viscosity
chapter one
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, so on and so forth.
Author's Note: Liason fic. Pure and simple. Liason, Liason, Liason. Carly/Liz friendship, Sonny/Liz friendship. Getting angsty, watch out. Speculation fic, takes place in about three months. Ric left town. JIP have broken up, car accident took place. Make sure you read the first two parts!
Feedback: Yes, please! Let me know what you think.
It felt like drowning. It felt like struggling through a thick mass of jelly, seeing light but not knowing where it was, not knowing which direction to try to swim in. It felt like there was a heavy, heavy stone on her chest and someone kept adding more weight.
It felt like dying, knowing that he was so close and yet so incredibly far away, in reach and yet completely out of reach.
He had to leave the gallery opening, had to leave because Sonny told him to leave, and Sonny had looked back at her a little sadly, a little bit with pity, but with that knowing Sonny look in his eyes. Sonny told Carly who told her that Jason had some business to attend to before the club could open the following night, and Elizabeth had just smiled and nodded and let him go. Jason had pulled away from her, still holding her hand, and he walked away.
It felt like goodbye. Every time he walked away from her, it felt like goodbye.
She glanced at herself in the mirror in Sonny and Carly's bedroom one last time. The room smelled like Sonny and Carly, like his cologne, like her perfume. Carly was so excited about her club opening, and Elizabeth was excited for her.
And Elizabeth was excited that Jason would be there. She had gone out and bought a new dress for the evening with Sonny's money; she felt bad about it, but Carly assured her not to. Sonny had money to go around. She had bought a dress that flattered her, that she liked, that suited her. She was not going to be anyone's Audrey Hepburn, nobody's little girl. The dress was close-fitting, dark blue. It had always been red; red had been her color. It almost wasn't representative of her anymore.
Carly came into the room and smiled at her from the doorway. "We have to go now," Carly said to her. "Are you ready?"
Elizabeth examined her mirror-image, and she smiled for her doppelganger. She had a bad feeling in her stomach, like things were going to go wrong. They always went wrong. That seemed to be the way of things.
"Yup, I'm ready," she said to Carly, and she let the other woman lead her out of the room.
The ride in the limo to Kelly's was silent, except for Sonny's heaving breathing. Elizabeth's eyes were intent on the movement of Carly's foot, one leg angled over the other. Up and down, the foot moved. Up and down. She made the decision that she was going to have fun-for Carly's sake. For her own sake.
How things had changed.
One little car accident. And everything was shattered into perspective.
They arrived fashionably late, as was Carly's wish. They walked in on the proverbial red carpet, and a neo-swing band played neo-swing songs on the stage. Carly's club was a hit.
"He'll be here," Sonny tried to assure Elizabeth over the vibrations of the music.
"I wasn't worried about him!" she called back to him, but Sonny wasn't going to take any of it. He just smiled at her and moved away from her with Carly.
She stood in the center of the dance floor, jostled by people she knew, some she didn't, people from all over, people who had come to see the opening of the club, to see the legal activities of one Michael Sonny Corinthos. She was being jerked in every direction, which she found ironically strange, because for the first time in years, she felt herself pulled in only one direction-towards Jason.
It still felt like drowning, standing there amidst a sea of shadowy faces, lights glinting from white smiles, sparkles of dresses twinkling. And yet, she smiled. Because at least she knew. At least she knew what she felt. And she had never been more sure of anything in her life, not even Lucky, not even Lucky before the fire. It still felt like drowning, but she could breathe.
She felt someone pull her hand, and she looked into the eyes of Nikolas Cassadine, who smiled at her and asked her if she wanted to dance, and she replied that yes, she thought she would like to dance.
It was drowning, but she could smile anyway.
*
One dance partner after the next, some strangers, some not, one dance partner after the next, she found herself in Jason's arms. He asked sullenly if he could cut in, and she felt breathless, her heart beating so hard against the palette of her lungs that they could almost no longer push air through them. The night had grown late, and her limbs had grown tired, but they resurged with energy as soon as she had been delivered from one partner's arms into the sanctity of Jason's.
Nothing could harm her there, she knew.
They didn't say anything, didn't have to, because he immediately pulled her into his arms, and she immediately lost balance, falling into him, wishing he were of less substance so that she could fall through him and pull his very essence into herself. Their bodies fit perfectly together, as they had always fit together, cut not from the same mold but from complementary molds. That was what soulmates were, after all, she thought, suffocating in the happiness of ways, suffocating from his warmth, his restrictive love- his restrictive love that somehow seemed to be endless, uncompromising, unconditional.
In the end, he had always come back to her. Just like he said he would.
