Tired
Warning: Implied suicidal ideation
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"I'm tired."
The words hang heavy in the air. Xander can't quite believe what he just heard. "What did you say?"
John flicks the ashes from the end of his cigarette. “I'm tired,” he repeats. His face screams it: the bags under his bloodshot eyes; the paleness of his skin; and the dull expression. His entire frame slumps, as if he carries some invisible weight. “Have been for a long time.”
The clock on the wall ticks, a timer for how long it takes Xander to respond.
“Then… rest? Maybe take a vacation? I'm sure you have plenty of leave, right?” Xander suggests, trying to be helpful.
Shaking his head, John stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on his desk. “Don't think it would help. It's…”
He pulls out another cigarette and lights it.
“Do… Do you want to talk to someone about it?” Xander asks gently, his dark eyes full of concern.
John sighs, sending a stream of smoke past his lips. “I don't know.”
This only serves to make Xander's worry grow. “I'll go get someone.” His eyes drop to John's holster. “Give me your firearm.”
Wordlessly, John pulls out the gun, flipping it to offer the grip to Xander.
Once Xander has the firearm, he heads for the door. Glancing back, he assures, “I'll be right back. Stay here.’
The door closes. John sits on the edge of his desk, head dropping so he can stare at the floor.
“What's wrong, Johnny?” A familiar, drawling voice taunts, “Down in the dumps?”
John lifts his eyes just enough to see combat boots and the hem of a pair of jeans. He doesn't bother responding.
“Oh, this must be bad if you won't talk to me,” the voice laments sarcastically.
A pause.
“I could take it all away, y’know.”
This makes John lift his head to look straight into the dark eyes of what used to be Wilbur Cross. “Take away what?”
“The fatigue, the pain, the loneliness,” Wiley lists off, “I can make it all just disappear.”
He holds out a shiny green apple. “One bite is all it takes, Johnny.”
John stares at the verdant skin of the fruit. His hands clenched into fists as he tries to fight the yearning in his chest, the urge to just reach out, to taste the sour juice of the apple.
One of his hand raises, fingers stretching out for the fruit.
The sound of the door opening makes John tear his eyes away from Wiley.
Xander enters, followed by one of the staff therapists. “Hey, John, I found…” He trails off, raising an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
“I'm-” John looks back to see both Wiley and the apple have disappeared.
Hand falling back to his side, John merely shrugs. “I'm just tired, Xander,” he repeats quietly.
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the anon talking about wilbur/john gets it! i never saw their relationship as anything other than mentor and mentee
to me, general john mcnamara is happily married to his beloved husband, xander lee 🤍
(ofc u can hc whatev u want, i just personally prefer mcnamander)
~~~
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Very much not thinking about the meeting that must have taken place at P.I.E.P. during the early events of Black Friday, in which Xander Lee, given his experience as a theoretical physicist/field agent, probably volunteered to be the earth's ambassador to the Black and White - and John MacNamara almost definitely stood up and said the professional equivalent of:
'Absolutely fucking not, Xander. I am not going through that again. I'd send the god damn president before I'd let you through that portal.'
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