song
part 4: that particular time
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.
Author's note: Kind of winging it, kind of have a plan. There's an old face, but it's not the last old face. Look for more surprises, and lots more LiRic.
Rating: Still just PG.
*
She found herself painting again, painting like she hadn't been able to paint in a very long time. Canvases upon canvases had been filled with emotions like love and anger and pride and jealousy, colors burst from the two-dimensional object; she could finally feel again, finally for the first time since her Lucky had been lost in the fire.
Her own emotions had been a mystery to her; she had put them away, locked them in a safe little box. It was like she had been waiting. For him. Like Lucky had been a precursor to Ric.
They had danced to no music.
Once upon a time, she and Lucky had danced to no music, and he had sung for her. She had been so young then, so inexperienced, so in need of someone to rescue her. That was what Lucky had been. He changed; he had changed so much from the boy she had first fallen in love with.
Someone had to be her first love. Someone else had to be her last.
She was getting in over her head.
The studio smelled of paint, oil and acrylic. She finished canvas after canvas with a flair, taking it off her easel and tossing it on the ground. She hadn't heard from Ric, and she wondered what that meant. Had she made the wrong move in making the first move?
Was that it? Was he gone? One kiss, and he bailed? The phone call had been legit, unless he had had Carly positioned at the top of the stairs to phone him in case something started happening.
She knew none of that was true. You're just feeling . . . insecure, she told herself.
And then another voice in her head, the Voice of Reason, chirped, Just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean they're not out to get you. She was scared because she cared, because this was important to her.
Because he was important to her.
Where had he gone that was so important? Emergency phone call from Carly? From Sonny? Jason? Brenda? Or from someone else, from someone from the past? Someone who had nothing to do with her?
"Gah," she said aloud and slapped another burst of red paint onto the canvas. In spite of the anger, the hurt, the fear, she felt something else. She felt completely . . . alive. More so than with Jason, because Jason had never made her this angry; she had never been this afraid about and for Jason.
What if something more sinister was at play?
A man in Kelly's had looked at her over his newspaper, and she had thought she recognized him. He had leered at her with his eyes alone, and she was terrified of what it meant that she had seen him.
She couldn't give him a name, wouldn't, because if she gave him a name, he would be real-instead of the ghost inside her head.
She finally set her paintbrush down, placing it gingerly on the tray, letting go of the object that she had chosen for her weapon. There was a knock at the door, and her heart began to pound, as though it could possibly be Ric. "Who is it?" she called, not intending to let anyone in.
"Elizabeth?" came the muffled reply.
No, not Ric.
Jason.
"What do you want?" she called back, still not intending to open the door for him.
"Can I come in?"
"No," she yelled to him, and she went into the bathroom, trying to ignore him. There was nothing in her that wanted to see him, to talk to him, to hear anything that he had to say. She was tired of him, tired of his deceit, of Courtney's deceit, tired of him telling her he wanted to be with her and then taking it back. There was a time when she had thought that she wanted to be with him, but now she knew that that would be settling.
She wasn't going to settle, not after last night. She couldn't possibly. She couldn't even think straight. She needed to have something better than Jason Morgan, and that something was Ric Lansing. Too bad he was suddenly incommunicado. She wished she had his cell-phone number, just to see if he was okay, to see if he was alive.
"Elizabeth-" Jason started again, but she had already gone to the door and unlocked it. She left it that way, not opening it. If he wanted to come in, he would have to open it himself.
And he did.
"What is your problem?" she asked him as he almost hurled open the door. She turned to look at him, her hands on her hips, waiting expectantly for some lame explanation.
He looked tired, angry, his eyes bright blue against the dark gray of his t- shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
"I'm fine. Do I look like I'm not okay?"
"When was the last time you saw Ric Lansing?"
She felt her heart crawl into her throat, preparing to swan dive out of her mouth, waiting for whatever Jason was about to say to her. "Last night," she told him.
"Did you talk to him?"
"Um, yes."
"Did he say anything about where he was going?"
