Chapter 1: Interference

John lived alone, giving him a propensity for internal monologues, often questioning the validity of his actions and the answer was always: 'I'm protecting people.'

Though, every time he said it, there was a twinge deep inside himself that he had a tendency to ignore. He was the job. When he went home, none of it existed. At home he was just another guy.

'Recluse…whatever you want to call it.' He sighed heavily. He hated that other side of himself, it always contradicted him, ridiculed him. However, it was also the side of himself that followed the rules of his craft: killing.

This job took its toll on John: he smoked a pack a day, barely ate and he could hardly separate his days anymore. No wonder he was single. 'Not like you would ever do anything about that.' He chastised himself. It was a necessity in this line of work, a woman would only cause trouble—right?

'Damn right!' He said quietly to himself, nodding sternly. A woman equaled trouble, and he had enough trouble as it was without a woman adding to it. Biggest rule in the life of an killer: don't bring the outside world into your personal space, most particularly work, and a

woman entering that world was the biggest 'no, no' of all. He guessed he could still count as assassin, he still killed a high profile man from time to time, if it fit his codes, of course. Hit man, assassin, it didn't matter what name he was given, it wouldn't change the fact that he was a killer.

He walked on, regarding others' stares, making his way to another kill going almost entirely unnoticed, something he was often thankful for. He wasn't what anyone would call a startlingly attractive man by any means, but it was the both gentle and threatening look in his hazel eyes that would endear those who cared to look. Eyes that said he was generally kind, but not to take him lightly; he was an assassin after all.

His features weren't very even, he was bland, unextraordinary, a man who could blend entirely into the background. Despite his lack of any astonishing features, he was well enough looking should he make an effort, a woman would certainly take notice. He had confidence and had a strange and innocent charm that eluded him. He felt even less extraordinary than he looked, but looks were something that mattered little to him, he was comfortable being just another face in the crowd and his name belied this as well. Anyone named John Smith was bound to blend in, it was the most common of names and he was thankful for it, so made no effort to reveal his middle name: Constantine—he could hardly blend in with that.

His mind drifted back to the job at hand, just like every other he'd taken before it, it wasn't as difficult as some might think, but he was precise in his work. John is the one they called when things had to appear natural or accidental, though it wasn't unheard of him doing other damage as well: threatening certain people, security detail and, on the rare occasion, he'd kill with his hands, but that was usually a last resort. His kills were the unsolvable ones you normally hear about on the pseudo-news mystery shows. However, he often turned down jobs when he felt the reason lacked, 'they owe us money' was one he particularly hated.

His brother, on the other hand, was less than choosey, and did clean up if anyone got sloppy. Big bangs were James' specialty. If blowing up a bus would get the job done and be untraceable to him, he'd do it. James didn't need to validate what he did, he simply would be the best at what he did. He was well aware of his actions and had absolutely no qualms about it. Like John, James was dangerous, but their views were exact opposites. Needless to say the brothers did not get along.

They were once inseparable, John and James, joining together to rid the city of scum, a dream James had set to long ago, ever since they were kids, but the years and the job had twisted him. The incident four years ago, however, is what haunted John and had been the moment of their division.

'If you are going to kill people for a living, John, you are going to have to stop caring so damn much.' James had told him this at least ten times before their separation, and it irritated John every time. James had always been cold and distant, but the job affected James even more than John. John didn't know what had happened, but it soon became apparent that James didn't much care if civilians got involved, he was cold and hard like the streets that taught him his trade. 'Why should I care? Caring would prevent me from killing.' Those were the last words John heard as his brother left the bloody scene.

John remembered the incident as clear as day. They'd gone to kill a businessman that day, what the man had done, they were not aware, he was well known and for one reason or another they'd been sent to kill him. An assassin was just to get the job done, no questions asked. Whatever the case may have been, they knew he was the target. John killed the man silently, easily and James killed the man's family: his wife, an elderly woman—probably the man's mother—and his two children: daughters, age six and ten. This act disgusted John and turned him away from that man; from that day on John Smith had no brother. He also started asking questions, he would not kill innocent people, so only took the jobs he wanted, a strange quality in an assassin, but he was one of the best and was never out of work.

