Takes place after 2x01

Clarice barely negated her flinch when John opened the door a little harder than necessary, saying nothing as he strode through the dark apartment and into their bedroom with a stormy expression. She shut the front door softly and slid the lock in.

She pulled out the handful of candles stashed under the sink, setting them up on the counter and the coffee table. Clarice lit them all pretty quickly, the gesture more for her and Christina's benefit than John's…

Zingo trotted over, looking up with sad eyes and wined.

She scratched behind her ears, "I know, girl. I know."

Clarice straightened with a sigh, walking over to the kitchen and opening the fridge. She eyed the beers for only a heartbeat before grabbing one and fishing out the bottle opener, falling back onto the couch.

She took a long swig, draining nearly half the bottle before she took a breath.

"Is she dead? The baby?" Marcos' voice was brittle, "What does it mean, John?"

"I don't…I don't know, brother."

Clarice shuddered, taking another long drink, as though the alcohol would alleviate the coldness that had been sitting in her stomach like a rock since they'd left that dark, empty street corner. She gripped the bottle tightly, blinking back tears.

Lorna couldn't be gone. The baby couldn't be…

She shook her head and tried not to think of those statements as final. Even with everything that had happened, Clarice liked to believe her and Lorna were friends. Opposite sides or no, she didn't want her friend and an innocent child to be gone. She'd seen too much loss in her life for that to compute.

Clarice drained the rest of the bottle and let out a long breath.

She couldn't be gone…

The sound of breaking glass had her head snapping up, not having heard John renter the room.

The remains of the cup glittered on the countertop, water dripping from his curled hand.

She stood immediately, "John?"

He clenched his jaw and didn't move as she approached.

Clarice reached around him for the dish towel, "It's alright. I can clean it-"

"Leave it."

"It's fine." She frowned, "I can get it…"

"Just leave it."

She bit back a harsh excuse me when she finally met his eyes, an unfamiliar storm of emotions burning in those depths. Clarice sucked in a sharp breath at the heat radiating from him and she didn't dare make a move to touch him. "John…"

He shook his head, stepping around her.

She spun, voice rising slightly, "John, just talk to me."

"Later. We can talk later."

She finally noticed his change of clothing, now dark sweats and hoodie and tennis shoes. Clarice made a half-aborted motion to reach out but dropped her arm when he pulled open the door (breaking the lock) and once again slammed it shut.

She jumped at the noise, running a hand down her face with a sigh, "Damn it."

The door to the second bedroom opened, Christina hesitantly poking her head out.

"I'm sorry, did we-?"

The girl shook her head, "I couldn't sleep anyway."

Clarice didn't say anything, instead watching the girl's eyes drift to the broken glass then the door. She hadn't known Christina long, but the girl knew instantly that something had gone terribly wrong. "Could you grab the trash can for me?"

"Sure." She dragged it over, lifting it until the rim rested against the edge of the counter.

Clarice grabbed the dish towel and carefully brushed the glass into the half-full bag, glad that the shards weren't too small as she examined the countertop closely before she tossed the glass-littered towel in the trash. She wiped down the counter with a wad of paper towels before throwing them away as well, returning the trash can to its original place. "Thank you, Christina."

"It's no problem." She messed with the gauze on her right hand, glancing at the door.

Clarice felt eyes on her as she replaced the lid, "You can ask. I won't get mad."

She worried her lip, "Something bad happened…didn't it?"

Clarice sighed, "Maybe."

Her eyebrows pulled together, "Maybe?"

She recalled John's hesitation, the heaviness in his voice as he called Marcos brother. It was the first time Clarice had ever heard John use that word for his friend and it told Clarice of the depth of the relationship between the three, casting the night in a new horrible light. "John was tracking someone he really cared about and he lost her trail."

Her response was hesitant, "I thought you said he could find anyone."

Clarice looked down at the door, "He usually can."

"Even if they're dead?"

Clarice's eyes snapped up, her body stiffening at the question. She'd never asked him that specifically, but she figured that the fact that a dead person could no longer make a trail would probably make it easier for him to track. "Even if they're dead."

Thoughtful brown eyes watched the flames, "The power outage?"

She was impressed at how quickly the girl had put the pieces together, "She was pregnant and her abilities were very…far-reaching. She'd gone into labor and it was affecting the power lines. John was tracking her through them when everything went black."

Her eyes widened, "You don't know where they are or if they're alive."

Clarice let out another long breath, "Yeah."

She looked over at the door, "Where did he go?"

"He went out for a run I think." I hope. Clarice knew that his coping mechanisms hadn't always been geared to just running. She prayed John wouldn't do something stupid, but with the weight of him losing Lorna's trail and the uncertainty that came with it…she wasn't so sure. "He'll be back in a few hours. I wouldn't worry."

Christina seemed skeptical.

Clarice cleared her throat, "How's your hand?"

She shrugged, "Caitlyn gave me some pain meds before you all left so…"

Zingo chose that moment to lick the fingers on her bandaged hand.

Christina looked down with a small, sad smile, like she'd been reminded of something, and it seemed to snap the two out of the awkward conversation, "I guess I should try to get some sleep, unless you want me to…"

She waved off the girl's concern, "No, go 'head. I don't want to keep you up."

She swallowed and turned, "Alright. Good night, Clarice."

"Good night, Christina."