"What is this about, Jason?"
He stopped and he blinked at her, an expression she knew all too well. "I can't tell you. But you're at risk."
"I've been at risk all along. I'm not really surprised. Do you have any new information for me?" She was struggling to maintain her cool, to not let Jason see how much anything involving Ric affected her.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know you're hurting."
"Thank you for acknowledging that," she said, finally able to turn away from him. She moved to the window, trying to ignore him but knowing that he was the only one who would give her information about Ric.
"I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did. And you know what? I'm getting over it. And that's the end of the story. Tell me what you came here to tell me, and then please leave."
"Elizabeth-"
"Jason, please," she said, turning to look at him. "If you ever cared about me, just do it." It was a low blow and she knew it, but it was a sure way to get information about Ric.
"He's in the hospital," Jason told her, watching her, waiting for a reaction.
She gave him one.
"What? Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt?" she cried, panicking immediately.
"You can't go to the hospital, Elizabeth," Jason said to her, but she was already grabbing her jacket and her bag to rush to the hospital.
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do," she snapped at him.
"Sonny and I are concerned about your safety."
"I'm a big girl now, Jason. And please tell Sonny that, too." And it was true. She was no longer the girl that Sonny had held during the fire she thought had killed Lucky.
He moved to block the doorway from her, and she glared up at him. "We don't know what's going on, Elizabeth."
"Go back to Courtney," she hissed at him. "Go offer your 'services' to someone who can't take care of herself." He tensed his arm to keep her from leaving, but she tossed him a look and he moved. She didn't have time for Jason Morgan.
That was the first time in her life that she could ever think that and be completely honest about it. She passed by him out into the hallway.
*
She pulled open the curtain with tender fingers, her pulse racing. Her mind had allowed her so many terrible images on her way to the hospital, visions of him lying in bed dead, blown to pieces by a bomb like Kristina or burned in a fire like Lucky had supposedly been, drowned off the dock, shot, hung, anything.
Instead, what she found was Ric, buttoning up his baby-blue shirt gingerly. She saw the glimpse of a white bandage around his torso, and her cheeks felt flush. "I'm ready to go-" he began, not looking at her. When she didn't answer, he looked up at her.
She was absolutely speechless. He looked so worn, so tired, his cheeks sallow, his skin tone dull. He was weak; she wanted to help him, but she didn't have any idea what to do. She wanted to know what happened, but she was in so deep.
"Why are you here?" he asked her, and he sounded like his mouth was completely dry.
I came for you, she tried to say, but she couldn't say anything.
"I didn't want you here," he said to her. "I sent Morgan to make sure that you were safe. If we're seen together-" He cried out as he tried to stand up, and she rushed to him, offering her support, literally and emotionally. "Elizabeth, if they see us together, you could be in danger."
Nevertheless, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, using her as a crutch. And still, she couldn't say anything. She could only wrap her arm around his waist and help him to sit down on the hospital bed again.
"You're not ready to leave," she finally managed to whisper to him. "You have to stay here and recover."
"I have too much to do," he protested, but he made no move to stand up again.
"What happened?" she murmured, barely more than a whisper. She was so scared for him, scared of what had been done to him. She looked at him, at the line of his jaw, at the aquiline nose. He looked directly ahead, in full profile to her, and he just shook his head. "I can't help you if you don't tell me," she said to him, an echo of what he had said to her the night before.
"Elizabeth," he said, turning to look at her. His face twisted into a grimace as his side caused him pain, and she felt stricken, the blood sinking from his face. "You're the only person in this town that I care about. I can't afford-"
"I can take care of myself, okay? Don't worry about me. I'm trying to take care of you here."
His face broke into a smile, and she was so relieved to see that. She would have done anything to wipe the pain from his side. She just had to know what had happened.
"I came out of Kelly's last night because of that phone call. Then someone said my name, and I turned to face them-and that's when I got this." He gestured to his side. "I swear it must have been a Bowie knife," he joked, and she tried to smile-for his sake.
"Who would do this to you?"