You're not losing me, he had said to her once. I'm just going away.
That's what Courtney had been, she realized. He had just gone away for a little bit, but now, here he was, she in his arms and he in hers.
"You're shaking," he murmured into her ear, and she realized that he was right. She was shaking pretty badly, but his presence had steadied her; she knew he wouldn't let her go, he would catch her if she fell, and she had let go of all reason, all logic, all arguments.
"I'm sorry," she whispered back, unsure of why she was apologizing.
"Don't ever be sorry," he said, and she felt the vibrations of his lips against her shoulder bone. They had almost stopped moving, were almost just standing there, having forgotten the music and the other people and how the world had done them so many wrongs over the years, how it had been one long poker game and they had both come up with nothing, while others, like Helena Cassadine and Zander Smith and Courtney Matthews- Quartermaine had won every single time, aces up their sleeves.
She wouldn't have taken any of it back.
In the end, nobody had been more responsible than Elizabeth and Jason themselves. They had used the others as weak excuses for their own inabilities to simply give in to each other; they had hesitated, their voices breaking like glass, their resolves shattering, because that was what happened when they looked at each other. Their paradox was that they made each other strong and weak at the same time.
Jason was her biggest weakness.
He was also her biggest strength.
"I'm so sorry," she said again, and she heard her voice crack, but she didn't realize she was crying until the tear hit her chin and rolled off of it, peeling away, desperate to leave her. "I'm so sorry," she said for the third time.
She was apologizing for Lucky.
She was apologizing for Zander.
She was apologizing for Ric.
She thought she felt his lips purse on her shoulder in a kiss, and then he pulled away to look at her, his face shadowed by the dim lights of the club; she didn't care that others might be watching, she didn't care if they were judging, talking, whispering, gossiping. He stared at her in awe, as if he was confused by the sight of the tears. He put his fingers up to her cheeks and wiped some of the tears away, and then he stared at them mutely.
She realized that her tears were reflected in his eyes.
Jason, the cold. Jason, the inaccessible, untouchable, unfazable hitman.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, and his voice broke, shattering just like hers had done, and they stared at each other, confused, strangled, paralyzed with the fear that came from knowing that what one was doing was the best thing in the world.
They had waited too long. How many untaken chances had they had along the way? How many times could she have simply said yes, or simply let him kiss her?
"You were supposed to make me fight for you," he murmured to her, and they were so close that she felt the vibrations in his chest of his hoarse, rich voice. "I was-I was going to."
She had to laugh.
She wanted the truth, but what she needed was him. And somewhere, she felt that he wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't lie to her again. If he had felt even one fraction of the pain that had eaten away at her insides, hollowed her out so that all that was left was him, if he had felt even a hundredth of that, he couldn't lie to her again.
"Make me fight for you," he told her, so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. He looked so upset, so beyond hope, beyond help, and she felt his hand tangled in her hair, holding her so close to him with such a gentleness as though he was afraid to break her, with such a firmness as though he was afraid of letting her go. "That's what I deserve."
The tears had subsided, her fear and her sorrow gone, at least for the moment. Maybe in the morning, the sky would be gray again, but for the moment she believed that the sky could never be anything but cerulean blue. The world would exist in primary colors, and she would be able to paint whatever she dreamed of.
His hand had moved, and so, too, had the other one, the one still wet with her own tears, and he was cupping her head, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. They had played this game before, but she was not going to be the one to pull away from him, not this time. She had been stupid too many times, given up on him too many times, given up on herself too many times. At some point, it had to stop.
The only thing in the world she wanted was for him to be happy.
The second thing she wanted in the world was for him to be happy with her.
He had that Jason look on his face, the one she knew so well, the one that made her lose her breath because he was looking at her with such awe and intensity, and she realized that she had no reason to be jealous of Courtney, because that look, the Jason look, was reserved for Elizabeth Webber and Elizabeth Webber only.
With the greatest hesitation came the greatest reward.
He pulled her to him, but he did not kiss her. Instead his mouth lingered only aching millimeters away, and they were so close that they were breathing the same, precious air.
It felt like drowning.
"Elizabeth," he murmured, and that was all the encouragement she needed, just the simple, beautiful, lovely sound of her voice on his lips. She wasn't letting him go, not this time.
It wasn't in her nature.
When he pulled her into the kiss, she didn't fight him, didn't pull away and make excuses about how she loved Lucky or whatever silly thing it was that time. It was four years of a beautiful love culminating in a tender, searing kiss.
