Part Eight

XXVII.

"Hey, Martin, wait up!"

Hearing his boss calling out for him a few paces back, Jason slowed down his gait. Without fully stopping, though, he continued towards his SUV, eager to get home. Work was boring, he was hungry, and Elizabeth would be waiting for him when he returned. Nevertheless, despite his lack of interest in holding a conversation with the older man, he also knew he shouldn't be rude, so he made himself accessible, his body language approachable, hoping his employer would be concise and to the point.

Tom grinned, quickly morphing his own pace to match the blonde's. "So, are you looking forward to winter?"

Apparently, brevity was the last thing on the construction company owner's mind however. Shrugging, he responded shortly, "it's still August."

"Yeah, but the weather around here changes abruptly. One minute, you're sweating like a stuck pig, and, the next thing you know, you're burrowed so far underneath a mountain of covers, the outside world seems like a million miles away. We really don't have a spring or a fall around these parts."

After having traveled so much, Jason found the man's statement to be slightly curious. To him, spring and fall were just portions of the calendar; they weren't identified by certain forms of weather, but, instead of voicing his opinion, he remained quiet, simply offering, "Ellis likes the snow."

And that wasn't a lie. While he and Elizabeth had never spent much time together during their four years of association, he still felt as if he knew her well. Sonny would always find ways to mention her in their conversations, almost as if he was taunting his enforcer with the memories of his first meeting with the petite brunette. Plus, he was observant. Port Charles wasn't too large of a town that randomly running into someone you knew but tried to avoid on a regular basis was, by any stretch of the imagination, a rarity, so he had managed to see the young artist several times a year, and, over that time, picked up on several interesting traits about her, one of which was that she enjoyed winter and liked snow. And, for what it was worth, he did as well.

Distracting him from his thoughts, Tom chuckled, pausing beside his own truck. "You know," he admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly while averting his gaze. "Amanda told me about you and the Mrs.…"

"What about us?"

The older man coughed, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of conversation he had directed them towards. "About the two of you wanting to start a family." Folding his arms over his chest, the former hitman simply observed the man before him, allowing him to do all the talking. Even though Elizabeth had informed him of the town's mistaken assumptions, there was no way he was touching the topic himself. "Anyway, the reason I bring it up is that, well, you see, all of our children were conceived during the winter, so, if you're having trouble… Just, don't get discouraged."



By the time his boss finished, his face was as bright as the red vehicle they were standing next to, and Jason had to stifle his own laughter. "What would make you think we were getting discouraged?"

"Well, everyone heard about your little… incident in the grocery store," the balding man began only to pause, clear his throat, and then completely change the topic. "So, I was wondering if you were busy this weekend."

"That depends."

"Oh," the older man remarked ineptly, caught off guard by his employee's response. "On what?"

"Ellis might have plans for us."

"But surely they won't take up the whole weekend," Tom argued, smiling in a manner that told Jason there was a very pointed reason behind their entire uncomfortable conversation. The tall, brown eyed man wanted something from him, and, because he liked his boss, he wasn't adverse to the idea of helping him out… if he could.

Pressing for more information, the onetime enforcer encouraged, "what do you need?"

"Well, you see, it's like this. One of my usual guys has a family wedding to go to this weekend, so I'm one man short on my pit crew, and, knowing how well you can get around an engine, I was hoping I might be able to talk you into pinch hitting just this once."

"We'd be at the race all day," he spoke his thoughts out loud, continuing when he noticed his employer nodding his head in accordance with his statement. "I don't know, Tom. I really wouldn't want to leave Ellis alone that whole time. We like to spend time together on the weekends, and…"

"Bring her with you," the older man suggested. "Like I told you before, Amanda goes to all the races, and I'm sure she'd enjoy your wife's company."

"Yeah, but she really doesn't like crowds."

That made the bald man pause momentarily. "I could talk to the boss, see if she's willing to maybe stay at home this time. You know, they broadcast the race on one of the local TV stations. They could make a day of it, do girly things together while watching us from home."

"To be honest, I'm not a big fan of crowds myself either," Jason admitted. And he wasn't. Crowds meant disorder and chaos, and disorder and chaos meant opportunity for disaster. Despite the fact that there were no indications that their cover had been compromised, he wasn't going to take the risk and put himself in such a precarious situation. "Listen, I'll tell you what," he offered, willing to find the middle ground. Not only did he genuinely want to help his boss out of a jam, but he thought it would be nice to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty working on an engine again. "The race is on Saturday, right?"

