Author's Note: I do not own any of the General Hospital characters.
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Johnny O'Brien
Maya's POV
We entered the quiet lobby of Harborview Apartments, the evening tranquility contrasting sharply with the turmoil swirling inside me. Jason guided me toward a familiar bench near the expansive windows, his presence a silent force beside me. Every step felt heavier than the last as the lobby seemed to close in around us.
I sat down, the cool marble of the bench offering little comfort against the tightness in my chest. My breathing was shallow, each inhale sharp, each exhale shaky. My hands clenched in my lap, striving to anchor myself amidst the rising tide of anxiety.
Without a word, Jason knelt and reached into my tote bag, retrieving my crocs. His actions were quiet and measured, a nightly ritual that normally brought me a small sense of relief. Tonight, however, it felt like a reminder of how far I was from normalcy.
"You don't have to do this," I murmured, attempting a weak smile that faltered almost immediately.
"I know," Jason replied simply, his voice soft but his face impassive. He slipped the crocs onto my feet with practiced ease, then took a seat beside me, his body turned slightly towards me, his expression unreadable.
"Talk to me, Maya. What's going on?" His tone was even, his gaze steady on me, not pushing, just present.
"It's nothing," I lied, the words barely a whisper. "Just a long day." I looked away, the lobby lights blurring through my tear-filled eyes.
Jason remained silent, his demeanor calm, giving no sign of censure or impatience. His silence was a canvas, allowing me space to either fill in the details or leave them blank.
"Just family stuff," I added, hoping the vagueness would suffice. My voice wavered despite my best efforts to sound composed.
He simply nodded once, his face giving away nothing of his thoughts. "If you say so."
I took a deep breath, the silence stretching between us. "I'll be okay," I insisted, more to convince myself than him. "I always am."
Jason continued to observe me quietly, his presence neither comforting nor intrusive. It was clear he was here to listen, not to coax words from me.
"Thank you, Jason," I said after a moment, the tears held at bay by sheer willpower. "For being here."
The sudden vibration of my phone against the cold marble bench jolted me, sending a spike of anxiety through my already tense body. For a heart-stopping moment, I feared it might be another cryptic, threatening message from my father—or worse.
Beside me, Jason's demeanor remained unchanged; his eyes briefly flicked to my phone, then back to my face, gauging my reaction. His presence was like a quiet sentinel, observant and unobtrusive, offering a silent form of support without crowding my space.
With a hesitant hand, I turned the phone over. The screen lit up to reveal a text, not from my father, but from Detective Falconeri. I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The message, though related to our ongoing confidential work, was not urgent—it could wait. This allowed a brief respite from one source of stress, though the relief was tempered by the lingering shadows of earlier events.
Jason's voice broke the silence, steady and calm. "Something important?"
I shook my head, pressing the phone against my lap, feeling the weight of various responsibilities but grateful for a momentary pause. "It's work-related, but it can wait," I said, keeping my tone even. "Nothing immediate."
Jason nodded, his posture relaxing slightly, though his eyes remained sharp—a protector gauging any lingering threats. "If you're sure," he said, his tone suggesting readiness to spring into action if needed.
"I'm sure," I affirmed, feeling a mix of gratitude and comfort in his steady presence. "It's something for later."
"Alright." His voice conveyed understanding and support.
As Jason noticed Andrew observing us from a distance, his expression remained neutral, composed. He looked down at me briefly, "I'm going to have a quick word with Andrew," he said, his voice calm, suggesting a straightforward discussion was to follow.
I nodded, feeling a mix of curiosity and anxiety. "I'll wait here," I replied, settling more comfortably onto the bench.
Jason walked over to Andrew, his approach confident yet non-threatening. I watched from where I sat, trying to piece together their conversation from the expressions and body language since their words were just out of earshot. Jason stood with a relaxed but upright posture, indicative of his open yet authoritative nature. He gestured slightly with his hands as he spoke, likely laying out instructions or sharing information, his movements measured and precise.
Andrew, for his part, seemed attentive and engaged, nodding in response and making notes on a small pad he pulled from his pocket. The exchange appeared cooperative, with Jason providing guidance and Andrew absorbing every word, his demeanor respectful and earnest.
