"Uhhhhhh-hundred!!"

Jax froze halfway "up" in his sit-up, not collapsing until Thomas tossed a towel in his face. "You did a hundred! Time to quit, boss!" the swarthy man called cheerfully, uncapping a bottle of water for his employer/friend.

The air left Jax’s lungs in a long sigh as he wiped his face with the towel. "You never did learn to count in those bloody Aboriginal schools, did you, Thomas?" His voice was muffled from beneath the towel but then Jax removed it and grimaced at his grinning employee. "Probably explains why you felt the need to pick every available pocket on my beat all those years ago."

"Ahhhh, yes……picking pockets, running scams, bilking little old ladies out of their life savings…….." Thomas rolled his eyes dramatically as he handed Jax the water. "Those were the good old days." He settled onto a weight bench near the mat where Jax was working out. "Now I just get to sit around and watch a flabby old white man try to get into shape."

"I………I am NOT flabby!!" Jax sputtered, almost dropping his water bottle as he rose to a seated position.

"I know, I know………" Thomas grinned as Jax let out a disgruntled snort. "Don’t get your superhero boxers all in a twist." Seriousness settled over his face. "But I *am* worried about you, Jax. You’ve been working too hard lately."

Jax gave Thomas a dirty look and then bounced to his feet. "I have NOT been working too hard." He went to the side of the state-of-the-art fitness center and pulled on some boxing gloves. "In fact, there was a perfectly respectable computer graphics company last week that I *failed* to take over because I wasn’t paying attention when the time was right."

Thomas cocked his head to the side. "That’s not what I mean, boss, and you *know* it." He rose from the bench and went to stand behind the punching bag and brace it as Jax took a few preliminary jabs. "You go out every night to do your Kismet thing, stay out *all* night cleaning up the messes that the PCPD made, and then when you *do* come home, you don’t sleep."

Jax landed a stronger punch. "I *do* sleep."

Thomas peered around the bag and leaned his full weight against it. "Then who do I hear pacing around in your room at all hours?" Jax hesitated for a minute but then threw another punch that made Thomas shift his feet to accommodate it. "You havin’ the nightmares again?"

Jax sighed. He had thought they were gone. After a few months of peacefully blissful, dreamless sleep, he thought the nightmares were a thing of the past. They had been nightly occurrences when he was first released from the hospital. The doctors had told his family that they were to be expected, particularly after Jax had lived through such a harrowing experience.

Harrowing didn’t even *begin* to describe it. Alex Garcia had been his partner ever since Jax joined the Port Charles Police Department. He was about four years older than Jax and acted as the rookie’s mentor as well as friend. Together, they began to make some impressive arrests, bringing a halt to the careers of several minor drug dealers in the waterfront area.

It was always their dream, however, to find the source of the filth that was infiltrating Port Charles’ schools and ruining the lives of mere children. Garcia was an old friend of the police commissioner, and so, with a little arm-twisting, he was able to get Mac Scorpio to agree to a lavish undercover scheme involving he and Jax.

Little by little, Jax and Garcia let hints drop in certain circles that they were amenable to accepting bribes, especially from dealers. Jax’s background made for a perfect cover. His family had money – lots of it. He had passed on going into the family business, preferring the life of a civil servant. But, according to the story they spread, Jax was feeling the pinch of an empty wallet. He envied his family’s plush lifestyle. They led people to believe that "income" on the side allowed Jax to have the perks of a rich man while still enjoying the excitement of working as a cop. They subjected themselves to being ostracized by their co-workers, effectively tossing their good names and career successes into the dumpster. Their fellow officers shunned them and even threatened them, making a trip to the station house virtually impossible.

Before long, Jax and Garcia found themselves on a first-name basis with many of the small-time dealers in Port Charles. It bothered them both to allow the chump change lowlifes to continue dealing, but they kept telling themselves that they were waiting for the really *big* fish to come along – the kingpin in the drug trade. Once they could bring down the man in charge – whoever he was – the rest of the cartel would collapse and they could finally regain their standing in the PCPD.

