Feedback: please feel free :)

Notes: I've been accused of not being able to write anything but super angsty stuff. I'm not sure if this proves otherwise or not :)

Disclaimer: Not my players. Just my playground. :-)

It was raining, pouring down from the skies in unending waves. Inside the cabin his grandfather had left him; John couldn't bring himself to care. Not about the rain, nor the fact he was drenched himself from it.

He had left work that afternoon with hardly a second glance and driven to the cabin on some sort of instinct. He needed to get away, from work, from the people there, from life in general. Work would still be there in the morning, as would the rest of the world. But for that night -- that moment -- he didn't care.

He was sitting on the couch, his soaked jacket tossed carelessly across one of the chairs near the door. Clutched in his hand was the letter that he had found laying, innocently enough, on the top of his desk that afternoon. What it said, however, was far from innocent. It had, in fact, hurt more than he had imagined a simple letter could.

After the last confrontation with Jack, John had worried Sam might want to leave. That she would have had enough of Atlanta and the Bureau. But he never imagined she'd leave without so much as a word. Even after the ups and downs they had known over the years, he expected the chance to say goodbye.

He sighed and ran a hand over his head. Sitting on the low table in front of him was a half-full glass of bourbon. The fact that he had yet to drink any of it was a testament how far he had come since his days on the Atlanta PD. Back then it had been too easy to drown the hurts and worries.

Laughing humorlessly, John realized that somewhere along the way he had grown up.

His gaze falling back to the now-crumpled letter, smudged with water from the rain that still fell from his hair, he ran his fingers over the familiar writing. The last words struck out at him, causing a hole inside he hadn't known since the only family he gave a damn for -- his mother -- was ripped from him.

I have to do this. I hope you understand.

He understood, but it didn't stop him from wishing it could be any way but. Part of him didn't want to understand. He simply wanted her there. It would appear he had lost any chance at... At whatever it was he was feeling.

Taking a deep breath he shook his head as if to deny the thought. Dropping the letter onto the table, he stood and walked over to the window. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared out into the night as lighting flashed across the sky and shivered. How had so much changed in such a short period of time?

He had barely had time to consider the thought before he heard a noise on the front porch. His hand reached for the gun that rested at his side before he realized he wasn't wearing it. A quick look to the coffee table in the middle of the room revealed the missing weapon and he tucked it into the waist of his pants at the small of his back.

Without bothering to glance through the window next to the door, he threw the latch and pulled it open slowly. John found himself facing a very familiar back, and when the visitor turned, all the air rushed from his lungs.

She half smiled. "Hi, John."

"Hi?" It was more question than statement, his mind struggling to catch up with what his eyes were showing him. And damn if she didn't look beautiful -- even standing there, soaked through the light jacked she wore, her hair plastered to her head. With a quick shake, he stepped out of the way. "Come in, get out of the rain."

Sam smiled, but the gesture was still uncertain. "Thanks." She walked past him, her hands buried in her pockets as she glanced around the dimmed interior. After a long pause, she returned her attention to John, who was standing beside the door, not sure what to make of the situation. "I can't do it."

He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "Can't do it." He blinked again, his heart beating so loudly he felt sure she could hear it. "Can't do what?" A thousand possibilities ran through his mind in an instant, each more preposterous than the last.

Biting her lip, she looked at the floor and then met his eyes. "I tried to leave. I wanted to leave. I said goodbye to some..." At that, she turned away, unable to meet his open gaze. "I ran from others."

John's hand was still on the doorknob, as if worried she might try to leave. He couldn't tear his eyes from Sam, even as she turned away and moved to stand next to the same window he had recently been beside. "Would you let me take your coat? You have to be freezing."

The corner of her mouth quirked in an almost smile. She tugged the jacket off and handed it to him. "Thanks."

He nodded and handed her a blanket that had been thrown across the back of the couch. "Here. This should help."

"Thanks," she repeated, taking the offered comfort and wrapping it around her shoulders. She watched as he draped her jacket across the coat rack, noticing that his suit jacket was still lying on the chair untouched. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the distance between them and placed her hand on his arm. She focused her attention on that contact, feeling the damp cloth beneath her hand. "I'm sorry." The words were a whisper so soft, had there been a burst of wind he would have missed them.

John blinked, a muscle along his jaw quivering with tension. Finally he managed to turn and look at her. "Sam..."

"I'm sorry. I know it's probably too little too late." She shook her head, but refused to drop her hand. "I tried to leave. We're packed, still ready to go. We even made it to the airport."

"Then why are you here?" The carefully held control in John's voice cracked, betraying the emotion beneath. "Why aren't you at 10,000 feet?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it. Shaking her head, she blinked quickly. Swallowing rapidly, she took a deep breath. When she finally looked at him, the tears that were brimming in her eyes shocked him. "I couldn't go." Again the words were whispered and John's eyes closed at the sound. When he opened them, Sam could see the rolling emotions within them.

