Warning: This chapter is going to contain strong language. A lot of hateful speech is going to be used in this chapter, towards the middle especially. Also I know some of this isn't the most realisitic thing to happen in a courtroom, just roll with it, okay?
John's POV
The trial had been going on for well over a month now, now almost June. Once Maxwell had decided that the defense had run it's course, it was time for Alice to take the stand.
She was standing in front of the clerk, her hair nearly blending in with her black sweater. Hand on the bible, she repeated the same vow the rest of us had made before sitting at the witness stand.
Alice's gaze skipped to Sherlock beside me, searching desperately for comfort. He gave a small nod, lips pressed firmly together.
Maxwell had already gone over the questions with her, but that was no one's worry. The real worry was the way the jury would react. Maxwell himself knew that the case was looking bleak, that nearly the whole jury leaned in Stewart's favor.
Today could change all of that. Today, the final day before closing statements, could change everything.
Maxwell moved to stand in front of his table, directly facing Alice. The court's too familiar murmur began to rise as the girl both victim and witness straightened in her seat.
"Alice Truby, the one left in the middle of this mess," Maxwell said, looking towards the ground. "You've been through quite a lot in the past six months, am I wrong?"
"You're quite correct." Her voice was quiet, barely audible from this distance.
"So much has happened, much of it muddled by outside opinion, that it's become hard to tell what the truth really is. But you," he strided forward, palms towards the ceiling. "You've lived it all. You knew Olivia Bolaji better than anyone in this courtroom did. Who was she?"
Alice's gaze dragged up from her lap, expression not quite readable.
"She was the girl who saved my life. In more ways than one." She fiddled with her bracelet, pursing her lips together.
"Home life was never very good for me." Her small smile was of regret, not joy. "My dad beat my brother and I every day, our mother acted like we weren't there unless we we helping in the shop. I didn't have anyone, not a single friend. I was the bad girl, the girl no one wanted to be friends with. Leather jacket, black lipstick, eyeliner, attitude issues, all that, " she laughed mirthlessly.
"And then one day, this girl with a yellow jumper and floral skirt sat down next to me at lunch. I told her to fuck off, she laughed.
"She asked me what the sign on my t-shirt meant, it was a band. When I told her, she didn't wrinkle her nose or scoff at me. She... smiled. I thought she was pretty cute, so I didn't mind. We ended up talking all of lunch, and she gave me her number." She smiled faintly at the memory.
"We became friends, I guess. Some of her normal friends didn't like me very much, but she didn't care. I thought I didn't stand a chance with her, not a single bit, but one day, she asked me to go to the movies. As a date. Turns out, she thought I was pretty cute too." The courtroom was silent, save for her voice.
Things were going great, I didn't even stay at my own house most nights. But then I went home. And my dad beat the shit out of me when my brother wasn't home. I had no one else to turn to but her. I was crying so hard I couldn't see by the time I made it to her flat." She shook her head, not wanting to relive those memories.
"Did you love her?" Maxwell asked quietly.
"More than anything," Alice breathed.
"Then, what really happened? How did it escalate so quickly?"
My eyes didn't leave the young woman on the stand as she brushed away tears. She huffed a laugh through it, shaking her head. "That's a question I'll ask myself everyday for the rest of my life." She went quiet for a moment longer, no doubt replaying it all in her mind.
"It started with a note. A simple note, that's all it was."
Maxwell was already back at his table, plucking an evidence bag with a post-it note inside. The note was lime green, crumpled and nearly torn apart, but still readable.
'Burn in hell, dykes.'
A shiver snaked it's way up my spine. I'd never seen the note, only known it's importance.
Maxwell set it back down, running a hand over his mutton chops. "For only a simple note, 'burn in hell, dykes,' is a lot, wouldn't you agree?"
"I thought it was a guy in our grade!" Alice burst. "There was a guy who had asked Olivia to the school dance, said he could turn her straight. I thought it was just a dumb guy, not a fucking killer." Each word was spit with enough venom to ruin the wooden floors.
"I'd been warned to take it seriously, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to believe that we could be in danger."
"When did you take it seriously?" All eyes were on Alice, waiting for an inconsistency or a confirmation.
Her head tilted to the side, nodding. "When Olivia and I saw a man with a black hoodie and face tattoo following us."
