Alternative Medicine
Jezyk
Spoilers: Anything through Matsya Nyaya
Disclaimer: Still not mine, dammit

She glared at the speaker next to the door from her spot on the couch. It was him. It had to be. She wasn't expecting anyone else and he was just that fucking ballsy to do it. Practically stomping across the room, she pressed the button to activate the microphone.

"What the hell did I tell you?"

He waited a beat, either surprised by her shout or smiling the way he always did when he pissed her off. "You told me not to dare call you tonight because you had the place to yourself for the first time in five years." He was grinning. She could hear it in his voice.

And, like always, it made her grin too, despite her fury. "And what did you do?"

"I didn't call. You didn't say anything about coming by for a visit." He did it on purpose, enjoyed some sort of demented thrill by irritating her.

She wanted to kill him; he'd once again left her with no options. If she didn't let him in, he'd just buzz her all night. With a sigh, she depressed the other button, unlocking the front door. Knowing he'd be there in a moment, she returned to the couch and screwed the top back on the nail polish. Whatever Reese was going to ask of her, it wouldn't involve finishing her home pedicure.

It took longer than she expected for him to arrive at her door. When he knocked, she didn't bother to get up. "It's open."

There was a pause, during which she gloated for having surprised him. He'd expected her to meet him at the door, maybe in the hallway, hell maybe stop him before he got to her floor. But no, she wasn't going to make it a bit easier for him to interrupt her night off.

Finally, he eased the door open slowly. His face revealed his surprise to find her on the couch, relaxed in her sweats and tank top. He looked around, what would have looked like a casual once-over to anyone else undoubtedly leaving him able to recreate the place from memory. He made his way through the door, his movements slow and distinctly uncoordinated. "I'm really sorry about this, Carter."

Still annoyed, though it was fading with two seconds in his presence like always, she leaned her head to the side and pointedly didn't invite him to sit down. "What do you want, John?"

He winced and slowly moved his hand to his suit coat, which he even more slowly pulled back to reveal a huge red stain on his shirt.

And a knife sticking into his side.

"Jesus!" She jumped to her feet and approached him, finally recognizing his jerky movements for the reflection of pain that they were. "Why the hell did you come here? Go to a fucking hospital! What is wrong with you?"

"I'll be fine. It's serrated, so it needs to be pulled straight out, I'd do it if I could reach." He was out of breath, and leaned back against the door. "I'll be out of here in two minutes, I promise."

Shaking her head, she looked up from the knife to meet his eyes. "I'm really not sure that's a good idea. I don't think I should touch it. You need a doctor."

He reached out, laying his blood-covered hand on hers. "There's nothing over there besides muscle and fat. It'll heal."

Shaking her head, she knew she was doomed to agree no matter how ill-advised it was. "Think you can make it to the bathroom or are you determined to bleed all over the living room?"

He actually hesitated, letting her know how much energy he'd used by getting to her. Rather than reinforcing her notion that he was nuts the way it should have, his behavior made her want to hug him. He trusted her. He considered her a friend, even if he refused to answer her questions.

She grabbed his arm. "Come on, that wasn't really a question."

He followed, but slowly. "I do feel pain, you know."

Easing up, she still had to drag him into the bathroom, where she leaned him against the sink and grabbed a towel. Despite her background of being a cop and a soldier, she didn't particularly relish the sight of blood, certainly not when it was draining out of someone she knew. She steeled herself for what he was asking of her, looking up at him in the interim. "This is going to hurt if it's serrated. Hell, it's going to hurt no matter what."

He nodded. "One minute left, Carter, and I'm out of your hair."

"You think I'm going to let you out of here to roam the streets injured? You can barely walk as it is." She fixed him with a glare that usually pinned people in place.

Surprisingly, it actually worked on him. His eyes widened for a moment, then a slow, sexy smirk turned up one corner of his mouth. "You going to hold me prisoner, detective?"

Trying, and failing, to ignore him, she looked away in an attempt to hide her blush. "You've got a knife sticking out of your side and you're standing here flirting with me. You need your head examined."

"You wouldn't be the first person to suggest that."

She reached toward the handle of the knife, but paused with her hand midway there. "Do you want a warning or –"

"Just pull the damn thing out, Carter, please?"

