Notes: This is the first Profiler story I've ever written, so I hope you like it. If this is a bit on the angst-heavy side, just remember I started writing fan fiction through X Files and you can't write much that doesn't have some, but usually a lot of angst. You might find inaccuracies in my time line, I'm having to work by memory. Two things worth mentioning... One. Nathan is still with the VCTF in my reality. Two. Coop, uh, Coop who? Sorry, I didn't like him enough on the show to write about him now .*g* Thank yous go out to Erana for beta reading it for me, even if she did "put it off" *bg* thanks a lot! :)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Cynthia Saunders, Sander/Moses Productions and NBC (anyone else??) They're not mine, I'm just playing with someone else's toys. I promise to return them. Hey, if they *were* mine, Sam and John would already be together... *g*

February 27, 1998
Atlanta, GA
Latest crime scene

A cold drizzle fell down upon Atlanta, chilling the group of FBI agents and local police officers. They were working at the latest murder scene of a particularly gruesome serial killer. The body, a male, was the fourth victim of a madman terrorizing Atlanta.

The victims were found sitting in their cars, which were parked in allies close to where the victim lived. Each had died slowly by being bled to death through shallow wounds all over their bodies. After the third fatality, Atlanta PD had called in the agents of the VCTF.

John sneezed as he stood talking to Nathan about the crime scene. Nathan looked Grant over, it was the third time he had sneezed in less than a minute. "You don't look so good, John. Maybe you should head home and get out of the rain."

Sniffing, "yeah, right," he said smugly. "It's nothing, a little cold isn't enough to knock me out for the count." He cocked his head to the side, indicating where the body now lay beside the car in a body bag. "Let's just get finished here so we can all get out of here." John began to walk over to where Sam and Bailey were talking just in time to catch the end of their conversation.

"Well, at least we've got something to start with," Bailey finished.

"What did you find?" Nathan asked, looking from Sam to Bailey.

Sam spoke up, giving a description of what she felt of the killer and his motives. "He feels like he is correcting some wrong, retribution for a mistreatment of some sort. It's possible he sees those he kills as the person who hurt him; and by killing them so slowly he symbolizes the long term suffering he endured."

"That's it?" John smirked. Sam raised her eyebrows, cutting him a look. She thought they had gotten past that kind of thing in their friendship.

"Yeah, for now," she replied cooly.

Observing the exchange, Nathan and Bailey exchanged a confused look. A second later, Nathan pulled Bailey aside, quietly explaining that he believed John was getting sick, and that was most likely the cause of his short-tempered reply. Bailey glanced over to where John and Sam were standing barely two feet apart, but acting as if the Atlantic Ocean lay between them. As he watched, John broke out into another sneezing fit.

The icy glares were about to escalate into a verbal sparing match when Bailey spoke up. "John, we're almost done here, why don't you go home? You look like you could use the time to get over that cold, and standing out here in the rain isn't helping any."

John looked about ready to protest when Nathan spoke up, backing Bailey. "Come on, John. You've got the chance for an afternoon off, take it." Realizing that he was outnumbered, John relented and walked slowly over to where he had parked his car. Sam watched him leave, briefly contemplating his role in her life. Shaking her head slightly, she turned to join Bailey and Nathan in heading back to the command center.

*****

February 27, 1998
John's Apartment

When John got to his apartment the first thing he did was take some aspirin. His head was killing him and all he wanted to do was to go to sleep. Collapsing down onto the couch, he closed his eyes.

John woke up groggy. His eyes strained to focus on his watch. He realized that he had been asleep for about an hour. To his relief his headache had subsided somewhat. He considered getting up to get something to drink, but decided he didn't have the energy to bother.

The longer he sat still with no distractions, the harder it became not to think. Memories of the time when his mother had died came rushing back. He knew he was being a jerk at work, but he had to cope. John glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. She had died fifteen years ago today.

