Chapter Three

And Your Wish Will Come True

In the past two weeks, Jason Quartermaine had experienced many firsts in his life – his first foray into reckless driving, his first real conversation with his wife, his first contemplation of adultery, and, as he sat in front of Elizabeth Webber's room at Jake's on the floor with nothing to shield his clothes from the many layers of dirt and… other less than pleasant things caked into the old carpet, he realized what he was doing was another first. He was waiting for someone else, shamelessly, unapologetically, a someone else he had met during a drunken bender at the dive bar, another first for the pediatrician, a someone else who may or may not even want to see him again. His messages had either gone ignored by the bar owner or Elizabeth had simply chosen not to return his calls as he had asked her to, but, whatever the reason for her lack of communication with him, he needed to talk to her.

It had been a week since they had met, and he was slowly going crazy. He couldn't get the brunette out of his mind. He thought about her, imagined conversations he wanted to have with her, and dreamt of doing things with her that would not fit under the conversation guidelines. Although the dreams were pleasant, they did not afford him very much restful sleep, so, on top of what he could only call a crush, he was also suffering from exhaustion, the dark circles ringing his crystal clear blue eyes a testament to the seven nights of tossing and turning he had endured since meeting the gun toting, attitude dispensing pixie of a woman at that very same bar.

In fact, he was so tired that leaning against the wooden door to Elizabeth's room was the closest thing to feeling relaxed and comfortable that he had been able to manage that entire week. He truly was pathetic, but, feeling alive for the first time in years, he really didn't care. Exhaustion and, more importantly, desire were two things he much preferred experiencing over numbness and indifference. Just as he was about to give in to his physical weariness, his eyes drooping closed, he heard quick, determined steps coming up the stairs, and, once the person, whoever they were, reached the second floor hallway, they continued in his direction. Hoping it was Elizabeth but unwilling to face his disappointment if it wasn't, Jason simply kept his gaze downcast and waited.

"You look like hell." With that, he smiled. She was definitely back from wherever she had been. "Get up," she ordered, kicking his foot before straddling his legs to stand before her door and unlock it. Once the bolt had been turned, she stepped aside and waited for him to follow her instructions which he did readily before following her into her room. "Why are you here," Elizabeth demanded to know while, at the same time, slamming the door shut and startling him.

"Why didn't you return my phone calls?"

The brunette shrugged, unrepentant before toeing off her boots and collapsing in a tired heap upon the bed, never once inviting him to take a seat or offering him any refreshments. Oddly, he found her lack of social decorum to be invigorating and an agreeable change from what he was used to. "I've been busy. Relocating tends to do that for a person. Besides, I needed to make sure you really thought about this."

Not understanding what she meant, he pressed. "This? What exactly are you talking about?"

"This," Elizabeth reiterated, motioning between them, "you and I. The night I met you, you were obviously upset about something, and then you got drunk. Those two things do not lend themselves to good decision making, and, before this went any further, whatever it may be, I needed to know that you fully comprehended what you were doing, what you stood to lose."

"And that would be?"

"I'm not naïve, Jason," the younger woman stated, speaking frankly. "If you think that you're the first married man I ever…"

"Wait a minute," he stopped her, needing more clarification. "How do you know that I'm married?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hold up your left hand; look at it. Now, count your fingers starting from the left," Elizabeth instructed patiently, almost patronizingly. "One, two," she guided him, stopping at the second numeral. "Now pause and take a look at the base of your second finger. What do you find?"

Exasperatedly, he replied, "my wedding band." Sighing, Jason asked, "why didn't you just say so; why the big, acerbic production?"

"Because, obviously, one of us forgot about that little ring on your hand, and, just to simplify the matter, it wasn't me."

"Alright, so I'm married…"

"And you have a daughter, too."

That the doctor had not been expecting. "I told you about my daughter?"

"You were drunk," Elizabeth reasoned, standing up from the bed to approach him. "You told me a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"Such as you and your wife named your kid Riegal." Laughing softly, she teased him, "were you, by chance, drunk then, too?"

