(A/N) Wow, it's been ages, huh? Well, I've dusted this sucker off and have actually constructed (loosely) a whole plot for it. Yay me… lol. But anyway, here's the second installment. But before you dive in, I just want to remind some of my more action seeking readers, that this is a building chapter. I can't just plop Emily in the middle of PC, it would be pandemonium. Well, okay maybe not pandemonium, but it would be a mess and I like to have structure. So that's what I'm doing, adding structure, and by that I mean character building and back-story. Look for Emily to get her sea legs in PC by chapter 4.

Reviewers:

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I know it's been months (and months) since I updated, but I still just wanted to thank all of you for your kind words and encouragement. Oh, and for all the suggestions; they helped me out a lot:o) --Loke

Shifting Paths

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Chapter Two: It's Never Easy

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She was leaving. Em, little Emmie-Bear, the girl who would subsequently kick your ass if you dared call her that while not being Ryan Hewitt, was leaving, and said Ryan Hewitt still couldn't get his head around it. Even as he picked her up from her apartment, during the strangely quite ride to Miami International, and even presently, as he watched her check in at the flight counter. He thought that maybe it should be sinking in by now. After all, she was practically gone. But, no, all Ryan could see as he settled a pair of pale eyes on her back was a girl that had come to be damn near the center of his universe, and a girl that just couldn't really be leaving him, but that was. They hadn't spent more than a day apart in nine years. How could she honestly pack up and leave, like, for good? It didn't compute. He went where she went, she went where he went, and he wasn't going anywhere. So… what kind of sense did all this make?

Emily smiled politely at the woman behind the counter and started back toward him, excitedly waving her one-way ticket to Port Charles, New York. And it still didn't make sense in Ryan's head, but, as he forced himself to accept in that moment, it was reality. And if anybody understood that feasibility was by no means a requirement for fact, it was Ryan. It didn't have to make sense to happen. But that still didn't mean he had to like it. Or even act like he did.

"I'm all squared away," she announced in a cheery, sugar-sweet voice that dripped enthusiasm he couldn't feel. "Plane should be here in…" She shot her watch a quick glance and hitched up the backpack on her shoulder. "Looks like we just made it; only ten minutes 'till boarding. Just enough time for a proper goodbye, wouldn't ya say?"

The way she was smiling up at him reminded him eerily of the time when she was fourteen, and Emily, at the absolute end of her rope and her wits, hatched a plan to dig out of Warren and hit the open road—without him. He'd seen the signs of "fight or flight" back then, and, being a whole four months older and also having a sense of persuasion that was just a mite more seasoned than hers, he'd managed to talk her down and keep her close. It had happened a few times since then, where she'd get that look in her eye and that tilt to her smile that just screamed "I need to get the hell out", but he'd always managed to diffuse those situations, and had never doubted his ability to do so… until now. Now he knew for certain that he could get on his knees and beg her to stay and it still wouldn't make one bit of difference. Not this time. This time she was as good as gone. He could see that in her eyes, too.

Apparently, his choice to ponder and not flash the knee-jerk smile raised a bit of a red flag with Emily. She sighed, her gaze becoming heavy, tired almost. "Ry, please, don't do this…"

He rolled his shoulders in that nonchalant, uninterested way he knew she hated. "I'm not doin' anythin'."

"Yes," she whispered, stepping forward and resting a hand on his chest, gentle intent flickering in her gaze. "You are. And I'd really like it if you'd stop."

God, he knew that voice. Soft and calm. This was her persuasive power. A tender hand and a careful voice, and as she unleashed it on him he struggled to tune it out and stay strong willed in his grumpiness.

He lasted three whole seconds. A new world record.

Mentally hating his lack of a spine, he looked down at her, warm brown meeting ethereal green. Damnit. As much as he prided himself on being able to read the girl like no one alive, he was forced to remember that it kind of went both ways in their relationship. She knew he was angling for a fight, and she wasn't going to give it to him. No way, no how. Ryan sighed; Emily smiled. She'd won, and she knew it.

