"Fall to Pieces"
Takes place after 2x11 – "Last Dance"
"…so there I was, lying under the sink with my arm stuck behind the drainpipe, and Shelley was laughing so hard she misdialed the plumber three times…" Wordy wiped his forehead with a towel and smiled at the memory.
"Stop," gasped Spike, trying in vain to stifle his giggles. "You're messing up my crunches here!"
"Sorry, Spike," Ed grinned, jogging comfortably on the treadmill. "Workout time is story time. Tough it out!"
"Copy that!" Jules called cheerfully as she entered the gym. Six heads turned towards her from various places around the room as a chorus of greetings assaulted her.
"Hey hey!" from Lou, "Jules!" from Ed, "Good morning sunshine!" – that would be Spike, "Good to see you Jules," – definitely Sarge, "You missed a good story!" – Wordy there…
"I should come late more often," Jules quipped as she passed through the room, grinning.
That's only five greetings, her mind processed beneath the smile she kept firmly in place. Six guys, five greetings. Should be six, should be - Jules's eyes stayed firmly ahead as she headed towards the door. Is he here? I didn't notice – maybe he's sick? Is something wrong? Don't check - everyone's watching - just go the locker room, don't look, don't check, don't – no –
Damn.
For a second so short she couldn't have split it, Jules's expert gaze swept the room, whizzing over the familiar faces that filled it, until her eyes locked with those of one Sam Braddock.
Relief and indignance fought for dominance with equal vigor as she jerked her gaze away from his and headed for her locker room.
The slam of the dressing room door was of such an unusual decibel level that Spike once again messed up his crunches.
*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*FP*
"So I was at Starbucks' last night…" Greg began.
Sam glanced over at the Seargant for a moment, then turned back to his fitness equipment and tuned out his superior. Grasp the bar and pull… and release, and pull… and release, and pull…
He was trying to think, trying to sort things out, but his mind was such a jumble of emotions that he couldn't pull out a straight sentence.
She – I – she said – it was her decision – it's the rules – oh come on, it's not like – I mean – I didn't want – Anyways, that date last night – look, it's not like – sheesh, she makes it seem – I'm allowed to -
He abandoned his thoughts of Jules and chose instead to focus on the music that was pounding into his ears from his iPod.
"If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman…"
The words of the song suddenly seemed to be mocking him and his tormented state of mind. With an unexpected rush of anger, Sam yanked his ear buds out of his ears, unwittingly releasing the bar he had been holding. The metal bar jerked back to the machine it had been pulled from with a resounding crash, bringing Greg's story to a quick halt.
"What the –" "You okay?" "What happened?" "Sam?" "Sam, you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm – sorry, I just –" Sam looked dazedly at the source of the racket, then glanced around. Five faces were turned towards his with varying expressions of mild concern.
"Sweaty hands," Sam clarified. "Bar slipped."
Eyebrows lifted around the room as skepticism replaced concern, but his teammates resumed their own workouts, and Greg picked up his story again.
"So the kid hands me my coffee, and…"
Sam took a deep breath and looked down at his earbuds. He had torn one clean in half, and come to think of it, his ear was stinging rather harshly. He now felt rather foolish.
Dropping the iPod onto the floor next to his water bottle, Sam turned and headed to the locker rooms.
It was only when he reached out for the doorknob that he realized his hands were shaking.
Sniper hands should never shake. Never.