"No, that had nothing to do with me. I hate my daughter's name, and, when it's just the two of us, I call her by her middle name."

"Sydney, right," Elizabeth double checked her memory, "named after the city in which she was conceived?" He simply nodded his head yes, and she turned away from him to approach and look out the only window in the room. "Really, when I think about it, I'm not too surprised by her first name. Self centered women of society tend to use their children to gratify their own egos, and what better way to do so than to give one's daughter a name that reflects royalty?"

At her melancholy tone, Jason crossed the room to stand behind her, surprising both of them when he raised his hands to rest companionably upon her shoulders. "You sound like you know the type?" As soon as the words left his mouth, words he felt were rather innocent in nature, he felt her tense and mentally pull away from him.

"I run art galleries," the brunette explained. "I know every type, including," she added, twisting her head around to glance in his direction, "bored husbands who aren't happy in their marriages."

"It's more than that, and you know it."

"I do," she acknowledged, lifting his hands one by one from her shoulders and removing them.

"So then why are you constantly putting distance between us?"

"Because, Jason," she sighed, shrugging her arms and allowing them to fall down and slap her jean covered thighs, "I don't know what I want from you. You're a complication in my life, a very attractive one, but a complication nonetheless, and I still haven't decided if being your friend is worth it."

Smirking, he reached for her only to be denied. Still undeterred, he wondered out loud, "what about your more than friend?"

"An even bigger complication… for the both of us."

"So…"

"So," she repeated. He could see it in her eyes that she was contemplating their situation. "We'll see. I need to think about a few things."

"Well, in the meantime, can I take you out for dinner tonight?"

"No."

"What about drinks," he suggested, unwilling to leave her alone until he knew he at least had a chance.

"I think you've had enough to drink for a while, don't you," Elizabeth taunted. "No, tonight," she practically ordered, "you're going to go home, and I'm going to stay here in my room – alone. However," the brunette held up her hand to stop him before he could even offer up a protest, "next week I'm going apartment hunting, and, since you've obviously lived in Port Charles for a while, you should come with me… to give me your advice."

"I can do that," he agreed. "When?"

"I'll let you know more when I do," she promised, ushering him towards the door. By the time he was outside her room and back in the hallway, their conversation was over and she had officially, by shutting the door in his face, told him goodnight without muttering a single word. It wasn't what he had wanted when he sought her out that evening, but Jason Quartermaine, at that point, would take whatever she was willing to give him, even if that was shopping.

"So, what do you think?"

After asking the realtor for a few minutes alone with her friend, Elizabeth was curious to hear what Jason thought of the studio apartment she was seriously considering. It was the fourth option they had taken a look at that afternoon, and it was her favorite. All the other apartments had been sterile, lackluster, unimaginative, definitely no place for an artist to live. But this studio…

"It's kind of a dump."

And he was such conservative, uptight prude. Watching him eye the apartment as if it was going to physically attack him if he stayed there any longer, Elizabeth wanted to laugh. They were such an odd pair, even as friends. While she was creative and a free spirit, it was obvious that his birth certificate needed to be altered so that it read Jason Stick-Up-the-Ass Quartermaine. His hair was always in place, his clothes were always wrinkle free, and, just once, she wanted to see what he would look like all mussed up. It was that thought along with her growing attraction towards the man that allowed her to entertain the idea of being his more than friend.

Shaking her head to clear away her thoughts, the accountant narrowed her gaze at the man across from her, preparing for verbal battle. "I like the fact that it needs a little bit of work."

"Elizabeth," Jason teased, taking a step towards her, "I never thought you to be the queen of the understatement."

"And I like fixing things up," she ignored his comment, redirecting their conversation away from her and back to the studio. "The more projects I have to keep my busy and out of trouble, the better," she pressed, knowing that he understood the double edged meaning to her words.

