Mary held onto him so tightly it almost impeded their trip to the bed, but somehow they made it. When they were in, and he had the covers tucked around them, she sprawled across him, cheek laying against his chest where she could feel and hear his heart beating strong. It relaxed her, reminded her that he too was alive and well and that the torture was a thing of the past. God help her, Mary was never going to let anything like that happen to him again.
"I tried." She confessed softly. "I tried to distract him, because it wasn't fair to hurt someone younger than our boys like that, but he was so fascinated with how she could heal good as new after each and every one of his cuts. Then he--" Mary trailed off hastily, not wanting to tell John about how he all but gutted Claire because she remembered Alastair's words. She would never fear John, or see him as anything less than her husband, but she didn't want to remind him of what he had been forced to do. "he hurt her, John. Again and again and again, and most of the time I was there I couldn't help but think about you and Dean, about what you had to go through, and how he hurt you."