Part Five

XV.

If those who knew him as Jason Morgan could see him now…

He was digging flowerbeds. Shirtless and sweaty, his jeans stained with dirt and saturated with perspiration, it was an image he never thought he'd present. But, then again, in the past, he had never foreseen joining the witness protection program either. He had not imagined himself living in the middle of nowhere, working a nine to five job, and, all things, pretending to be just some average Joe. And he had certainly not predicted doing all those things along side one Miss Elizabeth Webber of all women.

However, the most surprising aspect of his new life that left him rather shocked was that he didn't altogether hate being Jack Martin. Sure, he missed the rush of excitement, the adrenaline, and the constant sense of volatility that was associated with being a mob enforcer, but there were also things, as well, that he didn't miss. He didn't miss the city and the noise that went along with it. It almost seemed easier to think in the country, the quiet practically demanding a person be contemplative. He also didn't miss who he was as a hitman – the emotionless façade he was forced to present to the world because his very existence depended upon it. In Dovetree, he could laugh if he wanted to, he could smile, and, if he was angry with someone or something, he could show it… not that he did so very often, but, still, it was nice to have the options.

The best difference, though, was the fact that he and Elizabeth were starting to actually get along. For the first time since they met, they were capable of sharing a civil word with each other, of actually having a real, honest conversation. It wasn't perfect, and there was still plenty of tension and underlying issues between them that would, eventually, have to be discussed, but he certainly didn't miss the silence and animosity which had surrounded them for years back in Port Charles. Their new relationship wasn't perfect, far from it, actually, but it was a place to begin, a foundation to build upon.

He didn't pause in his work when he heard his wife pull into the driveway, the SUV they shared purring quietly until it was parked and turned off. Elizabeth had been at the grocery store all morning, repeating the process they or, rather, he had failed at the day before. But he knew that the food could wait for a little while in its paper and plastics bags, but the former artist's curiosity couldn't. She made quick work of crossing the closely cropped lawn only to stop and stand beside him, her hands cocked on her short clad hips and her face, screwed up in confusion, tilted to the side.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Instead of answering her right away, however, he, instead, leaned in and placed a faint, almost teasing kiss on her pursed lips. When he pulled back far enough so that he could properly look at her, he found her wide, deep blue gaze unblinking and her mouth frozen in its former position, and he couldn't help but wonder what he had looked like the day before in the store when he realized she had kissed his neck.

Despite the fact that no one else was around them, he confidentially whispered, "sorry about that… about not giving you any warning, but your friend, Mrs. Northam, she's been watching me all morning with a pair of binoculars out her kitchen window." When she went to turn around, he reached out, sliding a large, dirty palm against her smooth cheek, his fingers fanning out to brush against her neck and whisper against her hairline, to stop her. 

"Don't look," he explained his actions. "We don't want to tip her off that we know she's there, because, if we do, then she'll have reason to doubt the sincerity of our actions."

"How did you…" Elizabeth paused, rethought her question, and then smirked. "Never mind. Of course you would be aware of the fact that someone was watching the house. After all, you can take the boy out of the mob, but you can't take the mob out of the boy."

Dropping his hand from her face but not relinquishing his hold on her, Jason twined their fingers together, pulling her towards the groceries awaiting them in the SUV. "Boy? Be careful, Webber," he playfully warned her. "Those are fighting words."

"And what exactly are you going to do about it? I mean, surely you wouldn't hurt your wife."

Without responding, he opened the back hatch of their vehicle, letting go of her hand to reach inside and tug forward and into his arms a few bags. "How did everything go at the store?"

"Oh, you know," she remarked casually, shrugging. "They threw a few stones in my direction and tried to chase me off the premises, but I'm small and quick and got past them." His glare had her rolling her eyes. "They were cold at first, obviously remembering me fondly, but, after I apologized, made up some inane explanation about being newlyweds, and tipped the stock boy who was responsible for putting all our goods back away yesterday twenty bucks, it was all good. I even got a smile and a 'have a nice day' from the cashier who waited on me as I left."

As they approached the house together, side by side, he asked, "so they didn't suspect…?"

