A/N 1: I started writing this story about 3 weeks ago, when the lack of character development for John on the show started to really bug me. I got stuck after chapter two, which you can read here. I think I've gotten unstuck now, but I haven't written chapter three yet. That means the wait for the next update will probably be significantly longer than you had to wait for this one. In the meantime, thanks for the reviews so far, glad you like it. Keep those reviews coming please, even if you don't like it. Also, yes, there will be angst, but not just yet.

Washington DC, six years ago

John parked his motorbike outside the restaurant and looked at his watch. Damn, he was late. A quick scan of the parking lot revealed that Claire's car wasn't there. Had she gone home, or had she decided to take the bus to the restaurant so she could ride back with him after dinner? She used to love sitting on the back of his bike. Until two years ago.

John still didn't know what had changed his once vibrant wife into someone who seemed to just go through the motions of life. He'd tried to ask her, but every time he did, she either evaded his questions or lashed out at him. Eventually, he had stopped asking and just tried to be as supportive as he could. And he must have done something right. A few weeks ago, Claire finally seemed to have reached some kind of turning point. She still wasn't the woman he'd married four years ago, but at least some of the joy had returned to her eyes.

Claire had even initiated this dinner date, something she hadn't done in a long time. But he'd been stuck in a campaign meeting, and now he was an hour late.

She wasn't in the restaurant, and a waitress told him that their table had been given to another couple thirty minutes ago. John tried calling her four times, but she didn't pick up. He decided to go home. Maybe she had gotten sick or something. He tried to tell himself he wasn't worried.

The apartment was dark and deserted. He called her name and went through the whole apartment, but she wasn't there. She hadn't left a note either. Again, he tried calling her. Again, it went to voicemail.

The ringing of the landline broke the silence. John picked up. "Claire?"

"This is Beth Collins at Sibley Memorial Hospital. Is this Mr. Jonathan Elfman?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Elfman." Dread pooled his stomach, his hand tightened around the phone.

"I'm calling about your wife, Mrs. Claire Elfman."

§§§

Chicago, today

"You nailed it," John told Alicia as they left the CBS building where she had been doing one of the interviews in a final series of public appearances before the election.

"I did. Now I'm starving. Want to go grab a bite?" She nodded to a small Italian place across the street.

"Sure." John managed to hide his surprise at the question. She'd given him the cool, professional treatment all day. Not that he blamed her for that, not after the way he'd snuck out on her last night. He looked at her from the corner of his eye as they crossed the street, trying to gauge her mood. When he opened the restaurant door for her, she gave him a hint of a smile. Then her expression turned neutral again.

They sat down and studied the menu, and the silence between them started to feel awkward to John. "Alicia… I'm sorry about…"

"I think I'll have the lasagne," she said in a bright voice. She put her menu down and looked at him. "You don't have to apologize, John. You left the way you did to avoid being seen. I know. We're good. Last night..." She smiled and lowered her voice. "...was very good. But..."

"...it can't happen again," he finished Alicia's sentence when her voice trailed off. "I understand. Really." He heard her mumble something he couldn't make out. "What's that?"

"I said, bad timing again." Alicia shrugged. "It's been like a… recurring theme in my life over the past years."

John got the feeling the pain and sadness he saw in her eyes right before she dropped her gaze to the table had nothing to do with Peter. He could barely resist reaching out to squeeze her hand in comfort.

"Good evening. May I take your order?" A waitress seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

They gave their orders and the waitress moved to the next table. John caught Alicia's gaze. The pain and sadness had faded, but weren't completely gone. He still wanted to comfort her, wanted to let her know that she wasn't alone. So maybe it was because he had to do that without touching her, that he found himself reaching out in another way.

"She was my wife," he said. "Claire. We were married for four years."

"You're divorced?" Alicia's voice was warm with sympathy.

John took a deep breath. "She died. Car crash."

She did what he hadn't, and the warmth of her hand on his felt good. Probably too good. "Oh, my god, John… I'm so sorry. When?"

"Six years ago." John gently drew his hand back and ran it through his hair. "A drunk driver crashed into her car when she was on her way to a restaurant to have dinner with me."

"So random..." she said, her tone full of quiet understanding. The pain was back in her eyes. It seemed to mirror his own, and that's when he knew.

"Will Gardner?" he only realized he'd voiced his sudden insight when her eyes widened. But he saw her almost imperceptible nod.

"I loved him," she said.

John's smile felt sad to him. "They say it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. I say that's a load of crap."

That surprised a chuckle out of her, which he answered with a wry grin of his own. Then their food arrived, and they moved on to lighter topics. But they were both aware of the new connection that had formed between them.

§§§

The soft glow of the bedside lamp was the only light in John's bedroom. Their clothes littered the floor. Alicia and John lay on the soft bed, her head on his chest. He breathed in the scent of her hair while his hand lightly caressed her back.

This time had been slow. Last night's sense of urgency was gone. Still, somehow this time had felt more… intense.

John didn't want to think about what that meant.

"We really need to stop doing this," Alicia muttered. But her voice lacked conviction.

A/N 2: I'm from Europe, so that means I have no real insight in US politics and culture. I could use someone to help me with that. Think you can help me? Please send me a PM or connect with me on Twitter!