AN: Inspired by Kaylee, brought to light by Blacktop and persuaded by Bug Evans and SpellboundbyReese to be written. This is was the product of the silly, serious, salon talk chat that goes on at Person of Interest Forum. But as I started to write it, I found it to becoming something more than just a silly prompt. So after three days, a viewing of Casablanca and all my feels of season 1 and 2 of poi combined, I give you a Part 1 of the 2 part one shot of Carter and Reese.

What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.
It was like being exhumed, I answered. And Brought to life in a flash of brilliance.

What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.
It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be Heard after a lifetime of silence.

What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow.
There was a long pause before I responded:

It was like every goodbye ever said to me-said all at once.

"Three Questions" - By Lang Leau

Casablanca

Part 1

They never really needed the exact words when they wanted to tell each other something important. For them it was all wrapped neatly in banter, carefully placed innuendos and amazing amount of subtext that would leave the ordinary wondering if there was even anything said. But they were far from ordinary. In all the vagueness there was something so vivid and deep, some nights when she was willing to acknowledge it, when she was feeling particularly brave she let her mind wonder and feel the full impact of what was really happening between them.

So when he suggested she come over for dinner and a movie straight up after they were wrapping up a case she was surprised to say the least. Things between them have been a roller coaster ride, from his silence after the whole Rikers and Santon ordeal, to the situation with Elias' kidnapping from prison. He was less than amused when she called him about the mob boss, explaining how he ended up in the back of a van and her utter loss of rational in what she should do next. After they had taken the man to a safe house, John took her by the shoulders and asked her what she was thinking, it was the most physical contact they've ever had really. John wasn't someone who said things straight out often when it came to him, but seeing the look of concern pass in his eyes moved her. It also pissed her off.

She agreed with a bowed head and a smile, she would meet him at this place the next night for dinner and a movie assuming there wasn't a number they needed to save. She wondered all through the twenty four hours what was happening. Was John Reese dying that he had invited her to dinner? All thought but the simple one ran through her mind, which was that he just wanted to have dinner with her without any other reason but to share a meal with her. She laughed in the shower as she realized how silly she was being for over thinking a dinner. If he was a normal guy who had asked her to dinner, she wouldn't be thinking if there was an ulterior motive other than to wine, dine, and bed her. With John things were always a mystery.

But she was determined to get them back to the normal flow of things, before Rikers, Stanton, Beecher, Fusco and Stills' rotting body. She wanted to go back to late night stake outs in cars and easy banter in diners. She needed him to be himself, and she needed to get back to herself, who ever that was now. She had picked out a pair of jeans and a blouse initially, after her shower she walked over to the closet and pulled out a white dress that would cling to her body, the cap sleeves gave her arms length and kept it modest, she nodded as she opted for the dress and pulled out the black pumps to go with them. She wasn't sure what this was, she never really was, but if John can ask her to dinner and a movie straight out, she can view this as she would any man asking her out and she'd dress and act accordingly.

II

Chasing after Finch and The Machine was exhausting for John, he didn't realize how tired he really was until he got back to his place and sat down on his couch. His back hurt was the first thought then came thoughts of what happens next. His mind wondered back to everything before he was reckless in that bank. Late night car rides, and coffee with Carter, her disapproving look at one of his more aggressive methods in dealing with a number, but always there was a playful gleam in her eyes. When he saw her finally after weeks of staying away, that spark was gone, what was left scared him. She was becoming a an empty shell, and it was because of him. He never thought about just how intertwined their lives would become when he had shot and killed Stills, he never thought everything he did would effect her in such a direct way. He was being naïve really. She'd only ever wanted to help him, that very first time they met, she looked at him without judgement, she asked him if he needed help, she was his first salvation and now it was his turn to bring her back to that woman.

He knew that she had awaken something in him from the very beginning, but he ignored it. How he felt had no room in this world, not after he'd wasted a change with Jessica. He didn't deserve a second, yet here he was being given a second chance not only to live trying to do good, but at a life. He had survived, but the carried the hell with him everywhere he went. Joss changed that for him, every minute spent with her felt like a soothing balm on his open wounds. Her ideals, her strength, her empathy all moved him and gave him confidence to keep going, he needed to stay alive to protect people like her.

At first it was to protect her just as she was, because the world needs people like her. Then it was the way she would smile and roll her eyes at him, her sass, her ability to call him out on his bull shit. After a while all he looked forward to was spending a couple of minutes with her in either her car or his, or grabbing a coffee with the excuse of a number to back him up. When the dreams started to come, he wasn't surprised, his mind was just rehashing what he's known but kept hidden for a while. Suddenly sleeping wasn't something he dreaded anymore, because she'd be waiting for him in the warm blankets of his mind, naked and ready to for him to show her just how much he wanted her.