Alice's voice was slow, hesitant. Scared to speak, scared not to. Sherlock's shuddering breath broke me from my concentration and I placed a wavering hand on his thigh. High enough to be out of real view but still present. His own fingers clamped over mine was Alice was forced to relive the events of her stalking.
Minutes pressed on as she was asked question after question, as she explained the agents and the fear she felt. Maxwell was standing as still as could be, letting the jury focus fully on her. Not a single one of their eyes diverted from her as he asked the next question.
"What happened on February 14th of this year?"
Valentine's Day. The day everything had gone downhill.
"Neither of had been outside for anything other than school in two weeks. We were either in school or at home. No where else. But Valentine's Day... We'd decided to go see a play, a treat for just the two of us. Agents went with us, never taking their eyes off of us... but it felt amazing to be outside again." She smiled at the memory, though it quickly faded as she continued.
"But then we went home. The agents were right there, no more than ten meters away. I'd dropped my phone on the way out of the car, I'd just bent down to grab it," the anger and desperation shone in her eyes, even at such a distance.
"I didn't see them until it was too late. One had a knife against my throat," Alice's finger fluttered to her throat to trace the invisible line. "The other had grabbed Olivia. The agents got them off of us, chased them off. I don't they wanted to hurt us then. They knew we were being guarded, I think they just wanted to scare us." Even now, her voice was small, terrified.
"Alice, who was the man who attacked you?" The jury's gaze flipped back to Maxwell as he spoke.
"Paul Stewart."
"And you're positive about that?"
"Without a doubt, it was him." Her voice broke on the last word, cheeks shining with tears. She nodded once, lips pursed together to keep from sobbing. The court's murmur picked up again, a chill crawling across my skin.
Maxwell's warm brown eyes turned to the jury, grim smile on his face. "You see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this girl and her family will forever be changed because of this. She lost the person closest to her, and now here she sits, trying to convince you that her tradgedy is real. Did you even consider what she's gone through? The defense has had you so caught on what his client has been through to even think about her," he sighed, the hollow meloncholy in his gaze hardening. He narrowed his eyes, turning to glare at Stewart. The ever-present smirk on his cracked skin widened as the attention shifted towards him.
"Alice, what happened after you were assalted."
"Olivia and I were moved into a safe house. We weren't able to go to school, or tell anyone we were leaving. We just had to leave." She'd begun to collect herself again, wiping her eyes carefully.
"We had an hour to pack as many clothes and books we wanted before we were escorted there. Our families helped us unpack, tried to make it as homey as possible. The only bits of entertainment we had were the board games in the cupboard and the DVD player in the living room," she smiled wistfully, "but we had fun. Despite everything, we were okay. Olivia sang, I took pictures of even the most mundane things. We had each other, that was all we needed."
The smile faded, eyes growing dim. "Things weren't always like that though, it got hard. Olivia was paranoid that he'd find us, that something would happen. Her OCD got worse as the last days went on. She'd wash her hands six times, rearrange the bookshelves because if she didn't, he'd find us. I tried to help her, help her like she'd helped me so many times," she halted her words, taking a deep breath. Her arms moved back and forth, scratching at her legs I realized.
My lips parted, shock filling my veins. Sherlock had confirmed that she was clean as far as cuts came, but she wasn't fully clean. It was clear now, the faint red marks on her forearms. Intentionally scratching her legs, arms, anything, until it probably bled. She didn't have the equipment to cut right now, but she'd found a way to do it.
"I'd been the one to suggest going for a walk, not her. She barely even talked when we did, the agents following behind us. She started talking about how scared she was, about how she was tired of living in fear."
The scratching stopped as she folded over in her chair. Brutal sobs wracked her whole body, the room otherwise deadly silent.
"She wanted to go home, it's all she wanted. She didn't want to die, she wanted to home, to school, to the store and work and for everything to be normal," she managed, voice rising to the edge of hysteria.
"I wanted it too a-and I tried to convince her that if we stayed, we'd be safe. But she didn't listen, she ran," Alice cried. "It wasn't suicide, she wanted to go home! Anything else is just a fucking lie!"
