Title: Turning Point
Author: kaly, kalynn95@juno.com or razrbkr@juno.com
Homepage: the shadowland - kaly's fan fiction - http://www.geocities.com/kalyw
Rating: PG
Archive: pfa
Classification: angst-ish, SJR
Summary: Finding some old photographs brings back old memories for Sam.
Feedback: Please do.
Notes: I'm playing fast and loose with canon here, basically picking and choosing and ignoring everything post season two. Coop's pretty optional in this universe, too.
Thanks: To Glenna for the nice response, greatly delayed as it was *ducks* and to Sheltie for the last minute readover, even tho she's never really watched Profiler ;)
Disclaimer: Not my players. They rightly belong to Cynthia Saunders, she knew how to treat them right.
Turning Point
Digging through the back of the closet in her study, Sam sneezed loudly. Blinking quickly, she brushed the back of her sleeve across her face. It had been quite a while since she had really looked through the closet's contents. Usually she preferred to simply add whatever needed hidden away and close it off from the world.
Sam had been working with the FBI -- at least the second time -- for over five years. During that time she had acquired boxes worth of notes and files. Although most were kept at the VCTF offices, some were invariably left behind.
For some reason she didn't quite understand, that morning Sam had decided to clean out the cluttered storage room. She had formed three piles: keep, throw away and take to work to be filed. With a sigh she realized the to be filed pile was vastly larger than the other two.
In the very back corner she spied a tattered shoebox. Careful of the precariously stacked papers and boxes Sam leaned forward and picked up the small box. Running a hand over the top of the box, brushing away the collected dust, she tried to recall what might be inside it.
There was a single piece of tape holding the lid closed, and she slipped a finger beneath it. When the lid slid free Sam was surprised to find it full of photographs. Thumbing through the uppermost photos, Sam recognized many of them from right after she had returned to the FBI, albeit under the name of Larson.
A quick glance at the floor and she found just enough free space to sit, her back to the open door. Sam picked the pictures up a few at a time, easily recognizing the images. A few were even clipped from newspapers, although she didn't remember doing it.
There were photographs of her and Bailey, several with Grace, even one with George who rarely seemed to leave the offices. She smiled, rubbing her fingertips over an image of Grace with Jason that had somehow been mixed in with the rest.
It felt like a lifetime ago, she had to admit, even though it had only been five years. But so much had happened in those five years, her life changed so drastically. No longer were she and Chloe forced to hide away from the world, or be locked away with constant camera surveillance.
They were free, had been for two years, and some mornings it was all Sam could do not to cry at the joy of knowing her daughter no longer needed a shadow just to go to school. And there were those mornings when she would wake and for a moment not remember that she was no longer a prisoner in her own life.
Shaking her head as if to cast away the thought, Sam dug deeper through the box, laughing with some photos and feeling saddened by others. An image of John and Nathan, just before Nathan had left them caused her smile to fade. She knew how much John had missed the other man after that. It had been a gap none of them had been able to fill.
Beneath it was a picture of herself with John. Looking at it, Sam guessed it must have been taken during the first case they had worked on together. They had gotten off to a rocky start, she and John, and she smiled at the memories the photograph brought to mind.
Upon meeting John Grant she had felt little more than annoyance at his attitude. They clashed at every opportunity, as if in some sort of warped battle of wills. Sam had barely been able to contain her laughter when, months later, John admitted that when they met all he had, in fact, had in his refrigerator were several half-eaten boxes of Chinese food.
Pressing the edge of the picture against her chin, Sam easily recalled what it was that had changed everything between them. How he had gone from a civil coworker, to one of the best friends she had known since Angel. Not that anyone would have believed it at the time.
They had all been so busy, getting the VCTF organized and off the ground, that little time was left over outside of work for anything but seeing Chloe and sleeping. Although, Sam had to admit that ever since Tom had died sleep wasn't high on her list of accomplishments. So Sam had been surprised one evening to find John standing at the door to her office, hovering in the entryway as if uncertain of his welcome.
~~~
"John?" Sam asked, trying to smile. She still wasn't certain what to make of the former detective.
John nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "How you doing?" he asked after several seconds, his eyes looking everywhere but at Sam.
Dropping her pen onto the desk, Sam leaned back in her chair. "I'm busy." When it looked as if John might bolt at any second she gestured toward a chair that sat in front of her desk. "But I've found it's better than being bored," she amended quickly.
