John takes a moment to process Jim's words. He'd told Mary. Told Mary about them -- sleeping together. Some part of him supposes he should be upset, mad, something, but he can't rationalize that beyond the sudden pounding sound of his heartbeat in his eardrums.

Even despite the fact that he manages to keep his features tightly schooled into a neutral expression, he can feel all of the color drawing out of his face. He supposes he's lucky his knees don't give out on him entirely, in all fairness, and after a few more steps he slows to a stop.

This is it, isn't it. They may not have the death sentence in this world, but that's hardly a line in the sand. He had been -- so careful. And now he's going to lose them both, isn't he?

"You -- told Mary," he repeats, flatly.