Maxwell handed her a box of tissues as she dissolved again, every scrap of heartbreak she'd experienced rising to the surface again. It took much longer this time before she could continue with the testimony, before Maxwell could continue his questioning.
"Miss Truby," he began quietly, "What did you see when they found her?"
Everyone in the room had seen the pictures, had seen the mangled brown body stained with red. Everyone had seen the words carved into her. But few were more effected by it than Alice herself.
Out of the corner of my eye, Nneoma was leaning against her husband, silent tears falling into their laps.
"I barely recognized her at first. Bones were sticking out of her legs, she beaten to the ground. I've had nightmares about it every night since then," she added in a whisper. "Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, her hair was matted with blood. I hated it. I screamed and cried and begged for her to wake up. She never did." She shook her head slowly, voice hollowing as she began to seal herself off from the outside world.
Maxwell didn't keep her on the stand for much longer, only asking clarifying or questions of empathy before she was allowed off the stand.
Sherlock leaned in as Alice stepped down, eyes shining. "She's done it. Only two of them don't fully believe that he's guilty." I loosed a shaky breath, eyes trailing. up to his. There, I found the same relief and hope I felt.
"We're nearly there. It's almost done." The corners of my lips tugged upwards, my hand catching his again, still out of view.
Alice came back to her seat, frosty blue eyes boring into nothing. I glanced at her legs, the angry red marks were covered by her skirt for the most part, but the edge of a particularly nasty scratch was visible.
Sherlock's focus locked into it, working quickly in his mind to deduce it's orgins. His lips parted in surprise when he realized, all relief draining from him in a heartbeat. He hadn't been able to fully focus on Alice on the stand, having to switch his focus to the jury every few seconds in order to understand their thoughts.
Alice barely noticed him, still devoid of any sense. Maxwell stood out, visible from the corner of my eye. Sherlock turned his head to mine, hands shaking.
"Did you know?"
"I only caught the motion while she was up there. She doesn't have a way to... do what she normally does," I managed, unable to say the words. "She's resorted to scratching, something that can be dismissed as dry skin or allergies. We can talk more at the next recess," I said quickly as Maxwell had already begun to speak again.
"This testimony, given willingly, shows the true heart of Paul Stewart. The tape I am about to play you," he shook head, "Is truly disturbing. Jake Tanner was the man behind the Brixton Mosque bombing, an insider of the of the Soldiers of the Superior."
The smirk on Stewart's face faded, shock and anger briefly passing on his cracked and wrinkled features. As quickly as it had dropped, the smirk reappeared, quick enought to make me question whether or not it had happened. Adams face next to him was blank, careful to not give anything away.
Without another word, Maxwell hit play on the recording. I hadn't been there, neither had Sherlock, but Scott's voice was crystal clear over the speaker.
"Please state your full name and occupation for the record."
"Jacob Lee Tanner. I've been working for the Soldiers of the Superior for nearly a year."
My heart quickened at the sound of his voice, the cool metal of his gun pressing into the back of my head once again.
"Mr. Tanner, could you walk us through the plans the Soldiers had?"
"We wanted to kill as many of them as possible." The murmur of the court rose briefly, quickly fading as Scott asked the next question.
"And who would be they?"
"You know, them. The ones not like us. The faggots and negros and orientals and all of 'em. If they're not like us, we wanted to kill them." The courtroom was eerily quiet, listening in to the recording.
"How did you know Paul Stewart?" How Scott had managed to keep his cool after hearing that, I didn't know.
"Stewart was the one who recruited me. Promised glory and money. Glory, I got that. The world knows my name." The chilling pride of the statement made my skin crawl. "But the money," a low laugh crackled through the speaker, "That's bullshit. I had to live in a warehouse for a year, only the higher ups got to live in houses, like Paul."
"What was Stewart's intent with Miss Bolaji and Miss Truby?"
"Oh, the negro dyke? Hm, he hated them most. All the others,he hated them too, but something about them seemed to really piss him off."
"I'm sorry, the others?" Scott's voice calm, level. As if all he was asking about was groceries.
"The others, yes. The six faggots, the greaseball, the chink and the mussie. He killed all of them. I didn't get to help out with that at all, I just did the paperwork. Quite boring, it was."
'Back to Miss Bolaji and Miss Truby," Scott's voice was strained now, fighting ro restrain himself.
