Grace watches John's muscles bunch and ripple under his skin as he pulls hard on the oars. He gleams with a sheen of sweat and her breathing becomes shallow as she imagines him moving atop her, her legs wrapped around his hips and her mouth on his chest.
She squirms, her thighs tightening as she looks away from him, willing herself to stop fantasizing about him. It's getting out of control, and if there's one thing Grace abhors, it's not being in control.
John says nothing. He is lost in his own thoughts. Memories of the past. Of West Virginia, of the explosion where Orpheus had taken Marlena. Of vendettas that were never even his to begin with.
He's fought Stefano for her, he's fought Roman and he's even fought the Devil. But in the end, the only people that have come between them are themselves. He has made so many mistakes; he has let his own personal demons almost destroy him. Them. And now, if this person inhabiting his wife's body has been born from the shattered remains of Marlena as she claims?
How the hell can he fight that?
And it's his fault. Every last shred of it.
John!
His head snaps up and he is caught by her unblinking amber stare.
Doc?
His heart pounds with exertion, heat and unbridled hope. Maybe it's wishful thinking but again, in the depths of despair, when he most needs her, is it too much to hope that she is reaching out to him? From beneath Grace's suffocating hold, has she found a chink in the barbed, enraged defenses?
Or maybe she is taking advantage of the cracks he has sensed in the past few days. Maybe he is on the right track after all. Maybe some more pushing and he can widen those cracks enough that Marlena can find her way. Just maybe, he can give her the strength she needs. And she can give him the strength to keep going.
Doc, baby. Please hang on. Please, I need you. You have to be strong, you have to fight her. For me…. For our kids….
He waits, all his hope and desire and need pouring into the slicing of the oars through the glittering water. And… there's nothing. Grace's eyes hold his until he thinks he cannot breathe anymore, and then she turns away to look at the shore.
John falters, suddenly wondering if he has imagined the whole thing. If he is so desperate to find Marlena that he is seeing hints of her where there are none.
He channels the frustration he feels into powerful strokes on the oars and he continues to watch Grace, his blue eyes intense and demanding. He watches as all the tension goes out of her body and she emits a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttering closed. And he wonders if she is aware of the battle she just fought.
The sun is sinking beyond the wooded valley as John pulls the boat up on the shore. They are beyond the valley now and the countryside is eerily quiet. Grace looks towards the rapidly sinking sun.
"We need to head west," she says determinedly as she turns to John. "I'm calling the shots now, we work by my rules, okay?"
"No, not okay," John's cheek twitches again. "How do I know you're not leading me into a trap? We're not exactly on trusting terms here, Grace."
"You don't know," she says with a twinkle in her eye. "But right now, Johnny boy, you simply don't have any other choices. We can't rent a room or hire a car because your credit cards are…" she chuckles, "a little defunct. Besides, the cops and Stefano would be onto us before you could snap those…" she looks at his hand and smirks, "very skillful fingers…"
"Grace-" he starts.
"Listen John," she puts her hands on her hips, "this is the deal. I know where we're going and I'll get us there. You just follow quietly like the *good* boy I know you are."
He can hardly miss her sarcasm, but he chooses to ignore it. He’ll play her game. While it suits him. They stare at each other for a long moment and then he lowers his head and shakes it with a rueful grin.
"Right then. I guess you'd better lead the way." His sudden ceding of control to her disarms her slightly and it takes her a moment to respond.
"Okay," she nods and turns back towards the setting sun. "This way."
The sky darkens into an electric blue, edged with a ruffle of gold. They continue to walk.
"Are you planning on stopping any time soon or are you intending to walk straight on to Texas?" John enquires, sarcastically. His body is starting to tire and he can see that Grace is exhausted.
"I-" she's cut short abruptly as she stumbles.
"Woah!" John catches her and she clings to him for a moment. Their eyes meet in the dusky light and John feels his heart racing
"*John?*" she whispers, almost piteously. John clutches her, hardly daring to breathe as he searches her face for the answer to his question.
But almost as quickly as the change has come over here, suddenly Grace blinks and shakes her head.
"What!?" she demands as she shoves John roughly away from her. The skin between her brows creases as he continues to look at her. "John, *what*?!"
He swallows and pulls himself together. As much as he can, anyway. If he just saw what he thinks he saw, it might be the breakthrough he's been looking for.
"It's nothing," he looks away. "Look, you're dead on your feet and I'm not much better. Let's find somewhere to stay for the night and then we can decide what to do in the morning."
Grace looks like she's about to argue and then thinks better of it. "All right," she shrugs, "you win. You have somewhere in mind?"
"It looks like there might be a barn over there beyond those trees," John points to a stand of firs close by. "Won't exactly be five star, but it'll be a roof over our heads."
"Fine," Grace replies irritably as she starts to walk.
"Hey!" John covers the ground between them in a few steps and grabs her arm. "What did I do now?"
"Nothing." She pulls her arm away from him and continues to walk.
"Nothing?" He can't help himself, he's worn out, and she's getting on his last nerve. "You almost fall, I catch you and then you get all pissy with me. What the hell is that about?"
She doesn't answer.
He catches up with her again, fuming. "Is this about your 'I'm so tough I don't need to be rescued by anyone' complex? Or are you just that scared of how you feel about me that you can't deal with me helping or even *touching* you?"
"ME?" Grace turns on him. "Scared of YOU?" She gives a loud and forced laugh. "That's rich, coming from you. You mean *nothing* to me."
"I didn't say scared of *me*," his lip flickers into a ghost of a smile. "I said how *you feel* about me. Your actions speak louder than your words, Grace."
John knows he has hit a weak spot as he sees her visibly react. Grace gives him a hostile look and then turns away, taking a deep breath. She knows he's provoking her – looking for a reaction and she's giving him one.
She manages to calm herself and then turns back, looking at him with a measure of amusement and irritation. "Don't flatter yourself John."
With that, she continues on in the direction of the trees.
They enter the dilapidated barn and Grace looks about her, distinctly unimpressed. It's filthy, but she's wise enough to know that it's the best and safest place they are going to find for the night. They have a long way to go and since they can't use credit for fear of being traced, she has to make her cash last as long as she is able.
Gingerly she drops into a pile of hay, her exhaustion at long last getting the better of her. She looks incredulously at John. "Are you just going to stand there or...?"
John shakes his head. "You stay there. I'm going to go and find us some food."
"Food?" Her skepticism grows. "Right, you plan to pluck it out of thin air then?"
"Look," John says wearily, "we haven't eaten a decent meal in days and both of us need food if we're going to keep on going. I'll find us something, okay?"
"Whatever you say, McGyver." She shrugs and watches him as he shambles towards the barn door and disappears into the blankness of the night. After a moment, she sighs and closes her eyes and leans back on the hay. She struggles against the overwhelming exhaustion for all of a scant minute before succumbing to the heaviness that overtakes her. Sleep wastes no time in claiming her.