Chapter Four: Wedge in the Cracks
"Soph, I'm sorry," Ed said into the phone, as focused on his wife as he had been on his team's troubles. "I was in the shoot house, I missed the calls." Distantly, he hoped she wouldn't hold that against him like she seemed to hold everything SRU against him these days. "Okay… How far apart? Okay, how long? Okay." At Sophie's next half-accusing comment, he shot back, "No, Sophie, of course I'm coming. Okay. Bye, I love you."
Even as Ed handed the phone back to Winnie and turned to pack up, Holleran appeared out of nowhere. "Ed?"
A minute ago, Ed would have loved to have had the Commander's undivided attention, but not now. "You heard that, right? My wife's in labor?"
"That's great, but I can't let you go-"
"I'm gonna requalify later."
Holleran's next words brought Ed to a halt. "Without you being here, today's tests are meaningless!"
Ed snapped around, growling, "That makes no sense."
Holleran drew in a breath. "This is not about individual performance. This is about the fabric of the team."
Of all the times to get answers… "What are you saying?" Ed demanded.
Bluntly Holleran explained, "The team configuration's being tested."
"So we reschedule!" Ed burst out; what was the big deal about today?
"Dr. Toth has a limited window of availability."
And that was supposed to be a downside? "Great. Get someone else."
"Can't be done," what? "And if you don't requalify, I am not authorized to clear Team One for duty." Ed stared at his Commander in sheer disbelief. What the heck was going on? "She just started labor, right?"
The words dragged out. "About an hour ago."
Incredulity ratcheted up as Commander Holleran remarked, "Well, you'll be there in plenty of time." Ed's staring increased as his boss's boss added, "We'll get you in and out. One hour. I know this is asking a lot."
He'd promised Sophie he was on his way, but was this the way he wanted to leave the team? Leave them in the lurch with no clearance? If he had to leave, Ed had hoped to leave on a higher note than this. "Okay," he decided.
"Okay?" Something about the way Holleran was looking at him was off, but Ed couldn't change his mind now.
"One hour," Ed growled, making it clear that was not negotiable, "And I'm gone."
Jules eyed Toth, determined to keep him as off balance as possible; she'd seen Wordy and Spike after their own evaluations and Toth had reduced two of the strongest men she knew to half-quivering wrecks. He wasn't going to do it to her.
Smoothly, Toth remarked, "I need to establish a baseline for you. Tell me three truths and a lie. In that order."
Fair enough. "My name's Julianna Callaghan. I'm 36. I'm from Medicine Hat, Alberta. And I love quilting."
"Thank you, Julianna. Now some word association."
Time to fight back. "Stream of consciousness."
"That's right."
"That's left."
He smiled. "You started without me."
"Try to keep up." Sarge's soft chuckle and pleased brown eyes at her spunk gratified the constable, but she stayed focused on Toth.
"Country."
"Horizon."
"Sky."
"Sunrise."
"Bedtime."
"Story."
"Sam Braddock."
His smile, his scent, the thousand little tricks they'd used to keep their team from finding out. Sarge, dropping the hammer and looking so disappointed in her that her insides squirmed at their betrayal of his trust. And the little nudges and prods from her heart since then, each one pointing out how unfair it was to keep her and Sam apart, how wrong it was that Sarge had his kids to love, but wouldn't let her and Sam love each other.
"What do you want to know?" Jules asked calmly.
Three truths and a lie…easy enough. "My name is Sam Braddock. I have two sisters. I served in the military. I like the mellow sounds of easy rock."
A brief smile from the silver-haired man. "Good. Word association. Friend."
"Trust."
Wordy pushed himself harder and faster, determination flowing through his pumping arms and legs as he leapt down from the beam and threw himself at the tires, Spike right on his heels. He had to do this, had to redeem himself from that utter mess of a psych eval; he couldn't lose this job, it was all he had.
"Hand," Toth snapped out.
"Touch," the blond sniper returned.
"Grip."
"Seize."
Wordy hurled himself at the climbing wall, boots landing solidly on the first bar. His heart thudded as he brought one boot up to the second bar and grabbed the top of the obstacle; for an instant, it held, then the bar broke and his body swung down. Wordy heard Spike's yelp of pain as his teammate, halfway through his own leap at the obstacle, latched onto the broken bar and let go, blood already flowing from the gash on his left hand.
The brunet constable hauled himself over and looked back briefly before turning to plunge on. Behind him, Spike's yell of, "Ahh! Wordy!" rose and he stopped.
