Prompt #2: If I can't see you, you can't see me.

Halloween Hookups

Silver'd in the Moon's Eclipse

They – doctors, scientists, experts – agreed that there were five senses: sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound, but Jason Morgan didn't agree. If his instincts weren't a sense, then what were they? A combination of the agreed upon five or something bigger, something more important that not everyone had the ability to understand or recognize? It was a question he didn't know the answer to, and, really, the answer didn't matter to him. As long as his instincts continued to keep him alive, who was he to complain or question their nature?

Ever since his accident (if you really wanted to call it that; he preferred not to), he had relied upon his instincts to tell him what to do. They had helped him decide to move out of the Quartermaine mansion, had told him to go to work for Sonny Corinthos, and they had aided him when it came to making new acquaintances, telling him which people were worth his while and which weren't. Combined with his ability to think quickly on his feet and to make rational choices in the face of danger, they had also kept him alive more than once since he had changed his name, donned leather, and become his own man.

As he parked his motorcycle a few yards away from a bridge he had discovered on a late night ride, he became more aware of his surroundings and that questionable sixth sense – his instincts – started to tell him that something about the desolate place was different that night. It wasn't a threat, that much he could decipher immediately, but he also knew that he wasn't alone. Was it man or beast, friend or foe, and was it worth his time to stay and find out? It would be simple to climb back on his bike, speed away into the night, and find another place to be by himself to think and finally take a deep, cleansing breath, but Jason Morgan wasn't wired that way; he didn't run from the unknown, and he certainly wasn't chased away from a bridge he had started to think of as his own. After all, who else knew about the out of the way, abandoned estate? Who else, in today's world, took the time to simply be, letting every thing else fall to the wayside and disappear into the gentle, soothing sounds of running water in a gorge below and the whispers of wind in and out of the thick foliage of tree branches tangled together to form the canopy in the forest which had overtaken the once magnificent estate and the ruins that were left of it? No one but him…or, at least, that's what he had thought before tonight.

His simple, nondescript, functional yet unattractive watch read that it was two o'clock in the morning. Halloween had officially past, something Jason was glad for seeing as how the roads had been filled with reckless, drunk drivers all night, and, even though he didn't remember his life before as Jason Quartermaine, he had no ambition to go head long into a tree for the second time in his life. Along with the holiday, October had also come to a close, ushering in November. However, despite the dawning of the eleventh month of the year, Port Charles still remained relatively warm. Meteorologists claimed they were experiencing something called an Indian summer, so there had been no snow flurries yet or frost to kill the vegetation. Temperatures at night did drop into the forties, but the bleakness of winter had been delayed and life, though struggling, still flourished everywhere a person went.

Quietly, he continued his way through the estate, passing the bridge when he found no one there and wandering through the old, overgrown gardens, determined to find who or what had trespassed upon his private sanctuary. What had first alerted him to the other presence, he wasn't sure. The only sounds in the night were the delicate snapping of dried leaves and grass under his heavy boots; the only sight unnatural to the location was the milky puff of breath he released from his mouth, the warm moist air forming immediate condensation as soon as it joined and mixed with the cooler air of the surrounding evening. It wasn't a smell that had alerted Jason to another figure's company, and he certainly hadn't touched anything or anyone else. Instead, it was just an unexplainable sensation that he wasn't alone, and the sensation reinforced his idea that there was indeed a sixth sense.

His suspicions were confirmed when he came across another person sitting in the former gardens of the old estate. The other person was a female, but he could not decipher whether she was a woman or merely a girl. Though she appeared young, there was a wise, very world weary essence about her that told of a maturity often not found in people years older than he himself was. However, there were things about her he could determine.

She was petite, almost delicate looking, but, just by glancing at her, he knew it would be a very bad idea to tell her that. The stiff, almost proud rigidity of her back spoke of pride and self confidence, and Jason had a feeling that the young woman would not appreciate being considered delicate. In fact, by the arrogant tilt of her chin and the slight upturn of her small button of a nose, he could imagine her going off and punching him if he ever made such a comment to her…not that he would. These were his personal thoughts, thoughts that he would keep to himself.

Her skin was pale, so with the almost blue light of the moon washing over them, she appeared silver and ethereal in nature. From her profile, he could determine that she had full lips, soft, feminine features, and wide eyes which were lined with smoky, mysterious lashes, but he couldn't see the color of her eyes, and, for reasons he could not explain, he regretted the fact.

"Please don't come any further."

Her voice, tinged with a husky rasp that told him she smoked, made him pause in his observation. He hadn't realized she was privy to his presence, and it startled him that he could have become distracted enough to allow someone to surprise him, even if it was some wisp of a brunette no more dangerous than his elderly grandmother or kid sister.

"If that's what you want…"

"It is," she affirmed, nodding her head at the same time as she spoke. "That way you have deniability."

For the second time during their very short conversation, she had startled him, for he had not been expecting her to say such a thing. "Of what?"

