Fettered Ties
Author: Loke
Email: gentle_ice@hotmail.com To those of you who email me, my former email addy is going to be null soon, so use this one instead! THX!
Rating: PG-13, for violence, sprinkles of bad language (f-word included), and dark themes. (Will change later on, maybe, if I get complaints)
Summary: Courtney was gone. Grief drove Jason away, and, in his absence, I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, for my brother, in his name and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take. And it nearly killed me.
Feedback: loved and appreciated as always! It helps to know what you guys think, good or bad. Just be gentle, that's all I ask, lol.
Disclaimer: Sadly, and despite my many pleas, I still own noting associated with "General Hospital". I know… sucks to be me.
(a/n) Hey all. Well, I have to say that while my shitty mood has not subsided (I recently found out my job was bequeathed to me directly from Satan himself) I managed to vent all my frustrations on my computer this weekend and came up with this. It's Emily POV, as promised, and, since I think it will add to the drama of things, from here on out I'm not going to try to sketch out histories in my author notes. I'll just let it unfold as you read. But, of course, if you have a question, feel free to ask. I'll do my best to answer without giving away my plotline. But, before I go, I'll still give my obligatory, "it's depressing and brutal, proceed at your own risk" warning. It's a bit more important now that I've downgraded to PG-13. But anyway, that's all from me. See you guys at the end of this thing, and, as always, thanks about a billion times over for reading. :o) ~Loke*hugs*
To my reviewers:
Shamira, Joy, Stephie1974, Tamara, and Bushlaboo… I don't know what I'd do without you guys! You're why I keep updating to be honest. If it weren't for you guys and your reviews, I'm fairly certain my motivation would be laying tagged-and-bagged somewhere. So, thanks again for the much needed kick in the ass and the kind words. Love ya! ~Loke *hugs*
Oh, and same as last time, I rushed posting this, so please forgive me any really obvious screw-ups. I'll be better next time. I promise!
And just a tiny heads up… I've mentioned Johnny before now. Mr. Moving-Up-In-The-World makes his appearance below. You'll all get to see just what role he plays in Emily's life…
~#~
Chapter four ~ "just what she needs"
~#~
Emily's POV
~#~
The elevator doors slid closed and dead silence hung threateningly in the air. I was in absolutely no mood for anyone's bullshit, and every single one of my guys (the other five occupants, all gawping at me with identical "oh, shit, she's gonna blow" looks on their faces) knew it, and knew it well.
I was pissed, beyond it even. How could Nikolas do this? How could he take the opposition at a time like this? Didn't anyone understand what I was facing, didn't they care? In less than an hour I'd be walking straight into hell, to have a meet and greet with Faith Rosco, the Black Widow herself. I'd be sitting down, with an air of civility no less, directly across from the woman who'd single handedly ruined my life, killing my child and a sister-in-law who meant more to me than I could ever put into words.
And they all knew this, my husband best of all. Yet he still had the nerve, the audacity to tell me to stay my temper, to wait. Well, screw him, and screw Jason, too, I thought, watching as the elevator needle neared the tenth floor—my destination. If Jason didn't want to help me, if my husband wouldn't support me, then I didn't need either of them, because I still had one person on my side, one pair of eyes I knew, beyond a doubt, would see it all my way.
The elevator slowed to a smooth stop and the doors coasted open. I stepped over the metal strip and motioned to the herd of men moving to follow me—without even sparing them glances—that they were to stay put. I didn't need them for this.
My stilettos clicked across the marble floor swiftly as I walked down the empty hallway. And with each step, I felt something in my gut uncoil and settle. It would be okay, he would help me reconcile this and close the wound for good. He would understand. Johnny always did.
My walk brought me to the very end of the hall, the pricey apartments. Not penthouses, mind you, but then he'd never been a penthouse kinda guy. Even getting him to take this one was like pulling teeth. He fought me every step of the way, said his modest little split level on the waterfront was "good 'nough for me". But, and I suppose this fact should have raised a few flags at the time, it wasn't good enough for me, and that was what eventually changed his mind.
I raised a hand and knocked just under the gleaming 10-A.
There was a pause and then a rushed, familiar scuffle of feet before the door swung open, revealing the quickly retreating back of a clearly hurried man. "I know, I know," he said as I stepped inside, an unavoidable smile pulling at my lips, as the tall, broad-shouldered figure darted out of sight and down a hallway. The same voice bellowed from somewhere within the apartment's depths: "Just give me five minutes, tops. I swear!"
I sighed and leaned against one of the massive white pillars that flanked his front door. This was so like him, and the fact that on a day like this one, he was still managing to be, well, him, brought me a feeling of easy reassurance. If he wasn't rattled, I wouldn't be. Easy as that. "Take your time, Johnny," I yelled to him, wherever he was. "You're not late, I'm early."
He reappeared, then, brown hair still hopelessly messy, tie hanging undone around his neck. He flashed his wristwatch a curious glance and then looked back at me, eyebrows up and suspicious. "Something happen?"
