I do not own Person of Interest of any characters you might recognize.
Joss threw her car into park and sprinted up the front steps of her brownstone as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
She half expected to hear John's heavy steps pounding up the walk behind her, but her sharp pants were the only sounds punctuating the quiet night while she fumbled her key in to the lock. The solid oak panel finally gave and she shoved her way inside before slamming it shut and collapsing against it.
John wasn't chasing her. Joss knew he wasn't, but that didn't stop her heart from beating wildly against her ribs at the thought. She rubbed a trembling hand across her chest in the hopes of easing the uncomfortable twinges that were branching out in all directions from her healed gunshot wound.
Damn she had not pushed herself like that in ages. Her body was making its displeasure over such rough treatment painfully known, but she didn't have any other choice but to run…right?
"God why did I do that?"
It was stupid really. After almost two years of living under FBI lock and key, lonely and isolated from her loved ones, she had run away just when everything she wanted was within reach. All because he was there.
Her knees buckled under the weight of the last twenty-four hours and refused to hold her up any longer. The raised decorative edges of the front door dug into her back as she slid down the dark wood to the cold tiled floor.
Joss swallowed hard and struggled to organize her reeling thoughts. No one had promised her that coming back from the dead would be easy, but she had no idea it would be this difficult, that she would be so unsure of herself.
She had been so optimistic this morning, confident in her plan and her family's response; but tonight's fiasco had left her shaken. John was probably moving her mom and Taylor to one of Finch's safe houses right about now, putting them under heavy guard until he figured out what was going on.
Angry or not, if she had any hope of seeing her family again she would have to go through John Reese first - and John was damn good at his job.
Joss had been on the other side of his fierce protection and knew firsthand how impossible it would be to sneak past him. He was a dangerous man under normal circumstances, but even more so when he was in CIA mode as he likely was now. The thought of facing him after that chase tonight roiled around in her already unsettled stomach until bitter regret rose in the back of her throat like a choking bile.
She barely made it to the bathroom down the hall before she lost what little food she had eaten that day. Dry heaves wracked her body and forced her to her knees, leaving her shivering and able to do little more than fall back against the wall behind her to catch her breath.
So now what? Try to avoid John all together? Turn tail and head back to Arizona?
Maybe she could move to Cambridge and wait for Taylor to return to school after Thanksgiving break. In fact, the FBI had argued strongly against her return to New York City and offered to set her up with a job in their Boston field office. She could lie low there for a while and approach him one day after class. Once things cooled down in New York she could slip in to Newburgh to see her mom as well…
Right. Like nothing would go wrong with that plan either.
It was a generous deal, and she was a fool to turn it down and move back to a city where she had no job and plenty of enemies…except she didn't want to live anywhere else. There was a reason she turned down the Bureau's offer and chose to come home to New York City. Obviously Taylor and her mom came first, then there was Fusco, Finch, and Shaw to consider; but John, by far, influenced her decision the most.
The beautiful words he'd spoken to her in the morgue had stayed with her for the past seven hundred and twenty-four days. They had sustained her and given her hope when she felt like quitting. Tonight when she had watched him through the farmhouse windows, he'd looked lost, dazed, like he was merely going through the motions - much the same as she had when she realized her time in witness security was going to drag on longer than predicted.
She couldn't leave him like that. He deserved to know the truth. She would have to face him eventually; but what in the world could she possibly say? Joss had barely pieced together the speech for her mom and Taylor. John with his intense blue eyes would probably leave her tongue-tied.
Any coherent argument she had managed to string together was shattered by a shrill ring blasting out of her coat pocket. Joss started at the noise, smacking her head sharply against the bathroom wall.
With one hand gently kneading the back of her head Joss pulled the forgotten phone out of her pocket and stared at it. For a brief second she had hoped that it was John or Harold, but not even telemarketers would have this FBI issued number. Only one person was calling her tonight, and she wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to him.
"Carter," she answered tersely. The name rolled off her tongue, but felt awkward, almost foreign after two years of answering to Anna Martin.
A smooth chuckle reached her seconds before an even smoother voice answered. "I see you're already getting back to your old life Joss."
"Agent Falcon." She smiled in spite of the miserable night she was having. "What can I do for you?"
"Well for starters, it's Ben remember? You're not in witness protection now so no more of this Agent business."
He had made that same request earlier this morning while they were waiting at the terminal for her flight; but Joss was not sure it was wise to encourage a personal connection between them.
"I thought I would check in and see how your first night back was going."
"Great," she automatically lied with only a small squeak to her voice. "Everything's going great."
"Glad to hear it. You looked a little worried at the airport this morning."
