A/N: Detective Molina is from S01E03 "Mission Creep"; this line is from S01E12 "Legacy" and the fic takes place around the same time.

"Is there another agency following you that I'm not aware of?"

"What do you think?" Joss said. "You've got an entire NYPD task force looking for you. I'm just waiting for the next dozen to show up on my tail. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting back to the topic at hand. If I'm getting into this, I need to know more."

Joss wasn't counting the days, but it hadn't even been two before the man gave her a first name.

It was both a more generous offer than she'd expected and not useful at all, which was becoming common to all their interactions. Well, all their non-work interactions. Getting gift-wrapped (in one case, literally) perps on their doorstep was useful, she had to admit. He and his mysterious benefactor were going to put her CIs out of business.

Anyway, his name was John; she was still waiting on a name for the benefactor. Guess a Doe name was better than calling him "the man in her suit" in her head.

Also, he was tailing her.

Not regularly—at least, she hoped not. But on occasional runs for lunch, or on her way out for the day, she'd catch a glimpse of gray atop black and white. She could only pray (and run a couple red lights every few days) that he wasn't following her home. She had half a mind to confront him about it one day and say "Ever think about wearing a hat?", but the next week, all her attention was pulled into a complicated case that landed on her desk.

It was Robberies that brought it in: what looked like a standard B&E-gone-south, except the thief had been found and their DNA didn't match the skin cells left on the victim's throat, so Homicide was now fully involved in the case.

Molina was heading it. She knew he'd stay onboard with Homicide until they'd caught their man, which she appreciated about him. "Thing is," he said, handing the file to her, "I got the DNA run through the system already so you'd have it ready to go—and it hit a match."

"So, we got our guy?" Joss flipped open the file. A print-out from CODIS, Molina's report and his notes from the scene, lists of evidence, several photos.

She frowned at a few. "These are two different crime scenes."

"Yeah, that's what I was getting to. Thing is," he repeated, "the match was to another homicide that happened two days ago, not to any suspect in the system." He crowded in to peer over her shoulder and tap the second set of photos. "And we haven't caught this one yet."

"Who's on that case?"

"Your partner. Fusco." He nodded to the desk touching hers.

"So why bring it to me?" she asked, though she had a good idea. Molina was one of the few in his division who'd rather work with a black female detective than a white male one.

"You don't want to jump on?" He pulled back to look at her with a small smile.

"Well, since you asked." She promptly tugged the file free of his hands and sat down at her desk. "This all you have?"

"I'll get you the rest of the details our unis collected, and the thief's contact info."

"And I'll get Fusco to give up what he's got so far on Saturday's homicide."

"Sounds good," Molina said, earnestly serious. He gave her a nod, then headed off to the captain's office.

Joss pushed the rest of the papers on her desk aside and fanned out the documents from Molina's file. Two murders in three days. Another one and they'd have a full-blown spree killer on their hands. Preventing the next murder instead of solving it after the fact was definitely the goal here.

"Okay, what about medical history," Joss said.

"Been searching through the hospital records we got, but nothing so far," Fusco said around a mouthful of sub. "Plus both had hardly any family-I'm starting to think that the only connection between these two victims is estranged relatives."

Spree-killers didn't go around looking for lonely people to strangle. Joss pushed back from her desk and stood up, holding in her frustration. "I'm gonna get lunch," she said to the butt end of Fusco's sandwich, which was all she could see of his face right then. "Maybe call up Molina and see if he's made any progress with that sketch." She swept a few case files into her bag and strode out of the precinct before Fusco could offer any more unhelpful observations.

The nearby park attracted a variety of food trucks, and Joss stepped in line for her usual one as the case details ran through her mind. Every hour passing meant one less hour before the perp struck next. She didn't hear her name being called until someone tapped on her shoulder from behind, which made her start.

"Carter," Molina greeted her, one brow lifted over his smile. "How you doing?"

"Molina," she said with a quick nod, calming her heartrate. "Good, still looking for connections between our two vics. I was just gonna call you about the sketch from the thief, actually-what're you doing out this way?"

"Then that's great timing, 'cause I was coming to see you." He opened his briefcase. "We got the sketch, and our officers found a suspect."

He paused, and Joss eyed him. "There's a catch, isn't there."

"The woman who matched?" His smile turned into a wry grimace as he handed her a file. "She's in a coma, at New York-Presbyterian."

In the middle of opening the file, Joss halted, blinked, processed that. "Then it's got to be someone else."

"Yeah, I got the officers back out and looking. Just wanted to let you know." Molina closed his briefcase and shrugged, apologetically. "Wish I had better news for you."

