Chapter 16
A/N: A ceremony and the real first time. We open with a general narrative and then the rest of the story is primarily from John and Joss' POV. We'll also spend some time with a character that we met several chapters ago.
[The fable didn't make the cut – it was too long, and ultimately didn't add all that much to this story. I loved it – there were swords and nakedness - so at some point it will be reworked, perhaps as one of John's Scarf dreams.]
After the smoke had literally and figuratively cleared around 780 Mercer, there was still a problem.
John Warren.
Stanton and Snow were dead, Donnelly had been memorialized, the FBI had closed the case on The Man in a Suit, and several other players had been killed, put on trial, transferred or offered new jobs. The various departments and agencies involved had done their best to recast, reframe or reject their involvement in the string of events that had begun with an explosion under a bank.
They were all ready to move on.
Except for the problem of John Warren.
The problem wasn't that he was innocent – unfortunately, innocent people get swept up in the system all the time. Usually they would slip away, knowing how lucky they were to make their escape and were never heard from again, or if they did make some noise, they would get tripped up in revelations of their own past transgressions and ultimately become a media punch line, pathetically trying to shop their story to a non-existent audience.
No, John Warren was a problem, because he had attributes and resources that Riker's guests normally don't have. He was well educated, well-heeled and well spoken. He could unleash an army of litigators, investigators and media representatives. He could ask questions that would be difficult to answer.
They wanted to deal with John Warren, take their lumps, minimize the damage and move on.
But no one had heard a peep from Warren or a representative of his.
They couldn't approach Warren. To approach him would imply culpability, give him leverage and expose vulnerabilities, so they waited.
And as the days and weeks went on without a quiet inquiry, an initial filing or a veiled threat, they began to worry. They knew how to react, realign and respond, but what do you do when there was nothing to react, realign and respond to?
So you can imagine their relief when word began to circulate, followed by discreet visits from Warren's representative, a woman with whom they had dealt with on delicate matters before, that an agreement had been reached. There would be no lawsuit, no front page exposés, no media circus or departmental reviews.
Warren had gotten what he wanted and they had gotten what they wanted.
(Well, one person didn't get what he wanted, but he was told bluntly and in no uncertain terms by the real people who run the city, to shut up and take it.)
And everyone would be able to move on.
The last vestiges of his stay at Rikers were deleted, erased or relocated to Missouri, and the name John Warren not only vanished from their collected consciousness, it was as though he had never existed.
XXX
There were the usual politicians, dignitaries, government officials, news media and even a few celebrities milling about the event at Carl Schurz Park*.
But the true stars were the dogs.
The park is one the most canine friendly spots in New York City, with two dog runs and a wide waterfront promenade for daily walks. Many of those pampered pooches, cuddled by indulgent owners or bedecked in bright costumes were in the crowd that watched the ceremony unfolding on the lawn of the Mayor's official residence, Gracie Mansion**.
For once there was no barking or yelping, no twirling around in circles or squirming in their owners' arms. They were quiet and still, perhaps sensing that the proud creatures being honored today, while fellow canines, had lived lives very different from theirs.
These dogs had shivered in the cold, sweltered in the heat, been wounded and watched loved ones die. They had trekked through vast deserts, climbed jagged mountains and swum swollen rivers. They had served all over the world, had saved lives, had sheltered shattered bodies and comforted broken hearts.
They had formed lifelong bonds with their fellow soldiers.
Now they were coming home.
While dogs have performed valiantly in the nation's armed forces, they are currently classified as equipment. Once they have been determined as no longer fit or needed for duty, they do not qualify for post service care, or even transportation back to the United States. Separated from their human partners, these dogs face uncertain, lonely and often dangerous futures. Legislation has been introduced to reclassify the dogs as "canine members of the armed forces", but the bills are currently wending their way slowly and intermittently through the halls of Congress, while the dogs and the people who care about them, wait.***
The six dogs being honored today had been transported back to the US, provided with lifetime veterinary coverage, a monthly stipend for food and other supplies for their care, and reunited with their human partners who stood behind them, unashamedly letting tears of joy stream down their faces.
All of this had been made possible by the Donnelly/KARA (K-9 Air Rescue and Assistance) Fund. Those dogs who could not be reunited with their human partners would be placed with families eager to take them into their homes and into their hearts; any too injured or traumatized to be placed would live out their days in peace and comfort.
The placement service and the long term care facility would be at a private animal shelter near CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
As the Mayor recounted tales of the service, devotion and heroism of these human and animal veterans, two women stood arm in arm behind him, smiling through their tears.
They were both stunningly different, stunningly beautiful, and many in the crowd couldn't help staring at them.