"Always."

"Well, what if I came over tomorrow night and helped you get the car tuned up for the race the next day? If we get all the kinks out before hand, hopefully, you won't need as many pit 

stops Saturday afternoon."

Tom smirked, holding his hand out for the younger man to shake. "It's not exactly what I was hoping for, but I'm certainly not going to turn down an offer like that. Tomorrow night, Jack," he agreed, nodding his head, "six o'clock. Bring your own tools, and I'll supply the beer. Don't even bother knocking at the front door. Just come around back. Amanda will know that you're coming, and she'll leave us alone."

"And what about your crew still being one man short?"

"Don't worry about it," his employer offered, waving off the blonde's concerns. "I'll just sweet talk the Mrs. into helping out. Years ago, back when the kids were still living at home, she was a member of my team. I doubt she's forgotten how to change a tire."

With that, the two men parted, Tom getting in his truck and pulling off with a wave in Jason's direction, and Jason continuing on his own to his waiting SUV. Starting up his vehicle, he drove away, eager to talk to his wife. He wanted to hear about her day, see what she had worked on while he was gone all morning and afternoon, and have dinner with her. Afterwards, he'd rack a game of pool, and she'd sketch. What, he didn't know. He didn't ask, and she didn't offer to show him, but he didn't mind. He knew that her artwork was personal, private, and, until she was ready to share it with him, he'd just take pleasure from the fact that he was the one who had given her back her passion in the first place. And, while it wasn't everything that he wanted to give the brunette beauty, it was certainly a start in the right direction. Baby steps, he told himself. No pun intended.

XXVIII.

Unlike most people, Elizabeth Webber enjoyed the peace and quiet of a blissfully dead business day. With Didi out making deliveries and the flower shop empty, she was left with nothing but time on her hands and no work to be done. So, taking advantage of the situation, she pulled her stool up to the front counter, dug through her tote to find her drawing supplies, and flipped the sketch book open to her current, unfinished piece. Tucking her long, chestnut hair behind her delicate ears, she set to work, her chin resting contentedly in her left hand as the rest of the world quickly disappeared into obscurity.

Despite her proclamations of wanting to draw her new surroundings, the twenty-two year old found that there was only one subject that could currently hold her attention long enough so that she could finish a sketch: Jason. Retracing the past couple of months with the retired enforcer, she was working on a series of drawings depicting various moments shared between them, and, as it had always been with her artwork, through her hand's motions, she was able to see things more clearly. She was able to realize that, instead of the loathing and distrust she had imagined on her husband's face when they were first forced to live together, the blonde had actually been wary of offending or hurting her, walking on egg shells and taking his own cues from her. And she was able to notice that there were certain expressions Jason put forth that she couldn't translate or understand, certain hues of his cryptic, fathomless blue eyes that she couldn't decipher or interpret. But she drew them anyway, staring at the reflections of the past before her hours after the pieces were completed as she strived to finally figure out exactly who Jason Morgan was.

Disrupting her thoughts, a purse was slammed down onto the counter before her, and, lifting her sapphire eyes towards the intruding person, Elizabeth was met with not one pair of curious orbs in her direction but a gaggle of curious gazes. "Whatcha workin' on, Cupcake," Cate asked her, insisting upon using the ridiculous nickname she had been 

christened with just a week prior. According to the older woman, she was small and petite like a cupcake but packed a powerful, sweet punch. Of all the ways to be described…

"I'm just sketching," she replied, hiding her notebook from their wandering eyes. Just as Betsy was about to reach for it herself, the youngest member of the garden club snatched it back, clutching it tightly to her chest. "And it's private."

"Well, then, it has to be Jack," Evelyn offered, the other ladies nodding their head in agreement with her. "Not that I ever thought otherwise, mind you. If I had a husband that dreamy, I'd be drawing him all the time, too."

"That's if you had an artistic bone in your body," Renee taunted, earning herself a sharp jab to the ribs despite her attacker's age.

Clearing her throat and ending their fun at her expense, the college graduate changed the topic. "What can I help you girls with? Didi's on a run right now, but she'll be back soon, so, if you need to speak with her, you could just…"

"We're here to talk to you." Mrs. Northam's succinct statement made Elizabeth sit back in her seat nervously, fully alert and coming to attention. "You don't have to look as if you're going in front of a firing squad. We don't bite."

