Written in 65 minutes. Went a bit over, but hey 3k in 65 minutes ain’t bad, right?

---

PCPD: Conference Room

Anna leaned against the door frame of the room, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “I’ll accept your apology any time you’d like to offer it.”

Caldwell, standing at a whiteboard already pinned with crime scene photos and dry erase marker notes, merely glanced at her, then returned to his reports. “What do we know from the preliminary autopsy?” he wanted to know.

“I’ve got the angle of the bullets—”

“Agent Caldwell, I could be a great asset if you’d allow it—”

“Well, I’m not intending to.” Caldwell turned to face her, gripping the back of a chair. “You’re too close to this situation, and you’ve been known to fraternize with all our major suspects, especially Jason Morgan.”

Anna lifted her brows. “I fail to see how Jason is a suspect, Caldwell, seeing as how two witnesses place him inside the house and have him running towards the crime scene after. But of course, you know that — you have the statements—”

“Unfortunately, thanks to you and the delay tactics at the Quartermaine estate, I was unable to finish my interrogation of even one of those boys. I could have cracked them like a nut—”

“Yes, Jake Webber appeared to very intimidated. I know this is a sensitive topic, Caldwell, seeing as how John was a federal agent, but you are absolutely racing down the wrong street if you think Jason Morgan would execute a man this way — on his family’s property and use his sons as alibi—”

“Yes, I know, I know, the honorable mobster. I’ve heard it all before.”

“An intelligent mobster,” Anna corrected. “And there’s a difference. You must know his work with the FBI these last two years — you can’t survive inside the Pikeman organization without common sense.”

Caldwell hesitated. “I would say that this doesn’t match the profile of anything else he’s been involved in,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to change his tactics if he wanted someone dead. And believe me, Commissioner, Jason Morgan wanted John Cates dead.”

Anna straightened. “Why would he care about Cates? The Pikeman deal is done. Jason is free—”

“And he wanted to stay that way.” Caldwell came towards her, reached for the door. “Thank you for your input, but we’ll take it from here.” Then closed it in her face.

Webber House: Living Room

Jason could tell from Elizabeth and Jake’s started expressions that they’d had no idea what he’d been up to while he was gone — and that working for the FBI was obviously at the bottom the list.

Elizabeth recovered sooner, shifting slightly so that she was standing next to Jake, facing him. “Cates was your handler? The entire time?”

“Yes. It’s why he was so aggressive when things went bad in March,” Jason added. “Why he was so intent on finding me. I made a deal with him to find the identity of someone, and I did that. He just wasn’t happy how things worked out.” He folded his arms, cognizant of the fact that Valentin had taken Charlotte on the run with him, and that, in a way, Jason was the reason she was gone. He didn’t want to give Jake one more reason to resent him.

“But you were done. It’s over,” Elizabeth said. “So why would they suspect you now?”

“Because Cates has been trying to get me to keep going. He didn’t get the ending for his career that he wanted,” Jason clarified, and hesitated. “I’m sorry, maybe I should have run this past you before saying anything to Jake,” he said to Elizabeth.

“No, I trust—Jake’s your son, Jason. I trust you to know what to tell him, and what not to tell him.” Elizabeth looked at their son. “Jake—”

“All that time you were gone—” Jake rubbed his mouth. “You—you were working with the government? Like—like undercover?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry—”

“So that’s why you couldn’t tell us.” Jake swallowed hard. “Because it would have blown your cover. And maybe me or Mom or anyone here would have been in danger.”

“Yes, but—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Jake asked, bewildered, his voice a little thready. “Why would you—you didn’t even argue with me when—” He closed his hand into a fist at his side, shook his head. “I don’t get you, Dad. I don’t. You never defend yourself. Even when you should. Danny’s mom went nuts on you like she didn’t just serve time for a murder a few years ago—”

“Jake—” Elizabeth said softly, touching his shoulder, but Jake shook his head.

“You don’t stand up for yourself, and you just let us all think these awful things—except I guess I’m the only one who did. Right? Because Mom knew you’d never leave us unless you had to, a-and Danny knew, but I didn’t—”

“Hey.” Jason stepped forward, took Jake by the shoulders. “You had every right to feel that way, Jake. Look at me,” he said, when his son dropped his eyes. Jake lifted his gaze to meet Jason’s. “I have never been here as much as I should have, and we both know that. But being away from you for two years, knowing you and your brother and your mom and my family were here, thinking I was dead, I made a promise to myself that if I could get the chance to come home, I would make you my top priority. Nothing and no one would be more important than you and Danny.”

Jake pressed his lips together, nodding. “I know. I know. A-and y-you’ve done that. I’m sorry—”

“It’s all right.” Jason jolted when Jake hugged him, squeezing tight, the way he had when he was younger. “It’s all right.”

Jake stepped back, clearing this throat, running a hand through his hair. “Um, so I guess even though me and Danny would be your alibis, they’ll probably try to talk to us again, right?”

