A.N. Well, I absolutely did not intend to leave you all hanging that long... good heavens. A simple apology seems totally inadequate, but know that you do indeed have my deepest apologies! But as promised, I am not abandoning this story and finally feel like I have the motivation and time to once again dive into this saga and resume more regular updates! I'm going to shoot for bi-weekly, and by golly I am going to stick to that as best I can!

Thank you all for your patience and for prodding me to continue! I hope this chapter lives up to expectations! I won't say I hope it was worth the wait, because let's face it... five months is a loooong time... Anyway, enjoy!

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The moment Wordy realized Sam was in the square, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and started dialing. Ed didn't need to see the screen to know who he was calling. Several anxious seconds passed before Wordy ended the call and looked up to shake his head at Ed. "Must have lost it in the chaos," he murmured quietly, staring out at their friend and teammate caught in the middle of yet another hellish situation.

Ed clenched his jaw, frustrated with everything and everyone: Sam, the heat, the sniper toying with everyone… he felt like this day couldn't get worse, but wasn't going to tempt fate by voicing it aloud; with their luck, things were going to go downhill before they got better.

Ed was pulled from his thoughts when Wordy exclaimed vehemently, "We've gotta find a way to talk to him! I know it's a lot to ask, but maybe he saw something, Ed. Maybe he can tell us something that will end this call… God I have to hope for that." Without another word, he began sprinting back towards the command post.

Ed quickly followed, though he wasn't as convinced as Wordy that Sam would be able to share some piece of intel that would drastically change the situation. He could only imagine the panic that had descended upon the square the moment the first shots rang out, and it seemed impossible that anyone would have been able to make sense of the chaos. And he was even more doubtful of Sam after his poor judgement yesterday… Ed honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to put lives in Sam's hands again.

Ed caught up with Wordy just as he burst through the doors of command. "Troy!" Wordy yelled somewhat breathlessly, halting as he finally reached the Sergeant who still stood in a sea of officers and consultants.

"Wordy, Ed," Troy acknowledged, "any luck with those witnesses?"

"Not exactly," Wordy replied, "but we've got a lead on the best witness you'll ever get—" Ed bit his tongue, holding back his words of caution for now—"Only problem is, he's trapped in the middle of the square and doesn't have a phone, so we need to work on getting a line of communication open with him a.s.a.p."

Troy frowned. "How do you know my best witness is in the square? Did someone call in?"

Wordy shook his head. "No, this witness hasn't called in yet, but I know he's our best shot because it's Sam."

"WHAT?!" a voice exploded in disbelief from somewhere behind them. A suspiciously familiar voice that belonged to someone who Ed knew should absolutely not be there.

Whirling around, Ed's eyes landed on none other than Spike, who sat behind a bank of computer monitors.

"Spike? What the hell are you doing here!?" Ed yelled, concern flaring up in him and making his voice harsh.

"What the hell am I doing here? My job! The real question is what the hell is Sam doing in there!"

Ed ignored that last part and started marching towards the Italian. "You're supposed to be in the hospital! And why the hell isn't your arm in a sling!"

Spike glanced down at his left shoulder and shrugged with his right. "Eh, it's not that bad. I checked myself out and was on my way home when I heard about this situation and came straight here. I'm the best techie they've got, after all," he stated, a small smile slipping onto his face, despite the dire situation.

Ed closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner. He should have realized the moment Troy deliberately left the techie's name out of it and only called the techie 'the best,' because the Sergeant had most likely known Ed would have demanded to speak with Spike earlier if he'd known his friend was here. Opening his eyes he turned to Troy, demanding an answer, but the Sergeant only gave him an unapologetic shrug. Growling in frustration, Ed returned his gaze to Spike and pinned his teammate with an iron glare. "You should be back in the hospital; leave this to us."

"I need to be here, especially if Sam's here!"

Ed narrowed his eyes. "Spike, get back to the god damn hospital."

"No. The wound is practically just a scratch and only a minor discomfort. I'll live."

"No thanks to Sam!" Ed bellowed, unable to contain himself any longer.

Spike stared at him, a confused frown slipping onto his face. "What are you talking about?"