"Not a thing," Elizabeth reassured him. "I got the feeling that, while not a common occurrence, it isn't completely unheard of for a customer to simply walk out of the store, leaving their heaping cart behind, except, normally, it's probably some teenager pulling a childish prank."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the two of them both loudly dropping their bags onto the otherwise bare kitchen table. "Speaking from experience?"

"What," the brunette sputtered, rocking back slightly from the accusation. Recovering quickly, she denied, "please. A prank like that is for amateurs. I was more into the two D's – destruction by decoration. When I still lived in Colorado, I'd sneak out at night and terrorize my neighbors by painting large murals on their otherwise pristinely paved driveways. What about you? How did you rebel… well, after you know… the accident?"

Going back outside, he considered her question but wasn't sure how to answer it. Finally, he responded, "I guess, looking back, I did things that could be considered rebelling, like destroying my room at the Quartermaines, train surfer, and riding my bike into the family den, but, at the time, it wasn't a conscious rebellion. I was just reacting."

She was silent for several beats as they each grabbed a second load of groceries, but, finally, she replied. "I've never been on a motorcycle before. They've always kind of scared me but more in a forbidden and less in a frightening way, if that makes any sense." He nodded as they continued to work, words unnecessary. "So, anyway," the twenty-two year old changed the subject while, at the same time, trying to banish the melancholy that had settled into her voice. "You still haven't told me why you're tearing up the lawn."


"I'm making you flower beds."

While she paused just inside the kitchen, Jason continued on his way to the table, putting his own bags down before turning around and taking the ones in her arms as well. Shaking her head to clear away the fog, she slowly demanded, "would you care to run that by me one more time?" Repeating his words in the form of a question, she inquired, "you're making me flower beds?"

"Well, Ellis," the onetime enforcer corrected. "She's supposed to like flowers, right, and, as her, you work in a flower shop. I thought it made sense, I had nothing better to do, and I guess," he admitted, roughly palming the side of his stumbled face as he looked away from her, "it's my way of saying thank you… for yesterday."

"You already thanked me for that, Jason."

"Yeah, well…"

"And you're welcome," the stubborn brunette continued, ignoring his interruption. "Thank you for the flower beds."

"They're not done yet," he told her quickly, wondering why he felt such a need to explain his actions. "I still have some more digging to do, and, when I'm done, I'm going to edge them with red bricks. I saw a diagram of a similar garden in a book once, and it didn't look bad. Plus, the bricks will help separate the flowers from the yard, so it'll make it easier for me to mow." He knew he was rambling, he knew that he was probably telling her things she didn't want or need to know, but, for some odd reason, he couldn't stop. "I know that it's pretty late in the season to be planting flowers, but…"

"No, it's good," Elizabeth surprised him by agreeing. "Besides, if nothing else, it'll give me something to do on my days off. Almost all of the boxes are now unpacked, and it gets kind of lonely around here when I'm by myself." He wanted to talk to her about that, offer her some reassurances, perhaps, that, with time, things would get better for them in Dovetree, but she never gave him a chance. Pushing forward, she instructed, "why don't you go back outside and get all your stuff cleaned up while I put away the groceries. When you're done, we'll have some lunch. I picked up some sandwiches for us while I was out, and, then, afterwards, I thought we could watch a movie."

"Really? You mean… together?"

Apparently, it was the former college student's turn to ramble. "Well, it makes sense that we should. I mean, since I told Evelyn that Jack and Ellis' relationship is based upon Meet Joe Black, don't you think you should have at least seen the movie once? Plus, it's been a while since I've seen it, and it's one of my favorites, and it's not like either of us has anything better to do. You can continue working in your flower beds tomorrow…"

"Your flower beds," he corrected her, making the brunette smirk. "But, alright, I'll watch it with you."

"Good," her smirk progressed into a real smile. "Now, go outside," Elizabeth instructed him. Just as he was almost clear of the kitchen, she called out, her voice slightly raised, "and put a shirt on already, would you?"



Leaving her alone, he didn't want to think about why her last request bothered him so much.

XVI.

"Are you crying?"

