Part Six

XIX.

A week had passed since their disastrous dinner party with Tom and Amanda – a week of stilted silences, awkwardness, and, for Jason, pure torture, and the worst part was that he saw no end to the rift separating him from Elizabeth in their near future. They were back to how they originally had been after arriving in Dovetree. He worked, she worked, and they avoided each other the rest of the time. Only, this time, it was worse, because, now, he knew what it was like to make progress with Elizabeth, to actually be able to have a conversation with her and share a laugh. Their regression made him feel as if he had failed something – her, himself, or a combination of the two, and, if there was anything Jason Morgan hated to do, it was fail. But the past week had taught him something. It taught him that there was nothing more dangerous than an angry woman, and anger didn't even scratch the surface of what the twenty-two year old he lived with was going through, was feeling.

In all his years as Sonny Corinthos' enforcer, he had managed survive more attacks on his life than he cared to recall. He had faced down the meanest drunks in the most despicable of bars, he had come out on top of more than his fair share of back alley knife fights, and he had been the quickest on the draw and possessed the more accurate aim dozens of times during a shootout. He had defeated drug lords and kingpins, coked out dealers and vengeful pimps, unforeseen adversaries and sworn enemies. There was a reason why he had been considered the best before… in the past, but he had no idea how to fight back against his wife.

She froze him out, gave him the cold shoulder, and, no matter what he tried to do or say, she wouldn't budge or give an inch. But he also knew that Elizabeth's animosity didn't stem from their less than perfect past with one another. Besides whatever was haunting her from her former life in Port Charles, something had also set her off a week before. Even though she had been upset when he went out to the garage with Tom, she hadn't been mad at that point. Instead, she projected an aura of deep hurt and remorse, but, thirty minutes later, when the four of them went inside to have dinner, she was anything but the delicate, injured woman he had felt a strange urge to wrap up in his arms and comfort, and, instead, she had become the livid firecracker he had been living with for the past seven days, a person whose fury was barely concealed under the surface.

At first, he had wanted to help her, to be that crying shoulder or that listening ear that she could turn to, that person she could confess what was bothering her to, that person she allowed to support her, but that impulse had quickly faded until the point where, as he pulled into the driveway that Friday evening, exhausted, dirty, and ready for anything but a long overdue confrontation with the woman he lived with, he just wanted to be left alone for a few hours. At that point, he figured that Elizabeth would either eventually work her own way through her anger, or she wouldn't. It was obvious that she wouldn't allow him to be there for her, and he was sick and tired of putting himself out there only to be cruelly rebuffed or rudely dismissed. However, it quickly became apparent that his wife had other ideas.

She had been out in the yard when he pulled up, working in the new flowerbeds he had just finished the night before. He had assumed that she would either ignore his arrival completely or glance in his direction before turning back to the task at hand without a word or even a gesture of greetings. But he should have known better. After all, he had never been one to really understand women, he had never been able to predict what they would 

do next, and, compared to all the other women he had known in his life, Elizabeth Webber was the most confusing one of all. She could tie him up in knots or string him tighter than a bow before he would even realize what was happening, and, for a man who was renowned for his rather impossible level of self-control, what she could do to him with minimal effort was astounding – slightly alarming but definitely astounding.

Before he could even take the keys out of the engine, the beautiful brunette had the driver's side door open, her hands immediately latching onto his arm to help pull him free of the vehicle. He allowed her to do what she wanted, willingly letting her control the situation. The less he fought with Elizabeth, Jason assumed, the quicker she would tire of whatever game they were about to play, and, then, he could go off and be by himself, but, no sooner had the thought danced across his mind, than it was replaced by a series of emotions he rarely felt: shock, relief, and pure, unadulterated joy.

She was kissing him, rather timidly, somewhat ineptly, and definitely naively, but, nevertheless, her lips were on his, her mouth was moving against his own, and everything else that had been bothering him just moments before scattered into the sticky August breeze.

