Notes: This might not be everyone's cup of tea *l* I think it's pretty angsty, so if you're looking for humor and lighthearted you might want to turn tail and run ;-) Possibly not for the faint of heart, although no violence or anything of the sort.

Disclaimer: The players aren't mine. Just the playground.

Part One

I never expected to see Atlanta again. When Chloe and I left, it was supposed to be for good. I wasn't supposed to go back. Yet here I am sitting in the airport, ticket for Hartsfield in hand.

I wasn't meant to go back. But he wasn't supposed to get sick.

Countless denials come to mind, but it all comes back to the same thing. He can't be sick. My mind won't wrap itself around the concept of him . . . dying. He was my rock, during some of the lowest points in my life he never left my side. He listened when I needed to vent, even held me when I needed to cry.

Surrounded by strangers in the airport, tears fill my eyes. He can't die.

I clutch my plane ticket in my hand, closing my eyes as I feel the now-familiar knot in my stomach tighten. As I wait for the boarding call for my flight, I can't help but pray that I make it back in time. I have far too many things to regret already, to make such a horrible addition to that list.

A million little things play across my mind in the moment my eyes are closed before the harsh voice announces my flight. Lastly, and most cruel, is the thought that I left without saying goodbye. I owed him that much.

When I left, I wasn't really thinking. Caught up in the moment, I ran with what felt like the best idea. I convinced myself that I might not see him, but that he would always be there. Ever dependable. It was faulty logic to be sure. I know that now with more certainty than I'd like.

***

I press back in my seat as the plane lifts off the ground, and find myself wishing for the open spaces of the terminal that allowed me to pace. Not being able to move just leaves me with more time to think.

I've never been fond of flying, and it was John who would distract me during take off and landing after the VCTF first had the Leer jet. There's no one to distract me now. There hasn't been for a long time.

Somehow, thinking of the VCTF leads me to remember not any of the cases we solved, or the times we had together. Rather, it's Bailey's phone call that is foremost in my mind. He's known how to reach Chloe and I for years now, more a matter of making him feel better than anything. Yet he's never resorted to using it until yesterday.

Chloe was out with friends, and I had just gotten home when the phone rang. It's been so long since the mere sound of a telephone ring could give me pause. But since Bailey called, I've jumped every time one has rang.

I was so surprised to hear his voice. I smiled as I said hello, that it had been too long since we'd spoken. Even if in truth, the distance was of my own choosing.

Then he spoke the words that caused my stomach to sink suddenly. "John's sick, Sam."

"How bad is it?" I managed to ask, my mind working fast to convince me that it was nothing serious. Never mind the fact that I knew Bailey wouldn't call otherwise.

"Will he be sick long?" Even now, a day later, I have no idea what that question was supposed to mean.

"Sammy . . ." I could hear Bailey taking a deep breath. There was more, and I could tell he didn't want to share what he knew. "He's not going to get better, Sam."

I almost dropped the phone. I misunderstood, it was the only possible explanation. My heart was screaming that I must have misunderstood what Bailey had said.

"Sam?" I barely heard Bailey call my name over the dull roar in my ears. "Sammy, are you still with me?"

"Yeah, Bailey. I'm here." I swallowed so loudly that he surely heard me. I leaned against the wall, pressing the phone against my chest while I tried to force myself to breathe. I had my eyes closed when I raised the phone back to my ear. "What's happened?"

For as much as the beginning of Bailey's call is burned in my memory, the rest is glazed over. I can remember holding onto the phone as if it might flee, my knuckles turning white under the pressure.

I remember thanking Bailey for the phone call, and saying goodbye. Then I gently hung up the phone. My resolve gave way; my shoulders started to shake and I slowly slid down the wall. My forehead pressed to my knees, I wrapped my arms around my knees and cried.

I was still sitting there a few minutes later when Chloe got home. She only had to look at me to know something unexpected had happened. "Mom?" she asked, sitting next to me on the floor of the kitchen. I remember smiling softly when she brushed my hair from my face. My little girl truly is growing into a wonderful young woman.

I knew that Chloe adored John when we lived in Atlanta. After we first moved away, she often asked about him, but after a while she stopped. I was never able to tell if it was from the fading connection she felt to him, or a desire to not remind me about what we had left behind.

Before I told her Bailey's news, we moved onto the couch in the living room. My control didn't waver as I told Chloe about John, even when I held her as she cried softly. It was as if something inside me burned out. So much had been lost. Not the least of which was time.

***

Walking through the double doors at the hospital, I shiver as the last blast of cold air rips inside with me. The lobby is silent, the sounds of my footsteps echoing off the red bricked walls. I easily find the main desk, and while I'm still a few steps away I pause.

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until I feel a hand on my arm, and all the air in my chest rushes out. Startled, I turn.

"Nathan," I hear myself say, conscious only of the warm hug I suddenly find myself drawn into. I rest my head on his shoulder, only for a moment, until I'm fairly sure I won't suddenly lose what composure I've managed to maintain.

"Welcome back, Sam," he says, pulling away. I try to smile, but fail miserably. To my surprise, Nathan nods. "I know."

"How is he?" My voice is so rough I almost don't recognize it.

His hand on my elbow, Nathan guides me toward a lobby filled with overstuffed couches. My eyes don't leave his face as we sit. For a moment, he runs his hands over his head as if he's contemplating what he should say.

I need to break the silence that hangs around us. "Nathan . . ."

I'm shocked by the tear-filled eyes that look up to meet my gaze. "He's slipping away, Sam. We're losing him by inches."

I had thought I'd cried myself out on the plane here. With tears brimming my eyes, I find yet another assumption easily proven wrong. I nod, opening my mouth to reply, but closing it without having spoken. I have to look away from his piercing brown eyes, they've seen too much to face all at once.

