A/N

Wolfmusic218: Soooooo...are you writing anything?

Me: Nope. Haven't had a single idea.

Wolfmusic218: You should be writing something.

Me: Come up with a good plot and I'll try.

Five milliseconds later...

Wolfmusic218: Usually Carter's the one with amnesia. How about a story where Reese has amnesia?

My muse: Hmmm...

So this was all wolfmusic218's fault. I'm not sure I want to thank her for that LOL, but I will thank her for making me keep at it every time I shelved it, and for the unpaid cheerleading, kind words, and editing wizardry. :)

"Well, let me know what you get." Joss Carter sighed softly and nodded at the medical examiner, backing away from the body as her thoughts traveled over all the facts she'd established thus far. It didn't matter how many murders she'd had to investigate; she never got used to it. The smell of senseless death, the ache she felt for the loved ones left behind, the sharp need to give those loved ones an answer to those burning questions: who and why?

Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket and she took it out to see who was calling. Unknown. It had been three or four days since she'd heard from either of them. Whatever they wanted right now was going to have to wait, or they'd have to get with Fusco. She took several steps away from the victim and her colleagues. "Carter."

"Evening, Detective."

It was Finch.

"You're still working?"

"Crime never sleeps, Finch. What's up?"

"Well…"

Carter's curiosity piqued immediately at his slight hesitation.

"...this is more of a courtesy call, Detective."

She frowned. "Okaaaaay."

"It's John. He's had an accident."

Her stomach hit the concrete and her heart started pounding. The feeling startled and upset her, but the worry superseded her feelings about her worry. "Is he okay?" Her voice trembled but she was too scared to care that Finch had probably heard it.

"He will be, we're quite certain. I'm calling because...well, he suffered a head injury and he….doesn't remember...quite a lot of things."

She let out the breath she'd been holding. He was alive. He'd be okay. But her face contorted in question. "Amnesia?"

"I'm afraid so, Detective."

She knew it happened in real life and not just on soap operas. But it was still unbelievable. John? Her John with amnesia? A million questions raced through her mind as she tried to process it. "Is it bad? Did he lose a few days or…..?"

"Years."

He sounded incredulous himself and she almost dropped her phone, self-consciously looking around to see if anyone was paying her any attention. "Are you serious, Finch?"

"Quite serious, Detective. When he came to, he thought he was still employed by the CIA. He doesn't remember any of us."

Oh my God. She was rendered temporarily speechless. A pang hit her as his words impacted and she realized John wouldn't know who she was anymore. It felt like a piece of her was missing already and she was entirely too uncomfortable with the feeling. When had that infuriating man gotten to her like this? "Sorry, Harold. I just….I don't know what to say. This is…."

"Fantastical, Detective, I know. But I've given him as much information as he can handle for the moment. We're taking it one day at a time."

"How'd it happen? When?"

"An altercation. He was struck on the head. Fortunately, I was nearby when it happened."

"When?"

"A couple of days ago."

She bristled at not having been told until now before she reminded herself that she wasn't John's girlfriend nor his keeper. When an officer signaled to her, she remembered she had a job to do. "I gotta go, Finch. Can I... Can I see him when I get finished here?"

"Of course. Your visit may even help him. I'll text you his address. I'm here with him now."

"Okay. Thanks." She hung up, staring at the phone in her hand for a brief moment before joining the officer and trying to get finished with the initial part of her investigation as quickly as she could.

Joss took in her surroundings as she walked down the hallway toward John's home. It was a nice building. Looked like it housed those artsy type studios where the tenants lived where they created. Which she could not imagine John living in. Perhaps that was the point. But she'd know in a few seconds.

She knocked on the door and waited, surprised at the slight anxiety she was feeling. He wouldn't know her, know anything about what they'd been through. She couldn't use her sarcasm or snark on him, couldn't tease him lest he took it in a way it wasn't meant. Their rapport would be gone. They had fallen into it easily enough before, but now….would he even like her, meeting her under new circumstances?

The door opened and suddenly she was relieved to only see Harold. He made a move to step outside and she took a step back to give him room. He left the door open.

"Detective."

"Is he in there?"

"Safe and sound."

She nodded. "So, have you told him about me? Who I am?"

It was Harold's turn to nod. "Yes, he knows you assist with our… project. And that you and Detective Fusco are with the NYPD."

Okay, she thought. Not much. But, then, there was probably a whole hell of a lot Harold had needed to fill John in on, especially if he woke up thinking he was still in the CIA. Now she was even more unnerved, unsure of how to act. She'd never been around anyone who'd lost all recollection of her knowing them. And this was John. Who had that shell that kept her from knowing all that much about him even two years later. The one he'd put on display when she first met him. How impenetrable would that shell be now? She suddenly wished she'd had more time to research this kind of amnesia before she came over. Maybe she should have waited until Fusco was able to come with her. Maybe seeing the two of them together would jog something within him. And it sure as hell would have taken some of the pressure off her.

