Prompt #9: And the lights went out in Port Charles.

Halloween Hookups

Toad, That Under Cold Stone

Sometimes the best things in life were ones that were unexpected. When Elizabeth Webber woke up that Saturday morning, she had her entire day planned out – take a long, hot shower, get dressed for work, eat enough sugar to get her through a double shift at the Port Charles Grill, and then spend Halloween serving customers overpriced meals while, at the same time, hoping they left her very generous tips. But, from the moment her petite, bare toes touched the hardwood floors of her studio apartment that morning, nothing had gone as planned.

First, her boss called. He informed her that the entire city was going on lock down which immediately made the brunette panic. Her first thought was that her crazy, hippie neighbors had been right to prepare for nuclear war while she was growing up, because, at the first mention of lock down, she really wanted to be inside their prettily painted bunker with the bright flowers and row after row of nonperishable foods. Apparently, the restaurant manager had sensed her impending dread, because he informed her there was an ice storm moving in and it had its direct sights set on Port Charles. By the time she hung up the phone, she could hear the older man mumbling to himself about useless college students and their inability to not toke the reefer.

His complaints only confirmed the artist's suspicions that her boss was a closet imbiber himself. The realization made her giggle, and her giggles made her fall back into bed, and her bed made her notice just how tired she was, so she went back to sleep. A day off from work without being sick and nothing else to do but be lazy, it what exactly what she had been hoping to get for her birthday without even realizing it.

Much later that afternoon, she woke up rested, content, and itching to paint. Not bothering to get dressed, she set to work on an already prepared canvas, and, before she knew it, day had turned into night, and her studio was so full of paint fumes, she felt dizzy. At first, she went to open the windows like she normally did, but, because of the storm, they were frozen shut. Suddenly, she felt trapped. She needed fresh air, she needed to go outside, and she needed to take a walk even if the streets were a veritable ice skating rink. It was almost as if there was something stronger than she was compelling her to leave the safety of her apartment, and Elizabeth Webber had never been a woman to ignore her instincts.

After emptying an entire bottle of odor eliminator by spraying every imaginable piece of fabric in the room and lighting several appropriately scented candles for fall, she slipped on her running shoes, hoping the traction their soles offered would be enough to keep her from taking a nose dive as soon as she stepped outside, long bathrobe, winter coat, a scarf, mittens, and a stocking cap. It didn't matter that she looked absolutely ridiculous, because, first of all, she warm, and, secondly, who the hell else would be crazy enough to be outside at eleven thirty at night during a freaking ice storm?

No one she knew, that was for sure, and, if anyone found out about her little excursion outside that evening, she'd never live it down. With that thought in mind, she decided to stick to the side streets and alleys, just in case, hoping their shadows would keep her hidden.

Surprisingly, it worked, and, once she had figured out how to use the walls of the buildings she passed for support so she wouldn't slip and slide across the sidewalks, the artist found that she rather enjoyed her walk. Without thinking, she let her wide, appreciative eyes and her heart guide the way. Port Charles, a city she could normally see every single flaw in, appeared beautiful under the full, silver moon, its bright light combined with the colors of the night casting an almost purple haze across the ice covered, lakeside town. Observing the almost dream-like vision, she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a life-size amethyst, and she couldn't wait to go home and attempt to translate the amazing elegance onto a canvas. But, first, she had to find her way back to her apartment building.

Looking around herself, she realized she had made it to the entrance of the park, its gates beckoning to her from the opposite side of the street. Elizabeth knew she'd be able to cut across the park and make it home much sooner than if she retraced her winding steps that had led her to her current position, but it had been years since she'd gone into the park alone at night, and the last time she had done so, she had needed Jason to save her from being raped. Although she doubted any sexual predators were on the prowl that night, she also knew Jason had more sense than she did, and he'd never be out taking a walk in the middle of a storm. Using rational thought instead of allowing her fear to dictate her life, she took one step forward, letting go of the wall she had been holding onto, and then another and another until, finally, she found herself on the stairs that lead her down into the city commons area.

With once glance at her surroundings, she gasped. Everything was even more picturesque and charming in the park than it had been on the streets. Its bare trees all held millions of tiny, twinkling icicles, and, alone, she could imagine that they were all shining for her. The sight relaxed her, gave her confidence, and, before she knew it, she was at the exit and was saddened to see her apartment building standing bright and proud in front of her, its warmth a beacon to all in the crisp night air.

