Chapter Three
Part One

The knock on the door nearly scared her to death, though given the night before, she really should have expected it. Her stomach rolled, as much from excitement as the after effects of alcohol, but it didn't slow her down. The heartbreak of his disappearance the night before was gone as soon as she heard the knock. Maybe he'd chickened out. Maybe he'd wanted to give her a chance to absorb that idea that he was there. Maybe he'd wanted to wait until morning. She didn't care why he'd gone; not as long as he came back. She threw the door open with a smile, a comment about not breaking in ready on her lips.

Except it wasn't John.

Taking in the cheap gray suit and pudgy cheeks of one of her handlers, her level of disappointment skyrocketed and her face fell.

The idiot grinned. "You almost looked happy to see me for a minute there. Expecting someone else?"

And how.

"I got a flat last night and there was no spare. Can I blame you personally for that or was it a team effort?"

Clearly not expecting that, he looked almost apologetic. "I'll get you a replacement. Sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's a little late now." She wasn't giving him an inch. Although, when she thought about it, if she'd had a spare, she might never have found John. Maybe she should hug the jerk after all.

"So about who you were expecting," he paused for a moment and when an invitation wasn't forthcoming, he pushed his way past her and closed the door. "Have you been in contact with anyone from before?"

"No." She wasn't exactly lying through her teeth. Technically, she'd only talked to a mechanic named Jimmy.

"Then I'm afraid there's a very serious situation we need to discuss."

Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, she'd convinced herself that Jimmy had actually been John, but she knew he wouldn't have done anything to alert the Marshals. Someone else could have found her the same way John had, someone who wanted to hurt her, while she'd been more worried about why John was pretending he hadn't. She suddenly realized the situation could be very bad. Knowing John, he was there to protect her from the person who'd tracked her down.

The thought changed everything. He wasn't there because he missed her and wanted her to come home. He was there because she was in danger and he protected people. It hurt to think he'd gone to the trouble to track her down and protect her, but didn't want her to know. The only reason she could think for him to do that was because he didn't want to get wrapped back up in her life. That would explain why he'd pretended not to know her.

Feeling much sicker than the vodka could ever explain, she faced the man who was there, admitting he wanted to protect her and reminded herself that she had no right to despise him, even if he wasn't John. Sadly, there were a lot of people who weren't John and she couldn't hate them all. "What sort of problem?"

"Someone was checking up on you last night, a thorough search on your documents and background, someone skilled with a computer that we haven't yet been able to trace." The Marshal looked a bit uncomfortable, but she knew it was most likely over the amount of paperwork involved. "We'd like you to consider moving."

"Moving?" She knew before he spoke what the answer would be.

"Starting over. New you, new place."

A fresh feeling of dread washed over her. It wasn't that she was particularly attached to this life, quite the opposite, but starting over completely in another life she also wouldn't be particularly attached to didn't seem like a good option either.

The skilled computer guy certainly sounded like Finch and the timing was right. It was possible that John was there for some other reason, that seeing her had thrown him as much as it had her, that he'd had to verify it was really her, that Finch had tripped all the alarms in his search. And John certainly wasn't the type to reveal anything unless he was sure. But if John was there to protect her and wanted nothing to do with her personally, she'd take her chances with the Marshals. Her feelings for John had grown so much deeper than she'd realized and she knew she'd never be able to stand a "just friends" speech. She'd die on the spot.

She couldn't make the decision without more info. Whether she stayed or not, she needed to talk to John. Get him to answer her the way he hadn't the night before, determine once and for all if it really was him or not.

"Can I think about it?" If the answer was no, she'd just have to refuse. There was no guarantee that she'd see John again if she left. There was no guarantee he'd find her again, provided he'd even been looking for her in the first place.

The Marshal looked a bit less unhappy, probably because she hadn't jumped at the chance to make more work for him. Pulling a card from his pocket that identified him as an insurance agent – she knew without looking because she had twenty just like it in a drawer in the kitchen – then he nodded. "Get back to me as soon as possible. Twenty-four hours at the latest."

She didn't need twenty-four hours. If John was going to ignore her again, she'd know in less than one. The door barely closed behind him before she was racing to get dressed. She'd had enough uncertainty in the last couple of years. It was time for answers. Either he was here for her or not and she wasn't waiting to find out. Everything that had happened in their relationship had been on John's terms and John's time. This was happening on hers.

