Someone knocked lightly on the frame of Clarice's door, making her look up from her book in surprise. It was late, and just about everyone was either in bed or heading that way.

"Yeah?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter on her bed. The tension left her, however, when John pushed aside the curtain, stepping half into her room.

"Hey," he said, giving her a half-smile.

"Hey," she replied, trying to ignore the way her heart jumped at the sight of him.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you," John said after a moment, gesturing at the book in Clarice's lap. Clarice looked down, honestly having forgotten that she was holding it.

"You're not," she replied, closing the book and setting it on the floor beside her bed. "Just... trying to keep my mind busy and all that. Have a hard time sleeping sometimes."

"Yeah, I get that," John said, giving her another one of those half-smiles that made Clarice's heart want to melt. "I brought something that might help."

"Booze?" Clarice asked hopefully, grinning when John snorted.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied, chuckling. He stepped into Clarice's room, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. "But I did go to Caitlin and get you these." He held up a pair of flat, blue squares that looked vaguely like really stiff bean bags.

"Um, thanks?" Clarice said, looking at John in complete confusion. John chuckled and walked over to her bed, sitting down on the foot of it.

"They're ice bags," he explained. "For your hands."

"My hands?" Clarice asked, looking down at the aforementioned appendages. "Why?"

"Because you beat the hell out of them today and they've gotta be sore," John replied, rolling his eyes. "Here, just give me your hands." Clarice looked at him suspiciously, but did as he asked, holding her hands out towards him. John shifted closer, moving up until his knees were practically brushing hers. Then he placed the two blue bags in her hands.

"They're cold!" Clarice hissed, trying to pull back, but John's hands caught hold of hers before she could.

"They're ice bags, what else did you expect?" he asked, looking at her in amusement. Clarice made a face at him, making him grin. Then she looked down at her hands, which seemed incredibly small next to his. The initial shock of the cold had vanished, leaving behind only a blissful coolness that was soaking into her sore, hot palms.

"...Okay this actually feels pretty great," Clarice grudgingly acknowledged, closing her eyes and relaxing slightly back into the pillow. "And if you say 'I told you so', I swear I will beat you to death with this pillow."

"My lips are sealed," John said solemnly, and Clarice didn't need to have her eyes open to see his smile, it was laced all through his voice. "Though, that would be very entertaining to see."

"Don't underestimate me," Clarice said, cracking one eye open to look at him, smirk taking all of the heat out of her words. "I am highly motivated."

"Never doubted you for a moment," John replied amiably, smiling at her. He rubbed his thumb along the underside of her wrist gently, movements almost idle, like he wasn't even thinking about it. Like it was normal for him to touch her in that gentle, almost intimate way. Clarice didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or scream, and was half tempted to do both.

"Hey." John's voice was gentle, as gentle as it always was when he was talking to her. Clarice looked down, her throat suddenly tight. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Clarice replied, looking up again, her voice over-bright even to her own ears. "Just surprised a big muscle man like you is secretly all touchy-feely." John looked at her in confusion, then looked down at their hands. Clarice swore she could see his cheeks go red as he let go of her like she was suddenly a hot poker.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Clarice. I didn't mean to – press you."

"That's not what I meant," Clarice said, kicking herself. She had grown so used to him being open and soft with her that seeing this stoic soldier sitting across from her hurt her heart in ways she couldn't even comprehend. "John –"

She reached out to him, forgetting that the ice packs were still in her hands. They fell, landing on John's bare arm, making him yelp. Both he and Clarice froze. Clarice's eyes went from him to the ice packs, and then to her icy cold hands.

"Clarice," John said warningly, seeing the mental calculations she was doing. "Don't..." Grinning, Clarice launched herself at him, iced palms aiming for the exposed skin of his neck. John fell backwards, hands coming up to grab her wrists. His touch was still gentle, conscious of his far superior strength as Clarice grappled with him, trying to press her cold hands against any exposed skin she could find.