I felt a rush of gratitude toward the man in front of me then. He had really stepped up to the plate all those years ago, threw himself into the middle of anything and everything for me, and all without question. I could never accurately explain how much his friendship meant to me, nor pinpoint its origin. But none of that mattered; he was to me all the things Jason had ceased to be, all that and more. And something told me he'd never stop.
"Nothing I can't handle," I smiled as I closed the gap between us so I could fix his tie. The man was as tough and as capable as they came, but he couldn't tie a tie if his life depended on it.
As my fingers worked the Windsor knot, I felt his eyes on me. "You sure about that, Em?"
I loved him dearly, but his knack for seeing past my attempts at cover really ticked me off sometimes, left me feeling as naked and hallow as when Jason or Nikolas looked at me. Like, if they wanted to, they could see right through to my soul, and know at once every horrible thing I'd ever done. That terrified me more than any sadistic madwoman looking to force me into an early grave. But futile as I knew it would be, I still had to try and play it off. It isn't worth it if you don't. "I'm fine, Johnny. Honest." I finished with his tie and patted the knot triumphantly. And giving him the most sincere forced smile I could rally, I knew full well he wasn't buying any of it. Not one word.
His dark eyes became soft and his suspicion faded into concern. "Emily, what happened? And don't say nothing, 'cause we both know that isn't true."
In a lame attempt to keep myself from looking into his eyes, I started to fiddle with his suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, straightening lapels that already lay perfectly flat. "Nikolas and I just had little disagreement, no biggie. It's already forgotten." Yeah, sure, Em… maybe if you say it enough times…
His hands jutted up to mine and captured them in his firm grasp, ending my fidgeting. "Em. Please. Don't bullshit me. What happened?" Soft but insistent, so very like him.
Glaring at him, I pulled away and set my arms across my chest. "Alright! God. Anybody ever tell you you're a pain in the ass, O'Brien?"
He didn't answer; only shot me a look that clearly said, Yeah, you, and all the damn time. "Jason came by, okay? Happy?" I snapped, turning my back to him and drifting toward the loft window across the open living room. "That's what's bothering me. My brother and my husband, two men who despise each other, have decided to take standpoints against me."
There was a pause and then a sigh, deep and exasperated straight to the core. I felt my heart lighten. I knew he would get it. I just knew he would.
"So… Nikolas still wants you to wait?"
I pivoted to face him again; heavy relief flooded me when I saw the look on his face. "Yes. And now Jason's added his two cents—for different reasons, of course. He doesn't give a damn about Business. He just doesn't want me to go tonight, said he thinks it's too soon, I'm pushing it, that it's not a good idea. Can you believe that?"
He shook his head, except the movement wasn't as resolute as it normally was. There was reluctance in his agreement; I could see it in the way he had suddenly cast his eyes to the floor, the way his hand worried at his nape almost nervously. I tried to blink it away, tell myself it was just a trick of the light. That it wasn't dissent I saw in his face. It wasn't…
Except that it was. Sharp as shale. Oh, just freaking wonderful, I thought. And here I was thinking I could count on him… "What? What's the problem?" I demanded, my voice rising brutally at the end.
He shrugged his shoulders and sighed another time. It was then that I realized the aforementioned exasperation hadn't been directed at them; it was aimed at me. I wanted to scream.
"I don't believe this," I huffed, turning away again, overcome with frustration. Why was it so hard for all of them to understand that I needed to do this? I couldn't stay away; I couldn't compromise in any form. I needed to present a strong and unflappable air to that bleach-blonde-bitch and her South American mattress buddy. I needed to do this. I couldn't be weak, I just couldn't. In my world, there was no greater crime than being weak. And the punishment for it wasn't preferable by any means.
"Well, what do you want me to say, Em?" His voice was open and raw, angry and sad all at the same time and I was reminded—yet again—that as much I wanted everything to be normal, it never would be. I was really starting to hate that word 'never'. It ruled too much of my life, constantly backed me into corners no one else could see, but that I couldn't escape from.
"You almost died!" he roared. "Do you want me to just give you the all clear, let you saunter into that meeting with that fucking piece of bleached trash, without so much as a murmur of disagreement? Because if that's what you want—I—can't—do—it! I can't let you walk yourself into that nightmare, Emily. Forgetting about the physical aspect even—which, by the way, is bad enough on its own—going in there is gonna hurt you too much—"
"I'm already hurt, Johnny!"
And there it went, I was yelling—again. But this time was different; the anger was even rawer than with Jason. Because here I never expected it. Here it blindsided me. "That ship sailed a while ago, don't you think? Say, gee, I don't know, maybe six goddamn years ago!" I was so furious that I suddenly didn't know what to do with my hands. I wanted to hug myself, wanted to rake them through my hair… wanted to belt him. "You know, I came down here because I thought you—of all people—would get this, Johnny! I mean, Jesus. When have you ever not understood what I'm going—"
"Enough!"
His voice rattled through the airy apartment like a sonic boom and I'm not ashamed to say that it actually made me jump. His hands flew to his hair and I was sharply reminded of my husband, pacing the floor of my hospital room, sick with worry, shaking in anger as Jason sat bedside, his face just as pallid as Johnny's was now. I couldn't stop thinking that I should have seen the similarities before then. I should have paid more attention.
