A/N: I have no rights or affiliation with the characters presented within this piece
Vacuus a Animus
1. Then-War
Spinelli left Kelly's carrying his and Jason's dinner. It had been an absurdly long day as so many had been lately. Jason and Spinelli had been spending uncounted hours in the office behind the coffee shop. The only time they left it was in order to perform some soul killing but grimly necessary task.
Up until recently, Jason had been trying to do the impossible. He seemed to believe that he somehow had the power to reconcile the three disparate and fractured contingents which currently composed the very mercurial and very dangerous mob constituency of the city of Port Charles.
In reality, only Jason's organization was stable-might he say "sane," Spinelli thought to himself. Jason was the lone leader still trying to operate according to the rules, and there were rules, of organized crime.
He didn't cross boundaries; his ships used only his piers, shipping lanes and warehouses. He adhered to the truces he had constructed with the other groups as long as their tenets had not been violated. He kept calm and didn't presume that a given action was actually a declaration of antagonism until proven so beyond all doubt. Most of all, he would not countenance the involvement of civilians, either as leverage or as collateral damage, in the violent flare-ups that had been occurring with greater and greater frequency.
Unfortunately, when only one person in a game is playing by the established rules his less scrupulous opponents naturally gain the upper hand. While Jason had been desperately trying to broker peace agreements between the two rogue operations and his own, the others, taking advantage of his distraction, had been insidiously encroaching on his territory.
If he were in a meeting with Sonny and Johnny Zacchara trying to come up with some arrangement that would allow a peaceful coexistence sans bloodshed; Sasha Donev and her thugs would be attacking his men as they unloaded a shipment. The exact same strategy would be employed by the Zacchara organization, now helmed by Sonny, whenever he met with Sasha Donev.
Then the unforgivable occurred, the Russians had taken Jason's toddler son directly from his mother's house. Jason had promptly retrieved the uninjured but traumatized child from the dead arms of his kidnappers.
When he returned a crying Jake to Elizabeth, he saw in her eyes that she would never forgive him. That was all right because he could never forgive himself. The loss of Elizabeth's love and trust, of any hope of ever claiming Jake openly, pushed him farther down that cold path of solitude which he had trodden for so many years.
After Jake's abduction, Sonny had finally tried to reach out to him but Jason turned him away in anger and disgust. The breach between them was final. If Sonny had not acted so precipitously in searching for revenge when his fiancée Kate was shot, then this entire chain of events culminating in Jake's kidnapping would never have come to pass. Sonny had wrongly gone after Karpov, who had retaliated and left Sonny for dead. A very much alive Sonny had then shot and killed Karpov, married Claudia Zacchara and proceeded to run the Zacchara organization as if born to it.
The Russians had then started a brutal and ugly war of attrition. They had taken Jake to illustrate Jason's vulnerability, showing him that he couldn't even protect his own young son. Sasha Donev had also ordered an attack on Maxie Jones. The message the Russians were sending was clear, "no one under your protection is safe or inviolate."
Spinelli's heart and soul underwent a schism the moment he found an unconscious Maxie in the park. He knew, as he kept vigil at her hospital bed awaiting her return to awareness, that he had the most important decision of his life to make. With the passing of every moment Spinelli sat there he understood more and more clearly the irrevocable path he must take. He couldn't choose Maxie, he wanted to, there was absolutely nothing more he desired in the world than to pick Maxie. He simply couldn't.
For one thing, if he left Stone Cold in the midst of the most perilous and fraught time of both his professional and personal life he would be unable to live with himself. Maxie's smile, her very presence, would act as a bulwark against the traitorous nature of such an act for a while. Then inevitably it would all disintegrate and he would be lost to Maxie, consumed by self loathing at his abandonment of his mentor, his only brother.
Also, choosing Maxie would keep her in harm's way and a Spinelli separate from Jason's protection would be a poor guardian indeed. The forces that opposed Stone Cold would absolutely see the Jackal as a prize worth having-dead or alive-either way, he would be useful in compromising Jason's effectiveness. Spinelli could not risk Maxie's safety under such circumstances.
Anyway, how could he live with himself if he did nothing to avenge the event that had left Maxie injured? He finally understood the rage that fueled Jason's response to injuries and insults done to those under his auspices. His fists reflexively clenched in anger every time he envisioned Maxie helpless in the coarse hands of Russian gangsters.
No, it was clear what he must do. He would stay long enough to see that Maxie would recover and then he must leave. He wondered vaguely how it would be when his heart split asunder and one piece stayed behind with his Goddess while the other traveled to meet his Master. He hoped that Maxie would tenderly hold her half and recognize what it had cost him to split it.
He rather doubted it though he thought to himself with a half smile. Maxie was known for a lot of things but tenderness wasn't high on the list, particularly when her wishes and desires were thwarted or ignored. He looked at her, lying there pale, with her eyes closed, and her hair in disarray and told her the truth, "Maxie, I love you…"
His declaration had been a mistake because their bond was strong and she stirred in response but didn't wake. He felt relief mixed with regret. He had to watch that he didn't sabotage his own intentions by giving her ammunition to fight him over his immutable decision.
She finally did awake and in so doing freed Spinelli more thoroughly than he could have envisioned. Her head trauma had caused amnesia. Temporarily, or not, she had time traveled back six months. If Spinelli himself had picked the best time to facilitate their rupture he couldn't have chosen a better one. She recognized him as a friend and knew that her sister's death was resolved. At that point in time, the only heart of the two that had been ensnared was Spinelli's.
Maxie had actually been puzzled as to why it was Spinelli's face she first saw upon waking. It seemed that it ought to have been Mac or at least Robin sitting by her side. Spinelli quickly called in a nurse who then began the whole process of evaluating Maxie's head injury and oft abused secondhand heart.
He watched longingly from the doorway as Mac, Patrick, and a wheelchair bound Robin carrying little baby Emma came for a family reunion. Maxie was overwhelmed with a sense of bewilderment at all that seemed to have been wiped from her recollection. In her memory Robin was only three months pregnant and was always pushing Patrick away. Now there was a new little life cooing in Robin's arms while Patrick stood smiling contentedly down at his beloved new daughter.
Maxie vaguely felt that there was a valued and important presence missing from her own life. "Perhaps," she thought to herself, "I'm just wishing that Georgie were here to see her new cousin. She would have fallen in love with Emma at first sight."
She looked up at the doorway and saw Spinelli looking at her with an unfathomable gaze. His eyes seemed infinitely sad and as he caught her glance, his lips quirked up in a painful half smile as he sketched a wave at her and was gone.