John seemed to relax at that, and Sam thought she could see his jaw unclench. "Good."
Sam stared at him quizzically for a long moment before gesturing toward the chair once more. "You can sit down, if you want to."
She watched as he took a couple of steps into her office before turning and closing the door behind him. That done, John walked across the office, but instead of taking the offered chair he leaned against the edge of Sam's desk.
"John?" she asked when he still didn't speak, concern growing in her chest. "Something wrong?"
He cleared his throat, staring off at some point over Sam's head. "I'm sorry about having George poke through your past."
Sam blinked, barely able to hear the whispered words but shocked by them all the same. Truth be told, she had understood John's concerns at the time, even though she had ignored the part of her mind that had. Then, at that time, the only thing that mattered was staying anonymous long enough to slip back into the shadows before anything could happen. Before Jack could find her again, only she hadn't been able to disappear again.
"We already talked about..." John shook his head and Sam let her statement trail off. She stared at him, knowing he would be able to see her confusion if he would only look at her.
John rubbed his hands over his face before finally looking at Sam. When he did she was stunned by what she saw within his eyes. Sam was used to seeing the in-control cop, the man who didn't let anyone close. Always ready with a flip joke, but rarely any real emotion. His blue eyes were bright with something she could only describe as pain. It was the same look she could remember seeing in the mirror morning after morning.
"I wasn't going to say anything," John said, startling Sam. Again he looked away, this time staring at his hands, which were clasped across his thighs. "I probably shouldn't, but..."
Growing more concerned, Sam leaned forward in her chair. She debated for a second before placing a hand on John's knee. "'Probably shouldn't' what?" she asked, trying to look in his eyes.
John looked up, meeting her gaze. "I've seen how this gets to you, you know. The cases, the crimes." He paused and Sam wasn't sure she wanted to hear what would come next. "Jack," he finally choked out. Sam flinched, certain she didn't want to know.
"John..."
Shaking his head, John reached out quickly and captured her hand in between his own. "There was something I wanted to say to you, back when I promised I wouldn't tell anyone who you really were." John shook his head, but Sam saw the silent plea in his eyes and remained quiet even though she wanted to run away from the piercing eyes. "But I couldn't. Not then."
Curious, even while her defenses were screaming to leave, Sam asked, "What, John?"
John began rubbing his thumbs across the back of her hand and Sam bit back a gasp at the unexpected caress. Glancing between their hands and John's face she wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it.
"We all have our ghosts to hide, Sam. Jack..."
Sam jerked her hand away, standing so quickly as to upend her chair. Clumsily grabbing and closing folders she refused to look at him. "John, I really don't think that this is something I want to discuss."
A hand on her shoulder startled her and she froze, risking a glance at John. "You're not Sam Larson." John nodded. "I'm not John Grant."
She searched his face for some sign of the joke he was trying to pull. A joke she most certainly did not appreciate. However she could find nothing to show he was anything but serious. Sam's forehead creased, she was hurt and confused and hating every moment of it. "What are you trying to say? That you're an imposter? You have the real John Grant stuffed in the trunk of your car?"
John laughed, an empty sound and Sam shivered. "No, not exactly. John Grant is as fictitious as Sam Larson. My name is... was John O'Doyle."
"I don't understand," Sam said, shaking her head.
"As I said, we all have our ghosts. I just understand yours better than you think. Share them in a way." John pulled his hand away from Sam's shoulder before replacing her chair. Leaning against the desk once again, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I've know what watching Jack kill is doing to you."
Sam ran her hands through her hair, frustrated. Nothing of what John was saying made any sense. Finally she snapped, "I don't see anyone out murdering people because you knew them, John."
"Did your parents get along, Sam?"
Sam blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "What?"
John dropped his head, until his chin rested on his chest. After a long moment, he looked up, his eyes bright once more, but this time with tears. Sam took a step forward before she even realized what she was doing. Her annoyance faded back as once again concerned flared.
"John?"
She heard John take a quick breath, saw him blink quickly. He turned so that he was staring at the back wall of her office, rather than at Sam. "My old man had my mother killed." Sam gasped, causing John to flinch, although she might have missed the motion had she not been looking so closely. "He had her murdered for no other reason than she dared to defy him and take me away. So that I could be free of his abuse."
Sam took a step forward, unwilling to blink lest the tears welling in her eyes spill onto her cheeks. John was looking away from her again, but she could see the tremors along his shoulders. She was trying to process what he had said with what she knew of him, trying to reply but able to think of nothing to say.