"Stop acting like I don't get what you're feeling. I want her dead, Emily. You know that. I want her dead and buried, and I wanna be the one to do it, but I cannot stand here without letting you know that, yeah, a part of me does agree with Jason and Nikolas." I opened my mouth but he held up a hand and glared me silent. Not an easy task. "Seeing Faith Rosco tonight is going to kill you inside. It's gonna open the flood gates to everything, to Courtney, to Jason leaving, to the shooting, to loosing the baby…" his voice quaked almost imperceptibly as his eyes burned straight through me with the intensity few knew he could possess. "And I hate that you have to go through that. I hate it!"
His chest was heaving, up and down, up and down. And his eyes were closed, clenched tight while his large and familiar hands mirrored their manner, forming two white-knuckled fists at his sides. The image he created, of a man suddenly drop-kicked into a tooth-and-nail battle for his own self control, made my jaw tremble and my eyes sting. I felt them again, tears, welling, pushing their way past my barriers and strongholds, leaking into the corners of my eyes. And, unbidden, the stark knowledge that I wasn't even vaguely worthy of the man in front of me, of the emotion pulsating and weaving impossible patterns around us until you could almost hear it crackling it the air, hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.
I didn't deserve this.
I didn't deserve him.
I didn't deserve his loyalty.
But still I wanted it so much. So much it hurt, so much it made my mind reel in panic, and my voice shake with fear. Yeah, fear. Fear of being tossed to the side again, of meaning so much to someone they had no choice but to leave you, fear of having one more person I cared about up and disappear in puff of smoke or with a screech of tires.
"So, what now, Johnny? You're abandoning me, too? You're not going to stand beside me on this?" I battled with my own voice, willing myself to stay steady, even. But it just wouldn't come. My control had shattered somewhere between my argument with Jason, my tender moment gone wrong with Nikolas, and Johnny's front door. "Are you telling me that I'm going to end up nose to nose with that woman without Jason, without Nikolas or you, without anybody there for me? Is that it, Johnny; is that how this is going to go?"
His shoulders sagged with a groan and before I could react he was in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes desperate and pleading. "I will always stand beside you, always. Never doubt that. But I won't do it mutely. I won't stand off in a corner somewhere and watch you torture yourself." He let out a low, measured breath and closed his eyes for a long moment. "And even though all I want to do is go into that meeting, and get rid of her for good while you sit home, untouched, I know that's not going to happen tonight, because I know you. And I know that you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met, and that nothing I say or do is going to stop you because you have to do this for yourself. You have to go in there and show her that she failed, that you're still standing, and that you haven't forgotten. And even though I don't like it, I'll be there, Em, right there at your side." He stopped again as his wildly caring eyes searched mine. It was then that I felt his hand on my face, his fingers brushing my cheek so softly I almost thought I was imaging it. "And you know why."
I could see a reverence in his gaze, a look of peaceful adoration that absolutely terrified me because I knew where it had sprung from so suddenly. I knew, but I hoped with everything in me to be wrong. It wasn't until he spoke—a whisper so soft I barely heard it—that I knew all hope was lost. "Do you even know how much you mean to me?"
And that's when my heart broke, crumbled into a blackened heap within my chest. He couldn't do this. I'd seen flickers of it before, glimpses in warm brown that made me melt, but I always told myself I was wrong. I was misreading it. I was confused. But as I looked into his eyes, those fathomless pools of devotion, I was no longer confused. No, now I was petrified. "Johnny, don't," I pleaded, my voice breaking in spite of myself. "Don't, just don't, please don't--"
"Let me talk," he said softly, drifting his hands down my leather clad arms to grasp my hands tightly. "Just let me say this. Please. And then—then we can just forget it, okay?"
There was an impossible innocence shimmering in his eyes that made my stomach lurch painfully. I honestly felt sick. Oh, God, I wanted to crawl into a hole and kill myself.
Do you see now, do you see how I turn everything around me into shit? He was my friend, and in my oblivious haze of self-importance, I began to depend on him more than I did even my own husband. I allowed a trust, a bond unnamed to grow between us. I let him become more than he ever should've been to me. And now I was paying for it. He was going to—oh, God—profess something, and I'd have to hurt him, just like I hurt everyone else. My insides were screaming.
"I know what we are," he said sadly, head bowed. "I know that you love him, that you have a life and a family and that I don't fit into it. I get that. I do." He lifted his head and leveled me with a smile so tiny and boyishly wonderful I thought I would faint. "But right now I'm talking about me. I care about you, really care about you. And I know that I shouldn't, that what we have is… well, it's different, I guess. It's about friendship, about compassion, comfort, understanding—all those things. But, Em, when you almost died, something changed for me. I realized that I—" His voice caught slightly in a nervous stumble, and he took a long, measured breath before going on. "I realized that you mean more to me than you should… more than anyone ever has." I made a tiny, awed noise of protest but again he waved me silent. It was probably for the best. The raw honesty of his words had wrapped around my vocal cords like icy fingers, and I doubt I could have spoken if I'd tried.