I barely notice the single tear that finally slips from my eyes as I find my voice. "How long?" I can't even say what exactly I'm asking. How long has he been sick? How long does he have left?

It's as if Nathan understands my question. "It's been a long road, but it's almost over."

Another tear escapes down my cheek, and another. Denials scream in my chest, and I'm surprised to feel myself shaking. I try to take a breath, but I only manage a gasping sob. Suddenly I have to know. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

The expression in Nathan's eyes seems to be fighting itself before he answers. "A million little reasons, Sam. And one big one."

I can't help but be confused by his answer. "What does that mean, Nathan?"

He sighs, and again forces me to wait. "Sam, it's not my place to say."

"But you know?" He does, I can see it on his face.

He nods. "In part, I don't think he wanted to bother you." I must have looked as startled as I felt, because he held up a hand to continue. "You left, Sam. And you as well as any of us know how proud he is. Proud for John Grant is amazingly stubborn for anyone else."

"He wouldn't call, even if he knew how."

I always knew that part of him well. Never was a quality simultaneously so endearing yet endlessly frustrating. But I knew well it was how he chose to cope with the horrors of the world.

"Exactly."

I blink back the tears, willing the rest not to fall. "Why now? If not then, why now?"

Nathan's face falls and I know the answer. No matter how badly I don't want to hear, the words come anyway. "Because he knows it's close now. He won't admit it, but he knows."

"It's goodbye." As I speak, it's like the room tilts beneath us, and I fight the urge to reach out and hold onto the couch arm.

He nods, and I can see there is something else he wants to say. "Nathan?"

"Just tell him goodbye, Sam. Give him the closure you denied him before."

The words hit too close to home, and before I realize what I'm doing, I'm speaking. "I was running away, you know." I can't meet his eyes, and I look everywhere else to avoid them.

"Sam, you don't have to . . ." He stops when I hold up my hand.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and continue. "I thought I wanted a life away from Atlanta, away from the memories and the horrible crimes. And I did, but I was running from something else just as much. I was running from someone."

I swallow nervously and meet Nathan's eyes. "I was scared, and I ran."

"Scared of what?" he asks, reaching over to rest a hand on my shoulder.

"Of who." I whisper, playing absentmindedly with one of the buttons on my coat. I see him lean forward to catch the words. "So many things had changed, yet in some ways nothing had. I didn't even realize why it was that I ran, until much later."

When Nathan nods, I know he realizes what I mean. "Until Bailey called."

Suddenly I want to hide again. I want to run and never look back. Yet when I've tried that in the past it only made things worse. I manage to nod, ignoring the steady flow of tears on my face.

I'm still shaking when Nathan moves to sit next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "I may have gone on without him in my life."

I try to take a deep breath, but end up stuttering instead. "But he's still supposed to be out there, somewhere." I wave my hand slightly to emphasis the words. "Stubborn and determined John Grant."

"I know." Nathan's comment confuses me. Then I remember he left as well, only to return when the unthinkable happened.

"I don't know how to live in a world that he's not in." The admission is simple, even if it took me years to realize. "In my life, love has always meant pain and death. I ran rather than face the possibility that I might love again . . . Might lose again. That someone might love me."

When Nathan opens his mouth to reply, I shake my head and he stays silent. "Tell me he doesn't love me, Nathan." I know I'm practically begging but I can't make myself care. "I have to know that my cowardice didn't cost us both."

Nathan shakes his head, and when he lowers his eyes I know I've been a fool. "I'm sorry."

In an instant I knew the pain of my heart shattering for a second time in my life. When I start to cry harder, I feel Nathan's arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I can't stop shaking, and I manage a strangle-hold around his neck.

Sometime later I hear him making shushing noises, and I can't help but look skyward. "Oh my God, Nathan. What have I done?"

"He never wanted to hurt you," Nathan says after I pull out of the awkward embrace.

"No," I reply bitterly. I angrily wipe the tears from my cheeks. "I've done enough of that for both of us."

***

We walk without speaking down the near-empty hallways. I glance over at Nathan, needing some reassurance against the oppressive silence. I can see that he tries to smile, but even as the edges of his lips turn up, the emotion remains missing from his eyes.

I reach out and squeeze his hand. For all the shock of being here, I know that everyone involved is suffering. No more so than John, but not just me either.

A measure of relief washes over me when Nathan squeezes my hand in return. Some small part of me had worried he might blame me. For running away, for not knowing, for taking things for granted. Maybe I just blamed myself.

I'm broken from my thoughts when we approach a door marked number 407. I glance back at Nathan before reading the small handwritten label below the number. I see John's name written there, and realize there really is no going back.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I'm about to push the door open when Nathan speaks in a rough whisper. "I'll be in the lounge down the hall getting some coffee."

I nod, grateful for the chance to be alone with him, even if just for a little while. "Thank you."

For a moment I watch as he walks down the corridor, head bowed with his hands in his pockets. Forcing myself to move, I push the door open and slip quietly inside.

When I finally see John for the first time after so long, he's sleeping. The harsh flourescent lights flicker overhead, humming softly and accenting the low beeping of the machines. After several moments, I'm still standing just inside the door; I can't move. Instead, for the time being, I'm contented to simply look at him from a distance.

I can't help but think that he looks like a child, sleep providing an air of innocence he always hid in the daylight. The illness has been rough, it appears. As I walk closer to him, I can see his often tan skin is pale even against the bleached white sheets. His cheeks are hollow, and dark smudges lie below his brilliant blue eyes.

Once I start moving, it is as if I cannot stop. I'm drawn toward the bed, only pausing when I am standing directly next to it. Of its own volition my hand reaches out, and I carefully take John's larger hand in my own.

Some things never change, I note with a sad smile. Unruly curls stick out in all directions on John's head. I once found him carefully fixing his hair while we were on a case. At the time he had been in desperate need of a haircut, and no matter what he did short of gluing the curls down had helped. Hesitantly, I reach over and brush a curl off of his forehead with my fingertips.

