Author's Note: So, here we are. The end of the road. I'd like to thank everyone who has been faithfully reading and reviewing this story. You guys have truly been great! I'm gonna shut my big mouth now and save my comments for the after-note, so that I don't give anything away.
Spoilers (well, besides the one's I've already had): Planets Align (Which, BTW, happened last week, so I totally watched that episode on youtube in honor of it).
I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint or Jeep, although my family owned a Jeep Grand Cherokee for like 10 years or something. . .
Mutiny of The Brain
Chapter 7: The Beginning of the End of the Mutiny
Seeing the tangible symbols of Jules' life in the SRU sitting lifelessly on the bench, Greg raced out of the locker room and back to the briefing room. He glanced out the window at the parking lot.
No sign of Jules.
Her Jeep was missing.
A man on a mission, he raced by Winnie at the reception desk towards his SRU SUV.
"Sarge, what the. . ."
Winnie could wait.
His own car could wait.
He jumped into his SRU vehicle, which was stocked with all of the tools of the trade he might need: Radios, com links, support cables.
She left her gun. He thought. At least she left her gun. Greg tried to comfort himself as he began to drive daringly into the night.
But, she's an SRU officers, damn-it. She has access to OTHER guns!
He wasn't exactly sure where he should go, but he was going to try the first place that came to his mind.
Maybe she just quit. Maybe she just cut-out early to go home.
He drove towards Jules' residential neighborhood.
Greg's fear and concern had been teetering on the brink of disaster all day, maybe all month. But now, he had to face the possibility that his fears might actually be realized.
He needed to make some calls, just in case.
Knowing he wouldn't be out of his SIU meeting yet, Greg called Sam's cell to leave a message.
"The number you have reached, Sam Braddock, is not available. Please leave your name, number, and message after the tone. . . BEEEEP."
"Sam, it's Greg, Sarge. Listen, I don't want you to worry or anything, but Jules left the barn before we could debrief." Greg paused, willing himself to continue without revealing too much that may only frighten Sam and ultimately become moot. "She left her badge and gun. I'm worried about her; think she may have quit when she could really use us right now." Another pause. Cool your nerves, Greg. "Just, give me a call when you get this." He clicked the message off.
Who else might Jules have contacted, he thought.
He quickly returned to his cell phone's menu and dialed another number he had saved.
"Hello?" The person wasn't exactly sure who he was talking to.
"Hi, Steve. This is Greg Parker."
Greg had programed Steve's number, given to him by Jules, into his phone after the last time Steve had helped Team One. It was a bomb situation in a down-town office building where Steve, wanting to go down into the thick of a very risky situation, but denied access, had coached Sam through emergency field first aid on a trapped victim.
Both Sam and Steve had been instrumental in saving the woman's life that day, and both Greg and Jules had known it. It was her thankful, friendly praise of Steve and loving concern for the safety of Sam that had heightened Greg's suspicions about Sam and Jules' potentially renewed relationship.
He had literally frowned upon it then, but would have encouraged it whole-heartedly if it would have prevented the position they were in now.
"Oh, hello Sargent Parker. What can I do for you? Oh, I heard on the radio that Team One was involved in a situation that required EMS today. Is everyone alright?"
Steve was a good guy, and still a good friend of Jules'. Him and Sam both. She really did know how to pick 'em. Greg hoped he himself was still among the great men of her life.
"Yeah, Steve. Everyone came out pretty much unscathed." His 'pretty much' was an obvious negotiator's fib.
"Listen, I'm try'n to find Jules. Some pretty heavy stuff went down today, and I just want to make sure she's okay." Greg braked his SUV violently, so intent on his mission objected that he had nearly run a red light. "Have you heard from her?"
"No, Sarge." Steve still addressed him by the name that Jules had introduced him as. "I actually haven't heard from her in a little over a month when we went shopping together. I was actually a little worried about her. She was so jumpy last time." Steve paused. "Is everything okay, Sargent Parker?" Should I be worried about my friend?" Concern filled Steve's voice.
The man goes shopping with her in place of a girlfriend. Wow, Jules really DOES know how to pick 'em.
