Author's note: I don't, of course, own any of these characters, so please don't sue me. Thanks for all the encouragement I've had over the last couple of days - it really energised me to finish off some stuff which had been languishing. I think this will probably turn out much longer, but we'll have to see. I'm sure everyone can cope with the occasional non-American spelling or expression (I'm not American, but I try hard to get the idiom right) - though let me know if anything grates particularly! Mistakes of course are my own. I hope you enjoy this!

Detective John Riley shuffled with the crowd towards the elevators. The end of another day, spent giving evidence in another narcotics case left over from before his promotion to Homicide. He was slightly surprised at how closely life as a cop resembled certain aspects of life in the army. Long periods of boredom punctuated with moments of even more boredom. Those courtroom dramas showed impassioned arguments in the judge's chambers, but they never showed the rest of the crowd hanging around for an hour or so waiting for the decision. Real life was so much less interesting than TV, Riley decided. Still, once he was clear of the court house Riley could clock off and he could allow Reese to emerge. The nearest elevator was nearly full as he approached it. A last passenger, a woman in a business suit with a laptop and brief case, squeezed in and turned to face outward. Their eyes met, one of those accidental unwanted contacts with a stranger that city dwellers put up with. There was utter shock on her face as the doors closed.

He exploded into movement.

"NYPD, emergency!" He brandished his badge like a weapon as he shouldered through the crowd, barging into the stairwell and plunging down three flights, heart hammering. He slammed through the door to the lobby and scanned the floor for her.

The elevator had discharged its load and homeward bound workers were filing across the lobby towards the street doors. As he'd hoped, she was still there, walking like an automaton, looking around her in confusion. Launching himself across the marble floor, he skidded to a halt in front of her and stared. His mouth was suddenly completely dry. "Joss?" he croaked.

XXXXXXX

They ordered two beers and found a booth in the back of the bar. It was dark there, and Reese noted that if they slid in close to the wall they were in a blind spot for the security cameras. He sat down and gazed avidly across the table at her. She seemed pale under the caramel of her skin. Pale and thin.

"You were dead," he whispered.

"I thought you were too. I saw afterwards, you weren't helping people any more."

He said nothing, but she must have seen the question in his eyes, What the hell happened? She breathed deeply. "I can't remember anything of that night, you know. So I'll tell you what they told me.

"My heart stopped three times in the bus and twice more in the ER. I was in surgery for eleven hours, in an induced coma for six days and then sick as hell for nearly a month after that. Complications. Pneumonia. I nearly died again. Then when I was getting better they came to see me. The HR case. They wanted me in witness protection until the case was over. Oh yes, and everyone thought I was dead. Somehow they had talked my Mom into having a funeral for me while I was unconscious. They told her it was the best way to keep me safe while Simmons was still out there. Then once the case was over you were gone. I couldn't contact you, your number didn't work and all I could do was hope you'd find me. If you were even still alive. But since I was dead you weren't even looking." She stopped for breath. "I'm not a cop anymore."

"Why?" Without thinking he reached across the table and took her hand gently.

"You don't take two bullets in the chest and just walk away, John. You know that." She sighed. "The first bullet hit me dead center. But it seems that evening I was wearing a brassiere which had a sort of decorative medallion, metal, about half an inch across, stitched between the cups. The bullet clipped it, which slowed and deflected it, so it missed my descending aorta by a hair and embedded itself in my T7 vertebra, missing my spinal cord also by a whisker." She raised her beer to him. "You're looking at a woman who was saved by her lingerie." He had to smile at that. "What, no doctors involved?" he murmured.

She smiled in return. "Oh, lots and lots of doctors. Some pretty inspired paramedics, too. And a bunch of little old black ladies in Brooklyn." He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"My Mom. And her prayer group." She glanced down at the table, then looked up into his eyes. "Mom said that that evening she suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I was in danger. She called her friends and they all came over and they prayed up a storm. Just as I was catching two bullets."

There was a silence. Reese took a pull on his beer. "The other bullet?" he asked.

"Yeah, well I wasn't as lucky with that one. It lodged in my heart." Reese caught his breath.

"Eleven hours in surgery, remember?" Joss smiled sadly. "Anyway, it's over and I'm alive. In fact, it wasn't really the bullets that saw me out of the police. It was the pneumonia. I lost some lung function, and it's probably permanent. Anyone wants me to run more than half a block, they're looking at a big disappointment."

