John was quite sure he would be physically unable to handle any more loss at this point. After Sage had walked over to join Lorna, all the resolve he'd mustered up during their little strategizing pep talk had completely vanished. The Underground's headquarters was destroyed and now they had nothing to go back to. How was he to keep his people safe when they lost everything they'd spent so long amassing for those exact purposes? His friends were giving up on what they had all worked so hard to build together. They were giving up on him. At least, that was how he felt and there was no convincing him otherwise.

An awkward silence hung around their temporary living space after the departure of the Hell Fire Club's newest recruits. Although he still had a hard time fathoming that his friends had really left, abandoned the cause they'd invested so much time, effort, and energy into. On some level, he could understand the attraction. Their foray to capture Campbell had been a small taste of the luxuries many of them hadn't seen in months or in some cases years. Real beds. Hot showers. A kitchen full of fresh food, waiting to be prepared. Clean clothes. Clean sheets. The list went on. Tempting as it was, the price that came with it was far too high for John. He'd stick with old rusty cots, dented cans of nonperishables, and cold showers if it meant he could keep his principles too.

He'd managed to avoid dealing with his feelings of resentment and sadness altogether by busying himself with finalizing sleeping arrangements, taking head count far more times than necessary, dividing supplies, and tending to the other various duties and responsibilities that always fell on his shoulders as leader. A role that seemed to have endless responsibilities yet reaped him little reward.

Clarice had stepped up into a leadership role in the past few weeks but tonight it was clear that it was more than just John who saw her that way. He'd taken note of how she'd taken charge of 'making dinner' that night, if you could really call the gaggle of young mutants she'd gotten to form an assembly line for making and distributing peanut butter sandwiches and bottles of water, 'making dinner.'

A somber mood had remained most of the night and after dinner that was little to no complaining and grumbling about lights out. John had taken his leave outside to get some fresh air and he was leaned up against a pillar at the back entrance of the much too small building they would call home for only the next few days before they'd have to find a place more suited to their needs. He was drawn from his thoughts the moment he sensed movement inside their safe haven. He paused, tucked his hair behind his ear, and closed his eyes to listen. Focusing past the faint sounds of snores, coughs, and the groans of old cots, he heard footsteps. More specifically; he heard her footsteps.

Mere moments later, the same door he'd come out of himself was opening again. Normally he'd have tried to hide the redness that rimmed his eyes but with her there was no use. "John…" There it was again, that way only she could say his name. The softness with which she spoke only seemed to come when she spoke that word specifically, as though it was the only word pure enough to merit such gentleness. This time, though, that specially reserved tenderness would be what finally caused him to fall apart.

He tried to stop it from happening; his efforts were valiant, honestly. But it was no use. His heart and head both knew they could trust her to take care of him and a person could only keep up so many walls at once, no matter how strong and indestructible they may be. Dark, tired eyes found hers across the way and brimmed with tears, resolve too weak to put on a brave face right now.

Her heart ached at the sight of him. How much he had been through in just the time she'd known him? How much he'd been through before she'd come along? She desired to know everything about him and she vowed in time to find out. For now, though, she knew it wasn't the time for questions. Words weren't what he needed. A different sort of comfort was required for this situation.

She closed the distance between them in a few short bounds and much like he had that awful day at the farmhouse for her, she drew him in for a comforting hug, abandoning the backpack she'd had slung over her right shoulder. Despite the vastness of him, he seemed small and almost delicate in her arms. The tears were silent but she could feel them warm and wet as they pooled at the place on her neck where he buried his face. Tears created a wet spot were the collar of her worn out band tee met soft skin, leaving a damp reminder of his sadness yet also of his unadulterated trust in her.

Her heart broke for him even more as she imagined how long it had been since he'd allowed himself to actually feel any of this sadness. He'd grown so used to pushing down his own wants, needs, and feelings for the greater good; he'd rarely had the time to feel anything anymore, much less process it.

One of her hands pressed to the back of his neck, keeping him close to her and the other came around his side to rest on his lower back, tracing up and down gently, grounding him. It prompted him to speak, to let her know he wasn't completely broken here in her arms. "I'm alright, Clarice." He strained through clenched teeth, willing those words to magically become true as he spoke them allowed. Neither of them believed him.

"You're not alright." She whispered quietly, her hold on him only tightening. It wasn't the first time she'd tried to impress this fact upon him. The stress of leading this group of mutant misfits was stress enough to make a person not okay. But with losing Sonia and Gus and Lorna leaving with Sage? He had to stop pretending that wasn't destroying him, there really was no use. Maybe he had to put on the big brave leader face for everyone else on the time, but not with her.

