"Bad shit. Kind of stuff you never wanted to hear about." John smiled bitterly, sensing the undertone to the question she was so carefully trying to cover up. "It's dealt with now. Nobody else'll get hurt.
"As for why I was there, I wish I could tell you." He shifted restlessly, watching the un-soaked remains of the spill drip slowly onto the floor. "That whole time is a blur. I'd just had an almighty row with--somebody close, and I know I went around and visited some other people I hadn't seen in a while." He didn't want to admit what he suspected had been the real reasons: that he still missed her, that he'd wanted to see her again--or that he'd really had no place else to be. "Maybe I went to bury the hatchet. I dunno. Pretty sure I wasn't meaning to worry you." He'd done more than enough of that for one lifetime, hadn't he? "I didn't ring after because I wasn't sure of--anything." Translation: I'm a bloody coward. Now go on and tell me so like the smart girl you are, so we can fight and you can go back to your safe, normal life.
It wasn't that he wanted her to go. Christ, no. It was all he could do not to throw all good sense out the window, get up and go to her right now and--no, it was just that the Manor was no place for someone as hellbent on living a real life as Kit was, and she deserved to have that. He'd never have it in him to give it to her. He knew that now.
That, and he was afraid. He'd lost count of how many things had come close to destroying him in almost fifty years, but none of the others had ever managed to break him. Losing Kit, he'd finally given up. It was by sheer accident that he'd survived long enough to mend. He didn't think he'd get so lucky a second time.
If he'd had any idea how clearly all these thoughts were reflected in his face at that moment--for someone who knew him well enough to read them there--he would have bolted. Fortunately, he wasn't looking in the mirror just then.
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"As for why I was there, I wish I could tell you." He shifted restlessly, watching the un-soaked remains of the spill drip slowly onto the floor. "That whole time is a blur. I'd just had an almighty row with--somebody close, and I know I went around and visited some other people I hadn't seen in a while." He didn't want to admit what he suspected had been the real reasons: that he still missed her, that he'd wanted to see her again--or that he'd really had no place else to be. "Maybe I went to bury the hatchet. I dunno. Pretty sure I wasn't meaning to worry you." He'd done more than enough of that for one lifetime, hadn't he? "I didn't ring after because I wasn't sure of--anything." Translation: I'm a bloody coward. Now go on and tell me so like the smart girl you are, so we can fight and you can go back to your safe, normal life.
It wasn't that he wanted her to go. Christ, no. It was all he could do not to throw all good sense out the window, get up and go to her right now and--no, it was just that the Manor was no place for someone as hellbent on living a real life as Kit was, and she deserved to have that. He'd never have it in him to give it to her. He knew that now.
That, and he was afraid. He'd lost count of how many things had come close to destroying him in almost fifty years, but none of the others had ever managed to break him. Losing Kit, he'd finally given up. It was by sheer accident that he'd survived long enough to mend. He didn't think he'd get so lucky a second time.
If he'd had any idea how clearly all these thoughts were reflected in his face at that moment--for someone who knew him well enough to read them there--he would have bolted. Fortunately, he wasn't looking in the mirror just then.