Little Earthquakes: Chapter 14
Chapter Fifteen: Ask Me No Questions...
two days later
PC airport
"Remind me 'cause I forgot, and I'm tired. I'm tired, by the way because I'm standin' at the airport at eleven at night waiting to pick up some guy I don't even know. Or want to," he added, loudly. Scott turned and looked at V, scowling. "Do you work for me or do I work for you?"
V smiled, sweetly. "Thanks for driving me, Scott. I know it was an imposition, but I really appreciate it."
"Yeah, well, it was no--," Scott started, then stopped, narrowing his eyes into a glare. "Un-uh. You are not gonna play me that easily, V Ardanowski. One little compliment and a pretty smile," an amazing smile, if you were gonna split hairs, "and you think I'll forget you dragged me to an airport in the middle of the night to pick up some rich jerk who could get easily get his own damn cab," he grumped.
V's hands fell to her hips as she rounded on Scott. "Number one, it is not the middle of the night. It's barely even the beginning of the night. Number two," she held up her hand, ticking fingers off one by one, "I didn't drag you anywhere; I told you I was getting a cab, and you offered to drive me instead. Number three, watch who you're calling rich. Number four, you really should watch who you're calling a jerk," she finished, her eyes flashing.
"Hey V, I--" Scott lifted his hands defensively. "I didn't mean to-- grumpy is just kinda what I do." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Apologizing's not," he said, his tone and small half-shrug as much an apology as anything.
V surprised Scott by suddenly bursting out laughing. "Scott. Please. I've worked in your home for a while now; I think I've kind of got the grumpy thing down," she grinned, her bright eyes twinkling. "Besides, I was a little touchy myself. I just -- I'm really excited about this." She nodded at the airport gate in front of which they were waiting.
Scott studied V's eager face. "You really like this guy, huh?"
"I love him," V said simply. "And, I've missed him since the day I left."
"Yeah," Scott responded quietly, struck all of the sudden at how much he really hated even the idea of this guy that made V's face light up the way it was right now. What did that mean Scott wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Wasn't sure he was ready to know.
"There he is!" V exclaimed a moment later, running forward to leap into the arms of a man who spun her around with a laugh and then held her close to his heart for a long moment.
Scott approached what looked, to all the world, like the happy couple, slowly, reluctantly. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and glaring.
V pulled away, turning to look at Scott, still tucked in the man's arms. She grinned, thinking not for the first time, how similar these two men were. "Scott Baldwin, my current boss, meet Jasper Jacks, my former boss." She cocked her head on it's side. "You know, you two could probably share styling tips. What kind of gel makes your hair stick up the most, that kind of thing," V giggled.
Jax laughed, bending down to simultaneously pinch V's arm and press a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. "You're just jealous because I have prettier hair than you," he teased, then looked Scott up and down. He stuck out his hand towards the older man. "Hello," he said, neutrally, picking up on Scott's automatic bristling dislike.
Scott glared, taking Jax's hand as briefly as he politely could. This man, he knew the instant he saw him, was everything he'd always hated -- rich, over privileged, born with a damn platinum spoon in his mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm double-parked. So, if you got luggage," he glanced at Jax, "you better get it."
Jax and V exchanged a glance. "You know," Jax said, looking back towards Scott, "if you're in a hurry, I can just get a cab. I'll take V home." Scott started to protest and Jax grasped his hand again, smiling brightly. "Thanks for driving V out here; I appreciate it. But, I don't want to put you to any more trouble. We can find our own way home. V can tell you," he smiled at her, "I'm nothing if not resourceful."
Scott's eyes narrowed, but there was no logical protest for him to make. He worked his jaw a moment, then turned to V. "I'll see you tomorrow?" Scott waited for her nod, then with one last glare in Jax's direction, turned and walked off.
"Charming guy," Jax said wryly, slipping his arm companionably about V's waist. "And, I thought working for Ned was a bad career move."
"He can be," V said absently, her eyes following Scott as he left. "Charming, that is. I don't know what got into him tonight."
"If you don't, I do," Jax muttered under his breath, smiling with a lift of his eyebrow as V looked sharply up at him. "Never mind. You said this was urgent, and it was about family, V. Are you going to tell me why I'm here?"