"Who wouldn't?"
"Does Sonny know?"
"Carly was the one who found me."
She thought of the man in Kelly's the night before, hidden behind his newspaper. She didn't understand how he, if he was who she thought he was, how he played a part in any of this.
"And Jason?"
"I knew that he would want you safe. He was supposed to get you away from Port Charles."
"Away?"
"There was a man in South America who worked for Luis Alcazar. He's here now, in Port Charles. That's why-that's why-" He grimaced again, and Elizabeth reached out for his hand and clutched it in her own. "That's why I'm here. This man wants to destroy everyone in Port Charles, exact some sort of revenge on people who have apparently done him wrong. I couldn't let that happen."
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.
"I worked for Alcazar. In South America. When I was a different person. This man had me imprisoned, and there I had a great deal of time to think. And I knew that I couldn't let him destroy innocent people, no matter how I may or may not have felt towards Alcazar." He didn't look at her as though he was afraid of her judgment, but all she had was understanding for him.
"Hey, look at me," she said to him, putting her fingers to his chin gently and turning his head to look at her. "I understand," she told him. "I do. You don't have to hide anything from me."
He looked down at his lap, and she just gazed at him, feeling more compassion towards this man than she had ever felt for anyone else in her life. He was sharing with her, opening up to her, and she valued that so much.
"We have to stop him, Elizabeth. I know I sound like a deluded vigilante, but this man is insane. He will hurt anyone."
"We will," she assured him, gently helping him stand up again, putting her hand against his tight torso. "Just tell me his name," she whispered.
She hoped, prayed that it wouldn't be the name she had kept herself from thinking. She needed him not to say it, because she needed the man from Kelly's not to be real.
But Ric said the name anyway.
"Faison," he told her quietly. "Cesar Faison."
To be continued . . .
"At that particular time love had challenged me to stay
At that particular moment I knew not run away again
That particular month I was ready to investigate with you
At that particular time."
-- 'That Particular Time' by Alanis Morisette
part 4: that particular time
Spoilers: I don't even know at this point.
Author's note: Kind of winging it, kind of have a plan. There's an old face, but it's not the last old face. Look for more surprises, and lots more LiRic.
Rating: Still just PG.
*
She found herself painting again, painting like she hadn't been able to paint in a very long time. Canvases upon canvases had been filled with emotions like love and anger and pride and jealousy, colors burst from the two-dimensional object; she could finally feel again, finally for the first time since her Lucky had been lost in the fire.
Her own emotions had been a mystery to her; she had put them away, locked them in a safe little box. It was like she had been waiting. For him. Like Lucky had been a precursor to Ric.
They had danced to no music.
Once upon a time, she and Lucky had danced to no music, and he had sung for her. She had been so young then, so inexperienced, so in need of someone to rescue her. That was what Lucky had been. He changed; he had changed so much from the boy she had first fallen in love with.
Someone had to be her first love. Someone else had to be her last.
She was getting in over her head.
The studio smelled of paint, oil and acrylic. She finished canvas after canvas with a flair, taking it off her easel and tossing it on the ground. She hadn't heard from Ric, and she wondered what that meant. Had she made the wrong move in making the first move?
Was that it? Was he gone? One kiss, and he bailed? The phone call had been legit, unless he had had Carly positioned at the top of the stairs to phone him in case something started happening.
She knew none of that was true. You're just feeling . . . insecure, she told herself.
And then another voice in her head, the Voice of Reason, chirped, Just because you're paranoid it doesn't mean they're not out to get you. She was scared because she cared, because this was important to her.
Because he was important to her.
Where had he gone that was so important? Emergency phone call from Carly? From Sonny? Jason? Brenda? Or from someone else, from someone from the past? Someone who had nothing to do with her?
"Gah," she said aloud and slapped another burst of red paint onto the canvas. In spite of the anger, the hurt, the fear, she felt something else. She felt completely . . . alive. More so than with Jason, because Jason had never made her this angry; she had never been this afraid about and for Jason.
What if something more sinister was at play?