"What," Elizabeth snapped, standing up quickly from the couch she had been sharing with Jason. While she had commandeered the right side so that she could sit in the late afternoon sun shining through the window, he had taken the far left side, leaving an appropriate and safe amount of distance between them. But the movie was over, she was pacing, and he was asking a question she didn't want to answer. So, in an effort to deflect, she feigned bravado. Unfortunately, the blonde didn't buy it.

"I asked you if you were crying."

"Of course not." Without glancing in his direction, she busied herself with removing the DVD from the player and turning off the electronic equipment. If she kept her back to him so he couldn't see her face and if she managed to school the tone of her voice, she'd be able to smoothly lie her way out of his inquiry and dodge his inevitable mocking. "It's August, and you were outside turning up the grass, and there's all the pollen in the air. My allergies are acting up."

The retired enforcer remained quiet, so she risked a glance in his direction and found him contemplating her response. Finally, he remarked, "I don't remember you having allergies before."

"What are you, an elephant?" Scoffing, Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You barely knew me before, Morgan, and, besides, I'm sure even you forget things sometimes."

"No, I don't," he countered, standing up and stalking towards her. Once they were standing toe to toe, his taller frame towering over her own petite one, he pressed. "Not when it's important. And, for the record, what does being an elephant have to do with you crying?"

She couldn't help it. Her fake anger disappeared in the face of his confusion, and she collapsed onto the chair behind her. "Do you know how hard it is to fight with someone who has absolutely no knowledge of pop culture?" He stared back her, blank faced, and, in that moment, even her irritation with him for catching her during a minute of emotional weakness disappeared… not that she was going to admit anything anytime soon though. "And I wasn't crying either."

"Well, good, because that's a stupid movie to cry over."

"It is not," she argued, shooting invisible daggers at him once again. "It's romantic."

"And I'm nothing like that guy," Jason continued as if she hadn't even said anything. "And, for that matter, you're nothing like the girl either."

"I never said they were our fictional twins," the onetime artist defended herself. "We needed a plausible first meeting, and this was the first thing I came up with off the top of my head, and it's just innocent enough to be believable. We could have met in a diner one random morning. That's the type of thing that could happen to any normal couple. And, besides," she accused, standing up and leveling him with a challenging smirk, "I don't remember you 

coming up with anything better. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, you just sat there, slack jawed at the question. It was me, just your average, run of the mill twenty-two year old who came up with our cover story, not you Mr. Mafia Ingénue. So, excuse the hell out of me for thinking on my feet. If I would have known your male ego was so sensitive, I would have thought of something a little more testosterone driven for you. But I didn't. Sue me."

Running a distracted hand through her hair, Elizabeth pressed on, barely pausing long enough to breathe in between her accusatory statements. "I mean, what? Did you want me to tell sweet, little, old Evelyn that we actually met on your former boss' private island, that you came up behind me, assaulting me, because you thought I was some in disguise high priced hired assassin out to gun down some two-bit gangster? For some reason, and maybe it's just me, but I don't think that would have gone over well, do you? And for the record, you're not that dissimilar from Joe. You're both quiet and centered, charming in your own backwards way, and too good looking for your own damn good. And I do, too, have things in common with Susan. We're both the younger sibling, and, and…"

"Are you done yet?"

She contemplated his question, pouting slightly. "I don't know."

"Well, you might want to wrap this up soon, because we're supposed to be at Tom and Amanda's in less than an hour's time."

She knew he was right, that they had forgotten about their dinner plans and had gotten lost in both the movie and their stupid, petty argument, but the twenty-two year old couldn't help but glance at the clock on the DVD player. Seeing that he was right, that, if they didn't rush, they were going to be late, her eyes became wide with alarm. Without wasting a word on the grinning man before her, Elizabeth pushed past him and sprinted up the stairs.

Never before had she thrown together an outfit that was supposed to say so much so quickly. While she wanted to appear casual and relaxed in front of her husband's boss and his wife, she also felt it was important that she looked mature and respectable but, still, at the same time youthful as well. It was almost as if her hands automatically reached out for the outfit she ended up choosing, and, as she rushed about the master bedroom, grabbing shoes and various accessories, she wasn't surprised that she ended up with a favorite emerald green sundress, a simple white cardigan incase she got cold later that evening, and her oldest, most comfortable pair of ballet flats. So, armed and ready to shower and get dressed, she hastily opened the bathroom door only to run into a sturdy warm wall of bare human flesh, something that was normally not in her bathroom.

