The Twelfth of Never

Disclaimer: I just own the fanfiction. The characters all belong to NBC and Co. This is a little New Year's piece I came up with to pay tribute to my favorite couple on the show. It's set well after the On Your Marks series finale.

John Grant perched his long frame casually against the windowpane of the apartment, his blue eyes quietly scanning the night air, as it rose and swirled up around him in a contagious mask of rare pristine white. His hands had calmly settled themselves in the pockets of his black dress slacks, his feet clothed in a pair of crisp white socks, as they slowly rocked back gently upon their heels. His gorgeous complexion was very lightly stubbled, and a small scratch rested comfortably above his left brow, adding just the slightest of flaws acquired in battlement. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows, his black tie loosened considerably at the neck, along with a single button, his equally white t-shirt underneath matching the clarity he beheld in front of him. Behind him, the television drummed on, an elderly man's voice running through the streets of New York City, nearly succeeding in being completely drowned out, as crowds of people desperately huddled together in the cold to ring in the beauty of the new year. He shrugged, quietly pursing his lips, his concentration blaring with the realization that he was about to survive a second year of Rachel Burke.

A woman dressed in a scantily clad red dress brushed haphazardly against the back of his shoulder, her hand reaching out for the wall to steady herself, as she struggled to maneuver her way to the door. She slipped fondly on the floorboards, the heel of her black shoe breaking apart with careful ease, as it perforated a small crease. He raised a curious eyebrow at the public display of what could best be described as a very drunk and clueless female, and the edges of his mouth twitched into a soft smile. His own glass of wine still sat on the kitchen table, for the most part untouched, unless he counted the drastic urge he'd had to plunge himself into an alcoholic oblivion after seeing Rachel greet her latest pick of the litter, just two hours earlier.

And actually, he couldn't quite explain it. Couldn't quite put his finger on just what it was about her that drove him to desperation over something so damn petty. No matter how hard he tried to sort out just why it made him compelled to have the reaction he did, he just couldn't pinpoint the reason for the life of him. It was devastatingly puzzling, to say the least.

Their friendship originally shot off to a surprisingly rocky start, though he'd somehow always blamed the facts surrounding it on his sudden recognition of her from a night spent in Quantico, where the word goat had earned a new record of achievement within the walls of the VCTF, courtesy of the computer handy and eavesdropping George. It was a night she repeatedly chose to deny ever happened, until it was officially brought into the public spectrum, and they were both nearly hanged for an indiscretion that had never come to pass. He could look back on all of it with a certain fondness that still made her oddly fascinating to him, and yet a fondness he also drove beyond the boundaries of a friendship that was solid and yet often sarcastic in its ways.

He watched her now, her slender composition pausing near the folds of the doorway, where she quickly mouthed her tokens of goodbyes to the few remaining coherent people that passed through its exit, her blue eyes alive and bright, her lips quietly taking a small sip of champagne. Her red hair was thrown up about her head, so a couple of mindless locks still drifted down and around to frame her pretty face, giving it a profound dose of character. The long and elegant black dress she wore nearly reached the floor, and her feet were no longer prisoner to the heels she'd had on only seconds earlier. He was taken with her.

It was then that she chose to attach her gaze to his, and he could already hear her crisp sound of laughter, as it cascaded about the room, those same blues still touching his, as she calmly pressed the door closed with her free hand, uttering a prolonged sigh as she leaned up against it. A strong bout of silence hung heavily in the air now, and half of him wished he'd already left twenty minutes ago along with Bailey, George and Grace, murmuring something about having lots to do and so little time to do it in. But he hadn't, and it continued to bother him more than he liked.

She strode over to him, slowly tilting her head, as she gently got down upon her hands and knees, professing a deep breath. "Party's over," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, as she made a grab for a few empty plates behind the sofa, groaning from the tiresome ability of having to stretch her arms a bit more than she would have liked.

"But the...ball hasn't dropped yet," he countered, forcing a quiet smile to the surface, as he lightly clasped both of his hands together. The white dress shirt was now making him uncomfortable to the point of annoyance, and his mind was currently running through its own debate on whether or not to just shrug the damn thing off. "And tradition still holds that a new year hasn't yet begun until its-"

"Save it, John," she uttered, her voice barely audible from the opposite side of the piece of furniture, as she recovered a small cup along with the plates she already held in her grasp. "I'm sure you and her are going to tango until the sun comes up, so you better not keep her waiting."

"If by implying the tango reference you insinuate I'll be having sex with some beautiful blonde before Dick Clark yells five, four, three, two, one, you'd have absolutely no idea just how wrong you are. In fact, you'd probably be more off than you realize." He paused, reveling in her self-satisfied guess of predictability. "Given your profession, I really don't think you ought to take that bet."

Her head came up then, as she latched those blue eyes onto his again, her lips slightly parted. "But it would be a pretty good one though, don't you think?"

"That depends on how much you're willing to place on the table."

"You know, before Danny, this was easier," she muttered, laughing half to herself, as she allowed herself to get back into a standing position, tossing the contents into the nearby trash can, dusting her hands entirely clean of the mess. "I was more at ease, and I was more- I was somebody, John. Now I'm just a woman with a badge who continues to do what she does because she still thinks she can avenge things that only haunt her in her dreams."