"Maybe a little," she admitted. Joss tucked her knees against her chest and let her guard down with her handler.
He was actually a very nice man - tall, physically fit, handsome in a Denzel kind of way, with a deep voice that was both comforting and commanding. Ben was only a few years older than she was and over the last twenty-three and a half months they had become friends, or as friendly as could be while obeying the FBI's strict code of conduct for agents and protectees.
"How did your mom and Taylor take the news?" he asked.
"They were shocked at first." She blew out a breath to cover up her discomfort over her deceit. "Well they will be once I finally tell them," she amended to herself.
"That's to be expected, but are you sure everything is okay Joss? You sound frazzled."
"No I'm fine," she assured him, swallowing to moisten her dry throat. "I'm fine, it's just been a long - long - day."
"That's an understatement. The first few days - hell the first few months - can be a tough adjustment for everybody. Be sure to give yourself plenty of time, and your family too. This is wonderful news, but a lot harder to handle than people think."
"Yeah, tell me about it," she mumbled into the receiver.
"If you ever need to talk Joss, all you have to do is call me."
"Thanks Ben, but I'll be fine." The last thing she needed - or wanted - was the FBI poking around in her new, well old, life. Luckily he let the matter drop and moved on.
"Offer still stands, but I uh, I called for a couple of other reasons tonight. I apologize for calling so late," he rambled on. "I forgot about the time difference between us now."
"No problem, what's up?" Ben wasn't the type to beat around the bush, so his hesitation made her a little nervous. Joss could only hope it was not bad news - like the FBI had discovered a whole new nest of HR followers and he had booked her a one-way flight back to Phoenix.
"I wanted to let you know I'll be in New York the week after next - on a completely unrelated case of course. I was hoping we could catch up over dinner while I'm in town."
Joss cringed as she accepted the invitation. "I'm sure we'll be able to."
"Great, I know a nice out-of-the-way place in the West Village we can try."
The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, and she was about to set down a few boundaries for their dinner when Ben spoke again.
"I've been thinking about you a lot today Joss, and I have to say I'm worried. If he finds out somehow that you're alive, he'll come after you and it won't be pretty."
Joss rubbed a hand across her tired eyes and sighed. "You don't need to worry about that Ben. I can take care of him if he is stupid enough to try anything."
"I agree, you are more than competent; but you've seen firsthand what these animals are capable of. I can talk to the director first thing in the morning. It wouldn't be any trouble to get you back in to WITSEC, just until we -"
"No!" The refusal came out more forcefully than she had intended; but there was no way in hell she was going back to Arizona or anywhere else the Bureau might send her. Two years of her life was enough, she was not giving them anything else.
"I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I'm a cop." "Former cop," she corrected herself with chagrin. Some habits died hard. "I can take care of myself and him if need be. I'm through hiding."
"Okay, okay, slow down tiger. I just wanted to let you know that was an option. I am well aware of what you've sacrificed to help us bring down HR. We owe you Joss."
"The FBI saved my life that night, so let's call it even."
"We'll have to see about that." Ben paused to clear his throat, and sounded suspiciously embarrassed when he said. "My other reason for calling was uh, to make sure you have my new cell number."
"Sure, um let me just grab pen and paper." Joss she pushed away from the bathroom floor and wobbled on her left foot when her right ankle protested the weight she placed on it.
"Freaking fantastic," she thought limping in to the kitchen where she left her pen and notepad earlier that night. It wasn't sprained, but she had definitely tweaked it. Now that her adrenaline rush had waned, she was starting to feel the pain.
"Okay, I'm ready." Joss wrote swiftly as Ben rattled off the digits, explaining how the Bureau was changing his number and giving him an upgrade.
"Well I guess I'll let you get back to your family. I didn't mean to keep you so long, but I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine Ben, really. Thanks for checking in on me." Joss ended the call with a promise to reach out if she needed anything, then sank onto the nearest bar stool and let the phone clatter to the granite counter top.
Physically she was exhausted, but she couldn't shut her thoughts off so easily. Not only did she have to worry about seeing Taylor and John's possible rejection, but apparently she was still on the FBI's radar. She supposed it was standard procedure for handlers to follow-up with their witness for a time after they left the program, but the gesture felt intrusive. Almost as though she wasn't as free as she first thought.
Joss reached for her left wrist, anticipating the feel of cool silver and stones under her fingertips. Instead warm skin met warm skin, causing her heart to skip a beat.
No! She quickly glanced down, horrified to find her wrist bare.
Oh God, where was her bracelet? It couldn't be lost, it couldn't be. Joss kicked back from the island and hobbled back to the bathroom, retracing her steps with mounting dread. She scoured the tiled floor around the sink, the shower, even under the bath mat, but came up empty-handed.
