The Bolt from the Blue (Working Title)

Chapter 33- Apologising

John walked up to Sam, who lay on the floor, looking ashen, weary and confused. "Can you walk?" He asked on instinct, then remembering that it didn't really matter.

"No." Sam said, his voice strained with pain.

"I'll take you to the hospital and then come back for Warren," John said simply, lifting his ex-lover off the ground, not wanting to waste time. He could apologise later.

Charlie was lucky: the propanolol left a day-shaped gap in his memory, but this also meant he didn't recall his crushing defeat at John's hands and he could resume daily smugness without a care in the world.

Warren was lucky: the concussion the hammer gave him was minor- he woke up a few minutes later and got to miss classes for a month.

Sam didn't fare so well: the break in his leg was severe. He had to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. John suggested phoning one of his family members, or even Adrianna or Warren, but Sam asked that John be the one to do it. He also asked that they not portal back to Sam's building immediately. He wanted to talk.

As he was wheeling him out of the hospital, John thought of a million different ways to try and sat what he wanted, but in the end, he deemed the best to be simply "Sorry."

"You saved my life."

"But before that, I acted like a complete bastard; that's what I'm apologising for." He added: "I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything. I would have saved you regardless."

"You said some really shitty things, John," Sam replied, looking grimly ahead.

"I know," John answered, "And I really don't know why, because I didn't mean them."

"I think you did."

"No. I was just saying things that I knew would hurt. I was giving in to the worst possible side of myself."

"That's still a part of you, John. You were still the one who said those things. You were still the one who lied to me and tried to hurt Veronica and who accused Daria of those awful things." There was no anger in Sam's voice, but his words still stung John. "You were the one who made those decisions. Like Veronica, like Lorna, you're responsible for your actions."

John nodded, then realised Sam couldn't see this and said, "That's fair." He considered for a moment and then added, "But, like Veronica, I'm going to try and get better. I'm going to improve. I'm going to make it up to you." He paused, "If you want me to."

John thought that maybe Sam was smiling, but he couldn't tell.

"It's been a very, very long day," Sam said. "And now, I just want to sleep. Can I tell you tomorrow?" He asked.

"Of course," John replied, wishing he could skip through time to the answer. But there was no way to do that; and he had other things he needed to do.

Daria's new office was very swank, although it reminded John unpleasantly of Lorna's.

He knocked on the open door and waited awkwardly at the threshold.

"What do you want?" Daria asked, doing a very good impression of being stony, although a small part of her natural warmth still remained.

"I wanted to tell you that I've been a fuckwit. And a bastard. And any other names you want to call me."

"I don't want to call you names, John." Daria sighed. "Arseface."

"I deserve that."

"You deserve so much more than that," she answered, a hint of a smile on her face.

"I've been angry over the past few months, Daria. And I know you have too- and- and I think neither of us handled it well. Although, I take the gold prize for sheer dickishness. I shouldn't have let rage control me. It was stupid. It was childish. And it nearly lost me everything." He paused and wondered if he should list more ways he'd monumentally fucked up, but Daria seemed to have decided that this would suffice.

Daria bit her lower lip and said, in a way that revealed that she'd been rehearsing this moment, "I never wanted to be a police officer and I thought I could take the money and not actually do what they wanted me to and that, combined with lots of other things, ended up getting Benji killed. But we all get a second chance, John. I got this office and I don't have to hurt people anymore. And you get me back." John smiled and ran over and lifted her out of her seat in a massive hug. She laughed, implored him to put her down and, once he obliged, produced some cake from the mini-fridge in the corner and said, "Now, please, tell me everything that's happened since we stopped talking. I have a feeling you've had a lot going on."

Alex caught John on the way out of Lorna's office and cornered him. "Where's Lorna?" She hissed.

John blanched, "She's contained."

Alex glanced around and then whispered, "She needs to be put on trial."

"She will be," John answered. 'As soon as I figure out how to get her to not tell everyone about Sam', he added in his head. He turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" Alex asked.

"I have something important to do." He answered, walking down the hall.

Lorna couldn't deny the splendour of her prison. It was a much nicer place than she would have sent John, had their situations been reversed. But that didn't stop her from trying to escape. The trouble was, the island was surrounded on all sides by ocean as far as the eye could see. She sat on the beach, and calculated the chances of hitting land before she died from exhaustion were very slim indeed. Then she picked up the stick she'd been sharpening and set to work making it even sharper. When next John came to the island, she'd stick it in his neck.

John walked into the same shop he'd visited two nights after Benji died, a lot more sober and somehow even sadder.

"Back again?" Asked the tattoo artist, who never forgot a face (it helped with lawsuits.)

"Yeah, I need to make an addition."

The artist smiled, "Cover up?" She asked- that sort of thing was quite common when you'd been as hammered as this guy.

"No," he shook his head, "I just want to expand the list of names."

Two hours later, he left the shop, his arm sore, his sleeve turned up so that all the world could read:

BENJI

And a tiny way below it:

VERONICA