One was tall and slender, her snow white hair swirling around her face. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were rosy in the brisk air. One was shorter and curvier, her raven locks swept up in a sleek chignon. Her skin was dark and her cheeks glowed in the sunlight. One's coat was red, while the other's was blue, and they both shimmered like the rarest, most precious jewels.
The one thing they had in common were their large brown eyes, and while one kept hers on the honorees and the speakers, the other one, while attentive to the ceremony, would occasionally scan the crowd, as though she was waiting for someone to appear.
XXX
He hadn't loved her.
Reese knew that, knew that clearly and honestly, without any hesitation or second thoughts.
The Machine had actually given them a number last night, and while everything had concluded successfully, he'd been delayed. Reese could hear the muffled sounds of someone speaking via a microphone, as he entered the park.
Zoe had done well. The media coverage leading up to today's event had been quiet and understated for once, letting the natural emotions flow instead of manufacturing or hyping them up.
With stern oversight from Harold, Leon Tao had invested the money obtained from the FBI wisely and conservatively. The small staff, comprised almost entirely of veterans, had gelled quickly. After today, the Fund would work behind the scenes, partnering with various public and private groups until it was no longer newsworthy or a novelty. It would be just another good group, making good things happen.
As he headed toward the ceremony that was already well underway, Reese let his mind consider the woman that he was, as Joss had stated so simply yet so eloquently, with a long time.
Days, weeks, months, years, often 24/7. Reese had been intimate with Kara Stanton in a way that few people would want, understand or could even imagine. An intimacy bred, born and nurtured in an environment full of violence, secrets, betrayals and death.
Reese understood her rage at the agency, at Snow, at him – he wasn't angry or bitter about it. He would never forgive what she had tried to do to Joss, but he understood why she did it.
Snow was right when he said that both Reese and Kara were damaged goods, and while Kara was definitely twisted and broken, she had never been lost, until Ordos. Even if her plan had succeeded, Reese wondered if she would have survived much longer after that. Without a belief, a mission, a purpose – what did Kara have, where could she go, what would she become then?
No, he hadn't loved Kara, but Reese admitted to himself that he hadn't hated her either.
He'd cared about her and he'd had to forgive himself for that.
As he walked along, Reese thought about what he wanted to remember about Kara.
The woman who was a true believer, who was highly accomplished and fiercely intelligent, who was sharp and witty.
The woman who was a keen strategist, who was a fierce fighter, who had saved his life more than once.
The woman who loved animals, whose favorite color was blue, who made amazing sauces.
The woman who touched his cheek, before she left him to die.
Today, he would remember her, one last time.
XXX
Stella Donnelly O'Connor squeezed Detective Jocelyn Carter's hand as she stepped up to the podium.
The largest crowd she had ever spoken to was at her church, but she wasn't nervous. She believed in what she was going to say and she knew that if she was overcome by emotion, the beautiful, bright and brave human and animal faces around her would give her courage she needed.
Like many women of her generation, she had married young, had provided a loving home not only for herself and her husband, but also for her siblings and their families. Stella and her husband had never been blessed with children, but their home was the place that family congregated for holiday dinners, birthday parties, celebrations and remembrances. As her husband's career flourished and her nieces and nephews grew up and scattered around the globe, Stella began looking for something else, something to help others, but also she realized, something for herself.
She took a deep breath and then she began to tell a story.
One day her nephew Nicholas, who was at the FBI Academy, had stopped by her home, insisting that she take a ride with him. Stella explained that he was always quiet and serious, but there was something in his eyes that day, that even though it was boiling hot and she just wanted to collapse on the porch and rest after spending hours in her garden, she finally relented.
They drove to an old feed and grain store on the outskirts of her town. There her nephew proudly announced that this was the site for the no kill animal shelter that she had always talked about during her years of volunteering for animal organizations. The owner, after years of failing to find a lessee or a buyer had agreed to sell it for one dollar, if they cleaned and fixed the property up before he was jailed and fined for repeatedly violating the town's blight ordinance.
Oh, her nephew added, they had a week to do it.
Stella laughed at the memory. The place was a wreck - neglected, stripped of anything of value, turned into a dumping ground and vandalized for over a decade. But as they toured the site and her nephew reviewed with her the detailed fifty page document he had developed as part of his convincing the owner to sell, she began to see the possibilities.
But, as she told her nephew, there was no money, no willing hands and most importantly, no time.
As she explained to her rapt audience, Nicky rarely smiled, but when he did, it was like an early spring morning. He then explained that as part of FBI trainees twenty weeks at the Academy, they were all required to perform one day in service to the community. This weekend, he explained, they would be descending on this site, not for one but for two days.
