Chapter 7 – John

NOTE: None of the characters belong to me. I claim no ownership over them, and leave it all to the genius of James Sallis, Hossein Amini, and Nicolas Winding Refn.

John watched as Benicio closed the door behind him after going to his room. He slowly set down his fork and wiped away the crumbs from his mouth with the thin paper towel he was using as a napkin as he looked down at his finished plate. He could feel her glaring at him. His smirk turned into a smile. She thought she could intimidate him?

"You can stop getting angry now. I'm not going anywhere." Irene's eyes narrowed even further, even though he didn't think that was possible.

"Why not?" Her voice was fraught with barely controlled tightness. John looked at her for the first time since they all sat down at the table.

She looked different. Normally, she was subdued and quietly acquiescing to the events in her life, almost hesitant to do anything. Even her slap a few days earlier was quick and retracting, followed by her tears and uncertainty. Now, her eyes were flashing defiantly. A rosy-pink tinge was painting her face in a pleasing way that made him think of even more pleasant activities. As he studied her face, John decided he liked her new look. This side of her would do nicely when he ravished her senseless. But, that would come later.

He sighed and turned to face her. "Why are you angry? I know you felt something in that elevator. I know you want me here even though you're fighting yourself on it."

"You have no right to tell me that." Irene whispered. "Standard is dead. You killed Standard's killer and I can't have Benicio around men like you anymore."

John's eyes narrowed. "Good try. Now try convincing yourself to believe what you just said." Irene looked down at her hands with a guilty yet frustrated frown. He heard her let out a long-suffering sigh and look up at him.

"I'm angry."

"Why?"

"Because I know you protected us." John frowned.

"And that makes you angry?" Irene looked away from him.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I don't need help!" Irene angrily stood up and began collecting the used plates from the table. She took them to the sink and began furiously scrubbing the dishes.

John remained silent. He was confused. It seemed apparent that Irene needed help. Getting stabbed in the liver seemed to blatantly attest to that fact. What was he supposed to say? He watched her focus on washing dishes before she stopped what she was doing and looked up at him slowly. She quietly spoke. "I mean, I know that you helped us out. But, I just don't like feeling weak."

John watched her go back to scrubbing dishes with a little less force than before. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, coming to stand behind her, tense with anticipation and a tinge of awkwardness he wasn't accustomed to. He leaned closer and and whispered in her ear.

"Neither do I. But I came here anyways." Irene tensed and turned her head to look at him with questioning eyes.

"Why did you come here?" She whispered her question and John could feel her breath against his lips. He stared at her and waited for the silence to stretch between them yet again before he answered.

"For you."

Author's Note: Again, so sorry that school is kicking my sorry little butt right now. Hope you enjoyed it