Oh, boy. Here we go!
Okay, non-fanfic reading folks: AVERT THINE EYES AND SKIPPETH YE OLDE LJ CUT.
For those who would like to see what happens when I take a serious show and bring it to about as dark as it's headed, and then add some characters in a realistic sense... have fun! READ ON!
Rising From The Deep
Sailor Moon/General Hospital Crossover
NOTE: The Sailor Moon characters are not direct lifts from any one source, but an amalgamation of PGSM and the manga versions of Sailor Moon and Sailor Moon R. General Hospital is a theoretical 2013 season after a dark version of the 2012 season.
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The city of Port Charles seemed to be in full mourning the six months after Robin Scorpio had passed away. It wasn't directly because of her death that the city seemed to be in this fashion, but rather from the fallout of the inevitable Zacchara/Corinthos mob war. The casualties had been substantial.
The list at the PCPD read like the guest list to the Metrocourt, although the hotel had been closed now for almost three months, when Anthony Zacchara had finally set his last ploy in motion, setting ablaze to the dining room and killing five people in the process.
Killed On the Scene:
Dr. Kelly Lee
Anthony Zacchara
Kate Howard (AKA Connie Falconeri)
Tracy Quartermaine
Ronnie Domestico
It was the last name that struck Detective Dante Falconeri more than the others. He had had plenty of reasons to be angry with Ronnie. He had always been quick to judge, he'd helped cover up his association with the serial killer Franco, and he'd accused Dante of being willing to toss aside his badge for his biological father, mob king Sonny Corinthos. But, if there had been one thing that Ronnie had done right, it had been in pulling Dante's mother, Olivia, out of the Metrocourt before the fire had realy broken out. He'd gone back in to save someone, and hadn't been found until the fire department could get to the back of the bar, where he'd been shielding Dr. Lee.
Dante sighed, dropping the file and sitting at his desk in the unusually quiet police squad room. He stared at the tan line where his wedding band had been. Hard to believe that only a year and half ago, he and Lulu had married. Even harder to believe was that their marriage had last through her father leaving, his father trying to bribe them, only for her to leave after Luke lost Tracy. Even if the old Spencer had never reconciled with his wife... maybe that had been the problem.
Now, the only Spencer left was Ethan Lovett, but who knew where he was these days?
Dante glanced up at the desk across from his. Just three months ago, it had been occupied by Delores Padilla, who'd proven herself to be a damn good cop, if a little overzealous. After the last six months, though, she'd felt betrayed by Johnny Zacchara. Even if she didn't want to admit it to Dante, he could tell she had grown attached to the mobster. To be fair, Johnny had pushed for peace, while Sonny had lost it and finally attacked Johnny last year. When Sonny's son, Michael, went off the deep-end, trying to get Johnny to let him work for the Zaccharas, the floodgates were opened, and it was nothing but death for a year.
If Dante hadn't had Lulu, he would have given up long before now. Now? The only thing keeping him at his desk was that it kept him away from his apartment, where he was reminded that Lulu had left him to find her brother and father. She could never stop worrying about everyone else's life...
"Detective Falconeri?"
The voice wasn't one he'd been expecting. A woman's, husky and full, but somehow feminine. Glancing up from the case file he'd been wallowing in, he blinked and took in the sight of the detective in front of him. A tall Japanese woman whose black hair was tinged brown, with pouty lips and a very set jaw stood before him. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a bright red top with a purple leather jacket over that. Glancing down at her feet, he could see that she had red boots on with at least a two inch heel.
"Yes... can I help you?" For some reason, Dante's cheesy pick-up lines had completely failed him since Lulu left, no matter how much his mother told him to "get out there." It was a shame, he sort of wished he had one right about now.
"Detective Rei Hino. I'm the transfer detective from Seattle." The woman - no, detective - held her hand out to Dante, who took it, shaking it firmly, scrambling to stand up.
"Right, Mac mentioned I'd be getting a new partner. Seattle? You... don't sound like you're from Seattle." He could tell English was not her first language, but the accent was fairly subdued. He made it his point to know everything he could about his partner, though, and unlike Padilla, who had a substantial file, Seattle PD hadn't had faxed his new partner's over yet. Or they just didn't want to.
"I grew up in Tokyo. I moved to Seattle five years ago." She flashed him the first smile Dante had seen in a while, and he couldn't help but reflect it a little.