For an instant, he considered ignoring his teammate, but then he turned back, judging Spike's position before reaching down and grabbing Spike's hand to haul him up and over. "Come on," Wordy grunted, "Let's go, man."
Smoothly, Toth moved on from word association with the blond constable. "I'd like to pick up on the sensitive circumstances of your departure from the Special Operations Forces in Afghanistan."
Sam stiffened, but answered calmly, "I fired the fatal shot during an incident of friendly fire. I haven't made a secret of it."
More to the Boss than to Sam, Toth observed, "I see Sam's application into Team One was processed quickly."
"He was fast-tracked, yes," the Boss allowed.
As Sam looked on, Toth continued, "SRU teams generally select their new members as a group. I gather the decision in Sam's case was more top-down."
"That's right," Sarge confirmed and Sam felt his insides writhe for an instant. He didn't regret joining this team, but it was true that his joining hadn't exactly been…kosher.
"How did the team respond to that?" Toth inquired smoothly of Jules.
Without a flicker of regret, Jules lied. "Sam had our full support." And if Sarge got mad at her for lying, well, wasn't this situation partly his fault?
"Why don't you just tase his ass?" the uptight rookie they hadn't chosen demanded.
Without even looking up, Ed countered, "Muscle spasm, he'll pull the trigger."
"So we go in hard tactical."
Listening in, Jules wondered again why they'd been saddled with the blond. Sure, he was good looking and a greater shot, but it took more than tactics to make it in the SRU. Ed seemed to agree because he pulled out a ploy Jules had been half-expecting since Braddock started shooting his mouth off.
"There's something I need you to do," Ed announced, pulling a map over for Braddock to see. Eager, Braddock leaned in as Ed traced a route on the map. "All right, see these stairs, here?" Ed inquired, pointing them out; Jules smirked to herself. "That's where we came in, right? Need you to make reverse entry. Go across this hallway, these doors here, I need you to go through them." Without cracking a grin even as Braddock's head came up warily, Ed continued, "Now be careful, because that is a big road. I want you to cross it. I want you to make an entry into this Timmy's. I'll have a double-double. Jules?"
Braddock's disappointment was tangible and Jules restrained a laugh. "Cream, no sugar," she called.
"Spike?"
From his spot next to one of the hospital employees, Spike grinned. "Nah, I'm good."
"And we responded with courtesy and professionalism," Jules finished her lie smoothly, avoiding disappointed brown eyes. Maybe if Sarge had kept it together, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.
"Why did your father have to intervene personally to facilitate your entry?"
Sam's brief flash of a smile was bitter. Ironic, that; his father, the force behind his entry onto Team One, now despised that same team – and his son – with a passion because of their magic-side involvement. "Ask my father. Ask Commander Holleran. It was between them."
Incredulous, Toth asked the Boss, "It was General Braddock who forced him here after leaving Special Ops under a cloud?"
The sniper stiffened. "There was no 'cloud'," he spat. "And I wasn't forced."
Toth wasn't buying Sam's story at all. Insinuation rang in his voice. "The Strategic Response Unit: 'Connect, Respect, Protect,' talk before tactics. Curious career choice for a military man." He let that hang before continuing, "Darren Kovacs. Ex-hockey player back from Afghanistan. Decides to protect the Godwin Coliseum from demolition. Single-handed."
"See you on the other side." Again, he backed up, almost smiling as the stone gave under his boots.
"Sam, no!" the raven-haired man screamed as he started to fall, lunging forward and latching onto his good arm with a strength that surprised the soldier.
What was he doing? He wasn't strong enough to pull Sam up by himself; they'd both fall and die… Sam started struggling, trying to get the other to let go, the strangely familiar man who felt like a friend one minute and a stranger the next; he didn't deserve to die for Sam's sins.
"Sam, stop," the raven pleaded, clinging even tighter to Sam, his grip like a vice around Sam's wrist. "Come on, buddy; I can't hold you if you keep squirming like this."
In a dead voice, with deader eyes, Sam looked up and ordered, "Then let go."
Shock flared in the numbness as the other man gritted out, "Not happening." Why? Why was he worth dying for? He'd betrayed his unit twice over; he deserved to die.
And in the distance, another man yelled, "Spike! Hang on! We're coming!"
Sam stiffened, his emotions smashing into Greg one right after the other. Numbness, fear, guilt, grief. The Sergeant braced himself, judging the sniper for one precious instant; with only a flicker of hesitation, he reversed his 'team sense', letting himself act as Sam's anchor. Come on, Sam; we're here for you.