She had never known anything like it. It was like the kiss at Vista Point, but more, infinitely, exponentially more. He cradled her head in his hands, protecting her from a violent world that would hurt her because of him, and when they broke it off, mutually, reaching a psychic agreement that air was necessary and vital to life, when they broke it off, he just looked at her as though she were the most beautiful person in the world.
And with him, she felt like she was.
*
Champagne was the order of the day at the Penthouse when the four of them- Carly, Sonny, Jason, and Elizabeth-returned, spirits high. She hadn't been able to let go of his hand, needed to hold it to make sure he was real, make sure he was still standing next to her, still with her, not going to leave her forever and ever.
She was so tired that when they went back to the Penthouse, she almost collapsed into Jason on the couch, but she couldn't fall asleep, she couldn't, because she was terrified that she'd wake up to a world once again cold and without him. Champagne had been delivered, especially for Mrs. Corinthos, the card on the bottle had read.
Jason held Elizabeth in his arms, and she breathed him in, trying to memorize everything about it. It was a happy time, and she had to treasure them while they lasted.
Carly and Sonny sat and watched her and Jason, and both of them smiled, beamed, were happy. Elizabeth was happy. Ecstatic. Euphoric. There weren't enough words in the English language. Carly opened the body of champagne, and Sonny told her to take the first glass, but Carly refused, saying that Elizabeth should drink the first glass.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't-" Elizabeth started, but Carly gave her a look that meant it was an offer she couldn't refuse. "Okay, just a little," she replied, smiling. She struggled to sit up a little more on the couch, and she leaned to Carly to take the glass from her.
"First drink, for Elizabeth," Carly announced. "And the future."
The others watched her expectantly, and she stared down at the fizzy drink, and she looked at Jason. He was smiling, such a pretty smile, Elizabeth thought. "Thank you," she said softly-to all of them, but mostly to Carly, for being her friend. For standing up for her. For being there when she needed someone the most.
Carly just smiled, a pure, genuine smile, and she said, "Come on, this is expensive champagne, and I want to know how it is before I break into it."
"Oh, thanks," Elizabeth replied with a smile, and she put the glass to her lips.
She knew something was hideously, terribly wrong immediately. As the champagne reached her throat and traveled through and then sank into her stomach, the pain hit, agonizing, angry pain coming from all directions. She thought she heard someone cry her name, and Jason's hand clutching hers seemed so tight all of a sudden.
And just like that, everything was black.
To be continued . . .
chapter one
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, so on and so forth.
Author's Note: Liason fic. Pure and simple. Liason, Liason, Liason. Carly/Liz friendship, Sonny/Liz friendship. Getting angsty, watch out. Speculation fic, takes place in about three months. Ric left town. JIP have broken up, car accident took place. Make sure you read the first two parts!
Feedback: Yes, please! Let me know what you think.
It felt like drowning. It felt like struggling through a thick mass of jelly, seeing light but not knowing where it was, not knowing which direction to try to swim in. It felt like there was a heavy, heavy stone on her chest and someone kept adding more weight.
It felt like dying, knowing that he was so close and yet so incredibly far away, in reach and yet completely out of reach.
He had to leave the gallery opening, had to leave because Sonny told him to leave, and Sonny had looked back at her a little sadly, a little bit with pity, but with that knowing Sonny look in his eyes. Sonny told Carly who told her that Jason had some business to attend to before the club could open the following night, and Elizabeth had just smiled and nodded and let him go. Jason had pulled away from her, still holding her hand, and he walked away.
It felt like goodbye. Every time he walked away from her, it felt like goodbye.
She glanced at herself in the mirror in Sonny and Carly's bedroom one last time. The room smelled like Sonny and Carly, like his cologne, like her perfume. Carly was so excited about her club opening, and Elizabeth was excited for her.
And Elizabeth was excited that Jason would be there. She had gone out and bought a new dress for the evening with Sonny's money; she felt bad about it, but Carly assured her not to. Sonny had money to go around. She had bought a dress that flattered her, that she liked, that suited her. She was not going to be anyone's Audrey Hepburn, nobody's little girl. The dress was close-fitting, dark blue. It had always been red; red had been her color. It almost wasn't representative of her anymore.
Carly came into the room and smiled at her from the doorway. "We have to go now," Carly said to her. "Are you ready?"
Elizabeth examined her mirror-image, and she smiled for her doppelganger. She had a bad feeling in her stomach, like things were going to go wrong. They always went wrong. That seemed to be the way of things.
"Yup, I'm ready," she said to Carly, and she let the other woman lead her out of the room.
The ride in the limo to Kelly's was silent, except for Sonny's heaving breathing. Elizabeth's eyes were intent on the movement of Carly's foot, one leg angled over the other. Up and down, the foot moved. Up and down. She made the decision that she was going to have fun-for Carly's sake. For her own sake.
