At the time, it had seemed like the most genius plan either of them had ever considered.

Of course, twelve hours earlier, they had been drunk in a pricey resort bar in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico and had been lucky remember their own names—which had come in handy when the heavily accented officiant had asked for their names.

Somehow, when coming up with the grand plan of marrying a complete stranger, they had not even exchanged the most basic of courtesies.

They’d exchanged a great deal of other things to be sure after the ceremony had concluded, but now…as Elizabeth Webber groggily came to, she realized that while she remembered that she had exchanged vows with the gorgeous man next to her—

She couldn’t quite remember the name he’d said to the officiant.

She sat up, the silky cerulean sheets falling her to waist, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a tangle that likely resembled a rat’s next and looked at him again. This time, he was looking back, his eyes the same deep blue as the Gulf of Mexico that lay beyond the window of their hotel suite.

“So,” Elizabeth said with a half smile. “That happened.”

He grinned and put a hand under his head. “Yeah. That happened.” He raised his eyebrows. “Jason Morgan.”

“Hmm?”

“You were looking at me like you didn’t know me.” His eyes slid down her torso, and she flushed, reaching for the sheet.

“I remembered you…just not your name so much.” She tilted her head. “That didn’t seem nearly as important last night as…other things.”

“Hmmm…” He sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “Is this where we decide it was a giant mistake and go our separate ways?” The words came easy and effortlessly—even carelessly, but there was something in his eyes that said just the opposite.

“We probably should,” Elizabeth said slowly, “but you know…” She sighed and laid back, looking at whitewashed ceiling. “It doesn’t feel like that’s the right idea.”

“You don’t—” He turned on his side to look at her. “I can still help you get a new passport and a ticket home.”

She should say yes. Chalk this entire trip up to a learning experience on why you shouldn’t trust anyone with your love or your passport. She didn’t know this man outside of the bedroom, but for some reason, despite everything she had ever known, she thought he might be the rare unicorn—a man who meant what he said. She could ask him for a divorce or some sort of annulment and he would probably still make phone calls to the embassy for her.

But go home to what?

And let him go home alone?

“What about what you said last night?” Elizabeth asked after a moment. “Didn’t you want to stick it your ex and your brother? Show them you didn’t need them at all?”

Jason laid back on his own pillow. “It seems colder now than it did then,” he admitted. “I liked the idea of going home with you, showing that I had already forgotten her. But would it be fair to use you like that?” He shook his head. “You deserve better than that.”

“Well, you deserve better than finding your fiance in bed with your brother the week before the wedding.” Elizabeth sat back up and pressed her lips together. “Look, I’m not looking for a fairy tale or forever after, you know? I just…I don’t have anything much to go home in San Diego. There’s no job. I’ve always been crap and making and keeping friends. You made a good case last night. I could get a chance to take a breather, figure out the next step. You could piss off your ex. And well,…” She trailed her fingers down the lean muscles of his torso, slipping her fingers under the sheet resting low at his waist. “We could have fun for a while.”

He studied her for a moment. “Just fun?”

“What else is there?” she returned with an easy smile.

“Friends,” Jason replied, catching her fingers in his grasp and rubbing his fingers over the cheap, gold band on her finger. “You’re right about not guaranteeing fairy tales or forever, but I think I’d like to be friends with my wife.”

Friends. The word felt foreign on her lips but she managed to keep the smile on her face. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try anything once.”

He tugged her down to him. “Of course, there’s still four days left before we have to check out.”

“Whatever will we do with all that time?” Elizabeth grinned as he rolled her to her back and leaned to kiss her.

+1

“Tell me about San Diego.”

Elizabeth stared down at her husband of three days, still out of breath and even a bit sweaty from another long afternoon spent in their honeymoon suite. “Now?” she managed.

“Well,” Jason replied, not sounding at all exhausted despite the marathon of fantastic sex—God, she loved that stamina. “I figure this is the best bet for you talk to me for more than five minutes.”

“We’ve talked,” she grumbled as she slid off him, dragging the cool sheets over her heated skin.

“More and faster aren’t what I hadn’t in mind,” was his only response. He dragged on a pair of black briefs, crossed to the mini fridge on the other side of the room and tossed her a bottle of water. She dragged herself up against the pillows and sighed as she twisted off the top. “We’re leaving for Port Charles tomorrow and we still don’t know anything about each other except where we’re from and our names.” He raised a brow at her. “I know you said we’d just…have fun for a while and that’s fine. But you’re coming to live at my house.”

And would be supporting her for a bit while she got back on her feet, but she was grateful that he had left that part out.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said after another minute, a bit disappointed he hadn’t rejoined her in bed but maybe that had been smart. She was getting really good at distracting them both. “I grew up in Colorado and went to college there. I have a degree in art history but there’s not really much I can do with that. I taught for a bit, but I got laid off. I thought…there was something for me in San Diego, but I was completely wrong.”

She hesitated then, not really sure how much she wanted him to know. He was a great guy and sexy as well, but there was some spots she didn’t want to poke too deeply. “Things went south there, and I had to get out. I had been saving for…” The future. A life. “But I was in such a bad place, I just kind of said screw it and booked a flight to somewhere that wasn’t San Diego. Cabo was the first available.”

“What about your things in San Diego? Do you need them shipped out?”

“I put anything that mattered in a storage locker and paid two months,” Elizabeth said. “I figured I could decide the next step from there.” She arched her own brows. “Tell me about Port Charles.”