"Nice to have you aboard. Why don't you have a seat, and, uh, we can take a look at a few cases." Motioning to the desk across from him, Dante grabbed the case files off of his desk and waited for her to sit. New partner... new day. Time to make it count for something.
***
Few sounds drew more confusion from the Jackal than the sound of Stone Cold's little girl, the five-month-old Abigail. Mainly, this was because the Jackal didn't have a clue how to handle the needs of a baby, and this was no exception. As the poor Jackal of McCall and Jackal, former non-husband to Maxie Jones, and all around pretty awesome guy sat at a table in Kelly's, though, he was realizing that none of his skills from the last two years were going to help him.
"Please don't cry, Mini-Stone Cold," Spinelli sighed as he waggled a toy in front of the little girl, whose eyes were blue like her father's, but she had dark hair like her mother. "Please, fair Samantha will be here soon, I don't know what you want..." Spinelli had tried everything. She didn't want a bottle, she had a fresh diaper - at least he hoped so, as the Jackal did not deal with diapers - and she had burped after eating before they came to Kelly's.
Abigail looked at Spinelli with those wobbling blue eyes, then let loose another plaintive wail, as if someone had broken the child.
"Pleeease, fair Abigail, don't cry..." Spinelli whimpered before standing and picking the baby up. He held her in his arms, albeit slightly awkwardly and tried to shush her, singing her some non-sensical tune in his head. The continuance of the wails hadn't helped, and he winced as another customer left the diner. At this rate, Shawn Butler, the once-bodyguard of the Valkyrie and now full-time chef of the diner, would have them kicked out.
He turned his back to the front door, waltzing the baby over to the jukebox, trying to calm her. "Please, fair Abigail, I promise I won't sing another song if you just stop crying..."
To be fair, Spinelli's concern was two-fold. Firstly, Stone Cold had been so caught up with distancing himself from Mister Sir's organization after the war that the last thing Spinelli's best friend needed was for his kid to be miserable, too. Secondly, he had promised fair Samantha that he could handle being babysitter AND still being the Jackal of Jackal and McCall PI. There had been enough strife in the last two years, that Abigail had been a bright spot. Spinelli intended to keep it that way.
If the baby would stop crying...
"Ohayooo, aka-chaaan..." The voice was coming from over Spinelli's shoulder, but Abigail had stopped crying, seemingly fascinated with what was going on behind him. He craned his neck to see who was talking to Abigail. As he turned, the baby gave unhappy whimper, as if ramping up for another cry, and he turned his back to the person again.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, clearly the person behind me is more interesting than me." Spinelli apologized with a smile, patting Abigail. "Uh, my apologies for not turning to face you, but you seem to be the only person fair Abigail wishes to see."
"It's okay." The voice was a woman, a little low in pitch, but she sounded youthful and was probably smiling. At least, Spin hoped. "Your daughter apparently likes my pen, it's more interesting than I am."
Spinelli laughed, that nervous laugh that anyone knew the moment they heard it, "Oh, she's not my daughter. She, um, this is fair Abigail Morgan. My name is the Jackal. I mean, Spinelli. But friends call me Jackal."
"Nice to meet you, Jackal. And little miss Abigail." The more Spinelli heard the voice behind him, the more he found himself doing what Spinelli did best - deciphering the perfect name for this mysterious voice behind him.
All that stopped when he glanced up at the front door to Kelly's just in time to see three men burst in the door, holding guns. A spray of gunfire into the air sent the few people in the diner screaming and cowering, and Spinelli immediately clutched Abigail to his chest, putting himself behind the jukebox, ducking and protecting the child.
"This is now part of Zacchara territory, folks! I hope none of you are friends of Corinthos. Except, of course," One of the thugs, the black ski mask over his head disguising his identity effectively. Not that it mattered. Johnny may have gone a little insane, but he didn't condone this kind of violence. These were lower level mooks. "For you, Mister Spinelli. Come on out behind the jukebox. Mister Zacchara wants to see you."
Spinelli froze, visibly paling. If it had just been him alone, he would have gone with them. But he had Abigail... he couldn't endanger the baby. But, he had to think of something before -
The sound of glass shattering broke Spinelli's train of thought. Looking up, he caught sight of a woman clad in blue jeans and a forest green blouse as she rushed the thugs. One of them was clutching his face, a broken dish at his feet. Within moments, she had disarmed one thug and tossed his weapon behind the bar, then knocked him out cleanly with a strike to the back of the neck. She turned and elbowed the dazed thug in the face, and he collapsed like a sack of bricks. Finally, she grabbed the last armed thug and flipped him on his back. She dropped, pressing her arm against his windpipe and holding him down until he finally passed out.