Joss took several deep breaths to calm herself as she rushed through the house flipping on every light she could reach to aid in her search. By the time she reached the front door she was approaching full-blown panic mode.
"Ok, think. Where else could it be?" she asked herself. If it wasn't in the house, perhaps it had fallen off earlier when she ran inside.
Tiny beads of sweat broke out across her brow and her stomach lurched when she imagined a stranger finding her bracelet on the sidewalk and pocketing it, never to be seen again. How could she have been so careless with something so precious to her?
Ignoring the throbbing in her ankle, Joss grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand in her bedroom and marched outside. A brisk wind rattled the bare branches of the trees lining the street, but that didn't deter her from combing every inch of pavement it might have landed on - and even the places it couldn't have. When she finished searching the flowerbeds and grassy areas, she turned her attention to the SUV parked at the curb.
Joss flung the driver's side door open and muttered curse after curse under her breath while she shined her flashlight into every nook and cranny the bracelet could have possibly fallen. As she suspected, it wasn't in the front seat…or the back seat…or in the center console…or the seat pockets…or with the jack and the spare tire.
In the same spirit of thoroughness, she crouched down to run her light underneath the vehicle, hoping to find it lying in a puddle of oil or wedged under one of the tires. Finding it dirty and roughened up or ran over would be better than not finding it at all, yet there was no trace of her jewelry.
Tears - honestly she had no clue where they were coming from since she had spent most of the evening crying - welled in her eyes as she closed the back hatch and leaned against the car's dusty frame. There was only one other place it could be. The bracelet must have fallen off when John was chasing her tonight, probably when she stepped in that hole and twisted her ankle.
Her heavy heart insisted she drive back out to Newburgh tonight and continue the search; but there was no way she could do that. It would be impossible, even if she knew exactly where the bracelet was. By now John had likely set up a tight perimeter, with Shaw and her rifle ready to shoot first and ask questions later.
Another gust of arctic air barreled down the block, buffeting Joss as she clicked off her flashlight and dragged herself back inside to crawl under the covers and put an end to this disappointing day.
John stormed into the library just before dawn, exhausted and chilled to the bone, his emotions in a tailspin.
He had spent the better part of the last eight hours securing Mrs. Lawrence's house and searching her property and the wooded area beyond for any clue to the intruder's identity. Shaw had joined him less than an hour after he'd called Finch, and together they examined the tire tracks, but they quickly became distorted by the wet snow that started to fall.
The only real clue - John tightened his grip to reassure himself he had not dreamed that part - was the bracelet tucked securely in his pocket. He had no idea what it meant and hesitated at the idea of showing it to Shaw or Harold
Bear loped over to greet him the moment his foot hit the landing, but he only spared him a hasty scratch behind the ears before stalking over to Harold's computer desk.
"Did you find any matches to the partial plate Finch?" John stopped directly behind his boss' chair and gripped the seat back, tempted to wheel him out of the way so he could take over the search himself.
"I found four potential matches based on the first three digits and your description Mr. Reese," Harold twisted in his chair awkwardly to look up at him. "How are Sarah and Taylor?
"They're a little rattled, but doing fine." To her credit, Joss' mom adamantly declined his repeated offers to move them to a safe house until they figured out what was going on. It was easy to see where Carter inherited her stubbornness. "Show me the matches."
Harold twisted back to his computer and opened a new program. "Perhaps you should get some sleep on the couch first. You look -"
"I'm fine," John growled, although his body was begging for rest. It was just past four thirty and he had been up for over twenty-seven…no twenty-nine hours now; but he couldn't stop, not yet. If something happened to Taylor or Sarah, if he failed Joss again…"Show me the four matches."
The older man's anxious swallow grated on his highly strung nerves. What was Finch hiding? Something to do with the license plate matches? This was not the night to keep something from him.
"I'm not going to ask again Finch."
That snarled warning spurred him into motion. Harold pulled a folder off the top of a stack on his right and handed him a picture. "We can start with the least likely possibility first then."
John stared at the elderly woman with her stark white hair pulled back in a neat bun and a vacant look in her eyes. "Mrs. Mildred James - 87 years old, currently resides at East Haven Nursing Center in the Bronx on their Alzheimer's unit. Last year her children took her keys away and gave the car to a niece who lives and works in Buffalo.
No, he admitted, this was likely not the car he had shot at tonight…well last night, he amended after quick glance at his wristwatch.
He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and accepted the next photo Finch pulled from the folder. "Nathan Brewster," he sighed. "Turned sixteen three weeks ago. His parents thought it was a good idea to buy him a used SUV as a birthday present."
