Joss' footsteps sounded erratic and uneven as they landed on the carpet and tiled floors of the hallway. She made herself stagger in hopes that the men not far in front of her would buy her feeble attempt at pretending to be drunk. One of them turned around, and she giggled as she made eye contact.

"Where y'all going?" she asked, deliberately slurring her speech and looked glassy eyed at the tall man with dark brown hair that was approaching her. He was burly, had lines in his forehead and a ponytail that was long enough to lay across his shoulder. "Where's the little girl's room? I need to tinkle."

She forced a hiccup and ignored the man's obvious annoyance. She got closer and succeeded in getting the attention of the entire group. She pouted and put her hand on the goon's shoulder.

"Lady, you're in the wrong place at the very wrong time." he started to pry her arm away, but she pressed her body closer to him and gave him an ample view of her cleavage. He was distracted enough that his expression softened a bit. "You are a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he said, his voice lowered.

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied, tamping down the disgust she felt at his lecherous gaze. She felt angry suddenly; angry that yet again she was bailing John out when he didn't deserve it.

"Stu, we don't have time for this! We have other business to take care of." The unmistakable Brooklyn accent that boomed behind him was harsh, and both Carter and Stu turned to look at the man who was obviously in charge of the group. "Get rid of the hooker and come on."

Carter's sharp glare could've cut him in two, but the attention she drew when she made it a point of telling him loudly that she wasn't a hooker was just enough of a distraction to give John an opportunity to make a move.

She watched him disarm three of them in what felt like seconds, and shortly after, he knocked Stu and another one of the casino owner's men to the ground after they joined the fray.

"Holy shit!"

Lou's expletive echoed in the hallway, but as Carter stared back at Reese almost as if she didn't hear him. John's chest was heaving, a thin sheen of sweat coated his face, but not a hair on his head was out of place. The familiar intensity was in his eyes, and they darkened with adrenaline. Yet there was something else in his stare as he looked at her. It was raw energy, desire, need, and it was as tangible as the clutch she held in her hand.

"Who are you, sugar?" The older man's question helped tear her gaze away from John, and Carter turned to Lou to shake his hand.

"That name's Detective Carter; NYPD. Are you okay?" she asked. She put a concerned hand on his arm, and he nodded.

"Forgive me, Detective. I'm fine, I'm fine," he replied, still wide eyed in disbelief at how quickly everything had happened. "You just saved our lives. Thank you."

Reese looked at Carter as she stood not twenty feet from him. She was breathtaking up close, much more so than she looked earlier when he saw her crossing the casino floor with Beecher. Her attire then had been casual; jeans and a sweater and warm gloves on her hands. Tonight, she was stunning, and he couldn't pry his eyes off of her. Her hair was curled and swept up to the side. Dark tendrils kissed her bare golden shoulder. She wore a plum coloured halter top gown that complimented her toned arms in the best way. The corseted bodice cinched her waist and pushed her breasts upwards. The curve of them sent heat flowing all through his body.

He watched her barely acknowledge him even as he openly looked at her with all the desire he felt. She was aware of him. He was sure of it. He knew it even though she quickly turned away from him and called the local authorities for assistance. She ushered Lou closer to the casino floor and away from the men who lay at his feet.

He looked around for Beecher, fully expecting him to show up, and he wondered how far behind he was. When minutes passed and he didn't show, Reese wondered where he'd disappeared to. He slunk into the shadows as the police appeared, and Carter led Lou away to make a statement. He watched her assure Lou that he'd be okay and that she'd check on him in the morning.

Reese's desire was building by the second, growing into something that begged to be sated. His need for her was blinding, and he watched her straighten her clothes and head down the casino floor. She made a turn for the corridor that led to the elevators.

He followed.


Carter closed her eyes. She knew he was behind her; she could sense him with every part of her being. She was still angry, so angry she couldn't think straight. She was never the type to yell or make a public scene, but she didn't feel herself at all tonight. If he approached while she was feeling the way she did, she wasn't completely sure how she'd react.

She quickened her pace and headed for the elevators straight ahead. Maybe it was better to spend the night in the hotel room with Beecher. Coming down here was obviously a mistake.


Finch noted the time on the silent TV screen in Grace's room. It was just past midnight. Visiting hours were long over, but he'd convinced the nurse to let him stay. He couldn't leave until Grace woke up.

He wasn't really sure what he'd tell her when she finally opened her eyes. All he knew was that right now, he couldn't leave her.

