Joss's apartment faced east, and so the sun woke them early the next morning. They hadn't slept much, but they hadn't made love all that much either. Enough, though. He smirked in memory. He was glad his touch had not deserted him. The thought that he might not please Joss had frightened him, but he had been amazed to find that his delight in her had been mirrored by her evident delight in him. They had talked, and touched, and talked some more until finally sleep took them. There was a simple pleasure in being touched by another human being, something... not exactly sexual, but deeply satisfying, Reese had discovered. He wondered why he had never noticed this before. He lay on his side facing her, one arm draped across her. Gentleness, there hadn't been much gentleness in his life – not for a long while – but he had had a whole night of it. He could hardly believe it. Joss stirred, opened her eyes and looked at him. "That wasn't a dream, then," she said, yawning.
"No. No, it wasn't." He was grinning like an idiot. He leaned towards her and kissed her, quite thoroughly.
"Mmmm. That was nice. Maybe I should call in sick again today."
"Stomach flu, huh?" he said teasingly.
"Yeah. A bad one."
"Infectious, too, I bet."
"Yeah. Wouldn't want to spread it around," said Joss thoughtfully.
"Between the NYPD and the DA's office it could bring law enforcement in the city to a halt if it spreads," he agreed.
"Can't have that." She was leaning towards him.
"No indeed. Mmm. Mmmmmm..."
xxxxxxxxx
They made it out of bed for a late lunch. Reese, clad in boxers and undershirt, found eggs and managed to produce a couple of creditable omelets despite the unfamiliar kitchen. He enjoyed cooking, though he seldom had the chance to cook for anyone but himself. He watched Joss demolishing his creation with a warm feeling. He liked feeding her, he decided. She was too thin...a thought suddenly struck him. "Joss. Last night...we never used protection..."
She smiled a little at the suppressed panic in his voice. "No need, John. It's all covered." She paused a moment and then added quietly, "That massive scar from the landmine? The damage inside was pretty bad. My uterus was already compromised from the prior caesarian, and so they took it out. They told me that between the scarring from the caesar and the injuries from the landmine they could never have repaired it adequately. So Taylor will always be my one and only."
Reese was quiet for a moment. She looked sad, but composed. This was an old grief, worn smooth over time to simple melancholy. He felt a slight pang for the mocha-skinned children he would never be able to have with her, then shook himself mentally. One swallow does not a summer make, his grandma had sometimes said. One night with Joss and he was thinking of children? Idiot!
His phone, still in his pants pocket on the bedroom floor, began to ring. He went and got it, checking the display as he returned to the kitchen. UNKNOWN CALLER. He answered.
"If you can disentangle yourself, Mr Reese, we would appreciate Ms Carter's presence here. I see she called in sick again." Finch sounded slightly disapproving of Carter's extra sick day.
"Yeah. Reese and Car-ter sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Shaw was on the line too, her gleeful voice coming through loud and clear.
He tensed. "You weren't listening in, where you, Shaw?"
"Not after the first half hour or so. Too mushy. Plus it got muffled after your pants hit the floor."
He could feel blood rushing to his face, mingled rage and embarrassment. He opened his mouth and was about to let fly when Joss reached over and took the phone from him.
"Sameen? Joss here. Now I know you people have never respected my privacy before, but up till now I never had a trained assassin at my beck and call. And right now he's looking red in the face and has that expression he gets when he's just about to go kill something. So I very strongly urge you to cease and desist before bad stuff happens. How's Finch going to save the world if you two put each other out of action? C'mon, girlfriend. Time to back off."
There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. "Okay, Joss. Since you ask so nicely."
Joss handed him his phone back, rolling her eyes as she did so. He accepted it reluctantly, looking at it as if it had betrayed him and vowing to take the battery out next time. "Okay, Professor," he said resignedly. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
xxxxxxxxxxx
They stopped by Riley's apartment for fresh clothes for Reese, and so more than an hour passed before they made it to the subway station. Bear wandered out to meet them as they arrived, wagging and looking pleased to see them. Inside the subway car, Shaw lounged on a seat and smirked at them as they came in. Reese could feel his expression becoming wooden. Finch was sitting in his accustomed place at the computer, but leaning over his shoulder was a third figure. Reese's expression congealed further as Root straightened up and shot a bright smile at them.
"Well! Hello, John. And Joss. So nice to see you alive."
Joss was looking in confusion from Root to Reese, Shaw and Finch. "Umm...I'm not sure we've met..." she said uncertainly.
"You might remember me as Doctor Caroline Turing," said Root cheerfully. "But really I'd rather be called Root. Though these days even that is a bit, hmm, fluid."
"Wait, you're the one who kidnapped Harold? Didn't he have you confined to a mental hospital? What are you doing here?" Carter looked rattled, and Reese saw her hand moving towards her jacket pocket.
"Long story," said Root soothingly. "I'm a good guy now. Honestly. Just ask Harold."
Finch nodded reluctantly. "Samaritan has made allies of us, Ms Carter. And Ms Groves has a quite unique relationship with the Machine. I really do believe she's changed from her more...unscrupulous days." His glance at Root said, You had better not prove me wrong...
"She was so pleased you survived your shooting, Joss," said Root. "She has quite the soft spot for you, and the big lug. No offence," she added, glancing at Reese.
He decided to ignore the comment. "So why didn't the Machine tell us that Joss hadn't been killed after all?" he asked.
"She works in mysterious ways, John," said Root seriously. Then she tossed her head. "Though actually she thought you would enjoy the surprise. Isn't it always more fun that way? Like opening a present on Christmas morning."
