Premise- This takes place when Jason Morgan had a brain tumor. In this, he has pressure on a part of brain and that caused him to wake up one day without any memories. Once he has surgery he will be able to get his memory back. But he isn't sure he wants to risk the surgery. This starts three days after he woke up, on the first day he is allowed to go home from General Hospital. During this time, on canon GH, Carly was suffering a breakdown but she is not in this story.

This is rated mature for sex and extreme language and mentions of death.

Jarly from Jason's POV.

Kind and Generous

Part One

September 2005

Liars. They are all fucking liars, he thought, as he sat on the couch, with his laptop fired up and resting on the coffee table. The screen blinked out image after image of newspaper articles that showed just who Jason Morgan really was.

You are a good man. The best man I know. You are kind and generous. You're so brave...unselfish...strong...wise...you're amazing. That's what they told him. Every last one of them. His sister. His business partner. His parents. Even his fucking fiancee.

But something felt off. Suspicion crawled along his skin as he listened to them. And all he could think over and over is That's not me. But this...what he looked at on the screen, the articles about a killer and a kidnapper and a crook, how could that be him either?

What the hell kind of monster, am I? he thought as he screamed at the top of his lungs "FUCK!"

"Jason..." he heard her concerned, loving tone before he saw her coming down the stairs. This one said she was Samantha. He couldn't be sure that was even true though. He'd look into her next. Who knows what else this people had lied to him about.

She asked, as she came down and placed her hands on his shoulders from behind him. "Are you okay?"

His jaw line hardened. The pulse point at his temple pounded painfully. He felt hot and cold at the same time- his flesh burning to the touch, his gut frozen, filled with nothing but bile and disgust.

He stood up. "I need some air."

"Okay. I'll come with you. We'll go for a walk."

"No. I'm going alone." He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair.

"Jason...are you sure that's a good idea?"

It was the way she asked it that set him up. Like he was a child that needed his hand held while he crossed the street."I don't need you to tell me what's a good idea for me. I'm a grown ass man and I'll do whatever the fuck I want."

"What's the matter with you?" she whimpered.

His head was pounding. All he could see were images from the newspaper of all the people he killed. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes at her. "Where's that kind and generous man you were gonna marry?" He motioned at the laptop. "If that's who you really think I am, you better ask yourself if you ever knew me at all."

With that he yanked open the door and left, not bothering to close it. He slammed his hand on the wall outside then punched the button for the elevator. His cell rang. He drug it out of his pocket, on instinct more than anything, and looked at the screen. All it said was Me.

A tingling in his subconscious was his only clue that whoever he used to be, the hitman, would have jumped to answer this call. Unsure if he should do the exact opposite or not, he found himself answering it anyway, almost as if he had no control over his own actions. He couldn't ignore Me if he tried."What?"

"Jase."

The elevator doors opened and he walked on, hitting the button for ground level. "Yeah."

He recognized this voice...Carly...he woke up to her holding his hand, to her tears running down his cheeks as she nuzzled him, ignoring all the IV's attached to him. For a second, at first, he thought he was all right. But then she said his name and he had thought Who's that?

"I know you just got home," she said " but I can't stop worrying about you. Are you all right?"

There's nothing right about me. Why would you give a damn about a man like me? he asked himself.

When he didn't answer she said "I knew it. You're not. I'm on my way over."

"No."

She sucked in a sharp breath, obviously hurt. The sound of it twisted his heart, actually making it throb with an intense pain in his chest. Damn it all to hell, he thought. I can't be getting worked up about her. I got to figure out me.

"You don't want to see me?"

The elevator doors opened and he jogged through the lobby, pushed open the front door and gulped the fresh air, as the door man called out a greeting that he ignored. Mr. Morgan. Fuck that guy, he thought.

"I'm not at my place," he said "I had to get out of there. I can't do this with you right now."

He clicked off the phone before she could take even one more breath. He knew one word from her might weaken his resolve to be alone...of all the faces at his bedside he had wanted to believe her most, had trusted every word she said...but Carly was a liar too. She had to be cause nothing she told him about the wonderful human being he was supposed to be was anything remotely like the man who bore his face in those newspaper articles. He wanted someone to blame for what kind of man he was...someone to punch and beat bloody over it...someone to kill.

Kill, he thought. That's right where my mind goes.

But who could he put it on but himself? He was stuck in the skin of an amoral, reprehensible, gutless mobster. There was no use in even getting all high and mighty about it cause he must not have had a problem with his lifestyle last week. Nah, he liked himself, he bet. Liked that hot little number that warmed his bed. She probably made him come every night. Got him to put a diamond on her finger, hadn't she? He probably liked carrying a gun too. Liked the power, the fear he could bring out of others. Made men piss their pants before he shot them. Two bullets, execution style behind the ear. Melt down the gun and weigh down the body before tossing it in the lake. The words went through his mind, he had no idea where they came from.

He walked into the parking garage and pressed the button on his keys. An SUV and a motorcycle beeped. He jumped on the bike and peeled out of the garage.

Stop acting like a punk ass bitch, he told himself, You hate what you are? What you did? Yeah, you probably loved that shit last week.

Jason wanted to be jaded. Wanted to not give a damn about all the men he sent to an early grave. But their faces swam behind his eyes, flashing black and white like the shots in the paper. Father. Son. Brother. Beloved husband.

Why should he give a fuck about them now? They got what they deserved, right? Right. Cause he was a good man...everyone fucking said so.

Coming up: Only one woman can save Jason from himself.

I'm posting two parts at one time because part one had no jarly and was so depressing. But it's the set up for part two.