So… random drabble. Yep.
Tumblr is amazing, because when I found its Person of Interest page it gave me new ideas. And episodes to watch. Yay! I love me this show. (Intentional grammar fail.)
This series belongs to Jonathan Nolan and J.J. Abrams. Not me. Sigh.
"...Yes, Mr. Reese?"
"Hey, Finch. It's getting kind of tight out here. I need a place to hide out."
Silence reigned from the other end for a while. Then, as John was adjusting his headset: "...Detective Carter is staking out a drug house a few blocks from your current location."
He grinned. "Thanks, Finch. I'll check back in later."
He didn't think Harold would respond, but the man did as John set off to cross the next street. "Good night, Mr. Reese."
Though John was tired, and pretty sure that the latest number's own cartel was after him, the few blocks were nothing - pretty soon he spotted Carter's police cruiser parked under a shot-out streetlamp. Nice. He got closer, noted with a mix of pleasure and disapproval that her back doors were unlocked, and pulled it open, sliding into the car.
He was so tired that it took him five seconds to realize that Detective Carter herself was pointing her gun at him.
"Hey, beautiful." Though exhausted, he still managed to flash her a grin. "Hope you don't mind some company."
"You're lucky I didn't shoot first and ask questions later."
"I knew you wouldn't." He went on, ignoring Carter's huff. "Not trying to cause any trouble today, Detective. I just need a place to sleep."
"No trouble today that I know of," Carter retorted, but she put her gun away. It amazed him that she had drawn it while sitting down in the first place. "Wouldn't one of your friend's houses have a much better bed than my backseat?"
"I wouldn't know - he doesn't trust me enough to reveal any of them to me." John put on his best pouting face.
"Oh, poor you." A beat, a long one. Then: "...You'd better not make any noise back there while I'm working."
"You won't even know I'm here, Carter - unless you want to know, that is."
With another half-irritated sound, the homicide detective twisted back around in her seat and retrieved a pair of binoculars, retraining them on the drug house. With sleeping arrangements taken care of, John stretched out as much as he was able to. The backseat was as hard as ever, being that of a police cruiser, but John had slept on worse before becoming a homeless bum.
"Don't get too comfortable," he vaguely heard Carter say. "This is tempting enough. How do you know you won't wake up in my custody, and a nice cell?"
Mmmm, a 'nice' cell. "I'm already in your custody, Detective - and I trust you."
That last part wasn't supposed to come out - but there it was anyway, echoing in the air between them. Oh well. Can't take it back now.
In the end, Carter kept up their little unspoken game, and laughed him off. "What will I have to do to make you not trust me?"
"Good night, Carter."
She waited until he was good and sleep before replying. "...Good night, John."