A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up. There's been a lot of real world upheaval for me the last few weeks, so unfortunately John and Anna's reunion got put on the back burner. But have no fear the story is still going strong. Actually we're only two chapters or so out from the penultimate chapter! Thanks for everyone for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter even if John and Anna are a bit out of character . . . I hope not too much!

Chapter 10:

John picked up a file folder and fanned his red face. Just his luck the office's air conditioning went on the fritz today. He looked up at the clock on the wall as he fanned. It was only 2pm. He should call it a day and put the rest of the staff out of their misery. It was Friday after all. He still had a mountain of paperwork to wade through since the end of the fiscal year was coming up, but it was nothing that he couldn't do from home. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do. He lived the same mundane existence on weekends as weekdays.

He took a swallow from a water bottle and unbuttoned another button on his dress shirt. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow. It was a damn sauna. He had started the day on Capitol Hill in a full suit for the State Department's monthly briefing on Afghan security, but once he arrived at the office he quickly discarded his jacket and tie. He now sat with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

"Hey Boss," greeted T.J. Branson as he strode into his office. John did a double take at the sight of his office manager. He wore a black t-shirt emblazoned with the slogan "We are the 99%!", camouflage shorts and a kerchief around the neck. Jesus, he was off to another one of his protests.

"Any word on the A/C?" John asked as he leaned back and stretched. A dull ache radiated up his side.

"The management company said that they can't get anyone out until Monday. I guess we're not the only ones with a busted unit."

"Just great," John grumbled and fanned some more.

"Umm, John . . . I'm checking out. Remember I asked you on Monday about leaving a few hours early today. You said it was all right. I already told the interns to take off. They looked like they were ready to keel over."

"Sure, that's fine. It's hotter than Hades in here," John agreed. "So . . . off to do some more civil disobedience?"

"Yep, I'm going to the Mall for the big Occupy protest. Should be a good time. Rumor is Rage Against the Machine might show up and play a set."

John couldn't stop a grin from hitching up one side of his face. T.J. was so incredibly young and naïve. He wasn't stupid, but common sense wasn't one of his strong suits. "Please be careful. I don't want to have come bail you out at 2am."

"Don't worry. I'll stay out of trouble." Then T.J. amended with a mischievous grin, "Well, at least I'll try too."

He fingered his kerchief. "But I'm ready to fight if things get ugly. Just let them throw tear gas like they did in Oakland. I'm ready."

"Let me give you some advice, one of the most important things to understand about fighting is knowing when not too. Don't get pulled into some battle you can't win."

"But aren't those the battles we need to be wage most? The lost causes that everyone forgets about?"

The kid was an idealist, John would give him that. Truth be told, deep down, some of T.J.'s philosophies resonated, but twenty years of adulthood, many spent in war zones, had beat most of them out of him.

"All I'm saying is avoid getting thrown in the paddy wagon. Got it?"

"Got it, boss," T.J. assured him with a cocky salute. "Oh yeah, I was just wondering. Do you know if there is still an opening in your building? My asshole landlord is kicking me out because of Misha. Pets are okay there, right?"

John rolled his eyes. It was only a matter of time before his landlord picked up on the fact that T.J. had adopted a Siberian husky. Beautiful animal, but not exactly one that you can keep hidden.

"The sign's still up, so as far as I know it's available. Do you want me to look into it?"

"Do you mind?"

John shook his head. T.J. might get on his nerves occasionally, but he wouldn't mind having him for a neighbor.

"Thanks, John. Totally appreciate it." He started to walk towards the door. "Hey, want to grab a drink together this weekend? You'd make a great wingman."

John couldn't help chuckling at the thought. "I seriously doubt that, but thanks anyways. Maybe another time."

T.J. grinned back. "All right, I'll hold you to that."

He was almost to the door when he turned around again. "Oh, I almost forgot. There's a woman here to see you. She didn't give her name and I don't recognize her. She's British though."

John's heart beat an irregular thump. He looked down at his desk calendar. He didn't have any appointments scheduled for the rest of the day.

It couldn't be her. He told her no contact. It just couldn't be.

"U.N. maybe?"

"Nah, she's way too hot to be a policy wonk. Do you want me to send her in?"

John just nodded, unable to form words. It just couldn't be. But god, he longed for a glimpse of her.

T.J. ducked out. A bead of sweat ran down the side of John's face. Despite the heat, he felt cold and queasy. John could here T.J.'s muffled voice in the waiting area and a decidedly softer feminine response. He turned to look out the open window. A muffled honk of a car horn echoed below. The air sat heavy and still.

There was a faint shuffle of shoes upon industrial carpet. His head swiveled towards the doorway. Even though it wasn't possible, she stood impossibly there. Silent . . . wary . . . waiting for him to say something.

He drank in the sight of her. She wore a plain business suit and low heels. She was just as he had remembered her . . . or maybe not. She wore more makeup than usual, but John could see lines of fatigue ringing her eyes.

"I don't know if I've dreaded this moment or longed for it." He had never spoken more true words.

"Well, either way, it's happened," she sniffed and looked away.

Her cold words cut him deep, but then again he deserved them. Just like he had deserved it back then . . . in Kirbymoorside. God, why did he keep hurting her?

