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st_aurafinaTitle: Buying the Time on My Knees
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 4,300 (this chapter) 80K overall.
Characters/Pairings: Jessica/John, Jessica/John/Nathan, John/Nathan, John/Harold, John/Kara, Harold/Grace, Rick Dillinger, Mark Snow, Grace Hendricks, Lawrence Szilard, Daniel Aquino
Warnings/Content: Pegging, D/s dynamics, Dubious Consent, Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Light Bondage, Threesome - M/M/F, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe: Jessica lives, Alternate Universe: Nathan lives
Notes: This fic is complete at 80K and will be updated weekly. All the ships mentioned do happen, but some of them not for a long while. (Harold/John doesn't happen for a long while, for example, but it gets there.)
Dubcon warning is for the Kara/John relationship, which gets dicey from time to time.
Thank you tolilacsigil and talkingtothesky, who both helped me get this behemoth finished.
Title is from Iron and Wine's song, House by the Sea
Chapter Summary: John is assigned a disturbing new target.
Overall Summary:
After he joins the CIA, John stays in touch with Jessica as best he can without endangering her marriage or alerting the agency. He doesn't realise that these breaks from his professional life are as much a respite for Jess as they are for him.
Meanwhile, Jessica's number keeps coming up and Nathan has a plan to keep her safe.
Also at the Archive
Fukuoka to Denver, and John felt the thin, cold air of a Colorado winter cut into each breath. He breathed over his clasped fingers, and stamped his feet into the patchy snow on the gravel that covered the grounds of the meatworks.
Kara swung her legs, drumming her feet on the side of a chest freezer. "I love this weather, don't you?" She was rugged up, scarf over her mouth, beanie pulled low on her forehead.
John shrugged, and checked the height of the morning sun as it crept over the snow. The meatworks was, by necessity, a long way out of town, and there were trees everywhere. He'd left messages for Jess over the past week to let her know he was in the country, but she hadn't gotten back to him.
Kara threw her hat at him to get his attention. "Cheer up, lover. You're usually so chipper when we're on home ground." Underneath her, the freezer suddenly bucked and shook. Kara whooped and held on, grinning. "Someone's back from the dead."
They hauled the man out and tipped him naked into the snow. John held him still with a foot while Kara crouched down beside him.
"Hey there, rabbit," she said. "You wanna tell us how to open that locked safe in your boss's office? The one you're not supposed to know about?"
The man gibbered and gasped, blinking in the light reflected off the snow, his skin turning bright red where it touched the frozen ground. He didn't produce intel of any worth, so Kara stepped back and gave John a nod.
John pulled the man upright by his arms, and looked into his bruised and bleeding face. "If you know anything, you should tell us. Things are not great for you right now, but we can make it so much worse."
Kara snickered to herself. She pulled one leg up behind her then the other, stretching like a runner. "I'm ready for a chase. God, I love this weather."
"Come on, you can do it. Tell me," John said, his voice calm and gentle. "If you know anything at all, tell me, and I'll take care of you. It won't be bad. I promise." Behind him Kara stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles. The sound ricocheted off the snow, a sharp crackling of bone.
The man's face was terrified, covered in blood and snot, and the tears from his streaming eyes. "I don't know anything about it! I swear!"
John shook his head. He let the man go, and stepped away. His disappointed expression wasn't a show: this guy was in too deep not to know what they needed. After the dirty work is the wrong time to show loyalty. Now there wasn't much John could do for him.
"Okay," said Kara. "Time for bad cop. Tell you what, though. I'll give you a head start."
John waited until Kara had sprinted off into the woods after her quarry. When the sound of branches snapping had moved far enough away, he swapped the sim in his phone and tried Jess again.
"This is Jessica – you missed me. Leave a message."
He hung up, took a few steps in the snow. The snapping of branches had stopped and the woods were quiet. This would be the eye of the storm before the screaming started, as Kara gave the man one last chance to speak.
John stared at the screen, then looked up the number for the hospital in New Rochelle.
This anxiety was odd, and John couldn't identify why he felt it at all, since he and Jess could easily go months without communicating. Something pushed him to keep checking on her, to keep leaving messages, and now he just gave in and called her work. Jessica worked in the ER; surely someone there would know if she was okay.
He was put through to the triage desk. "Is Jessica Arndt working today? I'm trying to get in touch but she's not picking up her phone."
A gunshot barked through the woods, followed by a muffled screaming that tailed off. John cupped his fingers around the phone. The nurse on the other end was explaining that they don't give out personal information about staff.
"I understand," he said. "I don't want her details – I have them here – but can you just tell me that she's okay? I'm out of the country."
There was a silence at the other end of the line. "Is your name John?" the woman asked.
John hung up immediately and swapped out his sim again, feeling the chill of sweat on his back. Then Kara emerged from the woods, blood-stained and triumphant, holding a severed hand by the fingertips. She strode up to John and held it up, while it dripped from the wrist, turning the snow a vivid red.
"I know where they're stashing their goods," she said. "But we're going to need this for the fingerprint scanner."
John glanced back at the meatworks. "I'll go find a cooler," he said. "And you should probably take a shower before we hit their depot."
After washing and changing, Kara was obviously feeling spent, because she let John take the wheel for the drive down the mountain.
"I've got your back. You know that, right?" She eyed him with half-closed eyes, curled in the passenger seat while John negotiated each hairpin bend.
John glanced at her quickly as he gently tapped the brakes. The car slithered on ice then found traction again. "Sure," he said, easily. "Something up?"
