Backup
Jezyk
Spoilers: Through Firewall
Disclaimer: sadly not mine

For the first several months Jos had it, the sound of her phone ringing had entranced her. The special phone, the one John had given her, meant excitement. Danger, bad guys, something enticing, John's endless teasing. But in the last few weeks, her phone had been ringing so damn often - both phones actually as John had taken to using them interchangeably - she barely even noticed it anymore.

In fact, it was the odd look on Fusco's face that clued her in this time.

She looked at her partner's expression and tried to figure out what he wanted. "What, Fusco? Spit it out."

"You going to answer that?"

And still, it took her a moment to notice the annoying buzzing coming from her pocket.

She didn't bother checking the caller ID. It was the phone only John and Finch had the number for and since Finch's disappearance, well, it was John. And she was actually getting tired of hearing his voice, no matter how sexy it was; she was an overworked NYPD homicide detective, she didn't have the time or energy to right all the wrongs alongside Superman. Flipping the phone open, she sighed. "What now?"

"Carter?" His voice sounded strange on top of his apparent confusion.

Even though Fusco knew she was in cahoots with John, force of habit caused her to turn away from her partner and lower her voice. "John, what's wrong?"

"Aw, you know, whatever, I don't know. How are you?"

She took the phone away from her ear to glare at it, as though that would explain the slurred voice on the other end. "Are you drunk?"

He laughed. Laughed. "Maybe a little."

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon!" It was only after she spoke that she remembered the way they'd met, the hard drinking homeless man John had been so recently. She'd known he was having a hard time with Finch's disappearance, known he was struggling with working the normal cases and trying to track down his missing partner, but she hadn't realized how bad off he truly was. Squeezing her eyes closed, she berated herself for not noticing. John always pretended to be fine. He was the consummate soldier; he'd be fine right up to the moment he died. She knew better. She knew him better. He needed help, and not just with his workload.

"Where are you, John? I'm coming to get you." By the time the man had managed to answer the question, Jos had gotten Fusco to agree to cover for her.

#####

The bar had a particularly nasty vibe to it and the looks of unwelcome on the patrons' faces would have given her pause normally, even with her badge and gun at her hip. But it was just the sort of place John would like, the sort of place where the excessively muscled men with missing teeth and offensive tattoos would immediately assume they could best the tall, thin middle-aged man. John delighted, as much as John delighted in anything, in walking into dangerous places and trying to start trouble. He had something to prove and he enjoyed proving it to anyone who dared question him.

She felt the eyes of the men on her, their obvious assessment of her petite frame and dislike of her presence ongoing as she approached the far corner of the bar. He was the only person in a suit, the only one not covered in head-to-toe swastika tattoos, and one of the few whose head wasn't shaved. When the barkeep snarled at her, she cursed John under her breath for dragging her into a skinhead bar.

"John, let's go."

His head turned slowly, his hair unkempt and devoid of its normal gel, his cheeks and chin sprinkled with several days' regrowth of that salt and pepper beard he'd had the night they met. His suit was wrinkled, his shirt untucked and stained. But perhaps the worst part, his eyes, those beautiful pale blue eyes that had always danced with mirth when he saw her, were hooded and dark and underlined by heavy purple bags. He seemed to have aged a decade since the last time she'd seen him. In short, he looked like hell.

He attempted a half-assed smirk of recognition. "Carter, let me buy you a drink." His speech was as sloppy as his appearance and she wondered how much a man his size had to have imbibed to wind up that intoxicated. She suspected it would be enough to kill her.

"That's ok, John. How about we just get you home?" She smiled at him, hoping he'd come without a fight. It wasn't like anyone would help her drag him to the car.

"Aw, come on, Carter, relax." He looked like he was going to say more, but he looked at the empty glass in front of him instead and frowned.

"You want me to relax? How about we go somewhere people are less likely to beat the crap out of me?" Though the group hadn't done more than stare so far, she was relatively certain they would at if she were to pull up a stool and ask for a drink.

In a completely uncharacteristic move, John slung his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side, assailing her with his whiskey breath. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

The contact threw her for a moment. The man was not physically demonstrative. In the months they'd known each other, he'd touched her exactly twice. He'd taken her hand, soothingly running his thumb across her skin when she'd been shot, and then he'd gripped it again when she'd damn near been jumping for joy after seeing him return her son alive and well and none the worse for wear after Elias had kidnapped him.

It was strange then, to find her body pressed against his torso, to feel the heat of his body burning through his clothes, to be surrounded by the scent of him, thick and male and heavier than usual due to his recent lack of grooming. She closed her eyes and gave herself a moment to revel in it, to enjoy the physical contact she rarely allowed herself, to soak up the comfort of being close to someone she truly cared for. Besides, he was drunk off his ass and hopefully wouldn't notice her tiny indulgence.

