On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me…
Six secrets-a-telling
John yawned as he climbed out of his car parked near the side entrance to the library. He was tired from a sleepless night, he'd spent it hugging the toilet. John secured his black long wool coat tighter around him as he pushed his gloved hands into his pockets as another round of chills hit him.
He heard another car door and was alerted to the fact that Shaw had arrived as well. John turned and there walked Shaw to catch up to him. "You look like shit, Reese," she greeted unceremoniously as she carried her coffee and Finch's tea. John was just grateful it was her turn to buy Harold's tea this morning.
"It's nice to see you too, Shaw," he deadpanned and his stomach churned as he smelled her coffee.
"No seriously, Reese, you look like shit. You sick or something?" she demanded as she scrutinized him. Reese was ridiculously pale, so much so that even his lips matched the pallor of his skin. He almost looked like one of the Walking Dead characters she saw on one of her favorite TV shows the night before
"I don't get sick," he refuted. He wanted to say more, but the bile was rising up in his mouth again. Not a good sign!
Shaw didn't comment as they walked side by side into the library but smirked as Reese took a detour to the bathroom after stopping mid-stride. Shaw headed up to where they had their HQ set up and saw Finch waiting for her at the computers. "We have a new number," he said in a way of greeting.
"Reese is sick," she announced without preamble as she set his tea in front of him and sipped her coffee. She eyed the photograph taped to the glass board. The man had to be in his mid-fifties and had a hideous comb over. "He looks like my old English teacher from high-school, told me I was the absolute worst poet. I hated the guy."
"Mr. Reese is sick?" Harold asked trying to get back to her earlier comment.
"Hurried to the bathroom to puke his guts out; looks like someone forgot to get their flu shot," she muttered snatching one of the donuts that Finch got out of the box.
Harold frowned but caught sight of John walking towards them. "Well you may not be the next Ginsberg but you are a fine pseudo nurse, Ms. Shaw," Harold said, taking note the fact that it appeared like John was shivering in his coat and was extremely pale. "Mr. Reese, you should go home and rest. Ms. Shaw and I will handle our newest number alone."
"I'm fine," John stated stubbornly.
Shaw snorted. "Oh right, forgot: he doesn't get sick, Finch," Shaw retorted. She eyed him darkly. "So, Reese, if you're not sick then you should have a donut. They're delicious," she suggested and smirked as he turned a nasty shade of green. Shaw snickered as he gulped and to push it further to get Reese to admit that she was right she took a big bite of her donut and moaned.
"Ms. Shaw, I prefer what remains in Mr. Reese's stomach to not find its way on my computers," Finch chided dryly before focusing on John once more. "I'm sorry, John, but I think it's best for everyone involved, including our new number, if you head home and get some much needed rest."
"Who is the new number?" John asked determined to work this case. He had nothing left to vomit so he should start feeling better soon enough.
Harold sighed as Mr. Reese was going to be stubborn about this. "His name is Nelson Rand. As far as I can tell he's in between jobs. He last worked at a small law firm as a janitor. All his previous jobs were held about as long as he held that one: six months."
"So what is he doing now?" Shaw asked after she finished off her donut, her mouth still full. She began licking the glaze off her fingers.
"Presently, he has been employed by the regional mall to be their Santa," Harold explained, knowing this was the part that both his employees were going to find issue with.
John stared at Finch. "I'm sorry; did you say he's a mall Santa?" he murmured, making sure he heard him right.
"Yes. Not every number is going to be mobsters or government assassins, Mr. Reese."
John nodded as he looked at Shaw. "You guys are right; I'm not feeling well. I should go home," he muttered doing the quickest about face. He wasn't going to muscle through the fact that he wanted to drop from fatigue and his stomach was dying a slow agonizing death to work a mall Santa case. He was sure Finch and Shaw could handle it without him.
Finch brightened at John's sudden backpedaling but Shaw's look grew downright lethal.
