[john smiles softly at her when she places her hand on him with such gentleness. his chest aches helplessly at the story that she relays.

he knows what it is like to hold a gun in his hand, to shoot, to kill. people like him, they can't kill. john thinks there's a reason for that. it destroys something. a part of your soul you can't get back.

there's no judgement in his expression at her admittance. just a nod of understanding.] Sometimes when you're angry and grieving and lost, you'll do anything. You don't even think about it. [it's said softly.] I don't blame you for shooting at her, but I'm glad you didn't end up killing her.

I wouldn't-- It doesn't ultimately help, and it's something that stays with you. She's not worth that whoever she is. [and there's a slight ache through his chest again at that laugh.] I don't know if there is any feeling better after something like that. Sometimes it's just... pain, loss... that you have to feel. You move forward because you have to, but you still feel it.