Author: Cyclone
Rating: PG
Summary: Her heart is strong and has never been broken so badly that it couldn't be put back together again
Disclaimer: I believe that CC and Co. has ownership of these characters. At least until he lets his guard down. Then they're all mine.
XxX
She's always been a compassionate person. She's very open and honest about how and what she feels. She finds something of worth, something special and unique in almost everyone she meets. Her friends tell her that she wouldn't get hurt so easily if she didn't always believe the best about people. This isn't exactly true; she knows that people have a bad habit of not living up to expectations. But she prefers to at least give them a chance to live up to their destiny.
She loves very easily. She knows that some people see it as a flaw, a weakness. As if by loving someone and allowing them to see it somehow diminishes her. But she sees it as a blessing. The ability to love, and love freely, is something that she hopes she never loses. Besides, her heart is strong and has never been broken so badly that it couldn't be put back together again.
She's loved John Doggett for a long time. She's loved him through unimaginable grief, through the breakdown of his marriage, through a major career change; she's loved him through the worst times of his life, but she hasn't been in love with him. It amuses her that some people can't tell the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. John knows though. He's always known how she felt and even though he couldn't understand why, he was, and is, grateful that she did.
She'd been there for him when he'd hit rock bottom; had watched as he tried to destroy himself and had refused to let him succeed when even his own wife couldn't save him. She'd been the tiny glimmer of light in a dark, suffocating world, and he'd treated her terribly. She'd borne the brunt of all the things he couldn't say to Barbara; all the hurtful words (and there were so, so many), the blame that he assigned to her, himself, God, the police department, the FBI agent who had promised him everything would be alright (he'd never named her, but he'd blamed her nonetheless), the self-pity and self-hatred and whatever other ugly emotion that he'd felt at the time. He'd given in to them all and had expressed them vocally and physically, and she'd taken everything he'd thrown at her. He'd raged and cried and broke more times than he cared to remember on the floor of her motel room. She'd held him and patched him up and sent him home, and then she'd done it all over again.
Many years have passed since those dark nights. They're in a different place now; they're different people with different lives, yet they've still managed to hold on to one another. If asked, she would say that it was fate. He would scoff at that but privately admit that someone, somewhere, was looking out for him.
He's never apologised for hurting her during that time and he's never thanked her either. She knows that it eats at him sometimes, knows that in his mind he owes her a debt that can never be repaid. It's never occurred to her to call in that debt. As far as she's concerned, the slate is clean. You don't charge the people you love for simple acts of compassion. He's always seen it differently. He knows exactly what she did for him, and even though he couldn't express it then, he makes sure that she knows she's appreciated now. Loved back. That's very important to him, because although she's loved him for all those years, although it took him a little while to realise how easy it was to love her back, she hasn't been in love with him. Until now. And he doesn't ever want to give her any reason to think that he doesn't feel exactly the same.
End.