A/N: Hello! I started writing this story back in the summertime, before we knew exactly how John was supposed to die. So there is semi-irony starting in the 3rd paragraph at this story as to what happened on the show and what I wrote-the writers must visit either BoP or the yahoo board-can't explain it any other way. LOL! Ya'll enjoy this mass update of a story (I really am sorry for flooding your e-mail with 9 chapters at once, I promise it won't happen again!) The story is finished up except for the epilogue, which I'll post sometime this week. Until next time-ya'll are the best-PCGirl.
Disclaimer: All characters, except for Aaron, Brett, Craig, and Sam, are property of ABC/Disney. No harm or ownership was trying to be claimed in the writing of this story. The other four characters are products of my imagination, and sorry ABC/Disney-I'm not sharing.
Natalie walked into her and John's room—well, it was technically just hers now. Vicki had tried to talk her into moving back to Llanfair, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't just let the memories that this room held go away just like that.
It had been a month since he'd been shot and died—a mystery still surrounded that day, one she hadn't been able to solve yet. As she got into the shower to let the grime of the day wash away she let herself remember everything again—hoping that maybe, somehow, it would finally all make sense. And as she remembered she cried for what all was lost in a moment.
Her and Marcie stood near the car—watching the two men stand over their father's grave. At first it had just been her and John going, but then she suggested that Michael go with them also. She watched as John kneeled down, tracing the words on the stone with his fingers—Thomas Connor McBain—Father, Husband, Cop. As he began to stand up he looked over at her, and then she heard the sound of the gun.
It took her a second to realize the scream she heard was her own as she ran to John—Michael now standing over his body, trying to minimize the bleeding.
"Call 911," yelled Michael as she rumbled through her purse, spilling the contents onto the dewy grass.
The ambulance had seemed to be there in a second—Michael pushing his way onto the ambulance to help his brother.
Marcie had been calm enough to drive, but as they parked the car Michael stood there in the Emergency Room doors—his brother's blood on his clothes, and a look of sorrow on his face, "I'm sorry, Natalie," spoke as he caught her from falling, John's blood transferring onto her clothes now.
Michael had been her rock through all this—he had lost a brother he truly had barely known. That any of them had barely known—and who some would never know, she thought as she put on a long shirt and sweat pants.
She noticed someone had slipped a piece of paper under the door and walked over to pick it up. The handwriting was his and she couldn't help but wonder if she was dreaming as she read it N—Come to the roof. J.
Natalie's first instinct was to cry—but she was tired of crying and anger towards whoever it was that thought this was funny. She grabbed a jacket and headed on up to the roof.
As she got to the door she suddenly felt hope—that maybe this was real and somehow John was standing on the other side of the door waiting for her. She rushed out into the middle of the roof and once again her heart broke—like other times in the past month the roof was still empty except for her.
"John," she said softly as she crumbled to the ground. A noise from the side caught her off guard and she watched a man walk out of the shadows, "Who are you?"
"I'm a friend of John's from the Bureau," he said as he held out a hand to help her up. "When this cell phone rings answer it, but the call must be ended within five minutes. He'll tell you what to do next," said the man as he walked to the doorway and left her alone.
When the phone went off in her hand she jumped, "Hello?" she asked—fear rising again that this was nothing but a hoax of some sort.
"Hey," he whispered softly. "God, I've missed your voice."
"John?" she said as the tears began.
"Hey—don't cry."
She had to smile a moment for how well he knew her. "I'm confused John—what happened at the cemetery?"
"A month and a half ago the FBI contacted me. Needed me to go undercover for help with a case I knew. I had to fake my death—When we were at my father's grave I told Michael what was about to happen—."
"I'm going undercover with the FBI," spoke John as he kneeled down and began tracing his father's name.
"What? When?"
"It starts tonight. I need you to watch out for Natalie while I'm gone—don't let her try and solve my murder."
"Your murder?" he repeated. "What's going on?"
"Follow my lead," said John as he stood up and then fell back on the ground when he heard the sound of the gunshot.
"Michael knew?"
"Bo also. Don't be angry with any of them—I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."
"I—I'm not. You're alive—that's all that matters."
"Good to hear," he smiled. "Listen—this case is going to take awhile. You still want to hit me up for some field hours?"
"Yeah—I think they would do me some good."
"I've got to go—the call might be traced. The guy that gave you this phone—his name is Aaron—meet him tomorrow night 9 pm at Crossroads—I'll see you in a few days."
"Ok—I can't wait to see you," she smiled.
"Me too," he smiled back. "Goodnight, Natalie."
"Goodnight, John—oh, John," she said right before he hung up.
"Yeah?" he asked, something inside him already knowing what she was going to say.
She couldn't explain why she wanted to tell him this over the phone and not in person, but then—she thought she'd never get the chance to tell him at all, "I'm pregnant."