The streak of red across the blank white canvas just didn't seem right. It wasn't the right color. It wasn't the crimson sky from the night before and certainly not the correct red of the glass her grandfather had once given her.

The vision of red, from the night before, had woken Elizabeth up early. She'd spent almost the entire morning mixing and blending to coax out the vibrant color from her paints. Tubes of red lined her small table; rose; alizarin crimson; Indian red; cadmium red light; cadmium red dark, American vermillion and any other red under the sun. Oils, acrylics and water colors had all been put to the test and yet she still couldn't find that exact red she'd remembered.

Maybe it was all in vain anyway. Maybe she would never find the exact red she was seeking. But painting helped her not to think. And that's what she wanted. It was too difficult to dredge up how Jason had been there for her, listening with an attentive ear and caring eyes. It was easier to paint and pretend it never happened. She didn’t have to overanalyze what it meant. Because, really, what did it mean?

It was just so frustrating!

So, okay, she was trying to forget about it, but doing a horrible job of it. It was still there, in the back of her mind. And if she closed her eyes tightly, the warm whisper of his hand on her shoulder, and the feel of the rough texture of his skin, when she brushed his hand with her own, was sinuously pressing itself into every thought.

It was bad.

She had studied her palm this morning, thinking about the differences in their hands. How they both used them in their craft, but in such different ways. And when she reached for her coffee cup, standing on her tip-toes, she’d imagined what it would feel like to have Jason standing behind her, reaching with his large, masculine fingers and producing for her the mug that was just out of reach.

Okay, so maybe bad was putting it lightly. It was so beyond! She was going downright crazy! Hallucinating, even!

Once again, Elizabeth forced herself to concentrate on her painting. Not that she would call it a painting. It was just turning out to be one giant blur. And wasn’t that the story of her life?

Her oversized shirt was covered in blots of color, some red from this morning and other colors from times before. But, looking down at herself, she couldn't help think she looked a little like she'd been in a battle and lost the war. It did look a lot like blood and she cringed at the thought.

Tired of not getting anything right, Elizabeth covered the canvas in white paint. Starting fresh, she blended together some flesh tones and, even before she put brush to canvas, she knew whose face was going to emerge. Satisfied with the square chin and high cheekbones, she doused her brush and cleaned it. Picking up the blue, she began searching for the right colors.

Jason's eyes, she thought, smiling, were a mixture of Prussian blue, azure, cobalt and just a touch of cerulean. Opening the tube of cobalt blue, to her horror, she discovered the contents had dried up.

"Great, just great," she mumbled to herself checking the other colors.

Without that color she knew she couldn't make his eyes the exact right shade. The only thing to do was to go to the dreaded mall and pick up some more paint. Checking her watch, Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She hastily dipped her brush into a can of turpentine.

Not only was the lack of blue paint halting her progress, it was also making her late! She had ten minutes before she had to meet her grandmother for their ritual lunch at the hospital. Her work of art would have to wait until later.

Slipping her coat over her tattered painter’s shirt, Elizabeth grabbed her purse and keys and ran out the door.

________

Audrey Hardy was considered a refined woman. She was high-class, sophisticated and a respected member of the community. After losing her husband, Audrey appeared to be a lonely woman and so when Elizabeth came to stay with her at fifteen, there was joy in her life once again.

However, Elizabeth had not always been the woman she was now… There had been a lot of late nights she’d made her grandmother sick with worry.

After Elizabeth “tamed,” they developed a bond unbreakable by distance. So when her grand-baby finally moved out, it was with a promise of lunch every week. It was a way to keep in touch and stay involved in each other's lives. She constantly doted on her young granddaughter and somewhere along the way she'd failed to realize she wasn't a child anymore.

Bounding through the emergency room doors, Elizabeth nearly took out an orderly and a pregnant woman when she whizzed by them.

"I'm sorry!" she called over her shoulder and slowed her pace.

Spotting the gray-haired, exceptionally dressed, and all-around-presentable woman waiting by the vending machines, Elizabeth called to her grandmother, "Gram! I-I'm...so so-orry I'm...late," she managed to breathe out, winded from her sprint over.

"That's alright, darling." Audrey smiled and hugged the petite brunette she'd helped raise.

"Have you been waiting long?" Elizabeth finally asked when she got her heart rate back to normal.

"Not too long," she said pulling back and then studying her. "Elizabeth, dear, what have you been doing with yourself? Look at you. You're a mess!" she laughed good-naturedly, while studying her. "And, is that blood?" Audrey's eyes widened, in fear. Pulling on Elizabeth's shirt, she studied the stains.

Elizabeth looked down at her wrinkled clothes that were covered in paint and charcoal. "What? Oh, no. No, Gram, that's just paint."

"You wear clothes that are stained? Do you need some money to purchase some new outfits? I'd be more than happy-"

"No, no Gram! It's okay, really. I like what I'm wearing; it's comfortable." Elizabeth's face flushed. In her haste to leave the studio and get to the hospital on time, she'd forgotten how much of a stickler her grandmother was for wearing proper attire to lunch.

