A/N: Hey Guys. First off thank you all so much for the kind and inspiring reviews you left me. Knowing how much you loved the story definitely made writing it worth while and I'm glad I was able to keep everyone in character and play to the family fantasies that we so desperately need in the show. That being said Wordy and Spike are definitely the easiest to write with Sam coming in a close third. I really don't like Ed that much (can you tell) and Greg and Jules are too complicated haha. I love to hear your favorite parts. It literally makes my 8 or 12 hour (depending on how crazy I am that night) graveyard shift go by so much quicker. I also try to connect the segments by having running themes throughout them, so see if you can spot them (like Waldo). Many thanks to those of you who favorited/alerted and what not. Now on to the general stuff. This chapter is more flashback-y/lighthearted than probably any other one will be but there is a few swears in it (as I like to consider myself a swear poet) so sorry if that offends. Also the patrolling partnerships were weird at the time that I started writing this chapter (circa August 6th) but last week's episode kinda wrecked that weirdness. So boo to that. Just go with it I guess. There are reasons for the pairings which will be disclosed in next weeks action-packed police-y chapter. Lastly, I don't like Raf. Just sayin'.

Domino Theory

Chapter 2

No Full Moon

The circular button under the '6' illuminates after he rams his palm into it for a second time. If Jules were here she'd give him shit for taking the elevator. It would start with her asking some neutral question in a sarcastic tone along the line of, "Did I see you limp earlier?" Or "Something wrong with your leg, Sam?"

He'd answer with a clueless, "No."

She'd continue that six flights of stairs was nothing compared to what they had to handle during a shift and that taking the stairs was a good way to start it off and stay in shape.

"Maybe I like to take my time and relax before work," he'd mutter and mash the button to close the elevator doors. Those were the types of conversations they held before they got back together. Of course she'd ride with him the six floors, reaming him out the entire time. Still every time he saw her coming through the main lobby doors, he got in the elevator just to have some private interaction with her that didn't involve tactics or guns.

He loves their elevator rides now. There's a sense of normalcy when they're trapped in the metal cab. Normalcy that's completely absent from their day-to-day relationship. It makes his fingers twitch when he thinks about it. He can hold her bag while she frantically searches for her phone only to realize that she's left it on his bedside table. He can tuck her hair behind her ear, or let his hand brush against hers, or fix her shirt strap. Completely mundane things ordinary couples do on instinct. Things he's suppressed for the past five months. Things he's still suppressing.

He'd been dating her exclusively for the last five months and he still can't tell a soul about it. Like, say the other members of Team One, his surrogate family. In fact, he's probably closer to them than he is with his real family. Closer to them than anyone else, well, anyone he isn't currently involved with. He had to practically blackmail Natalie with extended hospitality and car services not to tell the General or his mom or anyone she met for a brief interlude at the SRU when she wanted his car about him or Jules. Natalie still brings it up when she wants something, and it usually makes him cave. He just wants to protect Jules' and his privacy.

In a sick way he feels like he's in Romeo and Juliet. Sam forces his thoughts ahead like skipping through a lousy song on an otherwise good CD. He knows how that play ends and it places him in a morbid disposition. Then he flashes back to Jules lying there on the rooftop, blood spilling out of her. How fucked up is it that goes to work with the girl he loves every day, doesn't touch her or tell a soul about her and then watches helplessly while she puts her life in danger?

Onetime, a few months after they started re-dating as he calls it, he and Jules were feeling adventurous. Actually, she was about to explode from being cooped up in his apartment for the last three months. They managed to grab a cab and made it out to a bar without being recognized by a soul and had a few beers while watching some sports game.

It was the only time in their relationship that Sam was drunk enough to talk to her conscience-free about how he worried about her on the job. How he'd failed her once and he was terrified that he would fail her again. How he would definitely break the priority of life code to save her. He drunkenly rambled on about it until they made it back to his apartment, happily Natalie free that night. Then he asked her in a wistful slur, "Why'd you have to be a sniper?"

"Because someone told me, 'Lady snipers are sexy.' It kinda stuck."

The alarm woke him up the next morning. His neck hurt from lying on it the wrong way for the last six hours and Jules was dead asleep across his chest, one of her legs hung over the side of the bed. His gray bed sheets were uprooted from the bottom of the bed and tangled around both of them like a python. The rest of the room didn't look any better and he wondered when exactly they went from having a few beers to having a college kegger.

The incessant screech of his bedside alarm didn't faze her, but when he turned to hit the snooze button the combination of seeing that it was almost six o'clock along with the sharp pain in his neck made his chest seize and that movement woke her in an instant.

"What?" She pushed herself off him in one swift movement and clenched the majority of the sheets in another.

