the docks

She looked down, letting her mind just -- go as her eyes followed the ripples she had just made in the still water of the harbor. She had been doing that a lot lately, drifting through her life. It was like there was this big glass bowl that surrounded her; she could see her life around her but it didn't -- touch her. Not since that day five months ago when her baby had died. It was better that way, she thought, leaning over the edge of the dock and letting her hand drift languidly in the water. Don't feel, don't let anyone in, nothing hurts. Carly Benson had learned that lesson a very long time ago.

"Don't fall in, luv," murmured a smooth, amused and very familiar voice in her ear. "'Cause I'd have to jump in after you, for your Mum's sake, and I'm really awfully partial to this suit."

Carly whipped her head around, her eyes narrowing as she came face to face with Jerry Jacks. "The return of Jerry the snake," she drawled, uninterestedly. "Aren't you supposed to be hiding in a hole somewhere? Far, far, far away from here?"

"What, no 'welcome home'?" he asked, slipping his hands in his pockets, and taking a step back to study the woman in front of him. Jerry's grin slipped slightly as he took in both the look in her eyes and the pallor of her skin, and it was with effort that he recaptured his trademark light bantering tone. "I'dve thought you'd become rather fond of snakes, Carly. After all, you're married to one."

Carly shook her head, turning back to the water. "Flee town to avoid jail time, you miss all the good gossip," she said, her voice distant. "AJ and I got divorced months ago." Carly knew there was something really -- surreal about sitting on the docks, having a conversation with a man who she'd never expected to see again, nor much cared to. And, if she let it, the shock of seeing Jerry again just might work it's way inside that glass bowl protecting her. But, there was no way she was about to let that happen. And certainly not for Jerry Jacks.

"I wasn't talkin' about your ex, luv," Jerry said, his smile totally slipping as Carly turned her head; there was something off here. And, it was starting to scare him, especially considering Carly was the reason he'd come back to Port Charles. He walked over slowly, afraid, suddenly, that if he moved too fast, his joke about the water would become a reality, and sat down next to her. "I was talking about your current husband."

Carly looked at Jerry. "For someone who's just spent the last few months runnin' from the FBI, you're awfully well-informed, Jerry," she said, slowly, her curiosity sparked in spite of her self. "Wanna explain that one?"

"Not really. Or -- not yet," he amended, tilting his head slightly. Jerry grinned at her, glad that her eyes actually seemed to see him this time. "I notice you don't bother to correct me when I call your husband a snake. Must be my brilliant charm -- and the fact that I'm right."

"More like the fact that Jason couldn't care less what you call him," Carly shrugged, "and neither do I. I don't care about much that you do, Jerry, as long as you stay the hell away from my mother." Carly thought a minute, then shrugged again, ignoring the fact that the small movement of her shoulders only served to agitate the headache forming at the base of her neck. "Actually, on second thought, go see Bobbie; might do your overblown ego some good. Mama doesn't notice anything these days that doesn't call itself Roy."

Jerry heard the trace of bitterness in Carly's voice, and it was his turn to narrow his eyes. "I didn't come back for Bobbie, Carly; you don't have to worry about your Mum on my account." He paused, then what Carly had said clicked, and he closed his eyes, wincing. "Roy? Not Roy DiLucca?" he asked, knowing even as the words left his mouth exactly what Carly's response would be.

Carly looked at Jerry a long, long moment; she could feel her protective, distancing, sterile glass bowl start to crack. Maybe it was that Spencer sense Luke was always harping on about, or maybe it was just -- time. Whatever the reason, something was happening, and Carly was a hundred percent positive that it had everything to do with her. And, apparently, Jerry Jacks. "Yeah, Roy DiLucca," she answered her almost step-father. She drew her legs up from the edge of the docks, rising slowly, ignoring the slight rush to her head as she stood. "Okay, Jerry, your turn for show-and-tell. You're gonna tell me exactly why in the hell you came back to Port Charles, and you're gonna do it now," Carly demanded, her voice starting to come back to life as she glared at him.

