Chapter Text
"You chew on your lip when you're thinking about something," His smooth baritone interrupts my running thoughts. I release the hold my teeth have over my aching bottom lip and look him over in the reflection of the window, the city slowly turning into dusk. His dark hair is slightly tousled, his beard slowly turning into a salt and peppered look, he's left only in his dress pants, and a bare chest littered with scars, fresh and new. I don't say anything, my eyes turning back to the view, content with letting him fill in the silence this time.
"What were you thinking about?" he finally asks softly when I give no sign of reply. He doesn't need to fill the room, it seems as if he is the room at times, his presence alone setting me at ease. Like an old friend, like coming home after a long time away. I shake my head lightly and take a deep breath, trying to clear my thoughts out before I can respond to him.
"I was thinking about how I got here," I say simply, leaving him to infer the meaning behind my words. But, like always, he doesn't need to think about it. He nods his head and moves to stand next me, long legs moving smoothly, and looking out at the city as I watch through the glass. I forget that he knew me just as well as I knew him, maybe he knew me better than I ever knew him. "How the hell did we end up in this shit, John?" This time the true extent of my exhaustion seeps into my voice. The many years spent killing, living, and partially dying creeping up through my bones and into my mind like weeds.
He doesn't respond immediately, electing to really think about my question. Another thing I always admired about him, he didn't just listen to respond, he listened to understand. "I think wondering about that only makes you feel more like shit," His gruff voice cuts through the silence that was held. His words without meaning to, punch me in the gut leaving me to suck in a breath. He's right, like always. "You know how you got here, you need to remember why you needed to get out"
A dry airy chuckle escapes my lips without meaning too, and his eyes darken slightly, his only giveaway. "Shit man, we both tried... look where we ended up," I bite out my hands gesturing around to nothing in particular. I walk to the bed and flop onto it, my side pulling in protest, a small look of discomfort flashing across my face as I look up at John. He looks down at me, my hair splayed out like a fan on the tousled duvet. "Maybe there isn't an out for us, John." My voice cracks slightly as I voice my fear to him softly, trying to lessen the blow.
If it weren't for Tyler dying, I'm not sure I would've been here in the first place. Maybe I would've never met Santino, maybe I wouldn't have killed so many people. I swallow thickly, so many maybe's, my eyes water slightly and I look up at John, locking my eyes with his. "I'm sorry to hear about Helen," I soften my tone trying not to cause him any pain, like talking to a child. He slightly, only slightly flinches at her name crossing my lips. He purses his lips, leans down, and to my surprise and amusement slides long firm arms around me in a hug.
"I'm sorry about Tyler," He says smoothly in that deep voice into my hair, something breaks in me, and a few traitorous tears escape my burning eyes and down my cheeks. They land softly on John's chest, I don't feel like I'm crying. It's only when his arms leave from around me I snap back to reality, the warmth of the hug gone.
"Don't be sorry, shit happens," I say curtly, wiping the tears roughly from my face. His calloused hands snap up to my wrists and clasps around it gently, his fingers warm. He pulls them lightly and moves them to my lap, my head down watching. "I don't even know why I'm crying." I babble out sadly, god, I'm pathetic. His hand moves to my chin tilting my head up to look at him in the eyes.
"Hey, it's okay, Kat," It's been years since that name left his lips. He only ever called me Blake, or Katrina, Kat was only saved for soft moments like this. Just like that, the river of sadness escapes from my eyes and down my cheeks. "You're allowed to feel these things, you need to." His tone is gentle, like coaxing a kid to come from hiding. He brings me into him, a look of pain in his eyes as I meet his solid chest his arms clutching onto me like a lifeline.
"I didn't e-even cry at T-Tyler's fun-eral," I hiccup out of cold lips, my stitches being further irritated at my short gasps. John's lanky fingers move soothingly up and down my back, making it harder to resist all the emotion. "I haven't cried since m-mom died when I w-was eighteen." I gasp out, my breaths coming out more desperate as the wave of emotion takes me. John pulls me away from his chest, firmly holding my arms anchoring me.
"Kat, take a breath, calm down," He says sternly but warmly, no panic in his eyes. It was like he was leading me on a mission, calm, smooth, and assured. Follow orders, take a breath, I think to myself. I suck in a semi-deep breath, trying desperately to stop the torrent from my eyes. How the fuck did I get into a panic attack in the first place? "Blake, focus on me."
Those words snap me back and a deep breath snakes its way through my lungs the tears slowly coming to a halt. "T-thank you," I say wiping the evidence from my face as best I can my bruise and cut screaming in protest at my constant assault. I get off the bed, removing myself from his touch quickly. I move to the bathroom to hide before he can say anything else. I shut the door and lock it, turning around to see my reflection in the mirror, my lip slightly bleeding, and the bruises turning into a yellowish color. "You look like shit, get it together, Blake." I growl out to my reflection.
I move to the marble counter and steel bowl sink, I move the handle to the coldest setting and grab the nearest wash cloth. I dip it into the ice cold water soaking it, and turning the faucet off, wringing out the cloth, and slapping it to my swollen eyes. I take some deep breaths, a dull headache settling in as I sit on the edge of the lavish tub focusing on nothing. I don't hear any sounds of movement from John and let out a small sigh of relief. Maybe we can just forget this thing whatever it was and just move on.
I take the cloth off and lightly clean my eyes, careful not to disturb the now irritated bruise on my face. I take a deep breath, stitches tugging in annoyance, smooth down my wild hair, and nod at my appearance in the mirror. I turn to the door, grasping the cool handle and bite the edge of my swollen lip before turning it and letting myself be known by him. He isn't in the room, and I never even heard him leave. My heart drops slightly in disappointment, and I quickly shove it aside, moving to sit on the bed and stare blankly out into the now darkened sky. This isn't how this was supposed to go...