WAR GAMES

Part II

Author's Notes: I've taken a few more liberties with the characters here, for the sake of a sequel. Jerry is very emotional, coming from a place of desperate grief over Cooper, a man he turned out to love more than he thought he could love anyone. He completely falls apart at Ian Devlin's hands, and finds some surprise comfort from a man who is otherwise a business rival (Trevor Lansing). Behind the scenes of business and the underground, sex and power plays are just another game to play in the war of crime. Enjoy!

Note: Sorry all the chapters are lumped into one page, but the master draft of the story was a single document file. And a possible Part III might see the light of day sometime. Maybe. Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

Death had been in the air that winter.

No, rather the entire year has been fraught with tragedy and loss, Jerry Jacks thought, walking through a quiet, forested area. His boots crunched on the icy snow covering the frozen ground, as a cold February wind blew the scent of incoming snow through the trees. The man drew a breath and exhaled slowly, shutting his light eyes. I thought I could escape the darkness, but even in this little town, it continues to permeate the air, the ground, everything in my damned life. Why does everyone I love--

He opened his eyes, staring into the white sky, and continued his walk. Soon, he was strolling down a row of headstones. Love? I'm being ridiculous. I didn't love that man. I couldn't have loved him.

Jerry stopped in front of an empty lot. Even if I had wanted to love him, I . . . I wouldn't have really deserved him. I don't deserve love, do I? Not even to feel a modicum of that sacred emotion . . .

No, I never did.

Staring at the patch of empty dirt, Jerry's mind began to wander. He tried to reign it in, but for some reason, it had not been following orders lately. His rogue thoughts took him back to what felt like an eternity ago, another time and place, when he was another man . . . or, when he was pretending to be . . .

It had been two years ago, and he had been known as 'James Craig'. While putting together the ill-fated plan to steal a valuable shipment from local mob boss Lorenzo Alcazar, James had allowed himself the luxury of mixing business with pleasure. Already involved with a female soldier, he had also ignited a hot affair with a male recruit by the name of Cooper Barrett, AKA "Mercenary Three". Whereas his lady lover, Mercenary Six, was adoringly complacent, Three was intelligent and savvy, which made him infinitely more alluring; unfortunately, his insightful eye was trained on his boss, "Mercenary One", throughout their entire relationship.

Craig managed to keep his walls up most of the time with Cooper. The bulk of their time sneaking around together consisted of thoughtless sex and meaningless banter. On occasion, however, Cooper's softer, more naive side would come out, and it would clash fiercely with Craig's need for privacy.

One night, just some weeks before their plan would bring them into Port Charles as terrorists, Cooper and James were lying in a hotel bed in a warm, quiet afterglow. Cooper was lying on his back, hands behind his head, watching James with those light-filled baby blue eyes. James was on his stomach, reaching for a bottle of liquor on the nightstand, a sheet barely covering his otherwise bare figure. As he unscrewed the cap of the bottle, he felt Cooper's strong hand on his shoulder, massaging him, and he smiled contentedly. This isn't so bad. Good sex, good drink, hot nights with company . . . I could get used to this. Maybe I'll keep this one.

"Where did you get those scars?"

James shut his eyes in annoyance. And then the little bugger had to ruin it by talking.

Craig set the bottle down, shifting on the bed, and looked at his young lover. "I'm a mercenary, Three," he said. "Where do you think?"

"Those aren't just ordinary scars," Cooper pointed out, "they were made by a whip."

Craig grinned. "And what do you know about whips, mm?" he asked, straddling the young man. He let his hands wander the boy's porcelain skin, licking his lips at the sight.

"We saw plenty of people marked like that in Iraq; it's a common judicial sentence over there," Cooper explained. He continued feeling James' back, the roughened, scarred skin, and his brow deepened into a frown. "Who did it to you?"

James laughed, moving lightly over the youth, their skin warm and moist against one another. "Maybe I like things a bit rough? Didn't think a man like myself would be all that vanilla, did you? After all, even you aren't--"

Cooper sat up, grabbing James' wrists firmly. "Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "You can tell me."

James scowled, wrenching his wrists out of the youth's hands. "What in blazes are you on about?" he asked angrily, climbing off him, covering himself with a sheet. "Trying to chip away at me, Three? Trying to find a weakness?"

"Yes. I am."

James looked at him in surprise. "Excuse me? Do you want me to kill you?"

"No."

"Then why--"

"Because despite everything, I still think you're human." Cooper touched James' fleshy cheek. "I do. And I guess I just want to, I don't know, get you to admit it."

James laughed insanely. "Ah ha . . . ah ha, ha, ha, ha, haaa! Human? Oh, you stupid, stupid child of a man . . . " He shook his head, hitting Cooper's hand away roughly.

Cooper rubbed his shoulders. "Well, you are."

"No. I'm not." James climbed out of bed, walking over to the drape-covered windows. More sober, he shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I'm a monster, Three. Sorry if that ruins whatever little fantasy you intended to play out tonight."

"I'm just saying what I see, that's all."

"No, you're saying what you want to see." James peeked out a slit in the curtains. His entire body had gone cold now, in the draft seeping in through the fabric and glass. "You started this job for money, but you've lost sight of that. I should have fired you on the spot, the moment it got personal, or better yet, killed you." He bowed his head. "I didn't, and I know I'll deeply regret that."

Cooper shrugged. "Then just kill me now?"

James laughed softly. "Kill you now," he echoed thoughtfully. After a moment of serious consideration, he shook his head. "No. You're an idiot, but not a real threat. And you're fun, when you aren't being the child I always knew you were."

Cooper smirked a little. "You'd call me a child now?"

James turned around to look at him. "Only children want to save people." He walked back over to the bed, climbing on, on hand and knee. "Only children are stupid enough to believe it's possible to save people."

Cooper met his eyes evenly as the man crawled towards him. "Maybe you're the child, James."

Craig frowned, smiling in surprise. "Oh? What's this now?"

Cooper smirked, hand reaching around and squeezing James' backside. "I said, maybe you are the child. The stubborn--" He lightly tapped the man's bottom. "--willful child that refuses to be saved. The one that never listens, because he knows as long as someone is trying to save him, he'll never be alone?"

James laughed, despite himself. "Says the man half my age," he mused. However, pain glimmered in his eyes as memories began to haunt him. Another pair of baby blues had looked deep into his soul that way once before, not in any romantic sense, but in earnest and intrigue. The voice was different, accented with an Australian tint, but rang with all the same concerned notes.

'Why don't you just . . . grow up, Jerry?'

Cooper kissed him lightly, stroking his hair. "What is it?"

"Hm? What is what?"

"That look," Cooper said. "I've seen it before."

"Nothing you have to be concerned about," James snipped. He smiled, drawing Cooper into a deep kiss. "Mmmm . . . nothing important . . . "

Cooper pressed on the scars on his back. "And these?"

James nested his face in the youth's neck, kissing and tasting him. He said nothing. Cooper sighed, but gave up, taking the mysterious man into his arms once again.

Well, if I am being bad to get attention, it's working, isn't it? James thought in amusement. Cooper rolled him onto his back, lying over him, and James grinned up at him. I'm not alone.

Now, only two years later, Jerry found himself exactly that: alone. The cemetery was closing in around him, and the sky broke into a torrent of snow. He was about to turn to leave, when a voice spoke from behind him, quiet but sinister.

"Making funeral plans?"

Jerry turned around, serious face hard. He met the man's eyes, but did not speak. Although the silence seemed stony, it was for the sake of not choking on the tightness in his throat.

The other man was wearing a black coat over a sweater and shirt. He was handsome, and had a professional manner to him, but his dark eyes were dead as the stone markers around them. A cruel smile tugged the corners of his thin lips. "I thought I would find you here."

Jerry forced himself to smirk. "Taking the day off from your steel fetish, Doctor Devlin?"

Devlin shook his head. "Jerry, Jerry . . . you haven't changed," he remarked, coming to Jerry's side. "You still act cold and hard, as you wish to be perceived. Jerry Jacks, who needs nothing and no one . . . "

Jerry frowned, unable to feign confidence for a moment. Devlin had a way of looking into the soul, but it was not in a pure way, as Cooper and Jax did; it was a cold gaze that sought out weakness and emotion for the sake of tearing a person apart from the inside. He took people on in the same way he took surgery on, cutting away each layer with painstaking attention and care until he had stripped away what he needed gone. Jerry had to admit it was impressive how he used the same method to end, save, or alter lives as he so pleased. In some ways, his tremendous ego was almost justified.

Devlin put his hands in his coat pockets. "But you do need, Jerry," he went on. "I remember how very much you needed me that night . . . and how I gave you everything you wanted and more."

Devlin touched Jerry's face, the new one he himself had constructed to hide Jerry's true identity from the world. Jerry held his composure, but did not like the feel. Upon waking, he remembered the same touch pressing against the bandages swathing his sore flesh. He remembered removing them and gazing upon his altered face, unrecognizable from the one he was born into, and the same hand touching his cheek.

'Isn't it beautiful? Better than God could have ever done, don't you think?'

Devlin drew closer to him, still holding his cheek. Jerry's mouth turned down as he realized how big a mistake getting this new face had been. His own mother, the look she had given him . . .

'You're not my son. Not anymore.'

"What do you want?" Jerry asked softly, turning his face to Devlin's. Their noses brushed, lips nearly touching.

"I gave you everything, and I was just wondering . . . " Devlin's grip on the man's face tightened to a bruising grip. "Why is it that you have given me nothing in return?"

"I told you," said the crushed Jerry, shifting on his feet. "I'm working on it."

Devlin roughly released him, leaving fingerprints along his cheek. "All you ever seem to do is work on things that never pan out, Jerry," he said sternly. "Honestly, I came to see you because I'm finding it harder and harder to remember why I ever gave you this second chance in the first place?"

Jerry grinned, touching the front of Devlin's coat. "And you want a reminder, do you?"

Devlin gave a small, derisive snort. "I'm not certain there's a trick you could pull that would remind me of that."

Jerry's smile fell.

"But--" Devlin tousled his hair playfully, eyes snapping with anger. "--I might allow you to try."

Jerry leaned into his neck, kissing him. Devlin did not react.

"We have a bit of catching up to do, wouldn't you say?" Jerry asked, moving against him. "What is it you keep calling me? 'Old friend'?"

"Hm, hm, hm," Devlin chuckled. He took Jerry's curly blond hair in a hand and tugged his head back by it viciously. Jerry yelped. "I would say we do," Devlin agreed, "old friend. I never did punish you for all the shortcomings of the past years, you know."

Jerry winced, head throbbing. "Urk."

Devlin's lips curled into an evil grin, and he kissed Jerry forcefully. Afterwards, he flung him aside. "I'll be seeing you. Old friend."

Jerry rubbed his head. "Aow . . . ngh . . . R-right."

Devlin gave him one last, cold look, and left. Jerry stumbled to a gravestone and leaned on it, holding his head.

Punish?

His eyes shifted to the empty land, and he sighed.

He could never begin to punish me for all my sins . . . but knowing him, he'll sure as hell try.

That night, Jerry made a poor attempt to drown his troubles at the Metro Court bar. All the liquor did was drive home the realization that in two days, he would be burying yet another person he had connected with. He felt responsible in some way for this tragedy, as well, and the guilt wore on him all the hours he drank away.

I killed Irina twice; once, by my own weakness, I sold her out to the enemy to save my own skin, Jerry thought, staring miserably into his glass. Then, I shot her in my arms . . . to save Jax. She was angry and hurt, but I couldn't let her make Jasper pay for my own mistakes.

Jerry scowled, downing the rest of his drink and pouring more. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I wanted to live as much as I wanted Jax to live. I murdered the woman I loved to save myself, again. Love . . . I don't even deserve to use the word.

"I thought I would find you here."

Jerry laughed, thoroughly drunk by now. "And here I thought déjà vu didn't exist . . . " He downed a quarter of his new glass of liquor and turned in his chair, smiling acridly. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Lansing."

The silver-haired, well-dressed Trevor Lansing frowned a bit at his usage of French, but ignored it altogether. "We need to talk."