"Jules." He was rubbing his neck and struggling to sit up when the hangover from hell hit him. The ice pick drilled into his temple and bore in behind his eyes, which felt strangely void of moisture. It reminded him of the mornings after dangerous nights of sneaking six packs into the General's basement. He wrenched his eyes shut and pressed on them with his palms. "It's almost six."

"What?" When he looked up, she was rubbing her temples hard in a circular motion, her eyebrows falling in the same pain he felt.

"It's almost six. We're going to be late for work."

"Shit," she muttered and pushed herself off the bed and to his bathroom. By the time he had collected enough of his equilibrium to stand, she was already out of the bathroom, looking just as perfect as ever. She placed a cool hand on his temple when she kissed him goodbye and it

made him grin.

He saw her later at work where she again seemed completely unperturbed. He guessed that's why she was a sniper, because to the untrained eye, she was completely unreadable. But when he passed her in the hall and stealthy handed her his bottle of aspirin, she didn't give it back until that night.

He on the other hand looked and felt like shit and the guys gave him a ribbing for it. Pulling out their 'Samtastic' comments and asking about the details of his sordid night. Though he didn't expel anything that would give away himself or Jules and was in no way ungentlemanly, their own imaginations made insinuations that gave him a boost in self-confidence. Needless to say Jules made him feel like a rock star.

The elevator dings and the metallic doors slide open to reveal an eerily empty SRU darkened by the tempestuous sky crowding the bay windows in the briefing room. In the barren lobby, the Sarge leans with his back against Winnie's desk. His head angles down, the top of it catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulb.

"Sarge? Where is everyone?"

"Sam." Greg adeptly folds up a piece of paper that looks like a letter and places it in the back pocket of his pants. "Congratulations." Greg smiles to show that his sarcasm should not be interpreted as genuine. "You're the first one to the party."

"No one's here yet?" He scans the room again, wondering if Jules is in the girl's locker room. If she hasn't left his apartment yet she's in trouble, there was an accident on the corner of Bay and King and there's no way she's going to make it here before seven. He'll text her in the locker room just in case.

"No, but everyone still has-" Greg checks his watch and sighs. "Nine minutes. A lot can happen in nine minutes."

"You seem really optimistic today, Boss."

"Yeah well, getting to see your kid'll do that to you."

Sam nods. He remembers Ed saying something about the Boss flying out to Dallas sometime this month but didn't know it was going to be this week, or today. Not that it's a problem, but stormy Fridays are hardly anything to be mocked of in their job. Then rethinking the Sarge's position, Sam wonder's what he's even doing here at all.

"I know, I know." Greg holds up his hands and laughs. At first Sam thinks that the Sarge's incredulous laughs are for his own insanity. To come in on a day like today when he has a plane to catch. Then Sam realizes it's because Sarge is talking with him about kids. Like out of everyone at the SRU he had to come to Sam, the one guy who's got no experience with kids.

"I grew up with two little sisters. One is still living with me." He groans because she's not so much of a little sister as she is a house cat. He thinks of the warzone his extra room is and the extra drama Natalie is trickling into his life. He likes being in Toronto. Hell, he liked being in Iraq, because he was at a distance from his family. Don't get him wrong, he loves them, but they always manage to drag him back in—"I know about taking care of kids."

"Yeah, but it's different when they're your own."

"Yeah," Sam sighs. He's had this conversation with his mom at least ten times within the last year. "When am I going to get a grandchild, Sam?" or "You're old enough now to start thinking about people other than yourself, Sam." Their last phone call ended with him telling her bluntly that it wasn't going to happen this year or next. His mom didn't call him at her usual time this month.

It's not like Jules would ever want a baby, although she does coo over Izzy. He doesn't really know her views; they've really never talked about it. Though they are in a semi-serious alcove in their relationship, serious enough to not want anyone else and pretend to be happy with what they have with each other. Conversations concerning marriage, a house with a big backyard and three kids have never come up. They always get stuck in his throat. Hell, he'd be happy if they could just move in together, but he doesn't see that ever happening. Especially since Natalie's about a week away from choosing paint colors for his extra bedroom.

Natalie's words also managed to skew his plans. He was pretty sure he was happy enough to be Team Leader and sneak around with Jules in a semi-serious relationship on the side. Natalie basically called his bluff and told him to decide where he wanted his future to be. Sometime before he could talk to Jules about deciding, Ed came back to the team and the leadership position was whisked out of Sam's hands. He didn't mind though, sending Jules purposely into active shooters crosshairs wasn't a perk he was looking for in a job description.

He was ready to make a full commitment to her, but he always had inopportune timing when he tried to talk to her about their relationship. Then events, like this morning, and her mixed actions made him doubt that she loved him half as much as he loved her and he thinks of rooftop bullets and coffee shop breakups. "I definitely need to wait a few years before kids happen."