Kara gave a half-shrug. "Mark's been sniffing around."
Long, long practice stopped John's immediate reaction, but cold started to spread from his core. "He say something to you?" If he'd made an error, if he'd somehow put Jess in danger…
"No," said Kara. "But you know Mark. He'd rather let us pull each other to pieces than tell us the truth. So if it's you he's after, I've got your back. And if it's me?"
"I've pulled you out of worse than anything he could cook up for us," said John.
Kara smirked and held up the cooler. "Shake on it?"
John shook his head and punched her in the arm. "Keep your hands to yourself, Kara."
"Did you call the hospital? Jesus, John, don't do that again. You were lucky you got Shelley. I'm fine. Stop freaking out, or we can't do this thing, okay?"
It was a month before Mark made contact in person, and by then they were in Madrid. John had stopped calling Jess, hadn't checked her online activity, hadn't even let himself think about her. He was slouched behind the wheel of his car, listening to Kara negotiate entry into the Philippine Embassy, when he saw Mark approach. Mark walked slowly down the street, one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a cardboard tray with coffee and a paper bag. John surreptitiously loosened the gun on his hip and put his earpiece on the dash. When Mark reached the parked car, he slipped into the passenger side and held the bag out for John. John ignored it; he wanted no obstacles if he had to fight his way out of this.
"Come on, John. It's a peace offering. I know Kara's already spilled the beans." Mark propped the tray on the dash and took out a cup, turning it to read the felt tip markings on the side. "I'll say this for you guys: there's no prying the two of you apart."
John felt his lips curl into a tooth-baring smile. "Something you need, Mark?"
"Well, since you ask." Mark nudged the cardboard tray with one finger to reveal a set of photographs: John and a tall man sitting close at a bar, John and the same man locked in an embrace beside a brick wall. Nathan cupped John's face as if holding something precious. "We've got some questions about this Nathan Ingram."
John almost exhaled with relief: it wasn't Jess, it wasn't anything to do with Jess. He didn't even care that his brief, ill-considered and somewhat drunken tussle with Nathan had been caught on camera. Jess was safe.
A sharp rustle brought him back to the car. Mark had the paper bag and rummaged for a pastry. He proffered the bag to John. John, still wary, ignored it.
Undismayed, Mark bit into the pastry and chewed. "Calm the fuck down, John. We don't care where you get your jollies," he said through a mouthful of almonds and powdered sugar. "It's okay. You might have done us a favour - Ingram could be useful to us. So will you just eat something already?"
John crumpled the bag closed and shoved it onto the dashboard. "What is this about?"
"We're interested in Ingram. Turns out another agency tried to have him terminated." Mark brushed the crumbs off his knees before taking a sip from his cup.
"The ferry bombing?" John considered it from a professional position: so many deaths, just to kill one man. "Messy. I'd have targeted more closely."
"Isn't it, just?" Mark said. "Kind of makes you wonder what kind of cowboys were gunning for him." He answered John's question before it was voiced. "We don't know which agency. Probably no agency; I think it came from one of the niche Homeland Security groups. ISA, maybe. Fucking dilettantes."
John knew the type, the small, elite shadow agencies that came together and drifted apart like so much flotsam on an ocean of intelligence work. It was difficult to imagine Nathan Ingram tangled up in that world, with his open smile and his inability to stop running his mouth off.
"How long have you two been together, then?" Mark leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, as eager and conversational as a tennis wife.
John took the paper bag and opened it, heady with relief that the real secret, the most important secret was still safe. He took out a pastry and considered it, then took a bite. "Just the once. I got a sketchy vibe from him at the tech summit in Paris, so I followed it up the next time we were in the same city."
Mark pulled almonds off his pastry, thinking. "Did you see anything of value? Any sign he's been cultivated as someone's asset?"
John felt a bubbling of laughter, and only barely managed to suppress it. He thought of Nathan's blundering attempts to help Mrs Martínez. "You know what he does? The guy is an honest-to-God vigilante."
"What?" Mark's expression was disbelieving. Appalled, even. "Like, in a cape?"
John thought back to that night, when Nathan had dragged him to a hotel, classy and discreet, how they'd torn clothes off each other and fucked, Nathan high on the success of what he termed 'the mission' and John high on seeing behind Nathan's public image.
"No capes. No weapons at all, apparently."
Mark made a noise of disgust. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
John shook his head. "I think it's the latest extreme sport, or something. For the hyper-wealthy, when they're bored with high-altitude climbing and space tourism, they go and stop muggers, beat up on slum lords, that sort of thing." It was the only explanation he could pry out of Nathan, but it was entirely backed up by the haphazard way he and his friend Harold conducted their activities.
"You know, sometimes I wonder why we bother keeping civilisation back from the brink at all," said Mark. "Okay, it won't hurt to encourage that relationship. I'll check out the bombing, see if I can track down who put a bead on Ingram's back and why." He checked his watch. "What is Kara doing in there, anyway?"
John checked the clock on the dash, just as a large explosion rocked the embassy building. Kara's voice was audible from the earpiece on the dashboard, screaming obscenities in Spanish and Filipino, underscored by automatic gunfire.
Mark wiped his mouth with a napkin and balled it up, pitching it into the back of the car. "Well, I look forward to reading this report. See you later."
Once Mark was safely clear of the car, John started the engine and circled around to their pre-arranged exit point.
With official sanction to cultivate Nathan Ingram as an asset, John found that he and Kara were sent to the US very quickly. He told Kara about Mark's visit, and predictably, she was also bored and unimpressed with Nathan's vigilante activities.
