jason beyond the inevitable clashes dictated by their disparate personalities. After all, he was never quite sure how seriously Jason's flashes of ill temper were to be viewed in terms of his continued residence in the penthouse or perhaps even more grimly-on the planet itself. "So, the Jackal retrieved the novel we were speaking of beforehand." He diffidently presented the dog eared paperback to Jason as thought it were a sacrificial offering meant to appease an angry god.
"Book?" Jason couldn't remember talking about any book. He took a calculated swig from his beer before casually reaching for the proffered object. Spinelli relinquished it with a beaming smile, all his worries and doubts from a moment ago about his position in Jason's life were temporarily assuaged but he knew there would always be a next time. Jason looked down at the book held in his free hand and read the title. "'King Solomon's Mines', what's it about?" He was only marginally curious. Jason thought his old self might have read extensively for both pleasure and learning but nowadays he didn't read much more than business documents, travel books and the occasional issue of 'Motorcycle Monthly'.
"It's a classic action adventure about the search for lost lands and treasure, the prototype of that genre of literature. It takes place in Africa in the eighteen eighties and the protagonist is a fortune hunter called Allan Quatermain." He nodded as Jason's head came up sharply from his perusal of the book. "Indeed, Stone Cold, the Jackal ventures to guess that your grandfather knew exactly what he was about when he bestowed that particular moniker on his son and heir."
Jason flushed uncomfortably as the rest of the memory slowly surfaced in his sluggish mind. Back then he was annoyed with Spinelli for intruding upon his family history as though he had taken on the unasked and undesired position of mediator between Jason and his estranged relatives. To Jason, it appeared the height of arrogance to believe that he-Damian Spinelli-could somehow do what others, with more claim to act and infinitely more gravitas, had failed at, namely to reconcile Jason and his family, especially his father.
"Thanks," he'd said coldly as he deposited the book on the kitchen counter.
He brushed past a bewildered Spinelli whose expression rapidly altered from one of bafflement to complete mortification as an ugly red flush spread over his face. He stepped away from Jason's path as though he was radioactive. The closed down look of pure misery that Spinelli wore stayed with Jason through the rest of the day and was the last thing he saw that night as he closed his eyes, sleep was a long time coming.
Ironically, when he couldn't sleep he went downstairs into the kitchen to search for the book. He wanted to make amends and planned to do so by reading the novel. Besides what Spinelli had told him about it had actually intrigued Jason. Or it would have, if he hadn't been so determined on behaving like the world's biggest asshole at the time. When he reached the kitchen the counter was bare. The book was gone and not once in all the succeeding years of their residing together had Spinelli ever offered him another book to read. He referenced them and quoted from them but he never again risked being rebuffed by bringing one to Jason's attention and Jason never asked. It was all just one more example of Spinelli continuously curbing his own natural impulses and desires so as to fit into Jason's domestic world.
Still, though he was loathe to admit it, Jason's curiosity was aroused. He purchased his own copy of 'King Solomon's Mines' and after reading it couldn't help but look speculatively at both his father and grandfather. How could there be a person on the planet who possessed fewer of the character traits than Dr. Alan Quartermaine did when compared to his literary almost namesake? Jason occasionally wondered if Edward had regretted naming his infant son after such a legendary, albeit fictional, character. He also wondered with a rare spurt of empathy if sometimes Alan felt that he hadn't managed to meet any of his father's expectations, even those most simply incorporated into his name.
"Jason?" It was Alan stepping away from the window and rousing him from his reverie, "Are you all right, son? You looked like you were somewhere else there for a while." He smiled uncertainly at him, their relationship so much less solid and defined then that which existed between Jason and Emily.
Jason swallowed over the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, he was absurdly glad to see his father, his dad, almost as happy as he had been to be able spend time with Emily. "Are you the second…spirit that Alcazar mentioned would come tonight?"
He still wasn't sure if he believed in the events of this night. He was reserving judgment about whether or not they would all turn out to be some type of, as Spinelli would put it, 'entirely explicable phenomena'. So, whether this was all real and tonight was going to decide the ultimate disposition of his immortal soul or perhaps it was all just some sort of quasi-nightmare brought on by Carly's spicy empanadas would be determined by night's end. For now, Jason was simply resolved to ignore the future outcomes of these visitations and instead grab onto the opportunity to reconnect with these people whom he had lost all too soon from his life.
