Disclaimer: Not mine. We all know the show wouldn't have taken the journey it did if I were in charge.

AN: This was a tough journey for some reason. Still, it is one and done. Big, huge, gargantuan shout out to Pisceschikk who helped me out a ton with this. However, she was not in the final editing of this at all so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

AU: I mean since Joss is alive and all.

Summary: John and Joss seem to be taking the bumpiest road to happiness. Moments, fragments of time, keep shaking the rocky foundation of their relationship. Will they ever get to the other side?

"Didn't know you were into gardening."

She didn't turn around at the sound of his voice, but continued to tip the large yellow pail over the blooming buds. She wasn't surprised he was here. In fact, she'd expected him earlier, but he'd given her enough time to clean out the new place and start the decorating. He let her do the dirty work before showing up.

"Hello, John."

She knew without looking at him that his lips had turned downward. The old her would have faced him immediately and made a quip about him not knowing everything she was into. He would smirk. She would grin. They'd banter some more before they stopped so they wouldn't cross a line both were too afraid to dance across.

Their separation sparked something in her. It made her focus on herself and in those introspecting moments she'd come across a surprisingly bitter spot when it came to John, the machine and the limitations the whole operation forced onto their lives. She didn't know how to shake it. Worse, she wasn't sure she wanted to shake those feelings.

The new creases marking the corners of her eyes and mouth signaled weariness. Sometimes, it felt like she could barely breathe and because of that sometimes she could only breathe. That bullet shattered a lot in her life, including some of the fight she held through raising Taylor, passing the Bar, making the force and helping save the lives the machine spat out. She would never stop being a soldier in her life, but she wasn't so eager to sign up for every tour of duty these days.

"Joss," he said and she heard the caution in his voice.

John didn't do well with change and Joss was a changed person. It was clear he wasn't sure he would do well with her.

She placed the water pail on the coffee table of the spacious room.

After the shooting, she'd gone South to Georgia to recuperate with her sister, Suzanne. She had gotten used to waking up to a full meal of eggs, bacon and toast instead of a hasty cup of black coffee; had gotten used to asking for help and, most beneficial for her, she had gotten reacquainted with fingers in rich, brown soil. For months, she tugged at weeds and replanted skinny seedlings until they flourished into robust fruits and vegetables. She'd tried yoga and running. Yoga required her to be too into her mind and running required her to be too present. Gardening had been the right medium for her soul. It was a peaceful practice that required inner thought, but escape from it too. She'd also improved her cooking skills. It was a wonder what fresh produce and herbs lent to a meal.

She swung around and threw her arms into the air, gesturing to the open space. Who knew she would ever have a greenhouse in New York? It was her private area to muck around in the dirt.

"How do you like it?" She was a very rich woman. She didn't even have to sue for the police department to throw millions of dollars at her. She hadn't even heard of half the awards she'd earned before she received them.

His frown deepened. "It's not you." They both knew he was doing that thing where he said one thing, but meant two.

She shrugged and swiveled over to a plant in the corner. He didn't stay long after that. She'd known he wouldn't. She could see the tension coiled in his body, his mouth tight, his hands flexed as he tried to press her without making things uncomfortable. In the end, he'd just left before she asked him to leave.

Even as she grasped the water bucket again, she knew he wouldn't disappear out of her life. He was attracted to her presence like a powerful magnet. Neither of them would get out of this situation unscathed, and that fact added to her frustrations with herself. He was the spontaneous one and she was the careful one until he got involved and then she couldn't help herself from living on the edge.

She sighed and refocused her energy on something she could control.

The next time he saw her, he just plopped across the booth from her and said, "I told you so."

She shrugged and picked up her coffee. The warmth seeped through her fingers just like the warmth of the city seeped back into her blood. She'd stopped the big breakfasts and found herself stocking up on premium blend brew. Her waist thanked her. She'd dropped thirteen pounds of country weight and shed a touch of her pre-city weight too. She was a touch thinner, leaner, slightly more dangerous in angles. He was thinner too and his hair, which used to be salt and pepper, was mostly salt now. His face was sharper and his eyes even more piercing. He'd lost some of his charm, but none of his essence.

"You gonna sell the house too, Joss?"

She sat the cup down and fingered the handle. It irritated her that he could still read her so well.

