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[ From the moments bullets start raining down on them, to the time they get to go back to the Frost's mansion, John doesn't think. He doesn't have time for it, doesn't get to, working on autopilot throughout the whole escape and drive back. If he allows himself to think, he'll just start spiraling - he needs some time to afford himself to put his thoughts in order.

It's not until the house has gone quiet, darkness descended upon it all, people scattered in their rooms for some time alone that John can give in, shoulders dropping forward as a loud, long sigh escapes him. He reaches up, rubbing his eyes with two fingers as flashes of the day rush past his mind. The mission was a total failure, and now the Frosts are on the warpath. Ready to kill for their ideals, to stoop as low as Campbell is.

And then there was... Clarice. Through it all, through his reluctance and his complicated feelings and his desire for vengeance, thinking of her makes him smile, if only a little. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, sitting on the edge of his bed, running his hands over his face, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip, the ghost of her kiss lingering there. There are so many reasons not to do this, especially now, but at the same time, words replay in his head, words from months ago, from Sonia herself. We've got here and now. Especially after a day like today, it feels more significant than ever.

He goes to lie on his back when the discomfort makes itself felt - flashes of dull pain along his back. Not unexpected considering the amount of bullets he's taken earlier, but still surprising - by now, it should all be gone. He frowns, standing up and walking to the mirror in the room he's occupying and turning around to it, seeing gleams of metal through the torn material of his clothes. ]

Damn it.

[ John is a lot of things, but flexible is not one. Most of the bullets fell after impact, but a few of them seem to be embedded in his skin, lodged in tight, and he's never going to be able to get them out by himself.

Well. Fine. His mind is rapidly made.

He walks as quietly as he can through the house - he doesn't really want to talk to anyone, besides Clarice, until he gets to her room, knocking lightly before pushing the door open. He could see light from underneath, and guessed she wasn't yet asleep. Just in case - because he is a respectful kind of guy, and he's not exactly waited for her to tell him to come in, he keeps his eyes down, leaning against the door frame. ]

I need your help.

( Strangely enough, for all that Clarice craves someplace safe she doesn't exactly care for silence - the parts of the day that come after, adrenaline still coursing through her bones and far too many thoughts trying to crowd through her head with nothing to distract her. Which is why she's been staring at the ceiling for the last hour, firmly escorting any stray worry from the forefront to concentrate on anything else. The bed being more comfortable than any she's ever slept in, the lack of murmuring voices in the background, counting sheep, John.

Really, she should be given a medal for the restraint she's shown by not hunting him down the minute everyone else went to sleep. Clarice doesn't know what she'd do. She doesn't know what she wants other than to be close to him, to show that she meant it, to find out if his smile meant he did too. And it's as if she's summoned him, because the knock at her door brings him to her. Swinging her legs out from under the covers, she looks up to where he's leaning, green eyes taking him in while he isn't looking. )

What's wrong?

( It's a good thing ( or not ) that she tends to sleep in her clothes. It means she can rise quickly, cross the carpeted floor. )

Has something happened?

Not exactly.

[ Something sure did happen, but much earlier in the day. Instead of an explanation, John takes off his blazer - the one full of holes all over the back - drapes it over the back of a chair, and then starts unbuttoning his shirt, still not really looking at her.

Honestly, this is not how he hoped he'd ever find himself shirtless in front of Clarice for the first time. He'd imagined it would involve a lot more of her hands on him and some desperation, but instead, the way he undresses is sort of methodical, slow and steady, until his shirt is off as well and draped over his jacket.

Only then does he turn around. ]

Most of them fell right off, but a couple of the closer range ones got stuck. It's not like - they're not piercing my skin, or anything. Just probably lodged in muscular tissue.

[ He pauses, swallowing thickly before speaking again. ] I'm not flexible enough to get at them.

( Clarice can read enough of his body language to not get ahead of herself when he starts unbuttoning his shirt. Her puzzlement is clear, but he's not meeting her eyes so she keeps silent. He looks a little lost, a little unsure, and her hands flex helplessly at her side even when she wants to reach out and touch.