Silence fell over the diner, and one of the patrons grabbed her phone, beginning to dial for the PCPD, most likely.
"What the hell is happening in here?" Shawn's voice resounded from the bar. He must have been in the back and only heard the gunfire. The woman had disarmed them so quickly that even Spinelli hadn't been sure it happened.
At a loss, Spinelli simply turned to look at the woman who had single-handedly saved the lives of everyone in the diner.
Realizing eyes were on her, she stood slowly, clearing her throat and brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. "I apologize for the mess. I could... work here to make it up to you."
Shawn rose an eyebrow. The burly, black ex-Marine looked far less than pleased. "How about we get the cops here first?"
She nodded, then looked over at Spinelli with a little smile and a nod.
Spinelli smiled back at her, a little thunderstruck. "That was... quite amazing."
"Baby entertainment isn't my only talent."
Spinelli stood there for a moment, holding Abigail in his arms without realizing that as he did so, his savior had walked behind the bar and was now talking with Shawn. He didn't even know her name.
"Spinelli?!" Sam's voice pierced the diner as she hurried to step over the bodies. "Where's Abigail? Is she okay? Are you okay?"
As Spinelli handed Abigail over to her mother, he couldn't help but smile stupidly. "We're both fine. We were rescued by a... beautiful buxom brawler."
***
How many times had Michael come here? How many times had he sat outside of Vaughn's, watching the door. Waiting, hoping for the day when the man who had killed Abby walked through that door. It hadn't mattered that when he finally snapped because his father, the "great" Sonny Corinthos, had disposed of the supposed perpetrator without giving him the satisfaction of confronting him. It hadn't mattered that someone had died for that crime, Michael had killed four other men who could have just as easily been "the one."
He knew there was something wrong with him. It had taken him almost shooting Jason to realize that he was out of control. Now, six months after his breakdown, Michael was finally walking around, back on the streets. The only thing keeping him out of prison was his father and Jason's excellent skills at making problems disappear. It had been the final straw that broke Jason away from his father's organization, though. Now with a child, Jason had finally felt that the death and murder was too much.
The one positive side of his breakdown? Even though Johnny had lost his father in the Metrocourt fire and wanted to blame Sonny, he left Michael alone. And Sonny left him alone. He'd even manage to drive away Kristina, the one person who'd always tried to help him, even if it wasn't in the way he wanted or needed. So he was alone.
At least there was that.
Brushing a hand through his dirty blonde hair, Michael took one last look at the door of Vaughn's, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away, down towards the docks. He heard his phone ring, and ignored it. By the ringtone, he could tell it was Jason. While he didn't mind talking to his uncle, now that he was a little less angry and less destructive... he just didn't want to right now. He wanted to remember today for what it was.
Today was the day he was going to die.
Taking a deep breath, Michael made his way to Pier 52, looking out at the water as he paused. He knew how cold it was right now. If he dropped into the water, he'd die from hypothermia. Maybe he'd be lucky. Maybe it would feel peaceful, like it had for Abby. One minute she was there, and the next, she was gone. Maybe if he just grew colder and colder, he'd fall asleep and... then it would be over.
He shrugged off his jacket and shoes, folding them neatly at the edge of the dock, making his way onto the cold, cold wood. After another moment of consideration, he pulled his belt off, too, tossing that back by his jacket and shoes. Just in his slacks and T-shirt now, it was obvious how blisteringly cold it was. Good, maybe this would be quick.
"It hurts when you jump in."
Abby?
The voice startled Michael so much that he immediately turned, hoping it would be her. And it was... blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, it was her. He took a step towards the figure.
The illusion faded.
She did have blonde hair, and very blue eyes, but... she wasn't Abby. This woman's skin was fair, her eyes were almond shaped. Was she Asian?
"Who are you? What're you doing here?" Michael didn't necessarily care for the answers, he was feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and that feeling upset him more than anything else.
"I was taking a walk. Not every day you see someone get ready to jump into freezing water." The woman reached up, brushing hair out of her eyes. Abby used to do it the same way... "It'll hurt. Not a good day to skinny dip."
Michael frowned, feeling his anger lash out before he could resist it. "I've had plenty of people tell me what to do, thanks. I don't need it from a stranger." He turned back to the docks, taking a few steps closer to the edge.
"So is it that bad?"