"Let me guess, you're finding it hard to remember why exactly I'm allowed to live, like everyone else in this Godforsaken town," Jerry babbled, uncharacteristically pained. He laughed manically. "Shall I--Shall I remind you, too?"

He reached a hand onto Trevor's chest, and the man instantly heaved it off. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, sitting on the stool beside Jerry. "Are you drunk?"

"What's the matter? Didn't think I had sorrows to drown?" Jerry asked bitterly. "No, of course not, how can a monster like myself feel anything? How can I have emotions at all, right?"

"Shhh," Trevor hushed him, looking around worriedly. "Being seen in public is precarious enough, but with you acting this way--"

"And how would you have me act, Trevor?" Jerry asked suggestively, sliding closer to him. "Hmmm? Hahahahaha!"

Trevor frowned deeply, putting a hand on Jerry's arm to keep him from falling off the stool. "Jerry, do I have to call your brother?"

"Oh, yes, why don't you do that?" Jerry asked angrily. "Call my little brother, my-my keeper. Go on! Let little Jax take care of poor, incapable Jerry. I'm only years older than he is, but I'm emotionally retarded, isn't that right? So I need him, don't I? I need people . . . I need . . . attention . . . "

Jerry got to his feet, stumbling to the other side of the restaurant room. Trevor followed closely, caught between concern and intrigue.

"You're scared of something," he said. "What are you so afraid of?"

"What do monsters have to fear?" Jerry bitterly retorted.

Trevor crossed his arms. "Jerry, I've never seen you like this. I have to admit, I never thought I would."

"Do I disappoint you?" Jerry muttered, bursting out to the empty balcony. The cold blasted him, seeping through his jacket and shirt, and the snow feathered down onto his skin delicately. "Well, I'm not sorry," he said, sounding like a sullen child. "I disappoint everyone, don't you know?" His hands gripped onto the cold steel railing barring them from the sky, eyes traveling the cityscape ahead. "I always . . . always do . . . "

"You're fallin' apart here, Jerry," Trevor said, puzzled. "And that worries me."

Jerry squinted at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because if there is a threat bad enough to scare you, it must be big enough to put us all in danger," Trevor explained. "So tell me, what is it?"

"It has nothing to do with business," Jerry retorted. "Don't worry your power-hungry head over it, Lansing."

"So, it's personal?" Trevor chuckled. "Come on, Jerry, you don't expect me to believe you're-- what? Pining away for some lady? Lamenting lost love?"

Jerry was starting to regain himself in the cold night air. "No, Trevor. Not 'some lady'."

"Then, what?" Trevor persisted. "Your brother again? Eh?" He came up close behind his shoulder, murmuring into his ear, "Jax finally man enough to take you and teach you some manners? Is that it?"

Jerry ignored him, climbing onto the rails. He stood on the very narrow edge, inches from certain death. It felt good to be this close to it, comforting in a way.

Trevor looked up at him, not at all surprised. "God, do you ever remind me of someone."

Once upon a time, Jerry had said the words to Cooper, and Cooper had said them to him. Jerry smiled at the memories, feeling the cold wind rush around him, trying to lose himself in the night to keep the young man's face from his mind.

However, the feeling did not last very long. Before he could protest, Trevor had an arm firmly around his waist, and had hoisted him off. "Wha-- What the bloody hell?"

Trevor struggled, but managed to set him on the floor. "I never have, but you know what I always feel like doing to him?"

"Oh, what, Trevor?"

Catching him completely off guard, Trevor's hand flew across the side of his face. "That," Trevor said simply.

"Are you mad!" Jerry yelled in surprise. He gave the older man a violent shove. "Hell was that?"

"Anyone can tease death, it doesn't take a special kind of man to do that," Trevor told him, not intimidated in the very least. "I don't care what you think you are, I'm not impressed. There's a million reasons to die. You know what real men do?"

Jerry rubbed his cheek, glaring at him, but too aware of his underworld power to hit him back. "What?"

"Find a reason to keep livin'," Trevor said. "Spiting death, now that is something to be proud of."

Jerry's eyes were moist, and he swallowed, saying nothing. Yes, and with so many people suddenly holding power over me, finding a reason to live should be quite easy. Of course.

"I don't know what has you so turned around tonight, and I don't care enough to want to know," Trevor went on. "Don't give me that look. Just listen, hey--" He turned Jerry's face towards his own. "Listen. Don't go risking important things just to feel like you're on that edge."

"What are you saying?" Jerry asked impatiently.

"If you need something--"

"What is this? Now you care?" Jerry pushed past him. "Save it for whomever it is I so remind you of, and leave me the hell alone!"

"Jerry! Hey!"

But Jerry had left. Trevor sighed, shaking his head, and looked at the rails. "Tch. Kids." He looked up at the starless night sky. "They never do grow up, do they? Jerry, Sonny, Richard . . . and John . . . Freakin' crazy . . . kids . . . "

Jerry drove around town fast, soon finding himself on the highway speeding along the icy roads. He didn't know whether he wanted to die, to live, or just to feel the rush of the speed. He knew who he reminded Trevor of so much: Johnny Zacchara, the son of the mafia boss Trevor had been latched onto for years, leeching off of and controlling for his own profit. The boy was reckless, lived on the edge between fast life and slow death. Trevor would never dare strike the mafia prince, so the moment Jerry gave him the chance, he took out his fatherly disciplinarian side on him.

Sick bastard, Jerry thought. I don't know about that Johnny boy, but I don't need a father.

He pressed his foot harder on the gas.

Not a father, or a brother. Not a lover, or a friend. I don't need anything!

The car slid, slipped, and screeched. Jerry turned the wheel, suddenly paying attention, and narrowly avoided hitting the highway rails. He exhaled, heart racing, and slowed the vehicle. As he swallowed and blinked, the tears jumped from his eyes.

No. I won't cry.

Jerry held the rest of them, and continued down the roads. Before he knew it, he had approached a small cabin hidden outside the city limits. He parked nearby, sitting in the car and staring out the windshield at the ominous structure.

It was guilt that finally made him open the car door, depression and self-hatred that moved his feet through the snow to the cabin. But he told himself it had nothing to do with anything. He told himself it was for the sake of staying alive, for the sake of losing himself in excitement. The lies didn't even matter. Here he was, inside the warm room, locking the door behind himself.

Ian Devlin was lying in the bed, back against the iron headboard, drinking strong liquor as usual. He raised his eyebrows on the sight of Jerry, and reached for a pack of cigarettes. "You came."

Jerry removed his coat, scarf, and grinned madly. Without a word, he came over to the bed, climbing over the man. Devlin lit the cigarette and blew smoke at the man coolly.

"I almost thought you were too soft to show," he remarked. His dark eyes were studying Jerry piercingly.

"Soft? I don't think that's quite the right word," Jerry purred into the man's ear. He licked Devlin's ear, bit it, and Devlin just smiled contentedly. Perhaps he had forgotten his plans to 'punish' him, Jerry thought hopefully.

"Jerry, Jerry . . . "

Devlin moved away from him, climbing down from the bed. He set his glass down on the small table that held the rest of his bar, taking a long drag on the cigarette. Behind him, Jerry removed his shirt, tank, and began to unfasten his pants. Barely turning his face, but somehow aware of his actions, Devlin said softly, "Leave them."

Jerry looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Your pants." Devlin turned to face him. "I'd like to take them off."

Jerry blushed, and left them. The tone of Devlin's voice was familiar, too much so. The doctor made him wait, finishing his cigarette first, and then came over. In one fast motion, he pulled Jerry's belt out of his slacks. With a strange smile on his thin lips, he softly ordered, "Get on the bed."

Jerry's face fell. "Now, I don't think--"

Devlin cut him off, repeating the order in a bored, but more commanding, tone, "On the bed."

Jerry turned red, facing the bed. In this business, when you owe someone, they own you. Your body isn't your own. Your very soul might as well be theirs. I thought it would be worth it . . . if I could just hide from it all . . .

Devlin did not wait. He pushed Jerry down over the bed on his stomach, and began to tie his wrists with rope that was already tied to the headboard. Jerry watched him haplessly, feeling vulnerable for the first time in years.

But I couldn't run forever. There was nowhere safe to hide. And it was all for nothing.

This, it's all for nothing. My stupid mistake. My whole life has been a stupid mistake. I have nothing left but to take the results, and hope I can keep those I care about from being hurt by it . . . That is the only reason I'm here now . . . and he knows it. He knows it, and he finds it hilarious. I'm a joke. A toy. Some pathetic thing to be played with. And who can blame him? I've done the exact same thing.

"You're quiet," Devlin observed, tying the last knot around his wrists. He stood over him, pants unzipped and hanging low on his thin frame. His pale fingers were caressing the belt as if it were a treasured love. "Won't you scream for me, Jerry?" He yanked down the man's pants, boxers. "You're so cute when you fight against what you know you deserve . . . "

Devlin's eyes lit, and he cracked the belt across Jerry's bare skin. Jerry winced, but remained quiet. I remember this feeling . . . helpless and dizzy and . . . God help me, but I'd actually missed it.

Devlin struck him several more times, but no longer looked satisfied. "You're very calm, but it isn't out of resignation."

"Mmmph . . . m-meaning . . . meaning what?" Jerry asked, breathing heavy.

"Meaning someone else has been--" Ian continued to strike him relentlessly. "--spanking that cute, cute ass of yours."

"Aaagh!" Jerry cried out finally. It was what Devlin needed to hear, after all, and it felt good to be able to let go and play victim for a change. "Aoow!"

"Who is it?" Ian asked curiously, keeping a steady pace as he beat his wayward mercenary.

"I-I've been-- ahh! I've been tortured, and you--ow--think this would--aaaoow!--would make me panic? Ah, ow, owwww!"

"Liar."

"Aaaggh . . . Ha . . . ha ha . . . "

Ian smirked. "Kinky as ever. Don't tell me you're enjoying this?"

It's gratifying. I . . . I can't explain why. I want him to hit me harder. I hate it, but at the same time, I want it. I want more.

"I knew you would see it my way," Devlin said. "I always was the only one who knew how to deal with you. You're a difficult man, Jerry." He snapped the belt especially hard, running his tongue over his teeth as the man jumped. "And you know it. All this time, I bet you've just been begging for someone to give you a taste of what you deserve. All this time, I bet no one has even dared."

He's wrong.

"Or have they?"

Jerry half-smiled, warm and writhing in pain. "Heh."

"Shall I beat it out of you?"

Crack!

Jerry howled in pain, and his laughter broke into a odd form of hysterics. Devlin ignored him, whipping him soundly until he decided it was enough. He could hear the sobs just between the laughs, and it was music to the sadist's ears. He nodded to himself, placing a hand over the hot welts lining his 'old friend's' behind.

"It isn't even a modicum of what you deserve," he told Jerry. He stalked around the bed like a cat examining its prey. " You are an evil, evil man, Jerry. No form of petty discipline could ever tame or teach you. S'it hurt? Hm?" He turned Jerry's face to his own by the chin, feeling the tears and sweat running down with his thumb. "Does it hurt enough for you to be satisfy that guilt and pain that has been haunting your pretty eyes all night?"

Jerry tried to kiss him, but Devlin turned his face. "No. You don't deserve comfort."

Devlin untied Jerry and threw him to the floor. He looked him up and down, caught between delight and disgust. "Not this time, old friend."

Jerry stared at him, tears streaming down his face. The laughter had ceased, and he felt nothing but the fiery pain of the bruises and his humiliation. Devlin looked taller as he loomed over him, and now he was lifting him to his knees. "You had to remind me why you're still breathing, didn't you?"

Jerry looked up at him. No mercy. Well, of course not. What was I thinking?

He smiled, although it was a weak smile, and held Devlin's waist in his hands. "Heh."

Devlin's arrogant smile twisted into an evil, satisfied grin. He patted the top of Jerry's head as if he were an animal. "Good boy."

All the time he was doing his best to convince Devlin that he was worthy of his life, Jerry was thinking of Cooper. He missed being James Craig, the mercenary always in charge and always strong. He missed the young man's gentle, understanding smile, and his comforting touch.