"Oh no, you don't, Reese!—you're not sticking the lame Santa Claus with me!" Shaw growled, grabbing his forearm.
John rubbed his tender stomach. "Shaw, I think you're right I have the flu; can't go spreading that to children," he rationalized.
"Children?" Shaw hissed.
Finch sighed. "Ms. Shaw, you do realize who goes to see the mall Santa don't you?" Harold asked carefully.
John waited to leave for Shaw to realize the meaning of what Finch said and when she did she cursed loudly which was John's cue to leave; served Shaw right for eating a donut to try to make him puke.
Joss headed straight for the address Shaw gave her that was John's apartment. The series of texts she received from Shaw were very detailed. Apparently John was sick and Shaw was adamant that she required his help on their new number that she was secretive over. But Shaw had her with John was sick. John never got sick so the fact that he was and presumably not taking care of himself, as always, got her to head out to go take care of him herself.
She knocked and waited; she had the black bag of goodies from Shaw; an IV bag and medicines just in case he hadn't been able to stop puking. Joss had stopped at Lyric Diner that she and John frequented together and bought chicken noodle soup. When there was no answer she knocked again. It wasn't ideal to pick his lock but she would; he could be asleep and didn't hear her at his door. And to be fair the man broke into her place so many times for flimsy reasons she had lost count.
When the door still didn't open and no noticeable sounds of footsteps she set the bags down and tugged out her lock pick. "Momma always told me to come prepared," she muttered to herself as she proceeded to undo his lock. She grinned in success when she heard the tumbler go. Joss opened the door and pushed it open, grabbing the bags, and entered.
She searched his studio apartment for him but didn't see his handsome self anywhere. Joss quietly closed the door behind her and locked up the door. She set the bags on the dining room table before removing her coat.
"John," she called out. She frowned when she didn't receive an answer. She never had been to his place before so she had to go in search for the bathroom. If he was dealing with the flu she had a hunch he was in there. Joss had been wanting to come here but under far different circumstances.
"Oh John," she whispered as she found his large bathroom and him; John was sitting on the tiled floor with his head on the toilet seat. He was shirtless and barefoot but in his dress pants and she felt fiercely protective of this man. Her feelings for him were growing exponentially as he wasn't just a friend anymore but seeing him sick and vulnerable riled up a protective instinct in her. John definitely didn't look like the invincible man-in-the-suit right about now; he looked about as formidable as a sick puppy.
"What are you doing here, Carter?" he wondered without lifting his head.
"I'm here for you," she murmured as she moved close and checked in the toilet. She was glad to see it was clean water but she was concerned about him. John was pale as a ghost and hadn't opened his eyes yet. "Are you still throwing up?" she asked.
"No," he mumbled. "Just didn't feel like getting up."
Joss ran a hand over his hair trying to offer comfort. "Come on John; I'll help you up," she cajoled as she reached out and grabbed his bicep tugging gently to get him to get up. He opened his eyes and she saw how glassy they looked. John stood slowly and she kept a hand on his back as she let him lead her out of the bathroom. He was past pale and looked like he would topple over if she even breathed on him.
"Carter, what are you doing here?" he asked again quietly as she steered him towards his large king size bed.
"I'm here because Shaw called and told me you might have the flu. And I don't trust you to take care of yourself," she stated as she reached down to undo his belt.
He watched her hands with hooded eyes while keeping his arms at his sides. Joss looked up and arched a brow. "Now I know you must be sick; no stubborn assurance that you can do this yourself?" she murmured as she pushed his pants down off his slim hips.
"Maybe I like the fact that you're taking my pants off," he remarked dryly.
Joss smiled at the flirtatious comment. She looked down and stared as she caught sight of his dark blue boxer briefs and the substantial bulge drawing her attention. She mentally shook herself forcefully, lifting her gaze and got gut checked as she saw his bare chest. John had a very nice muscular chest but that wasn't what caught her gaze it was the scars. He had them everywhere, even with scars on top of older scars.
