Title: Rebirth

Author: Claire

Fandom: New Professionals

Pairing: Chris/Sam

Rating: M

Series: Yes. As yet still lacking a title. (I'm open to suggestions btw, <g>) Follows on from 'Into The Void'. 2 of 4.

Key Words: Angst, healing.

Feedback: <waiting patiently>

Disclaimers: <sigh> Not mine, belong to Brian Clemens and DWTV.

Narrated by Chris. Self-beta’d.

Thanks to Jennie for the title and to Jan for the encouraging feedback. <g> And, again, credit to Chya for being the inspiration behind the madness.



=====
Rebirth
by Claire
=====

I wish I knew how I'm supposed to feel.

I also wish I knew who I was supposed to be.

Who I am.

Past, present, future.

And never the twain shall meet.

I'm nobody.

(But I used to be somebody.)

Comprehension and understanding, as to what exactly I'm supposed to be -- what I *am* -- escapes me.

(Didn't I? I was somebody once, wasn't I?)

I remember nothing.

I remember everything.

I'm not that person in the slow motion memories. I can't be. *He* had a purpose. *He* wasn't a pet. *His* life consisted of more than never ending devious pain and numbing self-disgust.

*He* can't have been me.

If *he* was, *he's* now lost. Beaten into submission and a shadow of *his* former self.

I doubt I'll ever get to meet *him*.

Which, really, is probably for the best. *He'd* have no time for the likes of me.

And, why should he? *I* have no time for the likes of me.

***

"Chris?"

The dimly familiar male voice softly repeats himself four or five times before it slowly dawns on me that's he saying my name.

Damn. Gotta get used to that again. I serve no purpose, but I've got a name, *got* it.

He's still saying my name. Does he want something? Do I have to obey him?

Boy, Pet, Chris, it matters little what I'm called and, not wanting to risk punishment, I decide to open my eyes and blink wearily at my uncomfortable looking visitor.

Oh.

It's *you*.

I suppose I should have known. You left me to rot for over three months and now your... guilt (is that it Sam? Are you feeling guilty or are you simply here because you feel you have to visit your pathetic partner as he lies around taking up space in the hospital?) forces you to my side.

Well, you can just fuck off. I don't want to see you, hear you or even smell you. I don't want your presence in this charade that is now my life.

You abandoned me.

I waited for you and you left me there to be played with.

To be fucked and assaulted and degraded and to be made to feel like nothing but an animal.

It might as well have been your cock in my mouth, your hands holding me down, your hands holding the whip handle.

And I hate you.

I hate you for what you've made me become.

Goddamn it Sam! We were partners! No... No, we were more than that, we were *friends*. (It becomes a little hazy here, but weren't we heading slowly towards being more than just friends? I seem to recall I wanted it to and I was beginning to think you felt the same way... Not that it
matters now, not one fucking bit.) I believed in you, I trusted you and I relied on you.

And you fucked me.

My short term memory is currently clearer than my long term one, but there's no doubt in my mind that we were partners and that, until he broke me, my faith in you coming to rescue me never wavered.

Am I being pedantic? You got there, *eventually, sure, but it was too late. Your partner was dead and, really, it would have been better if I'd been allowed to die with him. Excuses mean nothing to the dead.

I waited, but you never came.

You came, but it was too late.

Relief made me happy to see you, that's all. Relief that I recognised you and relief that perhaps at least one chapter was finally coming to an end.

*If* I'm Chris, I'm not the Chris you knew. Whatever I am, I've taken his place and, be it on his behalf or whatever, I hate you.

"Go away."

I have nothing to say to you and don't want you here. With the return of my name comes the return of rights, doesn't it? I can say no. I have the power to stop people touching me. I can have a drink without having to ask for it or be deemed worthy of it. And I can choose who I want to be in my hospital room.

"Chris..."

There was a time when I would have given anything to have heard your voice but now... Now your voice is like ice.

"*Please*. Go away."

You go, probably wanting to have been here as much as I wanted to have you here, and, pitifully relieved, I close my eyes.

***

It's official. Sam and I despise each other.

