Baby Love – A One Shot

Fools in love, well are there any other kind of lovers?
Fools in love, is there any other kind of pain?

He wasn't the type of man who slept eight hours every night and consumed three solid meals a day, but even Jason Morgan knew that something was wrong with him. It had been so long since he had been able to close his eyes and actually rest, that he couldn't remember the last time he actually felt energized and awake. As for his health, even without the use of a mirror, he could tell that he'd lost weight. His clothes were loose on his body, his face looked hollow, empty almost, and even the simplest movements seemed more difficult than they used to just weeks before. Slowly, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second, he was killing himself…and it felt good.

The physical pain was the only way he could express the emotional agony he was suffering through, and, yet, if given the opportunity, he wouldn't wish away the thing causing him distress. It was a contradiction in and of itself. While it was slowly tearing him apart from the inside out, it was also the thing that made him push through each and every day, kept him fighting when nothing else mattered, and, for as long as it survived, he would keep fighting….just in case, just in case he was needed, just in case their circumstances changed, just in case.

It? Never in a million years did he think that's how he would privately refer to any unborn child of his, but what else could he call the baby? Elizabeth didn't know if she was having a boy or girl, she had no names picked out, and, despite the fact that she had asked him to share his ideas on the issue, he had refused. After all, according to the rest of the world, the child should mean nothing to him, because he was simply its mother's friend, nothing more, nothing less. Little did they know that Elizabeth Webber would always be more than simply a friend to him; she was Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, and the child they had created together during one amazingly imperfect night where the flaws in their lives brought them closer together than they ever had been before was growing stronger, bigger, and more unique with every passing moment, moments he wasn't there to witness, moments he would never know or understand. That was the real reason he refused to think of the baby as anything more than 'it,' because, if he did, he wouldn't be able to walk away.

Distance, distance was good. Distance would cushion his heart, perhaps help keep it from shattering into a million tiny pieces incapable of being glued back together, distance would keep him from breaking down when he first heard the sound of his child's cries, the sound of the little boy or girl call Lucky Spencer 'Daddy,' the sound of its mother professing her love for a man other than him, distance would protect his sanity from crumbling into an abyss of nothingness. He just had to remember that there were good things in his life: Michael and Morgan, his friends, his job, his bike, his pool table, and the taste of an ice cold beer after a long day's work.

Rolling over, he glanced at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him as if she didn't have a care in the world. Sam, he had Sam, too.

Everything you do, everywhere you go now

Everything you touch, everything you feel

Everything you see, everything you know now

Everything you do, you do it for your lady

Love your lady, love your lady

Love your lady, love…

Sam. Closing his eyes, he tried to let her presence comfort him, tried to let the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the sounds of her quiet breathing wash over him and give him a sense of peace. It didn't work.

Her dark hair was shiny and beautiful, but he didn't want her hair; he wanted thick chestnut locks that would curl around his fingers as he buried his face against its silky confines. Her eyes were closed to him, but he knew that when they opened he would wish for the swirling sapphire depths he had drowned in a thousand times before instead of her rich, loving brown irises. Her nose was petite, small and demure, but it didn't have that stubborn little upturn that belied her obstinate attitude and willful charm that drove him to distraction in one breath while making him smile in another. Her lips were kissable, but there was no suppleness to beg for his touch, no tantalizing pink color to taunt him into submission, no plump bottom lip that seemed to ache for his teeth to nip it gently while he seduced her. Her chin didn't have a dent, a depression made for the caress of his tongue, her skin on her neck and shoulders wasn't the smooth alabaster cream he craved but freckled from exposure to the sun, her breasts didn't fit perfectly in his palms, her hands weren't long and lean, her fingers lacking the delicate, artistic grace that could bring him to his knees, her waist wasn't diminutive enough for his fingers to touch when he wrapped his hands around her petite body, her hips wouldn't bear the telltale sign of pregnancy and labor, stretch marks, visible reminders of the fact his child had lived for nine months inside of the woman he loved, her legs were too toned, their muscles and strength contradicting the idea that a woman should be soft and feminine, smooth and nurturing, and her feet lacked the adorable fire-engine red toenail polish, the sight of which always managed to bring a wicked, lust induced smirk to his rugged face.

