"So, thank you," she murmured.
Well, you know. . . you're not exactly the kind of female a guy would get flowers for. Sort of limits my options.
Her smile faded. "I couldn't have done that without you. You realize that. You made it happen. "
John shook his head. The mechanics don't matter. The job got done in the right way, by the right person. That's all that counts.
She thought back to him holding Lash down flat, pinning the fucker to the pavement to give her the best shot. Short of putting the bastard on a silver plate and shoving an apple in his mouth, John couldn't have served her captor up any better.
He had presented her enemy to her. He'd put her needs before his own.
And as she thought about all their ups and downs, that was the one constant, wasn't it. He always put her first.
Now Xhex was the one shaking her head. "I think you're wrong. The mechanics were everything. . . are everything. "
John just shrugged again and glanced at the door he'd brought her in through. Listen, do you want me to get Doc Jane or Ehlena? Do you need food? Help to the loo?
Annnnnnnnnnnnd there it was again.
Xhex started laughing. . . and once she lit off, she couldn't seem to stop, even as her side began to holler and red tears sprang to her eyes. She knew John was looking down at her like she'd lost her mind and she couldn't blame him. She too heard the high note of hysteria coming out of her mouth. . . and what do you know, not long thereafter, she wasn't laughing; she was weeping.
Covering her face with her hands, she just sobbed until she couldn't breathe, the emotional explosion so great that there was no sucking it up or trying to keep it in. She just fell apart and for once didn't fight the unraveling.
When she finally eased into the station at Get-a-grip-ville, she was entirely unsurprised to find a box of Kleenex right in front of her. . . courtesy of John's hand.
She snapped a tissue free. And then promptly went back for seconds and thirds: After that show, cleanup was going to take a lot more than one.
Hell, on that theory, maybe she should just use the sheets on the bed.
"John. . . " She sniffled as she mopped her eyes, and that, coupled with all the little hearts she was wearing, pretty much sealed the deal on her nancy status. "I have to say something to you. It's been a long time in coming. . . so long. Too long. "
He grew so still he didn't even blink.
"God, this is hard. " More with the frickin' sniffles. "You wouldn't think three little words would be so hard to say. "
John's exhale was loud--like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. Funny, she felt the same way. But sometimes, in spite of the waves of nausea and a crushing sense of suffocation, you had to speak what was in your heart.
"John. . . " She cleared her throat. "I. . . "
What, he mouthed. Just tell me. Please. . . just say it.
She straightened her shoulders. "John Matthew. . . I'm such an ass- hat. "
As he blinked and looked like his mouth was about to unhinge, she sighed. "Guess that's four words, huh. "
Well, yes. . . that was four words.
God, for a second there. . . John forced his head to get back to reality--because only in a fantasy would she ever I-love-you him.
You're not an asshole, he signed. Hat, I mean.
She sniffled some more and the sound was just too fucking adorable. Shit, the sight of her was too adorable. Lying back against the thin pillows, with crumpled tissues all around her, and her face flushed, she seemed so fragile and lovely, almost soft. And he wanted to take her into his arms, but he knew she liked her space.
Always had.
"I so am one. " She snatched out another tissue, but instead of using it, she folded the thing into precise squares, halving it and then quartering it, then working some triangles until it was nothing but a tight wedge between her fingers.
"Can I ask you something?"