Author's Note: Wow! That was fast! I did not anticipate waking up to seeing I already had 10 reviews, but I suppose threats really do work... (I also didn't mean Feb 25th till next update-I meant to say Feb 15. Awhh well, too late now. I did get the results I wanted, haha :D )

Here's Part II. There're only two parts to this but there is a mini-one shot spin off I may write.

Thanks,

Phoenix.

CHAPTER II

It's relieving to find him back in her life. He keeps his promise and doesn't leave her alone. It takes a while, but once he's sure the CIA has stopped monitoring her (approximately five months after his shooting) he resumes helping her out on her cases. She doesn't ask for it outright, but if she drops a hint that "You know, it's hard to get a warrant for so-and-so's arrest in the murder of so-and-so," he will get her the information she needs to get that warrant. Or, if she's having a hard time tracking down someone, he will find that person within forty-eight hours.

He has stopped gift-wrapping her suspects though, out of fear that it would arouse the CIA's suspicion again.

Taylor has moved back into her apartment after reassuring him that it's safe now. She told him that she spoke with the man who had saved their lives and he said that he would keep the pressure on the man that kidnapped him. Taylor, although as curious as any fourteen year old boy, finally accepted that his mother wasn't going to tell her much more than that.

He doesn't contact her often as she would like. John, that is. He gets his information to her via letters dropped into her mail box, evidence sent in a box to her work, etc. She's seen him twice, however, while she was on duty. The first time he looked genuinely surprised to see her, too—seemed like both of their cases overlapped, but just as quickly as she saw him, he disappeared like the shadow he is with the next wave of people to intercept them.

The second time she saw him while on duty was during a hostage negotiation crisis that had quickly turned dangerous when the suspect pulled out a weapon and aimed the .44 revolver at his own son's head.

She had quickly reacted: she pulled out her own weapon and leveled it at the suspect's head, but she knew the chance that she might hit the nine year old boy was unlikely but possible. They had no snipers set up and no one else who could intervene when there was a very silent "Pop!" that went off, and suddenly the man crumpled. NYPD moved in quickly and took the boy and ran off while other armed officers moved in. They were surprised to see a neat bullet hole above the man's left ear.

She glanced up and was unsurprised to see his silhouette with a sniper rifle in the parking structure above them. He nodded at her then disappeared again.

Then there are the times that she's seen him while not on duty, which are more often. It's always on the days that her son stays with his friends or his grandmother, something she is relieved about. She is always sure to call Taylor when she'll be home late, because she knows that John will also get the message. And sure enough, about fifty percent of the time (about once a week, once every two weeks) he is waiting for her in her apartment.

It's nice to have someone as experienced as her to mentor her and give her new information. It's relieving to have someone to rant to who understands her. It's just generally… relaxing, knowing that someone as skilled as he is will be helping her for as long as he can.

She's finally learned not to ask questions about his past or his identity. Whenever she even draws near to the subject, he leaves. She would love to get him into one of her interrogation rooms at the Department, but she has a feeling even if she did manage that, he would just as easily break out and incapacitate everyone else in the office. She no longer underestimated him.

So when one night, after a particularly long meeting with her superiors-in which they scorned her and reprimanded her for the handling of one particular case—she calls home and tells Taylor she will not be there until late and wants him to stay with his grandmother. She is hoping that John will get the message and is not otherwise pre-occupied with whatever vigilantes do late at night. She needs him right now. She needs him to be there, she needs to talk with him and she needs his help.

And she needs an outlet for all her pent-up tension.

Oh, lord, she's praying that he will be there.

She unlocks the door and enters. It's quiet as ever, but that never indicates anything. It's always quiet, and still when she comes home, even when he's there. He has a habit of just silently emerging out of the shadows—which suits her just fine. She finds it attractive.

She kicks off her heels, and can't wait to get out of her dress pants and put on sweats. But that has to wait, because as she passes by the living room she suddenly becomes aware of his presence. She turns to see him leaning up against the wall opposite her.

He is loading and unloading one of her personal guns. No doubt he broke into her safe. On the coffee table are her other two weapons, freshly cleaned and oiled.

Without looking up he says, "I took the liberty of giving your extra three weapons the cleaning they deserve."

She doesn't even want to know how he broke into her fireproof safe, and who knows what else he saw in there. He sees the question in her eyes and quickly answers, "I didn't take out anything else, I promise."

Despite her better judgment, she asks wearily, "How did you break open my safe?" The code is something completely random; nothing to do with her birthday, Taylor's birthday, her PIN, her SSN...

He shoves the clip back into the gun and smirks, not deigning to give a response.

As per usual, Joss removes her suit jacket and purse, hanging them over the sofa and then sets her weapon and badge on the table.

