FIC: "High Sierra Hopes" (1/WIP)
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: 12/09/2000
FANDOM: 'Profiler'
PAIRING: George Fraley/John Grant (slash)
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to NBC, to Court TV, and to the respective actors of the series. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
WARNINGS: Slash, explicit male/male sex, drug withdrawal
SUMMARY: This story is revisionist history ("Alternate Reality") set in the fourth season, when the VCTF travels to Yosemite National Park on a case. Instead of a mistake that nearly costs George his FBI career, John intervenes and changes George's destiny -- and his own.
DEDICATION: To my friend and 'little bro' FatJoey, because we really got to know each other first at the George Profiler list.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: 'Profiler' was one of the first fandoms we participated in on line, and we ended up working on this pairing, because a Profiler list featuring George/John was one of our first 'playgrounds.'

Part One

"George!"

Bailey Malone shouted from his desk as he caught a glimpse of George Fraley walking by his window. George, looking thin and pale in a red shirt and patterned tie, came reluctantly into the office.

"We've taken primary on a case in northern California -- I want you with us!" As he spoke, Bailey handed George a file folder.

George took the file. "Please let me handle my end of it from here."

"I want you with us, George," Bailey said insistently.

George paused. "Bailey, they canceled me, you know, so I made another appointment." He was clearly sweating.

"For a month from now!"

"That was their first available," George insisted.

"'First available' is what you get when you fail to mention the drug addiction that's affecting your work and destroying your life! You've lied about this long enough, George. The alternative is something neither one of us wants to consider."

George mouthed an acknowledgment, turned and walked out, feeling Bailey's eyes boring into his back. He went quickly into the men's bathroom, checked all the stalls, then turned on the cold water. He pulled an Altoids tin from his pocket and plucked out two capsules with shaking fingers. He popped the pills back in his throat and bent over the stream of water. He choked slightly before swallowing the capsules. As he straightened, he couldn't avoid the sight of his own pasty face or watery eyes in the large mirror. He couldn't stand the sight of it. He turned away. It was time to check out of the building and pack for the trip.

* * * * *

It took several hours of flight time in their private jet to reach Merced, California, nearly 2,300 miles from the home base of the VCTF -- the FBI's elite Violent Crime Task Force -- in Atlanta, Georgia. Four members of the team left the comfortable confines of the well-outfitted plane to transfer to a rental car for the drive to Yosemite National Park, the scene of three recent tourist abductions. John Grant, early 30s, handsome and dressed like a yuppie making a trip to the Great Outdoors, headed to the rental counter to flash his badge and get a mid-size sedan. Bailey Malone stood outside smoking a cigar while he talked to the team's profiler, Rachel Burke. George searched for the nearest restroom. It would be a two-hour drive to the park.

"Do we want to grab anything to eat?" John asked his boss, holding up the car key.

"You drive," Bailey answered. "Where's George?"

"I'll get him," said Rachel. "Hold on."

When George left the restroom, he saw Rachel Burke waiting. "You must have the strongest bladder on the team," he remarked. Rachel cocked her eyebrow in surprise.

"You must have the weakest," she replied. "We just left the plane, and you were in the bathroom before we landed. I thought Grace was the one with that problem."

George looked pointedly at the attractive young redhead. She knew very well what his 'problem' was. "I didn't want to come on this trip, Rachel. Bailey insisted."

Rachel reached out and squeezed his arm. "You'll be okay, George. I know it's hard right now, but just let us help. Kicking a habit is a bitch. Believe me, I know that from Danny."

George nodded, his eyes welling. "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"You guys coming?" came the voice of John Grant. They turned to see him watching. "Bailey's getting antsy."

* * * * *

The drive to Mariposa took nearly an hour. As they climbed in elevation, the temperature outside dropped and John adjusted the heater in the car. Bailey sat to his right, Rachel and George in the back seat. John could see in the rearview mirror that George was already sweating, but he also knew the reason for this.

"Pretty country," he commented once, but no one answered. Each member of the team seemed lost in his or her own thoughts.

As they drove on Highway 140 through the center of the small town of Mariposa, John scanned the streets for a restaurant. It was now well into dinner time, and he was hungry. "The Charles Street Dinner House looks open," he announced. "How 'bout it?"

"Good idea," answered his boss. "Let's stop. How much farther to the lodge?"

John turned on 7th Street and found a parking spot. He cracked his door to turn on the dome light. "Another 40 miles or so. We're halfway."

