Chapter 2: Saturday

John woke with the sun in his face and spooning a warm body. Although the surroundings were unfamiliar to him, he wasn't concerned because he recognized the feel and smell of the body next to his. Zoe. He looked at her slumbering figure and smiled then gently tightened his arms around her.

John was amazed at how easily he and Zoe had fallen into this semblance of a relationship. He never thought for one minute that he would ever get past her prickly, standoffish facade. Once the walls came down, he was able to little by little see the real Zoe. He wasn't kidding himself that she would completely let her guard down, it wasn't in her nature, but he certainly felt a connection with her.

Gently, he extricated himself from the couch and went in search of sustenance.

Her boots clicked down the aisles of the grocery store as she picked up essentials for her kitchen. She wasn't here by choice.

In attempting to prepare breakfast, John was aghast to find Zoe's kitchen seriously lacking. He had stared into her fridge and found nothing edible; just some moldy cheese, some over ripe vegetables, one egg, and milk that was way past its best by date.

"Do you eat?" He had asked clearly confused. How did she survive with no food in her kitchen?

"I'm barely here as it is, the last thing I need to come home to is rotting food," Zoe replied as she entered the kitchen freshly showered and dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a button down shirt and a pair of high heeled black boots.

John shook his head and grabbed her hand, heading towards the door. "We need to get some rations."

"Tell me we're not going to the Army Surplus store to get some MRE's." She groused.

"We're going to the grocery store, smart ass."

"You want to go out in public? Together?" She wondered. Their "relationship" so far had been on the down low; primarily why they always met at hotels when they wanted to see each other.

He shrugged, "Yes, we just take precautions . . . Let' make a stop at the Loft and I'll trade my suit for something else."

"Do you have anything else but the suits?"

"Sure, I still have the clothes Harold acquired for our stint in the 'burbs, add a baseball cap and some sun glasses, no one will know who I am or you for that matter." He said pointedly eyeing her casual, non-fixer attire. She pulled her hair into two loose braids and completed her ensemble with big Jackie-O type glasses and a cadet hat for good measure.

Zoe shook her head eyeing their cart. "Think you have enough sodium infused processed food in there?"

"They taste good and," he replied. "They are efficient."

"Efficient?"

"Of course. Well not as efficient as MRE's, you don't even need to heat those up. But in a pinch, all you need for ramen noodles is boiled water," he said with a sly smile.

"Well, these are not making it into my apartment." She declared as she one by one returned the packages of Ramen Noodles to the shelves and the boxes of Hot Pockets to the freezer. "I am not aiding and abetting your coronary . . ."

"Let's just get French Toast Fixings as my friend Heather says. . . " Zoe suggested as she took their cart and zoomed away.

"Bread, eggs, and milk?" John asked, curious as he followed her to the dairy case and watched her pick up half a gallon of milk and some eggs.

"Yup, and you're making it, hot stuff." She quipped walking past him, patting his butt and heading towards the bakery for some bread.

"Do you have a grill?" he asked as he stopped to look at some steaks.

"Do I look like I have a grill? Oooh, are you going all Far Rockaway on me?" She pretended to sigh dreamily. "You looked real comfortable in front of that grill." Remembering that he did look rather comfortably domesticated and in her mind, it was damn appealing. "We can use the broiler in the oven can't we?"

"It's settled then, steaks for dinner," he replied grabbing the package of steaks and throwing it in the cart.

After they began walking again, John took her hand and offered a gentle squeeze.

She smiled at him as she picked up the rest of their dinner on their way toward the checkout. They got into the line and started unloading their groceries onto the conveyor belt.

"Someone is making French Toast," the cashier commented. "Is your husband good in the kitchen?"

John had the squirmy, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look that made Zoe want to laugh. "He's not my husband, I just found him wandering the aisles," Zoe said with a wide smile.

The cashier laughed. "That's just my luck, I usually find drunks wandering the aisles."

"Trust me, I understand bad luck," Zoe replied.

"Hon, finding a husband like that isn't bad luck." Apparently, the cashier still didn't believe that she and John weren't blissfully wed.

"You don't have to pick up after him, and he leaves the toilet seat up," Zoe remarked with a smirk, deciding to play along since whatever she said, the cashier wouldn't believe her anyway.

"I do not!" John cut in.

The cashier laughed. "You guys are so cute."

Sitting on the kitchen counter, flipping through her phone to see if anything was urgent, Zoe had to admit that seeing John in front of the oven making French toast was even more appealing than John in front of the grill. Cooking in jeans, that accentuated one of his best, in her opinion, assets, was certainly a sight to behold. It was a rare occasion to see John in anything but a suit, but the casual look suited him fine.

