A/N: The first chapter was basically the set-up for the meat of the story which begins now. ;) The whole thing is written and will be 4 chapters total. It is not, however, beta'd. All mistakes really are mine, but I'll blame the dog since she kept bothering me while I was editing. Really.
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Finch pushed a business card across the table to her. On it, there was a key. "This is John's address and a key to his loft. Please, go check on him. If I know him at all, he's buried in the guilt he's carried all these years. I can't help him, but I think you can."
She nodded, taking the card and key, and standing. "I'll do what I can, what he'll let me do, if I find him."
"That's all I can ask, Detective. Thank you."
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Carter arrived at the address listed on the card and stood outside staring at the building. It wasn't what she expected at all. It was much higher-end than her building. A coded lock graced the door and she glanced at the card to see if Finch had remembered to write it down. He had. She didn't want to give John the opportunity to keep her out by ringing the bell, especially if he was as bad off as Finch seemed to think he might be.
She punched the code in and pulled the door open with the click and found her way to his apartment. Standing in front of the door, Carter took a deep breath. She had no idea what she was going to say, how she was going to explain being there. She wasn't supposed to know where he lived. She didn't think that was intentional, but she didn't want to get Reese angry with Finch; those two needed each other.
She rapped on the door quickly and waited. Nothing.
She knocked again a little harder. Still nothing.
"Damn it." She hadn't wanted to use the key. That was an invasion of privacy she wasn't sure was warranted. She'd go in, see if he was there. If he wasn't, she would not check out his apartment no matter how badly she wanted to. She would wait to be invited. If he was there…well, she'd deal with that when it happened.
Digging the key out of her pocket, she juggled it in her palm a moment before inserting it in the lock and turning. The tumbler turning sounded loud to her ears. It also felt wrong, but the need to check on John superseded that feeling.
She pushed open the door and leaned in. "John? It's Jos. Can I come in?" She listened for any response and, again, got nothing.
She stepped in and glanced around. Her mouth fell open at the size of the loft, its openness. She also noticed the impersonal feel of it. No pictures, no nothing to show that a man in his 40's, who'd basically been around the world, lived there.
Moving further in, she spotted him slouched in a chair facing the window. "John?" Then she noticed his hand hanging down holding a bottle that was resting on the floor. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She now knew where the feeling she'd had all morning was coming from. This was not going to be pretty.
She stepped closer to the chair and craned her head to look at him. His eyes were closed and his breathing soft. Glancing at the bottle, she was relieved to see that there was some liquor still in it. Maybe he was just asleep. She crouched down next to him and ran her eyes over him. He looked peaceful, but she knew that wouldn't last. She really didn't want to wake him, but she also didn't want him to wake up suddenly and see her in his apartment; she wasn't sure what his reaction would be. Sober, his reaction was predictable. In this state? She shook her head and checked to see if he had a weapon anywhere near him, but didn't see one.
Gently reaching out, Carter ran her hand down his arm and removed his fingers from the bottle, setting it on the table next to him. "John?"
His eyes shot open and before he could focus, he'd bolted from the chair to stand. She watched him waver on his feet and grab his forehead, closing his eyes. He hissed through his teeth, "Shit…"
"Headache there, cowboy?" Jos stood and crossed her arms over her chest.
John sent her a glare through bloodshot eyes that would have wilted a lesser person. Jos just smirked at him.
He ran his hand through his hair, turning away from her stare. "What the hell are you doing here? Or better yet, how the hell did you get in? I don't want company."
"I'm here to check up on you and I got in with a key, like a normal person. Unlike some people, I don't have lockpicking skills."
She watched him walk to the kitchen island and lean heavily against it. Her heart clenched a little for him. She knew he was hurting, but she also knew he didn't accept help. It was going to be a fight. It was time for some tough love.
He turned, facing her, the granite countertop digging into his lower back. His eyes never left hers. She assumed this was an attempt at intimidating her. It might have worked if he didn't look so ragged and lost.
"So, you've checked up on me. I'm fine. Lock the door on your way out."
Not sure exactly what she was doing, she moved into his personal space. "Really? Lock the door on your way out? That's the best you have? I'm so disappointed."
He leaned closer to her, his face inches from hers. "What part of 'I don't want company' did you misinterpret, Carter? Get. Out."
"I'm not leaving."
He gripped her shoulders, shifting her out of his way as he headed to where she'd left the bottle. "Yes. You are. Now."
"No, I'm not. Give me the bottle, John."
He picked it up off the table and took a long drink from it, smirking at her. "This bottle? You want it, Carter? Come take it from me."
She walked to him again, her nerves increasing with the look on his face. This wasn't the John she knew. This was the hardened, unfeeling man he used to be. His face was tilted down, his eyes shadowed, an almost-snarl causing his lips to pull back into a feral grin. She didn't know this man, didn't know how to predict his actions. She'd faced killers, rapists, the worst the world could throw at her; she'd learned to school her emotions with them...it wasn't quite as easy to do with him. There was a personal investment here; he just couldn't see it right now.
"You think you scare me? You don't. I've seen worse than you, dealt with far worse than you."
She reached out quickly and grabbed the bottle from him. The look of surprise on his face would have been funny if he'd actually been at full capacity. Jos glanced at the bottle in her hand, a little surprised herself, and smirked then turned toward the sink.
"Don't you dare."
She looked at him over her shoulder as she tilted the bottle and started pouring it down the drain. "Yeah, I dare. You're done drinking."
"You're not my keeper, Carter." The sound of his voice was a growl just behind her ear.
She didn't turn around, didn't want to see the look on his face. "No, I'm not. I'm your friend."
His huff of laughter blew her hair forward. "I don't have friends. I don't have family."
She felt his arms reach around her, his hands bracketing her body against the sink. She knew this was just another form of intimidation, but she couldn't help the quick shudder that ran through her as his body pressed against hers. He had to have felt it as he pushed forward a little harder. He leaned in and breathed into her ear, "Afraid of what I'm capable of? You should be."
She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it reminded her of what she was dealing with – a man she trusted with her life, with her son's life, in the throes of a drunken pity party. It was time to show him exactly who was in charge and it wasn't him. She was going to pull him out of this kicking and screaming if she had to.