Fan Fic 100 Challenge AGAIN ...
Title: Devastation
Author: kosmickway
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Summary: John and Grace talk about grief after John's girlfriend, Kate, is shot and killed during a convenience store hold-up. Fourth season.
A/N: We never seem to see John and Grace interacting in a meaningful way. I wanted to change all that by giving them a scene that illuminates one of the things they do share during the fourth season of the show- grief. This takes place fourth season after “Random Act."
A/N 2: This is prompt number 30 on the FanFic 100 chart, thus the (30/100). The prompt word is “death.” I’m not writing these in any particular order, just doing what I can when I can.
“The funeral’s tomorrow.”
Grace turned from her computer to find Rachel standing in her doorway. It took her a moment to process what Rachel had said and even then it didn’t make any sense.
“Sorry, whose funeral?”
“Kate’s. You are going, right?”
Grace blinked. She’d been so preoccupied with her own recent divorce proceedings that she’d given up following what was going on in the office. The death of John’s girlfriend felt entirely peripheral to her own life, something that was going on around her but didn’t involve her.
“I barely knew her.”
Rachel nodded. “I didn’t know her well either. But I’m going more for John’s sake than anything else.”
“I hadn’t really thought about that,” Grace said vaguely, and felt horrible admitting it. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know where or when.” She stopped to think for a moment. “I don’t even really know what happened, outside of the robbery and the shooting.”
“You’ve had a lot on your plate recently,” Rachel replied. “It’s hard to keep up with family drama and office drama.”
“That’s no excuse,” she answered, as much to remind herself of that as to reply to Rachel’s comment. She looked out the window and found John. He was sitting alone at his desk, staring into space, a file open in front of him. “How’s he doing?”
“Devastated,” Rachel said bluntly. “He’s a train wreck.”
This, if possible, made her feel worse. “I didn’t know she meant so much to him.”
Rachel joined her at the window and looked out. “I don’t think he did either.”
The man Grace had long ago dubbed “The Fashion Plate” looked worse than she’d ever seen him. For all that she teased John about his metrosexual sense of style, she appreciated the fact that men like John cared about the way they dressed. It was pleasant to be around men who actually made an effort.
It was obvious to anyone who looked that John wasn’t making an effort now. He’d forsaken his usual neatly pleated trousers and dress shirt for jeans and a sweater. His hair was tousled and un-gelled, his eyes deeply shadowed from lack of sleep. Usually the understated cologne that he wore drifted appealingly off of him in spicy waves- not so today. He looked, as Rachel had said, like a train wreck.
“Hi,” Grace said, softly touching his shoulder.
It took him a moment to focus on her face. His eyes were bleary and filmed with tears.
“Grace. Hey. You need something?”
“Yeah. Come take a walk with me.”
He blinked at her as if he hadn’t quite heard her correctly. “Come again?”
“Walk with me. Outside. Down the street to St. Benedict’s.”
“I’ve got work to do,” he said, unconvincingly waving his hand at a stack of paperwork.
Grace put her hands on her hips and fixed him with her best “bitch, please” look.
“John Grant, are you actually refusing to come walk with me, your oldest friend from APD, the woman who lets you keep your Chinese food in her freezer so that George doesn’t steal it, and the only person who knows that you bought the same gift for five women last Christmas?”
John half-smiled at her. “I guess I’m not. When you put it that way.”
“Besides,” she said sweetly, handing him his coat and adopting a too-sweet Southern accent, “a beautiful woman such as myself might be harassed by all manner of unsavory characters on these streets. I think it’s much better that you walk with me and be my bodyguard.”
“Not much of a bodyguard, Grace,” he answered dully and Grace winced. That’s right, Gracie, she scolded herself. Remind him of what happened. That’ll make it loads better.
“You’ll do just fine,” she responded and took his arm, pulling him toward the elevator.
It was a grey day outside, low clouds chasing across the sky. There was a hint of rain in the air. Grace pulled her leather coat closer around her, stuck her hands in her pockets, and started down the street at a brisk walk.
