Author's Note: I've noticed that several people, particularly the Believers, have been commenting on scenes they wish they'd seen. Soooo . . . I decided to write one up. If any of you out there have other scenes you'd like to add in, feel free. :-) This is most definitely SJR. Consider yourselves warned. Mwa ha ha!

Disclaimer: The characters of Profiler are the property of Sander/Moss Productions and NBC. I promise not to make any money from them, and to play nicely with them (mostly).

* * *

"It's over. She's safe."

With a sigh of relief, John leaned forward until his forehead rested on the conference table in the Command Center. The world gradually stopped lurching as the adrenaline rush that had kept him functioning over the past few hours slowly drained away.

"John?"

"Yeah, Bailey?"

"We've got Zahn in custody. We'll be back in a few hours. Why don't you send everyone home now?"

"Will do." John eased off the headset and laid it on the table in front of him. He sat there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, watching his hands shake. *Damn,* he thought, hating the effect she had on him, hating being so afraid and powerless. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sam's blue eyes full of tears, and that pistol only a heartbeat from...

He pushed himself to his feet, willing himself not to think about it any more. When he passed on the word that they had succeeded, a faint chorus of cheers echoed through the big room. One by one the agents and staff who'd worked late trickled out of the room, leaving only the night crew--and John.

He moved the paperwork over to his desk, tried to leave it a couple of times, even got as far as the parking lot once, but he kept thinking of reasons why he had to stay just a little longer. Finally he admitted to himself that there was no way he'd be able to relax until he saw with his own eyes that she was safe, and he sat down to muddle his way through the reports he'd need to do for Bailey.

Even on the best nights, paperwork was the last thing he wanted to do, and now he caught himself looking at the clock every few minutes. Bailey had said 'a few hours'. Did that mean two? Three? Maybe four?

And then when she did get back, he was in the lunchroom trying to get the soda machine to either give him a soda or give back his quarters. Frustration boiling in him, he slammed his fist against the side of the vending machine.

"Hey, man, what'd it do to you?"

John stifled a groan at the sound of Coop's voice. "It took my money," he growled.

"You look beat. All that button-pushing wear you out?"

"It's the reports that wear me down."

"Then don't do 'em."

John finally turned around. "Is everything that simple for you?"

"More or less. Why do something you hate? That's what the grunts are for."

With a shrug, John sidled around him and headed for the door.

"I think Sam could use some time to herself." The warning in Coop's voice was clear.

"She in her office?"

Coop matched John's cold stare without answering. Finally John shrugged again and headed down the hall. Seconds later, he heard Sam shouting for Bailey and panicked. When he skidded to a halt at the door outside of Sam's office, he saw that Bailey and two other agents were already in the room, and before he could hear the explanation, Bailey was ushering them out the door.

"John, you're with me."

"You mind telling me what's going on?"

"Sam was just on the phone with Jack."

"He called here?" John was ready to strangle someone, and he thought Jack would do nicely. "Where are we going?"

"He didn't call. Sam called Sister Mary at the orphanage. And Jack answered the phone."

"Oh, shit." He glanced at Sam, saw the tight expression of pain on her face, and wished for about the millionth time that he could fix it.

He didn't even realize Coop had followed them until Bailey said, "Coop, I want you to stay here and coordinate things. You can run the communications system, can't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm going with you. John should do it. He's the expert."

Unimpressed by the offhand compliment, John said, "But he didn't ask *me* to stay."

Sam rested her hand on Coop's arm. "I'd feel better if you were here. We know he's got a grudge against you."

"That's true of all of you, though."

"Coop, don't argue."

John suppressed a smile at the steely tone in Sam's voice, especially when Coop reluctantly agreed and headed back to the Command Center. Even after all she'd been through, she hadn't caved in. It almost made him feel better about the fact that Coop was in Atlanta instead of some squalid little terrorist-infested hellhole. *Almost*.

