Fettered Ties

Author: Loke

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(a/n) See! I told you I'd be back. [grins] Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that a decent chunk of this chapter is done in the third person, or Omniscient POV. I did that because those scenes involved quite a few people, and I though an outer view of it might work a little better. It won't be a permanent thing, though. The next chapter will be back in first person. All right, so that's it from me. Go read and please don't forget to review. They mean a lot and help me figure out whether to keep going or not. Anyway, take care!! Loke

To my wonderful reviewers: Amy, Joy, Marian, and Bethany (yay!!! You're back. And from Scotland?!?! I'm jealous!!! You lucky duck… It's great to hear from you again! I missed ya, girl![hugs]), thank you all so, so, so, so much. Like I've said before, you keep me going and I love you for it! [grins] Loke :D

Oh, and sorry in advance if there any major typos in this. This post was sort of rushed.

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Jason POV

So, I don't learn my lesson. I think that much is obvious from my past. Just look at Carly. How many times, exactly, did I clean up after her messes? And how long was it before I finally realized she'd have to take care of her own problems one day, without me? Yeah. Exactly. Never. I didn't stop trying to take care of her; she stopped letting me. If she hadn't moved away, I'd probably still be trying to right all her wrongs to some degree, at least. And it was exactly this train of thinking that allowed me to justify my need to follow Emily home. Because this was what I did. I helped the people I loved. Sure, I was a bit rusty at it, but what is it they say about riding a bike? Once you learn, you never forget how?

Yeah. Something like that.

"Uh, Jason, I don't think this is such a good idea."

The protest belonged to Dillon, who also happened to be standing in Emily's doorway, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set and eyes jaded and very, very wary. Of me. And as he stared me down with that calculating glare I had once called my trademark, I couldn't help but notice just how out of place he seemed here, playing the part of a steadfast protector. Or at least trying his very best to. Because see, beyond the obvious maturity six whole years had given him, the young man in front of me still greatly resembled that oddball, bushy-haired cousin I'd never really made the time for. He was still Dillon. A good kid trying to keep someone he loved from something he viewed as bad for them. Now, I understand that he may have meant well, but if he honestly thought he was keeping me from the inside of my sister's penthouse, from my sister at all… well, then, he was just kidding himself on all sorts of levels.

"Dillon, don't make this difficult. Just move aside and let me go see her." He furrowed his brow and flicked the barren penthouse landscape behind him an apprehensive glance. I could see his conflict clearly. He loved Emily, too, and what he bore witness to on the docks had him thinking that maybe his cousin didn't have things as wired as he thought. That maybe—just maybe—there was something going on with her that was bigger than simple hatred. That ran deeper than anyone's thirst for revenge should.

But, like me way back when, blind loyalty often proved a very difficult habit to break. "I don't know, Jason…she really isn't in the mood to see—"

"Dillon…"

"Okay, okay, fine!" he yelled exasperated, his hands up in mock-surrender. "Look, she's not even here, okay? She isn't back from the docks yet."

I felt my stomach plummet with his admission, all sorts of scenarios for her being so late running through my head. None of them good. Most of them ending in an inferno on the docks. "Where did she go? Where is she, Dillon?"

A mirthless laugh split the air between us. "Like her watchdog would share that information. I have no clue where she went to; I'm just here to see little D and Nikolas. That's all."

And again I could tell that he wasn't telling me everything. In his eyes, in the nervous twitch of his shoulder blades, I could plainly see that he was here for the same reason I was, whether he wanted to admit it or not. "You're worried about her, too, Dillon. Just say it. You're not here to see Demetri or Nikolas; you're here because you saw the same thing I did—that she's this close to destroying herself completely."

He sighed, loud and deep, irritation and annoyance and all those wonderful little emotions that made this whole thing so damn horrible scraping at his tone, filling it with malice. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. "And so what if I am, Jason? What happened back there was rough, and I know this may surprise you, but you're not the only one who cares about her, okay? I know Emily better than I know myself, and what I saw tonight freaked me the hell out because you were right; that isn't who she is. She doesn't just do things like that. And the fact that she came so close to burning someone alive tonight had me thinking that—gee, I don't know—she may need her family when she got back."