Blue eyes blinked hard, then flicked in Greg's direction and, to the Sergeant's relief, Sam pulled in a steadying breath, his emotions stabilizing before Toth's polygraph could read his extreme distress. Greg left the reversing on for another second, then flicked it off before his team could get overwhelmed. Then the Sergeant inspected both polygraph machines, holding his breath. Both read a reaction, but nowhere near as bad as they should have read. His idea had worked.
"Did he say he was quitting?" Toth inquired, a simple question, but one Jules couldn't help resenting.
"Yes, he did say he was quitting," Jules conceded. "But everybody has those days. We showed him that he was wrong and that he belonged. We never doubted that."
That day had been awful, but the next week had been torture, fear for Sam and, later, Spike raging in her heart. If Sam had chosen to walk away after they'd rescued him, Jules wasn't sure if they could've talked him out of it – wasn't sure if she would have been willing to talk him out of it. That they – she – hadn't lost Sam had been a miracle.
"Did you fight to keep him close for personal reasons?"
Jules stiffened; did he know? Then she realized, of course he knew. Sarge hadn't bounced either her or Sam off Team One, but he had given them both verbal and written reprimands for their behavior, along with a stern warning not to violate SRU policy again. Reprimands that had gone in their files…files that Toth had access to. Indignation roared in her heart, indignation at both Sarge and Toth for putting her and Sam in this position, but she was careful not to show it.
Without so much as a flicker in her face, she replied, "Say what you're saying, Doc."
Wordy leapt off the last obstacle, throwing the two rams in his hands aside as he let himself sag to the ground, panting hard; nearby, Donna checked her stopwatch and Ed observed from right next to her.
"3:02, Wordy," Donna called.
The brunet heard Spike's thud to the ground and gasp of pain as he went down, curling around his injured hand. He didn't look up; resentment curdled in his belly and fought past the barriers that Wordy normally used to keep it contained.
Stuffing it down again, Wordy started to shrug out of his backpack as Donna called out, "3:08, Spike. Not bad."
Spike tossed Wordy a glare as he started squirming out of his own backpack and snapped, "Yeah, those last ten seconds weren't mine."
Wordy ignored the jab as Ed asked, "What are you talking about, Spike?"
"Nothing, Ed." A shade of resentment lurked in Spike's voice and Wordy felt his own rise up again, practically begging to be let loose. He pulled out two water bottles and held one out to Spike, but his hand shook…and not because of a health problem.
"Spike." An expectant, warning growl from their team leader.
"Nothing," Spike flared back, giving Wordy another glare and refusing to take the offered water bottle.
Instead, he dug his own out as Wordy questioned, "What?"
"Would it have killed you, Word," Spike demanded in an undertone, pulling his water bottle close. "I was right there, three feet away."
Defensiveness rose, joining and compounding the bitterness. "What do you mean?" Wordy demanded. "I helped you over." Which is a heck of a lot more than you did for me.
"Yeah, you thought about it a good, long time first," Spike jabbed.
And just like that, the bitterness and resentment he'd nursed ever since the Wizengamot trial debacle exploded. "Just like you guys thought about it a good, long time before you came after me!"
Spike, in the middle of opening the water bottle, froze, his head snapping up to Wordy. "What?" Confusion rang in his voice, confusion Wordy didn't buy for a minute.
"Oh, come on," Wordy spat. When Spike continued to stare in confusion, Wordy dropped his voice lower and hissed, "Lestrange."
Horrified realization shone in Spike's eyes and he jerked backwards, almost spilling the water bottle as his injured hand closed reflexively. Wordy's bitterness spiraled higher at the shocked look on his teammate's face.
Each word was low, but hurled with all the force of Wordy's hurt and resentment. "None of you did anything, and now you're surprised that I'm looking out for myself?" Gray eyes glittered with impotent fury and heartbroken betrayal in equal measure. "I still helped you over the top of that climb."
Spike's jaw worked soundlessly as he stared, then he yelped as he closed his left hand too hard and accidently drove the splinters deeper into the injury. Wordy couldn't find it in himself to care as the bomb tech fought back tears of pain.
"I don't have your choices," Wordy snarled, "I have to look out for myself and my family."
"Enough!" Ed roared from right behind him; Wordy jumped and whirled, almost falling over in shock at the anger on Ed's face.
But he couldn't stop. "None of you lifted a finger to help me!" he yelled back, scrambling up to confront his team leader face-to-face. "The one time I needed you guys to have my back and none of you had it!"
"You think Onasi came up with the stuff he said at Skeeter's trial all by his lonesome?" Ed asked sarcastically. "Who do you think pulled the pictures of Skeeter's Animagus form off the SRU's security cameras, 'cause it sure wasn't an Auror who can barely dial a cell phone."