"Yeah. That's okay." She scanned the sketch before replacing it in the file. "It's better than nothing."

"Right." But he still had that rueful look on his face.

Joss considered him and his earnestness. "Well, since you're here and all, let me buy you lunch," she offered.

His turn to startle. "Oh, you don't have to do that-"

But they were already at the front of the line, and Joss simply turned and began rattling off her order. "And he'll have-what'll you have?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said swiftly.

Too bad for him, they only served one specialty item so he wasn't getting a choice anyway. "He'll have the same," she said to the cashier, and handed over thirty dollars before Molina could stop her.

"Carter."

"You came all the way out here, you need to try the lobster rolls," she told him, and smiled with enough steel that he subsided, leaving only his flushed ears to protest.

She wasn't trying to be manipulative. But she did like to think ahead, and maybe treating Molina would get him to get her what she might need for this case, or for cases involving Robberies in the future. After all, she hadn't made it this far by relying on mystery men in suits to do her job for her.

Three hour later, she was in her car, sitting sideways on the driver's seat, dragging Molina's unconscious form into the passenger side in the fading daylight while her gun dug a new bruise into her hip.

"If you think this is helping people," she said through gritted teeth to John, who was on the other side of Molina's form, pushing him in, "I'm not so sure I trust your information after all."

"I'm not acting on our information," he said reservedly. With a final unceremonious shove, he stuffed Molina's feet in. The unconscious detective swayed limpy; Joss braced her weight to keep him from collapsing on her. He'd barely grazed her before John yanked him upright and buckled him into immobility.

"Then tell me how in the hell you came to the conclusion that Molina is a plant from a federal agency here to spy on me." Her vocal chords were getting raspy from straining so much to keep in her burning urge to yell at him. They looked odd enough, parked next to an alley with both front doors open, and she did not want to draw any more attention.

John stared at her across the space of the front seats, then abruptly withdrew and shut the door on Molina, whose head lolled with the impact.

With a huff, Joss worked herself out of the car as well and stood. He was looking at her over the roof of the car, mouth pressed thin.

She planted a hand against the doorframe and looked right back at him. "Well? How, John?"

His eyelashes fluttered down, breaking his gaze, but only momentarily. "Molina's with the eleventh precinct," he said, making eye contact again. "He doesn't need to come all the way out here to work a robbery-homicide with you."

"Actually, his case is connected to a homicide Fusco's working, so-"

"Then why you?"

Jesus Christ. "Maybe he got sick of working with a white guy." She gave him a pointed once-over.

He made a moue. "Don't be hurtful, Detective."

"I wish," she muttered.

"No, you don't."

Okay, she didn't really. "Then how about you run along with your vigilante act now?" She tapped her unmarked police vehicle. "Before I'm forced to arrest you."

John started around the hood of the car toward her. "How did Molina find you in that food truck line?"

"Ever think about wearing a hat?" she shot back, turning to face him.

He didn't even try to deny following her. "Have you made any other tails?" he asked, seemingly serious.

"John," she said. "There are no other tails."

He looked at her.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" However badly misplaced it was. "-but Molina came around to work the case with me, all right? Snow and his CIA folks haven't talked to me in a week, and I'm trying to do my job here. And that's kind of hard to do with you leaping from the shadows and knocking my partners out cold." She fought to keep her voice from rising.

But the man had literally jumped out in front of Joss and Molina as they were turning the corner, dragged him back into an alley and thrown an uppercut to the jaw. She'd gotten her service pistol up and aimed, but as soon as Molina was unconscious, John had stilled and faced her, lifting both hands palm up in a gesture of appeasement. A ridiculous stance, since he'd been supporting a fainted man with his elbows. "Don't shoot," he'd said. Instead, Joss had shouted for a solid ten seconds before she'd gotten herself back together.

He said now: "You told me there were more agencies-"

"Oh my God," Joss said, drawing out each syllable. "Is that what this is about?"

He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it again. "There's no way to be sure-"

"Did you really think I was serious?"

That closed his mouth for a fraction longer. "Precautionary measure," was the next thing he came up with. "For your own safety, Detective."

"So you didn't," Joss said, leaning against her car. "You just needed an excuse to tail me." She glanced at Molina in her passenger seat. "The vigilante lifestyle doesn't serve you up enough criminals to fight?"

He leaned in, a short, curt movement. "You shouldn't be spending too much time with anyone from law enforcement right now," he said, eyes serious.