Malone (Chris' -- *my* -- boss, right?) delivered the news personally. Sure, he coached it in terms of work and available manpower -- Sam was needed for a new assignment -- but I can see right through that excuse. He doesn't want anything to do with me. Simple.

I despise him for misplacing my return ticket out of hell, and he can't even stand to look at me. Not that I know what he sees. His failure? My failure? A wretched creature that has nothing but the vaguest of physical similarities to the man he used to call his partner? A body?

I just don't know.

I don't even know what I see on the rare occasions I encounter my reflection.

Is this what the old Chris looked like? I don't think so. His eyes rarely looked this haunted and people smiled -- *naturally* -- when they saw him. They didn't give the impression of biting back a huge sigh before plastering a brightly false, 'it's all gonna be perfectly peachy you know', smile on their face and talking to him as though he was mentally incapacitated.

Not that many people talk to me.

Reasons abound as to why I'm persona non grata and I can't quite decide which is the main one. They've forgotten about me during the time I was... away? Like Sam, they can't bear to look at me? I serve about as much point as a deaf and dumb mute in a choir? They can't reconcile me with the old, mythical Chris? They're uncomfortable with the fact that I can't look anyone in the eye, can't hold a conversation and, on the rare times I do speak, I talk to their feet?

Whatever. I don't care. I don't like people very much at the moment. I'm not overly rapt in my own company much either, but I'm learning to live with it. It helps that, be it forced or not, people go out of their way to be patient and kind. No one shouts, commands or touches me where I don't want to be touched.

It all helps.

The *smallest* things help.

If I'm going to function as whatever it is I now am, *everything* helps.

***

I'm in hospital for five days. Five days that during which I can see the pages of the calendar being turned over and know exactly where it is that I am. What I see, which to others may be completely inane, simplistic, futile or hardly worth mentioning, amazes me.

An entire season was taken from me.

I lost winter. Snow fell and I never saw it.

I missed Christmas.

Christmas came and went and I wasn't even aware of it.

Where's Mulder gone? I never knew Buffy had a sister. Why hasn't Dawson's Creek been cancelled yet? Who are Coldplay?

Is this what it feels like to wake out of a coma? I recognise things, yet, at the same time, they've all changed. I may have only been... gone... for three months but I feel as though I'm an impostor living in the skin of this Chris person.

Anyway, I almost enjoy my time in hospital. I see different people, none of which call me Boy or make me do things that make my skin crawl and I'm slowly allowed to claw back some semblance of control over my own life. I have books and magazines to read and a remote control for the television. Meals are chosen from simple menus and I know I won't be punished if I don't eat it all. I have a phone, laptop and writing paper all within my reach in case I want to communicate with anyone. Not that I want to, but I like knowing I can. I have my own, *private*, bathroom that I don't have to ask to use and baggy pyjamas to wear. On the outside at least, I'm clean. Warm-hearted nurses don't look at me with disgust, call me Chris, and tell me stories about their families.

Even if they are only paid to be nice to me, the nurses make me feel human again.

The doctors, while more harried than the nurses, are okay too. They handle me gently and explain that I'll be right as rain in no time. My weight and strength will return, the drugs are out of my system now and there will only be minimal scarring.

I almost laughed at one doctor's parting comment though.

"I would recommend not having anal sex for a while, not until you've fully healed."

Honestly.

Sharing that perfectly pointless advice with me was on par with attempting to sell ice to an Eskimo.

Sex?

Not if I have any say it.

***

Home.

Apparently this is where I live. All I'm missing is a guide, as I wander aimlessly through the rooms, for this experience to be even more tour like. Each door opens to new surprises. I love the open spaces and all the natural light. At first I'm a bit nonplussed by the whole cemetery-as-back-garden thing (how could I have forgotten that?) but quickly come to the conclusion that I like the serenity of it.

I also rapidly come to the conclusion that I'm a slob.

And this worries me.

Everything has a place and, after use, it's meant to return to that place. If it doesn't, and it's strewn all over the place, it's bad...

And bad means punishment.

Doesn't it?

All has to be perfect, or it's bad.

(But I live here alone... No one can punish me... Can they?)

I don't want to be punished.

(No one can hurt you, you're here alone.)

My mind, confused and tired, threatening to cave in around me, I decide to clean. The doctor told me to rest, but I have to clean. I can't risk it.

Clean is good.

It takes me a few minutes to locate things to clean with, but once I've got them I lose myself in the task at hand. When I've finished, and now more so than ever can't recognise my home, I put everything away and hesitantly tell myself that I've done a good job. Not having eaten since leaving the hospital, I feel hungry and wonder how long it will before he comes and, after checking over my work, decides whether I've been good enough to have something to eat.

Then, as I catch sight of a photo of young man in a navy uniform, I slowly realise that I'm losing it.

He is me and I am him and neither of us are who I thought I was.

The room around me positively sparkles with cleanliness as I give up. Sliding down the wall, I hug my knees to my chest and begin to sob. The tears, that I thought had dried up after I'd failed to be able to refer to Malone as 'sir' without trembling, slide down my cheeks and I make no attempt to halt their descent.

Who am I?

***

I've been doing some research into my life... Lives... Whatever.

Chris, version one.

Navy SEAL, pilot, CI5 agent, brave, loyal, good marksman, fun, impatient, friendly, popular, temperamental, opinionated. And so the list goes on. I think I like this version, he seems like a reasonable member of society, not perfect but worthwhile and someone you'd probably like to know.

Chris, version two.

Fucked up waste of space, submissive sex slave, mindless, faithless, helpless, pathetic. Needless to say, I don't like this version. In fact, he makes me feel sick to the stomach.

Chris, version three. The current version.

Lonely and confused spring all to readily to mind. Now that I've seen proof of version one, I want to be him again but version two is holding me back. Version one had a very good friend, which version two hates and blames, and I don't know how I should feel about him.

I think though...

I think I miss Sam.

The other day, when I was in a good mood and trawling through the folders on the laptop, I found the report that I'd done of our first assignment together. I then found the corrected, hardly recognisable from the original, report that we'd handed in. For a moment this confused me, then
comprehension hit and I found myself, for the first time in a very long time, laughing. Sam, perfectionist that he is, had gone through my report and virtually entirely re-written it. Still laughing, my hand was halfway through dialling his number, to share the memory, when I remembered...

We're supposed to hate each other. I don't know where he is. Even if he's back in London he's made no effort to contact me.

Our partnership is even more part of history than version one. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but I actually have plans to resurrect my former self. I'm not sure how to go about it, but I want to give it a go. I don't think the same can be said for our partnership though. I don't even know how I feel about this.

Suddenly being allowed to have opinions again is taking more getting used to than I would have imagined. I'm in total control of my life, even CI5 have backed off and given me all the time I need to pull myself together, yet still I flounder. I get up and shower when I want (and, I'm proud to state that I'm down to only two showers a day) and I eat and wear what I want. But that's about as good as it's got so far.

The shrink, an idiot who thinks it's perfectly acceptable to tell someone who missed Christmas because they were being fucked into submission that it just takes time, that's all, tells me that I'm doing rather well. Obviously he says this without the benefit of having seen the tears or knowing that I fled the local shopping centre after a mother had told her young son that he was a, 'bad boy', for pulling his sister's ponytail.

The shock at hearing those two words ("You've been a bad boy and I'm going to have to punish you.") was like being slapped. Miraculously I did nothing so melodramatic as dropping my groceries and having a panic attack, but I had to get out of there all the same.

Which is something version one never would have done.

I want to be him again. I want to be him so badly that it hurts.

(Can I? Can I do it? Can I become the person I was?)

I don't want my reflection to sicken me, I want to be able to look people in the eye, I want to be able to call Malone 'sir' again, I want to protect the innocent, I want to be able to consciously give myself to someone and to remember that sex can be pure.

And I think I want Sam to be my side. He was my friend and by virtue of the fact that I can now remember that I'd definitely been falling in love with him, he was special to me and an essential part of my life.

If nothing else I want to see him and find out for myself what took him so long to find me.

***

I'm staring at the dirty dishes in the sink, and feeling a degree of inane delight in knowing that I can leave them until I run out of clean ones, when the doorbell rings.