"Might rent it out. It's good to own property."

He nodded.

Somehow, despite the quiet, the awkwardness didn't settle onto their skin like their last interaction.

He was sitting in a chair when she came home. She didn't even feign reaching for her gun.

She was a detective again. No matter how many officers and detectives secretly hated her for taking down H.R., none of them were willing to touch the FBI's golden child. So, for every anonymous threat she got, she received seven more public accolades. If she didn't know about the machine, she'd wonder how John had been able to scoot around the corners of visiting her at all. She didn't have twenty-four hour/seven days social media coverage, but she'd received plenty of free meals and pats on the back from average citizens who'd felt the tight vise of H.R. on their necks. She'd had her taste of fifteen minutes.

"This is you."

She snorted, but knew he was right.

She was in a modest brownstone again, but she'd upgraded the décor. No more paisley prints and 1970's linoleum that looked out of a tacky one-night motel. She'd let Finch suggest a contractor and used some of her money to put in a room for a few plants. She hadn't reverted all the way back and she didn't want to.

Her sweet boy was in his sophomore year of college and had left her to be a film major. The space of the bigger house had haunted her, made her lonely and claustrophobic at the same time.

"What do you want, John?"

Almost back to her old self, indeed. Except, she wasn't doing the thing she used to do where she said one thing and meant two. She wanted to know what he wanted, why he was back to stalking her all over town, why her date had mysterious mechanical troubles for exactly two hours with his brand new car and stood her up three nights ago.

"You know, Carter."

She sighed and turned her bright eyes on him. Did she? It seemed he put a lot of meaning into his thoughts, but never shared them with her.

"No." The saying was that you needed to be straight forward with men, but she felt John often talked in parables instead of stating his intentions clearly. It was one of the things that rubbed her raw about their relationship. She knew she was in his good graces, but exactly where she stood in his life was uncertain.

She walked away from him then, her fingers loosening the buttons of her blazer and then her slacks as she scooted bare feet down the hall to her bedroom. She didn't have the time or energy to play games with him anymore.

She was slipping her arms under her shirt to unhook her bra when he stood in her doorway.

"Think about it."

She paused, one clasp away from removing the material. "Tell me," she said forcefully.

He shook his head and left.

She pressed tired hands to her eyes and sagged against the oak wardrobe after he trudged away.

There was a cactus plant on the anniversary of her shooting. She knew it was John's way of being symbolic. They were thorny plants that were resilient and could weather through conditions other plants would die in. She placed it in a prime spot in her garden room. She rubbed her chest in the spot that Simmons shot her in and dressed for the club. She pretended not to see him lurking in the shadows clutching a tumbler of scotch and later manhandling some of the men who dared dance with her. She pretended not to understand what he was trying to tell her.

He was in her bed on the anniversary of when she woke from her coma. That day so many months ago, she'd been frightened and disoriented and had cried, tears streaked down her face, for her baby, the last thing at the forefront of her mind as she'd faded from the blood lost. She knew if it hadn't been for Finch's secret, fancy doctors, she'd have died right then on the street in his arms.

She knew this was for her. He didn't remember her waking from her coma because he hadn't been there. He'd been trying to recover from his own trauma of going on a rampage to get revenge. His frail body had not let him make the journey to her side. She thought that was when he decided to leave her alone, let her go somewhere else to heal and start again. That was until she showed back up in the city.

Still, her heart raced to see him there. She knew he wasn't asleep, but she went to the bathroom to change out of her day clothing and into her night clothing and curl into him. He chased away her nightmares.

He was gone when she woke up. The only reminder he'd been there was a hot pot of steaming coffee sitting on her counter.

She'd say they'd come full circle, but that was far from the truth. Yet, she was watering her plants in a tank top and shorts with her bare feet on the cool tile of her garden sanctuary when he paused behind her. She was unsurprised to see him in a biker jacket and jeans. He'd started ditching the overpriced and perfectly fitted suits for something a lot less formal. It did take her longer to spot him in a crowd now. He could shift between several different venues before she'd catch him, his fingers knotted up in jealousy, if she were on a date or itching to touch her if she were alone.

Her skin tingled when she saw him now and she wasn't sure how it felt like she was being courted when they barely even talked.

"I know what you want," she said.

He nodded.

"You've always known."

