Written in 64 minutes.

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June 2000

“Well, it’s about time,” Luke grumbled. He set two shot glasses on the bar, then filled them both before sliding one across to Sonny. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“Sorry, sorry—” Sonny glanced around the dark, garishly decorated bar. “Any damage inside, or—”

“Just the damn light outside. They always go for it,” Luke said mournfully. He tossed back the shot of vodka. “I think they like the sparks. My picket fence is a lost cause—again. Why did I open my place on the territory lines again?”

Sonny lifted the glass to his lips, then paused. “I made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“Ha,” Luke said sardonically. He poured himself a more substantial tumbler of the whiskey. “What about damage on your side of the aisle? I got a pair of shoes that I think might belong to our Miss Webber. She show up shoeless?”

“Yeah, now you mention it. Hold on to them for now.” Sonny slid the shot glass back, accepted his normal bourbon. “She’s not able to get them.”

“She okay? I figured if she was hurt, I’d know by now—”

“No, no, a couple of scratches from being shoved into the gravel, but Jason took the bullet.” Sonny leaned forward. “He’s good, but I decided to get them both off the grid for a week or two. He’s gonna recuperate on the island, and I figured a pretty face might help him follow orders.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “So they are a thing. When did that happen?”

“Not even sure it has, so whatever you’re thinking, stop. Nothing was going on back then. Your kid running his mouth is the reason I’m here.”

“How do you figure that?” Luke’s drink hit the bar with a dull thud, his eyes snapping.

Sonny supped “Well, my primary suspect is Moreno for the obvious reasons. But he didn’t just put some of his guys on it. He put out a contract. That’s not his usual style, so I gotta think it’s not just business. It’s personal.”

“You think my kid is the only person Jason has pissed off lately?”

“Actually, yeah. Because Moreno’s been pissed off for over a year. Why act now? What changed? Nothing.”

“Nothing except Jason getting cozy with his sister’s roommate. You said it yourself, my idiot kid ran his mouth to anyone who would listen.” Luke scowled. “You think it’s crazy that someone found out Emily and Liz went down to the island? That Jason went with them? Maybe he’s been keeping all of it quiet, but quiet ain’t the same thing as silent now is it?”

“No,” Sonny admitted.

“So maybe Moreno thinks Jason’s got something to lose. I mean, the guy waited for Emily to leave because no one wants that smoke, but you and I both know that it would have been much easier to ambush Jason at the garage. He’s alone there most of the time. Just—” Luke mimed shooting a gun with his thumb and index finger. “He walks out and bam. Job’s done. You said it yourself, Moreno’s been pissed for a year. You’re telling me no one noticed Liz going in and out of that place when my kid wasn’t there?”

“We’re not back to that—”

“I’m not accusing her of anything. I’m not. She’s a good kid, and I want good things for her. Jason made this personal when he went back on a deal, so why are you all surprised Moreno doesn’t just want the territory back? He’s got patience, don’t he? He’s been around for years, and Jason’s never been alone long.”

Sonny nodded. “Okay. Okay. You’re convincing me. I didn’t think Lucky was a good candidate, but it’s a box I had to check off.”

Luke pressed his lips together. “I’m not saying Lucky’s perfect, or that he’s on the side of the angels with all of this. He’s smart enough to know he can’t take Jason face to face. Maybe he’s got some of my bad habits, but he’s also got his mother in him. I don’t see him hiring a contract killer to go after Jason. Do you? I mean, do you really?”

“No. No, I don’t. But I like that idea more than Anthony Moreno sitting back and waiting to pounce until Jason had someone in his life. Because if that’s true, this problem isn’t going anywhere until Moreno’s gone for good.”

“Yeah, well, we both know he ought to have been knocked off a long time ago, but no one wanted to deal with the fall out. The street fight to take his territory. But if he’s the one behind it, Sonny, then you’re out of time.”

—

By the time the car pulled in front of  the villa, Jason was nearly cross-eyed with fatigue and pain. He waited until the last possible second to get out of the car, only vaguely hearing Elizabeth talk to the guard who had picked them up at the airport and who would be in and out, keeping an eye on things.

