A/N: A throwback to an earlier Shot. This one turns the tables, just a bit. Enjoy!

Shot No. 11: Slumber

The neighborhood was quiet, as was to be expected at three am. Joss parked her Impala in the small space left to her on the side of the street in front of her brownstone. She was glad there was a space; usually, Mr. Johnson, her widowed neighbor, didn't always remember to leave enough room for her, even if he didn't mean to squeeze her out. The fact that he hadn't that overnight meant that she didn't have to park an extra two blocks down the street. Pitching a fit over it with him was out of the question. Mr. Johnson was a good man, if somewhat forgetful in his later years.

Getting out of the car, she sighed in her exhaustion and tilted her head back in the face of her front door. Another night of paperwork on another double homicide. Well, at least she didn't have to go in for another shift until the following day. All she planned to do then was find a quiet shower and slip into bed after it, careful not to disturb the vigilante who slept beside her there, most nights.

Yes, he would be sleeping there, and very much asleep at that point. It was just as well. John worked hard, she worked hard, they all worked hard. Rest was a precious commodity. She was loathe to disturb him. But the shower beckoned with all the promise of freedom and relief that it could. She do her best not to make any racket.

Stepping into the foyer after unlocking the door, she could hear the shower's calls louder and louder. It clashed with the ache in her back and the stress in her feet. And so, in response, at the base of the stairs, she clipped up her hair and began to undress. Her nudity in the middle of her stairwell, the discarded clothing, was not to be shocking or scandalous. Her son was at his father's house; she was a grown woman. And besides, a sleeping John had seen it—and done it—all anyway.

Her soft, tiny feet bounded up the stairs as silently as she could make them. For she really didn't want to wake him up.

##

The warm spray of the shower had done its magic. A few quick lathers in her favorite mint and lavender body wash, followed by a few quick rinses in the spray had been enough to for the trick of relieving the grime and weight of her momentous task back at the precinct. The baby oil lost itself in her skin, and so by the time she had managed to dry off, she was as luminous and supple as the sleek fur of a panther. Toothbrush, make up remover, skin scrub. All these she employed in due course, and with each task, she felt more human again. Her slumber would be good, the sleep of the dead. Just as it should be.

As silently as possible, she padded into her bedroom, the creak of the door ever so slight. She saw him there, on his back, his big torso and body taking up considerable space in the middle of her bed. And he was indeed asleep, the corners of his lips upturned in that stern grimace he tended to put on in his rest. It was as if even in sleep he couldn't completely let go of that air of authority he carried with him as The Man in the Suit. At the same time, however, there was a vulnerability to his face, a softness that he didn't really share with anyone but her. A lock of hair brushed his forehead. His breathing was steady. He was as naked as she was, covered only slightly by the down comforter across the bed.

Her gorgeous, brave man. Having him there made her feel safe. Of course, she could take care of herself. She had been doing that for years. But still, John Reese made her feel safe. That was a good feeling to have.

She smiled in the dimness of the nightlight she left on in the corner as she studied him. Joss was happy that there, in her bed, and indeed in her body, he could find that comfort in her, as she likewise did in him. They didn't talk to many others about their relationship and how it went; Fusco, to his shock and awe, had only just found out that they had taken things to the next level a week before that. Shaw still couldn't get over someone wanting to have anything to do with John "in that way." She took it all in stride. If anyone had told her she'd be sharing time with John Reese outside of their jobs, she'd have laughed—or scoffed—too.

Quietly slipping into the bed, Joss knew that her tiny stature was a boon in not making too many waves, which meant he'd keep on snoozing. She turned to him to kiss his forehead before settling in—but suddenly, that plan had changed.

John turned in his sleep on his side, and in making contact with her skin, reached out, eyes still closed, to gently grab her and pull her into his arms. She followed, of course, though surprised that he wasn't all that much asleep. But then, why should she have been? He was no ordinary man.

Without a word, he opened his mouth to find hers. It was no mere peck on the lips, but a full-on and intentioned kiss that she had no choice but to return. And he continued, pulling her more into his chest, more into his kiss, his fingers moving up her arms and back to catch the clip holding her hair, only to pull it out and throw it on the floor.

"John…" she murmured through his kisses. He still said nothing, the only sound he made being the pants of breath coming from his rising chest. He was near frantic for her. With each movement, each stroke of his fingers across her skin, his ardor increased.

Her exhaustion disappeared. Whatever he had planned in that moment, she was ready for.

"John…"

Finally, he spoke, though his eyes remained closed, the sooty lashes soft and sweet, his voice deep and gravely.

"I'm glad you're home."

"So am I, John."

"I almost got up…to come and get you…but I know you wouldn't appreciate something like that, so I waited…"

"Mmmm..baby, you should be asleep. You don't have to do that. Plus, all that paperwork would still be waiting for me."

"I know I don't. But I did. I am glad you're home. Where I can see you…touch you. So…glad."

And with that, he was done talking. For the next hour or so, his body said everything that needed to be said, as he found her breasts and parted her thighs, and gave himself to her. Joss' body opened willingly, gladly, his rhythm and passion like none she'd ever experienced with another man.

And then, after wrapping them both up in the downy comforter, he held her in his arms and stroked her hair and skin a little more, while gently rocking her as if she were the most precious baby on earth.

She would sleep then. She would be safe—and loved. He'd make sure of it. When had he not?

A/N: This one was inspired by "Solace" (Shot No. 4) but also, for some strange reason, by the hospital scene in "The Crossing." I thought John was cute in his moment of near death in the opening of that episode after being shot by Simmons. He was injured, but still managed to have something of a grimace on his face. Slight, but sure. I notice these things, I guess.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed. Stay tuned for more Careese shots (and the other stories too)!