Fandom: Flashpoint
Pairing: Sam/Jules
Category: Romance
Rating: K+
ONE-SHOT
Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to, I don't own Flashpoint, and all characters remain property of the show's wonderful scriptwriters. All original characters and plots are mine. No copyright infringement is intended.
Synopsis: He cheered up considerably then, because he knew – he just knew – that everything would be alright between them again. Spoilers for 3x10 "Terror"
Author's Note: I feel like I'm unqualified to write a fic for 3x10 cos I'm not even half done watching Season 2. But being a huge Jam shipper, I skipped forward (knowing instinctively there would be glorious Jam moments to fuel my shipper heart, and being rightly rewarded for that gut feel). Paetkau's expressions just had my creative juices going… so here we are.
His heart stopped mid-beat as Winnie beckoned them over to her desk, a line of worry etched onto her forehead as she conversed with Jules on the phone.
He caught snippets of their conversation, enough to ascertain that Jules was in trouble – serious trouble – and she was alone, without the team, without him.
He'd shouted "We're on our way, Jules" over his shoulder as he raced to suit up, an unconscious call he wasn't sure she could hear, but he needed to say it all the same. To reassure himself that she would stay out of trouble, stay alive, until he could get there.
When he'd gotten there with the team, breaking every traffic rule ever made on the journey there, he didn't stop to take a breath. Not when he saw Jules standing in the middle of that restaurant with a gunman in front of her.
Oh, he knew she was trained. She was very well-trained. But he also knew that she would try to engage the subject, and though his head told him otherwise, his heart would not stop thumping furiously.
Numerous consequences flashed through his mind, and not one of them was good. The image on screen of Jules staring down the barrel of a gun brought to the fore the time when she got shot, and all the anxiety and fear rose up his throat again.
He couldn't live with those emotions anymore. He never again wanted to experience that terror of feeling Jules' blood on his hands, her fading heartbeat and her shallow breathing.
He never again wanted to be by her side as she lay in a hospital bed, unconscious and fighting for her life.
When Sarge gave him permission to enter the premises as Jules' second, he couldn't tell his feet to run fast enough, or his hands to work fast enough. In those precious minutes, hearing Sarge's impatient and worried voice warning him that the hostages were turning on the gunman had only accelerated his fear, and if he had stopped to think about it, he would have realized his hands were trembling.
He burst through the rear entrance, gun drawn, ready to shoot first and ask questions later if Jules was in harm's way.
When he saw her rise up from her position on the floor, standing behind Davis, an overwhelming sense of relief had overcome him. She was standing, and the blood on her hands was not hers. She was alive, unhurt, and in that moment, it was all that mattered to him.
He was careful to keep his gaze on Davis, although his senses remained hyperaware of Jules' movements, as they always were. He kept his concentration on the conversation with Davis, yet he knew precisely the moment when Jules reached for Davis' gun.
She struggled with Davis only for mere seconds, but it was enough to once more stop his heart. The gunshot didn't make things any better, and in the split second after the gun went off, when he met Jules' eyes, he was struck by an all-consuming terror that her expression of shock would slowly change into one of pain.
She crumbled to the floor with Davis, and he dove for the gun, shoving his knee into Davis' back in the process. It was only then that his rage-filled mind registered that Jules was the one who had flipped Davis onto his front, stomach on the floor. He met her gaze again, and he knew she was alright.
He broke the gaze, afraid that his expression would reveal what he was really feeling, instead of the mask that he was so used to wearing in her presence. His attention had fallen to Steve, the paramedic, still bleeding on the floor, and he'd called for the EMS. Anything to distract himself from her.
It had taken every ounce of his strength to walk away, when all he wanted to do was grab her into his arms and reassure himself that she was alright. He wanted to lose himself in her, but this was not the time, not the place, and he'd lost that right a long time ago.
As he caught sight of Jules helping the paramedics load Steve into the ambulance, and he saw Jules press a kiss to Steve's cheek, his heart had broken all over again. He knew she had been seeing someone new, he had expected it.
But he hadn't been ready for the intense jealousy that pooled in the pit of his stomach at that tender gesture.
Neither had he been ready for the rush of tenderness as he read the note Jules left him. There were so many things unsaid between them, but she said more things to him in those two lines than she had ever said to him after they broke up.
He cheered up considerably then, because he knew – he just knew – that everything would be alright between them again.