"You're frustrated," he states.

"Yes," she answers shortly. "Yes, John, I am frustrated. I am frustrated at work, with my supervisors, with the Captain, with you."

He cocks an eyebrow, releasing the gun's clip again. Click. It slides into his hand. "Care to tell me why?"

"Somehow, you know everything about me. You know my childhood, my academic record, my military records, everything. And you won't tell me how you know this. I am frustrated with the relative ease you seem to accomplish your objectives with. I am…I'm disturbed by your cryptic stalking techniques and I want to know who you are, how you do what you do, and why you are doing it!"

He gazes at her steadily, shoving the gun clip back into its chamber. Click. "I'm not going to tell you anything that could put you in significant danger."

"Dammit, John, I can take care of myself!"

"Really?" he asks, his usually stoic voice taking on a new tone of skepticism and amusement. He sets the gun down and pulls something out of his pocket. She moves closer to him, and recognizes the object as a bug. Someone had bugged her house?

"I found this under your table," he says. "And that's not all." He pulls out a vial in his pocket containing five more, as well as a government-issued surveillance camera.

"One under your table, another at the entrance to your door, one in your room, under your home phone, in your living room. And the camera was set up in that vent."

"I…" She is speechless.

"CIA bugged and wiretapped your home, Carter," he says severely. "I knew because I had also done the exact same thing, except I clearly did a better job than them because they did not find my cameras or bugs. They did this last week—this is why I haven't made contact with you for more than a week. I had to find their frequency and cut it before I could even think about making contact. Clearly, they still think I'm alive and I am contacting you."

"How do you know if you got every one of them out of here?" Her voice raises shrilly in a panic. She doesn't care so much if John has her home bugged, because she trusts him not to hurt her—but the CIA, on the other hand, has proven that they want to hurt John and her.

"Because I used to be like them. I know how they think," he answers coldly. "I know exactly how they operate and I know how to anticipate their moves. But that's not why I'm here." He pauses, his eyes flashing.

She freezes, sensing that it was going to head downhill very fast.

"I will be leaving New York for the next four days," he says slowly, carefully. "So I need you to be careful. Elias might choose to make a move if he knows I'm gone. I don't think he will, because I've made it quite clear what will happen if he—or the man who gave him permission for the hit on you—lays a finger on you. But I don't trust him. I don't want to come back to the City to find out that you've gone and done something reckless. So stay close to your partner, try to stay in the office as much as possible. Okay?"

"I can take care of myself," she flares up at him, and if she were a wolf, Reese could easily imagine her teeth being bared, hackles raised. But that doesn't stop him—he wants her to see exactly how vulnerable she is. How breakable she is. He could snap her neck in the space of a half second; he could break both her legs in three seconds; he could blind her permanently in one second; he could cause any number of damage to her in less than five seconds, and she wouldn't have the time to get in one counterstrike. And he knows that Snow could do the same. He knows that Snow will do the same if he thought it would get him to come out to the open.

"Can you?" he asks softly, walking closer to her. "I have no doubt about your abilities handling a gun and getting your job done, but I do doubt your ability to keep yourself safe. You have a tendency for recklessness, after all," he adds. "Considering you dared to take on me."

"You don't need to worry," she retorts furiously, standing up straight and staring him in the eye. The intimidation factor was considerably lessened, seeing as she had kicked off her heels and he still stood a good half foot taller than her, maybe more. "I am perfectly capable to taking on Snow or any of your other Navy SEAL, Marine, or Special Forces guys. I still have no idea what you were, by the way."

He doesn't take the bait, but he is hoping she will. "You wouldn't stand a chance," he growls down at her, trying to make her see. It dawns on him that maybe he isn't trying to make her see how vulnerable she is—he's trying to make her see how he can't lose her. This thought unnerves him, that somehow, maybe she's become more than just an asset to use in investigations. He stops his train of thought and provokes her further. "You won't last three seconds against Snow."

Her eyes flash dangerously and she takes his challenge. He sees her begin to make her first move: a dirty trick, trying to connect her fist with his stomach where he was shot. But he anticipates this and sidesteps, bringing his left foot in connection with her right ankle, and easily sweeps her off her feet and into the carpet. He lands on her smoothly, his knee between her shoulder blades with his right hand pinning her wrist to the floor. His left hand slides along the back of her next and into her hair, twisting her head away from him. Reese pins her firmly into the plush carpet, holding her down by the base of her skull.

All this had taken place in less than a second. She flexes her left arm, the one not being pinned down, and tries to push upwards. But the weight of his knee being pressed between her shoulder blades renders her completely immobile. She twists her head the best she could to get a look at him, but he only increases the pressure, forcing the right side of her face into her carpet. She breathes heavily, and but he doesn't let her go.

