Work Text:
Zed breathes, pulling fresh spring air down into her lungs and holding for five seconds before release.
Inhale, exhale, repeat. Count the breaths. Easy. Not exactly what she’d thought her first lesson from John would be, but easy. She’d expected him to have something more exciting planned, like making her touch haunted objects to induce visions. Meditation seems like something John would scoff at but he insists it’s the first step in learning to control her powers.
She’d thought meditation would be like prayer. She doesn’t pray for forgiveness anymore, like her father had taught her, but sometimes she talks to whoever might be listening. Meditation is more like art. Lay everything out to get a better view of what’s in your head. Don’t get caught up in – shit . Zed squeezes her eyelids together against the memories that threaten to resurface.
It’s okay, she tells herself. We’re safe now. And another part of her answers, You thought we were safe before.
Frustrated, Zed sighs and opens her eyes, blinking in the afternoon light on the lawn in front of the millhouse.
“Having trouble?” John asks. When they began, he was cross legged beside her. Now, he’s lounging on the grass, sunglasses over his eyes like they’re at the beach.
“I keep losing focus.”
“Focus on what?”
“Exactly! I can’t stop thinking.”
“Meditation isn’t about ‘not thinking.’ We’ve all got thoughts. Just observe them. Don’t judge them. If you get caught up in them, just mind your breathing.”
“And this is going to help me control my powers?”
“It’s going to help you know yourself,” John says, sitting up and lighting a cigarette. “You can’t control yourself if you don’t know yourself.”
Zed wrinkles her nose at him. “You’re clearly an authority on self-control.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start. Chas is so sick of the smoke he’s liable to call the city and try to get the millhouse declared a smoke free zone.”
Despite her annoyance, Zed laughs. Yeah, she’s safe with these two idiots. “I already know myself. If I didn't I'd still be -" she shakes her head, derailing that train of thought, pushing it away. “I just want it to be my choice when I enter someone else’s mind.”
“If you knew yourself you’d be able to separate your thoughts and feelings from those of the people around you.”
And I wouldn’t have been overpowered by Gary . That’s another thing she doesn’t want to think about. She shifts on the grass.
John sits up and removes his sunglasses so he can fix Zed with a look that, for a moment, makes her wonder if he isn’t the mind reader instead of her. "Running won't help you anymore, luv." His gentle tone catches her off guard and puts her on the defensive.
Zed narrows her eyes at him. “Do you even meditate?"
John’s mouth presses into a flat line and he looks off towards the millhouse, forgotten cigarette burning down to a stub between his fingers. "Sometimes."
"Liar."
"Shut up."
Zed scoffs, leaning forward. “You’re teaching me to do something you're too scared to do yourself. Admit it."
“Look, you asked for my help!” John snaps, having the audacity to look genuinely offended. “This is me helping you.”
“God, you’re a hypocrite. You’re so scared of what’s in your head that you have to get wasted every night but you expect me to -”
“Don’t,” John says in a warning tone.
“Don’t what?” Zed says, getting in John's face now, so close she can smell last night's whiskey and Chas’ woodsy cologne. “Don’t point out that you make everyone around you fight their demons while you hide from your own?”
“Don’t turn this on me! You’re the one having a bloody tantrum over a bit of meditation.”
“Me? You don’t even do it!”
John pauses and the rage drains from his face. But instead of looking upset he just looks tired and a little amused, like he’s suddenly become aware of the ridiculousness of his argument or of the argument in general. “Look, you got me there, luv. But you’ve got to do this and I know you can. You’re just scared.”
“ I’m scared?” Zed says, furious now in the face of his calm. “You’re scared, John! I’ve felt your fear, remember?”
“All right!” John shouts. “I’m scared. I’m scared all the bloody time, all right?”
Just then, John flinches and Zed looks down to see that the cigarette he’s been holding has burnt down to his fingers. On instinct, Zed reaches to knock it out of his hand.
She’s flooded with renewed fear and anger – but is it hers or John’s? She can’t be sure. Images come in flashes. A raised fist. A little girl crying. And fire. So much fire.
Somehow, through it all, Zed separates herself from John and pushes away from him, landing on her back in the grass and curling into a ball.
Slowly, the world comes back into focus. John is kneeling beside her talking to her. “Just breathe, luv, okay? Breathe with me.”
“ You fucking breathe,” Zed hisses, and John laughs.
"All right, all right! We'll breathe together."
They breathe, Zed laying in the grass and John sitting cross legged beside her. They breathe, count to one hundred. Eventually, Zed pushes herself into a sitting position. Okay, so this actually helps sometimes.
“Better?” John asks.
“A little.”
“You managed to separate yourself from me mid-vision,” John says. “That’s progress.”
“Yeah, well, being in your head sucks.”
“Yeah, I know,” John snorts. He pauses and lights another cigarette. “Who was the girl?”
“What?” Zed asks, startled.
“When you touched me I saw a girl with red hair and a white dress.”
Zed tries and fails to keep her expression neutral.
“Most people’s minds you touch can’t reach back," John says. "Mine can. Future reference.”
Zed sighs, tucking one knee up to her chest and resting her chin on it. “Her name was El. We grew up together. She was my first love.”
“What, you too?” John asks, cocking his head at her like he’s genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Never came up.”
“You live with me and my boyfriend. It comes up all the time.”
“Guess I’m used to hiding it. Where I grew up it wasn’t safe. Not just because of that, because of my abilities and -” Zed stops, throat tight and eyes burning.
“Where’s she now?”
“She was supposed to come with me when I left. When I ran. Instead she stayed. Ratted me out. I barely escaped.”
“Screw her, then.”
“No, screw you,” Zed says, vulnerability distilling swiftly to anger. “She was just a scared kid. Scared for the same reasons that have you screaming in the middle of the night.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you? Are you scared of Hell, John? Of your dad? Of it all ?” She gestures at the world beyond the millhouse, beyond herself and Chas.
John blinks several times, processing that before having the decency to look a bit ashamed. “She what you’re avoiding, then?”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Bollocks.”
Zed runs a hand through her hair. "Do you know what it's like to feel another person's emotions like they're your own?"
"Me? No, I’m a cold-hearted bastard.”
“You certainly play the part well,” Zed says.
“Truth is, I learned to shut that part of myself down a long time ago."
“You must have felt it strongly if you had to do that.” John doesn’t say anything, but she can see from the look on his face that she’s right. She presses on. "My whole life people have used my abilities against me and I… let them. I could feel their need like it was my own.”
“They took advantage of your empathy,” John says. “We’re going to make sure no one can ever do that to you again.”
“I don’t want to relive it all again. I can’t. I survived it all, John. I escaped.”
“I wish there were another way, luv. But if you want to get control of your powers, this is it.”
"It's not fair," Zed whispers, feeling like a child again suddenly.
"I know, luv." John reaches out and puts a hand on Zed’s arm. “Look, you’re right about me. I’m a coward. I’m gonna let my past haunt me ‘til the day I die. But I don't want the same for you.”
Zed leans her forehead against John’s shoulder and sighs, giving in. “All right. I’ll try.”
“I’ll be right here with you.”
Zed pulls back to look at him. “John?”
“Hmm?”
“You can pretend to be cold-hearted all you want, but I know the truth.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re kind. Not nice. Not easy to be around. But you’re kind.”
“I’m touched,” John says. He likely means it to sound sarcastic, but it doesn’t come out that way.
“Still a bastard, though.”
“Shut up and count your breath.”