A/N: A heartfelt thank-you to all readers/reviewers/followers, especially to the guest reviewers to whom I can't reply personally.
Chapter warning: violence implied, although nothing explicit is mentioned. Reader discretion is advised. Please take the rating of this story seriously.
Disclaimer still applies.
Regrets (I/4 Cura te ipsum)
"When you've made up your mind, you know where to find me." Well, John couldn't say he hadn't tried to do just that. Make up his mind, that was. Tracking down Hannah was not a problem, as she had predicted. At the moment, however, John wished he had done things differently. Completely differently. Oh, how he wished he had approached her and talked to her like a normal person instead of snooping after her, stalking her as if she were one of their numbers. Then maybe he wouldn't be where he was at the moment: puking his guts out in a toilet stall in the community centre building where he had followed her.
He still couldn't wrap his head around what he had just heard. No, following her to that support group meeting and listening from his place in the hallway as she told her story had been a dumb move. She deserved better from him. So much better.
Yes, now he knew how she came to be adopted, and why and how she had ended up in witness protection. But how he wished he didn't. Or rather, how he wished he'd known back then. If only they had never got separated. If only none of this had ever happened.
Flushing the toilet, John pulled himself up on rubbery legs and made his way to a sink. Failure, his reflection in the mirror screamed back at him. He turned on the water, let it run cold, and stuck his head under the tap.
Unbidden memories came rushing back. The moment they had been separated by the Department of Family Services after their mother's death. Their tearful meetings in the months and years after that. All of his promises to get her out of the foster system, so they could be a family again. How he had been made a liar over and over again by the judges in the family court. The last time they saw each other before he got deployed. The day he returned, only to find her gone without a trace.
He swallowed down bitter tears and tried to ease the burning in his eyes with a few handfuls of cold water.
John left the bathroom without a second look in the mirror, but the spiteful little voice in his head was back. You failed her, it mocked him. You failed her, and now you're failing her again.
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
A few days later, John found himself back at the same community centre, but for completely different reasons. In a conscious attempt to not let the memories of earlier interfere with his current mission, he decided to follow Dr. Tilman into the room in plain sight. What he had failed to take into account was seeing Hannah again, although it was a different group and she was there as a medical consultant (something he managed to ascertain later on). When he realised his mistake, it was already too late. Their eyes met, and he saw hers widen in surprise and ... something else. Shock, shame, realisation? He was sure her expression just mirrored his own.
After talking to Dr. Tilman in the corridor, he forced himself to wait for Hannah. He had vowed to never again run from her, so he waited. After everyone had left, he made sure nobody was watching and slipped back into the room.
Apparently Hannah had been waiting for him, too. She was standing in the middle of the room, and upon seeing him, seemed to deflate a little.
For the longest time, neither of them seemed to know what to say. Eventually it was Hannah who broke the silence. "How much do you know?"
Slowly, John went over to her. "As much as you said in that meeting last week," he replied honestly, struggling to keep his voice even.
Hannah studied him intently for a minute. Then, taking his hand, she sat down and pulled him into the chair next to her. When he dropped his head, blinking against treacherous tears, she reached up and brushed a tender hand through the short hair at the nape of his neck, never letting go of his slightly trembling fingers. "It wasn't your fault, John," she said quietly. "There was nothing you could have done to prevent this. You weren't even in the country when it happened. There was no way you could have known about any of this."
John slightly shook his head. "I'm so, so sorry, Hannah!," he replied, finally looking up and letting her see his tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
Hannah was wise enough to understand this display of vulnerability for what it was: a plea for forgiveness, and a request for permission to come back into her life. She didn't have to think twice. Drawing him into a tight embrace, she whispered the words he so desperately needed to hear: "Whatever it is that makes you feel guilty about me, please know that I hold nothing against you. You are forgiven. I love you. Please stay."
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
In the end, this was what made his decision for him. "Maybe there are only good decisions." And since Benton had not been able to comply with his request – "Help me make a good decision" –, he had drawn on his vast experience in order to permanently take out the perp without actually killing or physically harming him. For Hannah, John wanted to start making better decisions.
When he came back from his road trip*, he went to see her. He needed to see her. There was so much they needed to talk about. The CIA-infiltrated part of his brain screamed at him that she was not safe with him around. Harold's slightly paranoid and distinctly panicked voice in his head rattled down all the horrible complications any connection to his past might wreak upon their little operation. The brother part of him, however, insisted that he could keep her safer by keeping an eye on her – especially with the means at his disposal courtesy of his new job. Seeing her walk down the street to a small 24/7 near the clinic, he knew that he would never be able to silence the brother.
As if sensing his presence, she looked up, caught his eye, and her lips curled up in a tiny smile. She stopped, pulled her mobile phone out of her coat pocket and sent off a quick text. Then she disappeared in the diner next door.
Two small, warm, bright feelings ignited in his heart. It had been a long time, but he recognised them immediately.
Make a good decision. John took a deep breath and decided to give in. Yes, it was a huge risk, but he was certain it was one worth taking.
He waited for a few more minutes to make sure nobody was taking any undue interest in him, Hannah, or the diner. Then he casually crossed the road to the restaurant, stepped inside and scanned the room. He saw Hannah sitting at a window table and was instantly reminded of another young, dark-haired woman at a window table a few nights ago. "You get a second chance. You get to let go. You get your life back. ... She gets to keep her memory of you." Prophetic words?
He slid into Hannah's booth. She kept studying the menu, holding it up with her left hand while tracing lazy circles around a rough spot in the wooden surface of the table with the fingers of her right hand. John brushed his fingers against hers, very much like, and at the same time very different to, the way he had taken Dr. Tilman's hand the other night. Her lips curled up again and she flicked him a fond look.
Love. Hope. The light and warmth in his heart grew stronger. Yes. Definitely worth it.
He gave Hannah's hand a gentle squeeze and smiled.
*Just like many other fine authors in this fandom, I am working from the assumption that Benton was one of the "one or two" Americans in that Mexican prison mentioned in 1x21 "Many happy returns"