“I guess you’re not really interested in the local sights and gossip.” He sipped his own water. “I was engaged to someone I’d dated for a long time. Someone who was with me before I made any money, so I thought that meant something. And then about a week ago, I came home from a road trip and I guess she’d lost track of time because she was screwing my brother in our bedroom.” He lifted a shoulder. “Kicked them both out, went to sleep, and decided to go on the honeymoon anyway.”

It didn’t look like he was much interested in discussing the ex or brother based on the way his eyes shifted away from hers, so she asked the next question. “Road trip? Money? What exactly do you do?”

He grinned then, a lightning quick one that lit up his entire face in a way that she hadn’t seen outside of bed. “You really don’t know.”

“No,” she muttered, feeling stupid. He wasn’t a movie star or anything or he wouldn’t be living in upstate New York. “Am I supposed to?”

“No.” Jason shook his head and took a long swig of water. “No, I guess I’ve just been living in a bubble. I play baseball with the Port Charles Rebels.” He grimaced. “God it’s a stupid fucking name, but all the good ones are taking.”

“Baseball,” Elizabeth repeated dubiously. “I know the Yankees. And the Padres, but that’s because I lived near the stadium. You…is it professional? I mean—” She pursed her lips. “You play sports.”

“Yeah. The Rebels are an expansion team—” He shook his head when she just blinked at him. “Never mind. I grew up in Port Charles so I thought it’d be good for all of us when I was claimed in the expansion draft. Close to both our families.” Jason snorted and finished the water. “Anyway. Yeah, people know me. Usually. I played in the All-Stars game last year.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth tilted her head. “Okay. So…that sounds like fun. Um…” What the hell should she say next? The only thing she knew about baseball was from the movies.

He laughed then and climbed back into bed with her. “You know what? I think we’ve talked enough for one night.”

“Oh, thank God.”

+1

The cupcake was iced with garishly pink cream and some sort of candy hearts and it was set in front of her with candle already lit.

“Make a wish.”

Elizabeth Webber propped her chin on her fist and gave her best friend a dirty look. “Wishes are for kids. Birthdays are for kids. Who told you?”

“I snuck a look at your driver’s license when I realized we’d been working together for a year and it hadn’t come up.” Johnny Zacchara shrugged. “Blow it out.”

“Bite me.”

“Thought about it,” he said carelessly as he sat across from her, behind his side of their battered partner’s desk in their shabby office. “It wouldn’t work.”

“That’s because you laugh too much,” she muttered, eying the cupcake as it were toxic poison. “It distracted me. Also, you don’t do it for me.” Though it was a mystery because Johnny was, objectively speaking, pretty fucking sexy with his dark hair, soft brown eyes, and killer smile. And yet… “And your girlfriend would kick my ass.”

“This is true. Nadine is tiny, but feisty.” Johnny frowned now. “The candle is going to melt the cupcake if you don’t blow it out. C’mon, Bits. Make a wish.”

“Wishes are bullshit,” she muttered. “Fine. You know what I wish for?”

“Jesus, don’t say it. That’s not how this works.” He looked faintly horrified. “They don’t come true if you say them outloud.”

“God save me from Catholics and their superstitions.” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll wish something to myself, I’ll blow this out, and we can go back to work.”

“It has to be a real wish, not something stupid—”

“There are a lot of rules for a goddamn birthday cupcake,” Elizabeth retorted. She closed her eyes and decided what the hell. She wanted to see Jason. Just one more time. She opened her eyes, blew out the candle, and then shoved the cupcake across the desk. “You eat it. I’m not in the mood for a sugar rush. I have a defendant I have to keep from going to prison for the rest of his life.”

“You’re no fun,” Johnny said, but he grabbed the cupcake, tossed the candle, and ate it. Then he mercifully stopped reminding her it was her goddamn birthday, got back to work, and let her work in peace.

A half hour later, he headed home to the lovely Nadine while Elizabeth continued reviewing the lab reports for court the next morning. If she had a prayer of keeping Dillon Quartermaine from doing ten to fifteen years for a crime he hadn’t committed, she needed to keep her head in the game and poke as many holes into the DA’s case as possible.

A knock on the door to their suite distracted her about an hour after Johnny had left. She blinked bearily when the knock sounded again, but realized it was likely that their receptionist had left for the day. “Come in—it should be open.”

“It’s not.”

The voice was muffled, but its identity was unmistakable.

Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and went into the cramped room that served as their waiting room, passing the wastebasket where she could see the gaudy cupcake wrapping and the candle still decorated with icing. “What the fuck are you?” she muttered down.

She slowly unlocked the deadbolt and tugged it open to find out that she was not, as hoped, hallucinating.

Lieutenant Jason Morgan was, indeed, standing at the threshold of her office.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, and then winced because damn if that hadn’t sounded like more angry than she had intended. Well, better than happy or relieved, or aroused. Because she was all of those things to. He didn’t dress like a high-ranking member of the Port Charles Police Department—not in his jeans that wouldn’t be called tight, but they certainly clung to the right parts, and a t-shirt that stretched across a broad chest with rippling muscles.

God he was gorgeous.

And standing in front of her. Fucking birthdays.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked, his brow arched.

She stepped back to do so, closing the door when he passed her. He turned at the tiny desk that Maxie Jones usually sat behind and faced her. “What are you doing here?” Elizabeth tried again, and was pleased her tone was way more even than it had been before.

“It’s your birthday,” Jason said, leaning against the desk. “Did you think I’d forget?”

Hoping. Praying. “You did last year.”

