Tell You My Sins

He picked him out of the crowd as he walked in the bar. The man, the one who had been looking for him, was sitting alone in the corner, his back to the wall so that he could watch the door. His mop of dark hair stood out against his pale skin, almost blending into the shadows of the wall.

John blended into the crowd of dancers, making his way through the shadows, his eyes trained on the young man at the table but his senses were trained on everything else.

The man's head tilted in John's direction as he slipped into the chair across from him but his eyes didn't leave the crowd.

John watched him silently. The man was rolling a beer bottle around in his hands. He was relaxed; more so then a man should be when a stranger moved into his personal space. The man's eyes roamed the crowd, touching on one group or another. He would linger slightly on a group laughing or carrying on loudly, an almost wistful look passing over his face each time.

"You were looking for me," John stated.

The man's eyes finally turned to him. His blue eyes flicked over him, looking him up and down but not moving his head. John had the distinct feeling that he had just been measured by this silent man.

"I have."

"And?"

He shrugged. "I just want to talk."

"I'm familiar with the phrase."

The man chuckled. "So people keep saying. If I'd wanted something else, you wouldn't be here."

The ghost of a smile crossed John's lips. "Then talk."

"I want to know about my father."

John's brow furrowed. "Why would I know your father?"

"I don't know," he reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope, sliding it across the table to John. "That was slipped under my door. Why, I can't tell you."

John's gaze flicked down to the envelope but he made no move to open it. "Who's your father?"

"Cross."

John's head slanted. "So you're Wesley."

Wesley drew up straight. "So you did know him."

"For a time."

Wesley leaned on his forearms, bringing him closer to John. "Tell me about him."

"Shouldn't you know your own father? If you're looking for me then you know who he was."

"I-" Wesley paused. "I didn't know Cross. As I told the man at the hotel, the day I met Cross was the day I killed him. I was played by the Fraternity. They made me believe that another man was my father and that Cross killed him." He fisted his hands. "They lied to me; used me. And now they're all gone."

"The Fraternity is never gone."

"You know the Fraternity?"

John shrugged. "Everyone knows the Fraternity. They're people you know not to cross unless you absolutely have to."

"Unless you know you can win."

John nodded.

"Then how did you know my father?"

John shrugged again. "I was young. We crossed paths one night and a tense friendship was formed. He taught me a few things; made me better at what I do.

"He didn't talk much but when he did he spoke of you; the son he'd had to leave behind. He said he still watched you but he had no part in your life."

Wesley settled back in his seat, an almost dejected look on his face. "So he trained you."

"A bit."

John could see the conflicted emotions cross the young man's face. It seemed as if he was disappointed in what John had to say. It was clear he had been hoping for more; something that could fill in a part of his life.

"I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."

Wesley took a swig of his beer, calming his expression. "I can't say what I was hoping to hear," he gave a slight shrug. "Maybe I wasn't expecting anything. The only things I was ever told was how good of a killer he was. Maybe I was hoping you could tell me something different."

"I'm sorry." John remembered Cross vividly. One does not forget a man who could do what he did. The man used a weapon like no one else he had ever seen. As a young man, John had been thoroughly impressed. For a time Cross had shown him some tricks of his trade. He had been a man of few words, perhaps the reason they had gotten along so well since John was the same way, but when he did speak, it was always about his son.

John could see some of Cross in the man sitting across from him. The same world weary expression haunted his features.

Wesley sighed and reached to gather the items on the table. "Then I guess that's it," he nodded at John. "You won't be needing that, then."

The right side of John's lip twitched. His finger moved from the trigger. He'd had the gun in his lap for the duration of the conversation.

It never hurt to be too cautious.

Wesley took the last swig of his beer and placed it on the table. He stood, tugging the flaps of his jacket down. He stopped at John's shoulder, staring out into the throng of people. John tilted his head toward him.

"Thank you," Wesley said after a moment.

John simply nodded and watched as Wesley started to move away.

He felt the hand wrap around the side of his neck, the palm against the back of his neck. John was pulled to the right as two resounding cracks echoed through the room.


AN: Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!