“Right. But don’t talk to anyone unless Diane is with you. Do you have her number?” Jason wanted to know.

“I send you her contact information,” Elizabeth told her son. “You did such a good job today, Jake. Really. And I’m sorry you had to go through any of this. That you were interrogated that way—”

“It’s okay.” Jake shrugged, jerking one shoulder and shoving his hands back in his pocket. “Better than me than Danny. He’s got no chill, you know? Me, I get mad and I just start being a smart ass, like Mom. Danny? He’s his mom. Just zero to sixty rage bomb. It was kind of fun watching that guy’s vein throb.” He indicated to his neck. “You know the one? Like when he was trying to piss me off and I just asked him for a soda.”  He snorted. “Really thought he was gonna turn me against Dad because of our last name. What a dork.”

“Some people take names very seriously,” Elizabeth said, when Jason just shook his head at Jake’s nonchalant attitude towards being interrogated by a federal agent.

“But we don’t. I mean, Dad loves his mom and he doesn’t have her last name anymore, right? It’s just a label.  You make it what you wanna make it, and I’m cool with mine.” Jake lifted his brows. “Do you guys have anything else you want to run by me, or do you want me to go away so you can talk without me?”

“I—” Elizabeth looked at Jason. “I don’t have anything, do you?”

“No. No, I don’t.” Still thrown by Jake’s reaction to the news about his FBI status and being interrogated by the FBI, Jason continued, “You did a good job tonight. With any luck, they’ll get a hit on who really did this, and we won’t have to worry about any of this after tonight.”

“I’m gonna go crash. Night, Mom.” He kissed his mother’s cheek, then jogged towards the stairs. “Night, Dad,” he called over his shoulder.

As if it were any other night.

Jason and Elizabeth looked at each other for a beat, then back at the stairs, and then Elizabeth sighed. “Well, he’s been unpredictable since before he was born, I don’t know why he’d change now.”

Penthouse: Living Room

Dante could hear the raised voices before he even pushed open the door, revealing Sam and Danny in the middle of an argument, Danny’s face was so florid with frustration and anger that Dante scarcely recognized him.

“You don’t get to be in charge of me!” Danny thundered.

“Whoa, whoa—” Dante tossed his keys on the desk. “What’s going on here?”

Sam whirled on him, and her expression didn’t ease one bit. “What the hell were you doing when the feds hauled Danny into the station? Why didn’t you stop them?”

Dante lifted his brows. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! Danny’s being questioned by the FBI, and you don’t stop it, you don’t call me. What the hell, Dante? Why didn’t you protect him?”

“She’s been unhinged all night. Yeah, that’s right,” Danny retorted when Sam spun back. “I called you a raging lunatic you lunatic!”

“Danny, first—don’t talk like that to your mother, even if it’s accurate.” When Sam turned him, her nostrils flaring, Dante pointed at her. “And we’re going to start this conversation over because I sure as hell know you didn’t just accuse me of leaving Danny out to dry or demand I obstruct a federal investigation.”

Sam scowled. “Then what’s your excuse—”

“My excuse is that I didn’t know Danny was a damned witness when I got to the house,” Dante cut in, and she closed her mouth. “I follow orders, Sam. That’s what you do when you have a boss. Anna sent me and Chase down to take statements and to investigate the crime scene before the Feds took it over. No one told me Danny was a witness.”

“And the Quartermaines tried to stop it, I told you! Brook Lynn almost got arrested when they grabbed my arm—”

“They grabbed your arm—” Sam hissed. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I knew letting you see him was a bad idea—”

“This wasn’t Dad’s fault! I told you, crazy lady, Dad was in the house! The opposite direction, or are you so mad at him that you’ve lost your damn mind!”

“Danny,” Dante said sharply, and Danny closed his mouth, but his eyes were glittering with furious tears, and Dante softened slightly. “Danny, why don’t you go upstairs, let me and your mom sort this out.”

“It’s not fair—” Danny’s voice broke now. “My dad loves me, and I want to be with him, and you’re making it impossible. She started insulting Jake’s mom, and it’s not fair—”

“Go upstairs,” Dante said, again and this time, Danny listened, lurching towards the stairs, and thundering up the steps. A moment later, the door slammed. Dante looked at Sam, with her own tear-stained cheeks. “Where’s Scout?”

“W-What?” Sam frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s still with her father. Who lives on the Quartermaine property. Who was in jail a year ago for committing crimes. If what happened today is Jason’s fault, it has to be Drew’s, too, doesn’t it? Isn’t anyone who was in the house complicit—”

“It’s not the same and you know it. Dante, damn it, we were on the same page about this—”

“We were on the same page when I wasn’t sure what Jason was gonna do when he got home. When he was asking Danny to hide him while he was a fugitive. When he was  getting shot up in the warehouse,” Dante continued, and Sam lifted her chin. “But the case is over. Jason’s deal with the FBI is done. And you know that because Carly’s charges are gone. But, hey, let’s say we’re wrong. Let’s say Jason’s still wrapped up in this life. There’s zero evidence that what happened today has anything to do with Jason. He was in the house, Sam. Unless you think Jake and Danny are lying.”

