A/N: This is unbeta'd. Sorry for all the mistakes, 'cause like LeaLIU, another author here, my mother language is mandarin.
It has become a routine of theirs since the night in the penthouse.
John would turn up in the night, after a long day's work. Normally he would ring the bell and wait for her to let him in. But once in a while, when Zoe comes home late after a client meeting, she would notice someone sitting in her living room. The lights were still off, he was barely a still shadow in the dark. Although she was startled at the first few times, she is getting used to it now. She never asked how he got in there, a man like him surely would always keep a paperclip in somewhere handy. She supposes she should be bothered, him picking her locks so often. She's thought about giving him a key, but that seems way cross the unspoken line they've both drawn beforehand. So she decides she'll just let him, if John trusts her and her place enough to come, then she should trust him to keep bad things away.
He doesn't come every day. There are always days in between he falls out of her radar, some days longer than others. John doesn't call before he comes. He just shows up. Zoe wonders if she should feel being used, feel she is someone he goes to and waves away too easily. But then it's not like she waits for him and lives a life around him either, so she guesses this is just who they are.
They don't talk much (most of the times, they barely made to her bed), they could know each other's want by a single look. John is a very considerate lover. But sometimes, when he holds her a little tighter, his mouth searches for her a little more hungry, he thrusts into her with a bit more force, Zoe would know, for him, that has been a bad day. Zoe doesn't really mind him being rough (after all, who could say no when a man like John clenches you so hard like you're his lifeline), knowing being a gentleman like him, he doesn't have it in him to hurt her.
He would linger a while after they're done. She could feel his body close, one of his strong arms securing her waist, the other hand absently combing through her tangled curls. He always gets up before midnight, putting on his suit, walking himself to the door. Sometimes when she falls asleep a bit too soon, she would wake up to an empty bed the next morning.
She isn't surprised, waking up like there is never anyone in the first place. It's like an unspoken agreement of theirs. They are both so sure of what they want, a warm body and a causal relationship, and what they don't want, no attachment, no responsibilities, no one more angle other people can use to get to them, no another broken memory being added to the too much burdens they already have. All they've wanted is here and now, and they're good at it.
He seems to have lost the ability to sleep in a foreign bed since he joined CIA. He is always too alert in a place that hasn't been secured by himself. He is too aware of his surroundings, like now, with Zoe falling asleep in his arm, her body pressing close to his, soft, warm, and real, and her hair gently tickling his cheek.
It feels so surreal and unfamiliar to him now, lying on a bed that is not his, listening to a breathing sound that is not his. John tries to think about the last time he was in a place like this. It was a life time ago.
There is something between them, him and Zoe, right from the beginning. But sometimes he wonders, why did he give in to the temptation. He has long pictured how the rest of his life would be like, with Finch and Bear, saving people until his last day. There was no woman or family in that picture. That's a luxury he can't afford.
He remembers he asked Kara once, why were they doing what they were doing then. He remembers the feeling of her slender finger slowly tracing the scars on his torso, and the ghostly smile playing on her lips, when she answered quietly, "To feel I'm still a human."
Maybe that is what he is seeking here now. The feeling of being a human, being alive, not a walking dead whose meaning of living is saving people from this dangerous world, so they can go back to lives he no longer has.
He feels alive here, when she is tight around him, when he tastes her in his tongue tip, when she cries out his name beside his ears. He feels like a normal man. He chuckles quietly when he thinks about it, Zoe Morgan, the most dangerous, most influential fixer in New York City, is the rare normality in his life. The irony of that.
Zoe notices John comes more often now. He arrives earlier, and leaves later (but he still doesn't stay overnight, and she won't ask him to either). He brings take-away with him sometime, so they can sit on her couch, share Kung Pao Chicken and whatever wine left in her cabinet, watching an old movie or listening to some Jazz records of hers. Occasionally, when they're both tired of Chinese take-away, John could make something out of her nearly empty fridge. Surprisingly, he is truly an amazing cooker.
Zoe isn't sure what have changed now. Although he still shows up without notice most of the times, he calls or texts her when he need to be away for days. She even got a text message asking when she would be back while she was away on a trip for a week. He made her something really nice that night, and he smirked when she emptied her dish joyfully and let out a delighted moan.
But neither of them brings up the change.
John doesn't show up that night until midnight. Zoe is almost ready for bed when she hears the doorbell.
He is soaking wet. Zoe realizes then it must be pouring outside. She lets him in, and notices the looks in his eyes are hard and ice-cold.
Handing him a towel, she asks softly, "rough day?"
He clenches his jaw and says nothing. The towel is large and soft, smelling like her. He sheds his suit on the floor, wipes his hair and body roughly with the towel and collapses on the couch.
Zoe curls beside him, watching him closely. He has seen many sides of Zoe, the one dressing to kill, the one wrapping politicians around her fingers, the one breaking into the enemy's company, and the one who moans and shudders under his touch. But right now, this Zoe is stripped of the daytime glamour, and is looking at him with all the concerns and sincerity. He knows he can confide to her; she has seen her own fair share of this world (he admires her for that), and won't be surprised or terrified of what he did. He rubs his forehead tiredly and says, "We failed today. I didn't save the victim."
She sighs, "We are not God, John." She leans to him, her voice soothing. "This happens."
"I know," he breathes deeply. When he was in the CIA, he always feared that a mistake could cost them a city or thousands people, now only one person has to pay for his failure, but it doesn't feel any less haunting.
He is bone-tired, the adrenalin from pulling off a job always keeps him going, but today the regret and helpless is eating him. Zoe rubs his arm gently and keeps her hand there. Her palm on his arm is the only warmth he feels; it grounds him and stops the images from the earlier the day floating around in his head. He slowly starts to relax and leans into her touch.
"I'm sorry I ruined your couch." he points to the water stain and says apologetically.
"Oh, no worries," her lips curve into a half-smile, "Your boss can always buy me a new one."
The corners of his mouth can't help but lift up slightly.
Zoe takes the towel from his hand and nudges him to stand up. "Take a bath, I'll find you something to change."
She doesn't join him in the tub like she normally do. He takes his time and space to clean up the dust and blood and ponder over the day's events. When he finishes, she has already retreated to her bedroom, but the light is left on for him.
She closes the book she is reading when he walks in, scooting over to give him more spaces. She watches him for a while and says, "We don't have to do anything tonight. You look tired."
He nods, and tugs her to himself, his hands finding the familiar spot on her waist. She fits perfectly with him.
They are just lying there quietly for a few minutes, and he hears her softly calling his name.
He shifts to face to her. She looks directly into his eyes and says, "you can stay for tonight, if you want to."
He is surprised at first. But she sees the answer in his eyes before he voices it, and buries her face to his chest.
Her breathes are starting to even out when he tightens his arms and breathes a "thank you" to her hair.
She pulls out to look at him, and asks sleepily, "for what?"
He simply shrugs.
She smiles, letting the quietness and warmth lulls her back to sleep.
John turns off the light and holds her tighter.
The peace soon embraces them all.