“You told me not to come by last year,” he reminded her. “But this year…well, it’s been two years. I wanted to check in.”

Check in. Sure. “Well, you’ve checked in. I’m alive. Looks like you are, too. Great. I have court tomorrow.” She went back to her desk.

“You always have court tomorrow,” Jason retorted as he followed. “Are you seriously still mad at me?”

No. Yes. Damn it. “I don’t know,” she muttered, but she felt better behind her desk. “Are you still mad at me?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “I don’t know,” he echoed. “I just…it’s been two years. I just thought…we should acknowledge it.”

“It’s been acknowledged. Your sister is dead and it’s my fault. You made that clear then, and since you can’t decided if you’re still mad or not, you still think so.” She shrugged. “So if there’s anything else…”

“Damn it.” It was more of a hiss than an actual swear, but he closed his eyes for a minute. “I came here to check on you, yeah. But also…Diego Alcazar escaped from Sing Sing about three hours ago, and I thought he might…”

“Come to finish what he started.” Her bones chilled. “Because he escaped on my birthday and the anniversary of the day he killed Emily and nearly killed me.”

0

Note: I actually like the concept of this story, and this will probably be the last entry for the micro fiction. I’d like to play with it as a longer short story. I’ll keep you posted.

Running late for a dinner with family, so remember: I wrote this in 20 minutes and didn’t edit or spellcheck.

Two years earlier, it had been the day after Halloween. Elizabeth and her best friend since childhood, Emily Morgan, had scoured the local store’s candy fire sale, brought it back to Elizabeth’s apartment and prepared for their annual post-Halloween scary movie marathon.

The tradition had gone back to the first time they had gone trick or treating by themselves (all brave at the age of twelve) and had fallen asleep through the third Halloween movie, woken up the next day to finish the rest of the series. To them, it had seemed like the perfect solution — trick or treat on Halloween and eat the candy the next day so they could watch all the movies and not worry about falling asleep or being sent to bed by one of their parents. And the fact that it was Elizabeth’s birthday? Beyond perfect. Elizabeth hated birthday parties and this was the perfect way to get out of them.

For fifteen years, they had kept the tradition. Through high school, through college, through law school and med school. Even the year that Elizabeth had been pissed because Emily had gone out with the guy from the newspaper Elizabeth had had her eye on. They’d fought bitterly the week before, but then Emily had shown up at her door, on November 1, with a bag of jellybeans and a battered copy of the IT miniseries. The guy was forgotten, and they’d moved forward.

Until two years ago.

“Escaped,” Elizabeth said flatly. Of course he had. “Do you have leads? Sighting? How the hell did he get out?”

Jason rubbed his hands over his face. “They won’t tell me much. It’s not our case and I’m too emotionally involved.” He bit out those last words with a lot of heat.

Elizabeth said nothing. Legal protocol, of course, would prevent the brother of the victim from getting anywhere near the case, even if he had been the original investigating officer.

She’d been the prosecuting assistant district attorney trying to put Diego Alcazar in jail for a string of serial rapes, and Jason had been the one to slap the cuffs on him a week before that day. And the target of his rage.

Absently, she rubbed her shoulder. Every once in a while, she could still feel the sharp slice of pain as that knife had slashed towards her. And the residual horror when she’d watched from her fallen position as Alcazar had gone after Emily.

“Listen,” Jason said after a moment. “You told me not to bother you last year—”

“I said that two years ago,” she muttered. “You just…listened.”

“You changed your number. You moved. And then you quit your job.”

She shrugged, returning to her desk and the paperwork. “So?”

“So, what I said that day—” Irritation flashed across his chiseled features. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah.” Elizabeth met his eyes. “You did. And it’s okay. It was my fault. I Zknew he’d made threats—”

“I wanted to take it back,” he interrupted. “But you were in recovery and I felt like enough shit. I just—I hoped you wouldn’t remember it. My family was shattered. The job put me on administrative leave. And by the time I could—” He shook his head. “You disappeared, Elizabeth.”

“Bullshit.” But it was said without heat. “You’re a fucking cop, Jason. You wanted to find me, you could have. I didn’t change my name. I still practice law. Hell, your old partner arrested my current client. You knew where to find me.” She shrugged. “You didn’t.”

He exhaled slowly. “Fair enough. I didn’t. I tried to tell the state troopers Alcazar might come for you, but they ignored me. They think he’s on his way to Canada, but you and I both know why he came for you.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess we do.” She sat down, looking back at the Quartermaine notes. “Look, thanks for telling me. I’ll check into a hotel or something—”

“Elizabeth—”

Her office phone rang before he could protest further. “Zacchara and Webber,” she answered, turning away from him.

“Ms. Webber? This is Officer Falconieri from the PCPD. We responded to a report of a break in at your apartment.”

Her blood chilled. “My apartment?”

“Ma’am, you should…we need you to meet us at your home.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Slowly, she placed the phone back on the hook and turned to Jason. “The PCPD…someone broke into my apartment.”

His expression hardened like granite. “You’re not going alone.”

And though she was relieved that she wasn’t alone, this wasn’t quite the birthday wish she’d wanted. She looked one last time at the gaudy remains of Johnny’s goddamn cupcake. Fucking birthdays.

0

Broke the rules and took an extra five minutes for about 25 total minutes of writing time. No spellcheck or editing.

Charles Town, Arizona Territory, 1876

It was a quiet day in town, and that was the way Jason Morgan, sheriff of Charles Town and its surrounding environs liked it. In the late spring, most of the town’s citizens were preoccupied with putting up crops to get them through the hot summer and cold winter or looking out for the cattle and sheep that would bring in the extra money.