Zingo trotted after the girl, Clarice shutting down Christina's worry with a shake of her head and watched the two until the door quietly clicked shut. That dog always knew who needed her presence the most…

She sat down on the couch, curling herself into a ball and resting her chin on her knees. Clarice stared at the flickering candles, the soft glow and black shadows reminiscent of the light and heat that had poured from Marcos' hands, softening the asphalt beneath him as he screamed…

Clarice stood, shoving the thoughts vehemently from her mind.

She couldn't just sit and wait for John to come back, but she sure as hell wasn't going to try falling asleep. Her mind was too much of a mess at the moment for either option so she settled for tidying up the apartment: washing the few dishes, straightening the two bar stools and refolding the blanket on the back of the couch half a dozen times.

She blew out the candles, keeping one lit as she moved to their bedroom, changing into one of John's shirts and attempting to start one of the crappy romance novels Lauren had recommended months ago on some of their longer, uneventful drives but the words kept running together. Frustrated, she almost portaled the book off the roof when the doorknob turned.

Clarice was silent as she set the book aside, John entering the room like a silent shadow.

He looked up at the movement.

The look in his eyes was the opposite of when he had left hours before, his gaze somber and hollow. His hair stuck to his temples and the back of his neck, unbound from the bun he'd had it up in. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders tense as he turned away from her.

She got off the bed, cautiously approaching him. "John…please don't hide from me."

He lowered his head and said nothing.

Clarice pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her forehead between his shoulder blades. His skin was blazing hot through the cotton, the fabric damp with sweat and smelling of…rusted metal and dust? It reminded her of the years on the streets of Atlanta, hiding in one abandoned warehouse after pulled back slowly, "John…where did you go? And don't tell me it was just a run."

His body stiffened. "Clarice…"

She took note of his hoarse voice and softened her own, "John…please."

He moved so quickly, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug like he was afraid she'd disappear and buried his face in her neck. He murmured inaudible words into her skin, fingers threading through her hair.

She froze when she felt tears, hands coming up to cup his face, "Hey…hey look at me."

He lifted his eyes, glistening with moisture.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him in that moment, but all the placating words and condolences in the world wouldn't make him feel any better. He wouldn't really hear them anyway, too lost in his own head… "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll wait for you."

He just kept staring at her, jaw tightly clenched.

She brushed a tear away, "I'm not going to disappear, alright?"

He nodded, finally walking to the bathroom and shutting the door.

Clarice listened to the running water, blinking back tears of her own and trying to compose herself before he came out. If he saw how upset she was, he'd push his feelings to the side like they didn't even matter. She wasn't going to let that happen. John deserved to fall apart like the rest of them.

The shower turned off, John stepping out in a tank top and shorts with hair still dripping.

Standing at the corner of the bed, she held out a hand.

His fingers hovered over her open palm and that's when she saw the bruises.

She knew just how much force it took to cause even the smallest mark on his skin and the fact that they were confined solely to his knuckles was even more concerning. She almost wished she'd seen his hands before the shower so she had an idea of what hell he'd punched… Clarice slid her fingers through his and tugged, "Come on."

He sat down on the edge of the bed with her, their sides practically glued together.

She turned their hands over, "Wanna talk about these?"

John grimaced, "I didn't hurt anyone if that's what you're-"

"I never thought you did," she reached up with her other hand to tap his temple, keeping her voice soft, "I just want to know what's going on in that head of yours."

His gaze went distant and for a moment, Clarice feared she'd pushed too much before he came back to himself, wetting his lips and clearing his throat. She tried not to notice the puffiness around his bloodshot eyes as he finally spoke.

"Over the years…" he looked down at their hands, "I lost so many people to things that could never harm me, to things I could see coming and it made me so…angry." The word was ground out between clenched teeth and he shook his head, the hardness leaving him with a heavy sigh, "And fighting was the only way I knew how to channel it."

She stayed silent, running a thumb along the bruised knuckles.

"I failed them, Clarice." His voice cracked after nearly a whole minute of silence, "Lorna is my sister in everything but blood. We worked together for years and when she and Marcos were together, I'd never seen either of them so hopeful."

Clarice felt him stiffen, but she didn't move away.

He shut his eyes tightly, like he was trying to block out a painful memory. "All I could see was that green arch of electricity vanishing…all I could hear was Marcos screaming…all I could smell was the asphalt burning under his fists and no matter how fast or how far I ran I couldn't get it out of my head."

She squeezed his hand as hard as she could when he began to shake, "Look at me, John."

He turned his head, eyes downcast.

She sighed, "You don't have to go at any of this alone alright?" she reached up to cup his jaw in her free hand, "You don't have to hide anything from me. You told me all those months ago about finding my safe place. Let me be yours."

John lifted his eyes, his expression softening as he brushed her hair back. "My safe place." his fingers lightly traced the shell of her ear, some light returning to him when she leaned into the touch, "My beautiful, safe place."

She'd barely had time register the words before he was kissing her.

There was no hunger or heat to it, just a steady, grounding warmth as he drew her into his lap. His hands trailed down her sides, fingertips leaving goosebumps when they met the bare skin of her legs.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against his for only a moment before she reluctantly crawled off him, moving back onto the bed and slipping under the sheets. Clarice smiled as he followed, pressing her back into his chest as an arm draped over her waist.

He kissed the back of her neck and her eyelids slipped closed as his warmth enfolded her.

She didn't know what awaited them when they awoke, but in that moment, within the safety of John's arms, Clarice knew that they would be able to face whatever oncoming trials were headed their way. Side by side.

Together.