A/N: A bout of chilling cold and rain over the past week made this one come to mind. Early goings, folks, early goings.

The unexpected November snowstorm barrelled through New York City like a devil unleashed. It was as if every kind of nasty weather event that could happen did, and all at the same time. Snow that was projected to fall at an inch an hour as time went on also couldn't quite sit still, as it turned from freezing rain and wind to heavy snow. And while it had taken the region by surprise, there was no mistaking the duration: all day into the next afternoon. The city was at a near standstill.

All of the city, save for a few crazy souls—one of which included an intrepid vigilante who, dressed in his best Army-issued winter gear—snowsuit, thermal gloves, night vision goggles, thermal hiking boots—pushed his vehicle through blinding conditions to save a number who had been targeted by a foreign security operative with loose ties to the Russian mob, who hadn't decided to take the weather into account, postponing the hit until the streets were cleared. While it was something of a trial to get the job done in such conditions, Reese dispatched the operative with a clean shot to the head, as kneecapping him turned out to not be the best course of action, given his skill and prowess, even in the snow. While killing the operative was unfortunate, Reese was nothing if not resourceful; dispatching the body, while setting the scene to make it come out like an unsolvable murder. Such a task was not problematic for him, professional killer that he was.

But even professional killers in Army Ranger gear had their limits. It would only be a little while longer before the cold, wind, and rain would get to him from mere exposure to the elements for extended periods. And the thickening snow on the horizon was out of the question. His clothing was more than adequate for his current purpose—but he knew he had to get his all-terrain vehicle out of there, and to somewhere warm before trouble set in—and he was stuck in it.

After hiding the body in a pile of recently shoveled snow deep enough to count, near a hotel's back dumpster site for later, and after betting that the blowing wind would cover his tracks, he reentered his vehicle. With the turn of the ignition and a quick warm up, he headed to the one place nearby where he knew he could find a certain kind of sanctuary. It was a place he knew well—perhaps better than he ought to.

##

"How's he doing, Mama?"

"Oh, you know that son of yours. Can't tear him away from that NFL Madden game he plays all the time. And eating me out of house and home! But I'm glad he's here."

"I am, too, Mama. You'll take good care of each other."

"What about you, Jocelyn? How you getting home in this mess?"

"I can't drive it, Mama. Won't take that chance. But the subway stations are still running somehow. I'll hop a train, and pray they're shoveling the stairwells."

"There's nowhere you can camp out at the police station? I don't know if I like the idea of you out there, Jocelyn. So dangerous!"

Joss chuckled at her mother's concern. "Mama, I'm at the police station now because I work here. I'm a cop. 'Dangerous' is the name of my game. I'll be fine. As long as my baby is okay, that's all that matters."

"Well, you're my baby, and you matter, too. Keep me posted when you get home. I mean it, Jocelyn. Call me when you get home."

"Will do, Mama. I love you."

"You too, baby. I'd tell your son to come and talk to you, but I can't tear him away from that video game."

Joss laughed in full this time. "That's okay, Mama. It's the same at home. Just give him a kiss and my love for me. And be safe. Bye, Mama."

Joss disconnected the phone call and took a deep breath. Looking at the window, the flakes and wind did their worst in the early evening sky. Her shift was over, and while she didn't relish the idea of tramping out into that mess, she relished even less the idea of spending the night in the precinct. No privacy, no decent food—and the chance that she'd get called back on duty—all made her decision for her. Besides, the subway was close to the 8th, and she only had to go four stops before she got out onto her own block.

But that was under normal conditions. No telling what hell she'd encounter in this case. Taking yet another deep breath, she shut off her computer and got her things together hurridly, making sure she wouldn't catch the eye of the captain, who was already scrambling to pull beat cops for extra shifts. She'd take her chances with the snow.

The spare pair of wellie boots she'd kept at the bottom of her desk for rainy stakeouts would be her friends in this mess. At least, she hoped they would. Trading in her black pumps for them, she grimaced, crossed her fingers, and got ready to tackle the elements.

##

He'd picked the locks of this place several times before, but those times were always in perfectly good weather. On this occasion, however, the rapidly blowing snow and dropping temps proved more of a challenge. For one thing, the ice cold made his pick blade stick inside the front door jamb, and he'd almost resigned himself to trying his luck through a window, when finally, on that last attempt, the door to Detective Carter's brownstone swung open, almost as if personally inviting the intruder in.

As he crossed the threshold, careful not to be seen, as well as not get snow past the welcome mat, he thought about the detective and how she was faring in this rapidly deteriorating situation. The 8th Precinct was only a twenty minute drive from the brownstone she shared with her teenage son, Taylor, and on any other day, that would have been no issue at all, save for wayward ambulance drivers, and tourists in rental cars not knowing how to deal with the terrain of New York City traffic. But she'd be a damn fool to try and drive through this stuff, that normal commute of twenty minutes easily taking two or more hours, her stuck in a car, God knowing what insanity of crazy New York drivers and icy conditions would bring.

