Sore. He was feeling sore, and stiff, and aching in places he didn't know could ache. What was his answer?

"I'm great, never felt better!" He smiled, his eye twitching ever so slightly as he did his best to hide a spasm in his back that shot a needle of pain through his spine. "Gonna have to shower and clean the wounds though, and I'm gonna need your help for that. Bonus, that means ya get ta see me naked again." He chuckled softly and winked.

She'd know he was hiding the pain, and she'd know he was doing it for her sake, but it didn't matter. He was going to wear that front as best he could. Or would at least try to, if she'd let him. She probably wouldn't, but it was a gamble he'd take.

"What about you? Feeling less... I dunno. Paranoid?" His eyes looked beyond her for a moment before smiling and looking back. The waitress dropped off his freshened coffee and a new plate of sausages. "Perfect, doll. Thanks. Big tip comin' your way, I promise that." With a wink, he dismissed the waitress and took a sip of the hot coffee, following it with an audible sigh of joy. At least he could still appreciate a good cup of joe.

"Anyway, I think your idea sounds absolutely perfect. If you want to go ahead and get started on that, I can run down to the rehab center and pick up whatever you need to make it happen. Or, you can call and have one of the little guys bring it to ya for favor." He smirked. "And you know I kinda like that idea." Johnny smiled big and leaned back, slowly, until his back rested against the soft chair cover.

"Actually, that's a great idea. Because it starts havin' us pull some weight in the cruwu."

Barb nearly choked on her coffee. ‘CruWu’... wtf? Chuckling, she shook her head. I’ll call down an’ haves one a tha interns work up a ‘case study’, and book a flight ta... whattaya think? Kansas City? While we wait. You make sure yas sign everything proper so’s we’s got records. Then tha only thing we’s need is receipts for tha flight here... which I’s can pull off back at tha room. The way I figures it, if’s we’s send ‘em in tha same envelope as tha cash, that puts everything in a nice little bundle for when daddy-o... or whosever... goes lookin’. Yeah?”

”Kid doped outta his mind, don’t know what day it is or how long he’s been out, stack a cash an’ a paper trail in arm’s reach. Seems pretty self-incriminatin’ ta me. You?”

Having finished her bacon, Barb stretched, silently debating ordering more food... not because she was hungry, just because she could. Shooting Johnny a suspicious glance, she nodded toward the room. “Shower, yeah?”

Johnny nodded. "That sounds like a perfect plan. The shower too." He smirked and stood, shuffling away from the table then offering a hand to help Barbara up. "Let's go ahead and get this day started..." He pulled his money from his pocket and left FAR TOO MUCH on the table. Purposely, of course. Both for the waitress' prompt and good service, but also for her discretion.

Leading Barbara in his arm back to the elevator, they both waved to the receptionist and turned toward her. "I'm so sorry. I realized that last night I failed to give you a name."

"It's quite alright, sir. Madam. Money speaks enough at times." She smiled. "Would you like to add your name to the room, proper, so others may locate you?"

"Absolutely. Jerry Wence Jr., please. If anyone comes for me, please phone ahead?" He smiled and tipped her again. "Thank you! You're wonderful." He shot her an award-winning, eat-your-heart-out smile that almost had Barb even weak in the knees and followed it with a wink. Then to top it off? He blew a kiss and turned, leading Barb toward the elevator again, both of them snickering quietly at the receptionist's slight giggle that was horribly concealed.

"To thick?" Johnny whispered to Barb as he poked the button on the elevator to call it down. Luckily, it was already down from when Barb had come, and the doors opened. That was good. Less wait time. Stepping in, he turned and pressed the top floor button. Soon as the door shut and the elevator began moving upward, Johnny busted out laughing... Then groaning... And laughing again. Then holding his back as he inhaled sharply through his teeth with an, "Oooooooo..." Seemed that laughing still pulled on all the wrong muscles.

"Okay, okay... Shower first, then you start on all of that paper trail. I'm gonna go and check-in with the crew. Then say we don't discuss this any further and meet in the park to discuss the rest of our day and our possible business opportunities as Johnny an' Barb?"

Barb nodded, nearly tripping over herself in her bid to get OUT of the elevator as it *dinged* to a stop. “Sounds fine to me,” she chuckled awkwardly over her shoulder as she headed for the room. Savoring the feel of a real key in a real lock, she slinked into the room and headed straight for the shower. Lord knows she’d had enough experience rigging shit that this should be a breeze. 