She didn't understand how nothing felt, she couldn't see the wind, and she would never yearn for the light of Venice. He never let her ride on the back of his motorcycle, he didn't take her to Vista Point, and he doubted she would ever understand the value of chicken noodle soup. Playing pool with her could never capture what it felt like to teach a younger, more innocent brunette the rules of the game. Sam couldn't read his thoughts and understand him without words needing to be spoken; she always needed words.

While Elizabeth had never betrayed him, Sam had trashed his heart by sleeping with her stepfather. When his own girlfriend didn't know how to help him grieve for his suddenly deceased father, dismissing his pain as guilt instead of honest sorrow, Elizabeth was the one who came to him, whose simple words and gentle embraces carried him through the day his Dad was buried. If there was something bothering him, something he needed to discuss, he didn't seek out the woman he was supposed to marry; he tracked down his ex and she listened, offering her advice but never judging him. Elizabeth would have realized he was lying to her, but Sam accepted his dishonesty without even a second's thought. His Elizabeth would have held him while he mourned the loss of a child he would never know, and, even if Sam would offer him her comfort, he didn't want it.

Sliding out of bed, he quietly made his way out of the bedroom he shared with his fiancé, his movements silent so he would not disturb her. Clad still in his jeans and t-shirt, he descended the stairs and moved to his bulletproof French doors that overlooked the city. The entire population of Port Charles was asleep….all except him and the woman that kept haunting his mind, the woman who would haunt him for the rest of his life, no matter how short or long it was.

Fools in love, are there any creatures more pathetic?

Fools in love, never knowing when they've lost the game.

She was physically making herself sick, and, though she knew it wasn't good for the baby, her baby, Jason's baby, their baby, there seemed to be nothing that could stop Elizabeth's pain and guilt, her fear and loneliness from eating away at her. The emotional stress she was under made her stomach clench in pain, gave her migraines, and made her skin break out in clammy sweats at night, preventing her from sleeping. When her overly exhausted body gave in to its natural instincts for rest, her sleep was plagued with nightmares, and she would wake up every morning with dried tear tracks on her porcelain cheeks and red rimmed eyes. Although the thought of food brought on a vindictive streak of nausea and morning sickness, something she hadn't experienced even during the early months of her pregnancy, she would force herself to eat for the sake of the baby and, in the process, make herself feel even worse. Her life was in a perpetual state of discomfort.

Early every morning, long before Lucky would roll out of bed, she would get up, making sure she was awake and dressed before he could turn to her seeking a conjugal embrace or even a smile. Instead, she saved those, her rare moments of contentment even if they were feigned, for her son; he needed those reassurances. Once she was ready for the day, she would make her way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her family, and then she pack a lunch for all three of them. On good days, she and Cameron would be out of the house and to the hospital without seeing Lucky, and on bad ones, she would dodge his efforts to hold her close and caress her swollen abdomen. At work, she could escape into the menial chores of her job, into the constant bickering of her co-workers, into the repetitive nature of her existence, but then her shift would end, and it would be time to head back to the house she was supposed to call a home. In reality, it felt like a prison.

To be fair, the early evenings were enjoyable. She and Cameron would play together in his train themed bedroom, they would make dinner together, and then it would be bedtime. After bathing her son, they would snuggle up together in his little bed, and she would read him a story…or two…or three, often continuing to read even after he had fallen asleep, anything to avoid her husband. However, Lucky would come looking for her eventually, and, until the point where he would declare he was too tired to stay awake any longer, she would have to suffer through endless hours of television, his attempts at conversation while he told her way more about his job than she wanted to know, or his visions of their future with his little girl, his daughter, his angel. If only she could scream the truth, bare her soul, and stop him from claiming a child that wasn't his. They didn't even know whether or not she was having a baby girl, but Lucky wouldn't listen; he never had. Jason did though; Jason always listened to her.

Eventually, her husband would slip off to their bedroom they shared only in name, and she would disappear into the nursery, to paint, to dream, to hope for things that could never happen. Although she could not decide upon a name for her child, not without its father's input, she could decorate its room. The theme was an African safari, something Jason would love and something no one else would ever understand the relevance of. Granted, it was a small connection between their child and the man who had helped her create it, but those small connections were the only things she could offer her son or daughter, the only things she could offer herself.

But here she was, in the middle of the night, awake and fighting the sleep that would only later haunt her waking hours. Like every evening, she had succumbed to her body's weary exhaustion, putting her painting supplies away and crawling into bed beside the man that literally made her tremble with regret. As his hand slid across her pajama clad hip, tightly holding her in place so she couldn't move and release the pressure on her back, the simple gesture made her realize all her husband's inadequacies.