The tranquility of the lobby enveloped me as I observed them, the soft hum of the distant city traffic filtering through the windows. Jason's capability to manage situations with such composure instilled a sense of security in me, diluting the edginess that had tightened around my heart earlier.
After a few minutes, their conversation wrapped up. Jason gave Andrew a final nod, a gesture of mutual respect and conclusion, before turning back to me. His steps were unhurried as he returned, his face betraying nothing of the discussion's content beyond a general sense of satisfaction.
"All set," Jason announced as he approached, his voice low. "We're just tightening up a few things around here."
After ensuring everything was in order with Andrew, Jason returned to where I remained seated on the bench, gathering my belongings with an effortless efficiency that spoke of his intent to take care of things so I wouldn't have to. He extended a hand to help me up, and I took it, grateful yet unsteady on my feet.
As we walked toward the elevators, Jason noticed my slight tremble. Without a word, he placed a reassuring hand on my mid upper back, guiding me with a gentle but firm touch that felt grounding. His presence was a silent pillar of strength, and I leaned into the comfort it offered, though we exchanged no words. The weight of the evening had rendered me nearly speechless, and Jason's stoic demeanor provided a kind of quiet sanctuary from the need for conversation.
The ride up in the elevator was silent, the soft hum of its mechanics filling the space between us. Jason's face gave away nothing, his features set in an expression of calm vigilance as he stood beside me. I found myself watching him, noting the subtle signs of concern he carried in the set of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, all while he maintained an air of composure.
The elevator dinged softly, announcing our arrival on my floor. Jason followed close behind as I led the way to my apartment, his steps measured and silent against the plush carpet of the hallway.
When we reached my door, the reality of the night's events seemed to catch up with me. My hands, still trembling, fumbled with my keys, the metal clinking softly as I struggled to find the right one. Frustration mounted as I tried to insert the key into the lock, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.
Sensing my growing agitation, Jason stepped closer. His warm, calloused hand gently covered mine, steadying it. Together, we guided the key into the lock, the quiet click of the mechanism unlocking sounding unusually loud in the tense silence that enveloped us.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, the simple act of opening my door suddenly feeling like a monumental task that I couldn't have completed without his help. I turned to him, my eyes meeting his, and in that brief exchange, a silent acknowledgment of everything he had done for me that night passed between us.
"Thank you, Jason," I murmured, my voice low and thick with unspoken emotions.
He gave a slight nod, his eyes softening just for a moment, allowing a glimpse of the concern he'd masked all evening. "Anytime, Maya. Just make sure you lock up behind me," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that was both reassuring and sad.
Jason handed over my belongings with a small smile, a gesture so laden with unspoken understanding and care that it momentarily lifted the weight from my shoulders. "Something tells me you're going to stay here to make sure," I said, a hint of wry amusement in my voice despite the tremor of emotion lurking beneath.
Jason didn't respond with words. Instead, he met my gaze with those piercing blue eyes, the intensity within them speaking volumes. It was a silent confirmation of my guess, his stoic facade briefly softening to convey his protective resolve.
I nodded at him, a mute thank you for his steadfast presence. "Goodnight, Jason," I managed to say, my voice soft and laden with gratitude. With one last appreciative glance, I closed the door.
The click of the deadbolt seemed to echo in the empty hallway behind him, a stark reminder of the solitude that awaited me. I leaned back against the door, the cool wood pressing against me, providing a brief physical anchor to my swirling thoughts.
But as the sounds of Jason's retreating footsteps faded, the solitude of my apartment enveloped me, and the façade I maintained crumbled. A deep, aching sob welled up from within, breaking through the surface. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I slid to the floor, clutching my legs to my chest.
The floodgates opened, and with them, a torrent of memories I had long tried to barricade. It was as if the door I had so diligently locked against my past had swung open, unleashing the ghosts I had fought so hard to keep at bay. Among them was the memory that had started it all—the moment that marked the beginning of my long struggle with the shadows of my family's legacy.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, my body shaking with each sob, as scenes from that fateful day replayed in my mind. The faces, the words spoken, the life-altering decisions made under duress—all of it cascaded through my thoughts in a relentless stream.
