Title: "The One Less Traveled By"
Fandom: General Hospital
Rating/Classification: AC for language and mild adult stuff. Milo/Lulu.
Disclaimer: I wish the characters belonged to me because I'd have so much fun.
Summary: 1225 words. Milo and Lulu enjoy the same pasttime. Who would've guessed?
When he's out biking in the mornings everything makes sense. He likes the less-traveled paths, stays away from the playground and the gazebo -- for one thing, there's less chance of hitting a pedestrian -- and takes those precious private moments to think.
Yeah, he likes to think. So sue him.
Max used to call him "Einstein," when they were growing up. Usually preceding a meeting between his face and the back yard dirt. "Hey, Einstein, what'cha reading for? You ain't never gonna make it in school."
These days, Max could say "I told you so," but he doesn't. He didn't say anything when Milo dropped out of PCU either. He just sighed, straightened his tie and said, "Okay. Okay, I'll talk to Mr. C. We'll get you squared away."
So Milo has a job that pays six figures and he has his early mornings free to ride his bike. It's more than he probably would've gotten as an Exercise Science major anyhow.
Except for Lulu. He's pretty sure he could've gotten Lulu.
College boys know how to talk to college girls. They know what to say. They meet at keggers and make out in the dirty basement and say things like, "Hey, don't take Professor Marquez. I've heard he's an asshole."
Bodyguards apparently do dumb things like stammer and blush and act like they've never seen a girl before in their whole lives.
He's got a ma, two sisters and eleven female cousins. Of course he's seen girls. He's even bought tampons, but that was only because Marie Louise threatened to tell Pop about his porn stash in 10th grade. There is absolutely no reason for him to act like a fucking moron every time Lulu Spencer walks into a room.
So, he thinks about it. He wonders why.
Lulu cuts through the park almost every day on her way to campus. She's got the most boring Geology lecture on the planet in the mornings, but it's a required course for freshmen and she can't get out of it…at least not until the prof finishes taking attendance.
So, she figures looking at all the rocks and stuff on her way to class is educational. That, and it gives her some time alone. Time to think about Mom, Time to wonder where Dad is this week. He sent a postcard from Marrakesh two weeks ago, but she has no doubt he's moved on.
She should be used to it by now, but she's not, so she cuts through the park, walks along the bike path, and she has stupid little girl fantasies where Mom and Dad are home, safe, and her brothers and their wives and their kids are, too. Fantasies where nobody leaves.
Fantasies where condoms don't break.
God, she hates Dillon.
Sure, she pretends to smile and make conversation and lets him help her clear Mom's name, but she hates having to look at him. To hear all that smooth Quartermaine bullshit out of his mouth…all the while thinking, "I gave you a blowjob and you gave me an abortion. Thanks."
She's so tired of him. Of talk. Between him and Spinelli, they never shut up…and they're never saying anything important. Dillon ruined "The Departed" for her because he spent a week after they saw it (with Georgie, she's learned her lesson on that front) raving about Scorsese's brilliance. And if she has to hear about the CGI effects on "Battlestar Galactica" one more time, she's might just choke Spinelli with his stupid hat.
Maybe that's why she likes flirting with Milo. Sure, like she told them, he's sweet and he's built like a Greek god, but it's more than that. Milo likes her more than he likes to listen to himself. That's nice. And new.
She's pretty sure he wouldn't move on. And that's nice, too.
Coincidence. Fate. A tree root appearing out of nowhere. It's probably all of these things. That's what goes through Milo's head -- pretty philosophical of him -- as he's flying over his handlebars and landing in the dirt two feet from Lulu's shoe (and her foot, and her leg, and the rest of her).
He saw her from a quarter mile away, being trained in observation and stuff, but clearly he didn't train himself to watch where the Hell he's going. Way to go, Einstein, he thinks, cataloging aches and spitting out dead leaves.
"Oh my God! Milo?!" she gasps, automatically crouching and extending her hand…not to help him up, but to gently prod his shoulder and his upper arm like her aunt the nurse would. "Are you okay?"
No, he thinks. No, Lulu I'm not okay. I'm face down on the ground in front of a girl I'm already a total pussy over and she's *touching* me. And, oh, did I mention I'm not wearing a shirt? Milo doesn't say any of that out loud, of course. He never does. He has his best conversations inside his head. He grits his teeth, trying not to think about the fingers that are, at this very moment, curling around his bicep. And then he gently shakes her off and starts the slow -- ow, ow, ow -- process of getting up.
"I-I'm fine," he lies, feeling his face (and the rest of him) heat up as she steps back and checks him out from head to toe.
Lulu can't help herself. One minute she's thinking about Milo and the next he's there (if only that worked with Geology exam answers) and, not only that, but he's wearing nothing except a pair of shorts. Made out of some clingy sweatpant material. Greek god. Definitely. Though she can't, for the life of her, decide which one. He's brushing himself off, blushing, and she almost wants to say "Oh, please, allow me," just to see how far the blush actually goes.
This is the first time she's seen him out of a suit and apparently he doesn't do things halfway.
They're *really* clingy shorts.
Milo cusses extensively under his breath, turning quickly and hauling his bike up off the ground. Of course, it's too late to hide the fact that all the blood in his body seems to have rushed straight south. He doesn't have to worry about saying something dumb. His dick has decided to say it all for him. He stammers out things like, "I should go," and "Nice seeing you," and totally dismisses Carly's advice about asking Lulu out for coffee. He's hard. It's not a coffee date warm-up. It's an "I have to go home, take a cold shower and then eat the barrel of my gun."
"Wait," she says, one hand on the handlebars. "Don't go."
Lulu stares up at him, at his square jaw and his still-pink cheeks. Milo is a dozen weird contradictions. He's strong and he's shy. He's adorably sweet and he's probably killed someone. Several someones. But she repeats herself anyway. "Don't go yet."
And he listens to her. He stays. Without any big speeches or unnecessary babbling about what a goddess she is. All he says is her name.
Milo is still holding his bike in front of him, like a shield, and he's thinking, "Genius," and "Einstein," and that Max has been right about him all these years.
Then, he's not thinking at all.
So sue him.
January 4, 2007.