"What the hell do you mean, 'what am I talking about?!'" Ed demanded in outraged disbelief, and was about to continue his tirade when a sharp voice stopped him.

"Gentlemen!" Troy cut in. "Whatever this is, save it and shelve it! We have more important matters to deal with right now!"

Ed snapped his mouth shut and glared at the Italian, who continued to stare at him in confusion, until Troy prompted, "Spike, let's start working on a way to get in touch with Braddock; Wordy's right that he's our best shot right now, unless you've had any luck pinpointing the shooter from the video Ed provided?"

Galvanized into action, Spike started typing, a little slower than his usual lightning-like speed due to his injured shoulder. "Not yet," he admitted in frustration, "but I'm working on it, I just need more to go on. There are so many angles to consider, not to mention how many buildings rim the plaza! We know the subject's somewhere on the northern side just because of how people are sheltering, but do you know how many buildings are on the north side? Too many! Searching all of them will take hours and those people don't have hours."

Troy sighed. "Keep at it and let me know as soon as you have anything."

Spike nodded in affirmative.

"In the meantime, let's get a Sierra going now that we have at least a general idea. Rivers," he locked eyes with someone just over Ed's shoulder, and Ed turned to see Team Four's Lead had arrived unnoticed at some point, "set someone up on the south side of the square, get them scanning the windows on the north. We've gotta start somewhere."

Rivers nodded. "I'll put Carsen on it."

"If you want another set of eyes," Ed offered, "Jules Callaghan is on scene and could set up as Sierra Two." She's going to tear me a new one when she finds out I offered her as Two, not One, he chuckled to himself silently. If it was Team One's scene, he wouldn't have hesitated to make Jules Sierra One, but he wasn't in charge and it was Team Four's scene.

Rivers smiled at Ed. "I appreciate the input. It's a good call." He switched channels as he proceeded further into the space and passed Ed. "Carsen, I need you as Sierra One. Pick a building on the south and go high. Start looking for the subject as best you can, and find Callaghan and coordinate with her; she's Sierra Two."

When Rivers reached the table Troy was leaning over, the Sergeant reached over and clasped his shoulder. "What's the status of the evacuation of the surrounding buildings?"

"Moving along, but still in progress. We've got unis and firefighters assisting, but there are just too many buildings and people. It won't be complete for another hour at least."

Ed approached the table and looked down at the city planning maps as Rivers continued to update his boss. As Ed listened, he flashed back to when Rivers had been on Team One while Sam recovered after the hostage situation at the Oakes three years ago. During that time, Ed had grown to respect the man's skills as both a negotiator and tactician. Rivers had returned to Team Four once Sam was back to full strength, and Ed had been happy to hear a little over a year ago that he'd made Team Lead. Ed liked Rivers and was glad he was there; he was well known for his ability to keep a calm and collected attitude even in high pressure situations, and everyone could use a little calm given the severity of this call. In fact, as Ed thought about it, he realized he'd rarely heard Rivers truly raise his voice and shout, and he doubted he would today.

"Ed," Rivers turned to him, pulling him from his thoughts, "it's far too hot in that square and pretty soon we're going to be dealing with hostages succumbing to the heat if we can't get them out of there. Without neutralizing the subject, do you think there's any possibility that we could extract people? Using ballistic shields, perhaps? I think it's a long shot and too risky, but I'd appreciate your opin—"

A deafening "BANG!" cut Rivers off midsentence and everyone flinched.

"Talk to me people!" Troy yelled, whirling to face the square. "What was that?"

A long silence met his query, before finally a radio crackled to life. "Uh, someone just made a break for it."

Troy grimaced. "Casualties?"

There was a brief pause, before, "No. No casualties. She made it back, but only because she wasn't trying to reach the edge of the plaza."

Ed frowned and met eyes with Troy, trying to understand. "Come again? What do you mean?"

"This young woman just darted out and grabbed a bag, then darted back to her hiding place. The shooter got a shot off, but it went way wide. You'll never believe this, but the person she's hiding with threw a shoe of all things into the air as a distraction," the voice on the radio explained in disbelief. "Can you believe that? A shoe! What an idiot! There's no way it made a difference, the girl just got damn lucky."