But when her eyes opened and moved to his, there was a hint of his normal teasing reflected at her, letting her know that drunk or not, the man still had superhuman observational skills.

She shook her head and prayed he'd forget what he'd noticed. "You're the one who needs to relax, John. Take a damn day off." He hadn't moved his arm from her shoulders, so she took advantage of their positions, slipped her arm around his waist and pulled. Her other hand gripped his wrist to keep his hand on her shoulder. "Time to go home, John."

He moved with her, though his legs took a moment to realize they were supposed to support him. Turning into her, he muttered something about a drink. She didn't know if he was trying to buy her one again or arguing that he wanted another, but she didn't care. Not with his mouth close to her ear and his breath caressing her neck. She shivered at the sensation. The man was far more intoxicating than alcohol. She almost forgot where she was.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on getting him out of the creepy bar. The sunlight was so bright outside it hurt her eyes after the darkness of the bar. John was more or less standing on his own, though his arm was still draped around her shoulders. She put on her sunglasses and looked up at the man squinting at her.

"Ok, so, where to?" She had no idea where he lived. Or worked. Or wherever the base of operations was for Finch's little project. If he wasn't forthcoming, she'd have no choice but to take him to her place, which she really didn't want to do. Though she wouldn't mind having him there, Taylor might find the man passed out on the couch and pester her with questions regarding a relationship he would undoubtedly misunderstand.

John grinned at her. "My place or yours?"

Ignoring his drunken smile, she shook her head. "Which is closer?"

He nodded to the corner. "Mine's a couple blocks."

"Can you walk that far?" She eyed her car, thinking it might be easier to let him sleep it off in a parking lot somewhere.

But John nodded eagerly and despite her question as to the wisdom of listening to a drunk man, Jos gave him the benefit of the doubt. She trusted him, the way she'd trusted very few people in her life, sober or not.

#####

She had no idea how the CIA might go about teaching operatives to remain functional when drunk, but apparently they had. She would have doubted that John was actually drunk with the coordinated way he was moving, except that the affectionate presence of his arm around her and his hand gently squeezing her arm gave away that he wasn't quite himself.

At first it struck her as strange, the notion occupying her thoughts while they walked. Anyone looking at him would have no idea that he was under the influence. He was walking straight and behaving normally, actually more like a normal person than he usually did. His tense, hyperactive reflexes were dulled by the alcohol, leaving him to seem like a regular guy. The tension in his face and frame relaxed considerably. These changes, obvious flags to her that he wasn't himself, would be invisible to strangers. He would just be an ordinary man going about his business. His casual stroll called less attention than his purposeful stride.

And she came to the conclusion that he was trying very, very hard to appear sober, when every once in a while, he'd step on her foot.

The only things he couldn't keep in check while he was drunk were his feelings. Drunk John didn't seem to know that Sober John preferred to keep her at an arm's length. While she generally attributed his sarcasm to protecting himself, but it was nice to know he honestly did like her, which he was telling her rather loudly by keeping her pressed against his side when he was having no trouble whatsoever walking.

Jos didn't mind one bit.

They crossed into a small park after a few blocks, and rather than continuing straight, John detoured through the grassy area. She didn't ask, figuring he was taking a shortcut. But then he came to a stop by the chess tables, smiling warmly at an elderly Asian man.

"Han, how are you today?"

Han's head turned up, a wide smile making up for the vacancy in his blind stare. "John! You're not working today?"

"I can't play today. Just stopped by for a visit."

Han nodded, turning his face toward Jos. "And who is your lovely lady?"

"This is Jos."

The older man extended his hand toward her. "John is a good friend, a good man."

Jos smiled as she shook his hand. "Yes, he is."

"He needs a good lady to watch over him while he watches over everyone else."

Jos' eyes slid to John, who was still smiling at Han. Between herself and Finch and now Han, well, John had eclectic taste in friends, but she knew he was an excellent judge of character. She tightened the arm that was still around his waist. "I try my best, but"

"John is a handful," Han chuckled. He turned back to John. "Come back soon to finish our game."

"Will do," he mumbled, a bit of a delay following before he realized the end of the conversation meant that he was supposed to continue walking.

Fighting back a laugh, Jos reassured herself that her initial instinct was accurate. He was drunk; he was just better at hiding it than most. And as he continued to lead her to his home, she had to stop him. She felt guilty for letting him tell her as much as he already had.