His eyes hardened on me unflinchingly and I briefly wondered what in the hell went down in the past six years to make him capable of that kind of look, so full of anger and…hate. It never ceased to amaze me just how many things had changed, how many thing would never be the same again. "And as far as I'm concerned, man, aside from Nikolas, I'm the only family she's got left. So don't preach to me about how you're so concerned, about how all you want to do is help her like you used, because you gave up that job the minute you split and left her all alone. You're not her knight in shinning armor anymore, man. She's got her husband now to be that for her. She's got Lucky, Elizabeth, Me, Georgie, and even Johnny to help round it out. We need her and she needs us. But what she doesn't need is you, and I'm kinda starting to think she never really did. "

Now, I realize that blood was all that tied me to Dillon. That I'd never really considered him my family, not like Emily was, and I also know that because of this, what he said should have just rolled right off my back, like comments from Edward and A.J. used to. But it didn't. No, instead it felt like being socked in the gut. And it wasn't because what Dillon had said was the truth, because it wasn't the truth at all. Dillon just whole-heartedly believed it was. And that was the part that stung, that anyone could believe Emily didn't need me, that she never did. Yeah, Emily needed Nikolas. She needed Dillon, and Lucky and Elizabeth and Georgie. And maybe she even needed Johnny—if you could figure that one. But Emily also needed me. And I needed her. I needed her a lot; I just never realized how much until a few hours ago, when I almost lost her forever. Because that's exactly what would have happened if she had set that warehouse on fire. She would have been lost. To herself and to me. And no matter what reservations I had about being back in town, loosing my sister was the one thing I couldn't do again. And no one—especially not Dillon, was going to keep me from her and from fixing this. Somehow. Someway.

I stepped forward, closing the gap between Dillon and me, summoning back a bit of the man I used to be—that guy who used to evoke fear everywhere he went—and looked him straight in the eye. "You're wrong, Dillon. Emily does need me. She is my sister and nothing you or anyone else says can change that. Now move it and let me in, before this gets ugly."

"The man does have a point, Dillon."

Instantly, Dillon rounded on the voice, watching with wide, confused eyes as Nikolas walked purposefully toward us from within the penthouse's depths. "Whoa—wait a sec, Nikolas," He said uneasily. "You heard Emily on the phone. She's pissed; I'm pretty sure the last thing she'll want is to have Jason waiting for her when she gets home…"

With an annoyingly regal sweep of his arm, Nikolas cleared Dillon from his path, sights set on me. "Come in, Jason," he said, effortlessly ignoring Dillon's fevered words of protest as he drew back the penthouse's heavy wooden door and stepped graciously clear of the entrance. "She'll be here any minute. Do make yourself comfortable."

Emily POV

"I can't believe that bastard!"

I closed my eyes to Johnny's furious tirade, wishing that I could only do the same for my ears. Ever since we left the docks and the warehouse that, to the best of my knowledge, still housed Faith, Johnny had done nothing but rant about what a miserable son of a bitch my brother was. Granted that, at the moment, it was a tune I completely sympathized with, it was still getting old. And fast. I mean, even good songs eventually get to be unbearable, especially after you beat them to death several times over within a twenty-five minute timeframe. "Johnny. Please. Just take a breath or something. And stop pacing; you're driving me up the wall."

He grinded to a halt and faced me with flashing eyes, chest heaving at a mile a minute. "How the hell can you be so calm? He just ruined everything. Two weeks of planning down the tubes!"

"Don't get dramatic," I sighed. "If there's anything I've learned over the years it's that there will always be another opportunity to balance the scales. Always."

He shook his head. "Not like that, Emily, and you know it. We had them--both of them--and he stepped in and fucked it all up!" And then his voice lost its edge, while his eyes gained a new glimmer of confusion. He was looking at me like I had three heads or something. "How could you do that? How could you let him back you down like that, after all this time?"

For lack of an explanation, I shrugged, giving Johnny what I could give a precious few these days. The absolute truth. "I don't know." And I didn't, not really. All I knew was that when Jason brought up Courtney's name, everything inside me started a dangerous crumble, and I suddenly couldn't stand being in my own skin. Halting Faith's execution had been my only means of escape from that feeling of being unclean and unworthy, and, at that moment, I'd been glad for it. "Maybe he was right, okay? Maybe that way was too harsh."

He snorted his disagreement. "Yeah, you say that now, but I remember your tune being a little different before the almighty Jason Morgan got back in town and started sticking his nose where it don't belong."

Okay, so call it more of a sisterly thing. But no matter how pissed I was at Jason right now, that still didn't mean I liked hearing his name being used like a four letter word. He was still Jason Morgan, and that name demanded respect, despite my personal feelings. "Whoa—just back it up here, Johnny," I said, putting a hand to his chest in an effort to calm him down. "If anybody's nose belongs in this—it's my brothers, okay? Let's not forget what tonight was supposed to be about."

