A/N: So many things I can say about this one-shot. There are so many things about it that are just wrong from its conception to its execution, or at least in the thinking processes that led to those points. I really intended to write a cute one-shot where the guys serenaded the gals with a song off an old Backstreet Boys CD, but then (while said cd was on repeat) other ideas intruded and I am somewhat disturbed by the outcome. Very nearly titled it "Hot Mess". And the timeline's screwed up to boot.
Sophie pulls Ed close and wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly. "When you come back, I won't be here." Her breath is deceptively warm as it whispers past his ear. He feels chilled to the bone by her words. Words he never thought he would hear fall from her lips. "If you want to talk, give me a call."
He pulls away, the shape of his lips forming a mockery of a smile. "Let go of me. There's… there's just something I gotta know. Did you find somebody else? Just…just tell me."
Her face betrays nothing of her thoughts as she informs him, "It's not my fault."
No. Nothing ever was. It was always on him. He was always not doing enough while she picked up the slack. She had steadfastly supported him and he'd let her. Sure, he said thank you, told her he appreciated what she did for him, for their family. He didn't show it, though. Jumped at the chance of some OT. Led by example in clocking in hours in the gym and on the shooting range. Could he blame her for wanting to leave now? For leaving now? No. No, he could not.
And so it began. The interminably long day Ed spent in Siberia.
Lew watches as Spike putters around a house that is too big for just him. A house that hadn't seen happiness since he died. If there is one thing he regrets most about his own death, it is that it took away the few months his best friend had left with his father. He knows his own family could and has found some kind of peace. They have each other for support, reasons to move on with their lives. Spike has the team, but at the end of the day? At the end of the day, he has Lew. Lew is forever there watching, listening, waiting…
Spike puts his bag together, having laundered his gym clothes as well as his uniform. Such menial tasks had once been seen to by his mother, but only because she was the quintessential Italian mother who took care of her boy as if he were a child and was happy to do so. She'd expressed a desire for him to go with her when she left for Italy to care for her own mother after her sister had to take in her parents-in-law, but he'd refused, unwilling to leave his team. Now she mothers from the other side of the Atlantic, calling daily to make sure he's taking care of himself. He's pretty sure it was just an excuse to reassure herself that he has yet to blow himself up, but he doesn't mind. Not one bit.
As he reaches for the knob of the kitchen door, he thinks he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Dropping the bag, he spins around, throwing his hands up defensively only tilt his head to the side in confusion. He could have sworn… Shaking his head, he picks up the bag and leaves.
Lew is baffled. Spike couldn't have seen him just now…or had he?
Jules opens her bedroom door and finds Sam slumped against the wall beside it. She shakes her head, knowing she had left him on the couch last night. Crouching down, she looks at him. Her eyes are softer than they would be if his blue eyes were open and staring back into them. She doesn't need to be guarded, for her own sake as well as his, right this minute.
"God you need a haircut." Jules muttered under her breath as she brushed a stray lock of hair from a forehead rendered smooth by sleep. That forehead would soon wrinkle as its owner coped with the hangover from hell in a little while.
Out of all the things she could have said after last night, that was the least dangerous. Alcohol had, unfortunately, loosened his lips to the point where he was practically vomiting words. It was unfortunate for her because he was so damn intelligible, all slurring aside. He'd told her before, when he was lucid, about how his friend Matt had died, but not in nearly as much detail as he'd gone into last night. He'd painted a colorful, emotion-drenched picture in her mind that had caused hot, salty tears to burn her eyes.
And then there were his feelings for her. He'd just laid it all out there in a way he'd never do sober. A way she'd never allow him to if she could shut him up. He'd told her about how he couldn't let her go because she was a part of him. Under his skin. How everything sometimes seemed like an illusion because it still felt impossible that he couldn't have her in his life when she was 'it' for him. Whatever that was supposed to mean.
She forces herself to not let his feelings matter. It doesn't help that her feelings are clamoring in defense of his, but if she can ignore her own feelings, she can ignore his. She rises, and then nudges him with her foot. "Get up if you want a ride to work. I left your bike at the bar when I picked you up, so you might wanna call the owner and make sure it's still there."
Bloodshot blue eyes blearily blink up at her uncomprehendingly. "Jules?" His gaze sweeps the hall and recognition lights his eyes. "Why…?"
"You called me…remember?" she asks cautiously. Her tongue snaked out just enough to wet her lips. If he doesn't remember the things he said the night before, I won't remind him, she resolved. It was better that she suffered from the opening of that can of worms all by herself.
"No…why would I call you? I mean, I'm sorry I bothered you," he mutters as he makes his way to his feet.
Jules shrugs, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Dunno…I'm gonna make breakfast if you wanna grab a quick shower or something…"
"I'll shower when we get there. Usual entrance plan?"
"You still remember it? Been a while," Jules remarks, with a half-grin.
"I remember everything," he responds candidly. "Except last night," he groans.
"Then yeah. Don't want anybody getting the wrong idea with you and me showing up together and all…"
"Jules." He holds up a hand. "I get it. That's why I suggested it."
"Right. Well, I'm gonna…"
"I know what must've happened, now," he interrupts thoughtfully. "Why I ended up calling you, I mean."
"Yeah?" she prompts, curious to know in spite of herself.
"I meant to call Joanna. If I was as drunk as it feels like I was…"
"You were," she confirms, faking an amused smile. "Her name was right by mine and messing around with the touch screen," she concludes.
He grins sheepishly. "Sorry, again. Thanks for coming to get me, though."
"Always."