He closed his eyes. Now was not the time for his mind to play games. Again. It needed to stop. He needed to focus.

John pulled himself out of his desk chair and started towards her. "Anna . . . I don't know what to say."

"Well, you can start by explaining why you are keeping tabs on me from halfway around the world."

He stopped stone cold. That was the last thing he had expected to come out of her mouth.

"I see, Lynnie told you."

"Not on purpose. I only found out accidentally." She closed her eyes. John could physically feel her anger bubbling. "But why? Why were you doing that? You left without saying goodbye. You didn't want any contact. You didn't care. Why then?"

Sweat continued to track down his face and along his back even as her words chilled his insides. He couldn't think straight. He didn't know if it was Anna or the heat or the heady combination, but he had to get out of there.

"Anna, we need to talk," He tried to keep his voice even. "The air conditioning went out this morning. Do you mind if we go somewhere else?"

"All right," she agreed with a swift nod. "I'm in town for work, but I've seen all the properties I needed to for today. My afternoon is free."

He leaned against his desk. She was less than ten feet away. His hands itched to hold her again.

"Would you like to get something to eat?" John asked even though he had just eaten lunch less than a half hour ago.

"I'm not hungry."

He willed her to make eye contact, but she kept looking past him . . . through him. He desperately needed to make that connection again.

"Okay . . . we could go to a park? There's none right around here, but we could get on the Metro . . ."

"Look, John," she interrupted. "I don't feel like traipsing around the city in this heat. Is there someplace close we can go?"

Just hearing her say his name buoyed his confidence. "My apartment is two blocks away. We could go there. I set the thermostat to artic when I left for work, so it should be comfortable by now."

He was hoping for a laugh or just a tiny smile at his pathetic attempt at humor. Nothing. No twitch of the lips or laugh in her eyes. Just indifference coupled with mistrust.

"That's fine. Are you able to leave now?"

"A perk of being the boss. Just let me gather my things."

John saved his work and shut down his computer. He began to throw the budget materials in his satchel, but thought twice. There was no way he was getting any work done this weekend after seeing Anna. His mind was already a wreck. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair and swung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder.

"All set."

As he rounded his desk, Anna took off out of the office not bothering to wait for him.

The queasiness only grew worse. This was not going well. Not well at all.

Anna surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. It's what she did for a living after all. 1920's architecture. Hardwood floors. An intimidating fireplace with a beautifully carved mahogany mantle. Inlaid bookcases on either side. Modernized kitchen. An oversized bay window providing light for the entire living room. Ornate molding circling the ceiling. It was built at time when living spaces were more than sterile boxes that contractors slapped together as fast as they could. This place had character . . . life to it. Well, it would if someone actually lived there.

Nothing adorned the walls. The mantle was bare. No coffee table books. No photos framed. Nothing.

It was John's apartment. He had the key to prove it. But it was so barren, so . . . empty.

No, not empty as much as in transition. It looked as if someone was in the process of either moving in or out. Banker boxes sat in piles all around. Some by the fireplace, some by a nook that held a desk and computer. She walked over to the fireplace and the empty bookshelves that flanked it. She ran her fingers over the smooth, finished mantle. Beautiful craftsmanship. The bookshelves too. She bent down to inspect the boxes at her feet. There must have been a good half dozen. "Books" were written in black marker on the lid of each.

Anna couldn't help herself and lifted the lid of the closest box. She ran her fingers over the uneven spines. Montesquieu, Faulkner, Allen Ginsburg, Plato, Freud, Tom Clancy. A mixed lot to say the least and so very John.

She put the lid back on and wandered around some more. She was nervous and hadn't planned on having time to kill. She wanted to have it out. Say her piece and let him respond and see where it went from there. The more time she had to think, the more unsure she became.

They had walked from his office building in silence, at least from her end. John had attempted to engage her in conversation. In an almost too pleasant tone, he explained that his building was situated in the area of D.C. known as Embassy Row due to the high concentration of embassies and consulates. She only offered monosyllable responses in return. He gave up after the first block. They walked the rest of the way without speaking, the only sound coming from their shoes upon the sidewalk. Anna knew she was being childish, but after all the weeks of uncertainty and worry, John needed to understand he hurt her immensely and she wasn't just going to rush back into his arms. But god, she wanted to.

By the time they reached his building, the tension was tangible. The muscles along his neck and shoulders flexed unnaturally as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his front door. John had been right. It was a welcome comfort to walk into the artificially chilled flat. Yet, despite the drop in temperature, he still sweated. He was beyond anxious. And she glimpsed something in those green eyes that she had never seen before . . . fear.

He surprised her by asking if she minded if he took a shower since he had sweat down his dress clothes and would feel more comfortable in something that didn't reek. He didn't smell. Or at least not that Anna noticed and she wouldn't have minded if he had. But she didn't stop him. She had a feeling he needed the extra time to compose himself even if that same extra time was driving her mad.

She wandered from the living room and peeked into the bedroom. She could hear the shower running from the adjoining bath. The bed was made; the corners crisp and not a wrinkle to be found. Obviously a holdover from his military days. A lone book lay upon the night stand. His wallet and keys thrown on the dresser. That was all that sat out. A few more boxes stacked in the corner ready to be unpacked.