"Leaves me time to work on my side project," she said with a wink, lolling on her back in a hotel room in Los Angeles. She propped a foot on John's chest. "I'll call if I need help – you better drop that rich loser and come running."
John kept cleaning his gun, weaving his arms around her leg to fit the pieces back together. "You never need help, Kara," he said. "But sure. I've got your back."
The next morning, they flew to New York and split up at the airport. It was strange to be walking the same path he took for assignations with Jess, and not be able to risk contacting her. It was strange to be so close and still in work mode.
John showered in his hotel room, then perched on the end of the bed with his phone.
"You're right about calling the hospital, and I'm sorry," he said to Jess's message bank. "I'm going to be under closer scrutiny, so I won't be able to meet up for a little while. You take care, Jess. I'll let you know when it's safe again."
That afternoon, he kept an eye on Nathan's minute-by-minute social media stream.
By mid-afternoon, he and his entourage had landed for a late and noisy lunch. John checked his reflection in the mirrored door of his room, then took a cab to the restaurant.
The restaurant was crowded, but John wove between the tables until he caught Nathan's eye, then nodded towards the bathrooms.
Nathan smiled and nodded back, distant and polite, the greeting of one business man to another and nothing of interest. He squeezed the shoulder of the man next to him – John recognised him as the engineer, Daniel Aquino – and pushed his chair back. That gave John enough time to clear the spacious, pristine bathroom and wait.
When the door swung open, he heard Nathan's voice. "This is an unexpected…" Then John had him by the lapels and pulled him into the room.
Nathan made a noise of surprise, then rallied by gripping John's shoulder and kissing him open-mouthed. They bounced around the bathroom for a few minutes, first John pushing Nathan to the floor-length mirrors, then Nathan pressing John against the wall. John put his teeth to Nathan's neck, worked up over the pattern of scars, and Nathan threw his head back, eyes closed.
John was in professional mode, keeping one eye on the door while he unbuttoned Nathan's pants but by the time he'd slid to his knees, he realised his grin was genuine. He freed Nathan's cock from the silk boxers, licked his lips and went down on it. Nathan's hand went to John's hair instinctively, stroking and running his fingers through it while John worked the cock into his throat, and then, as John set up a steady rhythm, Nathan leaned back against the tile with a happy sigh and his palm warm on John's shoulder.
John let his throat get wet, and angled his head the better to take Nathan deep, keeping the pace unhurried. This was easy work and pleasant work, with little threat. Jessica was safe at home, and Kara was uninterested. There was no threat, there was no urgency, and all John had to do was make Nathan feel happy and secure. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to take his time getting a mission done, and, even if he felt bad about manipulating Nathan for work, at least it was better than Mark sending someone like Kara. John could get the intel and protect Nathan at the same time, and everyone would be happy.
As before, Nathan was a receptive and respectful partner, encouraging John with gentle touches and appreciative sounds. John held the back of Nathan's thighs, gripping hard, building him steadily towards climax. It's okay, he told himself, see – Nathan's enjoying this, it's not hurting him. This is keeping him safe.
"John," Nathan said, his voice hoarse. "John, wait…"
John went down hard, forehead brushing the fine cotton of Nathan's shirt, and started to swallow. For a moment he wished Jessica were there, because he knew he was good at this, knew that he had plied his skills to the best of his ability, and Jessica would like to see it.
Above him, Nathan's breathing staggered and hitched, and his fingers curled tight on John's shoulder. "John, oh God, John…" he said, leaning on the wall, his face red and his hair in his eyes.
John wiped his mouth and pushed away from the ground, standing up so he was facing Nathan, between his arms. "Hi," he said with a sly smile.
Nathan huffed out an amazed laugh, and pressed his forehead to John's. "Hi," he answered. His breathing started to level out. He put a hand on John's hip. "My knees aren't what they once were, but I'd be happy to reciprocate in other ways," he offered, and he brushed the top of John's fly with a thumb.
John caught his fingers and brought them up to cup his own face, leaned into the embrace. "Actually I was hoping you'd take me to your bat cave. Show me the ropes."
"Oh, the ropes?" Nathan grinned, playing along. "We're going to get out the ropes now?"
John shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else I have to be right now."
Nathan glanced over his shoulder towards the door. "I do, unfortunately, and I'm going to assume you don't want to come and meet my friends?"
The offer was tentative and said that Nathan had surmised more about the nature of John's work than John expected. He shook his head, fixing and chagrined smile on his face. "Socialising in public isn't an option for me, but I wanted to see you before I collapsed and slept off the jetlag." he said.
Nathan's expression cleared. "Oh, if you need a place to stay," he said, fishing in his pockets, retrieving a set of keys. "Here, I've got a loft. I know it's not exactly a bat cave, but it does the job."
Just like that, thought John, taking the keys. Too trusting. Nathan pulled him into a quick, firm hug, then went back to his friends. John washed his face, waited a few minutes to give Nathan a clear break, then left the restaurant
As it eventuated, the apartment was elegant but as anonymous as a hotel room. John picked over the scant belongings Nathan kept here, planted a few bugs – low tech tape recorders and mikes, cold war stuff that shouldn't alert the mysterious and tech-savvy Harold – and took a long and luxurious shower.
He heard the door open while he was still lingering under the high-pressure jets. He turned the water off, listened for the identifying sound of Nathan's steps: confident, carefree, tapping down the short flight of stairs. When he heard Nathan at the bedroom door, John wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped back into the bedroom.
