web of duty: part 2
"Only enemies speak the truth. Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty." -- Stephen King
Author's Note: This is not, I repeat not, the sequel to Song. This is spoiler spec fic based on the new information we received about Ric and *****. If you want to remain spoiler-free, I suggest not reading this.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose.
*
She hadn't figured into his plans. He had never meant to hurt her. He never meant to use her and manipulate her; he had never meant to bring her to see Jason and Sonny's sister's loft. His feet had just brought him there. And then she had looked up at the window, just like he had needed her to, and then she had made the jump in logic to elopement, and that was more than he could have asked for.
But when they were hiding behind the bushes, and she had been so upset with Jason, his heart had burned with the jealousy. And there she was, angry again. He had never wanted to be the cause of that pain.
And now, here he was, in his bedroom with Carly Corinthos, drugged and passed out on his bed. The plan had worked out too well; every piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Carly, passing out, drugged out, and she had been almost willing to come back to his room with him, probably in a vain attempt to maintain some semblance of dignity. She trusted him, and it would have been so easy to have his way with her.
The cliché was cheap. His way had nothing to do with having sex with Carly Corinthos. She was a beautiful woman, sure, and maybe he might have, because it would have made the façade that much more believable. Elizabeth's appearance had thrown him off. The taste for the game, the sense of the cheap melodrama that would ensue was no longer in his veins.
All that was left was a vile bitterness in his mouth, the taste of having betrayed someone he cared about, of having caused her pain.
He sat on the bed next to Carly Corinthos until the sun arose. He kept his head buried in his hands, because he knew that if he moved, if he breathed, if he looked at anything in his room, he would remember some tiny exchange between him and Elizabeth. If he even looked down at the comforter on the bed, he would remember the opportunity he hadn't taken, the opportunity he would never get again.
Eventually, as the morning sun stretched its lazy rays around the blinds, he shook Carly's foot, and she moaned. He stood up, not eager to still be in bed with her when she awoke, and he crossed to the desk and leaned against it and waited for her to wake.
He wondered, vaguely, if he had pegged Carly correctly. If he hadn't, he would be dead very soon, and it didn't really matter much anyway. He needed power over Carly, and this was the way to do it. Blackmail, pure and simple. He wouldn't even need to play it that way, either. He would charm her, play the good guy-two people had gotten drunk and fallen in bed together. It was an accident, he would say; but he, unlike Carly, had nothing to lose, and that was where he had the power.
Or, he thought he had nothing to lose. And he still felt that way, even up until the moment when he had opened the door. He had still been able to make himself feel that way, even when she pushed open the door even further, but it was when she started down the hallway, and he imagined his days in Port Charles without her that he knew he had to go after her.
Words had failed him. Words had always been his friend, but they had failed him, abandoned him, run away without giving notice. He hadn't been able to rationalize to her, and she had gone away, thinking that he had been seeing Carly all along.
How could he have been seeing Carly when all he could think about was her?
It was like Jeckyl and Hyde, he realized as he sat on the desk, waiting for Carly to wake. He couldn't keep up the game when he was with Elizabeth. It had been a real moment of weakness down in the basement of the building when he had kissed her. Or maybe it had been a moment of strength. He didn't know anymore.
Eventually, Carly's limp form on the bed began to move, and he watched mutely as she struggled to pull herself to a sitting position. She looked around her with glassy eyes, and then those eyes came to rest on him. They widened, and her mouth struggled to get the words out. "Did we--?" she asked him, looking around again at the bed and then down at herself.
He had to shut himself down, pretend Elizabeth didn't exist, had to tell himself that she didn't matter in the long run, and what did matter in the long run was how he proceeded over the next couple of days, weeks, months. He had to shut himself down in order to say to Carly, "Yeah."
Such a simple word, and yet it took so much effort to say.
And there, it was done. He didn't even stay to see the look on Carly's face, her reaction to what had never occurred.
He grabbed his coat and headed downstairs immediately, praying that Elizabeth would be working, but knowing she wouldn't be. The other girl- Penny, he thought her name was-was working, and he went to the counter, desperate just to see Elizabeth.
"Elizabeth Webber," he said to the girl. "Do you know where I can find her?"
*
She hadn't been able to go back to her studio. She was half-afraid she'd break something. She was so angry that she couldn't even breathe. She had to go down to the pier and sit in the falling snow until morning came. She was freezing, but it sort of numbed the pain on some level.
She didn't know that she liked him so much, she didn't know until she had seen Carly in his bed. Carly, of all people. The wind whipped the snowfall up around her, and she pulled her fairly thin coat up around her and drew her knees to her chest, trying to maintain body warmth.
