A/N: Okay, so this chapter TOTALLY got away from me. I had absolutely no intentions for it to turn out to be fourteen very long pages in length, but, obviously, I had no idea what I was doing when I started this post. Also, because of where we're at in this piece, I thought I'd give you a head's up and tell you that, by the time I finish this story, it'll be seventeen parts in length. Anyway, so I think that's it. Enjoy!

Charlynn

Part Nine

XXXII.

Jason Morgan had never quite felt this way before in his life, but the more baffling thing was that he couldn't quite say what this was. What he did know was that it was all because of his little, unassuming, perfectly oblivious roommate and the plan he had concocted with her in mind weeks before. He could also pinpoint several of the emotions that were tied up in his present state of perplexing sentiment, but even they were new experiences for him, heightening his confused nature.

For one, he was anxious. While training to be Sonny's enforcer, he had been instructed to never show his nerves, for, if he did, the enemy would take them as an exploitable weakness. So, he had learned to manage his anxiety to the point where he didn't even experience it at all. He was always cool under pressure, unflappable. Well, at least, that was until a five foot, two inch, blue eyed, brunette beauty entered his life on a daily basis, sending his collected manner into a dangerous tailspin and leaving him grasping for fortifying moments of ease.

Surprisingly enough, his former relationships had not proven proper training ground for life with his wife. While he had genuinely cared for Robin, dating her had been an entirely new experience for him, uncharted territory that he had to adjust and adapt to as he went along. There was never time to become worried, because, by the time he realized he was bothered by an idea or a situation, there was already a new, equally mystifying one thrust upon him. As for Carly and Michael… Carly hadn't been important enough for him to brood over, and, with his son, he just had to react instinctively. He couldn't take the time to second guess himself, because that was a luxury a parent didn't have. Parents had to act immediately, hoping that their first reaction was the right one, and, nine times out of ten, with Michael, his had been right. However, being a father to a little boy was nothing like being a husband to a grown woman.

Then there was also the fact that he was excited, and that was something Jason just never was. Rather, he liked his life to move along at a calm, relaxed state, because excitement seemed almost too jovial of a feeling for him, as a trained killer, to experience. But Elizabeth, and her artwork, and the way he felt about her, had changed all that. The three long weeks that had stretched by between the moment he had decided to take a large, perhaps, even foolish step in their relationship and that very moment as he sat around his living room coffee table with the woman in question next to him and his boss and his boss' wife across from him, had been interminable, and, as each day past them by, time moving perpetually closer to the moment where the artist beside him would finally become conscious of just exactly what he had done for her, he became even more eager. His heart seemed to beat faster, his palms would, for no reason whatsoever, become slightly clammy, and he found himself smiling even more than was normal, than what he believed to be advisable.

And, then, finally, tossed somewhere in between his apprehensiveness and his anticipating restlessness, remained the fact that he was also scared. He, Jason Morgan, who, at one time, had been the most feared mafia enforcer on the east coast, was scared out of his mind by the thought that the twenty-two year old on his right wouldn't like the grand gesture he was making for her, that she would, rather than being grateful for his support and appreciative of his feelings for her, be angry at him for doing something so significant behind her back. Elizabeth's wrath was the last thing he wanted to elicit, but, nonetheless, there was a definite chance that his big plan would do just that.


But, if she didn't like his surprise, he would just start again. After all, if nothing else, he was determined, and they had already managed to overcome so much old, crippling baggage between them that, surely, they'd be able to get past their issues, once again, if necessary. However, he was hoping that there would be nothing to get past, and, instead, that his actions would bring them closer than ever. At just the thought of being more than friends with his wife, Jason grinned wistfully, squeezing the brunette in question's hand from underneath the coffee table they – the two of them and their guests – were sitting around.

After finally extending a return invitation to the Pattersons to have dinner with them, the older couple had agreed, and he and Elizabeth had set about planning a, if not fun evening, then certainly a nice, relaxing, enjoyable one. He was to make steaks and vegetables on the grill, she had cooked the only thing, really, that she could, brownies, and there had been beer in the cooler for he and Tom and wine coolers for her and Amanda. The weather was still nice enough that they had planned to dine outside, especially since their kitchen table was too small for four people and their dining room was composed entirely of a pool table and a darts board, but, as plans were known to do, theirs had been ruined by an early fall thunderstorm, the drenching rain bursting forth from the clouds the moment their guests had arrived.