"And I don't care that you're married, that we can't ever be anything more than what we are…" his head dipped again, his voice growing sad. "Or even that you don't feel the same way. I don't care. Because I know what I feel for you, and that is what matters to me, why I'm never gonna abandon you, and why I'm always gonna be there. Because it isn't about choice for me, Emily. I'm never gonna leave you. I can't."
My mind was swimming. I mean, just absolutely, flat out, swimming. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to react to that? I didn't know, didn't have a single clue. I was so confused, so horribly turned around that I wanted to cry. But I wouldn't. Because I knew I deserved every twist of guilt, every pang of shame that came over me. I deserved it all.
The loving glimmer in his eyes, the softness of his touch, the hopeful tilt to his smile, and the way I'd be the one to slowly and painfully bleed them out of him—all those things were my fault. And I wanted to suffer because of it. But mostly I just wanted to run away and pretend like this had never—ever—happened. Yes, it was a horribly selfish thought, but it was true. I so didn't need this right now… "Johnny—I—I don't know what… what to—"
"You don't have to do anything, Emily." He said quietly, letting his hands drop from my arms and settle at my waist. "All I want from you is to never doubt my presence in your life." A smile busted wide on his face then as he fiddled with the stitching on my belt. The suddenness of it unnerved me. What could he possibly have to smile about? My world just got bitch-slapped off its axis and he's grinning? What gives?
"Do you remember what I told you the day before you took over for Jason?" he asked me, eyes still bright, rapt, and piercing. "Do you remember what I said?"
I nodded as the scene came back to me. Me, confused as hell, grave-faced and perched on some imaginary fence, trying to choose which side to jump down on, and there was Johnny, dressed to the nines and looking at me with a raw determination that made my knees quake. He believed in my decision even when I didn't. He never stopped believing in me. Never. "Yeah," I rasped. "You, um, you looked at me and you promised to help me through it. You said, 'We got this. Shoulder to shoulder, Emily, shoulder to shoulder'."
"And it's still the God's honest truth, Em. Nothing's changed." I felt his fingers grip my waist tightly and then splay out against my hips as he jerked me forward, bringing me flush up against him. I made some startled squeak low in my throat, and that smile of his became the one I was more familiar with. That confident, secure, smirk that truly suited him. The one he wore when he knew he had me, and that there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do about it. Not even me. "Well, almost nothing."
See, I should have stepped away then, told him the truth. Admitted to him that whatever it was bubbling between us, had to stop—immediately. I should have ended the horrible game I hadn't even known we were playing.
I should have left.
'Shoulder to shoulder, Emily, shoulder to shoulder.'
The words from our past echoed in my head. They sounded just as I had remembered them, so promising. And I knew why. See, Johnny was like me. There was nothing I couldn't tell him, nothing I had to be afraid to think or feel around him. He was scarred by this world, too. A fellow dweller of the dark. He knew its workings even better than I did. He wouldn't run away from me and something about that felt right. So right, in fact, that I looked up at the man who had just poured his heart out to me, the man I wasn't in love with, who was giving himself and his devotion to me, the man who was pledging to care about me despite the ugliness of who I was, and smiled.
Smiled and melted into the circle of his arms.
See, I would have left, that girl I once was.
But, like I've said before, I'm not the person I used be.
~#~
A half an hour later, I—with Johnny by my side and a crew of five men trailing obediently behind—was striding confidently along the docks, down toward Pier 48. That particular pier was considered 'common ground' between Morgan and Rosco territory. A leeway of sorts, owned by a little old lady (Maryella Sands) who nobody screwed with because, frankly, the crazy old bird scared the tar out of everyone who crossed her path. But, fortunately for the night's festivities, sweet old Maryella was busy snoring in her bed somewhere on Benton Ave., leaving us more sinister waterfront owners, free to use one of her abandoned warehouses for what Dillon called 'the pre-game show'.
It was a dead accurate term, really. Because after tonight, that's when all pretenses would be dropped, and things would really get going, and not for the better. The 'game' part of it, as Dillon had referred to it, the part that would come after this meeting, was—once all niceties had been stripped away—a good, old fashioned turf war. Down and dirty. But as nasty as things would get, it was all still a game, a deadly one, but a game nonetheless. I suppose Dillon really hit the nail on the head with that one, huh? But then there was good reason for that.
See, my cousin, Dillon, in all his huggable goofiness, was—more times than not—a very insightful young man, with a swift mind for business, and an even swifter nose for trouble. That's why he was what he was in my Organization. A top dog, that is.
Surprised? Well, you wouldn't be the first. Dillon was that nice, awkward, but quirkily confident kinda kid that just seemed destined for bigger and better things. And for a while he was. Blazing a trail to film school, hell bent on becoming the next Steven Spielberg. But then Georgie got pregnant and every pathetic, daytime-drama cliché you'd ever heard of began to unravel around the young couple. Tracy, Dillon's overbearing, pretentious, money-grubbing, power whore of a mother launched into hysterics upon the news and promptly disowned him, unceremoniously chucking him out into the street. Clothes in the front yard and all. Mac and Felicia's response wasn't nearly as dramatic, but they weren't happy. Not one tiny bit. So, his eighteen-year-old girlfriend pregnant, Dillon found himself effectively homeless (because Mac sure as hell wasn't going to let Dillon move into the Scorpio household) and flat broke. He turned to me.
