"Johnny?" the brunette asked, searching the apartment with her eyes.

There was no answer. She walked further into the room, trying to figure out where her lover was. He didn't sleep in the bedroom; the man didn't like enclosed spaces.

"Johnny?" she called a little louder.

There was a bang from behind the bedroom door, and she jumped not expecting it. The blue eyed woman crept closer quietly. She pushed the door open and sighed. Johnny was curled up in the corner, quivering, black, yellow and purple bruises contrasting starkly with the pale skin on his face and arms. She shuffled closer slowly, cooing softly, so as not to startle the man. Johnny looked up at her and the helpless lost look in his eyes almost made her cry.

If a few tears did leak out, neither of them said anything.

She knelt down beside the man, reaching out to try and comfort him. He flinched back and she stopped moving. She drew her hands back to her body and closed her eyes, prepared to wait as long as it took. After what was like hours, the woman felt shaking hands draw her into a warm, clammy chest. She just relaxed and let herself be moved. Johnny cuddled her in his lap like a child's comfort object, something they were never willing to let go of.

"What happened, Johnny? What's wrong?" she asked almost inaudibly.

He hid his face in the crevice between her jaw and neck.

She never knew why she asked such stupid questions; there was only one man in the world that could turn Johnny Quid into the fearful child he had been, a long, long time ago. And yet she knew that Johnny was never far away.