Chapter 29
John walked the halls quietly, the world outside wrapped in rain and the deep hush of nightfall.
The base had grown quieter with each passing hour.
Only a few lowlights remained, casting a soft, bluish glow across the corridors, occasionally flickering with the slight hum of the generator that powered the less vital sectors during nighttime.
Rain trickled down the long windows in steady sheets, a soothing rhythm that echoed faintly through the walls.
The kids were tucked in, finally.
Sally had passed out first, curled beneath a mountain of blankets, arms wrapped tight around that weird raccoon plush with sunglasses and a crooked grin.
John had no idea where it came from, but she'd refused to sleep without it for the past three nights.
He didn't question it anymore.
It seemed to work, and that was good enough.
But little Ricky? Ricky had fought him every step of the way.
Full of chaotic energy, the kid had sprinted through the hallway screaming about being a dragon, cape wrapped around his neck like wings, until he collapsed mid-sentence on the beanbag chair in the corner.
He was now drooling all over it.
And Lilly, sweet, stubborn Lilly, had needed a few extra words before letting go of his hand. Her little fingers clutched his with surprising strength as she blinked sleepily up at him, whispering something about monsters under the bed.
John knelt beside her, brushing hair from her eyes, and told her gently, "If there are any monsters under your bed, they'll have to deal with me first."
She smiled at that. A quiet, trusting smile. Then, finally, she closed her eyes.
And only once they were all sound asleep, their soft breaths filling the room like a lullaby, did he finally leave, pulling the door shut behind him and letting the silence of the corridor settle around him like a worn cloak.
There was just one last stop.
Noir.
John hadn't visited since the day he handed Butcher the vials.
Not because he didn't care.
Not because he didn't want to.
It just… hadn't been the right time.
There had been too much to handle—clean-up reports, tactical planning, press meetings, he kept delaying until Vought PR practically begged him to reschedule.
But beneath all of that, under the obligations and excuses, was something quieter and heavier.
Fear.
Noir had almost died.
Not hurt. Not knocked out. Not "out of commission for a few weeks" like the usual.
He had nearly died, a slow, brutal internal destruction that John had no words for.
That poison, whatever it was, had eaten through Noir like a virus with a mind of its own.
And seeing someone like him, someone who never flinched, who never wavered, who was possibly as strong as him.
Lying still and broken in a hospital bed…
It shook him.
Especially when Noir had the same face he would see every time he looked in a mirror.
John rubbed a hand down his jaw as he walked, absently rolling the tension from his shoulders while turning the corner to where Noir's room wa-
He froze.
The door to Noir's room was cracked open slightly, warm light spilling into the hallway in flickering shades of color.
He slowed, drawn by the sound coming from within.
TV? And from the sound of it, they were watching a Godzilla movie.
That couldn't be right, there hadn't been a TV before.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he tilted his head and peeked through with his X-Ray vision.
And what he saw nearly made his brain short-circuit.
Kimiko sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, completely relaxed.
And Noir…
Noir was right next to her.
Not standing guard.
Not hovering nearby like a mute bodyguard ready to throw hands at a moment's notice.
He was seated shoulder-to-shoulder with her, arms lightly touching, posture loose and easy. His mask, normally a fixture as constant as his silence, was gone.
Set neatly aside on the table in front of them, next to two empty mugs and what looked suspiciously like a half-eaten cupcake.
His face was exposed.
His eyes crinkled in amusement, and he saw his lips tug ever so slightly upward when Kimiko elbowed him after he missed tossing popcorn into her mouth.
He smiled.
John blinked.
Then blinked again.
His jaw slowly dropped open.
He had seen some wild things in his life, but this?
This was on a different level.
He stepped forward, clearing his throat dramatically, about to announce himself when it hit him like a freight train.
He gasped. Loudly.
"GASP!"
BANG!!!
Kimiko and Noir both turned toward him, startled by the sound.
John stood in the doorway, eyes wide in mock betrayal, hand flying up to his chest like he'd just witnessed the death of a thousand puppies.
The blockade of furniture that was blocking the door from being opened was sent flying as if it weighed less than nothing.
He pointed an accusatory finger at Noir, voice loud and horrified. "You—YOU STOLE FRENCHY'S GIRL!"
Kimiko Blinked.
Noir blinked.
Kimiko's face scrunched in confusion, glancing at Noir before signing, "Who's Frenchy?"
She got a shrug in response, and both turned back to John, looking at him in concern.
John gawked at them like they'd just committed the most scandalous crime in history.
"Don't give me that!" he declared, waving wildly between them. "I saw it! The popcorn sharing! The leaning! The… intimacy!"
Kimiko's expression turned red before she shook her head and began glaring at him.
