Kismet pt.7

John stood apart from the officers who were painstakingly recovering evidence from the latest victim. "She can't be more than 16 years old," he said into his cell. "This one has red hair, though I'm pretty sure that's not her natural color. She's not cut at all, Jerry."

"Agent McBain?" Officer Davis interrupted nervously.

"Hold on a sec," he said into the phone, placing his palm over the mouthpiece.

"You should see this," the young man instructed, returning to the body.

John glanced down the alley at Natalie. Her and Bo were giving a statement to the press, who were gathered trying to get whatever information they could find. He frowned. "I'll call you back, Jerry," he said, turning his attention back to the crime. "What is it Davis?" he asked, moving beside the cop.

The young man swallowed. "There's something in her throat."

John envied this newbie. He wished he could still feel uncomfortable around death and violence. He knelt beside the girl and pushed her chin down with his thumb. There was definitely something in there. "Hand me a flashlight," he instructed, reaching his hand out blindly. When it rested in his palm, he leaned in close to the girl. Whatever it was it was solidly wedged. "Jarod?"

"Yeah, John?"

"Get a shot of this," he ordered, leaning back so the camera could get in tight.

Jarod snapped a couple pictures. "What is that?"

"What is what?" Natalie asked, joining the party. Bo was still down the alley, talking to the mayor on the phone. "Another scrabble piece?"

John leaned in again. "No. It's something else? Somebody get me a..." Natalie handed him a pair of tweezers. "Thanks," he said, flashing a brief look of approval before turning back to the dead girl. He reached deep into her mouth.

"Well?" she asked, impatiently.

John grimaced. "Hold on," he said, tugging. It was stuck pretty good. "There." A thin, plastic tube that looked as though it came from a child's chemistry set was inserted down the poor girl's esophagus...and there was something in it. He turned to Natalie.

She knew he was going to open it. It was wrong. Procedurally, they should wait until they got back to the lab. "Jarod, I want more shots of the girl, of the alley, everything. Get on it," she ordered. "Davis, wait for Commissioner Buchanan to finish up with the mayor and then update him." When it was just them, they both stepped farther away from the scene and any prying eyes. She looked at him for a moment longer and then gave a slight nod. He opened the tube.

"It's a photo," he said, recognizing the paper. He slowly rolled it open and got his first look at the face. John sucked in a sharp breath. He felt as though someone just hit him with a bucket of ice water.

"It's a woman," Natalie said, feeling very, very uneasy about the expression on McBain's face.

John opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat. "It's my fiance."

"Your...?" She was unable to finish her thought, let alone her sentence. Simply put, she was in shock.

John took a deep breath and waved a nearby officer over. He handed him the evidence. "Take care of this," he said, regaining some composure. He slowly turned, meeting her wide-eyed gaze. He said nothing, offered nothing.

Natalie understood. "She's dead," she stated softly. Not asking, just knowing.

"She's dead," he repeated. Then he walked back to the young girl, the reason why they were standing in this alley in the first place.

Natalie had been on the phone for hours. She was perpetually tired, perpetually hungry, and perpetually frustrated, and quite frankly, irritated by this whole situation and everyone in it. She sighed, reining in her self-pity. She just wished this would be over. That life would go back to normal and that he would be gone. He, who? she found herself wondering.

"Thinking about me again?" McBain asked from the doorway of her office.

Her head shot up, but she didn't answer. Instead she openly stared at him. He was attractive. Black was clearly his color of choice, but it worked well for him, accentuating his demeanor. The mystery and edginess of John McBain was emphasized by his dark look. Get a grip Natalie! she scolded, feeling the full weight of her exhaustion now. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him. Then he sat across from her and crossed his elbows over her desk. She met his eyes, unwavering, waiting for his next move.

John pinned her with a heated stare. The things he wanted to do were not professional at all, but that wasn't why he had come in here. He needed to tell her. She needed to know for her own safety. He just didn't want to open himself up again. That's what he would be doing. Leaving himself raw and exposed, making him remember. He glanced over her shoulder seeing the face of an innocent girl, and knew he was being a coward. Then he saw the photo laying face down on her desk, still inside the plastic evidence bag. His Caitlyn. "Caitlyn," he spoke, already feeling a chill spread through him.

"Her name was Caitlyn."

John nodded. "I was pretty new to the bureau when..." He didn't want to do this.

"When she died?" Natalie asked hesitantly.

His eyes sparked. "When she was murdered." He watched as the seriousness of what he was saying sank in. Still, she waited, letting him go at his own pace. He licked his dry lips. "Once upon a time my ego was even bigger than it is now." She smiled weakly, giving him her full attention. "I was working Violent Crimes when I stumbled across my first serial case. It was a rush, you know? Getting into a guy's head and anticipating his next move." He paused briefly, but she was still with him so he kept going. "I was good Natalie. Better than everyone else. I had a knack for figuring out motive and putting together the pieces of an impossible puzzle. I could literally see connections where no one else could." He stopped, and she reached across the desk and took his hand in hers. He let her, hoping for protection from the guilt and shame that was already making him sick to his stomach. He took another breath. "But I was arrogant. I thought...I thought that if I pushed I could get him to make a mistake. Slip up."

Natalie felt as though she had been holding her breath this whole time. She could see his pain, and knew how hard this was for him - to open up to a stranger out of necessity. Her heart was breaking for him. "But that's not what happened."