Despite their bond, there was very little the pair agreed on. Elizabeth’s art was one on a long list of things Audrey didn’t approve.

Audrey shrugged her shoulders and took Elizabeth's arm in her own, guiding her toward the hospital cafeteria.

"If that's what you like, then who am I to argue. It has been a while since I studied the market on fashion for young girls."

Young girls? Unfortunately in her grandmother's mind, Elizabeth would always be fifteen and irresponsible.

"I know I'm not very stylish wearing what I have on, but I think better and paint better in these."

"Well, yes, dear, I'm sure you do," Audrey spoke softly, petting Elizabeth's forearm.

Slapping on a fake smile, Elizabeth continued to walk beside her grandmother and tried to ignore her patronizing tone.

In line for food, Elizabeth piled her plate high with a cheeseburger and fries, a tall milkshake and an apple. "I'm starving!"

Looking at the Elizabeth’s plate and then back to her own, Audrey very dryly said, "I can see that."

Audrey paid and followed Elizabeth into the hub of the cafeteria where she found a seat for two. She placed a napkin in her lap like they were at the Four Seasons and Elizabeth fought hard to hide her grin.

Picking at the pile of fries on her plate, Elizabeth was eating before her grandmother had even picked up her fork.

Audrey pretended not to notice the manners of her granddaughter and jabbed a ripe tomato from her salad. They ate in silence, occasionally discussing distant relations or some mishap in the department her grandmother worked.

Sipping from a bottle of water, Audrey stopped and watched Elizabeth chew her food.

Finally sighing, she said, "I don't know how you are still so thin, eating the way you do."

"I skipped breakfast this morning," Elizabeth said, in her own defense.

"Dear, you shouldn't do that. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It gives you energy and gets you motivated for the day."

"I'll try to remember that," Elizabeth said and then sunk her teeth into the juicy burger.

"I spoke to Steven the other day," Audrey said, then waited to gage Elizabeth's reaction.

Elizabeth noticeably stiffened and stopped eating. She put her burger down and took a long sip of her milkshake. Just once she'd like to have gotten through a meal without discussing her intelligent, highly-trained brother, who was not only a doctor, but was comparable to God, in her grandmother’s eyes. Elizabeth had always been a disappointment, especially when she chose to pursue art in school, branching off from the family business and turning her back on medicine.

"Oh?"

"He's going overseas to help the sick children in Africa. Isn't that commendable?"

Elizabeth nodded. It would be commendable if Steven didn't have ulterior motives. One being the big bonus daddy dearest would be giving him. No one in the Webber clan did things just for the sake of doing them. There was always another reason behind it. Mostly it was to make her father look good at board meetings and on the nightly news.

Audrey took the napkin from her lap and folded it on the table. "Elizabeth, have you given any consideration to your father's offer?"

"Gram, I know this may be hard for you to understand but I like art." Elizabeth pushed the remainder of her food away. Suddenly she wasn't so hungry.

“Elizabeth, please be reasonable.”

"Gram, please. I like painting and being on my own. I don't need his help and I'm not going to medical school or going to work for him."

"You like working at that diner?"

Elizabeth tried to tame her anger. "It pays the bills," she said, controlling her voice.

"Surely there's a better-"

"Gram," Elizabeth said, cutting off her grandmother. Pushing her seat away from the table, Elizabeth stood. "Lunch was great, but I think I’d better be going."

In a gesture of kindness Elizabeth wasn't used to, Audrey placed her hand on Elizabeth's face. Her eyes got a little blurry and she leaned to give her grandmother a hug.

Pulling away, Audrey looked uncomfortable. Physical affection wasn’t something they did often. Heck, plain old affection wasn’t something that happened much between them. Elizabeth loved her grandmother, she did, but there were times when she felt like a stranger. They didn’t always “get” each other. Audrey didn’t accept many of the choices Elizabeth made and feelings of inadequacy started the day she moved to Port Charles. And that hurt. But she’d learned to swallow her pain and take what she could, what was offered.

"You've got something all over your face," Audrey pressed, pulling out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbing it on her tongue. Bringing the cloth against her granddaughter's face, Elizabeth recoiled.

"Gram, I'm an adult, I don't need you to wipe my face," Elizabeth said disgusted, grabbing a napkin and rubbing her cheek, "and especially not with your spit," she murmured. "Is it gone?" she asked after scrubbing hard with the rough serviette.

"Yes." She sighed. "I'll see you next week?"

"I'll be here." Elizabeth did her best to smile genuinely but faltered. Eyes to the ground, she began to walk away.

"Wonderful. Oh, and Elizabeth?"

"Yeah, Gram?" she asked, turning around with renewed hope.

"Try not to be late."
"Yes Gram," Elizabeth said, defeated.

When was she going to learn that no good ever came out of these lunches?