The taps from the shower stopped. Anna hurried out of the bedroom. Last thing she wanted was to be found snooping. She sat down on the seat ledge in front of the bay window. It wasn't five minutes later when she heard soft footsteps behind her.

She pivoted on the wood seat. Her heart clutched at the sight of John. He wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans. His feet were bare and his hair still wet. Anna could help it; her body ached for him.

They both stood there. In the same room. Yet very much apart.

"Anna, I've been thinking a lot about how I left and what I wrote."

She kept eye contact but didn't offer any encouragement. It was all up to him. She wasn't going to help him. He would have to do this on his own.

Realizing this, John sighed and briefly shut his eyes before stepping closer.

"I'm sorry." Simple and heartfelt. The truth.

He took a few more steps, emboldened by his own voice. "I'm so sorry, Anna. You deserved more than a piece of paper left on your nightstand. It was unforgiveable to treat you that way. I just . . . just wanted you to know that."

Long seconds passed. The ball was in her court. He averted his gaze to the floor. His shoulders slumped and damp hair fell forward on his brow. He expected the worst.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's unforgiveable, more like bad judgment. Extremely bad judgment."

His head snapped up. "You can forgive me? Really?"

"Really," she assured bestowing him with a smile for the first time that afternoon. "But John, I want to know why you left . . . why you think we can't be together."

He backed away from her. "Anna, anything but that."

She reached out and touched his upper arm still warm and soft from the shower. "John . . ."

He bucked her touch. "You don't understand. I can't bear to see the disappointment . . . the revulsion . . . in your eyes."

"I wouldn't care what I found out about you. Whatever it is, it won't alter my opinion one bit."

"But it would. It certainly would." He shook his head. "Anna, I'm not the man you think I am."

"Why should I believe you when you won't tell me the whole story . . . or any of the story for that matter?"

"Take my word for it," he darkly shot back.

Damn, the man was infuriating. She knew it was all there, not far from the surface. He needed to come clean. If not for her than for himself. It would devour him eventually. No, she had to get him to talk even if it meant playing unfairly with his emotions. He would thank her in the end. At least that's what she hoped.

"John, listen to me." She waited for him to face her before taking one of his thick hands in both of hers. "I told you things that I've told no one else. I've done things with you that I've done with no one else. I trusted you with my secrets, my body, my heart. Am I not entitled to the same from you?"

Anna knew she was being manipulative, preying on his guilt, but she couldn't walk away not after coming so far. If John was to play any role in her future, she had to know his past. All of it.

He was clearly conflicted. Thinking. She could almost hear the gears churning double time.

He stared down at their still clasped hands and whispered, "But you'll think I'm a monster."

Her heart broke for the man, this good man, in front of her. She gave his hand a strong squeeze. "I could never think that, John. No matter what."

He didn't look convinced.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me. I'm serious. I'll camp out here. That couch is looking quite comfy."

John huffed a laugh. "That couch will give you a stiff neck if you lay on it more than a half-hour."

"I'll take my chances." Anna flashed a grin before sobering. "Please John . . ."

He exhaled a long weighty breath before relenting, "All right, but you have no idea what you're getting into."

She squeezed the hand she still held. "Come on, why don't we go sit on that stiff neck inducing couch?"

John nodded and led her over to the beat-up leather couch that faced the fireplace. She took a seat at one end; he sat on the other. She didn't scoot closer or make a move to touch him. He needed space to speak and remember.

A minute passed. Then another. Anna was about to say something when John cleared his throat.

"It was cold. Freezing, really. One of coldest winters on record in Kabul. It's funny, everyone always thinks of Afghanistan being desolate and hot, but the winters are brutal."

"Had you been there long?"

"Off and on for five years, but this was scheduled to be my last tour. Our team was going stateside in the spring. Our next assignment was as instructors at the SEAL training facility in San Diego. Sunny San Diego."

John snorted a soft laugh. "Every time someone started to complain about the cold and snow, one of the other guys on the teams would remind him by saying, 'Sunny fuc-. . .'"

He dipped his head sheepishly. "Sorry. SEALS aren't exactly known for their genteel vocabulary."

"Don't worry, I've heard worse."

"Anyway, we'd say, 'Sunny . . . freakin' . . .,'" John amended with an arch of his eyebrows, ". . . 'San Diego'. It wasn't that far off, only a few more months and then that was going to be it for me. I would have my twenty years in and I could retire with full benefits, then I'd be free to do whatever I wanted."

Anna couldn't help herself. "And what would you have done?"

A half smile of regret. "Oh, I don't know anymore. It was so long ago. Maybe go back to school. Perhaps teach. I had always thought of owning a small bookstore."

The smile faded. "But it doesn't really matter now. The opportunity never came."

"What happened, John?" Anna softly prodded.

Another deep breath. John rubbed his forearms. Anna wasn't sure if he was cold from the A/C or simply needed to keep his hands busy.

"We weren't even supposed to go out that evening. We were the reserve unit. There were two SEAL teams stationed at our base. The other team was given the green light to pick up an Al-Qaeda operative that had been supplying arms to Taliban rebels in a remote village some fifty miles outside Kabul. We would only be called into action if they needed assistance."

"I take it they ran into trouble."

