A/U: Hi, guys! I'm still working on "Tension," but this one I came up with during some down time in the middle of a work day. It's a shortie, just two chaps in all, but hopefully you will enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it! Just posting the first one here now (time is also short).

As much as I was dismayed by the killing off of Joss Carter, it looked like it would have been either her or Fusco, and I wouldn't have wanted that either. I adore the Fusco character, and in many ways, he is the perfect complement, foil, even, for John and Joss. Fusco knows what's up, more so than they give him credit for—but he's not the one to say anything, not the guy to ask questions. Something to be said for that. And well, the nicknames he has for John and Harold are second to none, hahaha!

Well, anyway, have fun with this if you can. Again, It's in two chapters in the end, and, as the summary says, could take place anytime between Season One and beginning Season Three (i.e. Season 2). Cheers, guys, and please give a holler if you feel the urge!

**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters or anything thing else from Person of Interest. All for fun and giggles.

On the Road

Great. Just great, he thought to himself. He was stuck out here, in the middle of somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in southern Jersey with Mr. Happy. This was not how this lead was supposed to go. All the way down for a bust all of nothing. And what made matters worse was that the flash flood and thunderstorm forecast for today really was happening, just like the weather guys said it would. Well, smack them on the head for getting it right for a change. They day they decide to do their jobs is the day he had to spend five minutes longer than necessary with Wonderboy. At least Carter was there act as a buffer between them, and to keep Tall, Dark, and Deranged from pissing him off whole day.

The three of them were following up on a lead to a murder investigation in Delaware that may have had ties stretching back to New York and the Russian mob. They had been thorns in each other's sides for a while-cops and vigilante against drug villain-and the trio were itching to get something that would help build a federal case against Peter Yogorov and his gang that would stick for real. If they could tie this lead, which promised to be big, to him, he'd go down like a ton of bricks.

But that was the thing about promises: they were made to be broken. Or, in this case, never to be believed in the first place. Dead ends all over the place; the witness got spooked before they could meet, someone having threatened him beforehand. And now that it was known that the NYPD was sniffing around, other witnesses (and there were others) were more tightlipped than usual. Wonderboy was well above shaking down innocent people for information—but sometimes Lionel wished he wasn't. Somebody had to talk. Somebody had to help them get this scumbag off the streets. They'd talk to Wonderboy for sure, he'd bet.

If only Wonderboy talked to him in some way that wasn't a bark of an order or a smarmy put down. He was no ex-CIA badass, and he'd made some mistakes with HR, but he was a good cop. Wonderboy never said as much, though. Oh no, not him. That'd be too much for him.

Carter, on the other hand, never got any of that. She was his favorite. Had been from the beginning. And she had gotten him shot, nearly killed. He had never done anything like that. And yet, all Fusco ever heard out him in first months of working with Wonderboy was how he'd better not let anything happen to her, or he'd ring his ass out to dry, permanently. She told him where he needed to get off too, though that didn't happen as often as it should have, in his humble opinion. The guy was a real piece of work, and a part of him still sometimes wished someone would ring his ass out to dry.

But the other part knew John to be one of the finest human beings he'd ever known, a man who cared more about other people than he did himself, including him. He had a really crappy way of showing it, of course, but it was true. And he looked damned good in a suit. He really was Wonderboy, and sometimes, Lionel had to admit, his teasing could sting a little. Hell, if he didn't look up to him so much, it would have rolled off his back more.

They were in Carter's Impala, with her in the driver's seat, John in the passenger seat, and Fusco in the back seat behind him. And he was fuming.

"Hey, Daddy Long Legs, you wanna move your seat up a little bit? You're crushin' the crap outta me here!"

"I need the room, Lionel. Why didn't you just sit on Carter's side? She's not as tall as either of us without heels."

"Oh, thanks, John. Remind everyone how tiny I am, why don't you? Carter sneered.

"Yeah, Wonderboy, you could be a little more sensitive. People get complexes about their height. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

John sighed and looked at the ceiling as if he was just so over the conversation. "Fine, Lionel. I will move the seat a little." He bent down to adjust the seat, and now sat with his knees slightly more bent than before. Turning his head, and, in the mocking tone of a mother, he quipped, "there, there, little man. All better now?"

Lionel became enraged. "You know, you're a creep, John! All I ask for is a little common courtesy, a little decorum, and you gotta be a wise guy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Reese smirked and absently looked out the window. "Right now, the fact that I can't help but hear you bellyaching back there."