While had had been at a loss as to what they should do instead, the college graduate he lived with had shown absolutely no signs of worry or care. After endearingly insisting that he take an umbrella with him outside to finish grilling their food in the garage, he had obeyed, feeling very emasculated but, nevertheless, helpless to say no to his wife, the brunette that occupied, at that point, pretty much every single one of his thoughts, gave their friends, what she called, the grand tour of their home, making light of their still unpacked boxes in the otherwise bare spare bedroom and the seemingly impersonal nature of their furnishings. By the time he got inside with the steaks, potatoes, and corn on the cob, all three of them had been laughing, drinks in hand, appearing relaxed and engrossed in their conversation, and that moment had set the mood for the entire evening.

Using candles instead of electric, they had lounged out on pillows in the living room, the women dominating the conversation as he and his employer listened patiently, often engrossed in every word their respective spouses had to say, simply enjoying them as they enjoyed themselves. While Amanda had gone on and on about how perfectly eccentric she found their unique sense of living style to be, Elizabeth explained all the various plans they had for improving the house, some of which, prior to that evening, he had been unaware of, and, while Amanda had praised the artist at his side for her incredible sketches scattered around the cluttered bungalow, eliciting a pretty pink blush from the younger woman, Elizabeth had distracted her with a discussion on the garden club's float. And, now, hours later, the food gone and the alcohol supply heavily dented by all four members of their little dinner party, the two girls were just finishing up a trip down memory lane as they compared their favorite winter related recollections from childhood, and Tom was preparing to go out and start the car for his wife.

As his wife, who had, somehow, managed to fit herself tightly up against his side sometime during the evening, not that he was complaining, went to stand, Jason heard her say, "here, let me get up and show you out…"

"Nonsense," the petite blonde argued, dismissing such an idea. "You two look too comfortable to move." He happened to wholeheartedly agree with her and was hoping to keep the twenty-two year old snuggled up beside him for as long as he possibly could. "Tom and I are perfectly capable of showing ourselves out. Besides," Amanda added, "you don't 

need to be going outside and getting yourself sick. You have a big weekend coming up with the parade and the Fall Festival."

"Well, are you sure…"

"Don't I look sure," the older woman returned pointedly, arching a thin brow at the artist.

"Alright, you win," Elizabeth agreed, resettling herself into his embrace while barely managing to stifle a yawn. He wasn't sure if her actions were just for show or if she really was comfortable being that close to him, but, whatever the reason, he was going to enjoy the innocent closeness without over thinking it. "Besides," his roommate continued with a smirk, her head falling to his shoulder on a soft drop. "Jack does make a pretty nice pillow."

And, then, she had to go and say something like that, sending his mind to places anywhere but innocent.

"Well, personally," his employer stated, rejoining them in the living room, his form drenched despite the fact that he had worn a coat with an attached hood outside to his vehicle, "I'm hoping that you have actual pillows, because this old back of mine needs all the lumbar support it can get." Before anyone could question his odd statement, he pressed on, "it looks like we're stuck here for the evening. I'm sorry to impose you on like this, Jack and Ellis, but, when I went to start the truck, the radio came on…"

"How many times have I told you to turn that thing off before you shut off a car," Amanda interjected, interrupting her husband. "It drains the battery when you restart an engine like that." Turning to face their hosts, she sarcastically remarked, "and this coming from the man who has been racing since he was a teenager."

But Tom just ignored her. "There was a weather advisory on, and it looks like several of the main streets through town have been flooded, and they're shutting all the roads down."

"Of course you shouldn't be driving then," Elizabeth assured him, standing up much to Jason's displeasure. However, wordlessly, he joined her, relinking their hands as soon as he was to his feet.

Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways at the beautiful brunette beside him who was biting nervously on her plump bottom lip, scratched at his temple, and then met the older couples' gazes across from them, first his boss' and then his boss' wife. "I'm afraid you're going to have to take our room, though, seeing as how it's the only bed in the house."

"Oh, we couldn't do that," Amanda protested, but his wife was quick to contradict her.

"Well, you're going to have to, because I refuse to let our guests sleep on the floor or the couch, and, don't worry," she guaranteed them. "Conveniently enough, I just put clean sheets on this morning, so everything's nice and fresh for you."

"If you're sure…"

"I'd just listen to her if I were you," he advised the petite blonde with the gray, hesitant eyes. Letting go of the twenty-two year old's hand beside him, he, instead, wrapped his suddenly free arm around her waist, allowing his fingers to rest contentedly on her hip, and pulled her closer to him while teasing, "trust me, if nothing else, Ellis is pretty stubborn. You do not want to argue with her."