"John, wait," she stopped, giving him time to process her words. Then she met his eyes. "Are you sure you want me to know where you live?"

"I know where you live."

"Yeah, but you're a shady ex-CIA type who skulks around and follows people. I'm a cop you're still not quite sure you trust." She didn't want to take advantage of his inebriated openness any more than she'd want someone to take advantage of her physically in the same situation.

"I trust you." He held her eyes, no hint of uncertainty. Slowly, a smirk broke out, transforming his haggard look into the playful one she was more used to. "You're welcome to drop by any time you like, Carter."

Pretending not to be floored by his decision to trust her or thrown by his sudden return to flirtation, she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I have nothing better to do with my time than search your place when you're out."

"It would be so much more fun if I was there, Carter." The hand that he'd had on her shoulder the entire time they'd been walking finally moved, his fingers slipping up to the back of her neck and into her hair, his thumb sliding along the side of her throat. "Since you're here, Jos, why don't you stay?"

And in that moment there was no chance of pretending he wasn't leering at her or that he wasn't deliberately touching her or of not understanding him. She swallowed hard, frozen by his intense stare, trying to remind herself that she was the sober one and thus the only one with any responsibility for what happened. Somehow she managed to maintain control of herself long enough to recognize the stench of booze and remember he wasn't actually in control.

Hell, his attempt to appear sober was so damn good it was starting to fool her.

Although, she told herself, he'd never out and out propositioned her before. He'd flirted and made plenty of innuendos, but, apparently, there was a first time for everything.

She stepped back, a sad smile on her lips. "Probably not the best time to make that decision since you're drunk, John." If he ever suggested such a thing when he was sober, and she certainly hoped he would, she hoped he did it somewhere more private than the middle of a busy sidewalk.

He shrugged. "Being drunk doesn't change the facts, just the likelihood of mentioning them."

Unable to suppress the happy smile, she averted her eyes. It wasn't fair to get such an important piece of information from him when he likely wouldn't remember having told her, let alone her reaction to it. She nodded, trying to prompt him to start walking again. "Maybe we should save the secrets for another time too."

"Secrets?" He looked thoroughly confused, but still wickedly mischievous as he let his gaze run up and down her body. "What's supposed to be a secret? I've got eyes, Carter."

"And such pretty ones too." She stepped back, reluctantly forcing herself out of his reach, catching his hand as it dropped from her body. "Come on, you're almost home."

"I am home." He let go of her hand and pointed at the building just diagonally across from the park. "You got me here. Thanks." His good mood disappeared that quickly, leaving Jos to want to kick herself.

He wouldn't remember the precise exchange and so wouldn't know she'd taken the high road. Moral high ground wouldn't mean shit to her if he was pissed off.

"John, come on," she reached for his hand again, pleased that he let her catch it. "I want to see it. Can't really picture what sort of drapes you'd pick out."

He answered her smile with a grin. "It was a gift."

"The drapes?"

He nodded as he led her across the street. "The whole thing. Finch gave it to me for my birthday. Guess he has a few spare."

Shaking her head, she followed eagerly. "I have to get on that man's good side. Maybe he'll send Taylor to Harvard for me."

John smiled. "He probably will. I think he likes giving away money. He doesn't seem to have anything better to do with it."

With a sigh and a wish she had that sort of problem, she pulled open the door to the building. "After you."

#####

She would have known, even without John's statement, that he hadn't been responsible for either the purchase or the furnishing. It was a beautiful loft, huge windows overlooking the park, expensive paintings, a full complement of high end furniture. It wasn't that John didn't look like he belonged there; it was simply that the entire concept of a home was far too high maintenance for someone like him. He'd always struck her as one of those guys who had exactly one of exactly whatever he needed. She'd have loved to have seen framed photos of friends and family, but she knew there wasn't any family or friends, besides a handful of people he'd only known a few months. Men with families, loving parents and cousins and lifelong friends didn't turn out like John.

It hurt to think about it because she knew that John deserved those things. He was the sort of man who would worship his parents and adore his wife and spoil his children rotten. The man had far too much heart for his own good. She had no idea how he'd ended up in the CIA, but she hated them for mistaking him for their kind. They'd taken away any chance he had to be the person he deserved to be. She shook her head in an attempt to free herself of the thoughts. She already wanted to kill Snow; she didn't need any more of a reason.

John was watching her as she looked around and he frowned when he saw her head shaking. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all. It's beautiful." She ran her hand along the granite countertop that was pristine unlike the scratched Formica in her kitchen that was older than she was. "Finch has good taste."

The mention of the man he'd brought up just a few minutes earlier caused his smile to fade. Finch was missing, and though John had innumerable skills, it seemed that he'd met his match with the woman who'd kidnapped his boss.

