So, in case you read the early version of Chapter Two and don't know this, I replaced it with a better Chapter Two, and this chapter builds off of the events there. So if you haven't read the new Chapter Two, I suggest going back to read that one before you get into this one.

Thanks for your patience everyone, and hopefully I will have one last, short chapter posted soon. Special thanks to dawnpritchard66, giggles 811, rgs38, arlette-sweet-heart, Wootar16, and Ealasaid Una for reviewing!

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Trust me, there' d be a lot more "Officer down!" Plotlines if Flashpoint was mine...

After looking over Sam's apartment for himself, Ed had to accept that Sam wasn't planning on coming back anytime soon and he'd better move out it he intended to find him. He opened the door and turned to reassure Jules. "Alright, thanks Jules. I've already got the rest of the team on the lookout for Sam, and I'll see if Spike can get a lock on his cell. You stay here in case he comes back."

Jules nodded. "Copy that."

As Ed headed out to the parking garage, his phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out.

"Wordy, please tell me you've got some good news."

"Sorry Ed, it's not strictly good," Wordy said on the other line, and Ed could hear the sound of the other man's car humming to life. "I just got a call from my friend Derrick on Team Two. He just saw Sam back at the barn."

"Sam's at the station?" Ed breathed a sigh of relief, swinging his car around in a looping u-turn to head towards the station. "That's great. What's the bad news?"

Wordy sighed. "The bad news is that he's currently holding two dispatchers and all of Team Two hostage in the briefing room."

"He's what?" Ed stopped short, his brain immediately kicking into overdrive. There was no way that Sam Braddock, veteran of Afghanistan and loyal cop could be holding other police officers hostage; he couldn't believe it. "What the hell's going on over there?"

"I don't know," Wordy confessed. "Derrick said that Sam seemed angry, disoriented, maybe a little bit drunk… I'm on my way over now."

"Copy that," Ed said, climbing into his own car. "I'll meet you there."

Fifteen minutes later, Wordy and Ed seamlessly entered the SRU station, off-duty sidearms drawn and held loosely in front of them. The door had been locked, but Ed's key had rendered a forceful entry unnecessary. After clearing the interior entryway, the two officers approached the metal door of the briefing room and knocked cautiously.

"Derrick? It's Wordy. How's everybody doing in there?"

Some shuffling could be heard from behind the door, and then the other team leader could be heard from directly beyond the metal. "We're good. No injuries or anything. Sam just forced us in here and shot through the control panel. The door is stuck."

Wordy glanced over at Ed, who was examining the panel and nodded in confirmation. "Okay, great. What's your assessment of Sam's mental state?"

Winnie's voice suddenly spoke up. "He seemed nervous and confused. He was sweating and shaking and it seemed like he wasn't expecting anyone to be here."

"Thanks, Winnie. You guys just sit tight, we're going to find Sam and get you guys out of there." Wordy stepped away to join Ed, who was on his cellphone.

"Okay, thanks Spike." Ed returned his phone to his pocket and turned back to his fellow officer. "The rest of the team's on the way, they're going to try and get this door open. What's your read on Sam?"

Wordy shook his head. He wasn't one of the Team's negotiators, had virtually no experience with the psychology behind it. "I don't know, Ed. He sounds confused, intoxicated, volatile… but I feel like I can't be completely objective. It's Sam, Ed."

"I know," Ed replied softly, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Let's track him down."

The two SRU officers proceeded to slowly and carefully clear every room in the station. The gym was clear, as were the few glass holding rooms and the women's locker room. They both breathed a sigh of relief when they found that their friend was nowhere near the armory. That left the locker room, and they paused outside of it to check in with each other. Ed gave Wordy a slight nod and raised his fist in a silent countdown.

Three, two, one.

The two men burst through the door of the locker room in a single smooth, practiced motion. They didn't need to look far; Sam was sitting hunched over on the bench in front of his now empty locker, its door hanging wide open. The blonde officer had his head in his hands, a Sig-Sauer handgun gripped dangerously in his hand. Sam didn't appear to be aware that the other men had entered the room, so Ed gestured to Wordy to ease up before lowering his own handgun.

"Sam?"

Although his shoulders tensed, Sam turned slowly around to look at his team leader with dulled eyes. "Ed? Wordy? What are you doing here?"

"We heard you were getting into trouble here, Samo, and came to see if we can help," Ed replied calmly, taking a careful step closer to the other man. Sam looked at him uneasily, so he stopped. "What's going on buddy? What're you doing?"

The question seemed to make Sam agitated, because he stood abruptly and started pacing in front of his locker. His hands seemed to be shaking, but he maintained a strong grip on the gun, waving it around vaguely as he paced. "This isn't how it was supposed to happen. Nobody was supposed to be here."

"What's going to happen?" Ed prodded gently, taking another half step forward. "What were you planning on doing, Sam?"

"No," Sam ground out, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched it in frustration. The gun finally found a target, pressed against his own temple. "You don't get to ruin this. Not again."

