A/N: After Joss' little bombshell, John decides to go and let Agent McMahon know what time it is. Yikes! Crash helmets, everyone!
Joss was nearly late for her half shift at the precinct-but she wasn't complaining. John did eventually ignore her earlier refusal of his offer and joined her in the shower, and thinking back on it, he was most proud of the fact that he got her to climax at least two more times before they dressed and departed from his loft. Her cries and moans, her forceful slaps to the tiled wall as he took her from behind, permeated the space of the bathroom, and this time someone might have heard her across the floor. He didn't care. She was a beautiful, passionate woman who was not bashful with him about expressing that, and he loved it- every minute, every moan, every drop of her sweetness.
He almost wished that one of his anonymous neighbors would come to him to complain about the noise they made. The whole world should know that Joss was his goddess. The whole world should know that she was his sexy, special lady, that he was the only man to take care of her needs, and that he would kill anything or anyone that tried to hurt her or her son. Soon, the one who would get that mesage loud and clear was the one who needed to hear it most: Joe McMahon.
After seeing Joss off with a sweet kiss and deep hug, she departed the loft to head to the precinct, John in tow. They hadn't time for breakfast together, so he made sure to open his wallet to hand her some money towards an early lunch treat. She protested, of course, saying that she was fine for money, but he insisted, telling her that he wanted to make up for not feeding her at home. She knew better than to argue with him, so she took the folded bills and put them in her purse. With a wave, and a promise to call if she needed anything, she got in her car and drove off in the direction of the 8th.
John's loving smile soon transformed, however, into the stone grimmace that usually came over him when business needed attending to. After what Joss told him about McMahon going behind her back, using her son for info without her knowledge, it was time for John to give this asshat a bit of friendly advice about boundaries and how they worked. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and made another call to Harold. "Finch, get me McMahon's current location. I need to pay him a visit."
"Mr. Reese, I thought the plan was to watch him, making sure that he behaved himself with Detective Carter."
"Yeah, that's still the plan. But this is a new development. I feel like having a little chat with him, is all, just to strengthen that particular position."
"Mr. Reese, need I remind you that we are also attempting to weaken HR with evidence of their illegal activities. I hope you don't intend on doing something rash- like tipping off Agent McMahon to our goal in that direction."
"He went after Taylor to pry information about Joss out of him behind her back, got to him before she even knew he was back in town. That's out of order. He needs to know that."
"Mr. Reese, from what you relayed to me earlier, Detective Carter was planning on addressing that very topic with him at their meeting. And remember, whatever else he may be, Agent McMahon, is Agent McMahon, a member of our federal police bureau. He could prove to be as troublesome, more so even, as Agent Donnelly was. I'd tread very carefully here, John."
John heard the admonishment, but he wasn't listening. "You worry too much. That's not good for you, Harold. Now send me his damn location."
"John-"
"Now, Harold." There was steel in John's voice. He had no patience for delays nor lectures-not when Joss' safety was involved. HR could wait another day. This couldn't.
Finch sighed heavily before speaking. "Very well, Mr. Reese. Sending you the coordinates now. I really hope you know what you're doing."
"I do. I'll be in touch."
John hung up with Finch and jumped in his car, the Queens address sent to the phone his destination. The tires soon screeched black rubber against the worn asphalt streets of New York City, John's simmering rage, having taken a detour to lust earlier in Joss' body, now returned with a vengeance, that same vengeance that nearly drove him to murder at the pier. But he did say to Finch that he was merely going for a chat with the man. Just a chat. Of course.
##
The location Finch provided John was the address of a run down hotel bar not far from 44th Avenue. The neighborhood bustled with school kids running to and fro, bodegas and delis, immigrant meeting places, coffee shops, houses of worship. It was that small slice of New York City neighborhood that was sadly, rapidly disappearing due to gentrification and million-dollar rents in the other boroughs. The encroachment on this area too was becoming more apparent each day.
John parked across the street from the Avery Hotel. It really shouldn't have been called a hotel, as it was really an old flophouse with a dingy diner and bar on the lower floor of the establishment. The coordinates Finch gave him said that McMahon was in the bar. John wrinkled his nose at the state of the place. Since McMahon's working for HR, he should ask for a pay raise for better digs, he thought.
Slipping out of the driver's seat, he put his shades on and, just in case, put an extra bullet clip in his pocket, the Sig tucked firmly in his waistband.
But he was only going to have a chat with the man.
After a two-second sweep of the diner, John found his target, sitting at a corner end table near the back, nursing his latest drink. It appeared that he'd already knocked back a few, which might make conversation a bit difficult.
That was okay though. John was fully capable of doing all the talking, if necessary. Besides he was there to deliver a strong message-so perhaps it would be better if McMahon just kept his mouth shut.
He approached the table and invited himself to sit down. McMahon looked up, startled and stunned at the same time, but he did an honest business of trying to mask those emotions with a plastic smile.
"John, isn't it? Jossie's 'colleague.' Fancy running into you, of all people, in all places. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this wasn't a coincidence."
