Gray stroked a clammy hand over his face as his thoughts raced around him. He had left Robert and Cora's house shortly after hearing how his brother was faring. Not used to the feelings of being out of place and not being the centre of attention, Graeme had excused himself and parted ways with the two women. The walk back to the middle of town had been long; the hustle and bustle of the square became ever louder with each step he took. He would look for Jane, though why, he didn't know. He often said to himself that she was only good for a quick shag, anyway. Gray hadn't spent long looking for the woman and went back in to the club he had not long vacated. She stood against the bar of the club and approached her as if nothing had happened. Jane swayed on the spot; partly due to the music, partly due to her intoxication. 'It's all settled now, love,' he had yelled down her ear once he reached the bar. 'Just a load of shit to do with John. Nothing worth bothering about. He's alright so why don't we take this back to mine?' The sting in his cheek did not take long to make itself known; the shock of it, however, had taken its sweet time. A few of the club goers, drunk as they were, pointed and jeered at the scene before them. Gray put a hand to his face as a balm to the pain; it didn't help. Jane looked on at him in disgust, quite ready to treat his other cheek with the same courtesy. 'You bastard,' she had declared as she strode off, cocktail in hand; a keen bystander following in her wake. Dazed, Gray made for the exit without so much as a backward glance to Jane. 'Fuck this.' he repeated as a mantra to himself as he marched to the door. 'I didn't deserve that,' he consoled himself. 'Fucking John, this is. Him and Anna. I hate him. I hate him.' Graeme continued his rant to himself on his return to the station, hoping to catch the last train to Leeds that night. It was due in twelve minutes according to the illuminated board that hung above the platform. Gray's teeth hurt from grinding them in anger at thinking of his brother. Or, anger at himself. He had known, he had felt, no feelings towards his brother's condition in St Petersburg. Yet, he saw how everyone else around him had been practically torn apart at the news. Especially Anna. His Anna. Anger reached boiling point in his mind as he screamed to the empty station. Clutching his head in a rage, Gray sat on a bench and rocked back and forth. He had lost this time. Lost everything to his despicable brother. Gray knew for a fact that if he had been shot that no one would react as they had done for John. If anything, they would have wished him worse off. And Anna. That fucking woman, he thought to himself. He didn't know who he hated more; her or John. 'You wait.' he declared to the emptiness before him. 'You wait.'

'All packed now, mate. Though you weren't much help.' Robert tried his hand at joviality. John half smiled in response. They were due back home that day and were going to be escorted to St Petersburg's airport at any moment. John couldn't wait to see the back of Russia. The trip had changed his life and not for the better. It had been fifteen long days since he had been shot and he had not yet been able to get himself from one place to another. The surgery, for the most part, had been a triumph but the recovery was going to be the hardest bit of all. John had been reassured that he would walk again, without question, though he would likely walk in an uneven gait or with the help of a cane. He could live with that, at least. This was going to be the start of a different life and the end of his old one.

'They should be here any minute.' John had said in an attempt to make conversation. John had been declared fit enough to travel a day previously, showing to everyone that he could now be promoted to using a wheelchair rather than remain in bed any longer. With Robert's help and with the aid of a nurse, John had been plonked in to a chair and had been reluctant to get back in to a bed ever again for fear of never leaving it.

'I'm hoping it won't be too much longer,' Robert replied, feeling awkward for some reason. For some time, Robert had found it difficult to meet John's eyes. Guilt racked him so poorly that it was all he could do not to sob every time he looked at John.

'It's alright, you know, Rob.' John had tried to reassure him as he looked at his friend's solemn face. 'These things happen.'

Robert looked shocked at his friend, astounded at his attitude. 'These things do not happen,' he had shot back with a sting on his tongue. 'God knows.' he said under his breath, shaking his head as he said so.

'No,' John continued, amusement lacing his words. 'I meant being picked up late.'