John pursed his lips in consideration, but ruled the teenager out as a suspect even before Harold hastened to add, "This young man and his vehicle spent the night at his parent's home out on Long Island, after they grounded him for staying out past curfew."
John tossed the photograph on the table and reached for the third one - a young Hispanic male in Army fatigues. He was too big to be the intruder he chased down at Sarah's house, but still…
"Thirty-one year old Corporal Eduardo Garcia, stationed in Iraq for the last sixteen months. He just returned to the states last week."
Ok, maybe he knew Joss from the service and…and what? Wanted to look her up in the middle of the night at her mom's house?
"Before you ask, there is no evidence that Corporal Garcia and Detective Carter ever crossed paths personally or professionally."
"Where is he now?"
"Visiting his girlfriend in Manhattan. According to the traffic cameras outside her apartment, his car has been parked in the same spot for the past twelve hours."
"What about bachelor number four?" John reached out to take the folder, but Finch snatched it back and plucked out the last photograph for him.
John tamped down the urge to yank the folder out of Harold's hands, and flipped over the glossy paper to take in the smiling image of an African-American male, probably in his late forties, wearing a suite and tie that practically screamed federal agent.
DEA? NSA? ATF even? He certainly wasn't with the Company. This guy looked too wholesome, too polished and squared away to be part of the CIA.
"FBI Supervisory Special Agent Benjamin Falcon," Finch supplied, as if he had read his mind. "Currently assigned to a regional office in Phoenix. I don't know much more than that - just that he's forty-seven, has an ex-wife in Philadelphia and a mother and sister in Chicago."
"What's his connection to New York?"
"None that I can find. The car was purchased and registered in his name just this past Tuesday."
"Is there anyway you can track it like the others?"
"Unfortunately the vehicle doesn't have any GPS equipment on board, or at least none that I've been able to manipulate." Harold laid the file folder on the desk and whirled in his chair to face him. "But what I find curious is that there's no address listed anywhere on the registration paperwork. Everything leads back to the FBI's New York City office."
"Company car?" John muttered the guess, wondering if the FBI was keeping tabs on Sarah or Taylor. HR was dead; the final trial wrapped up last Monday so there was no reason to spy on them.
"Perhaps. Maybe Agent Falcon is being reassigned to our fair city, and it was purchased for him ahead of time - although it's not the type of vehicle the FBI typically uses for business purposes."
Neither spoke for a moment, but the silence gave John time to formulate a plan. "Do you have an address for Special Agent Falcon?"
"As of right now, no. I don't even know if he is in this state; but I'll find out more after I hack into the FBI's database."
"Hacking the FBI? Congratulations Finch, you've officially crossed over to the dark side."
"That's high praise I'm sure Mr. Reese," he returned dryly. "But I'm merely doing this to help our friends, not because I enjoy such deviant behavior."
John managed a half smile before pacing over to the row of windows and back, plotting other methods of locating the FBI Supervisory Special Agent. So far he was the best possible suspect they had, even if he was too tall to be the figure he chased down at the farmhouse.
He opened his mouth to ask about enlisting Fusco's help, but a yawn escaped in its place. Damn he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open despite his best intentions. Maybe he should stretch out on the couch for a few minutes, just until Finch had a more solid lead.
John turned to do just that when the discarded folder snagged his attention.
"Do you find a fifth match Finch?" The corner of what appeared to be another picture was peeking out.
"Hmm?" Harold tapped away at his keyboard, then jerked forward in alarm. "Oh, that's for a side project not -" he grabbed for the manila folder, but this time John beat him to it.
"I told you we're not working any numbers until we catch whoever is after Sarah and Taylor." That must be what he was hiding, but Finch would have to understand. They were his priority now. "We can't -"
The reprimand ended abruptly the second he turned the paper over to find Joss' soft brown eyes gazing back at him. His chest constricted painfully, and John found it difficult to breathe. He felt as if he had been sucker punched. God, he had forgotten how beautiful she was.
In the name of self-preservation, he had not allowed himself to look at a picture of her since the funeral. He had boxed up every reminder of her in his loft and asked Harold to store them someplace safe, or give what he could to Sarah. Keeping her things around was needless torture.
Now his eyes greedily roamed over the candid snapshot, lovingly tracing the curve of her cheek, her dazzling smile. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to stop his hand from reaching out to caress the cold paper in an attempt to touch her the way he had in the morgue during their last night together.
The loss crashed over him in wave after scalding wave. In some ways Joss' death was harder to bear than Jessica's. His time with Joss had run out before they even had a chance to explore the connection between them.