He had regretted (there was that word again) so strongly his failure in achieving a genuine relationship with his father. Alan had always been open, been receptive to the idea of accepting Jason back in his life and he had been patient as well, too patient. His unexpected death had sharply underscored Jason's dilatoriness in the matter. He always assumed he could get to it later because there was always something more immediate, more engrossing and more pressing to occupy his time and attention in the here and now. Meanwhile, Alan stood off to the side waiting, his hand perpetually outstretched until the devastating night of the Metro Court hostage crisis when time ran out and his benevolent heart stopped.
Jason could never forget the shock of being too late to say goodbye when Alan died at the hospital because he was out propagating another act of brutality that wouldn't fix a single thing that had come before and would certainly always come after. Jason felt the futility of his violent retaliation down to the very depths of his being because this time extracting revenge had cost him the final opportunity to finally make peace with his father. Afterward, he spoke awkwardly to the still figure on the hospital bed, making an impromptu speech about being a father himself and how the experience allowed him to view Alan in a new light. Yet, it wasn't enough, it was all too little and infinitely too late.
Jason knew Alan Quartermaine was a good man, flawed but fair and he always strove to do right by people and especially by his family. It was a long journey but Jason had finally reached the point where he was proud to be his son and maybe tonight would be his last chance to show him how he felt.
Alan nodded tentatively, his eyes wary, "Yes, they allowed me to take this assignment. I can't tell you how grateful I am to get this chance to spend some time with you Jason." His demeanor subtly altered and now there was concern in the look he was giving Jason. "This is important, what is happening here tonight, I hope you know that. Based on what you choose after you have the facts…well, it can mean your salvation."
Jason inclined his head gravely and stared down at the carpet, he couldn't bear to see the pain in Alan's eyes as he thought of never seeing his son again. "Yeah," he replied his voice husky with suppressed emotion, "That is definitely the party message being pushed tonight. See and repent or else…"
Alan smiled wryly down at the bent head of his younger son, reaching over he softly brushed his hand across his cropped hair, "Well, with that in mind, we ought to be going. For all we have to do, time is short."
Jason looked over at the clock on the bedside table, it showed a little after two a.m., "Okay," he said standing up and feeling strangely reluctant to leave the putative sanctuary of his room in exchange for further unknown encounters. "I hope you're better at this time travel stuff than Emily," he added in an attempt to regain his bravado.
Alan grinned and reaching over touched Jason lightly on his shoulder, "We'll see what your old man can do in that department."
This time Jason knew what to expect and was braced for the sensations, the disorientation, the swirling that occurred as shapes either dissolved or reformed themselves depending on if he was coming or going. Yet, there was something different about this journey. It was smoother, causing less disruption to his sense of equilibrium. Also, this time when he ended up on the terrace outside the French doors leading into the Quartermaine living room he was still standing and gratified that he didn't feel an intense desire to make his way over to the shrubbery in order to vomit. Alan was definitely the better pilot when compared to his daughter.
Regarding the actual trip, Jason had no complaints but the destination was another matter, "This is a rerun, Alan." Jason tried to be gentle in his recrimination. He thought it quite possible that his father had just become muddled as to where he was supposed to bring him. "Emily already took me to the Quartermaines."
Alan just looked at him silently, one eyebrow raised as he laid his hand on the Jason's leather jacket. He was surprisingly unfazed to find himself once again wearing his street clothes. While he couldn't decide if that was evidence for or against this experience all being a dream, he was inordinately grateful to not be facing the December cold in his bare feet and threadbare pajamas. Suddenly, Jason found himself passing effortlessly through the patio doors into a room filled with people.
He looked around, getting his bearings, absorbing the sights and sounds as he adjusted to the change in venue. The room itself wasn't much different then it appeared on his prior visit early this evening but the constituents of it were. The only three people that remained the same were Edward, Monica and Tracy though Jason could tell at a glance they were all older. He knew instinctively that this was tonight, Christmas Eve.
Mostly it was because he felt it to be so at some primal level but if pressed to give empirical cause he would have pointed to the presence of Ethan Spencer and most especially Rebecca Shaw. The newcomers hadn't been in Port Charles a year ago and while his relatives and even Nicholas might have adopted Rebecca as a surrogate for Emily, Jason certainly hadn't. They might indeed have been twins, she might or might not be a good person. It was all irrelevant to Jason. There was only one Emily, his sister and this superficial carbon copy was little more than a weak echo of the woman he had loved so deeply.
There was the standard large tree decorated with all of his grandmother's prized German crystal ornaments and sparkling with white lights. Swags of evergreens draped the mantel piece and lay across the top of both the exterior and interior sets of doors. Candles were strategically placed throughout the room producing odors that Jason couldn't identify but they reminded him of similar ones Carly had at her house. Mistletoe was hanging over the double doors from the foyer where Luke was presently wrapping his arms around a delighted Alice and kissing her with just enough sincerity to make the tray of hors d'oeuvres she was carrying at risk of tipping onto the carpet.
