A/N: Reality, after the storm. A short one. Thanks for reading after such a time away. :-)

When Joss awakened, she found that the sun's rays beamed through the window blinds like laser beams, and with the glare of the snow that had fallen and blown across the landscape, she squinted and grimaced in the face of the new day. Her sheets and comforter had kept her warm and snug, and she momentarily allowed herself to contemplate—as she had certainly done several times before—what life would be like if she just chucked it all away and stayed in bed for the duration. No more hours and hours of paperwork, no more perps, no more blood and death. She could do it. She was a lawyer before she was a cop. A few freelance cases, some consulting work. Her mortgage would be paid and her son's private school fees would be paid from the comfort of her bed. Laptops and cell phones made all things possible. She could find a way to do it, if she wanted to.

What she couldn't find, in that moment, however, was John Reese. There was no aroma of breakfast or coffee, as it would have been his most presumptive style to help himself without her, no sound of television nor the electric razor, nor the shower water in her bathroom. In fact, beyond the sound of the clock ticking on her nightstand, the apartment was silent.

She sat up, her body still naked from the night before, the soreness in her thighs, back, the rawness in her private spots the strongest evidence remaining that he had been there, had been with her, and that she had been well and truly loved. Awakening yet again, after that second time, the unfamiliarlty of the bedding arrangements not allowing either one of them to sleep soundly, perhaps, they had made love once more, reaching for one another in the darkness, John's silver-lit eyes wet and desperate with desire. The pair loved one another fiercely, passsionately, their hands, mouths and bodies simply not able to get enough until they were breathlessly spent, and agreed that each one needed to try for a rest that was real, a rest that would sustain them in the light of that new day. They had attempted a chat beforehand, a chance at keeping the gravity of what had happened at bay; but after loving like that, it was too much to think about words and phrases that made sense. Sleep, then, was the only thing that would do; so they did, legs and arms entangled, sweaty brows connected to nuzzling lips.

Smoothing back a few locks of her hair, she sighed and looked around the room, not really focused on anything in particular, the events of the night before playing back in her mind like the flicker and whirr of a movie projector. As quickly as the images sped by, she saw and felt them all rather clearly: the way he had held her so gently before they ended up in her bed; the nuzzles and sighs they made as comfort turned to lust; the tickle of his lips and tongue against her breasts; the slight flounce of his hair, untreated with mousse, as he moved alongside her, above her, and beneath her; his long legs that so deftly manuevered her own to his bidding; his grin as he got out of her the desired response to his lover's skill; the way she pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth before sliding her tongue into his mouth. Everything played back in flashes, bits and pieces—but the silence of his absence permeated those visions. He was gone.

"Okay, John," she said, sighing. "I suppose I shouldn't expect anything different. A good-bye would have been nice though."

Rising from the bed to relieve herself in the bathroom, she headed to her closet for a satin robe and her slippers. Suddenly overcome with a touch of modesty, she donned the robe and belted it tightly. As she moved towards the door, however, the cellphone on the nightstand caught her attention.

It blinked a new message. From 'Unknown Contact.'

Picking it up with a touch of trepidation, she opened the message, only to smirk at its contents.

Thank you for your hospitality, and for a most incredible time last night.

A true port in the storm.

You were absolutely wonderful, in every way imaginable.

But you have to know that the last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you.

Take care,

John

Running a full hand through her messy hair and sitting on the bed, after mulling it over for a second or two, she replied:

Why don't you let me be the judge of whether or not I'd be hurt?

Joss left the phone on the nightstand and went ahead with the tasks of getting ready for what the world would bring to her plate that day. None of the perps in New York City would wait for her while she sorted through whatever feelings were bubbling up inside her because of John Reese. She just had to get on with things. Besides, she should be able to pick up Taylor, now that the snow was melting almost as fast as it fell. Knowing her child was safe and sound was all the peace she could hope for.

"Yeah, I gotta get it together," she said. "Gotta get it together. We'll deal with this later. Juice, coffee, toast and bacon. That's what's important now. And that stiff on Bleeker Street. And all the other stiffs in my jurisdiction."

She decided not to hide from herself the disappointment she felt, however, when, after having showered, dressed, and brushed, she checked her phone again and saw that there had been no return reply from a certain tall, dark vigilante who still had her body tingling in her shower, even in his absence. What good would pretending that she wasn't dying to know what he was thinking and feeling at that particular moment do? Even he'd been thinking of her as she had him?

"So much for being all concerned about my feelings, John," she said on a slow walk down the stairs to the living room, which she found was as neat and tidy as always, and that not a trace of his visit remained. Even Gladiator had been taken out of the player and put back on the shelf, the remote controls placed on the coffee table just as he'd found them.

"Well, at least he cleaned up," she grinned, with a humor she didn't feel.

