Sam padded softly down the hallway. It had been difficult to climb out of bed. If the guest bed was that comfortable, she wondered, what was John’s like? She shook her head at the Goldilocks fantasy and laughed to herself. Still, down comforters were ideal for the plunging mountain temperatures and they fit with the cabin’s strangely expensive yet homespun theme.

She headed for the kitchen with low expectations. It was doubtful that there was anything remotely resembling breakfast food in John’s cabinets but it couldn’t hurt to look. As she passed his bedroom she noticed that the door was half-open. Denzel had apparently gone looking for somewhere warm to sleep last night, too, she thought with a smile.

John had never been comfortable around the large dog. Sam suspected that he had never had any pets as a child. He tried to keep his distance from the overgrown mutt, but Denzel seemed determined to win the man over. Peeking into the room Sam saw the German shepherd curled up at the end of John’s bed.

The dog lifted his head as he sensed Sam’s presence and gave her a sleepy glance. She didn’t have any food, so he promptly dismissed her. His large head dropped heavily back onto John’s leg. John gave the dog a half-hearted shove with his foot and rolled over. It was apparent that even the dog’s movements weren’t enough to wake him. He really can sleep through anything, Sam thought.

She left the door open and continued toward the kitchen. To her surprise there were actually several packets of pancake mix on one of the shelves. They had brought milk up with them from the city and the eggs she found in the refrigerator didn’t seem to be terribly old. She was pouring the first batch of batter onto the skillet when Chloe wandered in.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, ma’am." Chloe leaned against the counter. "Can I help? I want to make shapes."

Soon mother and daughter stood at the stove giggling quietly over the misshapen pancakes that only vaguely resembled the designs that had been intended.

We should do this more often, Sam thought. It had been a long time since she and Chloe had last made pancakes together. Too often there just didn’t seem to be enough time. She had a horrible feeling that her own father’s rationalizations might have started in just the same way. A missed meal here. A forgotten activity there. And soon it was easier to *not* do things than to do them. Sam silently promised her daughter that she would not let this happen to them.

"Maybe Denzel can eat that one," Chloe said as she pointed at a particularly crispy-looking pancake.

As if he had been called, the dog appeared in the kitchen doorway. Sam turned to see that John had followed him. She smiled.

"Smells good," John said.

Chloe, with all the tact of an eight-year-old, took one look at him and burst into laughter.

"What?" he asked.

"Your hair," the child laughed. "It’ll all on end."

John raised a hand self-consciously to his head.

"You need a haircut," Sam said mercilessly.

*****

"I want to go on a picnic," Chloe announced.

"We just finished breakfast," Sam said.

"We can hike somewhere... Can’t we, John?"

"Well, there are a couple of trails that start down toward the other end of the lake and go for a mile or two up the mountain." He gave Sam a look almost as hopeful as Chloe’s. "You didn’t have anything else planned for today, did you?"

Sam looked at the two expectant faces. It was virtually impossible to argue with them both, she knew. They were too stubborn and together they were immovable. She gave in. She suspected that if John became any more entrenched in their lives she really was going to have to learn how to stand up to the two of them. It wasn’t good to always let them have their own way. But another afternoon in the mountains…? What could it hurt?

*****

"I can’t move another step," Sam said as she sank to the forest floor. The woods were beautiful and the fresh air was more wonderful than she could have imagined, but her feet were killing her.

"Come on, Mom. We’re almost there."

"Almost where?" she asked suspiciously. "You’ve been up here before?"

Chloe gave a guilty, wide-eyed start and disappeared behind John. John grinned and held out a hand to Sam.

"Only once," he said. "The fish weren’t biting so we took a break last time we came up. There’s a decent clearing just a little further on."

Sam put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet again. Where did they get all this energy, she wondered? And why didn’t I think to wear more reasonable shoes?

After only a few more minutes of walking they arrived at the promised clearing. A small creek flowed nearby. Denzel examined the water warily but ran quickly back to Chloe’s side when he realized that food was being unpacked.

Lunch was simple fare. Cheese and bologna sandwiches, potato chips, and lemonade. Sam would have preferred some sort of fruit, but given John’s concept of nutrition she had been thankful for what she had found. She wasn’t sure she could have made this hike up the mountain for a peanut butter sandwich. Once the meal was finished she wasn’t sure that she could make it back down the mountain, either. As John stretched out on the picnic blanket she realized with some relief that they probably wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

"Can I climb that tree?" Chloe asked.

