Wow, you people blew the comment section on the last chapter ? Expectations are high, and I can only hope I will be able to meet them.

Just to make sure you got everything you need: Hot cup of tea? Tissues? Tranquillizers?

Good, 'cause this is going to get emotional.

Warning: Suicidal thoughts.

Chapter 21

John Thornton was sitting behind his desk, nursing a glass of brandy, and staring off into the distance numbly.

He had never been a drinker, in fact, he had always despised men who allowed booze to cloud their judgment, and had made it a rule to never have more than a maximum of two glasses at a time.

He was on his fourth glass now. Adding to that the cognac he had had at Mr. Latimer's and the fact that he had drunk the last few glasses in close succession, and while he still had most of his wits about him, he was feeling a slight buzz, slowly starting to cloud over his mind.

It did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Everything he had ever worked for had gone down the drain, there was nothing left for him. He was a failure, just like his father had been.

For years John had fought, trying to prove to himself and the world that he could do better than George Thornton, who had gambled away his family's livelihood and then slit his arms to escape the shame, leaving an eleven-year-old boy to pick up the pieces.

But John had turned out to be his father's son after all.

Well, he would not slit his arms. He had thought about it, but had decided that he did not want whoever was to find him to go through what his father had put him through as a child. The sight of that scene had never left him to this day.

He had held on through all of it, he had fought against the abyss every day, every hour, every second of his life, bearing the nightmares, always hoping that someday it would all make sense.

But it did not make sense. It had all been for nothing, and John felt as though whatever he touched was bound to crumble to dust in his hands.

There was the mill…and then there was Margaret Hale. Margaret Hale, whom he had seen today for what he knew would be the last time.

The thought of her had pained him for such a long time, and yet, for some reason, had kept him going. But he had lost her too.

There was no use in torturing himself any further by trying to read something meaningful into her demeanour towards him.

She might care for him as a friend of her late father, but he would never be the man she held in a passionate embrace, as she had held the man at Outward station that night.

Maybe it was time to let go of her – to let go of it all. He longed to finally stop struggling and succumb to the darkness. Maybe it was peaceful there.

Would he see his family? He did not know whether he believed in a god or not, but even if he just went out into nothingness, it would still be better than this, surely.

No, John would not make a bloody mess of himself, as his father had. He would just finish this bottle of brandy, until he felt nothing anymore, and then he would go down to Marlborough Bridge.

He had never been good at swimming. Maybe the tide of the river would just carry him off, never to be found, he mused. It was unlikely that anyone would miss him, maybe they would not even notice that he was gone. It was just as well.

John's gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door and his eyes darted to the clock on the wall in confusion. Who would be at his office door at this hour?

Maybe he was going crazy now, imagining things, he thought, lowering his head into his hands in defeat.

But then there was another knock, louder this time, sounding urgent.

"Who's there?", John uttered in a weak voice.

The door flew open immediately, and he looked up to find the very last person he had wanted to see right now, standing in the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed: It was Margaret Hale.

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A deadly fear gripped Margaret, forcing all the air out of her lungs, when he did not answer immediately.

She had seen light through the stained glass of the office window, so he had to be in there!

Was he still alive?

What if he was not? Dear God, she could not think about that.

What was she to do?

Should she just open the door?

But what if he was – oh stop it!

In utter despair, she once again hammered against the door with a force that made her knuckles sting painfully.

'Please, please, please say something!'

"Who's there?"

'Oh Lord, thank you!'

She threw the door open, ready to burst inside, but stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her.

Mr. Thornton was sitting behind his desk, in the most dishevelled state she had ever seen him in.

He was not wearing his coat, nor his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt collar were undone, exposing the skin underneath and she quickly tore her eyes away, feeling her cheeks begin to burn.

His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was tousled, hanging into his forehead as if he had run his hand through it at least a dozen times.

There was a half-empty flask of brandy on the desk in front of him and his right hand was clasped around a full glass. She searched his eyes and found them slightly dazed as he looked at her in utter disbelief.

"Miss Hale?", John stuttered, jumping up from his chair, almost losing his balance at his sudden movement and having to grasp the edge of the desk for support.

"What on earth are you doing here? It is almost half past ten at night!"

There she was again. Out after dark, alone – alone here, with him, once more risking her reputation, if not her life.

"Mr. Thornton, I needed to see you! There is something I need to talk to you about, and it cannot wait!", Margaret forced out quickly, stepping into his office and closing the door firmly behind her.