What is poking him? Something is poking him. He sighs adjusting the gym bag strap that keeps drifting down his shoulder as he tries to take the second set of stairs at the fourth floor in one bound. He makes it to stair six, stumbles backwards and takes a few seconds to regain his composure by leaning against the cement wall in the dim stairwell.

He would be using the elevator, but the one time Jules caught him and gave him the scolding of a lifetime. Then he tried to do it again and she was inside the elevator when it opened. He managed to mutter a few broken syllables before running to the stairwell. She might be a little harsh but she's keeping them all alive a little longer with her stairwell workout routine.

Spike takes a deep inhalation and continues on his trek. Only six more steps and then it's only one more floor. He brings his knees up high to avoid catching the rim of his shoe against the lip of the stair and avoid—there it is. There it is again. Something is poking him through his back pocket. When did he wear these pants last?

Well, Ma usually does laundry on Sundays, and it's a Friday, so-Oh God. Please do yourself a favor Spike, and never say that sentence out loud. Ever. All the females in the GTA will immediately know. They just will. They deserve too.

He sighs, pressing his forehead into the cool, porous concrete. Did he imagine his life would be like this ten years ago? Five years ago? Last year? He used to go out more. He used to have a best friend to go out with. Now the only people that he knows who are close to his age are either Catholic church-goers and Sam and Jules. It's not like he can ask them one day if they want to go bar hopping after work. Not Jules because, well, she won't let him use the elevator and not Sam because, well-

Sam uses the elevator all the time. Spike resumes climbing the stairs languid legs flaccid like overcooked fettuccini. He used the elevator this morning. He sees him in there, sometimes with Jules too. She probably bitches Sam out all the way up too and he probably likes it.

Spike stop thinking like this. His hand covers his eyebrows as he takes a deep, shaky breath. "This is misplaced anger, Buddy." He tells himself because he has no one else to talk to that can tell him so. Sometimes he misses Lew more than others. This is one of those times.

His hand falls down on the metal door handle and the door clicks open. In the short time that it takes for him to push the door open, he composes himself and walks into the SRU looking like everyday common Spike.

"Spike," Greg greets. Spike jumps because at first he doesn't see his boss. He doesn't see anyone really, but then the door closes and Greg claps a hand to Spike's shoulder. "You made it."

"Yeah, sorry if I'm a little—"

"You're here. You're seven minutes early. It's great." Greg grins and outside thunder churns in a low rumble.

Spike wants to offer him a reason, but he can't think of one that isn't overly personal. So instead when he opens his mouth he lets out a small yip because there is seriously something sharp digging through his pants and into his- "Okay, what the hell is that?"

Throwing down his gym bag he reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a long silver earring with no back. It's a stud with a green stone in it because she was born in August and last night and-"Oh yeah." He smiles for a second but then it's gone and he replaces the earring quickly. "Oh yeah."

Greg laughs, apparently amused by the whole situation. "I really don't need an explanation. Just go get changed."

"Yeah." He nods and proceeds to get the hell out of there before he has to tell the boss what he did last night and with whom. He hangs his head as he ambles to the locker room, like he's doing the whole walk of shame from the hotel all over again. That's another thing he's not impressed with, why'd he have to take her to a hotel last night?

"Well I live with my parents."

"Well I live with my—"

"Sam," he yells unnecessarily when he opens the door and finds his blond teammate changing his shirt.

"Spike?" He greets with a cocked eyebrow and an unsure expression that's partially blocked by him pulling a shirt over his head. Sam's cell phone beeps and he loses interest in Spike's weird mannerisms.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Spike shoves his hand in his back pocket because suddenly Sam may have x-ray vision or he can see metal through things or something. He just knows that Spike has this earring. He knows what went down last night.

"How was your night?" Sam asks absently without looking up from his phone as his thumbs click over the keys. "Don't use Bay," he mutters to the phone.

"Fine. Fine." Shit. Shit. Shit. Sam was in the army. Spike doesn't remember his exact title, but he's sure it evolved a lot of ass kicking. When he glances up Sam is watching him, blue eyes set under low brows as if waiting for more. "It was fine."

"Yeah." Sam nods, his expression unchanging. His eyes are still regarding Spike, but he has his phone in his hand to answer it if it beeps back. "I got that."

"How-how was your night?" Spike questions as he starts to rummage through his gym bag like a wild animal in hopes of finding some place where he can bury this earring and give it back to her later. What does he mean give it back to her later? Are they going to see each other again? Did they decide that? He doesn't remember that. She said she'd phone him. Oh God, what if she phones him at work. What if she phones Sam to ask him? He should flush this earring like it's illegal drugs.

Sam shrugs and Spike notices the muscles in his back bunch with the action. God, Sam's going to kick his ass. The thoughts of being pummeled by Sam, not to death,` but to a painful level of existence begin to amass in his brain and while he's stuck on an image of Sam going somewhere between Rocky and Rambo on him, he drops the earring and it skitters across the floor with a ting.