Unwanted tears filled his blue eyes at the memory. He had been a teenager when his mother had died. They had always been close because of his father. Angrily, John brushed the tears from his eyes. "Tears never solved anything," he mumbled. After she had been taken away from him, John felt as if there was an empty place in his heart. Sometimes he feared it might never be filled, that his heart might always feel incomplete.

From this came his smart mouth exterior. He learned to cope by keeping everyone at arms length. Nathan was the first friend he let near. And Sam. John didn't know when he had begun to feel something for her. Eventually he was forced to admit to himself that he loved her.

The strength of his feelings almost scared him. His thoughts were interrupted for a moment by a coughing fit, but the thoughts returned nonetheless. John hadn't allowed himself to feel so strongly for anyone since his mother had died. A few meaningless affairs came and went, but he never gave his heart. No one was allowed past the barriers to know the whole person.

John didn't move from the couch, fidgeting as he thought of his mother in his past and Sam in his present. He pushed Sam away now, because he lost the last person he risked to love. He closed his eyes, *what a jerk* he thought. John acknowledged his actions, but felt they were necessary. The reasons were always the same no matter friend, acquaintance or lover. If he didn't want to get hurt again, he couldn't let anyone in. Especially Sam. So he played the part of the arrogant jerk to the hilt.

John shook his head sadly. No matter how much he loved her, he believed she could never love him in return. Usually he could ignore his feelings and her lack thereof. However, the memories of his mother's death had left his heart raw and vulnerable.

Just looking at Sam hurt, he sighed softly. "Yep," he muttered, "better to push her away." John neither moved nor slept for a long time night.

*****

February 28, 1998
VCTF Headquarters

The next morning, Sam had been in the office for thirty minutes when she noticed John dragging in. She took in his haggard appearance and guessed that he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He walked over to his desk, flopping down in the seat with a sigh. It was time for the morning staff meeting so Sam walked over to where he was sitting with his eyes closed to remind him.

"John?" When she spoke his name John jumped like he had heard a gun shot. That was when she realized that he had dozed off at his desk. His eyes darted all around, taking in his surroundings before settling on the lone agent standing before him.

"Sam? What is it? You scared the hell out of me." His tone took on a defensive air and his gaze was cold. Sam visibly stiffened at his hostile manner. "We have a meeting, I didn't want you to forget."

He waved his hand, "yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute." He proceeded to sit at his desk and act busy, but only managed to start sneezing again. Sam was more than a little annoyed at John's behavior, wanting to attribute it to his being sick. However, he was making any interaction with him at all difficult to say the least.

At the meeting, the agents discussed the current case. Grace presented the group with her findings from the autopsy, however there was nothing new to be found within them. With little new information the meeting didn't last very long. They broke up to look into the few possible leads they did have.

Three hours later they were alerted by Atlanta PD about another victim. The MO was the same, but this time there seemed to be evidence left behind at the scene. Bailey, Sam, Nathan, John and Grace scrambled to hurry to the scene before the ever-present rain could wash away anything important.

They had arrived to find out that there was indeed evidence left this time. A smudged fingerprint on the inside of the car door. Officers were lifting prints for verification when Sam spoke up that she believed it was a fingerprint of their serial killer. "He was rushed this time. He didn't take as many precautions, it's possible he was interrupted. Maybe a homeless person stumbled onto him while he was here, that could explain it."

They continued to work for an hour, with John sneezing and coughing the entire time. He was earning concerned glances from most of the team when Bailey finally suggested that he again at least get out of the rain. "John," he protested.

"No, Bailey. There's no difference if I'm here or anywhere else. At least here I can help to accomplish something." His gaze was steady, focusing on Bailey hoping he wouldn't push the matter further. He hadn't mentioned to anyone how much effort it was taking to simply stand up straight. After leaving the last scene he hadn't managed to get any rest because he couldn't stop coughing and sneezing whenever he wasn't thinking. Nothing seemed to help, and eventually exhaustion overtook him and he had slept some.