________

The mall.

Not a place Elizabeth found herself too often, but after the small paint store near her studio closed down a few months ago, the mall was the only source for paint. The markups were higher and the quality was lacking, but the chain store in the mall was always fully stocked.

Walking over the threshold, blocking out the easy rock that droned from the intercoms, Elizabeth made her way to Art World. The chain was all about high fashion. It was like having some weird amalgamation of Andy Warhol pop art and Christian Dior couture. Like some model stepped off the runway, in her wacky make up and odd, big hair, freaky pointy shoes and geometric halter top and jumped onto a canvas—several times. The format was modern and chic and the worst excuse for being rude she'd seen. The cashiers were snooty, their clothing tacky and the displayed paintings were even tackier. The store always felt so sterile, lacking anything remotely inspiring. It didn’t smell like paint, or the musky scent of charcoals or the earthy smell of clay. It didn’t smell like anything, except maybe bleach.

Elizabeth strolled the floor-to-ceiling aisles, looking for one small tube of cobalt blue oil paint.

Bingo!

Picking up the tube that had a price tag much higher than it's actual worth, Elizabeth groaned. Shuffling her feet from side to side, she tried to ignore the blatant stares of the stock-boy--of course he probably preferred to call himself “replenisher of artistic materials.”

Stepping up to her, he looked at the paint in her hand. "Ah, excellent choice."

"I thought so," she said, biting her lip to stop herself from issuing a rather un-charming insult.

"Paint is a magnificent thing, isn't it?"

Rolling her eyes too quick for stock-boy to catch on, Elizabeth agreed. "Sure."

"You can do a lot with paint. Most people limit themselves to canvases, paper, that sort of thing. I myself am into body art," stock-boy told her, removing his sunglasses to reveal red-rimmed eyes. Apparently paint wasn't the only thing that fascinated the guy.

"Is that so?" Elizabeth asked, making her way to the front of the store and distancing herself from the cannabis kid; replacing art supplies and rolling weed, all in a day’s work. By day: an art store attendant, by night: a body-painting expert and smoker of pot.

"Sure," he drawled, replacing the glasses. "I could show you sometime."

"That's a really great offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass. Sensitive skin."

"Some other time then. Just look me up." Grabbing a broom, he made his way down the aisle again.

"Right, will do." Elizabeth smiled, moving towards the cashier. "Maybe when hell freezes over," she mumbled under her breath, placing her purchases on the counter, grabbing a few brushes to add to the paint she was about to buy.

Elizabeth smiled at the clerk and received a blank gaze in return. The woman had muddy green eyes, the color of an olive after being soaked in a martini. Those wonderfully intoxicated eyes were staring somewhere over Elizabeth's forehead and instinctively Elizabeth put her hands on her head. She felt her hair, untamed and, although she couldn't see it, she knew it was a mess.

"It's windy out," she offered, handing the woman some crisp bills and still not relieving the dormant expression from the other woman's face.

Packing the supplies in a bag that was brightly colored with geometric shapes and the words “Art World” slashed on front, the woman finally came out of her haze.

"Quite," she said and handed Elizabeth her change and the bag and then turned and picked up a magazine.

Elizabeth took the bag and made her way out of the store as quickly as she could. Although it had never been proven that rudeness was contagious, she certainly didn't want to test the theory.

Against her better judgment, Elizabeth walked down to the big department store at the end of the mall. They sold everything there and there was also a small make up booth that she wanted to check out. Going straight to the wall-length mirror near the cosmetics department, Elizabeth dropped her bag and looked at herself.

Her hair had seen better days. Low cash reserves and little time left her to skimp on cuts and shampoos. It had been a long time, too long, since she allowed herself to be pampered and after her purchase of paint and a few modest brushes, it looked like the pampering would have to wait a little while longer. She absolutely refused to take money from her father and tore up any checks he ever bothered to send.

She felt frozen. Studying herself in the mirror, the sights and sounds in the surrounding area eluded her and at best she made out the chatter of a few rich socialites, discussing the finer techniques of painting one's nails or the benefits of a thinly sliced cucumber over the eyes. Elizabeth snorted and then, embarrassed, covered her nose and looked up. Thankful no one paid her any notice anyway, she moved away taking her bag of art supplies with her.

Entering the scents and fragrances department, she was assaulted by a strong spray of perfume.

The salesclerk looked at her with a too-bright, white-toothed smile. "Perfume?"

"No, thanks," Elizabeth said closing her mouth and tasting the floral bitterness of the spray.

Her eyes got teary, her nostrils flared and before she had time to stop it, she sneezed.

The woman watched in disgust while Elizabeth rubbed her nose and closed her eyes.

"Would you like a tissue?" she asked in a high-class yet distinctly Southern accent.

"Yes, please," Elizabeth said, still tasting the tang of the perfume on her tongue.

"Here, that should help y'all," the Southern pixy drawled.