Everything you do, everywhere you go now

Everything you touch, everything you feel

Everything you see, everything you know now

Everything you do, you do for your lady

Love, your lady, Love your lady

Love your lady, love…

Jason would have held her while she slept, letting her lean her tired, strained back against his strong torso, supporting her and their child, and, as his dependable, work worn hands weaved a spell of magic around her exhausted body, his fingers shifting gently through her tousled, slightly messy hair, their breathing would relegate to the same pace, his heart beating in rhythm with her own as his whispered words of comfort to ease her into a slumber filled with beautiful dreams of their future and memories of their present. Eventually, the feel of her in his arms would lull him into a restful state as well, leaving their active and playful child moving inside of her the only family member awake.

Instead of having to take care of everyone else, Jason would take care of her. Letting her sleep in, he would lift her from his lap, repositioning her on the bed with a pillow between her legs, her body always resting on her right side, because the doctor had told them it was easier on both mother and baby, place a gentle kiss against her brow, and tiptoe out of the room and into the kitchen to make her and their son breakfast. He never would eat with them, but, with his usual cup of black coffee, he would sit at the table while they ate, listening to their plans for the day, smiling at Cameron's stories, and, every so often, as if he was drawn to her and their unborn child, he would caress her pregnant stomach.

Unlike Lucky, he would ask her not to work during her third trimester, and, instead of a day filled with patients' charts, rounds, and Epiphany's thinly disguised, snide observations and words of advice, Elizabeth would spend her mornings playing in the park with Cameron, her afternoons painting in the studio Jason had created for her in a spare room while he watched their son, shopping with him for baby furniture, or attending a Lamaze class, and her evenings at home. With the father of her child at her side, a spring would never seem as picturesque, as fragrant, as alive with nature's magic.

However, evenings would be her favorite time with Jason. After a laughter filled day, their little family would go home to have dinner together, to cuddle up in bed together as Jason told Cameron stories of all the places he had traveled to, to discuss baby names together. Once the little boy fell asleep, Jason would carry him to his room, tucking him in and insisting that Elizabeth stay in bed, only to return to hold her in his arms, to seduce her slowly with his attentive care and genuine attraction. Eventually, after tender kisses, warm embraces, and affectionate touches, they would make love, leaving them both completely satisfied, completely in love, and completely exhausted.

She would fall asleep held carefully in his arms, the memory of his striking blue eyes, the color of the sea on a brisk December morning, his masculine lips as he sighed her name during the throes of their coupling, and his dependable scent of coffee and the wind carrying her into her dreams. As she drifted off into slumber, Elizabeth would swear that she could still feel the sensation of his fine, blonde hair running through her lithe fingers as he urged her over the edge of sanity and reason and into the deepest depths of her passion, and, instead of music to help her relax, the sound of Jason's slightly erratic breathing was all she would need to release the tension of the day for the promise of the night.

That was the life she wanted, a life with Jason, but, in his place, she was married to Lucky. Pushing his hand aside, she slowly stood up, the weight of her pregnancy making the simple task more difficult than she would ever admit. With bare feet, she shuffled across the cool hardwood floor of the Spencer home, a house she hadn't felt comfortable in since a teenager, and into her unborn child's nursery, into the only place she could feel safe to want her baby's father without raising suspicion, and, although she knew she should feel guilty about craving Jason's presence, she couldn't. It was going to be a long night, a sleepless night, and, if she was going to spend it awake in her living nightmare, she wanted to be someplace she felt safe to think about and yearn for the man she was in love with.

Fools in love, they think they're heroes

'Cause they get to feel no pain

I say fools in love are zeros

I should know, I should know

Because this fool's in love again

Too exhausted to stand, Jason made his way towards the couch, easing down into its soft confines and letting out a sigh of relief. He could breathe here, away from Sam for the moment, and alone with his poignant thoughts. Closing his eyes, he tried to slip into a light sleep, begging for the emotional release rest would bring him, but the only thing that came to him in the self-inflicted darkness of his mind were flashes of Elizabeth, of Elizabeth naked and lounged across the very couch he was sitting on, of Elizabeth kissing him on his couch while her jean clad legs straddled his own, of Elizabeth threading their fingers together in an intimate embrace while they reclined on his couch and shared their most private feelings, thoughts, and secrets. It…her presence…was too much for him to handle though, so Jason stood up and moved away from the living room, slowly climbing the stairs to seek out solace in another part of the penthouse.