"Payback," he said bitingly, shrugging off my hand. "Payback for what that bitch did to you… to the baby."

"And to Courtney. " I reminded him, feeling impatience beginning a slow coil in my gut. I knew he was upset about me getting hurt, but there was so much more to this, so much more he just didn't understand. "This is just as much about avenging her as anything else. And if turning Faith into smoldering piles of ash wasn't exactly the revenge Jason had in mind, then, you know what? I gotta give him that."

"Like hell you do," he snapped, his back suddenly filling up my field of vision as he wheeled around to face the opening doors of the elevator. "And how can we even be sure he wants revenge at all, huh?" he asked, making his way into the hall. "He hasn't wanted any for the past six years—"

"Hello, he had a gun to her head. I though he was going to kill her right ther—"

"—All he's done since he got back is make you miserable, keeping you dangling on some imaginary string about whether he's back in the game or not. I'm tired of it, Emily. I'm tired of that asshole thinking he can just—"

I heaved a sigh. He wasn't even listening to me. Again. "You know what? I really don't think I want to tal—"

"—I mean who the hell does he think he is? He left you high and dry, and now all of sudden he's back in your life, trying to be the 'supportive big brother', to fix everything? Bending you to his will, making you go against what you want—trying to put himself at your side again? Gimmie a fucking a break! What kind of cheap bullshit is tha—"

All right. That was it. "Johnny!"

Jerking to a stop just in front of my door, he blinked at me. "What?"

I shook my head and moved past him. "Could you just—shut up? Please? I don't want to do this," I said, allowing my doorman, Alex, to open the penthouse door for me, and stepping inside. Without even giving the living room a glance I turned to face Johnny full on. "Tonight was a royal disaster and right now all I want to do is go upstairs and see my son before Elizabeth and Georgie get here and I have to leave again. There will be no more discussion of my brother, and certainly not of Faith or Alcazar. Understand?"

Waiting for some sign of agreement, I looked up into Johnny's dark eyes, only to find that they weren't focused on me at all, and that whatever it was he was looking at had caused his whole body to go rigid with palpable anger. Slowly, I turned around, already knowing exactly what was waiting for me.

There, on the couch, with his booted feet propped up on my coffee table, was my brother.

Great. Just fucking great.

Omniscient POV

It was a dismal scene. Gathered closely around an ornately carved wooden dining table, were five people who, indeed, wanted anything but to be exactly where they found themselves. With each other. But, along with the palpable undercurrent of god-awful tension, these five people also shared something else. Grit. They may not have like this in the least, but none of them were going to leave, not until their worries were put to rest. Even if those worries varied greatly from person to person…

"So, uh…" Dillon, the youngest occupant by far, was also somehow the bravest in his attempt to break the tomb-like silence that hung over the table. They were the first words spoken in over ten minutes of dead silence. The perfect start? Not hardly, but it was something at least.

"Hey, you know when I was in Italy, the local movie theater had this really incredible festival going on chronicling the career of this controversial but, like, groundbreaking Italian director, Mario Bava—have any of you heard of him?" Dillon paused and scanned the bowed heads around him, finding not so much as a nod of response. Not surprisingly, he didn't let it deter him. He waved it off and continued with fervor. "Never mind; doesn't matter. Anyway, the guy was actually like this truly fascinating figure in Italian—"

"You know what, D," Johnny interrupted him sharply, making Dillon jump slightly at his friend's tone. "If you're so interested in movies right now, Emily's still got that DVD collection you gave her for Christmas, why don't you go take a hike upstairs and play with them, huh?"

Dillon, by nature, was a passive kind of man, but there are some lines one just ought not to cross in his book. And this was one of them. He leveled Johnny with a glare. "First of all, J," Dillon overemphasized. "One doesn't play with movies, okay? Movies are serious business—er, uh…unless they're a comedy—but that's beside the point! And secondly—" Dillon ticked off his reason's on his fingers. "I have just as much of a right to be here as you do… jackass…"

The last part was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and not well received. "I'm gonna ignore that because you're my friend, and I don't make a habit of strangling my friends."

"Oooh, I'm so scared!" Dillon gasped in mock fear before resetting his mouth in a thin line. "Ignore it or not; I don't give a damn!" Dillon crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking disgruntle as hell. "Here I was trying to start up a nice conversation, you know, get the ball rolling a little bit, and—"

"You were yapping about some friggin' Italian director nobody gives a crap about!"

Red-faced, Dillon let out what sounded to most everyone seated at the table to be very much like a growl. "I was trying to break the ice, you Sopranos reject! Jesus! Try watching something other than ESPN and the Spice channel sometime; it just might do that thick Irish head of yours some good!"