He had played her. That was what she didn't want. She always wondered why he was drawn to her, and now she understood. He was never drawn to her; she was just a silly schoolgirl with a crush, like she had thought all along. He had been having an affair with Carly Corinthos all along, and she was just a cover.
The thought of it left a bitterness in her mouth.
She was never going to win. Ever. In her life, she had wanted three men: Lucky, Jason, Ric. And she hadn't gotten any of them, not in the end. She couldn't even comprehend how stupid she was to let herself fall for someone again. And to fall hard.
She sat there until morning warmed the snow on the ground, and she sat there even longer, delaying the inevitable of going home, taking a shower, getting clean, and then going back to Kelly's for work. If she went to Kelly's, she'd have to see him.
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and she realized that she would have to see him sooner.
"Go away," she said to him, her unused voice hoarse with anger and unshed tears.
"I'm not going to go away." He was behind her, and she could hear his voice echoing through the emptiness of the pier. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, because she thought she either might succumb and try to ravish him or start throwing things at him.
"Okay," she said. "I'll go." She stood up without much resolve, prepared to go but not eager to do so. She wanted to hear him out, wanted to hear what he had to say, even though she knew that nothing he could say was going to make the situation any better. Whatever finally crafted trust she had placed in him was ruined, shattered.
"Don't go," he said softly, also without resolve, as though he knew she wouldn't leave.
She finally turned to look at him, her eyes steely, braced to make contact with him. During the course of the night, she had imagined a hundred thousand times what she would say to him the next time she saw him, but she also knew he was smarter than she was, and he would argue with her and fight with her, and she'd be at a loss. She wasn't going to let him get the better of her, not again.
He grasped the wooden railing as he walked down the steps, careful not to slip on the snow that lay on the surface. She watched him, and some part of him wanted him to slip and break his neck. She was so angry with him, and she had to stop and think about why she was so angry.
She didn't want to think about it.
She only wanted to strangle him. Murder him. Ask him why he chose her, out of everyone, to use and manipulate.
"Well?" she asked. "Do you have something to say?" She put her hands on her hips, trying to make her stance more secure, trying not to feel like she was going to fall over.
I dare you, Ric, she tried to tell him. I dare you to find a way to get out of this one.
"Elizabeth, this has nothing to do with you."
"Oh, I got that part of it, actually. It has to do with you and Carly. I won't tell Sonny, if that's what you came here to say."
He had the decency to look hurt-and angry. "That's not why I came looking for you."
"Were you going to apologize?" she asked him.
"I came here to tell you the truth."
"Well, that's a first," she shot back.
"That's not fair."
"What can I say? It's how I think."
The snow still fell, slowly but steadily, catching in his hair, on his shoulders. He was still wearing what he had been wearing the night before, the shirt she had seen him buttoning up, what he had been wearing after he and Carly . . .
She thought she would throw up if she thought about it. Or cry. Either way, it wasn't going to be pretty.
The morning sun tried to burn through the thick, heavy, gray winter clouds, but it was in vain. Her world was gray, matching her mood.
"Elizabeth-" he tried again, but she had no patience for his lies.
"You know what?" she said. "Don't bother. It's a waste of time."
And she turned to leave.
*
It had taken him the majority of the early hours of the morning to find her. Penny had said she was probably at home, she wasn't on until later that day, but he couldn't wait that long to see her. His insides were eating away at him.
In the end, he had gone to the docks, because that was the last place he could think of to look.
And there she was, alone on the bench. He wanted to go and put his coat around her, but in the end, he was just terrified. He was scared that he had gone too far this time, pulled too many strings, gone behind too many people's backs, told too many lies.
He, whose biggest ally had always been words, had been out of words.
"You know what?" she said. "Don't bother. It's a waste of time."
And he had struggled. He had to say something, anything. He couldn't let her just walk out like that. He hadn't asked for her to come into his life, but now that she had, he couldn't let her leave. The only thing he had to say to her was the truth.
"Elizabeth-" he called after her, and she froze but didn't turn to him.
If you say it, one part of his mind said, it's the truth. And you know you can trust her.
If you say it, the other part said, you're putting her in danger.
He made the selfish decision. If he put her in danger, he would kill himself, but they would have to kill him to get to her. He made the selfish decision-and he told her.
The truth.
He took a deep breath and said, "Elizabeth, I'm FBI."
To be continued . . .
Author's Note Redux: Okay, so it's a little deus-ex-machina-y, but everyone will get over it. Too easy of a solution, but your hearts will go on.