"The operation went to hell. The other team managed to locate the target, but when they tried to extract him they ran into considerable opposition. There were much more Taliban forces in the village than initially reported. Unfortunately, this wasn't all that uncommon. Local intel wasn't always reliable and you often found yourself in situation you hadn't counted on. But this one was worse than usual. They had our guys pinned down."

John sunk back more into the couch. His neck rested upon the back. He stared up at the ceiling.

"And the weather didn't help. What started as flurries soon became an all-out snowstorm in just a few hours. Then a call came from top brass . . ." John made a sour face as he continued to look up. ". . . that they didn't want the Blackhawks used. Too dangerous."

"John, I don't understand. What are Blackhawks?"

"The Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter is the slickest and most efficient flying machine ever used in warfare. It also cost a pretty penny, about ten million each."

"For a single helicopter?" Anna gasped incredulously.

"That's why didn't want it in a snowstorm even though the risk of a crash was minute. The pilots could have handled the snow, but the damn powers-that-be care more about machines than men. After all, we don't cost ten million to replace."

"My god, that's awful." She had never thought much about wars or the men that fought them. It was something far away and foreign. Sure, she respected their service, but that's about as far as it went. Hearing what John was subjected to made her realize just how oblivious she really was.

"So what happened?" Anna asked as she crept forward a few inches toward John.

"Our team was brought in on a couple of Humvees and dispersed on the edge of town. Our objective was to provide enough fire power to distract the Taliban fighters so the other team could escape. Then at that point, we would provide covering fire until meeting back up at the Humvees. Simple plan, right? It didn't take but a couple of minutes for things to backfire . . . at least for me and Marco."

He said the name with depth and emotion. He had never spoken of someone named Marco before, but she knew he was significant, that he mattered a great deal to John.

"Who was Marco?" She gently pushed. She had a feeling he was at the center of the pain.

"He was my best friend, more like a brother, really." He swallowed slowly before adding, "And he's dead because of me."

"No, John I can't believe that. It was war. You can't hold yourself responsible."

He sat up sharply, angry. "Oh yes, I can. And his death wasn't the only one. I told you Anna, I'm a god damn monster."

Arguing would get them nowhere. He needed to calm down and take a step back. Feigning nonchalance, she patted his knee casually and stood up. "I could use a drink of water. How about you?"

Surprised at her change of direction, he mumbled, "Sure, whatever."

Anna found two glasses in a cabinet and took her time plucking ice cubes from a tray she found in the freezer. She racked her brain. What had she learned from her support group? Trust is essential. Don't judge. Listen to what's not being said. Christ, she couldn't remember anything else. She put a glass under the facet and turned on the taps. It wasn't a matter of trust or judgment. Anna loved John, however that didn't mean she wasn't scared to death of what he was going to tell her. No, whatever it was, however ever bad it was, Anna would be there for him. She wouldn't abandon him. She hadn't back then, she wouldn't now.

Confused by her own thoughts, Anna hurried back to the living room with the water.

She set the glasses on the coffee table and didn't bother keeping her distance. She sat down right next to John.

He picked up the glass in front of him and took a long swallow and another before setting it back down.

"John, tell me about Marco."

"I already did. He was best friend and he died because of me. What else do you need to know?" Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair.

She kept her voice gentle. Trust was key. "What was he like? How did you meet?"

Calming down, John shifted his weight to face her. "We met during SEAL training. You know, in sunny . . ." he trailed off with a roguish rise of his eyebrows. "Well, San Diego."

Anna inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. She could handle bad jokes much better than aggravation and anger. She knew there was plenty of that still to come.

"We came through the same Hell Week class," John continued.

"Hell Week? That doesn't sound very fun."

"Not unless you consider jumping into freezing water over and over, staying awake for days on end, and running enough miles for about ten marathons fun."

"Count me out. Why do it?"

John twisted more on the couch to face her. He had relaxed considerably. "I don't know. I suppose to prove something to yourself. To push the limits of your body and mind. The risk involved with being a SEAL was intoxicating and I guess I wanted to live that life before retreating to a more safe and civil world. But if I had to do it all over again, I'm not sure I would."

Anna's hand crept across the leather of the couch and his pant leg to find his hand. He didn't look at her, but he interlaced their fingers and gave a slight squeeze.

"But you asked about Marco. What can I say? He was a good man, an even better friend. He was wicked smart. He earned a full ride scholarship to MIT. Was an absolute wiz at explosives. He majored in electrical engineering and could have worked at some Fortune 500 company after school but gave it up to join the SEALS. He had the most god-awful Texas drawl. He told incredibly crass jokes, but was respectful to everyone he met. But most of all, he was always there for me. He had my back. I trusted Marco with my life."

John swallowed hard and reached for the glass of water again with his free hand. Another two sips. "Anyways, after training we were assigned to the same team and stayed on the team until well . . . that day."

Her thumb rubbed over the tiny hairs on his hand. "What happened after you got to the village?"

"It was early evening by the time we arrived. The snow was coming down steadily in wet, fat flakes. It was almost completely dark since most villages only had electricity for a couple hours a day and usually not at night. We heard sporadic gunfire as we started off."

Her heart began to quicken. Dear lord, this man who meant so much to her had been in middle of gunfire. She had already assumed as much, but to hear it from his own lips. She had come close to losing him before she even met him.