"Woah, Sam!" Ed and Wordy exclaimed at the Sam time, although it was the team leader that tried to regain control of the situation. "Sam, you don't want to do that. Put the gun down and talk to me."

"You don't know what I want to do!" Sam yelled, still pacing back and forth slightly, despite the gun he held on himself. "You don't get to tell me what to do! Not after today."

"Today," Wordy spoke up quietly from behind Ed, and although it was normally against protocol for more than one person to engage the subject, he took over the conversation. "Today at the arena, you wanted Darren Kovacks to shoot you. You were counting on it."

Sam looked him right in the eye, his own gaze dark and haunted. "I'm a solider. I should have died over seas like the rest of them. I don't deserve to be here."

Those same words took on a whole new meaning, and Wordy shook his head, careful to keep his voice nonthreatening. "No Sam, you have every right to be here today. You were a soldier, but now you're a cop. You save people everyday, Sam, protect the city every day."

But Sam wasn't convinced. "No, I don't deserve to be here, not after…"

"Not after Matt," Ed finished quietly, and a flash of hurt and anger flared across Sam's face as he adjusted his grip on the gun. Panic grew in Ed's stomach that they wouldn't be able to talk him down, that they'd have to stand here and watch one of their own blow his brains out.

"Not after Matt," Sam repeated in barely more than a whisper, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He swiped at it angrily with the back of his free hand. "I killed him. His blood is on my hands, and it won't come off. There's so much blood on my hands and it won't come off!"

Grief seemed to wrack the young man's body, forcing him into a crouch with his back pressed up against the lockers. Ed's eyes followed the gun as it left it's position pressed up against Sam's skull to hand limply in front of him as the young officer buried his face in his arms. He resisted the urge to rush in and knock the weapon out of Sam's hand, to restrain him so that there was no chance that he'd ever be able to hurt himself. But that wasn't how real life worked, and he had to allow Sam to de-escalate at his own pace. Exchanging a look with Wordy, he nodded and dropped back a bit, allowing Wordy to continue his attempts at talking Sam down.

"Buddy, we all have blood on our hands. Unfortunately that's part of the job," Wordy replied, trying to be as calm and honest as possible. "But that doesn't make you any less of a cop or a good man. For every person you have to shoot, for every person you've killed, you've saved dozens more. And when you save one person, you save everyone attached to them, Sam. You're a savior, man."

Sam raised his head slightly, shoulders still shaking with sobs as he answered. "No, I'm not. What about all those people I haven't gotten to in time, all those people who lost someone because I couldn't find or take the shot in time? What about those kids in Khandahar who stepped on IEDs planted in the ground because I was there, in their country? What about – "

"What about the team, Sam?" Wordy interrupted, squatting down to join Sam on his level. The blonde took another shuddering breath, eyes trained on the ground. "What about all of the times you've saved one of us? Without you, Sam, we'd all have been dead a long time ago. Every single one of us – me, Ed, Spike, Jules and the Boss – we're all alive today because of you."

For minute the locker room was quiet, filled only with the sounds of Sam's harsh breathing. Ed was just allowing himself to believe that Wordy had done it, that they were home free when Sam stood jerkily, the gun rising to his head again.

"No," Sam choked out, his gun hand now shaking. Adrenaline surged through his team members as they stood with him, hands out placatingly. "There's too much…"

"Come on Sam, think about what you're doing here," Wordy tried, reaching out as though pure physical contact could bring him back from the edge. "Think about the team. We need you here."

Sam was shaking his head, tears still streaming down his face. "It just needs to be over, I can't – "

Ed couldn't handle it anymore; he couldn't stand around waiting for the man he considered a younger brother to end his own life. He launched himself across the small gap that separated them, tackling Sam to the ground. Sam was crying and struggling, and Wordy was yelling to try and get him to stop, and Ed couldn't help but think that this was his messiest takedown ever when a single shot went off and all three men froze.

Wordy sucked in a breath in complete anxiety. "No harm. Eddie?"

"No harm," the veteran officer responded rapidly from the ground, climbing off the now docile Sam and rolling him over. "Sam, you okay? Ah, shit!"

While he might have stopped Sam from ending it all with a headshot, he was dismayed to find a bullet wound in his leg. Blood pooled rapidly around them onto the floor and down the leg of his fatigues, staining the camouflage material a bright red. Sam simply lay there gasping in pain and shock.

"Call EMS!" Ed roared, probing gently at the wound. He was vaguely aware of Wordy speaking rapidly to the operator on his cell phone, but he had major tunnel vision around that fucking hole in Sam's leg that was letting his life leak out all over the floor. "Damn it, I think he hit an artery."

Ed all bit ripped off his belt before using it as a makeshift tourniquet for Sam's leg. The young officer let out a cry of agony as he cinched the belt as tight as possible to try and stop the bleeding. Seconds later, Wordy joined them, kneeling by Sam's side. "How's he doing?"

"Not so well, he's going to bleed out if EMS don't get their asses here now!" Ed yelled, his voice tight with exhaustion and stress.

"They said their just minutes away."

"You've gotta stay with us, Sam, you hear me? No giving up on us! Sam?!"

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