"Get in bed," she ordered with more force than necessary. She was angry with herself because she wanted to find the people who were responsible for them, to make them pay for making him suffer, but she could look in the mirror for at least one and it was a tough pill to swallow.
"Only if you join me," he rasped, drawing her from her self-deprecating thoughts.
She rolled her eyes. "Nice try flirting yourself out of this one, John; I'm still going to make you take better care of yourself," she muttered as she pushed him easily onto the bed before flipping his comforter over him. "Now tell me what have you been able to keep down?"
"Joss, I would appreciate if you would leave," he said instead of answering, a frustrated tone creeping into his voice.
She snorted. "No, I'm not going anywhere. I have the day off so you're stuck with me. Now what have you been able to keep down?" she asked again.
"I don't know since I haven't tried to eat or drink anything," he mumbled, giving up trying to send Joss away.
"That's not good, John! You'll get dehydrated!" she growled. "You men think you're unstoppable. You need a keeper!" she grumbled as she ignored the longing she felt over wishing she would get to be that keeper for him.
John watched as his beautiful detective sashayed off looking decidedly disgruntled. He smiled a little, still feeling like death, but having her here made any lousy day better. When she reappeared she was carrying a cup.
She grinned as she held it out. "Guess what you're in for: yummy ice chips."
He chuckled at how she was trying to entice him with it, which made him wince as it hurt his stomach muscles. "Don't make me laugh, Carter, my stomach hurts," he grumbled, taking the cup of ice chips she held out and taking some, though not very enthusiastically.
Joss didn't resist resting her forearm against his forehead to check for fever. She was glad to feel it was cool but his skin was a little clammy under the touch. Shaw had her bring medicine to help with nausea but she didn't really want to have to use it. John appeared to have a twenty-four hour bug and was getting better on his own.
John was watching her with exhausted eyes. "Go home, Carter, I'll be fine." he said. He preferred being sick and miserable alone.
"I said no. And if you tell me to go one more time; I'm gonna spoon feed food to you and even help you to the bathroom. I mean you might need my help to tug your underwear off and even need me to help…"
"You win Carter," he muttered giving in, knowing her well enough if he pushed she pushed back.
She grinned. "That's what I thought. We'll get some fluids in you and then try some of the chicken noddle soup. Now sleep, John."
"You're bossy…" he said sleepily.
She chuckled softly. "And you're stubborn." she responded as she took the cup from his hand. "Sleep, John," she coaxed and smiled when she didn't even need to say it; John was sound asleep.
John awoke with a start and looked around his surroundings. "Feeling better?" he blinked at the question as he realized he wasn't alone. He had thought he dreamt Carter coming here, evidently not. He searched for her and found her moving closer to his bed. "I was watching a little TV, but are you feeling better?" she asked again.
"A little," he answered, his throat felt raw and sore from getting sick so often. He struggled to sit up and groaned as his stomach was tremendously tender.
"When did you start vomiting?" she asked.
He ran a hand over his face which felt scratchy since he hadn't shaved. "It was about seven in the evening yesterday when I started. I had just gotten home after finishing up a number," he murmured.
Joss checked her watch; it was seven-thirty in the evening now. He had slept for nearly seven hours so if it was a twenty-four hour bug then he might be ready to eat.
"What time is it?" John asked as he looked around seeing it was dark other than a lamp and the TV on.
"It's seven-thirty; you slept the afternoon away. Although I did wake you here and there to get some water into you because I can't let you get dehydrated but otherwise you slept soundly," she admitted.
John frowned. "And you stayed; I'm sure you have other more important things to do on your only day off then sit and watch me sleep."
She shook her head. John just didn't get it did he? "How do you know that today is my only day off?" she asked instead.
"A hunch…" he hedged.
"Uh-huh, sure it is. John I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be," she assured him simply. "Do you feel up to eating?"
