I fell down the trap door, but landed on my feet unusually gracefully. Straightening myself, I headed for the exit. Mark tailed me, and I noticed he kept talking to me. His tone kept switching from pleading and then to demanding; but being beside myself, I scarcely cared for, nor acknowledged the words. Of course I wasn't listening to him. I only endeavored to figure out what I would do when I got to John. And still, I was trying to keep my imagination at bay; I struggled with the thought of what might have happened. I wanted only to be there with him, if I truly could do nothing to help.

But there he was.

In the passenger seat of the van, which sat in plain view of passerby, and then I stood frozen, while Mark continued on. He stopped, looked back at me, and stared bewildered while I shook off the initial shock of John, sitting there, obviously beaten and bloodied.

And he wasn't moving.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I took one step, and then it was easier to walk. I remember wanting to hold myself back, as this was the second time today I had rushed into seeing something that I knew would be too difficult to take. Still, those days, taking our time was a luxury that none of us could afford. I sprinted to the van, grabbing onto John's door, gripping it so tight I thought my fingers would bleed. He stirred, and I exploded into the sobs of a maid who has learned her only love has returned from the red-soaked war, having narrowly escaped with his life. I was inconceivably relieved, and so finally, there was too much emotion to hold in any longer.

Then, very slowly, John placed his finger to his lips. Obediently, I pried my hands off of the car door, using them to shut my wailing mouth, while taking deep breaths through my nose. I was able to calm and hush myself. He held out his hand then. Quickly and carefully, I took it, using both hands once more, to hold his. Almost forgetting what he was supposed to be doing, Mark stopped to watch our interaction. I wouldn't realize until later what was going on in his mind.

I tried to speak, but John shook his head 'No'.

"Elle, you drive." Mark broke the silent connection we developed and ordered me.

I blatantly ignored him, still holding John's hand and savoring the moment.

"Get in the car now." He commanded once more.

I glanced up at him once, smiling knowingly, finding his attempt at being intimidating somewhat amusing.

"I'm not playing around, what do you think this is, some kind of game?!"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" I watched as he understood the dark humor, but turned away from me, pulling his ringing cell phone from his pocket.

"Amanda, is he secure?" He urgently questioned.

He paused. Amanda's voice on the other line was calm and low, so much so that I couldn't make out what she was saying to him, but I was reassured by the assumption that she had everything with Detective Matthews under control. I then heard her pause, and she spoke again. This time, a question.

"John? I'm still unsure…" He murmured into the phone.

"That's fine, meet us outside." He snapped the phone shut, not resuming speaking to me. Instead he walked past me coldly, as I continued to caress John's hand soothingly. John winced in pain as my fingers grazed his ring finger.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Detective Matthews…" He took a breath, and before he had to labor on with his next sentence, I knew what he'd done. That beast of a man had broken John's finger.

I continued on holding his hand, whispering sweet nothings to him while Mark eyed me spitefully on the other side of the van. When Amanda returned, looking triumphant at first, she then focused her sights towards John and I. Her dark eyes traveled back and forth between us, and then she walked calmly towards the three of us.

"Where do we go from here?" She was talking to Mark, not trying to trouble a wearied John. Mark shifted his weight nervously. For once, he was at a loss as to what to do.

I was desperately tired and wanted to go home. John still clung to my hand and to his life.

I was staring at him, "We need to get h-him to a hospital." I sniffled.

"Are you crazy?" Amanda scoffed, and then laughed. "A hospital. As if we don't have everything we need back at the safe house."

"OH!" I yelled sarcastically, "You mean the same safe house that is now swarming with cops?!" I let go of John, turning towards her.

Mark edged closer to us, sensing an approaching conflict.

I stood my ground, not intimidated.

"Rivielle…" John whispered. I turned away from them. It seemed that they had subconsciously teamed up against me in order to have their way. And since it had backfired, they fumed in silence. I refused to abet it.

He held out a small scrap of paper, there was thin black writing on it. I accepted it, and began to unfold it.

An address.

"Do we go here?" I asked him softly.

He nodded, closing his eyes as I pressed my palm to his cold cheek.

-

For the four months that followed, I fought to live normally.