Hopefully, she'd catch a lift with someone who could handle the elements, or she was smart to go through the subway. That wasn't ideal either, but at least the snow was not so deep yet that it would make a subway trek from that short a distance impossible. He considered calling her to see if she was all right. But then, if she were on her way home, they'd meet up soon enough. Besides, he wasn't sure how exactly she'd take the news of him having broken into her home yet again. The last time she almost shot him.

Taking his thick boots off at the door and closing it behind him, he sighed in relief to be out of the storm. The brownstone was immediately warm and inviting, the only sound to be heard, outside the pellets of ice hitting the window panes, was the grandfather clock ticking over the mantlepiece.

"Well, Joss. Looks like it's you and me for the night, whether you like it or not."

Having been prudent to pack an emergency overnighter, he threw his bag of spare clothes, sleeping bag and toiletries on the floor. Afterwards, he removed the rest of his outerwear, found a plastic bag to shove it all in, and ventured to the kitchen. His work on the streets of New York always revved up the ole appetite.

##

"Damn this snow! Of all the crazy weather...Oof!" Joss reached the front door of her brownstone an hour and a half after the leaving the 8th, frost nipped, exhausted and winded, her journey from the subway to her door taking way more out of her than even she expected. But she'd made it. Covered in snow, yes she was, but she'd prevailed. Never had it been so good to see her home in front of her. Saying a prayer of thanks to the good lord, she found her keys in shaky hands and let herself in. Luckily, the snow hadn't reached her porch to the extent that her screen door wouldn't open.

Somehow, in the rush to get inside, once in the door, she missed the wetness already present on her welcome mat.

It was probably just as well, since her leather trench, covered in snow, as well as her winter cap, found themselves on a heap in the space. In her haste to be rid of them, snow found its way almost as far as her bedroom steps.

The ceiling light in her tiny foyer came on with a click, which was fortunate. There was still power. But her feet felt like ice boxes, so getting from the door to the couch would prove difficult, even if she could see where she was going.

She moaned aloud. Her feet throbbed in the boots while she reached down to unzip them. Soon the oppressive leather was off and she hobbled to the couch in relief.

"Oh. Thank you, Jesus," she sighed in relief. "Thank you. Wooo!"

The lamplight next to the couch flickered with the threat of complete shut off with the now-howling winds, but it continued to hold its own. She closed her eyes with the slow down that comes from having endured a stressful situation that was now over, at least for the time-being. Hopefully, that snow wouldn't pile up at the door to the point where she couldn't get out the next day to pick up her son from his grandmother's house. While they had a super who was supposed to take care of that kind of thing, ole Mr. Jenkins was just that—old—and, bless his heart, he didn't always remember to do snow cleanup for the building as he should.

At some point in her warm up, she opened her eyes, her detective senses now on alert. It was quiet in the living room, and nothing was out of place, but for some reason, she felt as if she wasn't quite all alone in her home. Taylor was safe at her mother's, so he wasn't the reason. And besides, it would be much noisier with him there, wanting dinner and telling her about the crazy drive there.

No, it wasn't Taylor. But someone was in her house. A homeless guy might try it, but the NYPD did a pretty thorough job of getting as many homeless folks off the streets and into emergency shelters as they could, even if they missed a few. One or two stragglers might try it—but she doubted it.

Wait...homeless person. A firecracker went off in her mind, and she smirked in mock derision as the thought dawned on her more fully. Yes, there was someone in her house—and she knew exactly who that someone was.

Folding her leg over on the couch to rub her sore foot, she waited a minute or so more before she let her intruder know she was wise to his shenanigans.

"John, I thought I told you before that if I caught you breaking into my house again, I'd shoot you for sure."

At the sound of her voice, a shoeless John didn't reveal himself right away. She smiled now, almost breaking into a laugh, knowing that he was remembering the admonishment she now spoke of.

"Come on out, John. I know you're there."

The kitchen floor creaked with the weight of a large male body slowly lumbering across it to stand in front of its accuser. When he appeared to her, he had his hands up, and a sheepish look on his face.

"Good evening, Detective," he said softly, with a hint of that same sheepishness. "How do you take your hot chocolate?"

A/N: As I said, early goings. But what will two very attractive close comrades do on a night where they're snowed in at her house, all alone? Well, that's why it's got the rating it does, haha. But that's to come. Have fun and stay warm, Careese friends. BTW, "Missing Reese's" next installment is almost done. John and Joss come back "home" to Colorado from Utah—and it's something. Take care!