It had never been easy for John to sleep at Headquarters, not with every heartbeat, every breath, every whimper lingering at the edges of his sense. It was even worse now with so many people, most of them angry and afraid, packed under one roof. Sonia knew, of course, and had offered her "help", a sly wink and press of sugar sweet lips as she pulled him towards her room.
He had gone, not knowing what else to do, but when her hands reached for him, suddenly all he could see was the blood on the floor of the small farmhouse. So he excused himself, saying he had to go over the reports Strucker and Sage had written up on the classified files they had been working on. And he was going over them, but the words had long since stopped making sense, twisting out of shape and blurring before his eyes. All he could see was dried blood and the small, pink hair clip he had found stuck behind the couch, the only remnant of the child that had hidden there during the attack. Clarice has trembled when she saw it, pressing her lips so tightly together that he had feared she would bite right through them.
Clarice. He could still feel her sobs shaking his chest, could still hear the way she had called out for her foster parents, people who had loved her, who had made her feel so safe that they were her first instinct when she fighting for her life. Every tear that had fallen on his shoulder was like a burn, a stab at his heart. He knew what it was like to lose your home, your family. And to have them killed, murdered in cold blood... John realized that the pen he had been holding was nothing more than shards of plastic. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, letting the mangled plastic fall from his hand.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. He concentrated on his breathing, his heartbeat, slowing them, making them steady. He had to stay calm, in control. The Underground depended on him, depended on his strength. They needed him.
Something brushed the edge of his sense. John immediately turned his attention outwards, following the shallow, choked breathing. His heart twisted when he caught a glimpse of black-violet hair. Clarice.
He was on his feet before he even made the decision to go to her. He forced himself to stop, to think about whether or not this was even a good idea. They still hadn't really talked about the memory that Sonia had put in her head, and what that meant for them, for how they felt about each other, whatever that was or may have been. John knew he should just sit down, or go back to his room, or out to the sentry posts, or anywhere that wasn't the small storage room Clarice had claimed. But then he heard the smallest choked sob escape her lips and he was moving, out the door and down the stairs, not needing light to move silently and quickly through the building that had been his home for years.
Zingo whined when John pushed aside the ragged curtain that they had hung on the outside of the small storeroom. Clarice, who was sitting on her cot with her back pressed against the wall and a pillow wrapped tightly in her arms, looked up. Her eyes were puffy and swollen and John could see the wetness of tears on her cheeks.
"John," she croaked, her voice choked by her sorrow, swiping furiously at her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"
"I..." John said, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what to say to her. "I wanted to check on you."
"Check if I was still here, you mean," Clarice offered, her lips twisting bitterly. "I meant what I said, back at the farmhouse. This is my fight now. So you can stop worrying. Your ride isn't going anywhere."
"That's not what I meant," John said firmly, moving farther into the room. "I – I know about losing people, about being the one that survived, and the guilt that can bring. In the desert..." He swallowed, memories threatening to resurface, memories he still saw in his dreams at night. "I just... I didn't want you to be alone."
"I've got Zingo," Clarice said, nodding towards the dog. Her voice had lost some of its edge, and there was almost a smile on her face as she looked down at her loyal companion, who was watching her with worried eyes.
"Yeah, she's pretty great company," John agreed, smiling slightly as he knelt down and rubbed Zingo's ears. "Always knows when people need her."
"We had a dog like that," Clarice said after a moment, not taking her eyes off of Zingo. "He came to the farm a month of two after I did. We called him Bear, because he was huge and shaggy. He always knew when the new kids were having a hard time, or if they were scared, or lonely. He – he slept in my room most nights, against my back. He... he knew I needed – that I needed –"
"That you needed to feel safe," John offered as Clarice's voice failed her. She nodded, face twisting as she fought to stop the tears that were coming once more. John's heart wrenched and he wanted so desperately to reach for her. He knew it was a terrible idea, that she was still fighting the memories Sonia had put in her head, memories that could cloud what she felt for him, if it was anything at all.
"Clarice..." He didn't know what he was going to say, only that he wanted to comfort her. But then she looked up at him, those strange, luminous eyes showing the cracks in her walls that her grief had opened, and John was lost. He reached for her, just as he had at the farmhouse. She held back only for the briefest moment, a knee-jerk reaction, then she leaned into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder and his arms encircle her shoulders. Her whole body was shaking and John was struck in that moment by how tiny she was. The thought just made him hold her tighter, pulling her into him as he eased onto the cot and leaned his back against the wall.
"They were innocent," Clarice whispered, her hand, which had moved to rest on his chest, clenching into a fist. "Carl, Denise, the kids, Bear... they weren't hurting anyone. And they killed them."
"We'll make them pay for that," John murmured, resting his forehead lightly on the top of her head for a moment, drawing in the scent of her hair, a combination of the cheap shampoo they all used and the faint smell of ozone that always lingered around her. Clarice turned her head, pulling back slightly so that she could look at him, and John forgot how to breath for a moment, she was so close.
"Do you promise?" Clarice asked, the edges of rage dancing in the depths of her eyes, the hard core of steel John knew she possessed sharpening the lines of her face, her tears still fresh on her cheeks.
"Yes," he replied, every ounce of conviction he felt resonating within that single word. "We'll find them, Clarice. Together." Clarice looked into his eyes, searching, though for what John didn't know. She must have found it, however, for she nodded and dropped her head back down onto his shoulder, pressing her face into the side of his neck.
John took a deep breath, suddenly aware that his heart was racing. He knew that Clarice had to be able to feel it too, with her hand pressed to his chest as it was. But as her breathing started to even out and her body began to relax against his, he pushed the thought, and all its connotations, to the side and instead just focused on the young woman beside him. For tonight, that was enough.