"What was that?" Sam questions looking up from his phone for a moment.

"Nothing." But Spike's on the ground searching for the earring that could ruin a friendship and the finely placed features of his face. His hand presses into the thick layer of dust under the lockers and he wonders why Sam is so quiet until he clears his throat.

Spike turns around to find Sam holding the earring between his thumb and index finger, twirling the green stud for effect. "Is this what you're looking for?"

"Ummm." He draws out the syllable because hopefully he won't have to answer the question. Or that Ed or Sarge or for God's sake, even Jules will come through those doors as a distraction so that he has a chance to think up a story that doesn't involve some wide spun lie.

Sam rolls his eyes and places the earring down on the bench. Then turns his back to Spike to get back to his text messaging. "So you had some fun last night Spike?"

Spike picks up the earring very slowly, like it's a trap. "What do you mean?"

"Well you've got a girl's earring. From my experience that's either a memento or a promise."

Oh God, here it comes. He's going to-wait—what? "Wait. Do you know whose earring this is?"

Sam shrugs and puts his phone in his pocket. "Someone born in August." He tucks in his shirt and then begins to walk towards the doors. "My sister has the same birthstone."

"I dropped her off at your parent's house, Soph." Ed sighs and holds the bridge of his nose as he talks to his wife over his phone.

He tried to call her earlier, but he guesses the bank meeting was too damn important for her to keep her phone on during it. While he was juggling his screaming and possibly colicky daughter and trying to contact his wife he just kept getting the same ominous message that she 'couldn't be reached at the moment'.

"You're telling me lady," he mumbled into the top of Izzy's soft red hair. "I've been trying to reach her for the past five months."

Becoming desperate as time inched closer to seven. Ed placed Izzy in her play pen, cooing words to her as he raced around the room collecting various items from a change of clothes to fifteen diapers which didn't seem so excessive at the time. He placed her duddy in her mouth and hoisted her back up in his arms. "Come on, Sweetie. Let's go visit grandma and grandpa."

He struggled to control the speed of his van through residential streets only for the toothless grin that greeted him in the rearview mirror whenever he chanced a glance up. When he looked out the side mirror he finally took notice that all he saw were the white divisional lines flickering by on the road.

"Damn it, Clark," he grumbled and adjusted the mirror just on time to see a red Dodge Ram pass him on the left side. The truck was so close; it could've taken his mirror off.

"Slow down," Ed yelled out the window as the car sped off to merge with the rest of Toronto's traffic. Past Ed would've given chase, but he had special cargo in the car this time and his arm burned with the lingering memory of what happened the last time he had a case of road rage.

Sophie's mom was waiting to graciously accept Izzy. With Sophie being an only child, Clark was an only grandchild; Izzy was very welcomed by both of Sophie's parent's even though she came late in life. That didn't make it easier for him to say goodbye.

He spent a lot of time with Izzy. Mainly because he was recovering the same time she was born. After his surgery, when his main priority was physiotherapy, he always made sure to hold her in that arm, to burp her with that arm, to play airplane with her with that arm. They grew together.

Today her mother, her brother and now her father had abandoned her all for their own selfish needs. He handed Izzy to Sophie's mom, but couldn't bring himself to let go of her hand.

"Ed?" Sophie's mom questioned as she bounced the infant on her hip. Is something wrong?

"No." He lied as he shook his head and ran his thumb over Izzy's five perfect little fingers. "I'm just going to miss her. That's all."

He placed a final kiss on the top of her head and turned his back to her. Like her mother did, like her brother did, and climbed back into his van to get to work to 'stop the bad guys'. That's what he would tell her he did one day if she would put up with him that long. He heard her as she began to whimper and then cry for him. When he glanced up before driving back onto the road, she had her tiny arms reaching forward for him.

"I tried to call you Soph," he reiterates to his wife as he throws an empty wave to Greg who's outside the locker room having a conversation with Sam. From the looks of it a short one.

"Well go do something productive until the others arrive." Ed catches Greg saying before Sam does something a little more mature than rolling his eyes and disappears to do restock.

Ed almost chuckles at how a kid who was team leader for four months can still be berated like he's in high school. As Sophie complains in his ear about her schedule and how he will never work around his to fit in her appointments, he wonders vaguely what Sam did.

Before he can sneak by, Greg motions to his watch and Ed adds to the conversation. "I was almost late today Sophie. I snuck in at five to seven. So I'm sorry if you've got to drive fifteen minutes out of the way to pick Izzy up."