Forcing her hand not to shake for fear of the damage and pain it would cause, she grabbed the handle and pulled. Had it been her, she probably would have passed out from the pain. As it was she felt lightheaded at the sight, nauseated from the way the stain spread suddenly on his shirt.

John was silent, not even breathing, and when she looked up to see how he was doing and how he could bear to not scream his head off, she saw the pain all over his face. His eyes were red and welled up with unshed tears, his jaw was clenched, his neck and shoulders shook from the way he'd tensed his muscles in response.

With the hand that wasn't pressing the towel against his side, she reached up and ran her fingers across his chin. "Hey, it's over. It's done."

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, finally nodding as he looked back at her. "Thanks." His hand moved over hers, securing the towel against the wound himself. "I'll replace the towel."

He turned to move away, but Jos remained right where she was, making him stop.

"You're staying here, at least until the bleeding stops."

He looked sorry and guilty as hell when he flopped back against the sink. "I don't want to ruin your night, Carter, I know you were looking forward to having the place to yourself."

"You didn't ruin my night. The guy that stabbed you ruined my night." She reached up, working the buttons of his shirt. "You need to clean this wound before it gets infected. God only knows where that knife has been."

He watched her as she unbuttoned his shirt, his hooded eyes and smirk making her hands start to shake halfway through. Damn him for that stare. Determined not to give in, to deny that he was succeeding in making her uncomfortable, she reached up to push his coat and shirt off his shoulders. She lowered them to his elbows, figuring he could do the rest. Then she soaked a washcloth in hot water and started cleaning the blood from his skin.

She realized at some point that she wasn't actually doing him any good, that he was still holding the towel against the wound she was meant to be cleaning out, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from gently washing his side, scrubbing away any remnants of the blood that reminded her how close he'd come, yet again, to getting himself killed. She noticed also that he wasn't saying anything to stop her, perhaps deriving as much emotional comfort from her actions as she was by doing it.

Somehow that knowledge upset her more than if he'd teased her for mothering him.

She opened the cabinet under the sink to retrieve the first aid kit, hoping like hell he didn't see the way she was shaking. It wasn't just her hands anymore, her whole body was trembling. Even worse, she really had no idea why.

By the time she took the towel away from him, the bleeding had mercifully slowed to a trickle. Maybe he was right, that it would heal, that it hadn't done any permanent damage. She methodically cleaned it as best she could and when she was satisfied, she taped several gauze pads over it.

Looking back up at him, she smiled. "Ok, that's the best I can do. Oh, wait," she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of pills the doctor had given Taylor when he'd had strep throat. "It's penicillin, in case it gets infected."

John accepted the bottle and slipped it into his pocket before he pulled his shirt and jacket back on. "Thanks."

She knew she was out of time, that she needed to step back and let him leave, return to whatever the hell job he had avenging the wrongs of the universe, but she couldn't. Tears were threatening, leaving her to force out her words. "You have people who care about you, you know, people who don't want to see anything happen to you." The tears were starting to overflow as she met his eyes. "You've got to stop getting yourself hurt, John."

"I will." He reached out, wiping away some of her tears with the pad of his thumb, then grinning at her. "As soon as people stop trying to kill me."

She couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. Shaking her head, she smiled at him. "Half the time you open your mouth, I want to kill you."

"Only half the time?"

"You wait right here." She nodded toward the door, not even attempting to hide her wide smile. "I'm going to get my gun and shoot you."

His hands moved suddenly and before she even realized it, they were on her face, his long fingers curling around her back of her head, holding her still as he leaned down. She didn't even have a chance to process what was happening when his lips touched hers, brushing softly, tentatively at first, then firmly when her hands moved around his shoulders. His mouth opened slowly, teasing her as his tongue darted out to taste her lips, finally pressing harder to demand entrance.

She ran her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she let him explore her mouth, anticipating the same opportunity shortly. His skin was hot where her fingers brushed it, adding to the fire his kiss was stoking in her body. One of his hands lowered from her head, drifting over her shoulder and down her side, moving in at her waist and pulling her against him. She couldn't take anymore, not with the feel of his strong body pressed against hers, she dug her nails into his scalp, her tongue moving between his lips to return the favor.

