Hey hi! Long time no update to this one... But now here it is, albeit it's a rather short one. But more is to come soon!

This one is Johnny's POV again, but the next chapter will be Randy's POV.

Thanks for coming back after the long time!

Now, enjoy :)

"Randy didn't meet Phil after work like he was supposed to and he isn't at Phil's place. And I have no message and no missed call from him. Do yer have an idea where he could be?"

Bracing my elbows on my knees I sat on the couch, one hand holding my cell, while the other covered my tightly closed eyes. Stephen's words had paralyzed me and all I could do was sitting here, hoping to wake up any second because this had to be a fucking nightmare.

"John… John! Are yer with me?"

„What…?"

„I asked if yer have any idea where he could be?"

"I… no… no, I don't know…"

Eventually I managed to get up and walk over to the front door, opening it. The darkness of the late evening was illuminated with the fuzzy light of the street lights and the signs of life inside the neighboring houses. Gazing up and down the street I harbored the tiny hope to see something. Like a taxi driving down the road, stopping in front of my house with Randy inside. His car was still standing in the driveway, I noticed. Sure, Phil had picked him up… Or maybe I would see him walk along the street. Or maybe Stephen's or Phil's car, bringing good news. But there was nothing. The fucking street was too goddamn empty…

"Think. Yer know him like no one else. Where could he be?"

"God, it's my fault…"

"John, it's not the time to talk about whose fault it is. We need to find him... John!"

"I… I really don't know… maybe at a bar…"

"Okay. I'm gonna call Phil and we're gonna search for Randy. I want yer to wait here, just in case he comes here."

"God, what if something happened to him…?"

"Goddammit, Cena! I need yer to focus! Did yer hear me? I want yer to wait here! Wait for him, wait for my call! Just wait!"

"I… yeah…"

Three hours since Stephen had left. Every once in a while he had sent a message but all it said was that they were still searching for him. Too long. Fuck, Randy tended to do… stupid things when he drank too much or... what if he ran into someone who was looking for a fight...? Even if I never wanted to see him again, the last thing I wanted is something to happen to him.

My cell rang. My feet started to run over before my brain got the reason but when I stood in front of the table, watching the small device dance on it, I was scared… of what Stephen might tell me. Five long seconds of hesitation… before I got a grip and answered the call.

"Jesus, John, what took yer so long?" Stephen sighed down the line with relief coating his words. "For a moment I was afraid yer did something stupid."

I sat on the couch, wiping a hand down my face but I was feeling at least a tiny bit relieved myself, since he didn't sound like something serious had happened. Exhaling a shuddering sigh I waited for him to tell me the news, because I couldn't speak. My mouth was suddenly dry and my tongue stuck to the roof of it. God bless this man for being so empathic...

"Randy called me. He's… okay," he said then, quietly and the mountain which was lifted from my heart drew a tiny moan from me. "John… uhm…"

And the mountain was back, weighing down heavy on me. He's okay… but?

"Stephen…" I pressed out.

A sigh. A heavy one and in the back I heard Phil mutter something about Randy being an idiot.

"Listen, uhm… Randy is in jail."

It took a second until the words sunk in. And then... laughter spilled over my lips, slightly hysterical and laced with utter relief and disbelief. I couldn't stop it. Randy was okay but he was sitting in jail. He was sitting in a bloody jail because... I wasn't sure if I really wanted to let all scenarios that might have happened play in my head. And maybe, just maybe it was a good thing that he was sitting in a friggin' prison cell so he was safe... Stephen tried to calm me down, but it took me half a minute to actually calm down enough to breathe through.

This can't be happening... all this... this shit... can't be happening...

"John? Yer okay?" Stephen asked quietly as my laughter had subsided to a harsh panting.

"Fuck, no!" I exhaled sharply. "No, I'm not okay. I'm far from okay..."

There was a sigh from the other end of the line and when he spoke again his voice was still very quiet: "Listen, John, try to calm down. We're gonna get him out there and I'm gonna call yer when we're at Phil's place, okay?"

"No way." The words were snapped and I felt sorry the moment they were out. "I'm sorry, Stephen, I didn't mean to snap at you. Uhm... I'm going there."

"John, I don't think tha it's a good idea," Stephen warned and again I heard Phil's voice through the line, agreeing to him.

"I need to go," I said just above a whisper. "I need to talk to him."

