Author's Notes: I've been taping the Profiler reruns on CourtTV since they've
gone back to the first season and they put me in the mood to write for the
show again. I found this on my hard-drive, and decided to work on it again,
so I figured I'd post it here for whomever wants to read it.
Some of the first fan-fics I ever wrote were for Profiler, so if you've read
them, do me a favor and pretend they never existed -- 'cause they weren't
very good. :)
If there's anyone left still reading Profiler Fic, I'd love to know what you
think.
~Erana
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. They belong to the Profiler folks, who's
name I can't for the life of me remember. But I do know it's not mine.
The Memory Remains
by Erana Zeitler
Prologue
The pouring rain, combined with the pounding in John Grant's head, was making
it nearly impossible to concentrate on the road before him, despite all his
attempts to keep focused. The loud music playing on the stereo was slowly
fading into the background, and no matter how high John turned the volume up,
it wasn't having the slightest effect in keeping him awake.
He'd never thought that he'd be so desperate for a cup of coffee, or tea, or
anything that contained caffeine. But he couldn't risk going into one of the
inviting gas stations. Just the tension of being out in the open, on the
highway, was bad enough. Whatever head start Bailey had managed to give him
had long since run out.
Thankfully, he only had another twenty minutes or so before he reached his
last hope.
John jumped as the thunder cracked loudly in the distance, reminding him that
he was trying to out run not just the local police, but the storm as well.
The last thing he needed was to be stuck in traffic
or, worse yet, have his car stall because of an inconveniently close bolt of
lightening.
Trying to take his mind off of the panic that wanted to grip him, John began
to formulate a strategy for dealing with Samantha Waters. He couldn't help
but wonder whether or not she would believe him. Bailey had, but then,
Bailey knew the situation. Sam didn't know much of anything any more. Not
since she'd left the FBI and gone off to parts that had, before yesterday,
been unknown to him.
Looking around, John saw that the road was all but deserted due to the coming
storm. Another gas station loomed invitingly in the distance, promising the
coffee he yearned for, and maybe even something to eat. His stomach reminded
him loudly just how long ago it had been since he'd had actual food.
John raised the volume of his radio up even higher, the sounds of Metallica
making his rent-a-car nearly vibrate with sound. He hummed along with the
song and tried to picture Samantha in his minds eye. She would be his oasis.
Even if she wouldn't give him the help he needed, she'd at least give him
some advil and food.
He was pretty sure she would, anyway.
Of course, he'd also been pretty sure she'd keep in touch, too. If Bailey
hadn't given him her address, he'd have no where to go right now. That fact
alone made him have to question what would have been the most obvious of
conclusions in the old days.
Luckily the old days were only two years ago. With enough reminders of the
life she'd left behind, Sam just might be persuaded to help out.
After all, she'd never been able to resist a lost cause.
The thought was especially grim, and John winced at its truth. Sam had to
help. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She had to.
The yellow lines of the road were beginning to merge together, and the black
of the night sky was growing even darker than before.
Recognizing the signs of sleep creeping up on him again, he raised the volume
of the radio even higher. It didn't help. Sighing, John braved a quick
glance at the clock.
Still another fifteen minutes.
John lowered the window. He knew that any doctor, resident, nurse, intern or
medical student would tell him, if they had the opportunity, that it was a
bad idea but desperate times called for desperate
measures. After all, those very same people would be all too eager to inform
him that driving with a gun shot wound, however minor, wasn't the brightest
of ideas to begin with, let alone with a window open to
the rain.
But John really didn't have the luxury of obeying the rules right now.
He groaned as it occurred to him that Sam would probably want him to explain
his presence on her doorstep, as well as his injury, before she'd even
consider letting him sleep. Out of nowhere he remembered a girl he'd known
at one of his highschools, a total insomniac who'd always relied on No Doze
to get through her days. He'd give anything to run into her right now.
Twelve tormentous minutes later, he pulled his car into the driveway of 14
Chamberlyn Avenue. John shut off the engine and rested his head against the
steering wheel, trying to build up the energy he knew he'd need during the
next half hour or so.
Maybe, if he was really lucky, Sam wouldn't ask any questions at all.
He opened the car door and got out painfully, his left leg throbbing in
protest, reminding him pointedly of the obvious questions he'd be unable to
avoid. John still didn't know whether to be grateful
to Bailey, for having enough sense to know he was innocent, or furious with
him for not knowing who he'd been firing at when the bullet had grazed his
leg.
Slowly he made his way to the door and leaned against it, fighting to remain
awake. The promise of rest was so very close he could almost feel a soft
pillow under his head, blankets covering his body. John wondered vaguely
just exactly how long it had been since he'd gotten any sleep.
With a sigh, he lifted his hand, knocked on the door, and waited.