His eyes moved to the bandages on her hand and he winced. He hoped that whatever damage was done, her artistic abilities weren't permanently hindered. Being an illustrator was all she'd ever done, all she'd ever known. It was what kept her going after he left, and he would hate for her to lose that.

He thought about the hours she'd spent on a piece, her attention to the tiny details of her portraits. It was all a swirl of colour to him, strokes on a canvas, but Grace made them all come alive. He'd always been in awe of her talent.

"Remember that time we were in the park, and you insisted on doing my portrait?" He spoke almost as if she was awake and they were engaged in conversation. "You called it 'Man of Leisure'."

He was filled with nostalgia as he remembered that day. It was particularly cool, the wind was blowing, leaves rustling in the trees, but all he could remember was that it was a lovely moment because he got to share it with Grace.

"I did look quite leisurely, didn't I?"

He gripped her hand a little tighter. "If I could take it all back, Grace, I…"

Would he take it all back? he wondered. If he had to choose between leaving her and protecting her, would he? Could he still stay away from her knowing what he knew now?

"I'm so sorry, Grace. I'm so sorry."


She was running. She was running away from him. Her footsteps were eating up the floor quickly, and before she got onto the elevator just in front of her, Reese knew he had to stop her.

"Joss."

She froze in her tracks, and the quick slump of her shoulders before she straightened them again told him that she knew he was behind her. She turned around slowly, and looked him squarely in the eye.

There were so many questions in her gaze; questions he didn't have the answer to. There were accusations he didn't dare look away from. He pretty much deserted her after she'd saved his ass and risked her entire career to do it. A part of him recoiled on the inside, but his need to dispel the darkness that was eating away at him was stronger than his remorse and guilt.

Her gaze didn't waver, and she didn't move even though he advanced on her. Her voice trembled when she spoke, but he didn't have an answer.

He didn't want to talk. He was way past words right now.

"What do you want, John?" she asked.

"This." In the darkened corridor, it was the only word that he uttered before he cupped her cheek to kiss her. Once their lips touched, an instant feeling of relief was transferred from her to him. It washed over him as he nipped at her mouth, teased her tongue. It scorched a path of heat that travelled through him, searing every nerve ending in his body.

He felt her palms move up his chest, and seconds after she'd started to respond to him, she was pushing him away.

She shook her head, tried to focus, but the flush on her skin exposed the desire she felt. It was the same yearning he felt right now. He took a step towards her, and the flat of her hand landed soundly on his face. His dick grew harder at the harsh contact, and he gritted his teeth.

He swore silently, watching conflict move across her features. She took the tiniest of steps in his direction and fisted her hand in his lapel. Moments later he was drowning in the feel of her again, crushing his lips over hers and fanning the flames that had just started to build between them.

Though the corridor was dark and they were mostly concealed from view of the crowds that occupied the casino, he knew they couldn't stay there for much longer without being seen.

"Come with me," he murmured against her mouth before kissing her again. "Come with me, Joss."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't a command. But it was more of an insistence that they release all the anger, frustration, and the hurt that their words felt inadequate to express.

The elevator door opened, and a couple walked out. He twined their fingers together and pulled her into the lift.

"Come with me."


Minutes ticked away on the clock, and Finch found himself rambling on from one topic to the next as he held Grace's hand. The chair was starting to irritate his back and his leg and he felt stiffness start to set into his bones. He realized he should get up to stretch for a bit, but he was reluctant to move even a few feet away from her. He fished into his pocket in search of the small prescription bottle and palmed one of the small pain relievers inside. He swallowed it quickly, then chased it with a sip of water from a small bottle on a tray near the bed.

"The truth is, Grace…I was a coward. I was scared that something might happen to you…something very well could have…but I was scared of what you might think if you knew who I really was. What would you think if you knew the real me? My real name…what I'd done? Would you still want to be with me?"

He spoke the words into the dark, and only the faint ticking of the clock on the wall responded. Only the white noise of the TV filled the air until he grabbed the remote and switched it off.

He slowly lowered his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Oh, Grace."

"Harold?"

His eyes opened wide in the darkness, and he raised his head carefully before he slid to the edge of the chair.

"Harold is that you?"

"I'm here. I'm here. It's me."


A quick swipe of a key gained them access to John's room in the hotel, and they both stumbled inside together. Joss grabbed at the shirt around his waist and pulled it out of his pants while he hastily pulled at the catch of her dress around her neck.

Their shoes came off and so did his jacket, but time wasn't wasted on getting fully unclothed. He was leading her to the couch and all she could think about was the need to have him inside her. She undid his belt buckle and zipper and sought out the hardness that had pressed itself against her belly. She didn't know when his shirt had come undone, but placed a kiss in the middle of his chest and smiled when he let out a ragged breath.