"Is he up and around?"

"Yes, but he is restless." Harold glanced at his watch. "I do have some matters to attend to so if you wouldn't mind staying as long as you're able, I'd be very appreciative, Detective."

That hadn't been what she wanted to hear. "He's not allowed to leave?"

Finch looked exasperated. "He is, and he has. Physically, he's only been dealing with a severe headache. I'd simply prefer he didn't venture off on his own too far. However…"

"He's still John."

"Precisely, Detective."

She let out a whoosh of air. "Okay. Let's do this."

She followed Finch into the apartment and took the spacious loft in as she trailed behind him. The place still didn't look like John, but what did she know? They went around a corner and she finally saw him, sitting at a bar stool. It looked like he'd just finished eating and was watching ESPN on the television mounted in the corner.

She stood awkwardly beside Finch as he made the introduction. "John, this is Joss Carter, the detective who joins us in our cases. She's partnered with Detective Fusco."

John immediately stood up from the stool. She saw a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before they began studying her face. Damn, Finch hadn't been lying about this whole thing; John really didn't know her. She smiled to put him at ease, genuinely glad to see him in one piece. He walked over until he stood in front her, slowly reaching his hand out to shake hers and she was struck by how strange the gesture was. She hadn't shaken his hand when she first met him, had she? Nevertheless, she raised hers to grasp his proffered one. His handshake was firm and he wouldn't stop staring into her eyes. She decided at that moment that it must be intimidating as hell for people meeting him for the first time. She had had the advantage of being in the power position when she first met him at the station, and he had been at a low point, so his intensity wasn't as severe. Even so, his eyes had stood out to her. Discerning and bright, with a hint of mischief. He had seen and done a lot, that could not have been clearer, but he was nowhere near dead behind the eyes. There was still life in them. Curiosity and heart. She was seeing the same thing when she looked into them now and the feeling of déjà vu swept over her. She also saw more in them when his eyes briefly dipped to her mouth, and her brain recognized it, but she wouldn't give it consideration with all the other thoughts rushing through her mind.

He held onto her hand longer than normal, and for a moment she got excited that he might be starting to recognize her as his gaze lingered. But he slowly slipped his hand from hers and stepped back. He nodded toward his empty plate. "Uh, would you like something to eat? Drink?"

"Um, water would be good, thank you."

He nodded and took a few more seconds to look at her before he turned to walk into his kitchen. She turned and shared a look with Finch. He'd sensed the...weirdness, too.

Harold cleared his throat. "Detective, if you'll excuse me, I do have some brief matters to attend to." He turned to John. "Mr. Reese, I'll return momentarily." Finch then smiled encouragingly at her and John acknowledged his departure with a nod as he stood filling her glass at the refrigerator door.

John walked back over to where Carter stood, both of them watching Finch leave until they had no choice but to face one another and this bizarre situation again. He handed her the glass and gestured with his hand toward the couch. "Please, have a seat."

He watched her from behind as she walked to the couch. She had not been what he expected. He had not been expecting someone so attractive. He wondered what kind of help she offered the clandestine group he apparently belonged to. The work was pretty dangerous if his predicament was any indication. She was small, curvy, with full lips and kind eyes. No wedding ring. Sensibly dressed. And very pretty. And even though he knew she was a cop and worked with them, he found himself wanting to protect her. This Joss Carter, NYPD Detective.

Carter had to force herself not to slide further down the couch when he sat down closer than she'd expected. She took a sip of water, preparing to keep him company while Finch was gone. She wasn't sure why, but she had the distinct impression that, while he was getting to know her again, she was going to learn more than she was ready to learn from him.

He broke the silence. "So, you help with this… mission. You're a cop. How does that work?"

Comfortable with this line of questioning, she shrugged. "Sometimes the lawful way isn't enough. I got to see firsthand how you guys—you and Finch—save lives by stopping things before they happen. I work homicide…..sometimes…..I wish I didn't have to."

Reese took his eyes away from her and nodded. "It's good to know I'm….helping people."

He turned back to her, suddenly wondering how much she knew about what he did with the CIA. He couldn't imagine having told her anything. He probably hadn't since she was here, since a woman like her was in the life he couldn't remember.

She noticed his sudden reticence. "You have, John. Saved a lot of people. Including me."

He perked up at that and relaxed a bit. "Is that how we met? You were one of Finch's numbers?"

She did a double-take. It was the first time she'd heard of them referencing the people they helped as "numbers." As much as she wanted to know, it didn't seem right to get the information out of him this way. "Uh, John, I don't know how you guys get your information. I have my suspicions, and I want to know, but….you guys haven't told me—or Fusco—for a reason."