She shook her head. The sleek, sharp cut of her long hair shimmied across her shoulders. It was longer than when she'd left and somehow she'd not felt the desperate urge to chop it all off like she had in previous years.

"No," she said, but her voice was lowered to soften the blow.

"How could you not?" he asked and he invaded her space.

She was really quite surprised it had taken this long for him to do so. He was used to trumping into her life and pushing at her boundaries.

"Because you never told me."

He looked at her in confusion and a calloused finger reached for her cheek. "But, I did."

She shook her head and grabbed his hand. This wasn't the morgue again. This was something else.

"You thought you did, John. I've always known you were something deeper than my guardian angel, but there's a lot of room for gray area in what we do."

He looked away from her, but kept his hand resting on her cheek.

"You're coming back then." It wasn't a question.

He knew about Finch's offer for her to rejoin the team. She now had clearance that even he didn't and a lot of leeway to spend any political and public capital for their toughest cases, especially with the machine still having glitches occasionally.

"Yes. Only for the high profile stuff. Finch promised I won't dig too deep since so many eyes are on me."

She squeezed his hand then dropped hers. "I need a new purpose sometimes too."

He closed his eyes and removed his hand. He knew she wasn't being spontaneous so for her to decide to join meant she'd thought on all the angles. That scared him more than he wanted to admit. It was okay for him to risk his life. He owed so many people, but she had been doing what was right for years. She didn't owe anyone a piece of herself.

"All you had to do was ask, Joss."

He slid the picture across the dash of the cold car.

She'd mailed it to him. She'd actually put it in an envelope, bought a stamp and dropped it into a box to give it to him.

"Would you have really told me anything, John?" She sipped the hot chocolate as they watched the building together. The shop down the street hadn't been able to get their shipment of coffee because of the recent blizzard so they'd had to settle for steaming cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting on top. For a moment, it made her feel like a kid again.

"Eventually." He looked at the picture.

"That's what I thought." Her gloved fingers lifted the picture. "You look happy."

He nodded. "I was."

"If you could go back, would you?"

He cut on the engine to give them a quick burst of heat. He saw her trying to ignore the slight tremors in her hands when she lifted her cup.

"I'd do a lot of things differently, Joss."

She glanced at him then faced forward again. "Me too."

He looked at her and raised a brow. "You too?" He'd pegged her as someone determined in her path. Joss was the kind of person who planned her outfit and meals for the week then spent meticulous time following those plans.

"I'd have waited longer to have Taylor."

"But would he still be Taylor then?"

She leaned her head to the side. "Good point. Maybe not. But Jessica would have still been Jessica."

"True. But I would not have still been me."

It was in this quiet that she felt herself tumbling forward. If she was honest, she'd been falling for years, but this was the first time she knew in what direction.

"I'm not Finch. I don't like tea."

She shook her head and pulled the royal blue comforter up to his chest before moving his head to fluff his pillow. She thrust a mug at him and motioned for him to drink up before she plopped on the love seat across from his couch.

"Don't care. Ginger will help with the nausea and the lemon will help with digestion."

"Yes, mom."

"Somehow, John, I don't really think you think of me like your mom."

She'd been catching him eying her ass, his fingers twitched for a touch. His eyes displayed the simmering lust that he could no longer contain and she'd felt completely heated when he'd leaned down to whisper in her ear at a student film premiere Taylor had invited them to. His lips had ghosted the shell of her ear and set her body on fire.

"You caught me." He smirked and his eyes drifted down to the cleavage displayed in her dress. "Where were you going anyway?" He sat the tea on the coffee table.

"You know what? I'm not doing this with you."

How could the man frustrate her this way constantly?

"That's a shame. There're so many other things we could be doing right now."

She clicked her teeth. She was changed. They were changed. They wouldn't do the old song and dance.

"I'll see you later, Joss." And suddenly his voice wasn't so raspy. She frowned at him and picked up her phone. It was too late to make the dinner with Raphael, and she had a feeling she'd been set up.

"Damn John. Damn machine," she muttered and couldn't help but notice the blink of her cellphone screen taunting her. She wished she'd ignored his call, but she'd felt the pang of fear that he was sicker than she thought. Now, she knew it was all a façade.