"Ah, yes, them. Paul hated them more than anyone else. He would ramble for hours about how good it would feel to finally kill them. He spent nearly 20,000 quid on trying to find themafter they were relocated. I was the one to sign off on the bank statements, it was part of the paperwork I was given."
"Was Olivia Bolaji's death planned and premeditated?"
"Yes. Without a doubt."
Scott asked a few more questions before the tape ended, leaving the silence in it's wake.
No one moved, not even daring to breathe as Maxwell tried his dreads back. His solem face turned to the jury, eyes tired.
"We've heard all sides of the story but the theirs. The Soliders of the Superior were the only unknown side of this and now, it is known. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you heard that man speak. You heard the slurs, the mild demeanor to such hateful murders. Do you really still believe that Paul Stewart is innocent?"
He turned on his heel, striding back towards his table. "Only one of them isn't completely convinced, and even he's leaning that way." Sherlock's voice was barely audible, I had to strain to hear him. I nodded, hope beginning to rise in my chest.
That was it for the day, tomorrow would be closing statements, but the trial was practically done. We were going to win.
"Your Honor, I'd like to present one more piece of evidence." Adams rose from his seat, Maxwell rising just as quickly.
"And why wasn't it submitted until now?" Maxwell's sharp voice halted the hushed voices of disbelief that had begun to rise.
My stomach dropped, this couldn't be. We were so close, so close to the end of it all.
"It was only secured three minutes ago, Your Honor. There was no reason to think we could have secured it at all, but it is now present and I'd like to give the jury the full evidence of this case."
The judge's eyes narrowed, a small scowl crossing his face. "There will be a short recess, both of you come forward in that time. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are not to discuss the matters of this room until instructed to do so." The gavel banged.
People left slowly, trickling out of the room in hushed whispers. Sherlock nudged Alice, still staring where Adams and Maxwell argued with the judge. She'd become more lucid not long ago, only really catching the last few minutes.
"We should leave this time, there's a private restroom towards the back of the building if you'd prefer that." Sherlock's gentle words guided her out of the room, me trailing behind. No one was near these bathrooms, I didn't think they were open to the public. Once Alice had gone inside, I turned to Sherlock.
"Oh they aren't open to everyone, trust me."
I chuckled, I hadn't even needed to say anything for him to answer my question. I quickly surveyed the hallway, no one else was nearby. I slipped an arm around his waist, turning his attention from the ladies room door to me.
"What's going to happen now?" I asked softly.
"With Alice or with the trial?" His voice was utterly exhausted as he leaned into my arms, sighing.
"Either." Forget our own testimonies, this was easily the worst day in court. Realizing what Alice was doing, Adams possibly taking down our entire case right at the very end.
"The judge will decide if the evidence is legitimate. If it is, he'll get to present today before tomorrow's closing statements. If not, it gets tossed out and we go home."
"And in terms of Alice?" I shifted so that we were facing each other, hands resting on his waist.
He smiled grimly, "I'm going to talk to her tonight." He didn't get a chance to say more than that, footsteps echoed down the hallway. My hands lingered for a moment longer before we both stepped away.
"I'm going to use the loo," I said, already ducking into restroom.
Sherlock's POV
John slipped into the restroom, my body cold where his hands had left. A short, blond man turned the corner, strolling down the hallway.
"I didn't think this bathroom was for anyone other than officials," Adams remarked, stepping closer.
Rage boiled in my blood, the idea of the new evidence flashing in my mind. "Hello, Mr. Adams."
He stopped, not more than two feet in front of me. "I'm sorry, Mister Holmes." His voice was just as detached as it had been the whole trial, yet his amber eyes had softened.
"That's Mister Waston-Holmes, thank you," I said coldly.
"My apologies, Mr. Watson-Holmes." Adams didn't move, seemingly stuck between explaining himself and leaving. He shifted his weight, beginning to leave.
"I'm asking you, just this once, not to do your job," I pleaded, his form already halfway down the hallway. He froze, turning his head over his shoulder.
"Do people ever ask you not to do yours, Mr. Watson-Holmes? Not to poke in their business?"
I blinked back tears, this was different. I revealed the darkest secrets people had, justice was done for it. He was getting in the way of justice.