"It's not," John said. "You and I have some very important business to discuss, McMahon. It involves Joss, and her son. And how you need to stay away from him. I'd say stay away from her, but she still seems to think that you're a good guy, even if it's becoming more and more obvious what a real piece of shit you actually are."
McMahon narrowed his eyes, sizing up John for competition. It unnerved him to discover just how inadequate he felt in comparison to Joss' current lover. But that could change, would change. Current was the key word in that, certainly if he could help it. This suit guy didn't deserve Joss.
"How'd you find me, John? That is your name, isn't it? Since you didn't bother to lie and tell me that this little run-in was an accident, I figure honesty might be your strong suit. But then, I don't know you the way Jossie does, do I, so I could be wrong..."
John took the liberty of inviting himself to sit at McMahon's table. He sat silently, still, for only a second, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. Finally, he smiled a slow, menacing smile, and methodically removed the sunglasses to look straight into McMahon's eyes. He saw the flicker of fear there; and frightened men could be dangerous men. They could also be easy, fun targets to play with, read like an open book. McMahon, despite his Bureau credentials, was a chump. A slimely, devious one, but a chump all the same.
"That's not important, how I found you, Joe. That is your name, isn't it? Joe? Okay, good. What is important is Joss and her son, and how you'd better not pull anymore stunts like you did a few weeks ago. If you want to know something pertaining to Joss, ask her. Or better yet," he said with a knowing smirk, and a raise of his eyebrows, "ask me. Not the kid. He's off-limits. Got it?"
"Wait a minute. You know, I've known Joss a long time, and I was there when Taylor was just a little guy, and I gotta tell ya, man, you don't look a damn thing like his dad to me, so I don't see how it's any of your business."
John could feel his temper catch flame. Bastard! "It is my business as I care about Taylor and his mother deeply. And if you did, you'd know not to go behind her back to pump her son for info you could have spoken to her about when you first ran into her a week ago. Or you could have saved it for the bullshit small talk portion of this dinner date you're going on tonight." John hated to even say it. If it were up to him, he'd put a stop to the whole thing right now. But he had to push forward with the bigger picture. And Joss would want to know why, would demand to know. He couldn't bear to hurt her with the truth. He hoped and prayed he wouldn't have to.
"Ahhh," Joe said, leaning back in his seat, his hands folded across his mid section. "That's what this is about. My meetup with Joss tonight at Nucci's. You know, I only met you that one time at the park, John, but I just wouldn't have pegged you for the insecure type. Heavy handed, overbearing, maybe-but insecure, never. Not such an intense guy like you. Hmm, guess it takes all kinds. I mean, you know, I can't really blame you, though, John. She's a wonderful, sexy woman. Any man would be afraid of losing that. And I'm flattered that you think I'm such competition that you had to come all the way down here to warn me off her. Only thing, though, is that this tells me that maybe you're afraid that you aren't doing your job in keeping the little lady satisfied between the sheets. Hmm, John? Scared I might be more man for her than you? Maybe tonight should be the night I try and see for myself-"
McMahon didn't get to finish his comment. Within seconds, John lunged across the wooden bar table and grabbed him by the neck, yanking him so hard that he pulled the agent out of his seat, off his feet, and sprawled him across the floor, like a rag doll, his hands never once loosening their hold. McMahon gasped for air and writhed in distress, his frantic, kicking movements and sputtering gurgles only making the possibility that he'd lose conciousness more possible. None of the handful of patrons nor the barkeep made any move to stop John, and it was only McMahon's strangled cries of "okay, okay, okay!" that got John to loosen his grip.
He stood up and buttoned his suit coat, but as he did so, McMahon got a bit of a second wind, and tried to disable John with a forceful punch to the knee; however, John's reflexes were too quick for the hapless agent, and like a flash of lightening, he leaped out of the way of the punch on a spin of his heel, and landed the other foot on McMahon's offending arm with a sharp jab, disabling his further movement.
As McMahon yelped in pain, John reached down with both open palms, and grabbed him by his shirt pockets. Yanking him up like a sack of garbage, John proceeded to slam him across the near-bar top, face and chest forward, the offending arm bent behind his back, glasses, and napkins flying everywhere. The assistant bar keep scrambled to go and collect the tips that had been knocked on the floor in the scuffle, but again, made no attempt to intervene.
"What the hell is wrong with you, man? You know what, pal? You're assaulting a federal agent! I'll wring your ass out to dry!" he blurted, with more bravado than he actually felt.
For his trouble, John gave him two hard smacks across the head, in response, one for each side while he held him down, in a hold that McMahon was helpless to escape from. McMahon was embarrassed and in pain, the sweat pouring from his face, his skin red and blotchy.
"You'll forgive me, Officer, if I tell you that I really don't give a damn what you job title is. And I'd really, really love to see you wring my ass out to dry while you're up here on this bar. Because I deal in the here and now, and right now, that's not happening. Nice try with that punch though." John's voice was low, menacing, deadly. It would mean nothing at all to him to snap this man's neck, take him into the trunk of the car and bury his body out in Oyster Bay, the same way he did Stills. The old John Reese would have done that, no second thoughts about it. But since he met Harold, and especially Joss, he was more apt to think these things through.