Stella shook her head wryly. Apparently he had submitted a twenty page document to the Academy's community service committee, given a two hour presentation and then visited each committee member individually to plead his case. She suspected that they relented, not because his idea was better than anybody else's, but because they wanted to preserve their peace and sanity.
"Here I was, hot, filthy and sweaty, covered in cobwebs, bird droppings and things that I don't even want to imagine, and I was grinning like a fool, like I had won the lottery. I asked Nicky why he had done this, and he said simply that I had always believed in him and that he believed in me."
That evening when Stella went home, her husband was waiting for her. Her nephew had already told him about the plan and he quietly said whatever it took, time, effort, their savings, they would make her dream come true.
And as promised an army of young, strong enthusiastic FBI agents in training descended on the site, and first thing Monday morning she handed a dollar to the now former owner.
It wasn't easy, she explained. They struggled for years to stay afloat, but every time it seemed hopeless a check would arrive from Miami, Portland, San Diego, wherever it was that her nephew was assigned. Even when they finally got on their feet and were established and growing, he would ask for regular updates, and if there was something they needed, he was always the first one to help.
Stella paused. "Some of you may know that my nephew was murdered several months ago. He would be so proud and so happy to know that a fund named after him will help bring these magnificent animals home, where they belong."
Nodding to the Mayor, Stella stepped back from the podium. She leaned gratefully against the beautiful detective, and for the first time since his death, Stella was able to think of her nephew without a sharp pain in her heart.
XXX
John Reese's plan had been exquisitely simple.
If someone had pointed that out to him, he would have shrugged, smiled and said, "The best plans always are."
The plan had come to him during his walks and talks with Joss. Ironically it was the silence about Donnelly's death that was the key.
After the initial flurry of activity, there was virtually nothing. Joss' recounting of the memorial service, the bland article in Police Matters and the reassignment of the inquiry of the CIA on Stanton and Snow to an interagency review board in DC, meant someone wanted Donnelly to not just fade away, but to go away as soon as possible.
There should have been some attempt on the FBI's part to recast Donnelly's image. Whatever had happened with The Man in a Suit investigation and the events at Riker's, Donnelly had been murdered. Dead men, or in this case dead people, can't talk, and with the two people accused of murdering him also dead, the Bureau was free to create whatever view of Donnelly they wished, but they had chosen to remain silent. Why?
Joss and Fusco had heard nothing via the inter-departmental/agency grapevines, and Finch hadn't found an obvious thread electronically, so Reese had enlisted Zoe Morgan.
While much of the world overshares every detail of their lives electronically, there are still those places, places of power, where nothing is written down and the true interactions only happen face to face. Zoe not only had access to those places, she also had the skill and savvy to piece together a theory as to what was really going on.
The next step required Leon Tao. Humans can sometimes come and go without leaving a trace; large sums of money cannot. Working with Harold, the former forensic accountant compiled a list of who, what for and how much.
After that, everything had fallen neatly into place.
If pressed, Reese would have said that it was a way to stick it to the FBI – not only would Donnelly be remembered, he would be remembered with the FBI's own money.
He would never reveal the real reason why he had come up with this plan, but if you had somehow managed to follow John Reese today, you would have seen him pause and look across the crowd, before he melted into the shadows, and you would have known why he did it.
XXX
As Joss listened to the rest of the speakers, she smiled softly when she spied John at the edge of the crowd. He stood there just for a moment, gazing at her, and then he somehow found the one spot in the shadows on this clear, sunny day, and disappeared from view.
The ceremony finally drew to a close and an announcement was made that additional activities and a tent with refreshments was at the other end of the park, near the two dog runs. The crowd began to surge in that direction. Joss squeezed Stella's hand. "It was a beautiful ceremony, Mrs. O'Connor."
"Stella, please. And thank you so much for coming! It was good to see," her eyes grew solemn for a moment, "someone that Nicky worked with."
Joss nodded. She'd heard attendance by any FBI staffers had been strongly discouraged – those who might have defied that directive, like Brian Moss, had suddenly been assigned to cases on the other side of the continent. The FBI had sent a representative who clearly had never met Donnelly, much less knew he was, and they had read a well-crafted, meaningless statement about his service to the Bureau.
Stella O'Connor kept referring to herself as just a simple housewife, but Joss sensed that she understood all too well that there were certain aspects of her nephew's death and the aftermath that would never be fully explained.
"I know that Nicholas could sometimes be too focused –"
Joss gripped Stella's hand tightly, "Your nephew was a good agent. Please – tell his parents that."
Stella smiled softly. "Thank you, Detective."
"Joss. Take care, Stella."
