Joss had managed to keep calm and smile when she told Taylor to keep an eye on the roasting turkey and what time to put the potatoes and vegetables on. "They need me down at the precinct for an hour or so- nothing to worry about," she'd told him. Taylor had given her a yeah right, look, but had thankfully not asked questions. Pretending to get something from her bedroom, she quickly puts her kevlar vest on under a sweatshirt and swaps her shorts for jeans. Grabbing her gun, her badge and her keys, Joss left the apartment so quickly that she didn't hear whatever it was that her son called after her.
Fusco calls when she's slamming her car door and wrestling with the seatbelt.
"Wonderboy is in trouble again," is his not particularly friendly greeting. "I guess you got the call too."
"Yeah." Carter turns the key in the ignition and heads her car out into the traffic. "Trouble at Red Hook terminal. How do you want to play this?"
"Finch says there's at least two men with automatic weapons on one of the ships, I'm going to go in from the north, call for back-up and keep them occupied. You get our guy out and away. We can go after Kent and the girls afterwards."
"Got it. I'll go in from the south exit. Keep in touch."
It doesn't take long for Joss to get to the bay. She's a careful driver, but in her wilder teenage years she'd been a little more devil-may-care, and those instincts stood her in good stead as she wove through the traffic, a hair shy of actually breaking the law. Pulling into the check-point she shows her badge to an indifferent guard and makes herself stay below twenty as she drives up to the northern terminal. No-one seems to take much notice of her – at the southern end it's a hive of activity with ships loading and unloading, slowing her down so much that she's tempted just to drive straight through them, but there's almost a quarter of a mile of abandoned dock that is obviously undergoing renovation before she reaches the northern site. Making herself hang back slightly, she calls Fusco.
"Lionel? What's goin' on with you?"
He sounds worried when he answers. "SWAT's on its way, ETA ten minutes. I'm in position; two shooters on the front of the boat, the minivan with the girls is gone but I got the plate. Kent's still here with one of his goons, I don't have a clear shot."
Shit. John might not have ten minutes... As though he'd read her mind, Fusco warns, "Don't do anything stupid Carter."
Yeah, well, bit late for that now. Gunning the engine she puts the pedal down and swerves around the corner, swinging the rear of her car into the back of the Bentley parked by the dock. The impact sends the burly man standing by the front bumper flying several feet onto the concrete to lie unmoving and the unmistakable Grayson Kent leaping for cover. Bones jarred by the impact, Joss unbuckles her seatbelt quickly and raises both her badge and gun.
"NYPD," she practically screams. She looks around quickly for John, after a couple of seconds seeing him emerge slightly from the shadows of a storage unit. A bullet slams into the hood of her car and she flinches backwards ready to return fire. Someone else does it for her – a volley of shots aimed towards the big boat docked by the Bentley cover her as she runs towards Reese. Thank-you Fusco, she thinks. The blow to her back knocks the breath out of her and she slams face first onto the concrete, lungs screaming and her right side on fire. Somewhere she can hear a howl as though an animal has been wounded, but before she can make any sense of it she's dragged to her knees by her hair and her gun has been snatched from her limp fingers. Struggling to breathe, Joss tries to get her legs under her and twist free.
"Pack it in bitch." Grayson Kent's voice has none of its customary smoothness as he pockets her gun and presses his own pistol against her forehead. He tightens his hand in her hair and Carter tries to ignore the pain and keep calm. John has made his way halfway between them and the warehouse, his face is pale, his eyes wild with rage. He's limping heavily which means that he's been hit at least once. If he had a gun, and since when didn't he? It had been discarded which meant that they were in a world of trouble.
"Take off your jacket." Kent's words are terse, "and your sweater, then empty your pockets. Try anything and I'll blow her head off."
John doesn't hesitate. The heavy coat falls to the ground with a "thunk" that suggests that he'd stashed some of his weapons there. A couple of knives fall out of his pockets as well as his cellphone when he empties them. Joss wants to scream at him to take a shot, throw a knife, do something, but he doesn't meet her eyes. He doesn't want to risk her life by making a move. Were their positions reversed she probably wouldn't take the chance either.
The heavy set man that had been sent flying when Joss rammed the Bentley appears by Grayson Kent's side, bleeding from a gash by his eye and a little unsteady. His eyes however are clear and filled with a murderous rage.
"Burkel, I want them both alive. I want to know where they got their information from." The big man grunts, takes two steps towards John before kicking out his injured leg and bringing the butt of his gun down on his head. Reese collapses without a murmur which is more than can be said for Joss. She cries out despite herself, receiving a smack to the temple from Kent's gun barrel that leaves her dizzy. Her cellphone is taken and smashed, her body undergoing a quick search that she's too disorientated to protest. With blurry vision she watches as the big henchman tosses Reese's unconscious body over his shoulder and dumps it into the trunk of the Bentley, checking quickly for any other weapons in his boots. She's dragged along afterwards and thrown on top of John, the hood slamming down and plunging them both into darkness. When the engine starts and the Bentley peels away at what seems like sixty miles an hour, Joss is rammed against the side of the trunk, whimpering as the impact bruises her already tender back.
Come on girl. Calm down. Think. Carter takes as deep a breath as she can given the constraints of the kevlar and the awkward position she's in. The Bentley's trunk is at least roomy, giving her enough space to slide her legs off of John's hip where they had landed and letting her free her arms. First things first. Carefully she pats the big warm shape pressed against her, twisting so that she is spooned against his back.
"John?" She asks quietly. "John, can you hear me?" No response, but she can feel the rise and fall of his ribs under her hand when she reaches over to check his pulse. It's fairly steady, but she knows he's hit, knows he's bleeding. Wriggling lower she feels the stickiness of blood under her fingers when she reaches his thigh and the torn denim that signalled an entry wound. Pressing her hand against it firmly she doesn't let him flinch away when he groans, instead tucking herself closer and resting her head on his ribcage. He's solid and slightly sweaty, his breathing hitching when she increases the pressure. Joss whispers quiet nonsense words to him as much to calm herself as him.
Fusco. The thought of her partner makes her chest tight. It had definitely been him covering her from the snipers on the boat, but then everything had fallen silent. Was he alright? Had he simply not dared take a shot while Grayson Kent had a gun to her head or had he been hit? The knowledge that a SWAT team would be on site any moment now wasn't much of a comfort. They had been too late to help her and Reese; if Lionel was lying out there with a bullet in his head then there wouldn't be much that they could do for him either.
Joss isn't sure how long they were driving for, she's not entirely sure that she was wholly conscious for the entire journey either, but by the time they stopped both her sleeve and leg are sticky with blood. When the hood is opened she blinks blindly at the light before being unceremoniously pulled out of the trunk and dumped on the ground, John deposited even less elegantly beside her. Blearily Carter takes in her surroundings. They're by a jetty giving a beautiful view of of the river, squinting she makes out the shape of a bridge and recognizes it with a prickle of fear. She'd taken been over the Verrazano-Narrows bridge quite a few times, the curve of it is unmistakable, but while it was good to know where they were it also meant that they were a long way from Red Hook. Behind them a big three storied house rose up, aggressively modern, all angles and glass. The garden in contrast is lush, almost tropical. If there were houses nearby then she couldn't see them. Grayson Kent liked his privacy, Joss thought with a prickling of fear. Good for him, bad for her and Reese.
"John?" She reaches out for him. Collapsed on the paved driveway all long limbs gracelessly sprawled, his skin waxy pale, Joss feels her heart slam against her rib cage. "John!" Scrambling towards him, she's picked up by the scruff of her sweater as though she were no more than a misbehaving puppy by Kent's hired muscle.
"I could just dump them both in the river." The man holding her so tightly that any of her evasive tactics are rendered useless sounds almost hopeful. "That one's practically dead anyway." He nods towards John and Carter resists the urge to sink her teeth into his wrist. But even if she did get free there was no chance of getting away and she wouldn't, couldn't, leave John.
"No, Burkel." Grayson Kent's voice was back to its calm authority. "Put them in The Nero and stay near the bridge until I call you back. I don't want any mess here – I've got some cleaning up to do but I want to talk to them. Either I've got an informer on the payroll or something else is going on."
"Maybe the cops figured something out," Burkel suggests.
Kent gives Joss an appraising look that she attempts to return defiantly. "She's a cop, he isn't. If this was a sanctioned take down we'd have had police everywhere. Whoever they are they are this isn't a NYPD operation. Cuff them in the main cabin and pretend to be a tourist. I'll be in contact." Checking his pistol he keeps it trained on John's prone form. "You know where the cuffs are. Get her locked down and come back for him."
Joss lets herself be marched down the jetty and onto the sleek white powerboat moored there, trying not to think of the gun jammed into her side. Black lettering on the prow proclaims the vessel to be "The Nero" that Grayson Kent had spoken of. Figures, Joss thinks as she's shoved up the steps and into one of the cabins, her arm wrenched up when Burkel grabs a set of handcuffs out of a drawer and secures her none too gently to a metal pole. The Roman Emperor for which it had been named was famed for being powerful and a psycho too. She's barely had time get her bearings before Burkel carries John through and tosses him beside her with a grunt of effort. With another pair of cuffs he secures the unconscious man to both Joss and the metal pole before casting off and moving towards the controls. The lurch of the boat is brief as it starts moving before settling into a smooth, steady rhythm away from shore.
"John?" Joss turns her attention to the man slumped beside her. He's so pale that she can see the blue veins tracing the translucent skin of his eyelids above the thick dark lashes. His chest is still rising and falling she thinks, but given that he's wearing dark jeans it's hard to tell how much blood he's lost. She herself is sticky with it, but at least it couldn't have hit an artery. Carter tries to remember how to do CPR, wonders if she can do it with one hand and tries not to panic.
"Please, please. Not like this. Please wake up."The whisper against his ear, her cheek pressed against his damp hair is more of a prayer than a request. When he turns his head and brushes his lips against hers so briefly that it might have been her imagination, Carter has to bite her tongue not to giggle in relief like a total idiot. She's fairly sure that she's grinning though when those silver blue eyes open and meet her gaze.
"When I thought about going on a boat ride with you it wasn't quite like this," he murmurs.
She gives a quiet half snort of irritation. "Yeah well I never had you down as a romantic."
"I'm going to get us out of this ok?" He looks at her as though willing her to believe it. He doesn't have to try that hard.
"How?"
"In a minute I'm going to have a seizure and you're going to yell your head off about me being the only one who knew about Grayson Kent's prostitution ring. I need you to get him close," he mutters.
"John.." Carter looks at his injured leg.
"Trust me." He gives her a smile. A proper smile with a hint of his usual smirk. Reluctantly she nods in acquiescence. It doesn't take much acting on her part to scream bloody murder when Reese's head drops back and his body starts convulsing.
"For fucks sake save him!" She yells. The boat shudders to a halt, the big man driving it looking intensely irritated as he jumps down the two stairs that separate the cabin from the deck.
"What's going on?" Drawing his gun, his eyes bright with anger he approaches, pausing for half a second when he sees Reese writhing on the floor.
"Fuck," he mutters. Keeping his gun trained on Carter he drops to his knees and reaches out to the stricken man. John acts quickly. Kicking his legs up he grabs the man in a headlock, squeezing his thighs around the man's neck. Burkel shoots wildly but his aim is off, missing Carter who tucks herself as close to the floor as she can. The crunch of the man's neck breaking is sickening and the gun drops to the floor, skittering across the floor and under a counter-top. Panting, John untangles himself from the dead man's body, his body shaking with pain.
Carter struggles upright and swallows hard so as not to vomit. She gets herself together quickly – she's seen far worse in combat. What matters now is getting them both out of the boat. As though it heard her there is a cracking sound and the boat slides sideways slightly. Brilliant, the hull is breached. Hooking her leg around the corpse, Joss manages to drag it towards her slightly. John has the same idea. It's a stretch but with a bit of twisting they pull the body up enough to gain access to its pockets.
Empty.
With unspoken mutual agreement they let the body flop backwards and kick it away.
"The keys are on the deck, aren't they." It's a statement not a question and John doesn't bother to answer.
Shoving the pole with all her might, Joss gains nothing but a bruised shoulder. The rivets are underneath the carpet so even trying to unscrew them is impossible.
"John?" She tries to keep her voice commanding and not utterly terrified. Whatever energy he had expended killing their captor was probably the last he had in his tank. Even lifting his head seemed to take more effort than he had. "Come on, stay with me."
"Not going anywhere." He gives a sleepy smile. "Supposed to be with you at Thanksgiving right?"
Yeah, but not like this.
"This is the worst Thanksgiving that I've ever had." The boat tilts a little more sideways but Joss keeps talking. It seems to keep him awake, grabbing his thigh to both stop the bleeding, and in the hopes that the pain might stop him lapsing into unconsciousness she tells him the story of her grandma and the turkey that she threw out of the window. When she orders him not to pass out he calls her bossy.
"Give me your bra."
For several long seconds Joss can think of absolutely no response. She'd thought that John had been drifting away, but he's obviously trying to stay awake. When he jams his thumb into the wound in his leg he swears and the tendons in his neck stand out like cables as he grits his teeth, but his eyes are sharper when he looks at her.
"Your bra. Can you get it off?"
Usually she'd ask why, but since this is hardly the time for being embarrassed and nothing about the situation is erotic, Joss does her best to comply. Getting a bra off one handed is difficult but it's made almost impossible by the Kevlar vest. Eventually she manages to wriggle her hand down and unclasp it, but getting it off altogether simply isn't going to happen. Managing to wriggle one strap down and off one arm so that she can pull it up through the neckline of her sweatshirt is as good as its going to get.
"You want the under-wire right." The thought occurs her as she manages to tug most of the lingerie out of her clothing. It's a pretty blue lace bra, one of her favourites. At any other time she'd make a comment about John's expression when he sees it, because by the way his pupils dilate it's not only the very real possibility of drowning that has gotten his blood up. Instead he grabs one of the lacy cups, rips it with his teeth and slides out the slender piece of metal. It takes Joss longer to shed the Kevlar and the ruined bra than it does for him to free them of the handcuffs. Shoving her arm back through her sweatshirt, Joss has to hang on to the pole she'd been shackled to when the boat groans as though in pain and tips even further sideways.
"Come on." John has found something bright yellow and oblong in a cupboard, when he holds his hand out she takes it and they both scramble up onto the deck that is now tilting at a thirty degree angle. Obviously familiar with the mechanism, with a few deft moves the plastic packet promptly inflates into a small yellow lifeboat that Reese holds onto, nodding for her to get in. Joss slips and slides, more tumbling into the inflatable than edging into it as she'd seen on a dozen "in case of emergency" videos when she occasionally took the ferry. John gets in beside her rather more gracefully even with a bullet it his leg, and within moments they are free, bobbing on the water as The Nero sinks slowly beside them.
"That was fun." Slightly giddy with relief Joss rests her head against the bouncy plastic for a moment. "I thought we were going to re-enact the sinking of The Titanic there for a moment."
"If this was the James Cameron version then you'd be dumping me off the side right about now." John sounds amused but his voice is unusually quiet. Pushing herself up carefully so as not to capsize the dinghy, Joss tugs her sweatshirt over her head and ties it around his leg. The bleeding has slowed but he can't afford to lose any more blood. When he winces she apologises.
When she catches him staring at her breasts, ill concealed under damp white cotton he swallows hard and looks away.
It might have been an awkward moment had the little boat not swayed wildly as a small fishing boat drew up beside them. Leaning over the rail Fusco's brown eyes are narrowed with irritation, his complexion slightly green with sea-sickness.
"Trust you two to sit around all cosy while I do all the work."
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