How things had changed.
One little car accident. And everything was shattered into perspective.
They arrived fashionably late, as was Carly's wish. They walked in on the proverbial red carpet, and a neo-swing band played neo-swing songs on the stage. Carly's club was a hit.
"He'll be here," Sonny tried to assure Elizabeth over the vibrations of the music.
"I wasn't worried about him!" she called back to him, but Sonny wasn't going to take any of it. He just smiled at her and moved away from her with Carly.
She stood in the center of the dance floor, jostled by people she knew, some she didn't, people from all over, people who had come to see the opening of the club, to see the legal activities of one Michael Sonny Corinthos. She was being jerked in every direction, which she found ironically strange, because for the first time in years, she felt herself pulled in only one direction-towards Jason.
It still felt like drowning, standing there amidst a sea of shadowy faces, lights glinting from white smiles, sparkles of dresses twinkling. And yet, she smiled. Because at least she knew. At least she knew what she felt. And she had never been more sure of anything in her life, not even Lucky, not even Lucky before the fire. It still felt like drowning, but she could breathe.
She felt someone pull her hand, and she looked into the eyes of Nikolas Cassadine, who smiled at her and asked her if she wanted to dance, and she replied that yes, she thought she would like to dance.
It was drowning, but she could smile anyway.
*
One dance partner after the next, some strangers, some not, one dance partner after the next, she found herself in Jason's arms. He asked sullenly if he could cut in, and she felt breathless, her heart beating so hard against the palette of her lungs that they could almost no longer push air through them. The night had grown late, and her limbs had grown tired, but they resurged with energy as soon as she had been delivered from one partner's arms into the sanctity of Jason's.
Nothing could harm her there, she knew.
They didn't say anything, didn't have to, because he immediately pulled her into his arms, and she immediately lost balance, falling into him, wishing he were of less substance so that she could fall through him and pull his very essence into herself. Their bodies fit perfectly together, as they had always fit together, cut not from the same mold but from complementary molds. That was what soulmates were, after all, she thought, suffocating in the happiness of ways, suffocating from his warmth, his restrictive love- his restrictive love that somehow seemed to be endless, uncompromising, unconditional.
In the end, he had always come back to her. Just like he said he would.
You're not losing me, he had said to her once. I'm just going away.
That's what Courtney had been, she realized. He had just gone away for a little bit, but now, here he was, she in his arms and he in hers.
"You're shaking," he murmured into her ear, and she realized that he was right. She was shaking pretty badly, but his presence had steadied her; she knew he wouldn't let her go, he would catch her if she fell, and she had let go of all reason, all logic, all arguments.
"I'm sorry," she whispered back, unsure of why she was apologizing.
"Don't ever be sorry," he said, and she felt the vibrations of his lips against her shoulder bone. They had almost stopped moving, were almost just standing there, having forgotten the music and the other people and how the world had done them so many wrongs over the years, how it had been one long poker game and they had both come up with nothing, while others, like Helena Cassadine and Zander Smith and Courtney Matthews- Quartermaine had won every single time, aces up their sleeves.
She wouldn't have taken any of it back.
In the end, nobody had been more responsible than Elizabeth and Jason themselves. They had used the others as weak excuses for their own inabilities to simply give in to each other; they had hesitated, their voices breaking like glass, their resolves shattering, because that was what happened when they looked at each other. Their paradox was that they made each other strong and weak at the same time.
Jason was her biggest weakness.
He was also her biggest strength.
"I'm so sorry," she said again, and she heard her voice crack, but she didn't realize she was crying until the tear hit her chin and rolled off of it, peeling away, desperate to leave her. "I'm so sorry," she said for the third time.
She was apologizing for Lucky.
She was apologizing for Zander.
She was apologizing for Ric.
She thought she felt his lips purse on her shoulder in a kiss, and then he pulled away to look at her, his face shadowed by the dim lights of the club; she didn't care that others might be watching, she didn't care if they were judging, talking, whispering, gossiping. He stared at her in awe, as if he was confused by the sight of the tears. He put his fingers up to her cheeks and wiped some of the tears away, and then he stared at them mutely.
She realized that her tears were reflected in his eyes.
Jason, the cold. Jason, the inaccessible, untouchable, unfazable hitman.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, and his voice broke, shattering just like hers had done, and they stared at each other, confused, strangled, paralyzed with the fear that came from knowing that what one was doing was the best thing in the world.
They had waited too long. How many untaken chances had they had along the way? How many times could she have simply said yes, or simply let him kiss her?