The safety of the locked door and the walls of my apartment felt less like protection and more like a confinement that held me captive with my memories. Yet, through the haze of tears and recollections, a part of me acknowledged the necessity of this moment, of allowing myself to face the pain I had buried.
The sticky heat of a Louisiana afternoon clung to my skin as I skipped up the steps to our grand plantation-style home in Metairie. A breeze stirred the magnolias, their sweet fragrance wafting around me, mingling with my excitement. I couldn't wait to burst through the front door and tell my mother about Louie finally asking me out. My heart danced at the thought, my cheeks warm with a blush only a sixteen-year-old in anticipation of her first date could wear.
I pushed open the heavy door, stepping from the sunlit porch into the cool, shadowed foyer of our house. "Mom?" I called out, expecting to hear her voice return to me, woven together with the familiar symphony of clattering pots and the soft chatter of the maids. But today, the house lay strangely silent, its usually vibrant halls subdued and empty.
With a frown creasing my forehead, I wandered through the rooms on the ground floor, each one as deserted and quiet as the last. This was unusual; the house was never this quiet unless something was wrong. My steps slowed, a chill of unease trickling down my spine as I approached my father's study. The low rumble of his voice, laced with an edge that I knew all too well, drifted through the slightly ajar door.
My heart sank further with each step closer to the study. Pausing just outside, I pressed myself into a corner, where the shadows enveloped me like a cloak. From here, I could just make out my mother's crying inside the room, the sound sharp and painful against the muffled backdrop of my father's deep, steady voice.
Peering around the corner, I caught sight of him reclined in his wicker basket chair, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. Across from him stood my mother, Aurelia, her figure trembling, her face marked by tears as she pleaded, "Abel, please, don't do this to Maya. She just turned sixteen."
His face, as he looked up from the newspaper crumpled on his lap, was cold, detached. "The deal is already done," he declared, the words dropping like stones into the pit of my stomach. "Maya will be married by the end of the summer."
Desperation surged in my mother's voice as she reached for him, pulling at his sleeve. "How can you barter her future like this? She's your daughter, not a chess piece!"
He casually flicked ash from his cigarette, his voice unwavering, cruel. "She's a DuPont," he answered. "She will do what is best for the family. It's decided."
Frozen in the shadows, I felt the walls of the home I had loved close in around me. The realization that my hopes, dreams, and desires meant nothing to him shattered something inside me. Tears blurred my vision, stinging sharply as I fought to keep silent, to keep from revealing my hiding spot. My mother's sobs echoed in my ears, a mournful lament for the future I thought I'd have.
In that shadowed corner, a part of my childhood crumbled, irretrievably lost like the ash from my father's cigarette, scattered and forgotten.
Jason's POV
I walked into Sonny's dimly lit office at the Greystone, where he sat behind his desk, looking every bit the calculated leader in charge of an empire. The atmosphere was charged, a sense of urgency hanging in the air.
"Sonny," I greeted as I approached, nodding slightly.
"Jason. What's the status?" Sonny asked, his voice low, eyes keenly assessing me as I came to stand before him.
I took a deep breath, ready to deliver the news. "You were right. Senior Bordeaux took the bait. Maya's presence in Port Charles—her situation—it pushed them to act, breaking the treaty."
Sonny's expression darkened slightly. "And the assassination attempt?" he inquired, a hint of annoyance edging his tone. "We're now on the defensive because of a move ordered by the other crime families."
"That's correct," I confirmed, maintaining my stoic demeanor despite the rising stakes. "Maya thought her father tracked her down randomly, not realizing she's been used as bait in a larger scheme."
Sonny leaned back, processing the information with a frown. "Unfortunate we drew the short end, but we'll handle it. These families think they can manipulate the board, use us to clean up their mess."
I paused before adding a critical observation, "There's something else, Sonny. When Maya saw her father, the fear was... it was more than I anticipated. She's genuinely terrified, not just of the immediate threat, but deeply, on a level that's concerning."