XXX
Stella watched the detective – no, Joss - walk away. As she joined the crowd exiting the ceremony, a tall slim figure glided from the shadows. He was so graceful, so elegant in his movements, that Stella knew this was the man who had given her that stunning red coat.
Oh, he was beautiful, Stella thought, and fierce, so, so fierce, but when he looked at that gorgeous young woman, Stella saw gentleness, and love.
They blended with the crowd and disappeared.
Stella had been in the city for three days. She was scheduled to leave first thing tomorrow morning, but she wanted to go home. Now.
She wondered if she could get a flight out tonight.
Stella briskly walked up to the dignitaries and started saying her good-byes.
XXX
"No Bear?"
John shrugged, sighing. "Harold has custody today."
For once, they didn't try to escape the crowd, but let themselves be swept up in it, knowing that in a group like this – loud, boisterous and hungry – nobody would pay attention to them.
Joss nodded sagely. "Glad to hear you two have finally worked everything out."
"Well, our primary concern is Bear's happiness, Carter, you know that," he smirked.
Joss smiled and they walked along quietly for a bit, just enjoying the sun, the people and the dozens of breeds of dogs, eagerly making up for their good behavior at the ceremony.
"I did think about bringing him, but four of the dogs were Malinois," John added.
Joss nodded. "Yeah." Four of the dogs honored today were Belgian Malinois; the same breed of dog in the crowd that also responded to Dutch commands could invite unneeded interest and scrutiny. She let the tips of her fingers graze the back of his hand. "You did good, John." Her voice softened. "Thank you."
She saw him struggle with a response and then he finally said, "You're welcome."
Breaking free of the crowd, they turned toward a section of the park called the cherry grove. Nestled between two rock ledges, rows of cherry trees formed an open canopy, sunlight filtering through their bare branches. They found a bench and sat down.
Joss sat there, waiting. She knew much of what John had done was for her, that it was another step in putting behind them everything that had happened all those weeks ago.
Nicholas Donnelly had made mistakes, some terrible ones – she pushed the image of that prison yard out of her mind – but he didn't deserve to be murdered and forgotten, nobody did. In the end, the Fund, quiet and understated, would make him neither a hero nor a villain – he would be like everyone else, simply someone who tried to do the best they could.
Now Joss needed to hear the rest.
John looked off in the distance and Joss knew that he needed her not to touch him or look at him as he began to speak. She kept her eyes focused on a cluster of daffodils. They had foolishly bloomed early – another arctic blast was expected tonight that would last for several days, but for now, their thin stems wafted in the breeze, brave and unafraid.
"There was a general strike in the country we were in. Everything was shut down, roving mobs, military trying to keep order. No transportation in or out. All we could do was wait. I was looking forward to sacking out for a few days. One the way back to the safe house, we passed a dumpster. Kara heard a sound."
His voice was even softer than normal, and Joss leaned towards him, just a bit closer, to hear him.
"Someone had thrown a newborn litter of six kittens in the trash. Two were dead, the rest were just hanging on. We made it back to the safe house and Kara made a formula out of evaporated milk, water and dried eggs. We fed them with an eye dropper from the medi-kit. She said they could tolerate cow's milk for 24 hours – after that we needed to find a nursing cat or a replacement formula."
Joss kept her eyes on the dancing flowers. "They made it through the night?"
"Yeah. Somehow we got to a vet. He already had his hands full; looked at us like we were nuts. No nursing cats, but he gave us enough formula for a week – said we had to feed them every four hours. Told us to check back when the general strike was over."
"So you fed 'em."
"Not just fed them, Detective. Newborn kittens don't know how to eliminate their own waste. We had to massage their intestinal area to help them pass it through and then clean them up." She heard a hint of a smile in his voice. "Don't mention it to Finch – he still thinks I don't know how to change a diaper."
Joss let her eyes flick towards him for a moment, then she put them back on the flowers. "Not a problem, John," she said wryly, then her voice softened again. "So…they lived?"
"Yeah. It was the middle of winter. No power, we struggled to heat the formula and keep them warm, but they lived. Eventually the strike ended, we took the kittens back to the vet and we left the country. Kara contacted him about a month later – he'd placed them all."
"They found a home."
"Yeah, Joss. They all found homes."
Like Bear, like the dogs today, like the other dogs who would find homes, and Joss understood that while John was remembering Kara, ultimately he was defying her. Despite all her efforts, John had also found a home as well.
He didn't say anything more for a long time, but when Joss slowly reached out her hand to touch him, John suddenly turned towards her, his blue eyes as clear and intent as she had ever seen them.
"For a long time, I thought…Kara knew me best, because she knew the worst things I could do, would do."
"And now…"
John shrugged. "Now…maybe I'm starting to think differently."
