A/N: Not mine. This is all Alan Jackson's fault, as listening to his Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning) inspired this. Yes, yet another Sept. 11th fic. Oh, and Ben can also be found in You'll Be There, and a teenage Bernie can be found in Tear Stained Letters.

It seemed that even rapists took time to grieve in a time of such national loss. The past week had held an all time low of one new case. It meant that the suddenly empty time could be dedicated to shifts at Ground Zero, sifting through the rubble, talking to those coming out of it. If their regular job was emotionally straining, this was emotionally back breaking, nearly debilitating. The grey dust that permeated everything began to permeate their souls, their hearts, as well, sending them to hell and back to Earth, only to send them straight back the next day. Hope for survivors was low, though it was in everyone's minds and hearts. For if they let themselves believe that they would find no one alive, their task would be pointless. The hours of sifting, of digging and sweating and cursing the dust, would all be for nought. Hope was everything.

After a week of this digging, he had had enough. Escape was the only thing left on his mind, though the raw pain of extreme loss was still clearly evident in nearly everything he did. Getting time off was no problem, the Captain was practically begging them to take some time, see their families, or what was left of them. When approached on the subject, Captain had merely said, "Take it. Come back when you're good and ready. No rush. Say hi to the family for me." He went home, packed, jumped in the car, and left, not looking back at the smoke still rising from lower Manhattan. He drove nonstop, reaching Baltimore in what would have been record time if not for the traffic. The route to his brother's house was a familiar one, and even after four and a half hours, he still hadn't thought of the fact that his brother's family might not be home.

When he pulled up in the drive, he needn't have thought of it anyway, as both cars were parked there and a light was on in the kitchen. Leaving his bags in the car, he walked up to the front door, knocking for a reason he never knew. Normally, he just walked in, a joke on his tongue and a gift in hand for his nephew. Bernie answered the door, though answer might be a stretch for no words were spoken. Instead, he threw his arms around his older brother and held on to him until his wife walked up behind him and put a hand on his back. John gave a weak smile at the two and then was embraced by Marianne. He was pulled inside, the door shut and he finally found his voice.

"Ben around?"

Bernie nodded and pointed upstairs, apparently still speechless.

John took the stairs two at a time, something he usually left to those younger and in better shape. Today, though, he didn't care. He just wanted to be here, wrapped in the only family he had. For a minute, upon reaching the threshold of his nephew's room, he stood, watching the boy play with toy cars. "Hey, kiddo."

The eyes lit up as he looked up and John found himself in the grip of a five year old leech. He ruffled the brown hair that was a little above his waist and closed his eyes, reveling in the child's innocent embrace. When he let go, John was reluctant to part, but allowed Ben to take his hand and pull him on the floor next to where he had previously been sitting and show him his cars. For the most part, John participated without saying a word, mostly watching his nephew and thinking how grateful he was to have him, to have a life, to have a family. As much as he tried to focus on the young life before him, his mind drifted to sole officer from the 16 Precinct that had been lost in the rubble. He had been young, the very vision of America. Ron Driscoll reminded John of what a younger Elliot might have been. A man fresh out of the Army, he had two kids and a wife, and believed in his country with such conviction that John almost believed in it too. Driscoll's son was Ben's age, had just started kindergarten. Looking at Ben now, John found it difficult to separate the two, though he hadn't even known the other boy. Still, they molded together in his mind and he wondered how the other boy was coping.

A couple hours later, they were all gathered in the living room, Ben nodding to sleep in his lap. He knew Marianne would want him to go to bed, but John couldn't bring himself to let go. So he sat, talking in low tones with his brother and sister-in-law. Most of the conversation was about nothing of severe importance, and no mention of the previous week's events was made. John was grateful for this, as it seemed all anyone wanted to do, or could do, was talk about it. Where they were. Who they knew. What they were doing now. How their kids were. The highest though was why. Why did they do that? Why? Why? Why?