"We need to talk John." Finch's voice barely penetrated the roar in his ears.
"What the hell is this?" His fist curled around the glossy paper, but he couldn't bring himself to crumble her image. "I thought I'd -" emotion locked the words in his throat. "I thought I'd gotten rid of everything."
One week after her murder, he'd stumbled into the library, drunk and spoiling for a fight. He had tried to drown out her memory; however she was everywhere he looked, even in a place she had never set foot in.
Bits and pieces of their life together had been scattered around the room: his heavy winter coat she always borrowed on stakeouts when it got too cold, the bag of treats she'd bought for Bear, the Nano he had purchased for her after she fell in love with Shaw's.
His anger and grief had fed off each other until he felt like he was going to come out of his skin. Seeing a picture of the team lying on Harold's desk had been the final straw.
John cringed as he recalled how he had stomped around the library throwing anything remotely connected to Joss into a pile in the middle of the room, how he had demanded Finch get rid of it all.
Harold had simply pulled out a cardboard box, and packed away each item, quietly promising he would take care of it. That meek response ate away at him until he ended up fleeing the library to spend the next two months drifting from one homeless camp to another, determined to succeed in drinking himself to death.
"I wanted to wait before telling you." Harold's voice behind his shoulder broke through his gloomy reverie.
Something about the nervousness in his tone set John on edge. He hadn't accidentally discovered a picture Harold was keeping to remember Joss by, this was different.
John held it in both hands and turned to face his employer, schooling his features into a mask of cold indifference. "Tell me what?"
"I had hoped to have more information to go on before I brought this up; but with all that's happened this can't be a coincidence." Harold glanced down at his feet, then back up to boldly meet his eyes. "On the way home last night, the machine contacted me with a new number - Detective Carter's."
John flinched as though Finch had physically struck him. Hell that would have felt better than the debilitating blow he'd just dealt him. Joss' number?
"Really? It gave you Carter's number now?" A dangerous anger was quickly thawing his neutral façade. "It's two fucking years too late Finch."
"I'm just as confused John. I've looked into other possibilities - a family member or friend in trouble, and old case she worked on - anything I could think of that might explain it. So far I can't find any connection, but I didn't want to hurt you by bringing it up if this turned out to be a malfunction of some sort."
If he had it in him, John would have scoffed at the Harold's thoughtful gesture. "Can't hurt any worse than having her die in my arms," he rasped.
"John, is there a chance…any chance at all, that Joss could be alive? Have you considered the possibility that she didn't die like we were led to believe."
Considered it? He had prayed for that for the last two years.
Hope slammed through his veins at the thought before he viciously squashed it. That first year he'd spent almost every sober hour searching for clues, a sign, anything that might indicate she wasn't really dead, that it all had been a huge mistake, but then…
"Joss stay with me please…just stay with me."
His desperate, useless, pleas from that night mocked him, stirring up memories of his helplessness, of Joss slipping away and not being able to do a damn thing to save her.
The diamond bracelet burning a whole in his pocket challenged him to reconsider, but John couldn't go down that road again. She was gone, and thinking otherwise - no matter how much he wished it were true - would destroy him.
"No. There's no chance." John barely recognized the gravelly voice as his own. "Joss bled to death in my arms that night. If she was alive, she would have found a way to come back to us…she wouldn't have left Taylor alone…" His Adam's apple bobbed with the effort it took to get the words out. "She would have found a way back by now."
John took one more fleeting glance at the picture before placing it face down with the others and walking towards the stairs.
"Mr. Reese, where are you going?"
That was a great question, one more he didn't have an answer for. The only thing he was certain of, was that he needed to get away from the library and clear his head, figure out what was going on.
He didn't bother answering, but couldn't ignore the faint shuffle of Harold's steps and the clack of Bear's nails on the hardwood floor as the pair followed after him.
"It will take some time to dig up information on Agent Falcon. You could -"
"I just need some time to think Finch - alone." John stopped with one foot on the top step, but didn't turn to face his friend. "Tell Shaw I'll relieve her later this evening."
He could only hope he would be in better shape by then.
She had put up a good fight, but it was no use. She was defeated.
Joss sat up in frustration and chucked her pillow towards the footboard where it landed with a less than satisfying thud before sliding off to the floor. She felt as if she had tossed and turned on the plush queen-size mattress for days, not hours.
"More like a bed of nails," Joss groaned to herself, stretching the tight muscles along her back and neck. She was tired, restless, yet strangely at ease now that she had made her decision.
After the latest bout of insomnia kicked in around two thirty, Joss made up her mind to face John as soon as possible so she could move forward with her life. It was the right thing to do, the only real solution to this mess she'd created.
