Prompt #8: The girl needs some monster in her man.

Halloween Hookups

Root of Hemlock Digg'd i'the Dark

Life really was quite confusing.

Just when he thought he had it all planned out, something had to come along and fuck everything up. That's what had happened when his daughter had been born. Just four weeks before her arrival, a woman he could only faintly remember from a one night stand that had shown up at his door, told him she was pregnant, and insisted that he was the father, and, while that alone had been a shock to his system, the fact that his first instinct was to seek out Elizabeth for her advice, for her friendship, well that was the truly frightening part.

He was supposed to be her protector, her confidante, and, in return, she was simply supposed to help him escape from his life and feel…well valued and special. Jason had never wanted to suddenly become another person who needed something from her, and he most certainly had not wanted to reach a point in their relationship where he expected her to be there for him. After all, being that emotionally attached to another person was a threat to his life. A good enforcer needed to stay detached at all times. If there was no one special in his life, then there was no one his enemies could attack him through, and, even though he had faith in his abilities to keep Elizabeth physically safe, the idea of her someday becoming repulsed by who he was or what he did and turning away from him, that was something he would not be able to recover from. In his mind, her face always needed to remain the same.

But, apparently, nothing he did to safeguard himself against her had worked. He had still gone to her when he needed help, he had still allowed her to support him with her unwavering friendship, and he had, unwillingly, fallen even deeper under her spell. Now, as a single father, he knew what unconditional love meant. He put his little girl's needs ahead of his own, he changed his lifestyle, taking less chances to ensure that he would be around for years to come so he could watch his daughter mature and grow into a woman (though she sure as hell was never going to marry or have kids of her own), and he realized just how empty his life was. He wanted someone to share it with now, someone who could love his baby just as much as he did; he wanted Elizabeth, and it was too damn late.

Two years ago at the same time, she had wanted him, too, but he had thrown her affections away as if they did not mean anything, and, now, he realized they had and still did mean everything. She had moved on though. At nineteen, she was a sophomore in college, studying to become an artist, and she was independent. With adulthood, he had watched as the beautiful, tragic girl he had met on a lonely fall night matured into a graceful, confident, capable woman, one who did not need him and the baggage his life came with stomping into her world and disrupting it. Maybe if he had something more to offer her, he would reconsider his plan to keep his feelings hidden, but he was simply a mob enforcer with an eleven month old daughter. What the hell would his continual presence in her life bring her but heartache?

Cracking his knuckles, the crude, harsh warning of impending violence the only sound disturbing the peaceful night, Jason set about his chore for the evening – burying the almost dead body of a rival mob boss. Joseph Sorel had been a menace towards both him and his employer one too many times, and, sick and tired of dealing with the upstart's lack of respect, he had taken the situation into his own hands…literally. With only his fists as weapons, he had slowly, painfully set about killing his rival, beating him to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. Bones were broken, his face had caved in and had a hollow, sickly appearance, and blood and bruises marred the older man's flesh anywhere the eye could land, and, as he worked to dig the impromptu grave, Jason had to admit to himself that he had taken his actions a little too far. But Sorel had been convenient, an easy target for his frustration and anger at life, so he had released all his pent up emotions upon his enemy, further proving that he was undeserving of Elizabeth.

The fact that he was burying the soon-to-be dead man along side the old bridge just cemented his unworthiness, but he had chosen this sight on purpose. Whenever his resolve weakened and he started to believe he had something of value to offer the petite brunette, he would think back to all the times they had spent together, recall that his first memory of her was at the bridge, and then feel disgusted with himself for desecrating a place that should have remained untouched and forever beautiful. Dumping Sorel's body at a place he shared with the woman he loved would be a constant reminder to the enforcer that he really was a monster.

"Jason?"

No! This could not be happening, not now, not ever. She could not be there; she could not see what he was doing. No, no, no, no, no! What was she doing there, and, perhaps more importantly, how the hell had she managed to sneak up upon him. He was supposed to be the best, infallible, untouchable, but, if a tiny, innocent wisp of a brunette could catch him in the act, could catch him getting rid of a body, then anyone would be able to, including the police or his enemies. He needed to get a hold of himself and he needed to do so immediately.

"You can't be here, Elizabeth. You need to leave. Now."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jason," she laughed off his directions, taking another step towards him. "What are you doing?" Nodding her head towards the hole behind him, she teased, "digging for buried treasure."

Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes, dropped the shovel he had been using, and reached into his coat for his cell phone. Without answering her, he dialed. Luckily for his nerves and his temper, the call was picked up immediately. "I need your help."

