A/N: Just randomly found this is my 'oneshots' file on my computer... figured I'd post it. Not sure where it came from, and it doesn't entirely have anything to do with Behind the Blueline, in spite of it's title.
Here we go.
It should be the same every time, and yet it aches a different way each and every damn time.
In the army it was different - aim, pull trigger, mark is down, onto the next assignment. And yet each time it wore away at him little by little. At least then no one was into the details of the person he just shot, and he could ignore his conscience by way of arrogance and bonding with the rest of the unit.
Now, it's not just a mark that dies. It's a person, with a family, with a pain inside them causing them to act in ways he wishes they wouldn't. He wishes they wouldn't pick up a gun, find a ledge, point a knife. He wishes he didn't have to listen to their entire heart breaking story, only to have to take the shot to keep them from taking their next victim - a hostage, a police officer. If he didn't have to listen to it all, then a mark could just be a target. But it's not.
This target's name was Mark. He had two kids. He had a wife. He had a job. Then he lost his job. His house. His cool. He'd shot his wife, and the police were called. Evidently the strain of a single income household was a bit much and he was sick of arguing with her over money. By the time they were on scene, he'd lost his cool once more and shot his children. And so, with team one on the scene, he'd gone from red, to yellow, and right back up to red. Emotional distress, regret, anger. Yeah, those were the kinds of things Jules would tell him caused it. Of course it had nothing to do with the idiot who decided to do some insider trading and sink the company. Nothing to do with the incompetent financial advisor who failed to prepare Mark for the possibility of such an incident. Save for a rainy day. Had this guy never been told that? Maybe if he had things could have been better with his wife. Maybe if he had there wouldn't be a bullet in his brain and a puddle on his kitchen floor.
'Mark, we can talk about this, lets just slow this down…'
The words echo over and over in his head. He could quote you the entire call by memory alone - who needs transcripts?
"So?"
"Yeah." His head snaps up from whatever he's been staring at and he's struck with a sudden realization. "Wait, what was the question?"
"I asked if you were still up for dinner tonight." He's sure she can see right through him. Brown Callaghan x-ray eyes. She's definitely profiling him. "We don't have to go."
He shrugs. "We should go, we said we would."
"Are you sure? I'm sure if you call and just say it was a rough day they'll understand and we can reschedule for another time."
He fights back the urge to snort aloud. Yeah, because he'd love to hear that excuse. "Let's just get it over with."
The restaurant is nauseatingly done up. Golds and deep reds and crystal and tiny candles that flicker constantly in a mocking dance of…
"What do you think, Sam?"
His mouth opens a crack but no words come, and there goes Jules covering for him as if it's just some cute couple thing.
"I don't think Sam's been following the games much, it's been a pretty hectic month at work." Her mouth grins and her eyes question him, her hand never leaving it's place on his knee. He simply nods.
He's guessing he did manage to participate in the conversation because his father is only regarding him with his usual scorn and not an additional what's wrong with you face, and his mother hasn't paused for dramatic effect before squishing the sides of his face and asking what's wrong with her baby boy. Then again Jules likely had a lot to do with that, he actually did notice her being extra chatty throughout the meal. Probably to compensate for his lack of interest in the dinner. Before he knows it they're blocks away from the restaurant, having politely declined the ride back home from his parents.
"So, you want to talk about it now or later?"
"Jules." Her name comes out as a sigh, partly in irritation, partly because he doesn't even know where to start.
"Sam." She calls him on it. Always with the profiling. "Replaying it won't change what happened."
He gives an affirmative nod. Regardless of whether he means it or not he knows she'll continue on.
"Sometimes we just can't reach people."
He doesn't respond, simply watches absently as cars pass on the street.
She sighs, brings him to a stop as they reach the next corner. Instead of looking both ways, she turns her attention to him directly, turning him to face her back. "Sam, the guy had the worst day of his life. He had already shot his entire family before we even turned onto his street. We were left to negotiate a man with nothing left to lose. Honestly, what were the chances of it ending differently at that point?"
He rolls his eyes, leans back on his heels. "Don't give me that, Jules. You know that had it been you you'd be going over and over it trying to figure out what we could have done differently, or could have done more of."
"And you'd be telling me the same thing. That it's not my fault. That there's only so much we can do." She gnaws on her lip, looks away briefly and he can't tell if she's annoyed with him or just tired.
"So I guess that leaves the question of which one of us is right."
Her eyebrows raise but theres no eye roll to go along with it as she turns and takes the lead in crossing the street. "I think we're both right."
His face twitches at the absurdity of her claim. "Excuse me?"
"I said that I think we're both right. It just depends what side we're on."
He scowls at her and gives his own roll of the eyes. "That's the problem, I shouldn't have been on that side of things."
There's a flicker of emotion across her face and he can tell she's obviously pleased with the latest development in the conversation. "Now we're getting somewhere." She gives a half smile as they turn a corner. "So, why do you think that?"
He groans. Jules has gone therapist on his ass. He learned a long time ago that resistance in such a case is futile. "Well, I don't know Jules, because you were there? Ed was there? Spike was there? Raf was there? Sarge was- well no, he had the day off, but still."
She shakes her finger like he's in grade school and was just caught sneaking snacks in class. "There's no reason you shouldn't have been on that side of it. You were the best match for the subject, Sam. Just because he decided to take that shot doesn't mean you shouldn't negotiate. Sometimes you can do everything right and still not like the outcome."
His eyes find a resting place on the sidewalk in front of them and he simply follows her lead down the street towards the house.
Each story breaks his heart a little bit, and each time the call unfolds a different way even though there are really only about two possible endings. It should be the same every time and yet it's not. When he's sierra one he gets to maintain some small standard of distance and simply wait for his cue to shoot. But when he's negotiating it's a different story. He gets the front row seat to the undoing of another human being's life, gets to be the one to empathize, to try to relate to whatever hell has been unleashed on them. And when his subject turns his gun on himself, he's pretty sure it's worse than when he does the shooting. It still amazes him how hard it sucks to lose a subject no matter which side of the scope he's on, but man, it sure is different on the other side.