"Now what was that all about?" she asked herself, as she felt all at once both strangely melancholy and irritated. The latter was definitely a reaction she remembered being associated with Spinelli, the former though-that she couldn't explain.
He went to the penthouse and after retrieving one of Jason's numerous handguns then headed towards the Russian warehouses. There was a full fledged fire fight in progress and he was determined to be in the midst of it. As he leveled his gun and prepared to fire, he felt a hand on his arm, stilling his action. He looked up, it was Jason. "Don't do it, please don't do it, Spinelli."
He had never before heard the sound of pleading in Jason's voice, it startled him and he lowered the gun. "I have to Jason, they took Jake and they hurt Maxie and that can't be allowed to stand."
"It won't be, I promise you, but you are all I have left and if you do this," he nodded at the gun, "you'll never be the same. I couldn't stand that after everything I've lost. I couldn't stand it..."
Somehow the repetition of what was obviously a heartfelt declaration of fact; melted the ice that had encased Spinelli's heart ever since he had found Maxie lying unconscious in the park. He sighed and nodded his head and let Jason take the gun from his unresisting hand. "The Jackal will comply with Stone Cold's request,"
Spinelli's sudden return to his typical speech patterns should have reassured Jason but instead he was concerned about the young man's easy capitulation. He knew things had been rough for Spinelli and that he hadn't been there for him because of his own concerns about Jake and now because of his quest for vengeance.
Suddenly, with a sixth sense honed over twenty years of surviving similar encounters, Jason pulled Spinelli behind the shelter of a crate as a high velocity bullet whined by the negative space that had just been occupied by Spinelli's head. The reality of imminent death caused Spinelli to feel faint but he was even more shocked when he looked over at Jason and saw that his friend was actually trembling at the near miss.
He knew at that moment that his decision to stay with Jason, with or without a gun, had been the correct one. They would simply have to be enough family for one another.
Off in the distance sirens could be heard as the Port Charles Police Department rushed to try and confront and contain something far beyond their resources to do so. Both the Russians and Jason's men, after methodically collecting each other's shell casings, evaporated into the night, leaving nothing but the smell of cordite in their wake.
That fight between Jason and the Russians had been four weeks ago. It had not been an isolated incident. Indeed, even for a city that thought itself hardened in the ways of violence, Port Charles' citizens had never experienced anything like the blitzkrieg of violence they found themselves caught within. Everyday was another round of shootings, explosions, and arson.
The local firefighters were exhausted fighting one four alarm fire after another. They consistently found charred corpses at each of the deliberately destroyed warehouses. These bodies were the remnants of men unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at an immeasurably wrong time.
Jason had hunted Sasha Donev down and executed her. The former mob lawyer turned ruthless mob boss stood defiantly in front of him, refusing to plead for her life. Each of them knew any such appeal would have been an exercise in futility.
Unfortunately, that particular act of revenge cost Jason more than he could have ever calculated. Still, neither Jason nor Spinelli could regret it as she had been the direct causation of so much emotional pain for both of them. It had been she who had ordered the kidnapping of a little defenseless boy as well as the attack on Maxie. Yet, as cruel and amoral as Sasha had been, she at least had been a leader of men. While she lived there had been some semblance of control over the rough hewn cadre of mercenaries that made up the Russian organization.
What Jason had failed to understand about the Russian mafia was how entirely merciless its members were. They had been forged in the fires of an unforgiving climate-legally, politically-even the weather itself was a factor. These mob soldiers came from an alien world in which life and vodka were equally cheap while the winter nights were unbearably cold and long. It was an environment wherein only the very strongest and most brutal prospered and it didn't translate well to the more structured world of the Port Charles mob.
When Sasha Donev died a vacuum was created and there was no natural leader to fill it. So, instead the organization morphed into a multi-headed hydra consisting of small groups of Russian soldiers banded together and they proceeded to terrorize the town of Port Charles and all its citizens, regardless of their affiliations.
If Jason and Sonny had collaborated they probably could have created a united front and fought back, gradually weeding out the Russian influence. Then they eventually might have managed to find their way back to a more balanced existence.
Such an alliance was impossible though because Jason blamed Sonny for the entire situation. There was no longer any residue of either their brotherly bond or their mentor-protégé relationship to be built upon. Even Spinelli no longer had any interest in mediating between the two former partners. He now firmly believed that Jason was better off without any interaction with or influence from Sonny Corinthos in his life.
Thus, Jason found himself in the ironic position of acting as the de facto protector of the town of Port Charles. Through the years, he had frequently assumed this mantle with regard to individuals-family and friends-often stepping in to help them when they required his unique set of capabilities. This time the stakes were much larger and the odds of succeeding entirely stacked against him. Yet, however outmatched he might appear he truly was the only barrier between the Russians and complete anarchy.
The police simply weren't equipped to accomplish what they needed to do in order to deter these power hungry, greedy men who lacked any sort of scruples or recognizable moral code. Guns and other more extreme weaponry were multiplying exponentially within the city boundaries. It was only Jason who had the resources, ability, and willingness to participate in an all out arms race.
Spinelli was invaluable as he Jackaled suppliers, ship logs and manifests in order to track incoming Russian shipments of arms and drugs. Jason then took his ever shrinking but fiercely loyal team of warriors out to sabotage and destroy whatever they could.
Over time, he had lost combatants that weren't interested in being members of Jason's band of merry men. Many of those had left his organization and signed up with the new blended Corinthos-Zacchara group. There it was a case of business for profit and everyone knew where they stood. There was none of this touchy feeling nonsense of protecting innocent civilians simply because they had the misfortune to reside in the most dangerous town north of the Rio Grande.
The worst attrition to his trusted core of soldiers occurred whenever one of them was injured or killed. He mourned each one with an internal intensity and respect that only Spinelli could appreciate. He wished he could stop exposing them to danger and risk but he had no choice. They were the front line in a war he didn't even believe was winnable but he had no choice except to keep fighting it.
Jason did try to keep Spinelli in the role of a non-combatant but with only mixed success. For one thing, even when they went out into the field, Spinelli's hacking skills still had worth. The Russians relied on cell phones, e-mail, remote controlled detonators-the list was endless. It was Spinelli and his trusty laptop who time after time had managed to prevent disaster as he blocked signals and monitored communication traffic amongst the enemy.