John made his way through the crowded streets of downtown San Antonio, past the Alamo and past the Riverwalk. All the tourists were dressed in their pastels and flowered shirts, some wore any cowboy hat they could find—although three feet of foam rubber shouldn't really count as a hat. They all had their assumptions about Texas, only one of which was true: it's hot, and it irritated John along with everyone else. There had been a few to call the city 'dirty', but for a city its size, it was damn clean and it was comfortable. John had moved here from Austin a little over a year ago and found that he enjoyed the place considerably.

San Antonio always found something to celebrate, there were times that not even a week would pass before another holiday or event would occur. John never joined the festivities, but he thought the music drifting up from the streets outside was nice. It wasn't nice all the time though, he remembered being tempted from time to time to throw something off the balcony at the crowd below during the rodeo season. John hated fake cowboys; not real roping cowboys, riding horses cowboys, but the drunks in business suits and ostrich skin boots, fake cowboys.

John snorted at this. The street parties were nice, when he wasn't working, which was all the time. It had been at least three months since he'd taken a break and that had been hell: Fiesta time. Fiesta is great if you love large crowds, loud music and dancing in the streets, John didn't. This had him refusing Jobs simply because there was no way in hell he was going to drive around in all that excitement and, in all likelihood, his hits had joined the

festivities. John wasn't one for public assassinations, his preference was to remain invisible.

He crossed the busy street, heading toward a small, older neighborhood of mostly low-income families that the city had grown around. Carl Dodson, John's next target, lived around here; a drug trafficker and woman beater by nature. This kill had some merit to it as this man disrupted lives, ruined families.

John arrived at the address, an ugly and dilapidated, nineteen-twenties yellow house. The shutters had the flaked remnants of green paint, and hung off the windows at odd angles. The yard was littered with trash: beer cans, cigarette butts, take out bags and the rusty shell of a seventy-six Buick-ish car.

John shook his head, 'Typical,' he thought. He then took out a slip of paper from his back pocket, skimming it and nodding before returning it to his comfortable, yet snug in all the right places, blue jeans.

Carl would not be back for hours as he was out selling. John headed up to the house, crossing the rickety porch, each step threatening to do the house in. The door looked like it could probably give out at any moment, the hinges rusted and loose. John jiggled the handle with gloved hands and, no surprise, easily got in.

John slipped in and went to work, making sure his feet and hands could leave no trace of him, covering his shoes with little plastic coverings and slipping on medical gloves. He made his way through the sparsely furnished home—if trash and garage-sale rejects counted as 'furnishings' — searching for Carl's stash of cocaine, and there it was, in the spare room.

John sighed heavily, shaking his head, 'Christ,this man is a complete, moron! You would think he'd have been busted by now. He's supposed to be a big timer, but…' He thought a moment, "Maybe it's a place to hide his crap while he's in town, and he's got to be living better than this." He finished aloud as he looked around, it looked only occasionally lived in. Then again he could be wrong, the world was full of idiots after all, and even idiots can be successful at something—for a short while anyway.

John took a kilo of cocaine from the pile in the back and made his way to the kitchen in search of flour. He found it in a jar above the refrigerator, it looked to have been used earlier to cut Carl's own stash. John removed the flour and packed it into plastic molding it to appear as the cocaine John had taken. He next took out a cutting board and began to cut and crush the kilo as finely as he could before placing it into the jar formerly containing the flour. John placed the board back atop the fridge and grabbed the bottle of vodka next to it. Half full.

'Let me top it off for ya.' John schemed as he reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of bleach. He poured it in, mixed it and returned things to there original places before leaving unnoticed from the scene.

On the walk home John started mentally bashing himself for having enjoyed that. Something he did often these days. "What the hell is wrong with me?" 'Let's not pull at that thread…' He continued the mental abuse as he headed home unaware of what lay ahead of him.

There may have been many people walking and talking around him, but he took no notice of them, he just wanted to get home and rest, he could use a drink too. 'You're out of beer.' "Damn…" He glanced up tiredly, eyes landing on the crosswalk that would lead him home. People were beginning to cross and he quickened his pace, eager to get home. If it weren't for his job, he'd be a recluse.

'Just because you go out and kill someone doesn't mean you are exempt from the title of recluse.' He chided himself sarcastically.

