A/N: Sorry about the wait, but RL has been relentless. As always, thank you everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favourited my story so far.
There was a fair bit of ground to cover in this chapter, but at the same time I didn't want to drag it out too much. I hope I didn't leave any too-blatant plot holes.
This chapter roughly follows the events of episode 3x03 "Lady Killer". For the sake of my storyline, I had to write Zoe out. I tried keeping her in, because I actually quite like her, but it just didn't work. Sorry about that; I promise she'll be back at some other point.
Disclaimer: Direct quotations from the episode are marked as such. I don't own anything but my OCs, though I will take full responsibility for my plot bunnies.
Necessary Clarifications (III/3 Lady Killer)"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
Hannah wondered briefly if her brother would go so far as to outright ground her if the girls and she went through with their plan. "John," she started in her extra-patient doctor's voice, but she found herself harshly interrupted.
"Don't use that tone on me! You're not going to play bait for a potential serial killer, full stop."
In an almost suicidal attempt to keep this battle of wills from escalating, Harold decided to speak up. "I understand your trepidation, Mr Reese, but using Dr Silverstein's hen night as a front for our little investigation is actually a pretty good plan."
John inhaled deeply to stop himself from rounding on his boss. "With all due respect, Harold, but you're wrong," he replied through clenched teeth.
"Oh, come on, John. She'll be with two cops and two trained assassins. What do you think is gonna happen to her?" Shaw tossed in, clearly bored and annoyed with the discussion that had been dragging on for almost fifteen minutes now.
"You stay out of this, Shaw. This is between me and my sister," the man hissed, whirling around and stabbing a threatening finger in her direction.
"So putting your sister at risk is unacceptable, but doing the same with your girlfriend isn't?" In retrospect, the eye roll that went with her statement might have been a little over the top, but hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty, wasn't that the phrase? Still, coming face to face (or rather nose to nose) with an angry John Reese was something Sameen would never underestimate again. For a split second she thought the ex-op might actually inflict physical pain on her, but instead he slammed a flat hand on the wall behind her, virtually pinning her in place.
"Joss can take care of herself," he growled.
The beautiful detective scowled at John while Harold's eyebrows shot up into his hairline at the revelation.
"So you're saying I can't?" Hannah piped up.
The cool airiness of the spacious living area in the safe house suddenly seemed to turn hot and stuffy. Secretly grateful for the distraction, John tried to hide his blush by dragging both hands down his face in exasperation. He turned around and went over to his sister very slowly. Putting his hands on her shoulders in a way that was meant to be soothing, he explained: "Hannie ... if we're right about this man, it'll take more than what you can learn in a self-defence class to keep yourself safe. I'm not going to–"
Before he could finish his sentence (and afterwards he was never quite sure what he had been about to say), John found himself flat on his stomach, his arm twisted so painfully behind his back that he was positive he would end up with a dislocated shoulder if he moved. He couldn't anyway, even if he tried, as his sister's foot was firmly planted on the back of his neck.
"And now imagine me wearing five-inch stilettos," she commented conversationally, slightly adjusting her foot so that the imaginary heel would be hovering dangerously close to his jugular.
"Point taken," he croaked. The pressure on his arm and neck subsided and he struggled to his feet – only to come face to face with triple facetious grins by the ladies and a slightly better-concealed smirk on his employer's face. "Where on earth did you learn that move?" he asked his sister, not-so-inconspicuously rolling his shoulder.
With a wry smile, Hannah patted her brother's chest with both hands. "Did you really think I would work at that clinic without being able to deal with stoned junkies or drunk wife beaters?" Then she stepped back and turned around to the other women. "Now, are we on for my hen night, or what?"
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
John sat on the couch, scowling at the three beautiful – gorgeous – women in front of him while they exchanged compliments about their respective outfits. Deep inside he knew that, as far as risky cases went, this was not the worst. Still, having not one but two women he cared about deeply on the front line was giving him a headache.
Reluctantly he got up and cast another appraising look at the three women. "I think this just might work," he whispered to Harold.
