Safe… No More

Chapter Four
FNF#13: He said he'd give me everything I'd need.

Elizabeth's favorite time of the day was bath time – not her own, no matter how relaxing a long, hot shower could be after a hectic work schedule, but her son's, for it was during his bath time that he was the most playful, the most talkative, eager to share with her the seemingly insignificant details of his existence that only a toddler could make sound more important than life itself. And it was their ritual, too.

Every night, after dinner, the young, single mother would help her son into the bath, washing his hair and supervising his playtime while he rambled on and on, a trait he most certainly inherited from her, about anything and everything he could think of. It was during those baths that Cameron smiled the most, and Elizabeth could almost forget about the various pressures weighing down upon her narrow, often overloaded shoulders and simply be in the moment with her little boy. And, despite the fact that they were no longer on their own as was their custom, she was determined to distance Jason Morgan from her mind, banishing him to the realms of her consciousness that she could easily ignore while focusing on her only child.

However, Cam did not share her opinion, nor was he as disciplined when it came to disregarding his impulses and thoughts.

"Mama," he addressed her, lifting his innocent blue eyes up to lock with her own strikingly similar orbs. The little sneak knew it was the best way to reel her in, and his sweet demeanor and endearing tone never failed to soften her towards the three year old even more than usual. Once her attention was solely placed upon him, he continued, "I like Jason."

"I know you do, Cam," the waitress admitted, not liking her son's confession but doing her best to accept what she couldn't very well change without hurting her little boy, and that was definitely something she was not willing to do no matter what. "But I think that you should call him Mr. Morgan. Do you remember what I told you about respecting your elders?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what, Sweetie?"

"Like him?"

Elizabeth wrinkled her brow in thought, perplexed as to how to answer her only child's question. While it would have been so easy for her to tell him the truth, to lash out and let loose her animosity towards the mafia don, she knew that Cameron didn't need her hostility or anger, but, at the same time, she certainly didn't want to lie to her son either. If there 

was one thing she prided herself upon, it was her relationship with the toddler. Theirs was one based upon both love and respect, trust and guidance, and the young mother refused to allow anyone to come between her and her little boy… even if that person was Jason Morgan.

Finally, she responded, "well, I really don't know him that well, Cam."

"He's nice," the three year old retorted confidently. Expanding upon his statement and explaining it as only a child could, he said, "he has a motorcycle."

She quirked a finely shaped brow. "He told you about that?" Cameron nodded his head exuberantly. "What else did you and Mr. Morgan talk about?"

Before her little boy had a chance to respond, a third voice entered into their conversation, making the brunette jump in alarm. "You could just ask him yourself," Jason snapped gruffly, "instead of avoiding me… and your promise."

"I will take care of you after I take care of my son. Besides," the waitress remarked dryly, "you're a big boy. If you were capable of taking care of my very energetic three year old today, I'm sure you're capable of waiting for a little while longer."

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as the mob boss awkwardly stood in the open doorway of the bathroom, his weary, obviously injured body propped up against the jam. Despite the fact that she had bandaged and cleaned his wounds to the best of her ability the night before, there were spots of seepage along his loose fitting t-shirt and sweatpants, and she didn't even want to contemplate just how complicated their arrangement would become if his burns became infected. Despite her concern, though, she refused to rush her little boy's bath, needing just a few more minutes of respite before dealing with the 180 pounds of trouble that had landed on her borrowed doorstep a day prior.

Returning to the task at hand, she rinsed the shampoo out of Cameron's hair, smiling demurely to herself as she watched the toddler play on, completely unaware of the escalating tension mounting between the two adults. She was glad for his obliviousness. After all, as far as she was concerned, the less her son was affected by their present situation with the crime lord, the better. By the time her favor towards Jason was paid off, Elizabeth sincerely hoped that the blonde was no more an influence in her three year old's life than any other passing stranger, that Cam would be able to forget about his time spent with the don and move on relatively unfazed and unaffected.

"He likes motorcycles, you know," Morgan told her, speaking up again from his voyeuristic position just outside the bathroom in the hall. "You should get him a couple toy ones."

"Yeah," she snorted, rolling her eyes as she lifted her son out of the tub and started to dry him off with his terry cloth bath towel. "I'll get right on that. Thanks for the advice."



Her annoyance evidently registered with the known and legendary criminal for he pushed himself away from the door and strode back towards the living room, leaving the petite brunette alone with her only child once again. However, the moment had already been ruined, and she found herself wondering if the local head of the mafia was that naïve when it came to her circumstances.

Although he had already made it quite clear that he did not remember her from their brief run in and introduction years before, she also now had to assume that he had been unable to send him men on an errand to do a background check on her, meaning he had no idea what she and Cameron had been through since his conception, meaning he had no knowledge of just how much his comments from earlier that morning had hurt her. Though it certainly didn't excuse his barbaric behavior, in Elizabeth's eyes, it certainly put a different spin on the crime boss' surly behavior, and she had to wonder if there was more to his story as well.

Shaking her thoughts off, she finished helping Cam get dressed for bed, tucked him in, and then returned to the main portion of the house, determined to see to Jason Morgan as quickly and as efficiently as possible. If nothing else, she would live up to her end of their bargain, and, hopefully, do so in the most timely of fashions, getting him out of her life and far away from her and her son as soon as possible. Once their association was over, if she never saw him again for the rest of her life, she would be a very happy woman.

"What's this?"

Looking up from the ground where her gaze had been rooted while she walked, deep in thought the entire time, back into the living room, the single mother was confronted with one very angry mob lord. "What," she questioned, her confusion both blatant and honest in regards to his animosity. "What did I do now?"

