Chapter 2: It's not what you think
He stood in front of her door, contemplating, should he or shouldn't he. Their relationship was based on trust, admiration, and that word neither one of them had spoken out loud but felt deep inside. She had never given him cause to feel jealous. He wasn't the sort anyway, even when he bore witness to the kiss she shared with her once long-ago lover, it didn't faze him because he knew her, he trusted her, he trusted what they had together and what it felt like. But in the past three months, she had been secretive. More so than could be attributed to keeping their work separate from their personal lives. He didn't like this feeling of doubt. He didn't like doubting her, but he couldn't help his gut feeling that something he should know about was going on.
Ultimately, what convinced him that he had just cause in picking Zoe's lock and entering her apartment uninvited was that she could be in danger. She was acting squirrely, more so than usual. Since she wouldn't tell him anything and had obviously been avoiding any contact, he decided to do what he must.
Quietly, he let himself in. Nothing unusual greeted him in the living room. He stealthily made his way through her apartment taking note that nothing was off. Everything was where it should be. Zoe could be heard moving around her bedroom, opening drawers and basically just bussing around. What could she possibly need an hour to take care of? Why did she not want him here?
"Oh-oh, someone is happy to see me. . . " he heard her say in a sing-song voice accentuated by the husky laugh he's grown fond of, especially when they . . .
John couldn't control the pang of betrayal that blossomed. It rose from the pit of his stomach and straight through to his heart. This isn't happening. He thought to himself. She wouldn't do this without ending things first. He knew that much about her. Maybe it isn't the way it sounded.
"Let's get these clothes off big boy."
Pain and anger coursed through him. He had been caught unaware. Never would he have ever predicted such a blow to come from her, never from her. The trust between them was understood. Or so he believed. He should have known better, and he should never have given her his confidence; he knew that now.
"You want some skin on skin contact? I would love to comply, sugar, but we don't have time. If I know John, he'll be calling at exactly an hour."
John berated himself internally. He should have known better. Trust was always rewarded with pain. He knew that; the CIA and Kara had taught him that. His hands fisted as he replayed what he had just heard over and over in his mind. How could he have been so dim-witted, so naive? If he had not been so profoundly wounded, he would have at least accepted the way she had played him for the past months. But instead, he was just going to have to learn to live with the pain of the truth.
Zoe did her sultry laugh one more time then said, "Whoa there cowboy, how about giving me a minute?"
But then it was too late, the damage had been done. And it had been so cruel; she had to have known that the way she was acting on the phone would propel him to come over; and still she had deigned to have a quickie before he arrived? Zoe was always so straightforward and direct; he could never imagine her being deliberately cruel. Not until now. In an instant, everything had changed.
Not able to control the hurt and humiliation, he made a decision. It was time to confront them.
John calmly walked into the room. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" He announced. It wasn't a question, but a statement. A dare if you will, for them to deny.
When he walked into Zoe's bedroom, his eyes had been completely trained on the bed fully expecting to see her and her lover. To his surprise, the bed was mussed up but otherwise . . . completely empty?
At the sound to his right, he immediately shifted his unwavering gaze towards the door of the bathroom. To his dismay, he saw Zoe holding towel in front of her, her eyes wide with surprise.
Zoe was backing out of the bathroom when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Instinctively, she knew whose eyes were on her. It took her a moment to settle her nerves before she slowly turned around still clutching the towel to herself.
John motioned towards the bed and the bathroom. "What the hell is going on, Zoe?" he asked his throat dry.
Zoe stood her ground, trying hard to appear unaffected by his appearance. "What part of I won't be good company tonight did you not understand John?"
"Answer my question," he growled.
She crossed her arms and watched him. "The less you know, John, the better off you'll be."
"How long has it been going on?" He demanded, stepping closer to her.
"John, I . . . it doesn't matter," she said tiredly.
"How could you do this? How did I not find out sooner?"
"I didn't want you to," she replied with a dry chuckle.
"Do you think this is a laughing matter?" he questioned barely containing his anger. For her to be blasé about the situation was alarming. She never took things this lightly. Everything she did had a purpose.
She shot him an incredulous look. "Do I think it's funny that you break into my home uninvited? What the hell do you think, John?"
"Zoe, you've been evasive for the last three months, I seriously thought you were in trouble."
"John, we have set boundaries, I would never assume that I can just show up at your loft specifically after you asked me not to."
"Zoe, you . . . the boundaries are sometimes meant to be crossed," he said insistently.
"Excuse me? John, we agreed that the less questions we ask about the other's 'jobs', the better off we are."
"But . . ."
She ran a hand through her hair distractedly. "John, this has nothing to do with you."
"How can you say that?" he murmured. "This is . . . why have you hidden this from me?"
"Hidden? This is work John," she replied still unclear why he seemed upset enough to barge into her apartment uninvited. "I don't do this . . . cross boundaries when you're gone for days on end . . . me not knowing if someone finally got the better of you and shot you dead. I don't call Harold screaming for him to tell me what you're working on or who you're going to take a bullet for. . . "
"Work, I would understand Zoe, but this . . . I don't, I can't."
"What do you mean . . . John? This is work. What do you think is going on here?"
"I heard everything Zoe."
"What do you mean, John?"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've been outside that door," he said, pointing to her bedroom door, "for the last ten minutes. I know what's going on in here."
Her look said she doubted it very much. "Really because I seriously - - " a thump from the bathroom interrupted Zoe.
"Why is he still in there?" John asked, heading towards the bathroom, not understanding the gall of hiding in the bathroom leaving Zoe to explain things.
Holding her ground, Zoe blocked John's way. "John, stop this, you are going to scare him."
"Scare him? Do you honestly thing I care at this point?" Gently, he picked Zoe up and physically moved her out of the way.
"John," Zoe grabbed his arm, "don't do this . . . "
Jerking his arm away none too gently, John turned his back on Zoe and went on the attack.