"Now, there's a man," Tom joked, winking at the younger couple, "who has his wife's number." And they all, with varying degrees of embarrassment, laughed softly before awkwardly moving to get ready for bed.

XXXIII.

The thunderstorm had come to a temporary ceasefire, but, with that calm, the humidity returned. Normally, for Elizabeth, the lingering stickiness of the summer months waning into fall would not be a problem. Always someone who enjoyed the sensation of her cool body buried under a heavy, warm mountain of blankets, she often slept in very little clothing, opting for camisoles and boy shorts, nightgowns that were no more than silk slips, and, sometimes, old, baggy t-shirts. However, when one was forced to share a rather surprisingly comfortable pallet with their husband, of all people,on the floor of their living room while guests slept blissfully away upstairs in her bed, one tended to wear more clothing, resulting in an uncomfortable, inflamed restlessness.

Not that she could particularly blame her unpleasant situation on either the weather or her unusual nightly dress, for the solitary source of her distress was the man lounging peacefully beside her, arms crossed lazily behind his head and underneath his pillow. And it wasn't the fact that he was elbowing her in his unorthodox sleeping position, and, even if he did, at that point, the artist had a distinct hunch that she wouldn't particularly have minded; instead, what was keeping her awake, what was making it impossible for her to fall asleep, and what was making her feel entirely too overheated was the fact that not only was her husband sleeping beside, but, apparently, he also had a penchant for sleeping in very little clothing as well.

The bottom line was that she was laying just inches away from a self-assured, satisfied, snug, shirtless Jason Morgan…

… And it was driving her to distraction.

It was one thing to realize that she had feelings for the man she lived with and do nothing about them when they were together in less intimate of situations. When they were working on the house or eating dinner together, she could remember that he was nothing more than her friend and that the most he would ever feel for her was camaraderie or maybe even protectiveness in an 'I think of her as my little sister' kind of way. However, sharing a bed with the former enforcer was not something she was prepared to do. It was too tempting, too taunting, because, despite the fact that she wanted more from him, not only was she probably unprepared and unready for such a thing, but the brunette also knew it was the very last thing on the older man's mind.

"You're thinking too loudly."

Taken aback by the sound of his voice filling the otherwise still and silent living room, she turned several degrees in his direction only to stumble over her words. "I… um… what?"

"Your head," Jason clarified, pointing momentarily to his own. "I can hear the wheels turning, and it's keeping me awake."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He chuckled at that. "Don't apologize, Webber. Just tell me what's got you so wound up."


Her bright, round eyes immediately flared, and, even in the dark where there was no chance for him to see her, she knew that she blushed a deep shade of scarlet red. Chewing on her lip for several moments in contemplation, the college graduate finally offered, "I can't do that," as a means of an excuse. But she should have known better; she should have known that the blonde wouldn't let the subject drop that simply.

"Why not?"

Without thinking, she replied, "it's personal."

"I see," the onetime hitman remarked, all humor and ease fleeing his voice as his body because rigid beside her, and they fell into an awkward silence. Several long, unnerving minutes passed by, and Elizabeth believed that she was going to get a reprieve, that he was going to just let the topic go, but, as the man beside her started speaking again, apparently having taken his time to prepare a new strategic approach to whatever it was that was bothering her, she realized she was obviously mistaken. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Balking, she denied, "what? Of course not…"

"Elizabeth," he interrupted her, his voice soft with concern and care. "You don't have to hide with me, and I can tell that you're edgy. You're as far away from me as you can get…"

"I'm just trying to give you your space," she insisted, but they both knew that she was scrambling, that she was lying.

"And I can feel how tense you are even an arm's length away from me."

Was there really that much room between them? To the twenty-two year old, she felt as if they were practically sleeping one on top of the other, but, glancing across the pallet, she realized that Jason was right, but it still did nothing to relieve her anxiety. Reaching for something – anything to use an excuse, she finally settled on a cover, whispering her words in the vain hope the retired enforcer either wouldn't hear her or would get frustrated with her behavior and simply give up on her. "It's the storm."

"The storm stopped half an hour ago, Webber."

"Well, then, it's lingering tension," she exploded, finally twisting in the blankets to curl up on her side to face him. Gone was her apprehension; a spark of anger at his always rational, perpetually tranquil demeanor replaced it. "Would you just drop it so I can get to sleep?"

"I would, but, like I said," the blonde reiterated, smirking, "I can't with you thinking so loudly."

Sitting up and taking the blankets with her to clutch them against her flannel clad chest, the artist rolled her eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You can't possibly hear a person thinking."

