Glenna- Thanks for editing!! And thanks so much for giving me a place to show my stories. I really appreciate it.

They are not mine. But I don't think they should be NBC's either. : )

The wind worked its way inside John's thick coat and made him shiver. The Indian Summer was fading and the nights were beginning to turn cold. John concentrated on the details, trying to take his mind from the chill as well as his task for the night. The grass under his shoes was slick and when he walked it felt somewhat slimy. The lining in his coat pocket was cool but quickly warmed his hands. Streetlights brightened the night but not enough to reveal him to the woman inside the house.

It seemed as if he had been there for hours. At first he walked around the yard, keeping well into the shadows. If he were seen, he would tip his hand and he might lose the only chance he would ever have. Eventually, he ended up on the side of the house near the garage, where he knew she would eventually end up. He stood in the dark, leaning against a thick tree trunk, pondering the events leading up to this night.

John had known she would do this; he knew she would run. He wouldn't let her leave without saying all he wanted to say. Too many people had left his life like this: sudden, shocking. And he was never given the chance to tell them what he felt. His mother died, and he never told her how much he loved her. Nate had been killed and John was never able to tell him he was sorry for lying, or how proud he was to have been his partner. When Bailey had been shot, John was afraid of never being able to tell him, 'Thanks for choosing me.' He'd be damned if he let Sam go without telling her anything.

He thought about how it had all started. There was Bailey. Bailey probably was the closest he would ever have to a father. John had known him for a long time through the APD and it was to him that he turned to when clues and leads were going nowhere. Some of his colleagues had been surprised that he would ask anyone for help, let alone a Fed. But John wasn't proud when it came to murder.

Things would have gone on the same as always if even Bailey Malone hadn't been stumped by that guy. But Bailey and the force were at a stand still—enter Samantha Larson. This amazing woman with brains and beauty had turned John's world upside-down. And every damn day that he knew her, she became more and more incredible and John fell deeper and deeper in love with her.

It hadn't started as love. He had been attracted to her, sure, but love and commitment were the furthest things from his mind. John made passes at her, but always with a smile; he knew--and she knew--that he wasn't really serious. Until one Nick Cooper entered the picture. John had been shocked and disgusted at how jealous Coop made him. It was during the year that he had known Coop that John came to realize and eventually accept the fact that he had fallen in love with Sam. After Coop was killed, it just never seemed right to act on those feelings.

And now he would never have the chance. Jack was too much for Sam to handle. She just couldn't do it anymore. John understood that. He had been running away his entire life and knew that sometimes the best of friends just couldn't cut it in the comfort department. So, she was going to go back into hiding; she was giving in.

It had been planned of course. On October 18^th, Samantha and Chloe Waters would disappear to God knew where, under pseudonyms known only to five people: Bailey Malone, Angel Brown, Grace Alvarez, George Fraley and John Grant. All were under oath as friends to never contact them and as friends they would honor that promise.

Even if it ripped their hearts out.

It was this promise that John was cursing that moment. He couldn't understand how Sam had elicited the words from him. "No, Sam. You have my word." How had Sam managed to make him give in?

She'd looked at him with those blue eyes, tears threatening and he couldn't refuse, that's how. And now John was stuck with honoring a promise that he didn't believe in, and wasn't sure he could live with.

So now, he waited. He waited for Sam to run away. He glanced at his watch, the green light showing him the time. It was late—nearly three; he began to doubt his suspicions. Maybe she would do what was right, maybe she would stay.

Any hope he had was killed as he heard the garage door open. John walked forward, willing--if not exactly ready--to face the most painful experience of his life: Good-bye.

As Chloe slept on the floor in a sleeping bag, Sam packed. There wasn't much left for her to put into boxes; most things had been sold, or given away. Everything they were planning on taking was already in the car.

Sam stood in the middle of the living room, taking a long look around. Chloe was thrilled when Sam bought this house. No cameras, no guards. But over the past year, Sam suspected that if given the chance, Chloe would go back to the firehouse in a heartbeat. More than a few times in the past year Sam had longed for the dark firehouse herself, cameras and all. This place had been a house, not a home. As Sam walked the house, she wished she could go to the firehouse, wished she could say good-bye to *that* building. That was where they had truly healed. It had been home.