At that point, Lionel looked frantically around the car for any small object he found he could find. Seizing on a tennis ball that might have belonged to Taylor, he lifted his arm and aimed it at John's head.

The man must have had eyes in the back of that head because nobody's reflexes are that good. Before the ball really travelled that far, John had it in his hand. He turned around to look at Lionel before engaging in more irresistible teasing. "That's okay, Lionel. If I want to play fetch, I've already got Bear for that. He's much better company, and he knows how to bring it back the way I tell him to. By the way, the next time you want to throw something at me, make sure there's no rearview mirror in the car first."

Carter had had enough at this point. "Guys, will you please stop? I am not driving this car in a storm with you two fussing at each other! Now, cut it out, the both of you!"

John and Lionel piped down and decided to behave themselves. The ride was peaceful—until about ten miles from where they'd last stopped. At that point, it looked as if Armageddon was upon them. The sky had opened up, and a chameleon's stew of colors had roamed across it. There was blue-grey, thunder-grey, blue-orange, where the sun fought valiantly to stay alive, and finally thunder-grey again when it lost the battle. Then the hail storm started.

"Shit!" Carter exclaimed. "We can't keep going in this, boys. This hail is just the beginning."

"Well, what do you suggest we do, Carter?" Lionel asked without a hint of snarkiness in his voice. "We can't stay out here in the car, either, what with the flooding they're forecasting. We'd need sailboats after a while."

John sniffed as he watched the hail stones pelt Joss' windshield. "There was a mid-sized hotel that we passed about ten minutes ago, attached diner, gas station. It didn't look completely full. We could hunker down there for there for the night, get a fresh start in the morning," he said.

It sounded like a plan, and the more Lionel thought about the rain rolling them all down the river, the more he liked it. "I'm game," he said. "Carter? How about you?"

Joss sighed. "It's looking like that's our only option. This storm is supposed to last for hours, and I don't even want to think about what Jersey Turnpike traffic looks like right now."

She turned the car around carefully, her visibility near zero. It took them close to half an hour to retrace that ten minute trip, but they made it.

John went to make the reservations, while Carter got out her emergency change of clothing and toiletry kit out of the trunk, hail stones beating both of them mercilessly. Lionel, too, got out, to stretch his legs and to check out the joint. He ducked into the lobby just as John confirmed the reservation and paid with Finch's credit card.

"…single suite for the lady and standard double for the two gentlemen. Very good, sir. Do you have any luggage?" the clerk asked.

"No, we don't," John said. But is there a convenience store or a five and ten near here? I would like to get a few grooming supplies, and a couple of clothing items, if I could."

"Yes, sir, there is actually one attached to the hotel, next to the in-house diner. There you can find those things. Open 24/7."

John thanked the clerk and waited for Joss to come in. Lionel stood off to the side, having heard the sleeping arrangements. A suite for Carter? A double for the gents? What the hell?

"Hey, Captain America, who said anything about me sharing a room with you?" Lionel asked as he ambled over to John when his business at the desk was done. "And why does Carter get a suite?"

"You heard what the man said, Lionel. She's a lady." John walked past him, with nary a glance, towards the electronic doors, back to the car.

"Oh well, of course, she is," said Lionel, sheepishly. "But a suite? Glasses gonna be okay with you splurgin' like that?"

"It's okay, Lionel. But I'll be sure to tell Finch all about your concern for his financial well-being. I know he'd be touched."

Joss leaped through the sliding door, her hair and clothes damp, holding an overnight bag and cosmetics case. Lionel grinned at her. "Looks like somebody came prepared. Nice goin', partner."

"Yep. I know better than to come unprepared. Well, to some extent anyway. We must have been nuts to think we'd beat this storm."

"Well, we all have room for the night. Mr. Perfect here got you a suite, while we're bunking together."

"Least I could do for our chauffer. Besides, I wouldn't subject anyone else to your snoring, Lionel." John winked at him. Lionel answered with an eye rolling grimace.

"John, are you crazy? I can't pay for that! No, no, that's too much. I'll see if I can get something cheaper," Joss protested.

"Don't worry about it, Joss. Finch is taking care of it. Anyway, this place is a lot more booked than it looked from the parking lot. Seems like a lot of other people had the same idea."