Again, she wouldn't stop talking. Michael took a deep breath, glancing back at her. "You don't know me, so don't try to analyze me."
"I don't want to. I just wanted to get to know you. Your life must be... something else if you think you need to end it via a late night swim." Michael's resolve faltered. That was the same kind of thing Abby would have said... "You want a cup of coffee? You've gotta be cold..."
After a long moment, without really knowing why he was pausing so long, he felt a touch on his shoulder, and he jumped a little, turning to look at her. He hadn't even heard her approach.
With a little smile, those blue eyes looked up at him seeming almost.. hopeful. "C'mon... it's just coffee."
He swallowed, the realization of how close he'd come to jumping off the dock began to sink in. The cold air seemed to suddenly hit him as well, and he shivered, nodding at her. "Sure.... just coffee."
"Good." The blonde angel had his jacket in her hands, and she swept it over his shoulders. "I'm Mina."
Michael always hated to be taken care of, or treated like he was helpless. But something about this didn't feel that way... it felt more like when Abby was... encouraging him. Because she knew he could do something.
"I'm Michael."
***
Days like today were the hardest for Patrick Drake, renowned surgeon, loving father... early, early widower. Six months seemed like a blink of an eye in comparison to his marriage to Robin. Every day was a struggle, and too many times, he found himself hearing her laugh, or thinking of her when he took Emma to the park. And Emma missed her mother. Like today.
After listening to Emma cry before trying to go to kindergarten, lamenting that she couldn't show her mother her newest art project, Patrick felt very broken down. He'd forced himself through two surgeries, and had finally decided to go work out in the hopes of forgetting things for just a few minutes.
By the time he'd showered and got back into his scrubs, he realized his pager was still flashing. He grabbed for it, slipped on his shoes, and headed back out to the Nurse's station. Epiphany stood, as she always did, looking menacing but organizing files.
"Epiphany, I missed that page. What was it for?" Patrick asked as he strolled up to the station. Everyone knew that if there was one thing Dr. Drake was good with, it was hiding how he felt. He'd spent a good five months wallowing. He'd resolved himself to go right back to being the confident surgeon with an ego. However, if there was one lesson he'd learned from Robin, it was that she brought out the best in him. He didn't want to bury all of that.
"Sorry, Dr. Drake, you missed your opportunity." Epiphany sighed as she put a chart in front of him. "Dr. Quatermaine needed a neurosurgeon, so she called in Dr. Hunter."
Patrick rolled his eyes a little, smirking. "Funny, Epiphany, who did she really get to cover?"
"It really was Dr. Hunter." The voice from behind Patrick made him pause, because he couldn't ever remember hearing it before. He turned after a moment, raising an eyebrow as he realized who it was. The newest resident, Doctor... Mizu... something. He didn't pay attention to the residents anymore. Fresh faces had begun to worry Patrick, show him that the world was changing around him, and he'd liked it best before he'd lost his wife.
Realizing he was staring and floating off into his own world, though, Patrick cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. "I take it you were eavesdropping?"
The young resident giggled a little, her nose crunching up under those silver wire-framed glasses she wore. "Hardly." Her Japanese accent was very faint, but didn't go completely unnoticed to Patrick. He couldn't place it, but he could tell it wasn't her first language. "Dr. Hunter asked me to assist, but I couldn't."
Great. Hero worship for his little brother. Just what Matt needed, after coming off the high that was his and Elizabeth's brief but fiery relationship. What he wouldn't give for a little bit of hero worship right now? Something to remind him that life was supposed to go on after Robin... except that he didn't want it to...
The resident was speaking to him, so he tuned in and looked at her, craning an ear towards her. "What was that?"
"I was hoping you could help me with this patient. I would appreciate the consult. I'm not an expert with neurological trauma." There was something in the way that she asked that made Patrick soften a little. It reminded him, pleasantly, he found, of Robin. Not that this girl was anything like her, but... that same way that Robin would try to get him to consult if he was feeling worried or bothered about something.
Clearing his throat, Patrick forced the kind of smile any teacher gave a student, and nodded. "You know what? Sure. Let's head over to one of the conference rooms and we'll take a look." As he steered the resident to the first conference room he could see, he glanced down at her with her simple, straight black hair that was cut short, and her glasses. Her hair had the occasional blue streak, which he thought was a little odd, but it gave her hair an almost raven feather quality. It just needed a little bit of green... "What was your name again?"
