Title: Reunion
Author: Fins-Best-Friend
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
A/N: Again, does anyone still want to read this? I mean, out of 970 hits, I have gotten 4 reviews, all of those being during the first 3 chapters, which leads me to assume that no one is reading any of this past chapter 2. If there's no point in continuing, please tell me.
Chapter 6
John Munch's Apartment
9:50 P.M
"I'm sorry, sirs, you can't go in there." one of the unis told John and Fin as they approached the apartment.
The SVU detectives whipped out their badges at that announcement. "It's mine." John growled as they pushed past the uni into the crime scene.
The medics were loading Xavier onto a stretcher and Etienne was talking to Zita, who was sitting in the dining room out of the way. They could not hear what was said, nor could they have understood it, as the two were talking in French, but Zita nodded and her bodyguard left to go with Xavier. She stood as John ran over and enveloped her in a bear hug, holding her as she broke into tears yet again.
"John, there was blood everywhere and there was nothing I could do! It was too late!" she sobbed into his chest.
John ignored they eyes he could feel on his back as he did his best to comfort his surrogate daughter until Fin glared at the gawkers and they went back to their work. The older detective tried to hold back his own tears, succeeding for the most part. Zita had had to be strong for each other, but now that Zita's strength was failing, he felt it was up to him to make up for the loss of the little girl inside the young woman clinging to him with all the sanity she had left. She had seen the mutilated body of her mother and her mother's bodyguard lying shot on the floor. It was a miracle she was not crazy yet.
The M.E. staff could be seen beginning to wheel out a black body bag on a stretcher. John motioned to Fin, who was standing a respectful distance away. "Fin, get her out of here. She shouldn't be here." He looked down at Zita. "Can you go with Fin?"
She nodded slightly, rubbing her tears from her face with the back of her hand, and let Fin lead her away. At the sound of the gurney wheels hitting the linoleum floor, she started to turn back, but the detective blocked her view with the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders.
"No, baby, don't look. You don't wanna see."
John watched as Fin and Zita left the apartment. It was doubtful that he would ever be able to live here again – not after what had happened that night. I guess it's the crib for you until you find somewhere else to sleep – if you get to sleep at all any time soon. he thought. Of course, these ponderings were only his means of distracting himself from dark reality. His distraction would not last long, for his thoughts were soon interrupted by a CSU investigator.
"Detecive, you should see this."
The words of the paper, though bloody and viewed through a plastic evidence bag, were all too legible.
Merry Christmas, Detective Munch.
There would definitely be no sleep for him tonight.
"Look, Zi, it wasn't your fault."
"He'd been stalking us back to John's apartment, Fin, and I didn't notice! Our names and locations weren't released to the public. There was no other way for him to know! It's a miracle he hasn't found out where the new place is – he would have killed us just as easily there."
Fin maneuvered the car through the traffic, honking his horn loudly at an SUV that cut in front of him. Zita knew it was her responsibility to make sure Xavier was taken good care of as his now-employer, so they were headed to Bellevue. Etienne had gone in the ambulance with Xavier. The older bodyguard was his mentor and he loved him like a brother. Zita had not had the heart to make him stay with her when Xavier was at death's doormat.
The NYPD detective had observed the grieving process many times and, somehow, he was not surprised to find that Zita was an exception to the rule. Shock, denial, sadness, anger, guilt, sometimes therapy, acceptance, then on with your life for most of the left-behind homicide victims; Zita, however, has gone right ahead and skipped anger and denial and combined the guilt and sadness steps. She blamed herself for all of what happened, and probably would until/if the anger ever returned, or someone or something convinced her otherwise. Through his peripheral vision, he could see the tears trickling silently down her face. He sighed. The young woman Fin had come to call "his angel girl" was going to be hurting for a long time. "We were in the wrong place. We headed for the hotel. If we had gone straight to the apartment, it could have been prevented."
"You went to the hotel because I mentioned that Pierre and Bruno didn't know about John's apartment or that Xavier could take care of things. I should have remembered that he doesn't wear his Kevlar when he's at home or in some semblance of home. Now he could be dying, too." she said, petting Reggie, whom she had managed to grab from one of the unis before he was placed in a kennel to be taken to a pound.
"He's in good hands, Zita, I went there when I got shot." he tried to assure her, not certain that it was working., "They know what they're doing."
She wanted to believe the words she was hearing, but Zita knew Fin's injury had not been as bad as Xavier's. She honestly did not know how she would live with herself if Xavier died. Etienne would never be the same again.
Bellevue Hospital
10:30 P.M.
The hospital was busier than usual when Fin dropped her off before going to pick John up. It was against his better judgement, but John did not have a car and he was hurting as much as Zita was and would, more than likely, be very anxious to get away from the apartment.
Despite the surplus of humanity, it was not difficult to pick Etienne out in the crowded waiting room. He was almost seven feet tall.
"How is he?" Zita asked as he stood to meet her, thereby relinquishing his seat to another patient waiting more minor medical attention.
"I don't know. The doctors haven't told me anything yet. He kept repeating himself the whole time in the ambulance – he's beside himself with what happened, Zi."
"He's not to blame. He did all he could."
"Mister Dupont? Or family of Mister Xavier Cousteau?"
A doctor stood at the door leading to the recovery ward, striving to pick out the man his patient had arrived with.
Etienne and Zita looked at each other. Did they really want to know? "Over here." Etienne called, not looking up from Zita, who was trying to keep Reggie from poking his head out of his hiding spot in her coat pocket.
The worried pair met the doctor just on the other side of the recovery ward doors, careful of the waiting patients on the floor for lack of chairs.
"How is he, doctor?"
"Well, he was touch and go for most of it, lost a lot of blood," the doctor said, motioning for them to follow him down the hallway, "but he's stable now. Unconscious and in a lot of pain when he wakes up and for about two weeks, but he'll pull through."
"Define 'lot of pain.' Too-sick-to-eat pain, popping-pain-pills-till-addicted pain, suicidal/homicidal/crazy pain?" Zita asked, recalling her last stint in a hospital back in France. In the process of chasing a perp, she had been hit by a car. She would never wish that kind of agony on anyone save her worst enemy, especially after tonight.
"I doubt the last level, but either of the first two could be a possibility, depending on his pain tolerance." the doctor replied. "I'll prescribe some Vicadin."
"He won't take it." Etienne said, "He's paranoid about getting addicted to prescription pain meds. No pills. He'll take stuff in a hospital, but once he leaves, he'll bite the bullet."
"Well, I don't know what else I can do for him. I can't have my nurses follow him around for the next weeks with a syringe of morphine."
"What about a portable pump?" Zita asked, recalling the medical God-send she had discovered back in France. "A morphine pump?"
"They're not cheap and we don't have a surplus. We may not have one available."
"Money's no object. Check on the pump." Zita said, "I'll take care of it."
The doctor looked up at Etienne, the adult of the pair. He shrugged and the doctor nodded submissively. If Zita said she was going to take care of something, you could bet lives that she would do it and that she would have no intention of being talked out of it.
"All right," the doctor said, "I'll get a nurse on it. This is his room. He should wake up in a little while."
As the doctor's footsteps receded down the hall, Etienne and Zita looked at each other again. The bodyguard could see the guilty expression start to creep onto her face to replace the expression of worry. "Zita, yet again, this was not your fault. Xavier's going to be fine – you heard the doctor. There was nothing you could've done."
"Whatever you say, Tienne." she replied quietly as she stepped past him into the hospital room.
Etienne shook his head, sighing. If it were not for Zita's vehemently-proclaimed dislike for shrinks, he would suggest therapy. For someone who spent so much time reassuring victims and their families that what happened to them was not their fault, his little sister was taking too much of this on her own shoulders.
10:50 P.M.
Obviously, John was not staying in his apartment that night, even if CSU was done with it. It was near-impossible for him to stay long enough to pack some clothes and other necessities and wait while Olivia, who had arrived with Elliot and Cragen soon after Fin and Zita left, packed some clothes for Zita and Zita's laptop. John had needed no extra prodding to leave, even if it was for the hospital.
Fin and John drove most of the way to Bellevue in silence. There was nothing more to say – nothing that would make any difference in matters, at least.
It was John who eventually broke the silence. "You know, the only consolation I have is the fact that, this time, I managed to get the engagement ring on her finger before I lost her."
"That was probably her's too." Fin replied, glancing over at his partner.
"What do you mean?"
Fin took a deep breath. It was not often that he had useful (or possibly useful) insights into the finer points of emotions, much less feel that it was an occasion to voice them. "All right, this is more than a little out of character for me, but just knowing that you loved her enough to propose and the fact that you made the promise to her that you would be there for her and Zita just as you had before the ring made her pain easier. I mean, it's easier to go through pain when you know that someone, somewhere, cares."
