Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 9/?
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far?
The weight of the pistol was something solid, tangible, in her hands. She had loaded it in the carriage, feeling each chamber of the Colt .44 revolver with her fingertips as she inserted the bullets. No fireplace pokers this time...no. Caroline was determined to finish what she had started. To make sure she would be safe. To make sure that no man would ever hurt her, use her, again.
No man...and no monster.
Because that was what Jason Morgan was. A monster. His eyes glowed like the spark of flint and steel as he stared back at her, his lips curling into a smile that had once aroused her... and later chilled her.
There *were* good memories. From before.
That beautiful man in the billiards parlor of the bordello... not at all shocked when she removed an item of clothing every time he sank a ball into a pocket. Laughing with him as Michael told a story about finessing a shipment of supplies away from a stockade runner. Late nights finishing bottles of brandy by the fire and dreaming of riches...
There were bad memories, too. And they were worse.
The bruises. The cuts. The constant apologies... and then the ones never made.
"Are you going to shoot, Sweetheart?" he wondered, softly, in that remote, empty, voice that had once sounded so charming, so polite.
Her grip didn't waver. Neither did her resolve. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Michael was still, like water, simply waiting to show what might lie beneath his surface. "Miguel has not been harmed," he murmured, as if they were at a ball trading pleasantries...and so they had been, only a day before. "Sister Leticia has him in the chapel. Waiting."
She did not have the luxury of relief. She did not have any luxuries at all. Not anymore.
Jason moved forward just one step, flicking his cheroot into the damp grass and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. "Did you like my gift, Caroline?" he asked, tilting his head. "Did you appreciate Lorenzo?"
She smiled, then, despite herself. Hands on her body, lips in her hair... that wondrous look in eyes a far kinder blue. "I did...and I am touched, Darlin'," she drawled. "I didn't think you quite cared enough to send me a lover so much better than you ever were."
Michael made a sound like a cough and she recognized it as his attempt to disguise his mirth. If it weren't for the darkness, she knew his damnable dimples would betray his amusement. As it stood, Jason knew they were both mocking him. Always that shift of power in their uneasy alliance of three. Her fingers danced on the trigger, drawing the hammer back.
"Once a whore, always a whore." Jason shrugged, the fine lines of his coat moving like snakeskin with the action. "Only this time, you will be the one to pay."
"You couldn't get the best of me six years ago. What makes you think you will this time?" she countered. "Michael?" Both men shifted and she kept both in her sight line. She had learned, the hard way, that no one...no one...was truly trustworthy. "You must know he's the one who rolled your body into the swamp, Jason. And after he was done, he came back and we drove you from our blood. You must know how we did *that*, too...?" she taunted.
"Caroline..." Michael cautioned, but she ignored him.
"Who's the whore? Truly?" she demanded. "Me? Or your good man right there? He sold his soul, Jason, a thousand times. But at least he *has* one."
"Are you certain of that?" Even in the moonlight, with the scent of the bayou so close and thick, his arrogance was sharp, like brimstone. "Not that it matters. Souls can be bought. Traded. Owned."
There was a heavy clicking noise that Caroline recognized.
Michael raised a gun, and his mirth had long since vanished. The palpable regret was the most frightening thing she had ever seen in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"We're all sorry," she countered, shrugging wearily. "We're the sorriest bunch of sinners in the state."
But she did not lower her weapon.
Nor did he lower his.
And perhaps they would have stayed in that stand-off for eternity, never giving Jason Morgan the satisfaction of seeing either of them spill blood...were it not for one, simple voice in the darkness.
One distraction no whore could afford.
Love.
"Caroline...querida...*stop*!"
As Lorenzo's words echoed through the air, so did the crack-bang of a pistol report.
No man would ever hurt her again.
No man...and no monster.
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far?
The weight of the pistol was something solid, tangible, in her hands. She had loaded it in the carriage, feeling each chamber of the Colt .44 revolver with her fingertips as she inserted the bullets. No fireplace pokers this time...no. Caroline was determined to finish what she had started. To make sure she would be safe. To make sure that no man would ever hurt her, use her, again.
No man...and no monster.
Because that was what Jason Morgan was. A monster. His eyes glowed like the spark of flint and steel as he stared back at her, his lips curling into a smile that had once aroused her... and later chilled her.
There *were* good memories. From before.
That beautiful man in the billiards parlor of the bordello... not at all shocked when she removed an item of clothing every time he sank a ball into a pocket. Laughing with him as Michael told a story about finessing a shipment of supplies away from a stockade runner. Late nights finishing bottles of brandy by the fire and dreaming of riches...
There were bad memories, too. And they were worse.
The bruises. The cuts. The constant apologies... and then the ones never made.
"Are you going to shoot, Sweetheart?" he wondered, softly, in that remote, empty, voice that had once sounded so charming, so polite.
Her grip didn't waver. Neither did her resolve. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Michael was still, like water, simply waiting to show what might lie beneath his surface. "Miguel has not been harmed," he murmured, as if they were at a ball trading pleasantries...and so they had been, only a day before. "Sister Leticia has him in the chapel. Waiting."
She did not have the luxury of relief. She did not have any luxuries at all. Not anymore.
Jason moved forward just one step, flicking his cheroot into the damp grass and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. "Did you like my gift, Caroline?" he asked, tilting his head. "Did you appreciate Lorenzo?"
She smiled, then, despite herself. Hands on her body, lips in her hair... that wondrous look in eyes a far kinder blue. "I did...and I am touched, Darlin'," she drawled. "I didn't think you quite cared enough to send me a lover so much better than you ever were."
Michael made a sound like a cough and she recognized it as his attempt to disguise his mirth. If it weren't for the darkness, she knew his damnable dimples would betray his amusement. As it stood, Jason knew they were both mocking him. Always that shift of power in their uneasy alliance of three. Her fingers danced on the trigger, drawing the hammer back.
"Once a whore, always a whore." Jason shrugged, the fine lines of his coat moving like snakeskin with the action. "Only this time, you will be the one to pay."
"You couldn't get the best of me six years ago. What makes you think you will this time?" she countered. "Michael?" Both men shifted and she kept both in her sight line. She had learned, the hard way, that no one...no one...was truly trustworthy. "You must know he's the one who rolled your body into the swamp, Jason. And after he was done, he came back and we drove you from our blood. You must know how we did *that*, too...?" she taunted.
"Caroline..." Michael cautioned, but she ignored him.
"Who's the whore? Truly?" she demanded. "Me? Or your good man right there? He sold his soul, Jason, a thousand times. But at least he *has* one."
"Are you certain of that?" Even in the moonlight, with the scent of the bayou so close and thick, his arrogance was sharp, like brimstone. "Not that it matters. Souls can be bought. Traded. Owned."
There was a heavy clicking noise that Caroline recognized.
Michael raised a gun, and his mirth had long since vanished. The palpable regret was the most frightening thing she had ever seen in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"We're all sorry," she countered, shrugging wearily. "We're the sorriest bunch of sinners in the state."
But she did not lower her weapon.
Nor did he lower his.
And perhaps they would have stayed in that stand-off for eternity, never giving Jason Morgan the satisfaction of seeing either of them spill blood...were it not for one, simple voice in the darkness.
One distraction no whore could afford.
Love.
"Caroline...querida...*stop*!"
As Lorenzo's words echoed through the air, so did the crack-bang of a pistol report.
No man would ever hurt her again.
No man...and no monster.