They weren’t making much trouble in Ruby’s Saloon or at The Benson Lodge, and they were leaving him alone.

Until his erstwhile cousin, Dillon Quartermaine, burst through the door, his shiny gold deputy’s badge pinned to his cambric blue shirt. “Jase, we got a problem at the train station.”

Hell. Jasoon sat up, let his booted feet drop from the desk to the floor and sighed. “What? Cargo didn’t arrive? We don’t like the cargo that showed up? Fugitives?”

“Uh…” Dillon removed his Stetson and scratched at his sunny blond hair. “Uh, I guess cargo showed up that no one wanted it.”

“And that’s my problem?”

“Well…the cargo is…” Dillon swallowed. “Human.”

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and the vision of kicking off early and heading out to spend the weekend at his ranch house faded.

“Shit.”

—

At the Charles Town Depot, Elizabeth Webber sat on a cold wooden bench and stared straight ahead. Her portmanteau sat beside her on the ground, stuffed with her most precious belongings, and inside the depot sat her trunk with all her clothing and mementos.

She had uprooted her entire life in San Francisco on a hope and a prayer.

And now she sat at a train station with no money for a return ticket and no where to go even if she had been able to buy a ticket.

So she sat, her hands laced together in her lap, the sun burning into the side of her dark brown traveling dress. Sweat rivulets slid from the tendrils of her brown curls rapidly loosening from the neat knot she had arranged as the train had pulled into the station.

She heard the boots inside the station—two more sets than just the one station master. Muted voices. Likely the station master was becoming alarmed.

He had been present when Elizabeth’s fiance had shown up. And when he’d left her, spitting at her to go back to where she came from.

The door opened and in the corner of her eye, she saw a well-built man in denim and a dusty jacket step out onto the wooden platform. A brown Stetson was angled over dirty blond hair, and a star was pinned to the shirt under the jacket, peeking out as he closed the door and stood there.

“I hear you’ve had a bad day, Miss.”

A bit surprised by his opening salvo, Elizabeth turned to meet his eyes and her eyes skittered away just as quickly. They were too blue, too kind. She couldn’t look at him.

“I’ve had worse.” And that was the simple unvarnished truth.

“Fair enough.” He gingerly sat at the other end of the bench, angling himself to face her. “Jason Morgan, Sheriff.”

Her shoulders slumped a bit and she looked at her hands, made sure the gloved hand with the hole in the palm was hidden. “I suppose the station master would like me to leave.”

“Well, I’m not saying that’s not part of the reason he came for my deputy, but honestly, I think he’s just concerned. He, uh, said there was some trouble earlier.”

“Trouble.” Elizabeth snorted. “A man puts an advertisement in the paper. Says he wants a wife. Wires money. A woman gives up her employment. Her lodgings. But when she arrives, he just…” Hysteria bubbled in her throat. “He walks away.”

“You might not believe me at the moment,” Jason said slowly. “But you’re probably better off. Richard Lansing is a bit of a….” He grimaced. “Let’s just add any adjectives. Uh…” He removed his hat, placed it in his lap. “What exactly…was the problem?”

“I’m—” She closed her eyes. “Too late. He wired another woman money and she arrived first.”

He muttered something under his breath. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss. Can I help you make arrangements to go back?”

“To what?” she demanded, more to herself than to him. “Did you not hear me? I gave up my employment. I have no home to return to. My family is—” She closed her eyes. “We lost everything after the war and my father never recovered.”

He nodded. Likely it wasn’t the first time he’d heard such a tale. “All right. Can I help you take your things to our lodge? Caroline Benson would take good care of you—”

“No, thank you. I’ll just…” She pressed her lips together. Sit here and rot before she accepted a man’s help. Took another man’s word. “I didn’t even want to marry him much. We didn’t even write.”

“Okay.”

“He has a daughter.” Elizabeth clenched her fists more tightly. “I wanted…he wanted a mother for his daughter.”

“Ah. Molly is a cute kid. Lost her mother to influenza a year or so back when it swept through town.” He scratched his forehead. “You got experience with kids?”

“A little.” Her abdomen clenched. “I wanted more.”

“Well, then maybe we could help each other.”

She slid a glance at him, her eyes hot. “I don’t know who you think I am—”

“Well, as to that, Miss, we haven’t exactly been introduced.” He offered a half smile. “Jason Morgan,” he repeated. “Guardian to my brother’s son, Michael. I’m all right at the fatherhood thing, but I work in town during the week and I don’t pay him as much attention as I ought. Fact of it is, he’s seven and could probably use some mothering.”

“Elizabeth Webber,” she admitted on a shaky sigh. “What…exactly are you suggesting?”

“Well, I’m not in the market for a mail order bride,” he admitted. “I hope that don’t hurt your feelings.”

“God.” A rush of air exploded out in a huff. “I don’t think I will ever answer another advertisement.”

“Wouldn’t blame you. I could use a…” He scratched the back of his neck. “They have a fancy name for women who look after kids and houses?”

“Housekeeper. Governess.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Until you get yourself back on your feet. Make some plans.” Jason got to his feet, held out a hand. “Let me take your things to Caroline Benson. We’ll put you up for the night. On the house, courtesy of Charles Town and in apology for the asshole who left you here.”

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for me to remain,” Elizabeth admitted, but allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Well, you don’t have to take the job with me,” Jason told her. “Maybe Caroline will know something else you could do. Or we could ask her mother, Bobbie. Just…” He hesitated. “I can’t leave you sitting here like this, and not just because Julian Jerome wanted me to move you along.”