John crossed the room, retrieving a beer from the fridge before moving to lean against one of the windows. He was lost in his thoughts, his eyes locked on Han down in the park. On second thought, he did seem to belong there. The understated design of the loft, the functional furniture, even the enormous windows that allowed him to see so much - it all suited him perfectly.

She didn't doubt that it had been a gift as John claimed, but she suspected Finch had put more thought into it than John realized. Or maybe not. While John and Finch hadn't seemed that close, there was clearly more of a bond there than they let on. John had taken Finch's disappearance on as a personal mission, more than any of his other cases. Finding only dead ends and frustration was taking its toll on John. The outward effects were obvious. Not only did he look terrible, but his quick wit and confidence had disappeared along with Finch. Now that he was drinking again, she suspected he wasn't eating either.

If there was one thing to be said about John Reese, it was that he didn't do anything halfway.

Unfortunately, that included dropping into a pit of despair.

John slammed the beer down on the table so hard Jos jumped and thought the bottle had broken. His quiet reverie was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced with an agitated urgency as he paced like a caged animal. "I have to go."

"Go where?" She knew he was just afraid to sit still, even though there was no new information that he'd discovered somehow while he was standing in front of her.

He stopped suddenly and stared at her, his eyes dark and angry. "I have to find my friend."

"John, you're going to find him." Risking his anger, trusting him absolutely, she approached him and placed her hands on his chest. "We're going to find him. But you can't make yourself sick in the process." She pushed at him, knowing he was allowing her to get away with it, until he dropped into one of the chairs around the dining room table. "You need to take the night off. You can't go out there and do what you do until you're sober. Sleep it off, John, get some rest, have a decent breakfast, then get back to it."

He shook his head, but he didn't get up. "I can't. I have to find him. What if something pops up while I'm sleeping and I miss it? What if it's too late? I can't do that again. I won't do that again."

"Again?" It took her a moment. She pulled out another chair and sat down, taking his hands in hers. "Finch isn't Jessica. This isn't a domestic assault that gets way out of hand. The woman who has Finch wants information from him. She's not going to accidentally kill him." She paused, amazed at the open emotions dancing across John's face. Apparently Finch had never told him about sending her to New Rochelle and neither of them knew that she'd gotten John's real army file.

Rather than the anger that she might have expected for prying into his life, John was shocked and confused and oddly hopeful, as though maybe he'd needed to be reminded of exactly those facts. He nodded slowly.

"I'm so tired." He wasn't lying, as evidenced by the eyes that were drooping heavily even as he fought against it. "But I can't-"

"You need to sleep. You know damn well that Finch would tell you the same thing if he were here. He doesn't want you killing yourself to find him." When he didn't issue another complaint, Jos stood, pulling on his hands until he followed suit. "Sleep now, work later."

He let her direct him to the bed, even went so far as to sit down on it before he tried again. "I might miss my chance to find him, to catch her-"

"What are you going to miss? Are you going to stake someplace out?" Anything legitimate he had to say and she would volunteer to take the shift for him, provided he'd stay home for a few hours.

"I need to get back to the library. The computer might have caught something." He tried to stand, but Jos put her hand on his shoulder to still him.

"Library? Computer? What the hell are you talking about?" He'd been making perfect sense up to that point, but suddenly she found herself wondering which one of them had missed something.

His skin paled as his eyes widened. "Oh shit, Finch is going to kill me." He dropped his face into his hands and shook his head back and forth in disbelief.

So much for John's fake sobriety. Jos knew he'd never made such a slip before. At least he'd only made it in front of her, someone who would never use it against him, even if she had any idea what he meant. Although, she realized, that fact that he was relaxed enough, alcohol notwithstanding, with her to make such a slip was actually a compliment.

"The cat's out of the bag now, so you might as well explain." She sat down next to him and waited.

He stared at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes searching her face, his mind working through his options, his emotions making the decision for him. Taking a deep breath, he turned away. "It's how we get our information. It's a computer. It's," he shook his head with a smirk. "You're probably not even going to believe it, Carter, but that damn computer is alive. It thinks." He glanced at her unimpressed expression. "It's looking for Finch too and if it finds something, it'll tell me. We work out of this old library Finch owns. The computer can contact me anywhere, but that's usually where we are."

She waited, wondering at what point he was going to say 'gotcha,' but the laughter never came. "A computer?"

"I know, I thought the same thing. First time Finch told me about it, I walked away from him. Thought he was a lunatic." He reached out again, sliding his hand against hers, giving her plenty of notice before his fingers laced with hers. "But he was right. That damn machine knows everything. It told us you were in trouble and it was right."

