Crossing Back

by Meli03

Alternate ending to "The Crossing". Coming home might be harder than first thought.

5. Chapter 5

I do not own person of interest or any characters you may recognize.

---

A lethal silence fell over the brownstone as the barrage of gunfire faded. One last shard of glass slipped from its broken casement to shatter against the unforgiving hardwood floor.

John held his breath, straining to hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Five seconds, then ten passed since the last shot had been fired, but he wasn't foolish enough to think they were in the clear. Judging by the amount of damage to the apartment, he estimated there were two, possibly three gunmen on the ground, and at least one sniper on the roof of the building across the street waiting for them outside.

He'd been up against tougher odds in the past and won; and on his own he could easily take out the entire team, but now he had Joss to consider. With her sprained ankle and the icy streets, she couldn't move fast enough to outrun them, and carrying her would slow him down too much, giving the snipers the perfect opportunity to pick them off.

In spite of the adrenaline coursing through his body and driving his instinct to stay and fight, he could not - would not - risk her getting caught in the crossfire. Right now, he needed to make sure she was not injured and get her out of there. Once she was safe he would start hunting these bastards down.

Carefully he rolled to his right, wincing at the sudden burning sensation that ripped through his left shoulder when he reached behind him to yank his SIG Sauer from his waistband. A warm stream of blood trickled down his arm, soaking through the thin material of his dress shirt; but his discomfort was quickly forgotten at the sight the woman lying on the floor beside him.

"Joss!"

She was deathly still. Her tiny body was twisted at an awkward angle, partially curled around the suitcase she'd been holding when he had pulled her to the floor. Long sooty lashes fanned out against the pale curve of her cheeks making her look as though she was merely sleeping, not unconscious and barely breathing.

Jagged fragments of glass and other debris dug into his hip and thigh as he dragged himself closer and gently rolled her on to her back. Other than a scrape on the side of her neck, he didn't see any serious injuries except -

His heart stopped when he noticed the dark red blood staining the front of her white sweater. Memories of the night she was shot flashed through his mind, and he had to close his eyes against the fear that threatened to swallow him whole. 'Not again.' This could not be happening again, not after he just found her. That would be too cruel.

That thought jerked him back to the present faster than the sound of car doors slamming on the street outside. No, he would not lose her now. She was not going to die in his arms this time.

John used the strength of that promise to push aside his mounting panic and focus on Joss. He forced himself to ignore how cool she was to his touch as he ran his hands over her limbs and torso to check for other injuries. He refused think about the lack of color in her normally glowing skin, or the blood smear on her sweater that he quickly realized was from a cut on her palm not a gunshot wound.

"Joss?" He shook her shoulder, then lightly slapped her cheek when she didn't respond. "Damn it Joss wake up!"

The blustery winds distorted the heavily accented voices floating through the broken windows, but did little to disguise them or the fact that they were moving closer.

"We need to get out of here before our company shows up honey; but I don't want to move you until I know you're okay," he whispered, praying she could hear him somehow, willing her to listen. More than anything he wanted to hear her voice reassuring him she was fine…or more likely yelling at him for tackling her so hard.

John brushed a stray curl behind her ear and let his fingertips drift over her jaw to linger against the slow but steady beat of her pulse at the side of her neck. "Come on Carter," he urged and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Open those beautiful brown eyes for me."

Finally, after ten seconds that felt more like an eternity, her lashes fluttered and dazed, pain filled eyes opened to meet his. "John?" she gasped.

"I'm here Joss." He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and caught the hand that was reaching out for him. Relief swept through him, and if they were anywhere else he would have kissed her. Instead, he forced a smile that he hoped would ease the tension humming through her body. "Bet you wish you had waited in the car now," he teased.

Her weak attempt at laughter faded into a panicked grimace as she curled into him, forehead almost resting on her knees, and sucked in several shallow breaths. The shrill whistle that accompanied each pant alarmed him. She must have landed harder than he thought, and the cold air pouring in to the apartment wasn't doing her any favors.

"Easy sweetheart, I've got you." He rubbed the stiff muscles in her back with his free hand while reconsidering their escape routes, knowing he would likely be carrying her out now. "Deep breaths, nice and slow," he murmured against her hair. Little by little, he felt her relax in his arms as more air worked its way into her lungs. "That's it."

Joss drew in two longer, deeper breaths then nodded slowly. " 'm okay…just got…wind…knocked out…" She pushed against him and the floor underneath her in an effort to sit up, but he gently held her down to keep her out of the line of sight. Understanding flickered in her eyes. "Shooters?"

"I'm thinking it's a three, maybe four man team." He let her go and inched back to the window to peek over the edge for a better view of the street. "Two on the ground, another one or two on the roof."

John heard the sound of glass scraping against the hardwood floor and turned back to find Joss pulling a sleek Glock 19 out of the holster at her hip. That was definitely not there earlier.

"Thought this would come in handy…sooner or later," she said and scooted over to take a look for herself. "Damn."

He knew without having to ask what brought on her curse. Across the street, a man wearing a black ski mask and dark tactical clothing exited the apartment building with an old school Dragunov sniper rifle tucked under his arm. He jogged over to a newer model Escalade idling at the curb and joined two other similarly dressed men. They gestured towards the brownstone's first floor then started to make their way across the deserted street while the sniper jumped into the driver's seat.

Before closing the door behind him, he called out to the other two in hoarse Russian. The men acknowledged the reminder and waved him off with a laugh, but the words left John chilled to the bone with a cold that had nothing to do with the sub-freezing temperatures.

'Grab this bitch so we can get out of here before the cops show up - but play nice. Boss wants her alive…for now.'

They were coming for Joss.

In his mind he knew the threat was real, but seeing it - hearing it - now strengthened his resolve to keep her safe. There was no way in hell he would let them take her away from him.

His eyes shot to hers, but she was too busy strategizing and planning their escape to notice.

"Okay," Joss thumbed the safety off her weapon and took another deep breath before facing him. "I say we make a run for the back door. There's a gate on the far side of the courtyard…hidden behind some bushes. While they're searching in here we can double… back to the car."

It wasn't the greatest plan, but it wasn't the worst either - and it was all they had at the moment. "Fine, get moving Carter." John dug into his pocket and held the car keys out to her. "I'll cover you from in here."

He didn't want her out there alone, especially when she was in pain and trying to catch her breath; but he would make sure their attention was diverted away from her to give her a fighting chance of making it to the car. Once she was clear of the building he would turn the tables on their uninvited guests and find out who they were, why they wanted Joss. It would be better if she wasn't there to witness the methods he planned on using to make them talk.

As expected, she balked at the idea of splitting up, but he pushed on. "I'll meet you back at my place."

"No." Her irritated huff burst out in a small cloud of steam when it collided with the frigid air settling in around them. "I'm not leaving you here John."

"I will be right behind you."

"You mean you'll be right beside me."

"Joss -"

"I am not leaving you, so stop asking me to damn it!" She slapped away the keys in his hand and glanced over the window ledge again. "We either stay and fight together or we make a run for it together…your choice."

John couldn't decide which he wanted to do more, shake her or kiss her until she realized he was right. "You'll go if I tell you to Carter."

She turned back to him with both brows raised to challenge that. "Would you leave me?"

Never. The answer to that question was obvious, but couldn't she be reasonable just this once? "That's diff -"

"I didn't think so," Joss cut him off with a determined set to her chin that told him the case was closed as far as she was concerned. "But we can argue about that later, after we get out of this mess." She tipped her head back to the window and his eyes instinctively followed the same track. Like it or not, the time for debate was over - the gunmen had reached the front steps.

"Can you walk?" He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the nearest intact wall and then to her feet. Slivers of glass burrowed deeper into the cuts on his shoulder making any movement excruciating, but he shoved the pain aside and dragged her towards the kitchen.

"Yes but -"

Any further objections died on her lips when a vicious kick splintered the already battered front door. What was left of the wooden frame shuddered open, its hinges whining loudly in protest at the rough treatment. Glass and debris crunched under heavy footsteps that were moving steadily toward their position.

"Go," he whispered roughly, then shoved her through the swinging kitchen door before turning and planting himself firmly in the threshold to wait for their uninvited guests.

Almost immediately, he felt the solid oak panel slam into his back as Joss frantically whispered his name and begged him not to do this. Her frenzied attempts to open the door, to get to him, only served to drive glass deeper into the cuts on his back and shoulder; but he stood his ground. The pain, her pleas, the bitter cold, everything faded while his senses honed in on the approaching enemy, and John the ruthless killer emerged.

The grandfather clock down the hall ominously ticked off the seconds it took for the two large men to round the corner of the entry hall, weapons drawn. He pointed his own gun at the pair, knowing it was no match for the shotguns they carried. Normally he wasn't too concerned about being out-gunned, but the stakes had never been so high. For the first time in a very long while, he had more to think about than himself; now he actually gave a damn about what happened to him. Joss was getting out of here alive, no matter the cost; and he wanted to be there with her when she did.

"Who the hell are you?" the taller of the two asked in stilted English. He exchanged a confused glance with his partner.

Thankfully the door at his back had stopped moving. He could only hope that meant she was listening for once and was making her escape. Flippantly he leaned against the door jamb and willed the muscles supporting his left arm to quit shaking. "Would you believe 'your worst nightmare'?" he asked, then cocked his head to the side with a smirk.

The second shooter scoffed and tightened the aim of his Saiga-12 on him. "That's brave talk for a man armed with only a handgun and no back up."

"I don't believe in overkill," he shrugged idly.