"I'm so sorry, Joss." He stroked her fingers, then realized what he was doing. He looked down at his hand in confusion and tried to pull away. Joss held on. She smiled at him.

"Once I came out of witness protection I needed a job. And a purpose. So now I'm an ADA. Still putting the bad guys away, just not with a gun and a badge anymore." She took a sip of her drink. "You know, I don't remember the shooting. But I do remember the night before."

He was silent.

"I remember being in the morgue with you, comparing scars." She was gazing absently at her hand holding his.

He was distantly aware that he wasn't breathing.

"You told me I was stuck with you. And so I'm wondering. After all this time." She took a big breath. "I'm wondering if that's still true."

She looked up at him. He took a long breath. His eyes were watering. Something in the air con, maybe.

"Yes, Joss. It's still true. Always."

XXXXXX

Dinner at a diner. Reese thought that was highly appropriate for a reunion meal with Joss. He ordered steak, she had a Caesar salad. "Do you need to get home?" he asked. "Is Taylor expecting you?"

Joss suddenly looked weary. Sad and - surely not defeated? "No, John. He lives with his dad now. In fact, we haven't spoken in a while."

"What?" Reese thought he had misheard. Joss shook her head.

"It's a long story. You see, after I got shot the only person who knew I was alive was my Mom. I didn't tell Paul. Or Taylor."

"Why?" Reese could not believe what he was hearing.

"I'm still not sure it was the right decision. In fact most days I'm pretty sure it was the wrong one. Mom was very firm that I not tell Taylor. She wanted to spare him the burden of keeping a secret like that. Pretending I was dead, not only at the funeral, but for months after. Also, he's not a very good liar."

"You brought him up right."

A tight smile. "So I spent two months in hospital and then eight months in witness protection during which he thought I was dead. When I came back to life he felt betrayed. The way he sees it, I didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth. He's got a good point."

"And Paul?"

"Well, that was an easier decision." She sighed. "Once I would have trusted him with my life. I loved him, I mean I married him after all. But he broke it. It might have been all right, but I couldn't be sure he wouldn't tell Taylor. So he's pissed at me too. He and Taylor sort of keep each other angry at me. I'm not sure I can blame them."

She pushed her hair back off her face. Obviously searching for a different subject, she suddenly said, "Something I've been wondering. I heard Simmons was found garroted in his hospital bed. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Reese blinked. "Wasn't me, I was unconscious myself at the time. And it couldn't be Fusco, he already had his shot."

"Yeah?"

"You never heard about that? He tracked Simmons down, beat him in a fair fight and brought him into the precinct for your murder. Refused to shoot him when he was lying on the ground in front of him. Because it wasn't what you would have wanted."

"Oh." She looked ashamed.

"Fusco," said Reese. "You never told him either."

Tears filled her eyes. "I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"Why, Joss? I don't get it."

She made a small sound, a little like a whimper. "I can't explain, John, I just can't explain. I was so sick and they told me to stay under the radar and Mom said it was all for the best. Then when I was better I tried to make it all right with Taylor and Paul but they were angry and betrayed. I had no way to contact you, I was off the force, I felt like it was all over. A scary, strange, amazing part of my life had ended and Lionel was a part of that. It hurt. I wanted to reach out to him, but it was too late. Or too early. Or something." She reached out and took his hand. "Please don't tell him."

Reese shook his head. "I can't promise that, Carter. The man deserves to know."

"He'll be angry and betrayed just like Taylor. I can't handle that right now. Please just don't tell him yet."

Reese looked hard at her. She was still Joss, but she had changed. Still strong, but brittle right now. You don't take two bullets in the chest and just walk away, he thought. That was for sure. Slowly he nodded. "Not yet. But you need to tell him some time. Sooner or later he's going to bump into you in an elevator just like I did."

She nodded, not meeting his eyes, pushed the remains of her salad around on her plate, then looked up at him with a bright fake smile.

"Well, that's enough about me. What have you and your friends been doing since my untimely demise?"

Reese glanced up at the camera on the ceiling. "That's a conversation we need to have somewhere else. Come on, I want to show you something."

To be continued...