Title: "Dancing in the Dark" 3/4
Author: monimala
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: AC, AU, language, sexual situations, C/M, BJ/AJ
Disclaimer: Oh, boy. I REALLY don't own them.
Summary: In a slightly alternate timeline, Max Jones hates where she's been and Coleman Radcliff hates where he is. Barbara Jean Jones hates where she is and AJ Quartermaine hates... everything. So, where can they go together besides straight to Hell?
"I'll shake this world off my shoulder."
--Bruce Springsteen.
The harsh light of day was supposed to be a time to regret things. But as she stretched out on the soft carpet, touching her toes and arching her
back...working out all the kinks of her less than restful night...she didn't regret a damn thing.
Morning was streaming into the curtains of the suite...and she couldn't
help but grin as she remembered how she'd waited for five minutes outside the Port Charles Hotel while AJ got his usual away-from-home room before hopping in the elevator and joining him in it.
The alley had been fun for the first time...but after it, there had been
no question for both of them that they needed more. Something horizontal. With easy access to condoms. After those pesky initial pangs of guilt, AJ had proved to be exactly...*exactly* what she needed. AJ and his throaty, passionate, whisper of "Barbara Jean."
She was Barbara Jean and she was going to get the Hell out of Port
Charles and become the most famous ballerina in the Western Hemisphere.
And maybe, just maybe, she was going to take this man with her.
It was a stupid thing to think after something that was, virtually, one
Hell of a one night stand. A stupid thing...but the right thing.
"Warm-ups?" The sleepy murmur came from the depths of the bed. The
telltale dark hair, sticking up in tufts, told her that her quiet daily ritual had been under observation for at least a few minutes.
"Yeah," she chuckled, softly, standing up and shaking out. "I'm about to
dance 'Swan Lake'. We're doing an experimental nude version for my next
recital."
AJ pushed the sheets aside, smiling ruefully, as he moved to get up. "Are you always this sarcastic in the morning?"
"Mmmm...only after mindblowing sex."
Which was, why, she thought, as she pounced on him and pinned him to the mattress, she'd never been particularly sarcastic before. With silent
apologies to Sly, she leaned down and gave his welcome successor a thorough, open-mouthed 'good morning' kiss. He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her back, and she couldn't help but marvel at how he was firm and muscled under those preppy clothes...how, when he let himself smile, he had an adorable pair of dimples.
"You're gorgeous," she told him, nipping at his lower lip as he shifted
more intimately between her thighs.
And, just as she'd hoped, his dimples flashed. "So are you."
Laying sprawled on his chest, she felt completely new. Different. Grown
into her skin. And just...just a little bit wicked. She was supposed to be "over at Elizabeth's" until ten. The red display on the digital hotel clock said it was 7:58. And she longed for the days when she wouldn't have a mom to come home to, to keep track of her whereabouts. Even if she didn't place in the incoming class of the American Ballet, she had a spot waiting for her at Columbia. Either way, New York City. Either way, not soon enough.
"You should come with me," she said into the salty hollow of AJ's
collarbone before she could stop herself.
He kissed the top of her head, running his hand up and down her bare
back. "Come with you where? Breakfast? I don't think your mother would
let me in the door."
"No, to the city. We could get married and live in the Village and have
sex in alleys all night long." She glanced up into his eyes...noticing that they were suddenly blank and frightening again. "I'm...I'm joking," she recovered, quickly, forcing a smile. "Totally kidding."
And his fingertips against her cheek were chilled. "No, you're not." He
sighed, kissing her forehead and then the tip of her nose, but the comfort was gone...even his lips felt icy. "You're not nearly as bad as you want to be, Barbara Jean," he informed. "And I'm far worse."
"Which is why a change of scenery might do us *both* good," she countered, breathing warm, as if the simple hotness of her mouth against his could start his internal fire again.
He tilted his face to the side, avoiding the contact. "My family thinks
I'm worthless, I'm *never* going to quit drinking, and I have three ex-wives and an eight-year-old son. All of whom hate me."
"Three ex-wives, huh?" She grinned, undaunted, grinding against his hips. "You know what they say, AJ...fourth time's the charm."
When he looked at her again, it was with his pupils contracting with shock and desire. In lieu of a crash cart and 200 ccs of something-or-other,
there was only one way she knew to drain the cold fear from his bones...and
as he sank deep inside her, he gasped, damply, against her throat, "Sweetheart ...you're the charm."
***
Waking up in a strange bed, in a strange building, had been scarier than
walking into the Oasis and taking off her shirt.
Max wasn't sure exactly what that said about her as a person. And she
really wasn't going to spend too long finding out.
True to his word, Coleman had been right about Jake. The slightly faded
blond woman had given her the once-over, told her rent was due at the end of the month, and said as long as she didn't turn tricks upstairs...no one cared what her name was and what her business was in Port Charles. Accepting a key to the last room on the right, she'd pushed through the throng of boozehounds, nearly running over some tall, skinny, brunette...but she hadn't wanted to stop and apologize...afraid that one more word out of her throat was going to choke it.