A man in Kelly's had looked at her over his newspaper, and she had thought she recognized him. He had leered at her with his eyes alone, and she was terrified of what it meant that she had seen him.
She couldn't give him a name, wouldn't, because if she gave him a name, he would be real-instead of the ghost inside her head.
She finally set her paintbrush down, placing it gingerly on the tray, letting go of the object that she had chosen for her weapon. There was a knock at the door, and her heart began to pound, as though it could possibly be Ric. "Who is it?" she called, not intending to let anyone in.
"Elizabeth?" came the muffled reply.
No, not Ric.
Jason.
"What do you want?" she called back, still not intending to open the door for him.
"Can I come in?"
"No," she yelled to him, and she went into the bathroom, trying to ignore him. There was nothing in her that wanted to see him, to talk to him, to hear anything that he had to say. She was tired of him, tired of his deceit, of Courtney's deceit, tired of him telling her he wanted to be with her and then taking it back. There was a time when she had thought that she wanted to be with him, but now she knew that that would be settling.
She wasn't going to settle, not after last night. She couldn't possibly. She couldn't even think straight. She needed to have something better than Jason Morgan, and that something was Ric Lansing. Too bad he was suddenly incommunicado. She wished she had his cell-phone number, just to see if he was okay, to see if he was alive.
"Elizabeth-" Jason started again, but she had already gone to the door and unlocked it. She left it that way, not opening it. If he wanted to come in, he would have to open it himself.
And he did.
"What is your problem?" she asked him as he almost hurled open the door. She turned to look at him, her hands on her hips, waiting expectantly for some lame explanation.
He looked tired, angry, his eyes bright blue against the dark gray of his t- shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
"I'm fine. Do I look like I'm not okay?"
"When was the last time you saw Ric Lansing?"
She felt her heart crawl into her throat, preparing to swan dive out of her mouth, waiting for whatever Jason was about to say to her. "Last night," she told him.
"Did you talk to him?"
"Um, yes."
"Did he say anything about where he was going?"
"What is this about, Jason?"
He stopped and he blinked at her, an expression she knew all too well. "I can't tell you. But you're at risk."
"I've been at risk all along. I'm not really surprised. Do you have any new information for me?" She was struggling to maintain her cool, to not let Jason see how much anything involving Ric affected her.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I know you're hurting."
"Thank you for acknowledging that," she said, finally able to turn away from him. She moved to the window, trying to ignore him but knowing that he was the only one who would give her information about Ric.
"I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did. And you know what? I'm getting over it. And that's the end of the story. Tell me what you came here to tell me, and then please leave."
"Elizabeth-"
"Jason, please," she said, turning to look at him. "If you ever cared about me, just do it." It was a low blow and she knew it, but it was a sure way to get information about Ric.
"He's in the hospital," Jason told her, watching her, waiting for a reaction.
She gave him one.
"What? Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt?" she cried, panicking immediately.
"You can't go to the hospital, Elizabeth," Jason said to her, but she was already grabbing her jacket and her bag to rush to the hospital.
"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do," she snapped at him.
"Sonny and I are concerned about your safety."
"I'm a big girl now, Jason. And please tell Sonny that, too." And it was true. She was no longer the girl that Sonny had held during the fire she thought had killed Lucky.
He moved to block the doorway from her, and she glared up at him. "We don't know what's going on, Elizabeth."
"Go back to Courtney," she hissed at him. "Go offer your 'services' to someone who can't take care of herself." He tensed his arm to keep her from leaving, but she tossed him a look and he moved. She didn't have time for Jason Morgan.
That was the first time in her life that she could ever think that and be completely honest about it. She passed by him out into the hallway.
*
She pulled open the curtain with tender fingers, her pulse racing. Her mind had allowed her so many terrible images on her way to the hospital, visions of him lying in bed dead, blown to pieces by a bomb like Kristina or burned in a fire like Lucky had supposedly been, drowned off the dock, shot, hung, anything.