She signed to Noir, "Is he ok?"
Noir gave a slow, deliberate shrug.
John put both hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. "Frenchy's gonna be devastated. Hell, the fandom's gonna be heartbroken."
Kimiko silently groaned and turned back to the TV, determined to ignore him.
Noir, ever the silent enigma, reached for another piece of popcorn with maddening calm.
John huffed, still standing awkwardly at the entrance like a man in emotional distress.
Then he marched in and dropped himself dramatically into the armchair across from them, arms crossed.
"This is so awkward," he muttered. "I came here thinking I'd find you in a coma. I was mentally preparing myself for a dramatic bedside monologue, maybe shed a manly tear or two. But no, instead, I walk in on movie night with you chilling with your girlfriend without a care in the world."
Kimiko picked up a pillow and hurled it at him with enough strength for it to be lethal for a normal person.
John caught it with one hand and a smug grin. "Ah-hah! Assault confirms the guilt!"
Noir, unbothered, flicked a piece of popcorn at him.
It hit John dead center in his mouth, causing him to choke on it.
"...*Cough!* *Cough* T-That's fair."
The room settled into silence, the soft roar of the Godzilla movie filling the space between them. Outside, thunder rolled gently in the distance.
John leaned back, sighing quietly.
Despite all his dramatics, he felt something unspoken settle in his chest.
Relief.
Noir was okay, even got himself a girlfriend!
He looked at the two mutes silently enjoying the movie, acting as if he weren't even there.
…
…
…
"I ship it," he muttered under his breath playfully.
Kimiko threw another pillow, her face completely red.
And for the first time in a week, John laughed.
________
The credits rolled as the movie finished.
Kimiko stretched her arms above her head, the empty popcorn bowl resting on her stomach as she blinked at the TV screen, clearly debating whether or not to queue up another kaiju movie.
She reached for the remote.
"Uh-uh," John said quickly, standing and holding up a hand like he was directing traffic. "I need to talk with Noir real quick."
Kimiko gave him a squinty glare, brows rising as she pointed at the screen and signed, "One more. Mothra's next."
John winced. "I know. And as thrilling as giant butterfly battles are, I need to borrow your shadowy boyfriend for a minute."
She raised an eyebrow. Why?
"Private hero stuff," he said, tone breezy, but there was a weight behind the words she didn't miss.
She glanced at Noir, who merely tilted his head and gave a single nod.
Kimiko stared between the two men, visibly unamused, before tossing the blanket off her legs and grabbing the empty bowl.
"Ten minutes," she signed as she stood, her steps echoing lightly against the floor.
As she passed John, she bumped his shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make her annoyance known.
He took it in stride.
"Thanks," he said while chuckling to himself at her attempt at intimidation.
She gave Noir a quick side-eye and disappeared through the door.
The door slid shut behind her.
The room immediately felt heavier.
John turned back to Noir, who was now sitting straighter on the couch. His expression was calm, unreadable as always, but there was a faint spark in his eyes.
The TV screen cast a faint glow across the room. Mothra's silhouette hovered in frozen midair before the auto-play timer began to count down. John picked up the remote and turned it off with a small click.
Then he exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face.
"…Alright," he muttered, settling back into the armchair. "Time for some real talk."
Noir didn't respond, just waited.
John leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His eyes searched the man's face, his face, for anything.
A twitch, a flicker, something.
But Noir gave him nothing.
"You and I both know I didn't just come here to banter about popcorn and your love life," he said with a light chuckle.
Noir didn't blink.
The seconds ticked by.
John stared at him harder. "Why do you have my face?"
Noir's head tilted slightly.
John let the silence hang.
Then, finally, Noir reached for a notepad and pen on his belt. He clicked the pen once, twice, and scribbled something down with deliberate strokes before holding it out.
John leaned in and read it.
"You don't need to know."
His jaw clenched.
"Yeah, well, I do," John muttered.
Noir stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly pulled the pad back and wrote another sentence.
"There's a file Mr. Edgar has containing all the information you need."
John's stomach twisted.
He leaned back in his chair, processing that.
"...And why can't you tell me yourself?" he asked quietly, meeting Noir with a confused glare.
Noir looked at him with a tired look in his eyes
"Because the information I have, I have found to be false, and I do not want to lie to you."
Reading what he wrote, John sighed to himself and rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes.
"And how do you know it's false?" He questioned, folding his arms while leaning back against his chair.
Noir hesitated then, which he immediately noticed, causing him to tense up in response.
He paid rapid attention, watching Noir carefully as he wrote down his answer.
"Because when we first met, I wanted to slowly rip you apart, and feed you your still-beating heart."