John continued, "As we were creeping along, we heard a woman's shout from a nearby doorway. She was speaking Dari and on the verge of tears. She just kept crying help over and over and that her children were hurt."

Anna rubbed her free hand up and down his thigh reassuringly. "Are you supposed to help her? I mean, are you allowed to deviate from the mission?"

"It's never as simple as yes or no. We initially went over to the woman because she represented a risk. She could alert the enemy of our position. But it's more than that. It's hard to turn a blind eye to such a plea for help."

"Of course, it is. You're human after all."

"Then you wouldn't want to know how many soldiers I've met who would have been happy to simply nuke Afghanistan back to the Stone Age."

"But you're not like those men, John."

"Maybe, maybe not. Yet I do believe most SEALS wanted to do right by the Afghans. Whether our 'right' was in their best interest in the long run, I don't know, but we did want to sincerely help them. You see, we spent much of our time in and around the locals, much more than regular soldiers who are largely confined to bases. While intel was our main goal, you couldn't help but build an affinity for the people. You wanted to make things better for them. It gave reason to why you were there."

He shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble. You want to hear what happened."

She simply nodded and squeezed closer. Their clasped hands rested upon his leg and their sides meshed. His body was warm through white cotton material.

"So we made our way over to the woman. She was hysterical. It was hard to make out what she was saying through her crying and babbling, but we managed to get her inside her small home. Remember, this is the third world. Her home was really a clay hovel. It had a front room with a stove and then a small hallway led to two more rooms. That was it."

His eyes were closed again. Remembering, perhaps. One shaky breath after another. He was trying hard to control it. He was close, on the cusp of agony.

"I took the lead talking with her. Marco knew Dari too, but I was the stronger speaker. I don't know, languages have always come easy for me."

"Doesn't surprise me. You're very smart, John."

A mirthless laugh. "I don't know about that. Anyhow, I ended up doing the talking and making decisions. You see, I outranked Marco . . . barely. I took some Navy correspondence classes that allowed me to make rank faster." John laughed again; this time genuinely. "Marco never let me live it down. He was always giving me a hard time and joked around calling me 'Admiral'."

His good humor faded as fast as it appeared. "I was able to ascertain from the woman that her children had been caught in the crossfire on their way home from the village market. They were able to make it home but had been wounded and from the sounds of it, severely."

The hand within hers began to shake. As did his other. Anna looked up. She could see wetness forming. John was not a man to cry, but he couldn't stop his body's innate reaction.

A small voice whispered, "It was my fault . . . my decision. This is where it all fell apart."

"What happened? What went wrong?" Anna gently pleaded clutching his knee and hand.

"One of us needed to stay with the woman in the front of the house. Not only for her sake, but to maintain our position for the mission and to keep an eye out. All SEALS have basic medical training . . . so I . . . I ordered Marco to check on the kids."

He blinked a silent tear down his face. Anna wasn't sure John even knew he was crying.

"I ordered him," he breathed out, his voice catching. "I thought I should stay with the woman, maybe I could obtain some information out of her about enemy positions." He shook his head decidedly, causing tears to flow crookedly. "But it should have been me. I should have been the one to go down that hallway."

No! Anna wanted to scream. She would have lost him. Again. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and hugged him to her.

He turned his face into her hair. She could feel the tears in her scalp. They had to continue. She had to see him through this.

"What happened next, John?" Her own voice scratchy and uneven.

"It was only a matter of seconds. Funny, how fast your whole life can come unraveled."

Despite the emotional turmoil swirling around them, an unbidden vision of her long ago dream flitted before her eyes. He was being led down that long, dark hallway. It was rapidly followed by another scene, a door dropping and a man falling. A scream echoed in her ears.

She shook her head to stop the screaming . . . her screaming. She knew exactly how he felt. Everything could change in an instant.

"All it takes is a moment. Now tell me, John . . . what happened to Marco?"

"I didn't see it. I had my back turned talking with the woman and looking out the front window, but I heard it." His voice cracked and his breathing on the brink of hyperventilating. "A barrage of gunfire lasting several seconds. I hit the ground as soon as I heard and scooted behind the stove. I looked around and the woman was nowhere to be seen. I knew at that moment we had been set up."

Anna stomach turned. She couldn't stand the thought of John and his friend being tricked . . . used . . . when they were only trying to help.

Her voice trembled as she asked for a second time, "What happened to Marco?"

He dropped her hand and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms as if he wanted to gouge them out. Or maybe just what he had seen. "He was down. I could tell that much from behind the stove, but I didn't know how badly he was injured. I thought maybe he was still alive. We wore a lot of body armor so there was a chance he might pull through or least that's what I kept telling myself. Then I heard faint footsteps coming down the hall. I knew if these guys were willing to lure us in under false pretenses, there was no way they were going to let Marco live. So I had to act fast."

She wanted to get closer to John. To give him comfort; to give herself comfort. She didn't want to admit the toll his story was taking on her, but it scared her to listen how close he had come to losing his life. She wormed her head under his arm and snuggled into his embrace. He offered no resistance as he rested his cheek upon the top of her head.

"So I pulled out a flashbang . . ."

Anna slightly pulled back questioning, "A what?"

