Codename: Kryptonite

Chapter Twenty-five

Agent Mission Log Entry:

I can't put my finger on the exact moment that it happened, but if I could I would certainly change that one moment.

Can't he see that this won't work? He's supposed to be the protected... NOT the protector.

Somehow, I have to remind him that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself....AND him.

This was quite possibly the biggest mistake she'd ever made, but she would allow herself a few more minutes to enjoy the feel of him against her, before trying to pick up the pieces of her professionalism and get back to work.

Besides, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her skin felt too good.

He shifted slightly against her, sliding his muscular thigh slightly higher between hers, as he raised up on one elbow, the chaise creaking slightly with his movements. His fingers closed around the lump of metal laying between her breasts. The tip of his thumb slid back and forth across the inscription. His eyes slid up from his hand, pausing briefly on the scar he'd noticed earlier on her left breast, before finally meeting her eyes. "This is interesting. What is it?"

She chuckled softly. "Someone's sick idea of a joke." At the question in his eyes, she went on, "It's the bullet with my name on it."

The necklace dropped back against her skin, warmed from his touch, as his fingers moved to trace the circular scar on the underside of her left breast, just below and to the right of her nipple. His index finger slid across the puckered flesh as if he could smooth the wrinkles from her skin. "This was a close call." It wasn't a question, just an observation.

"Yeah." She was uncomfortable with the line of questioning, but couldn't think of a single subject that she was willing to talk about to steer him toward. Hoping to stop conversation all together, she pushed up into a sitting position, turning her legs so that she sat on the edge of the chaise with her back to him. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing out tangles that his hands had made.

Comfortable with his nudity, Jon lay back on the chaise, folding his hands under his head. "How'd you get it?"

Her wit was quite dry. "I was shot."

So was his. "No? Really?" She tossed him a withering look over her shoulder, before she stood up to gather her clothes. "Any other details you're willing to share?" Curiosity was killing him.

"With a gun," she answered, without even a hint of a grin, as she continued to gather up her clothes they'd scattered across the floor, putting each item on as she retrieved it.

"In the line of duty?" he asked, enjoying watching her pull her jeans up over her slim hips.

She turned to face him, as she zipped up her pants. Raising one eyebrow, and shaking her head slightly, she scoffed. "Right, because I make a habit of jumping in front of bullets in my off duty hours."

He smiled as she slipped on her bra. "So, who were you babysitting?"

Her spine stiffened at the term 'babysitting'. She didn't like the direction this conversation was going, and the glare she leveled on him before pulling her shirt down over her head was designed to stop the line of questioning. "That's top secret. And you don't have clearance...yet."

He stood up. "Ah, c'mon. You can tell me." There was something in her eyes, something in the defensive way she stood, that told him the answer he sought, but he wanted her to confirm it.

She turned on her heel and headed for the door, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "I'm going to check the perimeter." The door slammed behind her.

"Oh no you don't," he growled, hopping into his jeans as he crossed the room. He jerked open the door, only to come face to face with Richie.

His friend stood casually leaning against the door frame, waiting only a millisecond before glancing at his watch. "Right on time there, stud."

Jon looked up and down the hall, but Gabby was already out of sight. "What are you blathering about, Rich?" he asked, distracted.

"I even gave ya an extra five minutes 'cause she's new," Richie answered, grinning. "And you didn't disappoint."

"Fuck off, Rich," Jon growled, pushing past him.

"I wouldn't go after her, if I were you," Richie warned. "She looked pretty pissed."

Jon stopped at Richie's words. "Pissed? Really?"

"Well, maybe not exactly pissed, but certainly irritated. So, what'd ya do, Kidd? Screw the pooch, and cum too fast?"

Jon's glare could've had the Devil taking ice skating lessons. "Cut the shit, Rich. This is serious." He pushed past Richie again, to walk back into the den.

Richie followed him into the room, closing the door softly behind him. "How serious? Y-two-K serious, or circle the wagons and hide the women and children serious?"

Jon dropped his chin slightly to look down his nose at the guitarist. The only thing he lacked having the disapproving-librarian-looking-over-her-glasses-at-you look down pat were the bifocals perched on the end of his nose. "Somewhere in between."

From long years of practice dealing with Jon, Richie knew how to best handle the situation. He didn't say a thing, just walked over and plopped back down in his favorite spot on the sofa. He leaned back, stretching his long legs out to prop them on the coffee table in front of him. After several seconds of silence, he crossed his legs at the ankles, and sighed. This might take longer than he'd originally thought.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Jon paced the floor behind the sofa where Richie sat. "She took a fucking bullet for me," he finally said into the silence.

"What?" Richie gasped, starting to get up off the couch. She hadn't looked injured when she'd stormed past him in the hall, but if Jon said...

"Not today," Jon quickly clarified. "Sometime in the future. After I become president."

"She told you that?" Richie asked.

"Not exactly." Jon continued to pace the room, much like a caged lion.

"Then how exactly?"

Leaving out only the most personal of details, Jon relayed the conversation with Gabby to Richie. When he told about the necklace, Richie snorted and agreed that it did indeed sound like something Jon's sick sense of humor would come up with.

Finishing with, "I don't like this one fucking bit," Jon plopped down on the other sofa in the room. "I will not let someone else put their life in danger for me."

Richie recognized Jon's don't-argue-with-me tone. "And what exactly are you gonna do about it, Kidd?"

"I don't have fucking clue," Jon growled.