Joss nodded. "Harold, Bear, Fusco, Zoe, Leon –" her voice caught at the memory of that terrible day " - Taylor, all the people you've helped, John, they see you differently, know you differently."
She touched his hand. "I know you differently, John."
"Kiss her! Kiss him! You know you want to!" A large group of teenage girls suddenly streamed through the grove, chattering and laughing, waving at them. Joss felt her face flush and John's cheeks turned red as they passed by, their voices seeming to echo off the rocky ledges, lingering after they were gone.
John stood up, pulling Joss to her feet. She started to draw her hand away, but John held on to it, and Joss let her fingers relax in his. Still holding hands, they exited the park.
As they slipped into his car, Joss softly asked, "Where are we going, John?" even though she already knew the answer to her question.
He said simply, "Home."
XXX
Reese had left the shades on the windows closest to the bed down, and the loft was half in light, half in shadow. The sun shot thick golden rays across the open, soaring space and he was reminded of those plain spare places he had seen all around the world, sacred and hushed.
Joss unzipped and slipped off her boots as Reese hung up their coats and his jacket in the coat closet. He watched her slowly walk across the loft floor, her bare feet silent on the gleaming wood. She had on a sleeveless dress, white wool with just a hint of pink in it, like the inside of a sea shell. Even though Joss had started gaining weight back, she was still too thin, and the dress was a little loose, swirling slightly around her waist and hips as she moved forward.
Reese watched her take off her earrings and put them in the covered wooden bowl, which was still on the coffee table. She picked the bowl up and walked over to the bed, placing it on the nightstand. With her back to him, he watched her unpin her hair, the thick black waves falling heavily to her shoulders, then place in the pins in the bowl as well.
Finally she turned to him, arms by her sides, with a soft, almost shy smile on her face.
Reese ached for her in a way that he never had with any other woman.
He slipped off his shoes and crossed the room, standing close to her. Reese took both of her hands, intertwining her fingers in his. The soft pink undertone of her white dress highlighted her glowing skin and her dark hair framed those incredible eyes, eyes that were looking at him, with tenderness, with certainty and, he knew, with an unflinching, unshakeable love.
He wanted to shout it.
"I love you, Jocelyn Carter," Reese said, with a voice that was soft, yet clear and strong.
Joss' voice was soft, yet clear and strong. "I love you, John Reese."
He cupped her face in his hands, gently brushing his lips against hers, then he took a step back. With his eyes never leaving hers, Reese stripped down to his briefs, his cock throbbing and pulsing in frustration and disappointment as the rest of his skin was set free.
Their eyes were still locked together as he came a little closer, placing his hands on the small of Joss' back. Her dress was fastened with tiny buttons, and Reese's fingers slowly went up her spine, touching each one as though he was counting them. He reached the button at the top and then he began opening them, his hands splaying against her bare skin, tracing the edge of her shoulder blades, ghosting across the clasp of her bra, then drifting down to the top curve of her buttocks, before traveling back up again.
Gently pulling her dress free from her shoulders, he heard a soft swoosh of fabric as the garment fell to the floor. Joss stood there in her white bra and panties, the stark fabric outlining her lush breasts and curvaceous hips.
Her eyes slowly traveled down his body, until they reached the scar on his stomach. She reached out her hand, caressing the rough, puckered skin, and then Joss leaned forward and she gently kissed it, her lips lingering on his trembling flesh as he gasped at her touch.
Reese put his hands around her tiny waist and he lifted her up, placing her feet on the bed. Leaning forward, he drew his fingers along the two thin scars on her waist, and then he pressed his lips against both scars, slowly and methodically kissing them. He heard Joss sigh, and then she ran her fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck, gently stroking the tender skin there.
For a moment, he couldn't bear it, her love, her gentleness, her forgiveness, but then Joss took a step back. She took off her bra and panties, raised her arms over her head and then fell back in a graceful arc on the bed, landing softly, her hair spilling like a waterfall over the pillows.
Opening her arms, she smiled at him, and Reese knew that there would be no guilt, no sadness, there would only be caring and passion and joy here. He slipped off his briefs and his cock sprang free as he lay down beside her.
Reese cupped her face in his hands again and kissed her lips, savoring their taste, their fullness. As her arms and legs wound around him, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her brow, her chin, kissed every inch, every centimeter of her precious face, as he knew he would kiss every inch, every centimeter of her luscious body.
His tongue traced the outline of her mouth and then he fluttered it against her upper lip, then the lower, slow, then fast, then slow again, telling her what his tongue would do between her sleek thighs, until she quivered and shuddered in ecstasy.