Alice's exuberant squeak of "Mr. Luke!" commingled with Tracy's exasperated and slightly jealous "Really, Luke, must you cavort so with the help? Alice has to tend to her duties."
Luke grinned mischievously at Tracy and after grabbing an aperitif from the righted tray sauntered over to his wife and whispered lasciviously in her ear, "I have a much bigger gift in mind for you tonight, wife." Then he popped the snack into his mouth with one hand while slapping her on the rear with the other.
Tracy's outraged shriek of "Luke!" was accompanied by glowing red cheeks, sparkling eyes and a tight lipped smile as she grabbed for a glass of champagne from the buffet table.
Edward groaned and said "A little decorum if you please, there are impressionable minds here!"
Monica just muttered a half hearted "Really!" under her breath as she moved toward the fireplace where she stood staring up at a picture of Alan, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.
"Where are these impressionable minds, Edward?" Luke asked, coming over to plop down on the sofa next to the chair the older man was occupying. "I count you, me, Tracy, Alice, Monica, Rebecca, Ethan and Lulu not a virgin among the bunch." He looked genuinely interested in what his father-in-law might add to the discussion.
Edward glared at him and growled something that sounded like "Nincompoop!"
Tracy moved next to Lulu and in an half hearted attempt at indignation, said, "Your father is completely irreverent. Look at him over there baiting poor Daddy on Christmas Eve."
Lulu laughed as she gave her stepmother an affectionate glance, "You know that's Dad's Christmas present to Edward, riling him up. It makes him feel young and a part of things. You Quartermaines wouldn't know what to do with a peaceful Christmas Eve, it's how you show you care about one another." Her expression altered becoming somber as she was lost in her own thoughts.
Tracy, with unexpected sensitivity, asked, "You miss your mother don't you?"
Lulu nodded her head trying to smile again, "I don't know why I feel this way. After all, this year she's not in Shady Brooke, just France and I'll get to see her next week for New Year's. Also, I have a wonderful new brother," she gestured toward Ethan who was trying to maneuver Rebecca under the mistletoe. "So, overall, things are pretty good in the Spencer universe."
Tracy grabbed her in a brief hug, whispering in her ear, "I love you Lulu Spencer," then immediately released her and looked awkwardly around the room to check and see if anyone had noticed her aberrant behavior.
A stunned Lulu stared at her stepmother in amazement wondering if she had hallucinated the unexpected physical intimacy. Then she quickly regained her poise, saying with a cheeky grin, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I won't tell a soul."
Tracy scoffed and tossing her head replied, "Damn right, you won't because then I would have to kill you."
The sentimental moment was mercifully cut short when Alice reentered the room, inadvertently rescuing Rebecca and discommoding Ethan, as she announced the arrival of Dominic Pirelli.
Lulu instantly abandoned Tracy to greet her special guest. Tracy rolling her eyes, called after her, "Oh, great, dating another mobster, how very original of you!"
Jason didn't understand why he was here. There didn't seem to be any particular lesson to be absorbed, it looked to him like a traditional Quartermaine holiday full of alcohol and bickering. It was certainly not something on his lists of events to regret missing with the possible exception of spending time with Monica. He looked over at the fireplace and saw without surprise that Alan was standing right next to Monica, his face pressed against hers and his right hand placed on her lower back. It was strange but it almost seemed as though Monica was leaning into her husband's ghost, her eyes were closed and she looked tired but peaceful. Jason glanced curiously over at Tracy wondering if she could see Alan tonight as she had claimed to so many other times but her attention was squarely on Lulu and Dominic as they chatted by the buffet table, a small vertical crease of concern incised between her eyes.
Alan appeared once more at Jason's side, his eyes still on Monica who was looking around the room in a dazed fashion as though she was waking from a trance which Jason surmised might not be that far from the truth. "Ready to go?" He asked, almost brusquely, his eyes lingering tenderly on his widow.
"Was this visit for my benefit or yours?" Jason couldn't help questioning his father's motives.
Alan looked at his son cryptically, his dark eyes giving nothing away. "Both maybe," was all he said, reaching out and lightly touching Jason's sleeve. "Let's go."
