A/N: I apologize for being so late posting. Thank God for SWWoman!

Chaos 22

John slowly turned to Harold and said, "I know where he's going to be, we need to call the police."

His eyes wide, Harold looked at John in shock. "How? How could you possibly know where he's going to be?" He asked faintly.

When John looked at Harold directly, Harold could see the simmering anger in his eyes. "The incident Snow is referring to happened while I was still in the CIA. We were on an op in London, I was undercover as a bum, following a target that had gone off the grid and was living in some flat in West End." A faraway expression rested in his eyes as he recalled the operation. Joss was still on the line, hanging on every word, although she had heard him tell this story before. "I had been sitting on a park bench outside his apartment when he came out, and I followed him, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The target made his way to the Underground, had taken a seat in an empty car at one end, and I took a seat at the other. I had pretended to take sips from a liqueur bottle, appearing drunk while I covertly watched the man. I was about to strike when four or five punks came into the car and zeroed in on me. They started harassing me, took away my bottle, and began to threaten me. I had no choice. I had to defend myself," John said quietly, his eyes downcast. "I fought the punks, and put them down easily, but when I looked up, the target was gone. I had no idea where he had gone so I couldn't follow him. Luckily Snow and Kara had been tailing us from a distance. They picked the target up a while later, dispatched him, and then had got rid of the body. The op was finished,' but with no help from me', Snow crowed, because he had hated the fact that I was simply better than him." John said this without arrogance. "This gave Snow an opportunity to point out to everyone that the perfect John Reese, as he felt people thought of me, was not infallible." John looked at Harold as he finished with a mixture of emotions swimming in his eyes.

"But, John, there was nothing you could have done differently. You should not feel guilty for losing the target," Harold said perplexed at why this incident would be important.

John looked at Harold, somewhat surprised. "I don't feel guilty, Harold. You're right, there's nothing I could have done differently."

"Then why is this incident so important?" Harold asked in confusion.

"Because it's important to Mark," John replied simply. "It's the one time that he feels he got the better of me so in his twisted way of thinking, he feels like he's hurting me with this, but he's not. Mark is only making me angry that he would put a woman's life in jeopardy over it," he said with steel in his voice.

"There's something else I think you guys may have overlooked, John," Joss's voice came from the Machine console startling both John and Harold. They had forgotten she was still on the line!

"What's that?" John asked.

"The incident on the Underground happened between midnight and 3 a.m., so that's what Snow meant by the end of the day. Midnight being the end of one day, and the beginning of another, and 3 am is traditionally considered the 'witching hour'. That, I think, is your window," Joss explained her theory.

It certainly made sense that Mark would pick such a time frame. "Joss, do you remember if all the murders were committed during this same time frame?" John asked slowly. That window stirred something in his memory.

"Just a minute," Joss said, and John's brow furrowed slightly as he heard what sounded like cloth rustling.

What was she….? Then John's eyes opened wide as he realized what Joss was doing. "Joss, don't you dare get out of that bed…!"

"Too late, I already have the file in my hand, and if it makes you feel any better, I'm sitting in the armchair, not standing," Joss interrupted. John closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and swore. "Yeah, John, all four were committed between midnight and 3 am," she said after a few minutes of flipping through papers. "Is there anything else you need while I've got the file open?" Joss asked.

"Jocelyn, could you tell us the locations of the murders?" Harold asked. For some reason he felt this was important.

It took Joss a few minutes to once again flip through the file looking for the information Harold and John wanted. Soon she came back with, "It looks like the first was after a fashion show in upper Manhattan around 1 am, the second at a high end women's boutique that uses models to show their merchandise, around the same time, 1 am, the third was after a fashion show/fund raiser gala around 2 am, and the fourth was at a fashion contest where new designers used models to show their designs to judges, around 2 am. Was that what you needed?" she asked after she had spun off the information.

As he watched John deep in thought, Harold answered vaguely, "Yes, Jocelyn, that's what we needed." Something had sparked in John's mind and Harold was curious to know what it was.