Grinning, he asked, "are you prone to trouble," as his arms slipped around her waist and attempted to pull her in towards him. Fortunately for her, she was quick enough to escape his touch.

"Anyone's trouble compared to you."

"Point taken," he allowed.

"But we're not supposed to be talking about me," Elizabeth rushed to readdress the apartment once again. "Come on, tell me what you really think of this place, and I want details."

"Well, for one, the heating system appears to be either broken or simply non-existent."

"Oh, that's easy to remedy," the brunette dismissed his concerns. "A couple of space heaters, and I'll be as snug as a bug in a rug. Plus, I'm not so good at down time or sitting still. Constant motion will help keep me warm."

Winking, he teased her, "I can think of a few other things that would…"

That way of thinking she needed to stop before it could really get started, so, interrupting him, she changed the topic. "And I like that the walls are unfinished. They're basically four giant canvases for me to work on."

"Do you like to paint murals?"

"I like to paint," she simplified. "Neither the surface nor the subject really matter." She could see the older man filing away her comments for later use. Clearing her throat, she tried to distract him. "This place also gets good natural lighting in the afternoon which works well for me and my schedule."

"Elizabeth, it's tiny."

"It's intimate," she corrected, regretting her words as soon as they left her lips. "Plus, I already told you that I don't like complications. I work, and I paint. That's pretty much it, so all I need with my apartment is a place where I can work on my art and sleep. I don't cook, so I don't need a kitchen, I'm not into my appearance, so it's not like I need an entire room to store all of my imaginary clothes, and I sure as hell don't entertain, so I don't need room for other people."

Rubbing the side of his face, Jason offered, "you might eventually want to invite someone over."

"If," the accountant started only to be interrupted.

"When."

"If," she stated once again, the second time getting the chance to continue, "I ever invite someone over, it's not going to be for small talk or to play bridge."

"What will it be for?"

"That's for me to know and for you," Elizabeth replied cheekily, "to never find out."

He was just about to challenge her when the door reopened and the realtor stepped back into the studio. "So," the older woman asked, drawling out that one word with anticipation. "What do you think?"

"We need to see the next one," Jason directed, annoying the artist with his presuming, interfering, egotistical behavior.

"Excuse me," she defied him, fire sparking in her sapphire eyes, "but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. I asked you to come with me in an effort to be nice, to try and be your friend, not so you could dictate my life. I," she stressed, pointing a rigid finger towards her own chest, "I make my own damn decisions. Never forget that." Pivoting away from the pediatrician, she faced the realtor. "I'll take it."

And, just like that, she found her apartment. Sonny was going to hate it and its location, but that only made it a sweeter deal for Elizabeth. Besides, she rationalized to herself while studiously ignoring the man glowering in her direction, she had bigger fish to fry and more important decisions to make, and they all had to deal with one infuriatingly handsome yet upper crust conforming Jason Quartermaine.

Butterflies.

God damn fucking butterflies.

Of all the millions of creatures in the world his wife could have chosen to support with charitable donations from the guests at his birthday party, she had to go and choose perhaps the most effeminate one she could think of – some god damned fucking butterfly whose technical name he couldn't remember for the life of him.

His grandmother would scowl at his use of language, disappointment coloring her papery pale cheeks, his spouse would glower in annoyance at his lack of decorum, and his daughter would giggle at his uncharacteristic display of temper, but one woman in his life would approve – Elizabeth. After a drunken night, a rather strange morning meal that could not be deemed breakfast because of her choice of food, an awkward conversation the week before in her room above Jake's, and an afternoon helping her shop for an apartment, he could already tell that her penchant for swearing was rubbing off on him. However, he wanted more from her.