"No, it's not. I pushed him alright, but he didn't slip up. He set his sights on me." He pulled from her grip and stood, needing some distance. His hand curled around the back of his neck, as though he could literally hold himself together. "I came home from work one night. It was so late, way too late," he said softly, looking at the lamp but not really seeing it. He was somewhere else entirely. "I was so wrapped up in myself that I forgot about dinner. I walked in the front door and threw my keys on the small table in the hall. The light was on in the bedroom, so I walked toward it, catching a glimpse of the table that was still set." He sat back down, but refused to meet her eyes. Not now, he couldn't. "It looked beautiful, and Caitlyn could really cook. She loved to do it." The words were coming out in a rush now, he couldn't stop them. "When I reached the bedroom she was in bed reading, and then the strangest thing happened. She smiled at me. She wasn't even mad. She was wearing this white negligee that I had bought her that year for her birthday. God, I loved that on her." He cleared his throat, which felt swollen, thick. "Her brown hair was down over her shoulders, and she grabbed the blanket and pulled it back on my side of the bed. She said, 'Come here G-man.'" John chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "I joined her and apologized for missing dinner, but she didn't care. She told me there was nothing there that wouldn't reheat." He absently ran a hand over his face. "I kissed her, you know? We were kissing, and she heard a noise. I didn't hear anything at first, but there was another sound coming from the adjoining bathroom, which was on her side of the room. So I came around to check when there was this burning. I felt this searing pain, and when I looked I had been shot. The blood was soaking through my bureau shirt. That's what I liked to call it. You know, the white suit shirt that is standard issue attire? Anyway, I fell backwards beside the bed and reached over with my left hand, grabbing Caitlyn's legs. I couldn't really see anything, but I heard a shot before blacking out. I never even heard the first one. The one that hit me. Caitlyn died instantly, which I guess is a blessing? He posed her in our bed and took a photo of us together. Her dead in our bed and me beside her with blood staining my perfect white shirt."

"John?" Natalie came around the desk and knelt in front of him. "John look at me?" she urged, more forcefully. He did. "I think you should stop now."

He nodded, agreeing with her. It was way past time. She was kneeling before him, looking up at him, her eyes wide and oh-so green. He swallowed. There was no sign of pity like he expected and usually got when others found out the story of his life. He stretched out and gently, slowly tucked a strand of red behind her ear. His finger continued its path, trailing along her jaw, making its way down to her chin. He gingerly rubbed the bottom of her lip with his thumb and met her eyes. There was no pity there, but there was heat.

"John?" she said again, with no conviction behind her protest. Very slowly he took hold of her arms, and stood from the chair bringing her with him. She was pressed against him, unable to tear her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze. The stark need that was there was consuming. Natalie didn't know what to do? This was wrong. He was in pain, but his nearness was wreaking havoc on her common sense. God, he was so close. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to break the connection they had made. To ignore the pull.

A voice in John's head was telling him to stop, to leave now, but he didn't. Instead, he held her tightly, clinging to whatever it was between them like a lifeline. He wanted to forget, and she made him forget. She made him want her. He saw her close her eyes off from him, and for a split second felt guilty for forcing the situation, but when she re-opened them it evaporated. He reached for her, and she him, and they met in a searing open mouthed kiss. God, what is this? he wondered, before all thought was lost to him. "Natalie," he breathed, wrapping an arm around her waist and placing her on the desk. They were devouring each other. He felt her tongue against his, in his mouth, on his lips. He wrapped his arms tighter around her for a moment, before grabbing her head and framing her face the way he wanted her to be. She was so soft everywhere. He slid his left hand behind her head, into her hair, while slipping his right hand under her shirt. Her skin was so hot. John broke contact, pulling back to get a look at her but her eyes were closed again. "Natalie, look at me." His voice sounded foreign, not like his at all. She didn't. "Look at me," he insisted, breathing hard. When she finally opened her eyes he saw what he needed to see. That it wasn't just him. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Then, as if to reinforce that fact, she pulled him to her and hungrily sought entrance into his mouth. He moaned against her perfect lips, deepening their kiss even more. He wanted all of her. John placed a warm hand on her lower back and slid her closer to the edge of the desk, closer to him.

"Natalie."

He blinked, slowly gliding his lips and tongue down her throat, along her exposed collar bone, and back up the other side of her neck.

"Nat?" he heard again.

Natalie couldn't focus. Every inch of her was on fire. She thought she heard her name, but it didn't sound like John. His sound was distinctive. Then his lips found hers again and she no longer cared. His tongue was masterfully plundering her mouth and his hands were in her hair. She loved that. As suddenly as a slap in the face would have been, John grasped handfuls of her hair and pulled her away from his mouth.

"Natalie, damn it!" a voice said, into the room.

Both of them stayed perfectly still, trying to catch their raging breath. Him, pressed against her like a second skin with his hands fisted in her fiery hair. Her, holding herself up off the desk with her hands behind her back and her legs wrapped around his thighs. They both glanced down at the phone.

Natalie reached over and hit the conference button. "Yeah, Uncle Bo?" They slowly detangled themselves from each other. "Find John and come in here. Jerry's on his way and we want to go over everything about this new...well, detail." She looked at John.

He winced, remembering everything. Remembering Caitlyn and the dead girl.

"Be right there," she answered, hopping off the desk and grabbing the evidence bag with Caitlyn's picture in it. She pulled her mussed hair into a ponytail, straightened herself out, and walked past him opening the door. "I'll tell them you'll join us in a few minutes." Then she left him alone.