Immediately, the former enforcer settled his hands on her hips, slowly pulling her, millimeter by millimeter, closer to his own body, his arms sinuously moving to wrap around her delicate, petite form. By the time he had to wrench his lips away from Elizabeth's, they were both out of breath but, apparently, unconcerned. With fluttering lashes, he opened his eyes only to find the woman in his embrace watching him, her sapphire orbs filled with fear, trepidation, but also a sense of responsiveness. And it was in that moment that Jason realized everything.

She was angry because she was scared, not of him, not of their situation, but by the expectations others had forced upon their relationship. Although he knew that the onetime artist had been raped, the fact a glaring source of constant resentment and pain warring inside his head at all times, when he saw Elizabeth, her rape didn't define her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, talented, intoxicatingly infuriating woman who could irritate him more than a malfunctioning gun ever could, a woman who made him laugh when no one else could even make him smile. However, he realized that it wasn't so easy for the twenty-two year old to separate who she was from the transgressions that had been acted upon her.

The reason she was so awkward around him was not because she still held a grudge against him after so many years but because he was a guy, a guy who would see her as a woman, as a sexual being, and not just Elizabeth, and, although Jason wasn't vain enough to think that she could be attracted to him, because he was posing as her husband, there were certain concepts attached to that relationship that she obviously wasn't comfortable or experienced with. Other people assumed that they had a healthy, active sex life with one another, and, now that the rumor was circulating that they were trying to have a baby, their personal lives were going to be under an even brighter, more intrusive microscope.

Then there was also the fact that wanting a child together, planning a family, spoke of a whole different level of intimacy than what Elizabeth was used to. As the brunette stood enveloped in his arms, he found himself wondering if she did want children someday, or, if she was still so scared of the idea of sex and truly being with a man both physically and emotionally, she couldn't even contemplate the idea of carrying a child inside of her womb for nine months, let alone actually making one. He didn't blame or even fault her for her apprehension. In fact, the retired hitman felt it was perfectly understandable, but that also didn't mean that he thought she should continue to stand on the sidelines of life, letting the 

possibilities of love and family pass her by willingly.

Obviously, sex wasn't the most important thing in the world, but Jason felt as though it was an essential part of every man and woman's growth as an individual, as an adult, and he didn't want Elizabeth Webber to miss out on something that could be unbelievably amazing simply because some animal, someone who did not deserve to call himself a man, had raped her in the park one night so many years ago. She deserved every chance life afforded her with, and that included sex, love, and a baby or two if she wanted. In that moment, he promised himself that he would do everything he could to help her get past her fears and anxiety, even if his actions did eventually drive him to the brink of insanity.

"Elizabeth," he whispered her name, the breath from his words tickling against her full, glistening lips. "Put your hands on me."

He felt her tense, but, still, he didn't withdraw the command. Instead, he waited patiently, watching her, unblinking, using his gaze in an attempt to both reassure and calm her. Eventually, she complied, lifting her trembling fingers to brush against and then settle on his t-shirt clad stomach. They hesitated, pulled away for a second, but, then, her palms settled flatly against his middle, and he noticed her body gradually relax against him as the seconds ticked by.

"Good," he encouraged her with a small, crooked smile. "Now, I want you to wrap your arms around my waist and settle your hands my hips."

Nodding, the former artist did as she was told, biting her lip nervously in the process. Once she was positioned how he wanted her to be, Jason pressed, "next, slide your fingers into the back pockets of my jeans." But, this time, she just stared up at him in doubt. Releasing her from his gentle hold, he reached behind him, covering her hands with his own. Lacing their fingers together, he slowly lowered her digits into his pockets, releasing his grasp on her only to press her hands dangerously into the muscles of his ass. She gasped in awareness, but, before she could pull away, he had already rewound his arms around her, pulling her even closer than he had been holding her the first time.

"When I kiss you," the blonde told her, speaking in a soothing murmur, "I want you to open your mouth for me."

