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A couple people have asked me to start posting updates to this story here, so here goes nothing...... but I'm going to warn you that if you haven't been following this one you'll be completely lost, and if you dislike the inclusion of OCs you're going to completely hate it. Still, if you want to give it a try, you can find back chapters here at my site, and here at Shades of Blue... there's an overall rating of Nc-17 for gratuitous bad language, violence, and a bit of smut..

(Btw, this chapter is basically a lame attempt to establish the timeline. Figured I'd warn you in advance, lol.)


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Taking her now familiar seat across from Jason Morgan, Diane wondered how many more visits she could squeeze in to the perpetually troubled coffee exporter before someone at the precinct got it into their head to start charging her rent.

In all her years as an attorney, she'd never come across a client as fond of incarceration as Mr. Morgan appeared to be. The man collected misdemeanor and felony charges with a fanatical single mindedness she'd rarely seen outside of devout Beanie Baby aficionados.

She'd also never come across a client more resistant to the miraculous good fortune that seemed to be forever falling into his lap...

... and never, ever had she come across a client she'd felt more inclined to hit upside the head with her briefcase. Well, perhaps not her briefcase specifically since her briefcase was Bottega Veneta and there was absolutely no way she would willingly risk damaging it on the alleged mobster's infuriatingly hard head.

No, if she were ever fortunate enough to be given the opportunity to beat a little sense into Jason Morgan it would be with some cheap leather imitation knock-off, preferably one filled with bricks.

"I understand your antagonism toward Officer Spencer, but the fact remains that he has probably just saved you a minimum of eight years in prison.. and that's with good behavior. Not that I could foresee that even being an option based on your predilection for assault resulting in substantial bodily injury."

Jason didn't bother answering her, having learned early on that given the chance the redhead would eventually grow bored with the silence and answer herself, saving him the trouble. This time proved to be no different...

"Mr. Morgan, are you actually reading that document or just glaring at in in some vain attempt to force it into spontaneous combustion?"

He was reading it alright... Lucky Spencer's official request that all assault charges be dropped, complete with the saintly suggestion that prison wouldn't be able to provide the kind of rehabilitative assistance that something like a mandatory Anger Management course could.

It wasn't hard to figure out what they were doing. No one was stupid enough to touch him on the inside and they wanted him dead... the only way to do that would be to get him released from police protection so they could pick him off during a vulnerable moment on the outside...

Reading on, he skimmed Ric's recommendation to follow-up with a number of the lesser charges, but to pursue no further action on the aforementioned assault .... his jaw tightening in frustration as one of his most bitter enemies managed to complicate his already risky plan by choosing now of all times to start acting like a decent human being.

Exasperated with his attitude considering he was reading what amounted to an honest to goodness get-out-of-jail free card as if it were a notice of execution, Diane snapped, "I realize that it will be difficult to leave all this," a wave of her Dior covered arm indicated the drab grey interrogation room, "but all good things must come to an end."

Cringing as she took a sip of the primordial ooze the PCPD dared to pass off as coffee, the attorney leaned forward in false sympathy, saccharin sarcasm dripping from her tongue. "Mr. Morgan, I understand that it will be difficult to re-accustom your palate to food that doesn't taste like damp cardboard, and I know the idea of a private shower must seem terribly lonely... no doubt you'll be plagued by bouts of homesickness. After all, only a fool would want to trade in a bare 8x10 cell for a swank penthouse and a bank account even Donald Trump would find impressive."

His patience wearing thin, Jason finally looked up from the papers scattered in front of him. "You can drop the sarcasm, Diane. I don't want to stay in jail, but after what Spencer did I don't appreciate his help getting out either."

"I'll have you know that Oscar Wilde once said 'Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence', which loosely translates into meaning that I am either very intelligent... or, since he said it sarcastically, very witty. Fortunately, I find both outcomes acceptable. As for Officer Spencer's sudden change of heart.. you don't have a choice in the matter. He is dropping the charges. End of story."

"When will I be released?"

Pleased that they suddenly seemed to be on the same page, she smiled and assured him. "Monday morning... afternoon at the latest. Judge Carroll will be in her chambers at 7 am, and I plan on meeting her at the door with DA Lansing's recommendation."

