A.N. Happy New Year everyone! I meant for this to be a holiday gift, but illness and actually FF itself (was giving me serious trouble with formatting) prevented that. Ah well!

I have resolved not to make any more promises as to the timing of my updates, because clearly I am terribly terrible at keeping them. But I shall endeavor to try to improve my updating and improve the speed of it. And I'm cautiously optimistic, as I have quite a few more chapters lined up (though they still need tweaking) that I've been working on furiously for the past few weeks.

Thank you to all of you for not giving up on this story, for continuing to pester and prod and ask for updates. You all are what's kept me coming back to this story!

This chapter is a little slow because we're getting some more information about the situation, and we're also getting a bit of an outside perspective on the current dysfunctional dynamics of Team One. But the bonus is that it's longer! My longest chapter yet, in fact. And it doesn't leave you on a cliff-hangar really, so that's good I guess?

This chapter takes place from the POV of a character first briefly introduced in the epilogue of Timing, and re-introduced last chapter.

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As Jack Rivers stared at the map of the square, markers placed to show the location of all of the hostages, he grimaced. Damn, Braddock, you sure haven't made this easy on us, he thought uncharitably, wondering how in the world they were supposed to get in contact with the SRU Officer. But the thought was a fleeting one, followed immediately by him chastising himself, Right, like he deliberately chose to be smack in the middle of the square with an active shooter staring down at him. Give the man a break, he certainly deserves one. Jack had never really spent much time with Braddock—in fact he hadn't even met the man before taking over his position on Team One while Braddock recovered from the Oakes incident—but Jack had great respect for the other SRU Officer. He'd heard of the man's scary accurate shooting and solid tactical plans, and how well he'd handled himself while operating solo and trying to keep a twelve-year-old safe while saving fifteen other hostages. Not to mention the numerous times since then that Braddock had stepped up to the plate and saved the day when Team One had a difficult call.

But more importantly, while working with Team One, Jack had seen how close they were and how much the other members of it were fiercely protective of Braddock and supported and respected him. Team One's respect was not easily earned, therefore when it was given, there was a damn good reason for it.

So even if Jack had heard nothing of Braddock's abilities—which he had—and even if Braddock hadn't gone out of his way after his recovery to thank Jack for watching his team's back—which again, he had—Jack would have thought well of the man because of his teammates' obvious high regard. However, while Jack himself considered Braddock to be an incredible asset to the SRU and felt concern for his safety, he was beginning to doubt if the entirety of Team One still felt the same way, which was a significant shock. Given that Braddock was in such a perilous situation, Jack had expected to see Team One's protective instincts and concern roar to the surface—and in fact he'd been almost counting on it, hoping that their passion would help the operation. Much to Jack's confusion, however, that respect and care seemed to be wavering, at least among some members. Ed had been the most open about it by getting into a shouting match dissing Braddock, but Wordy also seemed a little distant and uncertain. Even Jules had apparently reacted with "weird vibes," according to Carsen, who had reported back to Jack after locating Callaghan to move into their Sierra positions. Normally Carsen would not have shared such information, but Team One's close knit dynamic was legendary, therefore any change was something worth noting.

As for the rest of Team One, Jack knew that Greg was not on the scene, so the only member of Team One who he knew for sure was still on Braddock's side and who seemed genuinely worried, was Spike.

Jack wasn't sure why the sudden change in team dynamics, but he wondered if it had anything to do with the hot call Team One had been sent out to yesterday. Details were scarce and sketchy, but he knew things had gone badly sideways and Spike had been injured.

Then again, he thought to himself, if it truly were the incident yesterday that caused several members of Team One to turn on one of their own—or at least lose confidence in him—wouldn't Spike be the one most likely to be angry at Braddock? Because he was injured? And instead, he seems to be Braddock's staunchest defender right now. Without more information, Jack knew he would not get to the bottom of this mystery, he just hoped the weird dynamics among Team One would not negatively affect the hot call. He was pretty sure they wouldn't, as the members of Team One were professionals, but he vowed to keep an eye on them—Ed in particular—all the same. He turned his attention back to the crowd just as Troy spoke once more.

"Okay everyone, I need all of you to put your heads together and figure out how we get a line of communication open to Braddock!" he called out to the group of people surrounding him. "Whatever we have to do, let's get it done. Hell, if we have to resort to hand signals, figure out a system and find a way to get Braddock's attention. At least it would be something. But whatever we do, it has to be subtle. I do not want to paint a target on Braddock's back! So far it seems like the subject's staying put, but if we start making it clear that we're talking to someone in the square, he might get antsy and realize if he moves only a few floors up or a few rooms over, he'll be able to get a clean shot off."