The sound of clanking, cursing, grinding porcelain, and water flushing... several times... echoed into the bedroom. But several trips to her suitcase later, and the tell-tale hiss of a warm shower sliced through the room, followed by a soft, triumphant cheer. Wet up to her elbows and grinning from ear to ear, Barb coaxed Johnny into the now-working bathroom. Where, to his befuddlement, he found the trip handle for the toilet haphazardly mounted to the shower and a familiar floral scarf hanging from the side of the toilet tank... presumably threaded through the flush lever. “Yas only broke tha knob. Tha valve stem and cartridge is still fine. So’s it’s an easy fix,” she said, noting his amused expression. 

“Check tha heat and getchyas self comfy. I’s gotta call ta make, and then I’ll check up on yas,” she paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder, “No guns this time. I’s promise.” It was heavy, but half-joking... the best she could manage at the moment. Pulling the door behind her, she left him to his privacy, at least for the time being. And took her time making the arrangements they needed. A phone call to the rehab, an appointment to pick up records, a falsified plane ticket, a REAL plane ticket... it was all fairly easy sailing. And took no more than five minutes for the well-experienced Barb. Then there was the silent plotting. Pulling the project she’d been working on from her suitcase, she carefully wrapped it in (yet another) scarf before tucking it carefully into one of her many pockets... a surprise for later at the park. 

Subsequently, her clothes were discarded carefully onto the bed as she tiptoed back to the bathroom, quiet as a church mouse at mass. She said no guns. Not no surprises......

Clothes. Getting dressed had been fairly easy enough that morning. So why, now, was he feeling like it was such a monumental task to get UN-dressed? Maybe it was the weight of it all? Maybe he was gun shy? Maybe it was the fact that she'd see him naked! Wait. She'd already seen him in the buff, with a gun pointed at him, in all of his embarrassing buffoonery... Now should be no problem. Then again, he'd made a pass at her after waking from his minuscule unconsciousness. Maybe that was the reason that he found himself worried about being nude in front of her again. At least she'd promised 'no guns' this time. There was that.

Chuckling lightly to himself, Johnny -finally- started to undress; which came much easier once he'd gotten out of his head and back to reality. He could hear her on the phone now talking to Tiffany at the Rehab Center. That was good. Things were moving along. Sighing heavily, Johnny stepped into the shower.

"OW MOTHER FUCKER SON OF A BITCH!" he yelled out, then quickly followed with an, "I'M FINE! DON'T WORRY! HOT WATER ON TENDER SKIN! I'M A DUMBASS!"

Sighing again, he hung his head. BUFFOONERY!

"Smooth, Johnathan. Really. Fucking. Smooth... Idiot."

Slowly he dipped his head beneath the running water, letting it roll through his hair and over his face. It felt nice. Warm. Inviting. Staring at the tile floor, he smirked. No blood left in the grout. She'd certainly cleaned that up well enough. Ruffling his hair beneath the water, Johnny finally slicked it back and looked up at the shower nozzle; allowing the water to pour over his face and run down his front and back.

He heard the door open, but his eyes were closed at that point and he just smiled. "Took ya long enough, doll!" He chuckled. "I'm kiddin'. But I'm gonna need help with my back for sure. If you don't mind."

Barb paused at the door, half in shyness and half in heavy remorse. Fuck, he was pretty. (The kinda pretty that KNEW he was pretty, no less. Fucker.) Were it not for the angry gash that marred his back, she thought he could easily have rivaled Adonis. The angle was nearly perfect... just enough skin to tantalize without giving away the punchline. And Barb found herself simply staring for a long moment, painting the scene in her mind in cool cobalt and contrasting warm vermillion. 

“Stay there,” her voice trailed off softly, clearly laden with intense contemplation, “Don’t move.” 

Rushing back to her suitcase, she rummaged through the less important clothes and toiletries until she finally found the things that really mattered - her sketch pad and charcoals. Scurrying back to the bathroom, she giggled gleefully as traced the long, broad lines of his physique... even down to the eventual-scar that ran along his shoulder blades. Just an outline for now. She could finish it later.

Balancing the pad on the edge of the sink, she set it aside and *finally* slinked into the shower. “Sorry,” she sneaked at herself softly, “Inspiration and all that.” At first, she kept her distance... assessing, evaluating, adjusting... the wheels in her head spinning in equal parts anxiety and excitement. She didn’t know he’d already seen her naked.

Lightly, tenderly, her fingers traced along the bruises on his back like a gentle ice breaker. Silently, she wondered how many hands had touched him before her... how many showers he’d shared. How long had it been? What other secrets did he carry? She was hungry to know. It struck her as a funny thing... that she would actually want to KNOW him. ... that hadn’t happened in a very long time. 