I smile as the hair falls back onto his forehead, yet I sniff softly. I had forced myself to grab hold of my emotions and stop crying before Nathan led me to John's room and I refuse to let go of that control now.

Dropping my hand, I fight the urge to cup his cheek in my hand, but fail miserably. The tears again fill my eyes when he stirs, leaning into the touch. When I find myself staring into familiar blue eyes for the first time in so many years, my heart tightens.

"Hi, stranger." My voice, although barely above a whisper, seems to echo harshly in the room.

I manage to battle down the fear in my heart when he simply looks at me. I can see the confusion in his eyes, followed by the faintest flicker of hurt before he blinks and it's gone. I always could get inside the mask when it came to John Grant. Even sometimes when he had wanted me anywhere but.

I force a smile on my face. Although my heart breaks a little more with each empty moment, I'm content to look into eyes I only now realize how much I've missed.

"John . . ." I don't know what I mean to say, only that the silence is worse than any recrimination he might throw at me. I stop, there's nothing I can say that won't sound trite, or that will make any difference.

The hand I'm holding in mine tightens just a bit. "Sam." When he's quiet again, I imagine any number of things he might say. There are so many of them that I never want to have to hear, no matter how I might deserve them.

"I'm sorry."

Again I can't move. I wasn't prepared for those words above all else. I keep breathing, by some miracle, but blink hard against the surge of moisture in my eyes.

Before I realize it, my head is shaking, more of a rough jerking from side to side. "No." I bite the word out, my shock apparently numbing my brain. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head more gently this time. I move to clasp his hand between both of mine. "What have you possibly done for me to forgive?"

I know that he hasn't missed a thing while I've been warring against my own emotions, I can see it on his face. The drugs might numb the pain, but they've done nothing to the spark in his eyes. He licks his lips, before speaking slowly. "For bringing you here."

He almost smiles, and again I'm blinking against tears that won't leave. "No." This time I whisper, smile a ghost of a smile, and drop my gaze to focus on our hands. "If for anything, only for not calling me sooner."

When I look back up at his face, I see he's looking at our hands. I feel his thumb rubbing across the back of my hand. "You had your new life. I didn't want to bother you." I can tell the admission hurts him, he won't meet my eyes. "Bailey said that . . ." I watch as he take a breath, wincing slightly. "Bailey said that you and Chloe were happy there."

"We were, but . . ."

He doesn't let me finish. "That was important to me. The two of you deserved it." The small smile on his face is hard to see, and I am flooded with the feeling that I don't deserve any favor from this man. Especially one so great.

This time the tears will not be blinked away. "But what about you? What did you deserve?" The John I grew to cherish as a friend would have likely never thought of that. The selflessness hidden beneath the bravado has always been at the core of who he is.

He pulls his hand away from mine. My face falls, my gaze dropping to the sterile sheets. My breath catches when I feel the backs of shaking fingers brushing my tears away. Looking up I see the first true hint of sadness on his face. "I don't deserve to make you cry."

The words are so simply spoken that they take a moment to sink in and finally settle on my heart. There's self-recrimination in his voice, and I cringe at the sound. "You're worth so much more than tears."

I can tell that he's growing tired, so when he opens his mouth to reply, I gently place a finger over his lips. When I know he isn't going to speak, I try to smile. "You should rest. Nathan would kick me if I wore you out."

"Sam . . ."

I can see the plea in his eyes, and am humbled by it. "We'll talk, John, but you need to rest." He tries to argue, but can't fight both me and the drugs being released into his system by the machines. Instead he nods, his eyes dropping closed gradually.

As he falls asleep, I again take his hand in my own. Once I can see that he is truly asleep the few tears that had escaped down my cheeks are followed by a steady stream of others. Still clutching his hand, I lean forward and press a kiss against his forehead.

I sit back, seeing that several of my tears have fallen onto John's cheeks. My hand is shaking as I carefully wipe them away. My tears aren't what he needs. He needs all the love that I can stand to give. Maybe even as much as I need to give it to him.

*** While he sleeps, I sit in a chair next to the bed. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, doing my best to ignore the steady beeping of the machines. It's late in the day, and I can see the brilliant colors of the sunset peeking around the edges of the blinds on the window when Nathan comes back into the room.

"Hey, Sam."

I sit up straighter, and twist my head to stretch the tight muscles in my neck. He gestures toward John with a tilt of his head, but his eyes have been on his friend since he walked inside. "How's he doing?"

"The same . . ." With a glance at John, I add, "I guess."

Nathan nods as if he understands, and finally turns to look at me. "I'm going to my hotel, get cleaned up, get some sleep and everything. Anything you need? Anything I can bring you?"

I shake my head, and try to smile my gratitude. "No thanks."

"You should consider getting some sleep," he says, after a few moments of silence. "You had a long flight and if my guess is right, you came straight here."

For the first time since Bailey's phone call, I truly smile. "Your guess is as good as always, Detective Brubaker, but I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

He smiles, and I can see him relax just a bit. "I expected as much." He stops speaking, but I can tell by the look on his face that there is more. Before I can ask, he relents and tells me. "Bailey will be by later tonight. To check up on things here."

I nod. In a way I'm looking forward to seeing him. It's the circumstances of my newfound reunion that I hate.

I can tell that Nathan is just about to leave when a thought occurs to me. I'm hesitant to speak, and consider my options for a moment. I stand, drawn to the window on the far wall. With my back to both Nathan and John I finally find my voice.

"Since I've been here, you're the only one I've seen. Does he not have any other visitors?" Finding my courage, I turn and meet Nathan's gaze. "Where are his friends? Co-workers? Why is no one here?"

