A/N: I'm back with a new chapter. Special thanks go to the Guest Reviewer from last chapter to whom I can't reply personally: thank you so much for your kind words.

Not much action in this, but some overdue character development. Still AU while trying to stay somewhat in-canon.

Spoilers: mostly for 2x20 "In Extremis", and a few borrowed dialogue lines (indicated as such). Brownie points to everyone who spots the half line from 1x12 "Legacy".

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OCs and my imagination.

Things Unsaid

The prick of tears at the back of his eyes had returned. If he didn't get a grip on his emotions, and quickly, he was going to embarrass himself over nothing. This wasn't the first client they had lost, tragic as his death was. And as much as he blamed himself for Dr Nelson's death, logically John knew that there was nothing he could have done differently.

"Another coffee?" Benjamin's voice tore him from his ruminations.

"No, thanks. I guess I should get going." In spite of his words, John couldn't muster the willpower to get up from the comfortable couch in his best friend's living room. The fireplace in the old country house was emanating a pleasant heat, and with the delicious meal in his stomach and the soothing presence of his sister and his best friend, the weary man was starting to doubt his ability to manage the hour-long drive back to his apartment. Pathetic as it was, he didn't want to be alone after these gruelling two days.

"You can always stay overnight, you know that, right? There are enough rooms with beds for all of us in this house," Ben replied, his tone turning slightly teasing at the end.

John smiled. "I don't want to impose. I'm sure the two of you were looking forward to spending the evening together. You don't need me moping around."

The other man flopped down on the couch next to his best friend and glared at him. "One, you're not imposing, I'm offering. Two, we'll be married in a few months' time, and we'll have so many evenings together we'll probably get bored. And three, oh great master of mope ..."

John snorted and gently elbowed Ben in the ribs. "Great master of mope? Really?"

The doctor turned serious. "If you want to talk, we'll listen. Like it or not, we're a family."

"I know," John replied quietly. "And I do. Like it, I mean." Not quite ready to talk yet, he cleared his throat and changed the topic. "So, you've set a date then?"

"Not exactly," Hannah said, walking in with a pot of chai and three glasses. "But at least we've narrowed down the options."

"We're thinking late September, early October. Still waiting to hear back from the parents, though," Ben explained with a grin. "Who knew pensioners could be so busy?"

"But you go ahead and start to clear your calendar, Mister, 'cause there ain't no way I'm marryin' without my big brother 'round!"

John laughed at Hannah's impression of their old Sunday school teacher from their childhood. They both had fond memories of the elderly lady. She had been a true Southerner, at times putting the fear of God in them in both a literal and a figurative sense, but always loving them with a heart of gold. He raised his hands in surrender and grabbed a glass of the spiced tea.

"Speaking of which ..." Ben said between sips. "... you can also start writing your speech, because you're going to be my best man."

For a split second it looked like they were going to have a medical emergency as John choked on a mouthful of chai. When he stopped coughing, he looked incredulously at his best friend and croaked: "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you didn't see that coming," Hannah chided him gently and handed him another napkin to wipe his mouth and hands.

Noticing John's shocked expression, the couple exchanged a puzzled and slightly sad look. "John," Ben said carefully, "you're my best friend. I would love nothing more than having you as my best man. But of course it's a decision only you can make."

Unbidden, scenes from last night came back to John like a slap in the face. What was happening here? Joss, the woman with the "moral compass pointed in the right direction", asking him for advice on ethics? A dying man thanking him for giving him a second chance? And now his best friend, one of the best people he knew, wanting him to be his best man? When had good people started to regard him as one of their own?

"John? What is it?" He must have remained silent a beat too long, because now both Hannah and Ben were giving him concerned looks.

"Nothing. Well ... not nothing, but ..." The man stumbled over his words, trying to phrase an understandable explanation of what was going on inside him but drawing a blank.

"Don't you want to do it?" Ben asked in the end.

"No!" John shook his head emphatically and turned to look his best friend and his sister in the eyes. "No, that's not it. I would love to do it. I'd be honoured. It's just ... Oh, for the love of all that's holy,you know who I am. You know what I am.Do you really think it's appropriate to have a trained assassin at your wedding? Or do you want to spend the whole day lying about my identity?"

Hannah looked positively thunderous by the time he had finished his last comment. "Now you listen to me, John, and listen well, because I'm only gonna say this once. You are my brother and Ben's best friend. You are a former Special Forces soldier. And as I see it, you work in private security now, keeping people safe. That's all anyone needs to know. And may I remind you that I haven't exactly lived under my true identity for most of my life myself? – You're my brother, I love you, and I want you at my wedding. End of story!"

Dumbfounded, John watched his sister storm out of the room. The last time he had seen her so angry was during the Leila case more than a year ago, and just like then, he had no idea what he had done to upset her so much. With a slightly helpless expression, he turned back to Ben. "What did I say?"

His best friend studied him for a very long, very uncomfortable minute. When he eventually spoke, it was in a serious but gentle tone. "Is that really all you can see in yourself, John? The past and the bad stuff, at least what you perceive as bad? When I hear you saying things like these, I get the impression that you don't see yourself fit for normal human relationships – but let me tell you, you're wrong. It's not the truth."

John looked ready to protest, but Ben silenced him with a raised hand. "Everyone has a past they have to live with in one way or another. But if we're not able to see ourselves for what we are now, in this moment, we're doomed to live a lie. Every part of our history is part of who we are now. But all that counts is what we decide to do with that today."

Ben gestured in the vague direction of the therapy centre dormitory, and John's gaze caught briefly on the scarred, slightly stiff fingers of his best friend – visible evidence of horrible things endured and survived. "We're all broken in one way or another. But that doesn't mean we're unfit for life. Sometimes we just need a little help picking up the pieces."

*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*

Tired though he was, John couldn't sleep. Ben's words kept haunting him. Is that really all you can see in yourself, John? Worst of all, he himself had flung the same question at Carter last night, although implicitly. "It's not as simple as that," she had said, and he had shot back coldly: "I always thought it was in your book. Once a dirty cop, always a dirty cop, right?" He had been unfair, and a total hypocrite to boot. As if he cared about Lionel (he didn't, not much, shameful as it was). As if Joss hadn't overlooked his own past from day one, again and again, so he could have a second chance.

A look at the time told him it was far too late to call her. He would have to do some serious apologising tomorrow, along with offering proper condolences for Cal Beecher's death. For now, however, a text message would have to do.

Joss, I am sorry for what I said earlier. It was stupid, unfair, cruel, and completely uncalled for. Please forgive me. John

John kept staring at the tiny screen in his hands. How inadequate words were when it really mattered. How much better to stand face to face, to be able to see, to hear, to reach out and ... touch. Oh, what a fool he'd been! She had reached out to him so often, and he hadn't understood – hadn't dared to understand. Missed chances, but maybe not altogether too late to make amends.

The screen lit up with an incoming message. What you said might have been all those things, but you were right nonetheless. Let's talk tomorrow. Sleep well, John. Joss

A/N 2: Next time: the talk. Thank you for reading. Today's my birthday, so if I may make a wish, I'd like to know what you think. Pretty please? Thanks!