Author: Regency
Title: Leaving Is Dying A Little Bit
Characters: Alexis, James Craig, Kristina, Molly
Summary: In hindsight, Craig and Alexis weren’t all that bad of a match. They were simply not meant to be.
Author’s Notes: James Craig is not Jerry Jacks. Or if he is, it has no bearing on this story. Also, this is basically
AU.
Disclaimer: I own neither character written about in this story.
~~
James Craig checked his watch once more to find that he was falling behind schedule. His preoccupation with what he was
abandoning was proving to be his undoing. In truth, he kept spying the wilderness behind him in the hopes of seeing one reckless
beauty giving chase. Thus far, he’d been disappointed by the solitude the woods afforded and sought to fill it with
his newly acquired memories.
Bright young Kristina played with Molly on a blanket on the floor. Craig had spent the better portion of an hour watching
them interact, mesmerized by the care with which the elder sister beheld the younger and the affection she was gifted in return.
He rarely had the opportunity to observe children in their element, yet he could hardly imagine being anywhere else just now.
He began to lament his never having been a father; surely it would always feel this way.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose before she spoke. She was quickly becoming an extension of his person--an appendage
he could not do without. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder; he covered it with his own. Their fingers laced and mingled
into an inseparable bond, much like their minds. Since he’d met her, he often found himself scaling back his darker
leanings in favor of a lighter side. Conversely, she dared to reveal her more self-serving inclinations in confidence with
him. He and the blood-drenched Natasha were not so different.
Not long ago, his hackles would’ve risen at such a confession--the very nature of his business forbade these sort
of attachments. Danger was everywhere, he discovered, however. Especially in the eyes of a hapless princess with far too much
to say, and even more to lose.
“Your girls are golden; truer treasures I have never laid eyes upon.”
“Neither have I,” she agreed. She momentarily hesitated before easing her arms around his neck. It was a sign
of trust, he knew, regretting his deception now if never before. Still, he didn’t have the willpower to rebuff her--so
he eased forward on the couch cushion, allowing her to wrap herself completely around him. Oh, how many years he’d gone
without the embrace of a woman like this. No, that wasn’t right. He’d never met another woman like Alexis or Natasha--whichever
she was tonight.
Her nearness left him reeling, unsure how to proceed in present company. The young ones remained lost in their own world,
oblivious to the wandering attention of their mother and her companion. A clandestine kiss on his ear put him on the road
to madness--lust or madness, achingly similar states of mind, he thought.
“Kristina, isn’t it nearly time for you to go to bed?” She pouted adorably and he was almost swayed.
Alexis concealed her smile against his neck. “You as well, Princess Molly. A lady needs her rest.” The sweet toddler
bared her small sharp teeth at him, a mannerism she’d picked up from her adoring father no doubt. He wasn’t insulted,
for he saw Alexis’ loving influence behind the scowl.
“Be good, Molly,” Alexis chided the toddler, extracting herself patiently from their entanglement. He was immediately
colder for the loss.
She scooped her youngest child into her arms and extended a hand to Kristina. “It’s time for sleep. We can
all play more tomorrow.”
Krissy sighed, throwing a last pleading look towards James. They’d built a rapport, the two of them, that she was
hoping to take advantage of. Alas, Craig had other plans tonight, but he hoped to make it up to her later.
He gave an exaggerated shrug and whispered, “To bed with you, clever girl. Mummy’s orders.”
Giving in, Kristina nodded and wisely took Alexis’ hand. They trooped out of the living room together, leaving him
alone to his thoughts. And those thoughts were?
‘This is going to be a lovely night.’
The beautiful Alexis danced in his peripheral vision like a siren, tempting him to stray from the only path
that led to safety even nearly. It must’ve been delirium--thirst even. He found himself drifting increasingly with the
passing moments. For the first time, truly the first time, he believed he was at his end--and he simply didn’t care.
