Part Seven
XXIII.
Two hours before, she had been pacing, practically trembling with a need to escape the house… and Jason, but, now, sitting amongst the other women of the garden club, all she wanted to do was go home. Ever since their fight, or, rather, her argument with him, she had felt on edge, nervous and never truly comfortable in her own skin. It didn't matter what the others discussed, she wasn't interested, and, even though she was just as anxious around her husband, he at least made her feel safe, and, at that point, he was the only person who could. Although she still believed that he pitied her, that he had opened up to her after their ride for the sole purpose of getting her to talk to him, she couldn't deny the fact that the onetime enforcer attempted to take care of her. While he might not be attracted to her, and, while he might not really want to be her friend, he took his job of protecting her seriously, and the twenty-two year old knew he'd do everything within his power to make sure that she made it out of their situation in one piece.
But, unfortunately, that did nothing to ease her loneliness, and it certainly didn't make her feel more comfortable around him. It seemed as if the longer they were forced to cohabitate together, the more awkward she became. Every look he sent in her direction made her shiver, and, whenever he touched her, no matter how innocent the gesture was, her toes would curl in anticipation. Elizabeth wasn't naïve enough to not know what those reactions meant – she was attracted to the blonde. However, she was naïve enough that she didn't know how to respond to such feelings, how to accept them and move past them, because, no matter what she felt or wanted, Jack was Ellis' husband in name only; Elizabeth was nothing but another assignment for the retired hitman.
Toying with her half empty glass of iced tea, the brunette sighed wistfully to herself. She couldn't really even be mad at the man any longer. Her anger, so easily piqued just a week before, had disappeared rapidly, only to be replaced with a sense of melancholy, an emotion she was quite familiar with. For months after her rape, she had been depressed, and it was something that didn't ever truly leave her. When something bad happened in her life or she was faced with some kind of disappointment, the sadness would reappear, and she would just slowly make her way through it. Eventually, she would get it under control – her art or her brother would pull her out from underneath the despair and gloom, but, faced with a life without either of her two salvations, the petite artist had no idea what would help her find the beauty in life again.
Dovetree, as wonderful as it was, didn't feel like home. Her friends, if they could be called that, didn't even know who she really was. They all believed her to be some happily married woman who enjoyed gardening and antiquing when, in truth, she had a black thumb and varnish made her feel slightly dizzy. And then there was Jason. Although he was nice to her, although he treated her like his friend now, it wasn't enough. She was a pathetic little girl with a crush on a man and, knowing that he liked her just enough to watch a movie and share a laugh with her, only disheartened her even more. Being his friend simply wasn't enough, especially when she knew he was just as lonely or, perhaps, even more so than she was.
After all, Jason Morgan certainly had a reputation back home in Port Charles. Though he was perfectly capable of being committed to one woman, for he proved that during his two real relationships, when he wasn't seriously dating someone, he never had a shortage of women. Rumors had him as some kind of rough around the edges Casanova. He'd pick a girl up in a bar at night, take her home with him for the evening, and, the next morning, he'd
show her to the door, repeating the very same steps just with a different woman the next night. But, now, stuck in Dovetree, pretending to be married to her, he couldn't do that, and Elizabeth was sure that her husband resented her for the fact.
Whenever they were out together and she saw an attractive woman, for some masochistic reason, her brain would automatically question if the other woman was Jason's type. She'd watch her, studying the stranger's reaction to the once mob enforcer, imagining what the blonde holding her hand was thinking about the other woman, and then she'd picture him loving the stranger the same way he did her the week before in their driveway. The thought of Jason with another woman always made her sick to her stomach, despite the fact that she knew thinking such things, feeling such things, wasn't fair to him. In spite of what she felt for her husband, she knew that, in his eyes, she was just an inexperienced little girl, someone who couldn't offer him anything that he could ever want.
"So, I make a motion that we hold our next meeting at Ellis' house."
The words, though spoken in a daring, almost taunting manner, immediately captured the youngest member's attention, drawling her away from her inner thoughts. Glancing at her new friend, Elizabeth observed Evelyn's smirking face, realizing that the older woman had purposely been baiting her, perhaps in an effort to drawl her attention back to the discussion.
