Deconstruction
Fleeterberry
Spoilers: Through Booked Solid
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. I'd treat the character and fans so much better than TPTB

Part One

She'd been staring at the glass of scotch for well over an hour. After the week she'd had, well, getting shitfaced had seemed like the only logical option. She found out her boyfriend, the first man she'd dared trust in that way for a very long time, was a liar and a crook. Her hopes of a well-deserved promotion had been shot to hell because of said boyfriend. And the kicker - which, if she were being honest was what had driven her to the bar, but she wasn't being honest - she felt betrayed by the one man on Earth she thought she could absolutely trust.

She snorted derisively at her thoughts. Of all the people she would have suspected could restore her faith in humanity, John Reese hardly fit the bill. Yet, he had. He was a man of his word. He was honorable. He was good.

But he'd joked with her about her boyfriend and knew the FBI was considering her and said nothing about repeated IAB investigations into Beecher.

She closed her fist around her drink, almost wishing John was there so she could launch the tumbler at his head. It would help her feel better, momentarily at least. In lieu of that, she raised the glass to her lips and savored the burn all the way down. After two more, her mood was greatly improved. Rather, she kept forgetting what she was mad about, which was more or less the same thing.

When someone slipped onto the stool beside her, she thought briefly about doing something stupid and unlike herself, something she'd regret in the morning. The thought was enticing, if only to completely distract her from her other problems. Still toying with the idea of propositioning the man, she slowly lifted her eyes to him.

She'd never been less pleased to see him. Son of a bitch. All of the upset and hurt and anger slammed back into her when their eyes met. She snarled and turned away to signal at the bartender. Unfortunately, throwing the tumbler at him from this distance wouldn't do any good. He'd stop her and that would just piss her off more.

"Gee, Carter, I was going to ask what had you so upset, but apparently it's me." He asked for whatever she was having and then stayed quiet until the bartender left. "I'm usually well aware, but I'm drawing a blank at the moment. Any hints as to what I did wrong?" The earnest expression on his face convinced her, as usual, that he was far more innocent than she knew possible.

She focused on her drink, holding it in both of her hands, staring into it like it was the endless sea. "Did you know?" Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, pathetic and weak, so she tried again, adding an accusation to put him on the defensive. "You must have, you fuckers are omnipotent, you know everything, before it even happens." She turned to look at John, so full of hurt and pain that she couldn't process the confused look in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She was on a roll, wanting to expel all her emotions onto the man who she suspected would sit there and take it because that was the sort of man she'd always thought he was, the kind of guy who would let a friend vent at him without taking it personally. Except, she reminded herself, he wasn't that guy she'd thought. He was the guy who'd let her get screwed over emotionally and professionally. He was the guy she wasn't going to cry in front of. So she bit her tongue, silenced her tirade, and forced her chin not to tremble.

Rather than the immediate denial she expected, some ridiculous tale he'd weave to explain it all away, he stared at her, searching her eyes, something she wanted to label concern vying with the confusion. "Tell you what?"

"About the IAB inquiries. Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually?" Her instincts told her to trust the split second of shock he wasn't able to hide.

He reached for his phone. "I'll fix this. Finch will fix this. We'll figure it out."

"How can you fix it, John? Why didn't you just tell me?" Despite her resolve to hide her tears, they welled in her eyes anyway.

"Carter," he paused, reaching out to lay his hand on her forearm. "I swear I had no idea you were being investigated and if Finch knew and didn't tell me, I'll kill him."

She blinked quickly, hearing his words and not quite making sense of them. "You just stood back and let me get blindsided," her words stopped the moment her brain caught up with her ears. "I'm not being investigated."

John's concern disappeared behind confusion once again, his eyes darting to her glass. "How much of that have you had? Maybe I should take you home."

She shook her head and refused to be distracted by a thought far more intoxicating than her scotch. "Beecher, John. IAB has been watching him for years and he never actually gets caught. He might have ties to whatever's left of HR."