It was an Indian summer night when the partners found themselves driving to a clandestine rendezvous in the warehouse district. Jax shifted anxiously in the front seat of the squad car, rubbing his sweaty palms on the expensive suit he now wore to maintain his cover. "You nervous?" he asked, glancing over at Garcia.

"D*mn straight, I’m nervous." Alex only took his eyes off the road for a split second to return Jax’s look. He strained his neck against the high collar of the starched dress shirt. "A good cop is NEVER blasé about stuff like this."

"Good. That’s good." Jax nodded and stared straight ahead as Garcia pulled into a parking space. "Cause I’m kinda nervous myself."

"We should be." Alex checked the rear view mirror before killing the motor. "If we play our cards right, we’ll be able to end this charade tonight and walk through the station house without feeling like we’re taking our lives in our hands."

"You really think we’ll meet the guy in charge?"

"Well, if Stinky’s right, the guy we’ll meet first will take us to Mr. Big." Stinky was a snitch/low-level dealer that they had met early in the operation. "Stinky says that this guy is about as close to the top as you can get and live to talk about it."

They got out of the unmarked car slowly. Jax stretched his arms to the sides and rotated his shoulders. "Where you gonna go when this is all over?"

"I been thinkin’ about that a lot." Garcia allowed himself a smile as the two started walking towards a group of warehouses. The heels of their expensive Italian loafers clicked on the pavement. "The wife and kids want to go to Disney World, but I’m kinda partial to Hawaii."

Jax nodded. "The islands are nice." His eyes darted from side to side, checking out each shadow as they passed. "My family owns an island in the Caribbean – Kronos. Black sand beaches and a villa to die for." He punched Garcia lightly in the arm. "Maybe I can get the old man to let us use it for a few weeks and we can all go together."

Alex stopped short and raised one eyebrow playfully at Jax. "Nahhhhhh……..I don’t think so, friend." When Jax frowned, Garcia laughed softly. "I’d have to be some kinda *nuts* to let my wife ever see you in a Speedo!"

The tension momentarily broken, the partners continued to walk towards a darkened coffee warehouse. "I don’t like this." Jax looked around warily. "It’s too quiet."

Before Garcia could reply, a human form emerged from the shadows in front of them. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening." Jax felt Garcia’s entire body tense as he took the role of spokesman. He peered into the darkness but their contact’s face was still obscured. "My friend and I were told we could find some excellent private blend coffee somewhere near here."

"Really?" The man walked forward a little. His short, stocky build was all they could discern at that point. "Well, most of our coffee is sold to retailers – not individuals."

"We’re well aware of that." Jax spoke up, his Australian accent pronounced in his heightened state of awareness. "But Mr. Lopez knows how much I enjoy chicory in my coffee." The short man froze in place as Jax glibly rattled off the password phrases. "In fact, Mr. Lopez often supplies me with some of his private stock when I run short."

There was an agonizing pause, and then the short man stepped forward a little. "Very good, my friend." The light from a solitary street lamp reflected off a large gold eagle pendant that he wore at his neck. "I am your contact, Mr. Sorel."

Garcia nodded curtly. "Pleased to meet you, Sorel."

His malicious smile sparkled, even in the dim light. "No more pleased than I am to meet you, Mr. Garcia." He nodded towards Jax. "Mr. Jacks."

"Really……" Jax felt Garcia tense even more. He caught sight of his partner shifting his pistol hand nearer to his side.

"Absolutely. There has been much talk about the two of you lately."

"Really?" Jax shifted his own stance fractionally as the hairs on the back of his neck went up. "All of it good, I hope?"

"Actually………..NO."

Everything seemed to shift into slow-motion at that point. Men appeared from doorways and alleys around them with heavy-gauge artillery aimed at them. Before Jax could even get his hand to the back of his waist for his pistol, there was a loud bang. Garcia collapsed into a heap on the sidewalk, his blood spattering Jax as his body was riddled with bullets.

