Johnny stood watching his horses. He walked through their stalls, petting each one. It was sunset, and he had just finished settling them in for the night. They were quiet and content, and seemed happy just to spend time with their human companion. It had been nearly a month since he had returned home, and he was going back to work next shift.

On one hand, he was glad to get back to the station, but on the other, he was not sure how he felt about being around the others. He was sure his friends had his back, but he had heard the rumors, even while he had been in the hospital. He was not stupid. He would have to have been deaf and blind, not to have seen the looks people shot him every time they came into his room.

The only people who didn't treat him any differently were Dixie, Dr. Early and Roy. Even Dr. Brackett sometimes had a hard time looking him in the eye. And Johnny understood. That was the problem. He really did understand, because, if it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have gotten it either. He also knew that things would eventually settle back into at least a semblance of normal.

He had seen a staff psychologist a few times, but it hadn't done much good. The guy was used to working with women. He was at least honest about that. He had never had a male patient. In fact, most of their sessions wound up in either silent awkwardness, or talking about sports scores. Since the department was paying for the sessions, Johnny was relieved when he was released after the fourth session.

It was Mike Stoker who helped the most, when he had come to visit two weeks after John had been released. He had come out, and the two had spent the day on horseback, riding around the property. John had been surprised at Mike's skill with horses. Typically, the engineer simply shrugged, and said he had learned as a kid, and left it at that.

After they had cleaned up after lunch, which they ate up on an overlook above the ranch, Mike made a suggestion. "Look, I would bet you have a lot you want to say to Melinda. You will never be able to move on until you say it." John's expression darkened immediately and Mike held up a hand. "Don't misunderstand me. I am not saying you should try to see her. Not at this point, anyway, if ever. What I'm thinking is, you should write her a letter. Put it all in there. Everything. All that you're thinking and feeling. Don't hold anything back."

Bitterly, John said, "What good is that gonna do? She's in jail. They'll never let me give it to her."

Steadily, Mike held Johnny's gaze. "That's not the point. You're the point. John, you have to begin to heal. And you can't do that until you forgive yourself. And you can't forgive yourself until you get past the hate and the anger." His voice shook, and John swore he saw tears glisten in his normally stoic friend's eyes. "Until you realize that nothing that happened was your fault." Mike suddenly turned away and stood up, going to stroke his horse's muzzle.

Johnny was not dumb. "Mike, you wanna talk about it?"

Mike shook his head, but did not turn around. "No. Just…it was different. But pretty much the same principle." After a moment, he scrubbed his hand over his face and turned back to face Johnny. "You have to forgive yourself, or you will go crazy. I promise you that."

And Mike swung into the saddle and cantered down the hill, leaving a stunned Johnny staring after him.

~E!~

That evening, Johnny sat at his desk, a notebook open in front of him, pen lying next to it. He had thought all day about what to write. He and Mike had not talked much after the conversation at lunch, but they had enjoyed riding, and Mike had surprised him by showing off some trick riding moves in the corral not long before they had grilled some steaks for dinner.

He shook his head. He had known Mike for a long time now, but felt like he barely knew him at all…and he realized for the first time Mike kept it that way on purpose. After their conversation on the overlook, he knew he had a friend who understood his situation, but he was also determined to be there for Mike, if he ever would let him in. Because, although he had given good advice, Johnny had his doubts about whether Mike had entirely forgiven himself…

He settled down, and picked up his pen:

Melinda,

I doubt you will ever get this letter, and I don't really care if you do. What I don't get is why? Why did you do it? You are such a physically beautiful girl, you could make a guy happy, and you could have a good life. So why do you have to hurt people? Why did you have to hurt ME? Why did you have to humiliate me?

There was no good reason for it. No excuse. That's what I keep coming back to. At first, I thought I had done something to deserve it. Part of it is that I am scared of settling down with one woman, because she'll leave when she decides I'm not good enough. I won't measure up. That's my hang-up.

But you…no, that's not what's going on with you. I did not deserve what you did to me. You are just plain mean and crazy. I should have walked away. But I just didn't. It was easier to stay. It was easier to take your abuse, so that I wouldn't have to move on to someone else who would dump me, or who I would end up dumping. I was tired of the game. And so, I stayed—too long. I knew it made no sense at all. So did you. But you knew I would stay. That was part of your game…your power.

But I have learned something. That power, that game, is different for everyone who plays it. That game is domestic violence. I've seen it too many times in my job. IT IS ABUSE. And I REFUSE to be your victim.

Melinda, you lose. YOU—LOSE!

I AM A SURVIVOR.

John Roderick Gage

And Johnny laid down his pen and switched off the desk lamp.

~The End~

A/N: Thank you to all my wonderful readers who have stuck with me through this long and sometimes painful journey. Thank you, too, to the family and friends who walked through my own escape from darkness and journey into the light. I AM A SURVIVOR. Hugs!