"Jax? It's V." She hesitated in the doorway, clutching her
old key from her assistant days, wondering whether she
should intrude. "Jax?"

The penthouse was dark, stuffy, and stale; the air smelled
faintly of sweat and rotting food and it was apparent Jax hadn't
bothered to crack a window in a while. Hadn't anyone been by
to check on him recently? Jerry? Mac? Anyone?

She put the bag of groceries she'd brought with her down on
the desk along with her pocketbook. "Jax, I'm sorry to bother
you, but I had this horrible vision of you starving to death and
I decided I didn't want that on my conscience," she called into
the silent apartment. No response.

Oh god, he wasn't up in bed, was he? She'd feel strange going
in there. The Inner Sanctum. The Boudoir, as her mother would
say. Brenda was gone, but she wasn't exorcized just yet. Her
presence lingered like an almost tangible thing and V wasn't ready
to stir up those ghosts. It was simply too soon. And Jax needed a
friend right now, not a lover, in any case.

A whimper startled her and her heart sank when she focused on
the source of the sound. Jax was huddled in a corner of the living
room, curled in on himself, wrapped in a private cocoon of pain
and anguish. "V?" His voice was rough from crying.

"Yeah, Jax, it's me." She went over to him but stopped a few feet
away, careful to keep her distance, not wanting to intrude. "When's
the last time you ate?"

"I don't know. Yesterday, I think."

"You shouldn't do this to yourself."

"That's my business to decide, isn't it?"

She drew in a breath to steady herself. "Not when it hurts the people
who care about you, Jax. Not then."

He lifted his head at that, and the torment in his eyes pricked tears
of sympathy in her own. He sat up slowly, drawing his legs up to
his chest, resting his arms on his knees. "It's hard...it's hard to believe
that anyone cares. I feel like the only person in the world who's ever
loved. Isn't that horribly selfish of me?"

"No, Jax. It's profoundly human." She took a step closer to him,
close enough to touch. But she still allowed him his space. "Just try
to remember that you're not alone, okay? And that I'm here if you
need me. When you need me."

She turned to leave him with his grief, but his hand shot out and
clasped her wrist, making her gasp in surprise and forcing her to suppress
a frisson of arousal that shot through her body in spite of herself.
Slowly, tentatively, he drew her closer, until finally his arms wrapped
around her waist and he rested his head against her belly. She
smoothed his hair and held him as he gave way to deep, racking sobs,
wetting her dress with his tears, his strong arms practically crushing her.
And when he pulled her down to the floor with him and wrapped her in
a desperate embrace, crying into her hair, sobbing into the darkness,
she didn't resist.

End.