She has no qualms about it when he turns though, sucking in a startled breath, her hands finding his back before pulling away sharply in case she hurts him. He might be invincible, but still. It's not a sight she's ever seen before. It's hard to process. And she's still trying to deal with the fact he shielded her in the first place. )

Jesus.

( He's an idiot. She's an idiot for letting him be an idiot. Her hand closes around his wrist and tugs, until he's turning. )

Okay, okay, I can fix this. But it's really weird if you stand there like that. ( Looking like that. ) Lie down, okay?

[ The instant her hands touch his back, he sucks in a sharp breath, and he's not surprised that she pulls back right away, probably thinking she hurt him, when she did anything but. He forces his shoulders to relax, takes another deep, slow breath, and drops his chin to his chest for a second.

For a moment, he allows his mind to fill up with thoughts of Clarice touching him, and not for this. Touching him, for real, with want and desires and breathless words. All sorts of things he shouldn't be thinking about, not here and now, when their whole mission is on a blade's edge and the Frost sisters are looking for this exact sort of weakness to manipulate. It reminds him he shouldn't really be contemplating revisiting their earlier kiss, not under these circumstances.

And yet, right now? There is nothing he wants more.

Clarice speaks again and John opens his eyes, walking over to her bed obediently, lying down on his front on top of the soft, plushy covers. Man, he might dislike having to work with the Frosts, but he's not going to deny that their digs are so much better than anything he's seen in years.

He doesn't say any of that. He doesn't say anything, actually, besides: ]

Thank you, Clarice.

( If she counted the things she thought she wouldn't be doing today, taking bullets out of John Proudstar's back with her own hands is close to the top. Number one was clearly kissing him, but she can't think about that now, even if her heart does something traitorous when she sees him lying on the bed like that. )

It's the least I can do.

( It's because of her, after all. But she's glad he came to her, selfishlessly. She's glad he trusts her with this. Clarice follows, crawls across the other side of the mattress so she can sit beside him, resting on her heels. Her hands hover, uncertain. ) I never did say thank you.

( Without thought, she rests a palm against his side, feeling the warmth of his skin before she remembers herself. The first bullet is close enough that she doesn't have to lean, fingers quickly easing the crushed metal free from muscle. She's more relieved than she should be, when she gets confirmation that he's still whole beneath, as though their bad luck would take this from him too. ) You're kind of amazing, you know that?

[ He makes a soft noise when she touches him again, completely unable to keep it in, this time entirely sounding like a moan, and not of pain. He closes his eyes, burying his face in his arms as he pretends that she didn't hear him, at least, until she's speaking up, herself. He frowns, turning his head to be able to look at her from the corner of his eye. ]

There's no need to thank me.

[ He did what he would have done for anyone, and he believes that. Sure, he cares for her, in a completely different than he cares for Lorna, or Marcos, or Sage, but. He doesn't deserve praise for doing the very least he could. ] I mean, I'm bulletproof. Rather they get stuck in my back than in yours.

[ He clenches his jaw as he says these words, reminded of all the people he couldn't save in the same way. He looks away, just for a moment, before he groans when she dislodges a bullet, the muscles underneath spasming as they get back to normal. He swallows hard, looking back at her again. ]

Call it good genes. [ He smiles, and then adds, completely sincere: ] No more amazing than you.

( She's trying to focus on the task at hand, on helping him out like he's helped her, but really her mind keeps snagging on the shape of his back, his muscles moving as he breathes. )

I don't think I'm as selfless as that. ( Clarice is trying to be a better person, but she isn't like John, she isn't a hero. She wants to be.

Her hands are steady when she moves to the next bullet, making a small noise when he groans in pain again. This isn't pleasant, but it could have been worse. ) I think it's just who you are. Someone else could have your power and they wouldn't use it the same way, you know? So I get to say thank you. Thank you for being a good person. For being you.

