Chapter 3: To undo a lie
It was late at night when John suddenly woke up, alert.
Something – someone was here, in the house. Someone who didn't belong.
It almost scared him, how he had gotten used to the house, after only a few months of living here, how he didn't count Claire's presence as unnatural anymore. How, in no more than a few days, it would all be gone again. He'd be gone again, and unsure whether or not he'd ever come back.
Almost, because John immediately focused on the noise that had woken him up. The kind of sounds there shouldn't be in a house at night, when everyone was asleep, when no one was supposed to be walking down there.
He got up, made sure Claire was awake, that she'd close the door behind him – he didn't want the intruders to come and hurt her, should they get past him, and, more likely to happen, he didn't want her seeing him taking care of whatever was happening. He had no idea of who was down there, after all, rummaging where they shouldn't. He couldn't swear things wouldn't get bloody.
Claire knew he was dangerous enough in a fight; they had had to deal with a high thug a few weeks before, and John had done his best to keep the right balance between protecting everyone, and being Tom Kubik – nothing too military, nothing too expert, but just enough skill to get the drugged scum under control until the police arrived.
But down the stairs, John had no idea who he'd face.
Perhaps Keller Industries had finally caught up on his investigation, and had sent someone to take care of him, to get the file he had on them. Perhaps they even knew that Tom Kubik wasn't real.
John didn't want to have to deal with a dangerous killer before the eyes of his wife, nor did he want her to hear the truth about who he was from anyone else's mouth. The first scenario could end in death, and he'd have a hard time explaining to Claire why a trained assassin was in their house; the second scenario simply took away all his chances that she'd keep him, even after knowing the truth.
The only way to undo a lie – and that didn't always work – was to admit it yourself. Not to let anyone twist it into something else, turning it into even more of a betrayal.
John moved down the stairs without a sound, used to silent approachs. If he did it right, he might even get a feel of the intruders – two, at least, because people don't usually talk and answer when they're doing a solitary break-in. See how they moved, if they were former soldiers...
Know what he was up against.
Though, from the way they were hissing at each other to get the hell out, John already knew they weren't professionnals, and probably not so much of a danger. He relaxed a bit – not too much, though. He wasn't going to foolishly underestimate the potential danger. For all he knew, the two weren't that stupid, but a distraction, and there was a third man waiting patiently for him to come down.
A tad paranoid, perhaps, but you never were paranoid enough when you worked undercover on a secret mission.
One of the two intruders turned his head to look at John for a moment, looking surprised to see him there, as if he had really thought the ruckus they were making wouldn't wake the owners up. Then he turned back, and disappeared in the night.
John sighed, frankly doubting that the college-aged face and the deer-in-the-headlights look belonged to a hired hand.
"Damn kids."
He looked at the mess they had left, as he called Claire to reassure her. A burglary, while they were home... just the day before his last. Not long before Christmas, at that. This... This was going to be the worst Christmas memories Claire would have.
Two days. He was leaving in two days. He was leaving her alone – perhaps forever. And Claire didn't even know that yet. He...
How could he do that to her?
Claire walked down the stairs, phone in hand, calling the police, and John immediately forgot all about his guilt, about the forthcoming disaster. Being with Claire, it was like... living in the instant. He wasn't Tom Kubik, he knew that, of course, but in these moments, he didn't feel like his life was such a shattered timeline. All the things he had lost – all the things he had let go of, they didn't matter so much in these moments.
It was like having a life again.
He must have made a strange face, because Claire asked him if he was alright. John blinked, smiled, answered:
"Of course, Honey."
Then, remembering the mess – the fact that no, Claire didn't know yet – John realized she was probably worried because of the college kids who had broken in.
"They were certainly just messing around, because they left right away. In fact, I think they were drunk or something, or acting on a dare. Nothing I can't handle, Claire."
That, at least, was true. He had gone down the stairs expecting some dangerous criminals, but he had just gotten drunk kids to deal with. And anyway, there wasn't much John couldn't handle, in the ranks of home invaders. Unless they were noticeably bigger, to the point it became slightly ridiculous, he could take on about anyone. And John wasn't exactly small to begin with.
"Tom..."
Used to the name – used to thinking of it as his, now – John tried a reassuring smile. He wasn't exactly sure what warranted the worry in Claire's voice, but he was going to do his best for it to disappear.
"Really, Claire, they just left, like that. They're the kind of kids who want to be cool and dark, but can't handle a fight for the life of them."
"You couldn't know that, Tom. You shouldn't have come down."
He passed an arm behind her head, squeezed her against him lightly, and kissed her forehead.
"So cute of you to worry... but I'm fine. The police will tell you there wasn't any danger, you'll see. So, meanwhile, let's just sit down, and have a drink to relax?"
Claire gave him a dubious look – the one her clients usually got when she wasn't convinced of their honesty. "A lawyer must know everything, to defend you properly, Mister -!"