Jason.

"Whoa, easy there," he steadied her, his hands gripping her shoulders to prevent her from swaying and perhaps even falling from the impact. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she returned, pulling free from his embrace. "Why are you in my bathroom?"

"I use it, too," he squabbled, not unkindly. "And I stink."

The brunette grinned cheekily. "Well, not that I was going to say anything, but you do have a point."


"Yeah, right, Webber," Jason challenged. "You'd be the first one to tell me I stunk."

"Perhaps," she admitted, playing coy. "But that still doesn't tell me what you're doing here in the bathroom while I'm trying to get ready."

"What does it look like I'm doing," he gestured towards his partially exposed form, his shirt off and tossed aside onto the floor, his boots and socks toed off by the door that led to the upstairs hallway, his pants already unsnapped. "You didn't think that I wasn't going to shower, did you?"

"But I need to wash my hair!"

"Elizabeth," he sighed in frustration, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose but she batted his hand away.

"Don't Elizabeth me," the former painter scolded him. "I'm not going to embarrass myself tonight just so that you can smell good. Besides, your boss is probably used to you smelling like sweat and grime."

"Your hair looks fine."

"Exactly," she astonished the blonde standing across from her by momentarily agreeing with him. "My hair is fine; it's feeling inadequate and needing encouragement. So, if you could just show yourself out, I'll get in the shower."

"No."

"Come on, Jason," she whined, stomping her foot. "Can't you just go downstairs, splash some water onto yourself from the sink in the half bath, brush your teeth, and drown yourself in a bottle of cologne. Men do it all the time."

His only response was to fold his arms across his naked chest, widening his stance as if he was preparing himself for attack.

"Alright, you win," she complained, narrowing her gaze. "How about a compromise?"

"I'm listening."

"If you let me shower first, I'll hurry, giving you plenty of time to shower after me. I'll just dry shave my legs in my room while you're using the bathroom."

He nodded once, evidently his way of showing her that he approved with her suggestion, and then turned his back towards her, but, when he didn't leave the bathroom, when he just, instead, planted himself in front of the double sink and started getting out his shaving supplies, Elizabeth felt at a loss for words. At last, she settled with asking, "uh… what are you still doing in here? I thought you said I could shower?"

"Knock yourself out," the retired hitman instructed her. "And don't worry. I won't watch."

She was going to retort, she was going to wage another battle of words with him, she was going to attempt to toss him out of the bathroom, but she knew she would fail, and, to make matters worse, they really did not have time for another petty quarrel. Why the two 

of them, despite the fact that they were now, relatively, getting along, could not be in the same room with one another without bickering or purposely trying to bait the other, she didn't know. It felt as if she was seven years old again out on the playground during recess, kicking Brad Summers in the knee every time he dared to pull her pigtails… and he dared quite often.

As she slipped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut before she started to strip off her clothes, she admitted to herself that their behavior meant something, but what it meant, well, she really didn't want to think about that. Instead, she'd just continue quarrelling with the infuriatingly impossible man and hope that he didn't stop returning her biting banter long enough to contemplate the reasoning behind it himself.

Astonishingly, they worked well together. Like he promised, despite sharing the bathroom with one another as they got ready for their dinner plans, Jason was respectful, never once glancing in her direction unless he cleared the action with her first. She showered; he shaved. She shaved; he showered. When she was ready to get dressed, she went back into the bedroom, allowing him the same privacy in the attached ensuite. When she needed help fastening her necklace, he was there behind her, wordlessly working the delicate clasp with his long, blunt fingers. They even managed to brush their teeth together, side by side, without awkwardness or discomfort. And, forty minutes after they finally settled on sharing the bathroom, they pulled out of their driveway, clean, dressed, and ready to perform.

XVII.

"How do I look?"

"Nice," Jason answered simply, making the petite brunette beside him bristle and grind her teeth. He was such a man sometimes.

