A/N: This is my contribution to the Valentine's Day fic exchange that was due a long time ago. Unfortunately, my muse has no clue what a calendar is, so I'm just now getting it done. Also, it doesn't seem to know what a one-shot is either, because this will be at least a few chapters more. This story is for SWWoman. Sorry for the wait. *hugs* The prompt was that a number helps Joss and John realize their feelings for one another.

Also, thanks to my beta PiscesChikk for the encouragement.

Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine are the crazy situations I get the characters into.

"No." Joss folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair, leveling her best glare across the polished oak tabletop at the two men sitting across from her.

Harold Finch winced slightly, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses in the way that she'd come to learn was a bit of a nervous tic. His eyes looked huge under the yellow pool of light spilling across the table from the tasteful Tiffany lamp suspended above them. They flicked toward his employee and back so quickly that if she hadn't been studying him as intently as she had been, she would've missed it. But she'd caught the brief gesture, and her gaze immediately slid sideways, taking in the dour countenance of the man she'd suspected was getting the answer he'd been expecting even though it was clear he didn't like it.

John was sitting stone-faced, forearms propped on the table in front of him, trying his best to look as if he didn't care either way. The glittering lights of the city were spread out behind him like a living tapestry, the nighttime backdrop provided by the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows making him appear larger-than-life. The broadness of his shoulders. The rich ebony of his expensive suit. The strands of silver glinting in his short, dark hair. Anyone who didn't know him would think he didn't have a care in the world. That the conversation taking place was of no consequence to him.

But Joss knew better. She knew him better.

Although his face was a blank slate, his busy hands gave him away. His fingers were currently laying waste to an errant napkin, the textured paper slowly morphing from a neat square to a mess of white, uneven strips. As her eyes moved between hands and his stoic face, she honestly wasn't sure he even realized what he was doing. Or why.

Shaw did however, if the amused snort coming from the far end of the table was any indication. She glanced over at the brunette, who'd taken a pause from cleaning her gun to watch Reese methodically destroy the napkin with almost maniacal glee. As if she sensed she was being watched herself, Shaw cut her eyes to Joss and flashed a knowing smile before shaking her head and returning to her second favorite pastime after eating.

"Detective Carter," Finch implored, "we wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was imperative."

She could feel her muscles tense at the use of the honorific, but forced herself to relax. It had been more than three months since she'd been busted down to a patrol officer, but in all that time the billionaire had yet to address her by her new title.

Whether it was because he was just being openly defiant of the change or because he felt guilty that the team's rather prominent absence in her life since the Riker's fiasco had precipitated her downfall, she wasn't sure. But since she figured her prior title sounded a whole lot better rolling off his cultured tongue than her current one, she'd never made a big deal out of it.

"Why me?" she asked, unfolding her hands and laying them flat on the cool tabletop. She jerked her head to the right. "Why can't Shaw do it?"

She couldn't understand why they needed her so badly. Now that they had the younger woman on the team full-time, she'd found that they hadn't required her help as much as they had in the past. Which had been both a blessing and a curse. While it was true that less time spent with the team meant less chance for exposure, it also meant the less she saw of John. She still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Not in this lifetime," Shaw piped up without bothering to lift her head from the barrel of the Nano she was meticulously cleaning. "The day I pretend to be Reese's wife is the day you can lock me up in the nuthouse with Root."

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Joss sighed heavily. "Why can't Zoe Morgan do it then?" She turned to John, who gazed steadily back at her, his long fingers still giving the napkin a hard time. "It's not like she doesn't have experience playing your wife. Right?"

Another loud snort floated toward them, but Joss ignored it. She could barely hold back a triumphant smirk as John blinked at her slowly in his version of being highly taken aback. It had always bothered her that he'd asked the fixer to go undercover as his wife last year instead of her, but she'd never admit it out loud. She could barely admit it to herself.

Still, she was surprised that he was asking her to accompany him on this particular assignment instead of the other woman. It wasn't like they'd been on the best of terms lately.

After months of silence following his nearly fatal run-in with his psycho ex-partner, they'd only just begun to reconnect. She still hadn't confided in him how shitty it felt to have been framed by her fellow officers and subsequently demoted, and he still hadn't talked to her about nearly being blown to smithereens, but she figured they'd do it when they were ready. If ever. They still hadn't quite gotten back to the easy banter and playful rapport they used to share either, but she highly doubted shoving them into an undercover case together was the way to do it. Especially one that necessitated a certain amount of intimacy she wasn't sure they'd be able to convincingly pull off.

Finch shifted in his seat, his lips flattening with discomfort at the unspoken implication while John frowned at her in response.

Finally giving up on his mission to obliterate the napkin, he abandoned it and sat back in his chair. His blue eyes were serious as he looked at her. "I didn't ask Zoe, because I didn't want to ask Zoe, Carter."

"True." They all shifted their attention to Shaw as she finally looked up from her task, carefully laying the dismantled barrel down on the soft white cloth spread out in front of her. Expertly twirling the long handle of the bore brush around her slim fingers, she tilted her head in Reese's direction and grinned. "Your name is the first one that popped out of his mouth, Carter. Zoe Morgan wasn't even a glimmer in his beady little eyes."