"Fuck you," the gunman snapped. "Tell us where the woman is and we might let you die with one less bullet in you."

John fought another wave of panic, not because of the man's lame threat, or the fact that he was about to be shot for the twenty-some odd time, but because the kitchen door started swaying slightly against him. 'Please Joss, stay out of sight,' he begged her, praying she had not lost her uncanny ability to read his mind during the last two years.

"Sorry fellas, you're too late; she's already gone." He straightened and took a step forward with the hope of drawing their attention to him instead of the slight rustling he heard in the other room. "The party's over."

"The party is over for you old man; but it's just getting started for that bitch." The younger one, the unofficial spokesman for the crew that he was going to take his time killing, tipped the barrel of his shotgun at him and issued one final offer. "Last chance to help us find her and earn yourself a quicker death."

"I'm right here jackass."

The last voice he wanted to hear, scratchy yet commanding, rang out from behind the hit men seconds before Joss stepped out of the hallway leading to the bedroom to take them all by surprise. Without thinking, John took his eyes off his targets long enough to watch her approach slowly, guardedly, but with determination and confidence in each step. Her weapon was steady in her hands and aimed directly at the head of the mouthy shooter who had also turned to watch her draw closer.

"You want me?" she asked softly over the wind whipping through the broken windows. "Then come and get me."

So much for her mind reading skills. What the hell was she doing? He had told her to run, to get as far away as she could; yet there she was provoking her would-be kidnappers and scaring the shit out of him.

He was so furious with her he almost missed the first gunman mumbling an order to his partner in Russian - 'Grab her; I'll get rid of him."

A split second before his finger squeezed the shotgun's trigger, John fired a round that struck his opponent in the shoulder and forced him to his knees. He lurched to his right to narrowly avoid the slug that buzzed past his ear, but a second then third shot - quieter percussions that he instinctively knew came from Joss' Glock 19 - and the feminine cry of pain that followed, were the only sounds that registered as he collided with a wooden end table.

Joss was hurt. They were taking her away.

Those terrifying thoughts knocked a hole in his normally impenetrable defenses and locked his heart in a fierce stranglehold; but his ruthless determination to protect the woman he loved helped clear the fear from his mind. He was not losing her again; they would have to kill him first. And if that bastard hurt her…

John quickly righted himself and fired again, killing his man with a single bullet to the head before he even had a chance to adjust his aim. Sounds of a struggle drew his attention to the row of broken windows. He turned in time to see the remaining hit man take a swing at Joss. The backhand caught her across the cheek and sent her sprawling to the floor, her gun skittering away to disappear underneath the loveseat.

A blinding surge of rage overwhelmed him. His mind went black, his focus narrowed to the man towering over Joss with his booted foot planted firmly on her chest.

He was a dead man. There would be no offer of mercy, and it would not be quick by any means.

"Too bad you aren't a better shot," he taunted and mashed down harder with his heel. His shoulders bunched when he lowered the shotgun clipped to a sling around his torso, and reached under his coat to pull out a smaller handgun from a holster at his side. "You're going to wish you really were dead by the time we're through with you."

Joss' face contorted in pain. She squirmed underneath the pressure and grasped at his ankle in a desperate attempt to dislodge him before he could shoot; but John reached them first. In a matter of seconds he crossed the room and grabbed the gunman's wrist. He had the man pinned against a bookshelf with the weapon - a tranquilizer gun he realized belatedly - pointed at his neck before he could fight back.

"Run Joss," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Now!"

One hand continued to exert pressure on the other man's wrist to keep the gun aimed at him, the other was locked around his free arm. The pale skin visible through the holes in his ski mask flushed with his efforts to free himself and gain control of the situation. The kid - all of twenty-two, twenty-three now that he saw him up close - was strong. He had the advantage of youth on his side, but John had years of experience, Special Forces and CIA training to back him up, along with one crucial motivator - Joss' safety.

He watched with almost feral satisfaction as fear replaced the earlier cockiness in the young man's eyes and pressed down on his wrist harder. He wanted answers before he killed him and he would not be denied. "Who sent you?" he growled in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

"What's it matter to you old man?" he gasped, eyes bulging behind the black woolen mask.

"Because you tried to kill my woman," he snarled back in flawless Russian. He leaned forward until he was nose to nose with the shooter, using his full weight to intimidate, to get his message across. "And nobody messes with what's mine."

John felt the other man's grip on the tranquilizer gun slip and pressed down on the trigger, releasing a dart out of the barrel directly in to a fleshy, exposed portion of his neck. The fast acting sedative took effect almost instantly and the kidnapper's hazel eyes widened in shock before rolling back in his head. John let his limp body slide to the floor and fought the urge to finish him off right then and there so he wouldn't be able to come after Joss again. His whole body trembled under that impulse. This punk deserved it; he wouldn't have hesitated to kill either of them if the tables were turned. He had done it before and it would be so easy to now.

"John?"

A gentle hand on his arm jerked him back to the present. He was not that man anymore; no matter how much he wanted to be at times like this. Thanks to Harold and Joss' influence in his life he knew he did not have to live by Kara's rule of 'kill or be killed'.

"Let's go." He tipped his head toward the kitchen then steadied her with an arm around her waist while she hobbled back to the swinging door.

They had only made it halfway across the living room when the front door wobbled open again. Joss paused to look over her shoulder; but he pushed her ahead of him. He knew who it was, and they weren't sticking around to say hello this time.

"Aleksei? Jurek?" It was the third gunman, checking up on his partners.

He advanced further into the brownstone, less careful than his teammates had been at disguising their approach. "Quit fucking around and hurry up," he called out impatiently. "The cops are already on their -"

His carping turned into a blistering string of profanities when he stumbled across the bodies of his friends. John heard the telltale click seconds before a shotgun blast echoed through the living room. The slug whistled past him in another close call and embedded itself in the wooden trim barely an inch from his head. He twisted back to return fire, but missed when the lone gunman hunkered down behind the couch.

"Go. Don't look back," he rasped and propelled Joss forward with the hand at her hip. He moved directly behind her to shield her body as best he could with his own.

Favoring her right foot, she scrambled the last few feet to the kitchen, but not before blindly reaching behind her for his hand, his coat, anything she could grab to drag him with her.

They made it to the safety of the next room; however their pursuer wasn't giving up the chase in the least. Joss continued on to the open back door, but John turned back to face the threat barreling towards them. The compact Dragunov was raised to his shoulder ready to fire, aimed not at him, but at Joss' unprotected back.

He didn't' pause to consider other options, just aimed and fired once. Experience told him it was a kill shot, but he didn't waste time watching the hit man crumple to the ground. He scooped Joss up in his arms and skidded across the icy courtyard, headed for the gate in the far corner.

The rusty lock was no match for his adrenaline-fueled kick and it gave on the first try. He slipped his way up the sidewalk to their car and carefully set her down to unlock the passenger side door, when the supposedly sedated shooter stumbled onto the front steps. Obviously still under the effects of the tranquilizer, he drunkenly pulled at his ski mask then fumbled his gun to his shoulder and fired in their direction.

John slammed the car door shut as the wild shot sailed over their heads and jogged to the driver's side while Joss rolled down her window to provide cover that was proving to be unnecessary. The wail of sirens in the distance startled all of them and prompted him to start the engine and pull away from the curb.

Aleksei - or maybe that was Jurek - decided to make a run for it as well, and abandoned his weapon on the sidewalk to slide behind the Escalade's steering wheel and peel out in the opposite direction. Again his instincts commanded him to give chase and find out where this group's base of operations was. It was tempting, but getting Joss back to the safety of his loft and its bulletproof glass was his top priority.

He flexed his hands around the steering wheel and willed his muscles to relax. No one was following them - it would be next to impossible in this weather - and they had survived the ambush; yet he couldn't shake the sense of dread that dogged him with each block he put between them and the brownstone. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror again just as Joss broke the tense silence. "I don't think we'll have to worry about him following us."

"No, he'll have enough trouble getting out of the neighborhood without drawing more attention to himself."

"Let's double back and catch up to him." She clamped her lips together and stretched in her seat to look out the town car's back window. "He might lead us straight to his boss."

It was scary how alike they thought; but after this narrow escape, he didn't want her anywhere near those men or their boss. "No." He was working this investigation solo from now on. "You are going back to my place and staying put until we figure out who is trying to kill you."

"I can't really help with that if I'm stuck in your apartment all day now can I?" She swiveled around again but not without shooting an annoyed glare at him first.

"You can help by telling me everything you know. I'll take it from there." He felt more than saw her shift against her seat and fold her arms over her chest.

"I can take care of myself John. I know how this works; I'm not new to the game."

"This is not a game, not to me." He took his eyes off the slick road long enough to meet her angry gaze. "Who were those men Carter?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen them before." The slight tremor in her voice caught his attention.

"They seemed to know you…that you faked your death." He tried, but there was no keeping the bitterness from his voice.

Joss sighed and brought a hand up to massage her temple. "I have never seen them before today John," she repeated with more than a trace of frustration to her words. "If I knew who there were I would tell you."

She was lying to him. She was lying and trying to cover it up with her anger. Two years apart hadn't changed his ability to see through her poker face; but what the hell was she hiding and why was it so damn hard for her to ask for help? That stubbornness was part of the reason things had gotten so out of control with HR, part of what had led to her getting shot.

If anyone in the car had a right to be angry, it was him. The woman he had been in love with was very much alive and well, and in very real danger. Not only had she faked her death and placed her trust in the FBI to keep her safe rather than him; but she had completely disregarded his feelings and risked her life a second time in less than twenty-four hours.