"Only if you'll eat with me," he stipulated.
Joss smiled. "Deal," she agreed. "I'll go warm up our soup and you…stay put; I'll help you sit up." With that she turned and walked unhurriedly to his kitchen as if she owned his place. But he didn't wait for her to help him sit up; instead he stubbornly did it himself. His muscles ached but he forced himself to move; he wasn't going to let a stomach bug out do him.
When she reappeared with two mugs of soup she glowered at him. "I thought I told you not to move," she demanded.
John shrugged. "I wanted to do it."
Joss swallowed her lecture because she had to remember John was a proud and independent man who wasn't used to having anyone actually care about him. She moved to the bed and handed him the mug. He took it and she was glad she decided on the mugs because his hands were a little shaky.
He patted the bed beside him. "Sit," he ordered gently.
"Now who's the bossy one?" she teased but followed his order as she sat down beside him on his bed stretching her feet in front of her leaning up against the headboard.
Things were quiet as they each sipped their respective soups. She wiggled her toes in her socks and mused at how different today was from what she was expecting it to be. Joss figured all she'd be doing was her chores and be bored to the point of tears.
"Do you know what number Shaw is working because if not it will make you feel better?" she asked after a moment. Shaw had Facetimed her and Joss never laughed as hard as she did when she saw Shaw and what she was wearing.
John chuckled lightly. "I know the newest number is a mall Santa."
Joss looked at him conspiratorially. "But do you know she's undercover as Santa's little helper," she remarked with another chuckle.
He eyed her. "Shaw's an elf?" he asked and she nodded. "Does she jingle?"
"Ridiculously so," Joss replied. Shaw had been so animated during their video call that she jingled merrily while issuing threats to stop laughing at her.
A little smile wiggled on his face. "You're right, that does make me feel better."
They fell silent again as she snuggled up closer to him not afraid of catching what he had. She had her flu shot and washed her hands often since getting here. But if she did manage to catch the bug he had then it would be worth it by being here for him.
"I left her behind because I thought it would make me a better soldier," he whispered unsure of why he was choosing now of all times to tell her about Jessica.
Joss blinked a little in surprise as she looked at him as he changed the subject to something she never thought he'd ever be willing to talk about. "Jessica?" she asked. He nodded and she set her empty mug of soup down on the nightstand beside her, noting John was avoiding eye contact. The timing of the fact he was finally opening up could be just due to fatigue and battling an illness but she wasn't going to kick a gift horse in the mouth. "Why did you think letting the woman you loved go would make you a better soldier?"
"Everyone that died on the other side had a picture, Joss."
"So you thought if you didn't have anyone in your life, no picture, than you'd come home," she murmured and he nodded curtly. "John there is no guilt in being afraid to die," she assured him as she reached out to rub his forearm.
"I left her behind because I was a coward," he countered.
"You are many things, John, but a coward isn't one of them. You were only doing what you felt was right for you…to survive. That's what anyone would do. It's called being human," Joss replied.
He looked up finally and gazed into her eyes. "Have you done something that you felt was right for you and it hurt everyone else around you?"
"Of course, I have. John I'm not perfect," she comforted. He blinked in surprise. "John, seriously, I'm not perfect."
"You are to me."
Joss felt a swift change in the air between them and she swallowed hard as she had to remember he was getting over the flu or she would just lean in and kiss him. Having John open up to her was something she waited years for; she was patient and wanted to prove to him he could trust her with his real self. The attraction that ran rampant between them was getting harder to ignore and resist. Maybe one day soon they would stop trying but today wasn't it.
"Well John, I think you are perfectly imperfect to me," she murmured softly as she reached out to take his mug from his shaky hands setting it beside hers on the nightstand. She looped her arms around one of his and rested her head against his shoulder; they stayed that way for long into the night.
AN: I remember the Careese Theme I posted of Joss sick and everyone wanted to see John sick so this was in response to that.
Thanks for reading!