By the time I finish speaking, Nathan can tell I am upset, and getting more upset by the second. When he pulls me into a hug, I don't resist. Instead I press my face into his chest and feel guilty for wishing against everything that it was someone else's chest on whom I was leaning.

"Or are they all like me?" For a moment I'm unsure if I spoke the words aloud or not.

When Nathan holds me tighter, I know he heard me. "There's no one quite like you. I used to doubt anyone could match up to John the way you always have." After a moment's pause, he pulls back just enough so that he can see my face. "And you're here. Yesterday, the day before, they don't matter."

I shake my head. "Yes they do." I risk a quick glance over where John is sleeping and close my eyes against more tears. "He's been sick for a while, stranded in the hospital. The John Grant I know would have been climbing the walls." I look into Nathan's eyes. "That alone tells me how miserable he must be."

My voice breaks, and I swallow nervously. "He's suffering. Please tell me he hasn't been suffering alone."

"He hasn't been. I've been here, Bailey . . ."

"What about Grace, or George?"

I open my eyes in time to see Nathan blink slowly. "Things have changed, Sam."

In my heart I cannot believe that things could have changed that much. But I speak before I might change my mind, or regret it. "Tell me." When he looks hesitant, I add, "Please?"

He nods, and tugs on my hand. "Let's go out into the waiting room. It was empty when I was there just now."

"Okay."

All the while I'm agreeing, my eyes are on John. I don't want to leave the room. Irrational fear grips me that if I et him go again so soon, I'll lose him forever. Part of my brain says that he hasn't disappeared before now, even with my absence. The other just wants to hold on now that I am here and never let go. He can't leave if I won't let go.

After my internal debate, I look from John back to Nathan. I can read the concern in his dark eyes and I nod. "Let's go."

Neither of us speak while we are walking to the small sitting area. Once there I sit on one of the couches, but Nathan stands next to a long window. I'm about to say something when he breaks the silence.

"The VCTF isn't the same team that you remember it as, Sam." He turns, and sits next to me. "I know I left before you, but John and I have been pretty good about keeping in touch during that time. He told me when things happened. When you left for example."

I can't think of anything to say, so I merely nod. Nathan pauses, as if concerned he might upset me by mentioning my departure. It isn't leaving that I regret. What I regret is hiding not staying away so completely for so long.

"He told me about the new profiler. I think he knew her from the Academy, but he never actually said all that much about her." He doesn't pace, but I can see the restless energy that almost radiates off of him.

"It wasn't long after she arrived that Grace and Morgan separated, and Grace found out she was pregnant."

I can't help it, I gasp at the idea that those things could have happened without my knowing. I'm suddenly faced with the question of what I was thinking would happen after we left Atlanta. Life for them wouldn't stop simply because I wasn't apart of it.

"And?"

Nathan smiles, and I feel relieved even without hearing the words. "A baby girl, Elyzabe Lynne. They even sent me a picture."

"Elyzabe?" I know the look on my face must be humorous. I have to give Grace credit for picking a name I've never heard of before.

"I think Jason helped." For a moment Nathan smiles as he speaks, but it fades quickly.

I knew going in that not all of the changes were for the best. I had simply allowed myself to focus on a happier moment and push away any to come. "What happened?"

He shakes his head, and stares at his hands for a moment. "Morgan and Grace apparently tried to work out their problems, but they couldn't. I'm not sure where he's at anymore. I don't think Grace told anyone. She transferred to another position that would allow her more time with the kids."

"Where is she now?" I feel alive for a moment, like I'm back in investigator mode. It seems to be the easiest way to cope for the time being.

"D.C., actually. She's been to see John a few times, but can't easily get away from the city so it hasn't been very often."

The strain of the entire situation shows on Nathan, and I am about to ask him to stop when I think of something else to ask. "How long have you been back in Atlanta?"

He looks startled at the question, his gaze jumping quickly to meet mine. "Since just before he was admitted into the hospital for the last time."

"And before that?"

"I was here off and on, as much as I could be. Right now I'm on a temporary leave from work in Denver."

Suddenly I'm struck by the depth of friendship between these two men. "You've dropped everything."

"He needed someone to be here. I had the time and I took it." He looks around for a moment, as if he's stalling for time or contemplating something else to say.

In the end, he shrugs. "He's my best friend, Sam. He's the closest thing to a brother I've ever known." He looks in my eyes and it's as if he's imploring me to understand. "He was there for me when I got my divorce, and any number of other things anywhere from stupid to life-threatening."

I nod, awed by the devotion shown between these two. In the past, neither was ever demonstrative in any way. I almost smile, realizing their male logic of how that would appear weak. Yet they would both walk through hell for the other. And they had.

"What about George?" I ask after a minute or two. "He and John were close before."

"George comes by. Not every day, but often." Nathan pauses. "I think it bothers him to see John so sick, he doesn't know how to react to it. He's been a good friend, though."

The admission is far better than I was beginning to worry it might be, and I let out a long breath. "Anyone else?" Even as I ask the question, I know I don't really want to hear the answer.

Nathan shakes his head. "Not really. He doesn't have any family. Well, none to speak of."

We both know he's referring to John's father. I doubt the man will even note the loss of his son, other than to mark one more name off the list of witnesses for the prosecution.

"It's not what you think, Sam." Nathan's comment surprises me, and it must show on my face. A near-triumphant smile breaks on his features. "He got him. Finally."

Realization dawns. My shock fades and a small smile forms. "O'Doyle's in jail. I can't believe it."

Although his smile fades, the pride is still in Nathan's eyes. "He put him away." The smile disappears entirely a moment later. "After he got sick, he was determined to do it. And when they realized it was terminal . . ."

He pauses, choking on the last word as if it were bitter on his tongue. "Stubborn John Grant kicked into high gear," I finished for him.

The ghost of a smile was back. "Boy did he ever." Nathan had a far away look in his eyes when he added, "You would have been proud of him, Sam."