Before she could make it across the street though, something off in an obscure corner caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a man, an obviously injured man. Knowing it was foolish but unable to stand by and allow another person to suffer when she might be able to help them, the petite brunette slowly approached the still form, details of the man's appearance registering on her numbed mind slowly. His jacket, a well worn leather motorcycle jacket, was bloodied, his jeans wet and stiff from the ice the heat of his body had initially melted when he had landed in the position he now rested in, and his light blood hair was matted against his scalp with what she could only imagine was a mixture of blood, dried sweat, and slowly falling snow. Without having to see his face, she knew; she knew it was Jason, and she instantly realized why it had been so very important for her to take a walk that night.

Her friend, the man who had saved her years before, the man she still secretly loved from afar had needed her to save him that evening, to return the favor.

So many thoughts were swirling through her worried and frightened mind as she slowly got a delirious Jason to his feet, his body leaning precariously against hers. With sheer will and determination, she got him inside her apartment building and onto the elevator before they both collapsed, once again, from exhaustion and exertion. When the lift stopped at her floor, she threw her coat in the door's way to keep it open long enough for them to escape the small, metal box.

"It's going to be okay," she promised him as they slowly made their way to her door. Even as the words left her mouth, Elizabeth new they were inane and, in all likelihood, unfounded. He had been shot, that much she could tell, and there was no way she could get him to the hospital on a night like the one they were experiencing. She had no medical skills whatsoever, the televisions had basically reported before the ice storms had finally hit that afternoon that the hospitals were practically ghost towns because ambulances couldn't get to those who needed medical assistance, and she wasn't even sure if she'd be able to find her damn first aid kit.

"It's warm in my apartment," she finally shook off her doubts to refocus upon her best friend. She hadn't seen him in months, but, as soon as she did, all the feelings she felt for him came rushing back stronger than ever. "I'm lucky, because this complex has a working generator, so, until we can get you help, we'll just…stay here, I guess."

"No cops," the enforcer next to her whispered out.

Without argument, the brunette accepted his request. "I won't call the police."

"In the morning," he started to direct her, but he had to pause to take a deep breath. It only resulted in him coughing violently. "When the roads are passable, call Sonny."

"Your boss?"

"He'll send a doctor."

"Okay," Elizabeth agreed readily. At this point, she would do anything he told her to do. "For now though, I think we need to get you in bed and underneath lots of blankets. Do you know where you were hit?"

"Shoulder," he replied brokenly. "Clean hit, went all the way through." Wincing as she helped lower him to her bed, he went on to explain more as she slowly started to undress him, working from his shoes up to his shirt. "I was coming to see you, to…wish you a…"

"Oh, Jason," she sighed, a big, lopsided smile lighting up her face at his confession. Shaking it off, she went back to the business at hand. "It's okay. I understand. Please try and save your energy."

"…and they came up from behind me. I never heard them."

Wrinkling her brow, she wondered out loud, "should you really be telling me any of this?"

Evidently, he didn't hear her, because he just pressed on. "I thought that was it, you know, that I was going to die. It was foolish to go outside on a night like tonight, but I always see you on your birthday, one way or another, and I refused to allow a storm to stop me." She chuckled at that, his stubbornness at absolutely refusing to let something as trivial as the weather get in his way, but he seemed too lost in his mumbled, feverish thoughts to realize she found his ramblings entertaining. "The wound would have been fine, but, if you wouldn't have found me,…"

"You would have died of hypothermia," Elizabeth finished for him. As she reached to unbutton his jeans, she felt him tense underneath her. "What?"

"Why were you outside? Are you crazy to go out alone in the middle of an ice storm?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she returned smartly, smirking at his so not amused glower. "Fine," the artist relented, sighing in aggravation and returning his glare though she wasn't really mad. "My apartment smelled like paint fumes, and I needed some fresh air." Thinking back to her almost obsessive desire to go out for a walk, she added, "plus…it was like I had to, like something was pushing me to take a walk. And it's a good thing I did, because otherwise…"

"I'd be dead," he finished for her. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Keeping the mood light, she teased, "just returning the favor, Morgan." Standing up when he was left resting in only his boxer-briefs, she ordered, "now, scoot over. I'm going to get a large bath towel to wrap around your shoulder, and then I'm crawling in there with you to keep you warm. We need to raise your body temperature."

He complied without argument to her instructions, and, five minutes later, with the lights out and only the candles she had lit earlier to illuminate the room, she wrapped her arms around a practically naked Jason Morgan and snuggled her short and tank top clad form in against him. In all the ways she had ever imagined over the years getting this man into her bed, saving him from hypothermia had never been a fantasy she entertained, but, now that it was happening, she wouldn't change a single thing about it.

He was there with her, like he always was, on her birthday, and, for the first time in their relationship, she had gotten the opportunity to save him. Sometimes it really was better to give than to receive, an odd lesson to learn on your birthday, but her relationship with Jason had always been like that- extraordinary and unpredictable. That's what made it so special.