Greg smiles at him. It's pure luck that Ed happens to remember that this weekend he flies out to Dallas to go see Dean graduate. He knows the boss'll be in a good mood. "Okay. Okay." Sophie screeches in his ear about not being able to handle this but he knows it's probably for show. "Soph, can we talk about this later?" They agree to talk at supper tonight and he hangs up on her.

"Kids?" Greg asks crossing his arms over his chest and shifting on his feet. This action is children-on-Christmas-morning excited for him.

With one hand Ed puts his phone away and with the other he points to the corner Sam disappeared behind. "Kids?" He asks because he doesn't feel like getting into his familial instability even though he and Greg are close friends. He needs to sort through his life before he talks about it.

Greg chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. "Some days I swear I work at a high school. Sam and his texting. Spike and his—I don't even know how to describe Spike today, just go meet him."

Ed shares his chuckle and turns to go to the locker room, but stop just short of opening the door. "Hey is Wordy in yet? We were supposed to come in early to work out, but I had to take care of Izzy."

"Ah, he had to play doting father too. I got a message from him about five minutes ago that said he was on his way in."

"Good, I just didn't want him to think that I stood him up or anything."

"Why would he think that?"

"Unbelievable." Wordy slams his locker door so hard that the clash of metal on metal echoes locker room.

Ed chuckles as Wordy smoothes out his black t-shirt and tucks it into his pants. The two friends have never seen eye-to-eye on parenting techniques, it's the reason that Wordy wasn't hurt when Ed didn't come to him after Izzy was born for advice or help in raising a daughter. What did hurt was not being asked to be her Godfather. He guesses that no one wants a shaky hand touching their new baby.

"You sure you're not overacting?" Ed questions holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart to indicate a modicum of space. "Just a bit?"

Wordy stops moving for a minute and allows his face to go deadpan. "Do I ever overact?"

"When it comes to Shelley or your girls, all the time."

"This is Lilly we're talking about." He bends over to pull his shoes back on; only it takes his index finger on his right hand three times before it will actually hook around the noose at the back of his shoe. "Lilly," he continues hoping that if he ignores the foible, that Ed will as well. "My little girl who insists we hold a funeral for the trees every winter."

Ed chuckles with his back to Wordy. Then he didn't see. Wordy exhales softly through his mouth as he sits on the bench and begins the arduous task of lacing his shoes. Today is going to be a hard day. Giving his head a shake he blinks once and continues his conversation. "So this kid, Martin, is in the fourth grade and he's been bullying Lilly for the last week."

"So what, you're just going to go to that school dressed in your gear and scare the crap out of that kid?"

"No, I'm going to talk to her principal and her teacher." He pulls the thick black laces back making the shoe as tight as possible because he might not be able to do this again. His fingers move sluggish as they make the first knot and it pains him to think that in less than an hour these hands will be on a gun possibly fastened over someone. As he makes the first bow he thinks of the bunny ears used when he taught Lilly and Maggie to make when they were learning to tie their shoes. He wonders if he'll have the chance to teach Ally.

"Wordy?"

He glances sideways to Ed as they almost sit back-to-back on the bench. He remembers his first day at the SRU. He knew he was making a difference but he wasn't sure if his virtues would outweigh his sins. Still coming to grips with shooting someone, Ed sat in the same spot and talked with him until he had a solid grip on reality, a grip now caught in a tremor. He raises his eyebrows to Ed and Ed points at his hands.

When Wordy looks down his left hand is fine, but the right one is caught in an awful spasm, his pinky finger seems to be moving to a completely different beat than the rest of his hand. He shoots out his left hand to at first sturdy his right and then to hide it. Then looking at Ed who has seen the whole episode whispers, "I didn't get a lot of sleep."

Ed clears his throat and places a hand softly on Wordy shoulder, tapping for a minute before removing it. "It's okay, Buddy."

"Ally had that fever again so Shelley and I were up all night with her and now this thing with Lilly. And I worry about Maggie because what if she just gets lost somewhere in it all." Without thinking he brings his right hand to his mouth to rest it there, but his fingers are jumping like bacon in a frying pan.

"Take the day off," Ed suggests though Wordy knows it's more of for the good of the team than for himself. He's a liability. He literally has a trigger finger now and he's still surprised that Greg will let him near a gun. He also knows that he can't take the day off. There's going to be one hell of a storm, the city's been craving it with the intense heat and humidity and it's going to make everyone go insane. They all know something big is going to go down today.

He shakes his head, unwilling to make accusations to such a good friend. Instead—"I can still do close combat or entry if we need it. I don't have to use my gun."

"Wordy—"

"I'm not useless." It should be something he screams. It's something he feels he should be screaming to all of them because of the way they look at him, whenever he does anything. Oh, look at poor Wordy eating with a fork, I bet that's hard for him. Look at Wordy talk to Shelley on his phone I can't imagine how she feels. Look at Wordy hold Ally, should he even be allowed to do that? He's seen the questioning looks in their eyes and he's tired of it. "I was diagnosed a month ago. It's under control. Let it go."