“Why are we going to St. Benedict’s?” John asked, his voice raised to be heard over the whipping wind.
“The gardens are a better place to talk than our stuffy offices,” Grace replied. “You’d think the government would add some windows or even an atrium to make things a little nicer.”
John chuckled. “There’s a better chance of Al Capone’s stash turning up in my backyard.”
They reached the stone cathedral and Grace opened the wrought-iron gates that lead into the gardens. DeKalb Avenue was an incongruous place for a cathedral, set in the heart of Atlanta’s shopping and sports district. She could see Turner Field, home of the Braves, hulking in the distance, flags waving. Surrounding the cathedral on all sides were shopping venues, Hard Rock Cafes, sports bars, and tattoo parlors. But the gardens were quiet and sheltered and the noise of the traffic had a way of disappearing once inside the gates.
Grace tucked her arm in John’s and they meandered down the oyster-shell lined path. Trees rose up on either side and bushes reached out into the path, blooms sweet and bright. They walked for awhile, silently, until Grace said, “I need to apologize to you.”
“What for?”
“I’ve been so wrapped up in the divorce and the pregnancy that I ended up overlooking how hard things have been for you. I haven’t been the kind of friend you’ve needed and I feel really badly about that.”
John stopped on the path and turned to face her. “It’s really okay. I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
“No, John, it really isn’t okay. You’ve been a good friend to me all these years, both here and at APD. You’ve always had my back, even when you’ve annoyed the hell out of me at the same time.”
John laughed weakly. “We’re pretty good at getting on each other’s nerves, aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Grace sat down on a bench and pulled him down to sit with her. “The thing is I should have been here for you these past two weeks. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I should have been right there with you and I wasn’t.” She was dismayed to find tears welling in her eyes. “I am just so sorry, John. About Kate. About everything. I really am. And I’m sorry I dropped the ball when you needed me to be there. That’s not like me. I feel like I let you down.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before she could feel hot, shameful tears dripping down her cheeks. John didn’t hesitate- he pulled her into a fierce hug, his face buried in the side of her neck, his own tears trickling down to dampen the collar of her shirt.
“I miss her so much,” he said, his voice muffled in her coat. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be without her.” He pulled back and looked searchingly at her, his face begging for answers. “How do I make this feeling go away?”
“Oh, John.” Grace touched his cheek, cupped his face in her hands. “Who does know? It’s just part of what we risk when we love someone. If you find some way to make it go away I wish you’d tell me.”
He stared away down the path, his eyes welling with tears. Grace wanted to reach out to touch his hand but couldn’t do it. The grief emanating from his was too raw.
“It wasn’t like this when my mom died,” John said roughly. “I remember crying like the world was going to end. I remember being so sad I thought I’d just dissolve into a little puddle and melt. I was so mad that I couldn’t even think straight. But this ... losing Kate ... it’s a thousand times worse. And I thought I’d never come back from my mom dying.” John met her eyes then. “How do you come back from something like this?”
Grace thought back to her own losses, her own griefs and private pain. She thought about losing her beloved grandmother to a stroke when she was 12; her dog, Milwaukee, to a hit and run driver on a busy Miami street; her best friend, Zane, to a terrorist bombing fifteen years ago, a grief that still threatened to over-take her some days. How did you go on from a grief that very nearly stopped your heart?
“You wake up every day,” she said slowly. “And you take a moment to remember that you’re the one who has to go on. That there are things bigger and more important than your pain, that there are people who love you and want you to be here in spite of it. You remember the good times when you can stand to recall them, and you reconcile yourself to the memories of the bad times- the fights you wish you could undo, the words said in anger you wish you could take back.
“You do everything you can to remind yourself that you’re human and that part of being human is loving, and that part of loving is learning to let go of those we love, even when we want to hang on. You go through each day one minute at a time until you wake up one day and realize that you can think about them without crying and that you can smile without feeling guilty. You do come back from it, John,” Grace said. “You really do.”
“Is it always going to feel this bad?”
“No,” she lied, stroking his cheek but unable to meet his eyes. “It eventually gets better.”
At John’s hopeful smile, Grace felt even worse than she had before.