"Well, we don't," Renee teased, rolling her eyes in the old maid's direction, "and Betsy's had her rabies shot, so you're safe."

"If this is about holding the next meeting at my house, I already told you no."

"We're well aware of your inflexible position," Evelyn promised her, her merry blue eyes twinkling with just enough mischief to tell the brunette artist that the older woman was anything but. The other ladies had simply decided to stop harassing her about the topic momentarily, probably in an effort to get her to agree to do something else. "And, besides, this is much more important than convincing you to allow us poor, lonely, old women the chance to ogle your husband."

Cate picked up the torch and continued on with the pitch. "You see, the annual Dovetree Fall Frenzy parade is coming up…"

"And, as a group," Renee explained, "we always enter a float."

"However, we haven't won in more than ten years," her neighbor complained, her thin mouth pressed even tighter due to annoyance. "And I don't know about the rest of the girls, but I am damn sick and tired of losing. That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"As we've recently discovered," Mrs. Mortenson revealed, "you're an artist… and not just with the flower arrangements you make here at work."

"And we were hoping that you'd do us the honor," Evelyn practically begged, "of designing our float for us this year."

"Spare no expense," Cate instructed her. "Use the most expensive flowers you can think of, because it doesn't matter. "Didi's promised to donate all the blooms to us, free of charge, as 

a way to advertise both her shop and her latest employee. She figured that, if people find out about you and your gorgeous designs, she'll end up with more than enough customers to compensate for the extravagant expense."

Of all the things she had been expecting… "Girls, I'm really honored, but…"

"No buts," Betsy cut in, interrupting her with a steely, determined gaze. "You're doing this Martin. I won't take no for an answer."

The old biddy's tone made her bristle. Standing up from her stool, Elizabeth straightened her spine, rolling back her shoulders in a display of challenge. "You won't?"

"Don't listen to the wicked witch, Ellis," Renee beseeched her. "If you do this for us, we'll be forever in your debt."

Now, that she could work with. However, even she knew to play hard to get. "Well, I don't know… With all the remodeling Jack and I are doing right now, we're really busy."

"We'll never bother you again about hosting the meeting at your house," Evelyn promised, one pale, dainty hand over her heart to emphasize her words.

"And then there's also the fact that we're trying to have a baby," the twenty-two year old continued as if she hadn't heard her friend's assurance.

"Oh, please," Mrs. Northam complained, waving off her neighbor's protests. "If you're that pressed for time, sketch while you're having sex. I'm sure Jack is quite capable of taking care of things on his own."

"Betsy," Cate gasped, slapping the only one of the women to never have married rather hard. Turning back to the youngest member of their group, she apologized. "Forgive her. All that static from her police scanner has scattered her brain over the years. However, speaking of Jack, if you do this for us, we will all stop hassling you about your husband."

"So, no more rude comments, no more prying questions, no more spying," Elizabeth wagered, looking pointedly at the nosy busybodies before her at her last stipulation. When they nodded their agreement, she smiled, a bright, triumphant grin of achievement. "Alright, I'll design the float for you."

Still practically floating with amusement and satisfaction, she watched as the four women ambled their way out of the shop, Evelyn lingering behind as the last to leave. Once they were alone, the elderly woman pivoted around to face the artist. "The theme is 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.' Have your plans drawn up for the next meeting, okay, dear?"

She nodded, accepting the due date for her new project. And, with a slight wave of her hand, Mrs. Shepherd disappeared as well, once again leaving the pretty brunette with her peace, quiet, and the opportunity to draw. However, she didn't start to work on the float or on compiling her ideas for it. Rather, she went back to her sketch of Jason, hoping to find inspiration from his handsome face.

XXIX.



Lining up his next shot, Jason glanced up at the woman sitting with him as he played, her cute, little form perched precariously on the corner of his pool table as she sketched away. Looking back down to the game at hand, he made his shot, talking as he eyed the green felt for his next move. "So, I talked to Tom today."

"Oh," Elizabeth remarked, never once tearing her gaze away from her notepad. "How's Amanda?"

Pausing, the blonde stood to his full height, eyeing his wife warily. "I thought you didn't like her?"