But the only response Jason offered her was a shrug of his shoulders, an impossibly crooked grin, and the infuriating words, "with you, I can."

Huffing, she collapsed back onto her pillow, his light laughter making her want to grin 

despite herself. Finally, she relented, "alright, fine then. Tell me, All Powerful and Knowing One, just how exactly does my brain give itself away?"

"Your breathing is elevated, so that makes your heart rate speed up, and you're constantly shifting, causing the sheets to rustle, not to mention the fact that you mumble and growl sometimes under your breath, too, when you're really agitated."

Incredulous, Elizabeth argued, "I do not!"

She expected the man beside her to continue with his teasing, to grin or laugh at her outburst, but, instead, he became suddenly somber, leaning across the empty space between them so that he could meet her mirthful gaze with his own equally as sober expression. "I would never lie to you."

And, just like that, with his one, simple pronouncement, Jason Morgan, and not her husband, managed to strip away the majority of her defenses, and she found herself opening up to him. Wringing her petite fingers together to the point of almost pain, her confession came out in nearly a soundless murmur. "I've never…" Words trailing off, the brunette was forced to regroup, taking a deep breath before she pushed on. "I've never slept with a man before."

"You mean, you've never made love with a man before?"

Startling the twenty-two year old, at the sound of the words made love leaving the former mob hitman's lips, she felt a surge of warmth spread throughout her body, reaching from her toes to the tips of her already burning ears, and it left her with an odd yet pleasurable tingling sensation. Swallowing past the awareness, though, she confessed, "that's not what I meant. I've actually never even shared a bed, platonic or otherwise, with a man, so… this, it's all kind of new to me. However, in the interest of full discloser," she continued, an acerbic, cruel edge entering her voice, "no, I've never had sex, though, either. After all, I was raped; I'm damaged goods. Why would any man want that, want me, right?"

Before he even said a word, she could hear the blonde beside her let out a jarring breath. She wasn't sure if it was due to frustration or uncertainty, displeasure or trepidation, but, as soon as he started speaking, all thought fled her mind. "First thing first, Elizabeth," Jason told her. "You have to remember that I'm not just some man. I'm your friend, and, if nothing else, you're safe with me."

Tentatively, the college graduate reached out, taking the onetime enforcer's left hand in her own right one and twining their fingers together gracefully, her soft, delicate digits seamlessly fitting with his rather blunt yet strong and calloused ones. "I know," she whispered, reassuring him about the fact that she did, indeed, trust him to protect her.

"As for everything else you said, technically I'm brain damaged, so, using your logic, does that mean that I should spend the rest of my life alone, too?"

"What," the artist gasped out, troubled and shocked by his train of thought. "Of course not, Jason. You… you're… there's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

"But there is actually," he argued, keeping their hands linked together but turning to roll onto stomach and bracing his body's weight on his free arm so he could look down upon her. "I don't process the world like everyone else does. Things, for me, are cut and dry, black and white; I can't see the gray in between. I really can't feel temperature extremes, I 

have no memory of my life before the accident, I don't dream, and, like I told you before, I can't see two dimensional objects."

"Okay," Elizabeth admitted, slowly accepting the things that he told her, "but your injury didn't affect the way you feel; it didn't affect your ability to love or to be loved."

"The doctors told me that it would."

"That's crazy," she argued, wrinkling her brow in confusion. "I mean, you've loved quite a few people, and they've loved you in return. Even I know that. There's your Grandmother, your sister, Robin, Carly, and, most of all, your son. Jason, if those doctors were right, then there's no way that you could have been a father to Michael. Whatever they told you about your injury, they were wrong. You're just… different than who you once were, not necessarily better or worse in anyway, just different."

"Exactly," the blonde agreed with her, squeezing her fingers gently. "And the same thing applies to you, too, Webber." When she went to argue, he pressed on, refusing to give her a chance to talk. "Before my accident, I was Jason Quartermaine, and, after my accident, I became Jason Morgan. We looked the same, but the experience changed who I was… just as your rape changed who you were. Before you were attacked, you were Elizabeth Webber, and, afterwards, despite the fact that, unlike me, you didn't change your name, you became a new, different person, not necessarily better or worse in anyway, just different."

She really hated that he used her own words against her, because, if she argued with him, she'd essentially be admitting that she was wrong, too, and, at least, on that issue, she was sure she was right. But he didn't give her much time to ponder his assertions, for he was already moving on to another point.

"You are a strong, intelligent, talented, compassionate, and beautiful woman, Elizabeth Webber, and any man would be lucky to love you and to be loved by you."