Sonny waved off the concern with a dismissive flick of his hand. "That's insignificant in the grand scheme, Jason. What matters is how we use this to our advantage. Her fear, her actions—they're just pieces in the game."
I nodded, though internally I disagreed. To me, Maya's reaction wasn't just another variable to be calculated. "Understood. But her state could affect her predictability, her reliability as part of our strategy."
Sonny, observing my unmoved expression, leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "Remember, Jason, Maya is just as implicated in all this as Senior Bordeaux. She ratted on her unhinged husband to the Feds. She's lucky the families haven't green-lighted her instead of just using her as bait."
His reminder hung heavy in the air, but my mind replayed the raw fear on Maya's face, the unmistakable sounds of her distress echoing behind her apartment door as I had walked away earlier. Those images didn't align with the picture Sonny painted, of a woman who was merely a schemer or a rat.
"I'm going to put a guard on her," I stated, the decision firm despite Sonny's perspective. Her safety was paramount if she was to remain useful in our strategies, and beyond that, I couldn't shake the instinct to protect her from the palpable terror she'd shown.
Sonny pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration as he recognized that all-too-familiar look of resolve on my face. "Jason," he sighed, his irritation evident, "I thought you would have learned from what happened with Sam and Elizabeth."
The mention of Sam and Elizabeth was a low blow, a reference to past situations where my personal feelings had complicated professional decisions. I felt a flare of anger at the comparison, but my expression remained controlled, my glare steady.
Sonny, unfazed by my reaction, continued, "You get too close, you lose perspective. This isn't about saving her, it's about using her effectively without turning this into a personal crusade."
I absorbed his words, the warning clear, yet my stance remained unchanged. "I hear you, Sonny, but we're not going to ignore the fact that she's in real danger. I'll manage it without getting personal. She's under our protection now, and that's not just for her sake—it's for ours too. Keeping her safe keeps our operation stable."
Sonny studied me for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair, resigned. "Alright, put your guard on her. But keep your eyes open, Jason. Don't let this become another blind spot."
As the phone connected after just one ring, Johnny's familiar thick Irish accent filled the line, a stark contrast to the somber mood hanging over Sonny's office.
"Jason!" Johnny greeted cheerfully. "What's the craic?"
"It's time to earn your paycheck," I said, keeping my tone flat and businesslike.
"Fuck you, mate," Johnny chuckled, not missing a beat. "What do you got for me?"
"I need you to keep an eye on Dr. DuPont," I instructed, getting straight to the point.
Johnny's voice perked up a bit too eagerly. "Maya DuPont? Ah, that's a pleasant assignment. Have you seen her? She's quite the looker—"
I cut him off, my patience already thin. "Keep it professional, Johnny," I said sharply. "This isn't about that. I need discreet surveillance, not commentary on her looks."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sonny raise an eyebrow at the evident scowl on my face, clearly picking up on my irritation with Johnny's remarks.
"Alright, alright, just having a bit of fun," Johnny backpedaled quickly, his tone shifting back to business. "Where do you need me?"
I detailed the location and the level of discretion required, emphasizing the importance of not drawing any attention. "She should not notice you at all. Stay sharp and report only the facts."
"Got it, Jason. Eyes on the target, nothing more," Johnny confirmed, now all business.
"Keep me updated with any developments," I finished, ready to end the call.
"Will do. And hey, Jason," Johnny added, a hint of mischief still in his voice despite the stern talk, "I'll keep it clean, promise."
As I hung up, I turned back to Sonny, who was watching me with a mixture of amusement and scrutiny.
"He'll do the job right," I assured him, though the earlier part of the conversation still grated on me.
Sonny nodded slowly, his expression turning serious again. "Make sure he does. We can't afford distractions."
As I left the office, the weight of our conversation settled around me. Sonny's warning was not without merit—I had seen too many times how personal involvement could cloud judgment. Yet, as I thought about Maya's situation, her vulnerability and fear, a part of me knew this was different. This wasn't just about maintaining an asset; it was about protecting a life that, whether she knew it or not, had become intertwined with the safety of our entire operation. My resolve was clear: I would guard Maya, maintain vigilance, and ensure that this time, my involvement would not cloud my judgment but instead sharpen it.