She needed to get this over with before her courage failed her. On her way here, she had repeatedly told herself that she would go through with her plan, but now that she was facing him, she felt all her doubts flare up again. She turned to him, once again looking him over.

"You don't look too well, have you been drinking?", she asked bewildered. He let out a hiss that sounded like a humourless laugh.

"I have not drunk enough yet to be having this conversation", he muttered under his breath.

"Miss Hale-", he then said a bit louder, fighting to keep his voice calm.

"I do not wish to be rude, but you really must not be here. I am completely alone, you are once again with a man, unchaperoned. I cannot let you do this."

But Margaret stepped closer, fixing him with her gaze.

"Mr. Thornton, I am well aware of what you think of me. I am sure that in your eyes I could not possibly sink any lower, and there is no one else here now, so what have I got to lose?"

He felt anger flare up inside him at her words. Unable to control his emotions, he glared at her furiously.

"Miss Hale! I don't know what sort of game you are playing, but I have had enough of it!", he growled, as he felt all his frustration rush to the surface.

"That man I saw you with that night, at the station – I doubt he would approve of you being here!"

It quickly became clear to Margaret what this was about for him, and she knew that she owed him an explanation – it was long over-due and necessary if she wanted to make him listen to her at all tonight.

"Mr. Thornton, about that man at Outward station-"

"Oh please, spare me, I beg you!", he cried out in anguish, dropping back into his chair and burying his face in his hands.

Margaret could only stare at him, dumbfounded at this sudden outburst. It was apparent that he had had too much brandy already, for he was obviously not quite in control of himself.

"I do not wish to know anything about this man!", she heard him mumble into his hands.

Margaret knew she had to act quickly before the situation got any worse than it already was.

"Mr. Thornton, that man at the station was my brother!" she blurted out.

Her words were followed by complete silence.

He sat there, unmoving, his face still buried in his hands, for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound in the room being the clock on the wall, ticking away, as seconds turned into a minute.

Margaret was beginning to wonder if he had heard her, when he finally lifted his head, slowly, and stared at her in complete shock.

Margaret slid into the chair opposite from him, her eyes firmly fixed on his face, willing him to understand, as she quickly relayed to him the whole story of Fred and the trouble he had run into with the navy.

"He has been out of the country for years now, trying to avoid court-martial", she concluded. "He only came back to England to see my dying mother, and I accompanied him back to the station that night, to say goodbye", she explained.

"That man, Leonards, he knew Fred from years before and recognized him. He tried to capture him, but Fred managed to push him away. I could not tell anyone the truth as long as he was still in the country. I would have put all of our lives at risk."

She could almost see the screws turning in his head as he gaped at her.

"He – he was – not your lover?", he whispered then and she shook her head firmly.

"I never had a lover. I never cared for another – ", she swallowed – "I never cared for a man like that", she finished weakly, her face feeling very warm all of a sudden.

John's mind was reeling. Her brother. Of all possible explanations he had tried to come up with, this was the last one he had thought possible.

It felt as though an immense weight had just been lifted off his chest so unexpectedly that he still could not remember how to breathe. He felt a pang of shame at having thought so ill of her.

"Miss Hale – I must apologize", he stuttered eventually. "I should not have presumed…"

"No, Mr. Thornton, you had every right to presume as you did. I lied and you knew it. You covered for me without even knowing why I had done it. You saved my brother's life and mine, and I will forever be grateful for that. If there is anyone who ought to apologize, it is me, for keeping you in the dark for so long. I should have trusted you sooner. I was too afraid and I am terribly sorry for having caused you pain in the process."

He leaned back in his chair, feeling so many things at once that it left him drained and exhausted.

She could see the shock evident on his face, but she could not stop there. She had to go through with her initial plan.

"Mr. Thornton, my brother was not the reason I came here tonight. There is something I need to say to you. I – I have a business proposition", she rushed to tell him, as her hands fumbled nervously in her lap.

"A business proposition?", he breathed, entirely unable to follow her words.

"Yes, you see – I can't tell you the exact particulars yet, as Mr. Latimer is still working them out, but I have some fifteen thousand pounds, which I inherited from Mr. Bell. They are lying in the bank at present, earning very little interest."