"Yes."
"Do you listen?" The walls in his voice seemed to waver, the smallest bit of regret passing through.
"No."
"I can't either, then." He turned back around, rounding the corner back to the courtroom.
"Dammit," I breathed. The regret, the explanation. He was going to be able to present the evidence. And Stewart was going to get off because of it.
Alice slipped out of the bathroom, skirt pulled so that the scratches weren't visble. "You doing any better?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"No," she clipped. I nodded, I couldn't talk to her about it now. "I just want to go home," she said finally, voice small.
I glanced over to her, arms wrapped around her middle. "I know," I whispered, stepping forward to hug her. Her breath began to shudder, hands shaking heavily. "You did well up there today. It won't be much longer. Thirty minutes max, okay?"
Alice drew away, sniffing. "Okay, thirty minutes, I can do that."
I smiled grimly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You can do anything for thirty minutes." She snorted, shaking her head. It was an joke between us, or at least we called it a joke. It was more of a coping mechanism than anything, it wasn't necessarily true but it helped.
John came back out a few seconds later and the three of us made our way back to our seats in the courtroom. Before we could even fully sit down, the gavel banged, bringing the room to attention.
"Mr. Adams, you may proceed."
Adams stood, giving a quick dip of the head. "Thank you, Your Honor."
He stepped around his table, grabbing a paper off of it as he went.
"This is a receipt from March 4th. More specifically, from the gas station half a kilometer from the safe house. Olivia Bolaji's body was found there, 18 minutes after this receipt was printed."
He held the paper up before handing it to the jury. "7 gallons of gas and a candy bar bought 18 minutes before Ms. Bolaji died. Normally this would be quite suspect, except for the fact that there are two witnesses that saw him leave. Leave, as in drive away."
That wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Tanner had even admitted that he'd been waiting for her. That he'd parked out of view of the windows so that no one else would see him. The story didn't match anyone elses, it was false.
John's hand found mine, squeezing hard. I squeezed back, having to listen as Adams told the witnesses lies.
My gaze went to the jury, searching for any faltering opinions. Five of them were beginning to falter, enough for mistrial, maybe enough enough for him to be found not guilty.
My stomach flipped and I swallowed, trying to calm myself even as Adams sat back down. As the judge concluded the day. As we walked back to the black car already waiting for us. From one problem to another, I needed to talk to Alice.
"Would you like to pick dinner up here?" John asked. I nodded, glancing towards Alice.
"Sure."
The car stayed put as John and I followed Alice inside. Jack gave a small smile as we walked in, still dealing with the last dinner rush customers.
"Can we talk?" I asked. Alice froze, biting her lip. She hadn't known that I'd figured it out, she thought she was getting away with it.
"Yeah," she breathed after a moment. I nodded back to John before following herup to her room.
The door closed behind me with a soft click. Alice pulled off her boots, avoiding all eye contact.
"Alice," I began softly. Her eyes closed, biting her lip.
"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to cut but I couldn't just do nothing, I had to do something."
I made my way across the small room, perching on the bed next to her. "I know. I know it's hard right now but you need to be honest about when you're struggling."
"Oh, and I can just come and tell you or Jack that, yeah?" She snapped. "And neither of you would freak out?!"
I sucked in a breath, "You can always come to me, Alice, you just-"
"I just what, Sherlock! I can't come to you about this, it's embarrasing!" She marched to her desk, tension bringing her shoulders up. I slid off the bed, walking to her. "It's embarrasing that I can't fucking control myself! I was doing great until she died! If you'd figured it out faster, she would still be here and we wouldn't be having this problem!"
The words were a slap to the face, I'd tried so hard to save them both.
"If you'd come to me about the notes sooner, I could've figured it out."
I heard the actual slap before I felt it, the pain of the blow coming in tandem with the regret about my words. I stepped back, hand going to my cheek where she'd hit me.
Alice stopped, arm still raised. "Oh my god," she whispered. A thousand emotions crossed her silver lined eyes, memories of her own parents doing the same flooding her mind.
I grabbed her, pulling her against me.
"No, no, no no no," her voice rose in octave and panic quickly followed by repeated apologies.
"It's okay, you're nothing like them, you're okay, I'm okay, I forgive you," I rushed, trying to calm her down.