"Ami Mizuno, Dr. Drake." She smiled up at him. "Thank you for taking the opportunity to teach me."
For those who would like to see what happens when I take a serious show and bring it to about as dark as it's headed, and then add some characters in a realistic sense... have fun! READ ON!
Rising From The Deep
Sailor Moon/General Hospital Crossover
NOTE: The Sailor Moon characters are not direct lifts from any one source, but an amalgamation of PGSM and the manga versions of Sailor Moon and Sailor Moon R. General Hospital is a theoretical 2013 season after a dark version of the 2012 season.
-----
The city of Port Charles seemed to be in full mourning the six months after Robin Scorpio had passed away. It wasn't directly because of her death that the city seemed to be in this fashion, but rather from the fallout of the inevitable Zacchara/Corinthos mob war. The casualties had been substantial.
The list at the PCPD read like the guest list to the Metrocourt, although the hotel had been closed now for almost three months, when Anthony Zacchara had finally set his last ploy in motion, setting ablaze to the dining room and killing five people in the process.
Killed On the Scene:
Dr. Kelly Lee
Anthony Zacchara
Kate Howard (AKA Connie Falconeri)
Tracy Quartermaine
Ronnie Domestico
It was the last name that struck Detective Dante Falconeri more than the others. He had had plenty of reasons to be angry with Ronnie. He had always been quick to judge, he'd helped cover up his association with the serial killer Franco, and he'd accused Dante of being willing to toss aside his badge for his biological father, mob king Sonny Corinthos. But, if there had been one thing that Ronnie had done right, it had been in pulling Dante's mother, Olivia, out of the Metrocourt before the fire had realy broken out. He'd gone back in to save someone, and hadn't been found until the fire department could get to the back of the bar, where he'd been shielding Dr. Lee.
Dante sighed, dropping the file and sitting at his desk in the unusually quiet police squad room. He stared at the tan line where his wedding band had been. Hard to believe that only a year and half ago, he and Lulu had married. Even harder to believe was that their marriage had last through her father leaving, his father trying to bribe them, only for her to leave after Luke lost Tracy. Even if the old Spencer had never reconciled with his wife... maybe that had been the problem.
Now, the only Spencer left was Ethan Lovett, but who knew where he was these days?
Dante glanced up at the desk across from his. Just three months ago, it had been occupied by Delores Padilla, who'd proven herself to be a damn good cop, if a little overzealous. After the last six months, though, she'd felt betrayed by Johnny Zacchara. Even if she didn't want to admit it to Dante, he could tell she had grown attached to the mobster. To be fair, Johnny had pushed for peace, while Sonny had lost it and finally attacked Johnny last year. When Sonny's son, Michael, went off the deep-end, trying to get Johnny to let him work for the Zaccharas, the floodgates were opened, and it was nothing but death for a year.
If Dante hadn't had Lulu, he would have given up long before now. Now? The only thing keeping him at his desk was that it kept him away from his apartment, where he was reminded that Lulu had left him to find her brother and father. She could never stop worrying about everyone else's life...
"Detective Falconeri?"
The voice wasn't one he'd been expecting. A woman's, husky and full, but somehow feminine. Glancing up from the case file he'd been wallowing in, he blinked and took in the sight of the detective in front of him. A tall Japanese woman whose black hair was tinged brown, with pouty lips and a very set jaw stood before him. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a bright red top with a purple leather jacket over that. Glancing down at her feet, he could see that she had red boots on with at least a two inch heel.
"Yes... can I help you?" For some reason, Dante's cheesy pick-up lines had completely failed him since Lulu left, no matter how much his mother told him to "get out there." It was a shame, he sort of wished he had one right about now.
"Detective Rei Hino. I'm the transfer detective from Seattle." The woman - no, detective - held her hand out to Dante, who took it, shaking it firmly, scrambling to stand up.
"Right, Mac mentioned I'd be getting a new partner. Seattle? You... don't sound like you're from Seattle." He could tell English was not her first language, but the accent was fairly subdued. He made it his point to know everything he could about his partner, though, and unlike Padilla, who had a substantial file, Seattle PD hadn't had faxed his new partner's over yet. Or they just didn't want to.
"I grew up in Tokyo. I moved to Seattle five years ago." She flashed him the first smile Dante had seen in a while, and he couldn't help but reflect it a little.
"Nice to have you aboard. Why don't you have a seat, and, uh, we can take a look at a few cases." Motioning to the desk across from him, Dante grabbed the case files off of his desk and waited for her to sit. New partner... new day. Time to make it count for something.
