Breakthrough

Spoilers: Nothing in particular

Disclaimer: Still not mine

Part One

With the constant level of exhaustion from being a mom and a cop and freelance work helping John and Finch save the world, there was one thing Joss could count on. Every night when she finally fell into bed a little after midnight, she would sleep soundly straight through until her alarm clock wrenched her unhappily back to consciousness at six. Blinking in confusion at the numbers on the clock, she wondered why she was suddenly wide awake smack dab in the middle of her brief respite from stress. She listened for a moment for an out of place noise, something that might explain it, but the apartment was quiet, no sounds coming from Taylor's room through the shared wall. With a sigh, she rolled over and closed her eyes.

Only to have them pop open before they were fully closed.

She wasn't alone. She absolutely knew someone was there.

Her hand reached automatically for her gun on the nightstand, but froze before she grabbed it. She squinted at the deep shadow in the hallway just outside her bedroom door. She wasn't alone, but she wasn't in any danger either.

There wasn't a bit of fear left in her as she glared into the darkness. "Are you trying to get shot, John?"

"Sorry."

She switched on the lamp next to her bed, curious at his quiet apology in place of the sarcastic response she'd expected. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she realized something was wrong. Something besides whatever had driven him to break into her home in the middle of the night. She took in his rumpled suit, his haggard expression, and, finally, the smears of blood across his shirt. Before she could even manage to sit up, he crossed the distance between them, more or less collapsing onto the side of her bed.

Her hand moved to his chest, searching for the source of the blood. "John, what happened? How bad is it?" She managed to sit up and pull his jacket off one shoulder. "Where are you hurt?"

He barely seemed to notice her actions as he slowly processed her words. "I'm ok."

"Like hell, John, you're bleeding." She touched his cheek and found his skin was cool to the touch. "I think you're in shock." Unable to find any obvious holes in his shirt to explain the blood, she reached for the buttons.

His hand closed over hers, still her movements. "It's not mine." Rather than releasing her, his hand remained tightly curled around hers.

She found she was far more nervous about his uncharacteristic behavior than she had been over his potential physical injuries. Hell, she knew he could recover from just about anything physically. His emotional state, however, that was another matter altogether. She knew it was tenuous on a good day. But this – this reminded her of the lost, wounded way he'd acted when Finch had been kidnapped.

She leaned forward, trying to catch his unfocused eyes. "Is Finch ok?"

He turned toward her, his eyes finally finding hers. "He's fine." He looked away again, his eyes falling to the floor, everything about him saying something was very, very wrong despite his assurances to the contrary.

Shifting her hand around in his, she returned his fierce grip. "What's wrong?"

Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, Joss knew he was fighting back tears. The pain that reflected on his face was palpable, making her have to fight back the tears herself. She couldn't imagine what had happened to impact him so much. Her free hand moved to his jaw, sliding to his cheek until she could turn him to face her.

His eyes opened and met hers. "I'm ok." He squeezed her hand and she watched the resolve pass over his face. "I'm sorry to bother you." He stood suddenly. "I shouldn't have come here."

"John, wait!" She jumped up, unwilling, unable, to let him leave so easily when he had obviously sought her out for a reason. If he was looking for someone to confide in, someone who would comfort him, she wouldn't refuse him. She'd been waiting for him to open up to her the entire time she'd known him and had concluded he didn't open up to anyone ever. She'd been trying to prove herself worthy of being the exception for too long to pass up the opportunity that presented itself. Besides, he was her friend and she hated to see him in pain.

The fact that he stopped at her words only reassured her that it was the right thing to do. Taking hold of his hand, she pulled him back toward the bed. "Sit down and tell me what's going on. Talk to me, John, please."

He sat down as requested and sighed heavily. "It's nothing, Carter, really."

She took a seat beside him, folding her leg so she could sit facing him. "How many times have you broken into my apartment in the middle of the night to watch me sleep?"

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and an unconvincing flirtatious smile.

Not about to let him dodge, she shook her head. "I'm not buying that. How long were you here before I woke up? I'd bet less than a minute."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in recognition. He shifted the slightest bit toward her and pulled his jacket the rest of the way off. He was giving in, she realized, resigning himself to be vulnerable and peeling off the suit coat that acted as a protective barrier was part of that. He held the jacket on his lap, his fingers fumbling with the fabric. Whenever they met in a diner, he'd do the same thing with napkins, his nervous tell. She placed her hands over his, stilling their motion.