Nathan's grin at the sight of John was gratifying, but the way he left his phone and wallet unguarded on the bureau by the door was even better. John let Nathan reach for him, pressed his wet body against Nathan's shirt, and threw himself into working Nathan hard enough that he fell asleep.
Last time, they'd both been tipsy, and the time before it had been all about Jessica. Now, with sobriety, privacy and time, John could get to know Nathan's body on his own terms: older but fit, tanned in that way that spoke of vacations in sunny places, and covered in a spectrum of fading bruises, presumably from his vigilante activity. He kissed one just above Nathan's hip; the clear print of a boot heel, it was still dark and purpling at the centre. Nathan hissed as John pressed his mouth to it.
Nathan traced one of the circular scars on John's back to distract him. "I know, it's all a tragic amateur effort that's eventually going to get me killed," he said. "And meanwhile you're taking bullets to protect the country."
"It's not a competition," John said, then closed his eyes as Nathan curled his hand under John's thigh and crooked the leg up so he could grind against John's cock.
"If it were, you'd be the winner," Nathan said against John's collarbone. "But I'm okay with that."
Later, Nathan lay dozing, his legs caught in the tangled sheets, while John explored the spray of star-shaped scars cast across Nathan's face and along the side of his body. It was clear he'd turned side-on as the bomb went off, catching most of the shrapnel and fire on his right. He'd been incredibly lucky, John thought. Bombs were like that: arbitrary and chaotic.
"I saw a penny," Nathan said quietly with his eyes closed.
John rested his cheek on Nathan's chest. "Did you pick it up?"
"At the ferry terminal, I did," said Nathan. "My mom used to always say the Rockefellers didn't get where they are by walking past loose change, and it gave me a habit. A good habit, as it eventuated. That penny saved my life." He shifted underneath John. "The people next to me didn't make it. And my friend was further away, but he took worse damage than I did. Well, his heart didn't stop like mine did – that was the concussive blast, the doctors tell me – but he's still being patched up." His eyes were open now, but they gazed up at the ceiling and into the past, a long way distant.
That friend would be the mysterious Harold, John thought. Harold of the occasional wheelchair and walking stick. Harold the amateur plumber, the one John never saw on social media. Harold the unknown tech genius who had hacked his phone.
"Why do you think it happened to you?" John asked, hoping a metaphysical question might lead to fact.
Nathan wasn't a successful businessman for nothing, though. He rolled on his side and gave John a wicked grin. "You're interrogating me," he said. "How terrifying."
John cupped his cheek. "Oh, this isn't an interrogation," he said, darkly. "Trust me, when it's an interrogation, you'll know about it."
Nathan laughed, and let John kiss him open-mouthed. John arched up over Nathan, straddled him, already hard after their last tussle.
"You're going to kill me," Nathan said. "I survived the bomb, only to die the most ignoble of billionaires' deaths." He sighed, smiling up at John who watched him through lowered eyelashes. "But what a way to go."
John smirked but before he could usher Nathan a little closer to death by sex, Nathan's phone trilled and buzzed awake on the nightstand. At the sound, Nathan reached out to grab and quiet it. John politely rolled off him and to the edge of the bed, ostensibly giving Nathan a little privacy. He held his breath and listened carefully, though, and he thought he heard sobbing on the other end of the line. A woman? Someone who was clearly upset, anyway.
"Are you hurt?" Nathan said, pushing himself upright. Without looking, he reached back and squeezed John's shoulder, than strode into the living room, still talking to the woman on the phone. "Is there anyone there with you?"
John waited until he heard Nathan settle onto the sofa, then he stretched himself out long in the bed and plumped up a pillow. He'd bugged the entire living room with old-school tape recorders and microphones sensitive enough to pick up both Nathan and the voice of the woman on the line. He let his eyelids dip while Nathan talked quietly, and he only woke when Nathan tapped on the doorframe.
"I have to head out," he said, apologetically. "Will you be okay here on your own? You've got keys, and if you need anything, the concierge is on call."
John propped his head on his arm. "Everything all right? I don't mean to pry but that sounded intense. I'm on leave if you need help."
Nathan shook his head, then gathered his clothes and a fresh shirt. "That's kind, but it's a personal matter. I've got a friend having a difficult time, and she needs support."
"Then she's lucky to have you," said John. He stood, wrapped a damp towel round his waist and at the doorway, kissed Nathan once on the lips then passed him a pair of cufflinks from the open case on the dresser. "Go – I'll be fine here."
At the outer door, Nathan paused, sliding the cufflinks into place and straightening each sleeve. "It's hard to do the right thing sometimes," he said. "It can be difficult to see beyond the immediate. But I promised myself after the bombing that people were going to come first." His shoulders were tense, and something about his posture made John's instincts bristle.
John forced his body language into casual quiet, but his palm itched suddenly for the weapon he'd left stashed in his luggage. "Then go and do what you have to do," he said. "I'll wait."
Once Nathan was gone and enough time elapsed for him to be out of the building, John retrieved the recorder, rewound the tape and slipped in an earbud.
"Where are you now?" Nathan's voice was loud in the microphone, and John dialled the volume down, playing with the levels until he could hear the other voice clearly. The woman was panicking, sobbed into the phone, unintelligible until she managed to choke out a few words.
"I went to Shelley's, but I was scared she'd call the police. So I drove into the city and now I don't know what to do," she said. It was Jessica's voice, and the anguish in her voice brought John's weapon to his hand.
