Title: "Trickle"
Author: monimala
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: NAC, LoCa, ficlet.
Disclaimer: Nope, I do not own him.
Summary: What do people who've just nearly died think about? Well, in Lorenzo's case...it's pretty obvious.
Notes: This is kind of just a filler fic for the 9/29 scenes to break my recent LoCa block. Hopefully, will lead to stronger stories again.

He's taken four aspirin before he remembers basic science and first aid... that aspirin is a blood thinner, an anti-coagulate...and he'll no doubt bleed for hours. Ah, well. He was spared once tonight, so he gives a silent salute to God and Fate and milagros in general and keeps the towel at his throat to staunch the trickles as he lays back on the sofa.

He has never been garrotted before. He thinks he may wake up screaming for a thousand nights to come, remembering the thin wire digging into his skin and everything going black save the white starbursts behind his eyelids.

Naturalmente, she did not save him because she cares for him.

He knows that. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice. So frantic, demanding that he awaken, saying, "don't make me do this." Don't make her save him...don't make Mrs. Corinthos save her precious husband's most hated enemy. Don't make her do this terrible thing, no. *Wake up*. Wake up before she has to regret that he's dead and somebody she loved caused it.

He wonders if she considers the air she breathed into him a betrayal. If that brush of her lips against his is, somehow, more damning than any kiss. If Sonny will throw thirty pieces of silver at her and send her to the Devil.

Oh. Right. That would be him. *Si*?

Well, then, everything is going according to plan.

Except for the unscheduled near-death.

It hurts to laugh. His vocal cords feel as though they've been scraped over and over with a fork. He hopes to never be strangled again. Perhaps a gunshot wound the next time? A stabbing? A fall from a hotel balcony?

The towel comes away sodden with blood and he reaches out...finding a fresh one on the coffee table that the boy must have left. A thoughtful one, that Dillon. Useful, too. But aspirin was a terrible idea.

He was a student of history, not medicine.

Pobrecito Lorenzo... wouldn't it be terrible to survive this long only to die, foolishly, at home alone?

He saw one other thing in that sharp moment before unconsciousness. Solamente una cosa. Just one. Imagined, of course, but still so beautiful...

Her smile.

And that...yes, that...is worth living for.

For every nightmare, he'll have that dream twice.

She did not save him because she cares for him.

But she does care.

Compassion...compassion is a start to something far more powerful.

Something that cannot be stopped.


September 29, 2003.

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