Shift
Jezyk
Spoilers: Through Masquerade
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: This has been described as an angst-filled hellhole. Just a heads up.

Part One

In retrospect, she would have liked to say she knew. She wanted to have seen some clue, had some feeling, somehow instinctively knew that something was wrong, that something huge was about to change. Carter wasn't usually one to be blindsided by the universe. In fact, it had only happened twice.

The first had been the day she received word that her husband had died. She'd been having her lunch, actually laughing with a few of the men in her unit in Afghanistan that seemed to have some kind of morals and joking about how nice it would be to head home to New York City where the temperature in July usually dipped below 100 degrees at night. Two officers she didn't recognize walked into the mess, their full dress uniforms silencing everyone in the room. Even as they stepped up to the table, she hadn't understood. She'd assumed one of her friends was about to be in deep shit. Instead, she'd slowly felt all the eyes at the table and in the room fall on her. They asked her to accompany them and as she did, her mind was reeling, wondering what horrible thing she'd done that would result in a court martial. And then she'd heard the news that turned her world upside down.

The second, well, it too started out as a regular day. She'd gotten Taylor off to school early enough to grab a bite to eat on her way into the office. Grabbing an extra coffee for the partner who'd bought her a drink the evening before to celebrate discovering that they were on the same side and because they realized they were friends after all, she was actually smiling as she dropped it on Fusco's desk.

As she turned away to head to her desk, she saw a familiar, unwelcome shape, as well as an unfamiliar one, in Womack's office and even still, she thought it was just going to be an irritation. Her smile changed to a grimace as she glowered at Snow's back. Apparently he'd been un-reassigned. She'd wondered about his obvious nerves the last time she'd seen him, had assumed wrongly that he'd been upset over the death of his partner.

When she'd first heard of Evans' death, she'd wished it had been Snow. She'd always hated him more, until she'd thought about it. The night John had been shot, Snow had been with her, engaging John, keeping him still, which meant that Evans had been the shooter. She was glad he was dead. If only Snow was too.

"Who are they, Carter? They've been in there since before I got in." Fusco hadn't seemed too concerned until he saw his partner's face.

"Bad news." She glanced around to make sure no one would overhear. "CIA."

Fusco's eyes widened. "Wonderboy?"

Her glare turned on Fusco for a moment. She hated the term he used for John, hated that everyone seemed to be so sure that John was superhuman. She'd seen, more than once, how very human John was. She never wanted to see him bleeding again, but she knew that was too much to hope for.

She reached for her phone, hoping to send a 911 text to John, but the damn thing was busy restarting, an irritating quirk it had developed after she'd dropped it too many times. Watching the stupid graphics, she willed it to hurry up.

Movement in the captain's office drew her attention back, Snow and the new guy both moving toward the door. The timing couldn't be a coincidence. They'd been waiting for her. She scribbled a note as fast as she could while they approached.

"Detective Carter," Snow's smile could only be described as predatory. "You need to come with us."

She didn't move. "Where?"

Snow's fingers clenched around a file folder in his hands. "We need to have a little chat."

Her eyes darted to Fusco, wishing she had enough history with him for nonverbal communication. She was in trouble. Judging from the way Womack was smirking at her from his office, she knew it was bad. Very, very bad. Refusing to let her fear show, she folded her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. "I'm busy. Maybe some other time."

The new guy reached out to take to folder from Snow, giving his partner time to produce handcuffs. Snow grinned and stepped toward the side of her desk. "We can do this the hard way. It's up to you." The gleam in his eyes told her he had her and he knew it. He'd be happy to march her out of the precinct in cuffs. He'd be happy to shoot her where she sat.

She nodded and grabbed her bag. "I assume you'll tell me what this is about. Your new assignment is watching me?"

"You're in no position to assume anything, detective." Snow was smiling, a disgusting, malicious expression that made Carter regret having eaten breakfast.

She stood, deliberately taking a long time to gather her things, hoping like hell they didn't see the piece of paper she palmed while she was putting her phone in her bag. It was her only chance to get out of this, whatever this was, and it was a long shot. Still, it seemed the pair of CIA agents were too busy smirking at each other over their victory to notice when Carter tossed the paper toward Fusco's desk on her way out.