The thought that I should have been here to help him crosses my mind. "I am proud of him." I take a deep breath and let it go. I may have been slow to admit many of my feelings where John was concerned, but that hadn't been one of them for a long time.

Tears prickle at the backs of my eyes. "I always was."

***

When John wakes up, I'm again sitting in the chair beside his bed. My lethargy disappears while I watch him slowly awaken. Small movements in his hands, his eye lids twitching slightly. Before I know it, I'm staring into blue eyes so deep you could drown in them.

I can see the fog lifting from his eyes as he slowly becomes more alert. After a few moments, I smile. "Hello again."

He tries to talk, but only manages a rough rasping sound. There's a pitcher of water and several glasses on the table next to the bed, and a second later I'm helping him to drink some of it. Once he's done, I place it back on the table. "Better?"

He nods, swallowing thickly. "You're still here."

I blink, left to wonder where else I might be. I close my eyes against the memory of him going through this almost alone for so long. "Of course I am."

"You should be with Chloe." He shakes his head and I recognize the defiant look on his face all too well.

I smile, and resist the urge to smooth his hair. "She's fine. She's not the little girl you remember anymore."

I say the words lightly, and intend them as such. However, I realize my mistake when I see the slightest twinge of pain in his eyes. Yet less than a heartbeat later, the emotion is gone, filed away behind the walls. "I'm sure she's as beautiful as her mother."

I can't help but smile at the faded blush that rises on his cheeks. "She's something else."

"Tell her I said hi?"

My smile vanishes when the reality of that statement sinks in. It's doubtful he will ever have the chance to see her again himself. I blink away the moisture in my eyes. "I'll be sure to tell her the next time I talk to her." I make a mental note to call her as soon as I get to my hotel.

An uneasy silence falls between us, neither of us sure what to say. Screwing up my courage, I finally end it.

"I was wrong, you know."

He doesn't even try to hide his confusion at my sudden admission. Not so sudden, though. I've been thinking about it ever since Bailey called. I weigh my need to confess, with what might be best for him. In the end, honesty wins.

"I shouldn't have left."

John shakes his head. "You did what was best for both you and Chloe. No one faults you for that."

I can't seem to breathe, and I stare at the wall for a long moment. "I do."

"Sam . . ."

Remembering that it worked before, I place a single finger over his lips. He must see something in my face, because when I say "Please. I need you to know this," he nods.

"I was wrong to run away. Because what I ran from was what I needed most." This time, when I long to reach out and brush away the fallen lock of hair, I don't stop myself. "I was too blind to realize what I was throwing away. And too proud to admit I was wrong."

His eyes are searching mine, trying to find some answer to my puzzle. I won't break his gaze, even to blink, and the ever-present moisture in my eyes slips over tear by tear. "For all the aches of my heart, the emptiness inside." I take a deep breath, trying to focus. "You were the only piece that fit. And I ran away."

I feel numb, even more so at seeing the shocked expression on his tired face. I can see the calculations and probabilities running through his mind, they shine in his eyes.

"What did Nate tell you?" There's the slightest hint of hurt in his voice. My heart breaks that he might think I only said those things to humor him or out of some twisted form of pity.

I shake my head, more tears falling onto my cheeks and down to my hands. "Only that my fears have cost us both too much possibility."

He closes his eyes, and for a moment I swear my heart doesn't beat. "Sam . . ." I can hear the pain in his voice, like he isn't sure what to think, or who to believe.

"I'm sorry." I whisper the words, my mouth is suddenly dry.

John tilts his head to the side just a bit. "For what exactly?"

"Anything. Everything." I have to admit, it I owe him more than an all purpose apology. "For leaving, for not saying goodbye. For not coming back." My voice breaks. "For loving you and never admitting it. For the possibility you loved me and never acknowledging it."

While I speak, he slowly sits up on the bed. I can see the toll the effort takes and I move closer instinctively. He pats the bed next to him, and invitation to sit. I fight for an instant, before taking the seat.

I search his eyes for answers. I don't expect forgiveness, or even acceptance. When he reaches up and brushes some of my hair behind my ear, I lean into the touch. I close my eyes when I feel the warmth of his hand on my cheek for the first time in far too long.

"How could you love someone like me?" His question makes me open my eyes, shocked. How could he even ask such a thing. Before I can reply, he shakes his head. "How is it you haven't found a respectable man and settled down by now?"

The corners of my lips turn up just slightly. "Because he was a few thousand miles away." I can't stop the sigh that escapes me when he moves his hand. "And I was worried he might hate me."

Within a moment, the hand on my cheek is back, his thumb rubbing circles just below my eye. "I could never hate you."

"I should have been here. Not just now, not just since you've been sick." I'm shaking and I can't help it, I think I've discovered an emotional over load. "I should have been here all along."

He smiles, the faintest ghost of a smile. "I'm just happy to see you again."

He's tired, the strain of sitting up is too much. We seem to communicate without words, and a few moments later, he's again laying on the bed. After a looking for a bit, I find and figure out the controls to the bed, and tilt it up so that he is almost sitting up, but not quite.

"Better?" I again sit next to him on the bed. I need to be as close to him as possible.

He nods, his eyes searching all over my face. "What? Do I have something in my teeth? On my face?"

I smile as the words have the effect I was hoping for. There's laughter in his eyes, even if he doesn't have the breath anymore to laugh out right. "Nope. You're perfect."

"I see you still have exceptional eyesight." I wink and he grins. I feel light-headed at the sight, and laugh.

I sigh, my laughter ending, but my smile not quite fading away. "I've missed you." I know my smile has turned wistful, matching the one on John's face. "I've missed us."

"So have I," he replies with a nod.

For a few minutes, we sit in silence, simply being together. It's finally broken when John speaks. "You look tired."