The problem was figuring out how to reach out to him. A phone call was out of the question. This conversation had to happen face to face; and despite the potential of an ugly scene, she was ready. Joss wanted to see John again, if for no other reason than to explain herself and relieve him of any guilt he might feel.
Finally, she decided her best option was to drive out to her mom's again, this time during the day instead of skulking in the shadows and sneaking around. She needed to do it soon, just not at - she swiveled around to read the clock on the nightstand - 5:17 A.M.
Joss untangled her legs from the bed covers and swung her feet over the side to stand in a full body stretch. Dawn was still a couple of hours away, but she was too fidgety to stay in bed any longer. Besides, there were a few errands she needed to run - nothing that had to be done today, but she was awake, she had the time, and frankly, she was curious.
A wayward gust of wind rattled the bedroom windows, motivating her to shuffle off to the bathroom still favoring her tender ankle.
The perky redhead on the Weather Channel - it was either that or infomercials for self-cleaning grills - promised a wintry mix of sleet and snow would start during the mid morning hours before ushering in blizzard like conditions by early evening. She would need to move quickly if she wanted to make all of her stops and drive out to Newburgh before the weather turned bad.
Forty-five minutes later she was dressed warmly in a pair of dark jeans and a white v-neck sweater, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The rich aroma did nothing to settle her stomach like it usually did, but she sipped at it anyway. She would need the warmth on her first errand of the morning.
Joss paced to the living room's picture windows and pulled the sheer curtain aside to study her SUV parked at the curb. It was drivable, however there were a number of bullet holes in the rear panel and a crack in the back window where one had penetrated and embedded itself in the back bench seat.
The temperature outside was steadily falling, making driving around with a hole in the back window inadvisable; plus she didn't want to attract any undue attention from the NYPD or anyone else who might happen to notice her car's condition.
It would be inconvenient, but Joss decided to leave the vehicle where it was for now and take a taxi this morning. She set her mostly full coffee cup on the counter and tugged on her brown wedge heeled boots, while adding 'hardware store' to the list of places she planned on stopping by. She yanked on her coat and scarf, then locked up and hailed the first cab she spotted.
Traffic was almost non-existent with the threat of bad weather looming, and they reached her first destination in less than twenty minutes. She handed over the fare and an appropriate tip then stepped out of the warm taxi and into the biting November wind.
"Uh, do you want me to wait around lady?" the driver asked before she could close the door. His eyes darted between her and their secluded surroundings warily.
"No thank you," she declined with a shake of her head. There was no telling how long this visit might take, and she did not feel like having an audience around.
Joss turned to pick her way across the open field even before the cabbie sped away, easily finding what she had come here to see - her final resting place.
A deep chill permeated to the bone as her eyes roved over every inch of the black granite marker and the stunning bouquet of jewel toned flowers lying in the center. Phrases etched in the stone - beloved mother, faithful friend, line of duty - all competed for her attention; but her mind was finding it impossible to process what was right in front of her. The moment was nauseatingly surreal, far more overwhelming than she had imagined.
Hot tears gathered quickly, the weight of the last two years falling more heavily on her shoulders than it ever had before. Joss felt an overpowering urge to cry at the finality of it all. She was alive damn it! She wanted to shout it from the rooftops for everyone in the city to hear; she wasn't dead, but very much alive and well. She wanted to hit the rewind button and change the outcome of that night.
Her legs wobbled underneath her like a newborn foal's, yet Joss managed to walk the remaining ten steps to kneel on the hard ground directly in front of the gravestone. She lifted a trembling hand to trace the curved letters of her name, the date of her birth and death. An acute sense of loneliness tore at her heart, she felt hollow, like a ghost.
Joss brushed the delicate petals of a red rose aside to read the touching inscription scrolled across the bottom: 'I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith'.
Yes, she had fought a good fight and finished what she set out to do with a lot of help from her friends along the way, but now what? There was plenty of fighting spirit left in her - despite her current floundering - and more than enough wrongs to right in this city; but after all the fear, the trouble she had caused in trying to return to her old life, second thoughts plagued her.
Her family had laid her to rest. They were coping with the loss, and as much as it pained her to admit it, were moving on with their lives. She was 'gone but not forgotten'. That was all anyone could ask for right?
Joss dropped back on her heels and gripped the edge of the speckled granite headstone to steady herself. The last thing she wanted to do was cause more pain, and she was sure that would happen on some level. Was if fair to disrupt their lives again?
"Maybe it would be best if I continue to let them think I'm dead," she whispered around the lump in her throat.