She glanced back just before they turned into the hallway, seeing her partner pouring over the words 'call John' like it was an opus. It only occurred to her as she was riding in the car that she wasn't even sure Fusco had John's number.

#####

Riding in the backseat of a black SUV with tinted windows alongside the new partner, the gravity of the situation struck her. She'd been forced to hand over her bag and weapon and was apparently in the custody of an agency that technically didn't work within the borders of the country. She was in far deeper trouble than she'd realized. The only thing she had going for her was the thought that they wanted something from her. They'd long suspected she'd been working with John and now, clearly they had proof, something strong enough that had merited Snow's reassignment. Her stomach twisted in nervousness. She never paid attention anymore if someone was following her or if anyone saw her with John. Clearly she needed to be more careful.

She had no idea what, if anything, John would be able to do, but he was her only hope. Of course, that would probably backfire since John was what they really wanted. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed. There was nothing else she could do.

They pulled into a parking garage under a nondescript office building. No name gathered some files from the back while Snow opened Carter's door, dragging her from the truck by her arm. She jerked her arm back, mostly as a show of defiance, partly because she was afraid his kind of sleaze was contagious.

He sneered and took her arm again. "I'm happy to cuff you."

Wanting to avoid losing another bit of her freedom, she unhappily walked beside the bastard who was holding her upper arm harder than he needed to. He led her to an elevator, pressing the button for the twenty-eighth floor as no name stood on her other side. It was psychological, she reminded herself, the same way they had done with terror suspects. The lack of communication, the threats, the intimidation. It was meant to break her, to make her question what she believed, to convince her that she was helpless, to persuade her to save herself.

She closed her eyes and reminded herself that John would protect her. She'd earned his friendship. She knew he'd stop at nothing. No matter what they tried to tell her, she had to keep her faith in her friend.

She was ushered to a small interrogation room, painfully bright, uncomfortable chairs, enormous mirror filling one wall. Snow shoved her toward the table. Then he smiled and tossed the folder in front of her.

"We've got you now. You need to think about saving yourself, honey."

Rather than the loud, angry interrogation she expected, they left her alone. The pair filing out the door and locking it behind them, leaving her to contemplate the folder. The edges of a few pages had slipped out when he dropped it, only enough for her to know they were pictures, of what, she couldn't tell. She knew she was expected to open it, to see this evidence of theirs, to hear his threat ringing in her ears, to weigh her options and decide to cooperate by the time they returned.

But they didn't know her. They knew that she'd doubted John once, that she'd let them manipulate her. They didn't know the unconditional way he'd forgiven her and accepted her as a friend. Yes, she'd doubted him once. She'd never do it again.

Refusing to give into the temptation to look at the photos, she stepped around the table, to the side facing the mirror as she knew she was supposed to, and sat down. She could play the game as long as she needed to. John would come for her.

It took forever for them to return. She knew they were on the other side of the mirror, watching her, waiting for her to break, expecting she'd give in and peek at the folder. Every moment that went by, however, only served to strengthen her resolve. Every moment that went by was one moment closer to John getting her out of there.

They gave before she did, slipping quietly into the room, displeasure at her behavior written all over their faces. The new partner sat down first, his face a careful blank as he clasped his hands together and rested them on the table.

"Look, Detective Carter, I understand that you have come to view us as the enemy, but we're not trying to hurt you. In fact-" he glanced up at his partner in a perfectly practiced attempt to play good cop, "Frankly, we don't want you. We're CIA. A New York City detective with a good record is nothing to us. We won't get anywhere locking you up."

Snow jumped in, slamming his fists onto the table and leaning into Carter's face from the opposite side. "We want Reese. Give us Reese and we can go easy on you."

She fought to keep the smirk off her face. She'd always assumed that the tactical errors she'd caught them making were deliberate, like when John appeared to have made a mistake. But she was starting to suspect John really was better than them. He certainly hadn't ever tried two classic interrogation techniques on her in less than thirty seconds.

"You don't have anything on me or you would have arrested me." She looked past Snow into the mirror, fixing her stare at her own reflection, reminding herself of John, of his easy smirk and captivating eyes and velvet voice that she could practically hear telling her he would be there.