Jos shook her head, both at the notion of an all-seeing computer trying to protect her and the simple fact that she was sitting on John Reese's bed with his hand wrapped around hers. Hell, maybe it was possible.

"Ok, I'll bite. Tell me where to go and I'll watch it or whatever for you tonight while you rest." She saw the hesitation in his face, but also the exhaustion that would make him more pliable. "I'll call you if anything happens." She squeezed his hand and added the words she knew would sway him. "You have my word."

He smiled, his eyes closing for a beat in recognition of her reference. Promises meant the world to him, especially one from her. Then, ever so slowly, he nodded. "Ok." And then, surprisingly, he gave her the address.

"Good, that's settled. Bed time for you." She stood up, hating to break the contact of their hands.

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to join me?"

Pretending it wasn't far more tempting than it should have been, Jos bit back her grin. "I have work to do."

John sighed as he turned away, pulling back the covers and toeing off his shoes at the same time. He shrugged off his jacket next, tossing it on the far side of the bed before lying down. Jos pulled the blanket up and smiled at the contented look on his face. He trusted her, after all, and he knew she'd do what she said. He could finally close his eyes and get some sleep.

The mother in her came out as she tucked the blanket up around his shoulders, taking her time, far more than necessary, to draw out the inevitable moment when she'd have to walk away from the open and trusting side of John. He didn't seem to care, his eyes slipping closed as she leaned over him.

Just as she admitted there was no way to postpone it any longer, his eyes opened again. Rather than the darkness that had always haunted them, they were light and clear and it took her breath away to see them so close. He took advantage of her pause, his hand reaching up and cupping the back of her head, pulling her closer as he leaned up.

Even half asleep the man was too damn fast, pressing his mouth to hers before she quite had the chance to figure out what was happening. His lips were soft and demanding, telling her he had absolutely no second thoughts about what he was doing. As soon as it entered her consciousness that John was kissing her, actually kissing her, her brain shut down. It was instinct alone that caused her lips to part, needing to taste him as much as she needed air.

He took full advantage of the opportunity, his tongue tracing her lips before delving into her mouth. She moaned at the sensation, having forgotten just how damn good it felt to be thoroughly kissed by someone to whom she was thoroughly attracted. Her hands grabbed at his hair to keep him close and encourage him to continue his exploration of her mouth. One of his hands shifted down, away from her hair, sliding over her shoulder and back to her waist. His fingers caught her belt loop and he tugged.

She managed to keep herself from falling, one knee and one hand catching her weight and supporting her over him. She expected he'd laugh, realize their awkward position, remember that this wasn't what they did.

But no, he was insistent, his grip tight, his muscles still working to pull her down.

She was tempted. Tempted like she'd never been in all her life. But John trusted her and he was drunk and had clearly forgotten in less than a minute that she was supposed to be taking his place searching for Finch while he slept.

Her hand slipped along his cheek, the coarse hair scratching against her palm as she pulled away. "John, wait."

His reaction was immediate, his hands yanking away like she'd burned him, his head pressing back into the pillow away from her. His mouth was wet, his lips glistening invitingly, but his face… he looked more broken than he had earlier.

She moved her other hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "John, you're drunk and I have to go to the library, remember? Not tonight, tempting as it may be. I'd prefer you didn't wake up and wonder what the hell I'm doing in your bed."

He took his time to read her, his eyes darting back and forth between hers, until a slow grin started to curve his mouth. "I'm sure I wouldn't mind finding you in my bed."

"I'm sure Finch would prefer I was looking for him tonight. Have to keep him on my good side if I want him to pay for Harvard."

John offered her quite possibly the sexiest grin she'd ever seen. "If you stay, Jos, I'll pay for Harvard." For just a moment, she saw the teasing light in his eyes again. "But you did promise."

She chuckled. "Damn it, I did. So I'll go look for Finch and you get some sleep and I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

He took her hands, sandwiching them between his, holding them and letting the physical contact warm them both. "I'll hold you to that."

"Good night, John." She leaned down, watching his eyes close, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then she pulled away and headed for the door. Glancing back at him from across the room, she saw the way his mouth had fallen open, the shallow, even rise and fall of his chest. How the hell he'd fallen asleep that fast, hell, she decided he must have been that tired.

She carefully closed the door behind her to keep from waking him and set off for the library. John's words about the computer had intrigued her, nearly as much as John had intrigued her the night they met. She suspected it would prove to be far more difficult to understand in the end as well, but the investigation was bound to be worthwhile, especially with John by her side.

~finis~