"Do you enjoy this?" She spits out. "Making me feel inferior?" She writhes underneath him.

He smirks, although he knows she can't see it. "Making you feel inferior, no," he answers honestly. "Pinning you down? I'm thoroughly enjoying it."

She stops struggling momentarily, shocked by his presumptuousness. "You can get off now," she finally says after her breathing had slowed. "I mean it, John."

With reluctance—she can practically feel it—he slides off her, but not before running his fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes, realizing he probably has wanted this for quite a while.

He holds a hand out to her, helping her back to her feet. "Now do you see," he says quietly as she rubs her neck, trying to remove the imprint he left there. "Now do you see you need to be careful, Detective Carrterr."

He is purring again. She suddenly wishes that she had more Rs in her first name. Why couldn't she have been named Renee, or Raven? He can't purr "Joscelyn" at all…

"Are you trying to seduce me?" she whispers, chills coursing through her veins as she meets his very calm ice blue eyes.

"I'm trying to make you see how important you are to me!" He answers, almost furiously. "Joss, you have no idea, the effect you have on me." He turns away from her, frustrated.

"The effect?"

"You worry me," comes the answer, so quietly she needs to strain to hear it. "Joss, I'm always afraid for you and I take any attack on you personally." He turns around to face her again. "I don't want to come back to New York City to find you dead. I don't want to come back at all if you are dead. I honestly don't know what's happening to me." For the first time, he looks uncertain. "It's been so long since I actually felt something that this emotion—this worry over you—I—I can't identify it."

She acts on instinct. It's complete instinct, animalistic instinct. She feels like she has no control over this; All she knows is suddenly she pushes him against the wall and reaches up, her lips connecting with his.

He is still for a moment, shocked—then he relaxes into her, bringing a hand around to the small of her back, pressing her against his chest. He kisses back, surprising even himself.

Then she is flying through the air. He had gracefully moved and twisted their position so she is now the one pinned against the wall. She feels his teeth scrape her lip, and Jocelyn feels pure pleasure flood her. She doesn't know how she ended up in the position, pinned against the wall with the one man she had once been out to lock up now kissing her into oblivion.

But she chooses not to dwell on it.

He growls against her, pressing her harder into the wall. His lips trail along her jawline and down her neck. She arches her neck, trying to give him more access to her throat. He pulls the should of her blouse down as he attentively strokes her collarbone while kissing and biting his way back up to her lips. She knows he will leave bruises for sure along her shoulder and neck, not to mention her side where his palm is keeping her immobilized. She squeezes her eyes shut. "John..." she rasps, her hand sliding through his hair.

Suddenly, his pressure is gone. She opens her eyes, startled, to see him gazing down starkly at her, his hands vicelike—one on her left arm and the other gripping her side almost painfully. He lets go, looking down at her in complete shock.

"John?" she rasps. "John, what is it?"

He steps away, eyes wide. She's worried now—she has never seen him like this before. "John?"

"No," he whispers, completely in shock. "No, Joss. Everyone around me dies. I can't—I can't—"

He backs away. "John!" She says desperately. "What are you—"

"Stay away from me, Detective," he rasps. She can see the lust in his eyes. "You can't get close to me. I won't allow that. I can't get close to you."

"No, John," she says desperately. "Don't do this to me."

He pushes her aside roughly, causing her to trip. "John! Wait!" she calls out desperately, only to hear the door open and then shut.

She runs down the hall and wrenches open the door. "John!" she shrieks. The halls echo—she runs down one and then the other, before running down the stairwell to the lobby of her apartment and out onto the street.

But like the panther he is, he had vanished back into the night.

She never saw him again.

He lied. She is completely alone.

Notes:

In Part I, there is a reference to an "Operation Achilles." Achilles is the famous invincible Greek warrior at the Seige of Troy about 2000 years ago. If you have watched the movie "Troy," you would know that Achilles cannot be injured unless shot through his Achilles' heel, which happens when his "love," Briseis, exposes it for him. Achilles, like John Reese, had trusted Briseis, and Briseis, like Detective Carter, had unknowingly lead Achilles into the open to be shot and killed. ((This happens in the movie; it's nothing like this at all in the book)) This is what I was referring to when I titled it "Operation Achilles."

Also in Part I, Fusco says, "la cia." (pronounced la see-ya) This is Spanish for The CIA. I learned this from a friend of mine who was kidnapped in Colombia by a drug cartel and pretended to be a CIA Officer. He threatened the...(all he had on him was his passport and some paperwork. Good thing they couldn't read English!)

Oh, and also... Detective Carter never did find the bugs Reese set up in her home, nor did she ever discover his last name.