Disclaimer: Still don't own Flashpoint. Also. I think I swear at some point in this story. Beware. Profanity.
I'm awake. It's 5:30 and I'm awake. Why? Because I went out drinking and, stupid stupid stupid me, ordered rum and cokes. And the caffeine has riddled my brain. This emerged as a result. In Fault Lines Parker says, during the interview with Jules and Sam, something about how he spoke with both of them before she returned to the team. And I couldn't stop thinking about how it would have gone down. What were they thinking? What were they feeling? What did Parker say to them? Anyway. This is my version of Parker's chat with Sam. Think of it as ... post Aisle 13 and pre-Perfect Family where Sam goes on vacay.
Sorry if I haven't been terribly diligent lately. It's my uni's reading break and I went on an impromtu trip to visit my sister on the east coast. You'll forgive me won't you?
... ... ...
"Sarge wants to speak to you."
The words echoed in his head as Sam carefully shed his SRU uniform, folding it neatly into the duffle bag at his feet. He told himself that it could be about anything, shrugging into the grey sweater he'd worn to work that morning. But he knew better.
Slinging his bag across his shoulders, he shot the others a quick goodbye wave. He made the trek to the briefing rooms slowly. It was strange how quickly the SRU had become home. He'd lived in tens of houses during his childhood, bumped from base to base, province to province, and country to country. He'd spent years in barracks and army apartments. And he'd recently rented a 10th floor apartment in the heart of Toronto's bustling downtown. And yet no other place gave him the same feeling of belonging that the concrete halls of headquarters did. It never failed to thrill him, the moment he stepped through those plate-glass doors.
And, to be honest, he needed this place more than ever.
Because, right now, in this moment, he had nothing else.
Jules was done with him. She'd walked away. To be fair, he hadn't stopped her. He'd been too stubborn to put his pride aside. And in the end, she'd left.
He hadn't spoken with his father in over three months. Now that he'd been discharged from JTF2 they simply had nothing to say to each other. It was painfully awkward. His father was rigidly formal in all his duties in life, including fatherhood. He'd never truly been able to give Sam what he wanted or needed. Any tenuous chances at a normal father-son bond had died long ago. And his mother – well, his relationship with her was not much sturdier.
The only constant in his life was this job.
And now it was threatening to come crashing down around him.
He took a breath and stepped into the conference room where Parker was readying his daily log.
"You wanted to see me?" He asked, keeping his voice easy – casual even. But the pull of fear and panic beneath that calm façade was strong.
"Sure do, Sam. Why don' you sit down?" Greg leaned back, motioning to the chair across from him.
Any hopes that this would be a quick rehash of details on today's calls were extinguished with that small gesture.
He shrugged, slowly crossing the room, easing down into the chair opposite his sergeant. He leaned back, casually, legs braced against the floor, unconsciously mirroring Parker.
"You know what today is?" Greg asked.
"August 17th." Sam replied, brow furrowing in confusion.
"Well, yes, I suppose it is." Greg's grin was fast and sharp. "But it's also been one year, exactly, since you joined the team. I had to write your annual evaluation today."
"Ah." Sam's heart stuttered in his chest.
"Do you want to know what it said?" Parker asked, leaning forward to rest his hands on the cool glass table.
"I imagine it's classified." Sam lifted a shoulder casually in a half-shrug. Inside he burned with curiosity.
"Probably but I'll tell you anyway. You had a rocky start here at the SRU. You struggled to overcome the soldier instincts to shot first and ask questions later. SRU is half talk, Sam. Listen, Respect, Protect. You didn't really want to do any of that at first. You can't look at these situations thinking about right and wrong. You can't see thing black and white here. You need to be able to see everything. You need to be able to relate."
Sam nodded, swallowing dryly. It was hard to disagree with fact.
"But you have learned quickly. You're dedicating to improvement. Every single day. You're an invaluable asset, tactically. Got a keen mind and good instincts. You adapt seamlessly to any situation. Whatever I throw at you, you roll with it. You're willing to put yourself on the line for your teammates. There's no hesitation in taking orders. You're loyal to a fault."
Sarge's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "And, don't tell Ed because I'm fairly certain he'd kick my ass, but you're the best shot we have."
Sam's heart soared. He had to bite down – hard – on the urge grin widely at the praise. . Instead he chose to cock an eyebrow, coolly surveying his superior officer. "You glazed over the fact that I can't talk my way out of a paper bag, Sarge."
"That's not entirely true." Parker gave a solemn nod. "There's work to be done on the negotiating skills but you are miles from where you first started. You've learned to listen and connect. You're not afraid of hard work. You've done a lot to get to where you are today."
Greg rubbed a hand across his face, fingers grazing the stubbly shadow of a beard. "I'm not going to lie, son, I didn't think you'd make it. This shames me a little but when they assigned you to I thought you'd top out at a couple of weeks. Two months at the most. But you've surprised me and I couldn't be more proud of you."
"Thank you, sir."
"When I sign this evaluation your probationary period is official over. You'll be a full-fledged officer of the SRU." Greg tapped the forms with his finger. "There's just one problem Sam."
"What's that, sir?" Sam asked. Here it comes. He braced himself.
