I disclaim. I own nothing.

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Elizabeth walked the beach, trailing her toes in the sand. It was warm and soft and the smell of it, although quite different, reminded her of snow. Alabaster filled her line of vision and instead of hot, grainy sand, she saw cold, wet snow. It was her own fault really. She'd pined away for him for too long and now she had everything and nothing at the same time.

An entire island of her own and no one to share it with but the orange tabby she sometimes fed. She'd gotten into the habit of calling the little stray Wilma. Wilma was not a pretty cat by anyone's standards. She was old, lazy and fat. Her fur was matted and no matter how much Elizabeth brushed it, the sand and seawater still clung to the orange mop. Her eyes were wild yellow and flamed in the night as she roamed the beach for crickets and other small pray. Often the cat would stay away for days and then other times wouldn't leave Elizabeth's side. But she wouldn't trade the mangy feline for another. She liked the flaws and the unpredictability. It was oddly...comforting.

Before coming to the island, she thought she would wither away and be forgotten in Port Charles. It wasn't until weeks later, when she sat under an umbrella flapping in the wind that she realized she would wither away anywhere. That's when she took a stand. Took her life back and forgot she was supposed to be a proper young lady at all times. She took to painting in the midnight hour with only the phosphoreus glow from the ocean and moon to light her canvas. Sometimes she'd hang the paintings in her bedroom, sometimes she'd sell them on the mainland, most of the time she'd burn them in an untamable bonfire while she sat mesmerized by the blue flames.

Sometimes she'd lay naked under the stars feeling as if she could touch them. She liked the feel of the cool breeze against her nude body, liked the way it made her feel free and alive. Sometimes not. There were days when she'd stay inside, huddled under blankets as if her skin was too vulnerable for the world outside. There were things she did that she couldn't understand and others she understood all too well.

The rumours were rampant on the mainland, and on her trips there she only encouraged them, doing odd things like wearing two different coloured socks just for the hell of it. There were whispers that she was a widow gone crazy after her lover drowned off the coast of Cuba. Another that placed her as an eccentric billionaire with too much time on her hands. Her favourite, and the most prevalent, that she had faked her death to escape a life she hated and a man she loved. Perhaps some had a ring of truth to them, but she never told and after a while people learned not to ask.

She took to wailing openly and loudly when the villagers got too nosey and too insistent about her past. Her weird antics kept the neighbours away and that's how she liked it. It was a peaceful existence. Lonely, but peaceful.

Stopping a few feet from the surf, she picked up a shell, turning it in her small hands, she held it to her ear. Aha the ocean! She laughed and threw the pink crustacean down in the sand. Continuing down the beach, she walked her way down to the water, feeling the refreshing cool of it against her skin.

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Jason scanned the crystal white perfection of the beach, the air was clean and welcoming. He could only hope she would be the same. He'd searched, everywhere and anywhere, always turning up empty. There was something inside him that wouldn't let her go. A part of him that didn't believe she was dead. After all, he would have felt it. If she was dead, there would be a part of him missing. You just don't lose a vital part of yourself, like an arm or leg and not feel it.

He knew, without a doubt, she was as alive and as vibrant as the hot blazing sun and the sand craps that scurried by his feet. The white caps nearly blinded him as they pulled in and out from the shore, tore up and down the ocean floor before resting a fraction of a second and then began again. There was one constant object in the water, it bobbed up and down; a flare of red in a sea of blue. He strained to see, focussed his eyes on the object and sucked in a breath. There was no life, just a figure, like a rag dog being tossed around and manipulated by the current like a marionette.

The blood drained from his face, making it as white and uncharitable as the heart of the sun. Elizabeth. There was no time to think. He ripped off his shirt and tossed it on the beach like it was a disease that infected his skin. He took off in a run, sprinting over the sand dunes and scraping his feet on the sharp rocks that rest on the waters edge. He swam like he'd never done anything else in his life but breaststroke through the ocean fighting the waves and salty water.

He punished his arms and made them race through the water faster than he knew he could move. Knowing if he could only reach her, save her in time, things would be okay. He wished he'd seen her floating before, holding onto a life preserver that was not quite strong enough. He wished he'd known she'd been drowning. If he'd stopped for just a minute to think about it, he would have known; would have been able to toss her a line and help her out of the depths. But he was too busy trying to stay afloat.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity he reached the red dot, which was no longer small and no longer drowning.

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Elizabeth clung to the buoy watching the fisherman as he reeled in another mackerel. It was large and colourful and it made her eyes tear. How could something so beautiful be caught? Didn't they see that the damn fish had a life in the water and that the air was too cruel for it to survive?

Jason was once her water. He seemed so big and open, that nothing could pollute him, but she was wrong. She was wrong about a lot of things. She forgot about the fisherman. The lure of the bait, the taste of chum, the mesmerizing effects of the shiny silver hooks. She forgot that sometimes fish are too small, not perfect enough and sometimes they're thrown back, only they've been out of it too long and the water rejects their bodies and they float to the surface. She forgot fish die without water.

The sound of splashes and heavy breathing pulled her attention from the poor fate of the captured fish. She turned her head and suddenly she was face to face with Jason.

She blinked. There had been so many times, she'd imagined a moment like this, she had to be dreaming. "J-Jason?!"