End.
Author: kosmickway
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Summary: John and Grace talk about grief after John's girlfriend, Kate, is shot and killed during a convenience store hold-up. Fourth season.
A/N: We never seem to see John and Grace interacting in a meaningful way. I wanted to change all that by giving them a scene that illuminates one of the things they do share during the fourth season of the show- grief. This takes place fourth season after “Random Act."
A/N 2: This is prompt number 30 on the FanFic 100 chart, thus the (30/100). The prompt word is “death.” I’m not writing these in any particular order, just doing what I can when I can.
“The funeral’s tomorrow.”
Grace turned from her computer to find Rachel standing in her doorway. It took her a moment to process what Rachel had said and even then it didn’t make any sense.
“Sorry, whose funeral?”
“Kate’s. You are going, right?”
Grace blinked. She’d been so preoccupied with her own recent divorce proceedings that she’d given up following what was going on in the office. The death of John’s girlfriend felt entirely peripheral to her own life, something that was going on around her but didn’t involve her.
“I barely knew her.”
Rachel nodded. “I didn’t know her well either. But I’m going more for John’s sake than anything else.”
“I hadn’t really thought about that,” Grace said vaguely, and felt horrible admitting it. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know where or when.” She stopped to think for a moment. “I don’t even really know what happened, outside of the robbery and the shooting.”
“You’ve had a lot on your plate recently,” Rachel replied. “It’s hard to keep up with family drama and office drama.”
“That’s no excuse,” she answered, as much to remind herself of that as to reply to Rachel’s comment. She looked out the window and found John. He was sitting alone at his desk, staring into space, a file open in front of him. “How’s he doing?”
“Devastated,” Rachel said bluntly. “He’s a train wreck.”
This, if possible, made her feel worse. “I didn’t know she meant so much to him.”
Rachel joined her at the window and looked out. “I don’t think he did either.”
The man Grace had long ago dubbed “The Fashion Plate” looked worse than she’d ever seen him. For all that she teased John about his metrosexual sense of style, she appreciated the fact that men like John cared about the way they dressed. It was pleasant to be around men who actually made an effort.
It was obvious to anyone who looked that John wasn’t making an effort now. He’d forsaken his usual neatly pleated trousers and dress shirt for jeans and a sweater. His hair was tousled and un-gelled, his eyes deeply shadowed from lack of sleep. Usually the understated cologne that he wore drifted appealingly off of him in spicy waves- not so today. He looked, as Rachel had said, like a train wreck.
“Hi,” Grace said, softly touching his shoulder.
It took him a moment to focus on her face. His eyes were bleary and filmed with tears.
“Grace. Hey. You need something?”
“Yeah. Come take a walk with me.”
He blinked at her as if he hadn’t quite heard her correctly. “Come again?”
“Walk with me. Outside. Down the street to St. Benedict’s.”
“I’ve got work to do,” he said, unconvincingly waving his hand at a stack of paperwork.
Grace put her hands on her hips and fixed him with her best “bitch, please” look.
“John Grant, are you actually refusing to come walk with me, your oldest friend from APD, the woman who lets you keep your Chinese food in her freezer so that George doesn’t steal it, and the only person who knows that you bought the same gift for five women last Christmas?”
John half-smiled at her. “I guess I’m not. When you put it that way.”
“Besides,” she said sweetly, handing him his coat and adopting a too-sweet Southern accent, “a beautiful woman such as myself might be harassed by all manner of unsavory characters on these streets. I think it’s much better that you walk with me and be my bodyguard.”
“Not much of a bodyguard, Grace,” he answered dully and Grace winced. That’s right, Gracie, she scolded herself. Remind him of what happened. That’ll make it loads better.
“You’ll do just fine,” she responded and took his arm, pulling him toward the elevator.
It was a grey day outside, low clouds chasing across the sky. There was a hint of rain in the air. Grace pulled her leather coat closer around her, stuck her hands in her pockets, and started down the street at a brisk walk.
“Why are we going to St. Benedict’s?” John asked, his voice raised to be heard over the whipping wind.