All they’d had were stolen moments, fragments of a life, of a relationship, of--ye gods, in his wildest dreams--a
marriage. They’d created a world contained in the hearts of the four of them: two small children and two disillusioned
adults who’d lived too long. And he hadn’t fixed what ailed her, her fear of trusting. He had taken her trust,
consumed it sweetly and told her lies--cunningly adoring lies. If only they were more lie than truth.
James Craig, the man he had chosen to become, was infatuated with Alexis Davis. Every desperate breath was composed of
her scent, each goose bump rose specifically at her touch. She had come to control him entirely. Damn her!--and damn her damnation
of him. He wanted her back.
He would never call her neurotic again--and he’d floor anyone who dared call her reserved or a stick in the mud.
No, he’d kill them dead on their feet.
She raked her fingers through his unruly curls--roughly clutching them as he thrust her hips deeper into mattress. A phrase--Russian
and uncivilized--spilled from her mouth only to be lost when her teeth found his neck.
He gasped. She was demanding. He gripped her thighs, pushing them higher around his hips, testing the angle and loving
the result. She cried out, meeting him motion for motion, supporting him just so to maintain the delicate balance they’d
found in their joining.
And the rest…was a recollection better left for two.
James recalled each rendezvous with frustration, missing her as he ran. The feelings she had left within him were going
to be what led him to his death. She was plaguing his every step; her fragrance dogged every fiber in his clothing in an insufferable
mist, her flavor was seared on the surface of his tongue, dooming him forever to bask in a fleeting taste of bliss. Damn his
life and damn his abominable choices. He was the fool in this scheme, the pawn, the played, the joke.
Contrary to his introspection, he was fully aware of who’d been the most harmed by his selfish delusions of freedom.
It was the one he’d wanted least to bruise. Now, his good intentions were for naught and she was wounded. He thought
maybe if she hadn’t revealed her heart to him so bravely, they could both depart from this without bitterness. But she
had revealed her heart, and he had rejoiced.
She sat on the shore of lake, watching him as he floated on his back. She wore her bathing suit well--what there was
of it to be seen. She hid his most favored treasures behind a sarong and sweater. His considerable charm had failed to lure
her into the water’s warm, inviting embrace. She had refused gently, preferring instead to read on the grass. Glasses
and a mess of curls--she made studious incredibly sexy. A stirring of desire summoned him from his play to another round of
a different game.
He crept across the muddy divide between land and sea towards her outstretched legs. She feigned at ignorance but felt
him coming. A smile gave her away.
“My, my, the natives are beautiful in these parts.” He walked his fingers up the length of her leg to the hem
of her wrap. He playfully took a peek beneath only to be swatted away by Niccolo Machiavelli’s handiwork.
“You tourists have clearly never heard of look, don’t touch.” She sat her book aside to give him
her undivided attention.
“I’m shocked,” he continued, edging towards her on his knees. “You think I’m a tourist. I’ve
never been so insulted. Are you insinuating that I don’t fit in?” He kissed her knees and her thigh.
She caressed his face lightly and smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m insinuating. I’ve yet to meet
a man of so much charm and worldliness, in Port Charles. Especially not one wrapped in such an inviting package. No, you are
an erotic import.”
He grinned. “An exotic import you mean?”
She draped her arms around his shoulders. “No, erotic suits my purposes just fine.”
Beaming devilishly, he leaned down and invitingly kissed her. They parted when their lungs could no longer be silenced.
Panting, one wet and the other becoming a great deal wetter, they were…a sight to behold. He stroked her jaw, affectionately,
before nibbling a scintillating path down her neck.
She sighed, her fingers tangled again in his hair, their favorite place. “You know, I see this ending badly for me.”
He paused in his systematic worship of her heavenly form. “How so, ma cherie?”
