A/N: So, after a harrowing reunion and chase, Joss is now tucked in her coat, passed out on John's pull out sofa bed. Because of the storm, she'll have no choice but to wait it out with him until it passes and begins to melt a bit. That could take a while. My, whatever could these two (and Bear) get into to pass the time? Actually, much of this chapter will be an inventory of John's cabin, and how Joss gets a new insight into her friend John by checking out his place. A long slog of writing for "atmospheric" purposes. Good fun writing that, I had! John has an eye for the sensitive, wilderness man cave, most definitely!

Drop your lines if you feel, and thanks once more. Here we go!

After John had carefully rolled up her flared jean leg to her knee, he took antiseptic liquid and gauze out from the first aid kit to clean Joss' wound. Luckily, it looked as if it was nothing more than a rather nasty scrape that should heal up nicely, which was certainly a good thing, considering the alternative. After he was satisfied that it was clean, he covered it with a waterproof bandage and rolled her pant leg back down. He'd offer her laundry services in the morning for the dirt and blood co-mingling in the fabric. She didn't stir.

From there, John removed Joss' low heeled boots, and gently began to rub her feet in case of cold- in stark contrast to his rough behavior just moments before-and as he did so, he heard a rap on the front door of the cabin. Bear barked at attention, and went over to investigate. John went to answer it too, and found Sam, covered in a fine dusting of snow, holding the handle of a large blue suitcase and a backpack, along with a purse and something else in a paper handle bag.

"Good lord, this here gal must have brought her whole closet with her! Women and packin' for travel! Nothin' but a lesson in overkill." John quickly shut the door behind him, cutting off the howl and blow of the fierce winds.

"Well, it's a long way from New York, Sam. A lady never knows what scenarios she'll find herself in. Hey, thanks for bringing everything. And the rental car?"

"It's out there," Sam said, impatiently, in a falsetto whine. "How do you think I got all this here? Smooth ride, that's for sure. Better get it in the shed with the truck soon, though, or it won't be any good to her or the place she got it from. Impala, huh? Good ole Chevy. American car. She's got taste."

"She's a veteran, like us, Sam. Two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Patriotism, service, helping others, it runs in her blood." John looked over at her admiringly, a look that was not lost on Sam.

"You know, John, I saw and heard some of that there ruckus outside the bar. You wanna tell me what that was all about? Your daddy didn't raise you to hit on women, soldier or not, no matter what fool thing they done, and you know that."

John shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, ashamedly before gazing at his feet. "Would it help if I said she started it?"

While he set Joss' things near the wall, save for the paper sack, Sam gave him such a side-eyed glance he looked like he had vision problems all of a sudden. "Naw, it wouldn't. Now, in the brief time I've known her, I've taken a shine to this little lady, especially since I indeed did see her land that punch across yer face, and I don't know if it's such a good idea if she stays here with you, since you like being so rough with her. Maybe she oughta bunk up at my spot, in the loft. Just as well till this storm passes."

'The loft' was a ramshackle cot and blanket set up above the bar that was really just big enough for Bear to sleep in. Somehow, John doubted that such an arrangement would be amenable, either-though she might just be willing, if it meant she didn't have to stay with him after everything that happened.

It was of no matter. He'd decided. She'd remain in the cabin with him. There was nowhere else. And he wasn't going to let her risk her life getting stuck in a blizzard drift trying to get to a hotel she wouldn't be able to see anyway, what with the visibility being what it was. Old badgers like Sam were used to Rocky Mountain winters, so it was no nevermind to him. Joss was used to New York winters, which, while bad, had benefit of ready snowplows, sand trucks, and the like. Golden had that, too, but it had to get rough enough for crews to use them.

No, she was staying put. He'd never, ever forgive himself if something happened to her out there. He'd done enough to hurt her already.

"I think she'll be okay, Sam. It's not the first time we've fought, though never quite so fiercely. It's all right. I won't hurt her again. Besides, the next time, she'd surely shoot me, if I tried," he said with a mirthful smirk.