Refusing without pause, the twenty-two year old stated, "no, no, I couldn't."
But the others just stared at her, waiting for an explanation. Directly across from her, she watched at Betsy Northam, her much reviled neighbor, sat and smirked, her face never lifting from the knitting she had in her lap, though the former painter could see her eyes twinkling with unrepressed curiosity and challenge. The other two women, seated on either side of her, were just as inquisitive. Cate Foster, a tall, brown eyed woman with long, salt and pepper hair in her late sixties, took the minutes for the meeting, managing to never once lose track of the conversation or miss an opportunity to interject her own thoughts into the melee, and Renee Mortensen, the youngest of the original members before she joined, a stylish, still attractive woman in her mid-fifties with naturally brown hair and hazel eyes, the hostess that particular week, maintained her role in the group's dynamic while still constantly paying attention to everyone's glasses and plates. And then there was Evelyn, sitting diagonal from her at the small, intimately round table, smirking in her direction out of the corner of her eye.
"Well, we're still working on the house, and I don't want to have anyone over until it's finished and ready to be seen."
"Now, that I can attest to," the only unmarried woman in their group spoke up. "They've been up late every night this past week, the lights throughout the whole house ablaze. In fact, I think the only thing in that place that hasn't been getting nailed is Mrs. Martin here."
"Betsy," the other women chastised in unison as Elizabeth blushed profusely. Never in her life had she met a more outrageous bunch of elderly women, and she sincerely hoped she never would again. Though three out of the four of them were nice, Betsy, obviously excluded, she couldn't believe how frank they were, how outspoken, how utterly meddlesome. It was as though, since they were friends, they expected absolute truth and honesty about every last juicy detail of each other's lives, and she just was not comfortable reciprocating such a peculiar idea.
"Oh, leave the girl alone," Cate ordered the old maid. "For the first time in years, we've attracted a new member, someone who isn't a pair of support hose away from the nursing home. I will not allow you to bully her into quitting, Betsy, especially since you couldn't possibly recognize true intimacy between a man and a woman even if your very life depended on it."
"And Jack and Ellis," Renee added, as she often did, "have nothing to worry about in the intimacy department."
Despite herself, the fifty-something year old had managed to intrigue the college graduate. Turning towards the woman on her left, Elizabeth asked, "we don't?"
"Of course not," she was reassured. "I've seen the two of you together several times now out and about in town, and, let me tell you, that husband of yours, he's absolutely smitten."
"Besotted," Evelyn encouraged with a wicked grin. "Why, he can't even take his eyes off you."
"I saw the two of you when you were out to dinner a few days ago," Cate offered. "Adorable dress you had on that night, by the way. And, the whole time you were eating, he watched you, with this ridiculously fascinated look in his eyes. Even when that trashy waitress Bob refuses to fire kept trying to flirt with him, Jack didn't even glance in her direction."
"I think someone could walk in front of that boy naked, and he'd still prefer to stare at you completely dressed."
"Evelyn, you're exaggerating," the twenty-two year old protested, laughing nervously at the very idea. "We're newlyweds, that's all. Give us a few months, and we'll have just as many problems as the next couple."
"Oh, please," Betsy spoke up again for the first time in several minutes, harrumphing the younger woman's announcement. "That boy pants after you. You have him wrapped so tightly around your finger, he'll never be able to unwind himself completely. He builds you flowerbeds, he carries in the groceries, he opens doors for you wherever you go, and he's always finding some way to hold your hand. In fact, if I were to predict anyone losing interest in your marriage, I'd say it would be you. You're practically an ice berg sometimes around your husband. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't suffer from permanent frost bite."
Elizabeth laughed out loud when she saw Mrs. Shepherd reach out and pinch the woman beside her. "Shut up, you old busybody. Just because Ellis has a little class, after all, not all of us like to make public spectacles of ourselves, that does not mean that she doesn't love her husband as much as he loves her. I'm sure she's just not as responsive as he is when other people are around, and you know how men are – no sense of decency or decorum at all sometimes."