"Only enemies speak the truth. Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of duty." -- Stephen King
Author's Note: This is not, I repeat not, the sequel to Song. This is spoiler spec fic based on the new information we received about Ric and *****. If you want to remain spoiler-free, I suggest not reading this.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose.
*
She hadn't figured into his plans. He had never meant to hurt her. He never meant to use her and manipulate her; he had never meant to bring her to see Jason and Sonny's sister's loft. His feet had just brought him there. And then she had looked up at the window, just like he had needed her to, and then she had made the jump in logic to elopement, and that was more than he could have asked for.
But when they were hiding behind the bushes, and she had been so upset with Jason, his heart had burned with the jealousy. And there she was, angry again. He had never wanted to be the cause of that pain.
And now, here he was, in his bedroom with Carly Corinthos, drugged and passed out on his bed. The plan had worked out too well; every piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Carly, passing out, drugged out, and she had been almost willing to come back to his room with him, probably in a vain attempt to maintain some semblance of dignity. She trusted him, and it would have been so easy to have his way with her.
The cliché was cheap. His way had nothing to do with having sex with Carly Corinthos. She was a beautiful woman, sure, and maybe he might have, because it would have made the façade that much more believable. Elizabeth's appearance had thrown him off. The taste for the game, the sense of the cheap melodrama that would ensue was no longer in his veins.
All that was left was a vile bitterness in his mouth, the taste of having betrayed someone he cared about, of having caused her pain.
He sat on the bed next to Carly Corinthos until the sun arose. He kept his head buried in his hands, because he knew that if he moved, if he breathed, if he looked at anything in his room, he would remember some tiny exchange between him and Elizabeth. If he even looked down at the comforter on the bed, he would remember the opportunity he hadn't taken, the opportunity he would never get again.
Eventually, as the morning sun stretched its lazy rays around the blinds, he shook Carly's foot, and she moaned. He stood up, not eager to still be in bed with her when she awoke, and he crossed to the desk and leaned against it and waited for her to wake.
He wondered, vaguely, if he had pegged Carly correctly. If he hadn't, he would be dead very soon, and it didn't really matter much anyway. He needed power over Carly, and this was the way to do it. Blackmail, pure and simple. He wouldn't even need to play it that way, either. He would charm her, play the good guy-two people had gotten drunk and fallen in bed together. It was an accident, he would say; but he, unlike Carly, had nothing to lose, and that was where he had the power.
Or, he thought he had nothing to lose. And he still felt that way, even up until the moment when he had opened the door. He had still been able to make himself feel that way, even when she pushed open the door even further, but it was when she started down the hallway, and he imagined his days in Port Charles without her that he knew he had to go after her.
Words had failed him. Words had always been his friend, but they had failed him, abandoned him, run away without giving notice. He hadn't been able to rationalize to her, and she had gone away, thinking that he had been seeing Carly all along.
How could he have been seeing Carly when all he could think about was her?
It was like Jeckyl and Hyde, he realized as he sat on the desk, waiting for Carly to wake. He couldn't keep up the game when he was with Elizabeth. It had been a real moment of weakness down in the basement of the building when he had kissed her. Or maybe it had been a moment of strength. He didn't know anymore.
Eventually, Carly's limp form on the bed began to move, and he watched mutely as she struggled to pull herself to a sitting position. She looked around her with glassy eyes, and then those eyes came to rest on him. They widened, and her mouth struggled to get the words out. "Did we--?" she asked him, looking around again at the bed and then down at herself.
He had to shut himself down, pretend Elizabeth didn't exist, had to tell himself that she didn't matter in the long run, and what did matter in the long run was how he proceeded over the next couple of days, weeks, months. He had to shut himself down in order to say to Carly, "Yeah."
Such a simple word, and yet it took so much effort to say.
And there, it was done. He didn't even stay to see the look on Carly's face, her reaction to what had never occurred.
He grabbed his coat and headed downstairs immediately, praying that Elizabeth would be working, but knowing she wouldn't be. The other girl- Penny, he thought her name was-was working, and he went to the counter, desperate just to see Elizabeth.
"Elizabeth Webber," he said to the girl. "Do you know where I can find her?"
*
She hadn't been able to go back to her studio. She was half-afraid she'd break something. She was so angry that she couldn't even breathe. She had to go down to the pier and sit in the falling snow until morning came. She was freezing, but it sort of numbed the pain on some level.
She didn't know that she liked him so much, she didn't know until she had seen Carly in his bed. Carly, of all people. The wind whipped the snowfall up around her, and she pulled her fairly thin coat up around her and drew her knees to her chest, trying to maintain body warmth.