"Late night?" Spike asks when Sam walks into the men's locker room.
Sam looks down at the clothes he's wearing. The same ones he had been wearing when he'd gone home last night. "Rough night," he corrects, tugging the shirt up over his head.
Spike nods to show he comprehends what his friend and teammate is saying. "It was a rough call. I haven't seen Sarge, yet, this morning."
Ed walks in and Sam waits for the older man to say something about his appearance. Ed changes and leaves the locker room again as if they aren't even there.
Spike quirks an eyebrow up toward his hairline. "Good morning to you, too, Sunshine!" he hollers as the door swings shut. "What was that about?"
"No clue," Sam said on his way to take a shower before he worked out. He'd only end up showering again afterward, but he already doesn't smell that great and doesn't want to add stink on top of stink.
Wordy arrives as Sam, Spike, and Jules all emerge from their respective locker rooms after the workout. "Two of the girls have chicken pox," he explained with a shake of his head. "I felt bad about leaving without helping Shelley get them settled.
"Trust me, you don't have to apologize to us for that," Jules pardons him with an understanding smile. "They doing okay?"
"Well, they look like a couple of ashy Easter bunnies because of the calamine lotion, but I'm pretty sure they were at least comfortable when I left."
"Hey!" Ed waves them over to the desk where Winnie's perched as usual during this shift. Without batting so much as an eye at Wordy's late arrival, he explains, "Greg's taking a personal day." This causes very little surprise. They'd had a hard day the day before. "Sam, you're Sierra One, today. Jules, Sierra Two. I'll be lead negotiator. Spike's my second. Wordy, less lethal."
Everyone masks his or her surprise at Ed's first three designations. Eventually, everyone comes to the same conclusion. Ed has his reasons for not claiming his usual position.
Standing off to the side, Lew views the scene with a sense of foreboding. He doesn't think Ed should be calling the shots today. But this is only his opinion. Dead men don't get a vote.
When the team rolls out, it's on a possible bomb call. Lew hates these. Loathes them, really. He can still vividly recall the one that had disintegrated him. Fine. The grenade. The grenade that shouldn't have been there. That wouldn't have been there if not for the bat-shit crazy extremist who didn't realize he was insane until after he killed himself ad had time to think it over. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Especially when it comes to analyzing your own life. "Be careful, Bro," Lew cautions Spike the way he always does. As always, the other man goes on as though he hasn't spoken.
The suspicious package is an office located in the basement of a skyscraper. The building has nearly been evacuated by the time Team One arrives on the scene. "Sam, Jules, cover Spike. Wordy, you and I'll work on identifying the bomber," Ed dictates.
Spike grabs his gear and the trio enter the building as it continues to empty.
"You don't think we should've waited for more intel?" Wordy asks, having waited for the others to leave Ed and himself standing alone.
"They don't need to know who planted the bomb in order to take a look, Wordy. Go check the security footage."
Wordy looks as if he wants to say something, but he simply shakes his head instead and goes to find a security guard he can ask about the surveillance, assuming there was any in the basement.
In the basement, Sam, Jules, and Spike clear rooms as they go until they reach the office in question, then Jules stays with Spike while Sam clears the rest of the floor. The box is an alarmingly large one and Spike immediately sets to work in determining whether there really was a bomb in there or not.
"Let me save you some time," a man says, stepping out from the shadows.
Jules swings her gun up into position, cursing herself for not thinking to clear the room. All thoughts of such an action had skittered away when she got a look at the size of the box.
"It really is a bomb."
She fires, but it's too late to prevent his finger from coming down on the button of the detonator in his hand.
Outside, Ed and Wordy watch in horror as the building crumples, folding down on itself. Folding down on their team.
"I thought I saw you. This morning," Spike clarifies, looking upon his old friend in awe, as they stand somewhere neither here nor there.
"I thought you did, too," Lew acknowledges, hugging his best friend. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to give you one of those, man."
"Can I get one of those?" Jules asks.
As Lew obliges Jules, Sam remarks, "I didn't expect this to be like…this."
"The absence of pain and suffering?" Spike asks. "Me either."
"Not that, although…am I the only one who felt that?"
"You felt pain?" Lew asked, astonished."
"When I heard the gunfire, knew Jules was in trouble…." His voice trails off.
"And I guess I'm chopped liver," Spike gripes.
"Nah, man, you had me watching out for you," Lew counters.
"Lot of good that did me. I'm dead!"
"Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious, I didn't notice!"
Jules moves over to Sam, slips an arm around his waist. "I think that might be the most romantic thing I ever heard. The split second warning you got before you blew up…you worried about me?"
"Bet all three of you wish you made different choices now, huh?" Lew asks as if he already knows the answer.
"I'd've made things right with my parents," Spike says.
Jules looks at Sam. "I wouldn't have let you go."
Sam looks right back at her. "I wouldn't have let you."
Ed lets himself into a dark, quiet house, and he knows Sophie is gone. So are Clark and Izzy. Of course. She takes care of the kids, so she takes the kids. The logic doesn't make it hurt any less. Not tonight. Especially not tonight.
Flipping a switch chases away some of the darkness, but only that clinging to the house. The action has no effect on the darkness in his soul. He drags heavy feet up the stairs only to stop on the third treads when he hears paper rustle beneath his boot. He bends down and picks it up. Reads the neatly written note. 'If you want to talk, give me a call.' That's all it takes. That one small kindness. The dam breaks loose and he sinks down onto a stair sobbing unashamedly. Once he regains some modicum of control, he digs out his cell phone and slowly dials her number.