"So don't say that I don't understand losing someone simply because you love them." At that he turned just enough to stare into her eyes. "I understand all too well," he whispered.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say around the lump that had formed in her throat. "I don't..."
"Oh hell," John said, jumping up from where he was leaning against her desk. "This isn't what I intended to say at all. I didn't come in here to demean what you're feeling or looking for pity..." Running a hand through his hair he paced away from the desk. John paused just shy of the door, his back to her.
"I just wanted you to know maybe you aren't as alone as you might think."
With that, before Sam could form a though, much less a response, he was gone. Her legs shaking Sam fell into her chair and stared straight ahead. Her mind replayed the conversation over, telling her to go after him but her legs couldn't cooperate. So instead she sat there, the realization dawning that she didn't really know John Grant at all.
~~~
"Sam?"
Startled out of her thoughts, Sam glanced over her shoulder and called out, "In here."
Taking a deep breath Sam again looked at the photo of her and John. She couldn't help but smile at how young they both looked. They'd both been to hell and back already by then, but you might not have thought it by looking at them.
"What are you doing in here?"
Sam looked up, smiling when John stuck his head into the closet. "Cleaning."
With a laugh, John looked around. "I think the correct term would be something more like 'messing' than 'cleaning'."
"Stop it," Sam said with a laugh, replacing the pictures in their box.
She watched as John moved the 'keep' pile just far enough so that he had room to sit beside her. "What are you looking at?" he asked, gesturing toward the photos.
"Just some old pictures, they were hidden during the move."
Rifling through the box, John laughed and pulled one free. "I knew there had to be a picture somewhere of Bailey in that Halloween outfit. This has to be worth something."
Nudging John's shoulder with her own, Sam bit back a laugh. "I wouldn't let him hear you say that. You'd be on desk duty for months." Grinning, she added, "And I'm positive I couldn't stand to live with you then."
"Are you implying I'm a man of action?" he asked with a leer.
Shaking her head, Sam replaced the picture in the shoebox. "I'm not implying anything. Stating fact is more the case."
John leaned forward to nuzzle her ear, chuckling, his warm breath causing her to shiver. "It's part of my charm," he said before worrying the earlobe between his teeth.
Sam turned just enough so that John was forced to release her ear. Smiling she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh is that what you call it? Charm?"
She scooted forward when John slipped his arms around her waist, until she was all but sitting in his lap. "I'm a man of many talents. And charms."
"I bet that's what all your women say." She sighed melodramatically, looking skyward.
Bringing up one hand to cup Sam's cheek, John shook his head. "No. Only the one that counts."
Grinning, Sam shook her head. "What's this? John Grant, a one-woman man? All of Atlanta might fall dead from shock."
"Just keeping them all on their toes."
"Ah, yes," Sam said with a smile. "I'm familiar with that tactic."
Sam watched as John's face grew more serious, his smile not disappearing but the sparkle in his eyes fading a bit. "So what were you looking at just now? I must have called you five times. I was beginning to wonder what was up."
Sam smiled at the concern that touched John's face, grown so familiar over the years. Especially when Jack was still alive. One thing she would have doubted John possessed when they first met was compassion but she had been proven wrong time and again, in more ways than she could even remember.
She could hardly recall ever being so happy to be wrong about a person, as she had been the first time she had seen John Grant.
"Just remembering a time when someone told me I wasn't alone in the world." She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. "I never told him how grateful I was that he took a chance on me."
His smile gone, John stared at Sam, unblinking. "I didn't do anything special."
Sam felt her eyes burning with moisture and shook her head. "That's why it *was* something special. You gave me something that day that no one else could."
"Sam..."
She shushed him by placing a finger over his lips. "You made me believe I could survive. That *we* could survive."
"I love you," he whispered, his breath warming her finger.
Smiling, a single tear breaking free, Sam dropped her hand so that it rested against his neck. If there was one thing she never doubted, it was that. "I know."
"I think I did then, too."
A relieved laugh bursting forth, Sam sniffed. After John pressed a soft kiss to her lips, Sam rested her forehead against John's, content.
"I love you, too."
"I know." John smiled, brushing his thumb over her lips. "I've known ever since you came after me that same day and convinced me."
Sam pressed a kiss to his thumb before asking, "Convinced you of what?"
"That maybe I wasn't all alone in the world."