There were many people crossing, many tourists and businessmen and women headed home or to hotels, but one person didn't quite fit. Near the end of the crowd was a pretty young blonde woman who no one else seemed to take notice of as they brushed past her in their business suits and fluorescent floral attire, bumping her and nudging her roughly, as if she wasn't there at all.

She carried a large box that was obviously too large and heavy to be carried by one person, and balanced precariously on top sat an expensive looking camera. She struggled greatly, trying not to drop anything, which proved near impossible in her khaki skirt and white blouse, her simple sandals were making her stumble as others bumped her out of the way. Finally a bump caused her camera to fall off the pile in the box and onto the street. She seemed to be cursing under her breath as she attempted to balance the box on her hip and then her stomach, trying to somehow retrieve her camera.

'Just put the box down.' John thought quietly. Why was she making this more difficult? Why was he even paying attention to her? Soon she was the only one in the street and no one even glanced at her or noticed the empty lane behind her, which a silver mustang was speeding towards. "That's not good."

John looked around. Was no one going to at least shout out what was headed for her? People were pretending like she wasn't even there. He glanced back over, she struggled on as a car honked at her, no one assisting her and the mustang didn't seem to be slowing down.

His thoughts told him to look away, but his gut clenched in worry and before he knew it, his feet were carrying him forward. Acts of heroism weren't in his job description, but he couldn't just let the girl get run over.

"Shit." He cursed himself as he ran towards her. 'This is gonna be close.' John dove towards her, grabbing her around the waist and thrusting them both towards the sidewalk, twisting midair to protect her from the fall. He landed on his back and she landed on top of him, the box landing next to her as the car sped by, crushing her camera. She watched on in horror.

John cringed, the breath knocked out of him, and he could swear he'd cracked a bone or two. He grumbled silently to himself, cursing himself silently for whining about the pain in his back as well as acting the hero. He sat up as the young woman rolled off him, still staring at her camera as it continued to be crushed by passing cars. He glanced around, no one seemed to have noticed what had happened. 'They would have noticed if we were serving beer, and shouting hey look at me save this hot blonde lady!' John was used to such obliviousness and he liked it that way, but why hadn't anyone seen her? Why do people just ignore when others are in trouble, or only bother to take notice when they themselves are involved? It was maddening.

"You alright?" He groaned slightly, rubbing at his shoulder, making sure he hadn't popped it out of place.

The girl turned to him still in shock, staring at his wild black hair and hazel eyes. "Uh, yeah…" She looked back at the camera sadly as he glanced in her box which was filled with folders of quite nicely done photographs: Wedding shots, glamour shots, nature, people along bridges.

'A photographer, that's why she stared so sadly out at the camera, that was how she paid bills'. He noted curiously before turning back to the girl. "It was you, or the camera." He said standing and lifting her box.

He held out his hand to her as she still sat on the sidewalk. She glanced up at him as she took his hand, letting him lift her up. Her gaze, however, returned sadly to the bits of metal and plastic left in the street.

"The camera is replaceable," John continued, "…you are not."

She turned to him and nodded, "Yes, but…not that I don't appreciate you saving my life!" She blurted quickly, not wishing to offend him in any way. The sudden abundance of apparent life surprised him. "I do appreciate it! I just…I can't afford another camera, how am I going to pay my bills…I don't want to borrow from my parents…I can't do that…and the pictures…!" She said faster than John was sure he could think. Her face showed far more than disappointment, she looked heartbroken.

He gazed at her confusedly a moment; it was just a camera, why was she so upset? 'Don't ask, John, say good-bye and go home.'

John stood there dumbly, hating that look on her face. "I think I know a shop that's still open, I'll replace it for you." The words came before he could stop himself, just as his feet had carried him toward this girl to rescue her from oncoming traffic. This was not like him; not like him at all. 'John…you idiot.' He cursed himself.

"Oh, no! I couldn't, really!" The girl gasped.

Her protest surprised him, 'See, she's fine, now it's time to go home…' He started to say his farewells then stopped and smiled at the young woman, ignoring his thoughts altogether. "It's alright, I'll replace it; it seems important to you."

'What the hell are you doing?' He asked himself. He never talked to people unless he had to, and he certainly never went around rescuing people in the middle of the street and offering to buy them something. He watched her small face contort strangely as she struggled emotionally with his offer.