"Of seeing me," the young woman responded. Pausing to reach inside her long, black coat, she withdrew a packet of Marlboro Lights, plucking one cigarette out of the box, lighting it, and inhaling once all before wordlessly offering him one.

"No thanks. I don't smoke."

"Suit yourself." A simple shrug of her shoulders told him she was neither offended by his refusal to join her nor by the almost disappointed tone of his voice.

Why he didn't like the idea of her smoking, he didn't know. After all, Jason Morgan had never been fully concerned about the welfare of others, so it wasn't as if he was simply looking out for her. His policy was always to each their own, but, apparently, even he acted different on a night when the rest of the world seemed to go slightly insane. Ridding the confusing thoughts from his head, he turned back to their former discussion. "Why would it matter if I saw you here or not? Are you in trouble? Are you running from something? The cops?"

She snorted – actually snorted at him. It had to be a first. "I don't think the cops concern themselves with rebellious teenage girls who sneak out of their homes when they're grounded, but that's just me." So she was a girl and not a woman, her comment told him. "I just needed to breathe, you know," she pressed. Her tone seemed almost pleading as if she needed someone to, for once, understand her. "I felt like I was suffocating, like the walls were closing in around me, and, if I didn't get out, I would be trapped." She laughed at herself, the sound rich and deep with scorn and self mockery. "You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No."

"Well then, congratulations, because you're the first one to ever understand Lizzie Webber. That's quite an accomplishment." She paused to take another inhale from her cigarette. "My parents have tried everything – punishment, bribery, counseling…" The young woman's words trailed off as she appeared to get lost in the past, in her own thoughts, and Jason simply allowed her the peace and privacy to do so, never once interrupting her. Finally, after several quite minutes, she returned to their conversation. "Anyway, if you don't come any further, then we technically didn't see each other, and you have deniability."

He chuckled softly and, for some unknown and rather confusing reason, found himself shoving his hands into his pants pockets and rocking on his feet. He wasn't cold, so there was no realistic cause of his actions, but they seemed second nature, almost necessary, so he went with it, never second guessing himself. "I don't think anyone will find all the way out here. In fact," he pushed, talking more to a stranger than he ever did with his friends and coworkers down at the docks, "I didn't think anyone else knew about this place."

"I like the statues."

And, true to her word, she was situated in front of one. "Is that one," he gestured towards the little girl forever captured in stone despite the fact that her back was to him and she couldn't see his movements, "your favorite?"

"She seems lonely," the brunette responded, sighing wistfully. "She's forced to stay here, she never smiles, and she has no one to talk to, no one to understand her. I can sympathize with that, so, yeah," she finally got around to answering his question, "she's my favorite. She's the one I sketch the most."

"You draw?"

"I try." The young woman's answer was ridden with self doubt and insecurities which surprised Jason because just moments before she seemed so confident, almost cocky. "It's a front," she went on to explain, "my attitude. If I make people think that they can't hurt me, I take away their power." It was as if she could read his thoughts, but instead of finding the experience strange or even uncomfortable, it was relaxing and almost nice to have someone he could talk to without having to defend his thoughts or actions. "My family doesn't understand my love for art. They're all practical people. I mean sure," she allowed, shrugging her shoulders, something he was realizing quickly was a habit of hers, "they support museums and the theatre, going to charity events there and giving their money, but they don't actually appreciate it, and they think drawing and painting are a big waste of my time. After all, I'm supposed to be a doctor or a nurse like everyone else in my family; there's no room for uniqueness or following ones dreams."

"No one should be able to tell you what to do," he found himself replying. Taking a step forward so he could be just that much closer to the younger woman, he pressed, "you have the ability to make all your own decisions. Your family can't tell you what kind of person you should be, and, if they try, leave. You don't need them."

"That's where you're wrong, Jason," she told him, standing up and making her way out of the garden, never once looking in his direction or allowing him to see her face. "I turn fourteen today, so, for four more years, I do have to listen to them, find a way to stay true to myself while still following their rules. Not all of us are adults yet, not all of us have motorcycles we can run away on. I'll see you around."

And, just like that, she disappeared into the night, rounding the corner of the garden and going back over the path he had taken to find her initially a mere fifteen minutes before. He knew for a fact that he had not mentioned his name, but somehow she had known it anyway; she had known him, but he had no idea who she was. It wasn't often that Jason Morgan found himself at a loss, and he knew right then and there that he didn't like it. No matter what, it didn't matter if it took years for him to meet up with 'Lizzie Webber' again, the next time he saw the haunting brunette, he would know who she really was. That was one thing he was damn sure of.

Taking the last few remaining steps to the stature she had been sitting in front of him, he sat down in her former spot to watch and observe the girl carved into stone before him, wanting to see, trying to see everything his companion had noticed, and, with her words ringing through his mind, he thought just maybe he would be able to see the statue through Lizzie Webber's eyes.

Apparently, All Hallow's Eve really did bring out the strange and unnatural in everyone and everything, including a rather intimidating and cynical dock worker.