A.N. I'm back! But a day late... apologies. It was out of my hands. Though this chapter focuses on bringing the Team in and doesn't really feature Sam and Libby, you'll still get an idea of what happened to them-but more on that next chapter!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own the characters (except Libby! She's mine) or profit from them or anything.

.

.

.

.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Ed's feet hit the sidewalk as he cruised along on his late morning run. Emphasis on the late, as it was almost eleven. He blamed the later-than-normal-start on the fact that he hadn't even been able to contemplate sleeping last night until he'd heard from Sam. He'd had a sick feeling in his stomach the longer the blond went without answering his phone; scenarios played over and over in Ed's head, all concluding Sam was in great peril. He'd frozen when a voice decidedly not Sam finally answered the sniper's phone, seemingly confirming Ed's worst fears. It had been with great relief—and some not inconsiderable confusion—that he'd realized it was Libby and that Sam was safe and with a friend. Of course, the moment the relief hit him, his anger at his teammate had returned. But his mental tirade had been stopped in its tracks by the words of a furious fifteen year old. So even once his worry settled with the knowledge that Sam was okay, it still took him hours to fall asleep, her rebuke and the events of the day swirling in his head long after the call ended.

So yes, he'd gotten a rather late start, and while usually running let him clear his head, he couldn't quite shake everything that happened yesterday. He was still livid at Sam's actions and maintained that he, Ed, was in the right, but Libby's words wouldn't leave him alone.

"Call yourself his friend? I don't even know what happened today, but I know Sam well enough to know that he did everything he possibly could to make things right. And you, you should definitely know him well enough to know that, too."

She was right that Ed should know Sam well—they'd been working together for a lot longer than Libby had ever known Sam for—and Ed liked to think that he did know the blond, but how could what the man had done yesterday possibly have been "the right thing to do?" Ed was sure there must have been another way and Sam was too stubborn to see it and had disobeyed orders and gotten a teammate injured because of his arrogance. Had injured Spike. And Ed just couldn't see past that. To him, that was absolutely unforgiveable.

His house came into view. With the end of his run in sight, he picked up his pace to a sprint and made it to his front step, pulling out his phone to check how long it had taken him, and smiling when he saw he'd done it in record time. As he was about to put his phone back in his pocket, he saw the screen light up with a call, but frowned when no noise accompanied it, as he hadn't recalled putting it on silent. The notifications also informed him that he had missed several calls, which deepened his frown. But he shrugged it off, as there was nothing he could do about it and smiled when he saw who the current caller was, and quickly answered it. "Hey Wordy," he greeted warmly, still breathing hard.

"Ed, there's been an incident," Wordy replied, tone short, immediately wiping the smile from Ed's face.

Everything came to a crashing halt as he froze with his hand turning the door handle. A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind, none of them good. He took a deep breath, trying to even out his breathing, before he cleared his throat and asked Wordy uncertainly, "What kind of incident?"

"A shooting ten minutes ago in a plaza somewhere downtown."

Of all of the possibilities, that was not one that had crossed Ed's mind. His mind had immediately delved into the more personal side of things, concerned Spike had taken a turn for the worse or that something had happened to someone else on their team. When Wordy erased those possibilities and explained it was a hot call, Ed felt guilty when he thought, thank god it's only a hot call. A hot call was serious and it meant someone's loved ones were in danger, but the selfish side of him was relieved that it wasn't his loved ones. But that made him feel even more guilty.

Rubbing his head with a hand, trying to focus his thoughts again, he demanded, "What's the situation?"

"There are casualties. Lots of them. A sniper is set up in a surrounding building somewhere taking shots at anything that moves or tries to enter the square. SRU has called in all hands on deck—unis, the fire department, everyone. Team Four's running lead, but they need all the help they can get; there are more than a dozen buildings that need to be cleared, not to mention crowd control and finding the subject. I'm headed to HQ to grab my gear."

Ed closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, picturing the chaos that had descended on downtown Toronto. He'd had a quiet day planned, a day spent with his family, maybe going to a park or out for ice cream to ease the heat, but all of that flew out the window the minute Wordy called. Ed had no obligation to respond, but he couldn't say no and ignore it. "Okay Wordy, grab mine, too. And a car if one's there; traffic will be gridlocked, we'll need the lights and sirens to get us through. Which plaza? Can you pick me up or should I meet you at HQ?"

