John sighed, and made himself look at Bobby, and reached out to take his hand. "Okay. I keep raking up the past because I don't believe you when you say I'm forgiven, when you tell me you love me. Not that you're a liar, just...you don't know me," John said, simply, without rancor or blame.

"You don't know what I did, not really. You don't know what I'm likely to do. I did fuck up, but the way I see it was that I selected the wrong target, that's all. If anyone pulled a knife on you in London? They wouldn't last very long. I set off a couple of fires tonight because some people were being bigots and I don't have the patience to deal with assholes any other way. That's the kind of person you're with. I'm a killer. And when you really get that, you'll leave."