“I don’t.” Sam exhaled slowly. “I don’t,” she repeated. “And I know—I know Jason would never do something like this, involve his sons. I know all of that, but Dante, I’m not wrong. Violence always seems to find him. That explosion at the Floating Rib that put Lulu in that coma—Danny was inches from losing his life, too. I can’t forget that. I won’t.”

“No one is asking you to.” Dante went to her, kissed her forehead, and she leaned into his embrace. “But Danny’s getting at an age where you don’t get to be in charge of his world anymore. He’s going to push back at every boundary you set. And he’s not going to be nice about it. He’s got your temper.”

“I know.” Sam sighed, rubbed his arms, then stepped back. “But it’s not going to stop me from trying. I waited for years to have children, I waited for a miracle, and Danny’s my miracle. I won’t let anything get in the way of keeping him safe.”

Webber Home: Kitchen

Elizabeth set the mug of coffee down in front of Jason and slid onto the stool next to him with her own cup. “Sorry, instant isn’t nearly as good the real stuff, even if it’s Corinthos brand.”

“It’s fine.” Jason sipped, then set it on the counter. “I’m sorry. Again. For not telling you about the FBI earlier.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer right away, concentrated on stirring sugar into her coffee. “I think you probably would have told me if I’d pushed you. If I’d demanded answers.” She glanced at him. “Am I wrong?”

He thought of Sam and Carly and Sonny, all of whom had known for months because he’d had little choice but to tell them. Not that it had helped. “No. But—”

“I wanted you to tell me,” Elizabeth said, cutting him off. “Not to drag the information from you, but for you just…tell me. I’ve seen you, Jason, when people push at you. You shut down, and you start to avoid them.” Her lips curved into a slight, sad smile. “I’ve been there. And I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I—” He had no argument for that line of attack. “I know—I know that. I’m trying to be better. About…being open. I mean, if I’d told Jake sooner—” He looked towards the direction of the stairs, though he couldn’t see them from this angle. “I was never very good at telling people anything. But the last few years…” He picked up his coffee.

“Working undercover must have been difficult. Painful,” Elizabeth added.

“I was a mercenary,” he told her bluntly, but she didn’t flinch, and her eyes didn’t change, so he continued. “The job was to infiltrate Pikeman and find out the leader of the organization. To do whatever I had to do to get that name.”

“Pikeman,” Elizabeth repeated. “Valentin. That’s why Cates was angry. Because Valentin got away.” She tipped her head. “Am I supposed to think less of you, Jason, because of what you had to do? That you did what was needed so you could come home?”

“I was good at what I did,” Jason said. He met her gaze directly. “I had to be. No room for mistakes.”

“No room to be yourself,” she murmured. His hand was loosely fisted on the counter between them, and she laid her own over it, her skin soft and smooth against the roughness of his own. “If you’d let anything slip—”

“They’d have used it against me. Killed me, come after my family, the boys, you, Monica, Michael, anyone who mattered—” Jason looked at their joined hands. “Sometimes…sometimes,” he said quietly, “I’d almost forget who I was. Where I came from. What I was trying to get back to. But then someone would say my name. The name I chose.” He met her eyes again. “Alan. Alan Jacobs.”

Her eyes filled, and her thumb stroked the back of his hand, sensations sliding up his arm, then down again. “I’m glad you came home to us. We were surviving, but it’s so much better with you.”

“All the time I spent being terrified that someone would found out about Jake, about Danny, you, Michael—” his throat felt tight. “I wasted so much time. So much of my life thrown away because of a choice I made when I was too stupid to know better. I’m done with that. All of that. I’m not going back what I used to be. I’ve got a second chance with the people that matter, and I’m not going to let anyone take it from me.”

Davis House: Kristina’s Bedroom

Kristina closed the door behind her, then leaned against it. Sam had called only a little while earlier — Danny had been released from the station, though she was worried and so was Dante — that the FBI wasn’t going to let go of Jason that easily.

She hadn’t thought about the boys being at the estate. Hadn’t thought about any thing other than somewhere she knew her father wouldn’t be, but of course Jason was there.

And maybe that would be the key.

Kristina dropped her bag on the bed, then slid her hand inside until her fingers touched velvet. Drawing out the pouch, she pulled at the string, then slid the gun out into her hands.

Could she…was it possible?

She slid her fingers over the cold metal, then looked up, finding herself in the mirror. If she didn’t find a way to keep suspicion off herself or her father —

And wasn’t it Jason’s fault John Cates had come to town at all? Isn’t that what Sam had told her in a rage? That Jason was working for Cates?

Jason had brought that man into Kristina’s world. Maybe it was time he paid for that.

← Flash Fiction: You’re Not Sorry – Part 5 |