Once during a particularly hair raising episode, they had almost all been blown to kingdom come, they had activated a trip wire connected to a homemade explosive device which had somehow failed to detonate. It was Jason's hands that were shaking as he held a flashlight to help a surprisingly calm Spinelli examine the detonator so as to determine which wire could be safely cut in order to avoid setting off an obscenely large amount of plastic explosive. Jason wasn't scared for himself but he couldn't bear the thought of losing the young man that represented his only connection with hope…
After that night, Jason tried more often to curtail Spinelli's participation in their raids. Spinelli resisted such restrictions and Jason couldn't really argue with him since he was such an important contributor to the team. So, he compromised and had Spinelli wait in vehicles whenever he could, arming him with a weapon of his own, though even that arrangement made Jason uncomfortable. Whenever Spinelli actually joined in on a reconnaissance, Jason made sure that he stuck close which was an idea that Spinelli himself seemed to endorse.
Jason was entirely unaware that as much as he worried about Spinelli the reciprocal was also true. The Jackal was determined to provide more than just tech support for his mentor, he fully intended to also watch his back.
Hence, these two men headed up an intrepid band of unlikely heroes-who unbeknownst to the citizenry of Port Charles-were valiantly battling a pitiless foe in order to prevent the city from reaching a flash point that could tip it over into such chaos and mayhem that it might never recover.
This high intensity, adrenalin rush lifestyle had been the reality for Jason, Spinelli and their team for the past several weeks. Everyone tried to sleep during the daylight hours because it was invariably at night when they would get called out to intercept a shipment or intervene in a shootout between random Russians on a crowded street.
The coffee shop was the nerve center of the whole operation. It was there that Spinelli, after winnowing through a myriad of electronic information, was encumbered by the responsibility for all the men he sent out into combat. Jason and Spinelli were always on watch, either together or separately, they were the leaders and their obligation weighed heavily.
This evening though had been quiet. Spinelli hadn't found any information about incoming shipments and even the spontaneous outbursts of street violence seemed stilled for the moment. From Spinelli's perspective, this lull in the storm couldn't have come on a more opportune day. Once, when he was very bored, he had quietly Jackaled Stone Cold's birth certificate in order to ascertain his birthday.
Today was that very date and Spinelli wanted to do something to mark it for Stone Cold. His mentor seemed to carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders and he never worried about his own needs or pleasures much beyond the occasional beer or game of pool. "Well," Spinelli thought to himself with a satisfied smile, "tonight the Jackal would see about changing all that!"
"Stone Cold!" Spinelli called, turning away from his laptop and looking across the room at Jason who had his head bent over a stack of requisition forms. Jason never could quite wrap his aching head around the fact that running a mob organization required as much paperwork as running a legitimate business. "Hmmh?" he responded, not bothering to look up.
"The Jackal, was wondering…well, since all is quiet on the Russian front as it were, if we that is you and I…" This wasn't going nearly so well as it had in his head-he thought in frustration, but then again things seldom did.
By now, Jason had stopped what he was doing and was looking up at his partner with a slightly impatient expression on his face. "What is it, Spinelli?"
"Uh," Spinelli began again, this was important and he was determined to get it right. "Well, it seems like forever since we have spent anytime away from here," he gestured vaguely around the office. It was true that they had been at the coffee shop and office literally day and night. Jason and Spinelli took turns sleeping in shifts on a cot in the corner.
"The Jackal thought that Stone Cold and he could take advantage of the temporary cessation in hostilities and return to our own domicile for a quiet evening of sustenance, libation and possibly even a video viewing."
"Let me get this straight, you would like for us to get some food and drinks and watch movies at the penthouse tonight." Jason found that paraphrasing his friend's statements was often the best way to make sure that he and Spinelli were communicating effectively.
"Indeed, Stone Cold, is that not exactly what the Jackal just stated?" Spinelli was puzzled, he sometimes wondered if Jason's past brain damage was more severe than had been presented to him. Yet, it only ever seemed to be an issue between the two of them. Jason never felt it incumbent on him to repeat back what anyone else ever told him. Spinelli mentally shrugged, "Even the best of relationships had their little idiosyncrasies," he thought to himself forgivingly.
Jason's irritation had faded and he looked over at Spinelli considering. Spinelli did have a point, he was bone tired himself and he imagined so was his friend. It did look like things were going to be quiet around the city for once tonight. What was that Spinelli was always saying about seizing the day, or rather the night in this case?
It all suddenly sounded like an excellent idea to Jason. "Yes," he agreed with an enthusiasm that surprised him, "I think we could afford to take tonight off and go home and just hang out."
"Really?" Spinelli's face glowed as he had thought he would have a much more difficult battle to get Jason to agree. So much more difficult, that he had been mentally marshalling various arguments based on either guilt or logic to convince Jason to go along with his plan. Some small part of him was even regretful that all that imagined brilliant rhetoric was going to waste.
"Yeah," Jason said more certain than ever. "I'll ask Cody to mind the shop tonight and then we can do…whatever. It'll be…fun." Even Spinelli had to take a moment and pause as he considered the oxymoron that was produced by placing the words fun and Jason Morgan anywhere near one another.
"As a matter of fact," Jason said getting into his new role as a happy-go-lucky fun guy, "why don't you quit now and head on home and I'll be along as soon I finish a few things and clear it with Cody."
The minute Jason had seen the look of pure happiness on Spinelli's face as he consented to his plan; he realized how different his friend had been lately. He had pushed Maxie out of his life for her own safety and then had plunged into the dark nightmare that was a full-blown mob war. He wasn't just a simple hacker anymore. Now, his computer skills often meant the difference between life and death for their team.
These various burdens had matured Spinelli but at the same time something fundamental had been taken from him. It was difficult for Jason to express exactly what had changed about Spinelli-his innocence, his joy in life, his belief in the goodness of people. Whatever it was, Jason missed it and wanted it back. If spending an evening at home watching movies together would in some small way start to restore his brother's spirits, then Jason was more than ready to oblige him.
Spinelli immediately hopped up out of his chair and stuffed his lap top away in his messenger bag. "I'll pick us up something at Kelly's. See you soon Stone Cold." He was gone, eager to complete the little surprises he had planned for his mentor on his special day.
Jason watched him leave, a shadow of a smile on his face. He would have died before he admitted it, even to himself, but he was looking forward to this evening.
Spinelli pushed through the door into Kelly's. He was so busy contemplating what he was going to order for the special meal he had in mind, that at first he didn't see them. When he reached the counter and was waiting for Mike to get through serving another customer, he looked idly around the diner and realized she was there.