Sam was intrigued. He wanted to know more about Joss, and just how his surrogate nephew happened to get so mixed in with her. She'd said she was a detective back in New York. But John was no cop, and she seemed very much a by-the-book kind of woman, even if she did assail his boy.

Never one to mince words, Sam just came out with it. "What's your deal with this one, John?" And then, in a more hushed tone that was more about macho posturing than discretion, "Was she fuckin' you back in the Big Apple? Maaaan, you lucky sumbitch. That must be some gooooood pussy right there. Mmph!"

"Cut it out, Sam," John said, irritably. "You wanna watch your damn mouth? She's right here, man." Sam had a way of cutting things right down to the bone. Usually, it was refreshing; right now, John felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck and he wanted to throw the old man out in the snow.

Nevermind that he'd made the very same hypothesis about Joss' and sex himself months ago.

Sam walked over to the still Joss. "Aw, she ain't heard nothin'. Out like a light." Upon closer inspection, he sucked his teeth and turned to John. "Hey, did you say she fell asleep, just like that?"

"Yeah, why?" John asked.

"Because it looks to me like she's more likely fainted than fell asleep the normal way. And seeing how quickly it happened after your rumble outside, I'd say she's worn out. Travel all that way, no food all day, then tussling with you-if I was you, I'd try to revive her and get a meal into her, get that coat off her. Here," he said, handing John the paper bag, "I brought her food over that she paid for. Wake her up. Try to have her eat a little."

John stared at Joss after Sam's loose prognosis. He could see beads of sweat on her forehead, and in her sleep, she quietly whimpered, and she seemed slightly restless.

"Hmm, maybe you're right, Sam. Look, thanks again for doing that for me. I know you left the bar unattended, so I'll take care of things here for now. Have her sit up and have some supper, maybe talk about what happened, if she wants to. She should be fine. We'll be fine."

Sam knew his surrogate nephew wanted time alone with the pretty little detective. Not so much as he could blame him. If he were about 40 years younger, he'd have been all over her, or at least would have damn sure tried his luck. And he could see it, from the very first, that John was fond of her, deeply, even if he'd tried to play the goddarn caveman with her.

"All right, all right, John, I'm goin'. Gotta get back to the bar anyway, or Millie will call out the National Guard or somethin'. I'll be camped down there out of this storm, if anything goes down. You got enough provisions? Firewood?"

"Yeah, we're good, Sam, extra loaded on firewood from my chop last week, and the generator's in good working order, if need be. Thanks again. I'll give a call over the bar in a bit, see if you're okay."

Yep, young buck wants to get rid of me, all right. Practically shoving me out the door, Sam grinned silently.

"I appreciate the concern. I'll see myself out. You take care of that little gal, you hear, John?"

"Will do. Be safe, Sam. Good night."

When Sam opened the door, a gust of wind blew through the cabin. John forcefully pushed the door closed, and the combination of cold air and sound caused Joss to stir, and then waken. When he heard her moan, he slowly turned and walked over to her tentatively and sat down. Her eyes widened upon seeing him, and she tried to get up, her hair a mess of tangle all over her head, her lips parted in mild worry. She was beautiful. And the desire John always held for her unfurled itself inside him and stretched, like Bear did after a long lie in next to the fire.

"No...need to go to my hotel. Finch...Finch will be worried about me...need to get out of here...where am I...ohhhh..."

Her flurry of speech broke off as she tried to sit up and move, only to be slammed by a wave of dizziness, which knocked her back down.

John tried to soothe her. "Shh, Joss. You can't go. It's too dangerous. The weather's getting worse. Don't worry about Finch, he'll make do. I'm more worried about you, actually. You're very weak right now, Joss. Now, I'm going to heat up some food for you, all right? You'll get your strength back, and then you can get settled in. Time for touching base with Harold will come."

"Settled in? John, where...where am I?"

He gave her a tiny smile. "You're here with me at my home, Joss. This is my cabin. Welcome."

"Why am I here, with you?"

"Because you're here, all alone, and I want to help you. I want to keep you safe."

"I don't understand. You...you hurt me, John, both emotionally and physically out there, just as I said. You don't want me here. Why are you helping me after what happened?"