***
Few sounds drew more confusion from the Jackal than the sound of Stone Cold's little girl, the five-month-old Abigail. Mainly, this was because the Jackal didn't have a clue how to handle the needs of a baby, and this was no exception. As the poor Jackal of McCall and Jackal, former non-husband to Maxie Jones, and all around pretty awesome guy sat at a table in Kelly's, though, he was realizing that none of his skills from the last two years were going to help him.
"Please don't cry, Mini-Stone Cold," Spinelli sighed as he waggled a toy in front of the little girl, whose eyes were blue like her father's, but she had dark hair like her mother. "Please, fair Samantha will be here soon, I don't know what you want..." Spinelli had tried everything. She didn't want a bottle, she had a fresh diaper - at least he hoped so, as the Jackal did not deal with diapers - and she had burped after eating before they came to Kelly's.
Abigail looked at Spinelli with those wobbling blue eyes, then let loose another plaintive wail, as if someone had broken the child.
"Pleeease, fair Abigail, don't cry..." Spinelli whimpered before standing and picking the baby up. He held her in his arms, albeit slightly awkwardly and tried to shush her, singing her some non-sensical tune in his head. The continuance of the wails hadn't helped, and he winced as another customer left the diner. At this rate, Shawn Butler, the once-bodyguard of the Valkyrie and now full-time chef of the diner, would have them kicked out.
He turned his back to the front door, waltzing the baby over to the jukebox, trying to calm her. "Please, fair Abigail, I promise I won't sing another song if you just stop crying..."
To be fair, Spinelli's concern was two-fold. Firstly, Stone Cold had been so caught up with distancing himself from Mister Sir's organization after the war that the last thing Spinelli's best friend needed was for his kid to be miserable, too. Secondly, he had promised fair Samantha that he could handle being babysitter AND still being the Jackal of Jackal and McCall PI. There had been enough strife in the last two years, that Abigail had been a bright spot. Spinelli intended to keep it that way.
If the baby would stop crying...
"Ohayooo, aka-chaaan..." The voice was coming from over Spinelli's shoulder, but Abigail had stopped crying, seemingly fascinated with what was going on behind him. He craned his neck to see who was talking to Abigail. As he turned, the baby gave unhappy whimper, as if ramping up for another cry, and he turned his back to the person again.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, clearly the person behind me is more interesting than me." Spinelli apologized with a smile, patting Abigail. "Uh, my apologies for not turning to face you, but you seem to be the only person fair Abigail wishes to see."
"It's okay." The voice was a woman, a little low in pitch, but she sounded youthful and was probably smiling. At least, Spin hoped. "Your daughter apparently likes my pen, it's more interesting than I am."
Spinelli laughed, that nervous laugh that anyone knew the moment they heard it, "Oh, she's not my daughter. She, um, this is fair Abigail Morgan. My name is the Jackal. I mean, Spinelli. But friends call me Jackal."
"Nice to meet you, Jackal. And little miss Abigail." The more Spinelli heard the voice behind him, the more he found himself doing what Spinelli did best - deciphering the perfect name for this mysterious voice behind him.
All that stopped when he glanced up at the front door to Kelly's just in time to see three men burst in the door, holding guns. A spray of gunfire into the air sent the few people in the diner screaming and cowering, and Spinelli immediately clutched Abigail to his chest, putting himself behind the jukebox, ducking and protecting the child.
"This is now part of Zacchara territory, folks! I hope none of you are friends of Corinthos. Except, of course," One of the thugs, the black ski mask over his head disguising his identity effectively. Not that it mattered. Johnny may have gone a little insane, but he didn't condone this kind of violence. These were lower level mooks. "For you, Mister Spinelli. Come on out behind the jukebox. Mister Zacchara wants to see you."
Spinelli froze, visibly paling. If it had just been him alone, he would have gone with them. But he had Abigail... he couldn't endanger the baby. But, he had to think of something before -
The sound of glass shattering broke Spinelli's train of thought. Looking up, he caught sight of a woman clad in blue jeans and a forest green blouse as she rushed the thugs. One of them was clutching his face, a broken dish at his feet. Within moments, she had disarmed one thug and tossed his weapon behind the bar, then knocked him out cleanly with a strike to the back of the neck. She turned and elbowed the dazed thug in the face, and he collapsed like a sack of bricks. Finally, she grabbed the last armed thug and flipped him on his back. She dropped, pressing her arm against his windpipe and holding him down until he finally passed out.
