AN: I'm a casual fan of this show, so I wasn't planning to write any fics about it, but I find myself intrigued by the dynamic between John and Astrid following the events of "Sitting Ducks" and "Things Fall Apart." Contains spoilers to that point, but inspiration is drawn from a synopsis of an upcoming episode.
Astrid woke to the now-familiar burr of teleportation. She sat bolt upright in one swift movement, fear in her eyes.
"Astrid—it's me, John. Don't be scared."
Her heart hammered for a few beats, before finding its usual rhythm. "John? What are you doing here? I'm not scared—startled maybe," she added defensively. "I guess your people don't believe in knocking," she said, sounding more like the Astrid John first met.
"So, if I just show up at your front door, your dad will let some random guy he's never seen before come upstairs to visit his daughter?"
She had to admit he had a point, but instead she asked, "Anyway, what are you doing here?" Astrid's mind was now as awake as her body. She realized with some dismay that John was standing in her bedroom. Her hand went reflexively to corral the mass of curls that she knew from experience would be unruly. "Did Stephen send you?"
"He told me you're having a hard time, but he didn't have to send me. I wanted to come and see you."
In truth, she was having more than a hard time. She was still terrified. At night when she tried to sleep, her dreams produced images of people with guns, and blood on her hands, in an endless loop. During the day when she should find ways to get back to her life, she preferred to stay in her room—sometimes listening to music, sometimes staring at the ceiling and trying to remember her life before the fear took over.
"He shouldn't have said anything," her voice sounded hard and flat.
"I'm glad he did. After everything we've been through together, I guess I feel a little proprietary about your well-being."
A long, slightly awkward silence ensued. John took in her room with his eyes. Seeing her here, he realized anew all he'd missed out on growing up. Never once during his youth had he visited a girl's bedroom. He guessed hers was a typical room of a typical girl—desk covered with books, journals, and a laptop; dresser strewn with make-up, nail polish and jewelry; lots of clothes—bulging from the closet, folded and stacked in unlikely places—including her desk chair. He thought about moving them so he could sit down, but instead he sat at the foot of her bed and turned to face her. The very act of turning caused his still healing wound to twinge with pain. He winced and reached for his side.
Tossing aside her blanket, never mind her wayward hair, or that she was wearing an old gray tank top and last year's Valentine's Day pajama bottoms, she went at once to his side, and reached for the spot—the place where her fingers had entered his body to remove a bullet, the place that she had sewn up with own hands, "I guess I feel the same about you."
She settled in beside him. Without thinking she began, "I can't get past the fear … knowing that they … that Ultra … is out there waiting for me. I've never felt vulnerable before, not like this. It's different for you, and the others like you. You can defend yourselves, teleport away from trouble, or use your powers to protect yourself."
"But we're not invulnerable, Astrid. The danger's the same for us."
"I know," she said softly, thinking of how close he'd come to death … remembering that he'd risked his own life to save hers.
"The difference is," he went on, "we've had to learn to protect ourselves—when to fight, and when to run and hide. You've had something better, something I've never had … family that loves and cares about you, a normal life, doing normal things … I wish I could give you that life back, but I can't. And I can't tell you what happens from here, but I promise I'll be here to help you in whatever way I can." He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. She allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. For the first time since she'd returned home, Astrid felt safe.