V shook her head. "Nope. Not 'til morning, at least." She looked up at him. "You look tired, Jax." She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Chloe's not with you?"
"No," Jax said, briefly, his face shuttered. "She's not."
It was V's turn to give Jax a knowing look as her smaller arm slipped about his waist, in turn. "Morning," she said, comfortingly. "Plenty of time to talk then."
Corinthos PH
Sonny pushed open the door wearily, silently. He froze, on the threshold, as he saw what had awaited him. What had, apparently, been awaiting him for quite a while. "Shit," he muttered, under his breath, as he looked around the penthouse, candle and firelight flicking softening the dark corners and lightly kissing roses and silk drape strewn across the couch, the intimate meal prepared for two that was slowly congealing on the table. Sonny let his briefcase drop out of his hand, lifting his head to his forehead as it creased in pain.
"That's a pretty appropriate sentiment," came the drawl from the darkened stairs. Blair stood up, facing him, her hand resting lightly on the railing. She didn't move towards him, didn't make any moves other than to stare at him, her bright green eyes like lasers against the dark. "You're late tonight."
Sonny shook his head tiredly, impatiently. "Damnit, Blair, I'm not in the mood for this tonight," he spread his hands apart. "I'm sorry; I lost track of time. Can we not -- have this argument?"
"You're right, Sonny," Blair took a step towards him, the lines of her body sleek and smooth and dangerous, like a jungle cat. "Let's not argue. Hell, let's not say anything to each other; it's not like we ever see each other anyway. We'll just keep tiptoeing around this beautiful," she waved her hand to indicate the room, "dead penthouse, and sooner or later, you and me both can join the rest of the ghosts that already live here!"
Sonny threw his jacket across the back of his desk chair, the force rocking it slightly back. "I do not need this tonight," he said, his words sharp and bit off. "You don't like this house, you don't wanna be here? Then, leave, Blair. No one's forcing you to stay. Nothing's holdin' you here. But, I am not gonna have this fight with you tonight!"
"No one's holding me--" She broke off, staring at him incredulously. "You truly don't know? You don't know what's keeping me here?" Blair closed her eyes for a long moment, her arms wrapping tightly across her stomach. "You asked me to come, Sonny," she said, finally, her voice barely a whisper. "You looked at me, and you told me you needed me to get on that plane and fly away from that sunlit island, where I found the first peace I've ever known, and back to this hellhole of a town with you. And I did it," she looked at him. "Because. You. Asked. Me. To."
"Blair, I never--" Sonny broke off. He was silent a long moment, then he blew a long, sharp breath through his teeth. He looked up at Blair, his eyes shadowed. "I was always clear on what I could and couldn't offer you."
Blair laughed, her voice brittle and staccato. She drew a shaking hand through her hair, then clenched it tight. "Yeah, I know the rules. No love," she looked down, the words an echo from the most painful parts of her past. "I never was very good at playing by the rules, Sonny. And that one," she was still a very long moment, "trips me up every damn time."
"Blair," he gestured with two fingers, looking intently at her, "you gotta know, you know that I care about you." Sonny's voice was rough and low with emotion; he did. He cared about her, and in another time, another place... It had all been so different on the island; it had been easier when his life hadn't been crashing down all around him, when he could be someone else, someone less haunted by the ghosts of the present.
She nodded, the fire draining out of her at the broken note in his voice. "I know," Blair said quietly. "It just isn't enough. I need -- Sonny, I need to be more. On the island, this," she gestured between the two of them, "was enough. Back there, it was like we lived in this bubble, where nothing mattered except you and me, you know?" Her voice softened and took on the cadence of waves against the shore. "Like who we were in each other's eyes and in each other's arms in the dark could almost be enough. But," Blair looked up at him, "you can't live in a bubble. And, in the real world, I need more than you can give me. I'm worth more, Sonny."
Sonny took a step towards her, then another one, closing the distance between them. "I know that," he murmured. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't wish I could give you what you need?" Sonny's fingers lifted to trace the line of Blair's forehead, her cheekbones, her jaw as he spoke, his fingers cajoling her like his words wouldn't.