This time he let her see the surprise, the widening of his eyes, the dropping of his jaw. He hadn't known. He hadn't even suspected. He shook his head. "I had no idea, Carter."

Rather than accepting his honesty, her anger rallied. "How the hell is that possible? How can something like that go unnoticed by the two of you? You knew when he asked me out. You know every fucking thing about every fucking person on Earth and I'm supposed to believe this is the one thing that completely slipped your notice? You had to know he was connected to HR."

His mouth pinched into a frown, his eyes dark, his expression hard. She'd seen him angry before, but she'd never seen him angry at her. She didn't like it. "I didn't realize I was responsible for vetting your boyfriends, Detective." He downed his drink in one sip and stood up to leave.

And all of a sudden, she realized that while she wanted to be angry, she wanted to be with someone more. She reached out, wrapping her hand around one of his wrists. "Wait, John, I-" She didn't bother to say it; he'd know from the way she'd grabbed him, from the way her anger disappeared. Instead, she simply hung her head and let the tears fall. "The FBI rescinded their offer when they found out I was dating him." She sniffled, barely noticing when John slid back onto his stool. "It's funny, I didn't even realize how much I wanted it until they took it away."

He nodded at the bartender and motioned at his empty glass. Then he looked back at her, ignoring the way her hand was still on his wrist. "I would have told you. I would have warned you, I thought you knew that by now." Then his gaze turned to the point of contact, silently staring until she pulled her fingers away.

Feeling stupid, she ducked her head. Great, not only had she embarrassed herself by sitting there crying, she'd pissed off a dangerous man. She knew better than to think there would ever be any sort of retribution from him, but she didn't want to be on his bad side.

She nodded, accepting his scolding, adding her own to it. She had known better. "One of these days I'm going to learn to trust my instincts." Glancing up at him, she saw his anger fading at the sight of her continued tears. "I was so mortified. Even Fusco knew. I guess I started thinking I was the only idiot who didn't know I was dating a liar and a thief."

His hand lifted, moving toward her, then dropped back down. He turned away, failing entirely to hide his discomfort. "Carter, I really hate it when women cry." His hand moved again, awkwardly brushing her arm as it came to rest on her shoulder. "Makes me want to hug them."

She folded her hand atop his and squeezed it. "I've been drinking, John. I might not say no." He turned away, withdrawing his hand, letting the silence stretch on painfully until she started to wonder if she shouldn't apologize.

Finally, he poured back another fair quantity of his drink. "I'm really sorry, Jos. You deserved that promotion." His eyes slid to hers in the mirror behind the bar. "And don't worry, I'll be paying Beecher a little visit to remind HR that you're off limits."

As much as she appreciated his promise to follow up on the threat he'd made months earlier, it annoyed her. Not that he wanted to protect her, that was endearing as ever, but the way he was implying that she needed him to do it because she hadn't been able to take care of herself.

"Don't bother." She sipped at her drink. "Just reminds me of something I've learned a million times over."

"What's that?"

"Not to trust people. For the most part they're not worth taking a chance on." She swirled the ice around in her glass and sincerely wished the bartender could do his job rather than having to be reminded every five minutes.

His leg shifted closer, pressing against hers. She looked up as she suspected she was supposed to, only to find John smirking at her. "The last random stranger you decided to trust was worth it though, wasn't he?"

His smile was contagious. She held his eyes, thinking of how true it was. She had broken her rules to take a chance on him and he was definitely worth it. Having him around was worth all the hurt in the world.

Emboldened by the alcohol, she copied his flirtatious style, dragging her eyes up and down his body before winking at him. "Jury's still out on that." She drained the last bit of fluid from her glass and rolled an ice cube around her lips. "Though things might be looking up."

He turned away, his cheeks baring the slightest hint of a blush. It was curious. He could dish it out, but apparently he wasn't so good at taking it. A man with his looks should be used to women flirting with him and he acted like it was the first time. Just one more of his enticing qualities, which, she realized while she contemplated his profile, were considerable.