( She doesn't look at him as she talks, focuses on what she has to do. It makes it a little easier. )

[ Her words remind him of their earlier conversations, of his immediate shutdown and anger when she admitted to having worked with the Brotherhood. How hurt he'd felt that she didn't tell him, how he'd wanted to leave her behind, for a moment. He regrets the heated words, and he'd made his apology, but -

He didn't really feel like a good person then. He groans again, grimacing, but it's more relief than anything as his body finds its normal shape back again, through Clarice's hands.

He takes a deep breath, looking at her, even if she doesn't look back. ]

I couldn't bear it, if I - [ Another inhale, sharp, through his nose. ] - if I'd lost you. [ He almost says more, almost says lost you too, almost says I've lost enough, but bites down on the words. He doesn't want to diminish how much of it he did for Clarice, and no other reason. He's told her too many times before that it wasn't about her and him. That it was about the Underground, and her powers, and the whole of them needed her.

Enough of that. ] I need you.

( He's always hidden behind the Underground. Clarice knew that, and she kissed him anyway. She kissed him because there was something in his eyes every time he looked at her, she kissed him because he touched her carefully, she kissed him because she loved him, even if she didn't know how it happened, where it came from. She didn't want to hide anymore.

And apparently, neither did he.

She looks back, their eyes meeting. Clarice doesn't speak for a moment. Maybe all they need is her leaning down to press her lips to his temple, the gentle way her hands move over his skin. Another bullet, this time she runs her thumb over the space where it had lodged, quiet as she does so. )

I need you too.

( Her hands move to his shoulders, rising a little on her knees to reach. )

If that wasn't painfully obvious.

[ Her touches feel more deliberate now, less about the couple of remaining bullets, and just because she can, because he wants her to. He feels goosebumps rise on his forearms, and closes his eyes, relaxing under her hands, giving himself the opportunity to enjoy this. ]

I've not - [ Another pause. A strand of hair escapes his hastily made bun, falling across his forehead. ] I've not treated you right, before. I still have a lot to make up for. I had no right to be so harsh, when you told me about your past.

[ Then, he hadn't been thinking. He hadn't thought of what he'd done to her, and how he'd made her doubt where she belonged, and if she was actually safe. He'd hurt her, a lot more than she'd hurt him by not coming clean right away. ]

You want to know what I think?

( The last bullet is freed, and Clarice settles back on her heels, brushes the blankets free of shrapnel. Instead of waiting for him to rise, she shifts, stretches out to lay down beside him, focusing on his face, the sweep of his eyelashes. )

I think we've all been through shit, and not just lately. That we've made mistakes and things have happened and there's nothing we can do about it. ( She shifts, pillows her cheek against her palm. The bed had felt massive before, but now it feels close, intimate. ) And there are things we've both said and not said that we shouldn't have. We could wallow in that misery, sure. Or we could just draw a line under it. Move on. Start again.

I like you. ( A thrill goes up her spine when she says the words out loud. ) I want to like you some more.

[ When the last bullet is gone, John unfolds his arms, rolling his shoulders, feeling his muscles shift and rearrange as they should now. He sighs contently, eyes fluttering closed for a second, before he opens them again when he hears Clarice shift. Suddenly they're close, so close, and John can't do anything but turn onto his side as well, looking into her bright green eyes with fascination.

She makes a lot of sense, and John feels himself wanting to cling to her words, make the most of the world that they have, that they should live in. He can't keep hiding behind excuses. ] Start again. I like that.

[ In some ways, it feels impossible. And in the morning, he might feel differently, but right now? It feels exactly like what they should, and could do. Start again. Forget about biting words and past mistakes. Makes the most of the chance they have.

He blinks, before reaching out, tucking some hair behind her pointy ear, his fingers lingering, tracing the shape of it. ] You're so beautiful.

( Clarice wonders if she'll ever stop being surprised by how gentle he is. Here was a man who had fought wars most of his life, who looked like he did, and yet he was the kindest, most careful person she'd ever met. She liked that about him, she liked that he didn't let the world around him define who he wanted to be.