##

Two weeks later

"Good work, boys. All the evidence we have to go on is in the bags; we can see where we go from here. Final reports are prepped as well," Detective Carter said to the team working on the Petrovich case.

So far, it looked to be open and shut—save for the fact that Joss was sitting on information about The Man in the Suit having played a role, and a little twist that none had been expecting, one that she doubted that even he knew about.

Then again, of course he knew. He and Finch knew everything. But she still had not heard from him after their night together. Save for a few perps wrapped up on the doorstep of the precinct, there had been little sign of John Reese. Even Fusco hadn't heard from him. If he had any feelings on the matter of a second shooter—or anything thing else—he wasn't letting her in on them.

"I know Cap wants what we have in order to bury this thing. Jesus, there has to be more to go on, Carter. Still no witnesses, but there's absolutely more to this case. Especially since we seem to have had two shooters on the job at once," Lt. Griggs chimed in.

"It's just crazy," Detective Wycoff replied. "Ballistics came back with the results of two types of bullet casings in the area, fired at similar times, but only one of those types was responsible for Petrovich's death. Different gun types. Different point positions. Just crazy. Who else could have been involved in this? Both shots couldn't have come from the same shooter."

"Well, the bullet that did it was indeed but from one of the guns, a clean shot," Joss replied, careful, as she had been not to give out too much information on her part, lest giving John away. "Perhaps the perp we were looking for wasn't even aware that he—or she—wasn't alone in this. According to time of death, it would have been in the thick of the snowstorm. It was coming down pretty heavy that afternoon. Back turned, visibility next to nil, anything's possible."

"But we still have no leads on who the other shooter could have been. And what exactly Petrovich was mixed up in to get killed. Without any other witnesses, save for the other player in this...no one even heard shots fired. And no one thought to take prints of foot impressions," Griggs replied.

"Snow would have covered them anyway," Joss replied. "But yes, we do know what he was mixed up in," Joss retorted. "He's one of Yogorov's boys, at least he was. Rap sheet not nearly as long as some of his other associates, at least not here, but long enough to know he was working with the wrong element."

"Russian military on this guy. We can't get anything out of Yogorov about what his exact ties to Petrovitch involved?"

"Nah, he has a solid alibi, out of the nasty storm like everyone else, none of his associates were in on this job, either. He's either completely clean or he cut Petrovitch loose before he got wind that he had been cut loose."

"Well, it's not a cold case, as far as I'm concerned, despite the wintry circumstances" Griggs said. "They may bag it as so in Evidence, but I'm gonna keep my eyes and ears open. See ya, Carter."

"See ya, Griggs. You do that. And if you do manage to get more info, let me know."

"Likewise, Detective. Have a good day."

Joss waked back to her desk and smoothed the faded material of her jeans with much steadier hands than she'd had over the past few days. She was glad that the investigation into Petrovich's death was turning up dead ends; the less that came up, the less likely the danger to John's freedom. But one thing was for certain: the bullet that came from Petrovich's skull in autopsy wasn't from John's gun. Where it came from would have to be reckoned with, and she would find out exactly who's gun it was—but knowing it wasn't his lifted a great weight off her shoulders.

And yes, he was aware. She knew he was, even if she hadn't heard from him. Given that he and Finch seemed to have ears all over the city, and especially in matters of police business, he would have to have known that the murder he believed he'd committed was not his to claim. But he was there, all the same. That was a piece of the puzzle that had to be guarded. She'd get to the bottom of it; but it was imperative that John stayed out of this one from then on.

Perhaps it was time to break the ice, on her end of things. If he was being squeamish, she would use this opportunity to help him with that, just info on the case, nothing else if he didn't want to go there. After all, it had taken her by surprise too, this explosion of feeling and passion between them.

She couldn't be mad at him for his silence, his distance. She understood if he needed some space. She just wished it didn't depress her so much. She missed him. His suit. His raspy voice that could change on a dime to deep and sensual. His odd jokes. His bad ass moves in the field. His way of looking at her, as if she were the only one in the room. Even his penchant for ticking her off with his unorthodox methods, she missed it all.

Joss picked up her phone and took a short walk out of the office down the hall. She didn't want Fusco, who sat across from her, as always, looking into her mouth while she spoke to "Wonderboy." She and he were on much better terms then than they had been initially, but her relationship with John had always been different to the one he had with Fusco. Now, it most certainly was. Nope. Definitely not a convo for his eyes nor ears.

Outside the office, she turned on her phone and went to the stored numbers' pad, connecting her with John. She took a deep breath as she heard it ring once, twice, three times before the click of reception sounded in her ear.