But even if Cooper were alive, it would make no difference. As he had always feared, the man's youth had caught up to him, and his heart had been swayed. Ironically, 'James Craig' had lost him during the very mission he had sought him out for.

While accidentally locked in the hotel vault containing the shipment with the police commissioner's daughter, Maxie Jones, Cooper had fallen in love with the fair-haired temptress. She had covered for him after the crisis, going so far as to help him get a job with the Port Charles Police Department. She trusted him, and he left behind his troubled past, including James Craig, for her affection. James could have seen this coming a mile away, but his foresight did nothing to soften the blow. He tried several times to get Cooper to work for him again, to no avail. Finally, one night, he had found him alone in the PCPD station, and decided to try a different approach.

"From one side to the other?" he asked, coming into the dark building with his typical arrogant smirk. "Didn't think you were so good at switching."

Cooper turned from the desk he was searching to face Jerry warily. "Mr. Cra-- I mean, Jerry? Jerry Jacks? It that who you are now?"

"It's who I am," Jerry said simply. "But look at you! Look who you turned out to be!"

He laughed, straightening Cooper's uniform on him. "I must say, it is cute, quite cute. Although, I prefer my men in black . . . "

Jerry pressed his hands to Cooper's chest, feeling him through the uniform. He leaned up to lick his neck, and Cooper drew a breath.

"Knock it off," Cooper finally said, moving away. "I told you, I'm not your soldier anymore. I have a new life now."

"I didn't come to recruit a soldier," Jerry said. He faced Cooper, light eyes glinting. "I came to proposition a cop!"

"Mr. Cr-- Jerry. I can't, I--" Cooper retrieved his coat from the hanger. "I have someone."

"Yes, the little whore that got you in here, I know," Jerry scoffed. "You certainly do like people who get you in places, don't you?"

"I didn't sleep with her for a job." Cooper eyed him. "And I didn't sleep with you for the job, either."

"Good," smiled Jerry, "then you won't need a reason to sleep with me again."

He again came around Cooper, pulling him by the shirt into a kiss. Cooper kissed him back, strongly, and for a moment, Jerry thought he had won.

"No."

Cynicism dropping for a moment, Jerry looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Cooper said. "I can't do this."

He walked away.

"You won't even sleep with me?" Jerry asked, offended. "What the hell is the matter with you, Three? You just want to pretend the entire thing never happened? Is that what you're saying?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" Cooper exclaimed in exasperation. He looked Jerry up and down. "I . . . I just want . . . "

"Never mind what you want!" snapped Jerry. "You're saying what you don't want, isn't that it? You're saying that you don't want me?"

"I'm saying I want to forget the whole thing!" Cooper burst out. "Even . . . No, especially you."

Jerry lifted his head, deeply wounded, and his eyes narrowed. "I see."

"Look, I'm sorry, I just--"

"No."

"What?"

"You're not sorry," Jerry said knowingly. "I knew you wouldn't be." He laughed. "As I said all along, you are just a child. Unreliable."

"I didn't mean it that way, I . . . I didn't mean for this to happen," Cooper explained apologetically. "Jerry, I did feel-- I do care about you. I know we had something, no matter how much you pretended that we didn't."

"Oh, I felt," Jerry said. "I felt very much for you."

"I don't mean physically," Cooper said. He tentatively held Jerry's shoulders. "I mean, you, I . . . Look. I will always care about you."

"From a distance."

"Jerry . . . "

The man brushed past Cooper coldly.

" . . . . It was your brother, wasn't it?"

Jerry stopped, not looking back. "What was?" he asked impatiently.

"The person I reminded you of. It was Jasper Jacks, your younger brother."

Jerry shut his eyes, saying nothing. Cooper came up behind him, putting his arms around his waist. Jerry did not allow himself to melt into the embrace, or feel anything at all.

"Could you have loved me, Jerry?"

"Oh, what does it matter?"

"It matters," Cooper said thoughtfully. "If you . . . If you could love me, I would have you."

Jerry's eyes widened.

"Tell me you could love me, and . . . that would be worth leaving all this behind. That would be worth trying for." Cooper's smooth lips kissed Jerry's neck. "If I could just save you from all that darkness you insist on burying yourself in, I would. So say it. Tell me if you could at least try to love me, to really love me?"

It was the closest Jerry had been to a real relationship in years, and his eyes watered at the man's gentle words brushing into his ear. But something had broken inside him long ago, something that could never be fixed. His lips tightened, and before he could stop it, the word had escaped his lips, cold and hard as if he meant it.

"No."

Cooper frowned in bewilderment.

"I could never have loved you," Jerry said blankly. "I don't love anyone."

"But, Jerry--"

Jerry pried his arms off, and faced him. "I don't even really love Jax."

"You're lying."

"No. I'm not."

With that, Jerry turned and left. Behind him, he could hear Cooper calling out to him, but the pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Jerry, wait! Come on! Why do you always run away? Jerry? Jerry! Why . . . "

Devlin was certain to use Jerry in every way a person could be used. Lying on the floor, hurting and exhausted, Jerry shook his head incredulously. He always was very thorough.

Once he had a tiny bit of strength, Jerry pulled himself up. He stumbled over to the bed Devlin was lying on, and he smiled sheepishly at the man, crawling over him. Devlin eyed him expressionlessly.

Jerry leaned his face forward to kiss him, but Devlin stopped him with a snap of the belt on his thighs. "Agh! What the hell?" Jerry asked angrily.

"Watch your tone, Jerry," Ian said sternly. "What do you think? That I'm going to hold you and cuddle you and tell you it's all right?"

Jerry blushed. "I was--"

"You pleasured me, and I will keep you alive a while longer," Devlin said matter-of-factly. "That's why you came, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"Then, feel free to go."

Jerry blinked in confusion. "But I--"

"Jerry?"

Jerry gave him a questioning look, before being literally kicked off the bed. He hit the floor hard, pain shooting through his entire body. "Ow!"

"Go."

Jerry painfully sat up, and gathered his clothing. He dressed hurriedly, staring at Ian the entire time. He's gotten even more aloof. I'm dealing with a far more dangerous man this time around. Wonderful. Just what I need.

Jerry burst out of the cabin into the cold night, and drove away. It was an agonizing drive back to the hotel he lived in, and he could barely walk by the time he got out of the car again. Thank God it's too late for anyone to be poking around here, he thought as he hobbled into the hotel. Jax would never leave me alone if he saw me like this. Last thing I need is for my little brother to witness my moment of complete and utter defeat. True, it would garner me some sympathy, but the humiliation would not be worth it. Neither would Alexis', for that matter.

In the elevator, Jerry leaned his head back against the wall. He saw his reflection in the mirror above, and sighed. The hot rush of the rough sex had worn off, and something was starting to eat away at him from the inside. He ran a hand over his face. No, not my face. Devlin's face. His creation. What I let him create from me . . .

The elevator stopped, but it took the tired, beaten man a moment to get out. He dragged his feet to his room, tears frozen in his eyes, and locked himself in. The first thing he did was pour himself a full glass of liquor, but the taste of it merely made him feel sick.

"No wonder you were scared."

Jerry whipped around, dropping the glass. It shattered on the floor, spilling the brown stuff all over. Trevor Lansing had emerged from the shadows, and was surveying Jerry gravely.

"Hell are you doing here?" Jerry asked.

Trevor shrugged. "Curious. Concerned. Who knows?" He came up to Jerry, cringing at the sight of him. "Boy, did you ever have reason to be afraid."

"Maybe I did it to myself," Jerry said sarcastically, referencing a remark Trevor had once made about his tendency to hurt himself.

"Nah, not this time." Trevor took Jerry's face in his hands. "Look what they did to that face . . . "

Jerry hit his hands away. "Never mind my face," he said darkly. "Get out."

"I worry about you, Jerry. Far as I knew, you were your own worse enemy, but that isn't true, is it?" Trevor said. "Who did this?"

"Come on, don't be scared," Trevor said. "Tell me. You can tell me."

"It is none of your business."

"Personal?"

"Yes."

"You're lying!"

Trevor turned Jerry around by the arm, but Jerry pushed him away violently. "I'm warning you," he said tensely. "Get. Out."

Trevor just waved a hand dismissively. "You wouldn't do anything."

Jerry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No one takes me seriously anymore."

"Don't be naive," Trevor scolded. "You're a merc, a tool, for the people with real power."

"Oh, real power?" Jerry laughed. "Like the power you lawyers have?"

"Jerry. I'm warnin' you."

"Oh, are you?" Jerry shoved him. "Warning me?" He ran Trevor into the wall, slamming him against it. "Do you know all the ways I could murder you, Lansing? The way things are going, it would be quite clear to everyone in town that it was Michael Corinthos, Jr. responsible. No one even knows of our relationship, do they?"

"Jerry, unhand me," Trevor said, as if speaking to a small, disobedient child.

"Or what? What!" Jerry boomed. "You'll smack me again, eh? Beat me? Well, go ahead! TRY!"

Something pressed into his chest, and he looked down. Trevor had him at gunpoint. "Oh, of course."

"Back off," Trevor ordered. "Now."

"Or what?" Jerry asked, eyes glinting murderously. "You'll shoot me? You'd better hit an artery, because if I have even an ounce of blood coursing through my veins, I'll destroy you before it stops."

"Why do you want to kill me, Jerry?" Trevor asked. "Eh? I didn't do that to you. Look--" He tucked the gun back in his coat pocket. "--we don't need to get that deep over it. I can tell I'm not the one you really want to kill, and I also know you're not stupid enough to risk every last little thing you have left because of misplaced rage."

Jerry released him, storming away furiously. He picked up a table and hurled it across the room. Glass shattered all across the room, the water and liquor in the bottles exploding on the floor.

Trevor hovered by the door, watching him. "You're a real mess, aren't you?" he commented. "Poor, crazy Jerry Jacks."

"Oh yes, just like poor, crazy Anthony Zacchara?" Jerry shot back. "Well, guess what? I won't let you use me the way you've used him. I have enough parasites draining away at me to let another leech crawl on my back."

Trevor smirked. "And just what leeches are crawling on your back, Jerry?"

Jerry scowled, kicking at some broken glass.

"You've helped me put some plans in motion, I've kept your loved ones safe," Trevor said. "We help each other. No one is taking advantage of anyone here."

"Because God forbid you would stoop to that level," Jerry muttered cynically. He turned to Trevor. "Go back to your pet family, Lansing. Go slap Johnny Zacchara around, if it's what you've always wanted to do. Or just keep trying to brown-nose your way into his favors. I don't care. Just leave me the hell alone."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea tonight, do you?"

Jerry knelt in front of the glass. "Trevor, if you stay here, I can't guarantee I won't kill you."

Trevor approached him boldly. "Jerry, you know what would happen if you did that."

"Maybe I don't care!"

Jerry leapt to his feet, holding a piece of glass against Trevor's neck. "How about that, Trevor?" he asked. "I might just be that far gone that Jax's life isn't as important as regaining at least a fragment of my own dignity."

Trevor stared at him. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "You don't mean that."

"How do you know?" Jerry asked, nearly slicing the man's neck with the sharp edge. Blood was running down his own hand, dripping onto the carpet. "Would you stake your life on it, Trevor?"

"That you love your brother? Yes, I would."

"Stupid man." Jerry's bottom lip trembled slightly, and he pushed Trevor away. He looked at the bloody piece of glass and let it drop to the floor. "You know nothing about me."

"I know you came to me to make an agreement for the sake of your brother and his family," Trevor told him. "Everything you've done since has only compromised you, yet you haven't backed out of it once. Why would you do that? A man like you? Huh?"

Jerry looked at him wearily.

"Because you care. You have to," Trevor said, "otherwise none of this would make any sense. You simply wouldn't be doing it. Am I right?"

Jerry swallowed. "You're right." He turned his face, nodding to himself. "What can I say, Lansing? You know everything . . . "

Trevor tentatively came up beside him. "Everything but what happened to you tonight."

"Tch. And you think I'd just tell you. You come into my room unannounced, help yourself to--"

"Shhh, shh, shh," Trevor shushed him as if he were a two-year-old. He smoothed back Jerry's wild, mussed hair. "What happened? Who hurt you?"