Chapter Five // Master Post
//Chapter Seven
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 4,300 (this chapter) 80K overall.
Characters/Pairings: Jessica/John, Jessica/John/Nathan, John/Nathan, John/Harold, John/Kara, Harold/Grace, Rick Dillinger, Mark Snow, Grace Hendricks, Lawrence Szilard, Daniel Aquino
Warnings/Content: Pegging, D/s dynamics, Dubious Consent, Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Light Bondage, Threesome - M/M/F, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe: Jessica lives, Alternate Universe: Nathan lives
Notes: This fic is complete at 80K and will be updated weekly. All the ships mentioned do happen, but some of them not for a long while. (Harold/John doesn't happen for a long while, for example, but it gets there.)
Dubcon warning is for the Kara/John relationship, which gets dicey from time to time.
Thank you to
lilacsigil and talkingtothesky, who both helped me get this behemoth finished.Title is from Iron and Wine's song, House by the Sea
Chapter Summary: John is assigned a disturbing new target.
Overall Summary:
After he joins the CIA, John stays in touch with Jessica as best he can without endangering her marriage or alerting the agency. He doesn't realise that these breaks from his professional life are as much a respite for Jess as they are for him.
Meanwhile, Jessica's number keeps coming up and Nathan has a plan to keep her safe.
Also at the Archive
Fukuoka to Denver, and John felt the thin, cold air of a Colorado winter cut into each breath. He breathed over his clasped fingers, and stamped his feet into the patchy snow on the gravel that covered the grounds of the meatworks.
Kara swung her legs, drumming her feet on the side of a chest freezer. "I love this weather, don't you?" She was rugged up, scarf over her mouth, beanie pulled low on her forehead.
John shrugged, and checked the height of the morning sun as it crept over the snow. The meatworks was, by necessity, a long way out of town, and there were trees everywhere. He'd left messages for Jess over the past week to let her know he was in the country, but she hadn't gotten back to him.
Kara threw her hat at him to get his attention. "Cheer up, lover. You're usually so chipper when we're on home ground." Underneath her, the freezer suddenly bucked and shook. Kara whooped and held on, grinning. "Someone's back from the dead."
They hauled the man out and tipped him naked into the snow. John held him still with a foot while Kara crouched down beside him.
"Hey there, rabbit," she said. "You wanna tell us how to open that locked safe in your boss's office? The one you're not supposed to know about?"
The man gibbered and gasped, blinking in the light reflected off the snow, his skin turning bright red where it touched the frozen ground. He didn't produce intel of any worth, so Kara stepped back and gave John a nod.
John pulled the man upright by his arms, and looked into his bruised and bleeding face. "If you know anything, you should tell us. Things are not great for you right now, but we can make it so much worse."
Kara snickered to herself. She pulled one leg up behind her then the other, stretching like a runner. "I'm ready for a chase. God, I love this weather."
"Come on, you can do it. Tell me," John said, his voice calm and gentle. "If you know anything at all, tell me, and I'll take care of you. It won't be bad. I promise." Behind him Kara stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles. The sound ricocheted off the snow, a sharp crackling of bone.
The man's face was terrified, covered in blood and snot, and the tears from his streaming eyes. "I don't know anything about it! I swear!"
John shook his head. He let the man go, and stepped away. His disappointed expression wasn't a show: this guy was in too deep not to know what they needed. After the dirty work is the wrong time to show loyalty. Now there wasn't much John could do for him.
"Okay," said Kara. "Time for bad cop. Tell you what, though. I'll give you a head start."
John waited until Kara had sprinted off into the woods after her quarry. When the sound of branches snapping had moved far enough away, he swapped the sim in his phone and tried Jess again.
"This is Jessica – you missed me. Leave a message."
He hung up, took a few steps in the snow. The snapping of branches had stopped and the woods were quiet. This would be the eye of the storm before the screaming started, as Kara gave the man one last chance to speak.
John stared at the screen, then looked up the number for the hospital in New Rochelle.
This anxiety was odd, and John couldn't identify why he felt it at all, since he and Jess could easily go months without communicating. Something pushed him to keep checking on her, to keep leaving messages, and now he just gave in and called her work. Jessica worked in the ER; surely someone there would know if she was okay.
He was put through to the triage desk. "Is Jessica Arndt working today? I'm trying to get in touch but she's not picking up her phone."
A gunshot barked through the woods, followed by a muffled screaming that tailed off. John cupped his fingers around the phone. The nurse on the other end was explaining that they don't give out personal information about staff.
"I understand," he said. "I don't want her details – I have them here – but can you just tell me that she's okay? I'm out of the country."
There was a silence at the other end of the line. "Is your name John?" the woman asked.
John hung up immediately and swapped out his sim again, feeling the chill of sweat on his back. Then Kara emerged from the woods, blood-stained and triumphant, holding a severed hand by the fingertips. She strode up to John and held it up, while it dripped from the wrist, turning the snow a vivid red.
"I know where they're stashing their goods," she said. "But we're going to need this for the fingerprint scanner."
John glanced back at the meatworks. "I'll go find a cooler," he said. "And you should probably take a shower before we hit their depot."
After washing and changing, Kara was obviously feeling spent, because she let John take the wheel for the drive down the mountain.
"I've got your back. You know that, right?" She eyed him with half-closed eyes, curled in the passenger seat while John negotiated each hairpin bend.
John glanced at her quickly as he gently tapped the brakes. The car slithered on ice then found traction again. "Sure," he said, easily. "Something up?"