“The gardens are a better place to talk than our stuffy offices,” Grace replied. “You’d think the government would add some windows or even an atrium to make things a little nicer.”
John chuckled. “There’s a better chance of Al Capone’s stash turning up in my backyard.”
They reached the stone cathedral and Grace opened the wrought-iron gates that lead into the gardens. DeKalb Avenue was an incongruous place for a cathedral, set in the heart of Atlanta’s shopping and sports district. She could see Turner Field, home of the Braves, hulking in the distance, flags waving. Surrounding the cathedral on all sides were shopping venues, Hard Rock Cafes, sports bars, and tattoo parlors. But the gardens were quiet and sheltered and the noise of the traffic had a way of disappearing once inside the gates.
Grace tucked her arm in John’s and they meandered down the oyster-shell lined path. Trees rose up on either side and bushes reached out into the path, blooms sweet and bright. They walked for awhile, silently, until Grace said, “I need to apologize to you.”
“What for?”
“I’ve been so wrapped up in the divorce and the pregnancy that I ended up overlooking how hard things have been for you. I haven’t been the kind of friend you’ve needed and I feel really badly about that.”
John stopped on the path and turned to face her. “It’s really okay. I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
“No, John, it really isn’t okay. You’ve been a good friend to me all these years, both here and at APD. You’ve always had my back, even when you’ve annoyed the hell out of me at the same time.”
John laughed weakly. “We’re pretty good at getting on each other’s nerves, aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Grace sat down on a bench and pulled him down to sit with her. “The thing is I should have been here for you these past two weeks. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. I should have been right there with you and I wasn’t.” She was dismayed to find tears welling in her eyes. “I am just so sorry, John. About Kate. About everything. I really am. And I’m sorry I dropped the ball when you needed me to be there. That’s not like me. I feel like I let you down.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before she could feel hot, shameful tears dripping down her cheeks. John didn’t hesitate- he pulled her into a fierce hug, his face buried in the side of her neck, his own tears trickling down to dampen the collar of her shirt.
“I miss her so much,” he said, his voice muffled in her coat. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be without her.” He pulled back and looked searchingly at her, his face begging for answers. “How do I make this feeling go away?”
“Oh, John.” Grace touched his cheek, cupped his face in her hands. “Who does know? It’s just part of what we risk when we love someone. If you find some way to make it go away I wish you’d tell me.”
He stared away down the path, his eyes welling with tears. Grace wanted to reach out to touch his hand but couldn’t do it. The grief emanating from his was too raw.
“It wasn’t like this when my mom died,” John said roughly. “I remember crying like the world was going to end. I remember being so sad I thought I’d just dissolve into a little puddle and melt. I was so mad that I couldn’t even think straight. But this ... losing Kate ... it’s a thousand times worse. And I thought I’d never come back from my mom dying.” John met her eyes then. “How do you come back from something like this?”
Grace thought back to her own losses, her own griefs and private pain. She thought about losing her beloved grandmother to a stroke when she was 12; her dog, Milwaukee, to a hit and run driver on a busy Miami street; her best friend, Zane, to a terrorist bombing fifteen years ago, a grief that still threatened to over-take her some days. How did you go on from a grief that very nearly stopped your heart?
“You wake up every day,” she said slowly. “And you take a moment to remember that you’re the one who has to go on. That there are things bigger and more important than your pain, that there are people who love you and want you to be here in spite of it. You remember the good times when you can stand to recall them, and you reconcile yourself to the memories of the bad times- the fights you wish you could undo, the words said in anger you wish you could take back.
“You do everything you can to remind yourself that you’re human and that part of being human is loving, and that part of loving is learning to let go of those we love, even when we want to hang on. You go through each day one minute at a time until you wake up one day and realize that you can think about them without crying and that you can smile without feeling guilty. You do come back from it, John,” Grace said. “You really do.”
“Is it always going to feel this bad?”
“No,” she lied, stroking his cheek but unable to meet his eyes. “It eventually gets better.”
At John’s hopeful smile, Grace felt even worse than she had before.
End.