Jerry stared down at his bloody hand, frowning deeply. "What do you think, Trevor?" he asked. "A person like you, a user with 'real power', decided they wanted me for . . . personal entertainment, business opportunity . . . I don't even know why, honestly. It doesn't matter. I do what I have to. But I doubt I need to tell you that."

"Well, whoever it is didn't have to be so damn rough," Trevor scoffed, rubbing Jerry's shoulders comfortingly. "I might have had my fun with you, but I'd never take it this far."

Jerry smiled sarcastically. "I'm sure."

"If I were capable, don't you think I'd have done it already?" Trevor pointed out. His eyes turned to Jerry's wounded hand. "Let me see."

"Trevor, don't," Jerry sighed wearily.

"No, let me see." Trevor took him by the wrist and forced his palm open. "You idiot. Hell is wrong with you? Are you a masochist?"

"Sometimes . . . " Jerry pulled his hand away. "Stop it. I told you, it . . . it doesn't concern you."

"You concern me."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Does it matter?" Trevor drew Jerry closer by the shirt. "Come on. Come here. What do you want? Hm?"

Jerry stared at the floor. He's mocking me. He loves to play out being the compassionate, caring one-- almost like a parent. Somehow he knows all the trouble I have with my family, and he delights in using it against me. He's no better than Devlin . . . and no less powerful.

Trevor seemed to sense his train of thought, and smiled. "You want a daddy to hold you? All right . . . "

Jerry stared blankly over Trevor's shoulder, frozen with pain and exhaustion. It almost felt good. No one had held him this way since Cooper . . .

Jerry's eyes watered again, and he cursed himself mentally. Why had the death affected him so deeply? He thought by letting the man go that day he was protecting himself, but it only made it worse. The promise of what might have been was consuming him.

Not now, he thought. Not in front of this man. I can't let him see . . . such pathetic weakness . . . He'll use it, he'll use it again, the way he used my fear against me that time . . .

"I heard from Jax, through Kate, about you, you know," Trevor said. "I know for a fact neither of your parents ever really held you this way. Not you, the black sheep. You still think about it, Jerry? You ever wonder why?"

Jerry's lips tightened. I need to get away from him right now. No matter what happens, I can't do this.

"Jax might have, if you'd stop hiding your pain from him, acting so tough," Trevor went on. "That's really what you wanted, wasn't it? Jax's love, Jax's comfort. Hell, it isn't a coincidence that your dead male lover looked so much like him, was it? Blue eyes, clean looks-- a tall, strong man to save you . . . just like your brother . . . Too bad neither of them really wanted you. Hey, they both chose blondes, right? Needier, prettier blondes than you? How about that?"

"SHUT UP!" Jerry threw Trevor across the room with a mighty shove, but as he screamed, the tears started to fall. "JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!"

But Trevor had won, and he knew it. Jerry fell to his knees, sobbing, on all the broken glass. It sliced through his pants, cutting his knees, legs, but he didn't feel anything. Disgusted with himself, he bowed his head, trying to wipe away the steady flow of tears. "Why do you people do this? Why do you want to break me down?"

"Because you make it so enjoyable," Trevor replied callously. "You're so cold, so repressed. It makes people want to see you crack."

"Only sadistic people."

"Who in our business isn't sadistic?" Trevor knelt down on his heels beside him. "But I don't have to tell you that."

Jerry drew a shuddery breath, running a sleeve over his nose. Trevor made a face. "Don't do that." He took Jerry by the arm and helped him to his feet, somewhat forcefully. "That's enough. All right? Come on."

Jerry gave up. He let Trevor bring him into the bedroom of the hotel suite and sit him on the bed. Trevor gave him a worried glance, and went to get the first aid kit from the bathroom.

"Do you expect this sudden concern to make me trust you?" Jerry asked hoarsely. He sniffled. "Because I don't."

"Why are you so suspicious of me, Jerry?" Trevor asked, returning. "Like I said, we just used each other."

"No, you used my love for Jax against me for your benefit," Jerry corrected him. "You still are."

"Maybe, but regardless of why, I'm here, aren't I?" Trevor said gently. He knelt in front of Jerry, taking his hand again and wiping it off with antiseptic. "I'm here tonight, and you need me. So, why don't you just let me take care of you?"

"I don't need anyone to take care of me," Jerry argued. "I'm a grown man, a dangerous man."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Trevor said dismissively, "I know. But tell me something, Jerry. Are you sure this is about what you need, and not about what you deserve?"

"Meaning what, Trevor?" Jerry sighed impatiently.

"Meaning--" Trevor turned Jerry's face to his own by the chin. "--that you're just trying to get me out of here because you don't think you deserve sympathy. And to be honest, Jerry, you don't."

Jerry fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Then why are you here, Trevor?"

"Because I don't care what you deserve or don't." Trevor sat on the bed next to him, bandaging his hand now. "I feel sorry for you. I do. You're a sad, broken man."

Trevor finished bandaging Jerry's hand and rolled him onto his stomach, but Jerry propped himself up on his elbows, leaning his cheek on a hand. "Mmm, and you expect me to just fall into your arms and cry about how achingly doleful my life has been." He laughed as Trevor silently lifted off his shirt. "The lovely ladies you so desire have not been very kind to you as of late, have they, Trevor? After all your schemes and plans, Kate chose Michael Corinthos, Jr. after all, did she not? Somewhat like another woman from your past did, am I right?"

Trevor's jaw tensed as he removed Jerry's shoes.

"That scheme you were planning with Sweet Sam didn't go over very well, either, did it? And you've never had a chance with my brother's wife, Carly. So now here you are, reduced to playing daddy to pitiful, confused Jerry Jacks," Jerry chuckled. "Well, if you're that desperate, perhaps I should do you the favor and just let you."

"See, that's how you get yourself in trouble," Trevor said. He unzipped Jerry's slacks and pulled them off. "You get fresh with your old, powerful friend? That why he gave you such a good thrashing?"

"No. I respect him too much to insult him. You, on the other hand . . . "

Trevor laughed, nodding. "Jerry . . . You just really love pushing me, don't you? How can you enjoy that?"

Jerry smiled despite the tears, familiar with this sort of banter, and grateful for the distraction. "Because you make it so enjoyable," he shot back. "You're so stern and in control. It makes people want to rattle you, catch you off guard."

Trevor removed his coat, threw it over a chair. "Nothing you could do would surprise me, Jerry. I don't think there's a person in this world that doesn't automatically expect the worse of you." He leaned far over Jerry's naked figure, speaking into his ear, "And for the record, I don't see a crowd of 'lovely ladies' around you, either."

Trevor patted Jerry's bottom and stood again. Jerry leaned his face on his arms, sighing. "Hmph. There's your granddaughter's mother, Alexis."

"Alexis is a desperate woman afraid of being alone." Trevor poured something cool and soothing onto the man's bruises. "Besides, you haven't exactly won her over yet, have you? It's been, what? About a year? More?"

Trevor's strong, rough hands massaged the pain relieved into Jerry's battered flesh, and he shut his eyes as the pain dulled. "Mm . . . you talk too much, Mr. Lansing . . . "

"All right, all right, I know what you want," Trevor said, grinning evilly. "Poor baby . . . "

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Who's making fun of you?" Trevor leaned closer, kissing his shoulder. "Just relax. Can you do that without getting mental?"

Oh, what the hell? I might as well let him, Jerry thought, stretching. He's not any worse than Devlin. Besides, I have a feeling that turning him away would result in his sending Jax up here, and that isn't anything I'm prepared to deal with now.

Besides, I . . . Well, he plays the part of a concerned lover well. I'm up for a little roleplay. He can comfort me all he wants, if it makes him feel so much like a man.

I don't exactly feel like very much of one tonight, anyway . . .

Even after being comforted by Trevor Lansing, Jerry's sleep was plagued by nightmares. Between visions of death and misery, a particular memory floated through his mind.

It was the winter just before the hostage crisis. Cooper was still 'Three', and Jerry was still 'James Craig'. They were stationed in a small hotel just outside Port Charles, where they found enough precious free time to be together. It had been only their third time together, but Craig had found himself unusually intrigued by Cooper. On this cold, rainy night, he was standing by the window, just staring at the city in the far distance. Cooper was lying in bed, reading something as he waited for James to return and go to sleep.

"Tell me about the war."

Cooper raised his head, startled by the question. "What?"

"The war," James repeated, not looking back at him. "I'd like to hear about it."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Did it ever put a darkness in you, Three?" James asked quietly, eyes narrowing. "Something deep inside somewhere, that gnaws away at you, even when you don't think it is? Something . . . heavy and cold and . . . infallible?"

Cooper thought for a moment, and then climbed out of bed. "Yeah. I think anyone that has been in a situation that close to death, with it all around, gets that feeling." He came up behind James, putting his arms around his waist. "I remember nights like this. Colder, even. The sand would hold everything in silence, but you always knew it wouldn't last. It could be the next minute or the next morning, but soon everything would explode again. Everyone would be screaming, dying, losing loved ones . . . And every day just brought more of the same, again and again, until forever. Even when you're not there, you know it's still happening. It's happening right now. And that just kind of eats away at you slowly, you know? Until you hate everything about humanity . . . even yourself."

James nodded, unusually quiet. Cooper leaned his face down, resting his chin on Jerry's shoulder, and kissed his neck. "But sometimes, it isn't a bad thing. It keeps you sharp, keeps you going. I don't know if it's better or worse in the end . . . but it does make you stronger."

"Maybe just until it destroys you completely," Craig said softly. He looked up at Cooper. "We could both die, you know. Do you really understand what that means?"

"I told you, I know death," Cooper said. He embraced James tighter. "We're not going to die. You're always talking about how stupid young people are, so at least let me be stupid enough to keep believing that."

James chuckled. "Optimism. Rare trait in a mercenary."

Cooper leaned down to kiss him. "I'm not like most mercenaries, I guess, for better or worse."

James stretched, and walked away from him towards the bed. "No, you aren't," he said thoughtfully. "Well, after we pull this off, we'll have enough money to get away. I can't say I plan to take you along, Three, but you'll find something to do with yourself. Then, I'll finally be gone . . . just gone . . . "

"But you won't ever be free."

James turned in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I see it in your eyes," Cooper told him. "There's something holding you prisoner, something that hurts every fiber of your being. You don't let it show too much, but it's there. I've seen it."

Cooper sat James down, holding him by the shoulders. "I hear the sounds you make at night sometimes. You almost cry. I just hold you, but it never goes away." Cooper's light eyes met James'. "It's there now."

James searched the youth's eyes, wondering why he was delving so deep. Cooper kissed him smoothly, drawing him into his arms. "I wish I could--"

"Don't." James gave him a pointed look. "Don't say it."

Cooper smiled. "All right. I won't." He lay James down, climbing over him. Their hands grasped one another's. "Maybe I don't have to."

They kissed again.

"Maybe the shadows can't ever be chased away, right?" Cooper said softly. "Maybe we can just be happy inside them together."

James gave a derisive grunt, and Cooper touched his cheek. "Don't be so cynical. Come on."

"Who's cynical? grinned James. "Me?"

Cooper laughed. "Fine, you're going to be . . . however you have to be, boss." He smirked a little, looking very cute as his hair came forward across his forehead. "And I'll just do what I have to."

"Mmm, and what exactly is that?"

Cooper licked his chest, and James laughed. They rolled into the sheets again, and the stark, dead silence of the night was warmed with pleasure.

Jerry awoke startled, panting, and looked wildly around the room. Trevor's hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked back with a start.

"You were screamin'," Trevor said sleepily. "Nightmares?"

"I . . . " Jerry shook his head. "No. I-- Never mind."

"Come 'ere." Trevor pulled the man onto his chest, holding him with unexpected tenderness. "Shhh. Just forget it."

" . . . Trevor, I . . . "

"Mmm?"

"I'm not good with the words. I don't usually-- What I mean to say is, is . . . " Jerry settled onto his chest, yawning. "Thank you."

Trevor's eyes widened.