And I needed to be sure he was okay and I needed him here, at home, needed to know he's around. Not in my bed or my arms, but... here. Everything else... time would show because there was still the first problem, the one that caused all this in the first place. Stephen told me the address and wrenched the promise from me to call, tomorrow at the latest.

The time between the moment I left the house until I sat in the waiting room of the jail, waiting for Randy to be released went by in a blur. After a while I couldn't sit there any longer, began to pace up and down the room instead. The waiting tore at me. How long could it take to release someone from jail? It was a plain room, no windows, uncomfortable chairs and I wondered how the cell in which they had locked Randy away might look like. Yet... I didn't really want to think about it, but the image of him sitting in a room as plain... dismal... on a cot... it made me sick. And I knew he was feeling as sick.

The guy who I settled the bail bond with had refused to tell me what had happened, why Randy actually had ended up here. And the burnt part of me wondered if Randy had a drink too much and if I could have kicked myself in the ass, I would have done it. I had come here because I wanted to talk to him, take him home. Not to haul the next accusation at him.

The sound of heavy doors being opened and closed drew my attention and I turned around to what I guesses was the door he would come through. Seconds passed and did funny things to my guts. My heart began to pound and somehow it became difficult to breathe. The door to the waiting room clicked loudly as the lock slipped back, creaked as it was being opened.

And then Randy came in... and froze. And as did I.

His face... there was a bruise on his right cheekbone and his eye and his upper lip was split. His knuckles were bloody. Fuck. Fuck... The door closed and we were alone in the room. Randy looked... small as he stood there, obviously very surprised to find me here and he also seemed a bit shocked. Scared, too... And then he dropped his gaze to the floor. Dejected. He looked so... so dejected... But it was my fault, wasn't it? The last time he had seen me I had told him to leave my life.

And... I really needed to thank Stephen for holding me back when I wanted to throw the ring at Randy's feet.

There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but this wasn't the right place and so I took a deep breath and said: "Come on, let's get out of here."

My voice didn't sound as soft as I would have wanted it to and I traced it back to the tension I was feeling. I turned to leave but after a few steps I realized that Randy was still standing there, his eyes still directed at the floor.

"Randy?" I asked quietly.

He flinched a bit but met my gaze again finally and it seemed as if he wanted to flee, go back to the cell, maybe to avoid another rejection, and he looked extremely exhausted. It was time to take him home. Again I turned to leave and this time I heard him follow me. Taking a glance over my shoulder I found him trailing behind me like a kicked puppy, head bowed and his eyes on the ground.

The air outside was a boon, washing away the uneasy feeling that had settled over me the moment I had stepped in there. I breathed through. My heart was still beating fast and it even jumped a bit, bringing the idea of a smile to my lips. Almost like the kind of excitement I had felt back then when I had been secretly in love with him.

We reached my car and turning around to him I asked: "The rest of your stuff is still at Phil's place?"

Randy nodded, barely answering my gaze.

I decided that it could remain there a little longer and crawled into my car while Randy kept standing outside, staring at the car door helplessly before opening it.

"I would be grateful if you could drop me off at the next hotel," he said just above a whisper, still barely meeting my eyes.

I let my eyes wander over his face. Uncertainty. And fuck yes, he was scared and he still looked small. So very unlike the Randy I knew.

"No," I replied and he closed his eyes, nodding lightly as if he had expected it. This time as I spoke again my voice was as soft as I wanted it to be because it was what we both needed – taking a first step to leave this much too stony path. "We're going home."

At that his eyes snapped up to me and he stared at me in utter disbelief, the grey eyes wide and I could have sworn he was trembling.

"Home?" he breathed, suddenly looking so longingly that I had to look away because it hurt so see him like that.

"Yeah, home," I repeated and fumbled with the seatbelt. "Get in. It's late and we both need to sleep."

After a moment of hesitation he finally got into the car. Our ride home was very quiet and every now and then I glanced over to him, finding him staring out of the window. Tenseness radiated from him in waves, leaving my fingers itching to reach over and put my hand on his knee, like I used to do when he sat beside me in the car. One of his hands was holding onto his tee tightly, the other lay clenched to a fist in his lap. His jaw muscles jumped and his eyes looked suspiciously glassy. And he was much too pale for my taste. But... I didn't dare to reach over to him, didn't want to start the talking things out in the car. So I hurried to get us home and all the way I my mind raced.