"Just don’t climb too high, sweetheart. Stay where I can see you."

"Yes, ma’am."

As Chloe scrambled off to tackle the tree Sam picked up the remains of their lunch wrappers and put them in John’s backpack.

"A crocodile," he said suddenly.

"Where?" Sam looked around in alarm then realized that John was staring up at the clouds.

Sam studied him as he lay on the blanket beside her. He was oblivious to her scrutiny; his attention focused on imaginary shapes in the sky.

"How do you work at the same place I do," she asked, "see the same things that I see every day and still remain so..."

"Immature?" he asked with a grin.

"No," she replied with a grin of her own. "Able to enjoy… clouds."

"Work is work. Everything else is mine. You can’t take it home, Sam. You know that."

"I know, but… how can you compartmentalize like that? I don’t want to bring it home, but sometimes…"

"I’ve had a lot more practice. I learned how to repress at a very early age. I was a schizophrenic by the time I was six." His tone was bantering, but Sam could hear the painful truth behind his words. She wondered how much of his childhood he tried to block out. "Besides," he continued cheerfully, "there’s always nightmares. Those tend to even things out. Repress in the daylight; pay for it at night. Still, I’d rather have the day."

"You have an… interesting perspective."

"You should try it," he said. "Come here."

"John…" She tried to protest but found herself lying on her back all the same. Her head rested on John’s chest and she stared up at the clouds that he had been watching. "This is *not* the perspective I was talking about." She could feel his laughter beneath her head.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Clouds."

"Try harder. Chloe got that imagination from somebody."

She sighed. "Cotton candy."

"That’s a texture, not a shape. Try again."

"John... Fine. The Taj Mahal."

"Oh, please. Now you’re just humoring me."

"No. Right there." She pointed at a large, pinkish cloud. "The Taj Mahal."

"Oh."

"Mom! Look!"

Sam sat up abruptly. Chloe waved at her from high in the tree.

"This is fun!" the little girl cried. "When we get a real house can we get one with a big tree in the yard?"

"We’ll see, sweetheart. Why don’t you come down a little?" She lay back down against John. "She loves it up here," she said as she kept an eye on Chloe.

"Of course, she does. What’s not to love about it?"

"The mosquitoes," Sam answered promptly.

"Wimp. Besides the mosquitoes," he said, "how could anyone not love it up here?"

Sam took a deep breath of pine-scented air and looked up at the clouds again. "I don’t know," she said at last. They lay silently watching the clouds drift slowly across the bright summer sky. I could get used to this, she thought. The quiet, the beauty... the company.

"Can we go out in the rowboat when we get back down?" Chloe asked suddenly.

Sam blinked up at her. She hadn’t even seen her climb out of the tree.

"We’ll see, Chlo," John said. "It might be kind of late."

*****

Sam sat on the porch swing, buried in another of John’s sweatshirts. She pulled the sleeves over her knuckles and looked toward the lake. John and Chloe lay on the dock staring up at the stars that weren’t visible from the city. She could hear the low murmur of their voices, punctuated occasionally by Chloe’s laughter. They’re good for each other, Sam thought with a smile. She shivered in the cool night air and went back inside.

As she looked around the cabin she realized that this was the first time she had been alone in it. Without anyone there to distract her she could see the cabin for what it really was - the place where John hid the rest of his life. Moving about the room she discovered the expected assortment of boxing trophies and souvenir hockey pucks. But there were also pieces of him here that she never saw in the city. As she studied the bookshelves she was surprised to discover an extensive collection of classic science fiction and fantasy novels. He had everything from Tolkien and Lewis to Asimov and Heinlein. She was amused to see several old Burroughs’ volumes as well. They were mostly dog-eared paperbacks that looked as though they had been jammed in back pockets and shoved into suitcases and hauled around the country. The remnants of a solitary adolescence, Sam thought.

A picture frame on the mantle caught her eye. She picked up the frame and nearly dropped it. It held a photograph of a woman and a boy. The boy was clearly John at fifteen or so. The woman, Sam was certain, was his mother. She was not what Sam had expected.