Elizabeth took the tissue and dabbed at her nose and eyes until they were raw and itchy. "Oow. Is-is there something on this?"

The saleswoman smiled at the younger girl. "It's scented with concentrated rose petals."

"Oh," Elizabeth groaned, dropping the used Kleenex into the closest garbage can and walking away without a look back.

A little further along, she came across a display of lipsticks on sale. Picking up a few, she found a shade that was perfect for her. It was the red. The very red she'd spent almost the entire morning trying to emulate and all along it was here at the mall, waiting for her to purchase it. Who would have thought? Checking the price at the bottom of the tube, she flinched. It cost way more than she could afford, but the color was…perfect.

Bending down she unlaced her shoe and took out the twenty dollar bill she kept stuffed in the insoles of her warn tennis shoes for emergencies. With a heavy sigh, she studied the lipstick, then the limp bill. It was practically the only money she had until she cashed her paycheck, but it was worth it.

Stepping up to the register Elizabeth watched the prim sales women conversing. They were all well put together and here she was in her oversized khakis and worn painting shirt. Pulling her jacket closed, she tried to conceal her outfit.

With barely a glance at Elizabeth the clerk rang up her purchase and then turned back to her colleagues.

Trying to maintain her composure, Elizabeth walked away, no longer feeling so good about the lipstick. What did it matter anyway? It wasn’t likely that she would ever wear it out. Most likely, it would wind up being put to use on one of her paintings rather than used on her own lips. She'd never wanted to be the Malibu Barbie type, usually Trisha filled that role, but lately she felt she was lacking something.

She tried to convince herself that it had nothing to do with Jason, but in her heart she knew that was a lie. For once, she wanted to stand out in a crowd; wanted to be the one noticed, the one that shone brightly and no matter how hard you tried you couldn't take your eyes off of her. But she knew she wasn't that type of woman; that Jason--or any other man--would never see her as the princess when there were so many other choices available. But still, she hoped.

Approaching the full-length mirror just about at the exit to the department store, Elizabeth pulled out the lipstick and studied it. Breaking the seal, she took a chance and pressed it to her mouth, smearing the waxy substance over perfectly shaped lips. Staring back at herself, she almost wanted to laugh. The color brought her face to life and made her skin pale in comparison, but she felt confident. She felt good. Then she laughed. She actually laughed and didn't try to hide it.

Her throat felt dry from laughing, but it felt good. Stepping out of the store she headed to the food court to get a drink.

________

From the food court, Paul Callahan watched Elizabeth smacking her lips together, rubbing in the brightest shade of red lipstick he'd ever seen. Dammit, the woman made him ache and he hated her for it. He hated that she teased him on purpose and played the sweet, innocent role for the rest of the population. He couldn't stand looking at her, because when he did, his groin burned and he knew there would never come a time when she would help him relieve his frustrations.

"Hey, Callahan, look there's Lizzie Webber. You still got a hard-on for her?"

Paul turned to look in the direction his friend's were pointing. He watched her sipping from the thin straw and leaving a red imprint on the plastic.

"Yeah, but I got tired of wasting my time," he said, turning back around to face his buddies without looking too dejected.

"Don't be a pussy, go talk to her."

"Nah, maybe later. I'm giving her some space," he said casually. One thing he'd learned at prep school was to never put all his cards on the table.

The tall, husky linebacker, Brandon, scoffed. "Fuck space! The only space you need to worry about is how close you can get to her panties."

"Hey, you don't think she tried? She wants me, but I didn't want her to get all clingy. You know how girls get after you nail 'em. All of a sudden they're like your shadow. Who needs that?"

"Sure, Callahan," Paul's buddies snickered

"You don't believe me?" he asked, watching his friends confirm their doubt. "Watch and learn."
_____
Elizabeth, spotting Paul strutting over to her, threw away the cherry soda she'd been drinking and stepped into Harry's House of Hats, ducking behind a tall stack of fedora's. Grabbing a hat off the rack and placing it on her head, she pulled it down low to conceal her face. She looked around tentatively before she slowly stood.

"Doing a little shopping, Lizzie?" Paul asked, leaning his hip into the counter right in front of her.

Jumping back a little, she grabbed her chest. She could feel her heart racing from the unpleasant surprise. "Something like that, yeah."

Paul looked like every jock to have thrown around the old pig skin, every double-dipping rich kid who had a maid and butler and not enough class to fill out his stylish three-piece Armani suit. He settled for the roughed-up, letterman jacket and the harsh dialect of his clique. They were pretty frat boys with too much time on their hands and not enough brains to do their own work. They were the envy of the school and their cocky asses knew it. He was just like every other dumb yuppie fuck that Elizabeth had grown up with and wanted nothing to do with.

Stepping around the counter, Paul towered over Elizabeth with a deep smirk embedded on his deceptively angelic face. "Listen, I know you said we worked better as friends, but I was thinking maybe we could give it another shot."

"Oh, well," she began, desperately seeking the right words.