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean it, any of it," she blubbered. I rubbed her back, repeating it over and over again. It was true, she was nothing like her parents. It was just the heat of the moment, we'd both said things we didn't mean, did things we didn't mean.
"I'm sorry too. I didn't mean that. It is what it is. And we'll figure it out from here."
She nodded against my chest, still crying. One hand went to her hair, stroking it slowly.
"What I do mean is this, you have no reason to be embarrased. I will not judge you. I just want to help. I know what you're going through right now, but I want to help you."
She sniffed, "How do you know what this feels like?"
I led her back to her bed, sighing. "Because when I was 16, my boyfriend jumped in front of a car. It's not quite like this, but I know what it's like to lose the one you love so young. His name was Victor."
Alice's frosty eyes bore into mine, head tilted. "I had no idea, Sherlock, I'm-"
"Sorry, yes I know. I didn't tell you, mainly because I was scared to. I didn't want you to get the impression that I thought that she, you know,"
"Offed herself."
"Yeah," I sighed, smiling grimly. She nodded, leaning against my shoulder.
"I'm glad you told me." She paused for a long moment, "It hurts still. I can't do anything without thinking of her, without remembering it all. And I don't know how to move past it."
I put my arm around her, "I know. It'll hurt for a long time. But you'll grow up, meet someone new. Someone you love just as much. And it'll hurt sometimes still, but that person will make you remember why you bothered to love in the first place."
She smiled, "That's who John is for you."
"Yes, he is."
We both sat there in silence for a while longer before a quiet knock sounded at the door. "Is everything alright?" Jack's worried voice floated through, making Alice straighten.
"We're fine I'll be down in a minute," Alice called. Jack's footsteps receeded back down the stairs, leaving us alone again.
"Do you want to tell him or should I?" I asked quietly.
"I'll tell him. You're right, I have to be honest. I can't keep acting like it's not doing any harm." Alice's laugh was mirthless but she stood.
"I know you want to be there for me, but I need to tell him alone."
I followed her down the stairs into the industrial kitchen. "Promise?"
"Promise." I gave her one last hug before Jack came in.
I gave him a small smile as I headed to the front where John waited.
"How'd that go?" He asked, the food containers already packed in a bag. I took the bag from him, glancing to the car out front.
"I'll tell you at home." He nodded, following me out to the car. Neither of us spoke until we were safely in the flat, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.
"She was angry, embarrassed." John glanced up, stormy eyes trained on mine. "We both said some horrible things, and then she slapped me."
His expression didn't change, waiting for me to continue. "She freaked out, thinking she was just like her parents. She's not. She's nothing like that. I told her about Victor, that I knew what it's like to lose that sort of thing that young."
His gaze softened, lips forming a thin line. His hand reached for mine as I continued, "I want her to get past this, I don't want her to make the same mistakes that I did."
"I love you," he whispered.
I smiled grimly, "I love you too." He lifted my hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle. It didn't solved anything, but it somehow managed to make the burden of the world seem a bit lighter.
"We're going to get through this, okay? No matter what. We will be okay." He smiled, pulling me in. He kissed me across the table, lips lingering before we both sat back to eat.
It was barely seven by the time we'd finished but I was too tired to do anything else.
John set the plates in the sink, turning back to me. "Why don't you go shower before bed, hm love?" He pulled me to my feet, kissing my cheek.
"What about the dishes?" I asked, though the idea of a warm shower was inticing.
"They can go a night without being done." I leaned down, kissing him. He smiled against me before swatting me away.
"Go shower, I'll have the bed made by the time you get back."
I showered quickly, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed. John was changed by the time I got back, already under the covers.
"Come here, love," he patted the sheets, clean ones I noted, beside him.
"You washed the sheets," I commented as I slipped under. He grabbed my hands, gently pulling him to me. I rested my head on his chest with a sigh.
"I threw them in the washer this morning, had Mrs. Hudson dry them so that now," he leaned in to place his lips against my nose. "They're nice and clean. Go to sleep now, you can thank me in the morning."
My eyes were already closed but I made a small noise before falling completely asleep.
AN: Hiiiiii...... Well..... that was interesting wasn't it? Closing statements happen next, but will it all be smooth sailing? We'll see.......