She had never seen a picture of Noreen O’Doyle. Sam wasn’t sure why, but she had somehow formed an image in her mind of a small, timid woman; someone weary and battered by life. It occurred to Sam that she always thought of her as simply the woman who had run from her criminal husband and taken with her a child who had been forced to grow up far too quickly. John had rarely talked about her. Now, staring at the woman in the photo, Sam realized that there was no way someone as frail and meek as the woman in her imagination could have pushed away the influences of Patrick O’Doyle to raise someone like John.

Noreen was petite with short, fiery red hair and a broad, mischievous grin. The grin alone told Sam where John had gotten his rebellious spirit. The woman seemed to radiate confidence and strength. John stood behind her with his arms around the small woman’s shoulders. A matching grin was on his face. They looked like a dangerous pair. She didn’t doubt that the woman in the photo was capable of doing just about anything to protect her son. Sam set the picture down carefully.

The apartment in Atlanta was where he stayed because it was close to work, but Sam was rapidly forming the conclusion that the cabin was where he would live if he could. He had a rather nice sound system in one corner of the room. Radio reception in the mountains was poor, but there was an extensive CD collection beside the stereo.

She didn’t recognize many of the artists. Picking one at random from the top of the stack she put it into the player. After studying the controls for a moment she located the power button and turned it on. She had selected a country album without realizing it. As the music played Sam continued her survey of John’s cabin.

Several songs into the CD Sam caught herself humming along. Six months of Chloe changing all the radio stations has finally rubbed off, she thought. I’m actually humming country songs, now. She hummed a few more bars then stopped abruptly. This song wasn’t familiar because she heard it occasionally on one of Chloe’s radio stations. It was familiar because she heard it daily while she was getting ready for work. It was the tune on the music box that held her earrings... the music box that John had given her for Christmas last year.

She crossed the room quickly and hit the replay button. This song had been haunting her for months. She was certain that John had intended something by giving her a music box with this particular tune on it but she had never been able to identify the song. She fumbled for the liner notes as a woman’s voice, somehow both lost and hopeful, began to sing.

We’ve been friends for a long, long time
You tell me your secrets, and I tell you mine
She’s left you all alone, and you feel like no one cares
But I have never failed you; I’ve always been there

Sam located the lyrics. The song title seemed so appropriate for John’s hesitant, wordless gift. "What If I Said…", she read. She tried to follow the words as a man began singing.

You tell your story; it sounds a bit like mine
It’s the same old situation, it happens every time
Can’t we see, maybe you and me is what’s meant to be
Or do we disagree...

In the duet of the chorus Sam could hear clearly why John had bought the music box. At least she hoped that she was interpreting the words the same way that he had. It wasn’t as though there was much room for misinterpretation, she thought.

What If I told you...
What If I said that I love you
How would you feel
What would you think
What would we do
Do we dare and cross that line
Between your heart and mine
Would I lose a friend
Or find a love that would never end

Sam released a shaky breath. She could plainly remember how enigmatic John had been when he had given her the music box. The song had obviously been important to him, but he had just as obviously been relieved that she couldn’t recognize it. What had he been thinking, she wondered? Did he really mean what she thought he was saying? The duet continued.

She doesn’t love you; oh it’s plain to see
I can read between the lines of what you’re telling me
He doesn’t hold you the way a woman should be held
How long can I go on keeping these feelings to myself

Had this been John’s way of telling her how he felt without actually having to say the words? Had he really been trying to say… this? Did he really feel... She looked up as the back door opened. Chloe walked in followed by John. Sam saw his eyes widen and he paled beneath his tan. They stared at one another across John’s living room.

"Chloe, go get ready for bed," he said as he blindly ruffled the child’s hair. "Your mom and I will be back in a few minutes to tuck you in."

Sam wondered for an instant if she should turn off the stereo. Even before she finished the thought she knew that she couldn’t. Unavoidably John’s confession, in someone else’s voice, continued to spill out of the speakers.

Oh, we’ve both had our shares of loneliness
So who’s to say that we can’t have, a little happiness
And if I found that in you
It would make my dreams come true
Or would you walk away
Hear what I have to say

John made no move toward Sam after Chloe left. Sam crossed to him instead.

What If I told you
What If I said that I love you

"Were you ever going to tell me?" she asked.

