Jules insisted they stay at her house. She didn't want Sam alone. The worse thing he could do at the moment was ruminate on the night's events and allow his anger to fester. Even as they drove home silently sitting next to one another in the Suburban she could feel that gloomy aura began to radiate from him once more. She didn't say anything. Not yet.
Her attraction to Sam had initially begun thanks to his cocky demeanor. He had come to the team so sure of himself and had this 'been there done that' attitude that she oddly found appealing. Normally an arrogant demeanor was severely off-putting to her, but inwardly she admired him for the fact he'd been a member of the elite Joint Task Force 2. They were the kind of high-speed ninjas whose actions were cloaked in secrecy—even their identities were classified. But there he was, Sam Braddock, wearing the cool pants and diving in with Team One of the Strategic Response Unit. Even when she'd asked why he gave up the sexy high-speed, low drag gig with JTF2 for the glory of urban policing he hadn't been very forthcoming with his reasons. After time and as their relationship developed he had admitted what drove him away from service.
Those reasons only endeared him more to her. He had grown tired of the convoluted nature of counter-insurgency warfare in Afghanistan, so troubled by the fact that he felt helpless to make a difference—to affect real change. It was that and so much more, but the catalyst was a tragedy that led to the death of his best friend by his own hand. As a profiler she thought back to that event and how it might have scarred him both emotionally and mentally. Every event that involved a man or woman in uniform became a special case for him—a mission he would risk his life for in order to achieve success as if he could atone for that terrible mistake so many years before.
It was tragic, but he had tempered it with such a great love for life that she found herself falling head over heels for a man who could suffer such things and still find a reason to smile each day. He had an inner passion that thrived when they were together and there was a lust for life there that could only be present in a man who so thoroughly understood what it was like to take life. But that brightness was clouded now—convoluted by a dark fury that brewed deep within. Failure was the word of the night and she had seen its impact on him before. Months prior when he'd taken the life of a young pregnant woman by mistake during a high risk call-out it had shaken him, but he recovered despite his mistake. Now, however, he blamed the team and she didn't know how to evaluate that. In his eyes Marcus Keisling was dead because Sergeant Parker hesitated to act and Ed Lane was idle in his duties as team leader. It was a dangerous precedent and Jules could see the all-important cohesion of the team crumbling under the weight of Sam's rage. She had to temper it.
Why did he become a police officer? There were many answers to that question, but she knew the most important one—Sam Braddock wanted to save lives. He wanted to be a good guy, the sort of person whose actions left little doubt in the minds of others. He was an unflinchingly moral man still struggling to find a place in a world where morality could sometimes be a hindrance. The easy answer to complex emotions that could often overcome one's sensibilities could also compromise one's morals and Sam was in danger of that now. It was evident to Jules that Sam wanted to take a life if for no other reason than to satisfy a deep felt need for vengeance.
But there was more to it as Jules surmised. It wasn't truly about vengeance, or justice. It was about righting a feeling of wrong. It was about correcting a mistake. It was about eliminating that gut-wrenching feeling of helplessness that pervaded well after the fact like a bad taste in one's mouth. But it was the easy answer and she needed to remind Sam of that. She had to remind Sam that he picked this job to save lives… not to take them.
Inside Sam uncharacteristically shed his body armor and outer garments, stripping down to his trousers and black undershirt with police stenciled in white on the back. He slung his gear, weapons, holster and kit bag into a pile just beyond the entrance of Jules' house. She looked at the pile with some derision then turned to see Sam draw a beer out of the fridge and crack it open. He walked over toward the sink and began fishing around in his pocket. He pulled out a set of dog tags and flipped on the water while Jules still watched in silence.
His thumb ran across the face of the aluminum once more, this time the blood had dried and only small flecks flaked off. With his freehand he took a sip of beer and then held the tag under the water that flowed from the faucet. He rubbed the tag repeatedly until it had been cleansed of the dried blood. He had to clean it. But not for his own sake.
Jules watched with quiet fascination. Sam acted with reverence, as if the deed was some sort of ritual that needed to be done immediately.
He turned off the water and faced Jules who watched him with a curious sort of concern evident in her doe-like brown eyes. He scooped up the beer bottle and took another long pull of its contents as he leaned against the counter.
"You need to shower and get cleaned up," Jules started. "There's blood all over your uniform. I'll wash it."
"It's fine," Sam muttered.
"It's not fine, Sam," Jules argued. "This isn't Afghanistan."
"I've noticed."
She sighed and shook her head trying to find the right words to deal with the state he was in. It was a prickly matter for her to approach. "Look, I know you were close with Constable Keisling."
"We weren't close. We were never close," Sam interrupted her. "We were rack mates. He helped me in recruit training. My boots were never shiny enough, my bed was never made properly and I couldn't march to save my life. He helped me—that's all. I haven't seen him in years and we barely talked."
There was regret there, it was as plain as day. Sam was an outstanding JTF2 operator and a superb sniper, but before all of that he was a struggling recruit who could barely piece together the military part of a military lifestyle. He could certainly run, do pushups and pulls ups, and hike for kilometers with ease, but it was the details he had problems with and that garnered some unwanted attention from the Master Corporals and Sergeants in charge of his platoon. He wasn't incompetent and he wasn't in dire need of help either, but Marcus Keisling helped everyone regardless of how bad they needed it. He wanted everyone to be at their best.
Sam had always meant to get in touch with him again, especially when he learned the Army veteran had left the service and joined the Toronto metropolitan police department. They were living in the same city and Keisling had a family—that much Sam knew, but he had never attempted to see the man or catch up with him. He'd never gone to have a beer with him, or planned a barbecue or anything of the sort. He'd become so concerned with getting into the SRU and from there he focused most of his excess time and energy on Jules Callaghan and the rest of his team, forsaking bygone friendships. Now he was never going to have a chance to tell Keisling what a good buddy he had really been.
"So what's the problem, Sam? We're all upset an officer died today, but why are you copping an attitude with Ed?" Jules own frustration surged forward in a rush and she almost regretted letting it loose—almost.
"You don't think there's something wrong with how things went down? A cop is dying inside and we waste our time trying to talk the guy responsible down instead of going in?"
"That's the job, Sam. You want Ed or the boss to apologize for that? We do everything we can to end a standoff peacefully," Jules argued in frustration.
"Yeah I get that, but what about when he shoots at us after he's already shot a cop? At that point talk is off the table so we go in and get him," Sam shot back, rising from his casual lean against the countertop.
"And do what? We go in and do what, Sam?" Jules demanded, the sound of her voice began to rise. She could feel herself losing her temper, but did nothing to stop it. Sam's bullheaded mindset was aggravating her.
"Arrest him, or kill him. Whatever we need to do," Sam responded acerbically, as if the question were a stupid one.
"Kill him? Really?" she asked incredulously with her hands on her hips.
"It's what we do when we have to, isn't it?"
"You're not a killer, Sam."
"I'm not? That's what the Army trained me to do, Jules," he argued vehemently. "It's what I'm best at."
"Don't talk like that, Sam. You're just angry," Jules tone settled suddenly and the sound of her voice was layered with concern rather than the flash of anger that had resided there moments before.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam responded mordantly. "I'm going to shower."
The young SRU officer and Afghan veteran trudged past Jules and even sidestepped her attempt to waylay his escape from the discussion. Jules watched in frustration as the man stomped up the stairs and away from the one person he should have been able to open up to. She felt a pang of guilt and pain in the center of her chest as the thought of failure sank in. She let out a deep sigh and her eyes locked on the pile of discarded gear on the floor. She went to work scooping the stuff up, unsure of how to proceed with Sam Braddock.