When she looked back on it later, Sam would not be able to recall what had started her and John to arguing. Before Bailey or Nathan could step in, Sam and John were practically at each other's throats. She knew they were being unprofessional, but she was sick of his insolence. She told him so, loudly. And he was not one to be outdone in an argument, so he responded just as loudly. Luckily they were almost finished at the scene and only the four of them remained.

Bailey and Nathan hurried over to where the sparring agents were standing. They were in time for John to begin to walk away muttering something under his breath and Sam to retort "I wish you would just go away!" before she too walked away. Left alone, Bailey and Nathan glanced at the retreating agents and looked at each other confused.

"What just happened here?" Nathan questioned.

"I don't know, but I intend to get to the bottom of it. Soon," Bailey replied, and went to talk to Grace before heading back to the command center.

*****

February 28, 1998
John's Cabin

After leaving the nearly empty crime scene, John intended to drive to his apartment but found himself driving toward his cabin instead. It was nearly dark when he arrived at his destination. Killing his car, he walked up the steps and unlocked the front door.

His head was killing him and he headed directly to the bathroom for some aspirin. He was so focused on that task that he somehow failed to remember to lock the door when he pushed it closed. Looking at himself in the mirror he shuddered. His cheeks were flushed and at some point he had developed bags under his eyes. Taking a drink of water from the sink he swallowed the aspirin.

He settled down onto the couch and had just closed his eyes when he heard a noise that caught his attention. However, he was sluggish from not having gotten so little sleep and didn't manage to deflect the blow that hit his head from behind.

*****

March 1, 1998
VCTF Headquarters

Early the next morning, Bailey went to talk to Sam about what had happened. He noticed that John wasn't at his desk when he approached her office. "Sam," Bailey stuck his head inside her office door, which was open just a crack. She looked up when she heard his voice, and pushed aside the file that she was reading.

"Yeah, Bailey?"

He walked over to the couch and sat down, collecting his thoughts one final time before he spoke. "First, I was going to tell you that Atlanta PD grabbed the guy whose print that was found at the scene. Second," another pause. "I was just curious as to what that scene was between you and John yesterday. The two of you have become pretty close from what I can tell, I don't understand what led to the two of you fighting like that." His gaze had taken on a fatherly concern look to it as he spoke and observed her sitting behind her desk.

For a moment she was quiet, then looked Bailey in the eye and tried to explain. "I don't know really. Like you said, we've been friends for a while. It's just, here lately, something changed." She crossed her office to sit beside Bailey on the couch and continued. "Maybe it's because he's sick. I tried to ignore it, but yesterday I, I can't explain it, I needed to knock him down a notch. I guess I wanted to rattle him a bit."

"We've had our disagreements, that's for sure," Bailey began. "However, there must be a reason that he's acting oddly. I think you may be right, though, it may just be because he's sick and lashing out makes him feel better in some juvenile way."

"Maybe, but . . ." She was interrupted when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Agent Waters? A letter was just delivered to the security guard station at the parking deck for you."

Bailey stood when he heard her whisper "Jack" when she hung up.

"Sam, what is it?"

"A letter was delivered to the parking deck security station. They're sending it up to me now. Who else could it be from than Jack?" Her eyes were searching, for any other possible explanation. However, her instincts were proven correct when she was finally able to read the letter. It was written in letters cut out of the newspaper.

***

sAm,
I've tAkeN caRe OF yoUr ProBLeM
GraNt sHouldNt Have boThEReD
yoU. NoW hE cAN jusT GO AWAY
i HAd to hElP yOu.
jaCk

***

Her hands were shaking as she reread the letter. Bailey had called in the team to find John. Nathan had gone to check his apartment, but found no sign of him there. It was Sam who mentioned looking at the cabin. Bailey called the local law enforcement up near the cabin and appraised them of the situation.

The call came into Bailey's office thirty minutes later. "Yeah, this is Sheriff Owens. We found your man up here. He's in pretty rough shape, they just took him to Mercy Hospital." With that, Bailey, Sam and Nathan hurried to the hospital wary of what they might find.