Ben was right; returning to her former life was difficult if not impossible. Her heart spasmed in her chest as she considered his earlier offer. She could hide out in her brownstone for the next seven to ten days, then head back to Phoenix with him when he left. It was a nice town after all and the FBI had offered her a job…
Joss was so lost in her ruminations, she didn't hear the muffled slam of a car door or the slow approach of footsteps behind her.
"Come on Bear, you need to eat."
Harold shook the large dish of doggie food again sending kibble clanking against the stainless steel sides, but the Belgian Malinois barely glanced his way before whipping his head back to the stairs to watch for his master's return.
It had only been an hour since John had left the library but Harold held out little hope that he would come back any time soon. The last time he'd run out like this it had taken Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco three days to track him down, then another sixty-seven days before he came back to work.
He truly had not meant for John to see that picture of Joss. He had intended to tell him about their newest number later, when he had a better idea of why the Machine had called with hers. But when Mr. Reese had unexpectedly stomped into the library, he'd panicked and shoved it in with the partial plate matches.
Harold set Bear's food dish down near his pallet then hobbled back to his computer desk to resume his perusal of Agent Falcon's dossier.
The man was a stellar agent, serving with the Bureau for twelve years in Dallas and Chicago, before being transferred to Phoenix where he had worked for the past four. He had multiple awards and citations for conduct on and off duty, and had even earned the FBI's Medal of Valor for rescuing a fellow agent who was wounded during a shoot out with a bank robber. The rest of his personnel file was heavily encrypted; but Harold was confident that with a little finesse he could slip past their firewalls and browse undetected to his heart's content.
The lines of computer text blurred and ran together, a not-so-gentle reminder that he had not had a decent nap in the last thirty-six hours. He was beyond exhausted, but he couldn't bring himself to take a break, not while his people were out in the field and might need him.
Harold tossed his glasses on the table and used both hands to rub his bleary eyes. It was at times like these he missed Grace the most. She always knew what to say when he was discouraged, always ready with a fresh perspective and most importantly, her love.
If he wasn't such a coward he would have approached her years ago to try to explain face to face why he had to disappear, why it was too dangerous for them to be together. Each time he worked up the courage to go to her, he ended up backing out, telling himself that leaving her alone was the right thing to do.
It might be the right thing to do, but it sucked.
Grace was alive, and she would stay alive if he left her alone. As long as she was alive there was always the chance he could see her one day, touch her, and try to rebuild what they once shared. She was not dead like Joss. He understood John's grief and guilt on some levels, but he at least had hope for a reunion 'someday'.
Harold reached for the file folder on his right and let the others pictures fall when he pulled out Joss'. The sight of her smiling face was still bittersweet. He missed the feisty detective he'd grudgingly become friends with. For months after her murder, he had replayed the timing of that call over and over. He'd run test after diagnostic test on the machine, stopping short of throwing it out the window when he could find nothing wrong with it. There was never any guarantee that they would be able to rescue every number on time, but Joss wasn't just another number, she had been one of them.
He tucked the photograph between the pages of the book he was reading, careful to ensure it would be out of sight on the off-chance John came back. The quiet hum of computer motors was broken when a window on his monitor popped up.
Odd.
That program monitored the sensors and camera he'd installed in Joss' headstone shortly after it was put in place. Initially he had used the camera to keep tabs on her visitors, just in case HR members decided to stop by and gloat about their temporary victory.
Harold replaced his glasses and leaned forward to check the alarm. Who would be visiting on a morning like this, at six thirty no less?
It wasn't Taylor or Sarah. Both were still safe and sound in Newburgh, and Ms. Shaw would have called to let him know of any travel plans. He sincerely doubted it was John. Mr. Reese had attended the memorial service, but had not been back since.
Curiosity drove him to turn on the motion activated video feed and eavesdrop for a moment. This couldn't be a coincidence, perhaps this visitor could provide a clue as to who their newest number was. A few clicks to turn on the audio and enlarge the window and -
"Oh my God!" The mouse clattered from his hand when a living breathing Jocelyn Carter filled the screen.
This was not possible. Was this a trick? Had he fallen asleep at his desk again? She couldn't be…yet by some miracle Joss was there, kneeling in front of her own gravestone, crying softly and murmuring something about leaving for Phoenix.
Bear was instantly at his side as the sound of Joss' voice filtered through the speakers. Harold hugged him close; the feeling of his sleek fur under his fingertips assuring him this was not a dream.
"… it would be best if I continue to let them think I'm dead." Her reedy whisper was enough to start Bear whining and scrambling to climb on his lap to get closer to the monitor.
No, he had to call John. If nothing else they had to stop Joss before she disappeared again. Whatever reason she thought she needed to leave the city, she couldn't.