Colors and lights coalesced around Jason as he found his footing after a swift moment of transition. A brief shake of his head was all that was required to clear it of the effects of the trip. He glanced around trying to ascertain where they had arrived this time. He was on the tenth floor of General Hospital at the central nurse's station. The whole area was decorated with tinsel and swags of greenery. Over by the waiting area, an artificial tree stood. It was gaily strung with homemade paper decorations and strands of popcorn and cranberries, courtesy of the decorating efforts of the pediatric patients. At the base of the tree was a towering pile of brightly wrapped packages, a cornucopia of presents which ensured there would be a gift for every child in attendance this night.
Jason saw Alan wandering around the floor peering at everything with intense interest as though he had never before seen the hospital instead of spending his entire medical career working here. Jason moved through the crowded floor, his presence undetected by staff, patients or visitors. He caught up with Alan who was staring unhappily at the waiting area.
"I liked it the way it was before." He spoke without preamble, sensing Jason's presence at his shoulder. His arm swept out to encompass the soft chairs and couches all upholstered in primary colors, "It was more restful, better for people who are already anxious. This is all just too modern for my taste."
Jason had a startling revelation. It appeared his dislike of change and his conservative taste weren't the result of brain damage or merely his unique preferences but that they had been bequeathed directly to him via his father's genes.
"Yeah, mine too," he agreed wholeheartedly and the two men shared a simple smile of complicit understanding.
"People, can I have your attention please," Epiphany Jones was speaking from the nurse's station, her less than dulcet tones carrying far and wide. "It's time for the General Hospital Christmas party to begin. As is traditional, we'll start it off with a reading of the story of the first Christmas by Jasper Jax. If you'll all just follow me this way, down the hall to pediatrics…" Epiphany lead the way and everyone followed, Jason and Alan included.
The crowd entered the large, colorful pediatrics playroom. In the center of the room was the ornate chair first used by Dr. Steve Hardy, then by Alan himself and now most recently by Jasper Jax. Jax sat in the chair, a red velvet Santa cap perched at a jaunty angle on his head. He grinned over at Carly who was holding Josslyn. She smiled back at him though not with quite the full blown wattage of a patented Carly smile but Jason could see that she still loved him. Morgan stood next to her, leaning into her with all the typical trust and openheartedness of his affectionate nature. Michael was in the back of the room chatting with Kristina who was performing her first year of duties as a General Hospital Christmas Elf. She looked adorable in the green costume, all coltish legs and burgeoning curves which Michael kept surreptitiously glancing at while Kristina self consciously giggled and licked her lips.
Jason thought nostalgically of all the Port Charles girls he had watched be elves over the years. First was Robin Scorpio, then his sister Emily and Elizabeth Webber, followed more recently by the Jones sisters and Lulu Spencer. Now it appeared in the never ending cycle it was Sonny's and Alexis' daughter's turn and then soon he imagined it would be Molly and eventually Josslyn and Emma Scorpio who would don the costume for a year or two. Somehow the tradition of it all made him happy, grounded him in the community and allowed him to believe that some things were truly good, simple and worthwhile.
"Michael looks good," Alan was staring at his grandson with hungry eyes. Jason felt another pang of regret course through him as he thought of how much better off the boy's life might have been if he had been allowed to better know his paternal grandfather.
Jason nodded, physically Michael did look good and tonight, here and now in this one moment, he even looked in high spirits as he subconsciously flirted with his sister. Jason didn't know how he felt about that particular budding connection but he knew that neither Sonny nor Alexis would be pleased at the idea of them becoming involved.
"He's had a lot to deal with since waking up from the coma. It's been rough on him, on Carly, Sonny, all of us really." He liked being able to voice his concerns, his doubts to someone besides Sam. It grew wearisome always having to hide one's misgivings and fears, always being the one others look to for guidance and solutions to problems while his own worries and problems went unshared.
Alan placed a consoling hand on Jason's shoulder, "I know you love Michael very much and always try to do the best you can by him, son. Yet, you're old enough and have experienced the vicissitudes of life so that you must realize that sometimes our best intentions aren't always sufficient. We all make mistakes. After all, that is what being human means. Our children aren't perfect either and their choices are sometimes harmful ones. When it comes right down to it all we can really do is be there for them and let them know we love them."
Jason's eye's prickled with sudden moisture at his father's speech. He knew they weren't talking about Michael anymore. "I realize now that is what you did for me and for AJ even when we didn't deserve it. I am grateful beyond words that you kept loving and believing in me though I had given you every cause to hate me."
Alan smiled at his son, his eyes suspiciously bright. "If you recall, I wasn't always so understanding of your choices and your actions. Sometimes I was quite a bastard toward you. Still, I could never hate you, Jason. You're my son and I love you and am proud of the man you became." Alan looked over Jason's shoulder his focus elsewhere as his gaze sharpened, "Is that my other grandson?" He asked quietly, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.