Seeing her in that Alley felt like he was being shot in the gut once more, this time he really did deserve it. When Finch told him what she'd done, that she had moved Stills' body, he felt sick to his stomach that he drove her to do something like that, she had rose to his challenge, his anger, and his abandonment. Jocelyn Carter was a fighter, she'd been fighting for her existence way before he decided he needed to be in her life. It was he who needed her more than she needed him. She was capable of protecting herself. She wasn't Jess. She wasn't fragile and in need of protecting like a china doll.

Once everything with The Machine had died down, he realized that he inevitably sent her into the lion's den when he refused her offer of help. Ironically all he wanted to do was protect her from being killed and sent her guns blazing in exactly that direction. But she surprised him again when she called him and Finch for help. When he arrived at the warehouse that she was parked in his heart stopped at seeing Elias sitting in the back seat of that car with a smile on his face. The fear, the anger all drove him mad, he kept it together until they arrived at the safe house, where she insisted she spend the night. It was the first time he touched her in such a violent way.

As things slowly started to get back to normal, he came to the conclusion that he could no longer hinder her. He needed to set her free from him, and the best way to do it would be to openly tell her all the reasons that they couldn't keep going the way they were. So after they wrapped up the latest number a young girl trying to get out of a gang she had joined because of her boyfriend, he simply invited her to dinner and a movie. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the look on her face. So that's what a bashful Carter looked like.

He had prepared for this night for a while now, he realized. With anticipation he waited for her to arrive, to finally come into his space. He was sharing something so big yet so little with her.

II

She'd never been to his place, while he has to been to hers uninvited. They always met in secluded diners and under bridges. Places where they could be secretive and yet there were people around to keep them from doing something reckless, for the most part. But something had changed between them since Finch's kidnapping, and even more so after being in that room with him at Rikers.

His apartment was minimal, she even smiled as she looked around and thought this is where an ex solider would live if backed up by a billionaire. It was a lot more than a cot and bare necessities yet there was something about it's basic yet complex design that told her that Finch picked out the furniture to fit John's personality. Her eyes fluttered over to the bed briefly wondering who else slept in that bed besides him and then back to the windows that displayed the skyscrapers outlined by the twilight.

"Nice view." She said as she walked over to it. She had taken her shoes off when she came in, a habit from not wearing shoes inside her apartment.

He looked at her, bare feet, toned calves peeking out from her dress that ended just below her knee. She was a vision in white. He smiled from the kitchen where he was pouring her a glass of wine. "Thanks." he said softy.

She turned then, leaning against the windowsill, the light of the city incasing her in a glow. She smiled and finally asked what he knew she's been waiting to ask for since he asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him. "What is this John?"

There was no anxiety, anger or annoyance. There was a serene calmness around them and her tone was just as running water. He picked up the two tall wide bowled wine glasses filled with a Rioja, the very same brand he had while undercover in Spain. Not all of the experiences were bad, some like the taste of this wine was one of them.

She took the offered glass saying a soft thank you, but she waited for an answer to her question. He gave her a small shrug and smiled, "it's dinner and a movie, between friends. We are friends aren't we Joss?"

Friends. While to most friend was a general term of affection, a foundation of the structure of two people's future together, for them it was a loaded word. It meant so much more than the word itself could contain, but for now it had to hold tight. Calling each other a friend took more emotional stability than either was ready to admit. He had called her a friend after he'd been released from Rikers, he wanted to tell her more, tell her how she'd set him free in more ways than one. He wanted to specifically tell her how he couldn't have gotten out of that hell without her, but everything about the way they spoke was cloaked. But he knew she'd understand.

Hearing her say that she was helping a friend, made him feel even more liberated even though he was sitting handcuffed in the back of a fed car. Friends, they were friends. She did all that she did because she thought him worthy, and even though he didn't see it that way a small part of him started to believe if she can see worth in him, just maybe there was something worth fighting for other than repenting for being too late.

She watched him carefully as she took a sip, her tongue savored the taste of the wine, she tasted the different flavors and spices, and thought she could even smell the wood barrel it was aged in. It was as smooth as the way her name rolled of his tongue. She swallowed slowly and his eyes traveled down her throat. "Is that all this is?"

"What else do you want it to be?" He answered his eyes still lingering on her throat for a second longer before moving to her eyes. Carter always thought his eyes were beautiful, but in this very moment something exploded within her as she looked into all the brilliant specks in his blue eyes, they say that blue eyes don't have as many pigments as brown, and she was no artist or a master of colors but in this moment his eyes was a vibrant hues of blue, and all the pigments danced. In his eyes she saw herself swimming in the clearest water of some topical island, lost yet content.

What else did she want? She'd asked herself that question over and over, the answer now was the same and it scared her beyond words but excited her even more. She smiled at him, "what are you willing to offer?"