"And what about my hair," she asked, reaching up to delicately brush one hand against the messy updo. They were approaching the front door of the Patterson's house, and she was, all of a sudden, nervous. She had never enjoyed meeting new people under such formal circumstances. Instead, the twenty-two year old preferred natural, organic meetings where things weren't forced or contrived. "It's not falling down or anything, is it?"

"Nope."

Apparently, her husband was sticking to the one word answers that evening, but that was okay. She wasn't going to let it upset her, she wasn't going to allow it to grate on her nerves, and she was going to use it to her advantage. "What about my teeth," she stopped him from continuing on their way, reaching out to grab his arm and hold him back. Opening her mouth, she bared her teeth for him, making the older man twist his face up in amusement. But then his laughter disappeared only to be replaced by a look of revulsion, and Elizabeth immediately started to worry.

He grimaced. "What did you do, bite your tongue?"

"What do you mean," she panicked, reaching up to wipe frantically at her teeth.

"They're red."

"Huh?"



"Your teeth," Jason clarified, opening his mouth to vaguely gesture at his own. Sincerely, he explained, "I think you have some lipstick…"

Grumbling under her breath, the college graduate made quick work of wiping the stain away. "Why couldn't you just say so in the first place?"

"It was more fun to make you squirm," he admitted, causing her to freeze when he tenderly reached out to brush his right thumb against the corner of her mouth, ostensibly, she could only assume since he didn't bother to explain himself, to clean away a smear of her makeup. "Are you ready now," he teased her after dropping his hand back to his side. "Are you out of stall tactics yet?"

"Just shut up and lead the way."

Obliging her, he laughed, twining their fingers together as they, once again, resumed their trek towards the front door of his boss' house. They didn't even have a chance to ring the doorbell before there were two smiling, loud individuals greeting them, the woman definitely overpowering her much more docile husband.

"I'm so glad you agreed to join us for dinner," Amanda Patterson, or at least the woman Elizabeth assumed to be Amanda Patterson, warmly declared upon seeing them. "Ever since you clammed up tighter than a Soviet spy when Betsy tried to interrogate you at the softball game a few days ago, I knew I'd like you." The petite blonde before her, an obvious mother hen from just the sound of her voice and the haphazardly worn apron around her still slender waist, seemed to waver for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, until she threw caution to the wind and took the former artist into her arms for a friendly hug. "It's wonderful to meet you," she confided before moving on to a silent and still Jason. "Come here, you," the middle aged wife and mother urged her husband, motioning for him to bend down far enough so that she could embrace him as well.

"You might as well do as she says," Tom spoke up for the first time, chuckling softly at his spouse's antics while, in the same breath, talking to his young employee, "because she's not going to take no for an answer. Trust me, I would know."

"Oh, hush up, you." Elizabeth had to stifle a giggle when she watched the homemaker briefly turn around and pinch her husband's arm. "They're going to think that I treat you badly or something. Now," she practically demanded, lifting a brow in silent challenge towards the tall, tanned man before her. "You were about to give me my hug."

Jason relented, awkwardly indulging the older woman's whims, but it was obvious that he wasn't comfortable in doing so. As they separated, Amanda commented good-naturedly, "I promise I won't make you hug me again for the rest of the evening. Now, Tom," she demanded pertly. "Let's get the introductions started before I burn dinner."

"Of course," he consented without delay. Jack and Ellis Martin, this is my lovely, if not impatient, wife, Amanda." His little teasing remark earned him an elbow to the ribs, but he just grinned and continued. "Amanda, this," he presented the younger couple standing before him, "is Jack and Ellis. There. I think that should cover it. Who wants a beer?"

It happened before she knew what was going on. One minute, she was standing on the front doorstep of the Pattersons', lifelong Dovetree residents, and, the next thing she knew, she was back in the past, an awkward nineteen year old again, fairly bursting with energy and nerves.


"Would you calm down already, Liz," her best friend and, in his own way, mentor implored her. Although his words were less than sympathetic, his famous dimples gave away the fact that he wasn't annoyed with her, just probably worried. After all, he was always anxious on her behalf, protecting her like the little sister he didn't have but claimed to have always had wanted. "If you don't, you'll make yourself sick, and, then, you won't be able to eat your dinner. I won't stand for that. You're already too thin as it is."