Despite the fact that she knew it was shallow, the twenty-two year old's shattered pride and self-esteem latched onto the very last trait the older man beside her had attributed to her. "You think I'm beautiful?"

She tensed slightly when she felt his hand slide away from her own only to reach up and gently float across the apple of her cheek, but, after several entrancing seconds of his touch, she melted into his embrace, savoring the sensation of his work roughened fingers upon her baby soft skin.

Reverently, Jason whispered his response. "I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

The brunette flushed at the retired enforcer's compliment, but, because of the sincerity of his words and the way he was staring into her unblinking gaze so boldly, she couldn't find it within herself to argue with him, and, even if for just that one night, she wanted to believe that he honestly felt that way about her. Squirming down even further under the blankets, she shifted so that she was slightly closer to him before finally allowing her heavy lids to fall shut with the inevitable lull of sleep. However, before she allowed herself the pleasure of rest, there was one more thing she had to say.

"Thank you, Jason."



"For what," he asked softly, and she could hear the apparent confusion in his voice. Rejoining their hands together, he continued, "I didn't do anything."

Yawning, she smiled a secret smile in his direction, never once opening her eyes as she confided, "but you did. You definitely did."

And, that time, he didn't disagree with her.

XXXIV.

He had never been to a parade before, and, after just several minutes, he knew exactly why. They were a blaring, pastel colored, candy coated hell, and he stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb. Through dressed casually enough, it was obvious to the average observer that he was anything but comfortable in the situation. He refused to sit, he didn't clap or cheer as the various bands, fire trucks, and floats passed by, and, unlike everyone else, he didn't scramble to catch or gather the flying wares distributed by those walking in the ridiculous spectacle. However, if it meant supporting Elizabeth, then he would sit through a damn parade every single day of the week.

And he'd enjoy it, too.

Since their late night discussion several days before, nothing drastic had changed between them in their relationship, but he could still see some differences. The brunette was more relaxed around him physically, and, more importantly, she also seemed at ease with her own body as well. Although no glaring contrasts, he had noticed little variations in her appearance – she had taken to wearing more feminine pieces of clothing, flirty skirts, heels, and slightly lower cut tops, and her long, luxurious hair was constantly free and flowing down her regal back, driving Jason practically mad with distraction, for he wanted to feel its weight against his bare chest, and he wanted to run his hands through it, curling his fingers into its rich, thick locks to pull her closer to him, so he could kiss her. But he hadn't done so… yet.

She seemed happier, too, freer almost. The twenty-two year old smiled more, and, when she did so, the gesture actually reached her eyes, making the already hypnotizing, deep, endless pools of blue glitter wickedly as if she knew something no one else did, and he desperately wanted to be taken into her confidence. And she also laughed a lot now as well – a light, almost twinkling sound that could haunt him at any time and during any situation. At work, even the sound of the saws buzzing and the hammers flying rapidly against the wooden beams and iron nails did absolutely nothing to drown out the memories of his wife's amusement… not that he particularly wanted them to.

And, on top of everything else, today was the day. After weeks of waiting, his late night, spur of the moment plan was finally coming to fruition, and, just as soon as he could track the woman he lived with down after the parade, they were going to spend the entire day together at the carnival, even if he was on edge the entire time because of the massive crowds. He was determined to help Elizabeth have some fun, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be someone who would appreciate the ridiculously disgusting food, the rigged games, and the cheaply made and poorly assembled rides the festival had to offer.

Straightening, though, he pushed his thoughts aside, knowing that he needed to be on guard and not distracted that day. The parade and then the fair that followed it would be the perfect opportunity for someone to sneak up upon them, taking them by surprise, and, 

before he could do anything to protect himself and, more importantly, protect Elizabeth, they would already be in, perhaps, lethal danger, and he refused to allow that to happen.

"Just wait until you see our float this year, Didi," an elderly woman sitting before him in her lawn chair gushed. The former enforcer knew who all the women were. In his own way, he had researched each and every one of them as soon as he found out his wife was going to be in contact with them. In fact, he was pretty sure that he was aware of more of their dirty laundry than even Ms. Northam, their interfering neighbor, was, but, unlike the old maid, he didn't care about such things. "Ellis did such a wonderful job."

"After all the money I sunk into that rickety wagon you old birds call a float, it better be worthy of the stinkin' Rose Parade, Evelyn Shepherd. I can't believe I let you girls talk me into sponsoring you this year."

"Oh, stop your complaining," the one named Cate ordered, her tone brokering absolutely no room for argument. "You and I both know that designing and working on the float was good for Ellis. It got her creative juices flowing."