"For the night. I-- Well, I didn't need, but I might have, wanted--"

"You don't have to say anything else," Trevor told him. Somewhere in the recesses of his cold heart, he felt a pang of genuine sympathy for the man. He took his face in his hands, kissing him. "Don't." He kissed the top of Jerry's head, and then lay back. "Just be still."

Jerry slung an arm around the man. What a terrible night. I haven't been this fragile since-- In a very long time. He looked up at Trevor. I wonder what he is trying to accomplish? He seems to know I won't trust him, but he's here, anyway. Why?

Oh, what does it matter? Devlin, Trevor, and I could all kill each other tomorrow, and it wouldn't mean anything more to any of us than another day of business. As long as I keep that in perspective, Trevor is no threat; he relies solely on trust and debt.

Devlin, however, is another story . . . But forget him for now. I can at least pretend someone wants me, can't I? Just for tonight. It doesn't matter who or why or for how long.

Tomorrow never matters for people like us.

Jerry was shaken awake the next morning, and instantly his mood plummeted to cranky anger. "What is it?" he snapped. "What!"

Trevor was already fully dressed. "I'm leaving, that's what."

Jerry rubbed his eyes sleepily. "And you wake me up to announce this? Why?"

"I don't like to leave without saying goodbye," Trevor said. "It isn't proper. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

"I wouldn't know, I never listened," Jerry grumbled, sitting up.

Trevor chuckled, kissing him. "Well, maybe I should give you a course in manners sometime," he suggested. "But for now, business calls."

"I'm sure it does," muttered Jerry, holding his head.

"I'll be around." Trevor pinched his cheek patronizingly. "You be good."

"Hmph."

"I'll take that as a , 'Yes, Mr. Lansing'," Trevor said, mimicking Jerry's accent. He smirked, heading for the door. "Later, Jerry."

"Oh, bug off, you--"

The door shut. Jerry exhaled, climbing down from bed. It was cold, and he was hurting. Trying to forget the past night, he went to shower and dress for the day. As he let the hot water pour down his sore body, he considered having another go at Alexis Davis. The remedy for the sting of being used was always to find someone weaker than yourself to use, after all. That might be what he needed . . .

After bathing, he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. As he entered the main room of the hotel suite, he heard a noise at the door. Weary, he drew his gun out from a drawer and moved out of view. The doorknob clicked, and the door opened. Whomever it happens to be, I'm going to shoot first, Jerry thought angrily. This morning there is nothing I would like more than to watch the life seep out any poor sap that happens to cross my--

"You can come out, Jerry."

Oh hell.

Jerry tossed the gun aside, entering the room. "Mr. Devlin. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked sarcastically.

Devlin shot him a warning glance. "You stayed on my mind last night, old friend," he said, equally sarcastic. "I thought perhaps I was a bit too harsh."

Jerry crossed his arms. "Nothing I can't take."

"Really?" Devlin asked. "And is that why you spent the night crying to Trevor Lansing about it?"

Jerry's face darkened.

A bemused smile crossed Devlin's lips. "Or is he another part of your plan to finally get me Alcazar's waterfront properties?" He approached Jerry slowly, eyes wandering the wrecked room. "Was that--" He motioned at the broken table behind them. "--a part of the plan, as well? A tantrum? Both?"

"I was sulking."

"And that is how you sulk?" Devlin laughed. "Perhaps I should have made you cool off in a corner before sending you away." He grabbed Jerry's neck in a sort of caressing crush. "Would you have liked that? Hm?"

"What is it you want?" Jerry asked wearily.

"I just wanted to see that you got back--" Devlin pulled the towel off from Jerry's waist, eyeing him lustfully. "--in one piece."

Jerry pushed him aside. "I have work to do. Remember?"

"Oh, please, I haven't touched you all this time, and you've still accomplished nothing, so don't act like I'd be some big distraction," Devlin said.

"Well, you are big, and you certainly are distracting," Jerry mumbled, stooping to get his towel.

Devlin gave him a ringing slap across the bottom. "You have tried for months to whore yourself out to Alexis Davis, to no avail," he pointed out. "Even now that you need her, you have nothing. I just figure a little motivation--" He smacked him again. "--might do you good."

Aggravated beyond words, Jerry turned on him. Devlin smugly met his gaze, eyes daring him to do something. At a loss, Jerry pulled him into a furious kiss. Devlin just murmured a laugh, tasting him greedily.

"Mmm. See?" Devlin pushed him against the wall, holding him in place. "You can be ambitious."

Jerry went to kiss him again, but Devlin pressed two fingers over his lips to stop him. "But save some of that vigor for . . . more important tasks."

"I told you, I'm working on it."

"Don't 'work', Jerry." Devlin turned him around and slapped his bottom again. "Do."

With that, the deranged doctor left him. Jerry scowled, dressing in a rush. What am I? A child? A whore? Oh, I'll do it, Ian, I'll get you all that you want. Then, I'll let you have everything that comes along with it, everything it brought Mr. Alcazar.

Perhaps then I'll finally be able to escape your stupid little prison once and for all.

'But you won't ever be free.'

Jerry shut his eyes as Cooper's voice echoed in his ears. He finished dressing, and drew back the drapes. The city of Port Charles lay sprawled out beneath the hotel, cold and grey this morning. He was tired of remembering, tired of caring, but it wasn't easy to stop doing either one, at least not this time.

End of Chapter One

Chapter Two

Ultimately, Jerry decided not to pursue Alexis Davis. She was a perceptive woman when she wanted to be, and he did not feel like dreaming up excuses for the light bruise on his cheek from Trevor, the discomfort when he sat down, and the bandage on his hand. If he succeeded in seducing her finally, he would only have more bruises and welts to explain away, and he simply was not up to it.

Instead, he wandered the town, and ended up once again in the cemetery. He stared at the new hole dug into the ground, overwhelmed with pain. Part of him almost hoped Devlin would appear again; if anything, the man could take his mind off things, and he also had access to a variety of black market drugs. Jerry wondered if any of them were strong enough to numb the hurt away.

"Mr. Jacks?"

Jerry turned. His unknowing rival, Maxie Jones, had also wandered her way to the gravesite. Her big blue eyes were more tortured than a girl her age's should be, but Jerry felt no sympathy for her. She had stolen away his Three, and appreciated nothing about him. Why she did not was something beyond Jerry's comprehension.

"Ms. Jones," he acknowledged her uncertainly.

"I didn't expect you to be here," Maxie said slowly. "I just-- The funeral is tomorrow." She looked him up and down, equally uncertain. "Thank you, by the way. I didn't expect you to do this for him. I didn't really think anyone would except me."

Jerry nodded, turning back to the empty lot.

"I don't know why you care, but it doesn't matter to me," Maxie said. "Just so long as he's--" She broke off, frowning, and turned her face to the grey sky. "I want him to be remembered, not just by me, and not as some deranged killer."

"He was not the killer."

Maxie's eyes widened. "What?"

"Cooper Barrett was not the Text Message Killer," Jerry said firmly. "You believe that, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't think you did," Maxie replied. "How do you know that?"

"The same way you do," Jerry replied. "I knew Cooper."

"But you knew him as a mercenary out for himself," Maxie pointed out. "You didn't see the side of him that I did."

"I saw more of Cooper than you know."

"What does that mean?"

"Suffice it to say we were not complete strangers," Jerry said. "We talked. I do have normal conversations with other human beings, you know."

"You know, Cooper said something like that, too," Maxie said thoughtfully. "In the vault, he said he 'knew the boss', which was you."

"Did he?" Jerry asked, unable to hide his interest.

"Yeah, he did." Maxie stared up at the man. "But you know . . . I don't care if you're trying to convince me you were some kind of friends. All you did was take a good man and wreck his life."

"Funny, I was thinking of telling you the same," Jerry said dryly. "You beat me to it."

Maxie's eyes watered. "You're right. We both wrecked him, in different ways."

Not so different, little girl.

"He deserved better than us," Jerry said quietly. "You can agree with me on that, can't you, darling?"

"Yeah." Maxie wiped tears away. "But he'll never get a chance at anything better now. Because of us."

Jerry shook his head. "No, he won't," he said distantly. " . . . Ms. Jones, I hadn't planned to bring this up, but I feel I should before the funeral tomorrow." He turned to her seriously. "Why did you cheat on him?"

"What? How dare you ask me that!" Maxie shrieked.

"Calm down, listen," Jerry hurried to hush her. "Thre-- Cooper confided in me."

"What? No, that's a lie," Maxie said. "He never would have told you anything! You were threatening him!"

"Yes, yes, idly," Jerry said. "He knew I wouldn't hurt him. You were the one he feared for."

"So, you were threatening me?" Maxie asked in horror.

"I wanted him back," Jerry said. "Yes, I threatened you. When I want something, I . . . I go after it in every despicable manner. And don't you dare try and tell me you can't understand that! You, me, Samantha, we're alike. We would do anything, absolutely any terrible deed, if we thought it would bring us the person we--"

Maxie cocked her head. "Yes? The person we, what?"

" . . . Need." Jerry turned his back on her. "Cooper was a fine soldier, an asset. He was smart, professional, dedicated. I needed him back. I wanted him back. I thought if I scared him enough, he would come. But he saw through me."

"How do I know there was anything to see through?" Maxie asked suspiciously. "For all I know, it could have been you trying to strangle me."

"If you thought it was me, you wouldn't be here," Jerry said. "Neither would I."

"Who knows? Maybe you're trying to cover your tracks by playing guilty."

"I am guilty!" Jerry snapped. "And so are you!"

Maxie turned her face.

"And now he's gone, okay?" Jerry went on harshly. "He's gone, and neither of us will ever have a chance to make up for it! No one will!"

She turned her luminous eyes to him. "You are upset," she observed. "I can tell. And I know that you two were . . . some kind of friends."

Jerry frowned. "How do you know that?"

Maxie reached into her purse and removed a small, black journal. "I found this in his room," she said. "It's his journal. I was going to bring it to Spinelli so we could look for proof he wasn't the killer, but . . . but that didn't feel right."

Jerry stared at the book warily.

"But I did read some of the last of it," Maxie said. "We were going to Canada for a while. I thought it was because of you at first. He had mentioned suspecting you of being the killer a few entries back."

Jerry visibly tensed.

"Don't worry, by the end he didn't think that." Maxie held the book out at him. "He was a professional, like you said. He put logic first, even if he let emotions sink in later. That's just how he was. Here."

"Why?" Jerry asked. "Why give it to me?"

"I think he would want you to have it," Maxie said. "He said once that you never understood him, and I think he would have wanted you to finally understand."

"You're lying, aren't you?" Jerry took the book, thumbing through it. "It scares you."

"Don't be stupid," Maxie said. "Why would I be afraid of my boyfriend's journal?"

"Because you hurt him," Jerry said pointedly. "You betrayed him in the worst possible way, and it terrifies you that you'll come across his entries from that time. Seeing his pain spelled out in ink by his own hand, you couldn't handle that, could you?"

Maxie drew a shuddery breath. "I . . . I just can't be distracted, not now," she said. "I need to prove to everyone that he was innocent. I can't, I can't sit around and mourn."

"I understand." Jerry slipped the journal into his coat pocket. "Don't worry about it."

He watched her for several moments, and then put a hand awkwardly on her small shoulder. "He . . . Thr-- Cooper, I mean, he wouldn't want you to . . . worry about it."

Maxie nodded tearfully, choking too much to speak.

Jerry left before he said anything else, rushing from the cemetery. In some way, she did love him, he surmised. Who am I to say he deserved better than her? He deserved better than me, as well, didn't he? There isn't much point in hating her anymore.

So why am I still violently jealous?

"It turns out that the man I knew as 'James Craig' comes from the rich, Australian Jacks dynasty. Funny thing is, I worked for his straight-laced brother, Jasper 'Jax' Jacks, for a while after the hotel crisis, as security. Ironic, right? Jax seemed nice enough, and Jerry (that's his real name, Jerry Jacks) claims to love him. But, if he's rich, why is he a thief and a mercenary? Why spend your entire life fighting when you don't have to? Not even fighting for anything good, just for himself. Is that it? He's fighting for his independence?

I didn't really know him at all, did I?"