“Maybe just one night,” Elizabeth allowed. A good meal and night’s sleep would put her right again and she could decide the next step.

It was unlikely to stay here with the appealing sheriff and her nephew, but it wasn’t as though she had any other answers at the moment.

She allowed him to make arrangements for a porter to deliver the trunk to the hotel and watched as Jason lifted the heavy portmanteau without a care. “After you, Miss Elizabeth.”

Gathering her skirt in one hand, she started down the Main Street, hoping she wasn’t making another dreadful mistake.

0

The ending is a little wonky because I ran out of time. Written in 23 minutes.

Stefanie Webber was going to see her father whether he—or her mother—liked it or not. For her entire life, they’d waited for him. Waited for him to call, waited for him to visit, waited for him to leave, to go back to the city where they were, for some reason, never allowed to visit. Oh sure, her mother had always told her that one day Stef would understand. Love was complicated.

But she was fourteen now and really tired of hearing she’d understand when she was the older. As her oldest brother had always told her, that was just some shit adults told you to get you off their back. Well, Stef was done waiting for answers from her mother, and since her father wasn’t expected to come back to San Diego until her birthday in July, showing up on his doorstep in April might shock him enough to explain why the hell he lived somewhere else if he loved her mother so damn much.

Her mother didn’t often let Stefanie out of her sight overnight—her brothers told her that was mostly their fault—Jake had apparently been kidnapped twice as a kid and Cameron had never met a curfew in high school he hadn’t broken. But every once in a while, she could convince her mom to let her sleep over Trisha’s house, and this time—she’d managed to convince Trish to cover for her at least until Saturday morning.

Because by then she’d be in Port Charles and would have confronted her father about never being around and she wouldn’t need a cover story anymore.

Of course all of that had seemed like a great idea until her layover in Chicago had screwed everything else. Her connecting flight had been cancelled and they couldn’t get her on a new one until the next morning. Which meant she’d be in the air right about the time she was supposed to be home from Trisha’s house.

It couldn’t be helped, Stef told herself, as she got into the taxi that would take her from the airport to her father’s penthouse — his address had been ridiculous easy to find. She’d found it on his driver’s license three years ago.

She turned on her phone…just to see if she’d gotten away with it so far and found that she had four missed calls and three texts—as well as a text from her oldest brother, Cameron. She wrinkled her nose, weighed her bets, and called Cameron.

“Stef, Mom is flipping out. You turned off your location on your phone—”

“Hello to you, too, Cam,” Stef said with a roll of her eyes as the taxi turned towards the downtown area with its taller buildings. “So she doesn’t know where I am yet?”

“She doesn’t, but only because I didn’t tell her you’ve been asking questions about Dad again.” Cameron waited a moment. “What the hell, Stef—are you just going to show up on his doorstep?”

“That’s the general idea. Don’t you think it’s strange we’ve never been allowed to come to see him? He has family here. I know he does. Why don’t we get to know him?”

“This isn’t the way to figure it out—”

“Sorry, Cam. The taxi is dropping me at his apartment building now. You can tell Mom all you want. It’s not going to stop me.”

Fifteen flights above, Jason Morgan was having a terrible morning. It hadn’t started that way, but the people in his life always knew how to screw things up. He leaned back against his pool table and listened to his third visitor of the day throw the second tantrum she’d had that week. His first two visitors were still there, listening and throwing in their advice. Like always.

The knock on his door made him grimace. He could only imagine who was here this time. He walked away from the trio in his living room and pulled the door open.

“Dad?” His daughter blinked up at him with her mother’s blue eyes, and shoved her dark hair out of her eyes. “Um. Hi.”

“Dad?” one of the women behind him demanded. “What the hell—”

Jason scowled and turned back. “Sam—”

“Wait, a second—” the other woman said. She strode forward to get a better look at Stefanie who shrunk back from both of them. “Who the hell—”

“Dad?” Stefanie repeated, more hesitantly now, taking a step back. “What’s going on?”

“Stefanie—” He sighed, dipped his head, then took her by the elbow and led her into the penthouse living room. “Stefanie, this is Sonny and Carly Corinthos. And that’s Sam.”

“Sam,” Stefanie repeated, flicking a glance at her father, as if questioning why Sam didn’t have a last name.

“Sam Morgan, his wife,” Sam snapped. Stefanie paled as Jason shot her a dark look.

“Ex-wife,” Jason growled. “For sixteen years. Don’t start, Sam.” He looked back at Stefanie with her wide eyes, then sighed. “This is Stefanie Webber. My daughter.”

“Webber?” Carly screeched as Sonny smirked and Sam scowled.

“You wanted to know the reason I never came to live in San Diego?” Jason asked with a sigh. “Because they would have followed me.”

+1

Alternate Universe. Written in 25ish minutes.  It has no title because I am bereft of inspiration. Maybe one day.

From the minute Jason Morgan walked through the doors of the Queen of Angels church after a year of being away from Port Charles, he could tell that something was seriously wrong.

Even more wrong than the reason he’d ended his global travels and hurried back to his hometown after an upset phone from one of the men who had stepped up as Sonny Corinthos’ right hand man in the organization after Jason had decided he’d devoted enough of his life to violence and mayhem. He’d needed to get out. Desperately.

There had been a shooting at the penthouse where Sonny lived with his wife, Brenda, and tragically, his boss’s beloved wife had died. Sonny was inconsolable, no one could find their doctor to take care of him, and worse—no one could understand how Anthony Moreno’s men had managed to penetrate their security and made it to the top floor of the apartment building.

