AN: So until I figure out how to resolve the problem with line breaks, I'll replace them with a full stop. I know it might seem clunky, but at least there are paragraphs now.

"JOHNNY IT'S A T-"

.

It was surprisingly bright in the room, and far too clean. It was usually clean, he knew that much, but for what had happened only a few nights prior the entire house was too clean. Too empty.

That ugly vase was too empty.

.

"Come on, Johnny!" Aisha complained, closing the CD tray and turning up the volume. An unfamiliar instrumental piece began to play, with little apparent rhythm. "How do you know you don't like it if you-"

"I'm not a fucking ballerina, Eesh!" Johnny objected, crossing his arms in defiance.

She rolled her eyes. "No, you're a Prima Donna."

"I'm not dancing!"

"Johnny… I'm sure you'll be great at it!" she pressed. "You're always dancing at clubs, why not with me?"

"No way. I'm not waltzing."

"It's our eight-year anniversary."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "Eight years since… wait, which anniversary?"

"Seriously?"

"Come on, we've been off and on more than a fucking light-switch," Johnny raised an eyebrow.

Aisha looked away somewhat. "Since we first got together."

"So it's more like what, six and a half years?"

"Johnny!"

"What?" he shrugged, sighing as he let his shoulders relax. He walked towards her awkwardly, blush rising to his face in embarrassment. "Alright, so… what am I meant to do?"

"Look, I'll show you."

.

He stood from the couch, adjusting his shades as he did so. Walking to the sound system, his hand hovered over the 'play' button for a moment before pressing it. The same song, its odd beat that was difficult to follow and its mix of piano, double bass and guitar, began to play softly through the room.

"No, hand on my waist, this isn't hip-hop," Aisha shook her head slightly, chuckling. "Follow my lead, that's it- no, no, that's a slide, not a step…"

.

"I can't do this, Eesh!"

"So you can take a shotgun to the knee and walk, but you can't dance on two good legs?"

Johnny's pride began to take over. "I'm Johnny-Fucking-Gat. There's nothing I can't do."

"Of course you are, baby. Of course you are."

.

Hearing Shogo's muffled pleas quietening as he and the boss shovelled dirt over his coffin wasn't enough. It wasn't going to bring her back. This was a problem he had to deal with, something that couldn't be fixed with more bloodshed, and that was something he didn't know how to do. He'd need more help than a couple of beers could provide.

Reaching into his pocket, Johnny pulled out his phone and called his second speed-dial contact. His first wouldn't be picking up her phone anymore. He could hear the dial tone for a few seconds, before the boss picked up.

"Johnny?"

"Hey boss, where are you?"

"Uh, I'm just hanging around HQ, why? Did something happen?"

He sighed in relief; Estela wasn't busy. Though, even if she was, he knew she'd make time for him. "Look, you… you wanna go to Freckle Bitches or something?"

"Heh, lemme grab my keys. You at home?"

"Yeah," he looked down. It didn't feel like it anymore.

"Pick you up in five, chico."

She hung up, leaving him to wait in the empty house. It was far too empty.

.

.

.

The silence had settled comfortably between them, occasionally broken by a noisy slurp on a drink straw or the rustle of paper and cardboard. Outings like this weren't uncommon before the yacht incident – the boss had admitted before that she preferred Troy's company when eating – but even then, there was usually conversation moving between them. She may have been quieter before the accident, but she and Johnny could talk for hours non-stop when everything was alright. Although, things ceased to be 'alright' a mere few months after she joined the Saints, so that was a bit of a stretch.

She began to wonder if things had ever been alright, even before she met Julius.

"How's shit going with the Brotherhood?" Johnny interrupted her thoughts. His voice sounded automated, as if he didn't care for the answer and simply wanted some noise. She could understand that perfectly.

"It's kinda slow," the boss shrugged. "I mean, we got the shipment, and we fucked Maero over, but he got away. We've had a hard time tracking him down."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It was quiet again, although more stilted and less companionable than before. The boss took another bite out of her burger. The two had ordered two sets of Twins, although she couldn't eat both of hers. Her appetite used to be rather big for a woman her age, but after the coma she wasn't able to eat half as much as she used to. Johnny didn't mind. All it meant to him was a free burger.

The boss didn't mind either; she was more concerned that she'd lost her eyebrows, a lot of muscle and her near-trademark curls; plastic surgery did wonders for the former, but the latter could never be regained no matter how many styling products she used. At least the muscle would come back through willpower and training. She hadn't worn her hair out long since she woke up. The bun hid her lack of confidence, and the side-fringe covered up one of the nastier scars that concealer never quite seemed to catch.

"What about the Samedi?" he continued, reaching for his drink. The boss smiled slightly.

