AN: Hey. So, after watching the last episode again (because, boo, no Flashpoint last week and the re-run was Perfect Family, which was kind of not my favourite episode) I wondered ... how does the guy whose incredibly bad-ass sniper skills extend to shooting people from crazy distances and judging wind speeds and directions from flag poles, the guy who broke records for accuracy in long and short-distance ranges in previous seasons manage to be so off in the shooting range last week? I mean. Not a single shot in the bullseye? Sam Braddock? Seriously?
So I fabricated this story to explain away his distraction.
As you probably guess I'm do not own CTV or Flashpoint or the characters or the SRU or anything remotely cool like that.
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Sam glanced around the briefing room table, surveying his team. His family, so to speak. God knew they understood him and accepted him more than his own did. Wordy rocked back on his chair, eyes squeezed shut to block out the penetrating glare of the room's fluorescent lights. Spike looked about ready to lay his head down on the desk and nod off himself. Neither of them harboured any true love for night shifts. Sam, on the other hand. He kind of liked it. The quiet, the calm. The darkness.
Tonight had been unusually calm, however. They were nearing the mid point of their twelve hours on-call and so far hadn't received anything more pressing than an elderly woman complaining that her neighbour's television being too loud. Sydney, brave soul, had managed to redirect the woman's call through to the primary police switchboard, having received an earful of abuse for not unleasing the bid-bad SRU on the ruly tenant.
The team had already pushed through an invigorating gym session, had blasted through a weeks worth of reports and paperwork on past cases, had reviewed procedural changes and ran several mock-ups picking entry-points and negotiating tactics.
"Night Shooting Course?" Jules asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
He forced himself to shrug. "Why not?" Ed gave an approving nod, clearly enlivened by the prospect of watching Jules and Sam go head to head while Spike jumped to his feet, scurrying ahead to set the calibrations for what Sam was sure would be the most challenging course yet.
Pushing away from the briefing room table he followed her down the cement stairs into the shooting area.
When she tossed him the nightvision goggles he knew would be necessary for the exercise he merely handed them back with a flourish.
"Ladies first."
Jules rolled her eyes but managed to keep a civil tongue in her mouth, striding into the black shadowy room where the targets had been arranged. He tried not to admire the subtle sway of her hips as she disappeared around the corner from sight. The girl had the most captivating way of moving, he thought. It was … efficient. Yet somehow graceful. He wish he wouldn't notice it – the way her legs ate up the floor when she moved. But he did. He always did.
He counted off the shoots as the reverbrations echoed in the hall. She was zipping through at a stunning pace. Quick, even for Jules. He counted off two more shots.
He could hear Wordy give a cheer from the command box where he and the rest of the team must have been watching. "Atta girl Jules."
She emerged, grinning, pulling the heavy goggles over her head, the cheap plastic strap tangling in her hair. She gave it a yank, but it wouldn't give. She reached up behind her head awkwardly trying to disentangle it from her ponytail.
"Here. Let me." He said, stepping forward. She seemed unsure for a moment, before shrugging a single shoulder and turning to give him better access.
His hands worked mechanically and quickly – he wasn't sure whether his nerves of steel were genetic or honed by years of experience but he had to say they served him well. His hands didn't tremor when he caught that all-too-familiar scent of lavender of her shampoo. They didn't fall to trace that elegant neck he'd kissing a thousand times before.
"Went well?" He asked companionably, stepping back goggles now firmly in hand.
"Oh yeah." Jules shot him a dazzling smile. "You won't beat me this time, Samtastic." The door to the control room swung open and the guys motioned her in to watch Sam's run.
"G'Luck." She punched him lightly in the shoulder before slipping through the door to join the others.
Yeah. He'd need it. But not for the course, he thought, donning the goggles.
More like in maintaining a safe distance so he wasn't forced to knee-cap Steve. I mean. Seriously? Jewel of the prairie? Women fell for that cheesy crap? Sam thought, levelling his gun at the first target and blasting a hole through it.
Jules who could see through a subject and identify truth from lie in mere seconds had been reduced to a giggling third grader in the presence of the guy and his three dimples. Sam sunk two more bullets into another pair of targets, piveting in the dark.
He had to admit they looked good together the night Steve had come to headquarters to see her – the day that Greg had been shot on the raid on the white supremacist headquarters. He had to say they looked good together. Earthy and rugged. The guy had a country charm to him, a I don't give a damn what you think of me swagger that Sam knew other men coveted and women swooned for. He just hadn't expected that one of those swooning women would be the practical Jules.
He didn't want to interfere.
Okay, so he did. He admitted to himself, hearing the ping of another bullet on another target. But the point was he wouldn't.
She'd dumped him. The mature adult thing to do would be to graciously step aside and support his friend, co-worker and team-mate in her newest romantic endeavour. It had been, god, months since they'd ended the incredibly personal aspect of their relationship.
Sam's heart fluttered with anger, his fingers tingling even as they gripping the gun in his hands, when he thought of her with anybody else.
He fired again, knowing that his aim was off but not totally caring. He was still in love with her. How pathetic was that? She'd broken his heart and he still loved her as deeply as he had before.
He needed to maintain a critical distance, he decided. He couldn't watch their romance blossom. He couldn't and he wouldn't. He'd be the bigger man and step back. He wouldn't do any of the wild an reckless things he wanted to do – like kiss her goddamned senseless or find Steve and threaten to do incredibly painful things to incredibly sensitive parts of his anatomy. No.
Maybe she and Steve weren't really even dating. Maybe it was one freak encounter out on call. And they were just old curling partners or something. For god's sake maybe he'd run over her pet cow back in Medicine Hat and she was going to extract revenge by breaking his heart. God knows she had a talent for it he thought, bringing his hand up to press against his own, thumping wildly in his chest.
He squeezed off another bullet as a target shot past him, lit up by his night-vision goggles.
He had to face it. If it wasn't Steve it would be some other guy sooner or later.
He supposed he kind of hoped it was somebody soft. Somebody pliant and boring. Jules hated a smooth ride – that was for certain. She was all about the adventure. The unknown. Somebody like Steve – well, Sam could imagine that somebody like Steve might stick. And that troubled him most of all.
So while he desperately wanted to meddle and push he knew Jules thought better of him. He thought better of himself.
He waited for the last target, circling the room slowly, waiting for the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.
Jules? She thought of him as a brother. As a friend.
God help him.
The target shot out and he nailed it with the final bullet.
He ripped off the goggles, furious with himself, shaking his head in the now-brightly lit room.
He'd keep a watchful eye from a comfortable distance, he decided blinking and shaking his head against the brightness.
As he stepped out into the hall Spike slung an friendly arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the gun locker. He mumbled something about a twenty riding on a bet with Wordy.
Yeah. He'd maintain a watchful and comfortable distance, he thought, watching her ponytail bob along the corridor in front of him.
But she'd better not ask him for relationship advice.
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