I shake my head. "I'm fine." I resolutely ignore the yawns I've been hiding since before he woke. "I was an incurable insomniac, remember?"

"Very well. I remember a lot of things about you." He looks at me closely. "Like what you look like when you've been running for two days straight and need rest."

Stubborn. Like I ever needed the reminder. I start to shake my head, but he stills the motion by putting his hand on my cheek. "Go get some sleep, Sam. I'll still be here tomorrow." Forced to make eye contact, he grins. "Or you can explain to the nurses why you're asleep either on the floor or in the bed."

I hear the machine that dispenses the pain killers kick in, and know that even if I do leave, he won't be awake much longer either way. "I'll stay till you fall back asleep." I take his hand in my own and I decide to do what I often did in the past. Negotiate. "Then I'll go to my hotel. Bailey should be here soon. I'll get some sleep and be back in the morning."

He opens his mouth to protest. "I don't need a constant babysitter." The words aren't a whine or a complaint. The spark in his eyes is back. It's a familiar game we're playing.

I smile and place my hand on his cheek in a mirror of his action before. "I'll see you in the morning?"

He surprises me when he nods, turning his head just enough to kiss the inside of my hand softly. I inhale quickly, touched by the small gesture.

"I'll be here." I can tell he intends it to be a joke, but it ends up being a light whisper.

I smile, brushing my hand across his hair. "Then here is where I'll be, first thing tomorrow."

He takes my hand and squeezes it. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, John."

Letting go of his hand is one of the hardest things I have done, at least since leaving the room to speak with Nathan. I pull on my coat and pick up my purse, pulling the strap over my shoulder. Using the controls, I lower his bed some so he can sleep.

Sitting back in my chair, I hold his hand. I wait until I'm sure he's asleep, and then all but walk out of the room backwards, my eyes not leaving him until the door closed between us.

"How is he?"

The voice from behind me causes me to jump. I turn, and can't help but smile at Bailey. "He's holding on."

In an instant, I'm being pulled into a warm hug. Easily understanding what he meant, I hug him in return. "I've missed you, too."

When he pulls away, I can see him making sure I am still in one piece. I guess checking to see if I was still his Sam. "It's so good to see you," he finally says.

"It should have been a lot sooner," I reply, the words forming around a yawn.

He smiles. "Would you like me to drive you to your hotel?"

"No, I've got a car." I glance back at the door to John's room and think of the man, laying alone inside it. "You're needed more here."

Bailey nodded, but still persisted. "I'm not sure he'd forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

"I'm not sure I could stand for anything more to happen to him." I turn and look at Bailey. "And that includes John waking up alone any more than he has to. Please, Bailey."

He meets my gaze, and I can see the compassion for his friend underneath the gruff exterior. "I'll be here, Sammy. I've got your cell phone number, if . . ." I can see he doesn't want to finish that sentence, and I'm not surprised when he doesn't. "You go get some sleep."

After another quick hug, Bailey ducks into John's room and I leave the hospital in search of my hotel.

***

The sun is just brightening the sky when I get into my car to return to the hospital. I have to admit, a few hours sleep was better than none. I was tired enough to not dream. Just as well, dreaming was the last thing I wanted to do.

Once at the hospital, the closer I am to John's room, the faster I want to walk. I'm not quite to his room when I see Nathan standing at the nurse's station down the hall. A spike of worry tears through my heart, and I hurry to see what, if anything, is happening.

Nathan must see me out of the corner of his eye, because he turns as I approach. I search his face, needing to know something, anything; but it shows little but weariness and fatigue.

A few steps later and I'm standing beside him. "What's wrong?" I can't help being blunt, I have to know.

He sighs. "It's been a long night."

I'm confused, and I know it shows. I need straight answers, only there aren't any. "How is he?"

"Holding on." Nathan's voice catches in his throat. There are a hundred emotions layered in those two words. My brain tries to think of something to say, but comes up empty. I nod, processing the information.

I look between Nathan and the duty nurse. "Can I see him?"

When the nurse nods, Nathan puts his hand on my arm and leads me away from the desk. He wants to talk, I can tell, so I don't say anything until we stop.

We're standing next to John's room when he let's go of my arm. Dropping his hands into his pockets, he takes a deep breath. "It's not going to be much longer, Sam."

Denial is first in my mind. "He was fine last night. Maybe not fine, but not . . ." I stop, swallowing audibly. I look everywhere but at the sadness on Nathan's face. I ignore the tears in my eyes. After two days of constant tears, it isn't a challenge anymore.

Nathan bites his lip and I suddenly realize that his hold on his own emotions is a tenuous one, as well. "Is there nothing they can do?" My voice is low, my heart reaching for answers that aren't there.

"They've tried everything you can imagine, Sam." He pauses, meeting my eyes. "We've known time was short for a little while now." 'So did you.' I can almost hear the words on the end of his statement.

I sniff, shaking my head in refusal. "I can't lose him yet."

"Do you think any of us feel differently?"

He's right. I understand that, and I shake my head slowly in response. "I know you don't." I look in Nathan's eyes, hazy through the tears in my own. "I just don't want to let go of what I've just found."

"I know." He hugs me briefly. "I don't want to let go of the best friend I've ever had, that I kept at arms length for too many years."

I want to smile, for him if nothing else, but I can't. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"That we are." There's a light in Nathan's eyes, but not quite humor. "But we're finally both exactly where we should be."

I laugh humorlessly, I can't help it. "Hell of a reason for a reunion."

Nathan doesn't reply. Instead he motions toward the door with a tilt of his head. "Go on inside. I need to finish talking to the nurse and meet with the doctor."

"Okay."

As he walks away, I watch for a moment before entering the silent room. After closing the door behind me, I pull off my coat and drape it across an empty chair. All the while, my gaze is fixed on John.