"I know this is going to be a sensitive issue." Sarge shifted uncomfortably, voice quietened, "And you really have no idea how much I don't want to ask this. But I have to know what's going on between you and Julianna."
"Nothing sir." The sharp denial rose to his lips too quickly. Technically, he suppose it was true. Nothing was going on anymore. Not that it was his choice.
He'd loved her. It had been a shock to his system to realize it. Sam had come to the conclusion, year s before, that he simply wasn't the type to fall in love. He wasn't the romantic, head-over-heels kind of guy. He'd never felt that rush of emotion, that yank of desire or the strong pull of need. He'd wanted women, sure. He'd liked them, he'd admired them, he'd respected them. He'd lusted after them on occasion. But he'd never loved anyone until Jules had swaggered into his life.
How do you go back to normal after your life is torn apart like that? After love whips through and levels everything you knew?
So, yeah, things had changed. But he was coping the best way he knew how.
Sarge gave him a knowing look. "I know that you two had a relationship beyond partnership, Sam. I know you two were romantically involved. And I know that things ended pretty recently."
Sam stayed silent.
"Jules is a member of this team, Sam. Just as you are. Her physio is going extremely well – which I have no doubt that you already knew. With all her hours at the range her shooting's even better than before. She's coming back, Sam. And I need to know that you will be able to work alongside her as you would any other member of Team One. I need you to promise me that before I can sign off on you, Sam. I need to know that you're not going to let personal feelings cloud your judgements on calls."
Sam's eyes flashed with anger and he shot to his feet. "I wouldn't let anything happen to her, if that's what you're implying. Come on. She broke up with me. She didn't murder my family. I'm not out for revenge. I just want things to go back to normal."
"That's not what I meant at all Sam." Parker's voice was patient, but under it was the same heated flare of anger as Sam's. Taking a deep slow breath he continued: "I saw how you reacted when Jules was shot, Sam. We all did. And it's one thing to want to protect your partner and teammate. That's a good thing, Sam. But it's another thing to see that person as a lover. I need to be sure you can be level headed and clear minded in any situation."
Sam sat again, wearily. "Things are different now." He mumbled.
"Are they Sam? It's a heavy burden to ask somebody. To work with somebody that they were involved with as if nothing had ever happened. Almost like erasing a part your past – of yourself really." Sam avoided meeting Greg's gaze – he didn't want the sympathy or understanding he knew he'd find there.
"So. I'll do it." He shrugged. He had to. It wasn't a choice. It needed to be done, so he'd goddamned do it.
"Sam. It's not that simple." Parker insisted, leaning forward across the table.
"I'll make it that simple."
"It's not that easy to just cut yourself off from your feelings. It's not healthy either. You can't keep bottling things up and ignoring them. They're not going to go away."
"What do you want from me?" Sam asked, tone bordering on exasperated. He shot a hand through his hair, a sure sign of frustration.
Parker stood, edging his way around the table until he stood in front of Sam. "I want a great many things for you Sam." He said clapping a hand heartily against the younger man's shoulder. "You are a good cop. But you're never going to reach your full potential until you learn to confront your problems head on. You need to learn to face your demons. That's the thing that's holding you back, Sam."
Face his demons? Face the fact that he'd been helpless to help his baby sister, struck down before him? Face the fact that he'd killed his best friend? Face the fact that he was absolute shit at any job that didn't involve him shooting a gun? Face the fact that he was solidly, completely, utterly, miserably fucking alone in this world? Face the fact that the only woman he'd ever really, truly, deeply loved was the only woman in the world he really, truly, completely could not have?
He wasn't sure he could.
"I think you should take some time off. To think things over. Everyone needs to get away from this place at some point. To think things through. Get grounded." Parker said, easing a hip down to sit on the table.
Sam didn't respond. In some distant part of his mind the idea appealed - time away from the SRU and its constant demands; an escape from the barren apartment and the empty bed where her scent still lingered. He did want time to sort through the memories. Time to distance himself from that naggling aching hurt.
Go somewhere warm – bake away his problems in the tropical sun.
"You think I should take time off?" Sam asked slowly.
"Yes. I do."
"If I say yes?"
"I'll sign these evaluation forms and have you cleared for two weeks with vacation pay." Parker explained.
"And if I say no?"
"I think that would be a mistake. But I'd sign the forms and I'd see you again, bright and early, tomorrow morning for our next shift."
Sam glanced down at his hands, clenched white-knuckled around the arms of the stainless steel chair. Carefully he flexed his fingers, prying loose that painful grip. He stared down at his hands, turning them over. You couldn't tell it now, but there was blood on those hands. He'd caused pain with those hands. He'd ended lives.
Parker was right. He needed a break from it all.
He rose abrupty to his feet, the heavy chair screeching as it scraped across the hard floor beneath it.
"I'll do it." Sam simply said. Parker gave a relieved nod, uncapping a pen and scrawling his name across the bottom portion of the paper.
Sam turned to leave, striding towards the metal doors of the conference room. Reaching them he paused.
"Sarge?"
"Yeah, buddy?" Parker smiled now, a genuine grin spread across his broad face.
"Thank you." He said simply. For understanding me. For knowing what I need. For seeing me.
Beaches and margaritas, Sam thought dryly. He was certainly in for an adventure.