End
Author: kaly, kalynn95@juno.com or razrbkr@juno.com
Homepage: the shadowland - kaly's fan fiction - http://www.geocities.com/kalyw
Rating: PG
Archive: pfa
Classification: angst-ish, SJR
Summary: Finding some old photographs brings back old memories for Sam.
Feedback: Please do.
Notes: I'm playing fast and loose with canon here, basically picking and choosing and ignoring everything post season two. Coop's pretty optional in this universe, too.
Thanks: To Glenna for the nice response, greatly delayed as it was *ducks* and to Sheltie for the last minute readover, even tho she's never really watched Profiler ;)
Disclaimer: Not my players. They rightly belong to Cynthia Saunders, she knew how to treat them right.
Turning Point
Digging through the back of the closet in her study, Sam sneezed loudly. Blinking quickly, she brushed the back of her sleeve across her face. It had been quite a while since she had really looked through the closet's contents. Usually she preferred to simply add whatever needed hidden away and close it off from the world.
Sam had been working with the FBI -- at least the second time -- for over five years. During that time she had acquired boxes worth of notes and files. Although most were kept at the VCTF offices, some were invariably left behind.
For some reason she didn't quite understand, that morning Sam had decided to clean out the cluttered storage room. She had formed three piles: keep, throw away and take to work to be filed. With a sigh she realized the to be filed pile was vastly larger than the other two.
In the very back corner she spied a tattered shoebox. Careful of the precariously stacked papers and boxes Sam leaned forward and picked up the small box. Running a hand over the top of the box, brushing away the collected dust, she tried to recall what might be inside it.
There was a single piece of tape holding the lid closed, and she slipped a finger beneath it. When the lid slid free Sam was surprised to find it full of photographs. Thumbing through the uppermost photos, Sam recognized many of them from right after she had returned to the FBI, albeit under the name of Larson.
A quick glance at the floor and she found just enough free space to sit, her back to the open door. Sam picked the pictures up a few at a time, easily recognizing the images. A few were even clipped from newspapers, although she didn't remember doing it.
There were photographs of her and Bailey, several with Grace, even one with George who rarely seemed to leave the offices. She smiled, rubbing her fingertips over an image of Grace with Jason that had somehow been mixed in with the rest.
It felt like a lifetime ago, she had to admit, even though it had only been five years. But so much had happened in those five years, her life changed so drastically. No longer were she and Chloe forced to hide away from the world, or be locked away with constant camera surveillance.
They were free, had been for two years, and some mornings it was all Sam could do not to cry at the joy of knowing her daughter no longer needed a shadow just to go to school. And there were those mornings when she would wake and for a moment not remember that she was no longer a prisoner in her own life.
Shaking her head as if to cast away the thought, Sam dug deeper through the box, laughing with some photos and feeling saddened by others. An image of John and Nathan, just before Nathan had left them caused her smile to fade. She knew how much John had missed the other man after that. It had been a gap none of them had been able to fill.
Beneath it was a picture of herself with John. Looking at it, Sam guessed it must have been taken during the first case they had worked on together. They had gotten off to a rocky start, she and John, and she smiled at the memories the photograph brought to mind.
Upon meeting John Grant she had felt little more than annoyance at his attitude. They clashed at every opportunity, as if in some sort of warped battle of wills. Sam had barely been able to contain her laughter when, months later, John admitted that when they met all he had, in fact, had in his refrigerator were several half-eaten boxes of Chinese food.
Pressing the edge of the picture against her chin, Sam easily recalled what it was that had changed everything between them. How he had gone from a civil coworker, to one of the best friends she had known since Angel. Not that anyone would have believed it at the time.
They had all been so busy, getting the VCTF organized and off the ground, that little time was left over outside of work for anything but seeing Chloe and sleeping. Although, Sam had to admit that ever since Tom had died sleep wasn't high on her list of accomplishments. So Sam had been surprised one evening to find John standing at the door to her office, hovering in the entryway as if uncertain of his welcome.
~~~
"John?" Sam asked, trying to smile. She still wasn't certain what to make of the former detective.
John nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "How you doing?" he asked after several seconds, his eyes looking everywhere but at Sam.
Dropping her pen onto the desk, Sam leaned back in her chair. "I'm busy." When it looked as if John might bolt at any second she gestured toward a chair that sat in front of her desk. "But I've found it's better than being bored," she amended quickly.