"I thought... I thought you would have figured it out... a long time before now."

How would you feel
What would you think
What would we do

"Why didn’t you tell me when you gave it to me?"

"You were still dating Coop."

Do we dare and cross that line
Between your heart and mine*

"I’m not now."

"No," he said softly. "You’re not."

Oh, I’ve always wondered
From the day that we met...

"If I read between the lines... would I be wrong?"

"If you read between the lines you’re doing too much work."

She looked up into his clear blue eyes. For the first time since she had known him they reflected exactly what he felt. No fear, no hesitation, no denial.

He loved her.

She had kissed him before – a ruse for Jack’s benefit, a kiss beneath mistletoe, on the cheek or forehead in relief in the aftermath of some crisis or another… but nothing like this. This was… something to get lost in.

"Mo-om..." Chloe stretched the name. "Are either of you going to come tuck me? If you aren’t, can I stay up, too?"

"Does timing run in your family?" he asked softly.

Sam shook her head slowly as she buried her face against his shoulder. It muffled her laughter. She wasn’t hysterical… she thought. But she couldn’t explain exactly what it was that rushed through her. A release of all the tension and frustration she had felt for months? An upsurge of the other feelings that she had tried to smother for so long? Was it love?

Definitely, she decided. Love.

"We’ll be there in just a minute, sweetheart," she said.

"One of these days," John said quietly, "we’re going to do this romantic getaway thing right. No kids, no dogs… no lip-readers. Just you and me."

"I’m going to hold you to that."

******

After a late breakfast and a morning spent cleaning fishing gear and stowing the rowboat they headed back to Atlanta. They pulled into the firehouse garage in mid-afternoon.

"Pretty soon I’m not going to be able to do this," John said as he gently lifted Chloe out of the truck. "She’s getting so big." The exhausted child didn’t even stir.

Sam picked up Chloe’s bag and herded Denzel to the elevator.

"So, did you two actually plan this whole weekend?" she asked as she pressed the up button.

"No." John gave her an apologetic grin. "Not the *whole* weekend. I just wanted to be with you," he said. "I didn’t think you’d go messing around with my stereo."

"I’m glad I did. Next time...?" she said with a smile.

"Next time..." he agreed.

"Where have you been?" Angel asked as soon as they walked into the living room. "Have you been up at the lake house all weekend? John, did it ever occur to you to get a phone installed up there?"

"I thought you and Alex were still in Florida," Sam said in surprise.

"Sam, do you ever listen?" Angel sighed but there was affection in the tone. "I guess you’ve had other things on your mind, too. I told you we were coming back this afternoon. I was worried sick when I found out you weren’t back yet." She frowned at her roommate. "But your FBI goons didn’t seem too worried at all. What exactly are they being paid to…"

"What is that?" Sam interrupted.

"What? You mean this?" Angel suddenly beamed and held out her left hand for Sam’s inspection. "This is why I really wanted you to be home when I got back."

"Is this what I think it is?"

"If you think it’s an engagement ring, then yeah, it is what you think it is."

"Congratulations!" Sam said as she hugged her.

"I want to see!" Chloe said. She had woken at the excited voices and John put her down.

"Congratulations," John echoed.

Angel nodded. "Thanks."

Sam watched the exchange warily. Before Angel had met Alex she had briefly dated John. The relationship had ended badly and things had been uncomfortable between them ever since. Sam suspected that much of Angel’s frustration with John had been exacerbated by his growing relationship with Chloe. It had hurt her that he had been able to form a stronger connection with the child than he had with her. Sam’s defense of him had only strained her own friendship with Angel.

Now, Sam could see an uneasy truce between them. In their expressions she could read an unspoken acknowledgement that they both knew they had been completely wrong for each other and that things had worked out for the best after all.

"Well, I guess I should be going," John said. Truce or not, it was still an awkward situation. Sam could see that he was anxious to leave. "See you later, Chloe." Chloe hugged him absently and turned quickly back to Angel. He smiled and shook his head. "Sam."

Seeing that Chloe and Angel were occupied for the moment Sam walked back to the elevator with him. His parting kiss was enough to tell her that there was no chance of going back to the relationship they’d had before.

"You’d better be serious, John Grant," she whispered.

"Never been more serious in my life."

***

END

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