Out of whatever bit of decorum she hadn't yet drowned, she dragged her eyes away. "Seriously though, John, let it go. It's not worth you getting in another tangle with HR. You've got enough shit going on."

"No can do, Carter." He flagged down the bartender for another round, enticing the lazy man with a hundred-dollar bill to keep them coming. When they were alone again, he turned his focus back on her. "No one hurts you and gets away with it."

"John-" She wanted to protest, but it was hard to pretend she didn't love the attention.

"I don't have a lot of friends. I'm going to protect the ones I've got." His lips curved up in a smile. "Besides, I never really liked the guy."

"I'm not so much hurt as I'm angry." Tongue loosened by alcohol, she admitted something she never normally would. "I really just want to hit something."

"Me too. That's why you're not talking me out of paying Beecher a visit." He lifted his already half-empty glass. "Cheers."

She giggled, the sound setting off every alarm bell in her head that she'd had way too many. "You know," she slurred as she tried, and missed, clinking her glass against his. "There's something else that would help." Her hand found its previously missing coordination, dropping onto his thigh and sliding slowly upwards.

His hand was quick, grabbing her wrist and depositing her hand back on the bar before she even knew what was happening. "Let's keep our hands to ourselves."

"You are no fun whatsoever." She frowned at him and looked around to see if there were any other options, as though any other options would measure up to John. Too inebriated to be embarrassed, her eyes returned to him. "Now I really want to hit something."

He stood up slowly, tossing another bill on the bar. "Time to go."

Pouting, she folded her arms on the bar and started to rhythmically tap her foot into the leg of her stool. Not only was she not getting lucky, now she was going to be sitting in a shitty bar, drunk off her ass, without anyone to talk to.

She didn't expect to feel his hand on her back, sliding around her hip, pulling her towards him. Nor did she expect his warm breath at her ear. "You coming?"

The pout was immediately replaced by a grin. "Oh, hell yes." She tried to hop off her stool in an adorable, perky way that would have belied her entire existence, but she lost her balance and flopped into his chest. "Where to?"

"Home, Carter."

She rolled her eyes, but issued no complaint when he guided her toward the street. At least he wasn't going to leave her there by herself. But when he unlocked a car, some modicum of good sense prevailed. "Should you be driving?"

He shrugged. "Probably not, but you're in no shape to walk across town."

Something about the argument seemed off, but she was too slow to put her finger on it before she was buckled into the passenger seat. As he eased out of the parking space, it clicked. "I live a couple blocks away, not across town."

"So?" He seemed like he wasn't quite listening, perhaps trying to focus on driving because he knew he shouldn't be.

With the razor focus of a drunk, she stared at him. "You said you were taking me home."

At a red light, he grinned over at her. "I am taking you home."

She shook her head, still confused. And more than a little mesmerized by the playful look in his eyes. "But home is," she muttered as she motioned vaguely behind the car.

He chuckled as he pressed the accelerator. "I said I was taking you home, Jos, I didn't specify whose home."

"Maybe you're fun after all." Her hand itched to make another grab at his lap, but she remembered the burn of his first rejection.

After a few minutes of riding in silence, a horrible idea occurred to her that she couldn't resist blurting out. "Oh god, Finch isn't there, is he?"

The color drained out of John's face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

She shrugged. "Can't really be certain nowadays. You guys are pretty inseparable."

He was still shaking his head when he finally pulled into a parking space. "No, Carter, I don't live with Finch."

Considering her level of intoxication, it wasn't surprising that John too her hand to lead her toward the building. Nonetheless, it amazed her - both that John was holding her hand and that the touch set her nerve endings on fire. She marveled at how comfortable she was walking, tripping actually, alongside him as he brought her to his place. There could only be one goal of taking her there.

And she was far too drunk and eager to be nervous.