Jerry slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving Carly's. It was a trick he'd learned when he spent a summer on a ranch in New Zealand once; never take your eyes off a wild horse, especially not right before you were about to knock the wind out of 'em. "Easy question, luv, complicated answer." He spread his hands wide, smiling disarmingly. Jerry took a step towards Carly, his voice still soothing and low. He snapped to alertness as he saw her stumble slightly as she took a step backwards, and he reached out his hand towards her. "Carly, I came back for--" Jerry's words were cut off, as Carly's knees buckled and she fell to the docks, in a faint.

"Carly," he shouted sharply, then bent down quickly, scooping her up in his arms. "Damn," Jerry cursed under his breath as he stood up; he'd known something was wrong the moment he saw her; he should have been more gentle. Jerry took off in a run for the Cortland Avenue Clinic, knowing he could get her there before an ambulance could get her to GH. He didn't bother to wait for the two men in dark suits who detached themselves from the shadows; Morgan's men could damn well follow him. He was aware that Carly, even unconscious, would have preferred the guards take care of her instead of him; he didn't care. She was hurting, and she was in trouble, and now that he'd finally found her, Jerry Jacks wasn't about to let anyone else on this earth take his daughter from him.

~Yellow bird flying gets shot in the wing
Good year for hunters and Christmas parties
And I hate
And I hate
And I hate
And I hate elevator music
The way we fight
The way I'm left here silent~

Alexis' office at GH

Alexis read the thin paper she was holding in her hand, then read it over again, her eyes still not believing what she was seeing. She looked up, unseeing, and let out a bitter laugh in the empty office, then without looking down, ripped the paper into tiny little squares, dropping them haphazardly to the floor, not caring where they fell. She dropped her face into shaking hands, biting her lip hard so as not to cry. She would. Not. Cry.

After a moment, the threat of tears dried up to be replaced by a burning anger. Alexis dropped her hands from her face, reaching down to clench tightly the closest object to her hand, and tossing it, hard, against the door. She heard the crunch as it hit, and watched the CD cover fly off in several pieces, grimacing slightly at the appropriateness of her choice. She shook her head, angry in equal measures with herself. If she'd just listened to her instincts...

"No," Alexis murmured determinedly, pushing herself away from the edge of her desk, and stalking across the room, pausing only to drive the heel of her shoe into the broken CD. She was not going to travel down that path; if Ned Ashton, or Eddie Maine, whomever he was calling himself, was cowardly enough to break things off with her by fax, then he wasn't the man she'd thought he was. There was nothing she could have done to prevent this, she told herself, wrapping her arms tightly about herself, as she strode over to the window, looking out of it blindly, trying her damnedest to ignore the little voice inside her head that told her everyone left her, everyone always would... She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her glasses loosely dangling from her fingers, totally oblivious to her office door opening.

Scott Baldwin stopped still at the entrance to her office, struck by the woman standing at the window in the far side of the room. His eyes traveled appreciatively upwards from her long, smooth legs that seemed to go on forever to her erect back, her posture as she leaned forward against the window speaking of sorrow more eloquently than a thousand words could have to the rich abundance of copper-tinted hair, backlit by the setting sun coming in the window, that rested smoothly against her neck. His eyebrows lifted; nothing intrigued Scott more than a beautiful woman, no matter where and when he came across one. And Alexis Davis was, and always had been, incredibly beautiful. He strode quickly across the carpet, stepping curiously over what looked like it had once been a CD, in a former life, and placed a hand at the small of Alexis' back. "C'mon," Scott said smoothly, "nothing can be that bad. Tell me his name, and I'll break both his arms." He smiled winningly as Alexis opened her eyes, turning away from the window to face him.

His smile faded quickly as Alexis began to speak. "Why do men insist on trying to rescue women from their lives?" she demanded, looking at him. "Some of us can rescue ourselves just fine, thank you. And, of course 'it' could be that bad; it's incredibly patronizing of you to presume it can't." Alexis slid her glasses on, looking at him frostily over the frames. She shook her head. "Scott Baldwin. Arrogant as ever, and still thinking your god's gift to women despite ample evidence to to the contrary. Now I remember why I never looked you up. The thing I can't seem to remember is why I agreed to this dinner with you, now."