But when he returned to Port Charles, just in time for the memorial, he saw immediately the rot that had set in since he’d left. There was no security on the church, and the men that sat with Sonny up front weren’t looking around—weren’t aware of their surroundings.

Jason slipped into the back pew where Johnny O’Brien sat, leaning back with his arms folded. “Any word?”

Johnny shook his head, silently as the priest at the front of the church continued to drone on. Most of the congregation had tuned out of the long Latin mass that Sonny had insisted on. “Some sort of breach in the security room. The cameras were off in the entire building. And Sonny got rid of the parking garage guards, so—” He jerked a shoulder. “The doc is still missing in action, and that’s weird, Jase. He never would have taken off like this. Not with Brenda—”

Johnny exhaled slowly. “He took care of her after the miscarriage six months ago, you know? And I just can’t seem him not even—”

“Wait, he’s missing completely?” Jason hissed under his breath. “How—he works at the hospital—”

“He hasn’t shown up for a shift since the shooting. Some of the guys think maybe he did this—but nah, no way—” Johnny rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I was finishing up the Puerto Ric run when it happened. By the time I got back, no one wanted to talk about it. Sonny isn’t even demanding that many answers about the security breach.”

“He could just be…” Jason trailed off. He exchanged a look with the other man as they both remembered Sonny’s breakdowns. He’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder two years earlier, but had refused to go on any medicine. Had refused that sign of weakness. Brenda had always been good at keeping him even and balanced, but— “I shouldn’t have left,” he said roughly.

“You had your reasons,” Johnny murmured. “I know how much Michael meant to you—” He broke off, leaned past Jason as someone new lingered in the door way. “Oh. Did you know she was coming?”

Jason followed his friend’s gaze and saw the petite young brunette standing there, hesitantly, her eyes searching. When she saw them in the back pew, she bit her lip and approached them. Johnny immediately slid down, and Jason followed, keeping himself very still and maintaing at least six inches between himself and Elizabeth Webber, Steven Webber’s favorite sister and…

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said, flashing a white smile at them, her eyes darting around the church, her fingers trembling as they were clutched around the strap of her black clutch. “I, um, I haven’t heard from Steven—and the news—I just—I was worried. So I flew in from Boston—” She stopped, looking at her hand where his eyes had also gone. At the slim golden band and diamond ring on her fourth finger.

“I’m sorry—” Elizabeth started to yank it off, but Jason stopped her, covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, dully.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Jason said. “Elizabeth—” He grimaced, then turned to Johnny. “O’Brien, go find somewhere else to sit. Now.”

When Johnny had slunk away, Elizabeth drew in her bottom lip, her teeth sinking in. “You haven’t seen Steven have you? He said you were away, but you’re back now—”

“I just got in this morning. And, no, I haven’t talked to Steven in months.” And if Steven Webber wasn’t in touch with his sister, then—

“I’m scared,” Elizabeth admitted, as she stared forward, down the long aisle of the church, down the thirty or forty pews that lay between them and the altar with the white coffin decorated with flowers. “I really can’t lose someone else I love.” She glanced at him, and for a moment—they were united as the parents they’d been a year earlier when their son had died. Then she looked away, her lips pressed tightly together.

He’d woken from the accident with a blank memory and pretty woman claiming to be his wife and the mother of his child. He’d pushed her away, but Michael was different. He’d fallen in love with his son. Until the day they’d lost him, and any chance of rebuilding a life with her had slipped away.

It had been Jason’s fault their son was dead.

And, maybe, indirectly, it would be his fault Steven Webber was missing.

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A continuation of Part 1, a flash fiction from April. It was written in 20 minutes.  No edits for typos.

The drive between Port Charles and the Canadian border was not a long one, but tonight, it felt like the longest ride of Cameron Webber’s life. In the backseat, his younger brothers were eerily silent.

They’d been woken from their sleep by screams and thuds and then hustled out of the door in their pajamas, with no other explanation beyond “Let’s go. Now!”

Aiden had cried for the first ten minutes, wanting to see his mother, but Jake—

Jake was quiet, his eyes assessing. He’d seen more than Cameron had wanted—the blood stains he’d tried to scrub out from his nails at a gas station near Buffalo, the scratches on his arms, the bruises on his face. He hadn’t asked any questions. Had simply followed Cameron back out of the bathroom and into the car, helping Aiden get bucked up again.

Drive, his mother had said, handing him the keys to the car she’d only recently let him back out of the driveway for the first time and the emergency envelope of cash she’d hidden away. Drive into Canada and keep driving until she contacted him. Cameron had argued—he’d wanted to stay—wanted to take care of her—but she had only shaken her head.

Jake and Aiden had to be safe. Had to be kept away. What if they were wrong—what if he wasn’t dead? What if he came back?

He always came back.

Neither of them voiced the obvious wrinkle in her plan to just keep driving until she contacted him. If Drew and Franco were as dead as they looked—

She might not be able to contact him.

But Cameron couldn’t think of those things right now. He had to get the boys over the border. He could figure everything else out just as soon as they were all out of the country.

His cell phone rang, and out of habit, he looked at the screen on the dashboard—his phone had connected automatically to his mother’s bluetooth connection, like it was any other day and he was just going to drive her crazy with his music as she dragged him somewhere.

Jason Morgan.