Clearly the blood was no longer flowing to her brain, or she would have remembered why he was there before she moved her hand to his waist. His growl of pain was the only thing that made it through her hormone-addled haze. She jerked back, eyes wide, trying to remember what the hell was going on.

Her hand was right on the lower edge of the gauze, and she hadn't even noticed, but she knew he sure as hell had.

"God, John, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He chuckled as he shook his head, slowly dropping the arms she only then realized had still been around her. "It's ok. It probably wasn't the best night to make a move on you."

She couldn't get her brain to work, shaking her head did nothing to clear up her confusion. "I- I- uh, I-"

One of his hands made it to her cheek again, turning her face up to his. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." He broke contact, with his eyes and his hand, and motioned at his side. "Thanks for patching me up."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall, getting to the front door by the time she chased him into the hall.

"Wait," she called from across the living room, afraid he'd be gone before she could close the distance.

He turned, his eyes on her, his hands on the door, waiting for her to say something.

"Stay."

It took a moment for him to overcome the surprise of her request, his face uncharacteristically blank as he weighed the options. "I thought you wanted the place to yourself."

She shrugged, offering him what she hoped was the same sexy grin he always gave her. "Being alone is overrated." Seeing his smile, she sat down on the couch and nodded her head toward the empty half. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it."

She left it up to him then, to decide if he wanted to stay, just like it was up to him if he wanted to touch her again. She'd survive either way, though admittedly, she'd infinitely prefer his agreement to both.

When his face turned deadly serious, she knew she had her answer. Though he'd apologized, that kiss hadn't been a mistake and they both knew it.

He walked over and carefully lowered himself onto the seat beside her, gingerly arranging his side against a throw pillow, then extending his arm along the back of the couch and meeting her eyes. "So what were your plans for your big night in?"

She waved her hand at the table that held the open bottle of wine, empty wine glass and nail polish bottle. "That's pretty much it," she grinned despite herself. "Well, that and running a walk-in medical clinic."

"Touche." He leaned forward, despite having already made himself comfortable, and picked up the jar of nail polish. Then he reached forward again, lifting her unpolished foot into his lap. "Can I possibly redeem myself by helping you out?"

"By all means." She refilled her glass and sat back, wondering if John would object to her taking a picture of him painting her toenails a delicate pink color. Of course, to get a picture, she would have to get up, which wasn't going to happen considering how deliciously comfortable she was.

He was finished in no time, setting the polish back on the coffee table and letting her admire his handiwork. "See? I didn't completely ruin your night, right?" He rested his forearm across her calves, appearing content to sit there with her feet in his lap.

"I didn't say you ruined it, John." Emboldened by the additional glass of wine, she swung her feet to the floor, amused to see his disappointed look when she was no longer in physical contact with him. She turned herself around, swinging her feet up where her upper half had been, leaning herself back against his uninjured side.

His arms curled around her waist and his chin rested on top of her head. "Glad to hear it."

Her arms folded over his, amazed at how natural it felt to snuggle up to him. "You can crash here whenever you need to, John, I hope you know that."

"Considering the welcome you gave me tonight, I really wasn't sure about that."

She leaned her head back, lifting her chin to look at him. "I thought you were going to make me work." He looked down at her, a cocky smile on his face. "You should have told me you just wanted to give me a pedicure."

A blush darkened his cheeks. "You tell anyone, I hurt you. Can't have you ruining my reputation as a badass."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Taylor wouldn't believe it anyway."

His eyes were dancing as he grinned at her, his smile fading as his glace darted to her lips. They met halfway, the sensation of the kiss easing any physical discomfort from their position. In fact, even with her neck arched painfully backward, it was far too soon when he broke the kiss and sat back.

It was unbelievable how perfectly comfortable the whole situation felt, how comfortable John was. She was glad for it, happy to know that being with her helped keep him off that edge he always seemed to be on.

Then again, she realized it made perfect sense because he had the same effect on her; even when he drove her crazy, he was a source of comfort for her. She always felt safe and protected around him. She wondered if that was the way she made him feel, if he felt like he could relax and let his guard down when she was there.

Of course, with the way he'd rested his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, she didn't really have to wonder. She took her cue from him, closing her eyes and drifting to sleep with her hands on top of his where they rested around her middle.

~end~