He felt like the kind of person who could become a home.

She doesn't say that though, instead she smiles when he speaks, turning her head to press her lips to the shape of his palm. ) You're kind of easy on the eyes too. ( Sadly, she can't help herself. Her actions speak better anyway. Clarice's hand curves around his side, against the bare skin and she shifts closer, nudges her nose against his, just touching him, enjoying the closeness. ) Will you stay here tonight?

( Not for anything but this. She doesn't want to rush this. It wouldn't be fair. But now he's here she doesn't want him to leave again. )

[ When he looks into Clarice's eyes, John feels like he can see the world. A multitude of possibilities, that all start with her. She's got so much to say, so much to show, brilliant and beautiful and hated just for looking different. He can't help but feel anger simmering under his skin at how unfair it is that he can walk around and be left be, when she's been hunted her whole life.

This is why it has to stop, that they have to win. For people like Clarice, that just want to live and not just survive. He'd lay his life on the line to give everyone a chance to have a normal life.

She touches him, and John shuffles closer without thought, feeling the warmth of her body so close to his. ]

Yes, [ he replies without hesitation, his hand moving down to her hip, then down along her thigh, pulling her leg on top of his, just to be able to be closer still, to feel her against him. It's not a come-on, it's just simple, pure need. ] Yes.

( It's far easier, when he pulls her closer. She wraps her arm around his waist, fingertips pressed against the notches in his spine. They're so close, tangled around each other, all limbs and longing to just feel something like comfort. )

So, you're totally not mad about the kiss then, right?

( There's something playful about her smile, the way her palm rubs small circles into his skin. There's no doubt in her mind that they could have something good here, the two of them, that they could find something to survive for. She just feels a need. )

I probably could have picked my timing better.

[ His hand just stays on her thigh, dragging back and forth slowly, just to touch her. He smiles at her question, his heart tumbling in his chest at it. ]

Totally not. Surprised? Absolutely. But definitely not mad.

[ He definitely had not expected it, especially after their earlier fight. But Clarice, for some reason, still wanted him, after all of it. And he still wanted her, now more than ever. Watching her take a stand against the Frosts had felt like a wake-up call, reminding him of who she was and who she belonged with. With the Underground - with him. ]

I don't think there's any kind of timing that would have felt any better. [ He licks his lips, his throat feeling dry. ] You've said before that there's no more reason to worry about feeling what you're feeling. Is that why you kissed me?

( She wanted him, she wants him. Clarice could pretend otherwise, surprisingly she's a fantastic actor. But there's something about John that makes her want to be honest, wants her to be real, honest, and present. )

I could have denied my feelings. Honestly, it would have probably been easier? For both of us. ( She watches him from beneath her eyelashes, chews on her lip for a second before she continues. ) But, I don't know? I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I've felt something for you for a while, and even though technically it hasn't been that long since we met, it just feels right? You feel right. You feel like something. A future. And I want to give us a chance. I want to see what happens. Even if our lives suck. Does that sound dumb?

( Maybe it's too much, maybe she's saying things too fast. She doesn't know. )

I just -- John, I really like you. And I don't think I've felt like this for anyone before.

And it feels real, right?

[ He can't help the little smile at the corners of his lips. He knows he's not exactly the guy that uses humor to deflect, but he does right now, just to lighten the mood. They can have a serious talk later, when all is said and done. For now, it's all feels too fragile. ]

I'm glad you didn't - deny your feelings. I've been doing that, Clarice. I've been trying to tell myself timing is bad, and circumstances are wrong, and it shouldn't be about me and what I want.

[ And yet here he is. ]

But I don't know if it's ever going to get better, for us. So no, it doesn't sound dumb. I want us to try, too. And I really - really like you, too.