Joss had failed to watch where she was going consciously. The phone call, the possibility of hearing his voice—or not hearing it, if he were still ignoring her—occupied her attention so to the point that she didn't consider that the sparsely traveled corridor she went down was where all the vacant offices and storage rooms of the 8th Precinct were located.

"John?" she spoke, hesitantly. "Hi."

For a brief second, there was no answer back. "John?" she repeated.

"Hello, Detective," his voice said, slowly, quietly. She could hear him breathing.

"John," she repeated. "Listen, I know things are little weird with us, but I just wanted to-"

Joss' reflexes, after years of police training and work were great. But John Reese's were better. And in that instant, Joss Carter didn't stand a chance.

Before she could react and possibly defend herself, a hand had placed itself over her mouth, practically covering her face, while a strong arm covered her midriff and jerked her back into the darkness of a large closet. She could hear a door slam and lock behind her.

"Mmmf! Mmmmf!" she protested, now frantic to escape her predicament. She had a fuzzy thought about her phone and calling for help, but then that was out of the question. For one thing, her phone was now in the hands of the man of whom she was now prisoner.

In that moment, however, it dawned on her that she was in no danger. Pressed up against his chest, she knew that form anywhere, knew the smell of him anywhere. He breathed heavily, yet steadily, his lips exhaling warmth onto her hair before finding the crook of her neck.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered, her terror now being replaced by a far more pleasurable sensation.

"Returning your phone call, Detective," John murmured sensually against her skin.

"John..." she breathed before gasping, as his fingers ran themselves over her thighs, only to find their way to her private place though the soft denim.

At the sound of his name, so sweetly uttered, he rapidly turned her around and captured her mouth with his own. There was no reprieve to be had, no let up. With each stroke of his lips and dart of his tongue, he grew bolder, more feverish in his desire. Joss answered him, as her own need threatened to consume her, and soon the storage room filled with the sounds of panting and whimpering from the both of them.

"I've missed you," she said, coming up for air while still meeting his kisses and embraces.

He slowed for a second, his forehead against hers. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Why?" she asked.

"I told you. I don't want to hurt you."

"And I told you to let me be the judge of that, John."

"So I saw. But I know me better than you do. And I could hurt you."

"You've never hurt me, John. If you wanted to, you certainly would have by now. In fact, I know you've done everything you could not to hurt me, and to keep others from doing the same."

"That's different, Joss. You know what I mean. I could break your heart. You're too wonderful a woman for that. But, you see, I was born a bastard, and a bastard I remain."

She grinned. "That's not true, John. I know better."

"It is. I've done horrible things. I keep my heart closed. It's just my way, Joss."

"So you'd rather take the easy way. Easy sex. Keep on with the likes of Zoe Morgan. Is that it, John?"

"No. That's not what I want. That's not who I want," he replied, his voice thickening with desire again.

"Then what do you want, John?"

"This. You." He lifted her up by bending down to catch her thighs, and turned so as to slam her back against the wall of the storage room, nearly knocking over an old file cabinet. Joss call out softly as he caught her lips again, his hands frantic across her body. She, in turn, was liquid fire, and there was not any part of her that was not in tune with him. Her own tongue caught his, and they wrestled and pulled and nipped and grunted and spoke words of need, so hot for one another that they might burn up if the lust wasn't sated soon.

But in that dingy storage room? No. John had a better idea.

"Sweetheart...come with me."

"What? Wh-where?" she stammered, unable to believe she could find her voice.

"My place. I'm not far. Come home with me. Let me love you in my home."

"But-but how? How you gonna get out of here without being seen?"

"Same way I got in, Joss. But that might be difficult for you. Meet me in the alley on the next block in fifteen minutes. That'll buy me a little time."

"My shift has a few more hours. Oh, God...but..."

"Don't worry about that. Just meet me in the alley. We need to talk..among other things."

"Yes, John. We do. We absolutely do. But first..."

He put her down and stroked her hair. They kissed once, twice, three times more before quickly disengaging. Heading back to the door, Joss took a deep breath, smoothed her clothing back in place and gave a quick sweep of the hallway before going back to her office, ostensibly to gather her things. Several moments later, John made his way out of the precinct and onto the streets again.

Joss indeed met him in that alley. And for the first time in weeks, she saw him. Saw his face. He was more beautiful than she'd remembered, the cold November weather giving him a ruggedness that on any other man would betray exhaustion. But not John. He was strong and adaptable and courageous.

They kissed again in the light of early afternoon before taking one another's hands and heading to his car. He had given her back her phone, which was a good thing, since she had to be sure to get a message to Taylor that she'd be working late after all.

A/N: Since this is an M-rated opus, one more chapter is in order, at least, for what happens once they get back to John's place. Wooohoo! That John Reese. Always thinking about what's good for someone else, instead of what he needs. And he needs Joss, body and soul. Well, we'll see what happens. Thanks for reading!