"It's not under control if—"

"It gets worse when I don't sleep or when I'm stress—"

"Look at your job choice, Wordy." The volume of Ed's voice usurps the locker room and Wordy remains silent to hear out his friend while cradling his jittering hand. "You're just going to get more stressed every day."

"Yeah and for some odd reason everyone says they're fine with me staying on Team One, but no one treats me the same."

Ed shuffles closer, his voice now barely audible over the humming of the fluorescent lights and muffled dialogue from outside. "I know it's that bad today, but it's going to get worse. I don't want to admit it and I know you don't either. But is it really worth it to put the team or civilians in danger? What if they were Shelley or your girls?"

"I would never hurt Shelley or my girls. You know that." Just as abruptly as the tremor in his right hand started up, it dissipates and once again he's completely stable handed. He finishes lacing his shoes with ease, because that's what it is, an easy task. It's a basic motor skill that he learned from his old man on the shade of the back porch when he was four or five. He made sure to teach his girls how to tie their shoes on the back porch of their house too. Lemonade, pink shoestrings and bunny ears. "More importantly, I know that."

He doesn't wait for Ed's reply, because it's going to be something generic. Ed really hasn't been able to feel since he was shot, which is ironic in the most tragic way. Instead of accusations and heated face to face arguments that result in recriminations and maybe even a thrown fist or two and not because his movements are slipping, Wordy walks away and out of the locker room.

The perfect bows on his shoes don't teeter as he takes perfect, unfaltering steps out into the main lobby where the Boss stands talking on his cell phone to someone. He'll have to ask later to take a quick break during the day to talk to Lilly's principal.

Sending a glance over his shoulder, he sees Ed exit the locker room and head towards the workout area. Neither mentioned the fact that they both missed their hangout earlier for their daughters. It makes Wordy curious to know if Ed feels the same way about his kids that he does. Before when it was just Clark, kids seemed more like a burden, but Izzy has really brought out Ed's paternal side. Though Wordy still caught his scoff when he mentioned talking to Lilly's principal.

It leaves the question of when Izzy needs someone to stick up for her, if Ed can be that person. Wordy casts his eyes down to his right hand and finds that his right pinky is dancing again. He wonders if he'll even be around to see Ed rise to that occasion.

"I checked the calendars and there is no full moon tonight." Greg sits at the head of the briefing table trying not to let all the misfortunes of the last fifteen minutes dampen his bright mood. He keeps thinking of Dean up on the stage dressed in a graduation robe, accepting a diploma and glancing out into the audience. Maybe looking for him.

"So I have no idea what's going on with you guys today." Usually he would make the statement as a joke, but not today. He's spent less than a minute talking to each of the members including Jules over the phone, whose cool stoicism didn't fool him for a second. He can feel the friction radiating off each of them.

"Just Friday, Boss," Ed suggests, it might be meant as a joke, but his tone isn't offering a humorous alternative to a serious situation.

Greg shakes his head and sets his jaw. Sometimes he hates being the boss. He never hated being the boss nearly this much before Toth, but then again as boss he thought he needed some objective input and asked for Toth and got himself one foot in the grave. Unconsciously, he thinks that requesting Toth was his own way of trying to faze himself out from the SRU, maybe he'd move down to Dallas, or somewhere to be closer to Dean. He wasn't getting younger and he couldn't stay in Toronto forever. Then everyone else's problems got dragged into the situation and guilt kept him rooted in the same spot. "I think it's more than that Ed. I think that you're all dealing with some personal things."

Everyone remains silent, either waiting for him to continue on in his reproach or because none of them can think of a counterpoint that offers enough validity to negate his statement. Greg clears his throat, unsure of how to approach the sensitive topic. "I'm sure that I don't have to tell you how important it is to stay focused on the job, even though we don't have any hot calls at the moment."

He makes sure that when he talks his eyes don't linger on anyone for more than a few seconds. He doesn't want anyone to think that he's specifically speaking to them, when in all honesty, they've all been slipping lately. It's only human nature. To be told that you can be only perfect and nothing less, it's humanity at its weakest. Ed has a new baby, Spike is dealing with a terminal father, Wordy's degenerative disease and he's starting to suspect something's going on between Sam and Jules again.

"So what's the plan for today?" Sam's leaning back in his chair, arm's flexing behind his head.

Greg smiles because he knows he's going to catch them all off guard. Usually they spend days like this with target practice or in the weight room or running through drills. "We're going to go patrolling."

At the end of his sentence the room grows tense. He's unsure if it's because patrolling is irritating, or the fact that they're likely going to be stuck in pairs for the next eight hours. "We haven't done it in a while. The city still needs to know we're here, especially on a day like today."