The sight of his brother’s father’s name flashing across the screen was a strange one and yet—he felt his lungs expand slightly. He remembered Jason. Jason took care of things. Or he used to. He used to be his mother’s go-to in almost every emergency.

Had his mother reached out now?

“That’s my dad,” Jake said, leaning forward as the phone continued to ring. “Are you going to answer it?”

“Sit back,” Cameron said. He took the next exit and steered the car towards the first gas station as the phone went silently, having reached the amount of rings before voicemail switched on. “Keep your seat belt on.”

“Cameron—”

He pulled the car into a parking spot alongside the building, then reached for his phone, switching off the bluetooth. He didn’t want his brothers overhearing anything Jason might say to him.

He dialed the number, and Jason answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

Cameron swallowed. He didn’t know Jason anymore. He thought he had—he thought the man who had lived with them for almost a year and had offered to adopt him was Jason—but that wasn’t Jason, and all the other memories were faded ones of a child who loved motorcycles and any adult who would play with him.

“How did you get my number?”

“Cameron.” There was a pause. “I was just at the PCPD. I talked to your mother.”

His chest squeezed again as tears burned in his eyes. He closed his eyes. “What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. Except that it was all her fault and that I needed to find you and your brothers. I convinced her to stop talking to the police and let Diane help her. Let me keep my promise to her. Where are you?”

“I—I just took an exit off the 190. Just before the bridge to Grand Island. I don’t—I don’t remember which number.”

“Exit 15,” Jake said quietly in the back.

“We’re at a gas station,” Cameron continued. “Mom—she’s okay?”

“No,” Jason said. “But we’ll take care of that next. Stay where you are as long as you can. That’s not too far away. I’ll come to you.”

“Okay. Okay.” He closed his phone and set it in the cupholder next to the driver’s seat. He was oddly comforted by the fact that Jason hadn’t pretended everything was okay or that his mother was just fine. He hadn’t lied to Cameron.

It was a small thing, but Cameron needed it right now. It was something to cling to, something that let him believe it was safe to trust Jason Morgan.

“Is my dad coming?” Jake asked. He climbed over the seats and settled into the passenger’s seat. A moment later, Aiden followed even though it was now a tight squeeze with Aiden and Jake sharing the seat. “Are we going to wait for him?”

“Yeah. He was worried about you—” Cameron’s throat tightened. Because that’s why Jason was involved, of course. Worry over his own son. He didn’t care about Cameron or Aiden. Or his mother. But he hadn’t lied to him.

And if that was the only thing Cameron could believe in right now, he’d take it.

It was almost an hour before a dark SUV pulled int the spot next to them. Cameron waited until he saw Jason step around the front of the car and lean against the hood.

“Stay in the car,” Cameron told his brothers.

“But that’s my dad,” Jake began but he closed his mouth when Cameron glared at him. “Okay.”

Cameron pushed open the sedan’s door and closed it. “What next?”

“That depends on you,” Jason told him. His light blue eyes seemed to penetrate right into Cameron’s still sour gut. “Do I need to get you out of the country?” He tilted his head, nodding towards the injuries that were still visible. “Somewhere you can’t be extradited?”

“I think—” Cameron swallowed hard and spoke carefully. “I think it might have been self-defense. But I don’t know. I—you’d do that?”

“Yeah.” Jason stepped towards him. “I promised your mother a long time ago I would always take care of you. I didn’t—” He looked away for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “I didn’t keep that promise then. Let me keep my promise to her,” he repeated softly. “For once.”

“I had to do it,” he offered. His voice trembled slighlty, but Cameron bit down hard on his lip. “I had to do it. He was going to hurt her. And I couldn’t let her get hurt again.” He closed his eyes. “I killed Franco, and I’m not sorry.”

“I should have killed him years ago,” Jason said, bluntly. Cameron’s eyes flew open. “I thought I had. It’s my fault any of this is happening. Let’s get your brothers and head back. I brought someone to drive your mother’s car back to Port Charles.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if we can fix it, Cameron. But we’re going to try.”

+2

This is kind of set in contemporary GH — my idea of trying to save the goddamn show again. I don’t know if it’ll work. These characters are pretty far gone, but it’s a soap opera so nothing is ever over. It’s set a bit in the future, and all you really need to know is that this ridiculous serial killer storyline happened, Franco plead guilty, ended up stabbed. Ryan is gone, Ava is gone. (I figure she should get to kill him and then split town to deal with it, I don’t really care tho). Jason and Sam are done with the Dawn of the Dead shit because that is dumb as hell and I’m too tired to save it. Everything else should be self-explanatory.

First part is short because I’m getting a super late start and only had about 20 minutes.  No time for editing or typos, and I assure you — they’re always in there.

I ended up taking about 25 minutes altogether.

The Port Charles Police Department was not a place that Jason Morgan liked to spend a lot of time, but thanks to his career choice and the company he kept, he was here at least three times a month.

He pushed his way into the squad room, took in the the cluster of officers around the desk, and squinted down the hallway where he knew the commissioner’s office still sat empty. Jordan Ashford had died after a car accident three months earlier, and Laura Webber couldn’t find anyone willing to take the job.

But he hadn’t pulled himself out of bed at three in the morning to think about any of that. Diane Miller had sounded upset on the phone and hadn’t given him many details, only that he needed to get here as soon as possible.

His redheaded virago of lawyer was standing in front of the interrogation room, her fingers at her lips—Jason noticed with some surprise that she was actually biting on them. Diane was normally put together—her hair carefully done, her nails polished, her suits pressed—for her to be standing here without any makeup in a pair of yoga pants and a cardigan thrown over a tank top—

That was actually pretty terrifying.