He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, not wanting to think about what could have happened. "Why did you come back? You were supposed to head to the loft."

"I was outside - like you ordered - looking for a way to distract them when I noticed the bedroom window had been shot out. I climbed through and made my way down the hall. You have to admit it surprised the hell out of them." She chuckled, then tilted her head to the side and studied him with a wrinkled brow when he didn't join in. "Did you seriously think I was going to leave and let you handle those three by yourself?"

John slowed down to pull over and let a line of police cars and emergency vehicles, lights and sirens blaring, rush by him in the direction of the brownstone. "I had it under control."

She scoffed at that and shifted in her seat to watch the flashing red and blue lights whizzing by in the passenger side mirror. Joss didn't say anything, but he could tell her thoughts were racing back to the crime scene with those first responders. Did she want to be a part of the action again. Was she considering going back to the NYPD now? He hadn't thought that far ahead yet, but the idea of her going back to the job that had gotten her killed made him nauseous.

That was something else to sort out later, after they took care of this threat. Right now he needed answers, and he knew just the person to get them. He turned down a lesser traveled, icier street and tapped speed dial number four on his phone, then slipped his earwig in.

"Make it quick. I'm busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest today."

"Good morning to you too Lionel." He almost smiled when her dark eyes snapped back to his. "I need a favor."

"Why am I not surprised; but you're going to have to wait. Everybody's losing their minds over this little ice storm we've got going on. Besides, I'm a little busy cleaning up the mess you left on that playground yesterday -"

"That can wait," he interrupted curtly. Beside him Joss frantically waved her hands, asking him not to reveal her secret to her partner yet. "I need you to get assigned to the shooting in Sunset Park."

"Sunset - that's not even my side of town."

John reached over the center console to wrap his hand around hers and squeezed tightly. "It is now. We need to know who the shooters are, their connection to the resident, and anything else you can find out."

"And I suppose you need this right away?"

"The sooner the better. Call me when you've got something and we'll arrange a time to meet." First he needed to tend to his shoulder and dig out the glass embedded in the cuts.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

A small grin twitched across his lips at the thinly veiled sarcasm. Someone else must be at his desk listening in. "Just the information for now. I'll explain everything later." He let go of Joss' hand and disconnected the call.

"That's not how it works John," she scolded.

"What's the point of having a NYPD detective on the payroll if you can't ask for a favor now and then?"

"Now and then?" Her amused smile fell into a grim line. "Maybe I should have stayed, explained what happened to the officers on scene"

"And exactly how would you have explained your sudden resurrection and the two dead bodies in the living room? Not to mention the Man in the Suit - who is also supposed to be dead?"

Her pursed lips told him she didn't have an answer for that, at least not one that would satisfy the responding officers and keep her from being taken in to custody. Even a call from Special Agent Moss might not be enough; and sitting in a busy precinct where she would be an easy target out in the open, was the last place he wanted her.

"Fusco can take care of the investigation for now." He found himself reaching for her hand again; the feel of her warm skin pressed against his took some of the sting out of his anger. "You're sure no one else knew about your new apartment?"

"I'm positive. The only people who knew were my contacts at the FBI, and they assured me the case against HR was closed, that it was safe to come home."

It had always been safe to come home, but this wasn't the time to revisit that argument.

"Did anything happen in Arizona? Problems with a coworker or a neighbor?" Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went, and after today he was ready to believe just about anything. Maybe she accidentally crossed paths with drug dealers at the police department, or saw something she wasn't supposed to. It scared him to think about what could have happened to her out there by herself, and that he might never have known.

"No, nothing. If I wasn't at work I was usually with my handler going over evidence reports and prepping my testimony."

The loneliness in her eyes, her voice, tugged at his heart. He had been so focused on his own hurt and feelings of betrayal that he had not given much thought to what it must have been like for her. He wasn't quite ready to delve in to that either, but he didn't pull away when she threaded her fingers through his, her thumb softly stroking a scratch on his knuckles.

The rest of the hour-long drive to his loft was made in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts as he pulled into the underground garage. It wasn't the ideal safe house; there was no food or clothes for her, but for better or worse, it was home for now.

John locked the door behind them and followed Joss into the kitchen where she flipped on the lights and searched the cabinets until she found what she was looking for - a medium-sized bowl apparently.

She filled it with water and set it on the counter, then limped past him to toss her coat on the closest bar stool. "Take off your shirt John, let me see your shoulder."

It was an innocent request, yet he couldn't help but be a little turned on by her bossiness…another sign that he needed more help than any professional could give. "It's fine Carter. I'll take care of it later." He snagged her arm before she was out of reach and tugged her to him. "I need to take a look at your ankle."

"And your cheek," he amended heatedly. The reddened area was starting to swell and darken with a slight bruise. The remaining gunman was going to pay dearly when he caught up to him.

Instead of answering, she reached up to wrap her hand around the aching joint in question and squeezed lightly. She pulled her hand back just enough for them both to see that her fingertips were stained with blood…his blood.

"Still want to argue with me?"

God help him, he did. He had always loved the flash of fire that sparked in her eyes right before she let him have it, the way she dug in her heels and wouldn't back down no matter how intimidating he tried to be. Of course making up with her was the best part, and the main reason he had tried to rile her every chance he could…

She mistook his silence as agreement and hobbled by leaving him alone in the kitchen with nothing to do but follow the order she threw over her shoulder. "Take off your shirt while I look around for some first aid supplies."

He stared after her until she disappeared around the corner, then wearily shrugged off his coat and laid it on the black granite island along with his gun. He had only undone the first two buttons by the time she returned with a small kit tucked under her arm, looking like a sexy field marshal marching into battle.

There was something wrong with him. Had to be, because his body was becoming alarmingly responsive with each step that brought her closer. In fact, the lazy curl of heat that had ignited in his belly at the sight of her meant this was not a good time to be taking his clothes off - if anything, he needed to add a few layers.

She set the first aid kit and two white towels, one large one small, on the counter next to the bowl then turned to him with her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm. "Shirt John?"

He couldn't move. He was frozen in place while he tried figure out how to tell her that her touching him right now - something he wanted desperately - was not a good idea, that his self-control was hanging by a tattered thread, that this might lead to something neither of them were ready for.

Joss sighed, apparently tired of waiting for him to do something, and took matters into her own hands. She boldly held his gaze while she slowly slipped the buttons of his dress shirt free one by one. Each delicate pass of her fingers over his exposed skin sent electric pulses racing through his body. The innocent, yet intimate act intensified his need to hold her, to kiss her until the tightness in his chest abated.

When she reached the button at his waistband, he captured her wrists to stop those nimble fingers; but rather than finish the job himself, he pulled her closer until his mouth hovered above hers. Her uneven breaths tickled his skin, and he felt her body soften against him as he lowered his head to tenderly brush his lips over hers. John released her hands to cradle her more fully against him and deepen the kiss, but a knock at the door stopped him.

Only a handful of people knew about this place - six to be exact - and he was not expecting any of them to pay him a visit today. Joss' gaze jumped to meet his, weary but ready to fight if trouble had followed them home.

"Stay here," he whispered then grabbed his SIG from the bar and headed for the door. No one was getting past him.

Another knock sounded, and John heard shuffling on the other side and …was that a dog whining?

"Mr. Reese?"

He blew out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and holstered his weapon at the small of his back. He should have guessed Harold would show up at the loft eventually, especially after he didn't return any of the man's twenty-two calls.

"Mr. Reese are you - Bear please hold still!"

John swung the door open to find a harried Finch juggling two paper sacks full of groceries, a small suitcase, and the leash of an unruly Bear. When he realized the door was open, he dropped his loose hold on the suitcase and blinked up at him with an owlish expression. "Is it true?" he asked breathlessly.

The onslaught of feelings from that morning hit him hard, making it difficult to find the words. He didn't even bother asking how he knew, just nodded in answer and locked eyes with his employer, knowing they were both reliving the memories of that awful night.

"My God," he gasped. "Where is -" Bear took advantage of their inattention and bolted into the apartment with a growl, tearing his leash from Harold's hand. The dog headed straight for the couch, nose to the ground, hot on the trail of something - or rather someone. John took the sacks of groceries and set them on a side table while Finch picked up the suitcase and rolled it in to the loft..

Bear bounded towards the kitchen just as Joss was making her way into the living room. The Belgian Malinois skidded to a stop in doggie disbelief, then launched himself at her. She fell back with a small cry and landed on the kitchen floor while Bear placed his paws on her chest and proceeded to bathe her face with kisses.

"I missed you too Bear," she giggled.

The lighthearted sound of her laughter did funny things to his heart, touching a place deep inside him he was sure was dead; and John found himself smiling at the energetic reunion.

"Bear, that's enough." Harold shuffled forward to grab the leash but he held him back.

"It's okay Finch, I did the same thing. Although I was more of a gentleman," he admonished Bear, nudging his furry shoulder. "Zitten."

He stopped nuzzling Joss' neck for a brief second to glance up at his master, then deliberately ignored the command to sit and happily returned to cuddling his long-lost friend.

"Bear." John prodded him again, but the overgrown puppy wouldn't budge. He honestly couldn't blame Bear for his enthusiastic greeting, not when he had practically knocked her down and kissed her senseless too this morning. But he was worried about her ankle and the fall she had taken after he had tackled her.

"Can I get a little help here?" Joss' voice was muffled by the seventy-five pounds of muscle and fur on top of her, yet she managed to wriggle one arm free and reach out for a hand up. "Guys?"

