Hi, everyone!! I hope you enjoy this. I suppose its rated G. Don't have a clue on how to categorize it, though. Oh yeah, and they aren't mine. Thanks, Glenna!!

"John, could I talk to you for a minute? Are you busy?"

John glanced up to see Sam standing two feet away, holding a file in her hands. "Sure, Sam. What's up?"

Samantha flipped her blond hair nervously over her shoulder. He leaned back in his chair and watched her approach, giving her his full attention.

"Um…. Paul was here earlier. He wanted me to ask you some questions." John raised his eyebrows.

Sam explained, "Okay, he didn't actually want me to ask. But I figured that you might want to go through them, sort out what you're going to say."

John returned to his paperwork, clicking his pen. "Well, does it have to happen now? He can ask me any questions about Jack he wants the next time he's here."

"This isn't about Jack," Sam said slowly. John looked up, confusion showing on his face. His eyes darkened as he realized what she meant. "That's why I thought you might want to go over everything."

"Then it really doesn't have happened now, does it?" His voice was low.

"John, I'm sorry. I know you don't want to do this, but Paul--"

"Look, Sam. It's none of his business. It's none of anyone's business. None of it has anything to do with Jack or what he's done."

"I know that. You know that. Everyone on our team knows that. But a jury won't know it. And the defense will tear you apart on the witness stand the second they find out."

John tossed his pen onto his desk, disrupting the papers. He sighed and rubbed his face.

"Fine. Let's do it. What's question one?"

"Why don't we do this in my office." It wasn't a question.

John quickly left his seat and followed her into the office. Sam shut the blinds immediately.

"So, let's get on with it. What does Paul want to know?"

Sam took out a notepad from her top desk drawer. She read from it. "What relationship do you have to Patrick O'Doyle?"

Samantha curled up on her couch, comforted by the sounds of her sleeping daughter in the next room. It was strange without Angel. No one to talk to late at night, when Chloe was asleep, when Sam didn't have to be a role model and was allowed to vent to her best-friend.

But what kept her from sleep tonight wasn't anything she could discuss with Angel. With anyone, really. She had put John through hell this afternoon, forcing him to talk to her about his childhood. He had showed absolutely no emotion during their interview. No anger, no regret. It was as if he weren't talking about himself, but rather any other kid John could have met during his years in law enforcement.

The only thing Paul was concerned with was the credibility of the witness. He had even suggested not putting John on the stand; he was so worried that his background could damage their case. Sam had flat out refused. John Grant was an exceptional man, an excellent agent, and a dedicated friend. He deserved to be up on the stand as much as anyone. After everything he had done, he deserved to be a part of the team that finally closed the case.

Sam had taken unfair advantage of her friend today, and she knew it. The questions Paul had given her didn't delve deep into his background. They mainly dealt with his character and what O'Doyle had done to shape his life as an officer. But Sam had used this as an excuse to get more information on John, to learn more about what made him tick.

Too late she realized that John would feel uncomfortable around her now that she knew so much. He would probably avoid her, embarrassed at how much he had allowed himself to reveal.

And he had told her a lot. Every question Sam posed, John answered. He was straightforward and detailed, exactly as would be expected of an officer on the witness stand. Paul's questions could have been done in a half-hour. Sam spent two hours dragging John through a past he didn't want to remember.

She shuddered now, huddled under the blanket, thinking of what John had told her. She didn't want to remember either.

In the back of the apartment building, there was a small basketball court. A lot of times after a tough day, a person could find John playing rough street hockey with invisible opponents. He was out there now, hockey stick in hand. But tonight he wasn't playing anything.

He sat against the surrounding chain link fence, leaning his back on the cold metal. His head was tilted upwards toward the starry sky, but his eyes were closed. Today had been a *very* tough day.

In his mind's eye, John saw his mother. She had been a beautiful woman, tall and slim, with light brown hair and pale skin. Her son looked almost nothing like her. Every time John looked in a mirror, he flinched at seeing his father's face reflected back at him. It was enough to drive a person a crazy, looking like a man you despise.

But those eyes weren't his father's. He had his mother's eyes. Not only the color, but also the same expression. There was strength and compassion. Looking into his own eyes helped John remember his mother, to remember that he wasn't like O'Doyle. That he had never been like O'Doyle; and as long as he had those eyes, John felt that he couldn't become his father.

Today had been hard. Harder than any in a long, long time. Sam wanted to ask a few questions. Okay, no big deal. He could handle discussing Jack; maybe he could crack a few jokes about him, get Sam to smile. But it wasn't Jack she wanted to talk about.

As a cop, John knew that the integrity of a witness was imperative to a case. Especially when dealing with a man as cunning as Jack. So he knew that he had to talk about himself, to give up some information if he wanted Jack gone for good. And God, did he want Jack out of their lives. But that didn't make it easier to talk to Sam about things he barely could think about.

John realized that Sam had asked more than was necessary, more than was needed for the prosecution. If asked, John would be able to point out which questions were written on that notepad, and which questions had been bouncing around her brilliant mind for the last year and a half.

The questions for the prosecution were general, and didn't talk much about his past, other than how it had shaped him into a trustworthy person. 'Why did you become an officer?' 'Because of my father. I don't want people to get away with what he got away with.'

Then Sam would stick in one of her own questions. 'What was it he got away with?'

And he answered. In terrific, horrific detail, he told her exactly what had happened during the fourteen years before he fled with his mother. And by the time it was all over, he could see that it was more than she wanted to know. But she had asked, and John felt a small amount of release talking about it.

She had asked under a pretense, knowing he would never tell her if she didn't take this opportunity. Under normal circumstances, John wouldn't have said a word to her about it, whether she asked or begged. She could have threatened his life, and he would have kept his mouth closed.

But once he began talking about his past, he found it almost soothing. It hurt like hell, but by the time it was over, John felt like a load had been lifted from his mind. He hadn't spoken to anyone about O'Doyle for years, not since his mother would wake him and talk him past his nightmares. He did the same for her. But when his mother was killed, those late-night discussions were gone. And there wasn't anyone to help him through the nightmares anymore.

For the first time, John took advantage of Sam's listening ear. And when it was over he had gone into the bathroom to lose his lunch, and wet his face. It had been a tense two hours. But when he looked in the mirror, for the first time since he was twenty years old, he didn't see his father first. His mother looked back at him from intense blue eyes, full of tears. And he smiled.

As John entered the building, he saw Grace approaching from the opposite direction. He looked down, hoping she wouldn't notice the dark circles under his eyes.

She did. "John, are you feeling all right? You look horrible."

"Thanks, Grace. You're a real pal." John sighed. "I'm fine. Just didn't sleep too well last night."

The woman frowned. "Must be going around. Sam had the same problem last night."

Quickly, John walked through the halls ignoring everyone he met. As John stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, he bumped into someone walking past. Looking down, he saw Sam.

Immediately, he looked away. "Sorry, Sam. Wasn't paying attention."

She shook her head, bothered that he wouldn't make eye contact. "No problem."

As John walked away, she felt the need to say something, anything. "John." He turned around, looking just past her. "After you talk to Paul today, if you want to come by…."

John smiled softly, understanding what she was trying to say. "Thanks, Sam. I'll be fine. You…uh…yesterday…." Finally, he looked in her eyes, willing her to understand. "Thanks."

Sam smiled and nodded. Each one looked back once as they went their separate ways.