Harold couldn't tear his eyes away from the monitor. The fear that she would vanish in the split second it took to locate his phone was very real. Damn it why had he taken out his earpiece?
Finch cursed out loud when Bear's waffling sent the entire table to shaking. "Bear zitten!" he yelled, glancing away long enough to secure the computer and pick up his phone.
"Come on, answer…answer," he urged over the continuous rings; but the call went to voicemail.
His eyes flew back to the screen where Joss was wiping her eyes and pushing to her feet.
"Answer damn it!" He redialed John's number repeatedly, and was about to contact Detective Fusco when a man, visible only from the waist down, walked up behind her.
This was the absolute last place he expected to end up this morning.
John parked the car he'd borrowed from Finch's fleet and stared past the random drops of melted sleet dotting the windshield. He had not been here in almost twenty-four months. He just couldn't bring himself to say goodbye. Even when Sarah or Taylor visited, Shaw would go along to stand watch. He had never found the courage to come here and face this stark reminder that Joss was never coming back.
Hell, John wasn't entirely sure what had driven him to come out here this morning. He had been perfectly content to wallow in that rat hole of a motel room and drown himself in a bottle of whiskey that tasted like horse piss, reliving the night he'd given her that damn bracelet.
His arms had grown achy at the memory of holding her close on his couch after he had surprised her. Neither of them had made an effort that night to talk about the new direction their relationship was headed. They had both been content to sit back and see where "whatever this is" might lead. Her reaction had confirmed for him that they were both on the same page, and that had been good enough for him in that moment.
John shook his head to clear his mind, but his thoughts of Joss persisted: the lingering kiss she had pressed against his cheek when he walked her to her door, the soft perfume she favored, the sound of her voice when she whispered his name. She had forgotten about that scrap of wrapping paper she had so carefully peeled off the jewelry box. He had found it under the coffee table when he was cleaning up the next day and had folded it up and put it aside with a laugh, intending to give it back to her soon; but they had run out of time.
How could have been such a fool? He had grown comfortable, happy and look what had happened. He had royally screwed up by ignoring his past and letting himself think about having a future with Joss.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had known there was a very real possibility with the work they did, that one of them could be hurt or killed; but he had always planned on that being him, never Joss.
The sound of heavier drops pelting the windshield jerked him back to the present. Might as well get this over with, but God help him, he had no idea what to say, what to do. After seeing that picture of her, he just wanted to feel close to her again and for some twisted reason his mind thought this would be the best way to accomplish that.
"At least no one else will be out at this hour," John groused as he shut the car door behind him.
No one was supposed to be out on this blustery morning, but a few feet down the path to Joss' resting place he stopped when he saw a woman kneeling in front of a marker several rows away.
John almost turned back and blew off this crazy idea when his instincts started clamoring for his attention just like they had at Sarah's house. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in apprehension as he scanned the rows of headstones and the surrounding cemetery grounds. No one was lurking in the pre-dawn shadows, nothing looked out of place.
It had to be the woman; the one he belatedly realized was crouching in front of Joss' marker. Her delicate hand skimmed over the lettering on the stone and the cluster of flowers in front of her with an almost reverent touch. Something about her small frame was strangely familiar….who was she? Fellow officer? College girlfriend?
Whoever she was, John refused to let her get away without answering some questions first. His focus zeroed in on her as he crept closer, skirting the larger headstones and timing his steps with the stronger gusts of wind to mask his approach.
His target brushed a hand across her cheeks then pushed off the block of black granite to stand unsteadily on her feet. Her deep intake of breath floated across the still morning as she squared her shoulders and turned - in agonizing slow motion - to leave just as he stopped directly behind her.
Time stood still even as the earth careened wildly around him. His knees threatened to buckle under the shock, yet every muscle in his body viciously squeezed his bones, paralyzing him. John felt the blood drain from his body as his mind struggled to process the sight before him.
He had not drunk nearly enough to generate such a vivid fantasy, and he did not believe in ghosts…but that would mean this was real and...
No…it couldn't…it was impossible…
"Joss?"
Happy Valentines Day! Thank you so much for your amazing response so far, I hope this was worth the wait. I was really stuck for a while on where to go next, especially since the show is moving on in a completely opposite direction than this story. Chapter 4 should be out within the next week, it's on my computer but I'm editing it now before I move on to chapter 11 of "The Things We Say". I knew it wouldn't be ready by tonight, and I wanted to get this chapter out as a special Valentines day treat if at all possible. I hope you all have a fantastic weekend, and let me know what you think love it or hate it lol. xoxo, Meli :-D