Reese frowned at that. Finch had told him the "machine" couldn't be shared with anyone. And apparently that included Joss. She could have gotten the information out of him just now, but she didn't. His expression softened as his eyes roamed her face. "It's probably to keep you safe."

Damn, she wished he would stop looking at her like that. Like he had when he shook her hand. Like he wanted to get to know her in every way. She needed to help him remember. What he did, who she was and, most importantly, what their uncomplicated relationship was. "That's not how we met. But it was when I knew I could trust you." A slow smirk crept across his face and she wanted to smile. That was the John she knew.

"You didn't trust me before?" A twinkle in his eye accompanied the smirk. Then they both disappeared as quickly as they came. Because he'd just met her and he already felt he could trust her. He wondered if it had gone that way the first time around.

When the humor fell from his features, she forged ahead. "I wasn't sure what you were up to. You had been brought down to the station after beating down some guys who were harassing you. An officer wanted me to see the video of you taking them all down. After I saw it, I wanted to talk to you, get your prints. I knew you were military—I was, too, so I wanted to see—"

"You were military?"

She paused and cautiously met his eyes. "Interrogator. Warrant officer. Ivy Division."

He felt himself becoming even more enamored with her. "One of the best, I'm sure."

Carter looked down and blushed, brushing his compliment off. "I took your prints and got a lot of crime scene database hits."

"I gave you my prints?" Why was he not surprised she got them out of him? He watched as she grew pensive.

"Not exactly. I gave you a cup of water so I could get them. Just to see if I could get away with it. I always wondered why you let me." She shrugged her shoulder. "I guess you can't tell me now anyway if you wanted to.

"Anyway, long story short, your lawyer—probably Finch's—sprung you before I could question you. Then I believe you started working with him and leaving me attempted murderers to arrest while not showing your face since you knew I would arrest you." She sighed. "Then one day, my CI turned on me, and you came out of nowhere and saved my life. Somehow, you knew something was going to happen to me."

"I'm glad I did." When she met his eyes, he held them and her soft smile of well-worn gratitude warmed his heart. "I take it you didn't arrest me." When the smile fell from her face, his eyes squinted in curiosity and concern.

She knew she couldn't skip what happened next and the guilt came rushing back. It was bound to take her down several pegs in his eyes when she was trying to make a decent first impression, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he would stop looking at her like she'd hung the moon. "Finch tell you about Mark Snow?"

Reese nodded. "I know he's dead. How do you know about him?"

"He found out you'd been contacting me and wanted me to lead you to him. He said you were dangerous, that he wanted to bring you in to get you off the streets, to help you. You had just saved my life, but…." She sighed as she recalled the turmoil she had been under at the time. "It was CIA business I didn't want any part of, and your prints were at domestic crime scenes, and you were going around kneecapping people, being a vigilante, and I just…"

"You turned me over to him."

Even though there was no anger behind his words, it sounded even worse when he said it out loud. She suddenly couldn't look at him and nodded in response. "He tried to kill you. His partner shot you twice. You got away but, I still feel terrible about it."

Reese nodded, having noticed some unrecognizable scars on his body. He reached out and touched the side of her face, to comfort her and because he wanted to. Turning her face to his, he tossed a lopsided grin at her. "How did you make it up to me?"

She turned her head away and chuckled, his hand falling from her cheek. Then she sobered and turned back to him. "I'm still trying to."

"I don't think you need to." John couldn't help it as his eyes drifted toward her lips again. There was more he needed to know about her, about them. More that didn't have anything to do with what they were talking about. He was finding himself extremely attracted to this woman, and they did work together. He wasn't a stranger to sleeping with his partner or any of the other beautiful women he'd come across in his work as an agent. Had they ever slept together? Had they ever had anything more? Had he tried and she shut him down?

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs as he turned his head to continue to watch her. "How long have you been a detective?"

"About five years now."

"Native New Yorker?"

She nodded. "Grew up outside of Albany."

"Siblings?"

She smiled to herself. He hadn't bothered asking her these things before; Finch had likely dug into her background and told him before he could. "Only child."

"Parents still here?"

"Just my mom."

"Does she live here?"

Joss nodded.

John looked down at his fingernails. "Married?"

"Divorced."

"Seeing anyone?"

Shit. Why is he asking that?

When she didn't answer, he shifted and leaned against the back of the couch, arm stretched out across the top. "I'm sorry. I'm just wondering….about us."

She shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Nothing to wonder. We're just friends. Nothing else."

John nodded. "Mm. Ever?"

Shit. "Never." He looked disappointed and, quite frankly, she hadn't wanted that validation. John had always done things, looked at her a certain way, that made her wonder what he ultimately wanted from her. And with him acting the way he was now, when he knew nothing about the boundaries they had in place, it was a potential mess she needed to avert as quickly as possible.

She knew one sure-fire way to do so. "In fact, I think you're seeing someone. Her name is Zoe. She helps you guys out on occasion, too."