She deflated with a sigh. He truly believed she was in possible danger, she could see. "Well, joke's on you," she said without much heat, "because now I'm stuck here with Molina until he wakes up and asks me exactly how he got into my car."

"I'll watch him," John said immediately. "You go home."

Joss snorted. "You are a wanted man, John." She pushed off the car and made to open the door.

In the next moment, his hand was over hers, keeping it pinned over the handle. And he was in her space, gazing down at her.

"Don't," he said, softly.

"Don't what?" She peered up at him, wondering what exactly he was seeing that she didn't, that could cause that subtle note of urgency in his tone. "What is it?"

For a second he was silent. Finally: "I wasn't sure if you were serious," he said, even more softly, evenly. He looked down, considered their hands.

She regarded him. Then she let out her breath. "I'll clarify next time, okay?" A peace offering. If refraining from making sarcastic jokes soothed his paranoia about the law coming down on himself and now her, she could respect that. Within limits.

"Okay." He met her gaze again. His hand curled around hers.

She glanced down at it. Then tugged. He didn't let go.

She looked back up at him, lifting a brow.

"I'll watch Molina," he said, in lieu of an answer to her questioning look.

"No, you won't." Joss tugged once more before stopping; she refused to wrestle futilely against his greater strength. "He's not CIA, he's a good friend. He's been on the force for years."

"Why do good friends have to bribe each other with lobster rolls?" he asked, instead of questioning her faulty logic as she'd expected.

"Right, we still haven't talked about all this following me around you've been doing."

"I'll wear a hat if you want me to."

"I don't."

That made him smile, for some reason.

"So," she said, both eyebrows now raised, "are you going to let me go so I can do my job?"

He let their hands fall between them, still linked. "I don't think your job is babysitting grown men."

"Well, now it is, thanks to you." She pulled again, and this time he let her go.

"I'm sorry," he said, charmingly. "I'll do it for you instead."

God. Joss couldn't help the half-chuckle that slipped out at his over-the-top winning expression. "Look. Why don't you tell me what you're worried about and I can address it for you? You know, communication. Like adults."

John tilted his head as he considered it. His weight shifted forward more firmly against her car door. "I," he said, measuring out his words, "don't want you to stay here to take care of Molina when he wakes up."

"And that's because..."

He shifted his weight again, and Joss eyeballed the space between them.

"Because?" she prompted again, leaning back.

He didn't say anything. Which she took to mean No valid reason, just macho overprotective white man hero complex stuff, please let me take over your car and intimidate your colleague.

But she really didn't want to be in this stalemate any longer. For one thing, she needed to be home by six to make sure Taylor made his curfew. For another, if Molina woke up and John was still here all tetchy and paranoid, she would have a new load of trouble on her hands.

"Okay, John. Buy a hat, keep it down low over your face and you can sit in the backseat, all right? If he asks about you, you're one of my CIs. We'll wait for him to wake up together."

John considered. Then he straightened, out of her space; a faint smile touched his lips. "I thought you didn't want me to wear a hat."

"Yeah, well, looks like I want you to get arrested less."

"I'm touched, Detective."

"Don't be."

"...What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? Keeping his airway open." Keeping Molina's head tilted at the right angle against the headrest was hard; she thought about asking John to lower the seat back, but then reconsidered. He was already-not fidgeting, but edging closer and closer off his seat toward them, his body all angles and tension.

"Back off, John, I'm checking his circulation, not kissing him."

That seemed to finally get through to him; he froze.

She pressed a hand to his chest and glanced at the time. If Molina didn't wake in a minute, she was taking him to the hospital, and John's benefactor was footing the bill.

Abruptly, her hand was no longer resting on Molina. She whipped her head around to see the passenger seat plunge downward and to see Molina bounce to a rest against the now-fully reclined seat back. Joss looked up at John in incredulity, who looked unrepentantly back at her. He had one hand on the seat adjustment lever, the other pinning the poor detective by the shoulder to the seat as though he might spring up in his unconscious state and embrace Joss.

"Are you trying to cause him more brain damage-?!"

"I'm just helping you keep his airway open-"

It was unfortunately at this point that Molina finally awoke.

A/N: Sooo this is deep fluff & semi-crack (mixed with my attempt at serious case!fic... a case which I totally 100% lifted from Elementary S01E02 "While You Were Sleeping"... I hope the cutting between scenes isn't too whiplash-y), it was very fun to write LOL. ...Also I think it's dangerous for a person to be unconscious for longer than two minutes, but in the PoI universe they seem to go much longer and still end up okay, so? I have some flexibility right? (Sorry, Molina!)