The four older women continued to argue back and forth on her behalf, Evelyn, Cate, and Renee taking her side against her insufferable neighbor's, but she quickly tuned out of their discussion, going within her own mind once again. She found it amazing that everyone else, apparently, had been watching Jason when other women were around them and not the strangers unlike her. And the fact that they, three women who, at one time or another, had all been happily married, were all so convinced that her husband was in love with her left the onetime artist stunned. Speechless. Flabbergasted.
Although she didn't believe that the blonde was truly in love with her, Elizabeth had to acknowledge the fact that he, at least, treated her with respect and dignity. Despite the fact that he was, undoubtedly, lonely as her previous thoughts had led her to deem, he showed restraint around other women, and she was thankful for that gesture, not thankful enough to give him permission to seek pleasure outside of their marriage, for even the thought of him with someone else made her want to give up and cry, but thankful enough to give him a free pass on his recent behavior towards her. After all, even if he had simply kissed her out of pity, it was more than any other guy had ever offered her, and, even if he had confided in her because he hoped his trust inspired her own, at least he was interested enough in her to open himself up.
And, although she didn't believe that Jason was truly in love with her, she had to wonder if, maybe, when the lighting was right, and they were getting along, and she just so happened to look kind of pretty, if her husband was the slightest bit attracted to her. Just the thought of that alone made her feel faintly more confident and definitely more beautiful, and she smiled a small, wistful, fleeting grin meant for no one else to see. But, then, she remembered who Jason Morgan was, and she remembered who Elizabeth Webber was and what she had been through over the years, and she immediately dismissed her faint hope. It was unrealistic to dream of the retired hitman ever returning her affections for him, and doing so would only complicate their relationship further. No, what she had to do was focus on his attempts to be her friend. She needed to reciprocate those attempts and push aside her ridiculous crush. After all, Jason didn't want her, and, if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to want him either.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
XXIV.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and, with his wife at her first garden club meeting, Jason had nothing better to do than run errands. So, that's why he found himself at the post office that day, wasting time by browsing through the flyers. He knew he could go home and work on the house some more. After all, to keep himself distracted from Elizabeth, he had been obsessively fixing the place up, but he only liked to be in the home he shared with the young brunette when she was there. After all, he didn't think of it as his place; to the retired enforcer, it was theirs.
And he wasn't talking about Jack and Ellis either.
But there was at least another hour for him to burn away before the former artist returned, and, if nothing else, he had plenty he could think about while doing so. After his failed attempt to get Elizabeth to talk to him the weekend before, he had expected her anger to continue, perhaps even indefinitely, but she had surprised him by calming down almost immediately and retreating into herself, internalizing her feelings and, to an even harsher extent than before, shutting him out. She never smiled, she never laughed, and, when they were out in public together, she was almost apprehensive, as if she was just waiting for something to go wrong, for Jason to leave her to fend for herself. If he didn't know any better, he would guess that she was depressed.
Unfortunately, that was one area of medicine he was unfamiliar with. Despite the fact that Jason Quartermaine had been interested in medicine, after his accident, he didn't shy away from learning about how to take care of himself. There was residual knowledge left over from his former self, but, generally, he had to start anew, amassing information and statistics from the books he took out from the library. He learned how to take care of
himself in case of any anticipated or unforeseeable on-the-job injury, he learned what to do if he ever caught a virus, and, when Carly was carrying Michael, he even studied up on pregnancy and prenatal care. The only branch of medicine he was completely ignorant towards was psychology, so he had no idea how to help his wife.
"Martin!"
Glancing up from his feet which, in that moment, Jason realized he had been glaring at for several minutes, he saw a coworker – Gary, approaching him, hand extended for the younger man to shake. He returned the gesture, offering his fellow employee what he felt to be a polite smile but, in all actuality, came across as a grimace. Providentially, Gary wasn't fazed.
"Out running errands for the wife, too, I see," the gangly man commented, elbowing the more muscular of the two men good-naturedly in the ribs. Jason just stepped back, out of the way. "Yeah, my old lady always gives me a laundry list of things to do on Saturday afternoons. She says it's so I get out of the house and leave her alone. She doesn't like me constantly under foot."
He remained silent, not even nodding his head to show that he was listening or perceiving what the other man was saying.
"What about you?"
"Ellis is at a garden club meeting."
