A/N: Like the title suggests, here are five things that never happened to Ed Lane. I've always wanted to do something like this, and I've decided the SRU is perfect for it.

Five Things That Never Happened to Ed Lane

Heroism

"So, what happens now?" Ed Lane asked Sergeant Greg Parker.

"They'll take him to Ossington for a mental assessment," Greg replied. "If they find him mentally competent, then he'll be arraigned, and most likely stand trial for various charges."

"Oh..." Ed said slowly. "I see."

"Look, I'm sure if it comes to trial there will be no need whatsoever to involve you," Greg said reassuringly.

Ed sighed heavily. "Yeah, it would be nice to be able to avoid that kind of publicity. God only knows the press will have a field day with this one."

"I'm really sorry this had to happen to you, especially in our city," Greg offered kindly.

"Sort of comes with the territory," Ed said with a wry smile, "only this is the first time I've been so close to a real threat. I guess I'm just relieved no one got seriously hurt. I'm told the security guard is going to be okay."

"Yep, it's always a good day when we can resolve things peacefully," Greg said in agreement.

"Y'know," Ed said, "everyday, I have hundreds of people screaming my name, wanting to get a piece of me. I have young kids writing me and telling me I'm their hero; that they want to be just like me when they grow up... but what you and your team do everyday – you guys are the real heroes. Me? I'm just a guy who knows how to entertain the music-loving public. If there's anything I can do to thank you..."

"As a matter of fact," Greg said, "my son is one of those 'young kids' who thinks you're terrific. It would go a long way in restoring his faith in me if I got your autograph..."

"Hey sure!" Ed said enthusiastically. "Who should I make it out to?"

"Ed Lane," Jules Callaghan said dreamily. "I can't believe we actually responded to call involving Ed Lane! He's like, the hottest act around."

Sam Braddock looked at his team mate with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "Didn't know you had a thing for bald guys, Jules," he teased.

"Hey, bald can be sexy," Jules retorted. "And those eyes... Hot!"

"Waitaminute, 'bald can be sexy'?" Sam repeated. "You're not saying you have a secret thing for the Sarge, are you?"

Jules slugged Sam in the arm. "Of course not. That would be icky. We have too much of a father-daughter 'thing' going on... though I am starting to imagine you with a shaved head...hmmm..."

"I'm just glad we didn't screw up," Donna Sabine said, trying to ignore Jules and Sam's senseless chatter. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if Greg wasn't able to talk that crazy fan down?"

"No kidding," Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth said in agreement. "The bigger the victim is in the eyes of the public and the media, the more scrutiny we're under."

Spike groaned. "Tell me about it. Mama's already telling me she's taped the six o'clock, six thirty, and seven o'clock news – from different networks – because the cameras caught a shot of us entering the stadium."

"I actually like Lane's music," Lewis Young spoke up. "Pretty fly for a white guy."

"I'm not really all that familiar with his stuff," Donna said. "But I guess he's got his following, otherwise that crackpot wouldn't have tried to get to him this afternoon."

"At least Lane was smart," Wordy said, "keeping himself locked in his dressing room, no matter what..."

At that moment, Greg Parker entered the de-brief room. "Sorry I'm late, guys," he said, without offering an explanation for his tardiness. "Let's get down to it, shall we?"

At the conclusion of the de-brief, Wordy and Greg remained in the room while the others took off.

"Something bothering you, Sarge?" Wordy asked.

"Hmmph," Greg breathed. "Not really. Not with the case, anyway."

"What, then?" Wordy pressed.

"I was just thinking about something Mr. Lane said to me."

"Which was?"

"He just talked about how he has all this attention and adulation of all these hero-worshipping fans. My son is one of them."

"Oh," Wordy said, comprehension dawning on him. He didn't know all the minute details, but certainly knew that the relationship between Greg and his teen-aged son was a very strained one, compounded by the fact they were physically separated by a vast distance.

"I did manage to get Lane's autograph for him, though," Greg said with a ghost of a smile. "I might not be a hero in my son's eyes right now, but maybe..."

"That was nice of him," Wordy said, referring to the autograph Greg had obtained.

"Yeah, it was," Greg said. "Once you get past that celebrity mask, Eddie Lane is a pretty down-to-earth guy."

There was silence for a few beats, and Greg eventually made a move to get up.

"Greg," Wordy said, stopping his boss. "I know it's been hard for you with your son and all... but one day he's going to come 'round. One day he's going to understand how much effort you've put in to putting your life back in order. And Ed Lane? He'll just be an afterthought in the hero department."

At eight PM, the in-door stadium lights went up, and a spotlight centered on a solitary figure in the middle of the stage.

A roar went up from the sold-out crowd of fifteen thousand strong.

Ed Lane's face lit up with an electric smile and he pumped both fists in the air.

"How ya doin' Toronto?!" he yelled into the microphone.

Another roar of approval blasted forth from the gathered masses.

Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!

A chant that started off in some small corner of the arena gradually reached a crescendo until the whole place was filled with the sound.

Ed Lane reveled in it, but tonight it was tempered by the knowledge that he was really just another mere mortal. He reflected on his harrowing experience earlier with the obsessed fan who'd violently sought a face-to-face meeting with him.

What am I really doing up here? he thought, as he launched into his opening number.

Ed gazed out over the faces, all eagerly fixed on him; their arms outstretched, as if they could somehow magically touch him. He was very much aware that all of them really did want to touch him if they could.

Look at them. They all think I'm some kind of god because I can play a guitar and sing a song or two better than some. But what kind of difference, really, am I making?

When he'd heard the commotion in the outer hallway, he remembered the consuming fear he felt as he'd locked his dressing-room door. He also shoved a chair under the door-knob like he'd seen done in movies, praying it would be strong enough to hold off the crazy, armed fan.

If all my fans could have seen what a simpering coward I was behaving like today... God, how many of them out there think about crossing that line and coming at me like that nut job did ? Who is it people think I am?

Who is Edward Lane?

A rock star? A coward? A victim? A hero?

No, definitely not a hero, Ed reflected, as he let the last chord of the song linger. In awe, the fans burst into enthusiastic applause, screaming and chanting his name.

Those SRU guys, they really are the real heroes, Ed mused.

I shoulda been a cop, he decided. Then I'd have been worthy of all this hero-worship...