"A flashbang is a grenade of sorts, but not an explosive. When detonated it emits a blinding flash of light and very loud bang. It will leave you temporarily blind and deaf if you don't know it's coming. It also messes with balance and motor skills since hearing is affected. It's a useful tool when you are surrounded and outnumbered."

"So you threw one."

John nodded. "And it did its job. I saw two bodies drop to the ground disoriented and in pain. I quickly grabbed their weapons while they lay incapacitated on the ground. Then I went to check on Marco." His breath began to hitch and gasp. "And I knew as soon as I saw him that he was gone . . . dead. My brother was-was dead."

"I-I never want to see th-that again, Anna." His words were choppy and gasping. "T-to see the mangled body and-and face of someone you care so-so damn much about."

He was stuttering again. Just like the time in the shower. This was it. The source of the pain. She didn't even realize she was crying herself until she felt the damp cotton of his t-shirt against her face.

"John, no one should have to see that. I can't imagine a worse horror."

He laughed again on a gasping breath. That same humorless laugh. There was nothing funny about what he had to say.

"Oh, but I can. It only gets worse from here. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

She wasn't sure at all, but she also knew she wasn't leaving his side. John deserved her unconditional love. The only way love should be given. And if that meant she had to listen and learn of a past that she'd rather not know, then that's what Anna was going to do. Yet that didn't stop her heart from racing and a pit rapidly expanding in her stomach.

Her lips grazed the neck of the t-shirt and found soft skin as she spoke, "Only if you want to tell it. I will listen to whatever you want to share and I'll still be here when you're done."

A long sigh into her hair. "I hope so."

"I will, John. Trust me."

He pulled away to make eye contact. "You know I already do, right? I haven't told anyone what happened next. Not my family, not the guys from our team, not the shrink who evaluated me afterwards, not the counselors at rehab, no one. But I'm telling you, Anna."

She brought a hand up to his face and ran her fingers over the 5 o'clock shadow that was beginning to form. "Then go ahead, John. Tell me."

He nodded silently, resolutely. He had to finish what he had started.

"I had seen men die before. Mostly from a distance. There's not as much hand-to-hand or close range fighting today as people might think. But to see your best friend with half his face blown away . . ." John broke off again, another shake of the head. "Well, it's not something I witnessed every day."

He breathed in a large gulp of air and held it for several seconds before exhaling, before continuing. "I was angry, Anna. For sure, emotionally distraught too, but more angry than anything. The best friend I had ever had lay before me unrecognizable. His body riddled, bloody. I was just so damn mad. Hatred engulfed me. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't think straight."

"That seems like a pretty normal reaction given what happened," Anna reasoned softly.

"Perhaps, but it overwhelmed me. I had to do something. I had to make it right. Get back at those who would kill a man who was just trying to help. To seek justice somehow because deep down I knew I should be the one lying there."

His heart was beating erratically against her ear. Anna hugged him tighter. Clutching to his him, she could feel his scars beneath the thin layer of cotton.

"I want to say I had no idea what I was doing, but that would be a cop out. I knew precisely what I was doing. Yes, I might have been driven by anger, but my actions were completely of my own making."

She wanted to put her hands her ears. She didn't want to hear what was coming. Yet she couldn't move her arms from around him. She had promised to stay at his side. No matter what. No matter how bad. But god, she was frightened.

His voice had dropped to a whisper. Anna wasn't sure if it was from fear, shame or grief.

"I left Marco's body and went over to his shooters. Standing orders call for enemy combatants to be arrested and taken prisoner. Not only was it the moral thing to do, such insurgents often provided key intel for future missions. I had detained and taken prisoners dozens of times in the past. I had already neutralized these guys. All that was left to do was place plastic handcuffs on them and bring them back with us, but . . . I didn't. Instead, I . . ."

His arms tightened around her as he spoke into hair. She could feel the movement and the wetness of his lips.

"Christ, you're going to hate me . . . I killed them. I pulled out my M11 and shot them point blank. Right in the chest. Just like we were taught. Like a perfect frigging soldier."

Maybe she should be horrified, but Anna only ached for John. She now knew the source of the guilt and agony that had been his constant companion. It was time for the past to be confronted, reconciled, a peace found. She couldn't abandon him now.

"I don't hate you, John. I told . . ."

Inexplicitly, his words turned to desperate sobs. "You-you don't understand. When I got closer to them, I saw . . . "He broke off in an anguished cry, hyperventilating, "I saw . . . that they . . . they were . . . only boys. Maybe nine, ten . . . twelve at the oldest. Don't you see, I'm-I'm a god damn child killer. Part of me died right alongside those boys. I still get physically ill when I think of what I did."

"Oh, John," Anna whispered back at him. It was all she could muster as his revelation sunk in.

He loosened his grip and pulled out of her embrace avoiding eye contact. "And that is why I'm so screwed up."

"John, no . . ." She went cold without his arms around her.

"No, Anna, I am. Everyone thinks it was my injury, but that came on the way back to base when our Humvee hit an IED, but I was already a mess before that. No one knows the real reason. It's my fault Marco's dead. It's my fault those kids will never grow up. Damn it . . . damn it."