Straight up fuming at this point, Johnny narrowed his eyes threateningly on the younger man. "Why you no good, little son of a—"

"Pfft. Like that's a big secret! A word to the wise, Johnny, if you're looking to insult me you might want to try not starting with my mother." Unable to help himself, Dillon chuckled at his friend's poor choice of targets. "Talk about wasted effort…"

It appeared laughing was doing nothing to cool the situation; Johnny's jaw worked furiously, his grip tightening mercilessly on the back of his chair. "How 'bout I just kick your ass, huh?"

And Dillon just smiled. A slow, confident, cocky smile that surprised no one at the table but Jason, who had never witnessed a display quite like this one before. "Oh, yeah?" Dillon challenged. "How 'bout you kiss it instead…"

The hand that had been griping the back of his chair was suddenly in the air, and was about a millimeter away from closing around Dillon's throat when—

"That's ENOUGH!" The sharp cry for order came from Emily herself, who, going unnoticed by all but one at the table, had come to be standing in front of her chair, hands set on her hips and—to half the room's occupants—managing to look an enticing mixture between sexy as the day was long, and scary as hell itself. She took a deep, calming breath and addressed both her Lieutenant and her cousin with a look that clearly stated who exactly was in charge of this situation.

"Look," she said tensely. "Dillon, I truly appreciate you trying to help this along, but to an extent, Johnny is right. If we're going to talk, movies won't be the topic of choice. We have much more pressing—Johnny, you so much as smirk right now, and I swear to God I'll bump you back down to parking cars." Johnny quickly wiped the smile off his face, dipped his head, and Dillon let loose a bratty snicker that was smartly transformed into a cough when Emily turned her fiery gaze on him.

Recollecting herself, she swept her deep brown eyes over the men seated around her. Dillon and Johnny, both properly chastised, hung their heads dejectedly. Her eyes then drifted over her husband's proud smile and she couldn't help but smile back. But the smile faded abruptly when she looked to the last and final man at the table. Her brother. There, in his pale blue eyes, was that same pride that shown so lovingly in Nikolas's gaze. But with it were so many other things that she couldn't expose herself to it for long. Clearing her throat she sat back down and went about taking the reins again, doing what had become her life now. Leading.

"As I was saying, it's more than obvious that there are a lot of things you all feel the need to discus, and since it's become overwhelming clear that none of you will leave my home until that happens, why don't I just start?" Jason, Nikolas, Johnny, and Dillon all nodded their agreement and allowed her to continue.

"Good," she said. "And since this all boils down to one question anyway, I'm going to go ahead and ask it. Point blank." Sighing she lifted her eyes directly to her brothers. "Who here wants me to kill Faith? Show of hands…"

Johnny's hand shot up and Nikolas gave him a withering look. "Typical," he mumbled darkly.

Lowering his hand, The Lieutenant's eyebrow went up. "You say something, Nik?"

"Who me?" Nikolas pressed a hand to his chest in question. "As a matter of fact I did, Johnny."

The smirk the prince bore seemed to hit its mark with expert precision; the vein at Johnny's temple throbbed viciously. "Is that so? Well, you fell like sharing with the class, Buddy?"

"Not particularly—" Nikolas glared coldly at the man across from him, alerting everyone—even Jason—to a tension of brutal proportions that had settled over the table. Any observer could see that Nikolas Cassadine and Johnny O'Brien were in no way fond of each other. "—Buddy."

Once again, Emily stepped in to squash the abhorrent display of testosterone. "Nikolas. Johnny. Focus," she said, her tone a little more soothing this time around. "So that's one vote for sending Faith to Barbie-Hell. Add mine and then that's two." She paused and looked at her husband and her brother. "I don't think I really need to ask, but what will it be for you two? Thumbs up, or a thumbs down?"

"This isn't a game, Emily," Jason interrupted, a deep set frown etched across his face.

"Yes, Jason, I know that," she snapped icily. "But the sooner I get this over with the sooner I can get to bed. Now, if you don't mind, a simple yes or no is all I need from you right now. Should I go ahead and have her killed?"

"No." A pair of narrowed blue eyes accompanied his answer.

"Fine," she said coolly, a quick bat of her lashes serving to cover the annoying flare of betrayal his vote had provoked. It was exactly what she'd expected, but it still stung to have him disagree with her. She supposed that no matter how far their relationship deteriorated that would always leave a mark of some kind, always burn somewhere inside, seeing Jason as the opposition. She wanted to believe that was a good sign, but not even the new brutal her could pull a silver lining from the state of things with Jason. There was just none to be found. Righting her thoughts, Emily turned from her brother to faced Nikolas. "And you? What do you think I should do?"