"Shut up, Shaw."

Instead of being insulted by John's quiet, menacing demand, the younger woman's grin only grew wider. Her dark eyes danced with delight at the realization that she'd gotten under his skin. "Just sayin', Carter. You're the one he wanted from the very beginning."

The words hung heavily in the air for a long moment, their double meaning not lost on anyone in the room. Joss could feel a blast of heat rush across her face and out of the corner of her eye she could see the tips of John's ears beginning to turn a delicate shade of rose.

"Shaw," he growled sitting up straighter, but before Shaw had a chance to respond, Finch stepped onto the battlefield with a small wave of his hand.

The two glowering ex-operatives reluctantly retreated to their corners, but the uneasy truce didn't erase the truth bomb Shaw had just deliberately lobbed into the room. And now that it was sitting out there, Joss knew it would be just a matter of time before it exploded. The real question was what the fallout would be once it did.

"I understand your reservations, Detective Carter," Finch said in a measured tone she was certain was meant to try to wrest back control of the conversation. "It's possible that this particular case will require quite a bit of your time."

"So where is all this time supposed to come from, Finch? I do have a day job you know." She glanced down at her black uniform, trying to keep the disdain off her face and out of her voice. She was pretty sure she'd failed at both.

"That's all been taken care of." He nervously fingered the edge of manila folder that until now had been sitting ignored on the table in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "How?"

"I've…" The small man stopped and cleared his throat before continuing, "I've changed the NYPD's database to give you the next few days off. Combined with the three days off you already had scheduled, a week should be sufficient."

Despite already knowing what his answer was going to be, Joss pulled in a deep breath, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She wanted to lecture him about tampering with the department's records, but given that she'd deleted John's fingerprints out of the system, she had no room to talk. But she did have the right to be irritated at Finch's presumptuousness.

"Well, you were all pretty sure of yourselves, weren't you?" She let her eyes roam around the table accusingly.

Shaw held up her hands. "Hey...don't lump me in with those two idiots. I told them you'd be pissed. But, as usual, they didn't listen to me."

"It was solely my decision, Detective," Finch assured her quickly. "It would just be a matter of changing it back if you decide not to help us."

If you decide not to help us.

Joss couldn't help the grudging admiration she felt at the computer genius' knack for persuasion. It was nearly as good as John's, she thought, watching him with interest as he regarded her silently. But she really wasn't all that surprised. The man hadn't amassed his vast fortune by always playing fair, after all.

"Fine, Finch," she said, ignoring Shaw's short bark of laughter at her acquiescence. She didn't miss the brief flash of relief that crossed John's face as she reached for the folder the older man had slid across the table towards her. "Give me the run down."

"Dr. Fiona Lanier, Ph.D." Finch opened the folder to reveal a picture of an attractive, middle-aged white woman. "Marriage counselor to the rich and infamous. Fifty-two years old, married, no children. Her closest run-ins with the law are a couple of parking tickets, promptly paid."

Mentally cringing at the explicit invasion of privacy, Joss picked up the photograph and studied it carefully. The doctor's ash-blonde hair was cut into a short, stylish bob that perfectly framed her round face. Her large smile and bright green eyes were soft and kind, perfect attributes for someone who needed to engender immediate trust and confidence with their clients. She put the photo aside and began to flip through the contents of the file. As usual, Finch had done his homework. The folder was chock full of journal articles Dr. Lanier had authored, local magazine and newspaper write-ups, slick programs for past seminars she'd headlined, credit card and bank statements, cell phone records, and any other piece of information he shouldn't have access to but somehow did. She shuddered to think of what the team had dug up on her when her number had come up a few years back.

"Seems like a decent person. Not that that means anything."

The man sitting across from her was a perfect example. Unbidden, her gaze drifted over to John, her eyes taking in his expensive suit and close-cropped salt and pepper hair. There were times when she still had trouble reconciling the dirty, disheveled bum she'd first met with the handsome, well-dressed man she'd come to know so well.

As if he could feel her watching him, he lifted his eyes from the seminar pamphlet he'd been perusing. Their gazes collided and held for a long moment before she managed to wrestle her attention away from him. Not that it helped much since she could feel the weight of his stare scorching the side of her face.

"Yes," Finch was saying as she turned back to him. He removed his glasses, pulled a cloth from the inside of his tweed blazer and held the delicate wire rims lightly between his fingers as he began to wipe the lenses. "She regularly donates to charity, performs pro bono work at local women's shelters once a month and was even a member of the Peace Corps for a short while after she finished her undergraduate studies. From the research I've done so far, she appears to be clean."

Another snort floated from the end of the table. "No one's that clean, Finch," Shaw inserted, her head still bent over her task. "Everyone's got a skeleton or ten in their closet. Just a matter of finding it."

"Sam's right. Everyone has something they want to hide." Joss raised a knowing eyebrow at the older man. "Just look at you."

"Touché, Detective."

"Does she have any unhappy patients? Knowing the deepest, darkest secrets of the wealthy and powerful might not be such a good thing."