As his whispered curses, Anna processed his admission. He had taken human life . . . children's lives . . . in retribution. It was a lot to accept, but she knew without a doubt that the man in that moment was not the same man sitting next to her.

"And working at A Mother's Dream is a sort of penance?"

He nodded with a slight shrug. "It's become that and it's salvaged me in the process. When I arrived stateside, I was ready to end it all."

"My god, John!" Anna cried. "Suicide?"

"Yeah, but I was too chicken or maybe . . ," John huffed a small laugh ". . . just scared my mother would track me down in the great beyond to give me a tongue-lashing."

He sobered. "In reality, my mom was the reason I didn't pull the trigger. I couldn't bring her even greater pain, not after losing my dad and almost losing me over there. So, I started getting high as a way just to make it through the day."

Anna wanted to hold him again, but she sensed his emotional guards were raised again.

"After rehab and Robert offered me the position, I saw it as a second chance. I know I'll never be able to atone for my actions, but . . . maybe, just maybe . . . I might be able to help prevent other children from being recruited into a life of war and terror."

"That's really something, John. To dedicate your . . ."

He wriggled further away from her into the corner of the couch, his voice irritated as he interrupted, "Stop! Don't make me out to be some saint because I'm not. You've got to understand, I do what I do because I have to. It never goes way and I don't want it to. I have to keep remembering or those lives have no meaning . . . and neither does mine."

Anna reached for him again.

"Don't, just don't. Anna, listen to me. Now you know why I will never be worthy of someone as decent and pure as you. I am dirty and tainted. I will always be that monster no matter the good works I do. I have blood on my hands that can never be fully washed away."

He closed his eyes as he struggled to make his point. "I almost forget when I am with you. You make it so easy to want more. I get a glimpse of a life I want badly, so damn badly, but I'm only fooling myself. You merit more than a man who will always be chained to his past. Because, believe me Anna, it will never go away, it will always be there."

Indignation began to rise in Anna. How dare John make such decisions about what she deserved? He alone was deciding they had no future together. No, they were too far along; she was too much in love with him to step back. Hadn't she promised herself she'd never let another man dictate her life? She was bloody well going to take charge for once.

"Is that all there is?" Anna asked as she sat back and smoothed her skirt in a no-nonsense fashion. "Have you left out any sordid details? Anything else I should know about?"

His face wrinkled in confusion. "Wasn't what I told you enough? I willfully murdered children. I sent a good man to his death. It doesn't get any worse."

She calmly repeated, "Is there anything else I should know?"

John puzzled by her insistence shook his head.

"All right then."

Silence. The only sound the steady hum of the A/C. Anna looked down at her lap. What should she do now? He trusted her enough to reveal the worst about himself. There were no more secrets. He expected her to be so horrified that she would leave him or least allow him to walk away. And maybe with another man she would have, but not John.

She loved him in London. She loved him even when she hated him for never wanting to see her again. And she loved him despite learning his dark past. Now it was up to her to make him understand that.

She closed her eyes. Words weren't going to work. He'd brush them off. No, she needed to show him that she cared. Her breathing became slight and heartbeat shifted gears as she acknowledged to herself what she had to do. Never had she done anything like it in her life. He wouldn't listen to her, but he might pay attention to her touch.

She sought his eyes as she scooted towards him again. Her hand reached out to his cheek. It wavered slightly before making contact.

"What are you doing, Anna?" He backed up further against the couch trying to escape her reach.

"You think you should have died instead of Marco?" Her other hand rested on his shoulder as she brought her body against his, her face inches from his.

"Stop it . . ." He brought his hands up to push her back. She only climbed more onto his lap.

"I asked you . . . do you think you should have died instead of Marco?"

"I don't know," he answered distractedly, unsure of what was going on.

"Answer me, John." Her voice was low, menacing.

"Yes, I should have been the one to die," he growled back at her.

She leaned over him straddling his legs. Her skirt bunching up as she settled on his waist. Her hands meandered. The denim of his jeans scraped her bare skin. With the heat, she hadn't worn pantyhose.

"Anna, what the hell . . ." he protested but his arms dropped in surrender.

She bent down and her lips found the flesh below his ear. "You say you're a monster, right?"

His body shuddered at the touch. "Yes, a monster. Anna, please."

"And I should be repulsed?" Her lips ran along his cheekbone as a hand trailed into his hair locking their heads together.

"Hmm . . . what?" John murmured against her neck. His hands settled on her waist tentatively.

"Repulsed. I should be repulsed?"

"Yes, you should be very repulsed."

She sank down further on to his lap as her lips changed course and veered down his throat. John groaned. She mouthed against his neck, "Do you think I would be kissing and . . ." Her hands slid under the hem of his t-shirt. ". . . touching a man I found repulsive?"

His breath was dense upon her scalp. "I- I don't . . ." John struggled with coherence.

"No . . ." Anna's mouth finally settled on John's, lightly at first. ". . . I wouldn't."

His hands left her waist and traveled up her back, then under her suit jacket. His mouth stayed sealed to hers is a slow, dizzying kiss. Only parting for air. He was no longer a bystander.

His lips finally left her mouth and slid to her chin as his fingers clumsily unbuttoned her suit jacket. Anna breath was thin and reedy by the time his hands made contact with her breast through the silk of her blouse.