This time she complied willingly, but her mouth only parted a slight fraction. It was just enough space, though, for Jason to dip his tongue between her lips. She stood unresponsive as he tasted her, taking his time, not forcing anything. At first, he simply teased her mouth, allowing his tongue to graze against her teeth or lick her lips, but, slowly, almost hesitantly, Elizabeth gave him more access, eventually, granting him the freedom to coil their tongues together and truly taste her own, unique, infinitely sweet and addicting palate.

Breathless and feeling oddly drugged, he finally ended their kiss, releasing Elizabeth's slightly bruised lips from his own. "Are you okay," he asked her concerned, keeping his arms wrapped securely around her. Before she could reply, though, he leaned in once again, nipping at her bottom lip.

Finally, Elizabeth answered. "I… uh… yeah." Swallowing thickly, she repeated herself, more coherently the second time. "Yes."

And he almost believed her.



Separating them, he reached for her hand, at first coaxing and then following her into the house. But as their steps made quick work of crossing the driveway, he felt the tension reenter his wife's body, and, almost immediately, he knew that his actions from just a moment before, while good intentioned, had been wrong. He wasn't sure if he had just rushed her or if she had been offended, but, whatever the reason, the onetime Mafioso had unintentionally made a bad situation even worse.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as soon as they were safely encased in the house together, but his words fell on deaf ears as the woman he lived with whirled around to confront him angrily.

"What the hell was that?"

"Well, after you kissed me…"

"I did that," the brunette snapped, glaring at him, "because Ms. Northam was over here today for a good hour and fifteen minutes grilling me about our sex life. She's always around," Elizabeth screamed, tossing her hands up in the air and appearing decidedly frustrated and flustered. "I can't get two minutes to myself to just think and relax and calm down. No matter where I turn, there's someone there, questioning me about personal things they have no business asking, and, then," she railed against him, "there's you. You go and turn something that's supposed to be safe, something that's supposed to be about Jack and Ellis, into something that's not fake, that's about you and me – Jason and Elizabeth, that's intimate. What the hell were you thinking, Jason?"

"Would you lower your voice," he implored her though not angrily because he realized where her animosity was coming from. He had confused her, stirred things inside of her that had previously never been awakened, and she was running scared, and, though he should have felt bad for upsetting her… again, he couldn't. He had a feeling that Elizabeth Webber needed to be unsettled and unsettled often before she could finally let go of the past once and for all and move on.

"You want me to be quiet," the twenty-two year old queried, never giving him a chance to reply. "Fine, have it your way."

With that, she turned on her heel and flew out of the kitchen, leaving him alone. He listened as she ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut, silence descending upon the house immediately afterwards. Suddenly, he had the very two things he had been craving when he pulled into the driveway just minutes before – peace and solitude, but, now that he had what he thought he had wanted, it didn't make him happy. Instead, he wanted Elizabeth to come back downstairs. He wanted to talk to her, share a meal with her, laugh with her, make her smile, perhaps, in his own coarse way, take away some of her pain. After just one real kiss and a huge revelation, he was back to wanting to help his wife, but, like always, he had no idea how to do so.

XX.

The last thing she wanted was to feel anything, but, being around Jason, having to pretend that she was married to him, kissing him, it seemed as if all she did, at that point, was feel too much. Numbness was good; numbness was safe, but her husband didn't seem satisfied in allowing her that one small pleasure. He tried to get her to talk to him, to open up about her past, and, when he quit pushing her from one angle, he found another. Now, not only was she someone's wife, but everyone believed that she was about to be someone's mother 

soon, too.

And then Jason had kissed her that afternoon. She didn't realize it until afterwards, but he hadn't been pretending as Jack. He had obviously sensed her inexperience, and, after taking pity on her, decided to… instruct her. It was demeaning, it was embarrassing, and the worst part was that she liked it. For a moment as they walked back into the house together, she had allowed herself to think that Jason had simply wanted her, had been attracted to her just as she had secretly been attracted to him for so many years. But then reality had crashed down upon her, and she recognized the sweet, beautiful kiss for what it was – sympathy.