And now, here she was.
She'd slept in worse places. Tents on the Serengheti. The backseat of a
car. The room was clean, had a small window that let in the sunshine, and had, as far as she could tell, no roaches. But she had barely slept at all.
Probably because every time she closed her eyes, she saw Coleman. *His* eyes, wide open and black. His hands. She saw herself, standing topless
in front of him...in his arms. And she heard herself saying things...things that no child of Frisco and Felicia Jones had said before. Things that she wanted to say again.
She showered quickly in the tiny, utilitarian bathroom, glad for the two
threadbare towels and soap, and pulled her jeans from the night before on over clean undies. She'd been afraid to bring more than a few changes of clothes ...because the more shit she carried, the slower she would be able to move from place to place. A bra and a tight, beige, top with a plunging neckline were two more of her rations...necessary, too, for what she was doing today.
She wanted to linger by Kelly's, could smell the tempting scents of fresh muffins and apple pie through the panes in the door. And her aunt's bright red head bobbing behind the counter was equal parts warning and a tug of "home," and "warm," and "safe."
Bobbie Spencer. Full of love.
And mere speed dial away from her grandmother.
She swallowed misery and kept going. Two turns, hurrying down the Elm Street Pier, three more blocks...and another door that might...might lead to the point of no return.
But the front door to the Oasis was open and it gave way for her before she could second-guess herself...so she took a deep breath and went on through.
The sexy hostess, Lorena, was absent this time around. There was no music, no raucous cheering...just silence. And when she tiptoed into the show room, the house lights were low, the t-shaped stage was dark...but Coleman was there. Behind the bar. Waiting. The dark circles under his eyes matched the black half-moons on his white silk shirt.
"I said 'tonight'," he murmured, not even looking up. "It's 8:30 in the morning. You hock your watch?"
"I...uh..." She shifted from foot to foot, flushing, wondering where all her bravado had gone. It had abandoned her in the daylight.
"Shut up, Baby Doll. When's the last time you ate?" he demanded with a weary growl.
That was when she noticed the steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.
"The day before yesterday," she admitted, timidly. She'd had toast at a diner in St. Louis when the bus stopped for a fifteen-minute break.
"Sit down," he directed, gruffly, with a wave of his hand. "I knew you'd have nowhere else to go."
Oh...he didn't know the half of it.
She slid onto a stool and gratefully accepted the fork he held out. He watched her shovel the fragrant, cheese-laden eggs into her mouth with a small, satisfied, smile...and the same black-eyed heaviness with which he'd watched her begin to strip.
She'd never realized that the act of eating could be so...intimate. Or that this simple plate of eggs could be the best thing she'd ever tasted.
Max was suddenly...suddenly struck by the horrible idea that she'd run away from her stupidly adventurous parents and the placid hacienda for *this*. For *him.*.
And she choked.
"Easy there, Baby Doll. You'll make yourself sick."
She swallowed. Accepted water. And through the haze of pain and tears and the concentrated effort to breathe, she knew that wasn't the problem.
Being with Coleman...this scruffy man in an ugly shirt...she was fucking terrified that she was perfectly well.
***
Ten o'clock came too quickly. And AJ dropped her one block from the Brownstone with a regretful kiss on her forehead. Not even her mouth. She couldn't help but feel like it was...good-bye. So, she clung to him, pleaded like the high school girl she still was, "Call me."
And he didn't say he would. He simply got out, opened the door for her, and pointed towards her mother's front steps.
She may have made the transition into full-on Bad Girl...but she knew... she knew...somehow...she had started him on the path to being a very Good Man.
And she couldn't even hate herself for that.
But when she let herself into the house, hollering, "I'm home," and pasting on the fake, cheery, smile, there *was* one thing hated herself for. For going back to the lies.
"Mom's at Kelly's," Lucas informed, sullenly, from his typical spot on the couch. There was practically a spot carved out for his bony ass and she wanted to turn around and run back out and chase down AJ's BMW, pleading for him to fuck her again until she couldn't think, couldn't *be*.
"Shouldn't you be at school?" she snapped, dropping her purse on the floor.
"Teacher in service, remember?" he shot back...which had been her own reason for having her infamous "sleep over." Well, that and Senior Privilege.
She sighed, aching and cranky and wanting to be back in AJ's embrace. The one place...the one place where she didn't have to pretend. The one place where she could shatter and be broken and he would pick up the pieces and kiss every one of them. Just like she'd kissed every inch of him.
She had walked into Jake's expecting...something earthshaking. Something to tell her she wasn't BJ anymore but grown-up Barbara Jean. And what she had found instead was the simple, beautiful, truth... that she was a woman.
***
He had expected to see her early. Hence the eggs. It had cleared his mind to be back in the club's tiny kitchen, cracking the shells and feeling the yolk and white sticky on his fingers. But he hadn't...he hadn't expected to see her so...so damn fucking young.
If she had been barely fifteen standing in his office...freshly-scrubbed, without make-up, and with that scared rabbit look in her eyes, she was twelve.