"Sonny, I can't help it. Do you realize how long it's been since I've seen Steven?"

He patted her shoulder affectionately, distractedly as he busied himself around his state of the art kitchen. Always the showoff, the don had truly out done even himself that evening by cooking what was sure to be a gourmet meal. "It's been years. I know. And I also know that you're tense because you're introducing him to me tonight, but I promise," he teased her with a crooked smile. "I'll be on my best behavior."

"Is there even such a thing?"

"Hey there," he warned her, tossing a baby carrot in her direction and making Elizabeth squeal. "Watch it."

"Maybe you should take your own advice, Corinthos, and not start something you can't finish. I'd so kick your ass in a food fight."

"Yes, you would," her friend agreed with her, "because you would play dirty. And watch your mouth," he added as a side note, but she was used to Sonny chastising her. The crime lord was always harping on her about being a lady, not that she ever heeded his advice.

She ignored his directive and went back to their previous topic. "But I'm small," the pretty brunette excused, smirking. "I have to play dirty in order to get an actual advantage, to compensate for my lacking size."

"More like lacking ethics. I swear, Webber, you were raised by wolves."

"Pretty much," she immediately concurred with a wry grin on her otherwise deceivingly cherubic face. But the amusement vanished almost as quickly as it appeared as worry settled low in her stomach once again.

"Quit that," the Hispanic man chided her, shooting a pointed glare in her direction as he continued to stir the sauce he was making. "You have drilled me on your brother for the past week. I know everything there is to know about Steven Webber. I know his favorite foods, I know his favorite sports teams, what kind of liquor he drinks, and I know what his hobbies are. Hell, Elizabeth, you've even told me about his dating history… not that I particularly cared to know that information, but you were quite adamant."

"I was thorough."

"Or paranoid," the older man mumbled under his breath, unconsciously inviting the brunette's irritated glare, but, before she could say anything in cynical retort, the doorbell to the penthouse rang, and she instantaneously shot up and out of her seat. "Don't run," Sonny called after her, his chuckling sounding out softly in the marbled room, but she didn't listen to that command either. He was used to her noncompliance though.



Sliding across the floor, she haphazardly threw the door open, a huge, goofy grin on her exuberant face. Tears were already coursing their way down her face. "Hey there, kiddo," Steven greeted her, dropping his bags and instantly pulling her into a bone crushing hug. "Look at you," he whispered softly, keeping the moment between the reunited siblings private and personal, "so beautiful and so mature but still my little sister."

"And look at you," she returned, "all out of shape and old." The words were barely out of her mouth before he was tickling her, his actions eliciting peals of laughter from the college student, but their moment was interrupted by Sonny joining them in the living room, and they pulled apart.

Composed, once again, Elizabeth turned towards her friend. "Sonny, I'd like you to meet my big brother, Steven. Steven, this is the man I've been telling you so much about."

The two men immediately shook hands, greetings and polite conversation flowing forth between them. As if they forgot that she was still standing there, they moved into the kitchen together, already talking like old friends, and the nineteen year old was left there, staring after them with a whimsical, grateful smile curling her full lips. Finally, after more than a year, the two most important people in her life had met each other.

"Give the girl some room to breathe," Amanda ordered, shooing the two men out of her way. "Go take Jack out to the garage, Tom," she instructed her husband. "Show him your pride and joy, and leave Elizabeth and I alone for a few minutes."

"But…"

"No buts, young man," the middle aged woman argued, immediately shutting her husband down. As the former artist met his gaze, she could see just how worried he was for her. To reassure him, she offered Jason a tremulous smile, and he seemed to accept it, because he hesitantly backed away with his boss. "I've never seen anything like that," the kind, gray eyed wife and mother exclaimed, wrapping her right arm around her younger counterpart's waist as she guided her inside and towards the kitchen. "One minute you were with us, and, the next, it was like you were in a completely different world. What happened back there?"

