A/N: I know I need to get to work updating my other stories, and the chapters for those are coming. I also am planning on overhauling them, because they all desperately need it.
My stories are not set all in the same universe, rather, they are all set in their own little worlds. That explains why Matt is dead for real here, and is alive is another story.
Thank you for your patience, and please enjoy the one-shot below. Drop me a review before you leave, and tell me what you think. Let me know if there's any specific storyline you'd like to see.
It's another rainy Toronto night. Zion's standing on the roof of the SRU building, cigarette in hand. She lifts it to her mouth and inhales, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. Below her, the city is vibrant and alive, in a way she hasn't been in so long.
That day's work was hard, as their work almost always is. Their second hot call had thrown her for a loop emotionally, because it concerned a female soldier, one Julia Mays, whose story mirrored Zion's so closely it hurt. She'd stood on a bridge, lost after losing the love of her life over in Kandahar in an explosion. Zion's heart went out to her, because wasn't it only a year ago that she'd been in that same situation?
Julia had jumped, and Zion had almost gone down with her, in an insane, hopeless, reckless attempt to save her. Sam had predicted her movement, and grabbed her at the last second, yanking her back, like he'd always done. Tears had threatened then, pricking behind her eyes, but she'd refused to let them fall.
Debrief had been rough, because they were all a little torn up over the call. Ed yelled at her for unnecessary risk. Her defense was a little weak, because in that moment, when Julia had gone over and Zion with her, Zion wasn't sure who she was trying to save. Sam hadn't said anything, simply watching her with his arms crossed. Later, he'd cornered her in the locker room.
"You know, you couldn't have done anything to save them. Either of them," Sam told her, eyes deep wells of sympathy. Zion had broken down then, sobbing in his arms.
She knows what the others think about her and Sam. They assume they're just best friends, and to be fair to them, they wouldn't have cause to believe otherwise. Sam and she have been careful about that much, at least.
To her, Sam is everything. He's her constant, her light in the darkness, her forever. They've cried together, laughed together, been sick together, seen each other through the best and worst of times. She comforted him after Matt, spent so many nights holding him together when he fell apart. They leaned on each other at the funeral, when grief threatened to swallow them whole.
There had been rumors, when they were overseas, that they were more than just friends, and that she was doing both Sam and Matt. Sam and she are far too close, however, to ever be more than just friends. They know each other too well, and are far too much alike, for it to ever work out.
They know each other intimately too, in the most intimate way two people can know each other. A little alcohol, a three-day leave, and a hot summer's night in a nameless village in Afghanistan. Their relationship had only grown deeper and stronger, after that. Matt had come into the picture two weeks later.
"Figured I'd find you up here," a voice carries to her. She doesn't turn, knowing they'll join her where she is.
"Good place to think," she comments.
"You know the call today wasn't your fault," Ed says, staring out over the city that they've sworn to protect.
"I know," she tells him.
"Do you? Because that trace of guilt I see on your face tells me otherwise."
"Today's call brought back bad memories, is all," Zion brushes away his concern as easily as she ashes her cigarette.
"Such as?"
"Look, it's not well known, but Matt and I were together. We wanted to get out of the Special Forces, get married, start a family. He was it for me. We'd just talked about our future together, the night before he died. What makes his loss all the more painful is I was the one who gave the all-clear to fire," she reveals.
Ed's face softens with sympathy, the same kind of sympathy she saw when Sam told Ed about Matt. It's easy to read their pain as honest, because it is. They both had a hand in causing the death of a person they'd both loved with all their hearts-albeit, in different ways.
"That's the one mistake I'll never forgive myself for, ever. I'll always have his blood on my hands, no matter where I go from here, or what I do. It'll never be enough to atone for what I did. And that's what makes it so painful. Sam lost a best friend, but I lost a lover and a best friend."
They both are silent for awhile after that. She's replaying that day in her mind, over and over. The words linger on the tip of her tongue, those fatal words that had torn so many people's worlds apart.
"Bluesy, clear to fire. I repeat, you are cleared to fire. No friendlies spotted."
"There's nothing I can say to make this better, to ease your pain. But, judging from what I've heard of him, from both you and Sam, I don't think Matt would want you beating yourself up over this."
She glances at him then, laughs a little mirthlessly.
"Yeah, Matt was a great guy. One of the best ever."
Ed lifts a hand then, clasps her shoulder.
"Why don't we go inside. It's starting to rain harder, and I think we could all use a drink at the Goose. C'mon. My treat."
She sighs, and a little of her pain is expelled with her breath.
"Sure. That sounds great."
At the Goose, Sam will give her a knowing look, and they, the whole team, will drink a shot of whiskey, for all the ones who never made it home alive.