"John."
A voice sliced through the darkness. He couldn't see anything.
"John."
The darkness erupted and he was sucked in. John looked up at the single streetlight. It was blinding, and an almost undetectable breeze blew underneath it. Something shifted underneath the light that held his gaze.
"Joss." She was in his lap, staring up at him. Her eyes were wide with adrenaline and fear. Horror struck him deep in the chest when he looked at hers and saw crimson blooming like a flower.
"No, Joss." This couldn't be happening. His hand shook as he held her trembling body. She sputtered.
"I need to see my boy!" Just the thought of young Taylor without his mother to guide him broke John. He began taking air in heavy gasps , his chest shaking.
"You will. Just hang on, Joss!." He begged.
"Don't...let..." She was dead. No. No.
It was funny, how John was so used to losing people yet he couldn't grasp the idea of losing her.
This time a shadow crossed over Joss' still face, blocking the light from the streetlamp. A sense of foreboding swirled through John as he tore his eyes from Joss' body.
"Simmons." He stood over them both, not saying a word but simply looking at John with that smirk he had seen far too often.
John was completely overtaken. Hatred, despair, anger, depression, and lastly pure wrath became him. Harold had tried to lead him towards the light but it seemed the darkness was where he had always belonged.
In a swift movement John had kicked Simmons' feet from under him. Before he even hit the sidewalk John was on top of him, pinning him down and wrapping both his hands around Simmons' filthy, scheming, neck. He was holding him so tight he was surprised Simmons could even make a sound.
"Reese." Just hearing his voice easily fueled John with more wrath and invited him to squeeze tighter. Reese could hear Simmons' boots scraping on the cement underneath him.
"Reese-" It was barely choked out. Sounded oddly familiar...
"Reese!" The entire street whooshed from existence once he realized the voice was no longer Joss' killer. He wasn't choking Simmons.
It was Shaw.
Her eyes looked up at him. There was no fear in them. Anger, confusion, pain, even irritation-which John may have chuckled at if he wasn't so utterly horrified.
He leapt off of her, meaning to get as far away as possible, but faltered-and stumbled a few feet back before he fell back onto a dirt floor.
Shaw moved into a fit of coughing. He heard the same scraping sound as she turned on one side, facing away from him.
"Shaw." John finally said. He began an apology but she interrupted him.
"Nightmares, hallucinations, and paradoxical sleep are common side effects." She said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her wave him off, the way you would if someone made a small error, but he couldn't tell from the lack of lighting. As his eyes fully adjusted, he saw a small room with a single dirty lightbulb. Definitely not the streets of Manhattan.
He just stared at her.
"What?" He managed.
She rolled over to face him. "The serum. We got captured and then, you got drugged. Remember?"
"No."
"Well, you did."
"Shaw."
"What, Reese?" She exasperated.
He couldn't believe her cool manner. "I almost killed you." Sometimes John wondered if anyone was truly safe around him. Sometimes he felt like he was so utterly damaged that getting close to people was just a matter of time.
She rolled her eyes. "You really gonna do this?"
"But-"
"But nothing, Reese. Rest. Your body hasn't effectively healed yet. You need your strength if we ever want to break out of here, you know." Shaw answered.
She was quiet for a moment before she added, "Your guilt complex is your business. Just don't get worked up over me." John assumed she was done talking because after that she closed her eyes and presumably fell back asleep.
He sat there in silence for a while, then looked down at himself. He was not wearing a shirt, and he couldn't see detail but he was sure he didn't look good. Now that John thought about it, he didn't feel very good either. His ribs hurt and exhaustion had begun to settle in. Slowly he laid down on the dirt floor.
In the corner of his eye he saw Shaw unconsciously re-adjust and wake up with an unwelcomed start, wincing. Lightly, she touched her neck. Guilt began to painfully form again in John's chest. Shaw met his eyes for a second and must have seen it on his face, because instantly she stopped touching her neck and sighed. She rolled over, this time muttering, "Next time, check your own bandages."
John was quiet for a while, mindlessly gazing around the room. Shaw was not an easy person to understand. But somehow he had the feeling that she understood, more than others could. John had learned over time that it's hard to understand the darkness unless you've walked in it yourself. That brought him back to something he said to Shaw a long time ago:
A friend once told me, in our line of work, we walk in the dark. Doesn't mean we have to walk in it alone.
He realized how truly tired he was when his eyelids began to droop. The corner of his lips turned up softly as he drifted into sleep once more.