Observing the pastel hued ballroom of his family's hotel, Jason found himself wanting to tear down and destroy every single decoration. Glitter encrusted, sheer, and even real butterflies surrounded him wherever he looked. Instead of a party for a man turning thirty-five, he felt as if he was trapped in an eight year old little girl's fantasy, an eight year old that was decidedly more prim and proper than his own daughter. After discussing the idea of the environmentally advantageous fundraiser with Riegal, she had confessed that she wanted her mother to ask the party goers to donate to the local pounds. Not allowed to have a pet of her own, not a cat and certainly not a dog, the seven year old wished to help those animals that needed owners but couldn't find one. Obviously, his wife had other ideas, ones he found to be ridiculous, and, if any of the guests believed he felt passionately about some insipid butterfly, they obviously did not know him very well at all.

Adding insult on top of insult, he cast his gaze away from the brightly lit dance floor to the large table piled high with presents by the entrance to the room. Despite their requests for charitable donations, those in attendance had brought gaudily wrapped gifts to the party anyway, their ribbons, bows, and papers, no doubt, doing nothing to mask the expensive nature of the lavish and quite unnecessary presents. After all, he was a Quartermaine; anything he needed or wanted he could either by for himself or get someone in his family to purchase it for him. He did not need his friends, business associates, and passing acquaintances to purchase him another pair of gold cuff links or a new costly golf club. The excess and extravagance made him feel sick to his stomach, and that feeling of being suffocated, of not being able to breathe in his own skin came back and slammed against him in a dizzying, bruising force, knocking the very wind out of him.

"There you are," his wife chirped pleasantly, her mask of faux happiness and contentment firmly in place behind an overly dazzling smile. "Why are you hiding over here in the corner? You should be greeting your guests."

"They're not my guests," the pediatrician shrugged off her chastisement easily, stepping away from her controlling embrace. "You're the one who wanted all these people here, so you go and talk to them."

"I have been, but they all want to see you. After all," she lowered her voice, the whispered tone doing nothing to cloak her annoying placation of his, what she would deem, insubordination, "you are the man of the hour."

Attempting to turn his back on her, he mumbled, "I need to check in with the hospital."

"You'll do no such thing, and they will not be paging you tonight. I spoke with your father and he instructed the entire staff, told them implicitly, that you are not to be bothered this evening. Now," he could hear the smile return to her voice, "my family just got here, and they're dying to talk to the future chief of staff of General Hospital."

"Then you should take them to talk to another physician, someone who is actually interested in the position."

"Jason," she snapped, grabbing his arm and squeezing it as tightly as her frail, petite hand would allow, "you will not do this to me, not tonight; you will not embarrass me in front of my family. This is what your parents and my parents agreed upon before we got married, before we had a child together. You would be the one to carry on the medical tradition our two families share, while I would be the one to sacrifice my own career to stand by your side and be the perfect society wife for you. It doesn't matter if you don't want the job or not; you made a deal, and I will not stand by and let you renege on it. Now," she ordered, finally releasing her grasp on him, "fix your tie, straighten your jacket, and put a smile on your face. We have guests to see to and my family to greet."

Twirling around, she walked away from him, the tight, almost pinched motion of her steps the only telling sign of her anger; everything else about her appearance screamed control and joviality. She certainly was good at the masquerade. Schooling his features just as he'd been instructed, the husband and father did as he was told and dutifully followed his wife, unsure of just how much longer he would be able to keep up the charade, but, at least for that night, he would go along with the woman he had married, foolishly, naively, stupidly married to please his family. At the end of his figurative rope, he felt the dedication and loyalty he had always lived his life by fraying and disintegrating, and he just hoped that someone was there for him when he inevitably fell from grace.

It was the day of his actual birthday, and, after spending the previous evening in the company of people he barely tolerated, Jason had spent the better portion of the morning and afternoon at work, dealing with the never ending rules that seemed to follow him wherever he went in life. He had been distracted all day, his thoughts fleeting between Elizabeth and his need to run away from everything, but finally his shift was over and he was allowed to leave, to go to some undecided location where he would hopefully be able to relax.

"You know, if you're going to be hanging out with me," Elizabeth's voice greeted him as soon as he stepped outside the automatic doors of the emergency room, "you should really learn how to better watch your surroundings. You never know what or who could be lurking in the shadows."