"You were supposed to make me fight for you," he murmured to her, and they were so close that she felt the vibrations in his chest of his hoarse, rich voice. "I was-I was going to."
She had to laugh.
She wanted the truth, but what she needed was him. And somewhere, she felt that he wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't lie to her again. If he had felt even one fraction of the pain that had eaten away at her insides, hollowed her out so that all that was left was him, if he had felt even a hundredth of that, he couldn't lie to her again.
"Make me fight for you," he told her, so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. He looked so upset, so beyond hope, beyond help, and she felt his hand tangled in her hair, holding her so close to him with such a gentleness as though he was afraid to break her, with such a firmness as though he was afraid of letting her go. "That's what I deserve."
The tears had subsided, her fear and her sorrow gone, at least for the moment. Maybe in the morning, the sky would be gray again, but for the moment she believed that the sky could never be anything but cerulean blue. The world would exist in primary colors, and she would be able to paint whatever she dreamed of.
His hand had moved, and so, too, had the other one, the one still wet with her own tears, and he was cupping her head, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. They had played this game before, but she was not going to be the one to pull away from him, not this time. She had been stupid too many times, given up on him too many times, given up on herself too many times. At some point, it had to stop.
The only thing in the world she wanted was for him to be happy.
The second thing she wanted in the world was for him to be happy with her.
He had that Jason look on his face, the one she knew so well, the one that made her lose her breath because he was looking at her with such awe and intensity, and she realized that she had no reason to be jealous of Courtney, because that look, the Jason look, was reserved for Elizabeth Webber and Elizabeth Webber only.
With the greatest hesitation came the greatest reward.
He pulled her to him, but he did not kiss her. Instead his mouth lingered only aching millimeters away, and they were so close that they were breathing the same, precious air.
It felt like drowning.
"Elizabeth," he murmured, and that was all the encouragement she needed, just the simple, beautiful, lovely sound of her voice on his lips. She wasn't letting him go, not this time.
It wasn't in her nature.
When he pulled her into the kiss, she didn't fight him, didn't pull away and make excuses about how she loved Lucky or whatever silly thing it was that time. It was four years of a beautiful love culminating in a tender, searing kiss.
She had never known anything like it. It was like the kiss at Vista Point, but more, infinitely, exponentially more. He cradled her head in his hands, protecting her from a violent world that would hurt her because of him, and when they broke it off, mutually, reaching a psychic agreement that air was necessary and vital to life, when they broke it off, he just looked at her as though she were the most beautiful person in the world.
And with him, she felt like she was.
*
Champagne was the order of the day at the Penthouse when the four of them- Carly, Sonny, Jason, and Elizabeth-returned, spirits high. She hadn't been able to let go of his hand, needed to hold it to make sure he was real, make sure he was still standing next to her, still with her, not going to leave her forever and ever.
She was so tired that when they went back to the Penthouse, she almost collapsed into Jason on the couch, but she couldn't fall asleep, she couldn't, because she was terrified that she'd wake up to a world once again cold and without him. Champagne had been delivered, especially for Mrs. Corinthos, the card on the bottle had read.
Jason held Elizabeth in his arms, and she breathed him in, trying to memorize everything about it. It was a happy time, and she had to treasure them while they lasted.
Carly and Sonny sat and watched her and Jason, and both of them smiled, beamed, were happy. Elizabeth was happy. Ecstatic. Euphoric. There weren't enough words in the English language. Carly opened the body of champagne, and Sonny told her to take the first glass, but Carly refused, saying that Elizabeth should drink the first glass.
"Oh, no, I shouldn't-" Elizabeth started, but Carly gave her a look that meant it was an offer she couldn't refuse. "Okay, just a little," she replied, smiling. She struggled to sit up a little more on the couch, and she leaned to Carly to take the glass from her.
"First drink, for Elizabeth," Carly announced. "And the future."
The others watched her expectantly, and she stared down at the fizzy drink, and she looked at Jason. He was smiling, such a pretty smile, Elizabeth thought. "Thank you," she said softly-to all of them, but mostly to Carly, for being her friend. For standing up for her. For being there when she needed someone the most.
Carly just smiled, a pure, genuine smile, and she said, "Come on, this is expensive champagne, and I want to know how it is before I break into it."
"Oh, thanks," Elizabeth replied with a smile, and she put the glass to her lips.
She knew something was hideously, terribly wrong immediately. As the champagne reached her throat and traveled through and then sank into her stomach, the pain hit, agonizing, angry pain coming from all directions. She thought she heard someone cry her name, and Jason's hand clutching hers seemed so tight all of a sudden.
And just like that, everything was black.
To be continued . . .