As Joss listed the crimes locations and times a pattern began to emerge in John's mind. The locations, and times were significant, he just couldn't put his finger on it. He continued to mull it over in his mind until suddenly something clicked. Claire. God, how could he have forgotten about Claire? John thought with a sinking feeling in his gut.

The reaction on John's face told Harold that John had made a connection. Harold waited. John would tell him what he had remembered when he was ready.

Meanwhile, Joss waited on the other end of the line. She held her breath, knowing that John was on to something, he just needed time.

John swallowed, and then cleared his throat that was suddenly dry.

"There was a woman. Her name was Claire Whittington," John looked at the Machine console as if he could see Joss, "You may have heard of her, Joss. She was one of the most sought after models in the industry."

"I do remember her, and I remember she was murdered. It happened while I was still on the force, right before I retired. They never found who did it. Are you saying that Mark Snow had something to do with her murder?" Joss asked astonished.

John looked crestfallen. "No," he began so softly, Joss had to strain to hear him. "I did." He could hear both Joss and Harold gasp. "She was an agent, one of ours, but to make a very long, and convoluted story short, Mark fell in love with her. They dated for about a year, until we received intel that she was a double agent for one of our adversaries. Mark and Claire had kept their relationship secret because of the complications it could cause in the field, agents weren't allowed to associate outside of work, except to grab a beer or something. Mark, in his usual cold, calm manner approached the mission with the same professionalism he would any other mission. When it came time to pull the trigger, though, he couldn't do it, and I had to. It was just one more blow to Mark's ego that, not only could he not carry out the mission, I had to do it for him. Adding to the insult was that I killed the woman he had loved. I didn't realize how far his hate for me, and obviously her too, since he found out she was a traitor, had damaged him." John finished his tale on a heavy sigh.

"If no one knew about the relationship, how do you know all this now?" Harold asked quietly, the enormity of what John told them weighing heavily on him.

"Kara and I both found out one night when Mark got sloppy drunk, which was very unusual for him. It wasn't too long after the op." John said, still looking at the floor.

"Then when he found out you were protecting me, the one person who might be able to identify him or at least have evidence that could, it must have driven him bat shit crazy," Joss said over the Machine console.

"That about sums it up, Joss," John said with a slight tilt to his lips. He loved how she could boil something down to its base. He glanced at Harold, and saw he was smiling slightly also. A little levity was a good thing sometimes, even if Joss was completely serious in what she said.

"I have another question, John," Joss's voice once more drifted from the Machine console.

"What's that, sweetheart?" John asked, the endearment flowing easily from him. He could almost see Joss smile.

"Why are these particular times and locations important?" Joss asked.

"They were times and locations we had recorded her meeting with her handlers from the other side," John explained. "It would have cut Mark deeply, to see with his own eyes that his lover was a traitor," John explained further.

They were all quiet as they digested what John had told them. John's thoughts, however, were geared more toward catching Mark, now that he had connected all the dots. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:30 pm. If he hurried he could spend some time with Joss before they had to get down to business with plans for capturing Mark. Maybe just an hour, but at least he would have that. He didn't know what the outcome of tonight's events would be. Mark was a dangerous, and cunning adversary. John would have to be prepared for the worst.

"I'd like to go spend about an hour with Joss, if you don't mind Harold," John said. It was not a request.

Harold understood without being told. "Of course John, there are a few things I'd like to take care of before we get entangled with plans for Mark Snow anyway. Take as long as you need," Harold replied.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart," John said.

"Okay, see you in a few," Joss answered.

John nodded to Harold and walked out of his office.

All the way to the hospital, John's thoughts were consumed with plans on how they should carry out their take down of Snow. If he knew Snow as well as he thought he did, Snow was not going to play by the rules.