"You're right." John said, opening the door of the sedan as Fin turned the car off. "That was very out of character for you, but thanks."
"Did it actually help?" Fin asked, locking the car, surprised at John's sentiment.
"Not really, but not a lot will right now."
"Gonna take some time off?"
"I don't know. Depends on how Zita is."
"Now that Bowan's gone, will they let her stay with you? You're not her legal guardian."
"Not so. Her grandfather has legal custody should something happen to Bowan and Pierre. When I called him while I was waiting for you to bring the car around, he told me that he was on business in Germany that couldn't be postponed. He said he'd call his lawyer and waive the right of custody until he gets back. In March."
"So she's staying with you until March?"
"O'Malley didn't seem too enthused with the idea of having a teenager around, so there's a possibility of him waiving the right to custody altogether, so she may be staying longer . . . until we find some other relative." John answered, covering his last statement with what he hoped was an explanation that Fin would not see through.
Which, of course, he did. "You want to adopt her?"
John tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Depends on what her grandfather decides to do. She knows me, I know her. I already feel responsible for her." he answered but right now, Zita's stuck with me."
Fin held the door open as they got to the entrance. "Somehow, I doubt Zita sees it as being stuck with you."
John just shrugged again. He was still not willing to get his hopes up. It would only make it harder if he knew Zita wanted him as a father.
"He's in room 106, down the hall on your right, through those doors. Another man and a girl are in there with him." the nurse at the desk said, pointing.
The detectives nodded their thanks and headed for the room. John was really beginning to hate hospitals. Between the three victims he had been working the cases of, he had spent two and a half hours each day at one of the hospitals in the city, and now this.
Xavier was still asleep when they entered the room. Zita managed to fall asleep in one of the chairs beside the bed, with Reggie snuggled up on her lap. Etienne sat in the other, gazing off into space, almost asleep himself. It had been a long, exhausting day, to say the least.
Etienne looked up slowly as the detectives neared the bed. "Detectives."
"How's he doin'?" John asked, coming to stand behind Zita.
"Doctor says he'll be in a lot of pain, but Zita arranged for a morphine pump, so it won't be too bad. The injury might have ended his career, though. The bullet lodged only a couple inches from his heart, so he's lucky to be alive. They're both taking what happened pretty hard." he replied, motioning to Zita.
"They're not the only ones." Fin said with a pointed glance at John.
John gave his partner a "shut up!" glare. "She blames herself?"
Etienne nodded. "There's no talking her out of it."
"You know, boys, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about me as it I weren't right here." Zita mumbled groggily, opening one eye.
John stroked her hair. "Sorry, we thought you were asleep."
"'S okay. CSU done with the apartment already?"
Fin shook his head. "Elliot and Olivia have taken over so John could leave. They won't be done for a while. Liv packed up some of your stuff – it's in the car."
"Thanks."
A nurse knocked on the door, interrupting the conversation. "Excuse me, visiting hours are long over."
"Can one person stay?" Etienne asked, loathe to leave his co-worker. He owed him his life several times over; the least he could do was stay with Xavier.
The nurse thought for a few moments. Technically, this was not under her jurisdiction. "Are you family?"
Etienne shook his head. "No. Close friends."
The nurse sighed. She could get in a lot of trouble for this, but the room was only set up for one and there was more than enough room for Etienne and whatever doctors needed to filter through. Besides, this visitor would have more time to monitor the patient than any of the nurses. The one in the bed had almost died, for crying out loud. "All right. One person, but the rest of you will have to come back tomorrow. Visiting hours start at ten."
When the nurse left, Etienne turned to Zita, who was gathering Reggie back up and situating him in her coat pocket. "Zita, I know it's my responsibility to stay with you, but -"
"Yeah, go ahead." she answered, "I'll be okay. Do you have everything you need?"
He nodded. "I'll pick up whatever else I need after he wakes up and goes back to sleep. I'll work it out. Try and get some sleep, huh?"
"Yeah, right. No promises. See you later." she sighed, turning to leave behind Much and Fin. As she reached the door, she turned again. "If Xavier's still broken up about this, tell him that I understand and that my mom would have, too. Okay?"
Etienne nodded. "I'll tell 'im."