And that was all Jason offered – simple, short, and, in his opinion, far too much. Folding his arms across his chest, the blonde observed his coworker. Dressed in a pair of long, khaki shorts and a simple t-shirt, Gary looked relaxed, far more comfortable in his casual wear than he did in his work clothes, and the loopy grin on his face proved just that fact.
"So, me and some of the other guys are going camping this evening. We're going out in the middle of nowhere, no real plan in mind. They'll be a whole hell of a lot of fishing and even more beer. If you're interested in coming along, the more the merrier."
"Can't."
"Can't or won't," the other man persisted, winking in the onetime hitman's direction.
"Both," Jason remarked, his attention being diverted away from the conversation. Hanging up on the wall on the opposite side of the post office was an advertisement for the upcoming local fair. Personally, he hated everything that a carnival stood for – the greasy food, the obnoxious rides and games, the crowds, the exorbitant prices, but there were two words on the flyer that caught his interest: art exhibit. And, immediately, he was thinking about Elizabeth.
Cutting off his coworker mid-rant about the many benefits of male bonding, he interjected "Look, Gary, I really have to be going."
"Yeah, of course, man. I understand. You and the lovely, intelligent, and, no doubt, talented Ellis have plans together this evening." Despite the fact that he had effectively expressed his aversion to the men he worked with talking about his wife, they continued to rag him, replacing their previously insolent observations with compliments not even he could fault
them for offering. It had become a running joke. "And, just for future reference, the invitation to join us on a camping trip always stands. We go about once a month, and, if you ever need to escape from home, well, you know who to talk to now."
Striding across the linoleum floor, Jason tossed a rather distracted, "thanks," over his shoulder before tearing off the ad for the fair and jogging out quickly towards his SUV. Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned in the opposite direction than the one he would need to take him towards him, dialing Elizabeth's cell phone as he drove further and further away from Dovetree.
"Hey, it's me," he told her without preamble. "I know I said that I'd get home this afternoon about the same time that you got back from your meeting, but something came up, and I'm going to be late. So, I'll… uh… yeah. I'll be home for dinner."
Tossing his mobile onto the passenger seat beside him, Jason gripped the steering wheel tighter, focused solely on his task at hand. It was going to be a long drive, but every single mile would be worth it if it managed to put a smile on the woman's face that he lived with.
XXV.
Jason Morgan finally understood the adage 'a duck out of water.'
Previously, in his life, he had always managed to adapt to new, unfamiliar situations one way or another. While he might not have enjoyed the process, he took it in stride, realizing the effort only increased his chances of survival. Because he had experience living with women before, adjusting to life with Elizabeth had been, if not easy, then at least less difficult than expected. Robin had trained him on the things a man should do for the woman he cares about, and Carly had taught him how to make up for any of his mistakes. However, when it came to presenting his wife with a gift, with a spur of the moment, impromptu present, he had no idea how to move forward.
With his girlfriends in the past, he had just either purchased them whatever they asked for or picked out the most expensive item in the store, but, with Elizabeth, everything was different. She had never requested a single thing from him, and he knew, just by watching her, studying her, living with her, that expensive things held no appeal to the young brunette. Instead, with the artist, it was the thought behind the gesture that mattered. It was why he was able to previously get away with doing things for her, with digging her flower beds or taking her for a ride on a borrowed ATV. But he had a feeling such actions wouldn't be enough to help Elizabeth at that particular point in their relationship. He needed to do something bigger, something special, something to show her that he did, in fact, care.
And Jason believed that he had managed to do just that, but now he was faced with the task of giving her the gift, and he was, for one of the first times in his life, nervous. He wanted her to like the present, to appreciate it, to recognize it as the offering of peace that it was. If it even managed to make her smile just once, it would be money well spent in his opinion. Putting pretenses aside, he simply carried the bags of supplies he had purchased into the house, forgoing the idea of wrapping them up.
Jason Morgan didn't use gift wrap.
Walking into the kitchen, he wasn't particularly watching where he was going, lifting the canvas bags to put them on the table when his wife's frantic voice stopped him short and cold in his tracks.
"Wait!"
