* * * * * *
VCTF HQ -

"What's a snrm?" John asked, scowling down at the newspaper. He was sitting at the conference table because there wasn't enough room on his desk to spread out the paper.

"A what?" George replied, looking up from his laptop. "What are you reading? Classifieds?" he added in surprise as he rose to peer over John's shoulder. John smoothed the paper flat on the table and shook his head.

"Real estate ads."

George stared at him. "Real estate... You're looking for a house?"

"Yeah. So what's a snrm?"

"Let me see." George followed John's ink-smudged finger to an ad midway down the page. "Sunroom," he translated.

"Oh, that helps. What exactly is a sunroom?"

"It's sort of like a sitting room but with more windows."

John snorted. "What would I need a sitting room for, let alone a sunroom?"

"What do you need the house for?" George countered.

"Those small children in my apartment are getting a little tired of sleeping in the living room."

"John..." George began hesitantly. "The custody hearing isn't that far away. Do you really think they're going to let..."

"I don't know," John interrupted the well-meaning question. "But I have to think that I have a chance."

"Even if they do let you keep them," George persisted, "isn't buying a house a little drastic?"

"Maybe," he had to admit. "But maybe it's just time... What's a 'fncd'?"

"Fenced."

"Fenced. Fenced is good. What school district do you think Clairmont is in?"

* * *

"What do you think of this one?" John asked. It was their second weekend of looking at houses and they were all beginning to blur together. He was almost ready to give up and just ask for a bigger apartment in his current complex and be done with it. He couldn't see paying more for rent than a mortgage though. Lease rates in Atlanta seemed to rise exponentially with each additional bedroom. Shelling out for a house seemed marginally more practical. Marginally.

Jamie shrugged and wrinkled his nose. "There's no carpet."

John sighed. "Hardwood is better. Lasts longer, better for allergies. We could get rugs," he added in exasperation as the boy continued to frown. "Where'd Meg go?" They both looked around the large empty living room that clearly did not contain the little girl. Following his instinct, John headed back down the hallway toward the bedrooms they'd just toured. Megan was standing by the window in the corner room.

"My room at home is like this one," she said as he came to stand beside her. "Two windows and my closet over there." She turned her small face to look up at him sadly. "Are we ever going to get to go home?"

John sighed again. "Someday," he said, kneeling to look at her levelly. "But not for a long time, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Much as he hated to admit it, he knew exactly how she felt. Even remembering how horrible it had been to live with his own father, he was ashamed to recollect how many times in those first few years on the run he'd just wanted to go home. To have his own room back, to return to his old school, to play with his old friends again. He blinked rapidly at the memories and focused on the child in front of him. Yes, he knew exactly how she felt. Megan stared back at him with bright blue O'Doyle eyes and nodded once.

"I like this room," she said quietly.

That was good enough for him.

* * *

the firehouse-

Sam was worried. True, when it came to John she always worried - about one thing or another, but this was a new concern. Usually she worried that he rushed into things without a thought for his own safety. He would simply see something that needed to be done and he'd charge in headfirst to do it. In the field, strategies like that tended to get him shot, however well meaning he'd been. This time, however, she was afraid it was going to get him a broken heart.

Over the past several weeks she had watched him grow more and more attached to Jamie and Megan. For their parts, the children had warmed to him as well, to varying degrees. Both of them were undoubtedly responding to John's ability to empathize with them even if they didn't consciously realize how much they had in common with him yet. There was no way, Sam surmised, that the three of them could have failed to form a connection. There were just too many ties between them, of both blood and history. But Sam was afraid that it wasn't going to be enough to sway a Boston judge.

No matter how undeniably good they might be for each other, the deck was simply not stacked in John's favor. Affection wasn't the only criteria a custody hearing took into consideration, and on paper John just wasn't guardian material. A bachelor with no children of his own. A high-risk job. Crazy hours. The aforementioned tendency toward getting shot on a semi-regular basis. The fact that he was a sometime-target of a brilliant yet deranged serial killer. Sam doubted that even her own testimony on his behalf, her videotaped exposition of how he had become such a father-figure for her own daughter, would be enough to counterbalance the things weighed against him. When she was fighting her own battle to keep Chloe she'd at least had the fact that Chloe was her daughter on her side. John had no greater claim of relation on Jamie and Megan than his sister-in-law did. If Katharine's life was even slightly more stable than John's, the court would be hard-pressed to find a reason to let John keep the children.

She watched him as he lay on the floor playing a board game in her living room. He and Megan were teamed against Jamie and Chloe. The two older children had eased into a tentative truce over the past few weeks. Their vague resentments of each other were all but forgotten when they found themselves rooting for the same hockey team on television, or conspiring to talk the grown-ups into ice cream after dinner, or beating John at a board game. Sam smiled despite her troubled thoughts as the room was filled with laughter. They looked like a family, she thought. A startled realization followed quickly. *We* look like a family.

She found herself praying that John's hopes weren't as implausible as she feared.

* * *

Hartsfield Airport -

"We'll be back in a couple of days," John said confidently, his usual irrepressible grin firmly in place.

"Just be careful up there," Sam told him. "You know how much I worry about you in Boston."

"You worry about me in Buckhead," he snorted. "Besides, nobody shot at me last time. I know," he said, sobering slightly as he saw her concerned expression. "With any luck the only time we'll have to see any� family is in the courtroom. And they'll have security there. I'll be fine. We'll be fine and back before you can miss us." He winked. "Besides, I have to close on that house next Thursday."

"But..." she began then shook her head. He knew that she wanted to warn him again about expecting too much, but they'd been over it too many times before. She reached out to hug him instead. "Come home safe," she whispered.

"I will." When they kissed, three small children rolled their eyes.

"You're gonna be back soon, right?" Chloe asked when John turned to hug her.

"You bet," he assured her. "Look out for your mom while we're gone, 'kay? Take her ice skating or something to cheer her up."

"Okay," the girl giggled while it was Sam's turn to roll her eyes.

With that John began ushering Jamie and Megan toward the connecting walkway. Once on the plane he stowed their bags in the bins and made sure the kids were buckled in. Megan let him help, but Jamie simply glared and waited until the attendant started her announcements. As the ritual lecture on what to do in the event that the aircraft accidentally veered a hundred miles off course and crashed into the ocean John noticed Jamie fiddling with a small card.

"What's that?" he asked curiously, half-expecting his nephew to shove it in a pocket and claim it was nothing. He was more than a little startled when Jamie debated for a moment then handed him the card. "Manon Rheume," he said in surprise. "Where'd you get this?"

"Chloe gave it to me," the boy replied, a note of bemusement in his voice. "There was really a girl in the NHL?"

"Yeah."

Jamie shook his head in disbelief. "Chloe says you saw her play?"

"We went to a couple of games when she was playing for the Knights, Tampa Bay's farm team."

"Was she any good?"

"Well, she had a bad game the night we saw her," he hedged. "But Chloe's a big fan. That card was pretty special to her."

Jamie looked back at the card thoughtfully. "She said it was a good luck card," he said finally. "Think it'll help?"

"Can't hurt," John shrugged. Jamie tucked the card carefully into his jacket while John turned to raise the shade. Meg leaned against the window to watch the runway roll beneath them. Yes, he thought as he watched the two children, he'd take any help he could get.

***** *****