Just like he had done back at the police station, he trailed behind me as we made our way from the car into the house. I told him to go up to the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get some ice, but when I wanted to go upstairs, I found him standing in the living room, holding our family picture in his hand. Gazing at it with deepest sadness. It bestowed me a hard, painful tug at my heart but I told myself that there was a chance that by the end of the night we could go back to being together. Slowly approaching him I called his name quietly. He tried to cover the sadness I had already seen on his face, but he wasn't very successful.

"Let's go to the bathroom," I said softly, taking the photo from unresisting fingers. I sat it back down on its place and took him gently by the wrist, murmuring: "Let's get you patched up."

The simple feeling of his wrist in my hold made my heart stumble...

Two minutes later he sat on the rim of the tub while I was kneeling in front of him, cleaning his bloody knuckles and then his face. The swelling of his cheekbone and his eye became more and more visible, as did the dark shadow underneath that would surely be a nice and colorful bruise tomorrow. There was no sound of discomfort from him, but he couldn't hold back the flinching, wincing. And I... suddenly I was nervous. How should I start? How would he react?

But before I could think of a good start, Randy spoke first: "How long?"

His voice was very quiet and hollow. I blinked at him in slight confusion.

"What do you mean?" I asked, pausing my ministrations for a moment.

He began to chew at his lower lip but stopped with another wince as it jarred the cut on his upper lip.

"How long can I stay?"

Oh. Randy obviously thought that I brought him here for, what, a night? And that I would send him away again afterwards? Well, I hadn't given him a hint that I brought him here to stay for good... hopefully. There was still the first problem...

I sighed. I still had no idea how to tell him the facts and as a matter of fact I was scared that after my freaking over what we all thought had happened, after the way I had treated him, I couldn't make up to him. I had no idea how to apologize to him. And telling him that I wanted him to stay for good would include tell him what Sam had told me.

Running my index finger gently over his sore cheekbone I asked: "What happened?"

I was playing for time and maybe it was the gentle touch which made him forget about his own questions a moment. He blinked once, turned his face towards the touch. And my heart jumped. Again a deep sadness washed over his face as his gaze dropped to the hand which he had still clenched to a fist, ever since he had stepped into the waiting room of the police station.

"That bastard... he... he wanted to take it away from me," he said slowly, sad... the low voice breaking, trailing off to a whisper... causing an ache in my chest.

"It?" I murmured, wondering what he meant.

And then... he opened his hand. It was the ring...

It hit me like a blow, knocked the breath out of me for long seconds as I stared at the small token I had chosen to be the sign of the love I felt for him. It was right there in his hand, bloodstained and his tight hold on it had left an imprint on his palm. So Stephen had given it to him... and he must've told him that I... wanted to propose to him...

"I was at a bar and there was a guy who took it and I..." he explained still whispering and the tears which had been lingering in his eyes... fell. "I had to get it back." And then he added quickly: "I didn't drink alcohol, John. Not a single drop and I swear I'm never gonna drink again. I... I'm so sorry... so sorry..."

With a pang something exploded in my chest... and I barely could stand the wave of... of... I had no name for it. Guilt, love, longing... I only realized now how much I really had missed him. And still did. Bowing my head I sat back on my heels with a shuddering breath. I felt a warm wetness on my face but I didn't bother to wipe it away. Instead I laid my hand on his, blanketing it lightly. Palm against palm, feeling the ring like a link between us.

"You didn't sleep with Sam," I rasped, hearing his breath catch in his throat. Meeting his gaze again, I took in those precious grey orbs, glistening by still falling tears and bright disbelief as I added: "She told me what happened that night. She made you the hickey while you were asleep. You never even touched her... I'm so sorry, Ran. I'm so... so sorry for everything... I should never have doubted you..."

"Don't worry... I have doubted myself..." he replied in a much too sober and detached way, his gaze somewhat distant as he spoke and it sent a chill down my spine.

His fingers twitched against my wrist, his fingertips sliding over my palm as they closed around the ring again. And then I heard it, that twisted little sound which ripped from his throat, a sick mixture of laughter and sobbing and I couldn't stand it any longer, meeting him as he hunched forward. Wrapping my arms around his shaking frame, I pulled him close and whispered his name and with a wail he hid his face against my neck. Arms closed around me, holding onto me for dear life...

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