'Oh,' Robert looked suddenly more downtrodden than usual but was brought out of it by John laughing. He couldn't help himself and joined in, too. 'I'm walking on egg shells, it feels like. I'll be honest about that,' Robert had said, feeling that truth was the only ticket at this juncture.

'I know, mate. I'd much rather you be honest with me than give me false hope. There is nothing worse to live with than that,' John had replied. 'You know what they say – time is a healer.'

'No truer words have ever been spoken,' Robert replied. 'Oh, by the way, I don't think you ever got a reply, did you?'

'I'm sorry?' John asked, genuinely puzzled at Robert's out of the blue inquiry.

'Well, I certainly never received one back at the hotel when I picked up our things yesterday so I take it you haven't had one back?'

'Robert, what on earth are you talking about?'

'The letter, of course. The one you wrote to Anna.' Robert continued, oblivious to the shattering terror he had just caused his good friend to feel. A jolt of ice cold dread pierced his very soul at that moment. The letter. The one addressed to Anna. The one he had neglected to send himself. John had been grateful for not sending it, given his current condition. The last thing he had ever wanted was for Anna to give up her life to be with someone like him as he was now. A cold sweat covered his brow. He hoped to God that Robert was somehow mistaken but John knew in his heart of hearts that he wasn't.

'You sent a letter addressed to Anna?' John had to ask; had to know for certain, no matter the consequence.

'I did. I knew you weren't able to do it so I took the liberty.'

'Yes, you did.' John had not meant to sound so harsh but the sour taste in his mouth was enough to make him as bitter as he had ever been. Robert fell silent then, not knowing what else to say. He had believed that he was doing the right thing by his friend. John surely wouldn't have written the letter had it not wanted Anna to receive it.

'I'm sorry, John, if I was wrong to do so. I shouldn't have. I wouldn't have if I had known you didn't want her to receive it. Was it really that bad?'

'My friend,' John replied, looking Robert dead in the eye as he spoke, 'it's worse than you could possibly imagine.'

Anna twiddled her thumbs as she awaited eagerly at the front door. It was near on eleven at night but John and Robert were due to arrive home at any minute. The British government had gone above and beyond to help John and Robert return home safe and sound. Of course, John would not be arriving as soundly as he had left. Cora, too, was keen for their return. She was pacing across the lounge, half convinced her footsteps were causing ribbons of smoke to rise from beneath her. They heard it then and both women stopped themselves to listen; a car had pulled up outside. There were bangs and clashes and the sound of familiar voices beyond the window. The anticipation was too much for Cora as she practically ran to the door and flung it open, exhaling in shock at the sight before her. Robert was pushing John in his wheelchair and stopped at the front steps. No words were exchanged as Robert took John from below the arm as John clung on to the railings for dear life. Cora bundled down the steps towards them both and was granted unspoken permission to take John under his other arm to help him up the, suddenly, steep steps. John winced at the sharp pain that shot through his knee. His right foot ghosted above the paving as he tried his utmost not to put any pressure on to it. It was futile. As much as he tried not to, the movement in his very bones seared his shattered knee with white hot fierceness. Anna could hear the commotion below and daren't look towards it. The thoughts in her mind at John's state could be no worse than what was going on outside, of that she was sure. She willed herself to look to him; to go to him. But she feared she would crumble at the mere sight of his broken body. Their shadows covered the back of the front door as they approached. With bated breath, Anna watched on. She saw him then. Pale and as broken as she thought he would be, if not worse. He clutched ever tighter on to the frame of the door as Robert left him and Cora to quickly grab John's wheelchair for him to sit in and rest. He had not seen her yet and he wanted to keep it that way for long as humanly possible. Seeing her would only break him. He knew he had had no right to tell Anna the things he had; had no right to involve her in his life. But now, he was more sure of it than ever. He would have to let her go and the pain of that would be worse than any pain a bullet could ever have caused him. This was to be the beginning of the end for them both.