Instead, what she found was Ric, buttoning up his baby-blue shirt gingerly. She saw the glimpse of a white bandage around his torso, and her cheeks felt flush. "I'm ready to go-" he began, not looking at her. When she didn't answer, he looked up at her.
She was absolutely speechless. He looked so worn, so tired, his cheeks sallow, his skin tone dull. He was weak; she wanted to help him, but she didn't have any idea what to do. She wanted to know what happened, but she was in so deep.
"Why are you here?" he asked her, and he sounded like his mouth was completely dry.
I came for you, she tried to say, but she couldn't say anything.
"I didn't want you here," he said to her. "I sent Morgan to make sure that you were safe. If we're seen together-" He cried out as he tried to stand up, and she rushed to him, offering her support, literally and emotionally. "Elizabeth, if they see us together, you could be in danger."
Nevertheless, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled him to her, using her as a crutch. And still, she couldn't say anything. She could only wrap her arm around his waist and help him to sit down on the hospital bed again.
"You're not ready to leave," she finally managed to whisper to him. "You have to stay here and recover."
"I have too much to do," he protested, but he made no move to stand up again.
"What happened?" she murmured, barely more than a whisper. She was so scared for him, scared of what had been done to him. She looked at him, at the line of his jaw, at the aquiline nose. He looked directly ahead, in full profile to her, and he just shook his head. "I can't help you if you don't tell me," she said to him, an echo of what he had said to her the night before.
"Elizabeth," he said, turning to look at her. His face twisted into a grimace as his side caused him pain, and she felt stricken, the blood sinking from his face. "You're the only person in this town that I care about. I can't afford-"
"I can take care of myself, okay? Don't worry about me. I'm trying to take care of you here."
His face broke into a smile, and she was so relieved to see that. She would have done anything to wipe the pain from his side. She just had to know what had happened.
"I came out of Kelly's last night because of that phone call. Then someone said my name, and I turned to face them-and that's when I got this." He gestured to his side. "I swear it must have been a Bowie knife," he joked, and she tried to smile-for his sake.
"Who would do this to you?"
"Who wouldn't?"
"Does Sonny know?"
"Carly was the one who found me."
She thought of the man in Kelly's the night before, hidden behind his newspaper. She didn't understand how he, if he was who she thought he was, how he played a part in any of this.
"And Jason?"
"I knew that he would want you safe. He was supposed to get you away from Port Charles."
"Away?"
"There was a man in South America who worked for Luis Alcazar. He's here now, in Port Charles. That's why-that's why-" He grimaced again, and Elizabeth reached out for his hand and clutched it in her own. "That's why I'm here. This man wants to destroy everyone in Port Charles, exact some sort of revenge on people who have apparently done him wrong. I couldn't let that happen."
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.
"I worked for Alcazar. In South America. When I was a different person. This man had me imprisoned, and there I had a great deal of time to think. And I knew that I couldn't let him destroy innocent people, no matter how I may or may not have felt towards Alcazar." He didn't look at her as though he was afraid of her judgment, but all she had was understanding for him.
"Hey, look at me," she said to him, putting her fingers to his chin gently and turning his head to look at her. "I understand," she told him. "I do. You don't have to hide anything from me."
He looked down at his lap, and she just gazed at him, feeling more compassion towards this man than she had ever felt for anyone else in her life. He was sharing with her, opening up to her, and she valued that so much.
"We have to stop him, Elizabeth. I know I sound like a deluded vigilante, but this man is insane. He will hurt anyone."
"We will," she assured him, gently helping him stand up again, putting her hand against his tight torso. "Just tell me his name," she whispered.
She hoped, prayed that it wouldn't be the name she had kept herself from thinking. She needed him not to say it, because she needed the man from Kelly's not to be real.
But Ric said the name anyway.
"Faison," he told her quietly. "Cesar Faison."
To be continued . . .
"At that particular time love had challenged me to stay
At that particular moment I knew not run away again
That particular month I was ready to investigate with you
At that particular time."
-- 'That Particular Time' by Alanis Morisette