As soon as Troy stopped speaking, Jack shifted forward just enough to catch his Sergeant's attention. When Toy met his gaze, Jack jerked his head to the left, indicating he wanted a private word. Troy nodded and started to make his way towards Jack. Turning and stepping to the side, Jack reached out and caught Ed's elbow and indicated he wanted the other Team Lead to follow him.

When he reached a slightly quieter, less crowded space in the large room, he turned to find both Troy and Ed behind him, waiting for him to explain.

Clearing his throat, he stated, "Something feels really off to me about this whole situation. At first glance, everything points to a random act of violence. A mass shooting with no objective except chaos and terror. But the longer I look at and think about it, I think there's a lot more to it."

He'd been hesitant to share what amounted to a hunch, but when neither Ed nor Troy gave him disbelieving looks, and instead seemed to nod and agree with him, relief coursed through him.

"Go on," Troy encouraged. "What makes you think that?"

"It all boils down to the fact that I keep asking myself the same question… why is the subject still here?"

Ed nodded. "I've been asking myself the same, and was even beginning to wonder if the subject had fled, until that shot just minutes ago quelled those thoughts."

Troy frowned thoughtfully. "Of course, there have been past situations where the shooter does stick around," he pointed out, "particularly when they are in a sniper position, as this one is."

"True," Jack conceded, "which is why this is mostly a gut feeling."

Ed stared at him, calculating. "I don't think it is, Jack. Give yourself some credit," the other Team Lead clasped him on the shoulder. "You've got a sharp eye and a quick mind, which means that if you have a feeling, it's because you saw something or have connected the dots between things, connections maybe we've missed. Which makes it more than just a feeling."

Bolstered by the other man's support, Jack considered what exactly was causing him to feel like something was off. "I know we're working off of very little when it comes to profiling the subject and figuring out the motivation, however, I don't think this lines up with a 'typical' mass shooting. There's too much that doesn't fit, starting with the target: why this square? When it comes to public places in Toronto, I can think of at least four similar locations that are higher profile and have a lot more people in them. While twelve fatalities is a lot, this could have been a hell of a lot worse if the subject had chosen one of those other places, or if the subject had settled for anything less than headshots."

"Yeah, the headshots and no injuries—only fatalities—is pretty unusual," Troy murmured. "Why only go for the hardest shot?"

"Exactly," Jack agreed. "It's easier to go for center mass, especially when people start running, but he stuck with headshots. And as far as we know, his only miss was when that girl grabbed the bag. That tells me that not only is he highly trained, careful and calculated, he's confident in his ability to make those shots on moving targets and—more importantly—chose to prioritize a small number of kills over a larger number of casualties. So why? Add to that the fact that he's sticking around even though right now there are no targets. Which means he's playing the long game, waiting for the hostages' patience to run out and for them to make a run for it, but that seems like it has a pretty low probability of success, because there's an ever increasing risk of capture the longer the shooter sticks around. He has to know that. In fact, he probably hasn't moved because he's trying to minimize exposure, but it still seems like an unacceptably high risk, unless there's another motivation than just sewing violence and chaos…" Jack didn't complete his thought aloud, waiting to see if the other two men would come to the same conclusion he had.

Ed got it first, eyes lighting with comprehension. "Damn… You think there's a target still in the square."

Jack let out a breath and nodded. "But I have no proof of that, and if anything, the profile I just described would seem to suggest that would be impossible. If he's as calculated and skilled as we think he is, how in the world could he not have taken out his target already?"

"It's not impossible," Ed stated slowly, clearly gathering his thoughts. "If the entire motivation for this shooting was to take out a particular target, the subject went to a lot of trouble to mask it as a random act. If he went to that much trouble to conceal a targeted murder, he might have deliberately chosen not to shoot his target first. Because where does law enforcement look first when trying to make sense of a shooting? The first victims. And the profile you just described shows the subject's confident. Maybe he was overconfident, thought he could handle hitting his target after the panic started, and couldn't."

Troy let out a long breath. "Well, if that's true, this whole situation just got a whole hell of a lot more complicated, but this might be what we need to get ahead of things. Let's run it down, see what we can find out. If you're right, the subject would have had to know the target would be here. I'll have Scarlatti run down the victims' and hostages' names, get my people talking to family and friends, see if we can figure out who was scheduled to be here."

The trio rejoined the central effort, Troy instructing several officers to begin working on contacting victims and tracing their days.