Jax looked into Sorel’s eyes just as the short man fired again. He could almost see the bullet speeding towards his chest. There was a pop and then a burning sensation just beneath his left nipple. When he looked down at his chest, his white shirt blossomed with a crimson stain that grew exponentially. He felt himself falling and then everything went black.

He didn’t hear the whine of the ambulance the first time around, even though the sound of it haunted his nightmares. He didn’t see the frantic movements of the ER personnel as they battled valiantly to save his life. When the memories came back of those next few hours, it was as though Jax saw the entire scene from somewhere above – literally, an "out-of-body" experience. Or as though he was watching the entire drama on television. He did remember the jolt when they used the paddles to re-start his heart. His entire body burned with white hot pain. All he wanted them to do was let him leave. Let him go to the peaceful, cool light that was just beyond his reach.

Jax wished he could have made them hear him – he was screaming at them at the top of his lungs. Shouting at the stubborn doctors who brought him back twice more on the operating table. And then – there was the void. The gray nothingness that enveloped him after they resuscitated him the last time in surgery. It was the void that he always dreamed of. The way it surrounded him like a huge net, allowing certain sensations to filter in but nothing to escape. Especially *him*.

Even though they couldn’t tell, Jax knew exactly how long he lay in the hospital bed, trapped by the gray fog. He could hear his nurse come in every morning and tell him about the news of the day or what the weather was like. His fellow police officers came, often speechless with grief. He wished he could tell them that it was OK – that there was no way they could have known that his "bad cop" character was just playacting. All he could do was hear the catch in their breathing or feel the ache in their souls as they stood a silent vigil at his bedside.

He could sense when his father, John, came in to visit – always telling him how sorry he was he had badgered him so about joining the family business. Telling him how he hadn’t needed to be a hero to make his father proud of him. And his mother. He could feel when Jane Jacks would take his hand between hers and massage it gently. It tore him apart when he felt her tears fall between his fingers. If he could only tell her that he was still there……..that he wanted to come back, if for nothing else than to tell her and his father that he loved them both………

And then, one day………he did. The gray fog started to lift, very slowly and at the corners first. The nurse’s piercing scream when he moved one hand was a shocking welcome back to the land of the living. But then, the pain came. Waves of it, rolling over him, drowning him, almost taking him back to the grayness. There were times when it was so intensely excruciating that he almost *wanted* to go back to the fog.

But he didn’t. It was an agony and an ecstasy, virtually coming back from the dead as he did. Mostly agony at first. Nobody had to tell him that Garcia had been killed. The surprising thing was that *he* was alive – not that Garcia was dead. In the quiet moments when he waited for another pain shot to relieve the fiery ache in his chest, Jax often wondered if he had been spared for a reason.

Once he was deemed able, the physical therapy gave an entirely new meaning to the word "pain." John and Jane Jacks spared no expense in bringing in the best specialists to make Jax whole again. When it was decided that he needed a partner for the exercises – someone to motivate him as well as often physically support his still-flaccid muscles – the call came from Mac Scorpio that one of Jax’s notorious "thugs" had come forward to help. Thomas blinked back tears when he first saw Jax, but then quickly took charge, aggravating his arresting officer to the point of exhaustion to get him to continue with the exercises. By the time Jax was ready to leave the hospital, Thomas had almost become a part of the Jacks family.

It was after Jax returned to the huge mansion he had bought during his convalescence that it happened. He was pondering again – trying to figure out exactly why God had done so much for him when he had done so little for God in return. Thomas had gone to another room to get a soothing aloe cream for his nightly massage, leaving Jax alone on the flat table. Lying flat on his stomach, Jax stretched his hands above his head, pushing biceps and triceps that were already clenching from exhaustion. He lifted his head to stare at his fingers – and it happened.

Thomas came running when he heard Jax’s scream. When he appeared in the doorway, his own cry of shock joined his boss’s. Jax was still on the table where he had left him, but his right arm – up to the elbow – seemed to have disappeared. He entered the room slowly, meeting Jax’s fearful gaze with a similar one. But then, when Jax stared down at his hand again, it reappeared.