"All Jerry does is threaten me. I wish I could just talk to him, but he goes all 'James Craig' every time we cross paths; starts spouting threats about me, about Maxie, and trying to get me back in his service. Does he even want me back as a person? I thought I was more than a soldier to him sometimes, but I guess not. Oh well. I have a new life now. Maybe for once I won't waste it trying to save a lost cause."

"Emily Quartermeine was murdered at the Cassadine's Black and White Ball. I keep telling myself it wasn't Jerry, but I know personally that he had a big hand in that night's events. I know he seemed wounded that night, but Jerry is an exceptionally cunning man. Could he have killed the nanny Leticia in a botched attempt to murder his brother's wife, Carly? Did he kill Emily to spite his enemy, Nikolas Cassadine, her fiancé? Did he try to strangle Carly again that night? It makes sense that it would be him. It makes perfect sense, actually. But what can I do? I could never kill him, despite everything. Besides, if I turn him in, he'll turn me in for helping in the Metro Court hostage crisis. I've never been scared before, but right now, I am. Not for myself, but for Maxie. I mean, he's threatened her before, and if he is the Text Message Killer, she would probably be up next on his twisted list. It would be my fault, in that case, for bringing her into my messed up life. I told Jerry once he would never be free, but now it turns out I was the one trapped all along. I guess it was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse for him. I don't know why, but that is just really, really depressing. Maybe I cared more about the man than I even thought."

"I can't believe I thought that about Jerry. He's not a murderer like that. Yeah, he kills if he has to, but he wouldn't go around killing women for the hell of it. I did know him, just better than he lets on. We could have been in love. I could have saved him, I think, if he had just let me. After what Maxie did to me, maybe I should have just gone for it, anyway. Jerry fusses a lot for an older guy, but he probably just needs someone to force their way into his life. I'm this close to going for it now. I don't want to be alone.

But then he would expect me to be his soldier, and I can't go back to that dark place. Even being this hurt, I just can't do it. If I cross that line again, there won't be any turning back, and that scares me. Sometimes I feel angry, and I look at this Text Message Killer, and I realize that if my mind were just a little bit more broken, that could be me, and it scares me. Even for Jerry, I can't risk going back into those 'shadows' we talked about. I wish I could, just to keep him company, but I can't. I don't think I'm strong enough to pull him out of them, either. Maybe no one is."

Cooper Barrett's brief life in Port Charles was scrawled out over countless pages. Jerry went through them like a man possessed, until he reached the final entry.

"Jerry, the killer, my stupid past-- I thought I could escape it here, but I can't. Everywhere I look in this town, I see one or the other. I broke Jerry's heart, Maxie broke mine, and my best friend helped her do it. It was stupid of me to stay here. I should have ran.

No, I can't say that. I hate it, all of it, but it's been worth it. To learn more about Jerry. To love Maxie, and be loved by her. Despite everything, I'll never regret staying in the town I came to rob. Even if it is coming back to consume me.

And now I'm running again. This time, I'm taking Maxie. I won't leave her behind the way I left Jerry. This one, I can save, and I will save. She wants to be saved, and she isn't too shut up inside to admit it. I wish Jerry would have let me do this for him. Sometimes I wish we had been successful in robbing the Metro Court, and we could have gone away together. He said he wouldn't take me, but I always knew that was a lie. I never would have known Maxie. He would have kept hiding from his brother and mother, and never have disappointed them. A lot less pain for us both. Yeah, it might be wrong, but I can't help wondering what might have happened if it had gone well. I wonder if Jerry ever thinks about it?

Weird, that I'm thinking so much about him today. I guess it's because I'm leaving him once and for all. I can't even say goodbye, or he'll chase me. Or would he? He might be too proud, or too pent up. I don't know. In any case, I'll have lots of time to write about Maxie once we're gone from this place. So let me just say this now.

I wish Jerry and I could have had the second chance I have with Maxie. He needed me more. His eyes were even more tormented, and I never did find out about those scars on his back. He never told me. He never trusted me. And I just proved him right. I guess I deserved what Maxie did to me, after all.

I think I'll leave this book here. I don't need it, it's all about Port Charles, and my life here is over. Jerry might want to hear the words. I know when I'm gone, he'll come here, and he'll find this.

So, Jerry, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. This time, I'm the one running away, but it's not from you, it's from me. I'm trying to escape who I was. I'm sorry that it's selfish. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to try for you. I'm sorry I let you run so far away from me that we hardly recognize each other anymore. I think that's what your brother did, the mistake he also made: we let you run. All I can hope is that someday you'll find someone strong enough to block your exit. Well, I know that will happen, but when it does, I hope the person that does is one that loves you and does it for your sake.

If they don't, please try not to bury yourself again. I want you to be happy. If you're not, then, I don't know. Maybe someday we'll meet up again. Maybe I'll come back for you. You never know. But no matter what happens, Jerry, 'Mr. Craig', please just remember what we had. Even if I end up without Maxie, even when I am with Maxie, I know I always will remember it. It's a part of me, and you're going to hate me for saying this, but it's a part of you, too. So just hold onto it. It sounds really corny, I know, but it was holding onto things that got me through Iraq. And I acted hard and uncaring like you do, but it was just an act. So, once in a while, just stop acting and breathe. Breathe before you suffocate. And when you do, if it helps at all, just think about us. Not what we didn't get to have, but what we had.

I did love you, Jerry, I just didn't know how. And I know you loved me, even if no one ever showed you how to return it. And I will hang onto that. And maybe it will help get me through whatever is coming next. If anything, I just want you to do the same.

Goodbye."

Jerry shut the journal and lay down on his bed. There was no one to hide from, no pride to maintain here, and he began to sob. With the journal clutched to his chest, the man cried as if he were a child again, loud and unedited. He didn't want to drown the pain with liquor. He didn't want comfort or pity. He wanted nothing and no one except for the one person he could never have again.

"I did, I lo-- I loved you, Three," he gasped between sobs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his face in the sheets, and sobbed childishly. "I could have. I-- just-- never-- let-- nghh." His speech broke into more cries, and he gave up talking. For the rest of the day, he cried, until he finally fell back asleep.

It was evening when he finally stirred again. The sheets were still damp from his tears, and he sniffled as he sat up on the bed. He hadn't even removed his shoes. The sun was sinking lazily into the sky, dully illuminating the bedroom. Jerry stared blankly out the window, thinking nothing.

Still holding the journal in his hand, he moved into the main room of the suite. There was a knock on the door, but he ignored it.

"Jerry? Come on, it's me, Trevor. Open up! I know you're there."

Jerry did not know why, but he stood. After staring at the door for a while, listening to Trevor knock, he opened it. Trevor gave him a frown, barging on in. "What? You were sleeping? At this hour?" He looked Jerry up and down. "In your clothes?"

Jerry nodded listlessly.

"You look terrible," Trevor said, stating the obvious. "You were crying? Why? Was that bastard that beat on you last night here?"

He noticed the book in Jerry's hand and snatched it away before Jerry could react. "What's this? You don't seem like the type to keep a--" Trevor opened it. "Ohhh, Cooper Barrett. Your, er, woman-hating boy toy, am I right?"

"You're wrong." Jerry snatched the book back. "Cooper was not the Text Message Killer."

"Does that book prove it?" Trevor inquired. "If it does, why haven't you turned it in yet?"

Jerry moved to the other side of the room, opening a steel, locked box. He ran his hand over the book one last time, and then locked it away.

"Oh, I know why," Trevor said suddenly. "It would clear him of being a serial killer, and cast him as being a terrorist. I see. Besides, I doubt you want your secret affair made public. I wonder, what would Jax think if his troublesome older brother turned out to be a bisexual maniac?"

"Jax doesn't give a rat's ass about me, and why should he?" Jerry said bitterly. "He has a beautiful wife that loves him, children, a family. Why would he waste one second of his golden, perfect life worrying about whatever I feel? If he even thinks I feel at all."

"Well. I don't have a wife, and my son isn't worth paying attention to," Trevor said. He looked at Jerry interestedly. "So, I worry."

"No you don't, Trevor," Jerry scoffed. "You're only worried about your next move, and whether you might need me for it or not."

"Better than not being worried about at all, isn't it?"

Jerry exhaled. "I don't know. I don't know a damn thing anymore."

"Well, I know that you look like hell, and you probably haven't eaten anything," Trevor said. He put a hand on Jerry's shoulder. "Let's go have dinner. We can talk business, and you can forget all the crap that's obviously driving you nuts. What do you say?"

"I'd rather not. Not today."

"You know, Jerry, Anthony Zacchara went insane this way," Trevor warned.

"Anthony Zacchara went insane because of you," Jerry shot back. "You needed him to lose his mind so you could control him, and he conveniently lost his mind. I'm willing to bet that if you ever thought you needed me insane, I would also conveniently lose mine as well."

"What good would you be to me insane?" Trevor pointed out. "I need you resourceful, collected, with all your wits--" He tapped Jerry's head at the temple. "--about you."

Jerry turned to walk past him, but Trevor stopped him by the arm. "I don't need you wasting away, either," he said. "So let's go."

"Trevor, I'm not in the mood for your games," Jerry said. "I know you have a fetish for fathering your victims to death, but please, not today."

Trevor nodded. Then, he took Jerry by the back of his suit jacket, and dragged him to the door. Jerry sighed, not having the strength to protest. Trevor would do what he wanted, anyway. He always did.

Still, Trevor Lansing's interference proved to be the diversion Jerry needed. They discussed only business over dinner outside town, and Jerry felt a bit of himself returning. Afterwards, they returned to Port Charles, walking through the dank waterfront properties.

Jerry peered into the waters below. "Hmm, you think Mr. Alcazar is down there right now?" he asked in amusement.

"Heh. You'd have to ask Morgan about that," Trevor said, following his gaze. "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask you something about him."

Jerry turned to him. "What?"

"Why is it that he didn't throw you down there?" Trevor asked. "After what you did, not to mention causing his biological father's death, I can't really wrap my brain around how you're still up here and not down there."

"Why does everyone blame me for that man's death?" Jerry asked in annoyance. "The fat arse clogged his own arteries, didn't he? He just as well could have died that night over a sandwich."

"Yeah, but he died because of you instead," Trevor said. "So, why didn't Morgan off you? Is he that cold, he didn't care? Or did you do him any . . . special favors?"

"Far as I know, Morgan isn't like that," Jerry said. "As to why he didn't 'off' me, as you so eloquently put it, I really don't know. He and Corinthos took me over a few times for it, but never anything serious."

"No whips those times, eh?"

Jerry gave him a look. "No. Jax swears he went around town lobbying for me, and that is why they did not, but who knows? Maybe they just plan to save me for use later. Or kill me."

Trevor glanced at the water. "And what about Mr. Alcazar? Was he 'like that'?"

Jerry grinned widely, holding the front of Trevor's coat. "Well, you just think I'm some kind of gay whore, don't you?"

"You are always comparing yourself to Samantha McCall, who is, by the way, a professional whore of sorts," Trevor said. "So, are you, Jerry?"

"No, but I might as well be sometimes," grumbled Jerry. "This business can be like jail. Worse. For some reason, I always come across the bis, freaks, and--" His eyes slid to Trevor. "--father figures."

"Look who's talking!" Trevor exclaimed. "Were you or were you not involved with your own, gorgeous soldier?"

Jerry felt a pang deep inside, and his expression sobered. Trevor caught himself, and looked sheepish for once. "Sorry."

"Hmph. Touché, Mr. Lansing," Jerry murmured. " . . . I think you actually figured it out for me. It's me. I'm that kind of person, and like draws to like . . . thus, I attract all those sorts. Hell, even the women I've attracted have been less than normal."

Trevor was running a hand through Jerry's hair. "But you don't want normal, right, Jerry?"

"No. No, I would say not." He turned to Trevor, smiling. "I never was straight-laced like Jax. I never wanted to be."

"Nah, you're just a bad boy," Trevor told him, taking him into his arms. "A bad, bad little boy that likes playing with fire . . . "

Jerry kissed him. Something about the words turned him on. Cooper had been right: he was bad for the sake of having attention.