Kara gave a half-shrug. "Mark's been sniffing around."
Long, long practice stopped John's immediate reaction, but cold started to spread from his core. "He say something to you?" If he'd made an error, if he'd somehow put Jess in danger…
"No," said Kara. "But you know Mark. He'd rather let us pull each other to pieces than tell us the truth. So if it's you he's after, I've got your back. And if it's me?"
"I've pulled you out of worse than anything he could cook up for us," said John.
Kara smirked and held up the cooler. "Shake on it?"
John shook his head and punched her in the arm. "Keep your hands to yourself, Kara."
"Did you call the hospital? Jesus, John, don't do that again. You were lucky you got Shelley. I'm fine. Stop freaking out, or we can't do this thing, okay?"
It was a month before Mark made contact in person, and by then they were in Madrid. John had stopped calling Jess, hadn't checked her online activity, hadn't even let himself think about her. He was slouched behind the wheel of his car, listening to Kara negotiate entry into the Philippine Embassy, when he saw Mark approach. Mark walked slowly down the street, one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a cardboard tray with coffee and a paper bag. John surreptitiously loosened the gun on his hip and put his earpiece on the dash. When Mark reached the parked car, he slipped into the passenger side and held the bag out for John. John ignored it; he wanted no obstacles if he had to fight his way out of this.
"Come on, John. It's a peace offering. I know Kara's already spilled the beans." Mark propped the tray on the dash and took out a cup, turning it to read the felt tip markings on the side. "I'll say this for you guys: there's no prying the two of you apart."
John felt his lips curl into a tooth-baring smile. "Something you need, Mark?"
"Well, since you ask." Mark nudged the cardboard tray with one finger to reveal a set of photographs: John and a tall man sitting close at a bar, John and the same man locked in an embrace beside a brick wall. Nathan cupped John's face as if holding something precious. "We've got some questions about this Nathan Ingram."
John almost exhaled with relief: it wasn't Jess, it wasn't anything to do with Jess. He didn't even care that his brief, ill-considered and somewhat drunken tussle with Nathan had been caught on camera. Jess was safe.
A sharp rustle brought him back to the car. Mark had the paper bag and rummaged for a pastry. He proffered the bag to John. John, still wary, ignored it.
Undismayed, Mark bit into the pastry and chewed. "Calm the fuck down, John. We don't care where you get your jollies," he said through a mouthful of almonds and powdered sugar. "It's okay. You might have done us a favour - Ingram could be useful to us. So will you just eat something already?"
John crumpled the bag closed and shoved it onto the dashboard. "What is this about?"
"We're interested in Ingram. Turns out another agency tried to have him terminated." Mark brushed the crumbs off his knees before taking a sip from his cup.
"The ferry bombing?" John considered it from a professional position: so many deaths, just to kill one man. "Messy. I'd have targeted more closely."
"Isn't it, just?" Mark said. "Kind of makes you wonder what kind of cowboys were gunning for him." He answered John's question before it was voiced. "We don't know which agency. Probably no agency; I think it came from one of the niche Homeland Security groups. ISA, maybe. Fucking dilettantes."
John knew the type, the small, elite shadow agencies that came together and drifted apart like so much flotsam on an ocean of intelligence work. It was difficult to imagine Nathan Ingram tangled up in that world, with his open smile and his inability to stop running his mouth off.
"How long have you two been together, then?" Mark leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, as eager and conversational as a tennis wife.
John took the paper bag and opened it, heady with relief that the real secret, the most important secret was still safe. He took out a pastry and considered it, then took a bite. "Just the once. I got a sketchy vibe from him at the tech summit in Paris, so I followed it up the next time we were in the same city."
Mark pulled almonds off his pastry, thinking. "Did you see anything of value? Any sign he's been cultivated as someone's asset?"
John felt a bubbling of laughter, and only barely managed to suppress it. He thought of Nathan's blundering attempts to help Mrs Martínez. "You know what he does? The guy is an honest-to-God vigilante."
"What?" Mark's expression was disbelieving. Appalled, even. "Like, in a cape?"
John thought back to that night, when Nathan had dragged him to a hotel, classy and discreet, how they'd torn clothes off each other and fucked, Nathan high on the success of what he termed 'the mission' and John high on seeing behind Nathan's public image.
"No capes. No weapons at all, apparently."
Mark made a noise of disgust. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
John shook his head. "I think it's the latest extreme sport, or something. For the hyper-wealthy, when they're bored with high-altitude climbing and space tourism, they go and stop muggers, beat up on slum lords, that sort of thing." It was the only explanation he could pry out of Nathan, but it was entirely backed up by the haphazard way he and his friend Harold conducted their activities.
"You know, sometimes I wonder why we bother keeping civilisation back from the brink at all," said Mark. "Okay, it won't hurt to encourage that relationship. I'll check out the bombing, see if I can track down who put a bead on Ingram's back and why." He checked his watch. "What is Kara doing in there, anyway?"
John checked the clock on the dash, just as a large explosion rocked the embassy building. Kara's voice was audible from the earpiece on the dashboard, screaming obscenities in Spanish and Filipino, underscored by automatic gunfire.
Mark wiped his mouth with a napkin and balled it up, pitching it into the back of the car. "Well, I look forward to reading this report. See you later."
Once Mark was safely clear of the car, John started the engine and circled around to their pre-arranged exit point.
With official sanction to cultivate Nathan Ingram as an asset, John found that he and Kara were sent to the US very quickly. He told Kara about Mark's visit, and predictably, she was also bored and unimpressed with Nathan's vigilante activities.