"What," he asked, finally glancing up. What he found made him blink rapidly several times. Spread out before him was dinner, obviously carefully prepared and arranged - steak and baked potatoes, brownies, and cold beer, enough for two place settings.
"I wanted to apologize," Elizabeth stated, apprehensively fiddling with her fingers while biting on her full bottom lip. "Everything but the brownies was catered and delivered. I really can't cook, but I've been thinking about learning how to. Anyway, that doesn't matter right now." Shaking her head to dispel of her rambling thoughts, she pressed on. "How I treated you last weekend, I realized that it wasn't fair. You weren't trying to hurt me on purpose, and, though I still disagree with your tactics, you weren't trying to get me to talk to you for selfish reasons. I just… I'm not ready… yet, to open up to you about my past and what I'm feeling about, well, everything. Since the rape," the former painter paused, swallowing thickly, "I've had a hard time trusting people. Those that I thought I could trust in the past, betrayed me, and, even though I don't think that you would do that, I'm just…"
"You're not ready," he repeated her earlier words, nodding in understanding and comprehension. "Thank you, for telling me that. And for dinner," he added, offering the brunette a small, crooked smile. "Everything looks great."
She shrugged, blushing slightly. "It's not like I really did much."
"Don't," Jason argued, his grin spreading wider. "This, this is nice."
Finally, Elizabeth returned his smile, visibly relaxing before him. "Well, you should put your stuff down and eat before things get cold." Taking her seat to signal that he should do the same, she started to cut up her smaller piece of steak while asking, "so, where did you go anyway? You've been gone for a long time. Apparently," she teased, laughing, "you like to shop."
"Uh, actually," the onetime enforcer hedged, holding the bags out before him. "These are for you."
"Me," the college graduate squeaked, her already large sapphire eyes widening with surprise. Pushing her chair back, she stood up, slowly advancing towards her husband. "What did you…"
"Here," Jason attempted to hand them to her, shoving the bags forward in her direction, believing she would simply take possession of them herself so she could go through them. "It's just a bunch of art supplies – sketchpads, charcoals, oil pastels, pencils, small…"
But his words trailed off when she launched herself into his embrace, hugging him tightly, her lithe, little body fitting snuggly against his. With her head tucked into his chest, his chin resting upon it, the blonde stood there, awestruck. Never had he anticipated her reacting in such a way. When she didn't pull back, he felt the need to explain himself. "I've, uh, noticed how sad you've been lately, and I thought this might cheer you up."
"It's perfect," the twenty-two year old complimented, still not pulling away from him.
As he continued to talk, the retired enforcer allowed his arms to drop. Putting the canvas bags down at his feet, he then wrapped her up in his embrace, returning the intimate
gesture. "I know we're supposed to be pretending to be different people, but, if I'm allowed to have a pool table, then you should be allowed to have your art. Just keep your drawings in the present, and I think we'll be fine."
"So, you didn't clear this with Houston and Maloney?"
"They do things everyday that affect us and our case," Jason argued, "and they don't consult us about those decisions."
"Good point," Elizabeth agreed, finally untangling herself from his hold. Bending down, she picked up the supplies he had purchased for her. "I'm just going to go put these away. Enjoy your dinner."
But before she could leave the kitchen, he had her by the scruff of her t-shirt, pulling her back towards him. "Put the bags down, Webber," he ordered his wife. "You're skinny enough already, and I don't feel like eating alone, so sit down, eat your dinner, and keep me company."
"Really?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you to."
"Actually," the brunette teased, sticking her tongue out at him briefly before listening and sitting back down. "You didn't ask; you bellowed."
Leveling her with the glare he used to use while working, Jason disputed, "I don't bellow," his pronouncement making her giggle with amusement.
She had only managed to take one tiny bite before her fork was placed back down on the table. Folding her hands underneath her chin, Elizabeth leaned on her elbows, watching him carefully as he quickly devoured his dinner. Sighing, she admitted, "I just can't believe you did this."
Suddenly, without warning, without very much provocation, just a simple sentence, he as thrust back into the past, into a memory still raw and tender that he just wanted to forget.
"I just can't believe you did this, Sonny, and all to prove a point."