"It's alright, Steve," Greg comforted the paramedic, and himself. "She just cut-out early on me. We were supposed to debrief, but she just left early. I was hopping maybe she contacted a friend to meet-up with."
Greg was about to continue, when—
"Sarge. Does Jules have PTSD?"
Steve's blunt question struck right at the Sargent's heart. Jules' high school friend and current shopping buddy had seen exactly what he, Sam, and the rest of the team hadn't until it was nearly too late.
Or maybe, what they were trying not to see for its implications towards a non-Superman Jules.
"Yeah, Steve," Greg sighed. "Yeah, I'm afraid so."
"How bad is it?" Steve was now in professional helping mode.
"I'm not gonna lie to you, Steve." Greg kept using everyone's first name with nearly every sentence. It was like he was in a negotiation mind set where he needed to establish a link of familiarity between himself and the subject. He just wasn't sure if he himself was the negotiator, or the subject.
"Things have gotten pretty bad." Greg paused, momentarily at a loss for words. He couldn't believe he had to verbalize these statements, about JULES of all people, out loud. "I think she's gonna need all of our help right now."
"Anything I can do, I'm there," was Steve's simple response.
"Keep your phone on you. Be at the ready if I need to give you a call."
With Jules
Cloths, money, that's all I need, thought Jules as she pulled-up to her house's drive-way.
She didn't have much time. Even though she changed out of her uniform at the speed of light and chose to forgo a shower, she wasted time waiting for a moment to slip around Winnie without her knowing. Sarge was probably already aware that she was missing. She only had time to pack one bag.
She didn't need to worry about Sam. He would be at the SIU interview for at least another hour or two.
And, he didn't need to worry about her anymore. She would leave him to be free to see people who weren't as irrevocably damaged and defeated as she was. She would leave him to be with someone he deserved. Someone whole.
Jeans, t-shirts. She'd have to cash-out her debit account at the nearest ATM. No sense in leaving a money trail.
Jeans. Genes.
She wondered if her pathetic-ness was genetic. She wondered, feared, how much her life would be dictated by those genetics.
She zipped-up her old U of Alberta gymnastics duffle bag and trotted down the stairs. Would she ever see this house, which she renovated with her own sweat, blood, and tears, ever again?
She locked the door. Sam had a key. He could let himself in. She wouldn't.
Just as she locked her door and began to approach her waiting Jeep, a black SUV pulled-up behind it, effectively blocking any escape. A man popped out.
Sarge.
He approached her with not reproach or anger on his face, but a look of paternal, admonishing smiles.
"Juliana Callaghan, I believe we had a date for a debrief," he said simply.
"Only way you can 'debrief' me is if I still work for you," was Jules' semi-sarcastic reply. Sarge had certainly heard better wit from her. He was probably disappointed in her response.
"Yeah, I found your badge." Sarge paused as he approached within three feet of her and her forlorn, half-filled duffel bag. "But, I do not accept your resignation." It sounded like there was double meaning in his words.
"You don't have to. I don't do my job, I don't show-up for work, I get fired," Jules attempted to put fire in her eyes with these words, but she just didn't have the energy, emotion.
"I don't accept that," Greg responded, only care in his voice. "And, I don't accept that you're leaving us like this. You know you can't go."
Jules couldn't believe that Greg actually cared enough about her, after what she had done to him lately, after how much she had failed him today, to come here and try to convince her to stay.
"Why do you care? Why are you even here now?" Her questions were sincere, and Jules' facial expression and words were the most defeated things Greg had ever seen or heard in his life. He never thought he'd see or hear them from her. The greater they are, the harder they fall.
Greg was slightly angry in his response.
"Because, I watch over you, Jules. All the time. When you were unconscious in the hospital after being shot, I watched over you. When Ed wanted to keep Donna over you, I watched over you." His anger turned to pride. "Because, anyone can shoot a subject, but damn-it Jules, you're a hero!"
The surprised look on her face from his prideful smile caused him to pause before continuing his monologue.
"When you were torn-up from ME making you break-up with Sam, whom you are perfect for and can never leave, by the way, I watched over you." He paused once more before adding the last, most painful piece of information in his argument. "And when you were dying of blood-loss in that lab, I watched over you, and it was the hardest thing I've ever done." His eyes were pleading with her now. "Because, I couldn't do anything to help you." There was strength in his voice for his last words. "But, I can now, Jules. I can help you now. I watch over you, Jules. It's my job."