Just then, a police officer raced up to Troy, slightly breathless. "Sir!" she greeted. "Sir, I have someone who claims to be an SRU officer calling through the line setup for the people in the square! His badge number checks out and he's asking to speak to the person in charge."

The room erupted in a flurry of commotion as people exclaimed in shock and shouted demands, many crowding around Troy, eager to hear Braddock's report.

"Everyone quiet! If you've been assigned a task, get back to it and double down! If you have not been assigned a task, find someone to give you one! When I have information that you need to know, I will ensure that you have it!"

Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed, leaving only Troy, Ed, Wordy and Jack with the officer who had first reported Braddock's contact. The group moved to Spike's makeshift tech center.

"Constable Scarlatti, can you work with Officer Brigg here to get Braddock's call on channel two, please?" Troy requested.

Spike nodded quickly, immediately beginning a quick conversation with the police officer, before finally turning to the small group. "He's patched through, channel two."

As one, they all turned their radios to the appropriate channel.

"This is Sergeant Troy Westin, whom am I speaking with?"

A harsh sound echoed over the radio, causing the group to wince. Whether it was a sigh of relief or exhaustion or something else, Jack couldn't tell.

"Sergeant Westin, thank God," Braddock's voice reverberated in their ears. "I was starting to worry they weren't going to put me through. This is Sam Braddock, SRU badge number 8302, and it is damn good to hear your voice, sir."

The man's voice sounded strained and distant to Jack's ears, and he frowned, worried at the bad quality of the call. Cell towers are probably overloaded. Let's hope we don't lose the connection. That would be just their luck.

Troy smiled. "Not as good as it is to hear yours, Braddock, though I admit it's a little hard to hear you. It's probably the connection, but is there anything you can do on your end?"

They waited in silence a moment, listening as muffled noise came over the line, before Braddock's voice came through more loudly, though still strained. "Is that better?"

"It is, Braddock, now how are you doing? Can you give us a situation report?"

"I'm with another person, Libby Riles, and we're safe for the moment, but I'm not sure how long that's going to last." A pause. "I'm honestly surprised the subject hasn't moved to get a better angle, yet."

So Braddock's noticed, too.

"Understood. I know it's a lot to ask, but can you give us any information on the subject? Witnesses out here are all over the place, claiming everything from that there was an actual gunman in the square, to that there was a grenade launcher shooting at them from on high. I'm sure it was hell when the shooting began, and I don't want to put any pressure on your shoulders—you've got enough of that right now—but anything you can give us will be helpful. You've had a lot more experience with these sorts of things than a typical civilian witness, so I'm not expecting you to know exactly where the shooter is—"

"I do," Braddock interrupted, "that's why I'm calling."

Troy's mouth snapped shut then opened partway for a moment, no words coming out, before he managed, "Excuse me? You're saying you know where the subject is?"

"Well, not precisely, but I have it narrowed down to two buildings and about six floors," the other man explained.

Jack was impressed, and he could tell his Sergeant was, too. But just as Troy prepared to respond, something caught his eye.

Jack turned slightly in the direction of Troy's gaze just in time to see Ed shift minutely, eyes narrowed. Stepping forward, Jack tried to catch the other man's attention and head him off before he took whatever action was in his head, but he was too late.

Ed frowned and snapped into the radio, "How the hell do you have it narrowed down that far, Sam? Are you playing god, again? Spike's been working on this with all of his technology and hasn't been able to figure it out, and you think you, just one person, can? Confident that you know best? Who's going to get hurt this time? Are you—"

"Constable Lane!" Troy roared. "Verbally assaulting Constable Braddock is neither productive nor helpful!"

Ed blinked, clearly taken aback by Troy's strong outburst. He crossed his arms in response, clearly unrepentant, but did not speak further.

Troy directed his attention back to the one person in this situation who might be able to break the case open. "Please continue, Braddock."

The blonde's voice was significantly more guarded when he next spoke. "Ed is there?"

Ed opened his mouth to reply, but Troy held up a hand, stopping him.

"What?!" a muffled but clearly angry shout crackled through the line, most likely coming from someone near Braddock—Libby Riles, if Jack were to guess. "Ed?! Gimme that fricking phone!" There were more muffled scuffling noises, before the line finally went quiet.

"Braddock?" Troy queried cautiously. "You still with me?"

"Yes," came the other man's robotic reply.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine."

Jack met Troy's eyes, both men recognizing the sudden shift in Braddock's monosyllabic replies, how distant the man sounded now, which had nothing to do with the poor connection.