"I was trying to protect this woman today. Last couple of days. She was a paralegal, worked at a big firm downtown, single mom with three little girls, working too hard." He stopped for a second, taking a deep breath to slow the words that were tumbling out in a fashion so unlike him. "She found something that didn't add up in some of the paperwork and, damn it, Carter, she just wouldn't let it go." His voice started to choke up and rather than continue he stopped again as he fought the tears in his eyes and his voice. His wet eyes darted to hers, but only for a beat before he looked away. "I tried to warn her. I tried to stop her. She had no idea what she was up against." His hands balled into fists beneath hers and she could feel the anger welling up in him. "She was so fucking stubborn, wouldn't listen to a damn thing I said. She was in over her head but she said she could handle it." He shook his head, the movement finally breaking the tears free to run down his cheeks. "I couldn't protect her, I couldn't get there in time. They got to her."

"Oh, John, I'm sorry." Her hand moved to his hair, running through the short strands, trying to offer him comfort as best she could. She knew he'd lost clients before, though, and she wanted to ask what was different about this one, but she didn't want to pry, not when he was actually opening up to her on his own.

"She was still alive when I found her, but there were nothing I could do." He looked at her again, unashamed of the tears on his face, and swallowed hard. "She reminded me so much of you, Joss, she died in my arms and I- I just- I couldn't- I-"

"Shhhh, don't." She leaned forward and hugged him, understanding what it was that had gotten to him, what had driven him to visit her, what had left him so devastated. In his mind, it hadn't been some client he'd lost that night. It had been his friend. The agony she was witnessing was his reaction to losing her. It took her breath away.

His arms wrapped around her in a heartbeat, crushing her to him, one hand threading through her hair, cupping the back of her head, pressing her face against his. His lips moved next to her ear. "I just needed to see you, to make sure you were ok."

"I know, it's ok." She felt his arms loosening, and reluctantly let her own release him. "I'm glad you're here."

He turned away, his arms withdrawing, his walls going right back up. "Thanks for listening. I'm sorry I woke you."

Desperate to keep him there, knowing how fragile he was even though he was pretending everything was better, she stood up with him. "You're a mess, you're exhausted, and you look like hell. Stay here."

The fact that he glanced at her without comment revealed exactly how much he wanted to take her up on her offer.

She continued, taking the jacket from his hands. "Go take a shower, you'll feel better." There wasn't anything she could do about his suit, but she figured washing the blood off his shirt might help. "Give me your shirt, I'll put it in the wash."

"Carter-"

She knew he was going to try to backpedal, to put more space between them until he was feeling better, but she knew he wanted to stay as much as she wanted him to stay. "Go, shower. I'll find you something to wear."

"What could you possibly have that I can fit into?" His eyes moved down to the tank and boxers she was wearing as though he'd just noticed.

"Taylor-"

He cut her off before she could continue. "Is five foot eight, Carter."

She ignored his interruption. "Has a friend who left his bag here the other night."

John said nothing. His expression said it all. Apparently he thought all seventeen-year-olds were as short as her son.

"Josh is six five and built like a linebacker. His clothes will be big on you."

He started unbuttoning his shirt as he headed for the bathroom, handing her his dress shirt and tee-shirt before she had to ask again. He caught her hand as he stepped into the small room. "Thank you."

She nodded. She knew what it took for him to admit weakness, to come to her in the first place, and now, to thank her for helping him, it was too much. All kinds of lines were being crossed tonight and she didn't want to scare him away by holding him and refusing to let go. "Clean towels are in the cabinet."

As soon as she heard the shower running, she found Josh's duffel bag in the living room. Luckily she'd been right about Josh having something John could wear. There was a pair of sweatpants that seemed relatively clean, although the boy's shirts were a different story altogether. She left the pants on the floor outside the bathroom and then tossed John's shirts in the washer. The shower shut off just as she finished putting in the detergent, alerting her to the fact that a gorgeous, freshly-showered, shirtless man was about to emerge from her bathroom looking for a place to sleep. She considered the couch, imagined John's tall frame folded uncomfortably and how Taylor would find him there in the morning. And then there was the fact that John had gone to her seeking the comfort of seeing her alive and well and making him sleep alone on the couch would defeat the purpose of having him there at all.

