A/N: Trying my hand again at the one shot, times a bunch. I don't know how successful I will be at this, as I'm not the best writer, and keeping things low to the ground can be hard. But the ole college try is always worthwhile. There should be a couple of these to start with, and I'll see from there. Have fun, and thank you. :-)
Shot No. 2: The Train
"Come on, Carter, stay with me."
"John...John...I'm no good. I can't..."
"Yes, you can. Now, we're gonna get you outta here, but you have to stay with me." His tone was gruff but gentle.
"I can't see...can't feel my legs, John. So weak..."
"That's all right. I can see and feel for you. Just don't leave me, okay? Try to hang on until we get you to the safehouse. Everything's gonna be okay, Joss."
"Okay. I'll try, John. I'll...try. So tired...but we...got 'em. Didn't we? We got HR..."
"Yeah, Carter. We did."
They had made the Long Island Railroad train, just as the Machine had organized, just as Finch had said they would. Simmons and the rest of the HR brass had tried their best to snuff them both out, but they'd failed. John smiled to himself, despite the burning pain in his legs and arms, and his own exhaustion, and the fact that he was worried about Joss. She'd only taken one hit, on her left side, but her wound was more worrisome to him than his own. He'd merely been grazed by one of the bullets intended for his abdomen after a quick reflex allowed him to jump out of the way just in time. The concrete burn had been no fun, of course, and the skinned knees and elbows he received, smarted with as much pain as the bullet graze had.
Joss, however, had not been so lucky. One of the other bullets intended for him had caught her far more gravely. And now, he held her, as the sweat of her brow cooled her skin and she slid back and forth to him in consciousness. He had been doing his very best to keep wind of the situation down to a minimum on a sparsely boarded late-evening LIRR train, but at that point, he didn't give a damn. The people they'd needed to escape from they had. With the Machine's help, a wounded-yet-still-dangerous Simmons had been thrown off the trail, while the rest of HR, including its illustrious leader Alonzo Quinn, had been taken down by the feds.
Now, they hunkered down in the semi-darkness. He'd hastily torn at his white dress shirt to create a makeshift gauze, a desperate bid to staunch the bleeding from her wound.
To buy them some time.
It wasn't long before the white shirt was soaked crimson. But it had been holding steady. That was all he could pray for.
"We just need to make it to Montauk, Joss. The safehouse has all the best medical equipment and recovery room this side of a hospital. And we'll get you the best treatment. You're gonna get through this, Joss. I promise you. Just stay with me."
She didn't respond to that one. His blood chilled ice in his veins at the realization that she hadn't. He'd been running on adrenaline, halfway dragging, halfway carrying her in his arms to the platform. No fare was paid; the Machine controlled it all. His singleminded need to see her safe away from HR and Simmons had kept him going, kept him pushing on a pained leg. Now, the gravity that she'd slipped under again, and that they might not make it in time to wake her up the next time, anguished him like nothing he'd ever experienced before.
He looked down at her face. And then, the gauze. She was peaked, her skin still cool to the touch of his fingers on her cheek. She was still conscious, but she had her view fixated on nothing in particular. The lights of the city whizzed and streaked, and he could see the dimming in her eyes, even as the lights brightened and glided past them.
He hadn't stopped before to let himself realize how beautiful she was. Joss Carter, the tough-yet-fair 8th precinct homicide detective with the heart of gold and the unwavering sense of right and wrong, good and evil. But at the end of the day, she was a woman, too. A snappy, stylish woman that he suddenly found himself regretting that he didn't know in some other fashion; in some other life, a life not complicated with bad guys and corruption from far too many comers.
"John..."
Hearing his name had never been so good before.
"Yes, Joss?"
"Are we...safe now?"
He gently pulled the fingers of one hand away from her thigh, while the other arm and hand cradled her in his lap, and ran his fingers through her loosened locks. She was so precious to him. She was the most precious thing in the world—and he'd slay all the dragons himself before he'd let anything else happen to her.
"Yes. Yes, sweetheart. We're safe. We're gonna be all right. Not long. Not long now."
The earnest kiss to her forehead wasn't a fluke. It wasn't a surprise. He smiled to himself again as she whimpered and he pulled her closer to the warmth of his body. The lights continued to whizz by. The train rumbled on.
A/N: Inspired by "The Crossing", of course. A slightly different path than the show took. Hope you enjoyed this first Careese Shot. Thanks!