Only moments later, John regretted having spoken so soon as he watched the three ladies excitedly comparing their weaponry. The pink Taser he had given Hannah was a brotherly dig, knowing that she hated the colour pink. But the way her eyes sparkled in excitement chipped away at his resolve to stay mad about having been outvoted.
He only realised that he had zoned out for a few seconds when Shaw's flaring temper attracted his attention. Whatever had been said: Harold looked positively scared.
There was no point in having bloodshed before the case had even started, so John tried to defuse the situation: "You'll have to use your charm, Shaw, not your sidearm."
"What is that supposed to mean? I don't look good? Cause I think I look good!"
Who would have thought there was a real girl hidden under all that muscle and gun oil? The thought almost made John smile. Almost. "You look fine, Shaw. You just look ... angry ... all the time."
The female ex-op cocked her head. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" she snapped at him, and he saw both Joss and Hannah trying to hide a grin at this well-deserved dig.
Fortunately Joss was as diplomatic as she was beautiful. "We'll work on it ... in the car."
Right on cue, Lionel Fusco lumbered through the front door. "This had better be real good," he huffed, "cause I was lookin' forward to watching that game!"
The three ladies turned around to greet their chauffeur for the evening, who promptly proceeded to freeze in place at the unfamiliar sight before him. For a second, words seemed to fail him, if his slack-jawed expression was anything to go by – but, Lionel being Lionel, it didn't last. "You gotta be kiddin' me," he blurted out, his gaze coming to rest on Hannah. "You look like you're Wonderboy's female twin!"
Eyes sparkling in mischief, the beautiful doctor feigned indignation. "Are you saying I look old?"
Joss and Shaw burst out laughing while John facepalmed. "Lionel ... meet Dr Hannah Silverstein," he mumbled with a headshake. "Hannah, meet Detective Fusco. He'll be keeping an eye on you gals tonight."
Unflappable Lionel smiled and offered his hand for Hannah to shake. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"It will be, once you stop calling me ma'am," Hannah grinned.
"Duly noted, doc. Shall we?" Lionel held out his arm like a real gentleman, never looking around to see if the others were following them. "Now, how exactly do you and Mr Tall, Dark and Grumpy know each other?"
"Oooh, this is gonna be good!" Shaw gushed, grabbing her purse and fairly running after the pair.
Joss chuckled and made to follow them when she caught John's doubtful expression. She walked up to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Relax, John," she said in a low voice. "It'll be fine. We'll keep her safe."
The tall man looked at her for a long moment before gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "It's not only Hannah I'm worried about," he said earnestly. "Please be careful, Joss."
The beautiful detective smiled. "I will. But I'm not worried. After all, we have Mr Tall, Dark and Grumpy looking out for us!"
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
Harold watched the younger people file out of the safe house with a mixture of amusement, wistfulness, and worry. He wondered if this was what a father felt when he saw his kids leaving for their prom night.
*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*
"That was an epic hen night!" Gripping her brother's arm a little tighter as they walked in the general direction of their street, Hannah tilted her head and looked at John with a goofy grin.
"Just how much did you have to drink, Hannie?" he chuckled, knowing full well that she was stone-cold-sober.
Hannah gave him a playful shove and giggled. "I mean it! That was the most fun I had in a long time!"
"Hey, are you saying Ben and me aren't fun?" John huffed. The fact that he was grinning ear to ear, though, somewhat defeated the purpose of his indignant tone.
"Speaking of which ..." Hannah drew out the words, and the lilt in her voice made John's stomach clench with foreboding. "Since you chaperoned my hen night, I think I should return the favour ..."
Cold fear crept up his neck and he shot his sister a nervous look. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a slightly inarticulate and highly undignified squeak. "Yeah?"
Hannah pretended not to notice. She wiggled her eyebrows and, eyes gleaming impishly, said the words he'd been dreading to hear. "I'm sure Shaw would love to join Ben and you for the stag night!"
A/N 2: Next time: the big day. If you're not into weddings, romance, and general sappiness, you might want to skip the next chapter. – Reviews are chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream!