It doesn't take long for John to come out of the bathroom. Fully dressed and composed , he looks at the pastry Carter is studying. The flush colouring his cheeks isn't entirely due to the shower's heat.
"Is this for me?" She puts it down and can't stop smiling. "If it isn't can I have it?"
"It's for Taylor." Reese tugs at the collar of his polo-neck. "Kids like pumpkin pie right?"
"You call Taylor "Kid" and he's likely to dump it over your head." Joss pokes at the crust with a finger.
"Hey." limping over, his stick clicking on the kitchen tiles, he pulls the pie away from her. "We spent a long time making that. You can have it later."
"Whose "we"" Carter asks curiously. "Not Finch?"
"A number. Harold doesn't cook."
"The number got a name?"
"Jacey."
"Jacey..." Joss tries out the name. "Does Jacey come here often?" She tries to keep the quick stab of jealousy out of her voice, but from the quick flash of interest in John's eyes he caught it.
"She needed a place to stay last night, here seemed safest."
Despite her attempt at nonchalance, Joss's eyes flick over to the big bed in the living area.
The only bed.
Her head is turned by John's warm strong fingers on her cheek, pushing her face up gently to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes is so intense that she has to swallow hard.
"Jacey's a traumatised kid. I took the sofa. When I share that bed it'll be with you, when we're both ready." His voice is soft, low and filled with promise. Quite a lot of Carter's body would argue that she's ready right now actually, but she forces herself to ignore the throb between her thighs and force the blood that is flushing her cheeks back into her brain.
"Taylor's waiting for us," she manages to reply, inwardly wincing at the hitch in her voice. "I've ordered a taxi."
"We'd best get going then." Joss watches as he grabs his coat, a disposable cell, a roll of bills from the cutlery drawer and a pretty silver Barretta from inside the fridge. She knows that there's no point in arguing with him about the necessity of the gun – even in what he knows is a safe haven its a fair bet that he'd feel naked without a weapon of some sort. He lets her take the pie after putting it in a plastic bag first and even lets her grab his arm when the stick slips when they go down the steps at the front of the building. She doesn't let go until the cab arrives and he doesn't ask her to.
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Despite what her mother might have told her and teachers who dismissed her as trash and lazy when she was falling asleep from exhaustion at school, Jacey isn't stupid. Sitting on the bed with the clean sheets and listening to the nice woman with the dark hair she nonetheless keeps an eye on the short man perched in the arm chair in the corner of the room.
The lawyer, Mrs Kowalzki is nice, explaining the legalities of how the fostering system works and how she can apply to see her brothers and sisters. What she's entitled to and what's going to happen next. Jacey listens calmly, filing away the information in her mind. Testifying against Grayson Kent isn't something that she thinks twice about. Even if she didn't want him to pay for what he did it was a matter of self preservation – unless he was behind bars she'd never really be free. Nor would her siblings. She knows what leverage is and how people like him use it. She signs what she's asked to when presented with papers that will allow her visitation rights and others from something called the bluebird foundation that helps people in her situation. As well as a small apartment that she can stay in rent free there is a bank account already set up in her new name and the promise of a generous monthly allowance until the trial is over and she's earning money of her own. It sounds far too good to be true but everything looks legal and Mrs Kowalzki takes care to make sure that she understands everything that has and will happen. When the lawyer leaves, giving her a business card and an assurance that she would be in touch and was always available, Jacey expects Mr Wren to go with her, and is a little alarmed when he merely shakes the lawyer's hand and sits back down in the chair. He doesn't look threatening – from the stiff way he moves she figures that he'd been in an accident once or maybe had been born with a disability. If he'd wanted to kill her he'd hardly have sat around listening to all her legal troubles with the nice lawyer he was obviously friendly with anyway.
Obviously sensing her unease, Mr Wren gives her a smile. His pale eyes lighten when he does so, giving him an almost impish look. Jacey suppresses a smile of her own.
"There's no need to be worried, Miss Brundett." His voice is soft, the words concise; he reminds her a little of a math teacher she'd had in school. "I mean you no harm. We have a mutual friend in common; John."
"John?" Seriously? Two less alike people she couldn't imagine, but then who else would have sent him there? "Okay..." Not very eloquent but she's not sure what to say. "Do you two like work together or something?"
"Something like that." Harold smiles again and this time she lets herself smile back. "We're partners of a kind."
Partners... She gives Mr Wren a quick once over. Expensively dressed, attractive in a quirky way. Not drop dead gorgeous like John had been and completely without his air of controlled violence.
"What exactly are you partners in?" Jacey asks eventually. "Are you like Bruce Wayne and he's Batman?"
Harold laughs delightedly. "What a charming analogy. I fear that Christian Bale looks a lot better in a suit than I do though. John fills that role admirably however as I'm sure you'd agree."
"So long as the woman whose picture is on his phone thinks so," Jacey agrees. "We made her a pumpkin pie."
"He sent me a photo. I imagine that you did most of the work however." When she blushes and looks away he continues. "Since room service here leaves a lot to be desired I brought you these." Reaching inside the leather satchel that sat beside his chair, he pulls out a couple of restaurant menus. "One should not skimp on a thanksgiving meal. Order whatever you like under the name Miss Wren to be delivered here, it will be charged to my account."