She sighed and exited John's building. She wasn't ready to address what was simmering between them. He hadn't put a name to it yet and she wanted to have fun. While she had no doubt that she could have fun with John, if something happened between them she knew it wouldn't be casual. Hanging on the ledge of death with her fingers slipping had made her realize just how little casual joy she'd engaged in over the past two decades and she wanted a piece of that for a moment. The men she dated weren't her forever love and she was okay with that. Still, something about John nagged at her being. It was what would always send her to his doorstep rather than out on the town with a stranger every single time.

"You're good at kissing."

He was lifting a bag of soil over his shoulder when she said it.

She was doing light pruning, her fingers caressed the plants while having him set up for repotting. She didn't know where Finch had gotten his contacts from, but the sunlight streaming into her garden room was clear and bright and warmed her skin.

The spring slid beautifully into a humid, hot summer and John's skin wore a tan. She felt the urge to run her fingers across his smooth shoulders and trail her fingers across his lips.

"I know." They'd not talked about the kiss in the morgue once. It was a taboo subject between them and he was surprised she addressed it at all.

She snipped her plant and rolled her eyes. "Just like you not to take a compliment."

"You didn't let me finish." He lined the weighted clay pots up and went to work with the soil, his fingernails crusted with the dirt. "I know I'm good at kissing, but I didn't know I would be good at kissing you."

That shut her up and she almost hummed in surprise. Heat rushed to her cheeks and it wasn't from the radiating sunlight.

"Why are you doing what you're doing?" Maybe she would dip into her past. Maybe she would ask one thing and mean two.

She watched him pick up a towel and scrub the material across his dirty fingers. "Because you asked me to." He dropped the towel beside his plant. The dark sediment fell off and landed next to his pot. His face marred with confusion.

She put down her shears and placed her palms on either side of the plant she worked on. "No, not that."

He shifted until he leaned against the wooden partition of her room. The sunlight beamed down on him, giving him an ethereal glow. "I can't help it." He looked down at the dirt in his nails and began digging his thumb under each nail to remove the particles. He didn't face her.

"You could if you wanted to." She wasn't mad. It should feel wrong to have a constant shadow following most of her moves, but it didn't. She didn't know if she should feel angry for the ways in which he changed her. If she were any of her girlfriends, she'd tell herself to run far away. Any man who didn't respect boundaries was one you couldn't trust. She'd still tell her girlfriends that, but she'd found her one exception. She did hate that he was always the outlier to the rule. Rules kept her life orderly and safe and she hated that she'd broken so many of them with him; for him.

"Do you want me to?" He tried to mask the fear that flashed across his face.

She squeezed the wood. Would he listen to her if she asked? She already knew the answer to that. He would. He'd fallen long before she had. She almost believed he'd fallen at first sight, as cliché as that was.

"Sometimes." She ducked her head down and then looked over at him.

He nodded his head. "Okay. This is your decision, Joss."

She invited him to the zoo. She'd discovered it was one of his favorite places and he'd done so well over the previous month of letting her breathe, letting her find her way apart from him that she felt like she needed to reward him.

"But you hate the zoo," he rasped. She heard him trying to temper the giddiness edging into his voice.

She did hate the zoo. She didn't think God made free and roaming animals to be locked up and gawked at by other animals. It was odd and had creeped her out since she was a child.

"I do, but you don't and that's reason enough."

She bought them popcorn, plain for her and extra butter for him, and watched him look at the tigers and zebras. His fingers curled around the banisters and he barely kept his face from smashing against the glass to stare at the swinging monkeys. She liked this him. This him seemed carefree and the lines in his face smoothed away from the worry he kept so close to his chest.

They sat on a bench and ate matching ice cream cones filled with vanilla soft serve.

"Thank you, John." She licked the cream away from her lips and looked at him.

He scooped a swirl around the dripping treat with his tongue and nodded. "You're welcome, Joss."

She shifted and felt the metal dig deeper into her thighs. She was glad she'd worn jeans. The seat would have been uncomfortable against the skin below her favorite shorts.

"Has it been hard?" she asked. She was nervous treading into this conversation. They were plainer with each other now, not playing the games they'd played in the past.

"It has," he answered honestly. He bit into the wafer cone and rushed to lick up the ice cream before it fell across his fingers into a sticky pile on the napkin he held around it.

"It's been hard for me too. I got used to you violating my boundaries," she said.