Ed wasn't so sure. Yes, it seemed highly unlikely that a tiny object like a shoe could make any sort of difference, but he knew from experience that even the smallest of things flashing across one's scope as one pulled the trigger could change everything—his mind went back to when a person crossed his own scope as he fired and he couldn't suppress an involuntary shudder. The odds seemed astronomical, but Ed was pretty sure that the so called 'idiot' had saved the young woman's life.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

"YOU IDIOT!" Libby screamed as she crashed back onto the ground beside Sam, face red not only from running, but from anger. "You're an absolute imbecilic dolt!"

The object of her ire, Sam, could only gaze at her in wonder, thrilled that she had breath in her lungs enough to yell at him and wasn't lying on the hot pavement with bullet to the brain, lifeless. Knowing she'd made it without harm was almost enough to help him ignore the fact that newfound agony had erupted in his chest and that blood was once more rapidly exiting his body and coursing down his chest. Almost, but not quite. That definitely cost me more than I would have liked, he admitted to himself, unable to hide a grimace of pain, which did not escape Libby's gaze.

"I can't believe you did that, Sam! You just undid any good that my jacket was doing and probably hurt yourself further because you had to be a damn hero, but you're still looking at me like you don't care because your stupid, ill-advised plan worked!"

"S-s-sor," he tried to apologize, gasping for air that didn't want to enter his lungs. Dark spots crept from the corners of his vision, threatening to swallow Libby and send him far from her reaches.

"Stop apologizing, dammit!" she shouted, eyes blazing. "Just focus on breathing," she ordered him, apparently aware of his struggle, "because I didn't just get shot at and you didn't just save my life again only to have you pass out on me when we finally have a way to contact the outside world!" She held up her phone triumphantly—screen still intact, fully functioning—before setting it down and reaching out with her good hand to gently clasp his face.

Sam's vision started tunneling, but he tried to latch onto the contact she provided until all he could see was Libby… everything else just disappeared and it was suddenly only the two of them. Her eyes caught his attention; where moments ago they'd been alive with fiery anger, now they'd cooled and he saw only a pool of calm confidence and trust, no fear.

"Sam," Libby murmured, voice just loud enough to carry to his ears over his own rattling breaths. "Sam, I need you to breathe," she told him. "I know it hurts and there's nothing I can do about it, and that kills me, but I need you to breathe."

She took an exaggerated slow breath in and let it out, clearly asking him to follow her lead. He tried.

"Because," she continued, "it's not all on you like it was three years ago."

Another breath.

"We have to do this together this time."

Breathe.

"You don't need to do it alone, and I can't do this by myself. So what do you say? We a team? The two of us?" she whispered.

Sam closed his eyes and poured every shred of willpower he had left into evening out his breathing. Slow it down, Sam. He took a shallow, shuddering breath in. Time is not your friend today. He was all too aware that seconds and minutes were slipping through his fingers—Libby was right, his reckless throw had done him no favors and had turned the slow trickle of sand in his imaginary hourglass into a flood… time would soon be gone. You can't control time, but you can control your breathing. Slow it down. One breath in… one breath out. The oxygen helped clear his head, helped focus him. You have to keep your promise to Libby, and you can only do that if you can breathe. Two more breaths.

He reached a hand up to clasp Libby's and gently pulled it away from his face, then slowly opened his eyes. "Okay," he agreed, voice low but steady. He squeezed her hand. "Okay, let's do this together. The two of us."

A heartbreaking smile slipped across her face, before she disentangled her hand and picked up her phone from where she'd left it on the ground. She dialed the number they'd heard earlier, the hotline set up for people in the square, then put the phone back on the ground on speaker. "Right, we're a team," she stated confidently as they heard the first ring and she gently placed her hand back over the jacket still on his chest and pressed down carefully, watching to make sure she didn't cause him to stop breathing again. "Which means I'll keep you from bleeding out, and you work your magic and tell people where that shooter is so we can all get out of here."

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A.N.2. Hey look! It's not a cliffie!