John took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Joss. I lost my temper...I didn't mean what I said and did. You know...I would never want to hurt you, on purpose. Just...a lot of things hit me at once. Wasn't expecting to see you there, nor anywhere, ever again, after how we left things in New York that day in the park. And since I didn't exactly ask to be found, yeah, I was a little taken aback at your sudden presence. Surely, you can understand that. Plus, like you said, I had been drinking. But I would never want to hurt you. Please believe that, Joss."

"You certain about that? Because you did your best, for sure. But," she said, her hooded eyes downcast with shame, "my own behavior towards you was pretty hurtful as well. I'm sorry, too, John."

"We both said and did some hurtful things, Joss. But we're here now for the forseeable future, so, in the interest of peace, I'm willing to let it go if you are. Truce?"

He extended a hand, which she, in her weakened state, accepted. "Okay, John. Truce."

"Good. Now to get you fed. Sam brought over your burger and fries from the bar, but I haven't eaten either, so I was going to heat up a soup that I made last night. Would you like to join me?"

Joss suddenly remembered how hungry she was. With her dizziness in tow, it was imperative that she indeed eat a good meal, or a few, to feel up to snuff again. It wouldn't do for her to get sick so far away from home, John or no John.

"Yes, I would. But first, can I use your bathroom? Need to go potty, change my clothes," she said, with a shy grin.

Never a more adorable woman had John ever seen with that shy smile. Maybe they would both survive this, relatively unscathed, after all. Of course, she'd only been there with him a little over an hour, after six months of no contact, and everything certainly wasn't done and dusted between them-but this was a nice beginning. Much nicer than he feared it would be.

"Sure, Joss. You need some help?"

A flicker of recognition passed over both of them at his question. It was the same one she'd asked him when he had been hauled into her precinct.

She extended her hand again. It was soft, delicate-not the hand of a rough n stuff NYPD homicide detective. John took it, and let his thumb run a light circle across the space between her thumb and forefinger. The jolt of excitement hit throughout various places in her body, weakened state be damned.

"Mmm, yes, I do. Unlike you, I'm not afraid to admit it." She winked at him.

John ran his other hand through his hair, humorously thinking back to all the times his stubborn detective tried to shoot down his unorthodox methods for catching a perp-only to see the error of her ways when the bastard was left gift wrapped for her at the front door, no questions asked. A few of those showing up every few days aided strongly in her finally being able to trust him, to let her see that he was on her side. It worked well. They worked well. Together. Until Leila...

Derailing his train of thought from the dark tracks it was headed on, John merely shook his head and raised his eyebrows, the eyes beneath them sparkling with mirth once again. "Okay, Detective, you win. I'm the cold fish bitch, not you. So how about we start by getting you out of this coat? Good choice, by the way."

"Oh, about that, John Reese. Just because we're going to be nice to each other now, doesn't mean I've forgotten what you said. I will get you for that. I don't know how yet, but I'll think of something. 'Cold fish bitch.' Where'd you come up with that one? Especiallly when I am probably the hottest woman you know?"

Had John been drinking anything at that moment, he'd have surely choked on it. It warmed him to know that her sharp tongue was still firmly planted in cheek. No wonder Sam had taken such a shine to her.

Not one to be outdone, however, as he unzipped the heavy jacket and gently pulled her arms out of it, he remarked, with his smirk on full power now, "can't argue with that, Detective. Wouldn't even try. I'll be sure to watch my back. Thanks for the warning."

Now, it was Joss who was glad she wasn't drinking anything.

##

Joss had to admit that this sprawling cabin of John's was rather impressive, as he gave the tour of the place before her freshen up in the bathroom, and not at all what she would have expected the decor to look like in the home of her bad ass Man in the Suit. The living room area was the largest room by far, with the full on sofa bed he had placed her on taking up the space of the front, brick-panelled wall facing the front door. The sofa bed was covered in cozy, with not only a thick blanket, but a patterned, multi-colored quilt, and colorful throw pillows one could get buried in, including one in the pattern of a peacock. If he actually used it as a sofa, it would be royal blue in color, with wooden arm rests. Near the door, in front, and parked at an angle sat a brown leather loveseat, also adorned with a quilt on top and small throw pillows.

