A/N: Thanks to Rose_Griffes for beta'ing. You're a rock star. Thanks to Sassy J for the quick Beta and suggestions.

Chapter 1:

Their work, like everything else in the world seemed to be conspiring against them. The first attempt to get together after the "event" a month ago got the kibosh when a senator was found in a compromising position with a slightly underage boy. John was already on his way to her apartment when she got the call.

The second attempt was trumped by a missing ten year old girl. Zoe had just opened the door when John got the call from Harold. No bazookas or car bombs were involved and the little girl was safely found and brought back to her parents.

The third attempt was shot down when he asked her to marry him so they could help someone in the suburbs. One would have thought that in the two days they spent together as husband and wife they would have been able to take care of business for a few hours; hell she would have settled for twenty minutes, unfortunately, Graham Wyler slipped out of his house past the security cameras and they had to hightail it to Manhattan so Savannah the exotic dancer could rappel down the side of the building, shoot a few fake chefs' knee caps and whisk his charge to safety.

The fourth attempt was waylaid by a judge's clerk who was found breaking into a sorority house for a panty raid. He was caught in said judge's daughter's room, panties in hand. They had just sat down to finish the leftover scotch and finish up a game of poker, when she got the call. She had been hoping to convince him to make it a game of strip poker and had planned on letting him win.

Maybe the powers that be were trying to tell them something.

It only took the "event"; that one night to upset Zoe's apple cart. No grand romances she had said. Well, of course she did, never having thought that men like John even existed. Who knew that Rambo could be so . . . Zoe was at a loss for words, and it had ticked her off because she had a big enough vocabulary to think of something appropriate! Even though she was granted a reprieve from her confusing predicament, it wasn't any clearer now than it was a month ago.

And here she was working the crowd of politicians. She was wearing a black dress and her hair was swept softly up and away from her face. The simplicity of the lone diamond at her throat was a stark contrast to the lightly tanned skin exposed by her deep neckline. Her strong toned legs were bare and were accentuated by the shortness of her hemline and the height of her black stilettos. Zoe Morgan looked amazing, as she always did, and she knew it. It was a shame that the only eyes she wanted on her rear weren't even around. The good thing was that the night was almost over. Eyeing a corner barstool, she made a beeline for it and sat, giving her order to the bartender. She pasted an aloof and cold expression on her face to deter any would be shysters.

"Is this seat taken?" A soft raspy, rather distinctive voice asked. Her stomach did a little flip at the sound of it.

Too exhausted and weary, all Zoe could manage was a little quirk of her lip. "John." She motioned towards the bar stool next to her indicating that it was free.

"Okay?" He asked, though his facial expression didn't alter, she did note the concern in his eyes.

"Tired," was all she could muster, feeling a bit light headed. She realized she hadn't eaten since that morning and she'd had several drinks this evening. "How did you know I was here?"

"Political Convention? I can do the math."

She accepted his answer with a half smile. "Are you in between people?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's get out of here." As she stood up to leave her phone chirped.

No! No! No! Each no was accompanied by a foot stomp. At least it was in Zoe's already frazzled brain. And this ladies and gentlemen is, Zoe Morgan when she's had no sleep for two days and nothing substantial to eat except cocktail wieners, she thought to herself, wanting desperately to throw a fit.

"Zoe Morgan." Quickly snapping her best fixer voice on, she answered her phone.

"Miss Morgan, this is your Super, Roy. Something has happened and well, you can't stay in your apartment for awhile."

"Why the hell not?" Zoe had to work on dialing down the bite in her voice; she knew that she was on her last nerve. Apparently, so did John because surprising to her, he laid a tentative hand on her arm as if to calm her.

"Uh yeah, well see the kids upstairs kind of had a party and one of their bong - er - - things caught fire and they didn't notice until it was too late. Short of it is your apartment is uninhabitable for a few weeks because of water and fire damage. No one is clear to go into the apartment until tomorrow and even then only for necessities."

"Lovely . . . Roy, would you call this number when I can safely go back into my apartment tomorrow?"

"Yes ma'am. And I'm really sorry."

Zoe clicked her phone off and fell back onto her barstool. "John, do you have your gun on you? Just shoot me."

"Problems?" John asked, sounding sympathetic.

Huh, I must be drunk, Zoe thought to herself as she went on to explain what happened.

"I'm going to make some phone calls, see if I can get a hotel room for the night," Zoe said. Picking up her phone, she started dialing.

"You might want to rethink that. It's doubtful that there are any hotel rooms available."

At her quizzical look, John responded. "See, there's a political convention in town. . . "

"Oh sh - - cr - damn it!" Her mind started ticking through her contacts list when it dawned on her that she only had work contacts and no personal ones. It had been over two decades since she has had a public meltdown, with the day that she has had today, she was jonesing to have another one. She dug in deep, way deep into her arsenal of control, positive no one would approve seeing a woman her age throw a fit, besides, it was bad for business. On any other day she would have had the right connections, favors owed, anything to get a room on such short notice. Unfortunately for her even the President couldn't get a room this week.

"You can stay with me." John said simply.

"What?" Zoe gave John a look that clearly said . . . huh?

John realized early in their conversation that Zoe was at the end of her rope and wasn't quite her usual put together self. "Follow the bouncing ball Zoe . . . "

"What?! " She prompted irately.

"My . . . Place . . . You . . . Can . . . Stay . . .With . . . Me . . . " John said enunciating each word as if he were talking to a two year old.

With a tentative glance at him she asked. "Are you sure John?" Zoe knew his place was sacred to him. It was why their failed attempts had always been planned at her apartment or somewhere else. For him to even offer was telling.

He nodded. "Yes, Zoe. It's fine. Let's go."

Zoe was lying on her stomach, dead to the world, when she felt fingers running through her hair, gently pushing the thick brown strands behind her ear. "Zoe . . . hey, I have to go. Finch just called."

She lifted her head up, blearily opening her eyes and staring at John. "Okay . . . "

"I left you a key on the counter."

"Uh-huh." She said, still half asleep. As she felt a soft kiss on her hair, she was falling back asleep.

Several hours later, Zoe stretched and sighed as she ascended into consciousness. She sat up as she surveyed her surroundings. Nice loft apartment, open space, simple, understated furniture. Ah, she must be at John's. Last evening was a blur. Being bone weary because she had been working for two days straight with hardly a rest, she could barely hold up a conversation with John. She had a vague recollection of arriving at the loft, John handing her a t-shirt and pointing her to the bed.

Damn it. We finally see each other again and I didn't even get to see him naked.