"Uhm," Wordy hummed, before Ed heard a shuffling in the background and Wordy's voice faded, muttering something to himself, then returned in full strength, "Yeah you're on the way. I'll pick you up. Be there in ten."

The call ended.

Ed sighed. Today's going to be a long day… I can just feel it.

(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)

Ten minutes later, a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of Ed's residence just long enough for him to jump in the front seat, then tore down the road, leaving smoke and burned rubber in its wake.

Wordy was already dressed in full tactical gear, but Ed would have to wait until they arrived on scene.

"Any update?" Ed asked as Wordy wove in and out of traffic.

Wordy shook his head. "I've been too busy grabbing gear, driving and trying not to break my neck in an accident, I figured I should stay off the phone. And I'm sure things are crazy on scene; I doubt anyone would answer my call anyway."

"What about the rest of the team?"

"I can't get a hold of Greg—he said something about leaving town for a few days, needing to 'clear his head' after shift yesterday?" Wordy stated uncertainly.

Ed had a vague recollection of the Boss saying something like that, so he nodded.

At Ed's response, Wordy continued, "Jules is coming in; she was at HQ when the call came in—why, I don't know—so she'll probably beat us there. I didn't call Spike, I figured he shouldn't be out anyway, and I couldn't reach Sam…" he trailed off, glancing furtively at Ed before finishing, "but after yesterday, that doesn't surprise me."

Ed frowned, hurt that one of his oldest friends seemed against him. "Don't tell me you're taking his side!"

"No, no, don't misunderstand me," Wordy reassured him quickly, "I'm not taking sides or passing judgement. It was just a statement of fact. I think that Sam's probably feeling pretty guilty right now and is avoiding us."

"As he should be," Ed growled.

Wordy sighed. "Okay, Ed, whatever you say, just try to put that behind you for now and focus on the task at hand."

Ed didn't dignify that with a response.

A handful of minutes later, they arrived as close to the scene as their SUV could get them. At a certain point, the police wouldn't allow them to go any farther, ordering them to proceed on foot. Donning his tactical gear quickly, the pair set off at a jog after getting directions to the command center, two blocks away.

They found the command center set up in a storefront facing the square, only a few hundred feet from it. Firefighters and brass of varying levels all huddled around Troy, Team Four's Sergeant. The group appeared to be analyzing maps of the plaza and communicating to various other people over the radio.

"Troy!" Ed called as he and Wordy burst through the doors to the store, entering the welcoming cool of air conditioning.

The Sergeant looked up and met eyes with the rapidly approaching pair, nodding in appreciation. "Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We're going to need everyone we can get on this."

"Of course," Wordy acknowledged, before asking, "What's the situation?"

Troy grimaced. "In a nutshell? A hell of a lot of bodies and the promise of more to come. There are more than a dozen people strewn about in the open back there," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the plaza. "We think one or two of them might be playing dead, but there are at least ten confirmed fatalities. This guy likes headshots."

Ed grimaced at the picture Troy painted. He'd been about to ask how they knew ten were dead, but Troy had answered his question before he could even voice it.

"A handful of people made it out of the square, and I have officers interviewing them as we speak, trying to get a handle on this thing. There are approximately thirteen people hunkered down in the plaza in areas that appear to be inaccessible to the subject. People are using everything from garbage cans to concrete walls as cover."

Ed looked to where Troy pointed, identifying a few of the hiding spots people had found. From here, he could see one couple huddled together behind a garbage can, and two others hiding behind a raised concrete planter. From this angle, he couldn't identify the couple behind the planter, in fact he could only see their legs, their bodies obscured by the concrete wall. In his cursory examination, a small part of him realized that one of them only had one shoe on, the other foot was bare.

"Damn, that's a lot of hostages," he muttered. "And this heat is working against us, because even for those still alive, they're going to be getting dehydrated fast, not to mention heat stroke and all other kinds of lovely complications."

Troy snorted. "You're telling me. And getting them out of there is going to be one hell of a job. We can get pretty close to the plaza, but not close enough. The very edge of it is safe so long as you're under an overhang or in a storefront. To be more precise, the hastily erected caution tape," Troy gestured to a line closer to the plaza, "marks a conservative estimate for what we think is out of the subject's range. I've ordered emergency personnel not to cross that line. We can approach it in order to get better visuals in the square, but crossing it right now is suicide. According to witnesses, the subject's already shot someone who tried to make a break for it before we arrived, so it's safe to assume he'll shoot anything that moves."

Ed grimaced. "Understood."

"Any luck contacting or locating the subject?" Wordy asked.