"Oh my god."

"There's a slight…problem," Jason admitted to his associate. "I need to leave so I can take care of something else, so I need you to come here and…"

"Oh! My! God!" At the panic in her voice, the hit man looked up and noticed the woman across him was pale and shaking. "You, you're," she lifted a finger and pointed it at him accusingly. "OH! MY! GOD!"

She was going to break, lose control, and he could already see the tears swelling into her wide, frightened blue eyes. Snapping his phone shut, he took a step closer to her, and, when she didn't back away, he closed the distance, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders and guiding them quickly back to where he had his bike hidden in the dying foliage. Because she was too frozen to act on her own, Jason gently slid the spare helmet he kept on his bike over her head and secured it under her chin. Helping her straddle the motorcycle, he waited until she was settled before climbing on himself, and, before he could even turn the machine on, Elizabeth's arms were wrapped so slightly around him, he could barely breathe.

He didn't mind though. Hell, if he was completely honest with himself, he would have to admit it was the most complete he had felt in years, and he was bolstered by the fact that she wasn't pulling away from him physically. That meant he might be able to talk to her about what she had witnessed, explain it the best he could. Obviously, there was nothing he could say that could excuse his actions, but he hoped she would, at least, listen to his side of the story before jumping to conclusions, judging him, and kicking him out of her life once and for all. Did he deserve her understanding or compassion, of course not, and, even though he knew it would be safer for her to walk away from him and never look back after that night, he wasn't ready to exist in a world without Elizabeth in it to some degree.

So, they rode. They went slow; they went fast. They went on roads he traveled frequently; they went on new routes together he had never traveled before. For hours, they simply existed together on the back of his bike, the wind and the night the only company they needed. Eventually, he could feel her relax, her body become soft and malleable as it molded around his, and the quiet and stillness of the countryside became disturbed by her excited little screams and giggles of joy. By the time they pulled up to her apartment complex, Jason knew that the delicate woman behind him was not only emotionally stronger than anyone gave her credit for but physically as well. She loved riding his motorcycle as much as he did if not more.

Silently, they lifted their road weary and stiff bodies from the bike and made their way into the building, onto the lift, and into her studio before either of them tried to speak.

"Elizabeth…"

"It's okay," she assured him with a soft smile. "I understand."

"You do?"

"You've never lied to me, Jason; you've always been upfront about who you are and what you do. Did you honestly believe that I didn't know what happened to the man who attacked me all those years ago in the park?"

"Well, no," he admitted, furrowing his brow in thought.

"And I trust you," she pressed, crossing to him and leading him by the hand to her small sofa once her coat, scarf, and gloves were removed. "You wouldn't have gone after that man you were…," she swallowed thickly before saying the words out loud, "disposing of tonight if he didn't deserve it." When he went to interrupt her, she wouldn't let him. "I know that you're no angel, Jason, that you do bad things, but you're not a malicious person, and you wouldn't hurt or kill someone unless they did something so terrible that, frankly, I don't even want to know about it."

She amazed him; her faith in him, though he was undeserving, awed him. "How do you know that?"

"Because, you saved me," Elizabeth answered simply. "You're always there for the people who matter to you, you put the needs of others ahead of your own, and I can see it in your eyes."

"See what?"

"Your compassion, your strength, your honor, your love." He blinked rapidly for, suddenly, his eyes were blurry and he couldn't see clearly, and he wanted to be able to. Hell, he needed to be able to see the woman he loved when she said such words of comfort and reassurance, words that seemed to effortlessly be able to cure him with their simplicity of nature and beauty of faith. "I see it in the way you take care of your daughter and put her first." With just one reminder of his little girl, Jason felt himself grin. "Will you tell me about her?"

"About Ella?"

His smile only grew larger as he watched the lock of shock wash over the artist's face.

"You…you named her after…me?"

"You're my friend," he reasoned, shrugging his shoulder to dismiss the significance of the honor.

"Well," Elizabeth sniffed, laughing derisively at herself as she wiped a tear away. "That's definitely the best birthday present anyone's given me this year. I see you haven't lost your touch."

And, with that, he started to share stories of his little girl, and, within minutes, the only woman in his life was curled into his side, listening attentively. Although it had not been planned, they had managed to spend another Halloween together, another of the brunette's birthdays together. Although Jason Morgan didn't believe in such things as fate or destiny, he had to admit he liked their ritual. After all, one day a year with Elizabeth Webber was better than nothing at all.