Trying to gain a little distance she side-stepped him and walked over to a bin of winter toques. Staring into the bin, she picked up a gray hat with ear flaps and twirled it around her tiny hand.

"See, the thing is...," she began, looking out at the mall.

She looked for anything to save her. She needed something…something to give her time, an excuse, anything to get away from him.

She hadn't known Paul was bad news the first time she agreed to go out with him. He'd seemed sweet and decent the second time, until his hands began to multiply and she had to slap him to get him to quit.

Since then she always had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever he was around. Now all she wanted was to get away.

______

Jason hated the mall more than anything. It was a commercial wasteland that he had no interest in, but Sonny had come down with a cold and couldn't get out of bed that morning. So Jason was stuck doing errands for him.

Reading the list over, he began to head over to the department store just past the food court when something caught his eye.

His heart nearly stopped when he caught sight of Elizabeth Webber wearing a black fedora pulled over her eyes and blazing red lipstick on her lips. The sight should have been funny especially with her coat half off her shoulders and her stained painting shirt sticking out. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls slipping down her neck to rest on her shoulders. Her face was in shadow but to Jason, she lit up the room. It should have been funny, but there was no humor in the pit of Jason's stomach.

She looked beautiful.

He tried to look away; to continue down the mall to pick up the things Sonny needed, but he seemed to be rooted in place. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. She seemed agitated and he didn't like the purse of her lips, like she was about to break down and cry.

He should have walked away.

Before he had time to get his feet to move, she spotted him.

Magnetically drawn to him, Elizabeth picked Jason out of the crowd of mall dwellers. Their eyes locked. Blue against blue and tension so thick it was like a force field draining the air of oxygen.

She practically screamed his name. "Jason!"

She waved him over, grabbing onto his arm and tugging him against her. She snuggled up to his side and raised herself on her tip-toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

His cheek blazed with heat and he knew even if no one else could ever see it, his skin would always be brandished with her mark. His pulse pumped through his ears blurring the sounds around him.

Jason looked down at her, stunned, but made no move to get out of her grasp. He watched her like he was on the opposing side of a two-way mirror, trying to figure out what her ammo was. There was relief etched on her features and he puffed out his chest in satisfaction.

"Who's this?" Paul asked rudely, turning his nose up at the blonde.

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Jason Morgan. He's my... My boyfriend!"

Jason's eyes widened.

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, looking Jason in the eyes and pleading with him.

He obliged her silent request and smiled. Hell, he liked the sound of the word boyfriend coming from her mouth. It was like her voice caressed it, held it tight and then slowly let the word evaporate.

"Jason, this is Paul Callahan," she said, her voice trained to remain the simple, sweet tone she always used, even though he could feel her fingers shake inside his hand.

One thing was clear. Elizabeth Webber was a great actress. Feeling the need to put her at ease, Jason rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. The touch was light, but even he couldn't deny the tenderness he washed over her skin.

"Hey, what's up, man?"

Paul offered his hand, but Jason, still stunned and confused, just stared at the other man with unblinking eyes.

"Okay then," Paul said annoyed, rolling his eyes and trying his best to remain polite. "So, how do you know Lizzie?"

Lizzie? Jason turned his attention back to Elizabeth looking for some sort of support, some indication of what his role should be.

Elizabeth, sensing his unease, did her best to calm the situation.

"Trisha introduced us."

"That seems odd. I always thought she kept any men she meets for herself. So, you're a friend of Trisha's, too?"

Jason, being that he didn't speak, simply nodded.

"Not too friendly, is he?" Paul asked, taking another step away.

In a move that stunned them both, Jason lightly touched the brim of the hat she wore and tilted it so he could look into her eyes better. The rush of heat that went through her was not natural and it burned deep and hot.

And she liked it.

"Jason's just shy. Aren't you, baby?"

Baby?! Elizabeth groaned inwardly. She was beginning to sound more and more like Trisha everyday. That could not be a good thing. The next thing she knew, she'd be taking home stray men.

Her cheeks began to redden at the thought of taking the very real, very close in proximity, Jason Morgan home.

"Listen, Webber, I’d better get going. The guys are over there waiting for me," Paul said uncomfortably and pointed to the two guys behind him in stitches.

Jason's eyes were cold and seeking while he stared after Paul Callahan. It was decided. He did not like the punk. The guy was too slick for his own good.

________

When Paul got back to his two goof-ball friends they were doubled over with laughter.

"Real slick, Paul! I can see how badly she wants you, especially with her arms wrapped around another guy. Guess she needs space after all. From you!"

Paul's lips curled into a nasty snarl. "She's a tease anyway. There's only one thing Lizzie Webber is good for."

"Too bad she dumped you; she's so hot," Brandon mused.

"Yeah," Paul snickered and his eyes flamed. "Too bad."

_____

Still holding Jason's hand, Elizabeth started to walk out of the store.

"Just play it cool," she whispered.

Stepping out from the counter, the graying salesman called after them, "Miss, the hat?"