"I'm learning that the women around here aren't intentionally rude or prying. They just… are. And, besides, aside from Amanda questioning me a little too enthusiastically about our private relationship, she really was sweet. Plus, she offered to give me cooking lessons."

"That would be nice."

"Hey," she squawked, good naturedly taking a swipe at the retired enforcer and completely missing her mark, her hand idly falling back to her lap after simply connecting with the dense, oppressive, late summer air. "I resent that. You're obviously not starving."

"That's because I can cook, and," Jason allowed, smirking in the brunette's direction, "you can order takeout."

"Well, at least you can appreciate my contribution to this marriage." They shared a gentle smile, and he felt a warm surge of contentment wash through him as he enjoyed their time together. Ever since the weekend before when Elizabeth apologized and he bought her art supplies, they had been getting along well, finally, perhaps, putting their former, somewhat unfounded, animosity towards each other to rest. At least, he hoped so. "Anyway, what did he want?"

Shaking his thoughts away, the onetime hitman refocused upon the twenty-two year old beside him. "Who?"

Laughing, she teased, "Tom. What did he want?"

"Oh, he wanted me to help him out this weekend. He's one short for his pit crew team, and needed me to help him with the race on Saturday."

If Jason didn't know any better, he would have thought his answer made the artist beside him frown, but he quickly dismissed the wishful thinking, nudging her leg with his pool cue in silent request for her to slide a few paces down on the table so he could attempt his next shot. She obliged, not saying a word, and the two of them fell into a rather uncomfortable silence. After missing, he straightened, scowling at the pool table before him as if it was the game's fault he missed his shot and not his own for being distracted by the woman in the room with him.

Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "I told him I couldn't."

"You shouldn't have done that," Elizabeth argued, tossing her sketchpad and pencil aside as she turned slightly on the cherry wood edge to face him. "If you wanted to go, and he needed you, there's no reason for you not to."



"But what about you?" Despite her words to the contrary, the blonde got the distinct impression from his wife that she was glad he wasn't going to the race, and the sensation only served to convince him further that he had made the right decision.

"Don't worry about me," the college graduate reassured. "In fact, I could really use the time to start working on my design for the garden club's float."

"What float?"

"Oh, well, today at work the ladies stopped by and asked me to help them out by designing their annual float submission to the Fall Frenzy parade. At first I declined, but then they started badgering me, and…"

"You agreed," he finished for her, grinning slightly at his next thought. "However, I'm sure you held out long enough to get them to agree to do something for you in return."

"How did you know that?"

"Instincts, Webber," was all he would reveal.

As she rolled her beautiful eyes in his direction, Jason couldn't help but smile even wider, his crooked smirk making his eyes alight with amusement. "Alright, so maybe I did, but they had it coming. After teasing me mercilessly for weeks about our sex life…" Her words came to an immediate stop, her mouth falling open in a strangled gasp. They both simply stared at one another for several beats until, finally, Elizabeth stammered. "I mean, not that we have a… you know, but they think we do, because we're supposed to be married, and they're always making all these inappropriate comments that end up embarrassing me. So, I made them promise to stop in exchange for doing them this favor."

Swallowing roughly and trying to banish the words 'our' and 'sex' from his mind, the former enforcer asked, "is there a theme or something," his voice, peculiarly enough, coming out sounding strangled.

However, either his wife didn't notice or she chose to ignore it as she responded, "yeah. 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.'"

Scratching his forehead, Jason asked, "who's Charlie Brown?"

It was a simple enough question, one he honestly wanted an answer to, but, for some reason, his inquiry made the brunette start laughing hysterically as she nearly doubled over from mirth, clutching her stomach tightly. Still, he patiently waited for a response, only to tip his head to the side in encouragement when the young artist finally met his gaze once again.

"Morgan, you really are hopeless, do you know that?" As his brow furrowed in confusion, she pressed on. "I'll tell you what. Since you're not going to the races on Saturday, we'll rent some movies and hang out together again, okay?"

"And what exactly does this have to do with this guy named Charlie?"

"You'll see," she promised, jumping down off the edge of the pool table.

Before she could leave the dining room, though, he stopped her by calling out, "Elizabeth?"


Turning back around, she faced him. "Yeah?"

"I am going over to Tom's tomorrow night to help him get his car ready for the race. Is that okay?"