Jason turned around to see what Alan was talking about. He saw Robin and Patrick coming in with Matt Hunter, Emma was in her Daddy's arms, her eyes bright and alert as she took in the stimulating sights and sounds around her. Next to the Scorpio-Drakes were Elizabeth and Lucky with Jake being carried by Lucky while Cameron held Elizabeth's hand. Jason felt the usual clutch of love and longing which gripped his heart whenever he saw his unclaimed child in the caring arms of another. He knew he had made the decision to allow Lucky to raise his son and he still believed it to be the right choice. Still, every time he laid eyes on Jake and saw how big he was getting or the new words and skills he had learned, he felt swamped by an all pervading misery because he would never be an acknowledged part of his own son's life.
"How do you know about Jake?" Monica didn't know, none of the Quartermaines-except possibly Emily-had known, so how could Alan?
His father smiled, his eyes never leaving the little tow headed boy who was now down on the floor and following his brother as they found a place to sit that was up front and close to Jax. "Well, even if I didn't know I would have to be blind not to suspect it. Jake is the spitting image of you at that age. Don't you remember, you told me about him?"
Jason was puzzled, "I never…except that time…but…you were…" It was absurd that he couldn't say the word. It certainly wasn't a condition that could be altered and he was pretty sure his father knew he was dead but still Jason couldn't get his mouth to form the single harsh syllable.
Alan looked amused, "Yes, I was," he said nonchalantly, "But you came back right after it happened and I was still there. I heard you talk about Jake and about your decision to not claim him and how we finally had fatherhood in common. It made me very happy to hear it and now I am even more delighted to get to see young Jacob Martin." He was beaming with unfeigned joy as he looked over at the little boy and his brother. Jason felt a constriction of his heart that he didn't quite know how to quantify.
Epiphany stepped in front of the restless and chattering children and their parents and simply by imperiously raised her hand managed to command instantaneous silence. Jax began reading the age old tale of a poor couple and their donkey seeking shelter where there was none to be had. Jason and Alan stood in companionable silence for a few moments listening, both their gazes fixed on a small bright head at the front of the spellbound group of children.
Eventually, Alan stirred and said, "I've heard it before and time is passing."
He reached out for Jason who said stoutly, "You read it better anyway," as the by now familiar spinning sensation overtook him.
Jason was perplexed to find himself standing in Carly and Jax's living room. They had just seen the couple at the hospital Christmas party and Jason had been at their house afterward to give his gifts to the children and visit for a while as was his Christmas Eve tradition. He looked inquisitively around the empty room. It was evidently later the same evening, dirty plates and glasses were scattered around on tables and newly opened toys and other gifts lay abandoned on the couch, by the television and under the tree.
He turned to Alan, saying, "Why are we here?"
The words were barely uttered when the silence of the house was shattered by the slamming of the front door. Michael strode into the room, angrily shrugging out of his jacket, followed closely by an irate Jax, gripping a set of car keys in his left hand.
Carly came running down the stairs relief and anger clearly written on her face. "Where have you been, Michael?" She demanded, "Jax and I were worried sick!"
"Out," he replied sullenly, flopping bonelessly down on the couch, every muscle of his body silently communicating his outrage over being unwillingly dragged home by his stepfather. He reached over to the coffee table and turned on the television. There was some action movie on with lots of helicopters flying around and guns being fired.
"Turn that off!" Carly hissed at him, plainly furious. She stood between him and the television set, her hands on her hips, "You'll wake up the baby and Morgan."
Michael shrugged as he reluctantly pushed the power button and the sound faded away. "It wouldn't be a problem if you had just let me stay out. I was having fun. I'm not a little kid anymore."
"Michael," It was Jax speaking as he tried to maintain even tones, an aura of reasonableness against teenage rebellion. "You're not an adult yet and if you don't want to be treated like a child then don't act like one by sneaking out in the middle of the night and worrying your mother. Trust and respect are two way streets."
Jason hated that Jax was speaking to Michael this way and he disliked it even more that he endorsed every word coming out of the smug Australian's mouth. He could feel Alan's concerned eyes on him as he stood there poised and tense wishing there was some way he could step forward and intervene. He desperately wanted to defuse the situation and calm both Carly and Michael down. That was his role, his job in their lives and it frustrated him that he could only stand here and listen-a helpless bystander-instead of shaping events and fixing things.
"Yeah, right," Michael sneered and Jason's lips curled up in a grim smile of approbation. That was his boy, he didn't take guff from anyone. "You're all grown up and mature the way you lied to Mom for months about Claudia's and Jerry's involvement in my shooting. You don't get to preach at me."