"Oh, I forgot. Here you go," she said, reluctantly letting go of Jason's large, warm hand and handing the hat back to the salesclerk.

Patting her ruined hair, she tried to smooth out some of the knots. Jason took her hand away and tipped her chin so she was looking at him.

Elizabeth swallowed.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue. Well, more like playing along. There's just something about that guy that makes me uneasy and if you hadn't shown up, I probably would have been stuck talking to him. And now that he knows I have a boyfriend--or thinks I do, he'll leave me alone. At least, I hope he will. I hope you didn't mind me using you there."

He craned his neck and barely heard the bubble laugh that filled her lungs.

"You wouldn't believe the day I'm having! First, the guy at the art store offered to... well I'm not quite sure what he was offering, but there was paint and naked bodies involved. Then, the perfume lady at the department store tried to drown me with a bottle of perfume that cost more than a small family car, I'm sure. And then, just now, Paul... well you were here. I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

He simply nodded and continued to look down at her. There was a touch of laughter behind his blue eyes, but he didn't let it out.

"See, Paul, he's a little...aggressive. He's not my type, but I don't know how to tell him that. I try to be nice to him, but to tell you the truth he kind of creeps me out... which is why I'm so grateful you came along when you did!"

Jason nodded and smiled shyly at her.

Elizabeth's heart fluttered and her cheeks warmed. "I-I got lipstick on your cheek," she said innocently.

Jason swiped his hand over his face and smeared it even more.

"Here, let me," Elizabeth said quietly, looking up at him with large doe eyes.

It was impossible for him to resist. He tilted his head down so she could reach.

"It's new. The lipstick, I mean. I just bought it today. I wasn't sure if I would ever wear it, but...I-I'm sure now," she told him absently.

Elizabeth hated to be touched. At least, she thought she did.

For some people, Elizabeth included, being constantly ignored, neglected, forgotten about, or all of the above, leads a person to believe that they are unworthy of natural, everyday gestures and touches. After long enough, a person forgets how nice it feels just to hold hands or share a hug because they've gone so long without it, it feels distant. Maybe they begin to hate the feel of skin touching skin because it's been so long since anyone's touched them. Being touched leaves a bitter taste in their mouth; like it's a violation of their own private, invisible world. But slowly, Elizabeth was beginning to realize she liked to be touched and she didn't have to be invisible any longer. There were people in her life, Sonny and Jason, who seemed to care more than anyone else had in a long time.

Jason.

Jason made her want to be touched in ways she thought made her sick. She wanted to feel his strong hands on her and feel the difference in textures and revel in it. And she didn't just want him to touch her, she wanted to touch him back in a way she'd never been able to before.

She'd been with men in the past, a few tomcats who weren't worthy of her time, and she'd never had the urge to actually take comfort in their embrace. With Jason, she was starting to learn everything was different and new and freeing. She was learning she wanted to be touched.

When her fingers brushed his cheek she discovered, much to her surprise, that she wanted to kiss him. His mouth was pink and looked soft and luscious. She wondered, if she tilted her chin, let her tongue snake out to touch those lips…what they would taste like. She was sure they would be warm and pliant and that he would definitely know how to work his tongue so she forgot her own name. Shaking her head slightly, she snapped the thoughts out of her brain before she got carried away.

The thought of kissing him was a leftover display of gratitude, she decided. But still, there was something inside her that wished it was her lips over his skin instead of her fingers; something inside that wished he would touch her like she hadn't wanted to be touched in a long time.

So, okay, Elizabeth wasn't used to touching anyone so intimately and Jason didn't look like he was familiar with it either… And, for some reason, that warmed her through. There was something in those electric blue eyes, curtained by thick, black lashes that made it difficult for her to look away; made it hard for her to breathe too.

Then he was leaning in, leaning so close she could feel his hot breathe on her neck.

"Jason?" she questioned, her voice sounding shaky.

His mouth just barely brushed her ear, sending shockwave after shockwave of excitement through her. Bending further, his fingers tickled up her neck and grabbed the lapel of her coat pulling it up her shoulders.

He inhaled. Took a good clean breath and came up sputtering. Expecting to find her usual soft perfume, he was surprised to be overpowered by some fruity mixture he couldn't quite place.

Elizabeth's face flamed red. She took a step back and smelled her clothes, groaning audibly. "Oh, don't mind me. I had a little run-in with a trigger happy perfume-toting Southern woman. I probably stink."

She was rambling again. It seemed every time she was around Jason that was all she could do anymore.

The smell of him, completely male, was beginning to impair her judgment and she needed to leave if she was going to keep her pride intact. A few minutes longer and she would be shoving him into one of the changing stalls and doing things she'd only ever heard about through Trisha—whose extensive knowledge about sexual encounters topped the charts.

"I-I should go," Elizabeth told Jason, almost absently. "Thanks again."