Troy shook his head. "No, but we're working on it. I have the best techie analyzing the angles of the people who appear to be in safe locations, trying to give us an estimate. He'll let us know the minute he finds something. We haven't been able to make contact with the subject, and he hasn't fired since we arrived, but we think that's only because no one in the square has tried to make a break for the edge—not since they saw someone not make it. We've megaphoned the people in the square, telling them to stay put for now and if they have a phone, to call a line set up for them."

Ed nodded approvingly. "Do you have a Sierra, yet?"

"No, what's the point?" Troy responded tersely. "Until we get an estimate of which direction the sniper is, I could send someone into the exact same building that the sniper's using and then they'd be useless as a Sierra."

Ed held his hands up in supplication, trying to reign in his desire to take command, reminding himself that this wasn't his scene and that Troy was a damn good Sergeant. "We're here to help, not question your judgement. What do you need?"

Troy flashed him a grateful look. "Right now I need everyone I can get to interview witnesses that made it out of the square—they're congregated near the perimeter—and to push the perimeter back. I want to expand the perimeter from one block to two. It's amazing, you tell people there's a sniper and some of them run away, while others clamor forward trying to get a video of the action, hoping it will go viral online," he huffed in disgust.

"Got it. Wordy, you're with me," Ed ordered. "We'll go interview witnesses. You said they're in a certain area on the perimeter?"

Troy nodded and called an officer forward. "Please escort Constables Lane and Wordsworth to the witnesses."

They made their way to the perimeter, where just as Troy said, a not insignificant crowd was gathered. Officers were working on moving them back, and Ed could see that Jules was one of them.

Focusing back on task, he began interviewing people.

"It all just happened so fast, I could hardly understand what was going on!"

"Man am I glad I was on the edge, man. I mean, I'da been dead for sure if I was in the middle!"

"Oh those poor people, I can't even imagine what their families are going through, and everyone still stuck in there?"

"Seemed like shots were coming from every angle every second! I just don't understand what would make someone do something like that!"

"All I heard was the first bang and I thought a car had backfired, but then people started running and screaming, so I started screaming and running. I never heard a second shot."

And on and on and on. In varying levels of detail, witness after witness described the chaos that erupted. But despite the numerous witnesses, no one had any idea how many shots had been fired or what direction they'd come from. In short: nothing useful. Ed was about ready to pull out his hair—metaphorically speaking—when he finally caught a break. A group of tourists had been making a video for their blog, recording their adventures and having a good time after an early lunch, when the first shot was fired. The video was shaky and blurry, and only had about twenty seconds that showed the square—before its owner had clearly taken off running, phone in hand, pointed at the ground—but it was something.

Ed got the witness to transfer the video to his own device, took their statement, and moved to a spot where he could watch the video more closely, without being disturbed. He planned to hand it off to the techie Troy spoke of earlier just as soon as he could, but wanted to see it first.

The video started with the five tourists laughing and talking. They passed the fountain and were somewhat close to the edge of the plaza when the first shot rang out. The video jerked in response—it's holder apparently having flinched—and turned to focus on the square.

The video was too jittery and blurry to show much. All Ed got were flashes of images: a person was prone on the pavement near the fountain, a man swooping a child into his arms, stroller abandoned, a couple running past the camera out of the square, screaming, two blond heads diving for the pavement, shopping bags flying, another person jerking then dropping to the ground, not to move again. And that's all. From there the video showed only blurred pavement and hands as its owner wised up and took off.

Shaking his head, he tucked the phone in his pocket and turned to make the trek back to command center, calling out to Wordy to let him know. "Hey, Wordy, I found a video that might be helpful. I'm gonna run it back to Troy's techie, see if he can find anything on it."

Wordy waved in response to let him know he'd heard, and Ed turned to leave, when a commotion caught his eye. A distressed couple was clearly trying to make it past Jules, a young boy trailing behind them. Jules wasn't having it, calmly ordering them to stay back and go home. It seemed to Ed like Jules had it in hand and he would have dismissed it and gone on his way, but he saw Wordy frown in confusion and start to move in that direction.

Jogging after him, Ed grabbed his friend's arm to stop him. "Hey, Wordy! What are you doing? Jules has got it."

Wordy looked at him, frown still on his face. "I'm not going over there to back Jules up, I'm going because I think… I think I know those people," he informed Ed quietly.

Ed was so stunned that he let Wordy go and stood frozen for a moment, then had to scramble to catch up with him. They drew to within earshot just in time to hear Jules' temper snap.