"And one can only hope that that creativity was used in other aspects of her life as well," Renee Mortenson added, and Jason found himself wondering if the two of them always spoke in correlation with each other. "Has she said anything to you, Didi, about their efforts to get pregnant?"

"Oh, you know Ellis – as quiet as a church mouse and just as bashful, too. Whenever I bring up the subject of babies or motherhood, she just blushes and changes the topic, so you know what that means. Either she and Jack have quite the sex life or practically none at all."

He couldn't help himself – he snorted in response to the floral shop owner's comments. Whether it was any of their business or not, the fact remained that, if he and Elizabeth ever got the chance to have a sex life together, he knew that it would be amazing. There was no debating that fact.

"What about you, Betsy," Evelyn suggested, turning to look at the spinster. "Have you noticed any new developments recently with your trusty binoculars?"

"Hogwash," his neighbor dismissed, and the former hitman found himself blanching at the very thought of what might come out of her mouth next. "With those two, I don't even need my binoculars. They're obvious enough as it is."

It was Cate's turn to urge the busybody on. "Obvious about what?"

"Their mating habits." Sighing, he dropped his face in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. How his wife put up with these old biddies, he had no idea. But Betsy continued on without pause or embarrassment. "She's been strutting herself lately, dressing like a right fine hussy, if you ask me."

Now, that, Jason felt, was taking things way too far. Just as he was about to step in, though, to defend the young artist, the oldest member of their little group beat him to the punch. "Oh, shut up, Northam," Evelyn snapped. "Just because we all don't strive for more coverage than a nun, that does not make us hussies. You're just jealous, because Ellis found someone to love, someone who loves her in return, and you're far too miserable for anyone to even like you."


Renee took up the torch, picking up where Mrs. Shepherd left off. Giggling, she whispered loudly, almost in a conspiratorial manner, "I've seen the way Jack Martin looks at his wife, and, let me tell you, it wouldn't surprise me if he could impregnate her with just wishful thinking alone."

Now, these old ladies were finally getting somewhere. This he could enjoy eavesdropping on.

"And Ellis," Cate added, as always. "She practically glows whenever her husband is around.

"Speaking of said spouse," Evelyn teased before turning around to face him. "Oh, Jack," she pretended to be surprised. "I didn't even know you were standing there. Have you been listening to us women talk this whole time?"

He smirked, neither confirming nor denying her inquiry, and her merry laughter washed over him for a moment. Looking at the widowed grandmother before him, he couldn't help but notice all the physical and perhaps even personality similarities she shared with his own grandmother. Just like Lila, she was petite and frail, but there was still a spunk to her, an inner strength, and the two elderly women shared a comparable likeness with their pale complexion, white hair, and shining, crystal blue eyes as well.

"Tell me, dear," she pushed him, changing the subject. "Does Ellis have a bun in the oven yet?"

And, despite her candor and penchant for saying things the Quartermaine matriarch would never utter in polite society, Jason was thrust back into a time in his life he hadn't thought about in months.

Sneaking into the mansion he only visited to see his grandmother or his sister, the stealth enforcer crept hurried through the twisting, intersecting corridors, eventually making his way to Lila's private sitting room. He knew that he would find the elderly woman there at this hour, having tea by herself, for all the other Quartermaines would be off at work during the afternoon, so he had purposely rearranged his schedule for a small gap of free time to fit with the slight window of opportunity. Knocking softly on her closed door, he entered the daintily furnished room after hearing her announce that whoever was at the door could come in, and, as soon as she saw it was her wayward grandson, Lila smiled, beckoning him to move closer to her.

He kneeled down beside her chair, taking one of her frail and gnarled yet still beautiful hands in both of his own, kissing it softly. "Hello, Grandmother."

"Jason, this is such a wonderful surprise. How are you?"

"I'm…" His words trailed off, as he was unsure as to how he should respond. Normally, he just told the elderly woman that he was fine, never offering her any more information about his life, for, most of what he could tell her, he knew would scare or disappoint her.

"What is it, dear? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," the hitman offered his reassurance, smiling awkwardly. "In fact, well, something good has happened, or, at least, I think it's good." Letting go of her hand, he reached one of his own up to scratch nervously at his temple, averting his gaze from his 

curious grandmother's. "Carly… a friend of mine… is pregnant."

"A new, precious life is always a wonderful thing."

"Maybe," he acknowledged, shrugging his shoulders distractedly. "But, her baby, it's mine." Glancing up to relock their matching blue eyes together, Jason clarified, "I'm going to be a father."