Swirling along her soft skin, he licked and kissed her throat and shoulders and breasts, her arms and hands and fingers, her belly and thighs and knees, down to her slender feet, his tongue marking her flesh with a secret language that would be invisible to the human eye, but would be there forever.
Reese gently parted her thighs, gazing at the succulent flesh there. Joss tilted her hips upwards and Reese slid his hands under her firm buttocks, kissing the inside of her thighs, slowly coming forward to her silken, glistening folds.
Alcohol had always been Reese's drug of choice; as part of his training he had been exposed to all sorts of drugs, in order to be able recognize them and minimize or counteract their effects, but as he inhaled her delicate scent, touched the tip of his tongue to a precious drop, and then finally sipped her sweet elixir, Reese knew that this was one drug he could never resist or refuse, the one drug he would pursue relentlessly, the one drug he would gladly sell his soul for.
He kissed and licked and sucked and stroked her, while her hips undulated and thrust forward, while she cried out his name, while she prayed for him to stop and then cursed him when he paused for even a moment, kissed and licked and sucked and stroked her until his cock, raging in lust and jealousy finally demanded its place inside her, and with her arms around him, and her voice whispering, yes, yes, he plunged deep inside her.
They moved as one, arms and hands and fingers, lips and tongues and chests and hips and thighs all straining to be closer, ever closer together, twisting and turning, rising and falling until he shattered, and the only thing he knew was her name, saying it over and over again, until he could speak no more.
XXX
As the plane flew south, Stella thought about whom that beautiful man reminded her of. There was a woman who used to visit the shelter. She was tall and slender, with dark hair and pale skin. Fierce, she was so fierce, just like him, but there was no gentleness in her, at least no gentleness towards humans.
This woman would curtly ask for the worst job that needed to be done that day. She would muck out stalls, clean cages, scrub mats, her movements elegant and precise. Finally hours later, she would ask quietly if she could spend some time with the animals. She would hold sleeping puppies or kittens in her arms, her face soft and tender, and then she would leave, without saying a word.
She hadn't been back for several years, and Stella had stopped thinking about her, until today. As she sipped a lukewarm cup of coffee, Stella hoped that woman had found what she was looking for.
XXX
Joss could smell something delicious.
Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she realized that she had slept for only a few hours, yet she felt totally relaxed, totally rested. Joss couldn't remember when she had slept so deeply – she was a mom, a veteran, a cop, a woman, she smiled to herself – there was always something to worry, plan or think about, always something to remember or sometimes even more importantly, something to forget.
Yet here, in this huge bed, she was oblivious to the world around her.
Well, she was off duty, her son was away with his debate team prepping for the conference that was taking place in a few weeks and she had spent several hours in the fresh air and sunshine – no wonder she was so relaxed.
Of course, being made love to until she lost all sense of self, thought and time, might have had a little something to do with it too, Joss thought with a smile.
As she sat up and stretched, Joss saw that one of John's white shirts had been neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Crawling forward, she lifted it up. Her underwear, freshly laundered and a pair of John's athletic shorts lay underneath. Joss tossed the bra and shorts aside, slipped on the shirt and the panties, then made her way to the kitchen.
John was twisting the top of a pastry bag closed, as she stood in the kitchen entryway. He had on a t-shirt and jeans, his feet were bare and his hair was swept back from his forehead. His eyes slowly swept up her body from her bare feet to her face and she felt her nipples harden and her vulva pulse at his gaze.
"I was just about to wake you. Hungry, Joss?" His eyes flashed, and Joss wanted to feast on more than just food.
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment, then she saw the array of freshly prepared dishes on the cooktop and counters. There was a softly simmering soup, a thick rich stew, roasted and glazed winter vegetables, a warm, colorful salad, a round speckled loaf of bread and crocks and containers full with butters and different dressings.
"Planning on feeding an army, John?"
"An army travels on its stomach****, Joss. And for long term, peak performance," his eyes swept over her body again, "I like to keep my best soldier well fed."
Joss watched his long fingers skillfully manipulating the bag as he piped a rich, creamy white filling into a row of pastry shells, covered them with the cap, then dusted them with powdered sugar and shaved chocolate. Sliding the tray into the refrigerator, he crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek, his eyes soft and tender. "I'm glad you're here, Joss."
"Me, too, John."
They gazed at each other for a long moment, and then John tugged on the hem of her shirt. "Sit, soldier," he whispered in her ear, "We've got a long night ahead of us."
Joss raised an eyebrow, "Is that an order?"
His lips touched her ear, and it took everything in Joss not to shudder with desire. "In your case, Joss, more like a request…and a promise."