Now, this all happened within about a week of Courtney's death, and, being as horribly rattled and family obsessed as I was, did more than just give him money. I had Jason give him a job, something small and out of 'things' that paid a ridiculous amount of cash, and a place to live, a loft apartment (formerly mine) down by the waterfront. It had all started out so small, thinking back. Just a job and a place to live. And then it ballooned. He became more involved, pulled deeper and deeper in until one day he found himself right in the thick of it, an advisor and part time liaison between me and my foreign and domestic contacts. Johnny called him Mr. Building Bridges.
Georgie's reaction was textbook, but diluted somehow when I explained to her that Dillon was and would never be a Jason-type member of my organization. He was the guy who helped keep us clean, presentable. The one who didn't need to wear that Kevlar vest all my other guys kept in their trunks. She seemed pacified, and life went on, finding her and Dillon married a year later and her now as a soon-to-be surgeon at General Hospital, specializing in Cardiology. The money I paid Dillon allowed her that future and she knew that. Georgie and I never clashed; In fact we even became very close friends over the years, close enough to be the godmother to her daughter, Andrea, and close enough for them to have dinner at the penthouse with Nikolas and me every Sunday night. See, I guess my point is that circumstance can get away from anyone. Things happen and what started out as just 'no big deal' can turn into something bigger than anyone thought possible. Sometimes, you just get pulled in deeper than you ever intended. Dillon was no exception, and, hell, neither was I.
And, as we turned a sharp corner, Dillon was also—still sporting that skyscraper hairdo of his—standing at the entrance to the warehouse, bundled up in his trademark leather trench coat, looking like he wanted to be just about anywhere but exactly where he was.
As we neared him, he looked up and his discontented air faded immediately, giving way to something else that was trademark to Dillon: a megawatt grin.
"There she is," he said, giving Johnny's arm a good natured punch as he blew past him to envelope me in a huge hug. I tried not to flinch as he seemed to hold on for dear life. But, hey, I was shot thee times less than two months ago. Superwoman I am not.
Johnny must have noticed my discomfort, because, though smiling, he spoke up with his no-nonsense voice, "Easy there, D, she's still a little tender. Don't wanna go bruising up the Boss first time out."
Dillon eased off, that apparently infectious grin (because I was smiling now, too) of his still firmly intact. "Sorry," he said, giving my gloved hands a firm squeeze. "I'm just happy to see you is all." His grin faltered a bit and his eyebrows drew together, eyes suddenly grave. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, Em. But the Cioleni family… well, I was in a deadlock, and you know how—"
"Hush," I said, patting his worried face with my hand. "You were halfway around the world, Dillon, deep in negotiations with very important people, people who aren't exactly known for their diplomacy…"
He went a bit pink and smiled at me again. The Cioleni family, a new relationship being forged all the way back in Italy. Nice people, they just happened to be as Old Word as they came. Very unwilling to trust new faces, especially new faces who happened to be under thirty-years-old and advocating for a female Boss. Let's just say it was a… delicate situation. But, as usual, he handled it expertly, and managed to cement a new working agreement for free transport of products from Morgan Industries between PC and the twelve local—and pivotal—ports under the Cioleni family's control. Dillon even already had Justus drawing up the necessary contracts. I was beyond proud. The Cioleni family was notoriously introverted, making their living dealing with a close-knit group of family associates. The fact that Dillon had finagled such a deal—even if it did take him over two months—was a feat for the record books, something no one, not even the Five Families, had been able to push through. But then that was our Dillon. The little charmer could sweet talk a nun right out of her knickers, even with a gun to his head. And trust me, he'd had a gun to his head in Italy. Several of them, actually.
He bit his lip and pulled a guilty face. "Don't tell Georgie?"
I had to laugh at the puppy-dog look he flashed my way. Charmer, all right. "I wouldn't dream of it," I smiled, letting him lead us toward the dock's edge and the wooden railing separating us from the icy waters of Port Charles Harbor. "It is good to see you, though. It looks like they were at least feeding you well up there. You look good."
He shrugged his shoulders. "It was Italy, what can I say? I mean, the men may have wanted to put a bullet in my skull the first three weeks, but all the woman wanted to do was feed me."
I raised a knowing eyebrow. "All? You sure about that one there, Dillon?"
My query earned the anticipated glare. "Funny, Em. A riot. Really." The dryness of his tone wasn't lost on me. "You know I love Georgie. She's my whole heart; I wouldn't do that to her."
It was funny, you know, hearing that promise said out loud like that. I mean, I loved Nikolas, and he was more than my heart. He was my soul, my everything, but yet there was this… other person in my head, tugging at me, promising me things I just couldn't seem to ignore, even if I really wanted to. I didn't even want to think about what that made me. So, ever the evader, I opted for a subject change, instead. "So, what brings you down here? I would have thought you'd be home with Georgie and 'Drea, being away for so long and all."