“Hey, Raoul is going to help you into the house—”

Jason blinked, tried to focus on her voice, but she was just a hazy vision that barely seemed real. “Okay,” he said, or he thought he said. It was hard to know—he didn’t really feel his moth move, but her blurry figure moved away, replaced by a darker, more hulking on.

“On three, Senor Morgan,” came an accented voice. Jason felt his arm moving, being slung over someone else’s shoulders? Maybe. “One. Two. Three—” With a grunt, Jason felt himself being lifted to his feet, the pain in his side exploding.

By the time Raoul had made up the short set of stairs and down the hallway to the bedrooms, Jason was sweating and ready to set himself on fire. Or drown himself. Wasn’t the ocean closer?

He lay back on the bed, hearing footsteps and voices around him but it was like it was happening somewhere else, to someone else—then there was a cool cloth over his forehead and he let out a groan.

“You have a fever,” Elizabeth said softly, the cool cloth moving down to his neck. “Raoul is going to the resort to get the doctor. You didn’t take the antibiotics?”

“I—” He leaned his face in her direction, grateful when the cloth came back, soaked in more cool water. “I meant to.”

“That’s a no. Maybe doing laps around the bedroom and going up and down the stairs at Sonny’s was a bad idea.”

Jason let his eyes drift close, then floated for a while. He jerked awake at the sharp jagged edge of pain in his side again. “Don’t—” He tried to reach out, to stop the touching, but soft, smaller hands took his.

“It’s okay. Doctor Santiago is just cleaning it up and putting on new bandages. And—” There was a pause, some talking in lower voices he couldn’t follow. “Okay, okay, we have the antibiotics, but you need to rest and you need sleep. I know you hate pain medication, but maybe just one pill?”

“No—no, don’t like—”

“Okay. Okay. We won’t take it—” Her voice disappeared again, and there were some hushed whispers. She returned again. “What about a stronger aspirin or something?”

He jerked his head in a nod. He could do that. He didn’t like the way those other pills tasted, the fog they left his mind in, the way they made his body feel—

“All right. I’ll tell him.”

A few minutes later, she returned and he felt something in his mouth, then cool water at his lips. He drank it, swallowing the pillow, and when he felt her hands again, stroking his forehead, combing through his hair, he relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

——

Elizabeth ran the cold cloth across Jason’s face again, trying to make sure he was as cool as possible, then cleaned up the medical supplies, stowing them on the dresser. She went to the threshold, looked back to make sure he was still sleeping.

Then she went across the hall to one of the rooms that had been empty the last time they’d come here, but she’d wanted to be closer to him in case he needed her. She hadn’t realized he was hurt so badly — he’d seem almost unaffected back in Port Charles, but he’d just done too much. Worried about her until he’d nearly collapsed, woke up and deal with her anxiety spirals—

Elizabeth opened the doors to the terrace, let the cool breeze wash across her face. Until now, he’d been focused on her, but she wasn’t going to let him do that anymore. No, for once, she was going to be the strong one.

——

Jason slept through the rest of that first day and night, and most of the second day, waking only to take some water, some more antibiotics and basic pain relievers, choke down some of the soup she forced on him. He’d probably used the bathroom, too, Elizabeth thought, but he’d never ask for her help with that, so there was no way to know.

At any rate, by the morning of the third day, the infection had started to recede and he was feeling better. Looking better, too, she thought. But he was still confined to the bed, and she worried that he’d never ask for more help now.

So she decided to force him. Sonny’s art supplies had showed up that second day, and on the third morning, after he’d forced down oatmeal, Jason was startled when Elizabeth marched through his doorway, carrying an easel in her hands. She set it up on the terrace just beyond his bed, then went back across the hall. She returned with a canvas and long, flat box that she set on the ground.

“What—”

“You’re well enough that you’re going to start getting ideas about moving around,” Elizabeth said, and he winced because of course he’d likely already planned it. “I’m hoping if I’m in here, you won’t try that. Because if you fall, you’re staying on the ground until I get someone from the resort to help.” She lifted her brows. “Is that what you want?”

“Uh, no, but—”

“So Sonny sent down books down for you. You read or sleep, and I’m going to paint.” She set down a trio of books, then disappeared into her room again. She came back with a t-shirt thrown over the tank she’d been wearing, this one stained with paint.