Jason nodded and turned his attention back to the carefully typed documents that would make him a free man in less than 72 hours...

... he could only hope that would give Calder and Spinelli enough time to put everything in order.



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The grey blue glaze of twilight had darkened the sky by the time Devon found himself back at Jakes, the parking lot already filled with the usual Friday night array of assorted vehicles and rows of bikes, their polished chrome throwing the reflection of his headlight back at him as he pulled in next to a convertible full of giggling jailbait.

Too nice a car for this part of town... the expensively capped teeth gleaming behind mischevious smiles and their artistically faded couture jeans belying the bad-girl-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks image they were obviously trying to portray while working up the nerve to try out their new fake IDs..

If they were looking for trouble- and the whistle that followed him to the door before dissolving into more giggling definitely gave that impression- then they'd come to the right place. The world was filled with predators, and such willing prey wouldn't last long amoungst the wolves that tended to frequent dives like Jake's.

Too tired to bother being annoyed by their destructive naivity, he walked in to the dimly lit interior and took a seat at the bar, oblivious to the glare Chastity shot him as he passed her.

Bringing another pitcher of light beer to the table where a group of college students were loudly argueing over which Stephen King book-to-movie adaptation worked best... and whether or not mini-series should be included in the debate since they 'have an unfair time advantage'... she watched with thinly veiled hostility as he signaled Coleman over, amber liquid splashing over the side of the plastic pitcher as she angrily set it down.

"What can I get for you?", the older man asked, his hands busy wiping spots off a pint glass with an old dishrag.

Stifling the urge to order anything that worked fast and burned like turpentine, something strong enough the scrub the sound of Sam's voice out of his head and scald away the eager press of her mouth against his, he managed to shake his head and warn, "You've got a convertible full of potential headaches hanging around outside. Might want to send one of those bouncers you hired to scare them off before there's a problem."

Not seeming very surprised, Coleman smirked, "Bunch of Prom Queens in a green BMW? Yeah.. that'd be Lou Vigliani's kid Gloria and her friends. Hate to say it, but the girl has a lot more money than she does common sense. Every once in a while she gets it into her head to come down from the suburbs and rebel against that silver spoon in her mouth."

"You okay with them doing that here?", Devon asked quietly, his eyes narrowing.

"Give me a little credit, won't you? I don't need that kind of hassle. I've chased her and her little friends out of here a half dozen times, but they keep coming back.. so this time I played hardball."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Coleman answered, his smirk spreading into a self-satisfied grin. "I called her father. He should be getting here any time now... and Lou is a hell of a lot scarier than either of the idiots I hired to watch the door."

Returning the grin, Devon nodded and stood up, satisfied that the situation was being handled, his interest in the girls' welfare being as selfish as it was altruistic.

On the one hand, he didn't want to see them getting hurt. When young girls came to a place like this looking for attention they usually got plenty of the wrong kind. And on the other hand- the selfish hand- the last thing he needed were a bunch of cops coming around asking questions... and that was usually what the wrong kind of attention eventually led to.

There wasn't time for any screw ups or delays. Sam had sprung a number of things on him that afternoon, aside from herself. First and foremost: They were out of time.

Rather than waiting until Monday the way they'd planned, she and Nikolas had decided on their own to have have Lucky contact the D.A. and arrange to have the charges against Morgan dropped. They wouldn't be able to have things like the disorderly conduct and resisting arrest charges dropped... but without the assault charge to keep him confined to his cell Jason would be able to walk out of jail as soon as the Judge got back on Monday.

She'd also informed him that he'd been promoted from hitman to kidnapper. He was now supposed to kill Jason, plant evidence to place suspicion on some drug dealers Corinthos was aggravating, and steal Jacob Morgan so Samantha McCall could finally realize her dream of having another human being she could twist into someone just as damaged and delusional as she was.

Honestly, if he weren't already planning on double crossing them, he'd have to consider asking for more money.


Sunday night. It was their only chance now. He needed to get ahold of Jason and let him know the timeline had just been shot to hell. He also needed to tell Spinelli to start stocking up on Orange soda and chips because he'd be pulling all-nighters to get everything in place before his hero's alibi came crumbling down around them.