"You already know my answer, Emily. It hasn't changed," he answered her softly, his soulful brown eyes meeting hers. Funny, she thought. She knew he was essential standing against her, but she just couldn't bring herself to be upset with him. Not truly. Nikolas was her husband, but more and beyond that—her friend. He loved her and everything he did—whether she agreed with it or not—was done in the name of that love. How could she ever fault him for that?

Leaning back in her chair and observing the rest of the clustered group with annoyance, Emily sighed. "Okay," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It appears that we're at a stalemate, with one man undecided."

And at these words, all heads pivoted to Dillon, who had just come over with a very, very bad feeling in his stomach. He clenched his eyes closed and buried his face in his hands, refusing to look up. Why him? It was the first question that popped into his mind. Why did it always have to come down to him? Couldn't somebody else be the dude on the fence for once?

"Oh, Dillon," Emily's sing-song voice filled his ears and he peeked up to hazard a glance at her, apprehension filling his boyish face. "Looks like you're the swing vote, my dear."

He swallowed past the sizeable lump in his throat and looked anxiously at the faces of his beautiful cousin—to which he owed his life, basically; his cousin by marriage—who was more a brother, really; his other, decidedly scarier cousin, who, despite their differences, was still his flesh and blood; and lastly his best friend, who, at that particular moment, was looking very much like he'd have no problem kicking Dillon's ass right then and there. If this wasn't a 'damned if you, damned if you don't' situation, he really didn't know what was, and he had no desire to find out.

"But I don't wanna be the swing vote," he protest hesitantly, uncomfortable with suddenly being the focus of, well, everyone.

Johnny groaned in frustration to his left. "For God's sake Dillon, don't be such a wuss! Just step up and give Emily your vote."

Eyes wide, Dillon blinked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—" He turned to Johnny and gaped at him, incredulous. "—did you just—did you just call me a wuss?"

The older man cocked an eyebrow. "If the dress fits."

At this, Dillon's eyes bugged with rage. "For your information, Johnny, I've been the swing vote before and I nearly lost my mind. I am not a wuss, okay?!" He shifted awkwardly and slumped back into his chair. "It just makes me very uncomfortable being the deciding factor, that's all." Johnny choked out a laugh that sounded conspicuously like "wuss!" and Dillon glowered at him. "Bite me."

Sighing, Emily pressed a hand to her forehead. Was wanting for her Lieutenant and the liaison to her foreign associates to behave like two, reasoned adults really all that much to ask? Somehow, she didn't think so. "Dillon, your vote please… We don't have all night."

"All right. Fine. I vote—" A split second before the knee-jerk "yes" came out of his mouth, Dillon locked eyes with Jason. And what he saw there sent a jolt of guilt through his whole body. If he gave in and said yes and just let Emily do this, would he really be helping her, or would he just be enabling her? After all, a revenge quest like this was a lot like an addiction. Both could take you to some pretty scary places and make you do things you never imagined yourself capable of, all in the name of that coveted end result. Could he actually sit there and put his stamp of approval on something that had no possible chance of ending well for her? Wasn't part of his job to look out for her… to act in her best interest? With that thought in mind, Dillon delivered his answer. "I, uh… I vote to let Faith live, for now."

To miss the flash of hurt in his cousin's delicate brown eyes, Dillon would've needed to be blind. He bolted forward, panic in his face as he tried to soften the blow his vote had dealt her. "Did you notice how I added 'for now' onto my vote, Em? It leaves it pretty opened ended, I think. You know, subject to evaluation."

"Suck up." The derisive mutter came directly from Dillon's left. Johnny.

Now, Dillon would be the first to admit that Johnny and he had a unique bond. There was a lot of mutual mockery that went on—all in good fun of course—but at that very second, Dillon was having a hard time finding the 'fun' in any of this. He turned, once again, to Johnny. "Dude. Are you sure you want to go there with me, man? Because I know some things that could blow the roof off this—"

"D, so help me God, one more word and you're gonna be watching your movies from a hospital bed at General." His glare flickered menacingly. "Shut. Up. I meant it."

Most men would have been scared shitless by a warning like that—but Dillon wasn't most men. Despite any disagreement, Johnny was his friend, and, as such, Dillon knew the threat was empty. Maybe even desperate—Dillon peered past the stone-faced glare—no, scratch that, it was definitely desperate. "You want me to shut up?" Dillon demanded, not waiting for an answer. "Then may I suggest you kindly remove the stick from your ass, Johnny, and get the hell of my case! I wasn't sucking up, I was trying to explain."