We had relocated ourselves to a new building, where John had been placed on bed rest. He seemed to both improve and weaken more and more every day. His finger began to heal, slowly but surely, but I barely ever left his side. He was deteriorating in front of me and there was nothing I could do. I stayed by his bed day after day, as they turned into nights and those nights became mornings. They were glorious mornings with more enrichment and insight than the last. John was a fountain of knowledge, a never ending book with every answer I had ever sought. I always knew myself to be a confused person, a little girl who had become a woman before she could learn to walk. But here John was, waiting with open arms for me to stop crawling and walk to him. I knew it was in my power, and every day I came closer.

Somehow, as much as I wanted to be with him, it scared me.

I was terrified by how much I depended on him. It was as though my happiness, my sanity, my hope in mankind and for the future depended on John's presence in my life. I needed him so much more than he needed me, so in conjuncture with my fear, I felt useless and inferior.

So in truth, I had never lived a normal life, but this was the furthest from it I had ever been. I neglected Mark as well as myself, much to his blatant, but silent rage.

"Are you going to apologize to me?"

"I haven't done anything wrong." I tell him uncompromisingly.

"You could've at least tried to be considerate."

I thought on this, wondering if my blatant affections for John offended him, if he could have actually felt intimidated by John for it. I wondered if Mark understood that my relationship with him was something entirely different than the one I had with John. I wondered if Mark knew that I loved him as well, just not as ardently.

I reached for his hand. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." I wanted to calm him, but knew that the apology was insincere. How could I be sorry for something I felt so deeply? I wouldn't be.

"Of course you didn't think." He murmured spitefully. "No room for any thought in that head of yours but your silly little fixations."

"Excuse me?" Alright. Now I'm upset.

"Just forget it; you've already forgotten me, along with the rest of the world, or anything else that might matter. I'm done." He pulled out of my grasp, storming off.

Done?

"Done with me? Now why is that?!" I got up, and started to chase him down. "Is it because I don't spend every waking moment of the day with you and your thoughts? Because I can't devote myself to you endlessly like you did for me..." I paused; he had simply stopped in his tracks, almost turning to me. "...To Angelina?" I whispered, for the words were harsh, the least I could've done was soften the tone.

He did not come back to me as I expected. He sighed deeply and continued walking, without as much as a goodbye, through the door.

-

I was crushed when he did not return for several days.

Amanda's was the only other face I saw when I was not able to be with John for physical reasons like sleeping and eating. I had begun eating more heartily when John commented on my sunken collarbones and gaunt waist. In just three weeks I had started feeling more energetic and my color had returned. He noticed that as well. He would sit up and bed and listen to me talk, something I had rarely done when Mark was around to listen instead. But after a month of Mark being away, I had begun to see it as a blessing in disguise.

"John," I crossed my legs as I sat in a chair next to his hospital bed, we had been discussing the next game and I was getting increasingly more anxious. "I'm worried."

"An appropriate emotion." He said.

"So I should be worried then." I bit my nail, staring at the wall.

"You should be prepared, is what I'm telling you."

Prepared? I paused, a pang of fear shot through me in one painful hit. Like an injection you're not expecting. You feel the pain before you can register what's happened. You can only resume your thought process once the sting has subsided.

I choked out, "For what?"

"In the event of my death, you should be prepared. You might not wish to consider the possibility, but it is very real."

Heat rose up in my cheeks like I was being filled with freshly seared coals. My palms were shiny with perspiration. My eyes welled up and I braced myself for tears.

I breathed deeply, "What should I do?" And then the first tear fell down the side of my face. I gasped, hurriedly wiping it away, praying John wouldn't notice my weakness.

He did.

"Rivielle, you should know better than anyone that you don't have to hide from me."

I nodded solemnly, looking away from him.

"Some things we hide, to give those we love a chance to see who we've become through their love." I tell him, hugging my knees to my chest.

That night, as I curled up in the armchair, equipped with a pillow and afghan, (which I knitted myself, you'd be surprised how much you can do with hours of silence and a profound hatred of television…) I fell asleep to the sound of John's EKG monitor. As I listened to his heart rate, and felt the dull thump of my own, it was like we were one person, (in fact, the only people in the world) and being so comforted by this, I sighed blissfully into my last calm sleep for months to come.