"I just felt a little dizzy," Elizabeth offered, not capable of meeting Amanda's gaze as she lied to her. "I think it's the heat. It sometimes affects me like that. I'm sorry, though. I didn't mean to scare you, and I certainly had no intentions of ruining your evening."

"Does it look like my evening is ruined," the blonde demanded, fisting her hands on her narrow hips. "In fact," she offered, continuing without giving her new friend a chance to answer. "You did us a favor by getting rid of those two lug heads. Now we can have some girl talk."

"About what?"

"Oh, don't act all innocent with me, young lady," her host chided. "News has already spread all over this town about your little excursion last night at the grocery store with Jack." Smiling conspiratorially, she urged her, "you can tell me, you know. Unlike most of the women in this town, I can keep a secret."

If Elizabeth hadn't been dizzy before, she sure felt so while Amanda stood drilling her. She had no idea how to respond to the older woman's encouragement or her interest. "I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."


"Sure you do," the wife and mother dismissed with a quick wave of her hand. "You're pregnant, aren't you," she surmised, grinning widely. "And you told Jack the news last night while the two of you were standing in the baby supplies aisle." Amanda sighed softly, wistfully. "It all sounds so romantic."

"I'm not pregnant," the college graduate insisted, standing up so rapidly from her chair she nearly knocked it over. "And, if I was, I certainly wouldn't tell my husband the news in the middle of a crowded grocery store."

"Oh," the blonde sighed, sounding beyond disappointed. "But are you sure," she persisted, perking up slightly. "I mean, that would explain your dizziness just now."

"Trust me, I think I would know if I was going to have a baby or not."

"You'd be surprised," her host snorted, seemingly getting lost in a recollection. "A few years back now, there was this local woman who didn't realize she was pregnant until she went into the emergency room and presented to the doctor with severe back pain, but, now that I think about it, she was also in her late forties and more masculine than Tom and Jack combined."

Feeling thankful that her new friend had apparently dropped the 'Ellis is pregnant' topic, Elizabeth laughed. "That's disgusting. I'm not sure if I even want to eat dinner now."

"You will as soon as you see the feast I've prepared us for this evening."

"It does smell good," the younger woman admitted, catching an aromatic whiff of whatever was simmering away in the oven. "And it's definitely been a while since I had a home cooked meal, but, still, you shouldn't have gone through all the trouble."

"Nonsense, I cook like this all the time. With the kids all out of the house, I get bored during the day, so I cook to try and entice them to come over for dinner in the evenings. It's a futile gesture more often than not, but, at least, it keeps me busy. I take it you don't cook?"

"Not at all."

"Well, you're more than welcome to drop in anytime, and I could give you some quick and easy lessons."

"Really," the brunette asked, astonished by the older woman's generosity.

"It'd be fun," Amanda insisted, nodding for her guest to grab a pile of dishes as the two of them made their way into the dining room together to set the table. "And, while we worked, we could get to know one another better." Elizabeth was just about to accept when the wife and mother changed the subject on her. "So, if you're not pregnant, than you and Jack must have decided to try, right? That's what happened in the grocery store last night?"

"Yeah," she agreed tonelessly. She could feel her walls going up even as she fought the sudden urge to hide and emotionally withdraw. At the same time, though, if word got around that she and her husband were trying for a baby and that's what had spooked Jason in the store, then that would only serve to protect their cover, so, despite her better judgment, she went with the story. "You figured us out, Amanda."



The older woman who, Elizabeth had to admit, she liked, despite her obvious penchant for all things babies related, prattled on as they set the table together, but she didn't really listen to anything she had to say. While she replied in the proper manner, agreeing or disagreeing when necessary, her mind was elsewhere, distracted, both lost in a past that was no more and a future that never would be. It wasn't a pleasant state of mind.

XVIII.

As soon as Jason stepped foot in his boss' custom garage, he realized what not only his prize possession was but also his favorite hobby: his race car, and he was thankful for the distraction. Worried about Elizabeth and whatever was bothering her, be it something physical or, more likely, something from her own psyche, he needed the peace and quiet that soon enveloped the two men as they lost themselves working underneath the hood of the supped up car; he needed the excuse of keeping his hands busy while his brain was otherwise occupied thinking about his wife.