After all, why would someone like Jason Morgan find her attractive? She was tainted, ruined at the age of eighteen before she was ever given the chance to really love and be loved by a man, and she was resigned to the fact that there were just things in life that she would never have or get to experience. And, normally, she was okay with that, but, then, there were moments, moments when she remembered that she'd never be anyone's mother, moments when she became aware of the fact that her fake marriage of convenience was the closest thing she would ever have to the real thing, moments when she as Ellis was kissing Jack, when all the regret, all the remorse would crash down upon her, and she had to wonder if she'd ever be able to pick herself back up again.

So, she got angry. Rage helped to block the pain. At least, it did until she was alone at night. It was then that she let herself truly feel, and that freedom to experience all of the emotions that she normally kept locked up safely inside her would often manifest itself into memories. Despite all her efforts not to allow her past to creep up upon her, being in Dovetree, being married, being with Jason brought her rape to the forefront of her mind.

She would recall everything from that life altering night as if it was happening all over again. She would feel the cold of the February air on her skin despite the balmy nature of the summer heat, pulling the blankets up to shield her vulnerable form from the memories, but the action always proved futile. She would still have to live through those terrifying moments over and over - how it felt to have a stranger's hand placed over her mouth as he drug her off the bench she was sitting on, knowing, all the while, exactly what he was planning on doing to her. After all, she wasn't naïve. She knew that women were sexually assaulted every day, but she had just blindly assumed that it would never, could never happen to her.

But it did.

It did, on Valentine's Day, in fact. She had attended her first ever sorority party that evening, but, finding it lacking or, perhaps, she was the deficient one, she had left the dance early before it really could even get started and wandered around the dark and still park, clearing her head and admiring the beauty of the night. It would prove to be the last time she would be able to do that.

Having a man force himself upon her, having a man beat her as he stole her innocence and laughed about his actions in the dark, tended to make one resent the night. But that was just one more thing that her rapist had stolen from her. And it wasn't the fact that Jason had kissed her that made her recall the most traumatic event in her life that evening; it was the fact that he had only done so because he had pitied her since she was raped that brought the memories on so strongly. Because if Jason Morgan, a man accustomed to violence and pain and heartache, couldn't forget that she was forever ruined by some faceless, nameless man in a park one winter night, no one would ever be able to look at her 

and see just another, typical woman.

And, so she cried. She cried because of the pain the memories caused her, she cried for the guilt she felt, the remorse, the frustration, and she cried for all the things she had lost already because of her rape and for all the things she would lose in the future.

"Elizabeth?"

Hearing Jason's soft, concerned voice outside in the hallway, respectfully keeping the door closed between them even though a part of her wanted him to break it down and enter despite the fact that she would never ask him to do such a thing or grant him the permission he would need first before doing so, she froze. While the tears continued to make their way down her already blotchy and red face, her sobs immediately quieted. But he didn't go away.

"Are you… what happened?"

And, just like that, the thin thread of control she was maintaining snapped. The words Jason spoke were the very same four words she had promised herself no one would ever utter in her presence again, and they immediately threw her down into an abyss of screaming, red hot pain.

"Are you… what happened?"

She had been prepared to die. After her attacker had finished with her, unceremoniously removing himself from inside of her, standing up to refasten his pants, and walking off without a backwards glance while whistling a jaunty little tune, she had remained behind the bushes, hoping for, waiting for, praying for the never-ending oblivion of death. But it had evaded her. Instead, the only salvation fate seemed prepared to offer her was privacy… that was until the man, asking those four impossible to answer words, had come along, but she didn't tense at his intrusion upon her solitude. At that point, Elizabeth was unsure if she could feel anything ever again.