~End Prologue~
gone back to the first season and they put me in the mood to write for the
show again. I found this on my hard-drive, and decided to work on it again,
so I figured I'd post it here for whomever wants to read it.
Some of the first fan-fics I ever wrote were for Profiler, so if you've read
them, do me a favor and pretend they never existed -- 'cause they weren't
very good. :)
If there's anyone left still reading Profiler Fic, I'd love to know what you
think.
~Erana
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. They belong to the Profiler folks, who's
name I can't for the life of me remember. But I do know it's not mine.
The Memory Remains
by Erana Zeitler
Prologue
The pouring rain, combined with the pounding in John Grant's head, was making
it nearly impossible to concentrate on the road before him, despite all his
attempts to keep focused. The loud music playing on the stereo was slowly
fading into the background, and no matter how high John turned the volume up,
it wasn't having the slightest effect in keeping him awake.
He'd never thought that he'd be so desperate for a cup of coffee, or tea, or
anything that contained caffeine. But he couldn't risk going into one of the
inviting gas stations. Just the tension of being out in the open, on the
highway, was bad enough. Whatever head start Bailey had managed to give him
had long since run out.
Thankfully, he only had another twenty minutes or so before he reached his
last hope.
John jumped as the thunder cracked loudly in the distance, reminding him that
he was trying to out run not just the local police, but the storm as well.
The last thing he needed was to be stuck in traffic
or, worse yet, have his car stall because of an inconveniently close bolt of
lightening.
Trying to take his mind off of the panic that wanted to grip him, John began
to formulate a strategy for dealing with Samantha Waters. He couldn't help
but wonder whether or not she would believe him. Bailey had, but then,
Bailey knew the situation. Sam didn't know much of anything any more. Not
since she'd left the FBI and gone off to parts that had, before yesterday,
been unknown to him.
Looking around, John saw that the road was all but deserted due to the coming
storm. Another gas station loomed invitingly in the distance, promising the
coffee he yearned for, and maybe even something to eat. His stomach reminded
him loudly just how long ago it had been since he'd had actual food.
John raised the volume of his radio up even higher, the sounds of Metallica
making his rent-a-car nearly vibrate with sound. He hummed along with the
song and tried to picture Samantha in his minds eye. She would be his oasis.
Even if she wouldn't give him the help he needed, she'd at least give him
some advil and food.
He was pretty sure she would, anyway.
Of course, he'd also been pretty sure she'd keep in touch, too. If Bailey
hadn't given him her address, he'd have no where to go right now. That fact
alone made him have to question what would have been the most obvious of
conclusions in the old days.
Luckily the old days were only two years ago. With enough reminders of the
life she'd left behind, Sam just might be persuaded to help out.
After all, she'd never been able to resist a lost cause.
The thought was especially grim, and John winced at its truth. Sam had to
help. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She had to.
The yellow lines of the road were beginning to merge together, and the black
of the night sky was growing even darker than before.
Recognizing the signs of sleep creeping up on him again, he raised the volume
of the radio even higher. It didn't help. Sighing, John braved a quick
glance at the clock.
Still another fifteen minutes.
John lowered the window. He knew that any doctor, resident, nurse, intern or
medical student would tell him, if they had the opportunity, that it was a
bad idea but desperate times called for desperate
measures. After all, those very same people would be all too eager to inform
him that driving with a gun shot wound, however minor, wasn't the brightest
of ideas to begin with, let alone with a window open to
the rain.
But John really didn't have the luxury of obeying the rules right now.
He groaned as it occurred to him that Sam would probably want him to explain
his presence on her doorstep, as well as his injury, before she'd even
consider letting him sleep. Out of nowhere he remembered a girl he'd known
at one of his highschools, a total insomniac who'd always relied on No Doze
to get through her days. He'd give anything to run into her right now.
Twelve tormentous minutes later, he pulled his car into the driveway of 14
Chamberlyn Avenue. John shut off the engine and rested his head against the
steering wheel, trying to build up the energy he knew he'd need during the
next half hour or so.
Maybe, if he was really lucky, Sam wouldn't ask any questions at all.
He opened the car door and got out painfully, his left leg throbbing in
protest, reminding him pointedly of the obvious questions he'd be unable to
avoid. John still didn't know whether to be grateful
to Bailey, for having enough sense to know he was innocent, or furious with
him for not knowing who he'd been firing at when the bullet had grazed his
leg.
Slowly he made his way to the door and leaned against it, fighting to remain
awake. The promise of rest was so very close he could almost feel a soft
pillow under his head, blankets covering his body. John wondered vaguely
just exactly how long it had been since he'd gotten any sleep.
With a sigh, he lifted his hand, knocked on the door, and waited.
~End Prologue~