Sam felt tears fall from her eyes as she set a manila envelope on the carpet in the living room. Inside were letters from Chloe and from herself. They were messages of thanks, of love, of good-bye. Not for the first time, Sam wondered if she was doing the right thing. Tomorrow, her friends would find an empty house—no sign that she had ever been there. Sam was going against the plan. She wanted to avoid the pain of good-byes, for herself, for Chloe, for her friends. But as guilt and pain settled even more firmly in her heart, Sam wondered if that truly would be easier.

Chloe hadn't been happy about the move, which was understandable. She had roots here—friends, even a family of sort. After

Tom died, Sam took her away to Angel's farm. It was a place she loved, with people she loved. Chloe hadn't been in school at the time, didn't really have anyone or anything to leave behind. Now she had to run away from everyone she loved.

Chloe had said impromptu good-byes to her extended family, giving Bailey, and Angel hugs. She had kissed John's cheek and held George's hand. Earlier in the week she had stayed over at Grace's house, playing with Jason all night. But Chloe didn't know that she would never get the chance to really say good-bye. She would be furious. Sam prayed that Chloe would one day understand, even if Sam didn't fully understand the decision herself.

Late into the night, Sam loaded up the last boxes and carried her still sleeping daughter out to the car. She covered Chloe with blankets, making sure she was warm and safe before getting into the driver's seat. With her lights on and the engine humming, Sam coasted out of the garage and drifted slowly down the driveway.

Only to slam on her brakes in a knee jerk reaction at the sight of the one person she didn't want to face. She could stand saying good-bye to Grace, to George. There would be tears and pain, but she would be able to get through it. With Angel and Bailey, it would be more difficult, but they had known each other for so long that everything they wanted to say to each other had been said, or was simply understood.

But with John, the problem was what *hadn't* been said. For three years, they hid from and never acknowledged what had begun on their first case. And Sam didn't want to think on the what-ifs tonight. Love would simply complicate her life more.

They stared at each other through the windshield of the car. Sam took in the open trenchcoat, the deep blue sweater, the slacks. She realized that she had never seen him in jeans. Suits, sweats, hospital gowns, even a Santa suit, but never Levi's. One more thing she would never get to experience with this man. That thought alone brought tears to her eyes.

Briefly, Sam thought about running. It would be so easy to drift backwards, to turn the car and disappear. No good-byes, that had been the plan. Before she realized she had done it, though, her car was in park and her door was open.

She stood against the car, and even in the dark night, John could see the beautiful contrast of her blond hair and the green paint. She made no move to come towards him, but she didn't turn away, either, which John took as a good sign. As good as anything could be in this situation.

John watched her move restlessly from foot to foot, tossing her hair occasionally. Fear and frustration permeated every movement. He stood staring at her, knowing it was quite possibly the last time. It took a moment for him to realize that she was speaking.

"What are you doing here, John?"

"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by."

Sam jerked her head in annoyance. No games, no jokes. John flinched. She wanted this quick and painless, over before it really started. It was understandable. But it hurt as well. So, John decided to drop the front. He had spent his entire life hiding behind the jokes; for once, he wanted to be honest.

"I couldn't let you leave without saying good-bye," he said softly.

"Why not wait until tomorrow?" It was practically a rhetorical question.

"It's a good thing I didn't, isn't it?" he muttered somewhat bitterly. He continued, "I knew you wouldn't be here tomorrow, Sam."

Tears came to her eyes once again. Sam wasn't sure how to respond. She was willing to bet that neither Bailey nor Angel, who knew her so well, suspected she would try to leave tonight. John, a man she never felt she knew as well as the rest of the team, was here. And as far as she could tell, he was the only one. Bailey, she was sure, would call in the cavalry to make sure she stayed until the next day.

John shuffled his feet, sensing the awkwardness. He didn't know how to start the conversation he desperately needed to start. He glanced at the car, noticing the blanket and panda bear in the backseat. He raised his eyebrows, taking a detour.

"Angel doesn't get to say good-bye?"