So, she ignored him, refusing to answer his questions. Though her body was disgustingly soiled and on full display for the stranger, she didn't move to cover herself. Though the evidence of her rapist lay smeared on her bloodied and bruised legs, she didn't attempt to wipe the animal's seed away. And, though the man before her was calling for help, demanding his companion get a hold of their private doctor while he arranged or the limo to take them someplace safe, she didn't bother to protest or argue with his generosity. If he wanted to help her, she'd let him think that he could, but, at that point, the eighteen year old college student highly doubted anyone or anything would ever truly be able to help her.

Oh, she knew that she'd go on living for some time. In fact, the cruel bitch that fate was, she'd probably live to be one hundred and two, but she would just be physically existing. Emotionally, her heart and her soul had already withered up, splintered apart, and crumbled into pieces. She was no longer Elizabeth Webber – art student, forgotten daughter, sister. Instead, she was Elizabeth Webber – rape survivor, and, in that moment, as she felt the stranger's suit jacket fall down to cover her exposed form, she found herself doubting her ability to meld those two very separate identities into one functioning woman.

Four years later, she was still struggling with that very challenge… and failing miserably.

XXI.

He knew that Elizabeth wasn't sleeping. Despite the fact that she had refused to tell him whether or not she was alright, he knew that she was crying, that she was undoubtedly reliving the events of her rape, and he also knew that he was the bastard who had made her go back there to that dark place that evening, to a place he only wanted to help her heal from. He wasn't inexperienced enough to believe that Elizabeth would ever truly be able to forget about the night of her attack, but he did hope that, with his help or not, she'd eventually put it firmly in the past where it belonged and that she'd realize that she wasn't defined by her rape but, instead, that she had the ability to define it and move on.

However, even if she wasn't going to allow him to be there for her that night, he'd still try to be even without her acceptance. So, he lowered himself to the floor outside her bedroom, leaning back against the door as he listened to the silence of the house and imagined her crying alone in bed. Although he knew that he wouldn't be getting any sleep that evening, Jason didn't mind, and, as a former enforcer, he certainly had the training and the discipline to stay awake without rest. The exhaustion he had been feeling earlier that day had long since disappeared to be replaced with worry and concern, but, even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, knowing that his wife was miserable because of something he had done to her.

But, he couldn't take back his actions… even if he wanted to. Looking back accomplished nothing. He and Elizabeth were both proof of that enough, so, instead of obsessing over something he couldn't change, something he couldn't make better, the blonde found his thoughts drifting to a more reflective place. In a marriage, a couple, ostensibly, one would think, would feel the most comfortable with each other in the bedroom they shared. It would be their sanctuary, their place of privacy, of retreat, the place where they let their guards down and bared themselves, physically and emotionally, to one another, but not in his marriage.

No, the bedroom was a place forbidden to him. It was Elizabeth's place to hide from Jason, and, he assumed, her only place where she actually let her self-protective walls down. But he wanted to share their bedroom with her. While he could admit that he was quite attracted to her, it was more than simply wanting to sleep with the onetime painter that made him want to share the space with her. Rather, he wanted to finally come to a place in their relationship… whatever it may be… where they could be completely honest and open with one another. He wanted the brunette's friendship, her trust, and, in return, he wanted to give those same things back to her.

However, it was becoming abundantly clear that Elizabeth would never make the first move to meet him in the middle. He was going to have to compel her to trust him by, first, opening up to her. Talking about his feelings, about his deeper, more personal thoughts, was not something Jason Morgan was good at. In fact, he was terrible at emotional intimacy, but, for the first time in his life, he was ready to at least try. They would have to start small, perhaps building up to the more important issues, but, no matter what, he was determined to give a piece of himself to Elizabeth Webber… even if she didn't want it. And he was going to start the very next afternoon.

XXII.