"Well, in that case…"smiling, Joss turned gracefully on her heel and made her way to the dining area. The shades on the rest of the windows were down and the table, already set, was lit only by candles. As she sat down, Joss felt warm and cossetted, cared for in a way that she hadn't for a very long time. She wanted to jump up and help, do something, but she sensed it was important to John that for once, she would just sit back and relax.
The meal was incredible, simple and hearty, yet extremely sensual. Joss savored the sight, tastes, smells and textures, from the creaminess of the soup, to the red, gold and yellows of the winter vegetables, to the rustic, savory bread, which she tore off in chunks with her fingers, dipping them into the remains of the stew and the salad in her bowls, not wanting to waste a single drop.
She ate and ate, while John explained the origins of the dishes he'd prepared, his soft voice flowing gently over her, contrasting beautifully with the candlelight flickering against the sharp angles of his face. They talked and laughed, while the food quickly disappeared, and Joss realized with a shock that they had eaten every last bit, except for dessert.
John headed back to the kitchen while Joss slipped into the bathroom. She freshened up, then looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. A lifetime ago, she had examined herself in a bathroom mirror and found nothing.
This time, while there were still no marks on her skin, Joss knew she looked different, felt different, was different.
She sharply rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to her biceps, undid most of the buttons and then tied the two open front ends into knots.
Joss smiled as she stepped back into the main living area. Now it was time for dessert.
John was already sitting down, and his eyes changed color, glowing in the candlelight, as she walked slowly across the floor, the shirt sliding down her shoulders and chest until it seemed that the only things holding it up were her erect nipples.
Joss picked up one of the desserts and took off the top, dipping her finger in the rich, creamy filling, as she stood next to him. "You got a fancy name for these, John?"
He watched her pull out her filling covered finger and swirl it in the air. "Some call it a profiterole or a choux à la crème, but what do you call it, Joss?"
Joss sat on the edge of the table, leaned back, and with a move she knew she'd feel the next morning, swung her legs up in the air and scooted over, so that she was directly in front of him, her legs dangling on either side of his. She stuck her finger in her mouth, watching his face as she sucked deeply, her cheeks hollowed, until her glistening finger finally emerged with a soft popping sound. "Cream puffs, John."
She dipped her finger in the filling again, rubbed it against her lips and licked it off, listening to him shift and squirm in his chair, knowing his jeans were now tight and uncomfortable. Her shirt was now barely covering her nipples, and she dipped her finger in the filling again, tracing it against the upper curves of her breasts and down her cleavage. John groaned as she licked her fingers and drew them against her skin, wiping the filling off and then licking them clean.
She unbuttoned the last few buttons on her shirt, slipping it off and exposing her breasts, her nipples now as hard as diamonds. Joss dipped her finger in the filling one last time, coating them. "Want some cream puffs, John?"
With a growl, he shoved his chair back, and it fell to the floor as he stood up, swept a space clear on the table and seized her around the waist, pushing her back so that her head and torso were now flat on the table. Taking off her panties and lifting her legs up and around his body, he leaned forward, his eyes scorching hers with lust and desire. "I want so much more than that, Joss, much, much more."
Grinning wickedly, he reached over to the dessert tray that he had shoved aside and took the top off of two desserts, turning them over and letting the filling spill on her naked breasts. Joss gasped as the cool creaminess slid over her skin, and then she moaned aloud as John's hot lips and tongue began to devour it, licking and sucking until her skin was wet and tingling.
He'd left her nipples covered and now he slowly began to lick them clean, blowing softly on them as more and more of the filling disappeared, the contrast of hot and cold driving her crazy. Cupping her breasts and squeezing them together, he tugged on her nipples with his teeth gently, back and forth, one than the other, until Joss exploded with a massive orgasm. Shuddering as John lifted her in his arms, Joss had just enough presence of mind to grab a pastry as he carried her to the bed.
She placed the pastry on the nightstand, watching him as he tore off his clothes, drinking in his smoldering eyes, his beautiful lean form and his thick heavy cock, showing her in no uncertain terms how much he wanted her. John lay down beside her, and as he leaned forward to take her in his arms, Joss rolled on top of him, kissing him. "I'm still hungry, John."
She kissed his Adam's Apple, circled her tongue in the hollow of his throat, and then slowly began kissing down his body. He groaned as she swirled a lock of her hair over his nipples, tickling them and teasing them, knowing by his reaction that nobody had ever done that before. She kissed her way down his stomach, to the delicate area where his torso met his thighs, tracing her tongue in the shallow valley, coming closer and closer to that straining cock until his body was arching and thrusting towards hers.
Joss ran the tip of her fingers around the head, smearing the pre-cum over his dark pulsing skin, and then she licked her fingers. "Mmmmm, spicy, John. Now let's add something sweet."