Even Reggie was subdued in the car. Zita sat in the back with him and the suitcases, trying to concentrate on her case back in France rather than what had happened. Her cases, while generally insane in nature, were her main sanity. They helped her forget her problems, though working a case involving that much blood and tears might not be the way to go right now. She sighed again for what felt like the millionth time that night. It was not working. Every time her mind went over the crime scene, the bodies in the sheets became her mother's. No matter what she did, Zita could not get that image out of her mind. How could such a good day go so wrong so fast?
She watched the city go by through the window. The sidewalks were still full of Christmas shoppers bustling from store to store, though the population had thinned considerably since their last run through the city. Christmas music blared through speakers, each playing a different song, from the many shops – the city went on, blissfully unaware of what had happened. And why would it not be? It had not happened to those people on the streets or to anyone they knew. Zita sighed for the millionth and first time. For her, Christmas would not come that year.
By the time they pulled up in front of the stationhouse, it was a quarter after eleven and Zita was half-asleep from sheer exhaustion.
"What? Did someone forget something?" she asked groggily.
Looking back, John shook his head and opened his door. "Until CSU gets done with the apartment, we can't even go back there unless we're there on police business. Fin offered to let us stay with him, but he doesn't have the room and I know it. I'll start looking for a place tomorrow, but the crib's really our only option for tonight."
Zita stayed where she was, but unbuckled her seatbelt, just in case he did not take her suggestion. "What about the townhouse? We have furniture there already – beds an' stuff. We weren't going to actually move until Mom told you, but a lot of our stuff's there."
John pulled his foot back into the car and shut the door. "Do you know how to get there?"
Zita nodded. "Yeah, if Fin wants to drive."
Fin did not even answer before putting the car back in gear. "Get your seatbelts back on. I don't know about France, but in New York, it's the law."
Zita smiled slightly. Who needs a bodyguard when you've got two cops keeping track of you?
After searching though boxes for half an hour, John and Zita finally managed to find sheets and get them on the two beds that had arrived three days before form Pottery Barn. Fin left soon after making sure they were all right. His concern had been touching, but more than anything else, both Zita just wanted to be alone in her new, unfamiliar room with the door shut and her dog so she could cry. She had always been afraid to cry in front of people. In fact, that night had been the first time in over ten years. There were many people back in Europe who saw her as a cold, uncaring rich kid that only thought about her silver-spoon lifestyle, but that was hardly the case; Zita would not be putting her neck on the block as often as she did if she did not care. She cried more often than she cared to say – it was just that the only ones that she knowingly cried in front of were Bowan, Etienne, and Xavier, and she rarely cried around them. Zita never understood why – maybe because she knew they would not judge her for it, would not call her weak for crying over something.
Perhaps that was all about to change. John had not judged her. Fin had not judged her. Neither had anyone else. She had lost her mother, after all.
And it was in the midst of this tearfest that her phone rang. The Pink Panther theme. Her French partner Luc's all-time favorite movie.
"Bonjour, Luc."
"Quel est erroné?" (What's wrong?)
"Ce qui vous signifient, 'ce qui est erroné?'" she asked,"Qui a indiqué quelque chose mal?" (What do you mean 'what's wrong?' / Who said anything's wrong?)
"Ne me donnez pas cela, Zi. Je peux l'entendre dans votre voix. Vous aviez pleuré. Est-ce que quelque chose s'est produite?" (Don't give me that, Zi. I can hear it in your voice. You've been crying. Did something happen?)
Zita sighed. There was no hiding anything from her partner. "Elle est allée, Luc." (She's gone, Luc.)
"Que voulez-vous dire le allé '?" (What do you mean, 'gone'?)
"Je veux dire, nous-ai-reçu-un appel-de l'énonciation-de Justin-que-Bruno-était-dans-la ville-mais -avant-que-nous-lui-soyons-arrivés-il-était-trop-tard allé." (I mean, we-got-a-call-from-Justin-saying-that-Bruno-was-in-the-city-but-by-the-time-we-got-to-her-it-was-too-late gone.)
There was a rush of static from the French end as he also let out a sigh. "Aw, Zi, je suis si désolé. Y a-t-il quelque chose que je peux faire?" (Aw, Zi, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?)
"Pas en particulier." (Not particularly.)
"Antoine sait-il?" (Does Antoine know?)
"Le non, et ne lui indiquent pas. Je le ferai savoir quand je suis prêt." she replied, trying to keep from crying. It made her impossible to understand, especially in French. "Ainsi pourquoi avez-vous appelé ? Coupure dans le cas?" (No, and don't tell him. I'll let him know when I'm ready. / So why did you call? Break in the case?)