Blair's eyes closed involuntarily, then, a moment later, she opened them and with a deep breath, took a step back. She folded her arms across her chest, protectively, as if the distance she insisted upon and her folded arms were a shield that would keep him away. "I know," she whispered, her voice almost, but not quite, breaking. "I know, Sonny. But, I also know," Blair's voice gathered strength as she went on, "what else you wish. I can be a lot of things, but I can't be another woman. I can't be Carly, Sonny."
Sonny made an impatient gesture with his hands at the sound of Carly's name, his words tumbling abruptly, sharply out of his mouth. "This isn't about Carly, Blair," he insisted, shortly.
"Don't tell me that!" Blair's words were equally short, as real anger filled her voice for the first time that evening. "Look at me, Sonny," she ran her fingers through her hair. "I've seen her; I've met her. Hell, I've even been here long enough to hear some of the stories. And, I can look in a mirror and see myself pretty damn clear. You think I don't know why it was my roulette table you came to that night?" There was a long silence between them, thick with the things she had said and the things he wouldn't deny. Blair's body visibly deflated; she looked -- tired. She turned, picking up a bag that had lay hidden in the shadows and slid on her jacket. "I'll get the rest of my stuff tomorrow, but I'm not -- I'm not gonna do this any more. I won't be anyone's second choice, Sonny. I swore that one to myself a long time ago, and I'm not gonna break that for you." She looked at him, a long moment, her bright eyes locked on his dark ones. "I could have loved you, Sonny Corinthos," she whispered, "if you had let me."
Sonny didn't move to stop her as she walked past him; he didn't call after her when she reached the door. And, when she closed it, almost gently, after her, it didn't even make a sound.
Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead. Carly turned her head as Jason entered the room from the kitchen, and lifted the remote, hurriedly turning off the TV. She shrugged when he looked at her curiously. "Stupid show. It was a rerun, anyway." She wrinkled her nose as he handed her a mug silently, and put it down without sipping. "Camomile, ugh. I hate tea, Jase, you know that. God, you're as bad as--" Carly broke off, then turned again on her side, drawing the throw up to her chin. "I can get to sleep without it, anyway."
"You haven't," Jason said, shortly, sitting at the end of the couch, lifting her feet and putting them on his lap. "Not since you got back from the hospital. Carly, you got to take care of yourself, for the baby's sake."
Carly snatched her feet out of his lap, drawing her knees up as she sat up, her eyes flashing. "You think I don't know that? You think I can't take care of my baby? God, Jase. Last person I ever thought I'd hear that from was you."
Jason met her gaze, unflinchingly, his face hardening slightly. For the past few days, everything he'd done or said had set her off; it wasn't like he wasn't used to Carly or her moods. But, this was different; she was on edge about something he didn't know. All he knew was that it was personal. She wasn't just pissed; she was pissed at him. "You know that's not what I meant, Carly," Jason said, levelly. "And, I'm not gonna have this fight with you. Not tonight."
"Oh, well, then," she snapped back, "let me know when your busy schedule frees up. So maybe you can pencil me and my stupid little 'fight' in sometime next week." Carly slid off the couch, standing up slowly, carefully, wrapping the throw around her and glaring at him. "I'm going to bed. My baby and I need some peace and quiet. You do whatever the hell you want."
"Fine," he bit out the word, feeling his own quick temper rising. "What do you want, Carly? You want me to stop you? You know better; when did I ever do that?? You and your baby go ahead." Jason stared straight ahead, his face impassive, except for the tension in his jaw and something -- more flashing out of his eyes.
Carly stilled and turned at his words, the thing that was flashing in her own eyes quieting and becoming something else altogether. Something sadder, something older. Something infinitely more broken. She faced Jason, waiting until her unusual silence made him turn to her. Their eyes held, and Carly drew in a sharp breath, reading everything she needed to in that one moment, in that one exchange of glances. She knew this man so well, so well. One glance, one break in the veil they had both been weaving for so long was all she needed. "You know, don't you," Carly said, her words slow and sad and not a question at all. "You know. That this baby isn't yours," her hand caressed her stomach almost absently. "It's Sonny's."
*The TV program Carly was watching was "Buffy: The Vampire Slayer".
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