Over the next few months, it began to happen with increasing regularity – even at Jax’s command. And ultimately, Jax learned to make his entire body disappear. It was then that he knew why God had sent him back – giving him this extraordinary gift. He expected extraordinary things from Jasper Jacks – and as Kismet, he began to accomplish them.

"Jax? Boss??"

Jax snapped out of his reverie. He peered at Thomas around the punching bag. "I’m sorry, Thomas. What did you say?"

"Maybe you should take a night off, Jax," Thomas suggested gently. "You’ve been hitting it pretty hard, you know……."

Thomas almost landed on his rear when Jax suddenly hit the bag with renewed intensity. "I can’t take tonight off, Thomas." His lips thinned with determination as he landed punch after punch. "Somebody’s going to need me……."

########

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me."

Brenda repeated the comforting mantra to herself as she got out of her Accord and slammed the door. She had managed to find a parking spot just three doors down from Beds and Beyond on Decatur Street. Even though coming back to a deserted area of questionable repute sent chills down Brenda’s spine, she consoled herself with the fact that this time, her car would be nearby. She would just take a little stroll down the block, peek inside the windows of the closed linen shop, and then return to her car and drive safely away.

She hadn’t taken into account the temptation of an alley. Of all the rotten luck – the linen shop was locked up tighter than a drum. Unfortunately, no illegal business was being conducted the one night Brenda chose to play Angie Dickinson. But when she glanced towards the end of the block and saw the alley, her curiosity kicked into overdrive.

{Welll, DUH, Brenda!! Of COURSE there’s nothing going on in the front of the store tonight! What did you expect – bright klieg lights and a big sign saying "Cocaine for sale tonight after regular hours– buy one, get one free!"? *Naturally* they would use the alley entrance……..*that’s* where you’d probably be able to see some action…..}

She told herself that it wasn’t NEARLY the same as the other night. That this time, she just take a quick "sneaky-peeky" in the rear window and if things were dark there, too, she’d leave. She’d be within two minutes of her car the entire time. And this was a commercial district – no tenements, no babies screaming, no sounds of glass breaking or tires squealing……just the dark, quiet streets.

Brenda glanced back at her car one more time for reassurance and then took a deep breath to steady herself. She told herself that she was doing the right thing as she walked gingerly towards the alley. Even if he had written the instructions on their foreheads, Mac’s storm-troopers probably would have broken down the doors, created a din equal to a horde of thundering elephants, and found nothing. If she could just manage to get one look inside the rear of the shop and find some incriminating evidence, she might be able to sleep at night, knowing that Drew Brighton’s killer wasn’t being let off the hook for nothing. And besides, the odds were that she would be safe. Nobody got mugged twice within three days. It couldn’t happen to her again.

And then – it did.

When an arm snaked out of the darkness to wrap around her waist, Brenda was determined that she wouldn’t go quietly into that good night. She started to let out a yell to rival a banshee but a hand clapped over her mouth. Her legs kicking and flailing, her assailant dragged her farther into the alley and pushed her against a concrete wall. A sickening sense of déjà vu washed over Brenda, but then – suddenly – it was replaced by something else.

Familiarity. And relief. When his hand slid from her mouth, Brenda went limp as she heard Kismet’s rumbling voice. "We *have* to stop meeting like this, Miss Barrett."

The daylight’s fading slowly

As he held her against the side of the building, Brenda could feel his breath against her cheek. His muscular thighs, clad in black leather, pressed against her lower body. Her heart raced – and she told herself it was the aftereffects of fear that she was being attacked again. Yet when she realized that she was clutching the firm, rippling muscles of his forearms, a new wave of weakness hit Brenda’s knees and turned them to overcooked spaghetti.

So go on, go on

"I…….." She swallowed hard and saw the faintest hint of a smile tease the corners of his mouth. "Wait a minute…… how did you know my name?" Brenda closed her eyes briefly, fighting the sensual fantasies that had plagued her ever since meeting this mystery man. When she opened them, she met his gaze with analytical frostiness. "Ohhhhh, I get it now."

Kismet snorted softly. "Obviously you don’t, or you wouldn’t be in a neighborhood like this twice in one week."