He didn't speak, just looked back at her with fierce, hard eyes. She shivered when he pulled her to him and unceremoniously tugged her along back to shore.

She huffed and fought him when he pulled her over his shoulder as he walked onto the steaming sand. "I can walk," she said with controlled effort. She knew it was wrong to be effected by the feel of his deeply calloused hands on her thighs, but she was weak when it came to him. Weaker still when his fingers slid against her wet skin and made her shudder.

She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew they were flaming blue. "I know damn well you can, but I'm not going to give you the opportunity to run away before we talk."

Her voice was low and distressed when she spoke again. She was glad he couldn't see her face, had she been looking at him, she might have lost some of her resolve. "You can talk Jason, doesn't mean I'll listen."

"You'll listen dammit. Even if I have to hold you down, you'll listen." With that, he flipped her off his wide shoulder and dropped her onto the sand. She landed hard, knocking the wind out of her chest. He was panting wildly when he layed down beside her. Watching the rise and fall of his well toned chest, the beat of her heart picked up, her ears perked and her nostrils flared.

Damn him! She was fine here, and now he was ruining everything. She didn't need the feelings she pretended were gone to come back to the surface making her vulnerable to him. But they were there and stronger than ever.

"It's good to know if a buoy is ever in trouble again, you would have no trouble rescuing it. What the hell did you think you were doing?" Her tone was sarcastic and the anger seeped from her pores, making her skin glow with colour.

"I thought I was rescuing you, you know, so you wouldn't actually wind up dead!" That one stung and although she tried not to, Elizabeth flinched.

She'd hurt him she realized and a part of her was glad for it. Now he knew what she had gone through. The unsure nights where she thought he could be lying in a gutter. The waiting. Letting her imagination go to places that were dark and evil, thinking how he could be injured or...dead. And now he knew what it felt like to wait and conjure up violent images while you thought the person you trusted most in the world was dead. "Oh, well then, I'll have to give you a medal. Are you proud of yourself Jason? You've discovered my secret, now you can go." Her temper exploded.

Jason's anger matched hers in intensity but surpassed hers in force. He choked over his words, coughing up salty water and memories. The sleepless nights. The cheap motels rooms where the walls needed to be scraped to come clean. The agony and grief over the possibility she was really gone. Couldn't she see what it had done to him? "Your secret? Christ Elizabeth, you make it seem like I found out that you lied about your height on your driver's license. I thought you were dead," he rasped, trying desperately to exhale the seawater that plagued his lungs, rotting them from the inside out.

She pushed against his chest, snaking out a finger and driving it hard into his abdomen. "I am dead to you." Taking a step back, she looked him over, for the first time realizing how thin he looked. Thin and tired. His eyes were rimmed red and the underside was darkened from lack of sleep. She hated that it bothered her, that she wanted to take him into her home and let him rest while she took care of him. Her voice lost it's power and dropped in volume. "Jason go, forget you found me."

"How the hell can you say that?" He took another step closer and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and tell him they could start over, that the past was the past, but she couldn't. "How can you look me in the eye and tell me to forget about you." He raised his hand to her cheek, her eyes lifted to his and she didn't resist but he hesitated too long and pulled it back in. "God, Elizabeth, do you know what I had to do to get here?"

"No, and I don't want to hear about it." And she didn't, because she knew if she listened her heart would open for him again and she couldn't take that risk. She'd let him in and let him destroy her all over again. Another breakdown would shatter her and not just her spirit, that was already gone.

"Elizabeth, please," he begged desperately. "Doesn't it matter why I'm here?"

Her hand went to her hair, smoothing down the wet curls. "I wish I could say it mattered."

"It does matter!" He refused to believe she wasn't feeling the strong pull they always had, refused to believe the dormant look in her eyes or the casual way she stood and dusted herself off, barely sparing him a glance.

"No Jason, it doesn't matter," she said tiredly, throwing back words he'd used so often.

Jason took a step closer, placed his hands on her shoulders and bent so he could look her in the eye. "Elizabeth, I came to tell you... I love you." He waited for a reaction, but there was nothing but a flicker of pain that she hid too fast. "That must mean something, even if you can't forgive me for what I did. Don't tell me you don't feel the same." His hand came to her cheek, this time making the full connection and smoothed away the drops of saltwater, tilting her chin so she was forced to look at him. He wasn't going to let her hide anymore. "Before you left...before I even realized it was goodbye you told me that you loved me." He watched her closely. She wet her lips and took a step back breaking contact with his wonderfully warm skin. He felt the loss instantly and it was as if a part of him had broken.

"You're right, Jason. I did say that and I meant it, but I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong." Picking up her sandals, she turned her back to him, walking towards her home.

It was a testament to her willpower that she didn't turn right back around and tell him the truth, but he should have known. The Jason she loved would have known. She shouldn't have to tell him she was a liar.

He stared long after she'd gone into the house, ushering in some stray cat and not once looking back and still he stared. He stared until his eyes began to burn and his head began to ache. Finally, he blinked. Then there was nothing left to do, but swallow the storm of emotions that lurched in his heart, always present, always demanding, and always so God damned painful. He'd waited too long. He'd lost her. She'd drowned.

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I borrowed that last line ("I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.") from a poem "Stop all the Clocks." by W.H. Auden, it's really more about death, but it seemed appropriate.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers

Kat

If you review, please don't flame me, I've had enough of that already.