A large blue Oriental rug covered the wooden slat floor. Because the room was so big, he had been able to split it in half, for maximum use, with the other side serving as his kitchen and dining area. His small yet sturdy wooden table sat four chairs. It was in need of a new coat of shellac, but his use of an intricately woven white doily and a single stemmed fake rose in a vase took the shabby out of it rather nicely. Next to the vase rested a blue ceramic bowl of real apples, and two fat molten candles stood on platters nearby.

Splitting that area in half was the brick and cobblestone fireplace, which was the dog's-named Bear-favorite lounging spot. John explained that the husky had a doggie bed, but he never used it. It was the fireplace for him, especially in the chilly temps, and nowhere else. On ocassion, he'd find the dog asleep on the small bed John made up in his "guest room" upstairs, but that was rare. There was an expansive ceiling light and fan for summer weather, but he hardly used it, seeing as there were table lamps near the sofa bed on end tables next to the sofa bed. Wooden beams held the foundation together, and the roof formed a triangular pattern in parts. He hardly used any lights during weather like this, as the glow, he found, often clashed with the illumination from the fireplace. Lamps weren't necessary.

In the kitchen area, she noticed an open pantry stocked with all kinds of dry herbs and spices in small knit bags, sacks of sugars, wheat flour, rice, bottles of oils, and the like. Other food stuffs, such as canned peaches, he kept in another, closed cupboard or the fridge, as needed. The pantry resided over a replica of a cast-iron, pot-bellied stove like her grandmother down south used to have. But while her grandmother used wood her stove, this one looked to be hooked up to a gas line, with temp controls. Centered, across from the stove, was an island for preparing meals, along with hanging stew pots, frying pans, baking pans, muffin tins, cooking utensils, and cutlery arranged in stainless steel jars. She hadn't seen a double basin sink in a kitchen since she was a child, at home, but John had one. Of course, there wasn't a dirty dish to be found anywhere.

He also had an oft-painted white open cupboard for dishes, glasses and cups on the side of the island, and his well-worn, stainless steel coffee pot, once belonging to his mother, sat atop a striped tea towel on top of the dish cupboard. Across the way resided his old-fashioned-to her, at least-refrigerator, a dingy off-white in color, with a heavy black handle for pulling. The only adornment on it she saw were a few copies of target practice sheets, with bullet holes straight through the bullseye, on each one, multiple times. He hadn't put his guns away being out there, that was for sure, she figured.

The windows, covered in plain yellow curtains, were few, but large. The one across from his stove led to a back room, with cobblestone walls just like the fireplace, where John hung laundry when necessary, though he had a small washer dryer set up there. Additionally, there was a large freezer for storing meats and other items, most helpful during a time like this when getting out to a market or grocery was difficult, if not impossible. Behind the clothes line resided an old fashioned bathtub, with a hand cranked pump set up expressly for it, and decked out with a tattered wooden armoire full of towels, soap, shampoo, and sponges. Three bath rugs hung neatly on hooks above the tub, on the wall.

It was fairly large tub, and John explained to Joss that he took quite a few baths during the week since he had the time, and as she well knew, a shower could only go so far. He dumped the water outside or in the kitchen sink using a metal bucket. Repetitive motion could be murder on the back, but he was good with it. Kept the muscles on point, and if it meant he could have his baths, it was a small price to pay. A good soak was often heaven on earth to people in their line of work. She'd made a note to avail herself of it as soon as possible.

They moved back through the cabin. John took her towards where the upper level was, but in order to reach upstairs it was necessary to go through a door way cut into a wall, leading to the entryway of a decently sized spiral staircase, like the kind one would see in an old castle, but bigger. However, before they even did that, he showed her one more room, also tucked behind a door in the wall.

This room was where movies and music happened, his den, of a sort, and Joss was tickled at learning more about him through this room. Everything in it could have been sold on an auction site or put in a modern history museum. He had an old school film projector and the old school reels to play on it. Titles like "Jaws," "It's a Wonderful Life," "Citizen Kane," and numerous others were all organized in rows on a shelf cart next to the projector, which faced a wall across from it. An old knit couch with more pillows sat behind the projector.