"Look!" she yelled in frustration, "I know you're worried, but for your own safety—"

"Please!" the man cried. "Our daughter might be in there!"

"Well it's not going to do her any good if you get yourself shot!"

"You don't understand! You should be worried, too! One of your own might be in there!" the woman shouted.

"What?" Jules demanded, confused. "What are you saying?"

Wordy and Ed drew alongside Jules and Wordy intervened. "Mrs. and Mr. Riles?" he asked hesitantly.

The couple zeroed in on the person who had called their names and Ed could see the relief flood them. "Wordy, thank god!" the woman—apparently Mrs. Riles—sighed in relief.

Riles… why does that name sound familiar? In fact, the couple themselves looks familiar, too… Ed wondered, trying to place them. The couple clearly knew his teammate, and as he stared at them, suddenly he remembered his phone call to Sam last night, the one where it wasn't Sam who answered, but Libby. Libby Riles. And everything clicked into place. The last—and only time—he'd seen the couple standing before him was at the end of a hospital hallway, embracing their daughter as she leapt into their arms, all at the end of one of the most intense, difficult days Ed could remember.

And if Libby was here and unaccounted for, she was probably in the square. And they seemed to think Team One might have a "colleague" in there and Ed knew Libby was with Sam last night when she answered his phone…

Ed closed his eyes in despair. Dammit! Are you freaking kidding me, Sam?! How does this always happen to you?

"Are you saying you can't find Sam and Libby?" Wordy clarified.

"Yes!" Mrs. Riles exclaimed. "We were supposed to meet in the plaza in fifteen minutes and her phone is just going to voicemail! Maybe, maybe they made it out? Maybe her phone just isn't working?" she finished, but without any real hope.

The bottom fell out of Ed's stomach as a small part of his brain whispered, two blonds. You saw two blonds hit the pavement. Fumbling his hands, he pulled the phone out as he listened to the conversation continue.

"Wait, why was Sam with you?" Jules demanded. "And what are you even doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in witness protection?"

"What does that have to do with anything right now?!" Mr. Riles growled. "Our daughter and friend is in danger, again, now can you please let us through?"

The video went full screen on his phone and he watched each frame slowly, desperately hoping that he was wrong. But his hopes were dashed when four seconds after the first shot, two blonds could be seen within the field of view, one significantly taller than the other, pushing the shorter one to the ground. Ed could only see them from the back, but now that he knew what he was looking for, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the pair was Sam and Libby.

"Ed?" Wordy prompted softly, concern shining in the man's eyes and Ed realized someone must have just addressed him, but for the life of him he had no idea what had been said.

He cleared his throat. "Let them through and put them with the rest of the witnesses." Saying nothing more, he turned and took off for the command center. Before he brought this nightmare down on everyone else, he had to make sure. He arrived back at the plaza without any memory of the sprint down the block, and handed the video to Troy with a mumbled explanation. He didn't stick around to see the Sergeant pass the video off to his techie, and instead went outside to the line they'd established as safe. He got as close to it as he could and scanned the square. First, he focused on the bodies he could see lying out in the open, hoping and praying that none of them would match the faces of Sam and Libby. He couldn't see all of them—the square was too big and there were too many visual obstructions—but of the ones he could see, none of them were familiar.

Thank god. Maybe they made it out.

He turned his attention to the people he could see hunkered down in shelter. None of those were Libby and Sam, either.

Thinking back to their position in the video, he located it in the square and scanned that area. Unfortunately, it was very near to the center, but he could see that they weren't sheltering by the fountain. The only other option was a large raised planter full of flowers and surrounded by a three foot tall concrete retaining wall. When his eyes landed on that, he recalled seeing a pair of legs peeking out from there earlier, though he couldn't see them now from this position.

Walking along the perimeter to get a better angle, he moved until he was side on with the wall… and there they were.

Part of him flooded in relief. Part of him flooded in despair. They were at least a hundred yards away from the edge, as far from any sort of help as they could possibly be.

Only then did he become aware of Wordy yelling at him from two feet away. And from the volume of his voice, Ed was pretty sure he'd been yelling for quite a while. "Ed, what the hell is going on?!"

He turned his gaze to meet his friend's and swallowed. "They didn't make it out."

.

.

.

.

A.N.2. As people who have read Timing probably know, Ed is the person I have the most trouble keeping in character. He's just difficult for me (but I love him), but hopefully he doesn't feel too OOC.