"Ms Groves has given us a plan to head off any trouble from your meeting with Joss the other day, John," said Finch hurriedly, before Reese could work out a reply to this. "I'm currently manufacturing some involvement on Ms Carter's part with some of your old narcotics cases. It's really not that difficult, just changing names on case files and then altering the time stamps on the amendments. Tedious more than anything. Ms Carter, you should probably familiarise yourself with the details of these cases, in case anyone ever questions you about them."
Joss pursed her lips. "Fine, Finch. But I really do more domestic violence work. Won't those narcotics cases look anomalous in themselves?"
Finch looked awkward. "That would be the other thing, Ms Carter. I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, but in future you might need to take the occasional such case again, in order for it to look genuine."
Carter looked far from happy at this, but Finch hastened to add, "The beauty of this is that it gives you and John a completely natural shared history, Joss. What could be more normal than for the two of you to have met in such circumstances? You needn't take any particular pains to hide your relationship, even if it were possible to do so."
Joss threw up her hands in surrender. "Okay, Finch, you've convinced me. Looks like I'll be brushing up my narcotics case law over the next few evenings, then."
Just then Reese's phone vibrated. He saw the call was from Fusco. "Lionel?"
"Yeah, Riley – how's your stomach?"
"Much better, thank you, Lionel," said Reese cautiously.
"Well, then get your ass down here. We have a development in the Veronica Stevens homicide. Another nurse was assaulted early this morning, same MO, same general area. She died an hour ago. The Captain's just come out of her office and she's bustin' my chops on this, so you need to get back in the saddle, flu or no flu and get on top of this one. Okay?"
Reese took this without change of expression. "I'm on it, Lionel. See you in ten." He looked around at the others. "I've been called into the precinct, I'd better go." He hesitated, then thought It's not like this will surprise anyone after last night, leaned over to Joss, kissed her on the cheek and turned to leave.
"I'll call you later, John," said Joss. He smiled at her and strode out.
XXXXXXXX
In the event there was very little he could contribute when he arrived at his desk. The forensics weren't yet available for the latest victim, and Veronica Stevens' purse had come back clean of prints other than those of its owner. However, he occupied himself with makework until the end of the shift; at least sitting at his desk making phone calls and typing on the computer gave any observer the impression of eager efficiency. Fusco was worried, though.
"The two cases may not be connected," he warned Reese. "It may be just two random muggings which got extra violent. But I don't like it. Both nurses, both got hit coming on or off shift, in a camera blind spot. I mean, what are the odds? Robbed. In Stevens' case nothing sexual, but with this new one there may have been."
"May have been?" Reese's brows drew together.
"Clothing was disturbed. Rape kit came back negative."
"He's getting bolder," said Reese.
"Gotcha. Maybe the robberies are just to make it look like muggings." Fusco sighed. "Or, maybe we're just seeing things and there's a couple of specially nasty muggers out there. We won't know until we have more information." He gave Reese a sharp glance and lowered his voice. "Glasses wouldn't have any leads, would he? Someone targeting women - right up his alley, right?"
Reese shrugged slightly. "I can ask. Maybe he has an idea or two about the surveillance cameras, some way of getting something more out of them. But we haven't had any special information, if that's what you mean."
"Huh." Fusco looked disappointed. "Ask him, Riley. We wanna get in front of this guy, stop him before someone else gets hurt. That used to be what you guys were all about, wasn't it? Maybe the Walking Dictionary needs to lean on his source a bit."
"Maybe he does," said Reese neutrally.
XXXXXXXX
When he arrived at the subway station Root had gone. Harold was at a desk, a pile of student papers in front of him. Shaw was nowhere to be seen, possibly walking Bear since the dog was missing too.
Finch moved another paper into what was evidently the "finished" pile. He gazed gloomily at the far larger stack awaiting him. "Ms Carter said she was going home and that she would phone you this evening," he said. Reese acknowledged this with a silent lift of his brows. "Any Numbers today?" he asked.
"Not so far," said Finch. "But it's only been a little over twenty-four hours since the last one. A break of up to thirty-six wouldn't be unusual."
"We've got a case going at the precinct," said Reese. "A potential serial killer. Wouldn't the Machine pick that up?"
Finch took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reese wondered briefly, not for the first time, when the man slept.
"Eventually it will pick up almost anything, Mr Reese," he said. "But it works far more quickly when the subject has a digital footprint. The smaller a person's participation in the common, digitally-based life of the community, the harder it is for the Machine to 'see' them, so to speak. A homeless person, with no cell phone and using cash almost all the time, can be very hard to find. I had to wait until Detective Carter ran your prints to locate you three years back. If you genuinely have a serial killer operating, but they have a minimal footprint, eventually the Machine will give us a number associated with them. But it might have to wait until enough evidence from other sources – cameras and such - has accumulated. I fear in this case the police may be working just as quickly as the Machine."
Reese grimaced. This was the first case since he'd moved to Homicide in which he'd felt much interest. Too late, his inner demons would whisper with most of his cases. You missed. You failed. But if he could out-think this killer he would be able to prevent something for once. So help me, then, he thought irritably in the direction of the Machine. Then he brightened slightly. One of the smartest homicide detectives he knew of was going to call him soon. Maybe she wouldn't mind talking a little shop. And even if she did mind, the evening would have other compensations. It was hard to see a downside, really. He told Finch he was going home to the brownstone and walked up the stairs to the outside world, smiling a little.
To be continued...
Author's note: Well, folks, there's going to have to be a break here of a week or so while I'm out of town attending my Dad's 80th birthday celebrations. Don't worry, there is more to come, and I hope you all are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it!