Before he could protest too much, she spoke again. "It's okay that you're not alright. You have been through so much. It's okay if you can't hold it together. I've fallen apart on you and you put me back together. You even found a few pieces I was missing." She whispered into the side of his head. "Let me help you, I can take it." Her words seemed to give him permission to feel everything that weight on his shoulders and heart more completely and he clung just a little tighter to her as his body wracked with quiet sobs.

Losing Gus the first time had been hard enough but seeing what Campbell had turned him in to? Seeing him perish covered in soot, lying amongst debris? He'd deserved so much better. He'd fought for and protected his country. He'd sacrificed so much, for so many. He was the guy who always had everyone else's back. And when he needed John the most, he'd failed him.

Sonia deserved so much better. Even if his feelings for her had shifted long ago, the pain of losing her still shook him to his core. She was loyal to their cause until the end. She was loyal to him. She'd tried to defend the Strucker kids, sacrifice herself, and resist against Campbell. Sure she'd made her mistakes, especially when it came to Clarice. But her heart was in the right place. She was on the right side of this war. Yet, here she was, another victim of John's inability to protect the one's he cared about the most.

How many more of his friends' lives would end in this senseless war? How many more people he loved would he be forced to lose? The thought made him want to push Clarice away, spare her from the storm of grief he seemed to cast like a spell on those around him. Instead, he drew her closer. The scent of whatever fancy shampoo the Cuckoo's had provided at the safe house still lingered in her hair, the aroma of honey and orange intoxicating him. It was almost enough to distract him momentarily from the fact that this war hadn't just taken his friends in death.

Lorna wasn't dead but she was gone. Unlike Gus and Sonia, she'd chosen to leave him. To leave everything they'd worked so hard towards together, since the beginning. He was angry with her for being selfish, for leaving Marcos, for being tempted by the Frosts and the way they'd so easily colored her judgment. She'd taken Sage with her. She'd encouraged Andy to leave his family. The Lorna he knew and loved, the one who was his sister, she'd never have done that. But then, was she really the Lorna he knew when she and Reed had escaped from prison? All he knew was, she was some of the only family he had left and he would be damned if he didn't fight for her.

These thoughts had overwhelmed him for far too long. As much as he hated showing such weakness to her, he couldn't be more grateful to her at the same time. He let Clarice hold him for longer than he meant to. He appreciated that she'd given him silent support, let him work through what he needed uninterrupted. She'd been strong and steady just like he had been for her. When he pulled back, her eyes sought out his with such concern. "Talk to me, you can't keep this all in, it's too much for one person."

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, she was right, keeping it all was taking its toll. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept. Physically and mentally he was exhausted, drained, and running on empty. "I'm…" He cast his weary eyes down, taking in a ragged breath. "I'm angry." He offered, simply. He was pretty adept at giving advice, but talking about his own issues? You might as well have asked him to recite the Israeli alphabet backwards.

That wasn't good enough for Clarice. "About?" She pressed him on, of course she knew, but there was also something very therapeutic about speaking these things out loud. He deserved the catharsis.

He clinched his jaw; it was hard to talk about these things, even with her. Yet, he felt compelled to go on and maybe he was pretending it was only for her sake. "I'm mad that Lorna left." The words were stiff, but it was progress.

"Why?" She pressed further, and she saw the annoyance wrought into his chiseled face. She gave him a soft look and brought her thumb up to brush over his full bottom lip gently, tenderly. "For me?" She prompted, knowing that if he could convince himself he was doing this for her benefit and not his own, he was more likely to get it accomplished.

His defensed crumbled again. She was only trying to help after all. With a sharp breath he finally provided actual detail. "Because she left and she took Sage with her. She left everything we've built and she basically told everyone that it was dying and to jump ship while they had the chance." Before he could stop the words from coming out he added, "And I'm angry at myself because a part of me knows that she isn't entirely wrong." He swallowed hard, his eyes pleaded with her not to keep pressing but as they searched her green ones they found only relentlessness.

She nodded, taking in everything he'd said. "Well I'll tell you why I'm pissed. She walks in her with her badass outfit and flawless make up; clearly she has gone for the upgrade. Meanwhile, you, Marcos and I shared a sleeve of crackers as our breakfast and lunch on the way to this real gem of a way station so I'd say we sort of got the fuzzy end of the lollipop here. Good guys finishing last, once again. The trope is tired, really. Although I will say, it is nice to be with the good guys." Her jesting tone waned though and her eyes met his and even if her words hadn't been serious, the look in her eyes was. "Maybe we don't have the fancy clothes and the comfortable beds. But we have each other's backs and in the end that's worth a lot more."

She was attempting humor at first and she'd managed to crack a smile from her. However, it was the last part of her statement that had made his heart skip a beat. It also brought a stark realization to the forefront of his mind, "I was afraid they'd try and get you to leave." He confessed, his sad eyes meeting hers once again. "I think that may have done me in."