“Thank God you’re here.” Diane strode towards him and wrapped her hands in the lapels of his leather jacket. “She’s insane. You’re the only person left who might be able to talk some sense into her.”

“Into who—” Jason started to ask but he stopped as he looked into the window of the interrogation room where the blinds had been left open for a chance. Sitting at the dark wooden table was one of his oldest friends and the mother of his son.

Elizabeth Webber.

Her skin was so translucent, it was nearly colorless. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were thick dark purple circles beneath them. Her chestnut hair lay limply against her shoulders.

Her hands were encased in a pair of silver handcuffs.

Across from her, Detective Harrison Chase sat, with the earnest look he knew so well. He was talking, and Elizabeth was shaking her head.

“What—” Jason turned to his lawyer. “What—”

“Scott Baldwin called me from the hospital, almost in tears,” Diane said. “Said Liz needed a lawyer and he wasn’t—he couldn’t. He said it was a matter of life and death—and I get here and she’s confessing—”

“Confessing to what—”

“It’s a lie. She would never—and even if she did, there was a damn good reason—” Diane pressed a hand to her forehead. “I feel responsible. I should have been nicer to her. More understanding. I don’t know how to do those things, but I could have figured it out.”

Diane was babbling. What could Elizabeth have done—

Jason took a deep breath. “Where’s Franco?”

—

She knew this feeling. She’d been here before. She’d lived here before. There was nothing. Nothing in her heart. Nothing in her head. Nothing in her body.

She was empty inside.

Elizabeth Webber stared down at her hands, at the handcuffs around her wrists, at the blood caked under her fingers—they had already scraped for evidence, but she hadn’t washed them. They hadn’t let her.

There could be evidence.

“I don’t know you that well, but Willow likes you. I know you’re not telling me the truth, Mrs. Baldwin—”

“I never—” Her voice didn’t feel like her own. She had to force it through her throat, past her lips. “I never changed it….”

“Miss Webber,” Chase corrected, his voice gentle. He was a nice man. He must not have been a cop long enough to see true darkness.

She knew what evil looked like. Tonight hadn’t even been the first time she’d been faced with it.

But tonight was the first time it had won.

“Where are your sons? Are they with family? They weren’t in the house—”

Elizabeth blinked. The boys. Put them first. Do it right. “Out of town. I sent them away. Earlier tonight. Before anything—they’re gone. They don’t know anything.”

“We need to talk to them—”

“No. No. You don’t.” She closed her eyes. “I did it. I did it all. I had to. Is…is Drew still alive?”

There was a sharp knock at the door and Diane threw it open. Chase sighed. “Mis Webber still doesn’t want her lawyer—”

“Can I talk to her?” came a voice Elizabeth still couldn’t get used to hearing. She opened her eyes, and there, standing behind Diane, was Jason.

She frowned. Why was he here? What was going on?

Chase hesitated. Looked at Elizabeth. “If you can talk some sense into her. She needs to tell us the truth.” He left the room, then Diane and Jason entered. Jason closed the door behind them.

He met her eyes, then took a seat as Diane paced restlessly.

“Diane told me what the charges are.” He leaned forward, those blue eyes intent on hers. Oh, God. She didn’t know if she had the energy to lie to him anymore. She didn’t want to lie to Jason.

Hadn’t she lied to Jason enough?

“It’s my fault,” she said roughly. “All of it. So I should have to pay for it.”

Diane growled. “Damn it—”

Jason shook his head. “Drew is in the hospital, with a head injury. And Diane says the boys were gone when the police got to the house.” He sighed heavily. “Did they see anything?”

“I—” She pressed her lips together. “Don’t ask me. I can’t lie to you.”

“They did, then. Where are they?”

“If you want to help me—” Elizabeth met his eyes. “If you ever loved me even a little, then you’ll do as I ask. This needs to be my fault. The boys are in a car heading towards the border. Cameron has his phone. He knows only to answer if I call him. But he might pick up if it’s you. You can get them and keep them safe.” Her voice shook. “But you can’t let Cameron talk to the cops. Okay? You need to get my boys away from here.”

“Elizabeth—”

“It’s my fault. I did this. I brought him into our homes. I let him lie to me. And I ignored all the signs that nothing that changed. It’s my fault. It doesn’t matter what happened. Please, Jason.” She spread her hands flat on the table. “The blood is on my hands. I’m asking you to let it stay that way. You did this for Michael. I’m asking you to do this for me.”

Jason leaned back, exhaled slowly, then looked at Diane for a long moment. He looked back at Elizabeth, the nodded. “Under one condition.”

“Jason—”

“Stop talking to the police. Let Diane help you. Don’t plead guilty. I don’t know what happened tonight, Elizabeth. But whatever it is, it’s not on you.” He rose to his feet. “It’s on me. For not killing Franco when I had the chance.”

“I wish I could blame you. It would be so easy.” Her voice broke, and tears started to slide down her cheeks. “But I can’t. I did this. I destroyed my life. Please don’t let the boys—”

“Will you let Diane help you?” Jason asked.

And even though she knew he would help the boys anyway, she nodded. “Okay. But—”

Jason looked at Diane. “Whatever it takes. You make this go away.” He looked to Elizabeth. “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

She closed her eyes, so she didn’t have to watch him leave. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured when the door had closed behind him.

She heard the chair scrape out again as Diane sat down. She opened her eyes to find the fierce brown eyes of her lawyer. “Tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave a single detail out.”

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