Now it was Wordy's turn to stare; he gaped at Ed, slowly looking between him and Spike.
"Who do you think came up with Potter's little speech right before you took that oath thing?" Ed drove on, scant mercy in his face. "I'll even give you a little hint: it was the same guy I had to practically bash over the head 'cause he was halfway to Timbuktu on a guilt trip before I caught him." The team leader stepped forward, right into Wordy's space; the brunet swallowed, fighting the urge to back up at the outrage in Ed's eyes. "So, tell me, Wordy; would it have felt better if we'd gotten you back only to have Sarge turn in his badge 'cause he let you down?"
"What?" Wordy choked out, too numb to say anything else; behind him, Spike squeaked in alarm – apparently, only Ed had known about Sarge.
"That's what he was headed for before I cut him off at the pass," Ed snapped. "Oh, he might've been busy writing a formal letter of apology to you when I caught him, but I guarantee you, the letter of resignation was next." The team leader stopped, pulling back, then changed his mind and leaned in closer, so close that Wordy squirmed; any closer and their noses would touch. "And maybe we wouldn't have reacted so badly if you hadn't been keeping secrets!"
Wordy swallowed harshly, almost gagging on his pride, bitterness, and resentment; shame swamped him and the only reason he didn't look away was because Ed's furious gaze refused to let him. It was true…he had been keeping secrets; he hadn't wanted them to know…hadn't wanted them to know he was a child of rape, sired by a family of monsters.
But secrets had nearly been their downfall…nearly taken Sarge's life and soul in one fell swoop…and how many hot calls were caused by secrets? Infidelity, abuse, grief – the list went on, but so many calls could have been avoided if people hadn't kept secrets from their friends and family; he should have known better. And… "You helped?"
Ed jerked back at the small, hurt question. The anger left him in a rush and Wordy suddenly saw how stressed and exhausted his best friend was. "Yeah, Wordy, we did. Jules came up with 'Lanna's disguise, Spike and Lou helped her track down Fawkes, Lance plotted out that last ditch plan with Silnok, and the rest of us came up with the case against Skeeter."
He might have said more, but Spike broke in with a quiet, "I'm sorry, Wordy." Both men froze and Wordy turned, bit by bit, to face his raven-haired teammate. "We shouldn't have let that jerk take you without a fight," Spike finished, looking down and absently rubbing at his injured hand.
For a moment, Wordy felt more numb than ever before, then warmth flooded him; the ice of his resentment and bitterness melted away under the sun of the care and regard his team had for him – it hadn't gone anywhere, he realized. He'd pulled back from his team and they'd let him, sensing his hurt and wanting to give him space to deal with it…what he had seen as them abandoning him over and over again had been nothing of the sort, but, in his own bitterness, he'd abandoned them.
Gray eyes fell to Spike's hand and air rasped against his throat. He hadn't meant to break the wooden step on the obstacle, but he had and that, in turn, had hurt Spike; he'd almost left Spike behind, to boot. He couldn't take back what he'd done, but what if he could show he wouldn't do it again? If he could fix what he'd broken in his anger…but how? An idea occurred…one Wordy wasn't sure would even work; regardless of if it did or didn't, he'd hurt himself…he'd have to do the rest of the tests with a splitting headache and nagging exhaustion.
Gritting his teeth and refusing to think of what the rest of the day was going to be like, Wordy reached for his small, inactive magical core and focused on Spike's hand, whole and unharmed. Keeping that image in his mind, Wordy stepped towards his teammate and grabbed Spike's injured hand, as if to inspect it. Spike tried to jerk back, but Wordy held on, even as his head started to throb and exhaustion rammed into him like a two-by-four. Come on, come on…don't make this for nothing…
From the side, he heard Donna's gasp and felt Ed's stunned stare, compounded by Spike's gawp, as the splinters pulled free on their own and the flesh started to knit itself together, leaving nothing behind but traces of dried blood. Wordy blinked, grimacing at his headache and the sting of sweat falling in his eyes. The healing paused, then started up again as Wordy thrust his stubborn will at his crippled magic. Slowly, painstakingly, Spike's injury closed over, leaving unmarked skin behind. When the last of it faded and not even a scar remained to mark where the gash had been, Wordy let Spike's hand go, feeling light-headed and drained on top of the throbbing, angry headache.
"There," he remarked, trying to act as if he healed his teammates' injuries all the time. "That's better." Dimly, Wordy wondered why the world was starting to spin. He heard Ed, Spike, and Donna call his name; saw Spike lunge at him right as the world turned black.