"So," Jerry huffed afterwards, "are you going to take it upon yourself to punish me?"

Trevor gave him a pitying look, stroking his arm. "Not today. Don’t you think that was enough?"

It will never be enough.

"Let's just-- Well, I was expected back in Manhattan, but . . . " Trevor stared at him, debating. "What's one more night?"

"Indeed." Jerry grinned. "Life is too short."

"Yeah." Trevor's eyes wandered back to the water, and for the first time, he looked troubled. "It is."

They both looked down, considering the fate of poor, dead Lorenzo Alcazar. Their gaze met, they had a laugh over it, and then they headed back to the hotel.

End of Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Once again, Trevor shook Jerry awake early the next morning. Barely conscious, Jerry rolled onto his back, looking sleepily up at the man. "Hmmm?"

Trevor squeezed his shoulder. "I gotta get back to Manhattan. It's only three right now. You get some more sleep, okay?"

"Mmm hmmmph," Jerry murmured, already dozing off again.

Trevor kissed his lips briefly, and headed for the door.

"Mr. Lansing?"

"Yeah?"

Jerry stared at him for a moment, then rolled onto his side. He exhaled, settling his head back into the pillow, and fell back asleep. Trevor shook his head, wondering what he planned to say.

Anyway, it's better he didn't say it, Trevor thought as he left the room. I don't need another nut to care about.

Aw, jeez, did I use that word? Maybe I am getting old and desperate.

When Jerry opened his eyes, it was to porcelain skin, and the sound of a heart beating beneath his ear. He sat up abruptly, and to his amazement, Cooper was smiling up at him.

"Three?" he asked. "Is that actually you?"

Cooper was as radiant as he had been in life. His hand stroked Jerry's face, warm and alive. "Of course it's me."

"But . . . I don't understand."

"I told you I'd come back for you."

Jerry backed away. "No, no, you can't do that, Three," he said anxiously. "I'm not dead. Tell me I'm not dead."

Cooper sat up, taking the man's hands in his own. "No, you aren't dead, Jerry."

"So, it's a dream, isn't it?" Jerry glanced around. They were back in the smaller hotel room outside Port Charles. "Of course. This isn't real."

"If you want to see it that way."

"It is that way, Three," Jerry said. "I'm burying you tomorrow."

Cooper just smiled. "No need to sound so torn up," he said cynically.

"I am torn up about it!" Jerry snapped. "I'm sick over it! You have no idea what the hell I've been through! Your stupid body, your stupid journal! You . . . You . . . " His eyes watered, and he drew a breath. "Not again."

"It's okay." Cooper embraced him. "It's okay, Jerry. I'm here now, right now."

"No, you're not," Jerry said tearfully. "You're not. I'm not here, either. I'm back in the Metro Court, with that Trevor Lansing, and you're gone. You're dead, just like everyone I've ever-- ever loved."

Cooper kissed his forehead. "Did you love me, Jerry?"

"Well, I said it earlier, didn't I?" Jerry said. "I did love you. Not because you reminded me of Jax. Not because you were my soldier. Because . . . Because I believed you, when you said you wanted to save me. And the words were in your journal. No one has ever really wanted to save me before, not without being obligated."

Cooper looked at him. "I still want to save you, Jerry."

"You couldn't even save yourself, Three."

"Maybe not." Cooper kissed him. "Mm . . . but . . . " He brushed Jerry's hair back, studying his face. "I can still try, right?"

Jerry looked skeptical. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe just by being here now," Cooper lay down, drawing Jerry onto his chest. "By holding you, and reminding you of me."

"That only hurts more," Jerry said softly.

"It shouldn't," Cooper told him. "I don't want you or Maxie or anyone to remember me and hurt. We all made our choices, all of us, and what's happened has happened. But I don't have any regrets. If you know that, maybe you can stop blaming yourself so much."

"No, I--"

"Please, just try." Cooper ran his hand over the scars lining Jerry's back. "I just can't stand seeing you hurt yourself."

"Most people would say I deserve it."

"You don't," Cooper said firmly. "If you take anything from me, take that. I never wanted to see you hurt, because I never, never thought you deserved to be. So stop punishing yourself, Jerry, and whatever you do, don't punish yourself over me."

"But--"

Cooper shushed him with a light kiss. "Don't." He kissed him again. "Just listen to me."

Jerry nodded, having a strange feeling their time was drawing to a close.

"I love you," Cooper said, "and I don't want anything but for you to find some way out of the dark. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. Live for me, Jerry. You've never let anyone save you, but I'm asking you to let me try."

"Three . . . I . . . " The cold man broke down, crying into his chest. "Don't leave me," he begged. "I . . . I've never felt this. I hate it, I . . . I don't want to, damn it! You can't leave me!" he shouted at the youth. "You can't!"

Cooper wiped away his tears with a finger. "I'm sorry. I can't follow your orders this time . . . Mr. Craig."

"No, I . . . No! No, you can't! You CAN'T!"

Jerry awoke with a start. The bed was empty, back at the Metro Court. He sat up, shaking, and blinked back his tears. "Three . . . " He angrily scrubbed his eyes with his fist. "Stupid dreams."

Jerry dressed in black, groggy and exhausted. Better get the damn thing over with, he thought darkly. Maybe once it's over, I can just move on. Just forget it. Forget him, the way I forgot Irina.

The day was mild, gentle, as Jerry headed down to the church. Once there, he met with Maxie, and they sat inside. There were only three in the room, including the priest, as the entire town believed Cooper Barrett to be a ruthless serial killer. Both Maxie and Jerry held their tears, stoic and frozen with pain. As they walked outside for the burial, Maxie let the tears fall, but didn't make a sound. She seemed to be as lost and shocked as Jerry was.

Afterwards, the girl expressed her gratitude once again. "Thank you, Jerry," she said. "For doing this, for believing in Coop." She smiled painfully. "It was a beautiful service, wasn't it? I could have sworn the priest would make stupid comment about Coop being the killer, but he didn't."

"Well, I had a word with him beforehand," Jerry admitted. "Let's just say I wasn't going to allow Cooper's memorial to be tainted by this idiotic lie."

"Oh, that's why . . . " Maxie stared at the gravestone. "Well. It's just us, isn't it? We're the only two people in the whole entire world that care he's gone. We're the only ones that believe in his innocence."

"Yes, we are," Jerry said shortly.

"And he was such a wonderful man," Maxie marveled. "But that's how it-- how it is. No one cares." She shook her head. "Even when it's too late."

Jerry's lips tightened. I wonder if even one person would show if it were me down there? he thought. Two people . . . Jax, my mother? I doubt it.

"We care."

Maxie looked at him. "What?"

"I said, we care," Jerry repeated. "True, he may have deserved more, and he certainly did not deserve the title of murderer . . . but . . . the truth will come out. His name will be cleared, simply because he was innocent. And for now, we're here."

"Yeah . . . we are." Maxie wiped away her tears, trying to smile bravely. "Um, I really don't want to do this, but can I have a moment alone? I'd like to speak to him."

"Go right ahead, dear," Jerry said, genuinely sympathetic. "I have business, and . . . well, my presence here would only raise suspicion of him if it came to light."

"I understand."

Jerry smiled a little. "Make sure you tell him who . . . who set all this up, won't you?"

Maxie laughed. "I will."

Jerry touched her should briefly, and then left. I'm through crying. I can't do it anymore. I'll always care. I'll always love him. I know that now. But I can't suffer about it any longer. I think he would understand.

At the entrance to the cemetery, Jerry stopped short. Devlin was there, also in black, waiting. He came up to Jerry, and the man took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" he asked tensely.

"I knew the funeral was today," Devlin said. "Jerry, I'm not here as a superior or anything else. I . . . "

"You what?"

"I thought you might need me," Devlin said quickly, uncharacteristically unsure. His eyes traveled Jerry. "But I suppose I assumed wrong. I'll go."

He turned to leave.

"Devlin. Wait."

The man glanced back.

"I do . . . need you."

Devlin smiled a little. "I'll see you in the hotel. We can't afford to be seen together on the streets."

"Of course not," Jerry muttered, staring at the ground.

Devlin left. Jerry shifted on his feet. I should have let him go. Cooper doesn't want me to hurt anymore. But I . . . I can't be alone, not today. I don't care who it is, so long as it isn't that bed, and . . . and those dreams. I'll never go on if I don't force myself to, and Devlin is just the splash of cold water I need to do so.

At the hotel, Jerry found himself alone. He frowned in confusion, throwing his coat on the sofa. Devlin was normally a man of his word, so it was very unlike him to have changed his mind. I don't know if I'm more relieved or disappointed, Jerry thought. He sat down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Just as he was starting to doze off, the door opened. Devlin came in with a large brown paper bag, and gave Jerry a smile. Jerry pulled himself up, curiously watching him.

"I was thinking, about you," Devlin said as he sat the bag down on the table. He lifted his head, looking out into nowhere. "I remember when you were a patient-- make that, rather, my most difficult patient."

Jerry shrugged sheepishly. "Well, you were no picnic as a doctor."

"You were such a-- there's no other word for it-- a brat," Devlin chuckled, shaking his head. "You were so dour after I had you restrained, I felt a little sorry for you, Jerry. I really did."

"Ah, yes, I remember now," Jerry said, standing. "You had the courtesy to ask poor, restrained Jerry, what might aid his recovery. Other than being let loose, of course."

"Exactly, and you said vodka--" Devlin removed a large bottle and set it down. "--which, I could not indulge you with at the time-- and chocolate cake."

Jerry grinned as the man brought out a large cake box. "Well, well, well. Am I actually to expect human treatment from you now?"

Devlin tousled his hair. "Why wouldn't you? I told you, this isn't business, Jerry."

"Hm . . . " Jerry murmured thoughtfully, suspiciously. He opened the cake box and cut himself a piece, then poured himself a glass of the drink. The light soreness on his bottom caused him to scowl. "And a night ago, I suppose that was 'just business'?"

"Of course." Devlin frowned. "Did you think it wasn't?"

Jerry looked up, fork paused halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"You were trying to convince me to allow you to live, thus you were dealing with me on a professional level," Devlin explained. "Personally, I have no real reason to threaten your life. So, I dealt with the situation, and you, as I would any other business transaction: without pity, mercy, sympathy, or anything of the like."

Jerry took a bite of cake, puzzling over this as he chewed. "So," he said, "you're saying that you will, what? Beat the daylights out of me to intimidate me into getting the job done?"

"Exactly," Devlin said simply. "But today we're here as two people." He reached across the table and touched Jerry's cheek. "You were a patient of mine."

Jerry turned away from his touch, which always seemed to make his skin feel plastic and cold.

"Remember? Jerry?" Devlin asked, as that sadistic light glinted vaguely through his eyes. "I treated you quite normally in my . . . 'clinic', didn't I?"

Jerry's light eyes narrowed on the man's face. "Normally?"

'You were nearly as sadistic as you were the other night. Simply because I expressed frustration with the bandages and whatnot, you had me strapped to the bed!'

'You were trying to escape. Do you know what medical maladies that could have easily caused?'

'What plastic surgeon has their patients restrained against their will?'

'The kind that doesn't take any BS when it comes to the patient's best interests.'

'Regardless of how said patient feels?'

'Patients never know what's good for them. They need doctors to look out for their best medical interests.'

'So you say.'

'Jerry, you can complain all you like, but you can't argue with the results . . . once you finally got around to actually seeing the results. '

'Hmph.

After the face-altering surgery, Jerry Jacks had spent weeks lying in a hospital bed staring at white walls. No windows. Hardly any light. He was hidden away from the rest of Devlin's facility, being that he was a criminal on the run. During those days, Jerry had never felt more alone. He thought often of his family, but remembering how out of place he had been with them only made the loneliness hurt more. Several times he had attempted to escape or tear off the itchy, hot bandages, and each time Devlin had caught him. The first time warranted a severe warning and lecture; the second, a threat and some rough-handling; the final time, Devlin had stopped the problem altogether by having Jerry restrained in bed. So, since then, Jerry had not only been miserable, but immobile as well. The only hope Jerry had anymore was that it would all be worth it, and that once it was over, he would finally be free from everyone and everything in this stupid world.

