Author: Regency

Title: New Friends Are Just More Loyal

Pairing: Spinelli/Georgie

Summary: Damian Millhouse Spinelli finds out that friendship and love doesn’t always come in blond blue-eyed packages. Sometimes they’re brainy and they smile.

Author’s Notes: Based on the previews from Friday, April 6, 2007.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters depicted below save for interpretation and the vague static character of Spinelli’s mom, Hannah. They are the express property of the ABC Network, et al.

~~~

Spinelli tugged at the collar of his turtleneck against the spring heat of April in Port Charles. Not that he was uncomfortable enough, given that he’d just been chewed out by the Blond One for talking about doing what she had wanted to do. She confused him and she’d hurt him, and he wasn’t sure she even cared.

Sure, she’d apologized like she always did when she thought she’d lost his loyalty, but it hadn’t felt any more sincere than the last time. He’d shrugged it off and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He always did that when he was anxious--it kept him from biting his nails till they bled. It was a little gesture, a way of coping he had. He had a lot of them, so many he couldn’t count them anymore.

His life had made coping mechanisms a necessity. Something was always going on--mom was having trouble holding on to her latest conquest and dad was back for just one more shot at fatherhood. The two of them came and went effortlessly while he immersed himself in the only world that mattered anyway: the Net.

He knew he came across as this long lost stoner with no future and no hopes, and maybe they were right, but he hadn’t been that way forever. When he was young, he believed that his brains could take him places. All those great movies where the parents came together to watch their genius kid save the future of his generation rang around his head. Just take one more test, he’d tell himself, just one more A and they’ll come home for good. One day, though, he got a serious wake-up call.

He’d been finishing up his science fair project in his room when he thought he heard his mother’s voice. She hadn’t been much of a presence in his life up until recently, but he knew the sound of her voice like he knew the back door of a Linux Operating System. So, he wrapped up what he was doing pretty fast and made a beeline for the stairs when he heard his grandmother’s voice rise in anger. He stopped, knowing his grams didn’t usually yell--she scared the bejeezus out of him well enough in normal tones-- and listened.

His mother was speaking in that tender drawl that lured men in, but couldn’t keep them. She was condescending his grams and he frowned because she didn’t have the right to do that. She’d dropped him on the doorstep when he was two with only his pacifier and a toy to keep him quiet. He hadn’t seen her again until he was ten, for a day and no more. Just as he was about to charge to grams’s defense, his mother stopped him in his tracks again.

“Stop acting like that kid’s got anything going for him, mama, ‘cause he don’t. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweet boy, but he wasn’t born to rule the world. He wasn’t even born to be important. He was born because there wasn’t anything to do but to have him. I tried to love him, mama, I did, but I don’t. At this point, I can’t even try.”

From his vantage point, he could hear his own mama, dark-haired and beautiful, standing off against the only family he’d ever had in front of the door. His grandmother held her fists stiff at her side, her anger evident. She shook her head and looked away from her wayward daughter.

“He’s got more of a future in his head than you’ve got on your back, little girl.” She turned away completely. “And more love in his heart than you’ll ever see in those men you find so appealing. Go home, Hannah. You’re no good to Damian, you’re the worst thing that could happen to him.”

“The feeling’s mutual, mama. My life ain’t gone right since he was born.” Then, his mother, in all her empty glory, stormed into the dark Tennessee night, reminding him painfully that he didn’t matter at all.

His grams was the only person who loved him and he’d tried to come to terms to that as a kid. So, he did the only way he knew how, he’d reinvented himself, in body and online. He got into these great role playing groups where the people were great, and some were like him, the typing wounded. They were his best friends. In trying to fill the hole his family, what there was of it, had left behind, he became a loner with even fewer real life companions. It was sort of a lonely existence but that was okay as long as he had his laptop. You see, that way he always had his friends, even those that were a thousand miles away. That was his life until Lorenzo Alcazar found him.

After that, his world was transformed into a place where he mattered in way; it wasn’t love, but it felt so much like affection that he grabbed on with both hands and just kept going. When he found Stone Cold, the Goddess, and the Blond One, he was positive that things were taking a turn for the best. He had these badass, cool people counting on him; it was like having a purpose or a calling. It was righteous and awesome and he didn’t want it to stop. Then, he started to care about what was happening to his friends--that’s when it turned into a mess.