She paused for a second, but when he did not show a sign of making any sort of response, she continued:

"Now, Mr. Latimer tells me that if you were to take this money and use it to run Marlborough Mills, you could give me a much better rate of interest. So, you see…it is only a business matter. You would not be obliged to me in any way. It is you who would be doing me the service."

She dropped her gaze as she waited for a reply, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

John just sat there, his mouth hanging slightly open. He had to be drunker than he had thought, for this could not be real. It was not possible.

Within a matter of only a few minutes, Margaret Hale had turned his life completely upside down. Her heart did not belong to another man and she was offering him a way to save the mill.

He felt like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but his mind and body were too exhausted to do either.

He caught her looking up at him nervously, obviously expecting some reply, but all he could utter was one word:

"Why?"

His voice was barely above a whisper as he stared, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Why would you do that? Why do you care?"

It was then that the realization dawned on Margaret that he simply could not grasp the idea that anyone would care.

Because no one ever had.

This man had fended for himself all on his own, since he had been a child, without ever having experienced the feeling of being cared for.

And yet, he had somehow managed to care for others – to care for her.

That thought, combined with the emotional stress she had been under in those last few hours, fearing for his life, was Margaret's undoing, and she felt her eyes well up with tears as her hands started trembling.

"I care", she breathed in a shaky voice, "because you have been my family's first and best friend in Milton. You were a great comfort to my father and so generous towards my mother during her last days..."

"And even if I did not want to see it at the time – looking back now I have realized that from the first moment we met, you have shown nothing but kindness towards me. You did it without expecting anything in return and believe me, I am well aware of the things you put on the line for me."

Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks now, as the trembling became uncontrollable and her voice threatened to crack.

For months, Margaret had held everything in, fighting hard to be strong and keep it together. But tonight had been too much.

The dam broke and Margaret momentarily lost control over every last bit of her restraint.

Throwing all caution and propriety to the wind, she jumped up from her chair, and a second later, she was on her knees in front of him, her hands reaching out to grasp both of his, clinging to them for dear life.

"I care because you are the best man I have ever known", she sobbed, as her whole body shook under the waves of emotion that came crashing out of her.

"Because I have never regretted anything so much in my life as I did the words I spoke to you, when you asked for my hand that day. And when I saw you earlier today, and I saw that look on your face-"

She gasped for breath, searching his unbelieving eyes with hers, her vision blurring with tears,

"I felt as though I were to lose you forever, and I have never- I have never been so afraid in my life. I knew I needed to come here – to tell you – "

She broke off, unable to put her feelings into words, as she brought his left hand up to her face and kissed it.

His skin was warm and rough against her lips and Margaret closed her eyes at the sensation, unwilling to ever let go again.

It reassured her that he was here and alive, and no matter what he did, she would not let him out of her sight until she had made sure that he was going to stay safe.

She felt a warm touch on her face and opened her eyes to find his right hand cupping her cheek, his own face suddenly much closer to hers than it had been moments before.

His eyes bore straight into hers. In them, she found a mixture of disbelief and something that almost looked like hope, but there was also an incredible tenderness there, that she had never seen before.

She stopped breathing.

"Margaret! Take care!", he whispered.

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. She was spellbound, holding his gaze as he panted out the next words:

"If you need to leave, do it now, I beg you. If you do not, I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way."

He was so close that she could feel his breath upon her face. "I do not wish to leave", she whispered. "I do not wish to leave you ever again."

She saw his eyes darken slightly as they dropped to her lips. "Margaret", he breathed her name once more as he closed the distance between them.

And then his lips were on hers, and the whole world fell away as her eyes closed, and unknown sensations started pulsing through her.

His lips were warm and so much softer than she had imagined, and as they moved against hers, Margaret felt herself respond.

The touch was tentative at first, but when he deepened the kiss, she was completely lost.

She could taste a tinge of brandy, but underneath it, there was a much more intoxicating taste that was uniquely him.

His other hand came up to cup her face, and he softly caressed her cheeks with his thumbs.

John felt as though he was about to faint. He was dizzy, his whole world spinning from the things she made him feel at that moment.

The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful, and when she moved her mouth against his, responding to his kiss, he could not help but moan against her lips.

Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders, and she pulled herself even closer to him with a sigh.

Eventually, they broke apart, both gasping for breath. Eyes still closed, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Please", he panted, "please tell me that this is real. That I am not just drunk out of my mind, hallucinating."

She had to smile at that, still breathing heavily herself, as she brought her hands up to his cheeks, like he had done to her, and held his face tenderly.