The first thing Elizabeth noticed as she moved into her soon-to-be born son or daughter's room was the mosaic mirror she had created to hang in the room, the light of the hallway reflecting off its glass surface. Wanting to give her child something of its father, she had used pieces of the red, hand blown glass from Italy that Jason had given her all those years before to create the frame for the mirror, hanging the small, memory filled craft above the changing table. As the moonlight streamed in through the bedroom window, making the crimson glass glow like blood, her heart's blood, she let a lone tear escape her tired, aching eyes, the saline droplet doing nothing to ease her pain. Instead, she moved towards the white, wooden rocker, collapsing into the chair and settling into its cushions while her hand automatically sought out the book beside her, a book that was simply another reminder of the man she couldn't have, the man her child would never know as their father.

Walking into the guest bedroom, Jason made it no further than the threshold of the doorway, abruptly stopping in his tracks as his gaze fell across the bed he had shared with Elizabeth. He had never considered it before and would never know the answer, but it could very well have been the place they had made their child. Memories of their night in the room flashed before his eyes, his body hovering over hers as they made love for a second time, her delicate form cradled against his much larger, much stronger one as he held her while she slept, their morning after as they snuggled underneath the sheets and relished the last waves of pleasure the other had created within them. Shaking away his thoughts, Jason moved away from the entrance of the room and down the stairs, out his front door, and into the elevator. There was no way he could find any peace in the bed he had shared with his Elizabeth. Sleep would, once again, be an unattainable phantom, and, instead of fighting the inevitable, he decided to embrace the night, to become one with it. If he couldn't escape the mother of his child, he would go to the places he always felt the most connected to her.

The book was a travel guide to Egypt, a place she had always and would always associate with Jason. He had been there, had shared with her stories of the historic country, had let her experience its culture vicariously through him. After having their conversations about the far off land, she knew there was no way she would ever be able to visit it without him. In fact, the world was filled with places only Jason could take her to. In all likelihood, she and the baby she was carrying would never see the foreign paradises she dreamt of, so she would read to her unborn child books about the locales its father had seen and been to, giving their son or daughter just another small connection to the man they deserved to know but never would. Needing more of a distraction from the desperate misery she was feeling, Elizabeth pushed herself out of the rocker, walked down the stairs of the house she was supposed to consider her home, and out the front door still clad in her pajamas. The indiscrete reminders of Jason she surrounded herself with in their child's nursery were not enough for her; she needed to feel him closer, and she could only do that by retracing the footsteps of their past.

Fools in love, gently hold each others hands forever

Fools in love, gently tear each other limb from limb

He had walked through the park, passing by the bench where he had offered her his hand and asked her to leave with him. She hadn't accepted, and now she was pregnant with his child. He strolled through the courtyard of Kelly's, gazed into its windows, and sat down at one of the outside tables, envisioning the hundreds of times they had seen each other at the beloved diner. If someone would have told him the petite brunette with the big blue eyes and curly hair would someday make him a father back when they had first met, he would have ignored them, dismissed their statement, and secretly liked the idea. He stood underneath the window of her old studio, the place she had harbored him when he was hurt, the place he went to when he needed to feel safe, the place where he had first imagined what it would be like to make love with Elizabeth Webber. The reality was better than his fantasies, because, not only did he get to hold her in his arms, but he had also given them an unbreakable connection: their child.

She took the cliff road in her car, too fast than what would be considered safe, but it wasn't the same as it was with Jason, because she needed his bike, the wind in her hair, and the feeling of her arms wrapped around his strong torso to make her feel free and alive. She stopped at Vista Point, but, again, it wasn't the same. Without Jason beside her, the stars didn't look ad bright, the night didn't seem as calming, and the air didn't smell as sweet. She drove to Jake's, parked her car, but could not get out. For some reason, although she had been in the bar without him before, she couldn't bring herself to enter the establishment without the promise of seeing his small, gentle smile light up the dark interior. So, instead of settling for the places that meant something to them as 'more than just friends,' she went to the docks, intent to sit on the bench they had shared so many times in the past, and watch the sun come up over the water.