He fell for Lulu Spencer and he got involved in the whole Who’s the Daddy roundup with Elizabeth, Stone Cold, and the Goddess. He got too involved and he hurt people, and people hurt each other. There were so many lies that no one really remembered who’d said what anymore; it was just easier to pick a side, pick a mascot, and stick to it. He picked Lulu, the safe bet. The problem was Lulu didn’t know what side she was on. All he wanted to do was keep the peace; no kid should grow up in the kind of shambles he’d grown up in. He didn’t learn who his father was until he was nine and that was a year before he met his mother for the second time. He wasn’t gonna let Stone Cold’s kid get wrapped up in the mess his parents had made.

At least, that was what he’d wanted to do. But when he’d tried to carry out his goal he ended up on the ugly end of the Blond One’s temper and on the outs of her romantic coven. Not that it made a difference, he knew she couldn’t love him anymore than his mother or father could. This was just one more experience for the interactive video game that would be made of his life someday. See, Spinelli still had goals--just different ones.

He laughed a little bit at himself. He didn’t know too many people who’s biggest dreams was to be a character animated by a keyboard or a joystick, but what could he say? The docks were empty so he didn’t think he had to worry about looking like he’d lost it. He’d spent more years than he cared to remember justifying his online obsessions with counselors who thought he just needed a listening ear to set him straight--his grams’ words. I, Damian Millhouse Spinelli, am a lost cause, he thought glumly, but at least he was consistent.

Sounds of the city danced on the night air, teasing him with snippets of unattainable, unwelcoming domesticity. He’d never had that--no birthday parties, no anniversaries, no Tooth Fairy. His grandmother wasn’t that kind of woman; she thought that sort of fantastical fairytale was for weak children and she didn’t raise Damian that way. Nonetheless she tolerated his obsession with virtual reality; she knew he’d be lost without it. Thus, here he was, skittish, pale, and wobbly. That was him, the one and unwanted Spinelli.

He pulled his knees up to his chest on the bench he inhabited. Happy Birthday to me. No one in Port Charles knew and the person who might’ve had a kind word for him today was a few states to the west.

He jerked at the sound of footsteps behind him. It was a pretty girl--she looked familiar. She also looked about like he felt: really alone. She didn’t seem to see him either. She walked past him to the docks and watched the water; he thought she might be ready to cry. There wasn’t anyone else coming and he thought he might be able help in spite of his track record.

The wind blew his hair in his face and he spied her brushing her own out of her eyes as she wiped away a trail of tears. He suddenly knew where he recognized her from: the attic. She used to be Film Guy’s girlfriend before the Blond One intervened. He winced for her, familiar with the ache of a broken heart.

He rummaged around in his bag for the little packet of Kleenex he kept on hand for his allergies and approached carefully. “Hey, do you want a tissue?”

Stifling a scream, she spun around, obviously noticing him for the first time. She held her chest, pale, and laughed nervously. “Oh. Yeah.” She reached out and accepted the courtesy, hastily drying her face and looking away. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He shrugged. “I’m not that noticeable.”

She frowned. “I think you are; I was just thinking about something else.”

He raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “I could tell.”

She laughed awkwardly again to cover the silence that was rolling in. Arms crossed in front of her, she looked like little girl who’d lost her mother in the department store. He stuck his hands in his pockets before realizing that he was probably keeping her from her innermost thoughts.

“Oh, man, I’m not interrupting, am I? I can go and leave you to, you know, your contemplations.”

As he made a move towards the stairs, she stepped forward to catch him. “No! Please, don’t go. You don’t have to. I’m not thinking about anything I haven’t thought about before, so I’m not gonna take this place from you. I need a new thinking spot anyway.”

Spinelli’s ears perked up and he moved closer. “You have a thinking place, too?”

The one he mentally dubbed Pretty One looked up from her concentration on the water-stained dock to meet his bewildered look. “Yeah. I used to think everybody did, but then realized that not everybody thinks.”