Carly's eyes flickered over to Jax as Michael made his rebuttal. Her face was briefly angry but then she made a conscious effort to smooth it out as she returned her attention to Michael. Jax didn't say anything in response to Michael's accusations though his jaw tightened briefly and he sent his own glance toward Carly, his eyes full of repentant misery. Jason actually felt a frisson of respect for Jax as he refrained from saying anything in his defense. Then again, what could he possibly say to counteract the accusation? Everything Michael had said was the truth.
"Michael," Carly's voice was level and Jason tried to remember when it was that his best friend had developed this patina of maturity over her fundamental spitfire personality. He knew that Carly would do whatever she had to in order to help her children, even if that meant being an authentic grownup and he silently applauded her for her restraint. "You're old enough to know that adults make mistakes. I do, Jax does, even Jason does…" She paused for a moment to let the radical idea sink into her son's mind. Michael's eyes momentarily widened and then his mouth set in a tight line as he refused to let his mother's assertion impact his untarnished regard for his uncle, "And your father absolutely does. You're young and maybe you can't see it but you've certainly benefited from people protecting you when you make mistakes. Maybe you wouldn't be so cocky if we had let you face some of the consequences of your choices." Her eyes were tormented as she spoke but her face was calmly stern.
Jason knew what it cost Carly to even intimate the notion of letting Michael face the penalty of killing Claudia, especially since he had done it in order to save her and his sister. In addition, Claudia was also the cause of Michael almost dying and losing a year of his life to a coma. Yet, Jason realized as did Carly that ultimately the issue wasn't about Claudia's death and the associated legal outcomes. Instead, it was about reaching Michael, about salvaging his conscience before it was too late and he potentially ceased to possess one or at least acknowledge it. Jason was aware from bitter personal experience that when certain taboos were broken the journey to losing your soul was a fast, painful downhill tumble and, as tonight was proving, the return trip seemed akin to trying to scale Mount Everest.
Michael listened to his mother, heard her out with an icy courtesy before he replied. "It sounds good in theory," he began thoughtfully, "That I should face the music for what I have done, for killing Claudia." He deliberately named the elephant in the room as Carly's face drained of blood and Jax winced.
Hearing Michael's words, Jason felt a cold knot of despair form in his stomach and he had to steel himself to not shake off the comforting hand Alan placed on his shoulder. Still, he was determined to not allow his body or mind to take any succor from his father. He was fully responsible for Carly's current anguish and Michal's chilling insouciance about killing. This situation was entirely his fault and it all stemmed back to the very beginning when Carly first entrusted him with an infant Michael. He had succeeded in keeping the baby safe and warm for a while but every choice, every action, every decision since those early halcyon days had been a gigantic failure on his part. The end result had been to lead him inevitably down an ever twisting path which culminated tonight in his invisibly watching this fraught family encounter.
"Still," Michael's voice was mild but his body posture was rigid and his blue eyes narrowed as he looked speculatively at his mother.
Jason suddenly recalled with an unpleasant jolt how AJ would look exactly like that right before intentionally verbally ripping someone to shreds. He opened his mouth even though Alan's hand pressed warningly on his shoulder and before he could stop himself, "Michael," spilled from his lips as he tried to stop the pain, the anger that the boy was intent on causing.
Naturally, it was an irrelevant act, Jason could have yelled his cautions and they would have passed unheard and unheeded. Angry at his inability to affect the situation, he stood on the sidelines, mute and ineffectual, his fists clenched in a worthless effort to dissipate his self-loathing.
"I haven't ever seen my father or Jason face the consequences of what they do. They do exactly what they want, when they want and if someone gets in their way or dares to question them, they simply 'disappear'." Using his fingers, Michael made insolent air quotes around the final word. "So, if you ask me, the decision to live like that or to be some frightened nobody always worrying about breaking the rules, it's an easy one." He smiled lazily up at his mother, his eyes hooded and the only part of his body that indicated he was feeling at all tense was the mindless staccato tapping of his left foot on the stone floor.
"You know absolutely nothing about it." Carly bit off every syllable, her voice rigid with self control and only her eyes revealing how petrified she felt at the thought of losing her first born son to the dangerous and murky world Jason and Sonny inhabited. "You're just a little egotistical boy playing a game you don't even begin to understand. It's a game that gets people killed-you or maybe Morgan-if you make the wrong choice."