His fingers found the back of her neck, caressed it, then ran through her hair. Hairpins flew in different directions across the floor and her hair fell over her shoulders. She didn't want to wait, and neither did he. She was already wet, and he'd been ready since they started kissing downstairs.

With her dress bunched about her waist and her breasts exposed, she felt her panties being taken off her with impatient fingers. She was sure she heard the sound of ripping fabric before they hit the floor. He lifted her in the air, and when he sat down, he lowered her slowly down his length.

Both of them grunted, and she put her head back as she took him to the hilt. She took a while to get used to the feel of him, felt him throb as her softness molded itself to him. Then she began to move. The need for friction would not allow her to keep still for long, and she dug her nails into his shoulders as sweet oblivion started to overtake her movements atop him.

His thumbs circled her nipples as he grunted and moaned, then his hands moved over her butt to help her along as she ground over him. She felt a swirl of emotion between them, familiar feelings of trust, vulnerability, friendship? She didn't want to feel that; not now, and she moved with an even quicker urgency than before.

John picked up on her nonverbal cues when her fingers bore into his skin and her teeth sunk into his shoulder. She needed more. Wanted more. So did he. He scooped her up and slid off the couch and spun her around to position her on her knees. When he entered her again, he started to pump hard. His thrusts were brutal, and cruel, but so good. They felt like anger and resentment and all the confusion she'd felt for months. She pushed back at his strokes, buried her head into the cushioned back of the couch and groaned.

"Fuck me, John. Fuck me."

He did as he was told, twisting her, pulling at her, biting her until he finally took them over the edge. He lay panting over her after he came, and she felt a huge weight was lifted off of her. She heard him sniffle; turned to look at him and saw tears rolling down his cheeks.

"John…"

She gently cupped his cheek and softly kissed his lips.


Grace's eyes fluttered open and it took her a while to fully focus. When her gaze landed in her direction she stared at him wide eyed in disbelief. He felt relief that she was okay and guilt that their paths had crossed this way after all the years that had passed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she made an attempt to sit upright.

"Don't make any sudden moves. You've endured a horrible shock." He got up from his chair and sat down beside her on the bed. She reached for him, touching his shoulders, his hands, and finally she cupped his cheek.

"Is it really you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? I think I hit my head." Her hands touched the bandages at her temple. "Am I going to be okay?"

It occurred to him that he could go on letting her believe he was a hallucination. The mind had ways of playing tricks on people especially when they'd experienced trauma. He could spend some time with her until morning, and then slip away quietly when she finally went back to sleep. Though she'd still be safe, Finch realized that the act of deserting her twice in one lifetime would be crueler than she deserved. He wouldn't - couldn't - lie to her anymore. He'd just have to figure out how to deal with this new challenge later.

"You are not dreaming, Grace." Finch was surprised at how much lighter he felt as the simple, yet weighty revelation rolled off his tongue. After years of daydreams about telling her the truth, he never imagined it would happen in a hospital room after she'd nearly died. "It's really me."

"How?" she asked, shakily.

Amidst tears, the smile that split her face was wide. He could tell that she was sad, confused and still in pain, and he wanted to reassure her.

"It's okay, it's okay. There's a lot to explain, and I promise you that we will talk about it all. What's important now is that you get some rest, okay?"

"Okay."

"Let's get the nurse in here so that she can take a look at you." He reached for the buzzer near her bed to call for the nurse, and even when she entered, Grace was reluctant to let go of his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised her. "I'm staying right here."


Covered in sweat, but still very congested and groggy, Beecher opened his eyes in the bed. He raised his head, an action that took a huge amount of effort on his part and looked around the room. It was quiet, and he listened to hear if Joss was nearby, but he heard nothing. Not even the sound of the TV from the small area out front.

"Joss." His voice was barely recognizable to his own ears, and his throat felt parched. "Joss," he called out again, but nobody answered. He turned from his back to his side, trying desperately to get out from under the mountain of blankets that Joss had buried on top of him and finally sat up.

He was exhausted, but he managed to pull himself upright and walk to the bureau to grab a small bottle of water. After draining it, he called out for her again. Alarm bells rang in his head, or was that the headache that had been pounding since earlier?

Where was she?

He ambled back to the bed, sat down and felt enormous relief when his back hit the mattress once more. Slumber took him quickly, and the sounds of his soft snoring filled the air.