His phone had not stopped ringing since the night before. Finch didn't like being kept in the dark and apparently, Pittsburgh was sorely lacking in cameras he could purloin. John finally turned off the phone. He'd talk to Finch when he was ready, when he decided what there was to tell him. For now, he was working on his plans, trying to decide what to do, watch over her, make contact, whatever. The truth was that he hadn't decided yet because it still hadn't quite set in. While he desperately wanted it to be true, he still wasn't sure he hadn't just jumped head first off the deep end.

He'd returned home to the shitty motel room after he'd seen Joss and about wore a hole in the carpeting with his incessant pacing all night. He kept turning the facts, delusions, over in his head. If it were real, it had to be witness relocation and he wasn't sure he'd ever understand how Finch had missed it, besides that idea that he hadn't looked, had assumed she was dead, and had moved on the way he kept expecting John eventually would. The Marshals saved her and moved her and set her up somewhere safe, all things he'd never been able to do. He knew she'd had her reasons for trusting them, not the least of which had to do with their badges.

He couldn't blame her for her choices, especially when he realized he agreed with them. If she wanted to leave things the way they were, he'd respect that. He'd always tried to convince her he knew better, that his instincts would serve her better than her own, but he finally understood that wasn't the case. She'd followed her own and had survived. He had to give her credit for it, for walking away from him and omniscient Finch and saving herself in a way they never would have been able to. He'd love the opportunity to tell her, even if she'd never let him live it down. The idea of her teasing smile sent enough adrenaline coursing through his veins that he was fairly certain he'd never sleep again.

His thoughts continued in a frustrating circle all night and when morning came, he went back to the garage for lack of anything better to do. He questioned his decision the moment he arrived, listening with half an ear to Mike giving him hell for the free tow and then asking if he was going to get a haircut to match his clean shaven face. But then John remembered that his instincts had led him to Pittsburgh and the garage and Joss and therefore they had to be good for something after all. While he worked, he considered his options. There really were only three: he could approach her for real, he could wait and see if she'd come back to him, or he could watch over her, protect her, but stay out of her life. It turned out he didn't have to think about it for long.

"Jimmy, your girlfriend's here."

"I'm not sleeping with your wife, Mike." It was a running bit between them, since Marilyn continued to sing the praises of the car-fixing, big-tipping friend of Mike's. Her car, however, failed to be so charmed by John and thus refused to be fixed for more than a few weeks at a time. "What's wrong this time?"

"It's not Mari."

John looked up, feeling the same tingle from the evening before, careful this time not to knock himself stupid, not with the way his head still ached from the evening before. "Who is it?" He couldn't imagine Joss introducing herself as his girlfriend, although, he remembered with a grin, she was running around using his last name.

"Your free tow from last night. Mrs. Reese, I think?"

"Mrs?" He'd never be able to wipe the smirk off his face so he didn't bother trying.

Mike shrugged. "Said you told her to get a spare."

He nodded, and for the millionth time in less than a day, found himself unable to believe his luck.

Mike shook his head as a smile spread across his face. "Don't forget to charge her this time, ok?"

"Tow wasn't even two miles, Mike."

Mike hesitated at the door, finally mirroring the irrepressible grin on John's face. "So I guess you want to handle this one yourself?"

He nodded again. "Yeah, I got this."

"Ok, well, I just remembered I have a call to make, so," Mike made himself scarce, exiting the garage through the back door.

Wiping his hands on a filthy rag, John noticed the sorry state of Gus' stained overalls and started to question the wisdom of letting her come to him. He hadn't actually decided to do that, per se; he hadn't made any decision at all. He hadn't anticipated that she'd recover from the shock of seeing him so soon, but he reminded himself that she hadn't had quite the shock he had. She'd never thought he was dead, hadn't seen the light die in his eyes, hadn't watched the world continue to function as though she'd never been there at all.

She'd acted without hesitation, without waiting for him to make up his mind, which reassured him that it really was her. She'd done the same thing with Snow, had jumped at the chance to corner him when he wasn't expecting it, and although he knew that particular meeting hadn't turned out the way she'd planned, her actions had put them on the path to the friendship he treasured. John knew he might never have made up his mind to do more than tease her from afar if it had been left up to him. And he well could have made the same decision again.

He wished he'd had the courage to act the night before, rather than hiding in the shadows across the parking lot, to approach her on his own terms. But once again, his mind drew up that night, after he'd been shot and she'd caught up to him fair and square, when she'd taken a leap of faith, helped him into the car, and allowed him to escape. Her decisions, her instincts, though naturally so different from his, tended to serve them both well. She'd forced his hand again, obviously deciding he might never get around to it. He really needed to accept that she was always right.

He managed to reign his wide smile into a smirk when he pushed through the door into the office.