He picked up the books — Sonny must have just grabbed whatever was on the shelf in the living room. A trio of travel books to Egypt, Germany, and Italy. He picked up Egypt first, began to flip through it.

They sat in relatively comfortable silence for a while, maybe thirty minutes before Jason’s head began to ache, and the words started to swim on the page. He set it aside, but it hit the top of the next book and slid off the bed with a thud.

Elizabeth stopped, setting her brush down in a can of water that had appeared at some point. She came closer, stooped to pick it up. “Did you want me move these so you can sleep or—”

“No. I’m not tired,” he muttered, laying his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes. “The print’s small. It’s making my head hurt.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth looked down at the book, ran her fingers over the picture of the pyramids. Then she sat on the bed, folded her legs, and opened the book. “Where did you leave off?”

“What?”

“I’ll read to you. If nothing else, that’ll put you to sleep. It did my freshman English teacher. Mrs. Grady back in Colorado. I was giving a presentation and she conked right out.” She flipped through some of the pages, stopped on one of the early pages. “The Pyramids of Gizeh are the only wonder of the ancient world still existing. I took an art history class last semester, and you know, it always makes me so sad to think of all the beautiful pieces of art and architecture that are just gone because of wars and humans being stupid.” She flipped through some of pages. “Like, the Colossus of Rhodes, you know? It’s this huge statue that was supposed to straddle the harbor. That was an earthquake there. It was made of bronze, and snapped. People used to travel to see the pieces of it.”

She looked over to see Jason just staring at her. “What?”

“Nothing, I was listening to you. Where—where was the statue?”

“Oh. Greece. I really want to go there—and—” Elizabeth reached for the other travel book. “Italy is definitely on the list of dream vacations. I want to go to Venice. The light’s supposed to be different there. Have you ever been?”

“No. You?”

“Please. New York City is the furthest east I’ve ever been, and I’ve never  been west of the Rockies.” Elizabeth laid back against the pillows. “But it’s on the top 5 places.” She flipped through the Italy book, stopping on a picture of the Grand Canal. “What do you think it’d be to live on the water like this? I saw somewhere that mail gets delivered on boats. That’s just so wild to me. And amazing.” She turned her head on the pillow, and he was still watching her. “Do you want to go back to reading?”

“This is good. I like listening to you.”

“You said that before, but I guess I have to believe you. Why travel books? Or did Sonny just grab the first three he found and didn’t think about it?”

“I like reading about other places. I used to think I’d go there one day. I used to read about the animals in Africa to Michael.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Those were his favorite books. The ones about Africa. He liked the pictures.”

“That’s sweet. I love the picture that paints in my head. What’s your top 5? You know, mine is Greece, Italy, the Alps, oh, and Alaska. And definitely France.”

Jason furrowed his brow, considered. “Egypt. South Africa. Italy. Alaska’s a good one. You’re not worried about being cold?”

“It’d be worth it to see the glaciers and the mountains. Maybe one day. You only named four.”

“Australia,” Jason said. “Or New Zealand.”

“Those are all excellent choices.” She flipped through the book again. “Do you want me to read to you—”

“I don’t want you  to stop painting, even if it’s not going well.”

Elizabeth looked back at him, and he was watching her again. “How can you tell?”

“You’ve been muttering all morning at it. You liked it when you started,” Jason added. “But now you don’t.”

“How—” she sat back up. “What do you mean, muttering? You mean, like, I talk to myself?”

He nodded. “You sing, too. Or you did earlier.”

“I—I sing?” Her cheeks heated and she brought her fisted hand to her mouth. “Oh no. No, please tell me I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Oh, this is—” She bit her lip. “This is awful. Terrible. What—What do I sing?”

“I didn’t recognize the song.” He squinted. “Something with the word sometimes a lot.”

“Oh, God. This is mortifying.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

“I never lie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

“Oh. I’m not. Just mortified now,” she muttered, pulling her knees up and burying her face in h er knees. “Let’s talk about something else. I’ll read to you, or—”

“I think you should sing to me.”

Her head jerked up and she looked at him, only to find him grinning. “Oh, absolutely not. And for that, you can read to yourself.” She slid off the bed and went back to her painting, sneaking another glance at him. He was still smiling, and she had to smile back, even if she was mortified beyond the speaking of it.

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