She smiled softly, a true, warm, genuine expression of acceptance and joy. "That's fine. While you're gone, I'll start working on my float sketches." Her happiness quickly disappeared, though, only to be replaced by nervousness. Biting her lip, the brunette asked, "when I've finished a couple, would you mind looking at them for me, telling me what you think?"

"Sure," Jason offered, shrugging his shoulders in acquiescence. "But I can't really see two dimensional objects that well… because of my accident."

"That's okay," Elizabeth assured him. "I'll help you see them."

He had no doubt that she would.

XXX.

Elizabeth hated artistic blocks.

There was nothing more frustrating than a blank piece of paper staring up at you with expectations of being filled when you absolutely could not manage to cooperate. Although it had been months since she had been faced with creativity issues, she had also not been forced to complete assigned projects for school since graduating in May. Plus, because of her stint in the witness protection program, she had only, once again, just started drawing.

In the past, when faced with a deadline, she had used several tricks to banish away distractions so she could focus on the task at hand. Sometimes, taking a walk would help, but, on that particular evening, her walk to the lake and back only managed to remind her of the very first night she and Jason had spent in Dovetree together. Music had proven unhelpful as well, the songs either not to her liking or reminding her, like everything else, of her husband. Finally, she had attempted deep breathing, relaxation techniques, but the yoga inspired zen had only managed to make her sleepy.

So, instead of working on her designs for the float, instead of coming up with plans for her garden club friends to consider, she was doodling images of the retired hitman she lived with in her brand new, clean sketchpad. Laughing at herself and her silly, romantic notions, the twenty-two year old, tossed aside the creamy, thick paper, sighing in personal aggravation. The funny thing was that it wasn't the first time Jason Morgan had managed to distract her work. In fact, it was partly because of him that she almost failed her senior seminar in college.

Snapping her gaze back open, her eyes landed on the black television screen before her, but, not seeing the emptiness of the turned off appliance, she, instead, was thrust back into the past, to one of the worst days of her life.

Annoyed with the fact that she couldn't seem to focus, Elizabeth flipped on her tiny TV, hoping for a momentary distraction. For her penultimate piece as a senior, her advisor had instructed her to paint the very thing that scared her the most as an artist, and, foolishly, she had taken his assignment to heart, actually attempting and she feared failing to capture 

desire on a canvas. She knew what she wanted to paint – an abstract representation of all things tempting and forbidden that humans desire even though they know they're not supposed to, but, instead of her hand moving across the sketchpad and performing the way she wanted it to, it, instead, insisted upon drawing her own personal, forbidden desire: Jason Morgan.

But she hated him. She feared him. She absolutely refused to allow her mind the opportunity to think about him. So, she tossed aside her work, scanning through the various channels looking for something completely clinical and unattractive to divert her from her betraying thoughts. Glancing at the slender watch on her equally as delicate wrist, Elizabeth noticed that it was time for the news, so she found the local Port Charles station and settled back into her ratty, old sofa prepared to bore her own mind into artistic submission. Instead, she heard a barrage of words that would forever change the course of her life, words that would forever haunt her.

"And, now, for our top story: earlier today, forensic specialist Steven Hardy Webber was arrested for tampering with evidence, perjury, and several other undisclosed crimes that the local Police Department have not yet released to the media. However, it has been leaked that Doctor Webber has been on reputed crime boss' Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos' payroll since moving to town two years ago. The suspect is the great-grandson of Port Charles' beloved Steve Hardy, the renowned and deceased former Chief of Staff at General Hospital, and the sister to local art student, Elizabeth Webber. Interestingly enough, Miss Webber has had ties to Sonny Corinthos for years now, including possible romantic connections to the alleged mob boss. As more details pertaining to this breaking story come to light, stay tuned to News Channel Seven. We'll be back with more news after a brief commercial break."

Shaking away the thoughts, the twenty-two year old refused to allow herself to be swallowed up by the past. It was what it was; there was no going back and changing it now. She needed to find a way to move forward, to, if not forget about the pain and the betrayals of her former life, then to at least find a way to functionally live with them. With that in mind, she picked up her sketch pad again, determined to draw anything, even if it was page after page of Jason's countenance, as long as it served to distract her from the memories.

She would simply work on her designs for the parade float later, tomorrow, next week, whenever it was that she found the proper inspiration. In that moment, the only things that mattered was capturing the exact angle of her husband's nose, was finding the perfect shade of blue to imitate her husband's stunning cobalt eyes.