"It's not too far from the truth, you know." His voice remained steady, but underneath it all, his hands had begun to give him just the briefest of shakes as he initiated the response. "I still believe my father was responsible for my mother's death, but it doesn't mean I don't still envision how it could have happened if it came to pass that he never had a hand in it. What would I have done? How would I have reacted? I know I'm playing a losing game, Rachel, but the sheer impact of it as it hits me, never really drifts too far from home."

"I'm not asking for pity-" she started.

"You'll remember him every single holiday a few years from now," he cut her off. "It doesn't change what his fate was, and it may not have even changed the way you'll go on helping people who are prepared to meet similar fates."

"And after Marks, the Bureau no longer believed they even needed those services any longer," she whispered.

"But the team managed to stay afloat," he insisted. "We've been through some rough times and we've always came back."

"Barely."

"Barely has to count for something," he managed.

"So where is she?"

"What?"

"Why are you suddenly dateless this evening? Piss her off before you guys even got here?"

"I'm just lucky I got an invitation." But instead of laughing it off, he shook his head. "Contrary to popular accusations that I'm always entitled to my fair share of lust, I haven't been with anybody for awhile now. There's been someone, but...well...trust me when I say there isn't a chance in hell that it would work out."

"Her father doesn't like you?" she quipped.

"No, I think she's too good for me," he pressed, proclaiming a rather sheepish smile, as he merely shrugged.

"There's another bottle of wine in the cupboard," she offered, matching his smile with one of her own. "I'm gonna go and slip into something somewhat less confining."

"So you...don't mind? I...I mean that I'm..."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I think my date left me for Miss Unlikely To Be Sober back there. So it's just the same, isn't it?"

"There are some of us who strangely think a party is not only a pretty damn good excuse to get wasted, but the only reason to get wasted," he concluded, laughing softly.

"Yeah, and I think she was one of them. Cheers to their future bliss, right?"

"If I'd even call it that. She'll probably be hung over by tomorrow anyway- probably won't be able to say her own name...while he'll still be wondering how his own stupidity translated over into finding her in his bed the minute he wakes up. So in the end, they both lose. It's a fair trade."

"Yeah, funny how that works out," she commented.

"Certainly never disappoints."

She nodded. "And a part of me is still wondering why you decided to get all dressed up tonight. I mean, that suit isn't your style at all, and-"

"No?" he added, grinning ridiculously, as he gestured to it. "And here I was just hoping it could at least pass for tonight."

"Well, you were nearly halfway there," she mused carefully.

"Your instincts tell you that?"

"Oh, I don't need my profiling to tell you what you're thinking right now. In fact, I'd say it was pretty much a given since the moment you first walked in here."

"Care to share?" he returned hopefully.

"Bored, anxious, and now regretting the fact that you didn't have a date," she pointed out with great satisfaction, her voice tuning out as she padded down to her room, turning back one last time to throw him a wild grin.

"Well, that's just too easy then!" he protested, calling after her, as he slumped his slender body down upon the sofa. Someone had conveniently placed a string of popcorn beneath the soft cushions, and he offered just the slightest of winces, as he began to slowly retrieve each and every one of them, calmly scooping them out as best he could, tossing them down onto a nearby table with just an ounce of disgust.

"It's either that, or you're still convinced Quantico meant something," she added, peeking her head out as she offered a soft chuckle in his direction.

"No matter how hard I try, I can never forget that goat."

"Funny."

"It's all in the past, Rachel. We got through it, and there's no reason-"

"And it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she noted.

"Oh, so you think I testified on your behalf, so I could save your ass?"

"Exactly."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I was already in the process of trying to save my own ass." He heard her laugh then, and it brought a small smile to his handsome face, feeling himself literally come alive like it was music to his ears. Given his own line of indiscretions with females, he hadn't truly felt this way about anyone since Kate had passed away. Kate had been a mistake that had cost him more than he'd intended, and just the sheer thought of what they could have been, as opposed to what they were, always let that bit of sadness back into his heart that he thought he'd strayed free from. She had so much going for her, and he hadn't even cared enough to find out. Instead, he'd simply rushed her into bed time and again, and never gave the slightest inclination as to what it would have been like to get to know her so much better intellectually. With Rachel, he discovered, it was surprisingly different...surprisingly refreshing. He knew her intellectual capacity better than he knew the back of his hand, and he respected her skill more than he was outright willing to admit. But it was never difficult to approach Kate or to show her off to his friends in the bureau. She was just some girl he'd used as a status symbol to garner himself some free publicity back at the office. He'd loved her too late. Something kept telling him he didn't want to be that late again, no matter what the consequences chose to prevail for him.

She'd returned to the sitting area, her hands laying still at her sides, as she watched him intently for a mere few seconds. A pair of gray sweatpants clothed her slender and noticeable frame, a small white t-shirt laying comfortably across her chest. Sighing, she collapsed down next to him without another moment's hesitation, tucking her long legs beneath her, as she let her blues wander over and hold the television set, where the prolonged countdown had just about reached its limit. "You know what really bugs me about this so called tradition?" she mumbled.