"But if we get a hot call?" Ed questions. He's sitting across from Wordy, instead of beside him and Greg gives a second thought to pairing them up. He heard a few words of their altercation earlier in the locker room. It's hard to understand how people react to learning a teammate and a friend is sick, but Ed seems to be taking his reaction in the wrong direction.

"You can't honestly want a hot call." Wordy answers probably what they're all thinking. No one wants to talk a teenager down from a fourteenth floor ledge. No one wants have to shoot a mother in the brainstem because she's using her four-year-old son as a shield.

Greg clears his throat, abruptly ending the argument before it can escalate any further. "All right, so I figure Ed you're with me. Sam your with Spike and—" and he doesn't get to finish because by then there's a munity.

All of his team is talking over each other, arguing about the odd pairings and for a second he actually thinks about keeping them, wondering what's the worst that could happen? Then he backtracks that thought because the last fifteen minutes have been ethereal and he's the boss so he needs to hear out their cries of anguish no matter how ridiculous they are. "Okay, okay. One at a time."

"I don't think me and Sam are gonna work today," Spike says quickly. His head is facing the desk and he won't look Sam in the face.

For the first time, Greg notices that Spike took a seat diagonally across from Sam to purposefully not be near him. "Okay?"

"Why not?" Sam questions, a hint of anger in his voice. "What did I do?"

"It's nothing," Spike mumbles.

"Fine," Greg sighs and tries to reformulate the partnerships for the shift, "Sam with Ed, Spike with me and Wordy with Jules when she gets here."

"Boss, it's always me and Wordy," Ed states.

Greg's about to answer that it's about time for a change then. He and Wordy are both in a heated mood today and he doesn't need their philosophies clashing today on hot topics.

But then Wordy speaks, "Are you making me wait because of-?"

He doesn't have to finish his sentence. They all know what he's talking about. It's one of the aforementioned hot topics. Greg sighs again. He's tried to the best of his ability to not treat Wordy any different than he did before the man came to him and divulged that he had Parkinson's. It was late one night after a particularly hard shift and he just wanted to go home, but Wordy wanted to talk about something and all he remembers is both of them standing in silence in the dim light of the briefing room. "Okay. Ed with Wordy. Spike with Jules. Sam you're with me."

"But I'm always with Jules," Sam's protest is almost immediate.

"Well not today," he answers with a shrug. His answer is blunt because Sam answer is only fueling his suspicions and he does not want to be right about this. The first time Sam and Jules were involved there were no formal reprimands because Jules was so seriously injured. But they both knew what would happen this time around. It was made very clear that one of them would be transferred and that he would be demoted for not dealing with their behavior. They were both adults and with something so personal, it shouldn't be his decision to do something about it. "Let's go Sam."

The elevator doors close behind her and she reaches a finger forward to press the '6', then takes a few seconds to make sure that the elevator is completely empty. When she is sure no one is hidden in the sleek faux wooden crevices she looks down. Sure, there's her ratty sneaker clad feet and legs covered by jeans that she's been wearing for three days because Sam has that kind of thrall on her.

"Don't go home."

"Tonight?"

"Ever."

But those aren't the things she's really interested in. Well the belt, it's newish and she's not going to be needing it for that much longer because—no. No. It doesn't exist yet. It doesn't exist until a doctor takes her blood and tells her it exists. Because pregnancy tests are faulty. So faulty. She found that out Googling 'false positive pregnancy tests' on her phone while waiting to get around the accident on Bay and King. They could be defective or positive because of medication or positive because of too much water intake. Basically it was easier to get a positive than a negative.

The elevator doors open and when she looks out she's still on the first floor lobby. What the hell? She pushed the button. She remembered pushing the button. Leaning back inside the elevator she rams her hand into the '6' several times until the button lights up like a Christmas tree and she feels the lurch of the carriage. Modern technology lets you Google from your car but can't get you up six stories. She should've taken the stairs.

The '2' lights up and then lazily passes and this is taking too damn long. She's already too late. She knew she was going to be late when she left Sam's apartment while he was in the shower to run to the corner Shoppers. Instead of hoping that she wasn't pregnant, she was praying that she wouldn't run into Sam or Natalie before she got a chance to hide the test. Guess she should've been praying for the former.

Later she snuck the test by an overly talkative Natalie, who looked like she'd spent the majority of the night at various clubs, by putting it in the garbage, smuggling it like narcotics over the border and then throwing out the trash. Jules was not a sentimental woman. She was not going to cherish a stick she peed on, especially a faulty one. Especially one that could be used as incriminating evidence if Sam or God help her, Natalie found it.