Jules was silent, absorbing his words.
These words ultimately hadn't changed anything for her.
"It doesn't have to be your job anymore, Sarge," she began in the same low, defeated tone. "I can't help anymore. Can't do my job anymore." Tears began to edge the corners of her eyes, fighting their hardest not to fall. "I can't do my job anymore, and I'm hurt'n people if I stay."
Greg's anger and will to fight returned.
"Damn-it Jules, this isn't about your job! I don't care if you never profile or negotiate again! This is about YOU!"
"What are you talking about, Sarge?" she asked forlornly, but a look of knowing rose to her face.
"Your mother," was Greg's simple reply.
These were the words which set the world on fire. But, the fire raged silently in the late summer's night.
When Jules didn't answer his revelatory words, Greg continued. "I know why your father raised you. Why you didn't grow-up with a mom." He paused, allowing the tears that were building in his own eyes to fall. "And it can be hereditary. Jules, I'm afraid, I'm TERRIFIED, that you," he struggled to continue," that you might kill yourself too. . ."
This was the intelligence of which he was the only member of the team privy to. This was the fear that drove him to action.
The tears, so long held-off, now fell from Jules' sleepless eyes. The reality was, sometimes, she was terrified too.
"You think I'm that weak?" Her words came in a near whisper. "You think I'm that imperfect?"
"No, Jules," Greg replied in a soft tone of fatherly love. "I think you're that Perfect."
Silence lit the night once more until Greg continued. "You once told me that not being perfect and being human were your two biggest fears," Greg uttered, referring to a time after Jules had successful talked down a shot-gun wielding, Stockholm Syndrome afflicted teenage girl, helping her to re-unite with her family and return to the innocence of a girl she once was.
"You also once told me that my humanity is what makes me a great man." Greg stepped forward to hold her small face between his two big hands. "If humanity makes me great, it makes you even greater," he said softly. "You're a gift to me and the world no matter how lost you become, and I'll always be here for you. Please," he began once more. "Let me help you find your way back."
At these words, Jules fell into Greg's arms in a strong embrace, not an awkward hug like they sometimes shared.
This was the beginning of the end of the mutiny.
"Help me, Sarge," she cried into his shoulder. "Help me find my why back."
The End, Which is Truly, Only a Beginning
Author's Additional Note: So, that was all she wrote. So the story goes. Oh God, I just quoted a country song. . . Okay, so I realize some of you may feel unfulfilled with the ending of this story, but really, my modus operandi was to get Jules to the point where she would realize she needed help and to ask for it from Greg. I'm toying with the idea (and kind-of have the first chapter mapped out in my head) of writing a sequel to this story about Jules' recovery. Maybe called Nurturing Neurons or something. It'll be more jammy. I must say, writing this story, although pretty hard (as I've said several times before; thanks for putting up with my whining about how hard it was to put Jules through Hell, btw (!)), was one of the most fulfilling experiences I've had at this time of my intellectual life. And look, I even got to use my Master's in Psy. Yeah, I did, I talked about neurons misfiring and stuff and junk; that was TOTALLY worth seven years of college and grad school of my life (!). Oh, and the whole Steve shopping with Jules thing was stolen from an idea I wrote about in Nateve, JAM, and Nike Cases, my current joint project with Sules. We're such jammers, we managed to turn what started out as a Nat-Steve story into a Nateve-Jam story. I've recently managed to turn it into an awkward love triangle (or pentagon, with Sam and Jules' interference) between Spike, Nat, and Steve. It's turning into a total random and awkward humor-fest, and we PROMISE we're not on crack; get Sules and Eals in a cyber-room together and things quickly turn into a wise-ass convention. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, it's mostly my fault. Back to this story, I love how Greg used Jules' own words to talk her down. I love those two together!
So, Please leave a review and tell me what you think of this chapter, this story, and if you think I should write a sequel. Your input is priceless.
Thanks for reading!
Peace, love, and rock 'n roll,
Eals