At another wall were two combined bookcases, filled with books on various subjects, and of various ages: classic literature, philosphy, military history, how-to guides, American history, and sports biographies. He'd read most of these books at some point during his life, as his mother had instilled a love of reading into him as a boy. Not something Joss would have known about him as they fought bad guys in New York. Harold would have been impressed.

There was no television to be seen in the room, but she did spy an old fashioned wooden built-in record player that might have had a TV in it at one time. John had LPs and 45s in his stash, and Joss took the liberty of flipping through some, finding music of all ages and types in his collection: 50s do-wop, 60s and 70s r n b, opera, soul, jazz, bluegrass, classic rock, blues, even a little metal and hip hop. And he didn't just have the stuff there, he played it, frequently, whenever he went in there to read, which was often. He had, and his parents had, been lovers of music in their time, frequenting record shops and such in their travels when he was a kid. Even though his dad had served multiple tours in Vietnam, he was quite the culture bug, and John picked up on that as much as he could. Some of these recordings he'd picked up during his time in the Agency as imports, one of the few personal luxuries he could allow himself to indulge in.

His walls here, as they had been in some measure in the outer room, were adorned with replicas of still life, French Impressionist paintings, a framed American flag, and what she now knew were photos of his family, both black and white and faded color. She recognized his parents immediately from the pictures Harold had shown her, and there were more that featured himself with other children, him in his Eagle Scout gear, and his adventures on the basketball court in high school.

There were also other tidbits on the wall she saw, like his father's medals of valor for service on the battlefield, and his mother's Bachelor's degree in teaching. All of these things gave her another perspective on John Reese. He had indeed had another life, another way of being to the man she knew from his record, even the way he operated in New York. Perhaps these things, these objects and their significance have been part of what makes him the good man I know him to be, despite his demons, she thought.

If she ever wanted to watch a film or borrow a book, she was more than welcome, he told her. He even had popcorn to share. She'd take him up on it, she said.

Soon, it was time to head upstairs, and John led the way up the spiral staircase, Bear in tow. It was his house, too, and he wanted to be in on the tour for their new house guest. When they reached the landing, John led her to the bathroom and the shower, decked out simply, but with care, just as he'd done downstairs.

The walls were painted white, and indeed, there was only a small shower with no tub. The sink was deep basined like in the kitchen, but it was a bit of a wreck, with some of the wall plaster knocked out behind it. A work in progress, he said, one of his home projects. The in-wall linen closet was stocked with enough towels and cloths and other supplies, but he made space there for her to put her things if she wanted. A scented candle rested on top of the spotless toilet, and the floor was seemingly clean enough to eat something off it. Not a dog hair in sight. Yep. The military will make a man clean like that, she thought.

There was the small bedroom down the hall, which she assumed would be hers. He put the light on, as it was fully dark now, even with the now blinding snow blow outside. It looked fine enough with the fulsome twin bed and the plaid pattern bedspread, bedecked with just three pillows this time, though he didn't put as much work into this room as with downstairs. It had a small painted dresser and a mirror in front of the bed, with a small, ornate lamp, and his mother's old rocking chair covered with a black shawl near the small window there, as well as a tiny closet. There was green floral patterned wallpaper, which she guessed had been there for quite some time. The throw rug had a US Army logo on it.

The only issue she had with this room, with the hell going in outside, was that it was freezing. There was a draft coming through the window. If she was going to sleep there, that tartan spread wouldn't cut it. He had more blankets, he told her. Not a problem. And he apologized in advance for the draftiness. He never used the room himself, just aired it out and kept it tidy, so he could forget how chilly it could get in there.

The last room he showed her was "his" room. It was even smaller than the guest room, and she imagined that it had been his room when he stayed there as a boy. There she found his weight equipment, boxing gloves, and jump ropes. There was a gun display on the wall, with three rifles, a double barrel shotgun, his revolver that she recognized, binoculars, and two hunting knives. She wondered if the reason why he had that big freezer downstairs was because some of the meat in it he went out and shot down hunting. He also kept his clothes in this room.

