Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 8/?
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: Everything is coming to a head. How far would you go for the man you love?
Queen of Angels was a convent set off the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, a former rumrunner's hideaway converted into a bastion of more holy pursuits.
Few people knew that it existed, so steeped were they in the city's multitude of sins.
Caroline had laughed the first time she set foot on the grounds, clutching her fragile bundle to her chest, sure that God would strike her dead.
"You have never...? With a man...? *Ever*?"
Sister Leticia had laughed, too, gently. "No, Senora Benson. We are brides of Christ and he does not show his love in a physical form."
"But you'll love my baby, won't you? Hold him? He...he likes to be held, rocked. He's a good Southern boy, so if you sing 'Dixie,' he goes right to sleep."
"No te preocupes, Senora. He will be safe here. Always."
Now, nearly seven years later, the words of the honorable Mrs. Christ were a lie.
Everyone lied, it seemed, no matter how they lived their life.
False, wasted elegance...austere, sterile, simplicity.
As the carriage drew up to the wrought iron gates, Caroline knew she would not be struck dead...not this time...not unless she could take Jason Morgan with her.
This was no lie.
Simply a promise.
***
The tip of the cheroot glowed in the darkness, the pungent scent of the tobacco hanging heavy in the thick air. It was the only indicator that Jason stood separate from the marshy ground... that he was something other than dirt and mud and dying life.
"You may leave, if you want."
"I intend to see this through," he assured.
In the shadow of the abbey, Michael felt the weight of God's eyes and he knew, he knew he must bear witness all the way to the end... so that when he came to judgment, he knew exactly why he was going to Hell.
He hoped Elizabeth wept for him... because no one else would have any tears. Not after this.
It had begun with the three of them and so it would finish. A thief, a killer, and a whore.
"You know...when I was eleven, I watched my brother Alan die." Jason laughed, softly, and the cheroot floated like a torch guiding the way. "So weak. So useless. No honor. I put a nail beneath his saddle... and when he hit that tree and snapped his neck... I took his horse."
The hand around his wrist caught him by surprise. As did the sudden sting of ash and fire against his skin.
"Is that what you did to me, Michael? Dump me in the swamp and take my horse?" The whisper was sharp against his throat. "Steal my best mare and her prize colt?"
"I have a wife," he reminded, careful to show no fear. "I have a reputation."
"You have an affection for Caroline. And for me," was the silken counter-attack, punctuated by the still-smoking cheroot being ground, slowly, into his flesh. "Who do you love more, Michael? Me? Her? Your child bride?"
It took every ounce of his strength to wrench away from the taller man, to spin around without showing any attention to the burns. He took a deep breath, recalled that he wasn't simply a slave to this age-old friendship, this maddening push-pull of destruction. He had power. He *was* power. "Me," he said, quietly, firmly. "I love *me* more, Jason...and I do what is best for *me*. "
"And what is best for you, Michael? Hmmm?" The back of a hand against his cheek, knuckles brushing against his day growth of beard with just enough threat to raise his hackles.
He could lie now. To save his own life. Perhaps others.
He opened his mouth to speak...but it was *her* voice that rang out into the night, that echoed off the barrel of her pistol.
"It's best for him if you die, Jason. Forever, this time."
And so it would finish.
A thief, a killer, and a whore.
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: Everything is coming to a head. How far would you go for the man you love?
Queen of Angels was a convent set off the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, a former rumrunner's hideaway converted into a bastion of more holy pursuits.
Few people knew that it existed, so steeped were they in the city's multitude of sins.
Caroline had laughed the first time she set foot on the grounds, clutching her fragile bundle to her chest, sure that God would strike her dead.
"You have never...? With a man...? *Ever*?"
Sister Leticia had laughed, too, gently. "No, Senora Benson. We are brides of Christ and he does not show his love in a physical form."
"But you'll love my baby, won't you? Hold him? He...he likes to be held, rocked. He's a good Southern boy, so if you sing 'Dixie,' he goes right to sleep."
"No te preocupes, Senora. He will be safe here. Always."
Now, nearly seven years later, the words of the honorable Mrs. Christ were a lie.
Everyone lied, it seemed, no matter how they lived their life.
False, wasted elegance...austere, sterile, simplicity.
As the carriage drew up to the wrought iron gates, Caroline knew she would not be struck dead...not this time...not unless she could take Jason Morgan with her.
This was no lie.
Simply a promise.
***
The tip of the cheroot glowed in the darkness, the pungent scent of the tobacco hanging heavy in the thick air. It was the only indicator that Jason stood separate from the marshy ground... that he was something other than dirt and mud and dying life.
"You may leave, if you want."
"I intend to see this through," he assured.
In the shadow of the abbey, Michael felt the weight of God's eyes and he knew, he knew he must bear witness all the way to the end... so that when he came to judgment, he knew exactly why he was going to Hell.
He hoped Elizabeth wept for him... because no one else would have any tears. Not after this.
It had begun with the three of them and so it would finish. A thief, a killer, and a whore.
"You know...when I was eleven, I watched my brother Alan die." Jason laughed, softly, and the cheroot floated like a torch guiding the way. "So weak. So useless. No honor. I put a nail beneath his saddle... and when he hit that tree and snapped his neck... I took his horse."
The hand around his wrist caught him by surprise. As did the sudden sting of ash and fire against his skin.
"Is that what you did to me, Michael? Dump me in the swamp and take my horse?" The whisper was sharp against his throat. "Steal my best mare and her prize colt?"
"I have a wife," he reminded, careful to show no fear. "I have a reputation."
"You have an affection for Caroline. And for me," was the silken counter-attack, punctuated by the still-smoking cheroot being ground, slowly, into his flesh. "Who do you love more, Michael? Me? Her? Your child bride?"
It took every ounce of his strength to wrench away from the taller man, to spin around without showing any attention to the burns. He took a deep breath, recalled that he wasn't simply a slave to this age-old friendship, this maddening push-pull of destruction. He had power. He *was* power. "Me," he said, quietly, firmly. "I love *me* more, Jason...and I do what is best for *me*. "
"And what is best for you, Michael? Hmmm?" The back of a hand against his cheek, knuckles brushing against his day growth of beard with just enough threat to raise his hackles.
He could lie now. To save his own life. Perhaps others.
He opened his mouth to speak...but it was *her* voice that rang out into the night, that echoed off the barrel of her pistol.
"It's best for him if you die, Jason. Forever, this time."
And so it would finish.
A thief, a killer, and a whore.