He looked at her in alarm. "Is it really that bad, Joss?"

"Yeah, John. You and Finch are dead. Who's listening in on your phone calls and following you around? Before that, you were on a team where that's normal. Most civilians, including myself, find that unsettling."

He ignored the puddle forming on the white napkin. "I didn't realize it made you so uncomfortable. I always thought you were teasing or hoping I wasn't being selfish by checking up on you when the numbers were around."

She adjusted the strap of her purse and looked away from him and out across the zoo's exterior. The flowers were beautiful. Reds and yellows and purples dotted the landscape between the cages. She wondered if she should consider adding plants outside of vegetables, fruits and herbs to her growing garden. She always liked tulips. Maybe she could give them a go.

"I'm not used to having anyone there for me. You're different. Even when Paul and I were married, because we were in the service, there were times when I did everything on my own during his deployments. My parents always taught me to be independent. You challenge that. You want more."

"I want to be there for you, Joss. You know I've always meant what I said."

She nodded and sighed. "I know. I don't expect anything different from you." She stood with her melting cone and tossed it into the trashcan next to the bench.

"I would have eaten that, you know." He stood, empty, damp napkin the only thing in hand.

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, John." No need to say one thing and mean two when simple words covered all meaning.

"You sure?"

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. Her brow wrinkled. This could be a mistake.

"Okay," John confirmed.

He lifted his gun and shot Taylor.

"Mom! Are you serious?"

A splatter of blue paint streaked Taylor's goggles and Joss couldn't help but laugh.

"That's what you get, T. You think you could just lure your old mom out here for target practice."

Taylor smeared his hand in the paint lining his forehead. "I can't believe you let John shoot me."

"Let me?" John lifted his goggles off his face. "She ordered me to."

Taylor glanced at his mom again. "Are you serious!" he repeated.

They had traveled to upstate New York for a breather. They didn't call it a vacation. Taylor wanted to visit a friend and they had a number to track, but it was as close to a vacation as they would likely allow themselves. They didn't want to call it a vacation for other reasons. They had separate rooms across the hall from each other. Taylor had suggested that John and Joss team up against he and his friend, Ryan, for a paintball session.

"All's fair in love and war, Tay."

"Well, I don't like that I'm on the war side of this situation," Taylor grumbled.

Ryan sat on an abandoned tire used as part of the course and laughed. He'd been out for fifteen minutes. "She got you good."

Taylor trudged closer to his buddy. "Naw, she sicced her boyfriend on me cause she couldn't do it."

Joss couldn't ignore the sharp look John gave her at that.

She dropped her gun on a partition behind her and worked at loosening her gear. She couldn't think about this right now. She couldn't think about what it meant that her boy was coupling her with John without her permission or that whatever was swimming between them was so open for the world to see.

She removed her gloves and clapped her hands. "Alright, let's get some dinner, okay?"

"Would you mind?"

They gazed out of John's high windows into the city below. Soft rain pelted the wide panes, and hazy lights flickered in the distance.

"Would I mind what?" She sipped Cabernet Sauvignon from a glass he handed her.

She was surprised when he invited her to dinner at his place. She'd never been and didn't know if the boundaries of their relationship would ever permit her inside. But now that she stood beside him she knew it was a big deal. She thought he'd invited her over to glance around at his bachelor pad and split a pizza. Instead, he'd opened his door and she'd stifled a gasp. His loft was transformed by shifting flames from a multitude of candles. There was a spread of food that would put most high priced restaurants to shame. He had herbed lamb, fresh duck and roasted chicken, trays full of asparagus, wild carrots, baby corn and miniature plates filled with cheesecake, fruit tarts and pound cake. A bevy of wines sat off to the side, waiting for her to pick the right food combination to pair with them.

That's when she knew. Whatever this was between them was serious. The intimacy of the moment, the amount of care he'd taken in picking the china and displaying the wine, was overwhelming. She felt her hands shaking before she even looked over at the bed crouched in one corner. It was massive and it made her think things she didn't want to acknowledge.

"If I were your boyfriend."

She gripped the glass and continued to avoid the intense stare John aimed at her. This was what this was all leading up to. She knew John had taken Taylor's words, and her choice not to correct him, to heart.

She wrinkled her nose. "I think boyfriend would not be the term I'd use."