With an appetite like a growing kid. She polished off the entire plate in less than five minutes.
He'd always appreciated a woman with an appetite. Lorena had been known to finish off an entire large pizza--the works--and a six pack of beer all by herself. But Max...Max wasn't a woman. Not yet.
Even if she was built like one and kissed like one and felt like one in his arms.
His stomach lurched and he had to turn away and he was glad when she went to wash up.
But he was infinitely worse off when she came back with lipstick and mascara and that coy older girl's stare. When she began to tug at her sleeves, at the hem of the skin-tight halter top...and he came from around the bar and grabbed her, shaking her, hissing, "*Tonight.*" He swallowed his insane, stupid male, urge to kiss her blind...to take her to that stage and lay her out and lick the inside of her soft thigh, and reminded her, "Tonight is hours away, Baby Doll. Keep your clothes on."
It was a desperate plea.
She countered it with that trembling mouth. Those false eyes. "But...but...Coleman..."
"Don't give me that!" He made a slashing gesture with his hand, glad to have an excuse to not touch her...to not hold her. "You *could* have waitressed. You could've gotten a job at the movie theater downtown. But no...no, you plant yourself on my doorstep, in my hands, and you bring nothing
but Hellfire down on my head." He groaned, shuddering. "What did I ever do to you? I know I ain't no Puritan, no saint...but I do not deserve five years for statutory and the police taking my club away."
She winced. Sixteen. Beautiful. Innocent. Stepped back, allowing him at least that space. "I can't," she whispered, sudden tears trembling on the edges of her long lashes. "They...I..." She drew in a deep breath, wrapped her arms around her skinny little waist. "My parents," she said, finally. "They're ...amazing, you know? These world traveling secret agents. And...they didn't want me with them...I couldn't live with them...or with my grandma, pretending my life was normal and perfect. So I came here." Her voice broke. "I lived here for the first few years of my life. My aunt Bobbie still lives here...my uncle Tony... their kids...and it...it felt like...it felt right..."
Bobbie. Tony. Jones. People he knew. People who had helped save his life. He clenched inside. Reached out and steadied himself on the bar. Oh, Man. Oh, God. Oh holy fucking God. "Baby Doll...Max..." he whispered...
But she wouldn't stop. Kept driving in the nails. "I couldn't go see them. I knew they'd call Texas and send me back home. And I saw the sign...the lights...it was an *Oasis*, Coleman." Tears were slipping down her cheeks now. Honest tears, no games. "I didn't mean...I didn't want...to hurt anyone...I just...I just...wanted to get away."
In the face of those open sobs...he wasn't strong enough. No, he wasn't a Puritan. He wasn't a saint. He was just a man. A weak, weak, man who would be burning when the time came for judgment. He closed the few steps that separated them, pulled her into his arms, and whispered, "Shhh...shhh, it's okay," into her hair, rocking her against his chest. "Come on, Baby Doll...you're all right. You *are* safe. This is always...always...gonna be your Oasis..." Incoherent things. Promises he couldn't keep.
And he was stupid...so stupid...because his instinct to soothe her led to her wet little mouth on his face...trailing across his cheeks, his chin, landing on his mouth. And he was lost.
He lifted her up, crushing her to him, staggering through the mess of tables to the edge of the stage. As he laid her down, sucking the sadness from her tongue, he hoped...he hoped to God she wouldn't hate him when all was said and done.
***
He hadn't made love to anyone since Courtney left. Since the ink on the divorce papers had long gone dry. He hadn't expected to. But Barbara Jean Jones... with the shadow of his sister in her face...had defied any kind of expectation.
As a Quartermaine, expectation was his life. Living up to potential. Being Somebody. Son, brother, father...businessman. Sober. But all he'd had to be for Barbara Jean was a warm body, strength and laughter.
That was all she'd wanted from him last night. All she wanted from him now. Even as he stood on the threshold of his family's mansion, listening to the thundering arguments filtering from inside, he knew that...he knew that such a thing was a gift.
One he did not deserve.
Emily...Emily deserved gifts. Life. Happiness. Love. Even if it was with that loser Zander. Who, yes, he still hated. His sister was pure and sweet and giving. She was strong for her family and still wanted so much for herself. He'd seen the same qualities in the girl he'd been with last night.
Which probably made him even more fucked up than even he'd originally thought. But he knew...he knew that oblivion in the bottom of a glass of Absolut or Jack Daniels was far more fucked up. He did.
Twelve steps. Twelve long steps.
It had been more than that from the doorway of the hotel room to the soft, cozy bed. It had been less than that from her soft, rosy, mouth to the flat expanse of her belly and beyond.
He hadn't needed a can of gasoline and matches to make it all burn. He had just needed her body entwined with his against bricks, under cotton sheets.
He dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned...walked back down the long, winding drive.
He drove, stone cold sober, towards the Brownstone. Where Bobbie would probably rail at him and attempt to keep any women and children off the stairs. Where Tony might be waiting with a shotgun. Where his best, last, and only true addiction was waiting.
***
Chapter Four