He could hear the disappointment in his coworker's voice, the regret and guilt, but the only thing Jason could focus on was the fact that he had not sensed the other man's arrival. If he couldn't be on guard, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, and the gunshot wound currently throbbing in his side would eventually kill him. If the fever he was quickly gaining or the damp cold surrounding him from the snow he was currently laying in didn't get him first, then someone, either the enemy who had shot him in the first place or a new threat, would come along and finish the job already started. He needed to open his eyes, he needed to focus, but all he wanted to do was go to sleep.
Without moving, he felt a set of warm fingers on his throat, checking his pulse. He didn't stir at the man's touch, couldn't do anything to inform him that he was still very much conscious and aware. Even if his body could only focus on taking one breath at a time, he could still hear the guard moving about, he could tell that he was looking for something, and then he could distinguish the sounds of him making a phone call.
"I found him."
Those three words gave the enforcer hope that the Irishman was there to help him.
"He's got a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Breathing is slow and ragged, irregular, and he's burning up."
He knew that the men were trained not to call the authorities, not to involve the police or the hospital, so Jason wasn't quite sure why the guard was wasting time going through his inventory of available medical information. Why wasn't he just helping him, getting him someplace warm where he could start to thaw out?
"I'd say he'll be lucky to make it another hour, let alone the rest of the night."
And that's when he knew. Johnny wasn't there to help him. No, Sonny had sent his senior guard, the man who would, in all likelihood, replace the organization's fallen second, to make sure the job was done, to finish him off if Moreno wasn't competent enough to take care of it himself. It had all been a setup, a carefully orchestrated, calculated setup, and he had fallen for it. The meeting, the disagreement, the shooting, it had all been designed by Sonny to take him out without others suspecting there was dissention in the ranks of the Corinthos organization. After all, if a don didn't have control over his second, over his enforcer, his associates and enemies alike would believe him to be weak and ineffectual, making him a prime candidate for a hostile takeover.
"Yeah, no problem, boss – I'll cover my tracks and make sure it appears as if I was never here. See you in a few."
Without bothering to even attempt to open his eyes, Jason could sense the guard standing up and preparing to leave. He wasn't going to fight him either. If Johnny wanted to leave him there to die, then so be it. If he was meant to live, the enforcer would find another way to survive without the help of a man who would so easily betray him and their friendship.
"I'm sorry about this," the Irishman apologized softly, his words barely carrying over the few feet of quiet space separating them. "I just… it was business."
And, with that, Johnny O'Brien walked away, leaving him there, shot, cold, and dying in the snow.
"Jason? Jason! JASON!"
Realizing Elizabeth was yelling his name, the blonde shook his head slightly to clear away the memory, refocusing on his wife. Meeting her worried, fretful gaze, he offered her a slight, reassuring smile before turning back to his now cold dinner. He didn't mind though. Even cold, the steak and baked potato still tasted good.
"Are you alright?"
Not meaning to sound so abrupt but coming off that way nevertheless, the retired hitman stated, "I'm fine."
"Where did you…" The twenty-two year old's words trailed to a stop. "A memory?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not going to ask you any questions, because, obviously, by now you realize that I don't like it when people ask them of me, but, if you ever want to talk…"
"You'll listen," Jason finished for her, picking up his beer bottle and taking a long gulp. Putting it back down, he nodded in her direction, accepting her offer. But, instead of taking her up on it, he changed the subject. "So, what are you going to draw first?"
"Oh, I'm not sure." Dreamily, the brunette across from him leaned back in her chair, pulling her legs up to rest them before her as she hugged her knees. "There's your pool table and the way the light shines in from the lead pained windows in the dining room, casting rainbows on the green felt, and, since the first day we moved in here, I've wanted to sketch the weeping willow tree in the back yard. However…"
"No."
"Oh come on," Elizabeth protested, slamming her feet back onto the floor as she playfully argued with him. "You don't even know what I was going to say."
"You're right, I don't," he acknowledged, standing up to take his plate to the sink. Turning around and crossing his arms over his chest, he observed the petite brunette before him, lifting a single brow in challenge. "But I recognize that tone, and that tone always means two things: that you're up to something, and that whatever it is, I won't like it."