He had played her. That was what she didn't want. She always wondered why he was drawn to her, and now she understood. He was never drawn to her; she was just a silly schoolgirl with a crush, like she had thought all along. He had been having an affair with Carly Corinthos all along, and she was just a cover.
The thought of it left a bitterness in her mouth.
She was never going to win. Ever. In her life, she had wanted three men: Lucky, Jason, Ric. And she hadn't gotten any of them, not in the end. She couldn't even comprehend how stupid she was to let herself fall for someone again. And to fall hard.
She sat there until morning warmed the snow on the ground, and she sat there even longer, delaying the inevitable of going home, taking a shower, getting clean, and then going back to Kelly's for work. If she went to Kelly's, she'd have to see him.
"Elizabeth?" she heard, and she realized that she would have to see him sooner.
"Go away," she said to him, her unused voice hoarse with anger and unshed tears.
"I'm not going to go away." He was behind her, and she could hear his voice echoing through the emptiness of the pier. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, because she thought she either might succumb and try to ravish him or start throwing things at him.
"Okay," she said. "I'll go." She stood up without much resolve, prepared to go but not eager to do so. She wanted to hear him out, wanted to hear what he had to say, even though she knew that nothing he could say was going to make the situation any better. Whatever finally crafted trust she had placed in him was ruined, shattered.
"Don't go," he said softly, also without resolve, as though he knew she wouldn't leave.
She finally turned to look at him, her eyes steely, braced to make contact with him. During the course of the night, she had imagined a hundred thousand times what she would say to him the next time she saw him, but she also knew he was smarter than she was, and he would argue with her and fight with her, and she'd be at a loss. She wasn't going to let him get the better of her, not again.
He grasped the wooden railing as he walked down the steps, careful not to slip on the snow that lay on the surface. She watched him, and some part of him wanted him to slip and break his neck. She was so angry with him, and she had to stop and think about why she was so angry.
She didn't want to think about it.
She only wanted to strangle him. Murder him. Ask him why he chose her, out of everyone, to use and manipulate.
"Well?" she asked. "Do you have something to say?" She put her hands on her hips, trying to make her stance more secure, trying not to feel like she was going to fall over.
I dare you, Ric, she tried to tell him. I dare you to find a way to get out of this one.
"Elizabeth, this has nothing to do with you."
"Oh, I got that part of it, actually. It has to do with you and Carly. I won't tell Sonny, if that's what you came here to say."
He had the decency to look hurt-and angry. "That's not why I came looking for you."
"Were you going to apologize?" she asked him.
"I came here to tell you the truth."
"Well, that's a first," she shot back.
"That's not fair."
"What can I say? It's how I think."
The snow still fell, slowly but steadily, catching in his hair, on his shoulders. He was still wearing what he had been wearing the night before, the shirt she had seen him buttoning up, what he had been wearing after he and Carly . . .
She thought she would throw up if she thought about it. Or cry. Either way, it wasn't going to be pretty.
The morning sun tried to burn through the thick, heavy, gray winter clouds, but it was in vain. Her world was gray, matching her mood.
"Elizabeth-" he tried again, but she had no patience for his lies.
"You know what?" she said. "Don't bother. It's a waste of time."
And she turned to leave.
*
It had taken him the majority of the early hours of the morning to find her. Penny had said she was probably at home, she wasn't on until later that day, but he couldn't wait that long to see her. His insides were eating away at him.
In the end, he had gone to the docks, because that was the last place he could think of to look.
And there she was, alone on the bench. He wanted to go and put his coat around her, but in the end, he was just terrified. He was scared that he had gone too far this time, pulled too many strings, gone behind too many people's backs, told too many lies.
He, whose biggest ally had always been words, had been out of words.
"You know what?" she said. "Don't bother. It's a waste of time."
And he had struggled. He had to say something, anything. He couldn't let her just walk out like that. He hadn't asked for her to come into his life, but now that she had, he couldn't let her leave. The only thing he had to say to her was the truth.
"Elizabeth-" he called after her, and she froze but didn't turn to him.
If you say it, one part of his mind said, it's the truth. And you know you can trust her.
If you say it, the other part said, you're putting her in danger.
He made the selfish decision. If he put her in danger, he would kill himself, but they would have to kill him to get to her. He made the selfish decision-and he told her.
The truth.
He took a deep breath and said, "Elizabeth, I'm FBI."
To be continued . . .
Author's Note Redux: Okay, so it's a little deus-ex-machina-y, but everyone will get over it. Too easy of a solution, but your hearts will go on.