He seems so much like yesterday, it's hard to imagine there being truth behind Nathan's words. I pull my chair over next to the bed, and without a thought I place John's hand in my own.

Leaning forward, I kiss the fingers I hold between mine. When I look back up, John's awake and smiling at me faintly. "Hi." The word is rough, more a rush of air than true sound.

I help him to drink some water and then I lean on the edge of the bed, watching to be sure I'm not causing more pain. I rub the back of his hand with my thumbs, and try to smile. "Good morning."

He takes a shaky breath, quickly followed by another. At the same time, he's looking at me critically. "Did you get any sleep at all?" The smallest hint of humor is in his eyes.

I nod. "I went to bed just like I was told." I wink saying the words, and am rewarded with a smile. "How about you?" I speak softly, reaching up to touch his face. "Did you rest well?"

"Like usual." The simple words are managed around noticeable breaths. I can't help but wonder what usual might be.

When he gasps sharply, I wince. "What's wrong?" I ask quickly, near-fear filling my voice.

He shakes his head, but his eyes are tightly closed. After several long breaths, but before I can run to find a nurse, he opens his eyes. "It always passes."

"That's happened before?" I can't breathe. I can't blink. The pain in his eyes is unmistakable, even with the drugs they're giving him. His forehead is covered in sweat from the exertion of simply bearing out the pain. I let go of his hand, and go into the bathroom to find a washcloth.

When I return, he tries to smile. "Thank you." His voice rasps when he speaks when I lay the cool cloth on his head.

"You're welcome." I say the words more out of habit than any real need to hear them.

When he's quiet for a few minutes, I'm pretty sure he's fallen asleep. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, and when I look at his face instead, I carefully rest a hand on his chest. Even though I can hear his rough breathing, the contact makes me feel better.

Nathan walks in a moment later, and it's hard to meet his eyes. I can't imagine what the doctor might have told him, but the difference is written on his face. Not letting go of John's hand, I turn my attention to Nathan.

"What did the doctor say?" I might ask, but nothing inside me wants to know.

Nathan is looking at John, not me, and for a few moments he is silent. When he looks at me, he appears almost defeated. "Last night was a turning point. They had been waiting for it, and now we have it." The venom in Nathan's voice surprises me.

John stirs slightly, and I can see the hostility drain out of Nathan. "Did he say how long?" My voice shakes; I've long since stopped trying to cover it.

A quick shake of his head in return. "Just soon. No more than a handful of days."

How many times have doctors said that, my heart asks, and been wrong. Yet for all the denial inside of me, I look at John and see all of the pain and energy given toward the fight. He would never give up without that fight. Everyone has their limit. John's just happened to be great enough to allow me the briefest chance to be in his life again.

Nathan is looking at me, probably expecting me to refuse his words. He looks surprised when I blink slowly and don't immediately reply. Looking at John, I lower my voice to a whisper. "He's tired, Nathan."

The slight acceptance washes over me, bitter and cold. For as much as I don't want him to suffer anymore, I don't want to let him go, either. A part of me can't let go. A part of me never will. Holding his hand and watching him sleep, I know this to be true.

***

The day passes slowly. John is asleep for most of it, and I just sit beside him and hold his hand. Nathan's news has sunk in finally, and I have to admit it wasn't anything I didn't expect. Even if it was exactly what I didn't want to hear.

It's like everyone knows. I doubt Nathan called them, he's hardly left the room since he told me. Yet, Bailey and George have both been and gone. It was good to see George again, even if he did look outright shocked to see me here.

Nathan has hardly moved from beside the window. Since I arrived this morning, it's clouded over and looks as if it might snow at any minute. I smile and squeeze John's hand. I know how much he likes snow.

We were on a case in Wyoming not long after we started working together, and it had started to snow. I remember seeing his eyes light up and being surprised. At the time, I was convinced he was nothing more than an arrogant, one-dimensional man. The sight of him holding out his arms and turning in circles in the snow with a mischievous grin on his face didn't fit the mold.

When I asked him about it that night at the hotel, he told me about growing up in Boston. I could tell there was little love left inside of him for the city, but the child's love of snow was never truly lost in him. That was the first time I was ever able to see inside the walls, at the man who was guarded inside.

For some reason I can't help glancing over my shoulder at the window. Looking back at John, I find myself wishing it would snow. Maybe he could be that little boy I saw in Wyoming again, even if for a few seconds.

"Sam. Look."

I turn to look at Nathan, still standing next to the window. He has a child-like smile on his face, and I follow his gaze. It had begun to snow. I don't even wonder how he might have known what I was thinking, it doesn't surprise me that he noticed the same thing about John.

I smile, not quite enough moisture in my eyes to be true tears. I meet Nathan's gaze, and we both turn to look at John. I know he needs his sleep, but can't stop myself from rubbing his cheek gently.

"John?" I don't raise my voice above a whisper, I know I don't need to do so.

He stirs slightly, leaning into my touch. Without moving my hand from his cheek I press a kiss onto his forehead. "John, wake up."

When he opens his eyes, my face is still right above his. "What?" He blinks, looking into my eyes. I smile, and thank God for even such a small thing that might make him happy. I kiss his cheek, holding my lips against his skin for a long moment.

When I move, I lean over just far enough to whisper into his ear. "It's snowing."

I pull back; he looks at me, and then over at Nathan. The other man grins. "She's telling the truth, buddy. Real white stuff in Atlanta. Want to see?" Nathan gestures toward the widow, and I almost cry out at the light that's suddenly back in John's eyes.

Somehow we manage to move John so that he can see the snow without breaking anything or hurting him. The fact that the nurses don't rush into the room as we do so is a minor miracle. Still, I'd gladly argue with any of them to make John happy.