Curious, I've had no visitors, with the exception of the idiot shrink who's already bored his way through today, in the near on a fortnight that I've been home, I turn away from the sink and meander slowly towards the front door. Not even bothering to guess who it might be (I don't feel the urge to get my hopes up, only to have them immediately deflated), I'm nonetheless delighted to see, through the peephole, that it's Backup.

Although I haven't seen her for almost four months (she was deep undercover when I was finally rescued and must have just got back), she looks exactly as I remember her and I can actually feel myself smiling as I open the door. Backup, with only the briefest flicker of unease crossing her delicate features, easily returns my smile and, before I even really know it, wraps her arms around my body and hugs me.

For a second, I freeze. Physical contact, since the nurses at the hospital, hasn't been on my agenda and, not feeling ready for it, I'm a little shocked. But, as I'm readying myself to back away and flee, I slowly realise that I like it. She's not asking anything of me and, as she murmurs into my chest, "It's *so* good to see you," I believe her.

For whatever reason, she recognises me (the Chris she knew) and is genuinely happy to see me.

Content with this belief, I bend my knees slightly in order to lower myself more to her height and return the hug. It feels somehow natural, innocent and perfectly normal. When we separate, she lightly strokes my cheek and, her voice choked with emotion, murmurs, "I didn't think I'd see you again Chris and... and I doubt you have any idea how relieved I am, not only to see you, but to see you looking so well."

"Backup, I..." I start to say, only to be interrupted. "Shhh... It's okay, I'm not asking you to talk about it," she replies softly, "I just came around to see you for myself."

"I was actually going to say that I'm pleased to see you too," I continue, finishing what I'd originally planned to say and relieved that she doesn't want to talk about it. Deflecting the shrink is hard enough without having someone I actually call a friend attempt to draw me onto the subject.

"Good," she smiles, "Now, can I come in? You know, I haven't even been home yet! I went straight from Heathrow to HQ, and I could kill for a cup of coffee."

"Please," I reply, gesturing her in, "Come in and I'll see what I can do about the coffee." What I don't add is that I want her to tell me why it took so long for CI5 to find me. I still have no idea where Sam is and, seeing as what Kent did to me was merely a sideline and not why we were after him in the first place, CI5 have made no attempt to get a detailed statement from me. To them it doesn't matter. They've got Kent, for what they wanted him for, and their agent, albeit a new version thereof, is back in the fold. To CI5, those three months do not exist.

Backup follows me up the stairs and, as we walk into the living room, chuckles. "Good to see some things never change Chris."

"Huh?" I grunt, looking around and feeling perplexed.

"This," she grins, waving her arms around and indicating the room, "The mess that I've come to associate with the Chris Keel that I know and love."

Pausing, I take note of the empty pizza boxes, discarded items of clothing and half read magazines and smile more to myself than to Backup. She's only seeing the person she knew, and the feeling this instils in me is unbelievable. Pleased, not only with her reaction but also with her company, I snort as I wander into the kitchen. "I'll have you know it takes a lot of work and effort to achieve this look," I mutter over my shoulder.

"Oh, I can tell," she laughs, remaining in the living room as I make the coffee.

Coffee made, I hand a cup to Backup and take a seat on the sofa as she sits in an armchair. We talk about gloriously insignificant things with comfortable ease as we drink out coffee. I almost begin to believe that nothing ever happened, that I'm exactly as I always was. Then, perhaps inevitably, the topic veers towards work.

"So, how's Sam?" Backup asks, the tone of her voice mild, her expression interested.

"Um... He's on assignment somewhere," I stammer, mentally crossing my fingers that this is indeed still the case. If Backup doesn't know about how we are currently with each other, then I don't really want to be the one to tell her.

"Oh! That's right. Silly me," she replies, pretending to hit herself in the head. "It's jetlag, that's what it is and I won't have you telling anyone to the contrary," she continues with a laugh, "I was told that he was on a case while at HQ and can't believe that I've forgotten already."

"Mmm..." Now, how to find out what it is that I have to know... I'm still lacking the courage to raise the subject when Backup effectively does it for me.