He had only seen Maxie once since that day in the hospital when he had walked out of her life in order to shield her. Naturally, he had kept track of her progress by regularly hacking into her hospital records. The day she was released, he had stolen away from the office and its never ending demands, in order to watch her arrive home with a solicitous Mac matching her step for shaky step on her way into the house.
Watching her produced a bittersweet sensation of hopeless unrequited love and longing. He knew that even if he had stepped forward and announced his presence, Maxie would simply take his being there as the action of a concerned friend. "It was really all for the best…" he tried to tell himself, as he turned his reluctant, dragging feet back to the unrelieved bleakness that was his current existence.
He wasn't prepared for the shock of seeing her tonight. He tried to act as though he hadn't noticed them and turned back to the counter, hunching his shoulders as though that would somehow make him less visible.
"Spinelli!" It was an autocratic and familiar summons and he was helpless to resist it.
"Maximi-Maxie," he recovered and turned to her companion, "and Dr. Hunter. How are you both on this fine evening?"
He hated, absolutely hated that it was Matt Hunter she had decided to bestow her bright and lively companionship upon. Still, sighing to himself, he recognized that he had no claim on her. It had been the Jackal's own choice to distance himself from her. Additionally, Maxie's lack of memory about the many precious times the two of them had shared together simply served to reinforce their separation.
"Join us," Maxie said suggestively, not noticing the dark expression that crossed Matt's face as she spoke. "Pull up a chair and we can catch up. It has been ages since we have talked, I have missed you."
"Not nearly as much as the Jackal has missed conversing with his fair Maximi-you," he said gallantly. His eyes were filled with sorrow as she looked up at him quizzically.
"What was it about Spinelli these days?" she wondered to herself. Every time she saw him he looked miserable and had such a hangdog expression on his face. She was torn between wanting him to leave and take his dejection with him and turning around and hugging him as tightly as she could in order to fix whatever it was.
She suddenly remembered she was on a date. One look at Matt's face told her the second option she had considered was out of the question.
Spinelli, to her relief which was also slightly tinged with regret, took the dilemma out of her hands. "Well, the Jackal must bid you farewell. He hopes that you both have an enjoyable interlude." There was no way he could manage to make his mouth say the distasteful word-"date". He was gone back to the counter, leaving behind an awkward silence between the two of them.
"What was that all about?" Matt said with a sharp little laugh. "I sometimes think that guy is a few nuts short of a can!"
Maxie glared at him, she felt instinctively protective of Spinelli and yet had no real idea why. "Don't say things like that," she hissed at him. "It's mean! Spinelli isn't crazy or dumb. He's brighter than you or me. He's just a little…" she paused, thinking of how to put it, "different," she finished lamely.
"You can say that again!" Matt snorted. "He gives me the creeps and the way he was looking at you…"
"He was the only person that would help me when Georgie died," Maxie said feeling real heat now. "He listened to me, comforted me when I cried and he helped me look for her killer when no one else would. I think this date is over!" With that, she was out of her seat and through the door before Matt even had time to register the wind generated by her passing.
He glanced up at the counter to see Spinelli watching him, an unkind smirk on his lips. Matt glowered back sourly at him threw some bills on the table and got up to go. He was going to see if there was any chance of salvaging this evening. He knew if there were it would involve a large number of mea culpas on his part. Still, Maxie was beautiful, vibrant, and fun to be with when she wasn't spitting mad about something-in other words, she was worth it.
Spinelli had enjoyed the discomfiture of Matt Hunter. Maximista in the throes of a full blown rage was an awesome sight indeed. His delight in his rival's rout soon ebbed away as he realized that absolutely nothing had changed with reference to his role, or rather lack of one, in Maxie's life.
"Something I can do for you, Spinelli?" it was Mike gently nudging him back to the here and now.
"Yes, the Jackal wishes to place an order for Stone Cold and himself. Also, if he might inquire, are there any delectable pastries available for a special occasion?"
"There might just be," Mike told him, "what did you have in mind?"
"Something cake-like and decadently chocolate…" Spinelli suggested.
"I have just the thing," Mike headed towards the back and then stopped. "It's not your birthday is it?" he asked Spinelli. It had suddenly come to him how little anyone knew about this young man who had shown up several years ago. He was now an accepted and valued member of the community and was like another grandchild to Mike. He regretted not knowing more about his background.
"No, no," Spinelli hastened to reassure him. "It isn't the Jackal's birthday, no not the Jackal's…" he trailed off.
He knew that Jason would not want anyone else knowing what today was. In reality he probably would prefer that Spinelli didn't know either. He hoped that the Master would not be angry with his grasshopper's effort at a little celebration in an attempt to lighten the gloom that seemed to perpetually surround them these days.
"Here you go," Mike was back with his usual dinner order and a large white cardboard box. "I think that this should be perfect for a non-birthday dessert." His eyes twinkled as he smiled at Spinelli. He had guessed who the cake was for but the boy's secret was safe with him. "Enjoy your night," he called as Spinelli exited the diner.
"Many gracious thanks," echoed back as Spinelli vanished from Mike's sight.
It was only a brief ten minute walk to the Harbor View Towers if one took the shortcut through the park. Ordinarily Spinelli wouldn't even have hesitated over his choice of route. Yet, ever since the up swing in violence and Jason's never ceasing exhortations to be cautious, Spinelli felt somewhat nervous as he approached the dimly lit path that lead into the green space.
Shrugging at his nerves, he decided that he was being foolish and started down the trail. It was an uncannily still night and very dark as there was no moon.
A month ago this very path would have been well illuminated with frequently spaced lamps shedding a warm glow. The lamps were still there but, except for a few widely spaced survivors, most had been sacrificed deliberately, or not, to the purveyors of violence that had infiltrated all parts of Port Charles. Crime and carnage preferred to operate under a protective cloaking of darkness.
"What was that noise?" He stopped, startled, straining his ears-no it must have just been his nerves-he chided himself. "Stone Cold would never have been frightened by the rustlings of mice or the hunting swoop of an owl," he reminded himself as he started forward.
Without any warning, silently, they stood in front of him. There were two of them and he immediately recognized them for what they were. It suddenly became clear to him, the reason, the real reason why there had been no shipping activity, no violence tonight-it was standing in front of him in the guise of two hulking Russians. They had actually out strategized Jason's organization. That of course, by default, meant they had out thought Jason and Spinelli himself. Silently, he cursed himself for his stupidity, for his inability to see beyond what he wanted something to signify instead of what it really did. "The Jackal is an A-1 idiot!" he thought fiercely, disgusted with himself.
"Mr. Spinelli," the accent was thick but the name was undeniably right.