Luckily, his host seemed to savor the silence as well, and they worked companionably together, only breaking the stillness with a request for a tool or a grunt of appreciation when something happened they approved of. With such a boisterous wife like Amanda, he wasn't surprised that his employer had his own private retreat away from the house. Unfortunately, however, Tom eventually felt the need to talk, but, at least, he stuck with the topic at hand and didn't delve into his personal life… unlike, Jason suspected, his wife and how she was, no doubt, grilling Elizabeth.

"You know your way around a car."

The blonde shrugged indifferently. "Taught myself," he answered. "I got sick of having to have other people service my vehicles when I knew, if I just learned how to do it, I could do it better than they did. So, I bought some books and just had at it."

"Just like that," Tom asked, snapping his fingers to signal the speed at which he garnered his younger counterpart took up the skill. "You never toyed around out in the garage with your old man when you were younger?"

Although he had no memories of his father, he knew that story was not one to tell the balding man beside him, so he interpreted the past he had been told over the years and tweaked it to fit the inquiry. "Dad was a doctor who had a butler that arranged for all the family vehicles to be taken care of. I doubt he ever got grease under his nails even once."

"Well, you seem to be nothing like him."

"Not really."

"So, then, you must be a natural," the business owner suggested. "Books can't teach you all that you know. Sure, they can teach you a lot, but you're good."

"Thanks," Jason offered, unsure of how to take the praise or where the older man was going with his observations.

"In fact, I wouldn't mind having a guy like you on my pit crew… if you're interested," Tom offered. "At this point and at my age, I basically just race for fun, but there are still a few competitive bones in my old body. With a young kid like you on my team, I might be able to give some of the other guys a real run for their money. Ellis could come as well. Mandy 

never misses a race. She sits up in the stands, yelling and screaming at the top of her lungs. She's my own personal cheering section, and I'm sure she'd more than welcome another woman into our little entourage. They could help keep each other company."

It would be over his dead body if he allowed Elizabeth to hang out at a crowded, busy racetrack, especially if he wasn't glued to her side. The venue would be the perfect opportunity for someone to grab her or, worse yet, get a few shots off at her before disappearing into the melee of the mass of fans scurrying about. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Tom that.

"I'll think about," the retired enforcer said instead, receiving a hopeful grin from his boss.

"Alright, now, you two," Amanda's voice interrupted what was sure to be another pitch from her husband. "Enough guy time. It's time to eat. Dinner's on the table, cooling as we speak."

The elderly couple went ahead, walking into the house together, yammering away, about what, Jason didn't really care. Instead, he was too focused upon his wife. She seemed even more reserved than she had been when he had gone out to the garage a half an hour before. It only intensified his concern for her. "Hey," he greeted her casually as they strolled behind their hosts, several paces back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just super."

There was a frigid note to her voice, and the blonde immediately sighed in aggravation. "Elizabeth…"

"Don't," she snapped, glaring at him. "Just drop it, Jack. This is neither the time nor the place for us to have a real conversation. After all, we're not only happily married newlyweds, but, apparently, according to the rest of his goddamned town, we're also trying for a baby, too." He visibly blanched. "Buck up, husband," the petite woman beside him demanded, squaring her shoulders and plastering a fake smile on her face as they entered the Pattersons' house. "You keep looking that pale, and they're going to think you're incapable of knocking me up."

Before she could enter the dining room where Tom and Amanda were already waiting for them, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him. "What in the hell is going on?"

"We'll talk about it later," the former painter stated.

Turning on her heel, she disappeared from sight, leaving Jason alone with his mind spinning. The first thing he realized was that Elizabeth was certainly not alright. She was cool and indifferent, treating him just as she had when they first moved to Dovetree, but, whether it was because of whatever was bothering her from when they first arrived, the fact that the local gossip had them trying for a family, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he also recognized that, although she may have told him they would talk later, his wife had no intentions of living up to that promise. But he wasn't going to allow her to pull away from him again. They, as a couple and as two individuals depending upon one another to survive, couldn't handle that again, and he, as a man, couldn't handle it either.