For the first time since the words baby and pregnant were mentioned more than a week before, Elizabeth felt relaxed - almost happy – and, surprisingly, it was because of something Jason had done for her. After having disappeared early that morning, he had 

returned right at lunch time with a four wheeler. She had been in the back yard refinishing a piece of furniture. According to Houston, Ellis Martin enjoyed antiquing, so, to go along with her profile, she had picked up an end table that week, done some research online about refinishing, and had set about attempting to implement what she had learned into actually stripping, sanding, and staining a real piece of furniture. It was labor intensive work, something she could take her frustration out upon, but it had been nothing like the release her husband had offered her instead.

Without waiting for her to say yes or no, Jason had literally picked her up from the ground, deposited her onto the back of the still running ATV, and climbed on in front of her, revving the engine and taking off unexpectedly without warning. But she didn't complain. In fact, she had laughed, enjoying the rush of the wind in her face and the sheer speed that they moved at through the woods. Because Dovetree was a summer retreat, surrounding the lake were tiny, dirt paths that led to cabins and concealed camps, and, because the town had once been a busy railroad stop, there were old abandoned tracks crisscrossing all over the county. So, they rode, and they rode, and they rode, and, somewhere between Jason's arrival and the point where they stopped to take a break in a densely shaded, rocky inlet of the lake, she had somehow managed to leave her cares and her pain and her anger behind.

"It's not as fast as a motorcycle, but it still helps."

The college graduate had not been expecting him to talk to her. The last time he had said anything to her was the night before when he had questioned whether or not she was alright and had been ignored, and the sudden reintroduction of conversation between them took Elizabeth slightly by surprise. "What?"

"After my accident," Jason revealed, sitting down beside her but keeping a fair amount of distance still between them. "I had all these feelings, but I didn't know what they meant, and I certainly didn't know how to deal with them. And then I discovered riding. I bought a bike, and, sometimes, I would ride all night. It was a rush. It could drown out every other thought inside my head but that of the adrenaline. Eventually, I learned how to better deal with my emotions. Sonny and Robin taught me, at first, and then Carly. Michael, though, he taught me more than anyone else."

"Michael was your son, right?"

The retired hitman nodded, not saying the words out loud. Eventually, though, he moved on, clearing his throat, and continued. "It didn't matter how much I learned, though, I still needed my bike. When there was nothing else in my life that I could depend upon, there was still speed and the wind, and it was grounding in a way, I guess. I don't know," the blonde revealed, shrugging his shoulders. Elizabeth watched him out of the corner of her eye, not quite facing the man beside her but also, at the same time, not turning her back on him. "I just thought that maybe it could help you, too, that, at least for a little while, you'd be able to forget and forgive as we rode."

And it was in that moment that the puzzle pieces clicked together for her. "Oh, I get it."


"You do?"

She did. She knew exactly why Jason Morgan had brought her out into the middle of nowhere, actually opening up to her, after taking her on a four wheeler ride. He had wanted to trick her into returning the favor, lull her into a false sense of security so that she'd tell him all her dirty little secrets. He had opened up to her not because he trusted her and wanted to share a piece of himself with her but because he wanted to use her trust for him against her and get all the juicy answers to the questions he, no doubt, had about her past.

"Yeah, I do," she reiterated, standing up and stalking back to the ATV. With her shoulders turned away from him, she continued. "You wanted to manipulate me, take advantage of poor, sad, lonely, disappointing Elizabeth Webber, just like all the rest of them."

"All the rest of…"

She whirled around to face him. "All the men who have ever been in my life except for my brother," the brunette yelled back, answering his uncompleted query, "my dad, the men at the FBI, Sonny, my rapist!" She watched as Jason took an unconscious step backwards as if her words had physically hit him, but she didn't care. "Take me home." When he didn't move to do as she said, she raised her voice, demanding, "take me home now!"

"Elizabeth, that's not what I was doing. I was trying to…"

But she wouldn't let him finish. Instead, she threatened, "if you don't take me back to the house right this minute, I'll walk." Making good on her threat, she pivoted around to begin the trek, but Jason calling out behind her had her stopping in her tracks.

"I'll take you home if that's what you want, but this isn't over." A steely confidence entered his voice as he coolly repeated. "It's not over by a long shot."