"Who wants to know?" Was that actually coming from his lips he thought in amazement at his bravado.
"My friend and I." There was a gleam as light from one of the few remaining lamps reflected off the deadly silver snout. It was all truly anti-climatic-a flash, a pop and Spinelli felt a throb as the projectile entered his body.
He watched in amazement as a red tinged stain grew and grew across his shirt front. Part of his brain refused, entirely and totally refused, to believe that he now was the proud possessor of his very own bullet wound.
He looked up uncomprehendingly at the man who had shot him without a flicker of emotion crossing his visage. "This isn't happening," he told himself firmly, even as his knees started to buckle, "it's just a dream, the Jackal is dreaming." Then he hit the ground. The impact was enough to send every nerve ending in his body on red alert. Spinelli instinctively grabbed his abdomen as the pain cut through him and his hands came away slippery and slickly wet. He held them in front of his eyes and knew what it meant to be dying.
The Russian came to stand over him and remorselessly once more raised his gun saying, "for Morgan". This time the muzzle was aimed at the center of Spinelli's forehead.
Spinelli tried, through the pain and shock and fading of his faculties, to grasp what was about to happen to him. He would never again see his Maximista or Stone Cold. His life's story would end here as he lay bathed in his own blood. There had been so many things he had wished to accomplish and now they would be forever undone…in that moment he was nothing but pure regret.
Nothing happened, well something happened, but not to Spinelli. The Russian wasn't standing any longer. He was falling like an ungainly tree. He landed on his back sending a vibration through the earth that caused a supine Spinelli to shudder in pain. This time he heard the gunshot and was vaguely aware that the other Russian thug was no longer visible. "It could only be one person." He thought disinterestedly, "He was here but too late…"
"Spinelli," the agony in Jason's voice was like a rasp on Spinelli's overly stimulated nerves. He knelt beside his brother, hampered by the gloom, trying desperately to determine the extent of the damage caused by the bullet.
If there was thing that Jason Morgan was an expert on it was bullet wounds and he could see that this was a bad one. There was too much blood and it wasn't flowing out, it was pumping. That meant an artery had been hit. He tore his jacket off and applied it to the wound, pushing down hard, shutting his ears to the guttural sounds that emanated from Spinelli as he did so. He reached under his friend, lifting him off the ground slightly, blindly he felt for a dampness that would indicate an exit wound-there was none-the bullet was still inside Spinelli.
One handed, while the other continued to apply pressure, he fumbled for his cell phone. "Ambulance-City Park-North entrance-gunshot wound-hurry!" he barked. They had to get here soon, they had to, he wasn't losing Spinelli, there was no way…
He looked down into Spinelli's eyes; they were glazed with pain and shock. He was fading. Jason pushed down savagely on his jacket and was rewarded with a gasp and the sudden return of awareness in those selfsame eyes. Spinelli cried out in distress against the further brutal treatment of his already pain ravished system. Jason knew that his action in this moment would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life but that was a cheap price to pay for a living Spinelli.
"You stay with me, Spinelli," he ordered. "I'll do it again. So, help me God, as many times as I have to. You stay with me!"
"Stone Cold," Spinelli panted, he had no stamina, "no more-it hurts!"
Part of Jason wanted to grab Spinelli up and rock him and comfort him and let him go if that was what he needed. He couldn't bear seeing him in so much anguish and to know that he had contributed to it was unspeakable. Yet, the fierce and selfish part of him that had enabled his own survival through the years would do whatever he needed in order to ensure the best part of himself endured.
"They'll be here soon," he promised. "Then you'll be taken care of, you'll be fine." He could hear the sirens, for once music to his ears.
Spinelli was trying to move, trying instinctively to roll around and alleviate the awful burning pain that consumed every part of him. Jason's hand continued to pin him down, the leather jacket was sodden and there was more blood coming, the air smelled of rust.
"Over here! We're over here, hurry!" Jason was beginning to feel the panic well up in him. He knew that simply willing a thing wasn't enough to make it happen. That lesson he had learned over and over again in his life but this time he refused to heed it.
The paramedics left Jason and his soaking blood wet jacket in place while they ascertained the condition of their patient. They had spared barely a glance for the fallen Russians. If anyone had asked them how they felt about their demise, they would have expressed a grim satisfaction.
The foreign intruders had claimed too many innocent Port Charles bystanders in the last few violent weeks for them to have any compassion for their deaths. As a matter of fact, they were grateful that they didn't have to honor the medical profession's unifying goal of treating all patients with equal compassion and care. These men wouldn't have been able to pay hypocritical lip service to such a noble ideal when faced with the truly indisputable cruelty of these Russian mercenaries.
They too had become specialists in the treatment of gun shot wounds and the grim expressions on their faces when they examined Spinelli caused a chill to run up Jason's spine. They immediately set up an i.v. of saline solution and ran it at full bore into Spinelli's vessels in an attempt to replace some of the fluids that were steadily pumping out of him. It was the best they could do until they got him to the hospital and could begin a transfusion.
Once they had established the i.v., they gently moved Jason out of the way and replaced his jacket with pressure bandages that almost immediately started to turn bright red. Jason couldn't take his eyes off of his brother's pale face, his eyes now closed and sunken as he retreated into unconsciousness.
"Hurry," he pleaded mentally, anxious to be heading towards the bright lights and competent hands of the hospital emergency room.
"Morgan," a familiar voice called to him but he wouldn't turn his head, if he looked away Spinelli might leave him. "I'm talking to you…" Detective Lucky Spencer came to stand beside him, aggravated at being ignored. Still, Jason looked only at Spinelli, Lucky didn't exist for him.
Lucky reached over to grab his shoulder and the next thing he knew he was laying on the ground rubbing his jaw. Jason could have broken that very same jaw if he had so intended and Lucky knew it. From his new, lower vantage point Lucky looked over at Spinelli and clearly saw how far gone he was.
The police had been the forgotten element in the internecine mob war that had been raging in Port Charles. They were considered ineffectual at best and actively negligent at worse. The department had so many officers on the payroll of one or the other of the three mob organizations that security was nonexistent and information leaked out like a sieve.
Lucky was not one of those officers, he guarded his personal integrity with the devotion that only the reformed child of a grifter father can exhibit. He knew that reputations could be destroyed in an instant and never fully rebuilt. He hated the corruption and the incompetence that were the hallmarks of the PCPD. Yet, he loved the city he was sworn to serve and he tried to do the best he could as he moved along a narrow tightrope of isolation from both his fellow officers and the ever burgeoning criminal element within the city.