She darted forward, scooped the pastry filling in her hands and then straddled him. Joss let the filling drip from her hands and spill over his erect cock, smiling as he cursed loudly in several different languages. Leaning forward, Joss began to feast, not stopping until he was begging to be inside her. Rising up on her knees, she drew him into her body, rising up and down on her strong thighs, watching him unravel before her, until another massive orgasm rocketed through her body and she felt him stiffen and pulse inside her.
John pulled her forward, and as she rested on his chest, for a moment Joss thought about scattered clothes, a disheveled table, guttering candles, and piles of cookware and dirty dishes. As if he could read her mind, John kissed her hair, murmuring, "Later, Joss."
She knew he was humoring her, that when she awoke everything would be cleaned and put away, but her eyes drifted shut and once again she fell asleep in that big bed, oblivious to the world around her.
XXX
Stella walked directly out to the Arrivals gate. She didn't pick up her luggage or take the shuttle to the long term parking lot to get her car – they weren't important, getting where she needed to be was.
She slipped into a taxi and as the driver calculated the best route to her destination, she told him that there was a fifty dollar tip if he could get there in half the time. He tore down the road, probably breaking a dozen traffic laws in the process, but for once, Stella didn't care about the rules – there was someplace she needed to be.
Fifty dollars lighter, she walked into the rehabilitation center. The front desk attendant looked up, surprised – it was well after visiting hours. He opened his mouth to say something, but he saw the look on her face and didn't say anything – he knew where she needed to be.
Stella moved quickly down the hall. Most of the patients were asleep, lights were dim, televisions muted. Jasper, the center's resident cat, rose from his perch outside the community room – Stella always scratched him behind the ears when she visited, but he saw the look on her face and sat back down, purring as she walked by.
As she entered her husband's room Stella's breath caught. He was in his wheelchair, awake, waiting for her, even though she hadn't called, even though he didn't know she was on her way.
He smiled and even though his body was still broken, even though he might never walk again, she knew that his mind had come back, and with his mind, his love for her.
"How was your trip?" he asked, and she thrilled to hearing his soft, gentle voice again.
"It was good," she said, as she sat down and took his hand.
"I'm glad you're back, StellaStar."
She fought not to cry. StellaStar was his special name for her, the name he called her only when they were alone. The name he had not called her for months. "Me, too."
"Good." He paused, and his eyes searched hers. "I know…I've been lost for a long time, Stella, but I never stopped trying to get back to you." He pushed back a strand of her snow white hair. "I never want to lose you."
Stella kissed his cheek. "You will never lose me." She gave him a look. "Unless you get on that damn motorcycle again."
He raised an eyebrow. "How 'bout if I let you drive this time?"
She laughed and put her arms around him. "We'll see, we'll see," and she began to tell him everything.
*Carl Schurz Park is in the northeast corner of Manhattan Island, in a part of the city that was called Yorkville, home to many German and Dutch immigrants. Created as East River Park in the 1870s, it was renamed for the German-born Secretary of the Interior Carl Schurz in 1910.
**Gracie Mansion was an old farmhouse built by Archibald Gracie in the 1790s. The property and its acreage were incorporated into the area now known as Carl Schurz Park in the 1890s. Over the years it served many functions, including a concession stand and rest rooms, before it was designated as NYC's official residence in 1942 and restored and expanded. Several Mayors have lived there over the years, but the current Mayor, Michael Bloomberg, does not.
***From the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) website: "According to the Department of Defense, in early 2012 there were approximately 2,700 Military Working Dogs (MWDs) serving worldwide, keeping us safe and performing important tasks that can be difficult, if not impossible, for people. Some experts estimate that the average military dog saves 150 soldier lives during his or her career."
US Military dogs are still classified as equipment and while some legislation has been passed re: their transport and care, it is currently a recommendation, not a requirement. In late 2012, "the Canine Members of the Armed Forces Act permits the Secretary to administer a system of care for retired military working dogs. Further, the amendment allows, but does not require, the Secretary of each military department to transfer retiring military working dogs to the 341st Training Squadron at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, or another suitable location to prevent adopters from having to pay the high cost of transporting the dogs from overseas." – Senator Richard Blumenthal (D-CT)
Legislation to reclassify military dogs as members of the armed forces rather than equipment and to allow, for example, the donation of frequent flier miles to transport the dogs, is still pending and there are a number of groups working diligently to transport them stateside, provide medical care and arrange adoptions.
****This quote has been attributed to Napoleon.
A/N: Perhaps there were really two ceremonies in this chapter, not one. Next, we catch up with some POIs, Persons and Pets, of Interest and in Chapter 18, the final chapter, we go on a walkabout.