She snaked an arm around his waist and drew him to her, still looking way too pleased with herself. "Thank you," she said sweetly.

Inside, he was still brooding about his sound trouncing, but he accommodated her form anyway, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her head. He was a proud man, but even proud men had to realize when they were outfoxed. And boy was he ever. "I still don't like this, Emmie," he admitted, feeling a tad better about himself for being able to voice his misgivings and not wussing out completely.

"I know you don't," came her muffled reply. She shifted in his hold and rested her ear against his chest by his heart, an odd and kind of sad habit she had. Almost like she just needed to be sure it was still beating or something, still there. "But I really don't want to spend my last ten minutes in Miami fighting about it, okay? That's what phone calls are for."

He laughed at that. See, it was a bit of an inside joke between them. A few years ago, when Jimmy moved out to Miami to start with, and he and Emily he had been trying to do the long-distance thing, the star-crossed pair had come up with a policy to make whatever 'togetherness' time they had go as smoothly as possible: Leave the bitching for the telephone. Meaning no arguing whatsoever was allowed during the precious bits of face-to-face time they got. All the ugly stuff—and there was lots—was reserved until both parties were safely back at their respective residences. Sure, in retrospect, the idea was deeply unhealthy—not to mention doing its part to prolong one of the most passionately insane relationships Ryan had ever come across, but, at the time it seemed to work okay enough for Emily and, hell, even Jimmy.

And there was a whole different problem. The Jimmy Problem. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, not even a little since the breakup, but now that she was actually skipping town, Ryan couldn't ignore it anymore. See, Emily… Well, Emmie was good at running, but—and this was the problem part—Jimmy was equally at good at finding her. And making her take him back. He'd witnessed it literally dozens of times since high school, and, even though Em did her best to make it clear that things were truly done this time, Ryan still had his doubts. History wouldn't give him any other choice, and, before he could stop himself, those doubts came pouring out of his mouth in typical Hewitt, 'don't look before you leap' fashion.

"What if Jimmy shows up in Port Charles?"

The question had been so sudden, that he could tell it shocked her; she stiffened against him and pulled back abruptly. Her eyes were narrowed and confused. "What—why would you even ask that?"

She sounded out and out appalled and Ryan just couldn't figure out why. She had been present for the past six years, right? She did remember how this whole star-crossed, meant to be together bullshit worked between her and that 'I'm-a-rockstar-now' asshole? Those two were like a bad movie on constant loop. Destined to repeat the same lameass fight, and sappy, vomit-inducing make-up scene over and over again until either they died or someone's head exploded. How in the hell could she think this time would be any different?

"Oh, come on, Em," he sighed. "You know that it'll only be a mater of time before the Jackass decides to come crawling back, spewing on and on about what a horrible mistake he—"

"No," She snapped. "What I know is what I told you, Ry. And I told you that's not going to happen this—"

"Gimmie a break," Ryan snorted. "Who are you trying to fool?"

At this, Emily blinked furiously for a moment, her jaw twitched, and Ryan took an automatic half-step back.

Uh-oh. That was so not a good reaction.

"Okay," he ventured carefully, flashing a nervous smile. "Now, what I meant to say was how can you really be sure? That it's actually, you know, done this time?" At the slight softening of her face, Ryan almost felt compelled to give himself a congratulatory pat on the back for neutralizing The Beast. Almost. Because Ryan soon came to see that it wasn't necessarily a softening he had witnessed, so much as a… wilting

And, oh God, was that her chin trembling?