John seemed to relax at that, and Sam thought she could see his jaw unclench. "Good."
Sam stared at him quizzically for a long moment before gesturing toward the chair once more. "You can sit down, if you want to."
She watched as he took a couple of steps into her office before turning and closing the door behind him. That done, John walked across the office, but instead of taking the offered chair he leaned against the edge of Sam's desk.
"John?" she asked when he still didn't speak, concern growing in her chest. "Something wrong?"
He cleared his throat, staring off at some point over Sam's head. "I'm sorry about having George poke through your past."
Sam blinked, barely able to hear the whispered words but shocked by them all the same. Truth be told, she had understood John's concerns at the time, even though she had ignored the part of her mind that had. Then, at that time, the only thing that mattered was staying anonymous long enough to slip back into the shadows before anything could happen. Before Jack could find her again, only she hadn't been able to disappear again.
"We already talked about..." John shook his head and Sam let her statement trail off. She stared at him, knowing he would be able to see her confusion if he would only look at her.
John rubbed his hands over his face before finally looking at Sam. When he did she was stunned by what she saw within his eyes. Sam was used to seeing the in-control cop, the man who didn't let anyone close. Always ready with a flip joke, but rarely any real emotion. His blue eyes were bright with something she could only describe as pain. It was the same look she could remember seeing in the mirror morning after morning.
"I wasn't going to say anything," John said, startling Sam. Again he looked away, this time staring at his hands, which were clasped across his thighs. "I probably shouldn't, but..."
Growing more concerned, Sam leaned forward in her chair. She debated for a second before placing a hand on John's knee. "'Probably shouldn't' what?" she asked, trying to look in his eyes.
John looked up, meeting her gaze. "I've seen how this gets to you, you know. The cases, the crimes." He paused and Sam wasn't sure she wanted to hear what would come next. "Jack," he finally choked out. Sam flinched, certain she didn't want to know.
"John..."
Shaking his head, John reached out quickly and captured her hand in between his own. "There was something I wanted to say to you, back when I promised I wouldn't tell anyone who you really were." John shook his head, but Sam saw the silent plea in his eyes and remained quiet even though she wanted to run away from the piercing eyes. "But I couldn't. Not then."
Curious, even while her defenses were screaming to leave, Sam asked, "What, John?"
John began rubbing his thumbs across the back of her hand and Sam bit back a gasp at the unexpected caress. Glancing between their hands and John's face she wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it.
"We all have our ghosts to hide, Sam. Jack..."
Sam jerked her hand away, standing so quickly as to upend her chair. Clumsily grabbing and closing folders she refused to look at him. "John, I really don't think that this is something I want to discuss."
A hand on her shoulder startled her and she froze, risking a glance at John. "You're not Sam Larson." John nodded. "I'm not John Grant."
She searched his face for some sign of the joke he was trying to pull. A joke she most certainly did not appreciate. However she could find nothing to show he was anything but serious. Sam's forehead creased, she was hurt and confused and hating every moment of it. "What are you trying to say? That you're an imposter? You have the real John Grant stuffed in the trunk of your car?"
John laughed, an empty sound and Sam shivered. "No, not exactly. John Grant is as fictitious as Sam Larson. My name is... was John O'Doyle."
"I don't understand," Sam said, shaking her head.
"As I said, we all have our ghosts. I just understand yours better than you think. Share them in a way." John pulled his hand away from Sam's shoulder before replacing her chair. Leaning against the desk once again, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I've know what watching Jack kill is doing to you."
Sam ran her hands through her hair, frustrated. Nothing of what John was saying made any sense. Finally she snapped, "I don't see anyone out murdering people because you knew them, John."
"Did your parents get along, Sam?"
Sam blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "What?"
John dropped his head, until his chin rested on his chest. After a long moment, he looked up, his eyes bright once more, but this time with tears. Sam took a step forward before she even realized what she was doing. Her annoyance faded back as once again concerned flared.
"John?"
She heard John take a quick breath, saw him blink quickly. He turned so that he was staring at the back wall of her office, rather than at Sam. "My old man had my mother killed." Sam gasped, causing John to flinch, although she might have missed the motion had she not been looking so closely. "He had her murdered for no other reason than she dared to defy him and take me away. So that I could be free of his abuse."
Sam took a step forward, unwilling to blink lest the tears welling in her eyes spill onto her cheeks. John was looking away from her again, but she could see the tremors along his shoulders. She was trying to process what he had said with what she knew of him, trying to reply but able to think of nothing to say.