John unconsciously sat further back, putting some distance between them. He recognized the name from his phone. There were very few numbers in his contacts list, but when he'd asked Finch about Zoe, he said she was an asset. Why would he leave something like "girlfriend" out? Why hadn't he seen Zoe in the days since his accident? Why had Joss made a point to see him and not his girlfriend? Why not even a phone call? He was missing something there and Joss wasn't going to be the person to ask.

"Any kids?"

"One son. His name's Taylor."

He smiled at that. Joss Carter, NYPD Detective, former military interrogator, single, mother. "How old?"

"Sixteen, going on thirty-five."

They both chuckled before an uncomfortable silence slipped between them.

She chanced a glance at him after a while and the somber look on his face made her concerned. "What's the matter?" She watched as he shrugged his shoulder and stood up.

He walked over to one of the windows and stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked out at the skyline. He shrugged. "Been an interesting few days."

"I can't imagine." When he said nothing further, she wondered if it was time for her to leave. If he'd been bombarded by enough information for one night. She set her glass on a coaster on the end table and rose to her feet. "You should get some rest. Give your brain a break."

He wished he could. Just shut down and stop trying to remember. But he couldn't. It was the loss of control he couldn't handle. He didn't know who he was outside of the CIA. Having to rely on other people to tell him who the hell he was now was the ultimate in powerlessness. He was plotting and killing people alongside Kara a few days ago. They weren't fit to walk amongst regular people. But she, along with Snow, were dead now because of something he still didn't fully understand. He was saving strangers instead of murdering them. And he had good people like Harold and Joss in his life now. He felt he didn't deserve their friendship, their presence, period. But they were there. He was trying to play catch up, but it was impossible to connect with personal things he may as well have just read in a book. The only thing that felt real, the only connection he felt right now was to her. He didn't understand it, the comfort level nor the trust, but it already felt like it was going to be his lifeline.

With his sustained silence, she took several steps toward him. "John?"

He spoke softly. "Do you know what I do—did for the agency?"

She continued walking until she stood beside him in front of the window. She mirrored his action and looked out. "You never told me but I could guess."

"You don't care?"

"Nope. It was a job." She felt his eyes on her and continued. "Besides, you probably wouldn't be as good as you are now if you hadn't."

He shook his head from side to side slowly. "I don't even know why I'm doing what I do now. Finch told me, but…."

"Anybody who risks his life all the time—constantly—to save absolute strangers is….crazy." She turned to look at him. "I've always thought you were crazy, John." She got the small smile out of him she was aiming for and gave it back. "But I don't think you do it just because of what you used to do. Being that crazy means it's always been inside you." She shrugged again and turned to look back out the window. "Just took you some time to find the right outlet. For you." She shook her head. "Because I think it's crazy."

John's grin widened. "Joss."

She turned to him.

"You work with me."

She snorted and turned back to the window. She tried not to tremble when he stepped close to her, so close his front brushed against her side, and whispered, "That means we're crazy together."

It took everything in her not to step away from him, the heat she felt from his body and his warm breath close to her ear. She was not being affected by him. She wasn't. So she wouldn't act like it.

She refused to look at him and put her best effort into speaking clearly. "Touché."

John studied her profile. From the hair on her head to her perfect nose to those lips. To the way she stood ramrod straight while her chest rapidly rose and fell. To the way her quickly blinking eyes purposefully avoided him. There was something there. She felt something, too. Why hadn't they acted on it? What had been holding them back?

He sighed softly and looked out the window again. "Why do you do it?"

Carter shrugged. He hadn't moved away and she was struggling to keep up her cool façade.

"You're risking your job, aren't you? Your freedom? There're safer ways of helping people."

She thought back to Donnelly. No price. Just helping a friend. She swallowed right before the confession slipped out. His nearness had weakened her. Dammit. She knew she was going to fail. "I believe in you."

She probably couldn't have said anything that he needed more in that moment. He didn't think. He just reached out and turned her so that she was forced to look at him. Those big, brown eyes searching his, seeing him, knowing him, it overwhelmed him. Made him want that physical connection more than anything. Made him need it. Those beautiful eyes, scared but trusting, those slightly parted lips….

Joss panicked when he started to lean in. Her mind saw danger and the flight response moved her limbs. "I gotta go. Taylor." She moved back over to the couch, finally feeling like she could breathe after escaping his heat, blindly looking for her purse that she soon realized she hadn't brought in. She turned back to him from the now safe distance and spoke while walking backwards toward the front door. "I have to get his dinner started." She watched as he nodded and started after her, probably to walk her out. She wouldn't give him that chance, though. She reached the door and opened it. "Call if you need anything, John. Goodnight."

John stared at the closed door from where he stood in the middle of the empty room. He sighed heavily. "Goodnight, Joss."

TBC