"I've already started looking into her past and current patients." Finch pocketed the small white square and slipped his glasses back onto his nose. "The list is extensive, so it will take some time."

"What about the husband?" She rooted through the various items and picked out a newspaper clipping. It was a short blurb about a recent charity event for breast cancer research. The accompanying picture showed Dr. Lanier and a tall, handsome man dressed to the nines and smiling dazzlingly at the camera. "This him?"

Finch nodded. "Dr. Richard Lanier, Psy.D. He and his wife run their practice together in downtown Manhattan. As you can imagine, it's proven very lucrative for them."

She picked up an off-white business card and gave a low whistle at the embossed address. "With an office on Park Avenue, they certainly don't seem to be hurting for cash."

"That's an understatement. Between their thriving practice, fees from numerous seminars and speaking engagements, and aggressive investing they're pulling in seven figures a year. And that's not counting the rather large nest egg they have stashed in a bank account in the Cayman Islands."

"Good motive."

"It's certainly a possibility."

"Or she could be the bad guy." Joss' gaze snapped to John, surprised that he'd finally decided to join in the conversation. He reached out and slid the picture of the good doctor toward him and lifted it. His eyes roamed the glossy surface for a moment before he dropped it back onto the table. "Behind every great fortune, there's usually a great crime."

One side of Joss' mouth tipped upward. "Well, aren't you cynical today?"

"I'm cynical every day, Carter. I thought you knew that by now." He smirked back at her, his blue eyes twinkling, and for a moment she could feel that old spark reignite between them. It was brief, but it reminded her with a rush of emotion just how much she'd missed it. How much she'd missed him.

"So while Shaw's doing her thing and Finch is doing his, what will we be doing? Trying to get into her inner circle by cozing up to her at a fundraiser? Getting ourselves invited to one of their dinner parties? Something like that?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" Joss looked from John to Finch then back to John again.

"We'll be taking a more…hands-on approach."

"Hands on," she repeated, not sure she liked the sound of that. She narrowed her eyes, noting that John was putting his CIA training to good use. His face was a vacant mask, giving her absolutely nothing to work with. She reminded herself never to play poker with him. "You mean like looking for spurned lovers?"

"That's Shaw's job." He glanced in the younger woman's direction before finding her eyes again. "While we're dealing with Dr. Lanier directly, she'll be digging into her personal life."

She knew she shouldn't ask, but couldn't help herself. "And I take that to mean a whole bunch of unlawful entry?"

"You said it, not me." Shaw put her Nano back together with impressive speed, then pushed away from the table. With an impatient yank, she pulled the hem of her white tank top down over the waistband of her baggy, washed-out cargos, announced to the room that she was hungry and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Joss watched her go before settling her gaze back on John. "You said we'll be dealing directly with Dr. Lanier. How?"

"Marriage counseling."

She could feel her eyebrows shoot straight into her hairline. "Marriage counseling?"

John looked wholly unconcerned. "What better way to get close to a marriage counselor than with a little counseling?"

"So our fake marriage is such a bad fake marriage that we need counseling?"

"It's our in."

Of course it was. Zoe Morgan got a big house and a happy phony marriage in the suburbs; she got dysfunction. Great.

"The two of you will be undergoing therapy as Mr. and Mrs. John Rooney in a final attempt to salvage your marriage," Finch added before she could say anything else.

"Rooney?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese's investment banker alias."

"What happened to John Warren?"

Finch looked at John then looked quickly away as the younger man shifted a little in his chair. "After the whole Riker's incident, Mr. Reese and I thought it best to retire that persona. Mr. Warren's peers are under the impression that he's relocated to a sunny locale out of the country."

"Makes sense," she said nodding, the mere reminder of that terrible time enough to cast a pall over the table. She put her hands in her lap and balled her hands into tight fists. "Anything else?"

"As you can imagine, it's extremely important that you're both on the same page with regards to the when, where and how of your relationship along with your current marital woes." Finch's large eyes volleyed back and forth between Joss and John, looking more than a little wary. "I'll leave the particulars up to the two of you."

Shaw took that moment to reappear, carrying a plate that held a large sandwich and an even larger pile of potato chips. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation." Grinning, she stopped at the head of the table and began to inhale her food without even bothering to retake her seat.

Deciding to use the small pause as an opportunity to make her escape, Joss quickly stood, absently readjusting her utility belt. "I guess I'd better get going. Taylor will be wondering where I am pretty soon."

The men politely followed suit, Finch thanking her profusely for agreeing to help them and John informing her that he'd call her later to set up a meeting to nail down their game plan. Shaw just shot her an amused smirk, a glob of mayonnaise nestled in one corner of her overstuffed mouth.

As she rode the ornate elevator down to the lobby, what she'd just agreed to do suddenly hit her. Being a decoy dressed in tight red leather to catch a possible predator was one thing, but pretending to be John's wife was something else entirely. Even a nearly estranged one. Their relationship was already complicated enough. She wasn't sure if adding another one was the smartest move in the world.

Expelling a long, noisy sigh that did nothing to ease her burgeoning anxiety, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting her head fall back against the blond wood.

What the hell had she just gotten herself into?