Chapter 4:

Amassing all the strength she had left in her body, Zoe rolled across the floor towards her last chance at gaining her freedom. Her adrenaline kicking into overdrive, she reached for the gun, released the safety and aimed at the body flying towards her. She pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times. All the strength draining out of her, everything faded to black.


John arrived at the Matthews' home at such a clip that the tires screeched when he brought the car to a stop. Gunshots greeted him as he exited the vehicle. His chest tightened as fear flushed through his veins. He ran through the front door, clearing the house as he went. He continued up the stairs, through the hallway to the back bedroom.

The door was open and John's gun was at the ready before entering. He wasn't sure who was there, who fired the shots he heard. Nothing could have prepared him for what he found.

Zoe lay on her back on the floor, her arms to her side, with a gun in her right hand. Her face was covered in bruises and blood. John moved towards her, scanning the room for Mathews. He found him a few feet away from Zoe face down lying in a pool of blood.


Zoe felt arms come around her and she started to fight, pushing the hands away. "No! No! Get your hands off me you bastard!" The arms tried to subdue her but she kept struggling against them. "You can't have her, I promised Jamie, I promised Jamie, I pinky-swore!" Zoe cried. She couldn't control the tears anymore, but she still fought with all she had left in her.

"Hey! Hey! Zoe, its John. You're okay, you're okay." John kept rocking her trying to calm her.

Through her screaming, she finally recognized John's voice. He found her.

"John?" She reached out blindly, relieved to feel safe; she sighed and sunk further into his chest.

"Jesus, I'm sorry Zoe," he said. "I'm so sorry." He choked the words out.

He carefully picked her up, not sure what injuries she had sustained. Zoe saw the body of Michael Matthews, dead on the floor. She turned her head away not wanting to think about what she had just done.


Everything hurt. Every bloody part of her body hurt.

That was what Zoe felt as she began to wake yet again. Blinking her eyes open, she took the time to adjust to the light coming from the bedside table.

Her mind was still fuzzy, her head was pounding. Where am I? Groaning, she tried one more time to open her eyes.

"Zoe?" John whispered softly.

Slowly her eyes focused and she was able to look around better. That's when her eyes found his; and remembered the details of the past day. She remembered trying to keep Katie safe, the painful beatings, the fighting, and finally death. She killed someone, yes it was self-defense, but she still took a life. At the realization, Zoe's tears came. Never in her life had she cried as much as she had in the past day. In her everyday life, tears were not an option.

What John saw in her eyes caused him concern; it doubled when he saw her tears. He saw fear, pain, confusion and . . . guilt?

He looked away from her and averted his gaze to anywhere else in the room. He felt as if he didn't have the right to see her at her weakest. And that she wouldn't want him to witness her this way. But as he saw Zoe break down in front of him, it caused a tightening in his chest. John knew how difficult it was to shoot at another human being, let alone kill them.

John got into bed with her and pulled her into his arms. She held onto John for dear life as she sobbed and shook against him. Wrapping his arms around her, he rubbed her back trying to soothe her. Without saying anything, he let Zoe take comfort in him and strength from him.


Katie was getting ready for bed when she had a thought. "John, are you going to go see Zoe tomorrow?" With Zoe at the hospital and Robert still recovering from by-pass surgery, it was up to John to make sure Katie got her things together to go home the next day.

John nodded. "After I drop you off at your grandparents; and tonight, once Slip gets back from his classes."

"How much longer will she have to stay at the hospital?"

"Another day or two."

"Can you keep a secret?" The five year old asked, looking dire, carefully waiting for his answer.

With a slight quirk of his lips, John answered. "I think I can handle it. . . "

"Okay, wait here." Katie ran into Zoe's bedroom and rushed back out with a box in her arms.

John didn't ask Katie what the box was; he just waited for her to explain. It looked similar to the box Zoe had left at his doorstep a few months ago.

"This is Zoe's special box. She showed it to me and said that I could look at it anytime I wanted. It has pictures and stuff from when she and my mom were little. I thought maybe you could take something to her at the hospital, to make her feel better."

Katie held up some pictures. He looked at the pictures that clearly showed Zoe at various ages; her first ballet recital – she was the swan princess at age eight; her first piano recital at age ten; she played Bach's Minuet in G. There were also pictures of Zoe and Jamie when Katie was born, both smiling big for the camera.