At least, that's what she told herself. It was easier than admitting the alternative – that she wanted him to stay with her.

He met her in the hall, Josh's sweats larger than she'd anticipated. She was used to seeing him in his suits, which she suddenly realized added considerable bulk to his frame. He was thinner than she'd expected and boasted far fewer scars than she'd imagined. In fact, without his armor, he looked like a perfectly normal guy.

An unbelievably beautiful man, but just a man nonetheless. A man who'd had a really bad day and had sought out his friend for help. No chance in hell was she letting him sleep on the couch, even if she had to hold him at gunpoint.

"Feel better?"

He nodded obligingly, though he seemed a bit nervous. He took a step toward the living room, stopping when he realized she wasn't moving out of the way. "Joss?"

"Bedroom's that way." She nodded behind him, waiting for a teasing remark or innuendo or even just a smirk. The look on his face indicated that he had a whole list of them at the ready as usual, but he said nothing. He followed her mutely into the bedroom, hesitating at the door. She knew he was recalling the last time they'd faced a bed and the possibility of sharing it – because she was doing the same thing. Unlike that trip to Texas, however, she had absolutely no intention of asking him to sleep on the floor. Although, if she were being honest, she probably wouldn't have refused to share the bed with him then either if he'd asked. The real difference was that neither of them was even bothering to pretend this time.

He waited for her to switch off the lamp and retake her place before he finally, carefully took the spot beside her. She waited for the stifling awkwardness to settle around them, waited for something that would give John an excuse to leave after all, waited for some sense of dread to rise up when she realized she was trying to platonically share a bed with a man to whom she was violently attracted, the very same man who'd never had a bad idea in which he couldn't convince her to participate. But there was no discomfort, just a sense of peace in the fact that John was there with her, safe and sound and close enough to touch. He wasn't a charming criminal trying to make her do something that would make her feel guilty. No, he was her friend, stripped of all his defenses, letting her see how much he truly cared about her, how much she meant to him.

She wasn't prepared for the emotions to surge in her, to be so overwhelmed with love for him that tears filled her eyes. She'd known for a long time that she'd broken through his armor, but until this moment, she'd failed to really understand what that meant.

He loved her. Loved her in such a way as to make himself completely vulnerable.

And she realized with breathtaking clarity that she loved him every bit as much.

She knew he was still wide awake and there was no way he'd miss that she was crying, so she didn't bother trying to hide it. He would never think less of her for it; he'd never think less of her for anything. She rolled over to face him, seeing the way he was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was trying to ignore her, trying to deny that she was right there, probably trying to remind himself not to touch her like he'd naturally assume she wanted. But something he couldn't possibly know had changed and the last thing she wanted was for him to keep his hands to himself.

"John?" Her voice was thick with tears and he responded the way she'd known he would. He turned toward her, concern and fear and guilt all over his face. She grabbed his hand before he could conclude that she was upset about his presence. Knowing every second of delay caused him pain, she squeezed his hand and smiled. "Thank you."

He wasn't sure what she was talking about and that uncertainty reflected on his face before a hint of wariness appeared in his eyes. "For what?"

"For coming here. For trusting me." It was too soon, too frightening for her to spell out her recent revelation, but she suspected her feelings would reflect in her eyes once the tears cleared, the same way his feelings always had. She hadn't known what to make of them, or even what those feeling actually were, but she'd known he couldn't hide that he felt something for her.

The little guard that had gathered in his expression was gone at her words and he squeezed her hand back. "Didn't really have much of a choice in the matter."

"Tell me about it." She grinned at him, reveling in the intimacy of the moment, lying together in the dark, talking about the connection they shared. She held his eyes and mentally reset everything she knew about the man. This wasn't just the way he looked at her. This was the way he looked at the woman he loved. But she knew he was deeply wounded by everything he'd been through and suspected he'd reject any overture she might make.

Still, she found herself shifting closer, letting go of his hand in favor of stretching her arm across his bare stomach. He didn't rebuff her as she feared. He waited a moment and, when she remained still, moved his arm around her, his hand weaving into her hair, holding her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating under her ear, slow and steady and quite possibly the most comforting sound in the world. There wasn't even time to be nervous, being close to him made her sleep like a baby.