He shifted his body and his pinky finger grazed the hand she left by her side. He looked out the window with her. "But we could be something?" She noted the tentativeness in his voice.

"Aren't we already something?" she questioned.

"Something more then."

She blinked and remained silent. This was inevitable. It had always been inevitable from the moment they met. She knew that now, but she still somehow wanted to fight it. But she'd fought for so many things in life, why couldn't she fight for John? Why couldn't she fight for herself?

"I might not mind," she whispered.

"No?"

"Do you think I have a choice?" She was speaking of his incessant need to be in her life, his near predatory stalking, the jealousy he couldn't hide when she was with someone else, but she was also speaking of her need to keep him close, to not cut ties with him, to go the extra mile for him when the risks were too damn high.

"You do," he answered. He understood how much she'd fought this. He'd fought it too. It was just that he was so tired of fighting. Before, he knew he might die in a blaze of gunfire and alone. Now, he knew he might die in a blaze of gunfire, but he didn't want to be alone if he did. He wanted a piece of heaven on this Earth before dying. It was treacherous to try this. He was afraid of pulling her in too deep, but then he wondered just how much deeper could they get? She'd already said yes to Finch and she'd not said no to him.

She laughed a laugh that held no humor then. "I don't, John. I don't have a choice and neither do you, but it's great we've thought we could fight this for as long as we have."

He took the glass of wine from her and perched it on a table at his side. His fingers entwined with hers and squeezed. He turned to her and lifted a hand to her face to smooth over her cheek. She didn't hesitate and lifted her own, smaller hand to his face before shifting it to his neck. He bent down to kiss her, the soft rain playing background to their acknowledgement.

He eased inside her at a languid pace that belied the intense electricity that underlined their relationship. For all the years of dancing around their feelings, it was surprising how much their passion simmered instead of exploded in one quick, forgettable burst. He loved it. He knew he would be in love with Joss for the rest of his life. They would have their moments of brilliant, rushed frenzy, but now, their first time, he gritted his teeth and watched her face and listened to the soft gasps and moans as they clasped hands and mouths. He couldn't stop kissing her. Her full lips had always called out to him, but now he added the tips of her ears, the flesh of her eyelids, the curve of her jaw as lands he would always desire to travel when he was with her. He reached between their bodies and circled her clit. Her breath hitched and he shifted so he could thrust deeper.

"John," she hissed and he slowed his rhythm so he wouldn't cum right then. He'd heard her say his name a hundred different ways, but he'd never heard her say it like that. He'd never heard her say it like he was the best thing in her world.

Sweat slicked his chest as he gathered his bearings and moved faster again. He had thought about this so long, had thought about all the wonderful ways they could be together and he was thrilled it was living up to his dreams. She was amazing. She was stubborn, with a deep seeded lack of trust, and she didn't always listen to his good advice, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He moved quicker, racing toward their shared prize.

She pulled him closer to her body with her hands on his biceps and her legs around his waist. He could feel her quiver against him as her body stiffened on a low moan.

"Joss," he growled out as she pulsed around him. He barely kept himself from falling on top of her as he came, hurtling breathless and excited across the glittering finish line.

"Didn't know you were into gardening," she teased, her voice dipped into an impression of him. She harkened to an earlier, less friendly time of their new relationship.

He looked up from tending to her plants to see her standing in nothing but his white dress shirt. The sunlight streaming through the top of her private greenhouse made the material almost translucent and he had to clench his fist to keep from reaching out to her. They'd had more than their share of rounds last night and he wanted to give her time to adjust to everything. Every change in their lives meant that Joss would need to take time to get acclimated or else she would feel suffocated. There would be too much lovemaking, but he also knew that he came off intense, an all consuming force that blazed anything in his path and he knew some of that intensity still concerned Joss. He couldn't give up who he was and he would never want her to give up who she was. It was what made them work so well.

"I'm not, but you are and that's reason enough." His words lilted in an approximation of hers and she laughed. It was a hearty laugh that lifted her entire being. It made his heart hurt in all the good ways.

He put down the shears he held in one hand and leaned against the wooden barrier holding her flowers.

"This okay, Joss?" One phrase. Two meanings. This was them. Still, his hesitation of if they were really making this bold step together pierced through.

She nodded, a smile lit her face. She always understood. "Yes, John, it's okay."