They ended up in a laughing pile on Clarice's bed. Clarice was laid out along John's body, legs tangled with his, her arms pinned to the bed on either side of his head. John was grinning up at her, the heaviness gone from his eyes. His body was warm and solid (extremely solid) against hers and Clarice felt both tiny and infinite. She looked down at him, tracing the angles of his face, strong and sharp and beautiful. It really was unfair how attractive he was, with eyes so deep you could get lost in them and lips that... well. Lips that she had spent far more time than she was willing to admit thinking about.

"Hey," John murmured, letting go of her arm and reaching up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "You okay?" Clarice looked down at him, her heart thundering against her chest.

"Oh, fuck it."

Throwing caution to the wind, Clarice leaned down and pressed her lips to his. John didn't move for a second, and Clarice started to panic, thinking perhaps she had misinterpreted everything and just made an absolute fool of herself. Then John moaned, honest to god moaned, hand coming up and burying itself in her hair as he finally began to kiss her back.

Holy fuck, Clarice thought dazedly to herself, unable to stop the grin that was spreading across her face even as she continued to kiss John. He tasted sweet, like rich honey, and his lips were so incredibly soft.

"Clarice..." Clarice practically whimpered when he said her name, his voice rough, rumbling from the very center of his chest. "Clarice, I – we can't do this."

"Why?" Clarice demanded, pulling back just enough so that she could look at him. His pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black with desire. "Because there's a war happening? Because you're a leader? Because the others wouldn't approve? That's all bullshit and you know it."

"Because I care about you," John replied solemnly, sitting up and taking Clarice with him, maneuvering them so that Clarice was sitting between his bent legs on the bed. His arms were still around her waist, holding her to him even as his words tried to push her away. "I care about you and I – I can't take advantage of you."

"Take advantage of me?" Clarice repeated, shaking her head minutely, not understanding what he was saying. "Because of my family? John, this isn't grief. This is –"

"Because of the memories Dreamer put in your head," John interrupted flatly. Clarice stared at him.

"John..." she said slowly, reaching up and laying a hand on his cheek, heart aching as she watched him start shutting down right in front of her. "That's not what – I know my own mind. I know what's real and what's not."

"But does your heart?" John asked, looking at her, such sadness in his eyes that Clarice wanted to hold him, to push away all of that pain, all of that heaviness that sat on his shoulders. "Clarice, I – I care for you. Ever since you got sick... I couldn't admit it. I was afraid, afraid that I would drive you away. And then Dreamer shoved those memories into your head... I saw what you looked like after she did it. And I just – I can't take advantage of that. I already hurt you once by keeping the truth of what she did from you. I won't do it again."

Clarice looked at the man sitting in front of her for a moment, emotions swirling through her. Reaching up, she took John's face in both her hands, finger running gently across his cheeks. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"Do you know what I thought of today, when I made my portal?" Clarice asked quietly. She felt John shake his head and she smiled, pulling back slightly so that she could look at him again.

"I thought of you," she said, tracing his cheek with her thumb. Clarice looked into John's eyes and dropped all of her walls, letting him see everything she had been holding back. "I thought of your arms around me, of you holding me as I mourned my family, of the sound of your laugh the next morning. I thought of you coming to find me, of you standing at my back, of you holding my hands in yours, protecting me even from myself. Those are my memories, not Dreamer's. I never needed her to make me care about you, I already did, long before she breathed that smoke into my lungs. I was just afraid, afraid like you were. But now... now I'm tired of living in fear."

"Clarice..." John murmured, his eyes still uncertain. He brought his hands up and cupped her face between them, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

"What do you say, Proudstar?" Clarice asked, tilting her head forward so that their foreheads were pressed together once more. "Are you ready to be brave with me?" John looked at her, his eyes stormy with conflict. Then he sighed, all of the tension running out of his body.

"Hell yes," he said, looking at Clarice, a grinning spreading across his face.