"I guess my charm wouldn't be part of the reason?" Scott ventured, only to be shot down by a glance that could have murdered him where he stood if he hadn't built up an immunity to that sort of thing by now. "You still owe me for saving your butt in Environmental Law with Dr. Messinger." Alexis made a spluttering noise, her eyes gleaming dangerously, and Scott hastened to add, "And, I offered to pay you for your time. Davis, I really need your help." He looked at her, and this time all teasing, all insincerity, all Scott-ness dropped from his voice and only naked need left.

Alexis sighed deeply, then stepped past him, gathering her purse and her jacket. Although she wasn't about to admit it to Scott, this was exactly what she needed right now, something to lose herself in. That had nothing to do with Ned Ashton. "Fine," she said, turning to face him, "but I'm warning you, I'm in the mood for a really, really expensive dinner. And, you're paying." Alexis stalked over to the door, wincing as she heard another shard of plastic crack beneath her feet. "Just for the record," she spoke from the doorway, not bothering to look over her shoulder, "I saved your butt in Environmental Law, not the other way around. They say the memory's the first thing to go. But in your case," she paused and looked him up and down, her eyes not gleaming with the same appreciation his had held earlier, "looks like it was the hair."

~I can't reach you
I can't reach you

Give me life, give me pain
Give me myself again~

an island, somewhere warm

Sonny let the phone drop back in it's cradle, slowly, staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused. He lifted the brandy glass that was almost always beside him these days to his mouth, taking a long drink. Didn't much matter; there wasn't a drink in this world that was going to take away the voice in his head or the determination that it was time. Time to go back.

He had left Port Charles almost three months ago, running as fast as he could from the pain and the ghosts. Of course, he'd only brought them with him, a lesson he should have learned a long damn time ago. Running was never the answer; he knew that. He knew that. But -- he couldn't stay. He didn't have any other choice. Sonny told himself that every day when he woke up and every night when he went to bed. One of these days, maybe he'd even believe it.

When he'd brought Carly home from the hospital, after they'd lost their son, all he'd wanted to do was make it better for her. Thing was, he couldn't reach her; he could protect her but he couldn't make it better. Carly'd needed what he couldn't give her, to grieve with him, and every time she'd reached out for him, he'd shut down. Because it was his fault, his destiny that she'd gotten tangled up in, his victim that she'd become. Until finally, she stopped reaching. So, Sonny had done maybe the only unselfish thing in his whole life; he'd found Jason. And, he'd brought him home. And, then -- he'd left, telling himself that Jason would heal her, Jason would fix what Sonny had broken. All he could do was make her hurt more by reminding her what they'd lost; the one gift he could give Carly was his absence. Or so he'd told himself, when he'd packed a bag, left a note and disappeared in the night, intending never to come back again.

But, Port Charles had other plans, or so it seemed. Sonny took lifted the brandy to his mouth again, replaying the phone conversation he'd just had with Benny in his mind.

"...It's Luke Spencer, Sonny," Benny said, his voice tentative as always. "He keeps calling, and it's harder to put him off each time. I can take care of it," he said, quickly reassuring his boss, "but Mr. Spencer has a history of -- taking things into his own hands. This last time, he, uh, he said if he didn't hear from you or see you in 48 hours, he was going to come after you himself. He meant it, Sonny."

Sonny was silent a long moment; for Luke to be calling him, something major had to be going down. "I'll handle it, Benny. If Luke calls again, tell him," Sonny paused, then set himself on a path he had sworn he wasn't ever going to step again -- it wouldn't be the first promise he'd broken, "tell him I'm on my way home."

Sonny set down the brandy glass, not bothering to drain it. Alcohol couldn't dull this. And, he knew that he couldn't afford to have any of his senses dulled when he walked off that plane. He ran a hand over his face, then walked out of his room, onto the balcony, walking over to the woman laying on the chaise lounge. She drew her sunglasses on top of her head as he approached, tilting her head towards him expectantly. Sonny bent down, cupping her cheek gently and letting his hand drift into her long, honey-blonde hair. "I'm goin' home," he said, simply. "Will you come with me?"