"Okay, okay. Take it easy you big bully." He tugged on the thick black collar and handed the leash strap to Harold before helping her to her feet. Her legs wobbled under her, but he kept her from falling again with an arm around her waist.

Once she was steady, Finch dropped the leash and Bear wasted no time racing back to sit by her side, his tail swishing wildly across the floor. It was quiet for all of five seconds before he started to whine and use his narrow nose to jostle the hand hanging down by her side until she gave in and scratched behind his ears.

John swore Bear was smiling when he blinked up at her with a look of pure adoration. He could only hope his own feelings hadn't been that obvious when he found her at the cemetery; but he suspected he had looked just as smitten then as his dog did now. Joss straightened, but her smile faltered when her attention shifted to Harold.

"Detective -" Finch spoke first, then corrected himself. "Joss, I had no idea. I'm surprised to…happy to see you're alive and…relatively unharmed." His eyes traveled over her bedraggled appearance before he hobbled closer. With Bear and himself crowded around her it was difficult, but Harold managed to lean past them both for a quick hug. "We haven't been the same since you left us."

He watched shock, then intense relief wash over her at the warm welcome. Joss squeezed her eyes closed and returned the brief embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered and released him with a watery smile. When he saw tears splashing down her cheeks he gave in to the need to comfort her and placed a hand on the small of her back.

The tips of Harold's ears turned bright pink, and what looked suspiciously like tears pooled in his eyes. "I umm, I brought some items I thought you might need…if you decided to stay here that is." He waved a hand at the suitcase and paper sacks behind him. "There are a few more bags in the car."

She nodded her thanks and an awkward uncertainty settled over the group. No one seemed know what to say or do next; but to John's immense relief his phone rang, offering him the perfect excuse to slip away. He quietly took the grocery bags into the kitchen and set them down on the counter to answer his call. "What did you find out Lionel?"

"Next time you need a favor, don't call me."

"What's wrong?"

"By the time I got there the place was crawling with Feds, not to mention the captain from the local precinct who was less than thrilled to see me. I barely got my foot in the door before Special Agent Moss slammed it in my face."

"Were you able to find out anything?"

"You're just lucky I still got some juice left - and that I'm willing to share."

He sighed and leaned on a bar stool. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Harold and Joss talking, but watching him curiously. Bear was glued to her side waiting for any bit of affection she might decide to dole out.

"What did your lucky juice find out?" he asked. The first aid kit lying open on the counter next to him reminded him of what had almost happened before Harold showed up, and he hastily re-buttoned his dress shirt.

"I managed to get assigned as the case liaison officer to the FBI for starters. Doesn't mean we'll be holding hands and singing kumbaya anytime soon; but I'll be able to keep track of the investigation."

John waited knowing there was more, but when Fusco didn't elaborate he firmed his jaw to keep from snapping at him. "And?"

"The house belongs to a FBI agent, Benjamin Falcon. Moss wouldn't give me any more info on the guy, just that he's in California right now on assignment in their LA office.

Interesting. Nothing about witness protection or Phoenix.

"Moss said Falcon was single, no girlfriend or female relatives; but there was definitely a woman living there."

"How could you tell that?"

"Easy enough when you've got keen observation skills like me." The detective waited for a laugh, or a smart alek response. "Fine," he sighed when the silence stretched on. "There were perfume bottles and make-up lying around, dresses, high heels, all that frou-frou stuff women like in the master bedroom and the closet. Plus I saw mail and a plane ticket lying on the counter before the CSU techs swept it up. They belonged to a woman named Anna Martin."

John drummed his fingers impatiently against his thigh at the mention of Joss' alias. While Finch was busy hacking the FBI to follow their investigation, he needed him to download a copy of her file as well. It was time to see what she had been up to for the last two years.

"Moss wouldn't confirm it, so unless Falcon's pulling a J. Edgar on them he was keeping a woman there."

He rolled his eyes and said a prayer for patience. "What about the bodies?"

"Yeah I figured that's where you came in. The two dirt bags in the living room are Aleksei Malikov and Sergei Brezhnav, enforcers for the Russian Mob."

'Shit.' Why would the Russian mob send a team of snipers after a woman who was supposed to be dead? And how did they know she was alive and in New York? Was this tied back to the war with HR? The growing list of questions made his head spin.

"I've got a call in to a buddy of mine on the Organized Crime task force to see if he knows anything, but this looks like a run of the mill beef between the Russians and the Feds…unless there's something else you're not telling me?"

'A whole hell of a lot.' John glossed over that question with one of his own. "Anything else?"

Fusco harrumphed into the phone and John could hear a file cabinet drawer slide shut in the background. "For most people that would be enough," he mumbled.

"Am I most people Fusco?"

He grumbled under his breath a second longer before answering. "That's all Moss had for now - or all that he was willing to share. The captain said uniforms canvassed the neighborhood, but no one wanted to get involved or admit they saw anything. So far only one woman has come forward."

Fusco paused and John could picture him at his desk adjusting his reading glasses to scan his notes. "She says she heard what sounded like machine gun fire, then it stopped, she looked out her window and saw three guys in the street around a black SUV. Two went in the building, more shots, the third went in, even more gunshots. Then she sees a well-dressed man in a dark suit and beard carrying an African-American woman out of the courtyard to a town car. More shots were exchanged with one of the gunmen, then the couple drove away."

That sounded about right he conceded.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you ran in to some trouble while you were rescuing your latest damsel in distress?"

"You could say that." Although Joss would probably shoot him if she ever heard him call her that.

"For what it's worth, this one may be more trouble than you or your partner bargained for. Might be better to turn her over to the Feds and sit this one out."

Like hell he would. He pushed off his stool at the sound of laughter in the other room, and found Bear, who had abandoned all attempts at subtlety, dancing around in circles on his hind legs begging to be noticed. As if she sensed his attention, Joss glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen and winked when she caught him staring. For a moment he was lost in her sparkling brown eyes and the beautiful smile on her lips.

Yeah, this was a hell of a lot of trouble, but she was definitely worth it. And he wasn't about to let her go through this alone.

The realization startled him, yet there was no denying how he felt.

"Hello?"

"What?" He turned his attention back to the crabby detective who had evidently asked him a question while was busy wool gathering.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"Of course Lionel. When do I ever keep you in the dark?"

"All the time you assho-"

"Meet me tomorrow morning at the safe house in Midtown by nine-thirty," John cut him off. "That should give your friend in Organized Crime a chance to call back."

"Fine, but this better be good because you owe me big now," he groused. "My paperwork is about to double because of this favor I'm doing for you."

"It is. Call me if you find out anything before then…and Lionel? Thanks."

He hung up without waiting for a response and turned to discover Joss and Harold - and Bear - had made their way into the kitchen.

"What did Fusco have to say?" she asked, not bothering to disguise the fact that they were eavesdropping.

For a moment he didn't answer. He wanted to hear it from her first, because he was sure - in spite of her previous denials - that she knew what this was about. She was hiding something from him and he was getting tired of trying to guess what it was.

"The FBI has taken over the case, but he managed to get an ID on two of the shooters - Aleksei Malikov and Sergei Brezhnev…Russian Mob."

John heard Finch's distressed murmur but he was too busy watching Joss' reaction steal across her face. Her eyes widened and the rosy blush slid from her cheeks suggesting she knew exactly who those men were and why they were after her.

"Why would the Russian Mob be targeting you Joss?" Harold asked the question John couldn't. He silently begged her to answer truthfully, to offer him even the slightest sign that she trusted him, that their strained connection could be salvaged, that she was through lying and keeping secrets - especially ones that could get her killed.

He couldn't go through that again. He wouldn't go through that again. He needed her to tell the truth now because he was through playing these games that neither of them could win.

'Tell me, please."

"Yogorov." The whisper was so soft he barely heard the name, but what she said turned his blood to ice. "Peter Yogorov, the head of the Russian Mob, wants me dead."

---

It was time to come clean.

If it weren't for John, she really would be dead this time. All of her hard work and sacrifices over the last two years wasted. She owed him an explanation, but more than that, she owed him the truth; and as long as she was telling the truth, she needed to admit that it was more than just gratefulness for saving her life that was driving her. She was so tired of doing this alone. She needed - no she wanted - his help, and surprisingly that declaration didn't make her cringe like it used to. She trusted John completely and it was past time to show him just how much.

The pleading look in those expressive blue eyes did her in. She bit at her bottom lip and gave them the name of the man who was trying to kill her.

"Yogorov." She felt him stiffen at her confession and pushed ahead before she lost her nerve. "Peter Yogorov, the head of the Russian Mob, wants me dead."

"And I can't do this on my own." The words were there but they wouldn't come out no matter how hard she worked to get them past the catch in her throat.

The whole concept of asking for help was fairly new for her, and the muscles flexing in his jaw did nothing to lessen the anxiety she felt now that she was trying to. He had a right to his anger, but couldn't he see that this was hard for her? Lowering her guard and depending on someone else - even someone she cared for deeply - was challenging at best. Even when things had been good between them, she had rarely asked her husband for help with anything. Asking John, the man she trusted more than anyone else, the man she had fallen in love with years ago, was a huge step for her. A scary, but necessary step.

It would be so much easier to lie, or ask him to let her take care of this on her own. She could insist he leave her alone until it was finished; yet her instincts warned her that anything less than the truth would ruin any chance of fixing things between them.