He jerked his hands out of his low-slung pockets in a victory cry. “I know! I know, I just found that out, too. I thought everybody needed somewhere to go--ya know, someplace to think clearly. They don’t!” Afraid he was starting to freak her out, he toned down his joy at finding a kindred spirit. “It’s just weird, ya know?”

Her sad face started to lighten and he saw more than a hint of a smile. “Yeah, it is. My cousin Robin is the only other person I know who has to go somewhere special to clear her head. My sister Maxie thinks it’s weird--she thinks most of what I do is weird.”

Spinelli dropped back down to the bench and waved her over. He realized he couldn’t remember her name even though he’d visited her house three times and started to feel really bad about that. He hadn’t been much better to her than Film Guy. That was something he intended to change .

The Pretty One sat down next to him and sighed. It was weird, looking at her up close. Dark eyes peered out of what might seem like an unremarkable face on anyone else. She wasn’t like most girls though, she wasn’t like Lulu. There was more to her beauty than just her dark blond hair. He felt his heart thump extra loud and feared the Pretty One might hear. She didn’t turn her head away from the mysterious visage of the port waters, assuring him that his secret was safe.

“Well, Her Bitterness is wrong. I don’t think you’re weird. You’re just not like anybody else she knows and I think that’s really cool. Being unique is cool.”

She swept her eyes back to him and he knew he was in trouble. He licked his lips and jumped up to pace in front of her. He felt her watching him now and he wasn’t used to this. Her undivided attention was squarely on him and he didn’t know what to do with it.

“You’re a book worm, a really pretty bookworm,” he stammered. “There aren’t many of girls in the world who can make the football quarterback fall in love with you, and not because you’re doing his homework! Gods drop down from the heavens for girls like you or at least they should. And us mere mortals, well, we shouldn’t even be wasting your time.”

He halted his spastic motion expecting to find her gone, having snuck away in his frantic state. She remained, however, her eyes still fixed on him and her attention intact. He waited with bated breath for her to laugh at him and give him that stupid tolerant smile that he got from everybody else. When she didn’t, he felt his skin turning bright red. Had he overstepped some unspoken boundary or something?

The Pretty One rose and laid her hand on his shoulder, stopping the very motion of his breathing. She was standing so close he could see the tears that hadn’t begun to well up yet. He was near enough to distinguish one gently curling eyelash from another, and the faint lines where her tears had washed away her foundation. She shouldn’t have to hurt like this, he thought. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right; he added it to the extensive archive of things that shouldn’t be.

“You’re really sweet.” She openly smiled at him and he knew she should’ve been able to hear his heart now. The urge to beat Dillon until he cried was unbearable. Spinelli had never been a violent guy, but he felt protective of the Pretty One. This was the first real chance he’d had to talk with her one on one and she wasn’t a bad person. It was just more proof that bad things happened to good people, especially when it shouldn’t.

He beamed and bobbed in his way, tucking his unwieldy body into his sweatshirt. “I try to be. Besides, it’s the truth. I’ve heard people talk about you and it seems like you keep getting the short end of, like, every stick to ever be handed to you.”

“It feels that way sometimes, but I’ve been okay. I mean, compared to a lot of people, I got lucky.” He knew that trick and was somehow sadder for having employed it himself to get through hard times.

“Ah, the stray dog got luckier than the pound dog.” The compulsion to bite his nails reared its ugly head and he shoves his busy hands back in his pockets.

She looked at him sideways. “Relativity?”

He nodded and turned to face the hot night with her. “It’s a matter of what’s worse according to you. Doesn’t matter if my best friend yelled at me if you’ve had your heart broken.”

“It’s a way of looking at things,” she conceded and sighed again.

“My way. My ways are always kind of weird, though.” Spinelli looked down at the floorboards. This was strange, having someone to talk with. He didn’t really know what to say or how to keep her. All of the sudden, he came to the conclusion that he probably would’ve made a really crummy boyfriend for Lulu anyway. Yeah, he could live with that. Just another way he wouldn’t change the world.

“Hey,” she nudged his shoulder. She didn’t look quite so melancholy anymore and he felt a mature satisfaction in knowing he’d helped her somehow. “You know, I don’t think you’re weird. You seem pretty cool to me.”