"Well, we've got their product and they don't," she said. "And I'm pretty sure I have twice as many ears as Mr Sunshine, from what I've heard."

Johnny forced a chuckle, able to comprehend what was meant to be a joke but unable to find the humour in it.

"Look, chico," she murmured, setting down her burger. "I can't say anything like 'I know what you're going through', because I don't. And I can't just spout nonsense about 'it'll be okay', because I don't know that either."

"I don't need you to-"

"But what I do know," the boss continued, "is how you're feeling right now. That space in your chest that kinda hurts around the edges, and how if you try to ignore it it'll only hurt more, and that when you think about them it starts to crawl up your throat and choke you. I know what that's like."

Johnny looked somewhat shocked for a moment, before turning his eyes down. She could see the top of his eyelids from under the shades, his eyelashes brushing against the lenses. It took a moment for him to speak.

"I guess you would."

"And I also know all the cruel things you want to do to every last member of the Ronin," she nodded.

"Seriously?"

"I locked Maero's bitch in the trunk of her own car and let her scream for mercy as her boyfriend crushed her to death. Of course I know."

Johnny gave a quick smile, and the boss nearly missed it; had she not been paying attention, she could have gone for the rest of the evening thinking she hadn't helped in the slightest. He lit up a cigarette and leaned back on his chair.

"And I know you, too. I remember when you said you wanted to skull-fuck Tanya Winters," she smiled. "I get how your brain works sometimes."

"Yeah, but you had a good point about that hepatitis," Johnny acknowledged, taking a drag on the cigarette and blowing a smoke ring. "It was kinda weird, hearing you talk around Ben King."

"What do you mean by that, chico?" she cocked an eyebrow. It wasn't the same eyebrow, and it lacked the little 'kick' that her natural one used to do. She felt a little disappointed.

"I used to think it was impossible to shut you up, at least when it was just us lieutenants," he thought aloud, reminiscent. "But it was real hard to get you to say a damn word near anyone else."

"I don't like talking to strangers."

"Why is that?"

"Are you looking for conversation or are you studying for a psychology degree, Mr Johnny Freud?" she rolled her eyes, turning to her drink.

"Hey, I'm just saying," he shrugged. The boss tried to hide her smirk, but she couldn't hold it back. "What the fuck are you smiling about?"

"I dunno," she chuckled, crushing the paper from her burger into her empty cup. "Just reminded me of my first day rolling with you, when you were picking on Lin."

"Fuck you talking about?" Johnny furrowed his brow.

"When you told her not to throw her shoulder when she punched."

He paused for a moment, confused. "You remember that?"

"Hey, I used to punch pretty badly. I took it on board," the boss rolled her eyes.

"So if I give you a deck of cards, you can remember what order it's in?"

"Fuck off, Johnny."

"I bet you're a real stunner at Simon Says."

"Shut up!" she laughed, throwing the trash-filled cup at him. It bounced off of his shoulder, the lid popping off as the makeshift projectile hit the dirty floor. Johnny didn't put up much resistance; he was quiet again.

Estela sighed, clasping her hands together on the table. She gave half a thought to the necessity of hand sanitizer afterwards.

"Johnny, I really don't know how to help you."

"I don't need you to help, Ee," he shook his head.

"Huh?"

"I just… I just need someone that's there," Johnny began to gesture with his hands, although the movements made little sense. "I can't explain it… I mean, Eesh has always been… there. Troy was an undercover cop, Dex became a fucking sell-out, Julius dropped his flags and you were in a coma. But no matter what, Aisha was always there. She stayed when a million other girls would've walked. Now… now she's gone. And I haven't had to deal with that for a while."

Estela nodded in understanding; true, she'd only really known her for a year or so, but ever since that drive-by Aisha had been in her life. Even before then, the singer's name was plastered over billboards and advertised on TV. She could barely remember what it was like before the Third Street Saints were a part of her life, her identity; it was almost harder to try and imagine what her life would have been like if she never knew Aisha.

"And it's not the same with you," Johnny continued, bringing Estela's attention back to him. "You were out of action for five years. Nobody thought you'd wake up, but you were still there. A vegetable, sure, but you weren't in the ground. Aisha… she's gone."

"Johnny…?"

He stayed silent.

"I'll be here. I'm not leaving again," Estela tried to elicit a reaction.

Johnny stared in the direction of the table, although it was clear that he wasn't looking at anything in particular. He just wanted somewhere safe to park his gaze while his mind went elsewhere.

"I promise."

He didn't respond. She sighed, checking the time on her phone; 10:35 pm. No shooting ranges would be open, and she knew that Teenay would be one of the worst options. She decided to let him sit, that she would wait as long as he needed, but if he wasn't starting to move in an hour she would carry him into the car herself.