"I am right here, John", she told him softly, and his heart almost stopped at her use of his christian name. "I am not going anywhere."

He slid down from his chair, until he was on his knees on the floor like her, and drew her to him almost desperately, clinging to her as he sank into her embrace.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, seeking shelter in her arms, and then, unable to control his emotions any longer, he finally let his tears fall.

Margaret came willingly, wrapping her arms around him and holding him as she felt his whole body tremble against hers.

It amazed her how this big, strong man quivered under her touch. There was a fragility about him that made her all too aware of how close she had come to losing him.

She brought a shaking hand up to the back of his head and gently stroked his hair in a soothing manner, feeling pride well up inside her at the fact that he seemed to trust her enough, to let her see his vulnerability like this.

Neither of them knew how long they had sat there on the floor, holding on to each other.

Somehow, they had ended up next to each other, leaning against the side of John's desk, his right arm draped around her, as her head rested against his shoulder.

"You were truly going to do something foolish tonight, were you not?", she eventually murmured.

His arm around her tightened slightly and she felt, as much as she heard him release a shaky breath.

It was all the answer she needed.

Her hand sought his, which was resting in his lap, and clasped it tightly.

"Don't ever think of something like this again, I beg you", she whispered with an urgency that seemed to cut right through him.

"There is no reason to now", he whispered, leaning his forehead against the top of her head.

Margaret felt immense relief wash over her. It was like she had been holding her breath for hours and was finally able to breathe freely again.

She sat, enjoying this comforting warmth and the feeling of him so close to her, and her gaze slowly travelled up from his hand to his forearm and rested on the burn scar.

He seemed to have noticed the direction her eyes had gone and immediately started drawing back his arm, but she quickly tightened her fingers around his hand, holding onto it.

"Please, don't", she murmured. "You don't need to hide from me."

She saw him swallow visibly, a self-conscious look on his face, and felt her stomach clench nervously. How was she to tell him of the things she knew about his past?

She had to tell him. It was not right to keep him in the dark, especially now, that it seemed like they had just come to some yet unspoken understanding between them.

But she had a strong feeling that this news would do anything but put him in good humour.

Thinking about it now, the amount of damage Birdie could have caused with her loose tongue became evident to Margaret.

She loved him and would never use what she had learned against him, but the old woman had not known the exact nature of their acquaintance and even though Margaret was sure that Birdie had never had bad intentions, she could have done him real harm, had she encountered anyone else and told them those things.

It was no use – there would surely never be a right time and place to speak of it, so she might as well get the whole thing out of the way at once.

"There is something more I need to tell you", she started awkwardly. "Something you may not be too thrilled about, but it needs to be said."

He raised his eyes from the floor and looked at her, sensing her sudden nervousness.

"Do you remember when we met that day, in Princeton, after you had hired Nicholas?"

He nodded slowly.

"There was that woman there, who called out to you."

"I remember", he muttered, looking back down, already feeling uneasy about the direction in which this was heading.

"I-" she swallowed, "I ran into her once again, a few weeks ago. I did not plan to, it just happened when I was on my way to see Mary and the children. She recognized me and inquired after you. And then she – she told me some things. I did not ask, I swear", she rushed to add. "She just told me."

Within a matter of just seconds, she saw an array of emotions flicker across his face. Shock, disbelief, anger, fear, and in the end, something that appeared to be betrayal.

She felt his arm drop from her shoulders as he moved away from her, seemingly desperate to bring some space between them.

Margaret felt bereft of his warmth, but she knew better than to reach for him just now, as she watched him retreat into himself.

John's head was spinning. He had not expected this. She knew about him, knew of his past and where he came from.

He had always liked Birdie, but he remembered her well enough to know that discretion was not one of her strong suits.

The anger that welled up inside him at the thought of that woman's recklessness was only exceeded by a sudden fear of what Margaret had learned, and what she subsequently must think of him.

Was this why she was here now? Was this some strange, charitable act? The thought pained him so much, that it felt like he could not breathe.

"What did she tell you about me?", he eventually managed to choke out, unable to look at her.

"She told me about how you lost your family…and about the mill fire", Margaret confessed, crestfallen, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and tell him that it did not matter to her, that it was alright.

John felt weak and exposed, his innermost struggles having been laid bare without his knowledge and against his will – and to Margaret, of all people.

"Birdie could never hold her tongue", he hissed angrily, still looking away from Margaret decidedly. "The nerve of that woman!"