Panting softly, she asked, "Do you think I would let a monster touch me?" She felt herself slipping further into the couch and onto to John's body the more they moved. The leather cushions bit into her knees. Underneath her, she felt John hardening. Everything sped up; she had to rein herself in and John too. Not yet. She couldn't give herself over to him just yet.

"No, never . . ." she answered before he could. "But John, you're no monster."

He shivered at her response and raised his head. Their eyes locked. He needed to hear that. Needed to know that he was not the heinous man he believed he was. But he still needed to hear more.

She removed her hands from his shirt and cupped his face gently. "John, now tell me. Do you really wish you were the one that died? Right now at this minute, do you wish you were dead or alive? Tell me, John. Tell me."

"God, Anna." He squeezed her sides and found her mouth again. "Alive . . ." Another kiss. "Alive . . . When I'm with you, I'm alive." He rested his forehead against hers.

Her heart began to crack equally from affection and relief. She had never loved him more than she did at this singular moment. He would make it through this. She was sure of it.

She kissed him once again and pulled back, hands on his shoulders. She had more thing to ask.

"John, do you regret what you did?"

He closed his eyes and Anna could see the anguish of the past four years rise to the surface. "Yes, god yes. Every day it haunts me. If only I had made different decision . . . controlled my anger . . . took the time to think things through . . . if I . . ."

Anna cut him off with a quick kiss and in a soft, sure voice whispered, "I forgive you, John. . . Marco forgives you. . . The boys forgive you."

With that, John crumbled. He clutched Anna to him. His embrace hard and tight, almost painful. She could feel tears on her cheek where it met his.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," he murmured repeatedly. "I love you, Anna. So much, so very much."

He was drained. Body limp, mind exhausted, but his soul for once was intact.

John peered down at Anna. Her legs and bottom laid perpendicularly across his lap, while her head rested on one of the couch's end pillows. Her skirt was still rucked up and her blouse open, along with her bra. How he loved front clasps. One rosy nipple peeked out from behind the silk. A modern Grecian goddess in near naked splendor. A woman sated by her man.

Never had such a scenario entered into John's imagination. He never thought he'd see her again. He never planned on confessing his past to her and no way had he envisioned her absolution of his brutal actions. And he definitely didn't believe he would be fortunate enough to ever make love to her again.

He owed it all to Anna. He felt clean for the first time in years. The guilt and regret that had been his ball and chain began to dissipate. He knew it wouldn't all go away overnight, but he wasn't going to allow it to dictate his life anymore. He could begin to put the past in its place and finally lay Marco and the boys to rest. All because Anna wouldn't give up on him. She was a balm for open wounds that had festered for incredibly too long.

Fingers crept up into his chest hair. He closed his eyes and simply basked in her touch. Despite his body aching from old injuries and from simply sitting in one place for too long, he could feel other parts of his body stirring. Jeez, it was like he was eighteen again. No, he had never been this aroused by a woman even when was eighteen. He couldn't get enough of Anna. He doubted he ever would.

He placed a hand on her bare belly and began to trace circles. Anna purred her contentment. His hand continued up her chest slowly gliding between her breasts, parting her blouse even more.

"God, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"Likewise," Anna grinned up. "I missed you terribly."

"No more than me," he assured her.

Her smile drifted away. "John, what's between us . . . I want it to continue. I hope you feel the same."

His hand stilled. His eyes bore into hers. "I do, Anna. What we have only comes along once in a lifetime."

"All right then, promise me that you'll get some counseling or join a support group of some sort. Confiding in me was a start, but it's only the beginning. You need to do this not just for yourself, but for us."

Us. That such a prospect even existed with Anna was all John needed to secure his oath. "I will, Anna. You have my word."

They fell into an easy silence. He toyed with a button on her blouse. "I hate to ask, but when do you head home?"

"I fly out on late Sunday evening."

"Not much time," he lamented.

"No," she softly agreed.

"Then again, it didn't take much longer than that for a certain American to fall in love with a beautiful English lass that he met at the airport. Amazing what can happen in a matter of days." John got to his feet, then pulled Anna up while kissing her. "Come on, let's make the most of this weekend. Whatever you want do, I am your guide and servant." He released her and bowed at the waist with mock pageantry.

Anna brought a finger to her chin and feigned deep thought. "I don't know . . . with all the heat, I'm not sure I'm up to exploring monuments and museums. I'd settle just for a tour of this apartment."

Her naughty grin set his body on fire. Maybe he was eighteen again. "Well, I can certainly lead that tour. . ." He bent down and his lips found hers as he gestured across the room. "What would you like to see . . . the den area?"

"Nope." She breathed between kisses.

"How about the kitchen?" Her blouse and bra hit the floor as John's fingers moved to the zipper of her skirt.

"Nope, hate to cook, remember?" Her fingers followed the path of his scars to the waist of his jeans and slipped inside.

"How could I forget," he groaned as her hands worked to free him. "Must be the bathroom then."

"Bedroom," she puffed into his ear. "Get me to bedroom . . . now."

"Right this way, milady," John murmured in her hair as he retrieved her hands and led her to his room.

A/N: Astute Reader Challenge: Next chapter we meet someone new in person. Any guesses? There are a few subtle clues. Good luck!