She looked askance at him, her eyes reflective. “Everything about you is wrong.” Seeing his offended confusion,
she hurried to complete her explanation. “You are the worst sort of bad boy. You're presumptuous, secretive, rude,”
she exhaled, then carried on. “Compassionate, well-spoken...devilishly charming. We've had fewer than two dozen conversations
and I doubt that any more than half of what you've said is true. Yet I can't stay away. I'm drawn to the darkest aspects of
your honor.” She snorted in disgust and looked away, the moment gone. “It must be the masochist in me.”
“Don’t be afraid of that.” He touched his palm to her face, and his heart nearly rent itself of its place
in his chest as she shut her eyes and leaned into his caress.
“That’s just it. I’m not.”
With those guilelessly spoken words she had done two things he hadn’t anticipated: she had laid a cooling hand on
his burning soul, sending a flood of joy coursing through his veins; and she had blown the Utopian bubble that was theirs
to hell. It wasn’t pretend anymore. Without exchanging the trite phrase, she had told him what he had longed to hear,
but also dreaded. They were inside of each other, and somewhere in that convolution was love.
When he could run no more, he dropped to the tangled roots of tree. He was damned near blind at this time of night
and it wasn’t the lack of illumination that was doing him in. His head was elsewhere, still with her and the things
he‘d done.
Although their relationship remained secret for quite a while, they could only go so long before they started raising
eyebrows. He’d managed to evade all but Nikolas for the initial four months. Unfortunately, all days hence were rife
with unlucky reunions with his former captives. Once he came face to face with Sweet Sam, he knew the jig was up and that
the life he had so painstakingly constructed was about to implode. The only vow he made then was that no one would tell Alexis
before he would.
He had loved her and he would be the one to see her fall, even if that was what she dreaded most. She was entitled to the
first pound of flesh, the first ounce of blood. He wanted to give her that since he could give her nothing else--only one
more horror story to tell and another broken trust.
So, on a muggy day June, he had confessed. He had urged her to get angry, to embrace her rage. Her expression had nightmarishly
echoed every one of his sweat-soaked dreams. Nothing. Perhaps a flicker of hurt, but it was gone quickly with no signs of
revival likely. Here he was, James Craig, just one more man to step in with charm and break out in ugliness. He had touched
her, they both knew, but it was a touch that would not be acknowledged or repeated.
For all concerned, it was simply best to call it a dazzling ruse with a bloodless conclusion. Still, he was compelled on
his departure to turn to her and say, “Partir c'est mourir un peu,” hoping that the honor of his native tongue
would somehow soothe her.
Her eyes began to fill with what emotion she had hidden, and she simply looked away. That was their goodbye. He found the
door and slipped away, leaving her to pick up the pieces alone, again. He was no greater a man than her last love.
It was only a handful of hours ago that he had said goodbye to the most fascinating woman he’d ever known, the
woman as was reaping her vengeance by wreaking havoc on his mind. He had gone mad, stumbling through the woods towards the
road. There would be a car waiting for him, a middleman he would meet. He’d be carted off to his next life and next
assignment, perhaps even his next love, nonetheless, he knew he’d never recover from the lover Alexis Davis had been
to him. He was already mourning that life, even as he threw a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. No reckless heroine
now.
He pressed himself hard against the bruising bark of the tree while a worrying symphony of sirens and skidding tires filled
the night. The game was afoot. He crouched under the stars and inched towards the road where he could still smell the acrid
fragrance of burnt rubber. His car wouldn’t be here he surmised, and began to walk away from whence he’d come.
She was back there, putting on her brave face; if he knew her at all, rocking Kristina calmly, and telling her about the man
who wouldn’t be with them anymore. He imagined she had already begun to erase him, and the knowledge left a tangible
sting.
She had been beautiful, daring, and worth of every risk. He threw one final longing glance at the trees obscuring her from
his sight, putting a fist to his heart. At last, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and took resolutely to the road.
He had given her one final truth in saying goodbye. Leaving was dying a little bit.