"Noooo….that’s not what I mean." Brenda breathed a little easier as he backed away from her, making logical thought processes easier. "You’ve been reading your own press clippings, haven’t you?" She pointed a finger accusingly at Kismet’s chest. "*That’s* how you know my name!"

His expression, although hidden behind the mask, was undeniably grim. "You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous for you."

Brenda was too absorbed in her own theories to hear his warning. She folded her arms, smirking in the darkness. "Do you keep a scrapbook at home, huh? Collect the front pages of the newspapers when you make the headlines?" She came closer when Kismet turned away from her. "Does it give you some kind of thrill, rescuing damsels in distress and rounding up the bad guys when the police can’t?"

"Does it do that for you?"

She wasn’t prepared for the fury in his eyes when he turned back to her. "I……I don’t know what you mean," she muttered, shrinking against the wall again.

"Ohhhh, I think you do, Miss Barrett." She grimaced and turned away when he gripped her arms tightly but the guilt was written all over her face. "Why did you come here tonight alone? Without telling anyone about your suspicions about this place?" Kismet put a gentle knuckle to her chin to force her to face him. "Could it be that a vigilante spirit lurks in your soul, too?"

His words fired her temper. "Don’t you EVER compare the two of us!" she spat, wrenching free of his grasp. She strode a little ways down the alley but then turned towards him again, growling furiously. "I spend long hours working *within* the system to right the wrongs of society, Mister Kismet, or whatever your name is! I *believe* in that system!"

"Then why didn’t you allow that *system* to follow up on your lead on the linen shop?" Kismet’s voice was equally terse.

Brenda blanched. She hadn’t mentioned the details of her meeting with Nick Raines and Scott Baldwin to anyone – not even Dara. "How did you know about my lead?"

Kismet straightened uncomfortably and a curtain of aloofness fell. "It doesn’t matter."

"It DOES matter!" Brenda grabbed for his arm in exasperation when he turned away. Seeing the stiffness of his posture, she decided to try a different tactic. "It doesn’t have to be that way – don’t you see?" she asked in a gentler voice. He didn’t try to pull away from her but his skepticism was like a thick cloud in the air between them. "With what you know and can do and the resources the police have…….if there was just some way that you could work within the system……."

Kismet shook his head briskly. "It’s impossible."

Brenda reached towards him when he started back towards the mouth of the alley. "Then the two of us…….." He froze in place, his back to her. "Maybe we could work something out between us……..some kind of partnership…….."

The words died in her throat when he walked back towards her. His eyes blazed with something that she couldn’t identify. Was it fear …..…sadness……maybe even desire? "I couldn’t do that to you, Miss Barrett," Kismet whispered. His hand came up towards her face, as though he was tempted to touch her but felt he didn’t have the right. "I couldn’t put you in that kind of danger. Never again."

Brenda’s patience suddenly gave way. "WHAT kind of danger, d*mnit!" She looked over his shoulder towards the back door of Beds and Beyond again. "Exactly what do you know about this pla……."

"STOP!!" Kismet placed his fingers against Brenda’s lips, silencing her mid-sentence. He looked around and then, even through the mask, she saw his eyes go wide. As she took a breath to ask what the matter was, she felt his arm go around her waist again and he pulled her against his chest.

She was beginning to feel like Dorothy. Brenda almost expected Munchkins to greet her when she opened her eyes again after the whirlwind subsided. She looked around and was amazed to find herself back on the street, but almost a block from where they had been before. "What the……"

Once again, the words never came out. A thunderous explosion split the night, filling the sky with a fireball that engulfed half a city block. The shock wave from the blast threw them both to the ground. Kismet took the brunt of the blow as he forced Brenda beneath him.

The roar of the bomb was still echoing in her ears when she realized that Kismet was calling her name. "Brenda!!" He gently pushed the hair back off her forehead as he levered his weight off slightly to her side. "Brenda!! Are you hurt?"

