Hi guys! Welcome to latest Wolf story. Please understand that this fic was mostly inspired by the episode "RAM", so it was mostly written before the season finale. Decima is still looking for Finch and Samaritan is not operational yet.

As usual I make no money from this. It's J. Nolan's sandbox, I'm just paying in it for fun, not profit. POI belongs to someone else (darn it!).

A Chance to Sleep

John Reese tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He rolled onto his back and sighed, he knew this was going to happen when Joss was called into work on a late-night murder related to one of her cases. John never slept well when Joss wasn't with him. Somehow, without even trying, the loving, dynamic cop could chase away John's demons and allow him to sleep peacefully. When Joss was wrapped in his arms he could rest undisturbed by all the faces of all the people he had killed in his misguided service to his country. She brought him peace, a respite from the guilt that weighted heavily on his mind daily.

When his mate wasn't sharing his bed and John was left to his thoughts, they led to one nightmare after another. He had spent most of his adult life killing people, first as one of the Army's elite Rangers, and then as one of the CIA's best assassins. He was often haunted by the ghosts of the people whose lives he had ended prematurely. Some of them had deserved to die, but there were some that didn't deserve their fate, and those were the ones who visited him at night and reminded him just what a monster he was.

Tonight was no different. Tonight it was Shalima Mullah's turn to haunt his nightmares…

Summer 2009

Reese remembered the mission well; it was seared into his memory like a third degree burn, and it scarred him like one. It had sounded straight forward enough to begin with at the initial briefing. An Al Qaida cell was actively operating on the French Riviera, gathering money and weapons for some big strike against the US and it's allied interests. John, his partner Kara Stanton and their handler Mark Snow were tasked with taking them out before they could strike at those interests. Normally this was the kind of job John loved, preventing terrorists from harming innocent people. All John had ever wanted to do was protect good people from bad things and this looked like an open and shut case. He had actually been eager to work on the case, but he had forgotten a major tenant of his job: hings are never simple in the cloak and dagger world of the CIA.

They discovered the cell's main source of funding was the girlfriend of the cell's head guy, a bored rich kid and a distant cousin of the Saudi Royal family by the name of Shalima Mullah. She may even have been officially entitled to use the title of Princess, Reese was never really sure. She had been sheltered her whole life, as women in Saudi Arabia were, even more so than usual because of her family's high position in Saudi society. She was young, rich and naïve, a perfect trifecta of traits that made her ripe for exploitation Reese had wondered if her boyfriend really loved her as he claimed, or if he just needed her money to fund his jihad. If John had been a betting man, he would have put even money on the latter. Shalima had been completely unprepared for the big bad world, and the big bad world was about to chew her up and spit her out in the most horrible way possible.

The girl was looking for excitement, for an opportunity to break out of her gilded cage and taste life. John could have told her it wasn't worth it, to stay in her cage. If there was one thing his own life had taught him, excitement was overrated, but she probably wouldn't have listened. anyway Being the good CIA operative he was, he used her yearning for adventure and danger as a weapon. And one thing could be said for sure about Reese, he was lethal with weapons.

Shalima spotted Reese at an embassy function where he was dangled in front of her like a carrot. He was tall and handsome in his tuxedo, and she found his haunted blue eyes and hints of dangerous deeds done in far flung countries irresistible. She knew that he had seen and done many horrible things; and it excited her. She could hardly wait to take him to bed, all thoughts of her terrorist boyfriend forgotten. Reese was more than willing to take advantage of her eagerness to bed him and they left together in her chauffeured limousine. Reese fucked her senseless in the backseat before they reached her father's mansion.

Kara Stanton and Mark Snow listened to every moan, gasp and groan from their surveillance van that followed along behind the limo at a discreet distance. They happily congratulated themselves as their plan was set in motion.

Knowing that Kara was listening, Reese made sure he had the princess screaming in pleasure several times during the ride. Kara was a very possessive woman, and it always pissed her off when Reese had to fuck a target. Sometimes he didn't have to fuck the target, but he would do it anyway, just to make her mad. It was usually the only way he could gain the upper hand in their sick relationship. He smiled as he visualized Kara fighting to keep her cool as she sat stoically next to Mark in the van. Then he made the girl scream some more.

As soon as he returned to their apartment, Kara was all over him, almost foaming at the mouth in her eagerness to reclaim her property. John smirked at her, but let her push him on the bed and let her climb on top. His cock was still moist from fucking Shalima, but Kara was too eager to reclaim her property to notice or care. She pounded herself onto him until they both came. It was a matter of pride to him that he made Kara scream as a loud as the princess had.

There was no love or even caring there, it was all about ownership. It was all about control.

The pattern replayed itself over the next several days; Reese would get together with Shalima, fuck her silly while she spilled all the secrets of the cell, including the member list and the location of their safe house, while Kara and Mark listened. Then Kara would fuck Reese possessively when he returned to their bed.

While Reese enjoyed temporarily having the upper hand in his relationship with the mercurial Kara, he was privately troubled by what he knew was going to be Shalima's inevitable fate. It became obvious to him that the girl was no terrorist. She was bored and lonely and had no idea how deadly dangerous and REAL this game was, she was only in it for the thrill. Both sides were using her as pawn, the terrorist cell for her money and the CIA for access to the cell. Despite her money and position, she was disposable to both; it was just a matter of which one would toss her aside first.