Luc would have muttered in annoyance if he were not on the phone. It was just like her to change the subject like this. Her pent-up emotions would destroy her career, if not more, later. "En fait, nous . ADN. Le seul problème est nous n'ont aucune allumette dans notre système, ainsi nous pensons le touriste. Pensez-vous que, si je vous envoyais les résultats, le M.E. à New York pourrait le regarder vers le haut ? C'est un grand projectile dans l'obscurité, mais nous avons pour commencer quelque part." (Actually, we did. DNA. The only problem is we have no matches in our system, so we're thinking tourist. Do you think that, if I sent you the results, the M.E. in New York could look it up? It's a big shot in the dark, but we've got to start somewhere.)
"Je devine ainsi. Il ne blesserait pas pour essayer. Hé, pensez-vous que si j'assurais ma voiture à apporter ici, vous pourriez la conduire aux docks ? Louis vous laisserait dans le garage." (I guess so. It wouldn't hurt to try. Hey, do you think that if I arranged for my car to be brought here, you could drive it to the docks? Louis would let you into the garage.)
"Zita, pourquoi faites-vous ceci?" (Zita, why do you do this?)
"Ce qui? Voulez ma voiture?" (Do what? Want my car?)
"Non, vous ne laissez pas vos émotions dehors. Vous les gardez mis en bouteille vers le haut intérieur et vous pour les couvrir vers le haut jusqu'à ce que vous éclatiez. Vous éclatez aux personnes concernées, mais la seule personne qui ne mérite pas d'obtenir le mal par lui devient blessée." (No, you don't let your emotions out. You keep them bottled up inside and you cover them up until you explode. You explode at the right people, but the only person who doesn't deserve to get hurt by it does get hurt.)
Zita could feel her temper beginning to rise. He had no right to be getting on her for this. Not now. "Cette personne étant?" (This person being?)
"Vous ! Regardez, vous êtes mon associé et je m'inquiète de vous et alors que je ne veux pas vous entendre ou voir pleurer, vous devez faire lui chaque une fois et un moment. Si n'importe qui rit de vous ou regarde vers le bas sur vous pour pleurer, c'est leur problème, pas vôtre." he answered, a bit harsher than intended. (You! Look, you're my partner and I care about you and while I don't want to hear or see you cry, you need to do it every once and a while. If anyone laughs at you or looks down on you for crying, it's their problem, not yours.)
That did it. Tears began welling up in her eyes and she no longer had the strength to stop them. "Ce qui ? Maintenant vous êtes fou à moi?" she attempted to coherently reply. "I ont-ils été par assez pour vous ? Je veux juste mettre ceci derrière moi, pour ne pas parler de lui." (What? Now you're mad at me/ Haven't I been through enough for you? I just want to put this behind me, not talk about it.)
His voice softened. "Non, non, Zita, je ne suis pas fou à vous et vous avez été par trop et je suis sûr que je ne sais pas la moitié d'elle. Je vous veux juste la laisse dehors avant que vous vous blessiez. Entretien à moi! Je ne veux pas vous rendre visite dans un certain asile aliéné!" (No, no, Zita, I'm not mad at you and you've been through too much and I'm sure I don't know the half of it. I just want you to let it out before you hurt yourself. Talk to me! I don't want to visit you in some insane asylum!)
On any other day, Zita might have laughed, but today she just blew her nose. "Luc, je ne veux pas vider mes problèmes sur vous. Vous avez eu des issues avec la dépression avant et je ne veux pas vous rendre visite dans un hôpital ou une maison funèbre. La fois passée je vous ai dit au sujet de mes problèmes –" (Luc, I don't want to dump my problems on you. You've had issues with depression before and I don't want to visit you in a hospital or funeral home. Last time I told you about my problems –)
"Je sais, je sais, je sais. Mais j'ai ce soin pris de maintenant, ainsi décharge loin, parce que je ne veux pas vous rendre visite dans une prison ou un asile aliéné, l'un ou l'autre. Rappelez-vous, je suis bon pour voir après ceux des excuses fausses, Zita Rachelle." (I know, I know, I know. But I've got that taken care of now, so dump away, because I don't want to visit you in a prison or an insane asylum, either. Remember, I'm good at seeing past those fake excuses, Zita Rachelle.)
"Il est ce qui vous fait un bon détective." (It's what makes you a good detective.)
"Asse'au sujet de moi. Parlez le ver!" he said in his Darth Vader voice. (Enough about me. Speak worm!)