Sighing, he was pushing through the inebriated crowd to reach the stairs leading to his room when a meaty hand grabbed his arm and tried to spin him around, the tables soon turned as Devon easily slipped out of the hold and grasped the other man's wrist, twisting it painfully until he saw who his assailant was.

"Spider?", he asked, releasing his scowling cousin and grimicing apologetically.. "Sorry about that... I didn't realize it was you."

The bald giant just continued to glare down at him until Devon raised an eyebrow and asked, "You gonna tell me what's wrong or are you just going to keep standing there looking like you want to eat me or something?"

Arms crossing over his massive chest, Spider seemed to weigh the suggestion seriously before finally growling, "What did you do to Emily?"

Now it was Devon's turn to scowl. "What in the hell are you talking about?."

"I'm talking about her coming back a couple hours ago and cleaning out her room. She's gone, man.. I want to know why."

He shouldn't have been surprised since he was the one who had told her she didn't belong here in the first place, but he was. "Did she say where she was going?"

Spider shrugged, not understanding how the where could matter more than the why. "Not really. Gave me a hug and started blubbering about finally knowing where she belonged and ivory towers."

Ivory towers...

She'd gone back to her Prince. The knowledge hit him hard in the gut and he forced himself to push the unwelcome stab of disappointment down, reminding himself that this was what he'd wanted. He'd had no business wanting her, and he had no right to feel anything but relief now that she'd fled back to her fairytale.

Too bad relief was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

Silence effectively ending the conversation, Devon tried to ignore Spider's voice behind him as he headed back to his room, almsot succeeding until he heard the other man's heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs behind him.

"Hey, D... before you go up there you might wanna know-"

The thin thread of control he had on his temper snapping, Calder turned on him, lips curling into a vicious parody of a smile that halted the persistant goliath in his tracks. "You want to know what I did, Steven? Too much and not enough... and I can't figure out which was worse. That good enough for you?"

His cousin rendered momentarily speechless, Devon finished storming up the stairs and down the hall to his room, ignoring the wave of a neighbor who passed him along the way.

All he wanted was five minutes to think.. five minutes without the spectre of Jason's plan hanging over his head. Five minutes without having to worry about what Spinelli was doing, or what kind of chaos Sam was dreaming

.... or about all the ways Emily and Prince Charming were probably making up and declaring their ridiculous undying love for one another. In their fucking castle. Probably on some massive canopy bed carved from extinct trees, rolling around on some sort of pansy-assed imported free-range organic silk sheets.

It was enough to make you sick.

Unlocking the door to his room, he stared at the old plywood bed with it's ancient mattress, bedding still crumpled from the activities of the night before.. the yellow and white sheet Emily had draped around herself tossed carelessly on the floor by the bathroom, no doubt abandoned as she went in to take a shower and wash away the remnants of her mistake...

Closing the door behind him with a slam, he shrugged out of his jacket and angrily tossed onto the bed, too caught up in his own thoughts to realize he wasn't alone until the sound of a throat clearing behind him froze him in his tracks, his hands raising instinctively...

Years of training. Intense, thorough, often painful training that had repeatedly saved his life...

.. and he'd still stupidly managed let someone get the drop on him just because he was jealous over a girl he barely knew outside of the Biblical tense.

In the space of a breath, he calculated the chance of reaching the gun in his holster before the intruder had a chance to put a bullet in his head and wasn't overly thrilled with the odds, quickly realizing that there was only one way out of this... he needed to buy some time until he could regain the advantage.

Decided, green eyes lifted to the cracked mirror over the dresser, his hands slowly falling back to his sides as they locked with the reflected sapphire blue gaze of the woman behind him.

"Elizabeth.."

Crossing her arms over her chest and scowling in a way startlingly reminiscent of the pose and expression Spider had just been leveling at him downstairs, she demanded, "What did you do to Emily?"

Anger giving way to defeat, Devon groaned and sank into the battered chair closest to him. Head falling back against the wall, he looked up at the water stained ceiling and asked. "Why me?"