"You didn't think that was something I needed to know?" The question startled her out of her introspection. "Why does he want you dead Carter?"

Why? Because she hadn't stopped long enough to consider the consequences and answer the 'what ifs'. She hadn't asked for back up, just charged ahead with her plan. "His brother is dead because of me."

"Laszlo Yogorov died in prison almost two years ago, after a violent altercation with his cellmates according to the underground gossip mill," Finch interjected. "How could you be responsible for that?"

Joss exhaled roughly and braced for the twinges of guilt she still felt over the part she played in the man's death. "Before I could convince a judge to sign off on a warrant for Alonzo Quinn I needed hard evidence, the kind that wouldn't conveniently disappear; so I blackmailed Peter into a confession."

"How the hell did you do that?" John looked both impressed and dismayed at the news.

"Actually that was the easiest part." She shifted her weight to her left leg to take some of the pressure off her ankle and leaned against the counter next to her. "I kidnapped him from his home and we drove up to Bedford where I booked him into the sheriff's office under a false name for a DUI."

The identical looks of shock and disbelief on each man's face would have been funny under different circumstances. Still she had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a pleased smile. "We had a nice long talk in their interrogation room that night. In exchange for his cooperation and a sworn statement implicating Quinn, I promised Yogorov that I would protect his brother by getting him moved to a more comfortable facility, far away from HR's reach."

"Except that never happened," Harold finished grimly.

"No," she sighed and risked a glance at John's rigid profile. "No it did not." Judge Monahan had looked clean on paper, but was actually in deep with HR. Her request never made it up the chain of command, and it hadn't taken long for HR to plant two of their newly arrested officers in his cell at Riker's. Laszlo died a painful death for his brother's 'betrayal', and she had earned herself another ruthless enemy.

Obviously Peter had discovered that she was alive somehow, and held her responsible for his brother's death. She had no doubt that he was coming after her to exact his revenge, just as he had promised he would if she didn't hold up her end of their deal and keep his brother safe.

"That explains why your number came up." John broke the tense silence, his tone cool, emotionless. "How did the Russians know you were alive?"

"When we didn't." He didn't say the words out loud, he didn't have to. One look at his stormy blue eyes was enough for her to know what he was thinking.

"I honestly don't know." She wearily shook her head and paced back to the living room with John, Bear, and Harold slowly following after. Suddenly she felt exhausted, the strain of the last twenty-four hours finally catching up with her. "Maybe they are the ones responsible for the break in at the FBI office."

Did it really matter now? Peter Yogorov knew she was alive and wouldn't stop coming after her until he killed her, meaning it wasn't safe to return to her family after all. Ben tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen.

The dark leather barely creaked under her weight as she sank back against the couch cushions and rubbed a hand across her forehead to stave off the headache that was building behind her temples. Her canine shadow made his way to her and carefully laid his head across her knees with a quiet sigh. She relented - how could she not when he blinked up at her with those wide, pleading eyes - and stroked the dark sable fur between his ears.

"Is there anything else we should know Carter?" John's voice was soft, deceptively so. He was angry, but at least he was willing to talk to her.

"No, there's nothing else." That was the last of her secrets. She had told them everything she knew, and felt oddly relieved now that it was all out in the open. This was her mess, but she was going to need help from her friends to clean it up. "So what do we do next?" she asked.

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, Joss would have missed the flash of relief flicker across John's face at the word 'we'.

"Whatever it takes." His eyes locked with hers, and that elemental connection that had been there since the beginning, that spark that had survived every test they put it through, kindled between them. That was not an idle statement, it was a promise.

John was the first to look away when Finch cleared his throat. "I'll speak with Miss Shaw and Detective Fusco about the potential threat."

Before she could find her voice to ask, he rushed to reassure her. "I won't mention you Joss. This is your news to share, when you're ready."

"Thank you Harold." His kindness meant a great deal to her. Perhaps he was more sympathetic to her situation because he was living in his own self-imposed witness protection program. He understood what she had gone through, why she had no choice but to do what she did.

"In the meantime I'll head back to the library and see if I can track down Mr. Yogorov. He managed to narrowly escape the FBI round-up and slip off of everyone's radar after HR's downfall.

"Library?" She made a note to ask John about that later. It was past time he told her where they got their information. She was 'dead' just like they were so what harm could there be in telling her about their mysterious source? Not that she didn't already have a pretty good idea of who - or rather what - it was.

"I also have more groceries in my car and some clothes for you Detect…um Joss."

Old habits died hard it seemed. "I'll run down and help you." A change of clothes and a hot bath sounded fantastic right about now…if only she didn't have to get up to make that happen. She gently dislodged Bear and forced her aching muscles to move, but John's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Stay, rest your ankle. I'll grab them." The quiet offer surprised her. He sounded so much like his old self she didn't know what to say.

"Thanks," she smiled up at him before he walked to the door where Harold was pulling on his coat.

"Come on Bear." Finch patted his leg and dangled a leash - a gaudy, studded affair that had Shaw written all over it - from his fingers. Both men turned, expecting their dog would be right behind them but he had not moved from his spot by her side. "Bear."

The dog blinked twice at Harold as if in apology, then glanced up at her with those damn eyes that she could not say no to even if she wanted. 'Like master like dog,' ran through her mind. How many times had John done the same thing to her with similar results?

Joss sent him a hopeful look, silently asking if Bear could stay with them; but she hadn't even finished before he gave in. "I guess we'll keep him tonight Finch," he offered with a lopsided grin.

"Very well. There should be toys and food for him around here somewhere." Harold nodded and stepped into the hall.

John grabbed his keys off the small table near the door and motioned for her to walk with him. "Lock up," he ordered

"You'll be right back," she protested, then stopped teasing him when she noticed his serious demeanor.

"I'm not taking any chances." He looked like he might say something else, but crouched down and scratched Bear behind his ears while he spoke to him in that husky, lilting voice that always made her a little weak at the knees. Too bad she didn't understand a single word of Dutch beyond 'sit', 'stay', and 'fetch' .

John rose to his feet and both master and dog stared at her for a long second before he stepped into the hallway to join Harold.

"Wait a minute," she called after him. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she tipped her head in the dog's direction. "What was that all about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Baby sitting instructions," he said matter-of-factly.

"Go on, get out of here." She tried to sound irritated as she pushed him further into the hallway, but the laughter she couldn't hold back ruined that. Joss snapped the locks in place hard enough to be heard on the other side of the door, then turned to her newly appointed chaperone. "Well buddy, what do you say we sneak out and -"

Bear cocked his head to the side and growled low in his throat.

"What? I was going to say 'make a run for the dog park'."

He was not amused and plopped himself on his haunches directly in front of the door.

"How about the doughnut shop around the corner?" His ears perked up at the word doughnut, but he remained steadfast at his post.

"Fine, what do you suggest?"

Bear stretched his neck slightly and licked the hand hanging by her side. "Yeah, guess I should clean up a little huh?" In truth she would love to soak in a hot bath for a couple of hours and fall in to bed; but for now she would settle for splashing some cold water on her face to clear away the fatigue.

She had only taken three steps towards the master bathroom when she heard the sound of nails clacking against the hardwood floor behind her. "You know you're not really in charge," she said without turning around.

A half whine-half growl rumbled through his chest, but he continued to pad along a few feet behind her…across the loft…up the stairs…and down the hall where he settled in the bathroom doorway before she could close it behind her.

'Like master indeed.' Joss cleared her throat loudly, but the stubborn mutt refused to budge. "I'll be right back…seriously where would I go? There's not even a window in here."

He barked sharply then lowered his head to his paws and gave her a look that all but said: 'better hurry, they'll be back soon.'

"Bear I'm not -" she started again then rolled her eyes. "Why am I arguing with the dog?" she turned to ask her reflection, but stopped short.

She looked awful!

Her hair, damp from the sleet and snow, had quickly dried into a riot of messy curls that haphazardly framed her face; and her once white sweater was torn in several spots, streaked with grime and what looked like dried blood. The right side of her face was flushed and slightly swollen. Scratches, long and short, dotted her face, neck and hands…hands that still bore traces of John's blood.

Her clumsy attempt to remove his shirt and the sweet kiss that followed came back to her in embarrassingly clear detail. Thank God Harold interrupted them before she could make a fool of herself; but the minute John got back he was going to sit down and let her take a look at his shoulder - and this time she would ignore the bands of muscle rippling under her fingertips and the quiet rush of his breath sweeping over her skin.

No, she wasn't going to think about any of it, she was just going to patch up the places he couldn't reach himself. Besides, John was hurt, pissed off, and not looking for any kind of relationship with her, now or ever...why the hell was she even thinking about that anyway?

She jerked the faucet handle on to full blast and rummaged through the cabinets for the soap and towels she had seen earlier.

The first splash of cold water was breath-stealing, but by the third Joss had to admit she felt refreshed, awake. She unwrapped the bar of soap and scrubbed her face, neck, arms, and hands until her skin started to tingle, then dried off with the thick white towel she'd found. Nothing could be done for her hair at this point she decided, so she finger-combed it as best she could and tucked it behind her ears.

Bear lifted his head from his paws so suddenly she jumped back in surprise and knocked her knee against the open cabinet door. In an instant he bolted to all fours with a curious growl and loped off down the hallway. It had to be John, who else knew about his apartment?

"Joss?"

Sure enough it was him; and she couldn't help but notice the unease threading through his voice. "Up here," she answered instantly and exited the bathroom to make her way to the landing where Bear was already peering through the open railing to the bottom floor.