"And I appreciate that, Dillon," Emily said, lending her oddly calm voice to the latest explosion. "I really do. But it isn't necessary."

He turned to face her, his eyes alight with trepidation. "Emily, you know I'd do anything for you, but I can't let this happen. And I just want you to understand why I don't think this is a good idea. I love you and all I want is what's best for you, and this… this just isn't it, Em. I can't go along with this now and I—I don't want you to see it as a… a betrayal or—"

Emily smiled warmly at her younger cousin and placed her hand over his, squeezing lightly. Jason may have thought her to be like Sonny, but he was wrong. Sonny would have seen this as a betrayal and taken it as cue to kick Dillon out, but she wouldn't do that to him. She still had limits, no matter what any of them thought. "I don't, Dillon. You're just worried about me, and I can't even tell you how touched I am by that. And the fact that you had the guts to stand up to me and speak out against something you view as wrong proves to me how loyal you truly are. You would never betray me, Dillon. You wouldn't even know how to."

An odd mixture of relief and confusion flooded him. "So… you're—you're not mad?"

"No. Like I said, I understand." She lifted her head and locked eyes with Jason. "Completely."

Johnny was the one to speak this time, quietly asking the question they had on all their minds. "You do?"

Nodding Emily got to her feet once more. "Yes, I do. As much as it pains me to say this, I think its only fair that I act in a way that reflects what the majority of you believe." With a massive sigh, she closed her eyes. "Faith lives… for now." She noted how Dillon and Nikolas' faces lit up, and she raised a hand to halt the smiles before they turned into blatant celebration. She wasn't finished quite yet. "Don't get excited," she warned them calmly. "I said she gets to live—don't mistake my concession for a buried hatchet. Faith will not die—yet, but I will make her wish she was. I'm going to take everything that woman has or even thinks she has: her influence—real or imagined, her territory, her money, her dignity, her overblown pride… and, eventually, when the time is right, her life." Solemnly Emily's dark eyes addressed each table member in turn, locking lastly on the pale, familiar blue of her brother's. "My business with Faith Rosco is far from concluded."

Elizabeth POV

So, there I was, leaning against the side of a Yellow Cab, bundled up like a damn Eskimo, my once perfectly curled hair getting pushed all over the place, waiting. For Georgie. Big surprise there.

Blowing out an impatient breath I glared up at her and Dillon's building, not at all surprised to find their living room light still on.

"Oh, for the love of…" Wheeling around, I jerked open the door behind me and ducked my head inside the cab. "Hey, could you give the horn a blast?" I asked the cabbie. "I think my friend needs some encouragement here."

He gave a gruff laugh and slammed his meaty fist down on the horn, its wail echoing down the busy street, and, hopefully up to Georgie's fifth floor apartment, where it could get her to hurry the hell up. Yes, it was rude and kind of inconsiderate. But, hey, so was making one of your best friends wait in the snow for ten minutes. Fair's fair in my book.

Shutting the door, I looked up… and grinned. Part of me knew this would happen. Well, okay maybe not this exactly. But I did have a healthy knowledge of just how much she hated to be honked at. Guess I just never knew how much. Silhouetted in the window, was Dr. Prim and Proper, her precious, life-saving hand doing something decidedly un-Georgie. I tried to look affronted, but, come on. Georgie? Flipping me off? I'm lucky I didn't double over with laughter right there on the street. And with a half-hearted glare and a drop of sapphire sheer, she disappeared from view, the apartment going dark a moment later.

Heh. Worked like a charm.

Three minutes later, Georgie came hurrying down the complex's front steps, her slim form wrapped up tightly in a wine-colored leather trench. Heels clicking, she approached me and the cab, eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Was that really necessary?" she asked me.

"Probably not," I smirked, pulling open the cab's door again and climbing inside, her right behind. I heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "brat" under her breath, and I couldn't help but laugh. Georgie and I weren't what I'd call the usual pair of friends. Oh, we loved each other to death, of course, would do anything for each other and all that best friend junk, but our relationship had a bit more, how do you say… bite to it? We never shied away from letting the zingers fly back and forth—in the nicest way possible, of course. We never—and I do mean never—sugar-coated any opinions—nor did we hold them back. And if one of us needed to be put in their place or called on their rampant bitchyness—Georgie and I never skipped a beat. But, like I said, we still loved each other. And, recently in particular, I'd realized just how vital Georgie was to my life. I mean, she wasn't Emily—no one was, but she still meant a hell of a lot to me, and always would. Snarky brattyness and all.