Lucky unequivocally hated Jason Morgan and had done so for years. He would have had enough reason to feel the way he did simply predicated on the natural antagonism between the lawman and the lawbreaker. Years of impotently watching Jason sail against the law with impunity, never paying for any of his crimes, including that of murder, had hardened Lucky's antipathy towards him.
Their dislike of one another extended into the personal sphere as well. Over the years they had been involved with the same women and Jason had even fathered a child with Elizabeth while she was married to Lucky. The list of grievances between the two men was long and indelible.
Yet, recent events had shown Lucky that Jason seemed to be the only person with both the resources and the interest in standing up to the rampaging Russian mob. Meanwhile, Lucky himself was bound by the ethical constraints of being sworn to uphold the law and that made him surplus to requirements in an ongoing mob war.
The police department was only capable of reacting to situations once they had occurred. The city jail was full of transient mobsters and soldiers for hire that were back on the streets a mere few hours after their arrest.
It seemed that the Port Charles judiciary was no more honorable than were their police brethren. Many a judge's bank account had seen a recent balance increase that coincided with leniency on any and all charges brought against whichever Russian appeared in a courthouse. Where there should have been trials, stiff prison sentences and deportation hearings, there was instead the setting of absurdly low bails and out and out dismissals of even the most heinous of charges.
The city morgue was even fuller than the jail. One of the main differences between the two being that the morgue occupants only left in the back of a coroner's van or perhaps a hearse. Unfortunately, many of those ending up in the morgue had nothing to do with any of the factions fighting for control of the territory that was Port Charles. Young men, old women and children-they all could be found in the icy silver boxes that lined the morgue wall.
As Lucky climbed to his feet and cast another glance at Spinelli, he thought he might soon be taking up residence in one of those very same compartments. Awkwardly, he turned towards Jason, trying to think of something to say to him. "They'll take care of him at the hospital. The trauma team…" He stopped as Jason finally turned to regard him with an ice cold glare. They both knew how adept the hospital trauma team had become, by virtue of necessity, at treating gun shot wounds.
"He's going to be fine," Jason said with finality as he turned his back on Lucky and followed Spinelli as he was being rolled on a gurney towards the ambulance.
Lucky turned with a sigh and looked dispassionately towards the two Russian corpses on the ground. He knew that this had been a justifiable shooting and even if it hadn't he would have made sure it came out that way. Port Charles couldn't afford for Jason Morgan to spend even one day in jail.
Right now he was more concerned that the Russians might have achieved their goal of neutralizing Jason by shooting Spinelli. Lucky knew that until Spinelli was out of danger, Jason would be by his side and that meant danger for everyone in the city.
Spinelli died. He died twice actually. The first time was when his heart stopped beating for an excruciating two minutes during the ambulance ride to the hospital. Jason didn't breath for the entire duration of that time. The paramedic using a portable defibrillator finally got a responsive but irregular heartbeat just as they arrived at the emergency room doors.
Jason swung the rear doors of the ambulance open and hopped down before it had even stopped moving. He reached up to grab the rear of the stretcher pulling it and Spinelli out of the ambulance while the paramedic guided it along. They burst through the doors of the ER and Jason immediately began scanning the area for the only doctors he trusted-his long time friend Robin Scorpio and her new husband Patrick Drake.
Some sixth sense alerted Robin to Jason's distress and she came out of the cubicle where she had been treating a patient in a diabetic coma. She looked at Jason's hands and shirt which were both covered in bright red blood and immediately felt faint at the idea that he had been shot.
Jason saw the expression on her face and shook his head in denial, "Not me Robin-it's Spinelli." He nodded down at the still figure on the gurney, shrunken and small and covered with more blood than it even seemed possible a body could contain.
Already Spinelli had been swarmed by a team of doctors and nurses each with their own preordained tasks in the urgent race to first stabilize him and then to save him. To Jason it all looked like chaos-barked orders that were then countermanded, a tray of instruments clattering to the floor with an ear shattering clash-all the while they were moving Spinelli further and further away from him. Finally, they closed the curtain around the cubicle they had taken him into and he was out of Jason's sight.
Bereft, he looked around him at this place he hated so much. Yet, it seemed he had spent so much time here, either as a patient or, as he was tonight, a supplicant to a God he had no faith in.
"Please, please," Jason Morgan was begging, he never begged but now he was. "Let him be all right, he has to be all right. He can't die." Then an age old offer, made this time with the utmost sincerity of intention, "Take me instead." There was no answer, even though he listened intently for one.
"Jason," he was jerked out of his thoughts, his desperate bargaining for Spinelli's life and looked up to see Elizabeth standing over him, her hands on her hips and her chin thrust aggressively forward. This had always been how any prayer of his had been answered-with more not less trouble.
Anger blazed in her eyes as she jerked her head over her left shoulder towards the curtained cubicle in which Spinelli was fighting for his existence. "Another one?" she spat at him, unable to contain her rage and her hatred. "First Jake and now Spinelli, does anyone matter enough to you so that you can put them first, choose them instead of yourself?" She drew in her breath and then went in for the kill, "At least I thought you actually loved Spinelli…"
Jason had no defense against her vituperation, her unconcealed disgust and revulsion. It seemed that the two sided coin of love and hate was thin edged indeed. Defeated by her attack and with his head bowed, he mumbled the simple truth, "I do, I love him and I love Jake." And you, he so desperately wanted to add but couldn't.
"Love, Jake!" She gave an incredulous and bitter laugh, "You don't know the first thing about love! I think you are truly the most selfish person I have ever known. You make choices that affect others, cause them pain, to lose hope, even death and it doesn't deter you one single bit."
Jason sat hunched over lost under the barrage of words that he knew were really all about herself-her lost love, her lost hope and her fear of losing her children to his lifestyle, his choices. He absorbed every burning syllable knowing that each one, and so much more, was a deserved punishment.
"Elizabeth!" Robin's voice was calm yet sharp with authority. "Could you please get Mrs. Duncan in cubicle one checked into her room? The paperwork is done and we need to clear out space down here, it looks like it will be a busy night."
Elizabeth stopped in mid-tirade looked around her in a dazed manner. She realized that people were staring at her and Jason. She took a deep breath in order to compose herself and get her feelings back under control. "Of course Dr. Scorpio," she said with a thin edge of ice in her voice as the two women each declared their sides in this encounter. "I'll take care of it right away."
Without sparing a glance for Jason, she spun on her heel and stalked away, her body stiff with righteous anger. Jason whispered miserably, "Elizabeth…" at her retreating back.