At first, John had said to involve the police, but the more he thought about it, the less inclined he was to do that. The police, as capable as they are, would not be able to blend in well enough for a trained former CIA operative not to pick them out in a crowd. If Mark had even the smallest hint the police were involved he would kill the woman, and they would never find him. Mark was probably staking out the area where he would place her even now. John's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he thought of the terror this woman might be going through.

It took John a little longer than expected to reach the hospital because he had gone a few minutes out of his way to a flower shop he frequented to pick up two dozen roses for Joss in a carved crystal vase. He had picked out red, white, and yellow roses with angels breath intermixed. The shop owner had told him that, of course, red roses meant love/passion, white roses meant purity/eternity, and yellow roses meant warmth/friendship; everything that described Joss to John. He garnered several "oohs and aahs" from the women as he walked down the corridors with his enormous bouquet of roses.

With the bouquet in front of him, and a big smile, John turned into Joss's room only to stop in his tracks just inside the door.

"What are you doing?" John asked, taken completely flatfooted by what he saw.

"Oh my god, those are beautiful!" Joss exclaimed leaving her overnight case on the bed nearly completely packed, and rushing over to take the roses from him. She either didn't hear or ignored his question. John pick ignored.

Joss took the bouquet, and lovingly set them on her side table, burying her face in the fragrant roses. "Baby, these are absolutely gorgeous!" She ran back to him, and raised her arms around his neck, kissing him tenderly. John kissed her back eagerly, one hand going to her freshly shampooed hair and the other rubbing her back. When they pulled apart her eyes were shining. "Thank you. I love you," she said softly.

"I love you, too," John said just as softly. Then he placed his large hands around Joss's waist, and pushed her away from him, looking her up and down. She was wearing a long sleeved, V-neck, soft, grey t-shirt with hip hugging blue jeans, and leather low heal boots. His eyes came back to her face, his brow arched. "I'll ask again, what are you doing? Why are you dressed, and packing your bag?" He asked.

"I talked to Dr. Tillman, and she agreed to let me leave tonight if I promised to take it easy the next few days, which I was planning on doing anyway," Joss explained as she walked over to her bed to resume packing.

"Why?" John asked curiously. "Why did you insist on leaving now when you were leaving in the morning anyway? Why, Joss?" He persisted.

Joss stopped what she was doing, and looked back at John. "You know why, John. I want to be there for you," she replied.

"No. No, you're safer here where people can look after you. You have a guard at your door 24/7," John stated emphatically.

"John I have guards 24/7 anyway, whether I'm hear or at home. I want to be there when you come home to me. Is that too much to ask?" Joss pleaded with him.

One day John was going to learn how to tell Joss no, but today was not that day; so he walked over where she was still standing beside the bed, took her in his arms and held her trembling body close to his. She was afraid for him, and wanted to be home, not stuck in some stale, sterile hospital, waiting for him. He rubbed her back again, this time to comfort her.

John kissed the top of Joss's head and said quietly, "Everything's going to be just fine, okay? You don't have to worry. Harold and I will come up with something fool proof. Which reminds me of something," he said leaning back so he could see her face. "I think I'm going to have a talk with your old partner Lionel Fusco. I'm not sure it would be a good idea to bring in the full force of the police at this point, but I do want someone there to arrest Mark Snow, take over the evidence and the investigation once we have Mark wrapped up. Is he working this case? I haven't spoken to him in a while so I don't know." John explained.

"Wait, you know Lionel?" Joss asked inquisitively.

"Yeah, um, we've used him to help us with some cases in the past," John said rather vaguely. He didn't want to get to deep in his relationship with Lionel with Joss. It could lead to other questions he wasn't ready to answer.

Joss stared at him for a few minutes then nodded her head deciding now was not the time to question John, but he was keeping something from her, and she was going to find out what it was one way or another.

"Well, to answer your question, yes he is working on the task force handling these serial murders. I've reluctantly not informed him of what we know because I wanted to see what you were going to do," Joss answered John, and he breathed an inward sigh of relief that she didn't ask those questions he could see in her eyes. "Since you're going to contact him, I suppose I don't have to."