And there she was, once again, smirking right back at him, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. She'd been expecting the beard, the scruffy look that did the man no favors while still allowing him to be the most enticing man she'd ever seen. But the beard was gone, and just like the first time she'd seen his unobscured face, her mouth fell open. There was always something about his chiseled cheekbones and stunning blue eyes that left her unsure if she could remain on her feet. It would embarrass the hell out of her to swoon, but damn it, she wanted to.

And if she'd needed more confirmation, the fact that he came through the door with that shit-eating grin on his face was plenty.

She wasn't beating around the bush this time, no matter how much she wanted to fall into their old pattern of flirting and teasing and waiting until it was too late. They'd tried that once and it didn't seem to have worked out so well for either of them.

"Can we talk?"

He had no idea what he was doing anymore and he realized he couldn't even speak when he tried to answer, so he nodded instead.

Her smile disappeared. He wanted to play and she didn't have time. And, considering the situation the last time they'd been together as John and Joss, she kind of wanted to slap him for it. Her tone held a hint of a warning. "John-" He didn't correct her. She decided that was progress. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "They're talking about moving me."

For the briefest of moments, he failed entirely at hiding his emotions. Fear, worry, dismay, and heartbreak washed over his face at once, he knew, because he saw the way she unconsciously mirrored them. But he still couldn't speak, probably because if he tried, he'd start sobbing and begging her not to leave him again.

"My handler said someone was looking into me last night. Is that why you're here? Am I in danger?" Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to stay there, keep the life she had, be a customer service rep, date the local mechanic. She waited while he stared at her. "Damn it, John, say something."

And still nothing. If he was trying to break her, he was succeeding.

Her hand moved to slap him, and though he easily caught her wrist before she touched him, the attempt had the same effect on him. It broke through his stupor and reminded him that, regardless of fate, there were still a million ways he could ruin this. He pulled her arm toward him with one hand, his other reaching up for her cheek and sliding back into her hair as her body fell against him.

She didn't fight, not even a little. Her arms encircled his waist, gripping him with a strength her slim build belied. He felt her start to shake with the force of her tears and though he wasn't shaking, the same overwhelming emotion struck him and sent tears spilling from his eyes. His head ducked down, his face buried in her hair as he cradled her head against his chest.

"You're here," his voice cracked as he'd known it would, but he didn't care. His Joss was in his arms.

The last time he'd held her in his arms had been so very different, so horrifying. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get that memory out of his head, even if he held her forever. But unlike the last time, her arms didn't go limp, her head didn't fall heavily into his hand as her body began to fail. No, this time she was clinging to him, her arms bruising with their force, her hands fisting in his overalls, her nails digging into his skin through his clothes.

And he knew in that instant that as much as he had suffered, she had suffered too.

She couldn't believe that it was happening, that his arms were wound tightly around her, that his whisper was falling against her ear, gently shushing her. Her hands gripped tighter, certain that it was all going to fade away and leave her with that horrid image of him in tears, the way he'd looked that night.

His hands moved to the sides of her face, holding her shaking head still while he pressed his lips against her forehead. "Shh, Joss, it's ok."

Hearing her name, her real name, would have been enough to bring her to tears on a regular day, but right then, from his lips, in his voice, she couldn't breathe for a long time for fear even a breath would ruin the perfect moment. When she did finally give in to the need for air, she inhaled the familiar scent of him and knew, without a doubt, that this reunion had somehow really happened. They'd been drawn together once again and this time, she wasn't going to fight it. And though he was crying, just like in all her nightmares, the look on his face was so very different.

As much as he wanted to stay there wrapped in her arms forever, he was still very afraid that she would disappear at any moment and he didn't want to waste his opportunity to kiss her again, the way he'd dreamt of since the night he'd lost her. Moving his hands to her cheeks, he angled her face up towards his. He met her eyes for only a second, assuring himself once again that it really was her and that she was ok with his actions. She didn't hesitate as she moved her hands to grip his shirt. He knew if there was a worst possible time for what he still half believed was a delusion to disappear, it was right then.

She saw the fear, the pain, the uncertainty in his eyes. Rather than try to reassure him, or even ask what was wrong, what was holding him back, she didn't bother. She could see his intentions – hell, a blind man could see what he wanted. She let go of his shirt, instead sliding her hands to the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

The sensation of his mouth against hers overwhelmed her. It had been so very long since that night when he'd kissed her. She'd missed him more than she'd even realized and she knew, from the fierce way he returned the kiss, that he'd desperately missed her as well. When his tongue traced her lips, she parted them, leaning into him, encouraging him as her hands clutched at his hair.

The last thing she expected was the way he jerked away.