[ At this point it's probably love, but he needs to admit that to himself before he tells her. He wants to say that he feels like he belongs, with her, and that he feels home. But - not now. ]

( His smile. Clarice can't help but press her thumb to the corner of it, a slave to the way this feels. Something inside of her is waking up and it feels right now. John isn't some boy who may or not eventually betray her because of her mutation. He's not here because he wants nothing more than her body. They're both tired and exhausted and living through hell, so she knows he means it. )

It definitely feels real.

( She laughs, helpless, cupping his jaw. )

Timing's always going to be bad. But I want to kiss you again. I want -- I want to be there for you? I want that. And I want a bunch of other stupid stuff too. This isn't a story, you know? I want to kiss you. A lot. I want to do more than that? I want to feel stupid and head over heels because if I don't? If I let this thing be taken away by the world we live in, then what's the point? So I'm letting myself like you. Which all the cliches and hormones that might come attached.

[ She's rambling, sounding a little breathless, a little delirious with exhaustion, but also sincere, like she's letting it all out now because she's worried she won't get a chance to otherwise.

John, well. He's not exactly great with expressing his emotions. He prefers to keep them on lockdown most of the time, keep himself in check so as to not lose it in front of his team, his people, that need him to be strong at all times.

Clarice, though, especially now, deserves better than that. She deserves John being open, and honest. A few things he's not been so much, in the months they've known each other. He remembers denying himself, over and over, and there's no reason to do so anymore. ]

We can't stop living because the world is a shitty place for us and ours. We've got to keep going, and keep fighting, for what matters, for who matters.

[ It's not as good a declaration as Clarice's was, but he ends it by framing her face with a hand, pushing up off the bed and leaning in to kiss her, his eyes falling closed immediately. She said she wanted to kiss him again, and, well, that's the best response he has. When he pulls back, his lips lingering against hers for a moment, he barely moves away, just enough to be able to speak. ]

I want you to keep feeling safe. Not just with the Underground, but with me. I'll take care of you.

( It's funny how when everything seems to have gone to shit, Clarice finds something inside of herself that feels warm and sweet and safe. The words he's saying are the kind she's never even let herself dream about. She knows he means them too. That he loves her, that they have something to fight for. )

We can take care of each other.

( She runs a palm over his back where the muscle has smoothed out, tracing the notches in his spine with her fingertips. John is such a good man, and Clarice wants to be better for him, because of him. She wants to keep her place in the Underground and help other mutants. She wants a life that's worth something.

She wants this. )

You don't have to hold everything by yourself anymore, okay? I'm here and I want to help.

Okay.

[ It's all he says, because he believes her, and he trusts her. He wants Clarice to be around, to help - both the Underground and him. He wants her here with him, every step of the way, with her sassy quips and her gentleness.

He wants more, too. God, but he wants so much more; things they don't have time to explore right now, but that he craves. Her skin against his, the drag of her tongue, his hands tangled in her hair. He wants more of her, all of her, but they barely ever have chances for intimacy. He's going to have to be patient.

And in the meantime, in a bid of not holding everything together himself, he looks away from a moment, eyes fixing on the cut of Clarice's jaw. ]

I'm worried, about Lorna. I feel like she's slipping away. The Frosts are getting to her.

I know.

( Clarice has had her own worries about the Frosts. There's something almost unstable about them. For all that they're perfectly put together, she's afraid of what they might do to get what they want.

And who they might use. )

I think she's afraid, but she doesn't want to show it, you know? Lorna's tough, she's probably always been tough. But she's pregnant, so that's got to do a number on you. Especially living the lives we live. We just have to make sure she knows who cares about her. Me, you, and Marcos.

[ It's one of these moments in time where it feels like there are two conversations at the same time. The one they're having about the Frosts, serious and concerning, and the unspoken one - her fingers on his spine, his curled around her thigh, bodies curled into one another. ]

And I get that. I'm scared, too. And I'm terrified of losing her.

[ His heart is tumbling in his chest, beating wildly. He's not just scared of losing Lorna, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he slides his hand a little higher along the back of her leg, continuing the two conversations they're having at once. ]

I'm terrified of losing everything we've built. All of us. But I can't tell anyone that. Well. I couldn't.

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