‘Too bad ya fucked it up’, she berated herself mentally, lamenting the fact that her own buffoonery had so thoroughly screwed the pooch. Were it not for her feminine hysterics, they could very well be in the throes of ecstasy right now. But no. She had to go and make an ass out of herself to the point that it was off the table indefinitely. The fuck? But, she reminded herself, it would have been off the table anyway... considering that it took three blows to the head and a fistful of painkillers for him to break the ice.

For all the interesting experiences she’d ever had, and all t he modesty she NEVER had... platonic showers were never exactly on the docket. This was a first. A different kind of intimacy. A completely novel experience, which - in her life - was extremely rare. And in a weird way, she kind of LOVED it. So maybe this was a good thing. It would make it interesting... a slow burn... a fascinating experiment. She liked those. 

Chuckling softly, she slipped one arm around to his chest and pressed her cheek - CAREFULLY - to his back. “Pass me the soap?” She asked, the slightest hint of regret and intrigue coloring her words. Her touch was incredibly light as she meticulously soaped his back with more care than he’d received in nearly all his life. She gave ‘careful’ a new meaning with her silent, attentive affection; each touch and every motion a thoughtful, adoring, almost reverent act of devotion as she delighted in the sheer presence and feeling of him. 

It was the quietest he’d ever seen her. And - far beyond the absence of clothes - the most bare. 

He’d asked for help with his back. But, as she luxuriated in the experience of exploring him, her hands trailed down his arms and across his chest until - nearly - every inch of him was dotingly washed and rinsed. She even tiptoed up to wash his hair, bubbles cascading between their bodies as she stretched to reach his slick, dark locks. There was little she didn’t grace with her touch, except that which she poignantly avoided. And that, somehow, only made it all the more sensual. ... a brief respite, like a safe place in the midst of their chaos. And one that was over all too quickly as reached for the towel hanging just outside. 

“That... that should be better,” she smirked shyly, half hiding her face as she blushed... finally breaking the silence. “I brought you a clean towel....” she lowered her eyes to the tiles floor as she offered it to him, red from her crown to her chest. 

Johnny couldn't help but feel the attraction and arousal; feelings he'd not known in what seemed like a lifetime. Her fingers massaging the soap into his pores, carefully and meticulously cleaning the wound... And nearly everything else. His skin was alight with sensation, tender to her gentle caress. And yet, it was all over with so quickly. Too quickly.

As he turned to reach for the towel Johnny paused and took a long, hard look at Barbara. He could only assume he was as flushed as she with the feverish heat he felt radiating from his cheeks. Clearing his throat softly, he finally took the towel and stepped out of the shower.

"Right. You know," he tossed the towel over his head and began to ruffle and fluff it dry before continuing. "Thanks for helping me with that. Kind of embarrassing to have to ask." Removing the towel from his head and looking at her, he couldn't help but reach over and turn her gaze to his. "Please don't look away now." He smiled, sincerely, albeit awkwardly goofy. Almost shy-like, but more nervous.

"Think you could get used to this? Because I could." He bit the inside of his lip, worried his words would make her bolt. But regardless, he knew the line he'd crossed the night before. Pills or not? He remembered and meant what he'd said.

"I'd offer to wash you as well, but I'm not sure how much longer I can stand right now. Pain killers are wearin' thin, even if the hot water loosened my muscles." Wrapping the towel around his waist and securing it in itself, he stepped closer to her and placed his hands on her hips. "But Barbara Anne, I'll make it up to ya if ya let me." Pulling her close, his eyes met hers. Look at the boy, too shy, go on and KISS THE GIRL! The seconds seemed like hours as time stood still, frozen in an everlasting frame of life as he drew on his courage... But sure enough, draw on it he did. And as the ice cracked around the still frame surrounding them, Johnny leaned in with heated passion. Pressing his lips securely to Barb's, he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

The embrace was strong and intense but felt as if it ended all too swiftly; just like the shower. As he let go, Johnny stepped back. "I promise," he tacked on to his previous statements, all too aware of his beet-red face and nervous trembling. Or maybe he was just cold? He could play it off as cold, right? Probably not...

Quickly, he made his exit into the bedroom and began to finish toweling off. Thinking back to her words before their shower, 'Inspiration and all that', he paused. He'd not noticed the sketch on the sink as he'd taken his leave. Looking at the ceiling, Johnny's brows furrowed softly and he turned back toward the bathroom with a pensive stare. What had she meant by that? What was inspiring to her? Then, a thought crossed his mind and he chuckled, smirking and blushing yet again. She'd said to not move... Had he inspired something in her? The thought tickled him greatly.