Grabbing her packages, she strode past him and headed for the exit. She practically screamed at herself not to look back. Her willpower was drained by the time she hit the revolving door and she did manage to spare a glance back. Her eyes widened when she realized he hadn't moved.

And he was staring right at her.

_____

Elizabeth's feet ached while she walked the last few steps into her studio, dropping her purse and keys on the small table and tossing her bag onto the couch before she dropped onto the second-hand sofa herself.

She closed her eyes and could see Jason's face and the urge to paint hit her hard.

Finally, with a moment to herself, Elizabeth pulled out all her art supplies and slathered her pallet in great gobs of paint. Mixing the blues, she was finally satisfied and began to fill in the eyes. Stepping back, she frowned. It didn't seem quite right.

Fortunately for her, she had an entire notebook with drawings of the silent wonder. Picking up a bunch of books, she leafed through the pages.

To her horror, her small sketchbook was nowhere to be found.

"I can't believe I lost it! What the hell am I going to do now?" Elizabeth said to herself searching her studio for the missing book.

She had turned the small space upside down looking for it and came up empty.

"What did you lose?" Lucky asked walking through the door without knocking. He kicked some of the canvases that lay on the ground to clear a path to the couch where he proceeded to stretch out.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter now. It's probably gone forever." She sighed, throwing a pillow from the floor at him. "Next time knock before you barge in, Spence."

"Jeez, someone's in a bad mood. I really have to start keeping track of when you and Harper are PMSing. That way I can steer clear until you're back to normal."

He stood and threw the pillow back at her.

Elizabeth stomped over to him and gave him a hard shove. "Ugh! You are such a guy!"

"Why, thank you!" He laughed. "I'm meeting Trisha at Kelly's in half-an-hour, you wanna come?" He checked his watch, looking surprised. "Oh, make that five minutes. So, you in?"

Liz allowed herself a few minutes to stand still. She hadn't stopped all day because she was so busy working on her latest painting and studying for more tests. Kelly's did sound like a good idea and her stomach had been rumbling even before Lucky came by. Lunch with her grandmother had not gone over as planned and she never did get back to eating her meal.

"Sure, I guess."

"Great." He handed her a jacket and waited while she fetched her keys. "I'll just say we're late because I had to wait for you." He smiled and gave her a daring wink. Meeting her icy gaze he thought better of it. "Or maybe not."

"Hey, what's this?" he asked, peeking under the drop cloth she'd used to cover up the painting of Jason.

"That," she said playfully, "is none of your business. Let's go."

------

An hour later, three milkshakes, three burgers and a plate of fries shared between them, Lucky, Liz and Trisha sat in Kelly's listening to the juke box, stomachs full and feeling content.

Elizabeth was looking off into space, trying to think of where she could have possibly dropped her sketch book. She'd been so many places. She just didn't see herself stumbling upon it anytime soon. Just today alone she'd gone to the hospital to have lunch with her Gram, gone to the art supply store to pick up one tube of cobalt blue oil paint, and done a little shopping at the mall.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Trisha said, smirking when Elizabeth choked on her drink.

"Thinking about who?" Lucky budded in.

"I am not! Never mind, Spence. Harper's been hitting the tequila again."

Lucky moved his chair over to sit next to Trisha. "Harper," he sighed, putting his arm around her shoulder, "I've told you a million times there's no need to drink alone. All you have to do is give me a call and I'll be over in a flash."

"You're such a spaz, Spence. Now give me your history notes; I slept in again this morning."

"Oh my, God. He's here!" Elizabeth said in surprise, hiding inside one of the menu's left on the table.

"What? Who?"

Lucky jumped from his seat, turning every which way.

Trisha grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. "Ever heard of being subtle, Spence?"

Trisha peered at the man sitting at one of the stools next to the counter. Everything about him was hard muscle, with a flint of intimidation, making him stand out in a room filled with other patrons. It wasn't just his looks or the soft leather that molded to his skin, it was always his eyes. Eyes that drew you in even from across the room and could hold onto you until he was ready to let go.

"Now that is something you'll never be, Lucky."

"Yeah, what's that?"

Cocking her head to the side, Trisha checked out some of Jason's finer qualities. "One fine piece of ass! Am I right, Liz?" Trisha smirked, turning to her best friend who was reading the menu like it held the secrets to the Seven Wonders of the World.

"Liz?"

"What?" she asked, peeking out from a corner of the bent plastic menu. "Is he gone?"

"No, it looks like he's waiting for something. We should go talk to him."

"See, that would be considered a conversation and to have one of those with Jason, you either have to know sign language or do all the talking and that is just not something I'm up for right now."

"Well then you'd better get ready because he's headed this way," Trisha said in a sing-song voice that made Elizabeth squirm.

Elizabeth moved her menu and peeked. "What?"

When Jason walked up to the table Elizabeth went back to her menu and tried to ignore him—the key word being tried. But how can you ignore six-feet of rippling muscle and mysterious blue eyes that seem to follow you everywhere you go?