John was standing in the living room with a duffel slung over each shoulder and bunches of plastic bags in each hand. "Finch brought over a few things," he smirked up at her.

"Wow. Did he leave anything at the store?" Joss was already moving down the stairs, and followed him into the kitchen.

"Knowing him, I doubt it. We are set for the next few weeks at least." He placed the sacks on the counter then dropped his other burdens on the floor. She probably wasn't supposed to hear the groan that slipped out, but she did and decided to look at those cuts now before he managed to distract her with something else.

"Sit." She took a loaf of bread from his hands and tossed it on the counter near the fridge. "Did you think I would forget John?"

"Forget what Carter?"

"Your shoulder." Using only her pointer finger, she pushed him onto a bar stool, knowing full well she was only able to do so because he let her. "Now take off your shirt."

"Usually a woman buys me dinner first before I take my clothes off."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." She bit the inside of her cheek to curb her smile. "But for now your shirt has to go."

"It's fine."

"Didn't we have this conversation already?" Joss gripped a fistful of the black Egyptian cotton to undo the buttons but his hands covered hers and gently wrested the material from her fingers.

"We've got a lot of groceries to put up," he hedged.

"Nothing that won't keep until we're done." She moved to dump the now cold water from her bowl and didn't hold back her smile when she heard him sigh and give in. Was it wrong to have so much fun ordering him around?

The smart aleck 'thank you' died on her lips when she turned around again. In fact, she almost fumbled her hold on the bowl of hot water at the sight in front of her. John had done as she'd asked him to all right, and now he stood facing her wearing nothing but a pair of black dress pants and a smug grin on his bearded face. She had gotten a fairly good look at him earlier, but…

Damn.

The man was gorgeous…magnificent…breathtaking… Her tired brain scrambled to come up with other adjectives to describe him, but 'hot' was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Heat quickly spread through her body as she took in his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms, the hard lines of his chest, the tight layers of muscles stacked across his stomach, and his trim waist. He might not be in his twenties or thirties anymore, but John Reese was every bit as imposing and powerful as any man half his age.

"This might not be such a great idea after all."

The thought of running her fingers over all those ridges and bulges should have made her deliriously happy - and she was - but how in the world was she going to do that and keep her hands to herself? Joss forced herself to breathe normally, and continued to put one foot in front of the other until she was standing directly in front of him.

Her gaze flitted across his olive toned skin, tracing scars of various shapes and sizes he had earned from working with Stanton, Snow, and now Finch. She lingered over a jagged blemish marring his shoulder - another painful reminder of that night - before glancing up to find John watching her intently. An emotion she was hesitant to name darkened his steely blue eyes, his cocky smirk replaced by a tightly clenched jaw.

"You can do this," she assured herself as John's fingers brushed hers when he took the bowl from her and set it on the clear counter space next to him. He obediently settled onto the bar stool again with his back to her.

"He's just a man…a man who was injured saving your life again…he's hurt, so get it together." The sight of a purplish-green bruise surrounding an uneven gash across his left shoulder helped her focus.

Joss swirled the clean washcloth around in the warm water before wringing it out and gingerly pressing it against the edges of the cut. It was long but thankfully not very deep, and in no time she had it cleaned out and bandaged. The temptation to trail her fingers over the marks on his back, evidence of other close calls he had survived, was great. She wanted to run her hands over the now-healed injuries, to kiss them, and erase the suffering those unnamed monsters had caused him.

Instead, she quietly rinsed the small towel and moved to stand in the space between his knees. Her thighs brushed against his when she stepped even closer to drag the cloth lightly across his collarbone and down the firm plane of his chest. She didn't turn away from his charged gaze as her hand dipped lower to glide over the taut muscles lining his abdomen. The familiar, comforting heat from his body surrounded her, encouraging her to test the limits of their tentative truce.

One large hand grabbed her wrist stop her movements as he rose to his feet, the other came to rest on the curve of her hip. Her heart hammered in her chest while she waited for him to react, to pull her close or push her away. To deny the awareness arching between them, or admit he felt it too.

With infinite tenderness, John pried the washcloth from her fingers and pressed it to her stinging cheek. The caress was so light, so feather-soft, she gasped when the cloth fell away and the tips of his fingers stroked the side of her face in its place. Unconsciously she shifted closer to him, seeking more of the gentle touch that was quickly becoming her undoing. She needed to create a distraction before she did something stupid - like beg him to kiss her again.

"Thank you for saving my life today," she whispered.

"Always." He cradled her cheek in his palm, indecision warring behind his incredibly blue eyes. The fingers at her waist gripped her tighter and she felt herself being drawn forward until their bodies were firmly pressed against each other, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. "I'll always protect you Joss, even when you think you don't need it."

She knew she should protest that last statement, but his nearness was clouding her mind. He was so close she couldn't think straight, close enough that his breath grazed her lips with every rough exhale. Her eyes drifted shut as the pads of his fingers trailed over the line of her jaw, then across her neck to tunnel through her short hair.

"Why didn't you tell me about Yogorov earlier?" he murmured. His voice was gruff, yet not with anger.

"I thought I could handle it on my own." Joss licked her lips and opened her eyes to meet his. "I've already put you through so much; I didn't want to drag you into another one of my messes. If you get hurt again because of me -"

"You aren't dragging me in to anything. I want to help you; but I can't do that if you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Her hand found its way to his chest and she savored the feel of his heart beating steadily under her palm. "I do trust you John, and I've told you everything." She refused to look away, willing him to believe her.

"You are not just another number to me." John lowered his forehead to rest against hers with a sigh. "I can't lose you again."

"You won't," she rushed to reassure him. The shakiness in his voice broke her resolve to hold herself back. She rose up on her toes and brushed her lips against his in a soft kiss once, twice, panicked by his lack of response.

"Joss," he groaned her name when she pulled away. She heard the restlessness in his voice mixed with uncertainty and desire.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and rested her head against his chest. "I've had two years to think about us. To dream about this moment, what I would say. But you've had two years to say goodbye and move on." An embarrassed blush burned her cheeks, and she tried to take a step back to extricate herself from his arms; but John hugged her tighter to him.

"No, never," he crooned against her hair. "I never said goodbye to you Joss. I couldn't bring myself to, but after all the lies and …I need time. We need time. Once this threat is over we can try to figure all of this out; but not now."

"Okay, not right now," she agreed. John was struggling with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, hell she was too. Right now he felt betrayed, and frankly, she would too if he had been the one to fake his death and leave her behind. He needed time to decide if he could forgive her for that, so she would wait as long as it took.

John relaxed against her and pressed a kiss to her temple. She wanted to stay in this moment forever, wrapped in his arms, no anger or deceit between them, and the solid beat of his heart echoing in her ear.

A crackling noise across the kitchen ruined any chance of that. They turned as one to find Bear on his hind legs, nosing a box of chocolate chip cookies out of a sack to claw at the package.

John was the first to move and managed to stop him before he could get the darn thing open while she continued putting the groceries away. When they were finished he gathered up his discarded clothes and excused himself. Minutes later he came back dressed in a fresh undershirt to help her finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Together they spent the next couple of hours removing the slip covers from the furniture and restoring his loft to a more livable condition. Once every corner had been swept clean and the last tear gas canister was tucked away in his weapons closet - which Finch had left virtually untouched - Joss fell on to the couch in exhaustion, the stress of the last few days catching up to her. John lowered himself onto the cushion beside her and Bear plopped down on the rug at their feet.

Every ache in her body was starting to make itself known. Her ribs were still smarting from the hits she had taken earlier; but not enough to mention at the moment. A drawn out rumble interrupted the song playing softly on the radio across the room, and Bear, puzzled, raised his head from his paws to listen for the sound again. Sheepishly Joss realized it was her stomach complaining about the utter lack of food over the last several days.

"When's the last time you ate something Carter?" John asked. His pinkie finger lightly stroked the side of her hand lying on the cushion between them.

That would be Friday night when she ate those brownies…no, those hadn't stayed down very long. It was Friday morning at the airport when Ben bought her breakfast…wait, she had been too nervous to eat and ended up throwing it away at the gate before boarding her flight. So it must have been Thursday night while she was finishing packing…or was that Wednesday after she'd quit her job at the police department and spent the evening signing paper after paper releasing her from FBI custody?

She honestly could not remember. Food had been the last thing on her mind for a while; but now that she thought about it, she was pretty hungry. It would be a shame to waste all that money Finch had just spent on groceries, but doing something about that would require getting up and moving around; and she was quite comfortable right where she was. "I could eat," she answered noncommittally.

"Why don't you clean up and I'll see what I can rustle up for us?" He hooked his little finger around hers and tugged on it playfully.

Relaxing in a tub of steaming water while a gorgeous man cooked for her? That was beyond tempting, but John had to be as worn out as she was.

"You could clean up while I cook dinner," she offered weakly.

"Why don't we both clean up and then make dinner?" he compromised.

"You've got yourself a deal." Neither of them moved to get off the couch until her stomach grumbled again, louder this time. "Let's go," she pushed herself to her feet and turned back to face John with an outstretched hand.

He accepted with a crooked grin and they started across the living room. "You can take the master bathroom, I'll shower down here." He grabbed Bear by the collar to keep him from following her up the staircase like he had earlier.

Joss nodded and grabbed the suitcase Harold had brought over then made her way upstairs wondering how Finch had even known she needed them? Was he somehow spying on her again? She was grateful for the changes of clothes and toiletries, but the thought of being secretly watched irritated her as much now as it did back then. She would let it slide this time, but they might need to have another discussion about her ground rules if it continued.