Joss sighed. It really was too much, she said, but if John said there was little other room, then what other choice did she have? And the thought of a swanky room was nice. Lionel didn't really begrudge her the suite. Actually, she deserved it. Nobody busted their ass in this job more than Carter. She could do with a little break from all the crap.

"I was able to book us all on the same floor, right next to each other. So, Joss, your suite is at the very end of the hall, and we're to the right of you. Here are your key cards," John said, handing over two white and green cards with the hotel logo. They were on the eighth floor.

"I'm starving, and it's getting late. Is there a meal we can get somewhere here?"

"Diner's down the hall there," John said, pointing behind her. "let's go."

##

Dinner eaten, the case discussed, the trio retired to their respective lodgings for the night. They had yet to see the rooms John booked, so all were pleasantly surprised at the comfy atmospheres. Joss squealed in delight at her suite, and only wished she had more time to enjoy it, especially the sunken tub with the whirlpool jets. A bath would definitely be in order for tonight.

Lionel came to where his bed was to be and sat down, grateful to be dry and fed after the wild goose chase that got them down there. But something niggled at him. At dinner, Wonderboy was acting—he wasn't sure—different around Carter, maybe. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he did sense something weird. It was the way he looked at her as she talked about the case with them. And when he sat next to her in the booth, Lionel couldn't help but see the small but sure smile he gave her, chompers flashin' and all. He even poured water for her without her asking him to.

Totally not like him, Lionel thought. And he only had one beer, so he wasn't drunk. He knew what he saw. Well, maybe he wouldn't read too much into it. After all, Carter was a beautiful lady, and it'd be unusual for him or any other red-blooded man not to notice her. But then again, Captain America wasn't exactly the romantic type.

Ah, Fusco, you're losin' it, brother. Wonderboy ain't got designs on Carter. That's crazy. Maybe he had gas or something, and it just made him a little goofy. Lord knows it was an improvement.

Just get through this night, and everything will be back to normal tomorrow, whatever that is, he told himself.

Besides, even if this room wasn't a fancy suite, it was still pretty nice. Beds had fresh, warm bedding, bathroom had a marble sink with brass taps. Enough towels for the both of them, and the flat screen boasted a gazillion channels. Yeah, they'd be good for the duration.

John went into the bathroom to relieve himself, closing the door behind him, while Lionel flipped on the TV. After putting his gun and badge on the table, he plopped down on the full-sized bed and began flipping channels until he found one having a marathon devoted to Laurel and Hardy. John came out of the bathroom to the sound of Lionel's laughter.

"Something funny, Lionel?"

"Yeah, Laurel and Hardy. I used to crack up at this stuff when I was a kid!" He laughed again at yet another fine mess the zany duo had gotten themselves into.

"Hmm. Buster Keaton's more my thing," he murmured.

"Oh, yeah! Hey, he the one with the movie on the railroad?"

"Yeah, Lionel, that's the one."

"Oh, yeah, that's good, too. You a fan of Chaplin at all? 'Little Tramp' stuff, that's great."

John nodded his head in the so-so fashion. "Yeah, sure. Just took to Keaton more, I guess."

There was an awkward pause. John looked at Lionel, waiting for a reply, which Lionel was suddenly unable to give. This was probably the closest thing to a civil conversation they'd ever had. Frankly, he was at a loss for words.

John wasn't the man to wait around for awkward silences, so, after a beat, he soon turned on his heel and grabbed his suit coat for the door.

"Hey, where ya goin'"

"As much as I would love to continue this conversation on silent film stars, Lionel, we need to get some provisions for our stay here. I was thinking shaving kits, underwear, hair brushes, tee shirts. That sort of thing." "Here," he said, handing him a pad and pen from the desk. "Write down your sizes. I'll pick you up something."

Lionel did so and handed the pad back to him. "Gee, thanks. You know, I didn't even think about that stuff, what with everything goin' on, you know."

"That's why they don't pay you the big bucks, Lionel. You're welcome," John said, upon closing the door.

"Yeah, you're a real barrel of laughs, Wonderboy." Turning back to the TV, he undressed down to his undershirt and boxers, pulled the covers back on his bed, and settled in. "More boob tube for me, then," he said. And he giggled on to Laurel and Hardy until he finally fell asleep a few hours later.

A/N: Chapter Two will come soon. Lionel will need to wake up and go to the bathroom. 'Nuff said, hahaha! Thanks for reading, guys, and as always, stay tuned!