Brenda was about to answer when the pop of a second explosion drew her scream. She buried her face against his upper chest and clutched him to her as, once again, Kismet covered her body with his. She could vaguely feel the veil of soot, ashes, and fine rock that rained down on them. Almost thirty seconds later, they separated slightly. She could feel his fingers trembling as he touched her face lightly to reassure himself that she was unscathed. "Brenda?"

She grasped for his hand and held it tightly. "I’m OK……" Brenda nodded grimly and rested her forehead against his shoulder as she tried to slow her breathing. She loosened her grip on his fingers, only to bring her hand to his mask-shrouded face. "What about you? Are you OK?"

With their bodies pressed so closely together, she felt the chuckle roll through his chest. "Of course I am, Brenda." He tipped his head to the side endearingly. "Haven’t you heard? I’m not real!"

Brenda trailed her fingers softly along the side of his strong jaw, covered as it was by the mask. "No – you’re not, are you?" She felt him catch his breath when her fingers strayed down his face towards his exposed lips. "You’re too good to be true – like make believe……"

It’s like a dream

Kismet could barely keep himself from groaning aloud. It was so good, the way her fingertips felt against his bare skin. So right. The way her soft curves cradled his hard, muscular frame. Like they fit together perfectly. He knew her lips would taste like heaven. All he had to do was close the distance between them……..

He was going to kiss her. She knew it. In fact, she *wanted* it. Brenda couldn’t ever remember wanting a man to kiss her so much. She wanted to find out if his lips were as smooth and soft as they looked. If he tasted as dark and potently virile as he felt, blanketing her with his strength. All she had to do was lift her lips to his – to find out if he WAS real…….

The loud wail of sirens signaling the approaching fire department broke the silence – and the moment. Kismet pulled back and sprang lightly to his feet. "I……..uh……" Brenda smiled weakly to cover her tongue-tied speech as he extended a hand to help her to her feet. "I seem to be making a habit of this…….letting you save my life……."

Kismet cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at his feet before raising serious eyes to meet hers. "I wouldn’t have to, you know…..if you stayed out of things that don’t concern you……."

"But……"

"That shop didn’t explode because of some gas leak, Miss Barrett!" He abruptly strode away from her, needing the space to calm himself before speaking again. "Somebody knew that you were coming here tonight! Somebody who didn’t want you to be able to put the pieces of some evil puzzle together!" Kismet pointed back towards the burning linen shop. "That was a warning, Miss Barrett. A warning to back off!"

"But I CAN’T back off!" Brenda’s tenacity matched Kismet’s. "Don’t you see? I’ve started it, and now I can’t just walk away! I HAVE to do this!"

She didn’t even recall blinking an eye. Yet somehow, one minute Kismet was standing ten feet away from her, and the next she was back in his arms. "Let it go, Brenda….." His husky voice echoed in her ear as the whirlwind enveloped her again. "Walk away this time. For me."

When the dust settled and she could see clearly again, Brenda was alone. She clenched her fists and muttered words that normally she only used in the presence of serial killers and international terrorists. As she stamped her foot in annoyance, she stared at the orange flames that were still shooting high above the Port Charles landscape. Her mind whirled with questions…….How had the drug dealers known that she was going to the shop that night? For that matter, how had KISMET known? And how had he known it was going to explode? And if he HAD known – if he WAS somehow connected to something illegal – why had he saved her life?

As she started walking slowly back towards the assembled fire fighters and policemen, Brenda sighed. Her beautiful taupe Honda Accord – her pride and joy, next to her framed law school diploma – was a charred, twisted, grotesque piece of molten metal. Dara would no doubt lecture her for over an hour on her place in the justice system and how she should have let Mac’s men handle the lead. She was covered in soot, and the aches that were just beginning to heal from her encounter with the mugger the other night were starting to hurt again. But as the firemen rushed over with oxygen tanks to make sure that she wasn’t hurt, one question above all others kept haunting Brenda.

Why the heck hadn’t Kismet kissed her?

So go on, go on

To be continued………..

Music credit: "Breathless," music and lyrics by R.J. Lange, sung by The Corrs on their CD, "In Blue" (also used in the 10/25 episode of "Titans")