Fifty-five soothing minutes later, she stepped out of the steamy bathroom in a pair of black capri sweat pants and a green long-sleeved t-shirt; scrubbed clean and feeling so at ease she could have fallen asleep then and there. Bear was waiting outside the door for her, and together they padded back to the kitchen to find John putting together ingredients for chicken and rice. He had showered as well and changed into a loose dark grey t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. Quietly she joined him at the counter and started making a salad while snow continued to fall heavily outside.

Dinner was served an hour later and Joss managed to eat a plate and a half before pushing away from the table. Side by side they cleaned up, stored the leftovers in the fridge, then took their dessert - milk and cookies - into the living room. She collapsed on the couch again and leaned forward to set her cup down on the coffee table, but Bear was already in front of her, pleading for any crumb she might spare. Well he was out of luck. She had already fed him more than enough table scraps for one night.

"Sorry buddy, this is just for me." He barked loudly in objection, and Joss was unprepared when his long nose nudged the bottom of her glass. It tumbled out of her hand and landed in her lap, but not before every drop of liquid had splashed over her shirt and pants. She gasped at the sensation of ice-cold milk seeping through her clothes and wetting her skin.

She glanced up at John who was scolding the dog's retreating backside, but she could see the faint smile curling the edges of his lips. Carefully she set the empty glass on the coffee table and tried to keep more milk from dribbling on the floor as she levered herself off the couch.

"If you wanted to take another bath Joss, all you had to do was ask."

She met his smirk with one of her own and walked towards the stairs holding her soaked shirt out away from her body. "Ha ha, very funny," she laughed with him. "I'll be right back."

Upstairs she washed up and wrapped herself in a thick bath towel to scurry down the hall to the guest room where they had tossed her belongings earlier. Shivering at the slight chill in the air, Joss rooted through the smaller suitcase first and found a pair of pink sleep shorts mixed in with a handful of dress shirts, underwear, jeans, and two pairs of shoes. She slipped on the polka-dotted pajama bottoms and moved to the two duffel bags where she found more of the same - sweaters, suit pants, blazers, flats and heels, skirts, button up shirts, dresses, and an abundance of socks and underwear in a rainbow of colors.

Not a damn t-shirt to be found in the whole lot. "Seriously?"

She searched a second and third time, then flipped the suitcase lid down in frustration. Had Finch even paid attention to what he was packing? That didn't sound like him, and begged the question - where had Harold gotten these clothes? Not that the answer would be much help to her now.

Joss sat back on the bed and considered her options. It would only be for one, maybe two nights. A sweater or a plain dress shirt would be comfortable enough. She reached for a wrinkled blue button-up when another idea stopped her. He probably wouldn't mind, God knew she didn't.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and yelled his name down the stairs. "John?"

Her blush grew hotter with each passing second that brought the heavy fall of his footsteps closer. By the time he reached the landing she remembered her partial nakedness and hopped up to lock the door.

"Joss?" The door rattled under his efforts to open it. "You okay in there?"

"I'm fine," she promised, "but I need a favor." It was impossible for John to see through the solid oak door, but she crossed her arms over her chest to cover up nevertheless.

"Okay." He dragged each syllable out, worry edging into his voice as he jiggled the handle again. "Open the door first."

"Do you have a shirt I can borrow?" she blurted out.

"A shirt?"

"Yeah. Harold apparently thought one pair of pajamas would be enough."

Joss leaned against the door and waited. She was starting to feel silly for asking, but there was no turning back now.

"I'll see what I can find."

Minutes later John returned and knocked then tried the handle again. "Here, try this one."

"Thank you. You can leave it there, I'll be down in a second."

"Are you sure you won't need any help Carter?" He cleared his throat, but the raspiness lingered. "Those buttons can be tricky."

"I think I'll be able to manage them just fine on my own." Obviously. She had more than proven that in the kitchen earlier. Joss laughed to cover her nervous reaction to his teasing. He didn't mean for it to sound like an invitation for something else. Flirting with each other was just what they did.

The thick door obscured most of his reply, but thankfully he didn't push her weakening resolve to behave any further. "I'll be downstairs then if you need anything else."

"Thanks." Her fingers fumbled with the lock, but she held back until she was certain he was gone. Only then did she open the door and yank up the shirt he'd left hanging on the knob - an ordinary white dress shirt that was anything but ordinary to her.

The swarm of butterflies in her stomach fluttered to life again as the cool cotton slipped around her body. It was certainly much bigger on her than she had imagined it would be. The perfectly starched cuffs hung down well past her fingertips while the hem dangled only an inch or two above her knees, completely covering her shorts. The thin material billowed out around her before settling to gently hug her curves.

In a fit of girlish fancy - and fearful she might never have another chance - she gripped the collar in both hands and brought it up to her nose to breathe in the familiar mix of citrus and spice still clinging there. She closed her eyes to indulge in a fleeting daydream, then rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and fastened all but the top two buttons.

John was lounging in front of the tv again when she made her way to the living room again. He stopped channel surfing to watch her approach through heavy-lidded eyes. His bold stare followed her every step even as it drifted lazily from her shoulders to her chest, her hips, to linger for a long second on her bare legs. Every inch of her skin tingled as if he had physically touched her, and the feeling left her flustered - although she was determined not to let it show.

He slowly lifted his gaze back up her body to meet hers when she reached the leather sofa, and swallowed hard. "That shirt definitely looks better on you."

She sat down beside him with a shy grin and stretched to grab the plush red blanket draped across the back of the couch, but John was faster. He drew her legs on to his lap before she could move and started to examine her tender ankle. The startled gasp that snuck out without her permission became a breathless moan when his fingers began to knead the sensitive muscles there.

God that felt good, way to good. Stroke by expert stroke, her body began to relax under his hands while drowsiness washed over her. Joss felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions underneath her; and the string of commercials on the television began to sound muffled, distant, almost as if they were in another room instead of a few feet away.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open; but she fought the pull of sleep as long as she could. She wanted to stay awake a little while longer and savor her time with John. Tomorrow she would be back with Taylor and her mom, there might not be another opportunity like this for a while.

Against her will, her eyelids drifted shut again and a cozy warmth stole through her body. From far away she heard John whisper her name, but she didn't have the strength to open her eyes and answer him. The best she could manage was a contented whimper as she stopped fighting the inevitable and let sleep drag her under.

---

Joss jerked awake at the sensation of being carried. Instantly she pushed against the constricting layers that had trapped her arms against her chest. Panic accelerated her heartbeat as she struggled to remember exactly where the she was.

"Shhh, you're safe Joss." John's low voice cut through the deep shadows to soothe her rattled nerves. "I've got you."

"John?" she murmured, still groggy and a little disoriented. She blinked several times to help her eyes adjust to the darkness covering the loft.

"I'm here honey." He cradled her closer to his chest and she felt his lips brush her temple. "Go back to sleep."

"Yeah right." She didn't think that would be possible, not when his nearness was starting to clear away the fatigue.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, yet didn't put her down. The arm around her back tightened and the pads of his fingers swept over the bare skin of her thighs, causing her to shiver. "You should get some sleep," he whispered again. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

Joss pulled back far enough to make out his hesitation through the shadows and dim moonlight. She traced the sharp contours of his face with her gaze then raised her hand to allow her fingertips to follow the same path.

It had to be the heat from his body soaking through the dress shirt's thin fabric, or the hand that was dangerously near the edge of her breast, or maybe it was because she had not felt this safe, this comfortable in a long, long time. Those were the only possible explanations she could come up with for why she breathlessly blurted out, "There's plenty of room in the bed."

Thank goodness the loft was dark enough John couldn't see the fiery blush stinging her cheeks. She had always been a very direct woman, straightforward with her needs and wants, but tonight she could not help but be a little embarrassed by her boldness. Things were ridiculously complicated between them, and inviting him to share his bed with her was definitely not giving him the time he needed. She wasn't being fair, but after two years apart she wanted to keep him close a little while longer - and John, she suspected, felt the same way.

"That's not a good idea," he rasped.

"I know." She trusted John completely, but she couldn't say the same for herself. With a decision seemingly made, he gently lowered her onto the king-sized mattress and tugged the covers up around her.

"Good night Joss," he hummed and bent down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before returning to the couch. She listened to him toss and turn several times before he found a comfortable position on his side facing the bed.

Well great. How was she going to fall asleep now when she was wide-awake, desire and disappointment thrumming through her body, her thoughts running in a hundred different directions?

"It works better when you close your eyes Carter."

"They are closed." He thought he knew her so well…

"Still having a hard time admitting when I'm right I see."

"Ha!" The unladylike yelp escaped before she could smother it. "I always give you credit when you earn it John…it's not my fault it doesn't happen very often."

His chuckle drifted across the living room before quiet descended again. In the soft light filtering through the heavy cloud cover, Joss could just make out his features and the dark gaze that was focused on her. Obviously they were both awake, so she gave up any pretense of sleeping and curled on to her stomach to face him, wrapping her arms around her pillow and hugging it close. There were things she needed to say to him and the peaceful silence seemed to invite her to speak.

"John?" she whispered, even though she knew he was awake.

"Yeah Joss?" His voice was equally soft.

She shifted against the clean white pillowcase and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I ran away last night."

For a minute only the howling wind answered her. Her heart sank. Was he too angry to accept her apology?

"Why did you?" The hoarse question made her cringe. "Why did you run from me? You could have been killed."

She had asked herself the same thing over and over last night, and hated the answer she came up with each time. "I was afraid," she confessed.