"Leaves me time to work on my side project," she said with a wink, lolling on her back in a hotel room in Los Angeles. She propped a foot on John's chest. "I'll call if I need help – you better drop that rich loser and come running."
John kept cleaning his gun, weaving his arms around her leg to fit the pieces back together. "You never need help, Kara," he said. "But sure. I've got your back."
The next morning, they flew to New York and split up at the airport. It was strange to be walking the same path he took for assignations with Jess, and not be able to risk contacting her. It was strange to be so close and still in work mode.
John showered in his hotel room, then perched on the end of the bed with his phone.
"You're right about calling the hospital, and I'm sorry," he said to Jess's message bank. "I'm going to be under closer scrutiny, so I won't be able to meet up for a little while. You take care, Jess. I'll let you know when it's safe again."
That afternoon, he kept an eye on Nathan's minute-by-minute social media stream.
By mid-afternoon, he and his entourage had landed for a late and noisy lunch. John checked his reflection in the mirrored door of his room, then took a cab to the restaurant.
The restaurant was crowded, but John wove between the tables until he caught Nathan's eye, then nodded towards the bathrooms.
Nathan smiled and nodded back, distant and polite, the greeting of one business man to another and nothing of interest. He squeezed the shoulder of the man next to him – John recognised him as the engineer, Daniel Aquino – and pushed his chair back. That gave John enough time to clear the spacious, pristine bathroom and wait.
When the door swung open, he heard Nathan's voice. "This is an unexpected…" Then John had him by the lapels and pulled him into the room.
Nathan made a noise of surprise, then rallied by gripping John's shoulder and kissing him open-mouthed. They bounced around the bathroom for a few minutes, first John pushing Nathan to the floor-length mirrors, then Nathan pressing John against the wall. John put his teeth to Nathan's neck, worked up over the pattern of scars, and Nathan threw his head back, eyes closed.
John was in professional mode, keeping one eye on the door while he unbuttoned Nathan's pants but by the time he'd slid to his knees, he realised his grin was genuine. He freed Nathan's cock from the silk boxers, licked his lips and went down on it. Nathan's hand went to John's hair instinctively, stroking and running his fingers through it while John worked the cock into his throat, and then, as John set up a steady rhythm, Nathan leaned back against the tile with a happy sigh and his palm warm on John's shoulder.
John let his throat get wet, and angled his head the better to take Nathan deep, keeping the pace unhurried. This was easy work and pleasant work, with little threat. Jessica was safe at home, and Kara was uninterested. There was no threat, there was no urgency, and all John had to do was make Nathan feel happy and secure. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to take his time getting a mission done, and, even if he felt bad about manipulating Nathan for work, at least it was better than Mark sending someone like Kara. John could get the intel and protect Nathan at the same time, and everyone would be happy.
As before, Nathan was a receptive and respectful partner, encouraging John with gentle touches and appreciative sounds. John held the back of Nathan's thighs, gripping hard, building him steadily towards climax. It's okay, he told himself, see – Nathan's enjoying this, it's not hurting him. This is keeping him safe.
"John," Nathan said, his voice hoarse. "John, wait…"
John went down hard, forehead brushing the fine cotton of Nathan's shirt, and started to swallow. For a moment he wished Jessica were there, because he knew he was good at this, knew that he had plied his skills to the best of his ability, and Jessica would like to see it.
Above him, Nathan's breathing staggered and hitched, and his fingers curled tight on John's shoulder. "John, oh God, John…" he said, leaning on the wall, his face red and his hair in his eyes.
John wiped his mouth and pushed away from the ground, standing up so he was facing Nathan, between his arms. "Hi," he said with a sly smile.
Nathan huffed out an amazed laugh, and pressed his forehead to John's. "Hi," he answered. His breathing started to level out. He put a hand on John's hip. "My knees aren't what they once were, but I'd be happy to reciprocate in other ways," he offered, and he brushed the top of John's fly with a thumb.
John caught his fingers and brought them up to cup his own face, leaned into the embrace. "Actually I was hoping you'd take me to your bat cave. Show me the ropes."
"Oh, the ropes?" Nathan grinned, playing along. "We're going to get out the ropes now?"
John shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else I have to be right now."
Nathan glanced over his shoulder towards the door. "I do, unfortunately, and I'm going to assume you don't want to come and meet my friends?"
The offer was tentative and said that Nathan had surmised more about the nature of John's work than John expected. He shook his head, fixing and chagrined smile on his face. "Socialising in public isn't an option for me, but I wanted to see you before I collapsed and slept off the jetlag." he said.
Nathan's expression cleared. "Oh, if you need a place to stay," he said, fishing in his pockets, retrieving a set of keys. "Here, I've got a loft. I know it's not exactly a bat cave, but it does the job."
Just like that, thought John, taking the keys. Too trusting. Nathan pulled him into a quick, firm hug, then went back to his friends. John washed his face, waited a few minutes to give Nathan a clear break, then left the restaurant
As it eventuated, the apartment was elegant but as anonymous as a hotel room. John picked over the scant belongings Nathan kept here, planted a few bugs – low tech tape recorders and mikes, cold war stuff that shouldn't alert the mysterious and tech-savvy Harold – and took a long and luxurious shower.
He heard the door open while he was still lingering under the high-pressure jets. He turned the water off, listened for the identifying sound of Nathan's steps: confident, carefree, tapping down the short flight of stairs. When he heard Nathan at the bedroom door, John wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped back into the bedroom.