She still could not laugh, but his attempt at getting her to do so had not made her cry harder, so he took it as a good sign. "Allons, Zi. Hors de avec lui." (Come on, Zi. Out with it.)
"Pourquoi ? Pourquoi soyez désormais soin ? Il a signé les papiers de divorce. Il n'est pas comme il n'y a pas un excédent massif des femmes or-creusantes en arrière en France et il n'est pas comme il l'aimait de toute façon. Pourquoi envoyez Bruno pour la tuer ? Il est son propre défaut stupide que la police est impliquée maintenant." (Why? Why would be care anymore? He signed the divorce papers. It's not like there isn't a massive surplus of gold-digging women back in France and it's not like he loved her anyway. Why send Bruno to kill her? It's his own stupid fault that the police are involved now.)
"Zita, vous êtes un officier de la loi - rappelez-vous cela. Vous savez que vous auriez dit quelqu'un. Il pourrait avoir fait ceci à quelqu'un d'autre." (Zita, you're an officer of the law – remember that. You know you would have told someone. He could have been doing this to someone else.)
"Cela ne l'a pas donné bien pour donner la commande pour que Bruno tue ma maman." (That didn't give him any right to give the order for Bruno to kill my mom.)
"Vous avez raison, il pas , mais aucun humain, économiser pour dans la guerre, combattant pour votre pays et famille, ou dans art de l'auto-portrait-defense, a le droit de prendre la vie d'une autre personne. Regardez, j'ont pour aller, mes débuts de poste dans et le mauvais du trafic." (You're right, it doesn't, but no human, save for in war, fighting for your country and family, or in self-defense, has the right to take another's life. Look, I've got to go, my shift starts in an hour and the traffic's bad.)
"Ah, droite. La différence de temps. Faites attention." (Oh, right. The time difference. Be careful.)
"J'essayerai. Promesse vous direz Antoine bientôt?" (I'll try. Promise you'll tell Antoine soon?)
"Ouais, je dirai Antoine. Envoyez-moi les résultats d'ADN bientôt. Je vous appellerai quand j'arrange pour la voiture." (Yeah, I'll tell Antoine. Send me the DNA results soon. I'll call you when I arrange for the car.)
"Suffira. Au revoir, Zita." (Will do. Goodbye, Zita.)
"Voyez-vous plus tard, Luc." (See you later, Luc.)
Zita hung up and leaned her head against the wall, letting tears she had not known were left to fall down her face. You never miss a good thing until she's gone. she thought.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, John listened in on the conversation. He could not understand the vast majority of it, but he picked up on a few words. Luc, DNA, Antoine, but it was the tone and the tearful voice that hit him most. Her partner was trying to get her to let go, like any good partner would. Fin had tried to convince him that it had not been his fault, which was Fin's own macho way of trying to comfort John and get him to let his emotions out, but John felt the need to be depressed and angry at himself for a while. Zita just seemed alone, but she would have stayed in the living room downstairs or left her door open if she had wanted to talk. He could not blame her for wanting to be alone. He had been the same way after his father killed himself. He had not left his room or spoken for days.
But what was that she had said about DNA? Zita had told him something about the case she had been working on – had they caught a break? At least there was some good news somewhere.
John did not try to stop the tears as they fell. The best news he had heard in the past month was all for naught. It seemed Pierre had had it in for him, just like Bowan had said about her and John regarding the event that took place seventeen – almost eighteen – years ago. If he had only thought, really thought, harder about proposing, he would not have done it until after Pierre and Bruno were safely behind bars for life – if not dead.
Too bad hindsight's twenty-freakin'-twenty. he told himself.
It felt good to cry – like a catharsis for the mind. He had not cried like this in, literally, years. Just unashamedly letting the tears go. Like Zita, he had always felt tears to be a weakness, something to hide and be ashamed of. But he had gone past hiding it from the rest of the world and went to hiding it from himself as well. He used to ignore the wishy-washy statements about it being "okay to cry" and "crying's not a show of weakness, it's a show of humanity" load of crap, but now, he realized why they all said it. Before Bowan returned he had been spending so much time not showing emotion that he was seen as something an android-like figure and he was beginning to feel like one, too, but after Bowan and Zita found him, his humanity seemed to return. But crying was something he had not had to experience until now, and while it hurt, its release comforted him as well.
Bowan had always told John back in Baltimore to 'be human.' Maybe it was her final achievement.