He seemed genuinely hurt, and Margaret rushed to contain the damage her words had done. She put her hands on his shoulders, willing him to look at her.

"John – I know you are angry, and I understand. It was not right of her to tell me, but I'm sure she did not mean to cause harm. She was probably not thinking."

He looked up at her with a pained expression, his eyes searching hers almost fearfully. "Margaret…is that why you are here?", he asked. "Are you doing this out of pity?"

Margaret's eyes widened at his words.

"Oh, dear God, no! Please don't think that!", she cried out, as her hands tightened on his shoulders."That is not what this is about, John, please you must believe me!"

She touched her hand to his cheek once more, begging him to understand.

"I have had these feelings for you for a long time now", she told him softly. "Long before I ever met Birdie. The things she told me…I would lie if I said that they did not shake me deeply. They still do..."

"To know that you had to go through so much struggle, I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, and it pains me to think of it..."

"But it is not pity I feel. It is admiration. To have overcome all of this and become the man you are, is something not many could have done."

He still looked uncertain. "You don't think less of me, knowing where I came from?", he whispered.

"You are a gentleman's daughter, Margaret. I have seen you with that Mr. Lennox. He is the sort of man your family would have wished for you. I – ", he drew in a painful breath, "I am a workhouse boy."

"Yet you asked for my hand", she told him. "Had I accepted you back then – would you not have told me?"

He looked down at that. "I don't know what I would have done", he admitted eventually.

"I don't know what even possessed me to make that proposal. I honestly had not thought it through to the end. All I knew was that I loved you and I had to ask you. Looking back at it now, it seems a rather irrational thing to have done."

Despite all the stress of the past few hours, Margaret almost had to suppress a smile. "I suppose you were lucky then that I turned you down and thus spared you the consequences of your actions."

He grimaced at her clumsy attempt at humour, and she quickly became serious again: "But that's in the past now. I know who you are now, and I do not care, John. In fact, I love you even more for it."

His head shot up at that. "What did you just say?", he gasped shakily.

"I said I love you, John!", she told him, her eyes never leaving his.

"I know it is inappropriate for a woman to confess this, but I have loved you for a long time, like I have never loved a man before. I did not realize what it was I was feeling, until the day you told me you did not have feelings for me any longer. That was when I knew. It was the day that I thought I had lost you forever that I realized what sort of man I had rejected."

"Margaret!" His hands were on her cheeks again. "Can you really mean that?"

She did not say another word, but pressed her lips to his again, and he responded immediately.

His kiss was different this time. While it had been soft and tender the first time, it was suddenly filled with an urgency, a passion she had never known before. It caught her off guard.

He drew her closer to him, pressing her against him, and she felt the tip of his tongue against her lips.

Margaret let out a startled moan when she felt an unfamiliar sensation settling somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

Without knowing what she was doing, her lips opened of their own accord. The feeling of his tongue moving against hers was overpowering her entirely.

She had never been kissed before tonight, and this was so much more than she could have imagined, even in her wildest dreams.

She was glad that they were still sitting on the floor, for she was sure her knees would have given way under her.

She clung to him shakily, longing to get closer still. One of his hands moved to the back of her head, holding her there, while the other was stroking along her upper back.

Margaret tentatively moved her tongue to meet his and when he moaned into her mouth at the touch, something between her legs pulsed. She gasped, unable to stop herself. What was happening to her?

He suddenly pulled away, breathless. "Margaret! We need to stop!"

Somewhat dizzy, she forced her eyes open to look at him.

His mouth hung slightly open as he was trying to catch his breath. His face was flushed and there was something dark in his eyes that frightened and excited her at the same time, like he had been gripped by some uncontrollable passion.

"We need to stop", he repeated, his voice slightly hoarse. "If we do not, I fear I might lose control and do something I would deeply regret."

She did not know what he was speaking of. What was it that this could lead to? It already felt like they had both lost control hours ago.

What was this dark and dangerous feeling suddenly lurking inside her? She knew that what they had been doing was way beyond improper, and if anyone should find out it would be the end of both of them.

What more was there that he could regret? Margaret did not dare ask.

His forehead came to rest against hers once more. "Oh Margaret, what have you done to me?", he whispered, stroking her cheek, and she could not find her voice to make a reply.

After a moment he pulled away and stood up from the floor, before holding out his hands to help her to her feet.