The team entered the restaurant and were seated right away. The menu was a mixture of California and traditional American cuisine. John pointed to the legend just inside the menu. "This restaurant boasts of the finest, most dedicated restaurant staff in the area," John read. "Some have worked here for 15 years." Rachel smiled, but Bailey and George seemed unimpressed. John feared this was going to be a very dull trip.

A waiter who may or may not have worked at the Charles Street Dinner House for 15 years took their orders. Rachel chose the pasta primavera, John and George settled on the Charles Street Burger and Bailey ordered Filet Mignon. Bailey decided on a bottle of local wine, a 1996 Cabernet Sauvignon Silver Fox from Mariposa County.

"What about that expense account?" John asked, noting the $23.00 price tag. "Isn't Big Brother watching?"

"Didn't you know, we have a Congresswoman on our side now," Rachel said, looking at Bailey. "Or at least Bailey does."

Bailey didn't comment. The wine was brought over and opened. Bailey tasted it and nodded.

"So is that why we're staying at some fancy lodge instead of the local Motel 6?" John asked.

"The Congresswoman suggested the Tenaya Lodge," Bailey admitted. "She said it had just been completely remodeled, but she knew the VCTF could get a good deal. We'll also be in the most convenient spot for getting around the park, instead of having to drive in and out of Oakhurst."

"It's a Four-Diamond resort," John drawled. "We'll be a little out of place."

"Why shouldn't we enjoy the fruits of our labor for once?" Bailey asked. "Let's forget our budget problems during this trip. Besides, it's my problem, not yours."

"Remember that the next time I turn in my expense report," John answered.

* * * * *

The rest of the drive was uneventful. It was dark by the time John pulled on to U.S. Highway 41 at Oakhurst to travel the final 12 miles to the lodge. As he approached the 240-room resort, John whistled. He could wish for a moment that he were here for pleasure, not business.

John let the other three members of the team out of the car and popped the trunk so Bailey could grab the bags before John parked. By the time John entered the large, rustic Grand Lobby, Bailey was handing out key cards. "Rachel and I are in the East Wing, you and George are in the West."

John took his key from Bailey. "I'll take my bag to my room and meet you in the bar," John said. "You guys up for it?"

"I need to call the park authorities and alert them of our arrival," Bailey answered. I'll be down shortly."

Rachel nodded. "Give me 15 minutes."

George bent down and retrieved his bag. "Count me out. I'm going to read up on the case and then get some sleep."

"Okay. Let's find our rooms."

George was silent as he and John headed to their wing. "Let's take the stairs. We're only on the second floor," John suggested.

"Okay with me. We've been sitting all day."

"This place is really something, isn't it?" John commented as they scanned the hall for their room numbers.

"Beautiful."

George was in 228, John in 235 just down the hall. George fumbled at his door before getting it opened. John paused while George stepped inside. George looked back out at him quizzically. "Goodnight," he said after an awkward moment.

"Good night, George," John answered. "See you in the morning."

* * * * *

Bailey sipped his Scotch and grimaced. "We need to make good on this case. It's important to the VCTF, because it's going to get a lot of air play. I know that sounds cynical, but it's a fact."

"Politics?" John asked. He had changed to a light, cable knit turtleneck and gray corduroy pants, and he looked completely in place in the resort's Jackalopes Bar.

Rachel swirled the red wine in her glass, snuggling closer to the huge stone fireplace. "We've had a lot of that lately."

"And it's not going to stop," Bailey said gruffly. "I wish I could keep you out of it, but I can't always do that."

Rachel looked over at the older man and smiled. "Bailey, we're part of it. I've been the cause of a lot of it. You always stand behind us, we're going to stand behind you."

John looked down at the Indian patterned rug. "What about George?" he asked.

Bailey and Rachel glanced over at him. "What about him?" Rachel asked.

"You both know he's in a bad state," John said. "He shouldn't even be on this trip."

Bailey's eyebrows came together. "He's part of this team!" he said loudly. "He either gets himself together, or he gets out of the Bureau. We've invested a lot in him over the years and looked the other way too damn many times!"

Rachel cocked an eyebrow at John and took a sip of wine. "I don't know exactly what you're referring to with George's past, but I do know that you need help to get off drugs. Do you think George is getting it?"

Bailey shook his head. "I think he's denying he needs any help and trying to kick it himself. You may think my decision to bring him along was wrong, but I had to try to make an impression on him." Bailey glowered at John.

"I think you're doing the best you can," John said softly. "But I don't think it's working."

Bailey and Rachel were silent. John swallowed the last of his beer and stood up. "I'm going to go up and check on him. Good night."

"Good night, John," Rachel answered. Bailey stared silently at the fire.

The End, Part One