He was staring at one with Zoe holding a bundled up Katie when she was born, a proud smile on her face.

"Oh, this one is my favorites . . . " Katie held up a picture of Zoe at age twelve with another little girl, he assumed was Katie's mom. The little girls had their arms around each other, pinkies locked.

Katie then held up a small brown teddy bear. "This is Milo. Zoe's daddy gave him to her when she was three. She said he always made her feel better when she was sad or upset." Milo certainly looked well loved. One of Milo's ears looked as if it had been chewed off and was barely hanging by a thread, his brown fur was matted, and he was missing an eye.

The box was where Zoe kept the things she cared about. They weren't material things, just things that brought her joy. John thanked his lucky stars that a five year old showed him what meant most to Zoe, what really mattered deep inside.

"Hey, this is new . . . is that your last name Anderson? Oh, and you have a dog named Bear?! Sooo cool!" John snatched the piece of paper that held his bio with a picture of him with that stupid grin on his face. Where Finch had found that picture or rather, how he made that picture, John will never know.


"So . . . is today a good day . . . or a bad day?" John asked softly as he looked into her brown eyes that were filled with emotion.

Zoe smirked and flashed her half smile. Good sign. John thought. She seems back to her old self.

"It's been an 'ok' day. Only half the guilt of yesterday, none of the tears," she replied in a self-deprecating manner.

They stared at each other for a few beats before John leaned over and slowly, tenderly, kissed Zoe. She easily surrendered to the kiss. It shouldn't have felt new to them given their relationship, but the sensations still made their bodies hum like nothing else they had experienced before.

When they parted, they were both breathing heavily.

"I have something for you." John whispered with a coy smirk.

Zoe wasn't sure what to make of that smirk. A regular John 'I know something you don't' smirk, she could handle. This smirk . . . she wasn't so sure.

"Well, I have been a good girl you know," she whispered back just as coyly, complete with batting eyelashes.

Giving her a lopsided smile, he reached into his jacket pocket . . .

Oh crap, if it's small enough to fit in his jacket pocket . . . Zoe thought in a momentary panic. Surely not . . .

. . . and brought out Milo.

She gasped, and like a little girl she got to her knees on the bed and reached out for her beloved bear.

"Milo . . . " Grabbing the Milo, she rubbed him on her face and sighed.

John watched Zoe and Milo, stunned at the look of complete happiness and contentment on her face.

Finally realizing that John was staring, Zoe cleared her throat with a touch of embarrassment. "How did you know?" She asked.

"Katie . . ." John replied watching for her reaction.

"You saw my box?" Zoe asked, looking unsure.

"Is that alright?"

She considered his question over for a few seconds. Then nodding with a small smile Zoe replied. "Yeah, it's fine."

"Although, I'm tempted to put a cap in Milo. . . "

"What?! Why in the hell would you do that?" Zoe was clearly back to her old self.

"A bear that can put that look on your face is not one I want around . . . "

Smiling her Zoe smile, she said. "Why John, are you jealous?"

"Should I be?"

Laughing deep in her chest, she walked on her knees on the bed towards John, grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close. She whispered in his ear as she rubbed him through his pants. "I like my lovers with both ears, both eyes, and certainly anatomically correct."


"Your girlfriend said to give you this." The nurse said as handed him a coffee cup. "She said that considering your lack of sleep last night, she wanted to make sure you stayed awake enough to get home in one piece."

The word "girlfriend" threw John for a loop and made him grind his teeth. Don't let her hear you call her that.

The words hung in the air as John mulled them over in his head.

Then it hit him . . . what it all meant. What Zoe and John couldn't say verbally, they spoke with actions. He recalled little things he would do for her without even thinking like; leaving a coffee cup made the way she liked it by her bedside table those mornings she stayed at his loft; held her hand when she was unconscious; he was happy to let her take comfort in him and strength from him just by holding her.

John didn't realize until that moment the depth of his feelings for Zoe. The thought of her dying scared him stupid. He knew at that moment that he would do whatever he had to do to keep her safe.

He understood then too, why she brought him lunch when he worked; why she made a keepsake box for him; why she didn't ask how he and Harold knew what they knew and why she helped them without a second thought.

Zoe actually, really, cared for him.

In the days since Zoe's ordeal, they had found small ways to touch each other, a gentle arm rub, tucking her hair behind her ear, holding hands while they slept. It was their way to tell each other they cared.