Now she's formulating an escape plan. Jules knows that she's going to use the car accident as a scapegoat. She also knows that Sam's going to pull her aside later on with a large warm hand under her bicep and that lopsided grin. He'll state that he warned her about that accident. She will say he didn't warn her early enough and get a fake angry at him that he thinks is real. She wonders if he ever gets tired of her getting angry at him. Half of the time, her heart isn't even in it. Half of the time he's part of the escape plan.

He's the reason she was able to get a lunchtime appointment at her doctor's office on Monday. However, he's also the cause of her having to go to the appointment so she's not feeling overly gracious at the moment. It's these mixed feelings that make her hesitant to share the test and the appointment with him. She also refuses to acknowledge the possibility of a baby yet. But she's curious to know how he would react. The fact that she doesn't know doesn't bode well for this situation.

But she remembers what happened after she was shot. When she woke up, Sam was the first person she saw. He was perched on the side of her bed, his hand mingled in with all the tubes and wires and he said something to her that she can't recall but she's sure it was sweet. He walked at her pace around the hospital which was hard for him since his legs are already twice as long as hers. He visited her everyday and when she was released, he stayed with her at her place because she wasn't ready for that 'plant' type of commitment.

She remembers that she was the one who let him go and it was almost as painful as getting shot. Having to see the hurt look on his face every day, especially when she tried to move on, it wasn't fair to either of them. Then she was back at his apartment one Toth interview later and it was like nothing changed. When she glances back down her hand is inadvertently resting on her stomach.

The light flashes from the '5' to the '6' and she starts to get antsy. Tearing her hand away, she stands first soldier ridged, then tries to fold her arms over her chest. Nothing seems to work. She's forgotten where her arms go. The team is definitely going to know something's up. She's never late. She's the person who hassles the late people. What if she gets off the elevator they all look at her and just know? They all know her better than any five people on the planet after all.

The doors slide open and Sam is less than a foot away, apparently waiting for the elevator. He lets out an angry grunt and slams his hand into the down button again, having not heard the machine's muted ding. His lips pull into a grimace and shuffling in a lazy circle but when she steps out and he notices her and his mouth works into that familiar smile. "There you are."

He reaches out a hand, but cancels the action halfway and holds his arms by his side instead. She smiles because he doesn't know where to put his arms either. "I was starting to get worried."

"Well there's a big accident on Bay and King." She tries to boil the anger into her voice and blame this all on him. It a defense mechanism, this way she can keep him in the dark about the life that may or may not be growing inside of her right now. But when she looks at him he's so relieved to see her safe, the false anger diffuses.

"You got through it okay?"

"Yeah." She nods and remembers the dozens of texts he sent her warning her not to go down Bay and King. Sometimes she purposefully doesn't listen to him just to get some reaction out of him that isn't concern. Sam's head might explode with worry if she's pregnant. She wonders how long she could pull off pregnant without tipping anyone off. How long could she pull it off without Sam knowing?

He breathes harshly through his nose and his smile evaporates a little. "We're doing patrolling today. I'm with the Sarge, you're with Spike."

"Oh?" That's a little weird but she really doesn't care. Patrolling is patrolling, it's mediocre fun no matter what.

"Yeah there was this big uprising. Spike didn't want to be with me, but I fought for you. It was like 'Pick on Sam Day'."

"Every day is Pick on Sam Day."

The elevator doors whoosh open and Sam rolls his eyes at her. "Thanks for that," he mutters as he turns away.

Before he gets into the elevator she grabs one of his large hands in both of hers to stop him. "Hey."

"Jules." With surprise, he looks down at their hands touching, then back into her eyes and knows that something's amiss. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She drops his hand, having held it for five seconds will have to last the next eight hours. She knows that he feels the same way because his smile is back. "Can we talk later?"

"The last time you said that we ended up in that coffee shop."

"No coffee shops I promise."

He scans her face for a few seconds longer for any signs of what's bothering her, his blue eyes unwavering. With hesitation he answers, "Yeah. Okay. I gotta go. Sarge is waiting."

She watches Sam step into the elevator and waves goodbye as the doors shut away his face. The numbers begins to light up in descending order and she wonders what exactly she's going to do if she is pregnant. They're definitely not ready for a baby; she's not ready for a baby. Hell, she's barely ready to be in a concrete relationship, but she does love Sam and maybe that's all they need.

"Hey," Spike greets from behind her. He's a little paler this morning, the bags under his eyes a little darker and his face looks a little more weathered than usual.

"Morning Spike." She wonders how things are going with his parents and if he has anyone to talk to about it now that Lew's gone.

He stands level with her and copies her position by crossing his arms. Something her that still makes her arms feel unnatural. After a few moments he questions, "Why does Sam get to use the elevator?"

Congratulations you just made it through 26 pages of Flashpoint Fanfiction!

Next chapter up next weekend.

PS - I took the liberty of naming Wordy's middle daughter Maggie and Spike's sister Carmen.