Gone by Homeric

"I don't have anything I care about". John had said it once as an off-hand comment to Harold, and at the time it had been mostly true. Now though, staring at the trashed mess that was Detective Carter's apartment and trying his best to avoid Taylor's wide, terrified eyes, he wonders how quickly things had changed, and how he apparently hadn't even noticed before.

"Tell me again." His voice is fairly steady and John thanks God for that, because his heart is slamming so hard against his ribs that there isn't much he can feel but the rush of blood and enough adrenaline to make his limbs numb.

"I came home and found..." he gestures to the wreck of the living room. "This. Mom said she was going to make pasta when I got home from practice but her phone's on the table and so's her bag, so she had to have been here, and I don't know..."

Taylor sounds shaky and afraid, and in a perverted way it centres John a little when he starts to talk. The boy needs him to be calm so he's going to be calm, even though everything in his mind is screaming at him to just give up with the niceties and fucking find Joss already.

"This was what, a half hour ago?" When Taylor nods, he checks the place quickly. There's pasta sauce in a pan on the stove and a half chopped onion on a cutting board on the side. Joss's gun is still on top of the fridge with her badge and the front door wasn't broken into, suggesting that she had opened it willingly, trustingly. Whatever happened happened fast. The broken lamp, the upturned table spoke of a struggle and a noisy one at that. The 911 call from one of the neighbours that Finch had intercepted complaining of a domestic incident in the building had come through only five minutes before Taylor had arrived home and called the precinct. Reese had beaten the cops to the scene, but he knows that he's only got a couple of moments before they arrive. He tries not to look at the blood splatter on the wall that the teenager can't seem to take his eyes off. There's not enough blood to cause full blown panic, but he knows what the evidence of a gunshot wound looks like, and Joss's gun is still tucked in its holster in the kitchen, safe and sound and obviously unfired.

If she was dead then they would have left her body â€“ no point in taking her, he tells himself. It's pretty pathetic comfort, but he says it to Taylor anyway.

"So we're going to get her back right?" It's not a question it's an order. The teenager's brown eyes have darkened with purpose and rage, and while that's probably better than him falling apart, it's an emotion that John knows all to well, as are the consequences of it. The last thing he needs is Taylor going vigilante when he's trying to find his mother.

"We'll find her, but I need you here." Time is running out, already he can hear the sirens approaching. "The police are going to have questions, they're going to be doing their thing while I'm doing mine." Fishing a scrap of paper and a pen from the notebook by the phone on the table next to the couch he quickly scribbles down the number of his latest untraceable cell phone. "I need you to keep me in the loop and cover for me. Here's where to reach me. You know Detective Fusco?" When Taylor nods, he hands him the note. "You can trust him. I'll come get you in a couple of hours, tell anyone who asks that you're staying with a friend of your mom tonight."

Taylor tucks the paper in his pocket. He looks a little calmer, John thinks, but frightened and painfully young. Reaching out he rests his hand on the teenager's narrow shoulder. "I'm getting her back, ok?"

"Ok." The words are soft but determined.

Time's running out and the cacophony of voices below announces the arrival of the police. John heads quickly for the fire escape, pulling on the gloves he always keeps in his pocket so as not to leave prints.

"Wait!" Taylor's head pokes out the kitchen window as Reese bounds down the steel steps that criss cross down the back of the building. Pausing, the tall man looks back up at him. "If I'm staying with you then where? How are you going to find me?"

"It won't be a problem, I'll see you later." Voices are emanating from the apartment now, and with one last exasperated look Taylor ducks his head back inside and John drops down onto the street below.