"Well, thank you…uh…" She gazed at him expectantly.

'Don't tell her your name, make something up!' "John Smith." The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop. 'Smooth…' This sudden lack of control was happening with increasing regularity—and that was not good on a number of alarming levels.

The woman stared at him blankly upon hearing his name, of course this didn't surprise him, it was almost too common of a name to believe. She then laughed and smiled, "So simple, I won't easily forget it. I'm Katina Williams. You can call me Kate."

"Nice to meet you, miss Williams." He replied slowly, regretting having spoken his name so easily, there was no need to get that familiar with this girl, he'd forget about her after today anyway. Or could he?

She wasn't a blonde bombshell, she wasn't model material, but she had a simple beauty: natural, innocent and sweet, something often over-looked. He mused at this; she was like him in this respect, unremarkable to the human population's definition of beauty. She was invisible to them, which is why no one had moved to assist her. He didn't know if she meant to be so transparent to people or if she simply was born that way.

John mentally slapped himself, he shouldn't be feeling any sort of kinship towards her, he especially shouldn't be musing over her. All the same, her innocent good-looks had him glancing regularly at her.

A strange silence engulfed them as they made their way to the shop John had mentioned. Being an antisocial man, John could not come to find any words to say comfortably, and besides he'd just made a big mistake in involving himself in this manner. What made matters worse was that the girl had twisted her ankle, so not only was he carrying her things, he was allowing the girl to cling to his arm for support as she walked.

He glanced over at her occasionally as they walked; she was such a small woman, only about five foot two, a whole foot shorter than him. He noted that she seemed as nervous and as awkward as he did. He was in the habit of reading people, something he always did, something that you get good at as an assassin. You have to be able to read people. Only this girl was so unlike those he usually had to read. He could tell that she probably dedicated a great deal of her time to developing and taking her pictures, conversing with people only when it was necessary. The way that the girl leant anxiously away from his arm let him know that she was uncomfortable around people she didn't know.

He wondered if he should say anything, make the girl feel more comfortable, but he didn't exactly understand the social protocol. 'And there is no need to get involved, now.' He reminded himself. Getting involved with anyone, even in a neighborly manner, was dangerous. But of course, his mouth had to go and break the silence. "Do you spend a lot of your time developing your pictures?" 'Way to not get involved.' He could have slapped himself. The girl glanced up at him, her blue green eyes seeming to smile and the effect had him feeling oddly warm all over.

"Yes." Kate answered with a relieved and happy sigh. She wasn't good with strangers and was at a loss of how to start a conversation with the man. "I spend most of my day taking pictures and then developing them. I don't go out very much, even though my friend often tries to drag me to a bar or a party." She laughed.

"You don't like to hang out and have a drink with friends?" He inquired, most people, especially women her age usually did that sort of thing—didn't they? Once again, social customs were an alien concept for John.

She shook her head fervently, her face becoming strangely stern, "No, I don't drink. I've seen people drunk around me often in my life, and I do not intend on ever looking that stupid." She softened now, sighing, "Besides, a lot of noise and people make me very uncomfortable. I feel sick when I'm in such places."

He looked at her softly, oddly intrigued by the young woman. She was an interesting woman, a bit strange, but people in general were pretty alien to John. "Social anxiety?" He asked, finding himself uncharacteristically comfortable around her.

She nodded not understanding why she found herself so comfortable telling him these things; she never used to be comfortable around people. "And I'm Claustrophobic. That's why being in a club and around so many people I just feel like I can't breathe. I get nauseous, dizzy and just can't focus on anything but my hands."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Your hands? Why your hands?"

"I don't know, I never really thought about it before." She thought it over briefly, remembering her experiences. She'd follow her friends to clubs and bars, but she always felt so out of place, nervous and unsure of herself. She remembered going to those places and

just sitting and observing the people around her, or staring at her lap, hoping to be invisible. She never was good with people. "I guess it's because they are familiar and I often have them in my lap when I go to those places, so they aren't moving and it makes it seem like the other people aren't there…" She laughed softly, "That doesn't make any sense does it?"

'Not in the least.' He smiled, she seemed to have this effect on him, a charm she did not know that she held. He didn't get it. His initial instinct was to snort and roll his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile at her. "No, but if it makes sense to you, that's all that matters."