Sam held her breath, her shoulders stiffening. She did not want to get into that; it had been one of her greatest dilemmas. Angel would not forgive her for taking the little girl away like this and the thought nearly broke her heart.

John saw he had struck a nerve and, in a way, was glad for it. Maybe she would see what a bad choice she was making.

"Chloe left her a letter—so did I."

"Chloe agree to this? She didn't want to say good-bye to her?"

Sam was silent. John opened his mouth to say something but was in shock. Sam had apparently never told her that it would happen like this. Sam shook her head irritably. She didn't need John to point out her mistakes. That could be done quite well on her own. John saw her anger easily and decided to change tactics. He didn't come here tonight to fight.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he took one step forward. He was pleased when she moved away from the door to the front of the car.

"Did you finish your recommendations on our next profiler?" The question tore into him like a knife. It was difficult to think of anyone else sitting next to him at the table, trying not to laugh at his jokes, frustrating him to no end about profiling. He wanted Sam.

"I put in a few suggestions. Two are veteran profilers; I trained under one, before Bailey. Another is a woman new to Quantico, but she is good at what she does. As an addendum, I said that none were being stalked and were therefore worth looking into." The joke was hard and flat, falling dead in the night air.

"Doesn't matter, really," John said. "You aren't exactly replaceable."

Sam wouldn't answer. To comment would be to admit to the unspoken between them. It would lead to a deeper conversation, a conversation about feelings and thoughts and desires. Conversations like that don't take place in driveways on cold nights. Conversations like that were meant to take place over candlelight dinners with a fire burning and soft music in the background. She would wear a silk blue dress; it was in the box in the back, as a matter of fact. Her hair would be up. John would be wearing a suit—black, with a matching tie. And everything would be perfect….

Except it *was* a cold night and they *were* standing in her driveway. She couldn't let this happen. She wasn't sure she could handle it. She wouldn't respond.

John was nonplussed by her silence. He knew where it was coming from and why. But he wasn't going to let it drop so easily, and if he had to lay his heart on the line to get the ball rolling, then—for the first time in his life—he was going to do it.

"You really aren't, you know. There are few profilers who can do the work and fewer still that can do it well. No one sees things the way you do and no else cares as much as you.

"No one else I know has such strong intuition, or the strength to follow it. No one else brings me fries from another state," he said with a smile. Then quieter, "No else laughs like you, or tosses their hair like you, or speaks the same way you do."

"John—" Sam began, but he rushed on.

"Look, Sam, I didn't come here tonight to talk you out of leaving. I know it's something you'll do, no matter what I say. The most I was hoping was that you would until tomorrow. But even then, I think I know it's a dead hope. It is, isn't it?"

He stopped. Her face was pained and he wondered if this was a good idea after all. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

"I just…. I needed to say good-bye."

Sam stared at him, tears finally overflowing onto her cheeks. His feelings were so clear in his eyes and each emotion made her breath catch. In that one sentence and in his eyes, she had everything she needed. There was good-bye and good luck. There were apologies and entreaties, confessions and promises.

But most of all there was 'I love you.'

They simply stared at each other. Neither moved as the moon traveled slowly above them, as the wind whipped around them. Sam's tears dried on her face as more continued to fall. Eventually, John moved to the passenger door, keeping the car between them. He kissed a sleeping Chloe's cheek and brushed the hair from her face as his breath caught in his throat.

"Take care of her, Chlo. She needs you." Then softer, "I love you too…."

After a few minutes, John was out of the car and watched as Sam wiped the tears from her face, trying to gain composure. Then she said, "Me, too, John. Everything. Me, too."

Then she was gone. John stared at her as she backed the car down the drive and turned into the street. He followed, not wanting to lose sight for as long as possible.

John stood still in the street as he saw the truck's red lights disappear around the corner. Tomorrow, he would wait for Bailey's panicked call. He would be the one to notify Angel and he would be the one she cursed. During the upcoming weeks, he would endure George's looks of pity and Grace's motherly attention. He would listen to Bailey rave against the world, against Jack, even against himself. And through it all he would stand by them, calm and strong.

But tonight he cried.