He stretched his arms out over the rail, flexing his gloved fingers against the cold. I could see the slight rise under the black leather on his left ring finger. His wedding ring. Seeing it made me grope for mine, that enormous rock of an engagement ring Nikolas got me a whole decade ago. Funny how things that sometimes feel like yesterday, can also feel like they happened eons ago, so out of reach they feel like they're stolen memories, pieces of someone else's life. "Georgie's got work, couldn't get off, and 'Drea's sleeping over at a friend's house. I didn't really have anywhere else to be, honestly."
Nice try, I thought, gauging his profile carefully before letting my eyes drift back out over the water. I knew why he was here, and it warmed me inside. We may not have gotten to spend much time together once he started his advocate duties for me, but he still cared. And that counted for something with me. "Sure thing, Dillon, whatever you say."
"What?" He put on that aghast look of his, eyebrows drawn up to his hairline, hand pressed to his chest. "Are you saying you don't believe me?" A beat passed, a beat of silence that saw his little act kick it up a notch. His mouth pulled into a frown and his eyes grew big and sad, but the laughing kind. "I'm wounded, Em, I really am."
"Yeah?" I said, nudging his shoulder and smiling warmly up at him. "And I'm honored." He shifted uncomfortably, never one to take praise or thanks. He even opened his mouth, no doubt to say something dismissive like 'it was nothing', or 'don't mention it', but I held up a hand and silenced him. "No, Dillon. Really. You didn't have to come down here tonight. I mean, this could get pretty ugly, violent even. You didn't have to do this for me." I let a moment pass as I turned back to the water and gently tipped my head to rest against his leather clad shoulder. "But I'm glad you did."
I heard him make a small, undecipherable noise deep in the back of his throat as he brought and arm up around me, being a lot more careful with his hugging this time around. "Yeah, well, I didn't want you to be alone tonight, Emily."
"She won't be."
My heart froze in my chest at the familiar voice. Froze and fell with a clunk all the way to my toes. I turned around, a good fifteen seconds behind Dillon, and sure enough, there he was.
Jason.
His jacket was pulled tight around him; his hands were buried in his pockets. Every part of him looked closed off and defended. Every part but his eyes, that is. His eyes said more than he ever could. "What are you…?" The question died on my lips because, well, I wasn't quite sure how to finish it. I mean, how do you ask something you're afraid to know the answer to?
He shot a glance to Dillon and our younger cousin looked back at me in response, silently asking if leaving off, like Jason wanted him to, was an okay thing for him to do. I nodded and Dillon gave my arm a reassuring squeeze before pushing past Jason none too gently, shoulder bumping shoulder. If Jason was bothered by Dillon's overt frigidness, he didn't show it. Big surprise there.
He looked at me again and stepped closer, filling up my field of vision. "You ready?" he asked.
For some reason, and I don't know what, the way Jason was handling himself—like accompanying me to a meeting of this kind was an everyday occurrence—didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. There was no bitterness nagging at my gut, no urge to berate, to scream, to slap, to curse. I was completely devoid of anger, in any form. But I wasn't happy either. In fact, I wasn't anything. I think was in shock. I opened my mouth to speak, but another voice, one that wasn't lacking anger at all, ripped through the still night air.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Morgan?"
I think I gasped. I had never—never—in all my time knowing Johnny, ever heard him speak to Jason in anything but stiff obedience, but then maybe I'd missed something since Jason got back. Nevertheless, the ugliness of Johnny's words floored me, and I mechanically readied myself for the fallout.
Fallout that never came.
Jason was stock-still, as serene as Lake Placid, and hadn't even acknowledged Johnny, who now stood directly at my side, noticeably seething. My brother never took his eyes off me.
"Are you ready, Em?" he said again, eyes still focused resolutely on mine. I had to admit, I felt a bit dazed at the moment. It was like I was watching this happen to someone else. Jason was going to attend the meeting with me. He was going to be there, with me. My brain could hardly comprehend it all. "Faith and Alcazar will be here any second. I saw their car pull up down the way."
And then his hand reached out to mine, and all I could do was stare at it. Palm up, fingers spread, an acceptance of truth bigger then both of us, or a concession to mollify the beast in me? I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure I cared right then. How it came to be there didn't matter. Because it was Jason, with his hand out, asking with his eyes for me to trust him again, to just reach out and grab it like I used to when I was a little girl. Without thinking, without dissection…without bitterness and doubt.
Vaguely, somewhere in what seemed like another realm, I heard Johnny scoff and say something. I couldn't tell you what. All I could see was Jason and his hand, all I could hear was the din of wordless promises it represented, pulsating through my ears like thundering hooves. I didn't know if he believed in what he was offering me. But as I said before, it didn't matter, and I didn't care. He was here, maybe only for tonight, maybe never again, but my Jason was here. Now. And I wasn't going to let him get away.
I took his hand.