"Jason, come with me." Robin extended her hand to him but he refused to take it unwilling to transmit Spinelli's blood. He rose reluctantly and followed her, all the while casting back glances towards the still curtained space where Spinelli lay.
Robin escorted Jason into the doctor's lounge where there was a stainless steel sink. She handed him some antiseptic soap and stood next to him while he washed his hands. He watched mesmerized as the fluid that was literally his brother's life blood spiraled around the drain turning from bright red to light pink until all that was left was clear water.
"Robin," he asked tentatively, frightened of her answer but needing to ask, "Spinelli-will he….does he stand a chance?" He turned to look at her and she saw that his usually brilliant blue eyes were dull with pain and exhaustion.
She had seen Jason by turns be angry, violent, contemplative, and tender. She had lived with him when they were both young and lost and in love with each other. She knew him, better than almost anyone else did. Yet, she had never seen him look so lost, so uncertain, so damaged as he did at this moment.
The friend, the ex-lover, the woman in her wanted above all things to soothe his fears to tell him that, "Yes, Spinelli will be fine, will recover and live to annoy you another day." The doctor in her was coldly calculating the odds that Spinelli would make it through the night and the percentages were not in the young man's favor.
This warring dichotomy often existed within Robin. Her response to it never satisfied her, she always felt as though she were selling out in order to distance herself from the pain and grief that emanated from the families of her patients.
She couldn't believe that she was contemplating giving the same platitude ridden speech to this tormented man she had known all her life. "We're doing everything we can, time will tell, you mustn't give up hope." She could recite the damn thing in her sleep…
Somehow, she found the strength to give Jason what he was asking for, no matter how painful, which was the truth. "It's serious. He's lost a lot of blood. They need to operate to get the bullet out and to repair any internal damage. They're transfusing him right now and trying to get him stabilized. Once they do, they'll operate and that's when they'll know the extent of the internal damage."
She handed him a scrub top to replace his blood soaked t-shirt. He nodded gratefully and changed into it. She took his discarded shirt and placed it into a bright red biohazard container.
"Can I see him?" Jason asked diffidently.
Robin stood silently, her head cocked as she considered his request. She knew she should say no, that the trauma team wouldn't thank her for bringing an extra body into their cramped working area. Still, it might be the last time Jason ever saw Spinelli and she couldn't refuse his request. She nodded her head and said, "He's not conscious and his condition is critical. Anything they tell you to do-step back, leave-you do it, no questions asked. All right?"
"Yes, thank you, Robin," Jason knew that she was probably going against hospital protocol to help him and he was appreciative.
Together they walked back into the ER where the curtain of Spinelli's cubicle had been drawn back. They had transfused him, clamped the damaged artery and intubated him in preparation for surgery. Patrick Drake had just instructed the orderlies to move Spinelli up to the surgery floor.
Robin walked over to Patrick and taking him aside started speaking to him. He didn't look pleased with what she was asking of him, but he nodded shortly and walked over to the nurses' station where he started perusing charts.
Robin motioned Jason over. "Patrick says that you can have a moment or two and then they have to take Spinelli to surgery." She hesitated before saying, "Jason, I don't know if he can hear anything but you should say what you need to him." She touched him gently on his shoulder and smiled sadly at him before going over to join Patrick.
Jason felt as though he had been punched in the solar plexus. He was numb and had trouble catching his breath. Robin had just implied that Spinelli was going to die-surgery or no. He closed his eyes and swallowed painfully, turning he walked over to the gurney where Spinelli lay unconscious. Jason wished he didn't have to do this in such a public way, that at least there might have been a thin fabric curtain between the two of them and the rest of the ER.
Still, it couldn't be helped. Drawing a deep breath, he looked down at the paper white face of the young man who had come to reside in his heart in a way no one else ever had. He loved Jake, Elizabeth, Robin-he stopped, surprised that the list would have continued. Yet, this boy-man had entered into his life sideways, without Jason even being aware of it.
He had become his friend first, then his conscience, and finally his family-metamorphosing from his younger brother into his older son between one moment and the next. He couldn't visualize any aspect of his life, without Spinelli being a vital part of it. He lived with him, worked with him, took advice from him and gave his own in return. Jason had come to rely on him and, most precious of all, he was the one person that Jason trusted implicitly.
Biting his lip, his eyes brimming with tears, Jason swept Spinelli's thick unkempt hair back from his brow, "I am sorry I didn't come sooner tonight. This is my fault. I should have guessed that they had something planned when they changed their methods, that it was a trap. It should have been me…I would give anything if it had been me…"
He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, and glared down at Spinelli whose chest was rising and falling rhythmically with each pulse of the ventilator. "Damian Millhouse Spinelli," he said sternly, "You listen to me and you listen good. I know you can hear me, this is Stone Cold talking to you and I'm not letting you go-no I'm not! I will not lose another person that I…love (there he'd said it). You will survive the surgery and you will come back to me and everyone that cares about you."
Then he bent down, and whispered into Spinelli's ear, "I need you…"
An impatient Patrick materialized behind him saying perfunctorily, "Jason, I'm sorry, but we really need to get Spinelli into surgery. That artery can't stay clamped like that for long before complications set in." He nodded towards the waiting orderlies who reclaiming their patient rolled him towards the elevators.
Jason watched Spinelli go and turning headed for the stairs. He couldn't leave the hospital but he needed to get some air, some privacy and he knew the roof was unlikely to be occupied.
Another person might have thought to head for the chapel for prayer and contemplation but that wasn't an option for Jason Morgan. No, he didn't know if he believed in God, but he knew God didn't believe in him. He only hoped that all the purity in Spinelli's soul would counteract his association with Jason and that a miracle would be forthcoming. He honestly couldn't think of a more appropriate candidate for one.
Spinelli died for the second time that night on the operating table. While working to repair the bullet torn artery one of the clamps slipped and bright red blood spurted out spattering over the vascular surgeon who frantically worked to once more seal it off. The loss of more blood from Spinelli's already depleted system caused his overworked heart to stop beating. Again, for precious minutes, Spinelli's essence hovered between the earthly plane and wherever else it might chose to reside.
For four minutes and twenty seconds, his lifeless body was intermittently shocked and dosed with epinephrine in an increasingly desperate attempt to restore a cardiac rhythm. Finally, the heart monitor beeped, the anesthesiologist intoned, "Systole", while the surgical team returned to the task of repairing the dreadful damage done by one small metal projectile.