He rubbed the top of his head, that old anxiety creeping up his neck. He tried to shrug it off, but it clung to him. That streak of hysteria he’d inherited from his mother was coming through. “You don’t know me that well, but if you did you’d think I was bizarre. Everyone does. I play Dungeons & Dragons for weeks straight and hack the State Department mainframe every chance I get and I call myself ‘The Jackal.’” He had the good grace to laugh, even though it wasn’t funny. “What normal person does that? I don’t even think that’s normal.”

This happened to him every so often. He’d remember what his mother said at a particularly stressful time and it would feel like the most accurate picture of exactly what he was. Spinelli, the burden--the weird burden. He’d lived up to his mother‘s prophecy--sweet pyrrhic victory. He smoked so he wouldn’t have to feel this way.

Two arms slipped around him, slamming him back to the present with enough force to knock him off his feet. She was holding him. She didn’t know him from anywhere other than her attic, yet she was holding him and whispering unintelligible kindness in his ear. His eyes stung in misery, but he wouldn’t cry. His grandmother hadn’t raised that sort of man.

“She was supposed to be my friend and she hurt me. I know she didn’t mean it, but it just keeps hurting.” The Pretty One held him tighter.

“She was a friend, one that you adored--that’s the worst part.”

He looked back at her. She knew who he was talking about and she got him. “Yeah,” he forced a macho chuckle. “You get over it, though.”

“You try.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, sending the scent of her shampoo floating under his nose. It was sweet; maybe peaches, something citrus. He could recall standing under a peach tree once; it was something like this, this kind of peace.

“You say that I’m really sweet, but you’re the one holding me together.”

She gave a wry chuckle and hid her face in his shoulder. “Let’s say I’m used to this type of thing.”

“Oh, the dependable one?”

“That’s me.” He heard her stifle a sniffle. Her breath shuddered by his ear. She was hurt again, he concluded.

“Well, good thing you’re here then. I’m always getting myself into trouble. Maybe you can give me some advice.”

“I’d be glad to.” The new subtle undertone of amusement in her voice sent butterflies soaring in his stomach.

He chewed his bottom lip--another coping tactic--and debated whether it was too late to take her somewhere. There were late night movie theaters, maybe a diner. He just didn’t want her to go yet. He wasn’t even sure he had the courage to ask.

“So,” he began nervously. “I was wondering--if you’re not busy…” he trailed off, hoping she’d fill in the blank.

“You were hoping what?” She was smiling, definitely smiling. He was thrilled that he could read her voice; it was nice.

“I was hoping you’d be interested in getting a milkshake with me. Or maybe even going to a late night movie. I know where some are playing…if you want to go.” He’d been rambling and he wanted to kick himself for taking leave of his senses. What was he thinking, the Pretty One would never want to go out with him.

“I’d love to.” His world? Toppled onto its side and did the ‘Running Man.’ He swung completely around to look at this girl, standing before him with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. The moonlight was in love with her and wrapped her in its influence, making her shine. Her soulful eyes gleamed and reflected her gentleness and her amusement. She wanted to spend time with him.

He cleared his throat as though he’d known that all along. “So, the movies?”

She shrugged, appearing perfectly willing to go along with him. “Sounds good to me.”

He gave up the ghost and grinned. This was turning out to be a pretty cool birthday after all. She grinned in return. Like a gentleman, he offered his arm and she accepted. They marched up the dock steps together, chatting animatedly about which movie they were going to see. They had two different ideas about what made a good movie, but Spinelli was willing to see whatever she liked. The Pretty One didn’t know that though, and so she haggled.

“I’ll see The Reaping with you, but we have to get a massive popcorn--with butter. And Smarties. I need my Smarties.”

“You love the Smarties, too?” At her confirmation, he pumped his fist. “Righteous. The Smarties are the candy of kings, next to Nerds, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed, prompting Spinelli to declare to himself that he had found his soul mate. Smart, beautiful, kind, and she liked Smarties.

Damian Millhouse Spinelli was in love.

~~~