The roses on the side table caught John's attention, and he walked over to them pulling Joss behind him. "I didn't tell you why I picked these particular colors, did I?" He asked a little shyly.

Joss smiled and shook her head no.

"The yellow mean warmth and friendship which is how our story began, the red mean love and passion which is how our friendship evolved, white means purity and eternity which is how our love will remain, " he said gently, touching each rose as he described it.

Tears swam in Joss's eyes as she listened to John's almost musical voice as he described the roses, and how he felt about their love for each other. She wrapped her arms around his midsection, and held him close, burrowing into his warmth. His thoughtfulness and care touched her deeply; she would remember this moment forever.

John held Joss for a little while longer then kissed the top of her head, pulling back. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but we have to go now if you want me to take you home," he said regretfully.

"Alright, I'm finished packing. We can go when you're ready," she said as she reached over to pick up the vase of roses.

"Whoa, whoa, just a minute. You can't carry that!" John exclaimed, laughing.

"Why not?" Joss asked, indignant.

"Because that bouquet is almost as big as you are, that's why," John replied, still laughing.

"It is not!" Joss exclaimed truly indignant now.

As soberly as possible John said, "Sweetheart, that vase and flowers are extremely heavy. I should know, I carried it all the way up here from the parking garage. You still haven't regained all of your strength back. Let me carry it for you, please." Out of sheer force of will he kept his lips from twitching.

Still looking at him sideways, Joss stepped away from the flowers, and went to the armchair to get her purse and jacket.

John hid a smile behind her back as they started to walk out of the room with him carrying the flowers nestled in one arm and her overnight bag in his other hand. They were stopped though just shy of escaping when a cute blonde nurse met them at the door with a wheelchair.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but all patients must leave the hospital in a wheelchair when they are being discharged. Hospital policy," the nurse said politely but firmly.

Joss opened her mouth to argue when she felt John's hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw a small smile on his face as he said,

"Don't argue Joss. It will only delay getting out of here. It won't kill you to sit in a wheelchair."

A sudden sense of Déjà vu hit Joss as she remembered a similar scene when John was discharged from the hospital and she had said the very same thing to him. She and John laughed together as she sat in the wheelchair to let the nurse whisk her down the corridor.

Harold had been going over the recording John had made of Mark Snow's last phone call when he decided to take a break, and stretch his legs for a bit. It was when he was making a pass in front of his desk, deep in thought, that he glanced over toward the door, and saw a small manila envelope that had undoubtedly been slipped under the door.

Harold frowned as he walked over to it. The only thing he could deduce was that his assistant had been unable to reach him because he had his headphones on, and had slipped this under the door for him. He stiffly bent to pick the envelope up then straightened. There was no message on the front telling him what the contents were or who the sender was. It puzzled him as he walked over to his desk. He shrugged his shoulders, and reached into his desk for a letter opener. He looked up as he began opening the envelope when he heard John punching in the key code, and then walking into Harold's office.

"Well, Joss got out of the hospital a day early. That's why it took me so long to get back. What ya got there, Harold?" John asked breezily. He and Joss had had a very fulfilling make-out session once he got her home, although he was getting eager to have more. "Harold?...Harold?!...What is it, what's the matter?!" Harold had gone deathly pale, and was beginning to shake uncontrollably. He was looking at something in his hand that had been in the envelope he had been opening when John came in. John snatched it out of Harold's hand, and felt like all the wind had been kicked out of him when he saw what it was. It was a picture. A picture of a lovely, and terrified, redhead.

Harold's bright, shimmering blue eyes met John's dark stormy ones. In an almost inaudible voice Harold whispered,

"Grace….he has Grace…."

Mark Snow was a dead man

A/N: No, I wasn't able to tie everything up in one chapter so there will be one more chapter. Please don't hate me for kidnapping Grace! John's dark side is about to make an appearance, and Joss is at a loss as to what to do. Harold is a basket case, but he can be just as ruthless as John when it comes to the woman he loves. See you soon...