"Good news," Devlin said one morning, flipping through Jerry's chart. "I believe it is time to separate you of the bandages you have become so attached to."

Jerry looked up at him from a mask of gauze, light eyes cold, and said nothing. Devlin just smiled acridly and began to undo the restraints. "Our time together is almost at an end," he went on. "How very sad, isn't it, Jerry? Time does fly."

However, Jerry's mind was not on his hatred of Devlin for once; the realization of looking into a mirror and seeing a stranger had suddenly hit him, and he found himself starting to panic inside. Trying not to be very obvious, he asked, "You're absolutely certain it's ready?"

"If you mean your face, then the answer is 'yes', 'it' is ready," Devlin replied. He went to get scissors and a large mirror from a table of tools. "As much visions and foresight as I have, there never is anything like the moment of seeing your work in completion for the very first time. You have been a terrible patient, and I have put much on the line to have you, but I can't say I regret it. How could I regret having free reign to sculpt an entire face over?"

Devlin sat on the edge of the bed beside Jerry and began cutting through the layers of bandages.

"I'm glad I was able to entertain you," Jerry muttered. "I don't feel very ready. Are you sure my face isn't still swollen?"

"We'll see when these are off, but last I changed them, you were hardly swollen at all," Devlin said, unwinding bandages. "You've had plenty of time to heal, Jerry."

"Yes, but I don't want to look into that thing and see some sort of troll."

"You know, for all you've been whining about these, you suddenly don't seem very hurried to have them off," Devlin noted. "It's only natural to be anxious, but trust me when I say that my work is flawless."

"Your ego is the only flawless thing I've been aware of," Jerry retorted.

Devlin only chuckled, winding off the rest of the bandages. "Ahhh ha. There we are," he said softly, taking Jerry's face lightly in his hands. He turned his face one way, then the other, studying him as if he were a precious gem. "Yes, just perfect." He smiled widely and released him, picking up the mirror. "Have a look."

But Jerry turned his face, frowning. "I . . . I don't know. People have such varied opinions of aesthetics, after all."

Devlin gave him an impatient look. "So, you would rather avoid mirrors for the rest of your life? Or, what? Have me start the entire thing over?"

"No, no, of course not!" snapped Jerry. "I just need a moment."

Devlin exhaled, setting the mirror down beside him. "Of course." He stood, going to the other side of the room, but did not leave.

Jerry touched the cheek of his reconstructed face. It was fleshy, very smooth, but did not feel as he expected: like a vinyl doll. His nose was thin, skin taut enough. The moisture from the bandages began to itch, and he started to scratch at his face. Devlin, of course, came over and grabbed his hand.

"No, no, don't do that," he said, irritated.

"Why? Will it tear?" Jerry asked cynically.

"You risk infection, breakout," Devlin said. "In fact, let me get something for that."

Jerry scratched his chin and cheek once the bossy doctor was gone. He felt something like a zombie with such raw, clammy skin. Devlin returned with a bottle of something and plastic gloves, which Jerry thought was overdoing the precaution a bit.

"Why do you even care if it infects or whatever?" Jerry asked in annoyance. "It's my face."

"It's my face too, isn't it?" Devlin said, sitting beside him again on the bed. Staring intently at the man, he began to smooth a cool lotion onto his face. "I take great pride in my work, and you are now a part of that work."

"You are a strange man, Doctor Devlin," Jerry commented.

"Mmm, coming from you, that is quite amusing," Devlin said with a smile. He leaned back, wiping the excess lotion on his pants. "Better?"

"Somewhat," Jerry murmured, rubbing his cheek with his palm. The itch was subsiding, but he was still uncomfortable.

"Now . . . " Devlin picked up the mirror. "A look?"

Jerry gave him a worried glance. "Well . . . All right, yes, yes, give me that!"

He snatched the mirror and drew a breath. After a moment, he braced himself, and turned it around. " . . . Oh." His eyebrows raised. "Oh, well . . . " He touched his face.

For the first time, Devlin looked unsure. "What do you think?" he asked impatiently.

Jerry smiled. "I'm quite dashing, aren't I?" he said. "Yes, I must say, it's an excellent job. Wow, I . . . I'm completely unrecognizable."

"And?"

Jerry gave him a look.

"Don't you see how cute you are?"

"Aha! Cute?" Jerry echoed in surprise. "I was thinking more along the lines of roguishly beguiling . . . "

Devlin nodded, his hand running through Jerry's hair. "I take it you're pleased with my work?"

Jerry suddenly realized how close their faces were, and he felt his face heat for the first time in weeks. I've been in here too long, he thought. This horrible man is beginning to seem attractive.

"Your 'work' is quite impressive, I must say," Jerry said quietly. He grinned. "I'm quite the handsome devil. Not that I wasn't before . . . "

"But this is better, isn't it?"

Why do I have the feeling saying 'no' would jeopardize my health? Jerry thought in amusement. "Much better." He averted his gaze. "I'm not one to waste words on such sentiments, but I really must thank you. You've been an absolute prick, but you certainly did your job exceptionally."

Devlin was still taking in every angle and line of his face, touching his hair and face. "And how does one repay favors in your business, Jerry? Hmm?"

Jerry narrowed his eyes at him. "What did you have in mind, Doctor--"

Devlin leaned over him, pushing him back against the pillow. He smiled oddly, dark eyes gleaming, and stroked Jerry's face. "Isn't it beautiful?" he murmured. "Better than God could have ever done, don't you think?"

Such arrogance, Jerry thought with a bemused look on his face. I like it.

Devlin kissed his cheek, several times, indulging in the face he had constructed. Jerry allowed it; thus far, his hospital stay had been devoid of anything remotely sexual, unless being scolded by the stern doctor counted as foreplay . . .

Devlin was calculating in his precise, sensuous touch, going over every inch of the man with fascination in his dark eyes. His fingers unlaced the hospital gown with practiced expertise, throwing it onto the floor hastily. Jerry grinned up at him, equally curious, and lifted off his scrub shirt. On Devlin's shoulder, he saw an outline in ink of a single angel wing. "And this?" Jerry breathed, running a hand over it, then sinking his teeth in.

"I've only got one wing left," Devlin smirked.

"Ahhh, well, more than I can say," laughed Jerry. "Somewhat melodramatic, though, don't you think?"

"Says the man who is hiding from the entire world," Devlin retorted. He swung Jerry onto his stomach, making him laugh nervously. "Maybe you should get a tattoo, Jerry."

"Mmm, might be fun."

"Where?" Devlin kissed his shoulder. "Here, like mine? Or, how about . . . " He slid his face down to his lower back, kissing and biting him softly all the way. "Here is trendy." He pressed on the middle of Jerry's lower back. "Or, maybe . . . . "

Jerry glanced back over his shoulder and shuddered as Devlin wrapped his mouth around his thigh. Before losing himself to pleasure, he vaguely wondered exactly how they had gotten here, and if this might just turn out to be another one of his 'mistakes of passion', as he called them.

They were lying in bed by now, sticky and warm, Jerry licking remnants of the cake from Devlin's face like a cat. Devlin smiled, pleased, and ran his hand over Jerry's thigh. There was a tattoo, the theater masks, which he had convinced Jerry to choose. Two-faced Jerry Jacks, both literally and figuratively.

Jerry knew where Devlin's eyes were fixed, and he sighed softly. He was branding me with his own melodramatic symbolism, he thought. I thought it was a silly, funny thing to have done, but I should have known better. Nothing this man does is pointless or without meaning.

"Feeling better?" Devlin asked, sounding very much the medical professional.

Jerry burst into laughter. "Some therapy."

Devlin turned his face towards his own and kissed him. "Well, you did say I was a big distraction. And didn't you need some distracting lately?"

Jerry rested his head on the man's chest, mulling things over. "Hmm, no, I don't think so. I can't afford to be distracted."

"Well, well, well, are you finally being serious about your work?" Devlin asked, his 'business' side beginning to rear its ugly head. His grip on Jerry's thigh tightened, squeezing the tattoo. "Going to actually accomplish something for a change?"

"Yes, doctor," Jerry replied with a smirk. "I do love saying that."

"You say it without sincerity." Devlin tapped his palm lightly over Jerry's bottom.

Jerry flinched. "No, I . . . mean it . . . "

Devlin gave him a look, and decided to let the weak attempt at subservience go. "Jerry, Jerry . . . What am I going to do with you, hm?" He held him tight to his chest for a brief moment. "You're a terrible man."

"Yes, yes I am."

"You should be punished."

Jerry just made an amused sound, and for a moment, the pain of missing Cooper returned.

'I think you've been punished enough.'

Devlin settled back in the sheets, keeping Jerry firmly on his chest, and began to fall asleep. Jerry lay in his arms, but had stopped feeling him. All he could feel and see was Cooper.

I thought I could forget him, but I can't, he thought. He rolled off Devlin, turning his back on him. I never will. And I'll never stop hurting over it.

But I'll go on.

Because I always do. Because I have to. Because . . . Oh, I have no concept of why. It doesn't even matter.

Nothing matters anymore. Because I'm alone again.

"So, Jerry, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. This time, I'm the one running away, but it's not from you, it's from me. I'm trying to escape who I was. I'm sorry that it's selfish. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough to try for you. I'm sorry I let you run so far away from me that we hardly recognize each other anymore. I think that's what your brother did, the mistake he also made: we let you run. All I can hope is that someday you'll find someone strong enough to block your exit. Well, I know that will happen, but when it does, I hope the person that does is one that loves you and does it for your sake.

"If they don't, please try not to bury yourself again. I want you to be happy. If you're not, then, I don't know. Maybe someday we'll meet up again. Maybe I'll come back for you. You never know. But no matter what happens, Jerry, 'Mr. Craig', please just remember what we had. Even if I end up without Maxie, even when I am with Maxie, I know I always will remember it. It's a part of me, and you're going to hate me for saying this, but it's a part of you, too. So just hold onto it. It sounds really corny, I know, but it was holding onto things that got me through Iraq. And I acted hard and uncaring like you do, but it was just an act. So, once in a while, just stop acting and breathe. Breathe before you suffocate. And when you do, if it helps at all, just think about us. Not what we didn't get to have, but what we had.

"I did love you, Jerry, I just didn't know how. And I know you loved me, even if no one ever showed you how to return it. And I will hang onto that. And maybe it will help get me through whatever is coming next. If anything, I just want you to do the same.

Goodbye."

The next morning, Jerry awoke alone. Devlin hadn't even left a note. He didn't care. Before life moved on again, and his plans were put back into action, and the battle waged on, he went to the cemetery. Resting a bouquet of red roses against the new stone with Cooper Barrett's name engraved on it, Jerry leaned forward and pressed his face briefly against the cold, hard marble.

"Goodbye, Three."

This time, so much as it ate away at his very soul, he knew it had to be the last farewell, and he knew it would be. And just like that, another loved one was gone from his life forever, and another chapter, barely even started, had closed. Somehow, this time, for just a moment staring into a thin beam of sunlight peeking through the clouds, Jerry had hope that perhaps it had not closed forever.

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house, that don't bother me
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out
I'm not afraid to cry
Every once in a while even though goin’ on with you gone still upsets me
There are days
Every now and again I pretend I'm okay but that's not what gets me

What hurts the most, was being so close
And having so much to say
And watchin’ you walk away
Never knowing, what could have been
And not seein’ that lovin’ you
Is what I was tryin’ to do

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere i go
But I’m doin’ it
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I’m alone
Still harder gettin’ up, gettin’ dressed, livin with this regret
But I know if I could do it over
I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart that i left unspoken

What hurts the most, is being so close
And having so much to say
And watchin you walk away
Never knowing, what could have been
And not seein that lovin you
Is what I was tryin to do

I'm not afraid to cry
Every once in a while even though goin on with you gone still upsets me
There are days
Every now and again i pretend i'm okay but that's not what gets me

What hurts the most, was being so close
And having so much to say
And watchin you walk away
And never knowing, what could have been
And not seein that lovin you
Is what I was tryin to do

“What Hurts the Most”

by Cascada

Fin