Kate Williams was a strange woman, John found himself fascinated by the woman's reactions and trusting nature, it made him smile in spite of himself.

John abruptly became rigid. He could not allow himself to get close, even in thought, 'No problems there.' to this woman. People were dangerous, he could not get involved with the outside world.

Kate glanced up at him, frowning concernedly at the look on his face, "Are you alright, Mr. Smith?"

He snapped his attention back to her, amazed that she would address him in such a manner and with such a worried expression. He didn't want her to look at him like that, no, a face like hers should be smiling. "Call me John," He corrected her, "...and I'm fine, just thinking about…work." He finished, snatching the subject out of thin air.

"Oh? What do you do?" She asked curiously.

John paused, cursing himself silently. Why had he opened his mouth at all? The awkward silence would have been better. Of all the things he had to bring up, why that? He thought quickly, 'Lie…but not too big.' "Waste management, I don't get my hands dirty, but I make sure everything gets done." That should be vague yet truthful enough. He congratulated himself on his quick thinking.

Kate smiled at him, a bit unsure of how to respond. She couldn't respond with 'cool' or 'that's nice', it would sound inconsiderate, as if she could care less about such a job and no one ever boasted about such jobs. She never lied if she could help it and she wasn't about to be rude. She smiled instead; John looked like the type of man who worked hard at his job, and she admired that. "Ah, that sounds like an important job. Do you manage many people?"

"Not really…I just organize things, I rarely deal with anyone." He answered smoothly as they arrived at the camera shop.

John couldn't be more thankful for a reason to stop talking about his job, waving an arm at the many displays to distract her. "Whichever you want."

In awe, Kate wandered from display to display, limping slightly, sizing up every single camera and mumbling to herself. John watched her, wanting to laugh. She was, doubtless, the most interesting and amusing person he'd ever met. He wondered what she was whispering about. Could she be comparing these cameras to her old one?

"Choose a better one." He urged her. The expression that befell her features, a mix of overwhelming happiness and horror, had John wanting to laugh. He had never seen such an expression before! He kept his mouth shut, but he laughed inwardly, his body hardly containing it as he shook. A smile spread across his face at her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed anxiously, "But…!"

He stopped her, raising his free hand gently. "Really, it's okay." 'No, it's not…you really are an idiot, John.' He berated himself, abruptly killing the good mood, his smile dropping. He couldn't understand why he was doing any of this; he was actually enjoying himself as he watched the young woman. What was wrong with him today?

Kate turned away as her eyes welled up, forcing herself to continue to look over the selection, not letting him see. She wasn't about to cry in front of someone she'd barely known for ten minutes. What was with her today? She wondered about that. She'd spent the morning with a stressed friend and then after the call from her brother about prospective boyfriends, she'd been tempted to call her ex and then sat crying stupidly by the phone during lunch. Single people certainly did stupid things when they were feeling lonely. She hadn't felt any better after the evening meeting with a prospective client.

Kate took another deep breath, holding back her anger, there was so no need to get angry with the woman. Kate was disappointed, of course, but she wasn't going to let it ruin her day.

John breathed a sigh of relief that the girl had turned away, he wouldn't know what to do if she'd started to cry in front of him. Kate was too emotional. He hoped she'd hurry, being around someone so emotional—regardless of how interesting they were—would drive him mad; he would not be able to handle a situation so delicate as that. He really shouldn't have been involved with this girl anyway.

The sudden buzz in John's pocket had him jumping in alarm, he hurriedly dug the black device from his pocket. "Yes?" He asked cautiously.

"Good job today, John." It was a woman from the Agency, Sherry, who acted as a secretary of sorts. "The money will be in its usual place."

"Oh, thanks." He sighed, thoughts of his last target flooding his mind. He glanced over at Kate as she pointed to the camera she'd chosen. Overwhelming guilt filled him. What kind of man was he? Spending his afternoon setting up a murder and then coming home only to go take a woman shopping, like it was normal. He shouldn't be around someone like Kate. He tried to stay composed, nodding at her, signaling that he'd be off in a minute.

"What's up John?" Asked Sherry, noticing the sudden silence from John's end. If something was wrong, she was quick to squash it. Couldn't have her best Agents losing their touch.

