#then editing

With a strangled gasp, John broke his hold, leaving Hamilton looking startled.

“I - “ John leaned heavily on the back of his chair, legs scraping noisily against the floorboards. He felt the rise of nausea. “I think I’m going to - "

He closed his eyes, willing away the stirrings of sickness. He dared not speak. The room tilted; objects doubled before his eyes and then… gradually, everything settled. Shapes moved back into alignment. The world was still, and Hamilton was staring at him.

John was holding the back of his hand against his mouth. He hesitated and then, feeling as though he was on safer ground, he took it away. 

“Don’t -” he choked out hoarsely, “... don’t touch me.”

Hamilton pressed his trembling lips together. A sudden collapse of a log sent a shiver of flame up in the hearth.

“So… I disgust you now?” he laughed bitterly.

“No - “ John’s legs were leaden; he was afraid to let go of the chair. He swallowed thickly. “I - why are you doing this? What is it with you…” He squeezed his aching eyelids shut. “.. having to know every damn thing?”

“Jack - “

With effort, he drew in a breath. “Enough! Why can’t you know when to just leave something alone?”

For a moment, John was unsure that Hamilton had heard him. Then the man’s jaw set, his eyes hardened.

“You’re not well,” he told John, “and this - my being here - isn’t helping.” He looked towards the darkened windows.