Everything else…

Well, to be blunt, she simply couldn't worry about, wouldn't even consider.

XXXI.

It was late, much later than when Jason had anticipated returning home, much later than when he had told Elizabeth to expect him. He hoped that she wasn't angry, but, seeing as how he had called hours before to let her know that he was still at The Pattersons' and there had been no answer, the blonde assumed that his wife had fallen asleep before she could even realize that he had not lived up to his word. Oddly enough, he was disappointed by the thought.

Unlocking their side door, he made his way through the house, turning off the lights as he 

passed through the various rooms. Chuckling softly to himself, he took notice of the dirty brownie dishes lining the sink, rolling his eyes at the young artist's penchant for all things sweet and for her absolute refusal to do the dishes. She really did hate the chore. And he smiled wistfully to himself when he passed through the dining room, noticing that she must have tried to play a game of pool on her own despite knowing next to nothing about the sport. The sight made him wonder if the college graduate had maybe missed him that evening, but, just as soon as the thought occurred to him, the former enforcer banished it, refusing to get his hopes up for nothing.

What was supposed to have been a quick tune up had turned into him and his boss checking every single nut, bolt, and screw of the tried and tested race car. What was supposed to have been a routine oil change had somehow progressed into a lengthy discussion on the various brands of automotive oil with Jason winning the friendly debate in the end. And what was supposed to be just one more beer had someway morphed into several over a time span of a few hours as he and his employer discussed both the history of racing and its future. And, despite the fact that he had enjoyed his evening away from home, he felt foolish because he had also missed Elizabeth and had been hoping to find her waiting up for him.

Finally coming into the living room, he paused at the scene before him. Sprawled out on the couch, her rich, thick hair dangling over the edge of the sofa, slept the beautiful woman who, oftentimes, occupied most if not all of his thoughts. Evidently exhausted, she was somehow managing to sleep with every single light in the room ablaze, her body skewed into an awkward, cramped position. The closed sketchbook on her lap told him that she had been drawing that evening, just as she said she was going to, and the soft music playing in the background and numerous half finished cups of hot chocolate littering the coffee table told him that she had tried to stay up. Whether or not her efforts were to see him after he returned home or so she could get more work done on her float designs, Jason didn't know, but he certainly wasn't going to question her about the issue and dash his hopes that it was the former and not the latter.

Bending down, he slid his arms underneath the petite brunette, scooping her up into a safe, cradling embrace. She barely stirred, only managing to turn into his body to burrow even deeper into his chest, and, once he was reassured that she would remain sleeping as he carried up to her bed, Jason started moving, walking slowly towards the stairs. While he told himself that he was moving at such a leisurely pace so that he wouldn't wake his wife, the onetime hitman knew that to be only a part of his reasoning. The larger and more startling motive was the fact that he wanted to savor the feelings of the twenty-two year old in his arms for as long as he possibly could.

However, the trip upstairs didn't last nearly as long as he wanted it to, and, before he knew what he had done, the blonde had managed to put the sleeping artist into her bed, even going so far as to tuck the numerous blankets piled high on top of the mattress around her. Turning off the bedroom lights, he proceeded to go back down to the living room, to the couch where he would find his own awkward sleeping position and attempt to rest for the remainder of the evening… not that he really thought he'd be able to close his eyes and not see Elizabeth.

Back to the relative safety of the first floor, he went to pick up the brunette's various mugs but, in doing so, somehow managed to knock over her sketchbook he had set aside just minutes before. Failing to catch it before it could fall to the floor, dozens of drawings tumbled out from underneath the cover, and Jason couldn't believe what he was looking at. Staring back at him was picture upon picture, all rendered from his wife's talented hand, of 

himself in various settings and poses.

He knew that he should feel repentant for the mistake, for accidentally invading the artist's privacy, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the mishap. Picking up the detailed drawings, he put them back in the notebook as if they had never fallen out in the first place, but it would be quite a while before he would be able to forget their existence or the impact they had upon him. The sketches showed the onetime enforcer that the woman he wanted as more than just a friend cared about him as well, that the thought of him was with her even when he physically wasn't.

Smiling to himself, Jason laid down on the couch, forgetting about the dirty hot chocolate mugs. Satisfied with the progress he and Elizabeth had unwittingly made that evening, he closed his eyes, a plan formulating in his sharp, focused mind.

Baby steps had just been blown out of the water.