* * *

Three hours later, John was silently inventing new profanities as he drove Sam back to headquarters. Bailey was still at the orphanage, but seeing the two of them nearly ready to drop with exhaustion, he took John aside.

"Take her back to headquarters. Drive her home if she's too tired to do it herself."

"She isn't going to want to leave."

Bailey put on what John had come to think of as his 'daddy' face. "At this point, I don't care what the hell she *wants*. She needs some rest." As John nodded and started to turn away, Bailey added, "And you tell her to stay home tomorrow and spend some time with Chloe."

"And me without my bulletproof vest," muttered John. He'd somehow managed to steer Sam into one of the cars without starting a fight, but now she sat with her arms folded, staring out the window.

The temptation to say *something* to her was overwhelming, but he held back. Somehow, he always seemed to say the wrong thing, to phrase his thoughts badly, especially in the moments when he most wanted her to understand what he was thinking. A few blocks from VCTF headquarters he had to stop at a red light. He glanced over at her, taking note once again of the stony expression on her face. She looked like that too often: closed down, wary, pained. It was Jack, he knew, but the old guilt assailed him because the bastard had slipped through the net again.

"Listen, Sam," he began.

She cut him off. "I don't feel like talking right now."

He nodded. "Okay." She'd be able to talk to Coop. Who the hell was he going to talk to? How would he get to sleep when he was afraid to close his eyes?

All the emotion in him channeled to anger. *You're pathetic,* he told himself, accelerating through the intersection a little too quickly. *You'll get through it the same as you did before there was a Sam to worry about.*

He shook his head, stifling the bitter laugh that rose in his throat. She'd never given him any reason to think that she saw him as more than a co-worker, and here he was acting like a sophomore in high school again. Hell, he'd been *more* in control in high school. And he'd bet she enjoyed it, too, having every man in the vicinity jumping through hoops for her. Bailey, Nate, Coop. She even had poor George wrapped around her little finger, and he couldn't credit sex appeal with *that* one. *And me,* he added. He was in way over his head, and it was pissing him off. And then, having to sit by today and listen as she went into the clutches of a madman, to watch as that worthless prick nearly ended her life right there on the big screen.

He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled in her head.

He wanted to turn the car around and head for the cabin. He'd lock himself up there with her and hold her until she felt safe, until she smiled.

He pulled into the parking garage and ran through the usual security measures. Once he had parked in the spot next to her car, he had to try to speak around the lump in his throat. "You okay to drive home?"

Sam shook herself as if she was coming out of a trance. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Because I can drive you home. I don't mind."

"No, I'm okay. But thanks."

"Bailey'd bust my ass if you got in an accident."

"I'm fine." She started to get out of the car, then paused with her hand on the door handle. "John?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. And thanks."

"For what?"

"For not arguing when I went in there today." She glanced at the clock in the car. "I mean, yesterday."

Her words cut too close to his own thoughts. "You knew what you were doing. I trust you."

"That means a lot."

"You scared the hell out of me, though."

She met his gaze, and a faint smile quirked her lips. "I scared me, too." She got out of the car.

"Sam?" he called. "Thank you, too."

"For what?"

"For coming back safe."

She smiled again. "'Night, John."

He waited until he was sure she was safely in her car and driving home, and then went to drop off the Bureau's car and go home.

* * *

After all he'd been through that day, he was exhausted, and sleep should have come easily. Instead he found himself tossing and turning, his mind endlessly replaying scenes that would give him nightmares for years to come, conjuring up the worst that could have happened. And no matter how many times he told himself, *But it didn't happen,* that little voice in his mind whispered, "Next time."

Finally he crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Since that terrible time when he'd had to shoot Marco, he'd developed a fool-proof way of exorcising the demons. The neighbors hated it, but he didn't do it very often. He opened the cupboard door and took out all the glasses, lining them up on the counter.

Then John picked up the first one, balanced it in his hand, and threw it at the opposite wall hard enough to shatter the fragile goblet into a myriad sharp-edged pieces.

THE END

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