Jacey takes the sheaf of paper and glances at the headings. One of the restaurants she recognises from celebrity magazines, the other she does not. The prices next to the items on the menu have her blinking in disbelief. "Mr Wren... I can't...I don't even know what half this stuff is." Feeling utterly out of her depth, the past few days start catching up with her and she fights back tears. After everything you fall apart over ordering dinner?she castigates herself angrily. It's a nice gesture from the man, but one that she has no idea how to process, let alone accept. "Thanksgiving is usually a chicken burger and whatever the kids want to watch on tv. "Wall-E" or a "Simpsons" marathon usually."
"Well then." He limps over slowly and pats her on the shoulder in what she supposes is a paternal gesture. "Let's have a re-think. Chicken burgers with all the trimmings and cartoons instead? I could make it a turkey burger if you'd like to get into the holiday spirit?"
"I'm not really sure I'm really in the mood for holiday spirit." Jacey gives the older man a watery smile. "Are you going to stay?" She's only known him for a few minutes but the hope that he will agree surprises her with its intensity. Not celebrating thanksgiving is one thing, spending it alone is something entirely different.
"If you'd like me to. But I insist you call me Harold." After a moment he gives her a rueful look. "I think you'll have to educate me on the best fast-food establishments though, I fear that I'm woefully under-qualified in that department."
"I can do that." Reaching for the hotel telephone she gives his hand a quick squeeze. "Happy thanksgiving Harold."
"And to you, Jacey."
Settling back into his uncomfortable chair Harold watches her ask to be put through to something called "King Kevin's Burger Bar." Alright the food would probably be terrible and the furnishings were not to his taste, but it's still the happiest he's felt on a thanksgiving for a long, long time.
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Taylor had cooked the turkey to perfection, forgotten to take out the roast potatoes so that they resembled lumps of coal and hadn't put any of the other vegetables on at all. Given the circumstances Carter thought he'd done a pretty good job.
He greets her with a cross between exasperation and relief and John with a great deal more respect, especially when he'd been told that the reason that he was limping was because he'd been shot. Joss considers pointing out that she'd been shot too, but even though she'd had the sense to wear a Kevlar vest, Taylor could do without that image in his head. She'd soak some of the soreness out in a bath later and make do with a couple of painkillers swallowed when she excused herself to go to the bathroom.
Over a lot of turkey and stuffing and some hastily microwaved carrots and beans, conversation flowed surprisingly well. John didn't offer up any information about himself really; that was to be expected, but he spoke with knowledge and passion about basketball and seemed genuinely interested in Taylor's opinions about his hopes for college and his thoughts on the future.
The pumpkin pie despite its appearance was delicious, Taylor the traitor asking for thirds. John gave her a smile of such smugness when her son went into the kitchen that Carter barely restrained herself from tossing a napkin at him.
Later when John and Taylor are halfway through the second game of Black Ops 2, Reese's leg propped up on a bean-bag, her son intent on a game that she's fairly sure the older man is letting him win, she finds herself pausing halfway though clearing up and just watching them. There's a bitter sweet feeling that makes her chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with the bruises on her ribs. When John laughs at one of Taylor's silly jokes she stacks up the plates and heads back into the kitchen.
It's only a little past nine when Reese calls for a cab. Taylor would have liked him to stay longer, but Joss understands. She's exhausted herself and John's pain meds must have started to wear off at least an hour ago. After he's said goodnight to her son she accompanies him down in the elevator and stands next to him in the crisp cold night. There isn't much traffic. Their breath makes little entwining dragons in the frigid air.
"You can come back, you know."
Her hip is propped against the door, her eyes a lot softer than the rather defensive words.
"I will."
In the dark the flash of John's white teeth would look predatory if she didn't know him better.
"Just call me first and check Taylor's otherwise occupied." Even in the darkness she can see his pupils dilate. "There's a few things we need to sort out between us."
Yeah, there are. But tonight isn't about unpacking their mutual baggage or discussing the danger that lurks around every corner. Leaning forward Joss puts a hand on his shoulder and kisses him gently. He's compliant, his mouth soft and sweet from the pumpkin pie, an intriguing contrast to the unyielding strength beneath her fingers. Pulling away is difficult but she does so after a few moments. There's an unspoken this is just the start, when he briefly rests his forehead against hers.
The cab driver flashes his lights as he pulls up and they both laugh.
"Happy thanksgiving John."
"Thank-you for sharing it with me." He lets her go and limps off towards the cab. Joss raises her hand in farewell but it's too dark to see if he does the same once he's closed the car door behind him. Licking her lips she smiles to herself. There's still a little taste of him there, along with the knowledge that the real meal is yet to come.
When she ascends the stairs to the apartment and opens the door, the sight of "Toy Story" on pause and the popping of corn in the microwave makes her smile. From the clashing of glass bowls Taylor still hasn't remembered that the popcorn bowl is kept on the shelf above the microwave.
Yeah, Joss thinks. Not exactly a traditional thanksgiving, but certainly one to remember.
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