Well, Blue Christmas Red Bike was intended to be a two-shot. But then, I kind of liked it on it's own, you know? I felt like it was whole. But I still had this idea kicking around in my head about how it could all play out. So I decided to opt for the best of both worlds and post a very-optional second part. I didn't want to make it another chapter because I still feel like the other can be a seperate story to itself. But I wanted a way to just vent the rest, I guess. Anyway, thanks for reading. Sorry if it's confusing.
I'm thinking there were be either 2 or possibly 3 chapters to this second part.
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"And then Sam says, get this, I don't do Christmas. Like. Like it's golf or something. Like it's some arduous task that he's somehow managed to escape. It's not optional. It's Christmas. You don't not do Christmas." Spike vented, waving his arms wide. The team was gathered around the table of the Goose, the pub they regularly frequented for an after-shift pint. Sam had begged out early, claiming he had to call a friend in Afghanistan before the time-shift got to warped.
Jules face contorted in a deep frown. "Really?"
"Yeah. Really. It was totally weird." Wordy leaned back in his seat, stretching cramped legs. "When Spikey here asked him what he wanted for Christmas he said nothing that a chubby white dude in a red suit could shove down a chimney."
"That's sort of cryptic." Jules muttered.
"Yeah, and Sam's not really one for games." Ed pointed out.
"Maybe it has something to do with his sister." Leah suggested.
The team turned to gape at her.
"What?" Jules' asked. "Sam's sister? Sam hasn't got a sister. He's an only child." Of all the team members she'd be the one to know, after all, she thought.
Leah's face flushed with embarrasment. "Oh. I didn't know that he hadn't told you. I just figured he'd said something. Oh. That's awkward. That's very awkward." She bit down on her lip. "I, uhm, I googled you all before I joined the team. I wanted to make a good impression, you see." She said, quickly glancing around the table.
"So you electronically stalked us?" Spike asked. When Leah hung her head in embarrassment he beamed. "That's my girl! If only I'd thought of it first."
"What's this about his sister?" Greg prodded.
"She died. In a hit and run accident while they were posted in Egypt. A car jumped the curb and hit her - she was killed instantly. Sam was there too. They were just kids. The driver was never caught."
"That's so sad." Jules murmured.
The team fell into a sullen silence before dispersing, each heading off into the chilly night, hearts a little lower than they'd been just hours before.
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Jules couldn't sleep. She'd done everything she could to try. She'd scrubbed the kitchen floor, taken a bath, drank a whole damn pot of that disgusting camomille tea. But still, she'd tossed and turned until she'd wearily dragged herself out of bed. She huddled over the computer at the computer, glass of warm milk, forgotten, at her elbow. The black cursor blinked on the startling, bright white screen. Daring her. Warning her.
She hesitated, hands hovering over keys before she hurriedly typed out the words "Gerenal Grant Braddock + Hit and run + daughter" into the google search bar. Before she could stop herself she pressed enter.
No going back now Jules.
Hand quaking a bit she clicked the first link, a Egyptian newspaper article on the accident. She waited, heart pounded, as her computer translated the report, painfully slowly. When it finally loaded it read of a family, torn apart by tragedy. A young life lost. And the picture that accompanied it stopped Jules' heart. Sam, standing bewildered, knees of his jeans muddied, hand clutching a single white sandal. His eyes were huge. A smudge of blood marked his cheek, coated his hands. The world blurred around him - cops and crime scene tapes, witnesses and journalists. But Sam was frozen in motion, perpetually that scared little boy. Jules' heart broke for him.
The second link told her the photographer had won a national photography award for that shot of the little boy in shock and grief.
That's why, she thought. That's why it the shoes had bothered him so much.
Closing her computer shut with a snap, she laid her head on the table. God. She felt like such an invasive bitch. But it stung. He'd never told her. Not once. They'd been together months. And he'd never once told her that he'd had a sister - that he'd lost her. Sam had overcome so much pain and suffering in his life. His sister, his best friend. His teammate. Lou. Good god. She'd judged him as a arrogant, cocky asshole, bent on using daddy's pursestrings and connections to pave his way in life. She'd learned how wrong she'd been. But she'd never really been sure HOW wrong until just now. Creeping back through her empty house to her darkened bedroom, she crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over her head, like a child, and shed a tear for the boy who'd lost his sister and the man that boy had become