"Oh, nothing, the phone startled me. My mind was somewhere else." 'Don't blame me. I told you to go home.' He glanced guiltily at Kate as she marveled over the camera she wanted.

"Alright then, go get rest, I'll call in the morning for your next target." Sherry answered after a short consideration, then hung up without further word. John returned his phone to his pocket, shaking his guilty thoughts from his mind as he approached Kate.

Kate gazed at him with concern when he reached her, shifting her feet anxiously. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble with your wife or something over this." She mumbled, holding her breath in anticipation of his answer, silently hoping he was single. Not that she wanted to jump into a relationship with someone, but it was still nice to look; she'd always felt it was wrong to dream about a married man. Best to get that kind of information out in the open right away.

'HA!' John smiled, huffing a laugh through his nose and shook his head. Him? Married? If anyone he knew had heard that, they'd die of laughter. "No, that was the secretary calling about work. I'm not married. Is this the camera?" He asked, quickly shifting gears as he pulled out his wallet.

"Ah, yes. Are you sure this is alright?" She asked again, not wanting to be a bother.

"Yes, yes. If you ask one more time, though, I won't buy it." He said seriously as he handed the cashier the cash.

Kate smiled graciously and quieted herself, watching John bemusedly. She'd never met such a generous soul before. She always believed the good in people and she'd met many wondrous people in her work, but no one had ever shown this kind of generosity towards her. People like John were rare indeed—it didn't hurt that he was nice to look at, either.

When all was bought and paid for, John handed her the black bag with her camera in it. "Now don't break this one, or carry around big boxes downtown. I don't wait around looking for people to save, you know? Why were you carrying this thing around anyway?" He asked, nodding at the photo-stuffed box under his arm

"Oh, a woman was looking to hire me for wedding pictures and insisted I bring a large amount of samples for her to look at. Made me meet them at some expensive restaurant and didn't offer to pay for even a drink, so I just had water." Kate had not spoken too bitterly about it, but her eyes showed a bit of disappointment.

John shook his head in dismay at the thought of the woman. "Rude. Did you walk the whole way?"

"Yeah, but it's just a block from my place, I thought it would be a pain to drive such a short distance and have trouble parking." She shrugged. "No need to waste gas for it."

"True." He nodded, the price of gas was insane. Even he walked if it was near downtown.

"Well, I guess I'll get home." She said with a sigh, reaching for her box

'Okay, see ya…' John pulled the box out of reach. '…What are you doing?' He asked himself. Once more his body refusing to listen to those thoughts at the back of his mind, the ones he was supposed to listen to.

"You'll break something, and I'm not going to buy you another camera, I'll walk you home. Where do you live?" He asked, questioning himself again silently. 'What the hell are you thinking? You can't take her home! You shouldn't have done any of this…'

"That new high rise apartment complex next to the corner you saved me at." Kate replied lazily, waving in its general direction.

This statement had John's eyebrows receding into his hairline, his breath catching in his chest in shock. "That's my complex." 'You didn't have to tell her that…'

"How amazing is that?" A smile spread across Kate's lips, her whole face brightening in excitement. "I hadn't even seen you before! What floor?"

"Fourteen." He answered dazedly. He'd lived there a whole year and couldn't believe he'd not seen her. How could he have missed someone like this? 'She didn't need that information, either…' His conscious warned him tiredly, but John ignored it, both intrigued and terrified by the thought of this woman living so close by.

"I'm on thirteen! It's nice to finally meet one of my neighbors." She said happily, hugging his arm as she continued to limp.

"Likewise." He mumbled unenthusiastically, but Kate hardly noticed his lack of excitement. John fell silent after that, this was not cause for celebration. What the hell was he thinking blurting out his address like that? Was he a professional assassin or wasn't he? 'According to the latest poll…no…no you're not…idiot.'

He walked her to their apartment complex in silence. His thoughts running on overdrive. He wouldn't be able to escape her now. 'This is bad.' He fretted. Despite her smiles, his last hit filled his mind and tormented him. The guilt overpowering him as he walked side by side with this innocent civilian. He just knew this would throw off the routine of: kill people, feel bad, drink, feel not so bad, then kill more people. He would now have to add 'avoid Kate' to the rotation somewhere between killing people and drinking. How could he have acted so casual and carefree next to her, being what he was? How could he have felt happy, even briefly, when he'd just murdered a man? What would a person like her think if she knew? 'She would be terrified.' He answered himself.