Ryan placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. He wasn't all that good at this sort of thing. Yes, he was gay, but not every stereo-type out there is accurate. Sure, he had fashion sense that would make Dior blush, and an eye for design that would have Martha dropping to her knees. But he couldn't stand Barbra Streisand, would take an ice-cold beer straight from the bottle over a glass of wine any day, loved football and basketball for more than just eye-candy purposes, and was just as inept in dealing with complex female emotions as any other average American male. This meant that crying women not only mystified Ryan, but they also kinda freaked him out. Especially this crying woman, and even more so because he knew intimately just how much she hated crying.

"Hey, Sweetie," Ryan cooed in a wavering, unsure voice. "I'm—I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to upset—"

"No," she said quickly, rubbing a hand over her angelic face, trying to swipe away any traces of the crack in her composure. "It's… it's not your fault, okay? I just… Jimmy's not going to come to Port Charles, Ryan. He's not going to follow me and profess his undying love. Not this time."

The look that cast itself in her eyes as she said those words simply broke Ryan's heart. And he realized that for the past three weeks, that was exactly what she'd been waiting for Jimmy to do. Come back. Only… he hadn't. He hadn't even attempted to contact her this time. Not a word, spoken or written. Nothing. That's what the tears were about. Emily and Jimmy, the king and queen of the one week reconcile, were really and truly over. It was done. And it was killing her. Ryan sighed and drew her into another hug.

"I'm, uh… not really sure what to say here," he said in a near whisper. "I mean, you know that I really stink at this stuff, and, Em, I know it hurts a lot, but it's… it's gonna be okay. I don't know how yet, but it will be." He paused and smiled gently down at her. "You will be. I promise."

A precious light filled her eyes as she gazed up at him. "And how can you be so sure?"

"Because you're strong, Em, and you've survived worse. Much worse. Getting over that asshole should be a walk in the park compared to the rest."

"The rest," she sighed, the words rolling off her tongue sounding like something ugly and broken, which, in a way, it was. "There has been a lot, huh?" she asked heavily.

"Too much," he said, and squeezed her shoulder, hoping the comfort of his touch would chase away the shadows that had suddenly dimmed that light in her eyes, and knowing it wouldn't work. Not entirely. There was too much lurking behind the brave smile and the shimmering brown depths that even his assuaging embrace could ever rid her of. She'd been through more crap in her short twenty years than most did in a lifetime. But she'd always come out the other side of it, and swingin' at that. And she'd do the same thing here. He just wished she didn't have to fight for her happy ending. It didn't really seem fair, not after everything else she'd had to fight for.

In that moment, with Emily's in his arms, safe from anyone or thing that could ever do her harm, Ryan felt like a father having to be apart from his only daughter for the first time in both their lives, and wished very deeply that he could pause time and keep everything just as it was: quiet and simple; a sheltered bubble in the middle of a crowded terminal.

But, as was wont to happen, the bubble burst and the real world bled in on them again, a high-pitched voice squawking out a boarding call for flight number 518—Miami to PC, non-stop.

Emily's flight.

Looking down at her, he soldiered through with a scant smile. "You'll call, right?"

"Everyday," she smiled broadly back at him.

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TBC…

Next Chapter: Wherein Emily does some remembering, some contemplating, and a plane touches down.

(a/n) Just a little heads up on the future pairing of this thing. After getting quite a few emails and a decent amount of reviews suggesting a Jason/Emily pairing, I've decided to give it a go. Now, don't freak out. This is an ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE story to the max, so that means, in this universe Emily and Jason are not living as brother and sister. And since they aren't related at all anyway, it doesn't really make that much of a difference. I agonized quite a bit over whether or not to do this, but after hashing it out with a couple very helpful people (You guys know how you are), I decided to just go for it. But I will say this: If you really dislike the idea of an AU Jason/Emily pairing, just don't read this story. And please don't send me pissy emails or flame me via reviews, that's just rude. If you don't like it, find something else to read and move on quietly. But if you have some writing advice, like critiques or whatnot, I'm always open to constructive criticism as long it's about writing, not plot or storyline. :)

Okay, now that that's over… on to chapter 3! --------