Nathan's grin at the sight of John was gratifying, but the way he left his phone and wallet unguarded on the bureau by the door was even better. John let Nathan reach for him, pressed his wet body against Nathan's shirt, and threw himself into working Nathan hard enough that he fell asleep.
Last time, they'd both been tipsy, and the time before it had been all about Jessica. Now, with sobriety, privacy and time, John could get to know Nathan's body on his own terms: older but fit, tanned in that way that spoke of vacations in sunny places, and covered in a spectrum of fading bruises, presumably from his vigilante activity. He kissed one just above Nathan's hip; the clear print of a boot heel, it was still dark and purpling at the centre. Nathan hissed as John pressed his mouth to it.
Nathan traced one of the circular scars on John's back to distract him. "I know, it's all a tragic amateur effort that's eventually going to get me killed," he said. "And meanwhile you're taking bullets to protect the country."
"It's not a competition," John said, then closed his eyes as Nathan curled his hand under John's thigh and crooked the leg up so he could grind against John's cock.
"If it were, you'd be the winner," Nathan said against John's collarbone. "But I'm okay with that."
Later, Nathan lay dozing, his legs caught in the tangled sheets, while John explored the spray of star-shaped scars cast across Nathan's face and along the side of his body. It was clear he'd turned side-on as the bomb went off, catching most of the shrapnel and fire on his right. He'd been incredibly lucky, John thought. Bombs were like that: arbitrary and chaotic.
"I saw a penny," Nathan said quietly with his eyes closed.
John rested his cheek on Nathan's chest. "Did you pick it up?"
"At the ferry terminal, I did," said Nathan. "My mom used to always say the Rockefellers didn't get where they are by walking past loose change, and it gave me a habit. A good habit, as it eventuated. That penny saved my life." He shifted underneath John. "The people next to me didn't make it. And my friend was further away, but he took worse damage than I did. Well, his heart didn't stop like mine did – that was the concussive blast, the doctors tell me – but he's still being patched up." His eyes were open now, but they gazed up at the ceiling and into the past, a long way distant.
That friend would be the mysterious Harold, John thought. Harold of the occasional wheelchair and walking stick. Harold the amateur plumber, the one John never saw on social media. Harold the unknown tech genius who had hacked his phone.
"Why do you think it happened to you?" John asked, hoping a metaphysical question might lead to fact.
Nathan wasn't a successful businessman for nothing, though. He rolled on his side and gave John a wicked grin. "You're interrogating me," he said. "How terrifying."
John cupped his cheek. "Oh, this isn't an interrogation," he said, darkly. "Trust me, when it's an interrogation, you'll know about it."
Nathan laughed, and let John kiss him open-mouthed. John arched up over Nathan, straddled him, already hard after their last tussle.
"You're going to kill me," Nathan said. "I survived the bomb, only to die the most ignoble of billionaires' deaths." He sighed, smiling up at John who watched him through lowered eyelashes. "But what a way to go."
John smirked but before he could usher Nathan a little closer to death by sex, Nathan's phone trilled and buzzed awake on the nightstand. At the sound, Nathan reached out to grab and quiet it. John politely rolled off him and to the edge of the bed, ostensibly giving Nathan a little privacy. He held his breath and listened carefully, though, and he thought he heard sobbing on the other end of the line. A woman? Someone who was clearly upset, anyway.
"Are you hurt?" Nathan said, pushing himself upright. Without looking, he reached back and squeezed John's shoulder, than strode into the living room, still talking to the woman on the phone. "Is there anyone there with you?"
John waited until he heard Nathan settle onto the sofa, then he stretched himself out long in the bed and plumped up a pillow. He'd bugged the entire living room with old-school tape recorders and microphones sensitive enough to pick up both Nathan and the voice of the woman on the line. He let his eyelids dip while Nathan talked quietly, and he only woke when Nathan tapped on the doorframe.
"I have to head out," he said, apologetically. "Will you be okay here on your own? You've got keys, and if you need anything, the concierge is on call."
John propped his head on his arm. "Everything all right? I don't mean to pry but that sounded intense. I'm on leave if you need help."
Nathan shook his head, then gathered his clothes and a fresh shirt. "That's kind, but it's a personal matter. I've got a friend having a difficult time, and she needs support."
"Then she's lucky to have you," said John. He stood, wrapped a damp towel round his waist and at the doorway, kissed Nathan once on the lips then passed him a pair of cufflinks from the open case on the dresser. "Go – I'll be fine here."
At the outer door, Nathan paused, sliding the cufflinks into place and straightening each sleeve. "It's hard to do the right thing sometimes," he said. "It can be difficult to see beyond the immediate. But I promised myself after the bombing that people were going to come first." His shoulders were tense, and something about his posture made John's instincts bristle.
John forced his body language into casual quiet, but his palm itched suddenly for the weapon he'd left stashed in his luggage. "Then go and do what you have to do," he said. "I'll wait."
Once Nathan was gone and enough time elapsed for him to be out of the building, John retrieved the recorder, rewound the tape and slipped in an earbud.
"Where are you now?" Nathan's voice was loud in the microphone, and John dialled the volume down, playing with the levels until he could hear the other voice clearly. The woman was panicking, sobbed into the phone, unintelligible until she managed to choke out a few words.
"I went to Shelley's, but I was scared she'd call the police. So I drove into the city and now I don't know what to do," she said. It was Jessica's voice, and the anguish in her voice brought John's weapon to his hand.
Chapter Five // Master Post
//Chapter Seven