"I can't wait until you two are back together again," she states adamantly. "Things were unbearable while... ah... in your absence Chris. I couldn't even recognise Sam as the man I thought I knew. He was beside himself and, if I hadn't seen this for myself I would have put it down to nothing but an urban myth, he was so desperate to find you that he even told Malone a fact or two... Facts that, let's face it, Malone didn't really need to hear being shouted at him and could have ended Sam's career."

"Oh..." What can I say?

"Mmm... Malone doesn't like ultimatums at the best of times and he definitely didn't like being told by Sam that unless he could continue searching for you that he was going to quit. Or, to use his exact wording, 'if you don't give me permission to continue searching for Chris then you can take your fucking heartless job and shove it where the sun don't shine," Backup continues lightly, probably believing that I've heard this all before and that nothing she's saying is new to me.

Sam...

Oh God. He was looking for me. He hadn't given up on me like I'd given up on him. But... But, if this is truly the case (and what would Backup have to gain from lying to me?), what happened?

"What took you so long?" I whisper, not caring that I'm basically telling Backup that this is the first I've heard of all of this.

Her mouth gapes open and she blinks at me in shock. "You mean to say you don't know what happened?" she replies slowly.

I shake my head. "Nobody's told me anything."

"Sam..."

"Sam's on assignment. We... We didn't have time to talk. I was still in hospital when he had to go," I mutter, "All I know is that I lost three months..."

Backup sighs. "We never gave up searching for you Chris. Not even after the first two weeks and Malone pulled the plug on the major search. Sam, begrudging permission received, kept at it like a man possessed. But, and I don't even know if you're aware of this, everytime he got close, Kent moved."

"Moved?" I interrupt dully, "What do you mean moved?"

"He moved operations, his people, place of residence, everything," she replies softly, "Everything including you..."

"I..." I didn't even know. Darkened rooms and torture chambers must look the same the country over then.

"Eventually though, and I was already undercover by this stage, Sam found Kent's latest base and got in there in time. If you were relieved to see him Chris, and believe me, I don't mean this facetiously, then the feeling would have been exactly the same for him." Pausing, Backup appears to consider whether to add something and, nodding almost imperceptibly, decides to. "He was lost without you Chris..."

And I thought he'd failed me...

There's so much I don't know.

Sam didn't give up on me and I thanked him by hating him and ignoring him.

I shut him out.

***

While I finally have a purpose, I can't fulfil it.

I want to talk to Sam -- I *have* to see him -- but he's still on assignment and no one will tell me where he is. I've even braved the curious stares and not too quiet to be unheard whispers of the office in my search for him.

To no avail.

Backup, I can tell, knows where he is and what he's doing, but she won't tell me. Malone, who, with great pride and sense of achievement, I managed to refer to as 'sir' (albeit through clenched teeth and with a complete lack of respect), merely informed me that until I was back on active duty I was not welcome in the office and that what Mr Curtis is currently doing is of no concern of mine.

Their responses piss me.

Goddamn it! Until I'm told to the contrary, we're still partners and I want to know where he is. I have to be able to talk to him. I have to thank him for not giving up on me and apologise for my reaction to him in the hospital. Hell, for Sam, and Sam alone, I'll even beg for forgiveness. It's the least I can do. He didn't fail me but I failed him.

Sam gave me back my life and, now that I can actually see it reverting more or less back to how it was (I'm so close to version one that I can virtually see him bristling with ill temper and the need to do something), I want it *exactly* how it was.

Well, as close to exactly as I can reasonable in it. I want Sam as my partner and friend but I'm willing to concede the fact that the unresolved sexual tension we'd been slowly setting about dissolving will be a thing of the past. Even if he did want me then he wouldn't now. If it means that I have him as a friend, I can accept that. I kinda have to.

Backup's explanation was like a bright ray of hope entering my life. While Sam gave me back my identity, she gave me back Sam. I owe a lot to both of them. Backup, who thankfully didn't see me at my worse, I don't think I have to explain myself to. She simply sees me as her old friend who's slowly getting his butt back into gear in order to return to work.

Sam however... I have to explain everything to Sam.

I have to see him.

***

That's *it*!

I'm fucking sick of people shielding my delicate sensibilities.

Hell. News flash people, if I can lose three months of my life to moonlighting as a sex slave, I sure as fuck can deal with the fact that my partner had been hospitalised as a result of taking a bullet in the back.