"Of me?" He sounded confused, upset. "I would never hurt you Joss."

"No, I know you wouldn't, I just…" She propped her head up on one hand and squinted to make out his face more clearly in the fading moonlight. "I didn't expect you to be there last night. I wasn't sure how you react, or how to even begin to tell you about the last two years."

John ran his hands across his face, then clasped them behind his head with a deep breath. She waited, not wanting to push him too hard, yet he needed know. "I didn't want to lose you, or what might be my only chance to explain it to you."

"You will never lose me Joss, but…" For another long moment he didn't say anything then, "I was there last night because you asked me to take care of your family if -"

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye followed by another one that soaked through the pillowcase. She had asked him to take care of Taylor and her mom with what she thought were her dying breaths. John had taken care of them, in fact, he had done more for them than she would have ever expected.

"Thank you for protecting them." The FBI had a protective detail watching over her family from a distance; but knowing that John was looking out for them was what helped her sleep at night. Knowing they were not alone gave her the strength to do what she needed to.

"I needed to protect them. They were my connection to you." John sounded as if he were fighting tears himself. "Being around Taylor and your mom made me feel closer to you." There was a slight smile in his voice, and a sudden longing to hear about her family, to know what had happened during her absence, overwhelmed her.

She hugged the pillow to her chest and rested her chin on her crossed arms. "Tell me about them?" she asked. It felt strange to have to ask about her own son, but she wanted to know the details that weren't included in the one-page FBI reports or the snippets she managed to get from Ben every so often. She listened to Bear's heavy snoring, excited and nervous about what John might say.

"Your mom is a strong woman. She held things together for Taylor, better than Finch and I did. She reminds me a lot of you."

His admiration for Sarah Lawrence was obvious. Joss smiled at the respect behind his words and the comparison.

"Taylor was devastated when we told him. He shut us all out for a while; but he never let it affect his grades or his basketball game. I have never seen him work so hard. He was determined to make you proud."

More tears dampened the pillowcase, but she didn't bother wiping them away. The most excruciating loss of this whole ordeal was time with her son. She had missed out on so much - everyday moments, basketball and football games, prom night, graduation, his first job, the first day of college. There was no getting that time back, but she planned to make the most of what time she would have with him - if he would let her - starting tomorrow morning.

"You should have seen all of us trying to teach him how to drive." John's chuckle brought out a bittersweet one of her own. It wasn't hard to imagine, but she wished she had been there to see that. "Finch gave up after the first week and bought him a car and a chauffeur."

"How many tickets did y'all get?"

"Five," John laughed. "Luckily Fusco was able to make them disappear. I lost track of how many Shaw managed to get him out of."

Joss rolled her eyes not even wanting to imagine what tactics she had resorted to to make that happen. "Did my baby ever get his license?"

"He did. A month before prom Lionel took him down to the DMV where he passed the written and driving tests on the first try - scared the hell out of the instructor though."

They both laughed at that and let the conversation lapse while they listened to the storm outside intensify.

"Who did he take to prom?" she asked when her curiosity got the better of her. Surely he went instead of hiding out at her mom's house or the school library.

"He didn't want to go at first, not even when Shaw volunteered to be his date."

Well that was one way to make the other girls jealous and gain some respect from his friends. "What changed his mind?"

"Your mom actually. She told him he was going even if she had to be his date. She said you would have wanted him to be out with his friends having fun, not sitting at home feeling sorry for himself."

Joss didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Her mom was right. She wouldn't want Taylor to be home alone on a big night like that; but it hurt knowing she was the reason for his pain. How was he going to take the news that she was alive? Given the reactions she'd gotten so far that was anybody's guess.

"So who did he take?" She sniffled and asked again.

"I think her name was Madeline something?"

"Madeline Greene? He took Maddie to prom?" Joss remembered the dark-haired second-grader who had relentlessly chased her little third-grader around the playground until he finally gave in and let her catch him one day. After that the two had become close friends. She had always liked the girl and admired her spunk; but sometime during their sophomore year Maddie's family had moved upstate. Taylor didn't mention her much after that so she had assumed they'd drifted apart. "Skinny little girl with glasses and braces?"

"That's the one, although she's all grown up now - no glasses or braces." John drew one large hand from behind his head to rest it on his stomach. "I see you know her."

"Yeah, she was a sweet kid," she mumbled, still thinking about Taylor's prom date. "I didn't realize they kept in touch after she moved."

"I'm not sure about that; but they had a fantastic time."

"Do you have any pictures?" It was a long shot, but she was suddenly desperate to see her baby.

"I don't Joss, I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "It's safer that way."

"I know," she swiped at the tear running across the corner of her mouth and laid her head back against the pillow. It was the same reason she hadn't kept pictures on her desk or on her phone when she was a detective. There were too many people - criminals and dirty cops alike - walking through the bullpen. Anyone could stroll by her desk and see pictures of her family, then decide to go after them to get to her.

Her sudden burst of energy was waning, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to her again. Her eyelids were growing heavy, reminding her that they both needed sleep badly. There was more she wanted to tell him, more she wanted to know about their time apart; but that would have to wait. They had all the time in the world to talk. John would be there when she woke up. "This isn't a dream," she told herself again, and pulled the covers a little tighter around her.

She yawned softly and let her mind wander through memories of the last two years. Her first night in Phoenix where she cried herself to sleep, one lengthy federal trial after another, ordinary days she thought would never end, and one balmy November night last year when she decided she couldn't take anymore and almost walked away from it all. "I tried to call once."

"When?" The sharp question brought her head off the pillow.

Huh? Had she said that out loud? The couch cushions groaned noisily under his weight as John pushed himself into a half sitting position. Joss didn't need the lights on to know he was watching her. She could feel the pressure of his stare across the darkened room.

"Last November, one year after…" She licked her lips recalling the loneliness that had fueled her call on the anniversary of the shooting. "But I lost my nerve as soon as I heard your voice. You sounded tired, like I had woken you."

"I thought that was just a dream…or the alcohol," he muttered under his breath. "We traced the number back to a payphone in Scottsdale. Figured it was a wrong number…."

No, it wasn't. That night she'd had a late dinner with Ben to review her testimony for yet another grand jury hearing the next day. As soon as he'd left her apartment that night, she had slipped past the agent stationed outside her building then drove twenty minutes east to nearby Scottsdale, and pulled over at the first payphone she found. Her hand had trembled so badly she could barely feed the quarters into the slot, let alone dial his number. She wasn't even sure if it was still in service; but when she'd heard his voice - gravelly and tinged with sleep - every last ounce of breath left her body. Her heart had firmly lodged itself in her throat and robbed her of the ability to speak. She had gasped and tried several times to say something before slamming the receiver down and scurrying back to her car. Just as she had flung the driver's side door open, the phone started to ring.

Joss remembered how loud each ring had seemed. Seconds had ticked by in slow motion while she stood indecisively with one hand on the car's roof, one on top of the door frame. She couldn't look away from the beat up phone booth, couldn't move towards it. In the end, she had hopped into her car and tore out of the bar's parking lot to head back to her apartment before she did something even more stupid, like call him back. Before all of her hard work was shot to hell.

She had been so sure the trials wouldn't drag on much longer, that she would be home by Christmas, New Years at the latest. Calling John had been risky; but after an entire year of no communication, she had needed to hear his voice - especially that night.

How differently would things have turned out if she had picked up the phone instead?

"I hope you're through running Joss," he said gruffly and slumped back against the couch cushions, rubbing a hand across his face.

"I am," she promised; although part of her was afraid she might not know how to stop running after all this time. Yet she meant everything she said to Ben last night; she was done running. If Yogorov or anyone else wanted to come after her she would stand and fight here, at home with the help of her friends.

Her earlier headache was pounding in her temples again, and she was losing the fight to keep her eyes open; yet something wouldn't let her rest.

"Get some sleep Joss." His voice, thick with emotion, floated to her over the drone of the loft's heater.

"I don't think I can." But her own voice was already growing weak, her words slurred.

"You can."

"But -"

"I'll be here when you wake up."

Was it that obvious? Or did he share her fear of waking up to find this was all just a dream? It didn't matter, she decided. His reassurance was good enough for her and she snuggled deeper under the covers with her eyes closed.

"Good night John," she whispered. His tender goodnight was echoing in her ears when sleep finally claimed her.

---

Well that didn't take long did it?! And look, no cliffhangers this time, just a nice quiet ending. What better way to kick off the work week and celebrate the end of the school year than with a new chapter?

Thank you all so much for patiently sticking with me, and a special thanks to all my guests and my faithful reviewers who have checked in on me during the weeks...months... it took me to get this next chapter up. Your notes and subtle hints to hurry up always make me smile - and they really do inspire me to write faster! I also wanted to send out an early Happy Father's day to all the dads out there and a belated Happy Mother's day to all the moms I missed last month.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of the fantastic reviews and the feedback I received from my last chapter. A big thank you especially for the update on Fusco's partner status. I think I'm going to leave him solo for now. I only had one scene in mind for the potential new person, but I don't know how she would have fit with the rest of the story... so we'll see :-D Hopefully the shoot out and the escape scenes weren't too implausible. It played out right in my head, but reality might be a different story. Any mistakes or goofs you find are totally mine.

For now I'm off to work on chapter 11 of my baby, but I do have chapter six of this story written on paper so all I'll have to do now is type it up and start the editing process. Feel free to let me know how I did, bad or good, or in between :-) Have a wonderful weekend! Meli