Michael's face darkened at Carly's harsh words and tone of voice. He scowled up at her, "I agreed to live here but I can always go back to Dad's house. He understands me, he knows how I feel. He'll teach me how to succeed in the business. I would never, ever put Morgan into any kind of danger. I would always protect him, protect my family that's what Jason and he do and you are sure quick enough to take them up on it when it's something you need. Then you somehow conveniently overlook all the laws they break, all the harm and killing. You go and visit Jason in the police station and tell him how you'll stand by him no matter what." Michael had risen up from the couch and was standing in front of his mother. His voice grew increasingly louder until he was shouting at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly in agitation.
"That's enough, Michael!" Jax spoke quietly but with a deadly intensity that cut through Michael's fury and silenced him.
Jason stepped forward as well, knocking Alan's restraining hand from his shoulder. He stood next to Carly wishing he could wrap his arms around her and comfort her as she faced down her defiant son. She looked lost and woebegone while unacknowledged tears of grief trailed down her pale cheeks.
"Michael," she pleaded with him, her hand outstretched as she tried to stroke his face, to reconnect with the little trusting boy he had once been. Michael resolutely stepped back from Carly's caress, his face set in unforgiving planes. A wailing cry erupted from the baby monitor sitting on the coffee table, breaking the oppressive silence that had descended upon the room.
Jax started for the stairs, casting a worried look toward mother and son. "I'll take care of her and be right back down," he promised.
Michael spun around and grabbing his discarded jacket from the couch headed once more for the front door not listening to Carly's shout of "Michael Corinthos, you come back here this instant!" Her only answer was the reverberations from the slamming of the door.
Carly collapsed sobbing on the foot of the steps, her face in her hands and her blond hair further curtaining her from view she swayed back in forth in grief while Jason stood next to her helpless to console her.
"Mom?" The voice was small and faltering. Morgan had come silently down the stairs and was sitting one riser up from her. "Are you okay? Did something happen to Michael?"
Carly raised her tear streaked face from her hands and gave her younger son a watery smile. "Michael's fine sweetie, he's just a teenager and impossible to live with, that's all."
"He's not going to spoil Christmas is he?" Morgan asked, "It's Josslyn's first one."
Carly genuinely laughed then as she gathered her kind hearted son up into her arms and hugged him while Jason looked on, his heart full. Alan discreetly dabbed at the corner of his eyes with a crisp white handkerchief. "No, nobody's going to spoil Josslyn's first Christmas. You'll see, Michael will be back and we'll all have a great day tomorrow."
"Promise?" Morgan said, his voice muffled in his mother's embrace.
"Promise," Jax said coming down the stairs with Josslyn in his arms, "We'll be one big happy family."
"Well," Morgan looked up at his stepfather with a playful gleam in his eyes, "That will be a pretty amazing feat since I think that might the first time ever that would have happened in this crazy family."
"Morgan!" Carly thwacked him with mock outrage as she reached up for her infant daughter Jax laughed at his stepson and ruffling his hair sat down on the stairs with the rest of his family.
Now that everything was at least temporarily resolved with Carly and Morgan, Jason began to purposefully move toward the front door, intent on following Michael. "Where do you think you're going?" It was Alan, standing in front of him and blocking his way.
Jason answered impatiently, not understanding why Alan even needed to ask such a question, it was obvious where, "To find Michael. He needs my help."
Alan shook his head, his expression apologetic but adamant, "It's not possible, Jason. Time's running out and we've got one more stop to make." As he finished speaking he reached out for Jason who tried to twist away from him but his father grasped the sleeve of his jacket and once again the world around them shimmered and fell away.
Jason looked around the familiar living room of the penthouse and glared irritably at his father, "This is why you stopped me going after Michael, so we could get home a little early?"
"Jason," Alan sighed, trying to hold onto his patience as he suddenly recollected how difficult it was to get his bullheaded son to do something else when his mind was focused on a specific goal. "Michael will be fine, I promise you. He's not the only person in your life that is currently dealing with problems."
Jason just stared at his father, still upset at not being allowed to follow Michael and not interested in interpreting his oblique comments. "What do you mean?" He asked him bluntly, "Who else are you talking about?"
As though on cue, Spinelli came wandering in from the kitchen a bottle of vodka clutched to his chest as he muttered something indecipherable under his breath. He settled down on the couch and picking up the television remote aimed it at the screen. 'It's a Wonderful Life' popped obediently up and Spinelli looked intently down at the bottle of clear liquid nestled in his arms. "What shall it be little one?" he spoke affectionately to the container of alcohol lying quiescently in his lap. "I know, how about we go with a combo effect, one swallow for every time someone talks about angels getting their wings and then also one for whenever anyone says George…No," he closed his eyes for a moment concentrating, "No, they have to say George Bailey, that should make it a tad more challenging but still perfectly acceptable. You like that idea don't you?" He was running his fingers up and down the bottle, preparatory to removing its screw cap.