Sometime later, after John has fallen back asleep, Nathan and I drop into the two chairs across the room. John is still where we moved him, so that if he wakes he can see the continued snowfall. Both Nathan and I are looking back and forth between the winter scene in the widow, and the weakening man on the bed.

"We should probably move him back." Although Nathan speaks the words, I can hear by the tone of his voice that he doesn't want to do it.

I nod, even though I feel the same. "We should."

When neither of us move, we both laugh quietly. He's the one who finally says what we must both be thinking. "Let them yell at us. What difference does it make now?"

The humor is gone, instead it's replaced by softly whispered words. I cast a long look at John. "None at all."

***

The next time John wakes up, I'm again sitting on the edge of his bed. Nathan is asleep in one of the chairs.

"How do you feel?" I speak softly, not wishing to startle John or wake Nathan.

He nods shortly, not quite managing a false smile. "Been better."

I close my eyes for a moment, willing the tears to stay at bay. "I know." I take a deep breath. "Do you need anything?"

"It's here already."

His comment confuses me and I glance around the room for whatever he's talking about. "Where?"

He laughs, a short breathy sound and I turn my attention back to him. "Not a what. A who." His eyes are soft, but clear and I can't help smiling. "You're here with me." He pauses, taking a unsteady breath. "You and Nate."

The tears I've been fighting return, ignoring my wishes otherwise. "I'd go anywhere for you."

"Sam, I didn't mean . . ."

I shake my head, smiling even though I want to cry. "I know you didn't, but I did." I glance around the room, but I can feel John's gaze on my face. "Yesterday I said we would talk later." I squeeze his hand. "I think it's later."

I meet his eyes for the moment before he lowers his. "Sam, I didn't ask Bailey to call you so we could do this."

"No." I understand what he is saying. "I chose to come for two reasons." I'm careful not to hold his hand too tightly, no matter how badly I want to hold on with all I am. "First, because I owe you the goodbye I didn't give you before." I can see the fleeting pain in his eyes, and I steel my reserves. "Second, because it took something I never imagined possible to make me realize what was in my heart all along."

"You don't have to do this." The earnest look on his face crumples the fragile walls that were holding my tears.

"I owe you this, and a thousand things more." I take a shuddering breath to steady myself. "I owe you this, and a thousand days more that I cannot give."

He tries to raise his hand to my face, but barely manages to move it from the bed. Taking it within mine, I press it to my cheek before turning and pressing a kiss onto it. The look in his eyes breaks my heart.

"I never thought I'd see you again."

I close my eyes and kiss his hand again. The thought that in a matter of days, maybe even hours, I will never see him again almost crushes my heart. "I know, and I'll regret that forever."

He shakes his head, and I lower his hand back to the bed. "No, Sam."

I begin to press a finger to his lips, but at the last minute I change my mind. Before he can say another word, I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his lips. I move back a little, just enough so that I can look him in the eyes.

"No, John." I brush my fingers through his hair and try to smile. "I have one more thing to say."

"Sam . . ." There's a pain in his eyes, I hate knowing that I've put it there.

My fingers move from his hair to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. At the thought of what I'm about to say, I smile. "I love you. I have loved you since the first time I saw the real you." Saying these words, I once again remember the case in Wyoming. Suddenly, standing in the snow has an entirely new meaning.

When he doesn't say anything, I can't move. "John?"

He blinks slowly, but his eyes are searching mine almost frantically. "You can't mean that."

"That I love you?" I'm not sitting as close as I had been, so I lean forward and press another kiss onto his dry lips. "I wouldn't say anything to hurt you." I meet his eyes, silently begging him to understand. "Especially that."

He looks in my eyes, but stays silent for several long minutes. "I know." After he whispers the words, I lean forward and lay my forehead on his.

I feel his hand move beside me, and capture mine. When I look at my hand, our fingers are intertwined.

He smiles and looks almost shy. "Lay down with me for a little while and watch the snow?"

I can only nod, tears filling my eyes. I move carefully, not wanting to hurt him. When I'm laying next to him, he smiles and I smile in return. I rest my head on his shoulder and revel in the warmth and scent of him.

I hear the door open behind us, and a sharp gasp. But before I can turn, I hear Nathan stand and walk toward the door. A moment later the door closes and it is again silent in the room.

I close my eyes, not wanting my senses to extend beyond John and myself. I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear, feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest under my cheek. For a moment time seems to stand still, and I can almost pretend it is perfect.

I move just enough to be able to look at John's face. His eyes are half-closed, sleep is fast on the way. I press a kiss to his lips, and feel him press back lightly in response. When I open my eyes, a sudden, sick feeling washes over me. That if he falls asleep, he won't reawaken.

His eyes open just a bit wider, and he smiles. "You really are an angel."

I can't help it, a sob rips from my chest. "I'm no angel." I try to smile, even amidst the gasping sobs. "But you're as close as I've ever seen to a knight in shining armor."

He smiles. "You don't get out enough." I don't reply. I can't. Somehow I know he truly is slipping away right before my eyes. His eyes close, and I barely have time to wonder if he's fallen asleep when they open again.

His rough whisper echos in the room. "I love you, Sam."

I want to close my eyes against the tears and the emotions, but I cannot. If I do, I can't look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen, or ever will. I'm shaking with the force of my tears, and I hold my arm across his chest tighter than before.

I press my face into his shoulder. "Don't leave me."

I doubt he's heard the words until he replies. "I never have. I never will."

I kiss his cheek, his chin, his lips and even his closed eyes. He opens his eyes and smiles at me. He winks, before his eyes close. His breath slows and evens, and when I'm sure he's asleep, I lay my head on his chest.

I'm shaking, holding him as closely to me as I can. The small voice inside me is still screaming that if I don't let go, he can't leave. Yet another voice is also there, bidding him safe journey to a place free of the pain.

I relax my grip, but don't release it. I press my lips to his cheek. "Good night, John. I love you."

The End