Once she settled into her side of the seat, Georgie let out a huff of air, and I knew exactly what was coming next. Emily. Never fail, come Tuesday night, the issue we, for the most part, managed to avoid all week through, would find us. And the conversation almost never managed to be an enjoyable one. In fact, most times it was downright depressing. And Jason's reappearance in town seemed to have upped the unpleasantness factor three fold. Goody.

"So…" she started uneasily, which didn't surprise me in the least. When it came to broaching this particular subject, Georgie and I were both guilty of being a tad apprehensive. It was just such a tenuous and, well, disheartening topic. It pulled the plug on our playful gusto rather efficiently. "Have you talked to her today?"

Oh, man, such a simple question, but then so completely not. Did I talk to her? Yes. Did it actually accomplish anything? Fat chance. Did I manage to help ease her burden like any decent, self-respecting friend should be able to? Ha. Oh, yeah, she's a regular Mary Sunshine now. Not a care in the world. Whistling while she works and lighting the world up with her smile. And its all thanks to me, good old Elizabeth, the world's Bestest Best Friend. I'm serious. There should be awards. Shaking my head and pushing down my belligerent sarcasm with great effort, I turned my gaze out the window not really seeing anything at all. "This morning," I said. "I called her."

There was a silence, long and contemplative. That was pretty standard practice when it came to Em nowadays. There usually wasn't much else for us to do but mull things over quietly. And there happened to be a lot to mull over recently. A lot.

"She is coming though… right?" Georgie went on, a bit of that insecure teenager she used to be peeking through. "I mean, she still wants to see us…" The sentence hung expectantly in the air and I knew Georgie was looking for me to assure her, but, frankly speaking? I wasn't so sure I could. I had no clue what Emily wanted and I doubted even Emily herself knew the answer to that question anymore. And that was exactly the problem.

But, despite my raging uncertainty, I plowed on with my usual pep talk. It didn't really matter if it was a lie or not anymore, I just think she needed to hear it. Hell, I think we both did. "Of course she wants to see us." I said, and smiled. Big and forced and fake as ever. "Who wouldn't want to spend the evening with us? We're, like, fabulous."

Thankfully, it worked, somewhat, and I managed to pull a chuckle from her, as well as a playful shove. "Liz, I'm being serious here…"

"Yeah, and so am I." And I was. We were fabulous, dammit. Bloody fabulous. But, as much as I would have loved to have my lame attempt at a topic change be the end of it, looking at her, into her worried eyes, I knew it wouldn't be. We'd have to talk about this. Whether I liked it or not. And I so did not. "Okay, look," I sighed, pivoting a bit in my seat to face her. "I get how you're feeling. I get how hard it is to watch her like this, Georgie, to see how the shooting has just… ripped her apart, how having Jason around again is only making it, like, a billion times worse, and not being able to do a damn thing about any of it. It hurts inside, just hurts. It makes you feel helpless and insignificant and totally redundant." I broke off and dipped my head, stupid, predictable tears beginning their calculated assault, locking up my throat and making my face go hot. See? This was why I hated doing the 'State of Emily' thing. It just… it just took so much out of me.

A whole two minutes had passed with me just sitting there, head bowed, fighting back the current behind my eyes when, unexpectedly, I felt Georgie tuck one of my wayward curls behind my ear. It made me want to cry even more. We could fight and argue like two mad women, but she had such a gentle, loving soul that she honestly just blew me sometimes.

"Do you remember last year," she asked me softly. "On the anniversary of A.J.'s death?" I met her eyes and nodded. God, how could I ever forget? Every year, starting sometimes even months previous, Emily would sink into these… blank spots. Georgie and I called them that because during those times, sometimes lasting weeks past the actual date, she'd become like the walking dead. Just going through the motions, emitting none of the spark that was her essence. It was a downright scary thing to see and last year she'd taken it to a completely different stratum. We'd never seen her so… defeated, so close to the edge. The edge of what, you may ask? Well, back then I'd been horrified to even think it, but most likely her sanity. Scary, huh? Yeah, we thought so.

"She was all over the place… just an absolute wreck," she continued. "But we brought her back. You and me, and Nikolas and Dillon. We helped her then, and we'll do it again." She caught my eye with a tiny smile. It faded quickly, but it still felt good to see it. I guess she wasn't the only one who needed to be lied to. "We are not redundant in this, Elizabeth. Far from it."