Silence fell over the diner, and one of the patrons grabbed her phone, beginning to dial for the PCPD, most likely.
"What the hell is happening in here?" Shawn's voice resounded from the bar. He must have been in the back and only heard the gunfire. The woman had disarmed them so quickly that even Spinelli hadn't been sure it happened.
At a loss, Spinelli simply turned to look at the woman who had single-handedly saved the lives of everyone in the diner.
Realizing eyes were on her, she stood slowly, clearing her throat and brushing her brown hair out of her eyes. "I apologize for the mess. I could... work here to make it up to you."
Shawn rose an eyebrow. The burly, black ex-Marine looked far less than pleased. "How about we get the cops here first?"
She nodded, then looked over at Spinelli with a little smile and a nod.
Spinelli smiled back at her, a little thunderstruck. "That was... quite amazing."
"Baby entertainment isn't my only talent."
Spinelli stood there for a moment, holding Abigail in his arms without realizing that as he did so, his savior had walked behind the bar and was now talking with Shawn. He didn't even know her name.
"Spinelli?!" Sam's voice pierced the diner as she hurried to step over the bodies. "Where's Abigail? Is she okay? Are you okay?"
As Spinelli handed Abigail over to her mother, he couldn't help but smile stupidly. "We're both fine. We were rescued by a... beautiful buxom brawler."
***
How many times had Michael come here? How many times had he sat outside of Vaughn's, watching the door. Waiting, hoping for the day when the man who had killed Abby walked through that door. It hadn't mattered that when he finally snapped because his father, the "great" Sonny Corinthos, had disposed of the supposed perpetrator without giving him the satisfaction of confronting him. It hadn't mattered that someone had died for that crime, Michael had killed four other men who could have just as easily been "the one."
He knew there was something wrong with him. It had taken him almost shooting Jason to realize that he was out of control. Now, six months after his breakdown, Michael was finally walking around, back on the streets. The only thing keeping him out of prison was his father and Jason's excellent skills at making problems disappear. It had been the final straw that broke Jason away from his father's organization, though. Now with a child, Jason had finally felt that the death and murder was too much.
The one positive side of his breakdown? Even though Johnny had lost his father in the Metrocourt fire and wanted to blame Sonny, he left Michael alone. And Sonny left him alone. He'd even manage to drive away Kristina, the one person who'd always tried to help him, even if it wasn't in the way he wanted or needed. So he was alone.
At least there was that.
Brushing a hand through his dirty blonde hair, Michael took one last look at the door of Vaughn's, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away, down towards the docks. He heard his phone ring, and ignored it. By the ringtone, he could tell it was Jason. While he didn't mind talking to his uncle, now that he was a little less angry and less destructive... he just didn't want to right now. He wanted to remember today for what it was.
Today was the day he was going to die.
Taking a deep breath, Michael made his way to Pier 52, looking out at the water as he paused. He knew how cold it was right now. If he dropped into the water, he'd die from hypothermia. Maybe he'd be lucky. Maybe it would feel peaceful, like it had for Abby. One minute she was there, and the next, she was gone. Maybe if he just grew colder and colder, he'd fall asleep and... then it would be over.
He shrugged off his jacket and shoes, folding them neatly at the edge of the dock, making his way onto the cold, cold wood. After another moment of consideration, he pulled his belt off, too, tossing that back by his jacket and shoes. Just in his slacks and T-shirt now, it was obvious how blisteringly cold it was. Good, maybe this would be quick.
"It hurts when you jump in."
Abby?
The voice startled Michael so much that he immediately turned, hoping it would be her. And it was... blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, it was her. He took a step towards the figure.
The illusion faded.
She did have blonde hair, and very blue eyes, but... she wasn't Abby. This woman's skin was fair, her eyes were almond shaped. Was she Asian?
"Who are you? What're you doing here?" Michael didn't necessarily care for the answers, he was feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and that feeling upset him more than anything else.
"I was taking a walk. Not every day you see someone get ready to jump into freezing water." The woman reached up, brushing hair out of her eyes. Abby used to do it the same way... "It'll hurt. Not a good day to skinny dip."
Michael frowned, feeling his anger lash out before he could resist it. "I've had plenty of people tell me what to do, thanks. I don't need it from a stranger." He turned back to the docks, taking a few steps closer to the edge.
"So is it that bad?"
Again, she wouldn't stop talking. Michael took a deep breath, glancing back at her. "You don't know me, so don't try to analyze me."