Sometimes, having a conscience had its drawbacks. He wanted to kill. He wanted to kill this man. It was rare for him to actually feel the urge to murder when working the numbers, using only just enough force as was needed to disable a threat. But yes, right now, he had to battle against the primal urges in his blood to end this stupid fuck's life. A snap of his neck, a bullet to his head out in the back alley. An entire selection of quick-and-easy deaths flashed hot through his brain.
But he wouldn't do that. Not on this day. No matter how badly he wanted to.
"And by the way, I'm not your 'pal.' And I'm sorrier than sin that Joss is. There's nothing to be done for that now, though I will have to have a talk with her about picking her friends better at some point, I think."
He applied more pressure to the arm; any more and he'd break it. McMahon grunted and panted in pain. John's voice got even lower, almost whisper like, and he spoke through clenched teeth "But you listen to me, and you listen good. If you ever, ever speak about her like that again, if you even think about it, I will kill you. Your badge, your fucking job, none of that will protect you from me. She is a fine, beautiful woman. She's my woman, and you don't deserve to breathe the same air that she does, let alone speak out of turn about her, you fucking prick. She'd never give you the damn time of day, no matter how many Jossies and bullshit smiles you bat at her. I am the man in her life, the man in her bed, and that's not changing on my watch. Do you understand me?"
McMahon didn't answer right away. So John repeated himself and applied more pressure. "Do you understand me?"
McMahon's reply was more of a yelp of pain, but he managed to form a coherent 'yes.'
"Good. I'm glad we see eye to eye, Joe. Always better that way, wouldn't you say?" On that note, John pulled McMahon from the bar, and shoved him back to his seat at the wooden table. "My friend here needs another drink, bartender," he said, motioning for the young barkeep, who furtively glanced at John, a mix of fear and admiration evident in his eyes. "It's on me."
John threw a few bills on the table, and grinned from ear to ear, his Cheshire impression most admirable. "On second thought, make it two drinks. He looks a little shaken up. Keep the change."
After smoothing his clothes, and making sure that McMahon was no longer in any condition to mouth off, he replaced his shades, and walked out of the bar, the smile all but gone.
##
Back at the library, Finch was furious. He limped frantically back and forth, like a wind up tin soldier might under the Christmas tree.
"For God's sake, John! Do you realize that you may have put this whole operation in danger with your unchecked boorishness before it's even really gotten started? What were you thinking?"
"That I would just talk to him. But then, he pushed my buttons. You heard him."
"So you clobber him in broad daylight, in a bar, with witnesses, John? He'd be well within his rights to make an arrest, you know, or even worse have his friends in HR do it."
"You heard him, Finch! I wasn't gonna let that go, HR or no HR. I love Carter. He had no right to say that about her, dammit!
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Reese, but it was your...prowess as a lover he was mocking, not Detective Carter in particular." Finch cocked a daring eyebrow in his direction. He was sitting down again. It was John's turn to get up and pace now.
"There's no problem there at all, Finch. Joss and I have a beautiful sex life. That is what you wanted to know, isn't it?"
Finch sighed, a look of muted exasperation on his face. "Mr. Reese what you do with Detective Carter in an intimate setting is not any of my business. But I do think you may have put your relationship at risk all on your own by engaging Agent McMahon as you have. What do you think will happen when she sees him tonight, possibly with a bruised arm and choke marks around his neck?"
John ran a hand across his brow. "She probably won't be happy. I'm prepared to take that consequence. Christ, Finch, we've only just made our way to each other, and it's wonderful. It's so good, I can't tell you how, exactly. But then, this jerk shows up to get in the way of it all. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just let him have his way? We didn't know about his connection to Taylor two weeks ago before now. He's far more dangerous than just being Simmons' stooge. He may swear to God that he'd never hurt Taylor, but he's willing to conspire with figures who would hurt his mother. Who knows where that end could uItimately lead? I can't let anything happen to either one of them, Harold. I just...can't. I'm sorry."
"I know, John. Believe me, I do," Harold said sympathetically, thinking of his own ladylove, Grace and his own lengths gone to in order to keep her safe. "And I want Detective Carter and Taylor safe too. I just hope that we don't get anymore derailing drama tonight. No telling how unpredictable Simmons will be if he or McMahon suspect that their little plan has been discovered. That could have ramifications for Detective Fusco."
"As long as Joss and Taylor are kept safe, I'll what I have to do, Finch. And how." John walked slowly to the large window to gaze upon the teeming midtown streets. "Whatever I have to do."
A/N: Joe only just got a taste of what our man is capable of. He ain't seen nothin' yet. Up next, the dinner date and more fireworks, which cause Joss to see her old friend for what he now is. But trouble is still just around the corner for our fave couple. Stay tuned!
Please leave comment if you dig. Great fun to see what everyone gets out of this story, haha!
A time-out for a special shout out to my "fan club": Darkbluebeauty, RS73, odalyz ortiz, ravenhusker, ReadtoRelax, sheshe073, literaturechick, stlouiegal, SWWoman and all the rest of you lovely people who take time to read and comment each time one of these goes up. This is indeed SO much part of the fun in writing these tales! I thank you, really, really, really a lot. Enjoy, guys, and take care!