Snow grabbed the folder, taking out the photos, spreading them out in front of her. "Nothing? We've got you and Reese in Corpus Christi together."

Her heart skipped a beat as she nonchalantly glanced down at the grainy security camera prints. Shots of her heading through the airport and at the rental car counter. Shots of John, same airport, same day. But none together. It made perfect sense now that John had insisted on taking a separate flight and not meeting up with her until the police station. It only took her a second to recognize the bluff. She shrugged. "Yeah, I went to Texas to assist on a case. Helped the local sheriff close a kidnapping from 1991."

Snow shoved the pictures of her aside and pulled one of John in front of her. "What the hell was he doing there?"

"How should I know?" She shrugged again. "I've already reported that he has followed me in the past. I don't know why he was there." She turned to no name. "Should I file a report that he's stalking me? Will that help? I think it would be a waste because he's clearly not trying to hurt me, but if that's what it'll take to get you off my back, I'll do it."

He leaned in, his voice infinitely softer than Snow's shouts. "Detective, this man is dangerous. He's very charismatic, that's why he was recruited in the first place, but you need to understand that he is going to hurt you. Just because he hasn't tried yet, doesn't mean he's not going to. It's really just a question of when."

She held the man's eyes as she thought about the way John had appeared out of nowhere to save her from a bullet, the way he'd solemnly promised her that he wouldn't let anything happen to her son, the gentle way he'd gripped her hand when he'd returned her son safe and sound. John was nothing like these bastards. John was a good man. And she hated anyone who wanted to hurt him.

Her lip curled in a snarl as she repeated something John had once said to her. "I'll take my chances."

Snow sighed. "It's funny you say you were in Texas for work since your captain doesn't know anything about it."

"I had information from an anonymous source regarding the case. I knew the captain would tell me to work local cases, but I couldn't do that with a clear conscience. So I took a day off and helped find the body of a fourteen-year-old so her father could bury her. Sue me."

Snow faked a smile at her story, then cocked his head to the side. "There aren't that many motels in the area and we only managed to find one that recalled having guests who weren't there for deer season. The proprietor told us he clearly remembered renting a room to a couple in suits, one African-American woman and a white man. He also recalled her being upset with the accommodations."

Carter kept her face completely blank while she thought of that awful room, the hideously gun-happy hunters who'd been eyeing them. There had to be a hundred witnesses. John had slipped. She shook her head. "I don't know what to tell you. I'd have to be insane to run off to Texas with a wanted criminal and pretty damn desperate to share a room with him." There, half true. She was insane, no doubt about that. She smiled at Snow. "He was mistaken. I stayed alone." That was true too, John had run off with a chartered flight and left her to make her own arrangements to get back home. They could give her a bible and she'd happily swear she slept alone in that room that night.

Undeterred, Snow produced another stack of papers, a list of cell phone activity. "We've noticed a pattern with your phone too. Besides the standard calls to your son, your mother, a few friends, you have a series of calls to and from disposable cells. Each numbers lasts a little while, then goes away."

"I believe that's the point of disposable phones."

"You want to tell us who you're talking to?"

"I'm a homicide cop. I call a lot of numbers and get a lot of calls. Most of the time we discover that the phones are disposed of before we're able to catch up to the owners. Now if you guys have information as to the owners of these phones, the NYPD sure would appreciate some help…" She knew damn well there was no way to trace those phones. Finch would never allow John to use a phone that was any kind of a danger, even if John wasn't sufficiently trained himself.

Catching sight of the empty folder, knowing Snow had nothing concrete, she pushed her chair back from the table and stood. "Now, I assume we're done here?"

Snow didn't answer, instead turned and left the room, leaving no name to threaten her. "Don't leave town, detective. This isn't over."

She waited until she'd been escorted past security and had her bag returned and walked six blocks before she let out a breath. A shaky one. No, they had nothing concrete, but they knew. They'd known all along and with his friend in danger, John had gotten sloppy. And damn it, she'd let her desire for John's company blind her.

Snow would be back. Snow was never going to give up.

It was up to her to protect John and make sure Snow never caught up to him.