Alan's head was cocked as he stared with speculation at Spinelli, "Does he drink often?"
Jason's fingers itched to grab the bottle away from his roommate and to yell at him for good measure. He looked around him realizing that he was in his own home and it was actually at some point in the current time frame represented by this endless night rather than in some town in Tennessee, years ago. Therefore, maybe this particular attempt at prevention would be successful. He took a step toward Spinelli but once again his father was there before him, standing by the couch and shaking his head.
"Jason, haven't you figured out yet that this isn't how it works. You can't change what you see with me or Emily but only with…" he didn't finish the sentence, leaving the unfinished thought to dangle uneasily between the two men. "Does he drink a lot?" Alan restated the question, intent on getting an answer.
Jason sighed and stepping back from the couch ran his fingers through his hair. "No, not usually at least I don't think so…" he thought about it for a moment before slowly continuing, "He constantly drinks orange soda, I try to get him to switch it out with water but he's pretty resistant. But when things are bad, when Georgie died or Maxie dumped him, he goes for the bottle."
"Huzzah!" Spinelli jumped up from the couch, someone had just said George Bailey's name. He tipped his head back and took a long swig from the vodka bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back on the couch, his right hand tightly clenched around the neck of the bottle as he intently watched the movie, braced for another excuse to drink.
Alan stared hard at Jason, forcing him to look away from Spinelli, "You do recognize the signs of dependency don't you?" His tone was direct, the words inescapable.
"No," Jason wouldn't follow Alan down the path he wanted him to travel. "Spinelli's not an alcoholic. He just drinks a little too much when he gets depressed or can't handle things. A lot of people do the same." He wouldn't meet Alan's eyes, his words sounding hollow and defensive to his own ears.
"Jason," Alan was insistent, not allowing him the option of avoiding this discussion, "You come from a family full of addicts-Emily, AJ, your mother and me… It doesn't help anyone to pretend otherwise, least of all the person who has the problem."
"He doesn't have a problem," Jason said stubbornly, "He goes months without having any alcohol. It's just at certain times he gets like this." He cringed as Spinelli let out a loud whoop and again surged up off the sofa, this time vodka splashed onto the coffee table as he partially missed his mouth.
"Do you know what set him off tonight?" Alan asked, his eyes curious as he glanced at Jason.
Jason's face flushed as he remembered how he had rebuffed Spinelli's offer to watch a movie with him earlier this evening. "It's the holidays, he's missing Maxie, I was in a bad mood tonight when I got home from Carly's house." Jason's abrupt tone invited Alan to take his pick.
Alan sighed and looked over at Spinelli as he tried once again to breach Jason's denial, "He may not have a typical addictive personality but there are all kinds of addicts in the world. Spinelli seems to be a nice young man but not very confident in himself and when his fragile self-esteem is shaken it appears he turns to alcohol to bolster it."
Jason shrugged, unwilling to either agree with or argue with his father. It was clear from his shuttered facial expression that as far as he was concerned the subject was closed. Yet, he couldn't help staring at Spinelli who was once again imbibing from the vodka bottle, this time he stayed seated on the couch and his eyes were beginning to look glazed.
"Son," Alan was staring directly into Jason's eyes, an understanding smile on his face, "I know tonight is hard for you. You've seen things you would rather not but the point of it all is to make things better for you, for them," he waved toward Spinelli, who was lolling back on the couch, his eyes only half slits as he awaited his next drinking prompt, "If there is anyone who has the strength of character to change his life for the better, it's you, Jason. I have every confidence in you. Now, it's time to return."
For the final time Alan reached over and clasped Jason's shoulder even as his son protested, "It's only upstairs, can't we just walk?" Reasonable sounding as it was, Jason's request wasn't granted and he resigned himself to being whirled through space up to his bedroom ten feet above from where he had just been standing.
Left behind on the couch, Spinelli sat up trying to focus on the television screen. This was an important segment in the movie and he needed all his wits about him. It was almost time for Nick the bartender to start opening and closing the register and ringing the bell. "We can do thish," he owlishly assured the long-suffering bottle whose liquid level had declined substantially from what it had been only a short while ago. Blearily he blinked waiting for the famous line, "Get me, I'm givin' out wings!" Then in an uncoordinated move he once again raised the bottle to his lips for a long swallow, his Adam's apple jerking repetitively as he swallowed.
A/N: Reviews are appreciated