Walking down the steps slowly, Elizabeth stood up straight as she heard her own movements being echoed on the other side of the pier. It was unnecessary for her to lift her eyes to the person descending the other stairway, for she knew the sound of his approach better than she knew her own, but she looked up anyway, needing to see him, wanting to see him, and hoping he wanted to see her, too. The wistful grin that lit up his tired face told her he did.

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted with a slightly uncomfortable shrug of her diminutive shoulders. "You?"

"Yeah, me either," Jason returned, motioning with an almost imperceptive nod of his head for her to join him on the bench. As if drawn to each other, his right hand found her left, interlacing their fingers together in an intimate embrace. "How are you doing; how's the baby?"

"Okay," she sighed. His pointed, disbelieving gaze leveled upon her in silent reproach. He could always tell when she was lying. "Terrible." Swallowing thickly, she pressed. "I can't do this any longer. This secret, it's slowly tearing me apart."

"Do you want to tell the truth?"

"Yes," she confessed, only breaking eye contact to watch her right hand as she brought it up to trace the fine line of his knuckles. "I want to tell the truth, but I know that we can't. It would destroy Sam, and you love her."

He didn't deny the sentiment, but he didn't confirm it either. "And if Lucky found out," Jason added, "your husband," the word both sounded and tasted bitter to his mouth, "would go back to using drugs."

"So, I've been thinking…."

"Me, too," he admitted, averting his eyes to watch the waterfront. "You first though."

"I think Lucky and I should move. In fact," Elizabeth explained, "we've already discussed it, and he seems to like the idea. It would be a fresh start for us, a chance to escape the past and the memories this town holds. Cameron's young enough, so a move to another city would be easy for him, and both our jobs are easy to transfer. Plus," she added, blushing, "we both know that if I stay here, if our baby is born here, we'll never be able to keep the secret or stay away from one another."

He nodded his head in silent agreement and acceptance. "And I need to marry Sam. She deserves it, and, if I'm married, it'll make it even harder for me to hurt her; it'll help stop me from coming after you and the baby."

"It's settled then." Her three words ended the discussion and finalized their decisions. Standing up, their hands still locked together, Elizabeth turned her body into Jason's letting him draw her as close to him as their child growing between them would allow. For several moments, they just stood their, gazes locked, her sapphire baby blues complimenting his crisp cerulean ones, as the rest of the world disappeared. It was a moment where they could just be together, connected as one.

Everything you do, everywhere you go now

Everything you touch, everything you feel

Everything you do, even your rock 'n' roll now
Nothing mean a thing except you and your lady

Love your lady, love your lady

Love your lady, love…

"I know you normally don't think about 'what ifs," her voice broke through the stillness of the early morning, "but have you ever thought about what it would be like if…"

"If there was no Sam or Lucky, if we could be together raising our children," he finished her thought. "Yeah," he confessed, "all the time."

"You'd be an amazing father," Elizabeth whispered, tilting her head up to look at him closely. "You would always tell our children the truth, you would be there for every important moment, and you would never try to change them or make their decisions for them."

Leaning down, Jason rested his forehead against hers, their eyelashes fluttering shut at the same time only to delicately whisper together in the faintest touch. "And you would show them how to love unconditionally, how to always see the best in people even when they don't deserve it, how to live their life to the fullest each and every day."

"We'd take them for motorcycle rides…"

"Showing them what the wind feels like," he completed her thought. "Our daughters would drink hot chocolate, ramble when they got excited, and sing to themselves while they worked in private…just like their Mom."

"And our sons would play pool to relax, hate to wear fancy clothes, and have a penchant for hair gel…just like their Dad."

Jason laughed at her comment, the sound of his amusement a low hum deep in his chest that vibrated against Elizabeth's. After a moment though, the mirth disappeared into the fog of the sunrise, and they both became serious again. "Take care of our child," he begged her. All she could do was nod her head in silent agreement. Sighing loudly, he asked, "what is this…what are we doing here?"

Their noses brushed against each others, a final embrace of familiarity and closeness. "We're saying goodbye," she answered, slipping out of his arms. Without another word or even a definitive glance in the others direction, they walked away from each other and back into the lives they were forced to live. No bailing was no longer an option they had.

Fools in love, they think they're heroes

'Cause they get to feel no pain

I say fools in love are zeros

I should know, I should know

Because this fool's in love again.