Hospitalised. Past fucking tense.

Sam was in hospital and no one saw fit to inform me of this fact.

Right now, I'm *beyond* pissed. I'm seeing every shade of red there is and I'd really quite like to punch something.

How *dare* they not tell me!

If only they knew the whole truth of the matter, that I was worried over not knowing where he was and would have been almost relieved to know he was in hospital... Ha! Irony overload. I would have given anything to see him and he was lying on his back in a hospital bed not more than ten miles away from here.

Shot in the back, they won't tell me by whom or what he was doing at the time, no serious damage done and he was released today in order to recuperate at home.

I'm going to see him, I can't wait any longer. Even if he tells me to fuck off because he's had time to come to terms with the fact that I want nothing to with him and has accepted it, so be it. I'll go crazy if I don't see him.

Barely ten minutes after Malone's brief and to the point phone call informing me about Sam, I'm locking my front door and jogging towards the car. I refuse to fall prey to doubts as I drive. I'm slightly nervous, yeah, but I'm resolved to see this through.

Reaching Sam's, and seeing no signs of life in his apartment (oh... it's actually evening... well I never... I honestly hadn't even noticed...) my resolve begins to falter. Getting out of the car anyway, I stand on the pavement feeling remarkably flat footed and toy with the keys in my hand.

Keys...

I have a key to Sam's apartment! Why didn't I think of that sooner. I'll go in and, if he's not there, I'll leave him a brief note telling him that we have to talk and that I'm sorry for treating him like I did.

Decision made, I put my key in the lock and open the door. The apartment is in complete darkness and it isn't until I turn the light on in the living room that I see the body scrunched onto the sofa.

Sam, fast asleep and snoring gently.

My heart stills and I feel like an interloper. Not quite knowing what to do, I still move, as though on autopilot, around to the front of the sofa. My hands, not feeling like part of my body, reach for the blanket that is half falling off Sam and I'm in the process of pulling it over him when he wakes.

Dull green eyes blink to consciousness. "Chris?"

If Sam's surprised to see me, he doesn't show it. "It's me," I whisper, taking a step back and watching as he, with evident pain, unfolds himself from off the sofa and sits up.

And it is. It is me. I may not entirely be as I was, and I may be a hybrid of versions one, two and three, but, if nothing else, I'm *me* and I feel in control of myself.

"The pills aren't simply causing me to dream?" Sam murmurs, looking at me closely. He looks tired, and the black circles under his eyes could give mine a run for their money, but to me he's still exquisite. I couldn't see him clearly through the tears when he found me, and I refused to look at him in the hospital, so this, really, is the first time I've seen him in over four months.

If I have any say in it I'll never go that long without seeing him again.

"No. You're not dreaming," I reply, "I came around because I had to see you and then, when I thought you weren't here, came in to write you a note. I... I couldn't wait any longer..."

Sam stares at me, raw emotion on his pale face. "I thought you hated me," he whispers. "I never expected to see you standing before me..."

"I..." My voice and my knees suddenly begin to tremble in unison. "Can I take a seat?"

"Please," Sam replies, wriggling along the sofa and indicating that I can sit next to him.

Sighing, with a combination of both nerves and relief, I sit down. Now that I'm where I've wanted to be for so long, I have to see it through and begin to hesitantly speak. "Sam... I'm gonna keep it brief for now. Please hear me out. I don't even know if I can explain myself clearly but I've got to
give it a go."

Sam nods and echoes my sigh. "Then it's my turn."

"You don't have to," I begin to say, but he interrupts. "Yes I do."

"Okay, but me first," I murmur, actually managing to make Sam the first person I can look in the eye. "I admit it, I hated you. I waited for you to rescue me and you never came. Subsequently, in all too brief moments of clarity, I convinced myself that you'd abandoned me and that you didn't care where I was..."

"Oh God, Chris, no," Sam groans, interrupting me again, "It was never like that. I..."

"Shhh... Let me finish. Please Sam, I have to get through this," I push on. "I still felt that way in the hospital. Although you'd found me, I still blamed you for taking your time and wanted nothing to do with you. I could hardly believe that it was over, let alone even begin to contemplate whether you were honestly worried about me. I just wanted to make it all go away. And... And you did..."