It all went down a week later; Reese had fucked enough intel out of Shalima that Mark felt it was time to take down the cell. The entire cell was meeting at their safe house that night and the three CIA operatives burst in, swiftly shooting the would-be terrorists before they even realized they were being raided. It was a textbook operation that Mark would brag about to his superiors for weeks afterwards.

As Reese was busy removing a hard drive from a computer whose owner lay dead at his feet, he heard a sob from the doorway of the room. He looked up and saw Kara standing there with a gun to Shalima's head. The girl was openly crying and begging for her life.

Kara smiled a predatory smile. "Hey Boy Scout. Look who I found hiding in a closet. I think she wet herself," she purred.

"John…" the girl sobbed in terror and reached for him, just as Kara pulled the trigger. Reese was careful to keep his face impassive while she slumped to the floor and lay still with blood pouring from the wound in her head, her sightless eyes still pleading with him even in death. Kara stood over the body looking triumphant.

"Nice shot," Reese said casually and went back to extracting the disk drive without giving any indication that watching the girl die bothered him in the least. But it did bother him, God help him, it did bother him to watch a naïve girl die because he was better at exploiting her than the other guy. She didn't deserve to die; at worst she should have gotten a spanking. But he kept his face neutral and focused on his work; like he always did, like the good soldier he was.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kara's smile disappear as she realized she was not going to score a victory over him today.

"Kara, if you're done getting your jollies, it's time to look for evidence," Mark snapped at her. "Grab those files over there."

Kara shot Mark a dirty look, but did as she was told, as always. She was a good soldier too.

Present day

John's sensitive Wolf ears heard his daughter Cali fussing in her crib in her room next door, snapping him out of his fitful sleep. Groggily he dragged himself out of bed and glanced at the clock He noted that it was 2:37 am and Joss was still not home.

John padded into his baby's room and scooped her up, cradling her to his chest. She calmed down as soon as he touched her. "Can't sleep either?" he asked her as she stared up at him, furiously sucking on her pacifier. "I know, I miss mommy too."

He changed her diaper and warmed a bottle. She sucked it down greedily and gave her daddy a huge burp when he patted her back. She fell asleep almost immediately after and John was about to put her back in her crib when he hesitated. Then he turned and carried her into the master bedroom, and crawled into bed, settling her down on his chest. He fell asleep quickly, and no nightmares disturbed his slumber.

About an hour later, Joss tiptoed into the quiet apartment. She headed straight to the bedroom to change into pajamas before she checked on her kids. Despite her exhaustion, she stopped in the doorway and smiled in wonder when she realized that Cali was sleeping peacefully on her daddy's chest.

Joss put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle when she saw her child and her mate sleeping like, well, babies. Deciding that she was not going to disturb them, she silently slipped into the walk in closet and changed into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. She then carefully slid into the bed without her family being aware of her presence. Neither one of them so much as twitched, they were both sleeping so soundly.

Joss turned on her side and watched John and Cali for a while. Then she closed her eyes and slipped off into sleep as she counted her blessings.

Mr. Greer got out of the limo and made his way over to the man who was waiting quietly for him in the darkened park. "Lambert," he greeted the man with a stiff nod.

"Boss," Lambert returned the nod. "What do you have for me?"

"The lady has finally been cleared to return to work. You are to assist her in any way you can."

Even in the dark, Greer could see his man make a sour face. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Lambert?" he asked smoothly.

"She's a psychopath, you know that," Lambert grumbled. He was a hard, cold man, but he was a professional through and through. He despised working with psychopaths; despite the fact his profession often required it. Psychopaths were often unprofessional and difficult to control or predict. "The lady" was one of the most unpredictable and needlessly vicious people he had ever worked with.

Greer glared at his employee. "She's our psychopath, and she's determined to find Harold Finch. He may be the key to bringing Samaritan online. Do not forget that."

Lambert shook his head, "I won't, but she will. She wants this Finch character dead, after she tortures him, of course. I don't think she cares about Samaritan at all."

Greer stared ahead. He knew Lambert was right, but Decima needed this mission to go well, and the lady got results. "You'll just have to make sure she doesn't kill him, at least not until we are done with him. Her methods may be brutal and ham-fisted, but she got the results we asked for on her last mission. She broke into a secure top-secret DOD facility and uploaded the virus. I have no doubt she will come through for us again."

Lambert wrinkled his nose in distaste. "She nearly got herself blown to bits last time, too. She had to get cute with the bomb vests instead of going for a clean kill."

Greer sighed, Lambert was usually so professional and he was tired of arguing. "This is why I need you to work with her this time. You will have to make sure she does not, as you say, get 'cute' again."

Greer turned and walked back to his limo, signaling the end of the conversation. "Do not fail me, Mr. Lambert," he called over his shoulder.

Lambert watched glumly as the taillights of the limo disappeared. He was a good company man; he would do as he was asked. But he didn't have to like it.