Frowning, the artist whined, "Jason!"
"Absolutely not."
"Won't you just let me ask you first before you completely turn me down."
"Alright, fine," he agreed, spreading his hands out before him in a gesture of compliance. "But just know that the answer will still be the same."
Tucking both her legs underneath her and her hair behind her ears, his wife pressed on, ignoring his warnings of a negative response. "Okay, you see, it's like this: my favorite things to draw are people." He just groaned in response, but she continued. "And, since you're really the only person I know well enough in this town to ask this of, and since I haven't been able to draw in months, I was hoping that you'd let me sketch you."
Warningly, he said, "Elizabeth…"
But she wouldn't let him finish. "I promise I won't be in the way. Just do whatever it is that you were going to do this evening anyway, and you won't even know that I'm there."
"You'll be silent?"
"Of course," she rushed to reassure him, holding her right hand over her heart.
He knew she was lying, not on purpose, of course, but Elizabeth was never truly silent even when she was trying to be. She'd mumble to herself or sing softly under her breath, and he really didn't mind her constant chatter and noise; he just liked to give her a hard time about it.
"And you won't try to pose me or give me directions on how to stand or when not to move?"
"Nope," the brunette denied. "I'll simply observe you in your natural settings without comment or critique. I'll be the proverbial fly on the wall, just less annoying and dirty and bigger and I probably won't bite you."
"Anything else?"
"You tell me," the twenty-two year old sassed, grinning coquettishly. "You're the one who's making the rules here, not me."
"Okay," the onetime hitman relented, laughing despite himself when the woman before him clapped her hands together gleefully. Making his way out of the kitchen, he waited for her to follow him, canvas bags in hand, as they made their way outside and towards the garage before he started talking once again. "But you have to do something for me in return, too."
"Anything," she promised.
"You get dishes duty for a week."
Petulantly, Elizabeth stomped her foot in annoyance, whimpering, "Jason! You know I hate to wash dishes. Now, you're just being mean."
But he ignored her complaints, laughing once again at her antics. And she continued to follow him, griping the entire time despite the fact that they both knew he wouldn't make her actually live up to her end of the deal. It was just a game, something they had played before between them and something they would continue to play for as long as they were together, and it felt good to be on a level again with his wife where he could tease her and she would taunt him back. This time, however, the blonde hoped that the peace lasted for longer than just a few days. After all, he missed Elizabeth when she was mad at him or upset with herself, and, without portentousness, he believed that she missed him during those times, too.
Or maybe he just hoped that she did.
XXVI.
Elizabeth sketched on, her fingers flying over the thick sheets of paper as she depicted and shaded, smoothed out and illustrated the man working before her. Possessed by a stronger urge to create than she had ever experienced before, her drawings of Jason seemed to almost sketch themselves, and, despite her obvious bias, she could admit that the rough pieces were some of her best work in a long time. There was a truth, a base honesty, and a humble genuineness to the charcoal representations of Jason. Although he was simply changing the oil in the SUV, completely focused on the task at hand and oblivious to her fascinated study of his form in motion, there was also a sensuality, a grace to the pictures, and the brunette knew she would be left staring at them late into the night, long after her husband had gone to bed and she had retired to her room, ostensibly, to do the same thing.
Sitting there in the dusty garage, totally unmindful of the cold concrete beneath her or the stains she was acquiring on her clothes, the college graduate felt happier than she had in months, perhaps even years. For a brief moment, she could forget about the pain that was still preoccupying her from the past, she could push aside the anger still interrupting her day to day living and controlling her life, and she could focus on the here and now, on
Jason, on the good instead of the bad. From their easygoing, affable dinner that evening, to his unexpected gift of art supplies, and, finally, sketching him as he worked, it was, in Elizabeth's opinion, the perfect evening. There was only one thing that could possibly make it better, but, if she knew anything at all, she knew not to push her luck, so she would take what she could get, savor it, and, somehow, find a way to make it enough. If all Jason Morgan could offer her was friendship, then she would just be his more than friend in private, in her artwork. Without realizing what his gesture of good will had afforded her, the blonde had unconsciously given her a means to love him without his knowledge, and she fully intended to take advantage of the circumstances.