And she was right. We weren't redundant. Emily loved us, and we loved her. Oh, God, did we love her. And that was exactly why this was all so difficult, but also why we had to keep faith. Dabbing at my eyes, I pulled together a smile for her, for me. "I thought I was the one who did the reassuring in this relationship," I teased.

She shook her head and laughed leaning back into the seat. "Nah," she beamed. "I don't mind taking a strut in your uniform once in a while." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I just hope you can recoup before we get to the penthouse." She let her head drop back against the rest, eyes heavenward. "We're gonna need to be operating on full power, especially after tonight—" Her voice faltered halfway thought the word and she suddenly turned completely away from me and toward the window.

I eyed the abrupt change warily; panic igniting in my gut as I watched her fidget nervously with the buttons on her coat. She'd just slipped up and said something that she'd probably been told not to. "What about tonight?" I prodded harshly, watching her shoulders jump at my tone. Okay, this was not good. She was definitely hiding something. "Georgie, what did Dillon tell you?" No answer. "Georgie," I warned again. "If something was supposed to go down tonight and you know about it, you have to tell me. We aren't supposed to keep these sorts of things from each other, remember? Not when it has to do with Emily and her well-being." And just like that my tone had jumped from zero to bitch in nothing flat.

Georgie didn't seem very appreciative. Hey eyes snapped to mine. "I didn't keep anything from you," she hissed with a glare. "I'm telling you right now, aren't I? And for the love of God, would you just calm the hell down, you're starting to look like a tomato."

I could feel the burn of panic from before morph effortlessly into pure frustration as I looked at her. "This isn't a joke," I spat. "You know something and I want you to tell me what it is."

Her gaze narrowed on me. "A joke," she parroted, incredulous to the core. "Do I look like I'm laughing to you, Elizabeth?"

God, we really didn't have time for this. We'd be at Emily's in less than five minutes and I needed to know if I would have a destroyed best friend waiting for me when I got there. "Enough with this arguing crap. Just tell me what happened."

Sighing, she crossed her arms and focused resolutely on the plastic partition in front of her. "You aren't going to like it."

"Out with it, already." If she didn't open her mouth and spill in four seconds or less there would be definite violence. "Geor-gie…"

"Okay, fine," she huffed, still glaring at the scratched plastic. "She took a meeting with Faith Rosco tonight on the docks. Happy? Emily had a sit down with her mortal enemy."

And in that instant, I could have sworn someone had just socked me right in the gut. A meeting? With Faith? Oh, God, no… How did Emily ever expect to get through that? "No way." Not my most intelligent reply ever, but it was all I could bring myself to say.

Georgie turned to me grave-faced. "Yes way. Dillon told me. In fact, he's there right now. He went with her."

And hearing that actually helped, a lot. Dillon was good for her. He made her laugh, smile. It was a rare feat these days. But with the tiny bit of relief came a whole lot more of something else as a truly unsettling thought occurred to me. I'd only been wrapped up in the mob world for a short time, but I had a fairly good idea of what 'taking a meeting' with someone like Faith Rosco could equate to in Emily's case. Especially in Emily's case. "You don't think that… I mean, she wouldn't…"

Georgie saw right past my ambiguity and frowned. Deeply. "Honestly?" she asked me, and I nodded, feeling oddly numb from the brain down. "There was a time when I would have said no way. That she could never—ever—do something like that. But now?" She shook her head, eyes drifting back to the passing nightscape. "Now, I really just don't know."

And with that said, I sunk defeated into my own seat, and waited. Waited for that feeling to wash over me—that little tug I'd get in my chest when things had gotten particularly dreary with Emily on occasion that told me everything would be okay. That I was overreacting, that I was just blowing things out of proportion, and that, eventually, no matter how bleak the outcome seemed, all would work out in the end.

It never came.

-----

TBC…

(a/n) Okay… so the battle lines have been drawn. Emily's out for nothing short of complete and total ruin and how she goes about it may very well up destroying everything in her life. But I'll shut up about the story particulars and just let you guys discover on your own. What I will say, thought, is that this marks the second part of our story, folks, where the actually plot comes in, lol. Hopefully you guys will be entertained. :o)

Oh, and I know I bring up A.J.'s death again in this chap… don't think I've forgotten about the explanation on that. It will come. Not for a while yet, but it will come.

All right, that's it for me for now, guys. I'm not even going to try and get another installment out in two week—look for the wait to be more towards a month. I changed jobs and I have, like, zero energy nowadays. Hope to see you guys soon! Loke