And something in me exploded. It wasn't like before in my penthouse, with his hand clasped desperately over mine. It didn't feel forced. It felt… right. Like the universe, the one that'd been becoming more and more askew over these past six years, was slowly righting itself. Puzzle pieces were falling back into place; colors were being plucked forward from abysmal black; sheers of denial were being stripped away until, finally, everything stood clear and open between us, around us. And everything I felt—I saw staring back at me through icicle eyes that I had never perceived as cold or scary. In that moment I knew I'd made the right choice.
It was Jason and me again. It was me and my brother.
"Well, lookie here," a cold voice said in mocking sweetness, causing all stops in time and space to punch back into high gear. My eyes left Jason and refocused on the once empty space behind him, finding anchor on none other than Faith Rosco herself, as acutely evil as ever, heading up the pack of her usual dim-witted guards, Lorenzo Alcazar positioned stoically at her side.
"How sweet," she purred, her heels clicking annoyingly against the worn boards of the docks as she drew nearer, her serpent-like gaze rolling over our still joined hands. "I just love family reunions, don't you?" Her pointed face turned up into a broad and mocking smile, and I briefly wondered if she'd ever given a genuine smile in her life, one devoid of malicious intent. "Too bad you're short one." The hateful blonde sucked in a sharp breath and one of her gloved hands moved over the O of her mouth in feigned shock. "Oh, wait—that would be two now, right? I mean, what with your little…accident."
Through our hands, I felt Jason tense viciously. He flicked his gaze to me nervously and I could see the worry and the uncertainty there. He had never really seen me go toe-to-toe with Faith. He didn't know what to expect and he probably didn't trust himself to handle it sensibly. So with a gentle squeeze I released his hand and set about relieving him of both his doubt and obligation. I didn't need Jason to mediate. I was more than capable of handling Faith Rosco. More than capable.
I tilted my chin up and stepped toward her, smiling. Perhaps surprised, Faith cocked an eyebrow at me. I know she expected me to react to her words and lash right back, but I didn't. I only glared. I didn't need to strike back with words, because what was coming her way would outdo anything I ever said.
Her measuring eyes slid over me, Johnny—who had come to stand beside me again, Dillon on the other side of him, and then rounded back and settled on Jason, who was positioned to my left, his arm around my back in a rare show of brotherly affection. Faith smiled at him coldly.
"My, my, my," she hummed, her tone dripping with sex, as it always was. "So the rumors are true. Big brother returns. Welcome back, Jason. After Bunny bit the big one, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Silent but seething, Jason's hand fisted around the leather of my coat. I felt the material straining at my shoulders. The tenuous grasp he had on his control was slipping, and fast. And I suffered the sudden jolt of awareness that if I didn't intervene, Jason would do one of two things: Kill Faith right here or turn around and leave me all alone again.
My money was on the latter. I quickly cut in front of Jason—his hand oddly not releasing my coat—and blocked him from Faith's view. Well, for the most part anyhow. "Don't be swayed by my brother's presence, Faith," I said, drawing the blonde's attention. "I'm still the one in charge here. Jason is merely sitting in on this meeting."
"Oh, I see. Just adding a little oomph to the defensive line, huh?" She leaned around me and narrowed her eyes at Jason appraisingly. "You must be quite pleased to have Sonny's favorite boy back in action." She said, straightening as her gaze sprung back to me. The bitch still had that hideous smile on her face. "Heaven knows you need the protection, dearie. I mean, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but it's dreadfully hazardous to be you. Or, well, to be a Morgan at all, come to think of it."
Johnny moved up sharply at my side, but the sudden materialization of Lorenzo Alcazar between Faith and I quickly neutralized the situation. "That's enough," Alcazar ordered her, taking the obnoxious blonde by the arm and urging her back toward the warehouse entrance. "This is supposed to civil."
Faith pouted a moment, then flashed an evil grin at me, and winked at Jason before turning around and heading inside. As soon as she disappeared I felt some of the tension leave Jason's body and his death grip on my jacket loosen somewhat. But only somewhat. Lorenzo Alcazar hadn't followed Faith indoors.
The drug lord turned to me and offered up a half smile. "It's wonderful to see you out and about, Mrs. Cassadine." His eyes did a furtive pass of my form and I shuddered with disgust. It wasn't that Lorenzo Alcazar wasn't a handsome man—because he was. It was more the fact that his pattern of interest was sickeningly predictable. First Carly, then Courtney for a while—if you can believe that, and now me, not to mention whatever barf-fest it was he had going on with Faith. Oh yeah, this guy definitely needed to test other markets. His Mob woman obsession was becoming disgustingly habitual. "You're looking remarkably well."
I cocked my head to the side and put on my best forced smile. "Oh yes," I said, lashes fluttering. "Nothing like a little lead in the blood to put the pep back in a girl's step. You should try it sometime, Mr. Alcazar," I said, closing the hearty gap between us. "Who knows, maybe I could even do the honors myself."