"What's that?"

"How I won't get that kiss I was sure was coming to me." She smiled, tilting her head back. "And all things considered, I think he would've been a great kisser. Just kind of looked that way, you know?"

"Somehow I think that was the last thing on his mind."

"Like you said, sex is usually first on the list. Still, a kiss would have probably topped off the night just right."

"Probably," he noted.

"Thing of it is, I don't even know if I'm looking for more," she whispered.

"Rachel-"

"It all fails, John. Sooner or later...and I can't keep hoping for later. I have a job to do, and that can't stand in the way of my own personal preferences."

"So you would have let him go, anyway?"

"He would have let me go eventually, if he hadn't tonight," she sided.

"We see what we want to see," he told her. "It doesn't always have to be perfect-"

"Nothing's perfect," she murmured.

"It isn't meant to be. If we all ended up where we thought we were meant to-"

"The two of us probably wouldn't even be having this conversation," she finished.

"More than likely."

"And yet you've always been there for me. And really, it takes a lot to say that- because I'm not even drunk right now, and-"

"Wait. You have to be drunk to give me a compliment?" he asked, clearly bewildered. "Where did that come from?"

"Oh, c'mon, John, get over yourself, okay?"

"Rachel, I-"

"That's not where I was going with it, and you know it."

His soft blues were completely focused on her now, his eyes calmly tracing every inch of her face, as it remained close to his, his gaze lightly fluttering over her jawline, her lips, her cheeks, her nose. He could hear the voices fading even further into the background, their cheers subsiding to mere whimpers, as they continued their means of celebration, welcoming the cold with a strange sense of compelling gratitude. Ten...nine...eight...seven... He could hear the numbers being rattled off in his mind, each second dropping closer to the end, as time prepared to close her wings on yet another bracket of historical epilogue.

Six...five...four...three...

"I only meant that you're always there when I...you know...like you are now. Grace or George wouldn't have taken the-"

Two...one...

He moved in, and brought her close before she could finish, gingerly catching her lips with his, letting them run over hers with careful ease as 'Auld Lang Syne' began its tune, his fingertips grazing over her cheek ever so softly. He felt her hand enclose itself loosely over his wrist, as she found herself responding to the motion, her own reaction catching her where she least expected it to, immediately causing her to halt. Abruptly, she broke away, quickly pushing herself away from him, both of her brows raised in instant perplexity. She simply stared at him, every emotion she was feeling inside of her very nearly ready to spring forth to the surface. She didn't say anything for a good five minutes, a hand laying itself across her mouth with a pair of fingers that were shaking like a leaf, their movement stuttering beyond her control.

"You kissed me," she whispered.

"Yes," he sided, nodding, his beautiful face falling under just a hint of a smile. "I did."

"And I don't know whether I should be hitting you right now, or-"

"Rachel, you have to understand something. If I didn't mean it-"

"You wouldn't have done it. But that's...that's not the point. You only did it because you thought I needed someone tonight, and that...that doesn't constitute right, no matter how you want to put it."

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't wrong, and you can comb through all the theories you want- contrary to your beliefs, I didn't just do it because you were expecting it, I did it out of respect. You can analyze what I've felt for you until you're blue in the face, but it isn't going to change anything." He pursed his lips, wincing once again, as he slowly captured her hand in his, holding onto it with the gentlest of pulls. "It's not going to change the fact that I think I just might be in love with you, and-"

"Do you even realize what you're saying? Listen to yourself. You're babbling."

"I have," he noted. "And watching you in here...tonight...I- I felt like I was missing out on the one thing that's kept me sane all this time. In you walk, and watch my life get a lot more complicated than it should probably be right now. You have every right to remember every single smart ass remark I ever said to you...but it doesn't discount-"

"A lot of them," she reasoned. "A hell of a lot of them."

"Yeah, well, I've had practice."

She laughed, and the tension she'd been building up in her body was gradually boiling down to a mere simmer, her gaze sweeping over his face, as she decidedly took him in. She hesitantly pressed a hand to his gorgeous countenance, running a firm thumb down his cheeks and pressing it over his lips. "You believed in me during a time I never thought I'd get by," she said quietly, shrugging. "I want it to count for- I want it to mean something, John. I really do. But I...I just don't know right now, and it scares me. It scares me what I might do if I involve myself with you again. And I don't know if it's a risk I'd be willing to put above my job."

"So you really feel something..."

She smiled. "I think I've just taken too many chances, made too many of those bets."

"And this one isn't costing you anything," he pointed out.

"Because I'm not a blonde?" she suggested jokingly.

"Because you're you."

"And what's it costing-"

"If you're looking for an apology, I don't have one. I mean, I thought I did, but I can't say that I'd take all of that back... Because I wouldn't. In fact, I'd just do it all over again."

"John-"

"Stop me," he challenged, his blues brightening, as he gathered her mouth with his again, placing both hands directly behind her neck, as he let his touch connect with hers. She'd already shut her eyes, anticipating the gesture, her hands already running through his dark locks of hair, as she quietly sighed.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,
And days of auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?

Happy New Year