He didn't know how to answer those questions. Like most, if not all Americans, especially New Yorkers, he wished he knew why, but the disappointing truth was that he didn't. Even with all his reading, all the newspapers he read in a day, all the books he'd read and all his conspiracy theories, he didn't know why. Perhaps it was the fact that he was still a little numb, and if he was, he had a feeling that they all were, and would be for a while. That initial shock was still there, sure, but it was beginning to wane a bit, even only a week afterwards. The gash through their hearts was still bleeding, but the support coming from other states, from other nations, was helping keep a fresh bandage on to make sure they didn't bleed to death.

His arm was starting to fall asleep along with Ben, but he didn't move it for fear of waking his nephew. And, finally and much to his dismay, Bernie asked, "How are things in New York?"

Slowly, John looked up from where he had been looking at the peaceful expression on Ben's face. "Different," was the word he finally settled on. Truthfully, there were no words to fully explain how much the city had changed in a mere week. No words to explain the scared looks, the sudden understanding of strangers, the lack of new cases, the smoke and the rubble, the gray men and women who walked out of it, looking only for a drink and a few minutes rest before heading back in. No words that would properly convey anything that had happened in the city since Tuesday.

"Have you been volunteering at Ground Zero?" The words sounded so strange, as if they were in a war zone and it occurred to John that it was a war zone.

"The whole squad has been taking shifts there."

There was no asking what it was like. Though civilians often asked soldiers those types of questions, what was it like, did you kill anyone, they weren't necessary here. Everyone was a soldier now. They knew what it was like instinctively, whether because they were American or because they were humans all experiencing the same event, John didn't know and probably never would. All he knew was that everyone knew, and that somehow made things easier.

"I was thinking of visiting Kay and the old gang tomorrow," he said quietly after a few minutes of silence had passed.

Bernie only nodded.

After all these years of being the big brother and half a father, John knew what was wrong. Standing up, Ben sleeping in his arms, he carried the boy off to bed, Marianne close at his heels. He laid Ben down on the bed and tucked him in, giving him a kiss on the forehead before retreating back to the living room, where Bernie still sat. "You're worried about me," he stated.

No response from his brother. John sat next to him.

"I promise you that I'm all right."

"It's not that." His voice was slightly choked. John said nothing, waiting for Bernie to speak on his own. He didn't have long to wait. "You're a cop. Always have been. I'm just being stupid over this whole thing."

"Bernie-"

"No, I am. I know it comes with risks. I mean, you have to carry a gun all the time. It's not like you need it to chase away cats or something. But I just wish..." His voice trailed off.

"You're starting to sound like my wife now. And you'd be surprised at the size of some of the cats we see. Big monsters of things. And claws like you wouldn't believe. They climb brick buildings and eat giant sewer rats for a snack. One time-"

"I got scared you would die."

His brother's whispered confession stopped him. John hadn't seen his brother act like this since... well, he couldn't really remember when the last time was, but he knew it was a long time ago. Long enough to be notable. Closing his eyes, he said quietly, "I get scared, too. But somebody has to do it." Though he wasn't the most supportive of their country, anyone wearing a badge felt something patriotic. Otherwise they wouldn't be where they were. And even he, conspiracy buff and near anarchist felt the brotherhood with his fellow cops, and the felt the fatherhood that the nation represented. Anyone was bound to. It was what they had to do. It was more than their job, it was their life.

"You remember that time I got you to go to that old abandoned building and we got stuck? You were crying, I think you were about Ben's age, but I had to take you along. I was trying to scare you. In the end, I wound up having to save you because you went underneath that old bookcase and it fell. Scared me more than it scared you, I think. That's why I'm still a cop. Because the things happening to others scare me, so I have to save them. Doesn't always work and sometimes they get more scared than I do, but I'm at least there. Tuesday, and everyday since then, I've had to be there. You wanna know why we go there everyday, looking for people? Because there's hope in what we're doing. There's that small, nearly microscopic chance we might save someone, and it lets us do our job. It urges us on. Through all that dust and smoke, there's hope."

And even he felt it.