Notes: Long live syndicated reruns! Tonight I had the great joy of watching Night Dreams - okay, so I really ogled one part in particular . . . *sniff* one of the sweetest damn moments in the series, IMO. However, the bit of dialogue I use is probably not exactly right, I wasn't planning this when I was watching.
This was thrown together on the spur of the moment really late tonight, so it may be kinda rough. However, I needed a believer fix in a bad way and wanted to share :-) Happy Halloween - let your inner child out for candy *g*

When the phone rings, I pick up the handset without much thought. Through years of ever expecting the unexpected, I had finally trained myself not to jump at every ring of the telephone or knock at the door. The voice on the phone, however, doesn't make me jump. It makes me freeze.

"Sam, it's Bailey." Something's wrong, it's etched in his voice so clearly it rings.

A thousand possibilities flash through my mind, each more gruesome and heartbreaking than the one before. "What's happened?"

However, the answer lies in the last thing I would have expected. "John's been shot."

The silence around me stretches out. Though it feels longer, I know only a handful of seconds have passed. I cannot blink, and when I do it is only to see his face as he offers me his shoulder, the forced laugh when I rebuffed the demonstration.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. "How . . . How bad?"

I can hear Bailey sigh across the line and I clutch the phone even more tightly. "We're waiting. He's in surgery now, Sam."

"I'm coming down there." As I say the words, I stand and grab my keys.

"Sam," Bailey interjects, although I don't pause. "You don't have to. I'll call when we hear anything."

I shake my head, knowing he cannot see it. I find myself being driven by a sudden empty feeling in my chest. "No. I need to be there."

"Okay, Sam."

I hang up the phone, and pause only long enough to take a deep breath. Everything in me is screaming. Something is wrong. Somehow this is different.

Hurrying to my car, I manage to convince myself my actions are the mere concern of one friend for another. As I fight my way through the downtown Atlanta traffic, I'm suddenly compelled to remind myself that Coop is the man in my life. Not John.

After I'm out of my car and half-jogging through the hallways of the hospital, I'm still debating something I'd never allowed myself to consider before - that John is just a friend, nothing more. The what if that follows is left hanging when I find Bailey and Nathan.

The sight of Nathan gives me pause. Smears of red mar his suit - blood. My mind hadn't paused long enough to let me think about it. The look in his eyes is haunted, the look of a man fearing the loss of his best friend. Suddenly, I wonder if a similar glaze of apprehension shines on my face as well.

I rest my hand on Nathan's arm, failing miserably in my attempt to smile. "I know," is all I can manage to say. He blinks, searching my eyes with a piercing gaze, as if measuring if I might possibly. I feel an unexpected relief when he nods.

"He's too stubborn to die," Nathan says, the humor just a touch too forced.

I manage a thin smile in response, jumping when a new voice asks, "Agent Malone?"

We stand quickly, facing the doctor. Bailey reacts first. "Yes?"

"Dr. Isri. I operated on Agent Grant."

Bailey nods. "How is he?"

The doctor gestures toward the chairs we had just vacated, but I find myself unable to move. The doctor's delay only causing my concern to grown. I manage to shake my head, unblinking. "How is he?" I ask, and I am surprised at the strain I hear in my voice.

The doctor meets my gaze, and I read a dawning understanding in his eyes that I find myself shying away from. The doctor smiles as he speaks. "Lucky. The bullet tore up muscle and caused some heavy bleeding, but as wounds go, it was easily corrected. Provided he rests his arm."

I find myself unable to not laugh at the thought of John minding the doctor's orders, and from the corner of my eye I see Bailey hide a grin as well.

"Can we see him?" Nathan asks.

Suddenly the only place I want to be is at John's bedside. To see for myself that he is indeed safe. Yet again I feel relieved when the doctor nods his head. "One at a time, I'll allow it. However, he's still unconscious, so don't expect too much just yet."

"Right," Bailey says. "No handstands until tomorrow."

Even Nathan smiles at Bailey's attempt to bring levity to the situation, the air of relief slowly starting to surround us. "And just when we thought we had him trained," he jokes, although I can see the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

While smiling at the comments, different words sound in my heart. He's alive. Suddenly, this is what matters more than anything. Part of my mind again questions the depth of my reaction. However, it is over ruled as the rest tells that part to shut up - that sometimes it is best to simply react.

"Go on, Nathan," Bailey says, breaking me from my thoughts.

I glance at the other man, only to find him looking at me. "I think Sam should go."

I shake my head, "No, Nathan. You're his partner. You should be there."

At this Nathan truly smiles for the first time since I last saw him that morning. "Do you really think he'd rather see my ugly mug, than your face when he wakes up?"

Again I try to shake my head, but Nathan puts his hand on my shoulder. In that moment, I wonder just what he's reading in my eyes. "Go."

Instead of replying, I simply nod and follow the doctor from the waiting room.

It's the beeping of the heart monitor I hear first, after the doctor guides me to the semi-private room where John is sleeping off the effects of the anesthesia.

Standing beside the bed, I find myself surprised how young he looks when he sleeps. Unable to help myself, I reach out a hand and brush the unruly locks of hair near his forehead. Once more, my emotions are confusing. There is something going on, I can feel it.

I have little time to think about it, however, as he begins to stir. Soon I find myself looking into cloudy blue eyes. The relief I felt when I learned that he would live, paled when compared to the rush of relief that washed over me at seeing those eyes.

"Am I dead?"

I cannot help the small laugh that escapes me as I reply. Yet, it is his next statement that makes my heart miss its next beat.

"Good. 'Cause for a minute there I thought I saw an angel."

End