They reached the apartment complex, going in and heading for the elevator that would take them to her apartment first. The elevator ride continued to hold them in a deafening silence. Kate began to chew on her nails worriedly, feeling his anxiety fill the air around them. Kate's bad habit of self blame surfaced for what felt like the hundredth time that day, immediately she was wondering if she'd upset him somehow.

John's shifted his eyes briefly to look at her, seeing the concern flit about her pretty face. John groaned. Her concern over him made his guilt all the more painful. 'Why should anyone be concerned about me? I don't deserve that.' "Stop." He said stiffly, breaking the silence around them.

Kate's head swiveled worriedly toward him. "What?"

"You didn't offend me. I'm just not good with people. So stop." He mumbled rigidly.

Kate stared at him a moment before glancing away, replying meekly, "Okay."

The blonde led him to her apartment, 1309, opening the door that lead to a small hallway, passing an open kitchen ledge and in front of them was a decent sized living room slash dining area, which, oddly, contained her bed. A modest queen sized bed made of unfinished carved woods with a matching nightstand on one side. The bedspread was simple and somewhat feminine, with small red and white flowers on a pale blue background. On the side of the bed, closest to the kitchen, and sitting where a dining table should have been, was a small black writing desk dressed up neatly with lilies and a file separator for her pictures.

Across from her bed sat a small entertainment unit with an older, but large, television at its center. Either side was lined with her most beloved movies: 10th Kingdom, 10 things I Hate About You, Everafter, Mirrormask, Tin Man, Ink, etcetera. Next to the television was an antique chair of some period or another that John could scarcely recognize, but it was older and well kept with its fine polished wooden frame and intricately designed seat. Next to it, sat a simple round wood table. In the corner, was a folded up eating tray, which seemed strangely out of place, but she had to eat somewhere, right? To his right were the bedroom, which was closed off, and the bathroom.

John knew he should set her box down and say good bye. He had no need to be doing these things or getting familiar with the girl. He couldn't afford trouble like that. But again the caution died in the back of his mind, unable to keep himself from asking—"Why is your bed in the living room?"

"I turned the bedroom into a darkroom." Kate answered quietly, taking the box from him. "Thank you for everything, John. I appreciate it." She added quickly, feeling a bit displeased with herself for having made John uncomfortable. She didn't know why she always did this to herself. She'd always had the bad habit of blaming herself for everything, it didn't matter what. A frown crossed her face, she didn't know what was wrong with her lately.

"Don't mention it, Miss Williams… and please don't feel bad, I'm just not around people like this…ever, really." He added, disliking her frown for a reason he couldn't quite understand. What did it matter to him if this girl was unhappy? What place was it of his to care?

"Yeah?" She asked, perking up slightly. "What time do you head out in the morning?"

"I don't know, about eight or so. I normally don't have to be anywhere at a specific time." He said with a shrug.

"How about we meet up at the little coffee shop around the corner in the mornings? I go there for breakfast and it would be nice to not sit there by myself. I always feel self-conscious when I do. My friends are already at work by then, too. We could meet around eight."

He paused, trying to remind himself of how troublesome this would be, 'Lie ! You're busy, leaving town… something!' but before he could stop it, the futile attempt to stop himself dying on the way to his mouth, leaving him with one word: "Sure."

Kate smiled, shaking his hand gently, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then, John. Have a good evening."

"You too." He answered. He left afterward, refusing to let himself get into further trouble. He closed the door behind himself, numbly wondering what he'd gotten himself into.

If he could have, he'd have kicked himself. "What was I thinking?" He asked as he got back in the elevator. 'What does it matter, you don't listen to me anyway.' He mumbled and then groaned. No turning back now. Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible; 'Or it will be the worst thing ever'. He could use some social interaction; it would make him appear normal. Besides, it was just breakfast, just some coffee and a bagel or something and then bye-bye miss Kate, see you tomorrow. No prolonged interaction, just neighbors having coffee—right?

He sighed, 'You never should have offered to replace her camera.' "Shut up"