It didn't matter what he was cooking, all she knew was she would eat anything he put in front of her. Hell, he could have been cooking a shoe and she wouldn't have noticed.

He turned to look at her and gave her the grin that always made her heart beat just a little bit faster than normal.

Bastard.

"What is taking so long?" She asked in that tight, cold voice that she now had difficulty pulling off in front of him, losing the effect when she couldn't help but quirk her lip.

Still grinning the grin that made her have lascivious thoughts, he turned and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and looked directly at her.

"Perfection cannot be rushed . . ."

Rolling her eyes, she challenged, "You think they are that good? Ha!"

"You doubt my abilities?" He asked with mock incredulity.

"In the kitchen maybe . . ." She certainly didn't doubt his abilities in the bedroom, or the bath tub, or the . . .

"Care to put a wager on that?"

"On what?" She asked wearily.

"On whether or not you're going to make me eat my words," he replied casually. Though the word eat was said with just the right amount of emphasis to cause her nether regions to tighten in anticipation. What could she say? The damn vigilante was very talented . . . especially with his . . .

"And what…pray tell…would the wager be?" She asked without concern as she was enjoying the teasing banter they had fallen into.

John didn't flinch. His grin turned into a smirk as he stared into her eyes directly, and without missing a beat responded while walking towards her.

"The winner gets to decide the rest of the day's activities."

She was about to open her mouth when he stopped her by moving her legs apart on the counter and stepping in between them. "Ah Ah Ah…" He warned as he put a finger to her mouth.

"And the rest of the evening's festivities."

There was only one possible answer.

"I'm in," she said her eyes challenging him to put his money where his mouth was.

John smiled widely at her cockiness. Was it wrong of him to enjoy the task of proving her wrong? He didn't think so.

What he didn't expect was for her to give him that knowing smile as she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close.

His heart beat double time at the sight of it.

"Tell me why this isn't a win-win for me? Either way, I don't think I'll get the short end of the stick," she whispered in his ear, accentuating her comment with a flick of her tongue.

"You're not the only one with a win-win. Either way, I'm in." John triumphantly declared as he turned around and started plating the French toast.

"The French toast is ready, do you want syrup?"

"Why would I need syrup, hot stuff, you're talking to sugar lips over here. Plus, the syrup will mess with the true taste of the . . . fweh toh," Zoe finished just as John stuffed a piece of French toast in her mouth.

"Quit your yapping and stuff it, Shortie." John had finally had enough of her posturing, he waited confidently for the reaction he knew was coming.

Zoe chewed for a few seconds, paused, at the look of pure rapture on her face, John raised his arms up in the universal sign for "touchdown!"

"This is your choice for the rest of the day's activities?" Zoe asked, staring at the building in front of her.

He pulled on one braid and lifted her sunglasses up, "Of course, what did you think I meant," he asked coyly, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the little neighborhood bookstore.

They had a perfect dinner to end their perfectly "normal" day. Who knew that it was possible to do normal? If anyone had told him that he would fall asleep watching TV with Zoe on a Friday night, he would have thought they were insane. John never just watched TV, neither did Zoe. They were both too busy with what they did to even consider just hanging out.

Had that same person told him that he would spend Saturday at the grocery store, making French toast, spending two hours at a bookstore and then having a perfectly "normal" dinner at home, he would have called that person certifiable. It had been so long since he had been able to make dinner, let alone sit down and enjoy it. His lifestyle hadn't lent itself to relaxing evening dinners or lazy evenings watching TV. But he found it a surprise that his lifestyle allowed it once in awhile. Taking the proper precautions allowed John and Zoe to experience a relatively normal weekend. He knew this couldn't happen every weekend. It just wasn't going to happen in this lifetime. But, with a little planning and effort, it was possible.

John watched in awe as Zoe Morgan, Crisis Manager, Fixer, probably one of the most influential women in New York City, completed an honest to goodness domestic chore. She was doing the dishes. She had insisted that since he had slaved over their dinner, it was only fair that she clean up. And damn it, did it have to look so right?

John slipped up behind Zoe as she was rinsing the dinner dishes.

Zoe jumped and let out a startled gasp, "John!" She froze as he put his arms around her. "What are you doing?"

The light brush of his lips against her neck was all it took for every nerve in her body to be tantalized.

He murmured against the pulse at her neck, "Do I have to spell it out?"

Zoe could feel the heat from his body. She was ready this time and wasn't surprised when he kissed her ear and gently nipped it. "I . . . um . . . guess . . . you . . . um . . . do?"

Her confusing question made him smile. "Let me show you," he said , his breath was warm on her skin, his hands moved to the front of her shirt and started unbuttoning each and every button with slow, methodical, precision. When all the buttons were free, he slowly pulled her shirt from the waistband of her jeans, down her arms and tossed it to the kitchen floor.