He cleared his throat, which was suddenly tight. "Sam..."

She shook her head, a single tear slipping free. Without thinking, John reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand, wiping the tear away with his thumb. Sam leaned into the touch, her eyes closing. "I need to know," she said a moment later. "I need to know if there's a chance..."

"If there's a chance?" John lowered his hand, taking an unsteady breath. "Sam, you sure have a hell of a way of going about things."

Suddenly flustered, Sam took a step back, her hand falling from his arm. Looking around quickly, she wiped a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'll go."

She had taken only a step toward the coat rack before John's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "No. Please..." John sighed, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. "Don't go."

"John..." With a steadying breath, she turned back around. She considered her words for a moment. "I don't know why exactly I'm here. But I'm didn't come to hurt you."

Understanding that much at least, John nodded. "I know."

Grasping the hand that wasn't on her shoulder, Sam looked up at John. "I think I realized that if I left, even if it was for mostly the right reasons, I would be making a mistake." She smiled, squeezing his hand. "A mistake I couldn't justify making."

"Sam..."

"I shouldn't have left that letter. I should have at least said goodbye." Sam refused to look away from his eyes, which were made soft by his continued confusion. "And then, somehow, I finally realized why I was so scared to face you, to tell you goodbye."

John moved his hand from her shoulder, lifting it to brush a lock of damp hair away from her face. Sam wrapped her arms across her chest in a protective posture. "You don't have to do this, Sam."

"Yes, I do," she replied, a no-nonsense tone to her voice he was familiar with. "I realized that at some point..." Her voice trailed off, her own uncertainty rearing its head. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her reserves. "At some point, you changed from being an annoying co-worker." At his hurt expression she smiled, and shook her head slightly. "To one of my closest friends. And from there..."

Her grin faded, and she glanced away before pushing onward. She was silenced, however, when John placed a finger over her lips. "I think I know." He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

She nodded, smiling as he dropped his hand. However, she still needed to say the words, as much as she needed him to hear them. "And somewhere along the line... I think I fell in love with you."

John took a quick breath at hearing the last words he would ever have expected Sam to say. For a moment, he couldn't speak. In that moment, there was just the low noise of rain hitting the roof, thunder off in the distance and his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

"I love you, too," he finally managed to force the words past the lump in his throat. "I just never imagined I'd be admitting it."

Sam laughed softly, causing John to smile at the sound. "I never imagined I'd turn around and leave the airport. I'm not sure I believed it, even when I was already halfway across town."

Frowning suddenly, John tilted his head to the side. "Sam, where's Chloe? And how did you know to come here?"

"Chloe's with Bailey. In fact I still owe him an explanation as to my sudden change of heart." She added the latter more to herself than to John. "As for the cabin..." She smiled, touching his cheek with her fingertips. "Call it an instinct."

John smiled and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. The proximity was new, but far from uncomfortable. "You always were good at going on your instincts."

"Even if it took me a little while this time?" She tilted her head to the side, studying the features of his face.

With a short nod, he pulled her into an embrace. John rested his chin on the top of her head, as she laid her cheek against his chest with her arms curled around his waist. "Neither one of us was very quick, it would appear."

He felt her smile and a spike of warmth filled his chest. "Better late than never?"

Holding her tighter, he smiled in return. "All's well that ends well. Or something like that, right?"

"Something like that, yeah." She let out a long breath, lost in thought for the moment. "What do we do now?" she finally asked in a quiet voice.

John chuckled softly. "I guess we do what everybody does." When she tilted her head back just far enough to see his face, he winked. "We make it up as we go along."

Sam laughed, the nervousness she had felt during her drive to the cabin finally fading. And any lingering cold from the rain had faded within the warmth of his arms. "I'm sure Chloe will like that plan."

"About Chloe..." he started, his smile gone.

With a nod, Sam smiled softly. "She knew I was coming to talk to you."

"And?" He loved the girl dearly, having been around her for so many years, but he knew that the situation was changing. John also knew that what was best for Chloe would need to come first.

"Don't look so worried," Sam said a moment later. Tightening her arms around him, she laughed. "She only wanted to know what took me so long."

Relief washed over him and he laughed, his eyes bright. "Sounds like my girl."

"At least someone was paying attention," Sam said with a wink.

John leaned his forehead against Sam's. "I think between the three of us, we'll do okay then."

"I think we'll do better than okay."

Sam smiled and John saw the crumpled letter on the table out of the corner of his eye. A part of him couldn't believe it hadn't been that long since he had read that letter, upset by the loss it revealed. Sighing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the present -- Sam in his arms, not lost to parts unknown.

John pressed his lips to Sam's. The remaining tension slid away as she responded to the touch. Her lips parted beneath his, her arms wrapping around his neck. Realization flooded him. It was real. Not pretend. Not simply a game to catch Jack. Not on display for the entire team to watch.

And in that moment, he was happy to forget the rest of the world even existed.

End