Smiling wistfully at the memory of his past, the now retired enforcer was pleasantly surprised to realize that the reminiscence which would have easily paralyzed him with regret and sorrow just two months before didn't hurt nearly as much now, and, refocusing on all the garden club members before him, he finally addressed Evelyn's question. "You'd have to ask Ellis, but, then again, you're not allowed to harass her about our private life anymore, are you? I wonder what she would think of you turning the heat up on me instead."

"Now, don't you go ratting us out to your wife," Betsy warned him with a glare. "We don't need her bristling up like an angry porcupine on us anytime soon."

"After all," Cate teased the only member of their group to never have been married, "you have the market for bristling up like an angry porcupine cornered around here, don't you, Northam?"

Everyone but his neighbor started laughing, and then they started bickering back and forth, the whole lot of them sounding like an angry herd of bellowing moose if you asked him. But they didn't, and, at that particular moment, he really didn't care. Rather, he was quite pleasantly distracted by his wife walking past with the garden club's float. He had already seen the designs for the decorated hay wagon several times, even going so far as to make a few helpful suggestions when it came time to actually constructing the thing, so he really wasn't concerned about the eight foot by eight foot, perfectly round chicken wire pumpkin adorned entirely with live flowers in various hues of orange, red, and yellow. And he didn't see the kids – grandchildren of the women in the club – who were dressed up in costumes to portray the different characters from Charlie Brown, costumes Elizabeth designed and help make. No, what he saw was Snoopy – all five foot, two inches of the adorable, black and white dog.

And, if he said so himself, Snoopy was kind of sexy, too, or, at least, the woman he knew to be underneath the full costume was decidedly so.

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he prepared to leave, only getting a few steps away when a voice called out behind him, vying for his attention. "And just where do you think you're going, Jack Martin," Didi wanted to know. "The parade's not over yet."

"It is for me," he replied simply.

"But you at least have to stay and see our float," Renee argued.

"And your wife," Cate affixed.

"Your float already went past, and my wife, well… She was the best part about it."

Chuckling softly to himself as the five women angrily burst out in irritation with each other for distracting them from the parade, he quickly slipped away from the bustling, cheering crowd, determined to be at the end of the route waiting for Elizabeth when she got there. 

They had the beautiful, late September day to spend together, and he had his plan to surprise her with that evening. With a spring in his step the retired hitman had only just recently discovered he had in the first place while being in the presence of the twenty-two year old artist on a day-to-day basis, he set out to track down the woman who was always on his mind, intent on making sure that, for, at least, that Saturday, she returned his fascination.

XXXV.

Of all the possible ways she could have imagined ending the day, it was certainly not throwing up, and, to make matters worse, she had even managed to get some of the mess on, of all people, Jason Morgan's shoes.

He deserved it, though, for it was his fault that she got sick in the first place, and, of course, because he was a big, bad, indomitable former enforcer, he, obviously, wouldn't get queasy from circus rides. But she did, all because he had tricked her into riding with him. She would have been perfectly content to just eat. After all, despite being little, she could pack in more food than someone twice her size if she really wanted to, and, in her opinion, there was nothing quite as greasily delicious as carnival junk food. Between arriving at the Fall Festival and deciding to take a spin on both the Gravatron and the Tilt-a-Whirl, she had, somehow, managed to consume two corn dogs, a stick of cotton candy, several slushies, a candy apple, a gyro, a steak sandwich, and an elephant ear, all the while playing games and winning unnecessary but still desirable stuffed animals that she made her husband carry around for her.

But then she had been dared, challenged even, by the man she lived with who taunted her into riding the two fast, spinning rides with him by asking her if she was too chicken to do so. Of course, just as the blonde knew it would, that got the preferred response from her, and they had proceeded to take several turns on both rotating machines. While riding, the artist had squealed with excitement and mirth, enjoying herself, but, as soon as they stopped, her stomach continued to roll, and she had been forced to seek out the nearest restroom.

Surprising her, the retired hitman followed her right into the ladies' room, much to the chagrin of several other women, collapsed onto his knees beside her, and proceeded to hold her hair back for her while she threw up. The vomit that ended up on his boots came between bouts of being sick when she felt as if she might have succeeded in reaching equilibrium again, but, as the mess on his shoes proved, she had been wrong, but Jason never complained or even appeared perturbed. Rather, she could tell that he felt bad for fooling her into riding with him, and his concern almost made feeling so wretched for nearly fifteen minutes worth it. Almost.