He chuckled then looking down at her toes that were painted a bold shade of red. He knew she kept herself neutral for work, but added bit of the fire that burned strong and bright, like her red toes or the silk blouse. His eyes traveled up her dainty ankles to her shin, the white fabric of her dress looked soft and inviting as it clung to her curves, and his eyes traveled up the v of sex to the rounds of her hip. She was beautiful, she always was. But tonight as she looked at him with expectation and a vulnerability in her eyes, he saw a different beauty. Trust.

"What ever you want, detective."

Her breath caught, but she knew better, he knew better. Everything and Anything didn't mean the same thing. She smiled at him and took another sip. This was what they needed to avoid. Why friends was the wrong term for them, what it needed to stay between them.

"Are you hungry?"

She laughed, "sure, what are we having?"

"Prepare to be amazed detective." He said as he turned to walk towards the kitchen, with her following slowly behind him.

She laughed softly, "why you gonna shoot us some dinner?"

"Already took care of that earlier," he deadpanned, to which she laughed again. She looked around his kitchen, on the island he had everything prepared for what he planned on cooking for their dinner. There was a wooden block with a few different cheese, grapes, and ham. A small basket of warm rolls with dusting of herbs. She wouldn't tell him she was impressed, but she was.

"I didn't know you cooked, but I guess I pictured you doing it." She said absently looking around the spacious kitchen with the rustic antique table which held the table wear for their dinner she assumed. The stainless steel appliances and the white cabinets all sparkling. She watched him as he seared the scallops and sautéed the onion and garlic. She watched him work and something about the way he moved and concentrated differed from his more active work. She smiled at the realization that John was cooking her dinner in his apartment. He prepared for this, and that this gesture wasn't a small one.

He looked up at her where she stood watching him, her eyes soft, "you're gonna stand there or are you going to lend a hand?"

She walked closer placing her wine glass on the island, smiling with a raised brow she said "you invited me to dinner, you expect your guest to cook her own meal?"

He raised a brow as well in challenge, "maybe my guest can learn a thing or two from me."

"Okay John, wow me with you culinary skills" She said placing both her hands on the counter to lean forward.

He mimicked her action and leaned in as well, "you have to come closer, and observe to become a master of...butter." he said holding up a stick of butter in between them.

She laughed hard and he chuckled with her, she came to stand next to him and he took her hand into his pulling her in front of him. She looked over her shoulder at him before looking down in front of her, "I need you to stir the onion, garlic and ham." He whispered softly, she nodded and took the resting wooden spatula and started to stir.

John didn't move, he couldn't really as he took in her scent, he grabbed the apron on the counter behind him, he slowly pulled her against him, a quiet gasp leaving her as he brought the strings around her then he stepped back to tie the two together. "Wouldn't want to ruin this dress, especially since it looks good on you Carter." She turned once more to look at him for a few seconds, his fingers lingering where they rested on her waist. "Thanks," was all she said, nothing to tell him to move out of her personal space, as she went back to the task he gave her.

But eventually he did let her go to check on the lamb he had in the oven before she arrived, turning it over to roast the other side. He decided that the Rioja was going to be his inspiration for the dinner he was going to cook her. A Spanish dinner with tapas, spanish cheese, and a main course of lamb shoulder with oven roasted potatoes and onions. The dinner was going to end with tarta de melocotón or a peach tart with almond meringue, and glasses of cava.

He wanted to give her a night where she could escape the reality they lived everyday, taking her to spain would've been his ideal gift but their schedule didn't really allow the time, and their relationship was a complicated one for such grand gestures, yet this was just before crossing a line that seem to further each day. If he couldn't take her spain, he'd bring spain to her. It occurred to him that at one point that what he was trying to achieve went head to head with what he said he wanted to do.

While she continued to stir the onion, garlic, and ham mixture, he stood next to her chopping up rosemary. She was so quiet that he look a look over at her only to find her smiling softly. Almost as if she could read his mind, and at times he thought that she could she said, "all of this smells really great, John."

He smiled too, "wait till you taste it."

"You seem confident that it will taste good." She said turning to face him a hand on her hip.

He stood straight as stepped closer, towering over her as he spoke, "there are things I'm confident about detective, my cooking is one of them."

"Oh yea? What else are you confident about?" she asked.

He smiled, "what else did you picture me doing?" he asked throwing back her earlier comment that she didn't think he heard.

She had picture him doing many things that she wouldn't speak of in the light of day, but it wasn't day and here she was sitting in front of him with his eyes devouring her openly. But she refuse to make the first move, she was tired of extending the hand to him, it was his turn or it wouldn't happen at all she stubbornly decided. "Wouldn't you like to know." she said with smirk before turning back to the stove.

"I would." He said also turning back to his task of mixing the rosemary and garlic in the cup of wine he'd pour. "Maybe you'll tell me later."

"Maybe."

TBC

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