24

"Long way from home."

Though she was thankful that it was John that opened the door, Ana couldn't help but feel nervous as he opened it further. There was a grin on his face that would surely merge into his signature smirk and the house looked dark behind him. So Ana remained outside, her hands clasped in front.

"I'm sure you're busy."

John shook his head. "Just got back from the factory. Never thought I'd see you out here again," he said, but then his smile dropped. "What's wrong?"

"I heard about Tommy's son. I'm sorry, I wish I could do something to help."

"Don't mention it." He dismissed the thought, not out of callousness but out of pain. He didn't like talking about the things that hurt him. Ana frowned.

"Could I ask you something?"

"Yeah, course."

"You remember the wedding night," she said, continuing as he nodded, "the man who gave you the wrong code word, do you remember his face?"

John furrowed his brows. "I don't, but if it's urgent, I could ask Arthur. He was the one that, well, you know."

Ana nodded dismissively. Arthur was the one that killed him. But she knew what John was doing. He was purposefully not saying anything so he could coax her in and keep her a little longer. Any other time, she wouldn't have minded, but there was something about being so close to his home that she didn't like.

"If it isn't any trouble," she said.

"No, in fact, he'll thank you for it. He'll be wanting to get away from Linda for a while."

"His wife?"

John nodded, his lips turning into a frown and mirroring her own expression. "Yeah, his wife," he said gruffly.

He paused a moment, before opening the door wider. "Come in, until he's here."

Ana stepped in. The house didn't brighten as she stepped into the shadows, the heel of her shoes strangling then slightly, edging the light back to its place. She wouldn't be afraid. Not when John has given her little reason to be.

"Is anyone else here?"

"Just Finn, but he's upstairs."

But it wasn't John that she was afraid of. Stepping into his hole, though perhaps not the one he lived in, made the fact that he was married and with a family unable to ignore. She was the other woman, her own situation so different from his own. But they were both to fault, both to blame, and yet it didn't make her feel any better about it.

She sat on a settee, looking across the room and taking it in: the chips on the walls- some large enough to look like punch marks, the picture clustered on the mantle price all of family, some she recognised and some she didn't, and the remnants of tea in the bottom of small cups on the table in front. It all looked well lived in, and nothing like anything she had lived in herself. She could call her home a house and nothing else. They always felt fake, especially her Aunt's house in England, like a show piece of a children's prized doll house, pretty and extravagant but never to be touched despite its purpose. Like wax replicas, so realistic but never quite right.

Ana's head was ducked as she glanced away from him. She swallowed before speaking. "We've never talked about it."

He already knew what she was talking about. He had felt the earlier awkwardness and sensed it right away.

John nodded. "I know."

"I never wanted to acknowledge it," she admitted, the words sounding even worse out loud as they had in her head.

"I never would have cared, you know," John said, shaking his head, his elbows leaning against his knees. "Any other time. We all do it, the boys. But you make it different. You make it feel bad."

Ana reeled back, hurt by his words, though she felt she had no right to be. John lurched at her reaction, his eyes widening and hands shaking out.

"No, no. I don't mean that in a bad way. You make me wish I wasn't married," he said, his voice raised in panic.

Ana shook her head, eyebrows furrowing. "That still sounds bad to me."

"I can't put it in words." His voice was strained.

"It's okay."

It was her turn to talk.

"I feel guilty. I didn't before, but now I do." Ana breathed out, feeling the touch of the chair's material as her hand slid against the edge, reaching for his hand that was mere inches away. "But I can't stop myself. I can't."

Her finger tips reached his, brushing against his skin tenderly until they opened, letting her hand curl into his, skin smooth again skin. She watched her own movements, scared of what she would reveal by her skippering words, to eager and brave to ever be suppressed.

"I don't think I ever will," she said.

Ana's eyes fluttered up, resting on him. John was already watching her face, his striking, blue gaze trailing across her face, savouring the view of her pink cheeks and the curve of her lips forming a pout. The bump of her nose and quiver of her lashes, too blonde to be noticeable to anyone but him. The curve of her brows that always seemed to be challenging him and the glint that was always in her eye, asking for more. His breath was halted in his throat.

"You put a fire in me, John Shelby."

Gradually, her hand had trailed up his arm, slipping over his jacket and up to his shoulder. She had watched each movement as her finger moved as slick as a tear drop. Watched each tremble that shivered under her touch. And then her hand was on his cheek, her finger sliding over the smoothness of his skin.

She blinked from beneath her lashes, feeling his breath, that tanned against her nose, stutter. Ana knew what she was doing to him.

"And I don't think anyone will ever be able to put it out."

His lips were on hers in seconds, with such force that she was sent backwards, pushed against the back of the chair, their touch never disconnecting, as if their bodies were natural magnets. Ana felt him smile into her lips.

"So much better at words," he muttered.

Her hands were curled in his shirt, his hat in the floor and jacket now hanging from his shoulders. She pulled him in. "Don't speak now."

The door flew open and Arthur Shelby came barrelling in, with a grin on his lips that soon dropped as his eyes landed on the pair. He stopped still in the doorway, glancing to his brother and then to Ana, her hair ruffled and blouse in a mess.

"Good God, could you not wait!" He shouted, lips pulled into a smirk as he sat in front if them.

"Arthur." John nodded in greeting, but he didn't hide the smirk that placed in his face too.

"Alright, good to see you."

"It is good to see you too," she said.

There was a hint of a blush in his face. "Best if we just forget about that eh?"

Ana nodded, smiling. "Best."

She didn't know whether he talked of her and John or Arthur's run in with Tatiana, but either way, she brushed it off. She wondered whether he knew of Tatiana and Tommy's fun nights and such.

"So what did you want to know?"

Ana straightened in the seat. "The face of the man that you killed at the wedding. What was it like?"

"His face?" She nodded. "Old. About 60 maybe."

The information was useless and she noticed he wouldn't go on. She said, "You didn't get a name did you?"

Artur nodded, his brows furrowing. "Kaledin. I think Tommy said."

Ana nodded. Their suspicions and theories were confirmed almost wholly now. Her jaw was clenched and she felt a hand rest on her knee.

"Why? Is there a problem?" John asked, and she shook her head.

"No, everything is fine."

"You'd tell me if there was a problem, yeah?"

She smiled, touch by the sentiment but swallowed. "Yes."

She placed a kiss to his cheek. Arthur sighed, pushing against his knees as he stood, his shoulders squared as he glanced to the door.

"Right then, I'll be at the garrison," he announced, watching as John just nodded dismissively.

"Yeah don't count on me being there," John laughed.

Ana smacked him lightly on the arm at the insinuation. She would have said something, had John's lips not met hers the minute his brother left the door, dragging her toward the stairs.