However, afterwards, she went back to her normal self, and, as they made their way towards the exhibition hall at his insistence, she even made the onetime enforcer stop to buy her some homemade taffy. She was happily snacking away on the sticky candy when they entered the room that displayed all the locally submitted art, but, when she saw a sketch of her husband hanging on display, a plaque above it boldly declaring it the 'Best in 

Show,' when she saw one of her own sketches of her husband hanging before her, she stopped in shock, the cinnamon flavored sweet falling from her hand to land at her sandaled feet.

"Oh my god."

Glancing up at the blonde beside her, she found his head cocked to the side, a puzzled expression marring his otherwise tan and handsome features. Obviously, he had not been expecting the sight either.

"I don't…" The sentence trailed off as she swallowed, ran a distracted hand through her rich, chocolate waves, and then tried to talk once again. "How did this get here?"

A stranger – the woman who was watching the display room - approached them, a warm, welcoming smile illuminating her face as she held out a hand towards Elizabeth. "I take it you're Ellis Martin? Amanda described you to me, you and your husband both, and I've been anticipating meeting you since she brought your late entry in two days ago. You're a very talented, young artist, Mrs. Martin."

Ignoring the proffered hand and the compliment, she stared at the unfamiliar person before her. "Amanda entered my sketch, but how…"

The slightly older lady laughed. "She told me that she swiped it from your house a few days ago when she was there for dinner. You have to watch that woman. She's as sneaky and conniving as they come but always in a kind manner. "Your other pieces did well, too, all of them earning top honors in their category."

"What other pieces?"

"Why the ones your husband entered for you, of course."

Snapping her head up to look at Jason, he met her gaze tentatively, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You don't mind, do you? I just… your drawings are good, really good, and I thought that it wasn't fair that I, of all people, was the only one to see them."

Placing a reassuring hand on his bare forearm, she squeezed the muscle readily present there and smiled broadly, appreciatively up at the man she lived with. "I think it was a really… sweet… thing for you to do for me," and she nearly started laughing out loud when his nose visibly wrinkled at her choice of words. Turning back to the stranger, she addressed the woman politely. "If you'll excuse us, my husband and I would like to look around, but thank you for the congratulations… and the award."

"Oh, I had nothing to do with that, besides placing my vote for the piece as well. 'Best in Show' is awarded to the picture or drawing that gets the most votes from those who come in and look at the displays, and everybody loved your sketches, especially the one of Mr. Martin."


With a nod in the woman's direction, the twenty-two year old pulled Jason off to the side with her, waiting until she was sure they were alone before she started talking quietly to him. "Well, this explains a lot."

"It does?"

"The way you've been acting these past few weeks," she expanded, smirking at him. "I knew you were up to something, but I just couldn't figure out what."

Elizabeth could tell by the slight flare of his cobalt irises that she had caught him off guard. "You knew?"

Tinting an attractive shade of pink, she confessed, "I watch you sometimes, especially now that I'm drawing again, and you're not as unreadable as you think you are."

"Well, why didn't you say something; why didn't you ask me about it?"

"I knew that you'd tell me when you were ready to," the brunette shared, offering the onetime hitman a gentle smile. "And you've always been patient with me, so I just wanted to return the favor. Now," she instructed, taking his arm and weaving her own through it, "show me which pieces you picked out. I'm curious to see which ones you liked the best."

"Well, they weren't all necessarily my favorites," Jason responded as he guided her through the large room filled with hundreds of different drawings, photographs, and paintings, "because I tried to pick ones that were… vague?"

"Safe, you mean," she interrupted his statement, gathering the meaning behind his rather curious choice of words. "Do you think that the sketch Amanda submitted will cause problems for us?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," her husband reassured her, letting go of her arm to wrap his around her waist, pulling her even more snugly into his side. "After all, how much media coverage could a little Fall Festival receive around here?"

And what he said made sense, so she pushed her worry out her mind and just continued to enjoy the rest of their evening together. Eventually, they left the fair after spending several hours in the display hall, taking in not only the art room but also the produce, the baked goods, the sewing, the crafts, and the flower arrangement room. Laden down with both her stuffed animals and her trophy for 'Best in Show,' Jason offered to help her to the car, resulting in him giving her a piggy back ride to their SUV. It was the most carefree Elizabeth had felt since even before the night of her rape, and she found herself hoping that they never had to leave Dovetree… even if that meant she remained Ellis Martin for the rest of her life, always in hiding, always living a lie, always one step ahead of fatal danger, because life with Jason Morgan as her husband, as her friend, as, maybe, someday, her more than friend, was worth any threat.