In his newfound bewilderment, Johnny finished drying off and started to get dressed, just quick enough to have his pants and belt on before Barb came into the room. He offered her a cheeky grin as he held the towel up. "Don't get me wrong, I much prefer this." He gestured to her nude form, then tossed the towel at her. "But I figure you'd like to dry off. It's a little chilly in the room." He winked. "But damn, DAMNIT, Barbara," he grinned. "You, chérie, are fucking beautiful. The most beautiful..."

’Barbara Anne’, he’d said it twice now and she hated it just as much each time. The syllables felt dopey and heavy, and altogether far to hillbilly-chic for her comfort. But as she watched the way he smiled as it rolled off hi tongue with that southern lilt that she only ever heard in private, she couldn’t help but smile... just a little. It was like their own little secret. In fact, now that she thought about it, it WAS a secret between them. He was the only person on this whole chunk of planet earth...  very possibly the only person still living... who knew that piece of her. And, somehow, he’d made piece with it in the most quaint way that she could imagine. 

So, she decided in that moment, even if she still hated the sound of it, she’d never tell him. Not ever. She’d love it for it’s dopey ugliness... just like she did all the imperfect wabi-sabi brokenness in the world. Because HE made it special. 

And, no sooner had she made that promise to herself - almost on cue - Johnny unexpectedly sealed it with a mind-melting kiss. It was wonderful... and awful... she wanted so badly to embrace him, to pull him close and press him tight and run her hands along his back and through his hair. But - because of her own stupid paranoia - there was no where she could safely grip without risking ruining it (again) by hurting him (AGAIN). Just about the time she’d settled on wrapping her arms around his neck - which seemed like it MIGHT be okay - he pulled away. And for a split second as his eyes met hers, she couldn’t breathe. 

He LITERALLY left her breathless. And she wondered at the cheesy cliche of that fact, she couldn’t help but smile. 

Snagging his hand as he turned to leave, she silently noted the trembling in his fingers as she chuckled, “I’s gonna holdjyas to that, Johnathan Young.” His name danced of her lips like an honey and clove as she pressed his fingertips to her lips, caressing his hand with her cheek before releasing him to his exit. 

Turning to the sink, she gathered her pad and pencils, humming some old folk tune blissfully to herself as she continued her sketch. She was so engrossed in it as she walked back to the bedroom, that she entirely MISSED his toss of the towel; gasping a little as it knocked the paper loose from her hands. With a soft yelp, she played hot-potato with the pad, pencil, and towel for a brief moment, before landing with the bundle of all three pressed awkwardly to her chest like some horribly chibi high school anime scene... bent knees and all. And as she glanced up at him, she actually scoffed. 

She was speechless. As he stared at her like some Grecian alabaster statue or renaissance painting, it struck her - he stared at her as if she were art. And it was the most profoundly peculiar feeling in the world. Is that how she looked when she sketched other people? Is that beautiful sparkling light what other people saw in her eyes? And how... HOW ON EARTH... could someone so perfectly, adonically, pristinely pretty possibly look at her LIKE THAT? He was, hands down the most drop-dead American-perfect handsome she’d ever seen. And yet, unfathomably, here he was starring at her like a GODDESS. It was almost too much. 

Chuckling goofily, she his her face behind her sketch pad once again. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she blushed, her voice muffled behind the towel, “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Refusing to look at him again, she side-stepped to the bed and slid carefully into her laid-out clothes. 

“So,” she peeped, still blushing, “the park?”

Johnny smiled, and finally looked away as she asked, moving to the desk and opening his pill bottle. Taking a few of them into his hand, he nodded as if she could see him, then tossed the pills into his mouth. Swallowing without worrying about water, he turned and grinned. "Yeah, I'll meet ya there after I check-in with tha boss."

Taking the few strides back across the room, he ran a hand across her cheek, leaned in, kissed her, and then turned for the door. "I'll see ya there in a couple'a hours?" He paused as he opened the door and looked back, waiting for her nod, before exiting the room with a wink and making his way down the hall.

"Holy shit!" he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "Holy. Shit." It was all he could say as his thoughts raced. Was that what love felt like? Real love? Or... No. Johnny shook his head and etch-a-sketched all the negativity. It was love. That was his story, and he was sticking to it. Even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. Fatal attraction and all...