During the trip there, Sam was silently replaying the last conversation she had had with John only the day before. It sickened her to think that Jack believed he was helping her by hurting John. Bailey noted the distraught look on Sam's face and said, "He'll be all right. John's too stubborn to let Jack get him." His comment earned him a weak smile but no other reply.

They had been at the hospital for close to an hour when a doctor finally approached them about John. "You're the agents here regarding John Grant?" She questioned.

"Yes," Bailey replied, "how is he?"

"He took a nasty blow to the head. It appears he was bound with some sort of twine to keep him from moving if he woke up, and then he was cut repeatedly. None of the wounds were enough to kill him directly, but he lost a lot of blood." She paused, looking worriedly at the pale female agent across from her before continuing. "He appears to have been fighting a cold and his immune system was weak because of it. If he hadn't been found when he was, well, we wouldn't be having this discussion now."

"But he'll make it, right?" This time it was Nathan who spoke to the doctor.

"Barring any unforseen complications, yes, Agent Grant will make a full recovery. As it stands now, he's suffering from a concussion, the cuts and his previous cold. The cuts, obviously, look the worst because there were many that were deep enough to require stitches."

"Was he awake during any of it?" Bailey interjected.

The doctor paused a moment, then said, "it appears so. There were marks on his wrists that make it appear that he strained against the bonds."

"Where? Where was he cut?" Sam finally spoke to the doctor.

The doctor glanced at Sam and then looked away when she answered. "On his chest, back, legs and face."

"Scars?" She managed.

"The cuts on his back and face were the worst. However, we took great care correcting those on his face especially. After we remove the bandages and the swelling goes down you really shouldn't be able to tell. I'm not as hopeful about a few on his back, but only time will tell. I need to be going, but you can have me paged if you need anything else. He will be in a room as soon as he's released from recovery and you can see him then." With that, she disappeared down the hallway she had entered from.

A shaken Sam sat down in an uncomfortable orange chair with Bailey and Nathan on either side. "Did you hear that, Sam? He's going to be fine," Bailey said, looking between Sam and Nathan.

She sat for a moment and then began to talk. "Bailey, Jack knew about my argument with John. He practically quoted it in his letter. And the way he tried to kill him, it mirrors the murders we're trying to solve. He gets so close to us, yet we never even know. This isn't fair, John didn't do anything other than annoy me with his attitude that day. He didn't deserve this."

"No one ever does, especially you," Bailey offered.

A while later they were informed that John had been moved to a private room. The three walked in silence to room 635 and Sam was the first to enter the quiet hospital room. She heard the beep of the heart monitor and saw the still form of her colleague. His face was dotted with five bandages covering the cuts. In a painkiller-induced slumber, John was unaware of his visitors or of the tears filling Sam's eyes as she looked at him.

Struggling to maintain her professional composure she stood beside him trying to pay attention to what Bailey and Nathan were saying.

"Bailey, he's going to need protection," Nathan had said she realized.

"I know, I'm on it," looking once more over at John, Bailey left the room to find a phone and call the command center.

Seeing that her attention had turned to them, Nathan asked her, "Sam? You all right?" He knew it was a silly question, but he didn't know what else to say.

"I will be when he wakes up," she said motioning toward the bed.

"I know, Sam," he said. Then he added, "it's not your fault you know."

She looked as if she had been slapped. "Yeah, everyone keeps telling me that."

*****

March 2, 1998
Mercy Hospital

Through the night, Sam stayed by his bedside. She couldn't bring herself to leave. John needed her, and she refused to let anything else happen to him. During the night, she began to question exactly what her feelings for him were. The terror that had filled her heart when she read the letter, and the ache that filled it now radiated with a strength beyond friendship.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "I think I love you, John. You have to wake up," came her silent plea.

John finally woke up the next day. He looked around his location as best he could without moving his head. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the couch wishing his headache would go away. The first thing he had noticed when he woke up was that his headache was still there.