Of course Trisha was more than happy to chat with Jason like they were old friends reuniting. "Jason! It is so good to see you. How have you been? Just stopping by to get a bite to eat?"

Her questions kept coming and Jason watched her without so much as a nod in response. He leaned over and moved the menu so he could look at Liz.

She smiled up at him with the faint hint of embarrassment coating her cheeks red.

"Hey, you're the dude from the-" Before Lucky had the chance to continue his words were silenced when he felt a sharp kick to his shin. "Ow!" he whined, leaning down to rub it. "What'd you do that for?" He grimaced at Liz.

"The monastery, yeah that's right, Lucky," she said smiling though gritted teeth. "I told him about how you work at the monastery with Sonny and everything."

Jason's features remained unchanged. He placed a small sketch pad in front of her and turned to walk away.

Elizabeth eyed it and immediately recognized it as the one she had been missing.

Walking away, head bent, shoulders forward, and eyes to the ground, Jason barely heard Elizabeth get up and follow him out the door. He tied the bags of food to the back of the bike and turned around.

"Jason, wait!" she shouted when he mounted his motorcycle. "Thanks for returning this. Did I leave it at the house?"

Jason nodded and put the kick stand up on his bike, getting ready to leave.

Recalling the pictures inside, Elizabeth blanched. There were sketches of him. She knew for a fact. Oh God, she would just die if he had seen them. With her luck he'd probably think she was stalking him and get a restraining order put on her. She'd vowed not to let him see anymore sketches of himself after that horrible night in the church when he caught her spying on him.

"I can explain..." she trailed off as she watched the look of annoyance pass his face. "Did you look at the sketches in here?" she prompted.

He shook his head and oddly enough that was all it took for her to believe him. He took a deep breath and looked at his watch.

"Did I do something? Are you mad?" Elizabeth asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

Jason looked at her and to her it seemed like he was looking through her. For a whole minute he continued to stare and then finally shook his head.

"You're lying," she huffed. "I can tell you're annoyed with me. Look, if it was about how I acted inside, I'm sorry. It's just that I was stressed and I didn't know how to talk to you. You haven't been the friendliest of people towards me, you know. I just... I guess I have no real excuse. And after what you did for me today I should be a lot nicer to you, but I'll be honest, I'm horrible at this. I don't understand you and I'm just so frustrated. You can't talk to me, you hardly ever acknowledge my presence and then today you do this completely nice thing for me and then walk away like it meant nothing. I don't get it."

She brushed her hair out of her face and took a good look at him. "Do I annoy you?"

Jason's eyes flickered wild blue. He turned to look at her.

What was that expression? The engine roared and she had to strain to talk over it. "Can you just turn that thing off and listen to me?"

Jason nearly laughed out loud. He killed the engine and turned his full attention toward her. Shaking his head, he tried to hide the amusement in his eyes.

"Then, what? What is it about me that bother’s you? Is it because I'm messy and clumsy and talk too much?"

Jason looked at her with confusion. Was that really how she saw herself? She was nervous and maybe a little anxious; he could hear it in her voice. Did his opinion really matter to her that much? If the situation were reversed would he be the one on the brink of begging, wanting answers that she could never really answer. When he thought about it, he decided the answer would be yes. If she were the one acting like a total jerk, he would want to know why.

If only she could see herself the way he did. If only she knew that every time she was near, he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her; that he fantasized about holding her so close, maybe while they danced…naked; that he dreamed about touching her soft skin as they skinny-dipped. It was too cold for that now, he knew, but the image was still clear in his mind. It was still the reason he couldn't let himself get closer to her; still the reason he was pissed-off and taking it out on everyone else. Didn't she know he was damned? That if he allowed her to get close, she would get burned. He couldn't let that happen to her, but it was so fucking tempting to want to feel.

Jason eyed her up and down, tried not to let himself be sucked in by her beauty.

Lust.

That's all he felt whenever he was around Elizabeth Webber the last few days. He wanted so badly to pick her up, throw her on his motorcycle and ride off somewhere. Once there, he'd pull her tightly against him, ravish her mouth until she begged for more and then...

The thoughts were too sinful to even enter his mind.

And it would be okay if his thoughts stopped there. If he only wanted her in a physical way, maybe he could forget her. But it was so much more than that.

He couldn't stand to look at her right now. Couldn't stand that her eyes were so soft and she was starting to look at him without fear. He knew it was more than lust he was beginning to feel and there was no way he was going to admit it, let alone indulge in it.

If only she knew it killed him that he would never be able to allow himself to be with her, to…love her.

The laughter was all but gone from his eyes when he looked up. His pupils overtook the blue of his eyes when he stared at her. Jason didn't move, didn't turn away, didn't shake his head, just looked her in the eye and it was all the explanation she would get.

Elizabeth's voice was small when she finally spoke again. "Are you going back home now?"

Jason nodded and started the engine.

"Can I… Can I come with you?"