Margaret self-consciously tried to straighten her dress. She was sure that her hair was a mess, and her lips felt slightly swollen from their kisses.

She looked up at him to find him as dishevelled as she felt.

"Are you alright?", he asked eventually, to which she nodded. "Just slightly overwhelmed", she finally confessed, as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

She saw him swallow nervously, before he carefully reached out to take her hand in his, and gently stroked her fingers with his thumb, as his eyes bore into hers.

"I think I should do this properly now. Margaret Hale, will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?", he then asked.

For what seemed like the dozenth time that night, Margaret felt tears well up in her eyes as the gravity of his words hit her.

He was alive. He loved her still, and after all she had said and done to him, he still wanted to marry her.

"Yes, John Thornton, there is nothing in this world that I would love more."

He pulled her to him and kissed her one last time, with a softness that made her melt into his embrace.

When they finally parted, she looked up into his face, and her breath caught at what she saw there:

He was smiling.

A real, genuine, happy smile.

It completely transformed his face. He looked younger somehow, and so much more open and approachable, almost as though she was looking at a different person.

Her heart warmed at the thought of having done this to him, at having been the cause of his happiness. She was certain that she had to be one of very few people who had ever seen him smile.

"You need to go home", she heard him say, and his words pulled her back out of her daze.

"I presume that none of the Latimers would be aware that you are here?"

She gave him a sly smile. "They certainly do not." He nodded knowingly.

"Then - as usual - we must make sure you get back without being seen. You will have to walk there, and I shall once more follow you at a safe distance. And Margaret – promise me that this is the last time that I will have to do this."

She had to laugh at this.

"I will try", she promised with a wink.

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A few minutes later, Margaret made her way back along the darkened streets. She knew the city well enough to find the safest route to avoid being seen.

He walked behind her, keeping the distance between them big enough to not raise suspicion, but short enough so he could intervene anytime, if she should run into trouble.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to reach the Latimer's home.

The lights in the sitting room had been turned off, the family seemed to have retired for the night.

She sneaked around the house to the back entrance and waited there.

A mere minute later he was by her side. It was dark enough so they could easily hide in the shadows, but they knew that they had to be careful.

"I will call on you tomorrow and officially ask for your hand and we can talk about all the arrangements, if that suits you", he told her quietly, to which she nodded. "I would like that very much."

Before she opened to door to slip inside, she stepped closer to him once more, carefully bringing her arms around him.

He was much taller than her, when he was standing, so she could only lean her cheek against his warm chest.

"Promise me you will go home and get some rest", she whispered. "No more foolish ideas tonight."

She felt him smile against her hair as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"I promise, Margaret."

She lifted her head and kissed him, knowing that she would never get enough of this feeling he evoked in her whenever their lips touched.

"I will see you tomorrow."

With that, she turned and quickly slid into the house, tiptoeing up the stairs to her room, where she closed the door behind her and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

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As she lay in bed a little while later, Margaret still could not wrap her head around everything that had happened within the past three hours. She was almost afraid to fall asleep for fear that she would wake up in the morning and find that it had all been a wonderful dream.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her and she drifted off, memories of his arms around her and his lips against hers lulling her into a warm and peaceful slumber.

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Two miles away, John lay on his back, staring up at the dark canopy above his bed, as he was trying to keep his head from spinning.

How had things turned around like this in a matter of a few hours? He was well aware that, if everything had gone according to his plan, his body would now be floating somewhere near the bottom of a dirty river.

Instead, he was engaged to the woman of his dreams. She had kissed him with abandon, held him close and told him that she loved him, that she had loved him for a long time.

And as John finally closed his eyes that night, something felt different.

It was the darkness – it was gone. The abyss that had called to him so urgently only hours before, had come undone. He did not know if it was gone for good or if it would return eventually, all he knew was that for the first time in years, he felt at peace.

And after months, years, of trying to stay awake, of trying to escape the nightmares, he knew would haunt him, as soon as he let himself drift off, John closed his eyes and finally willed sleep to claim him.

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NOTES:

Uhm...well...I guess this is what happens when a full 20 chapters of slow-burn pain blow up in one's face. xD

I pray everyone got out alive!

Either way, I can only hope it was worth the wait. Feedback is always appreciated!

Oh, and for everyone who wanted me dead at some point or other, during the process of reading this story, we have got five more chapters ahead of us, and we're basically done with the pain, so: Happy times ahead!