A weak smile played on her lips, an offering to put his mind at ease. "I made sure to broadcast a big 'fuck you' for whichever Frost sister was trying to whisper sweet nothings into our ears. Besides, they already tried to sway me before, convince me I was like them, that we weren't so different. But even before, even when I was desperate and pissed the hell off to the point where I briefly fell into it with the Brotherhood, I was never a monster." She paused, considering carefully how to continue without sounding like she was hopelessly in love and obsessed with him; "Being a part of this makes us all better And that's largely in part because of you, Proudstar. So, we are going to do this the right way even if it's the hard, pain in the ass, can't ever catch a damn break way; even when it sucks major ass. Because it's going to fucking suck." She'd had to bite her tongue too much tonight around the children; the curse words were making up for lost time it seemed.

She was the only one who could make him smile at a time like this, of that he was sure. Before he could respond she added more seriously, a promised assurance, "I'm not going anywhere." As she spoke the words, her hands gripped the backs of his biceps, her eyes locking on to his. She needed him to know that in this time of uncertainty, of strife amongst their group, of grave tragedy and loss, he had her, if he wanted. "Where you go, I'll go." She meant that, truly. John could lead her into a burning building and she'd follow without a second thought because if she knew there was one thing she could trust and count on in this crazy, fucked up world, it was him.

Emotion flooded his eyes once again and he pulled her against him, "Clarice," He muttered gently before his lips captured hers. His tongue parting her lips, exploring her own, his fingers finding their home in her luscious locks. The kiss may have started gentle but it quickly grew hungry with need. First his own, then hers as well. A soft moan escaped her lips as they broke for air, doing him in. He melted against her, lips moving to explore her neck, hands searching under layers of sweatshirt and t-shirt for access to warm skin. "I'll always do my best to protect you." He whispered into the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck.

Goosebumps formed on her skin and as good as his lips felt there, she needed to look at him before she spoke. Her hand moved to tug at his hair, then when he glanced up, her fingers traced down to his chin, angling it down so he could look at her. "And I will do what I can to protect you." She whispered, fingers moving briefly to tap symbolically against his heart before her lips were capturing his once again, although too briefly for either of their liking. Pulling away she placed a gentle hand on his chest, "And I'll start by making you eat something, then maybe I can convince you to lay down and at least pretend to get some rest." She raised her eyebrows knowingly at him.

"Getting me food and trying to get me to bed? Clarice, is this our first date?" He grinned at her playfully, bumping her shoulder with his own.

His words made the wheels in her mind start turning. She finally paid mind to the backpack she'd previously abandoned on the ground near their feet. She dipped her hand inside to produce two slightly squished peanut butter sandwiches wrapped haphazardly in paper towels. "Your deep dish pizza, sir." She said with mock seriousness, handing him one of the sandwiches, followed by a bottle of water.

He knitted his brow in confusion but smiled nonetheless, and decided to play along "Smells delicious." He took an exaggerated bite, "And it's still warm!" They shared another genuine smile and once again he found his longed for escape from reality thanks to her.

They ate in relative silence, though keeping in constant physical contact the entire time whether it was knees touching, or a hand on the other's thigh, a gentle brush of elbows. Even after they finished eating they remained there, eyes closed in quiet contemplation for a while. Before too long, she tugged gently at his hand and he let her lead him inside, past the sleeping bodies littering cots at every corner of the way station.

There were far more refugees then beds and they'd been among the first to give theirs away. Clarice had taken the extra blankets and made them each small pallets on the floor, near to one another but not too close to be presumptuous.

He shed his jacket first, draping it on the back of a broken three-legged chair that shifted under the weight of its new adornment. Clarice had set their bags against the wall and he crossed to his, retrieving a pair of sweat pants to swap for his jeans. At some point she'd disappeared to the bathroom to change into her own sleepwear, returning moments later to find him lying there, facing the wall. She tried to hide her disappointment; if he'd managed to fall asleep it was for the best really. He was in desperate need of sleep that persisted for longer than 45 minutes at a time.

She padded her way towards the remaining makeshift bed, the pale moonlight seeping in through the windows guiding the way, laying down and pulling the blanket over herself upon reaching it. She felt her bottom blankets being tugged closer to his and then his arm came around her waist, "Is this alright?" He asked, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"More than alright," She whispered back, snuggling back against what she'd find to be his bare chest. It was, she was sure, the safest place she'd ever been. After a beat of silence she listened to see if his breathe had evened out enough to indicate he was asleep. Finding it hadn't she chanced calling out to him. "John?" Her voice was gentle and sleepy. She felt him shit enough to confirm he was awake and before waiting to hear from him. "Thank you, for giving me something to believe in."

And though she was quite sure he would assume she meant the Underground, she hoped at least some small part of him would know that she was actually talking about him.