"I don't want to. I just wanted to get to know you. Your life must be... something else if you think you need to end it via a late night swim." Michael's resolve faltered. That was the same kind of thing Abby would have said... "You want a cup of coffee? You've gotta be cold..."
After a long moment, without really knowing why he was pausing so long, he felt a touch on his shoulder, and he jumped a little, turning to look at her. He hadn't even heard her approach.
With a little smile, those blue eyes looked up at him seeming almost.. hopeful. "C'mon... it's just coffee."
He swallowed, the realization of how close he'd come to jumping off the dock began to sink in. The cold air seemed to suddenly hit him as well, and he shivered, nodding at her. "Sure.... just coffee."
"Good." The blonde angel had his jacket in her hands, and she swept it over his shoulders. "I'm Mina."
Michael always hated to be taken care of, or treated like he was helpless. But something about this didn't feel that way... it felt more like when Abby was... encouraging him. Because she knew he could do something.
"I'm Michael."
***
Days like today were the hardest for Patrick Drake, renowned surgeon, loving father... early, early widower. Six months seemed like a blink of an eye in comparison to his marriage to Robin. Every day was a struggle, and too many times, he found himself hearing her laugh, or thinking of her when he took Emma to the park. And Emma missed her mother. Like today.
After listening to Emma cry before trying to go to kindergarten, lamenting that she couldn't show her mother her newest art project, Patrick felt very broken down. He'd forced himself through two surgeries, and had finally decided to go work out in the hopes of forgetting things for just a few minutes.
By the time he'd showered and got back into his scrubs, he realized his pager was still flashing. He grabbed for it, slipped on his shoes, and headed back out to the Nurse's station. Epiphany stood, as she always did, looking menacing but organizing files.
"Epiphany, I missed that page. What was it for?" Patrick asked as he strolled up to the station. Everyone knew that if there was one thing Dr. Drake was good with, it was hiding how he felt. He'd spent a good five months wallowing. He'd resolved himself to go right back to being the confident surgeon with an ego. However, if there was one lesson he'd learned from Robin, it was that she brought out the best in him. He didn't want to bury all of that.
"Sorry, Dr. Drake, you missed your opportunity." Epiphany sighed as she put a chart in front of him. "Dr. Quatermaine needed a neurosurgeon, so she called in Dr. Hunter."
Patrick rolled his eyes a little, smirking. "Funny, Epiphany, who did she really get to cover?"
"It really was Dr. Hunter." The voice from behind Patrick made him pause, because he couldn't ever remember hearing it before. He turned after a moment, raising an eyebrow as he realized who it was. The newest resident, Doctor... Mizu... something. He didn't pay attention to the residents anymore. Fresh faces had begun to worry Patrick, show him that the world was changing around him, and he'd liked it best before he'd lost his wife.
Realizing he was staring and floating off into his own world, though, Patrick cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. "I take it you were eavesdropping?"
The young resident giggled a little, her nose crunching up under those silver wire-framed glasses she wore. "Hardly." Her Japanese accent was very faint, but didn't go completely unnoticed to Patrick. He couldn't place it, but he could tell it wasn't her first language. "Dr. Hunter asked me to assist, but I couldn't."
Great. Hero worship for his little brother. Just what Matt needed, after coming off the high that was his and Elizabeth's brief but fiery relationship. What he wouldn't give for a little bit of hero worship right now? Something to remind him that life was supposed to go on after Robin... except that he didn't want it to...
The resident was speaking to him, so he tuned in and looked at her, craning an ear towards her. "What was that?"
"I was hoping you could help me with this patient. I would appreciate the consult. I'm not an expert with neurological trauma." There was something in the way that she asked that made Patrick soften a little. It reminded him, pleasantly, he found, of Robin. Not that this girl was anything like her, but... that same way that Robin would try to get him to consult if he was feeling worried or bothered about something.
Clearing his throat, Patrick forced the kind of smile any teacher gave a student, and nodded. "You know what? Sure. Let's head over to one of the conference rooms and we'll take a look." As he steered the resident to the first conference room he could see, he glanced down at her with her simple, straight black hair that was cut short, and her glasses. Her hair had the occasional blue streak, which he thought was a little odd, but it gave her hair an almost raven feather quality. It just needed a little bit of green... "What was your name again?"
"Ami Mizuno, Dr. Drake." She smiled up at him. "Thank you for taking the opportunity to teach me."