At that point, the major parts of the tour concluded.

"Wow, John. This is great, what you have here! It seems...very cozy. I can see why you'd come here to regroup and get away from...stress." She was going to say 'me,' but that still hurt quite a bit, so she swallowed it back instead.

"Yeah, it's always been special to me. Seemed perfect after losing the baby to Elias...and you, too."

"Umm, did you always live here growing up?"

"No, this was just a place my parents got dirt cheap when I was really small. When my mother died, it was left to me. Because I was legally dead, it was tricky holding on to it. But once I started working with Finch, we found a way for me to anonymously pay the taxes on it. So long as that happened the local officials didn't care who owned it. So, it's still mine. We spent summers, holidays here. Much of it is as it was, but I've put a bit of work into it, mostly on the exteriors. Not so dirt cheap anymore-but still a sight cheaper than if I had this cabin in the Adirondacks."

"I can see that. Well, it's really, really cool, John."

He smiled warmly, his gaze on her intense through the smile. "I'm glad you like it. See, better than The Golden Arms, right? Well, I better go get supper started. You still want your grub from Sam? It might be cold now, not so nice for you."

"Nah, I'll have some soup. What kind?"

"Carrot, apple, and curry soup. I've had some curry powder in my stash I've been needing to use, so there we are."

"I thought that's what I smelled, over the firewood smoke, of course."

"Ah, you should have been here yesterday. It was wonderful when I first made it. Okay, well, you do what you need in the bathroom, and I'll get supper started. I have German chocolate cake from the market for dessert. Sound good?"

Joss was beginning to like this camping out with John thing with each passing minute. "Sounds great. Thank you."

"Okay. Good." He continued to smile at her. "Right then, I'll see you when you're done. Any questions about anything, just give a shout downstairs. I'll hear you."

"I should be fine, but thanks. Okay. Off to the showers! See you, John."

John walked to the hall doorway and exited, ducking his head so as not to bump himself, Joss wouldn't have that problem, but, at 6'2", it was second nature for him to be wary of the stairwell.

He arrived at the kitchen island with the imagery of Joss on the shower, the warm water running down her mocha body, the soap cascading through her legs and thighs, from her secret core. She had shampoo with her, so she'd be washing her inky black hair too. He'd love a chance to see her with wet hair, a chance to run his fingers through it and find the curls he knew she had. Hell, he'd love to be the one with her in the shower. Or better yet, his tub in back. Yes, that would be a much better fit for the two of them.

He remembered their kiss as he soaped up and washed his own hands. His lips still tingled with the memory, his tongue with her taste. And she'd responded. Her lips had parted and let him in, until she gotten wind of her senses-and spat at him.

That still rankled him a little, he had to admit-but he had behaved like a jackass, and she had been caught off guard. Not the most cordial course of retaliation; however, he understood.

He dried off and went over to the freezer for the soup, and the bread bin for the hard wheat loaf he'd also baked. Putting them on the island, and reaching for the microwave door, he stopped. Moving away from the island, he scooted back over to the door leading upstairs and went up. He needed to visit his linen closet. For one, Joss would need that extra blanket. And for two, as his ears followed the sweet sounds of her singing over the shower spray, he was suddenly struck by the notion that his cozy sofa bed would, for some reason, need a new change of fresh sheets and blankets.

A/N: I don't know about you guys, but I wanna live with John in the cabin, haha! Joss certainly seems to be warming to the idea, and hey, he's got enough there, Domestic Don that he is, for her not to get too bored or turned off by the idea. A nice simple supper by candle and firelight to start things off. Hmmm, yes, I think our girl will be just fine. More talk about their issues will come in the next chap, (and throughout the story because they need that), and then they'll revisit the den for some musical fun! From there, who knows what will happen? John is changing his sofa bed linens, heheheh (dirty vigilante dog, he is).

I hope this one keeps your appetites whetted. Tension 16 is also in the works, but trying to play a bit of catch up with this one, due to early tech glitches. Thanks again, all! BTW, Carrot, Apple, and Curry Soup, homemade, is delicious. Takes a while to make, but it's worth it. And a pot frozen will feed you for days. Yum yum!