Sam opens his mouth at this, but I silence him with a slight shake of my head before continuing. "I then decided that you had to hate me. It made sense at the time. I though I hated you because I disgusted you and that you couldn't bear to look at me. Reality not being something I was used to,
I felt that it was only right that we hated each other, that you refused to come back to see me simply because there was no point. Then, as time passed and I began to slowly feel like me again, I started to wonder whether I'd been too hasty in my estimations. Memories of our partnership and friendship came back to me and I just didn't know what to think. I missed you though, I eventually knew that much. I missed what we'd had, but still didn't know what to think of you and it took Backup coming to visit me to set me straight. She told me how you'd never given up and how, and I honestly was never even aware of this, Kent had keep moving around... It was then that everything came crashing down around me and I knew I had to see you, had to thank you and had to beg you to forgive my reaction to you and to perhaps reconsider our partnership..."

"Chris..." Sam starts to say something but, the end in sight, I simply open my mouth and finish my tale. "I wanted you, but no one would tell me where you were. I only found out less than a hour ago that you'd been in hospital and were now at home. And, well, as you can see, I came straight around..."

A month of false hatred and true worry squashed into a couple of minutes of ramble, I blink at Sam and wait for his reaction. To my distinct amazement, he smiles at me. Daring to hope, I smile cautiously back.

"What a mess," Sam murmurs, "What a Goddamn mess. Chris, I... Like you, I don't know what to say and can only hope for the best. Not even wanting to contemplate whether you'd want to see me or not, I was going to wait until daylight before arriving on your doorstep and demanding that you talk to me, put me out of my misery... But know you're here and... and I can hardly believe it." Pausing, Sam looks at me and sighs softly. "You've had your say, and now I have to say mine. I'll keep it brief as I'm too tired to go into any detail..."

"It can wait," I interrupt, worried that I'm being incredibly ignorant dumping this on Sam now, seeing as he's fresh out of hospital.

"No it can't," he quickly replies. "I know your side of things, and I want you to know mine..." trailing off, he waits until I've nodded my agreement, before continuing. "I never would have given up looking for you Chris, *never* and I want you to believe this. I'm sorry, so fucking sorry that it took me as long as it did, but I wouldn't have stopped until I found you. I hated myself when I saw what he'd done to you and, when it was obvious in the hospital that you hated me too, I simply retreated. You didn't want to see me and, although the thought of being with you had kept me going, I took my leave. Content that you were at least safe, even if our partnership was probably over and you despised me, I threw myself into work. Um... I don't know if you know this either, but, that night, Kent got away..."

I snort in mortified shock. He did? Fuck. I never knew that, I simply thought he'd been captured. No one told me to the contrary. "Oh..."

"Mmm... And, along with hating myself, I hated him too and took off after him. Malone was livid, but he couldn't stop me. If I couldn't have your friendship I told myself that the least I could do was bring the bastard to justice who'd hurt you," Sam murmurs slowly. "In case you're interested, he's the one that shot me, in the back, no more and no less, and, as we sit here, his view consists of four windowless walls in the bowels of HQ..."

"You got him..." Is there anything else I don't know? Unbelievable.

"I did," he replies. "I got him for what he did to you, not in an attempt to buy you back. Even if you never spoke to me again, I had to do it."

"Thank you," I whisper, hardly believing the turns this last week has taken. "Thank you for everything. I... I've missed you so much and all I want to hear right now is that we're going to be okay, that we can still be partners and friends."

"Well, you've got my vote," Sam responds. "It might take a little work, but I want things to revert to exactly as they were."

"*Everything*?" I query lightly, wondering if Sam will be able to read the true meaning behind my question.

His hand, suddenly resting gently on my knee, and not causing me even the slightest sensation of discomfort, answers me before he even speaks.

"*Everything*," Sam murmurs softly, his hand squeezing my knee and causing my heart to flutter.

It mightn't be easy, but we'll get there.

We wouldn't have made it to this point if we didn't share something special.

Sam... Chris...

No longer are the names part of history, they're now part of the future as well.

A future that I'm suddenly looking forward to.

~end~