She was leaning up against a shining hulk of chrome, leather, and black metal, her own outfit blending in well with the colors, or lack there of, of the motorcycle.

"Are you saying that being with you puts my life in danger?"

"Among other things." Leaving the warning at that, she changed he subject, pushing herself off of the bike and striding across the parking lot towards him. "I'm not really the birthday cake and candles type of girl, but I can give you something you want."

He grinned wickedly at her statement, sinfully, never doubting her ability to do so even for a moment. "I bet you could."

"My escape is my art. It's private, it's personal, and it's separate from everything else in my life, meaning it's just mine. Now, I know you can't paint, so that's out as an option, but this," she sighed dreamily, backpedaling until she could caress and smooth her hands over and across the Harley she had previously been resting on, "this is the ultimate freedom, and you're strong enough to give it to the both of us."

"It sounds like you speak from experience."

"An old boyfriend from my past used to ride," the brunette shared, making him grit his teeth unexpectedly in jealousy. "I might have ditched the guy, but I'll never forget what it felt like to be on the back of his bike. It's the closest thing to flying that I've ever been able to reach. You're moving so fast with the air rushing past you that everything else in your life, your work, your worries, even your fears, just disappear, and the only thing left is freedom."

Awestruck by the sheer glimmer of wonder sparkling in her deep blue eyes, Jason questioned softly, murmuring, "and you want to give that feeling to me?"

As quick as the blink of an eye, the reverence was gone only to be replaced with her trademark sarcasm once again. "Do you see me talking to anyone else right now?"

"There's just one problem though," the doctor explained, ignoring her query for it didn't really need to be answered. "I don't know how to drive a motorcycle, and you certainly don't look big enough to control it by yourself."

"I can tell you what to do, and, either way, we'll figure it out together." Grinning widely in his direction, she started to hop up and down on her tiny feet, her excitement bubbling up past her normally cool and reserved demeanor. "Come on, you know you want to go for a ride."

"I do." Finally crossing the space between them only to come to a stop at her side, he asked, "where are we going?"

"Nowhere."

And that's just what they did. For hours, they simply rode together, existing on the back of the rented bike alone and separate from the rest of the confusing and pressuring world. Daylight was replaced with dusk and then the darkness of night, and the afternoon seamlessly shifted evening. He never called home, never made an effort to contact his family to let them know that he was okay and not to expect him home for dinner, and Elizabeth never protested when he refused to stop or relinquish his solitary time with her. Eventually though, they both grew stiff, their bodies unused to the strain of riding, so, taking a road neither of them recognized, he drove until they came to an abandoned clearing, one that obviously had once been the center of an amazing, private property. While the house was gone, its foundation eroded away, the gardens still stood, statues still dotted the corners of the grounds, and a bridge remained, beckoning the two more than friends to stand at its center.

"Look at the sky," the petite woman beside him instructed, her left hand loosely clasped in his right as they simply existed together in the middle of nowhere, exactly where she said they would go. Obliging, he lifted his face towards the moon. "The stars are always so much brighter, so much closer after a ride," she whispered, her gently spoken words stirring and igniting a warmth inside of him he had never experienced before. "Sometimes I think this, this peace that comes afterwards, is the most freeing part of being on a motorcycle."

Before he could comment back, he felt her supple form press against his as she leaned up to graze a kiss against his cheek. "Happy Birthday, Jason."

Seizing the opportunity, he turned, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. Their gazes met, awakened, caught, and the look in her eye stole his breath away. This time instead of fearing the pounding of his heart in his chest and the stifling suffocation of his lungs, he craved it.

"Are we really going to do this," she asked, her plump breasts already rising and falling at a rapid pace.

"We already are."

And with that, Jason Quartermaine did the one thing he never thought he'd do but always wanted to - he let himself go, followed his instincts, and simply lived in the moment by kissing Elizabeth Webber. And the best part was she never once even attempted to pull back and away from him.