"So don't say that I don't understand losing someone simply because you love them." At that he turned just enough to stare into her eyes. "I understand all too well," he whispered.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say around the lump that had formed in her throat. "I don't..."
"Oh hell," John said, jumping up from where he was leaning against her desk. "This isn't what I intended to say at all. I didn't come in here to demean what you're feeling or looking for pity..." Running a hand through his hair he paced away from the desk. John paused just shy of the door, his back to her.
"I just wanted you to know maybe you aren't as alone as you might think."
With that, before Sam could form a though, much less a response, he was gone. Her legs shaking Sam fell into her chair and stared straight ahead. Her mind replayed the conversation over, telling her to go after him but her legs couldn't cooperate. So instead she sat there, the realization dawning that she didn't really know John Grant at all.
~~~
"Sam?"
Startled out of her thoughts, Sam glanced over her shoulder and called out, "In here."
Taking a deep breath Sam again looked at the photo of her and John. She couldn't help but smile at how young they both looked. They'd both been to hell and back already by then, but you might not have thought it by looking at them.
"What are you doing in here?"
Sam looked up, smiling when John stuck his head into the closet. "Cleaning."
With a laugh, John looked around. "I think the correct term would be something more like 'messing' than 'cleaning'."
"Stop it," Sam said with a laugh, replacing the pictures in their box.
She watched as John moved the 'keep' pile just far enough so that he had room to sit beside her. "What are you looking at?" he asked, gesturing toward the photos.
"Just some old pictures, they were hidden during the move."
Rifling through the box, John laughed and pulled one free. "I knew there had to be a picture somewhere of Bailey in that Halloween outfit. This has to be worth something."
Nudging John's shoulder with her own, Sam bit back a laugh. "I wouldn't let him hear you say that. You'd be on desk duty for months." Grinning, she added, "And I'm positive I couldn't stand to live with you then."
"Are you implying I'm a man of action?" he asked with a leer.
Shaking her head, Sam replaced the picture in the shoebox. "I'm not implying anything. Stating fact is more the case."
John leaned forward to nuzzle her ear, chuckling, his warm breath causing her to shiver. "It's part of my charm," he said before worrying the earlobe between his teeth.
Sam turned just enough so that John was forced to release her ear. Smiling she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh is that what you call it? Charm?"
She scooted forward when John slipped his arms around her waist, until she was all but sitting in his lap. "I'm a man of many talents. And charms."
"I bet that's what all your women say." She sighed melodramatically, looking skyward.
Bringing up one hand to cup Sam's cheek, John shook his head. "No. Only the one that counts."
Grinning, Sam shook her head. "What's this? John Grant, a one-woman man? All of Atlanta might fall dead from shock."
"Just keeping them all on their toes."
"Ah, yes," Sam said with a smile. "I'm familiar with that tactic."
Sam watched as John's face grew more serious, his smile not disappearing but the sparkle in his eyes fading a bit. "So what were you looking at just now? I must have called you five times. I was beginning to wonder what was up."
Sam smiled at the concern that touched John's face, grown so familiar over the years. Especially when Jack was still alive. One thing she would have doubted John possessed when they first met was compassion but she had been proven wrong time and again, in more ways than she could even remember.
She could hardly recall ever being so happy to be wrong about a person, as she had been the first time she had seen John Grant.
"Just remembering a time when someone told me I wasn't alone in the world." She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. "I never told him how grateful I was that he took a chance on me."
His smile gone, John stared at Sam, unblinking. "I didn't do anything special."
Sam felt her eyes burning with moisture and shook her head. "That's why it *was* something special. You gave me something that day that no one else could."
"Sam..."
She shushed him by placing a finger over his lips. "You made me believe I could survive. That *we* could survive."
"I love you," he whispered, his breath warming her finger.
Smiling, a single tear breaking free, Sam dropped her hand so that it rested against his neck. If there was one thing she never doubted, it was that. "I know."
"I think I did then, too."
A relieved laugh bursting forth, Sam sniffed. After John pressed a soft kiss to her lips, Sam rested her forehead against John's, content.
"I love you, too."
"I know." John smiled, brushing his thumb over her lips. "I've known ever since you came after me that same day and convinced me."
Sam pressed a kiss to his thumb before asking, "Convinced you of what?"
"That maybe I wasn't all alone in the world."
End