Then the memories hit him like a brick wall. He gasped as all of a sudden he was assaulted by the memories of what that guy had done to him. He had been wearing a ski mask, but he could guess it was Jack. In an instant he recalled after Jack had hit him over the head, he was awoken by the pain. He was cutting him with a switchblade. He refused to scream or give Jack any kick of any kind that he could help. Mercifully, in the end the pain had been too great and he had passed out.

Sam had been sleeping lightly in a chair close to his bed, but was startled awake when she heard his frightened gasp.

"John?" Her eyes searched his, but his gaze was focused inward on the memories he was reliving. Mirroring his panic, the heart monitor was beeping fast. Too fast. She realized she needed to reach him soon, to let him know he was safe. "John! Come on, look at me. You're okay, now. You're okay."

Slowly his eyes again brought the world into focus and he saw an anxious Sam leaning over him. "Sam?" He questioned.

"Yeah," she replied with the first hint of a smile on her face since she had read Jack's letter.

*****

March 5, 1998

John handled the situation fairly well, overall. Sam was relieved that when they removed the bandages from his face, you couldn't see any scars. The doctor and her team had done an incredible job. He was allowed to move back to his apartment a day later. Sam had supervised the move, hardly letting him out of her sight the entire time.

Bailey made a mental note to speak with Sam about the extent to which she was taking her obligation to John. It wasn't right how she had put her life on hold because she felt guilty. He didn't realize that her guilt, though it was there, was magnified by the feelings she'd just begun to identify. Love can be a powerful motivator. She just wanted to keep him safe. However, she knew that the last thing that would keep John safe was for them to get involved. She just had to keep her feelings a secret for his sake.

*****

March 8, 1998
John's Apartment

"Sam, go home." It was the third time John had said the same sentence in the past hour. "Go home to Chloe. She needs you more than I do, I'm sure."

"Don't tell me what to do, John Grant." Her eyes seemed to glow with determination.

"I'm not. Sam, what happened wasn't your fault. You can't control Jack, you had no idea that he would get it in his head that he was protecting you." He was sitting on the couch, but his posture screamed stubbornness. "But this guilt repayment has gone far enough."

Somehow she managed to look hurt and angry at the same time. "Is that what you think this is?" Her words were clipped and precise.

"That's all it can be, right? It's not as if you have feelings for me outside of the casual friendship ones. And those don't entail this much work."

She had decided before to keep her feelings for him hidden, to save him from Jack's wrath. He had already suffered enough at Jack's hand. However, his causal dismissal of her efforts to help him led her to talk before she had completely thought things through. "I love you, John. Is it so hard to believe that I could have feelings for you?" Her words were soft, and John thought he might have somehow misunderstood.

Still, his face wore a mask of complete shock. How long had he waited to hear the words she had just whispered? He didn't know when he had fallen in love with her, but he had believed that she would never love him in return. "You love me?" Disbelief flashed in his blue eyes. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hear you say that?" Her look was one of curiosity until he finished. "Sam, I think I fell in love with you the first time I ever saw you."

Her eyes began to tear up when she said, "we can't. We can't be together. What if Jack finds out?" She was shaking her head and pacing in the living room.

John stood and walked over to where she was pacing. "Stop that or I'll have to replace the carpet," he joked. "What can he do, I mean, worse than he's already done? I love you, Sam. I'm not going to let him stand in the way of that. I mean, if that's what you want." He searched her eyes, and saw her resolve building.

She blinked, he was willing to risk everything for her. It took a moment for that to sink in. She raised her hand to cup his cheek. "I do love you, John. Do you forgive me for doubting?"

Smiling he said, "forgive you? You were thinking of me. Now, what's a fella gotta do to get a kiss around here?" His grin grew with his lame joke and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Just ask?" She replied, her smile matching his own. Her hand still on his cheek, he pulled her toward him. It was a kiss so passionate that Sam thought she might pass out.

"I'm just happy that you're safe," she whispered into his chest as he held her.

"What did I do to deserve you?" He smiled softly. He couldn't quite describe how he felt other than complete. He finally felt like the empty place in his heart might finally be filled.

fin