She laid her hands over his marauding ones, leading them to where she wanted them. "Hmm, I think I get it now," she said impishly.

"I knew it wouldn't take long," he replied as he gently pressed her into the sink, lodging his leg between hers and pushing them apart as one of his hands rested on her stomach where he traced little circles there; his other hand shifted up to cup her breast through her bra, causing her breath to hitch.

"Uhm, John . . . let's . . . ah . . . take . . . this . . . um . . . elsewhere . . . " she suggested, her breath hitching once more as his hands were doing wondrous things to her breasts. Quickly turning the water off, she turned around and placed her palms on his chest and gently walked him backwards, out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Once they were close to her bed she shoved him hard and followed him down.

Intensely aware that she was sitting on his groin, she deliberately and methodically took her time with the buttons on his shirt. By the feel of things, it wasn't particularly comfortable for him. Slipping open another button, Zoe purposefully shifted, settling herself down more firmly, making John gasp and her smile.

"You're killing me," he said his jaw clenched.

She tugged at his shirt until it came free of his jeans. "Turnabout is fair play," she said, shifting on him, rocking against him. Zoe parted his shirt completely and deliberately ran her hands over his chest. Lord, he felt wonderful. She felt his tightening response as she trailed her finger along his skin, tracing down over his stomach.

John's hands were gripping the bedspread as he thought to himself, When did I lose control of this situation. Admitting to himself that Zoe was very good at turning the tables and somehow always ending up on top.

Continuing with her arduous yet pleasurable task of torturing John, she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his jeans, rubbing them back and forth, wrenching another stifled gasp from him.

Zoe moved on to work on John's jeans, as she scooted down onto his thighs. Unzipping his fly, she flattened her hands against his belly then slid them inside his boxers. Her hands explored and he closed his eyes, drawing a shuddering breath into his lungs. "What did I tell you John? I didn't get the short end of the stick," she said with a smirk.

"Jesus, Zoe." By that point, John was spouting gibberish. Zoe felt a flash of pleasure at the power she had over him.

Wanting to take some control back, he pushed himself to a sitting position that made them equals. She slid onto his lap as her legs wrapped around his hips. He palmed the back of her head as their lips met. Heat rose in their bodies and sparked every nerve ending. Parting her mouth, she sighed into his.

Zoe pushed the shirt off his shoulders urging him to shake it off. She relished the skin on skin contact when his hands finally returned to her body, feeling the heat and sizzle of every touch.

His eager hands cupped her breasts through her bra. Wanting to grant him full access, she reached behind her, yanking on the clasp until she was free. Zoe could think of nothing else but the feel of his hands and his mouth on her neck, her breasts, everywhere.

"You're beautiful," John whispered against her skin. "So beautiful."

"I know you are but what am I?" Zoe responded, laughing a little at the short trip back to childhood. Trying to tell him that she thought he was beautiful too. His lips connected with hers again as he ground his pelvis against hers, seeking a release for his body that he had to hold in check.

Realizing that they both still had their jeans on, Zoe whispered, her lips and tongue teasing his earlobe even as her hips continued to press against his, "John, we're too old to dry hump like teenagers."

John's laugh morphed into a groan as she pushed him on his back and started tugging his jeans off. The tugging and the pulling shot waves of pleasure through him. She quickly dispensed with her jeans and underwear and slowly kissed her way back up John's body, paying special attention certain key parts.

Reaching her ultimate destination, she pressed her body, full-length, against his feeling his heartbeat reverberate in his chest as she laid her cheek against him. His chest crisscrossed with scars from another place and time. John pulled her knees up to bracket his hips as he encouraged her to straddle him again.

His calloused fingers traced a line from under her arm to the bottom of her hip as his pliant lips kissed her collarbone. Moving his attention to her lips, his mouth took hers solidifying their connection. He roamed her body with his strong hands; hands that had at one time inflicted injury, pain, and death, now only conveyed tenderness.

In one swift motion, John lifted her and switched their positions. He lowered himself to her and carefully slipped a leg between hers and eased inside. His body trembled and then the gentleness ended as he moved over and over while she sighed and asked for more. Beneath her kneading hands, his muscles were hard and tense as he held himself back.

Zoe smiled against his shoulder as the feel of him took over her every impulse, until she could do nothing but gasp his name as she exploded and shattered into pieces, giving him his cue.

With a harsh cry, he let go. And in the midst of his own pleasure he sought her mouth again, his kisses hard and hot. Though still breathless, John didn't withdraw from her. Into her ear, he whispered, "touchdown!"

They fell asleep in between bouts of laughter.