A/N: This short and sweet story was inspired by a post I saw on Tumblr. The post had absolutely nothing to do with Careese, but since they're always floating around inside my brain, it made me think of them anyway. Enjoy!

John stood as still as stone, feeling as overwhelmed and anxious as he ever had. The last time he'd felt this intimidated and out of his depth, he'd been on his first mission for the CIA, walking into a dank, barely-lit room to face off against Kara Stanton.

That had been bad, he remembered with a small grimace, but this was probably worse. At least with Kara, he'd known exactly what he was dealing with the second he'd looked at her. Her dead, dark eyes and that faux smile full of deadly menace had told him everything he'd needed to know.

But this…this was different. It was a mission he was wholly unprepared for. One that he'd foolishly and smugly volunteered for because he literally thought he'd be in and out. That he'd be able to use his above-average skills of observation, his talent for remembering even the minutest detail, his knack for compartmentalizing even the most unpleasant situations to carry him to victory. To show Joss that she'd been wrong to question his ability to handle this assignment.

But now that he was here and as much as it pained him to admit it, she'd been right. She'd been smart to question whether he'd be able to see this through to the end. He was in over his head. Had been from the very second he'd agreed to take this task on. It had been stupid. Arrogant. Short-sighted. Joss had certainly realized it if the indulgent smile she'd flashed at him as she'd pecked him on his lips and sent him on his way was anything to go by.

And now, so did he.

Because there were far too many choices. Too many ways in which this could all go horribly wrong.

A rare feeling of panic swept through him as his memory decided to cruelly desert him. Pulling in a deep breath, he pulled his phone out of his inside jacket pocket and paused with his thumb hovering over the large screen. Once he did this, once he called her for help, he'd be admitting he'd failed. She'd probably never let him live it down.

But he didn't have a choice. He was in over his head and needed an assist.

The phone only rang twice before Joss picked up. "Need some help, John?"

He sighed at the smile he could hear in her voice. "What if I said I did?"

"I'd say you should've written it down like I suggested. Then you wouldn't be standing there looking like an embarrassed deer caught in the headlights."

"You're right, Joss," John mumbled, pressing the phone closer to his ear and lowering his voice as an elderly woman walked by. "I need help. Are you satisfied? I admit I was wrong and need help."

As he spoke, his eyes roamed the rows of shelves in front of him, amazed that anyone was able to make any kind of informed decision with so many available choices. How did women do it?

"Okay, give it to me," he said, stepping closer to the stacks of plastic packages and colorful boxes that had left him stumped for the last fifteen minutes. "Tampons or maxi-pads?"

John couldn't help the smile that curled his lips as the woman he loved outright laughed at him on the other end of the line. Nope. She was never going to let him live this one down.