Somewhere behind me I heard a muffled snicker, and then a thud, followed by a very accusatory "Ow!". Dillon, I groaned mentally. Dillon and Johnny. Great, I'm trying to be intimidating and my back-up decides to strike up their version of Abbott & Costello. Alcazar's eyes amusedly unfastened from mine and drifted over my shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. At that moment I could have killed them.
"Perhaps we should get on with this, Mrs. Cassadine," Alcazar said, refocusing on me. "It appears that your troops are getting restless."
With that said, he turned and disappeared into the warehouse as well. I rounded on Dillon and Johnny. Dillon was glaring reproachfully at Johnny while he rubbed the back of his head and my Lieutenant's face was absolutely expressionless. Except for his eyes. His eyes were wisely guarded and doing their level best to look innocent. They were failing.
"Inside," I ordered the pair stiffly, moving out-of-the-way to allow them passage. "Now."
Dillon hurried in but Johnny—as I had predicted—hovered at my side, looking between me and Jason with untrusting eyes. He slipped a hand around my arm and tugged. "Come on," he urged me, still looking directly at Jason. "I'm here. You don't need him for—"
"The Boss just gave you an order, Johnny." I don't think words even existed to explain the glint in my brother's eyes as he cut Johnny off cold. But whatever its proper name was, 'unnerving' suited it well enough at the time. "I'd obey it if I were you."
Anybody from the outside looking in, would have suspected the former bodyguard was chewing on glass as he glared at Jason. But anyone who knew Johnny, who knew me, and who even knew Jason, would have seen, underneath the obvious dislike, a fear there. After all these years Johnny was still afraid of Jason. Whether it was fear of the man himself or fear of what that man wanted, I didn't know. But the true reason for its existence was immaterial, because this lingering fear—which was perhaps even beyond Johnny's control—was why he removed his hand from my arm and followed after Dillon without uttering one word of argument.
As soon as Johnny had gone, Jason moved to do the same. But I stopped him midway, my hand seizing his arm tightly. He looked down at me, but he wasn't surprised. Just those few moments in Faith's presence had shown that I was wrong. Jason did still want retribution, and maybe even more than I did. I was being selfish here. Everyone believed going into this meeting would hurt me, in one way or another. But what about Jason? What about all it would do to him? For once someone needed to think about him. And I knew I was the only one left to do that. We both did.
"You don't have to do this, Jason."
"I want to."
Short and to the point. The familiarity of it made my heart jump. "No," I said, shaking my head, brown peering into gentle ice, "No, you don't."
I expected him to sigh and get frustrated with my insistence. But he didn't. He just looked down at my hand and stared at it for a long moment before covering it with his own and turning it over, gloved fingers interlacing with mine. He brought our entwined hands to his chest and held them there. "I'm not leaving you, Emily. Not this time."
Like before, burning in his eyes, there was an oath I couldn't place and couldn't guarantee. But also like before, it was there, and that was all that mattered to me. Who cared if it was only temporary? For the first time in six years I was looking into my Jason's eyes, feeling the pressure of his hand against mine, listening to him speak, hearing his silent, calming promises to make everything all right—somehow, someway. The brother who could fix anything was with me again, and he wasn't going to leave. Not this time. I smiled and squeezed his hand even tighter. "Well, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road."
~*~
TBC…
Next Chapter: Split POV: Veiled threats run rampant, certain blondes are pegged for death, secret weapons are revealed, the oblivious turn out not to be so oblivious, and new strategies are developed—much to everyone's dislike.
And, yes, I promised Elizabeth last chapter but didn't deliver. She will definitely be in the next chapter, along with Georgie. Cross my heart people. Seriously. Stick a needle in my eye and all.
a/n: So, you hate me, right? Was the Johnny/Em thing too much, too predictable, too WTF? See, I hope not, because it was planned from the start. I even dropped hints here and there through the last four chapters. But just so we're clear. Emily does care about Johnny. She just doesn't love him. What she does love about him is knowing that he's just as stained as she is. She doesn't have to pretend with him like she does with everyone else, because with Johnny he knows all the nitty-gritty that goes on behind the scene. He actually carries it out for her. So yeah; Em is going through a bit of an 'I'm not worthy stage' when it comes to the people in her life. And I'm not trying to devalue Johnny's character; I'm just saying that she feels more comfortable with him because there aren't any expectations, or any preconceptions. He's not comparing her to 'the old Emily'. Even Jason isn't guilty of that.
So, if that whole thing was a curve ball, don't unbuckle just yet, guys. Because there's more coming, much, much more. Don't be fooled by the temporary lull Em and Jason have found. So, I guess I'm offering up another warning here, but only because I know how hard it will be to read through what may seem like complete character obliteration. And, I guess, to some extent that will be true. The core characters of this story will be steadily abused, and I mean torn down, ripped to shreds kind of angst/drama here. But then—and this is the best part—I'll get to build them all back up again. I mean, a slate has to be dirty to wipe it clean, right? :o)
So, from here on out, I won't add anymore warnings. I'll just hope that my readers keep reading and keep reviewing, and that this story isn't sucking too badly. *lol* Take care all, see you in 2 weeks! ~Loke *hugs aplenty*