Above in the observation bay, Doctor Robin Scorpio breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know how she could have broken the news of Spinelli's death to Jason. At least for the moment, Spinelli had received his miracle.
Jason looked out over his protectorate. Port Charles sprawled below him, its lights twinkling, the water of the harbor blurring and extending the glow as it reflected them back.
Suddenly, he realized that the light mirrored in the water was not from electrical sources but rather was the ruddy blush from a row of warehouses being consumed by flames. He was eminently familiar with those very warehouses-they belonged to his organization. Already it was starting, the Russians were taking advantage of Jason's distraction in order to move in and destroy his holdings and take over his territory.
If any of this had occurred a few short hours ago it would have propelled Jason into full battle mode. He and his team would have hit the streets and taken on the Russians with no holds barred. Now he only looked dully at the burning structures trying to understand what he was seeing and why it should concern him. Shrugging, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it on-it immediately rang. "Morgan," he said shortly.
"Jason, where the hell have you been?" it was Cody, he sounded furious but there was a distinct thread of panic underlying his tone. He was a loyal soldier used to following orders, deadly and effective in a fight but not interested in or used to the mantle of command. "The Russians…"
"I know," Jason cut him off wearily, "I can see it."
"Where are you? We need you here. God damn it Jason, this is your crew, your operation!"
"I can't come, Cody. It's Spinelli, the Russians shot him. He's in surgery and they don't know if he'll make…" His voice broke, he couldn't say it.
There was a pause as Cody absorbed the news. Spinelli was popular, a sort of a mascot to the men. They knew he did his best to keep them all safe with his hacking, his mystical understanding of the electronic ether that was so much a part of modern life, even the illegal side. They regarded him with something akin to awe. His skill set was so divergent from their abilities, that he was seen as something of a latter day seer.
If Spinelli said a site was safe it invariably turned out to be so. If he said not to go someplace they didn't. Then, time after time, they had stood at a safe distance watching as he magically activated some booby trap that had been intended for them.
The only time he was caught short was when their adversaries used some more crude form of entrapment that didn't rely on radio waves to activate the detonator. Yet, Spinelli had shown his courage when he had deactivated the homemade bomb that had failed to explode when the trip wire had been disturbed. He had been calm and collected and he had known exactly how to disarm the explosives. No, the team wouldn't take the shooting of Spinelli lightly.
"Jason," Cody started, feeling even further out of his depth, "I'm sorry to hear about Spinelli but you can't do anything for him at the hospital. He'd want you to take care of business, to shut the Russians down."
"I am not leaving him," Jason said flatly, allowing no room for argument. "You will just have to do the best you can Cody."
Suddenly, there was another voice in his ear, it was Sonny. "Jason, tell your man here that I can take control of the operation. I'll show those Russian bastards what it means to take on the Corinthos-Morgan operation!"
A flood of emotions swept over Jason at the sound of Sonny's voice. Up until that moment, he hadn't realized how numb, how shut down he had been ever since bringing Spinelli to the hospital, having nothing to do but wait and hope. Now he was swamped by a bright burning anger that consumed him from head to toe. "Sonny," he snarled, "What the hell are you doing there?"
"I'm here to assist you," Sonny replied, hurt at Jason's reaction evident in his tone. He had been the bigger man. Despite everything that had transpired between them, he had come down to help his old partner and friend when he had his back to the wall. Yet, this is how he treated him!
"Jason," he tried again, his tone cajoling, "you need my help. The Russians aren't going to stop until they've destroyed every part of the outfit -people and property. If you can't or won't stand up to them-well, I will! I built this organization, it's more mine than it ever was yours and I'm willing to defend it. You're too wrapped up in what's happening with Spinelli to think straight. You need someone that can do this, who understands the risks and that the men will trust, or at least they will if you give them the say so…"
Jason ran his hand through his hair, he had seldom felt this frustrated, this powerless. He knew that Sonny was speaking the plain unvarnished truth. If something wasn't done immediately-tonight, then it would all be gone-taken over or burned down, it really didn't matter which.
He also knew that if he didn't hand control over to Sonny that his men would go out on their own against the Russians because they would regard it as their duty, their mission, perhaps even to avenge Spinelli. They were good men, but they had relied on his and Spinelli's leadership and without either of them to guide them he knew it was likely they would die. Sonny could prevent that outcome. He was an excellent commander as long as his emotions weren't directly involved. He would be strongly motivated to succeed because this was his original business that was threatened and Sonny wouldn't stand for its destruction.
Sighing, Jason knew he had no choice. "Put Cody back on," he told Sonny harshly.
"Jason, we'll do whatever you say," Cody was making his loyalty clear. Still, Jason could hear the desire to be relieved of the command of this impossible situation in his tone.
"Sonny's in charge," he said flatly, "you and the men do whatever he says and he'll get you through this. Be careful, Cody."
"I will. Spinelli will make it Jason. You tell him that we'll all be by to see him when he wakes up."
"Yeah, I'll do that," Jason was touched by Cody's declaration of faith, he only hoped it wasn't misplaced. "Let me speak to Sonny."
"You better deliver on this Sonny. You keep my men safe and you take down the Russians."
"You can count on it Jason. When it's over, it'll be like old times, the two of us running the business." He was waiting for a reply, an agreement, anything but all he heard was a dial tone. Jason had hung up on him, angrily he handed the phone back to Cody. It was not an auspicious beginning for the night's business.
Jason realized that no matter what else happened tonight, he no longer was a mob boss and he certainly would never again be Sonny Corinthos' enforcer. He had expected to feel rootless or adrift but he felt neither. Under his all pervasive worry for Spinelli he felt a strange sensation-it was relief. As he looked out across the city and the harbor that he was no longer responsible for, he felt lighter than he had in years.
That same night, while gunfire raged and explosions went off like bizarre fireworks all across the mob infested docks of Port Charles, a scarred freighter traveling without lights entered the city waters. It made its dark and shadowy way towards one of the few piers that wasn't being engulfed by flames or erupting in small arms fire. Death had entered Port Charles, it wouldn't be obvious and it wouldn't be immediate but it would be persistent.
The sins of this city had long been mortal rather than venial. Thus, the contents of the freighter were in direct response to the savagery and amorality found within the boundaries of this forsaken place. To be sure there were good and worthwhile souls resident here as well. Yet, the balance had shifted towards evil and it was this shift that had attracted the freighter. It only arrived where it could be sure of an appropriate venue for its activities and Port Charles was the best it had found in modern times. Full blown war raged in Port Charles that night but it was nothing compared to what was coming.
A/N Reviews and perceptions are appreciated