Title: "Minds Innocent and Quiet" 1/1

Author: Mala

E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com

Fandom: "One Life to Live"

Rating/Classification: PG-13, John/Natalie, angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. The poem quoted in the title and text is Richard Lovelace's "To Althea, From Prison."

Summary: Not exactly a partay in the county jail. Filler for 3/29/04, after Jen presses assault charges against Natalie for their catfight.

She's beautiful and he calls her "kid."

As if that puts pigtails in her hair and takes away her curves. Her long, white, fingers are clasped around the bars and he could touch them so easily...instead, he leans his forehead on the cold metal and tells himself, again , "kid."

He can feel her breath on his skin. There are blue fatigue smudges under her eyes and her mouth is trembling from strain. He could wipe away the misery...could kiss the tremors still.

No.

"Let it out," he tells her, and he can't even take his own advice.

There is a separate set of cells in lock-up for women. He has no idea why the guys put her down here, next to him, except that she's Bo's niece and he's their buddy and this section is the closest thing to luxury suites in the joint. They probably think they're doing Nat a favor. Him, too.

No.

This is the farthest thing from a favor the boys in blue could've done him.

To put her so close. To know she's so close.

He can't keep somebody at arm's length when there's only a finger's breadth between them. When all that separates them is some bars. Like the saying goes..."stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage." There is enough space for him to kiss her. For him to catch her lips and give it back a thousand times harder than she gave in his room. There is more than enough room for his hand to snake through and slide beneath her shirt, down the other way...make her gasp and rock and...and kiss the tremors still.

"Kid". She's a kid. Yeah. A gutsy, gorgeous, funny, young widow who's had entirely too much shit go down in her life all ready.

And he wants her. Whenever he manages to get some sleep, those fifteen to twenty minutes are full of her. The way she tastes. The way their bodies fit together. How she looks when she's stealing his French Fries and dipping them in mayo.

So, what does that make him?

"John...?" she asks. He wants to smooth away the worry wrinkles on her forehead. He wants to tell her to quit wasting her concern on him because he's not worth it. Because he's not even half a man and he's only got one fourth of a heart left.

"Go to sleep," he says, instead, turning his back on her. "Just...try and get some rest. It'll be morning before you know it. Jess or your mom will be here to spring you...this'll all be like a bad dream."

"Not that bad." Maybe he imagines her hand on his shoulder. Her fingers playing with the ends of his hair before drawing away. "It could never be that bad with you here."

She's in love with him now. He knows that.

So, what does that make her?

*Beautiful*.

Untouchable.

His.

--end—

March 30, 2004.