The Times Between
The doctors asked him where he was from and the first thing he did was ask "Why?", all edges and defenses, and they had to reassure him he wasn't in any trouble. "There were problems with the anesthesia during surgery," they told him, and the drugs they asked him about were hard to pronounce and extremely unfamiliar.
He asked one of the night nurses about them, when he was transferred to a different hospital for physical therapy and detoxing (since he couldn't take the traditional painkillers for weeks). John got very, very quiet when she explained the various uses. Still, the doctors asked, and still, John claimed he didn't know how they got into his system.
He didn't know. He had an educated guess.
There was a lot of time to think. He wanted to know where Sarah was, but it was a strange feeling to realize that he didn't really want her to find him or vice-versa; he just wanted to know where she was. Keep an eye on her. Like someone might keep an eye on a dangerous neighborhood dog.
John wanted to know where she was so that he could stay the hell away.
When they moved him again, to a room with a television, he kept it on the news. Watched about Dent, about the Joker. Watched the New Year's announcements. Scanned for mentions of attacks on computer factories, on tech companies, things like that. The Connor's typical M.O. John still didn't really know what brought them to Gotham in the first place. Weeks turned into months and still, nothing.
Relief and worry were constantly at war in his mind.
John had nightmares. Nearly every night that he slept he had nightmares. He told the doctors that it was about the trains (sometimes they ever were) and that was believable; he'd been on one of the cars with the highest amount of fatalities. He turned down every single offer for counseling. He was fine, he told them, and after a while they stopped asking and left him well enough alone.
He woke at 4AM one morning the week before he was released and realized that he missed Allison. Not just that he was worried about her, about how well she'd manage without him, or what Sarah might or might not do to her, but that he just wanted to see her. Wanted her in the room. Wanted to talk to her, about anything, wanted to apologize, wanted to see her smile.
Wanted to watch her dance.
It was weird, realizing that he hadn't thought of her as a person for more than a few days at a time in the last four years. That every time he'd really started to worry, to consider what was happening, to think of her as a girl and not as metal, not his bodyguard, not a machine, that something would happen. Someone would get hurt, someone would die, something would distract him and by the time it was over he was right back in that mindset.
It was terrifying, realizing that his own mother had done this to him. That Sarah was the reason his hands shook a little when he thought about Allison too much.
Getting out of the hospital didn't make things much better. He went to the place they'd been staying at just to find it empty, everything gone. John bought a gun, a laptop, clothes, some necessities. Stayed in a place in the Narrows that had a rat he could recognize at 2AM. Took the bus everywhere (the train gave him vertigo). Went to libraries. Surfed Craigslist. Slept. Had nightmares. Didn't find Allison. Didn't find Sarah. Didn't know what to do.
The nightmares got worse after the hospital. Maybe because he didn't find her right away; maybe because the environment in the Narrows was much more familiar and unsafe than the environment in the hospital. Either way, he dreamed about her, dreamed about Sarah, dreamed about having to choose, making the right choice, making the wrong one, not choosing at all. Even when he chose her, in the dreams, Allison wouldn't stay with him. He would apologize, tell her he loved her, anything, and she wouldn't stay. Sometimes she shot him; sometimes she just walked away.
John kept his head down and his nose clean. Searched GCPD records for mentions of Allison or Sarah; didn't find anything. Everytime the news mentioned an explosion, a shooting, John would watch the footage, hoping both to see and not to see a familiar face. Unsure of what to do with the strange feeling each time he didn't. It had only been a month since he was out of the hospital but still John hadn't given up. One way or another he'd find them.
He asked one of the night nurses about them, when he was transferred to a different hospital for physical therapy and detoxing (since he couldn't take the traditional painkillers for weeks). John got very, very quiet when she explained the various uses. Still, the doctors asked, and still, John claimed he didn't know how they got into his system.
He didn't know. He had an educated guess.
There was a lot of time to think. He wanted to know where Sarah was, but it was a strange feeling to realize that he didn't really want her to find him or vice-versa; he just wanted to know where she was. Keep an eye on her. Like someone might keep an eye on a dangerous neighborhood dog.
John wanted to know where she was so that he could stay the hell away.
When they moved him again, to a room with a television, he kept it on the news. Watched about Dent, about the Joker. Watched the New Year's announcements. Scanned for mentions of attacks on computer factories, on tech companies, things like that. The Connor's typical M.O. John still didn't really know what brought them to Gotham in the first place. Weeks turned into months and still, nothing.
Relief and worry were constantly at war in his mind.
John had nightmares. Nearly every night that he slept he had nightmares. He told the doctors that it was about the trains (sometimes they ever were) and that was believable; he'd been on one of the cars with the highest amount of fatalities. He turned down every single offer for counseling. He was fine, he told them, and after a while they stopped asking and left him well enough alone.
He woke at 4AM one morning the week before he was released and realized that he missed Allison. Not just that he was worried about her, about how well she'd manage without him, or what Sarah might or might not do to her, but that he just wanted to see her. Wanted her in the room. Wanted to talk to her, about anything, wanted to apologize, wanted to see her smile.
Wanted to watch her dance.
It was weird, realizing that he hadn't thought of her as a person for more than a few days at a time in the last four years. That every time he'd really started to worry, to consider what was happening, to think of her as a girl and not as metal, not his bodyguard, not a machine, that something would happen. Someone would get hurt, someone would die, something would distract him and by the time it was over he was right back in that mindset.
It was terrifying, realizing that his own mother had done this to him. That Sarah was the reason his hands shook a little when he thought about Allison too much.
Getting out of the hospital didn't make things much better. He went to the place they'd been staying at just to find it empty, everything gone. John bought a gun, a laptop, clothes, some necessities. Stayed in a place in the Narrows that had a rat he could recognize at 2AM. Took the bus everywhere (the train gave him vertigo). Went to libraries. Surfed Craigslist. Slept. Had nightmares. Didn't find Allison. Didn't find Sarah. Didn't know what to do.
The nightmares got worse after the hospital. Maybe because he didn't find her right away; maybe because the environment in the Narrows was much more familiar and unsafe than the environment in the hospital. Either way, he dreamed about her, dreamed about Sarah, dreamed about having to choose, making the right choice, making the wrong one, not choosing at all. Even when he chose her, in the dreams, Allison wouldn't stay with him. He would apologize, tell her he loved her, anything, and she wouldn't stay. Sometimes she shot him; sometimes she just walked away.
John kept his head down and his nose clean. Searched GCPD records for mentions of Allison or Sarah; didn't find anything. Everytime the news mentioned an explosion, a shooting, John would watch the footage, hoping both to see and not to see a familiar face. Unsure of what to do with the strange feeling each time he didn't. It had only been a month since he was out of the hospital but still John hadn't given up. One way or another he'd find them.