Tossing the bag of supplies she had purloined from the hospital down onto the coffee table, Jason exploded, fists fairly trembling in ire at his sides. "Why does all the stuff you brought back for me say 'Property of General Hospital?'"

"Because it was."

"So, you stole this?"

"How else did you expect me to get my hands on antibiotics and burn supplies," Elizabeth asked rhetorically, matching him glare for glare. "I don't have health insurance, and I certainly don't have the spare cash sitting around to buy these things legally. As for the free clinic, it was out of the question, because they wouldn't give me anything if I didn't present with the injuries myself, and I certainly wasn't going to give myself second degree burns in order to get you your supplies. Look," the waitress excused herself, tilting her chin up haughtily in defiance. "I did what I needed to do. I didn't get caught, no one got hurt, and, because of what I did, we'll have you better than ever in a couple weeks' time, so shut up, quit complaining, and let me take care of you."


However, he did not seem ready to back down. "Why didn't you come to me, ask me for help? You know that I have unlimited resources."

"Oh, you mean after you insulted my mothering skills, undermined me in front of my son, and made me worry all damn day long that, when I got back from work and running your errands, my little boy wouldn't even be here anymore because you decided to use him as leverage against me? Yeah, I'm sorry, but, for some ungodly reason, I guess asking you for help this morning completely slipped my mind. My bad."

Hesitantly, the underworld leader admitted, "maybe I was slightly out of line earlier."

"You think?"

Gritting his teeth in frustration towards the brunette's lack of respect and displeasure, Jason pressed on, "but that does not give you an excuse to risk your own freedom. What would have happened to your son if you would have gotten caught?"

"Perhaps that's something you should have thought about before you blackmailed me into helping you," she retorted, flushed with righteous indignation and anger.

"The same could be said for you, Miss Webber," the mob boss returned. "Perhaps you should have thought about the consequences of squatting in one of my houses before you took advantage of me. And, just for the record," he added, fairly spitting out his words at that point, "I don't use children as leverage."

"Well, aren't you a saint."

It was a standoff between them. Both breathing heavy and barely containing their fury, their voices lethally low both due to the intense hatred shared between them and their mutual desire to keep Cameron sheltered from their differences, the two temporary roommates stood toe to toe, glowering at each other until, finally, Elizabeth took a step back, grabbed the medical supplies, and stomped off into the bathroom. Calling over her shoulder, she asked, "so, do you want me to clean and dress your burns or not?"

Resentfully but, yet, still in a timely manner, the crime lord followed her into the other room, eventually coming to rest before the sink and bracing his hands against the countertop with his back towards the mirror. Setting to work immediately, the young, single mother, instead of forcing the don to remove his shirt, cut the material off of him, realizing the movement it would have required for him to lift his arms above his head would have done more harm than good. She worked quickly, focusing on his chest and abdomen first, applying a salve and then covering the oozing wounds with fresh, sterile bandages in the hopes that her actions and his cooperation would keep the infection at bay.

"Just to let you know," she informed her adversary. "Cameron will not be staying here with you tomorrow."


"That's ridiculous. Why not?"

"I don't know you, I don't trust you, and I certainly don't trust your men," the waitress informed him. "I don't care what you say, I'm his mother, and I think he would be safer and better off at daycare… where he's supposed to be. He has friends there, teachers who care about him, and I do not want my little boy getting emotionally attached to some criminal that will either leave his life as soon as it's convenient for him or die because of the violence that surrounds his lifestyle."

"That's a little hypocritical of you, don't you think, Webber?"

Meeting the blonde's eyes in the mirror, Elizabeth queried, "what do you mean?"

"You stand there, calling me a criminal, while claiming that I'm a threat to your son, and, the whole time, you're just as much of a criminal as I am."

"Oh, I beg to differ," she argued, making Jason grimace when she ripped his old bandages off a little more harshly than necessary. "There's a big difference between squatting and racketeering. What I do doesn't involve violence. No one has lost their life nor will they because I break into your safe houses and use them without permission."

"But you're still a criminal, and, through your actions, you're teaching your very impressionable son that, as long as you benefit, it's okay to do the wrong thing."

Sick and tired of the head of the Port Charles mafia passing judgment upon her, Elizabeth smiled softly, mischievously to herself. While the man beside her waited for her response, she carefully cleaned up her supplies, fully knowing that she wasn't even halfway done with taking care of the kingpin. She put the lid back on the burn ointment, put the extra bandages away, and washed her hands – both literally and figuratively – of the duties she was being forced to endure.

"If that's honestly what you think of me, if I'm that evil of a person, then I guess you won't be surprised by what I'm going to do next." Turning on her heels, the waitress made her way out of the bathroom, speaking over her shoulder to her bewildered mock-patient. "Take care of yourself, asshole, or, better yet, don't. I've done enough that you should be able to sleep on your stomach all night in only partial misery. If you'll excuse me, I'm taking my morally corrupt and criminal self to bed. Seeing as how I only do things that benefit me, I really don't see why I should have to take care of you any longer. As far as I'm concerned, me letting you suffer, perhaps even standing by while you get an infection, could kill you, and, with you out of my life, I'd definitely be much happier.

"Bad mother or not, who are you to judge me? You're not a parent, you have no idea what I've been through or what I will have to go through in the future, and you're a cold blooded killer who is putting not only my life but, more importantly, my three year old son's life in danger simply because you're pissed off that you got taken advantage of. Grow up, and 

stay the hell away from me."

Marching away, her fear and animosity making her back so stiff and rigid it was almost painful, Elizabeth never looked back at the man she left behind her. If she would have, she would have seen the flash of pain that went through his bright, guarded blue eyes, but, in all likelihood, at that point, she wouldn't have cared. After all, there were some things even she couldn't forgive.