If she knew how much her own husband had lied to her – not that much actually, but just enough for it to become important. Yes, he was an orphan – but he hadn't always been. Yes he had been in a foster home – but he had already been thirteen by that time, and his brother had been with him.
No, he wasn't a military consultant – at least, he hadn't been until seven months ago. No, his real name wasn't Tom Kubik – though Tom Kubik was very much him, in feelings, tastes, ideas.
John's heart clenched – but he didn't listen to it. He had started this all, and if he could try to make it right, he couldn't hope to erase all the lies. Or rather, all the things he hadn't said.
"Alright. But just water. I don't want to be inebriated when the cops get there. It wouldn't be very professional."
John smirked a bit at Claire, and moved to the kitchen, fetching two glasses at the same time, one with each hand – perhaps he was enjoying the ambidexterity thing a bit too much, but well, he hadn't realized until the other day that Claire hadn't yet noticed. His wife watched him do, shaking her head, and muttering "mutant".
The tension from the break-in slowly disappeared – the water was cold, the night was silent. John was doing his best for Claire to feel better – silently reeling from the knowledge that soon, too soon, she wouldn't feel that way. Perhaps for a long time.
Of course, it never showed on Tom Kubik's face.
When the police arrived, John took in the two uniformed cops – one a rookie, the other experienced. The best course of action was probably to tell the truth, but keep it clean. Let's not talk about his first suspicions, that it had been more than a burglary, because they'd want to know more.
And while he was confident the greenhorn would buy it all, he knew older cops well enough, for having been one, that he wouldn't risk disguising the truth too much. Some experienced police officers could literally sniff out a lie whenever they were on the job, interviewing people; they might not notice if it wasn't during an interrogation, but now? No point even trying.
No, John wasn't going to let himself be exposed, not because of some stupid college kids, not right after having finished with Keller Industries. He'd be damned if he was burned just two days before the end.
Moreover, if the cops got suspicious of him, they might dig up John Rykes, even if "Rykes"' fingerprints weren't in any databases except the Marshals'. And from there, they could even get back to John Sullivan, if they were tenacious enough to get U.S. Marshal Patterson to open up, which would be... not good.
He didn't actually think it'd come to that, but John wasn't going to risk endangering Claire because another cop busted him. He definitely did not want O'Connor to find out where John Sullivan had disappeared to, and that he was living happily with his wife. WITSEC existed for a reason.
The police took a look around, got the fingerprints on the objects the would-be-burglars had moved, asked them a few questions, and left. It was weird for Claire to be the one interrogated, and even weirder for John not to be the one interrogating, but because they both knew what an investigation was like, they didn't mind all that much.
Once they were alone again, Claire joked that "Tom" knew exactly what to answer to the cops' questions, it almost sounded like he had been robbed dozens of times before.
"Tom" laughed, and John didn't tell her it was because he had asked those questions often enough, during the four years he had been a beat cop.
It wasn't a lie. A lie would have meant he'd said something which wasn't true.
He hadn't said anything.
Claire headed up for their bedroom, and turned back to look at him when she noticed he wasn't following.
"Let's go back to sleep, Tom."
He looked around with a sorry expression. Shards of glass on the floor were the least of his problems, currently, but Claire couldn't know that. They'd be a good enough excuse to stay up a little longer – just the time for him to calm down, to stop thinking about how he was going to tell her the truth, how he was going to have to leave...
"Just a few minutes, Honey. I don't want either of us walking down in the morning and tearing our feet open because we've forgotten about the glass."
"Ten minutes, or I'll fall asleep without you!"
Claire was looking at him, hand on the door knob, as if waiting for confirmation.
John didn't want her to leave – whenever she left, he remembered how this life didn't exist, how it was all a mirage, marching in the desert, and that tomorrow, he'd be out of water.
"Say, Claire..."
"Yes?"
John had no idea what was going through his brain, right now, and the words were out before he could stop them. As if he needed to set a deadline for that, or else, he'd just let the chance go, and wait until it was too late to really explain.
"Tomorrow evening..."
"This evening, you mean? It's two in the morning."
Only one day left. He'd rather she hadn't reminded him, but he guessed he had brought it forward first, hadn't he?
"Yeah, this evening. I... Would you want us to go out, to spend the evening in town? I want to tell you about something. Something important."
He didn't want it to happen here, in this house. John didn't know if Claire would still want him after he told her about "John Rykes" – no way he was telling her all about being in WITSEC, because knowing her, she'd want to know more, she'd look for John Sullivan, and then she'd get the attention of some unsavory characters such as O'Connor – but if she did, if she wanted to wait for him... He didn't want their home to be the place of his avowal. He didn't want Claire to associate the house to his betrayal, even more than she would anyway.
She arched her eyebrows, curious, but took the clue that he wasn't going to say more for now.
"Alright. But you, you finish cleaning up the broken glass, and you get back to our bed. I wouldn't want you falling asleep during our pre-christmas date."
Claire closed the door to the bedroom, and John was alone, again.
Broken shards of glass were the least of his problems.