"Lane is here assisting with the call. A lot of people came in even though it's their day off," Troy explained, deliberately not specifying who the 'a lot of people' were.

"I see."

Troy grit his teeth and temporarily switched off his radio, before turning to Jack. "Jack, could you please continue this conversation with Constable Braddock in private. Scarlatti," Troy nodded at the techie, "make it happen."

Within moments, Spike was handing Jack a cell phone, mouth set in a worried line, clearly biting his lips in order to prevent himself from saying anything.

As Jack walked away from the group in order to gain some privacy, he heard his Sergeant continue with a steely voice, "I don't know what is going on between you and your team, Lane, but if you can't put it aside, I'm going to have to remove you from this call. Maybe Braddock doesn't know exactly where the subject is, but whatever intel he has is a hell of a lot more than the squat that we're working with right now!"

Once he could no longer hear Troy's voice, Jack pulled the phone to his ear. "Hey Braddock, this is Jack Rivers. We're on a private line, now. I figured that might be easier for you rather than being interrogated by all of us."

He heard a harsh sound crackle through the line; they both knew what he'd just said was mostly a lie.

"H-hey Rivers," Sam greeted, a little warmth creeping back into his voice, which seemed to be growing ever more shaky, "I ap-preciate it. And please, just call me Sam."

"Okay deal, so long as you return the favor and call me Jack. We haven't spent a lot of time together, but I still feel like I know you, but let's try to fix that after today, huh? Sound good?"

A short laugh. "Deal, Jack, so long as it does not involve any type of peril."

Jack was pleased to hear Sam opening up again. "I think I can manage that. Now what can you tell me about the subject and the first few minutes?"

There was a long pause before Sam finally sighed. "You know, Ed has a point… There was a lot h-happening and if Spike hasn't been able to figure it out yet, with all of those crazy algorithms he has…"

Dammit, Ed, Jack growled to himself, is this how you treat your friends and team members? Is this what you wanted? Self-doubt?

Aloud, he stopped Sam before the other man could get rolling. "Hey, no, stop it. Spike wasn't there when it all went down and neither was Ed. They weren't seeing the angles and watching things unfold. You were. And you've been in enough fire fights to be able to come away with solid intel, not just some gibberish conjecture. Give yourself some credit, man."

Jack stopped there, afraid that if he said more, Sam would shut down.

He heard Sam take in a breath, but what he next heard was not Sam's voice, but someone else's.

"Samuel I-don't-know-your-middle-name-and-we-need-to-fix-that-so-I-can-properly-yell-at-you-Braddock, you had better listen to what that smart man has to tell you, because he's right and you're being an idiot." Her voice faded for a moment as she turned to muttering. He thought he caught something about it being the 'flood moss' that was doing the talking, which struck him as odd, but he quickly put it out of his mind as she continued, "Ed has no right to second guess you! You are a damn good cop and an even better human being, and you're not only a hero—which you are—but you are my hero, so pull your head out of the sand and stop doubting yourself and tell the smart man what he needs to know so we can get out of here!"

Jack could only assume that this was once again Libby speaking, and that her voice had suddenly become clear because she'd gotten up in Sam's face. As he listened, he couldn't help but cheer her on.

Sam sighed. "My assessment is that the subject is either in the tan building on the north side, or the steel-gray one with the arched front, above the twentieth floor but below the roof. I can't be any more specific than that, and to be honest, something feels a little off about it."

Jack let out a breath, Damn, if he's right, he's good. He'd been expecting Sam to be able to narrow it down, but not by that much. Please let him be right. If he was, then the length of this call just drastically decreased and likelihood of success for it increased. "That's great, Sam, that's more than great. Walk me through your thought process." He snapped his fingers at Spike, catching the man's attention and gesturing for him to come over as he scribbled down the building descriptions and floor numbers. The techie's eyes lit and he darted away with the information, no doubt to work some magic.

"It's mostly about analyzing the angles. The first victims were right in front of us and I had a very good view of them and how they fell—" he broke off with a coughing fit.

Jack winced at the loud, hacking coughs. It hadn't gone unnoticed that Sam's speech had grown more and more strained, and Jack could no longer attribute it to a poor connection. "I'm sorry to make you talk so much, Sam, I know it's hot out there and you must be exhausted."

There was a pause, then, "It's not just the heat," the other man admitted quietly. "Another reason I have a pretty good idea of the subject's location is because I have some pretty concrete evidence as to at least one bullet's trajectory…"

Jack's brain sent off alarm bells, and ran back to the moment when he'd heard Libby mutter something about 'flood.' It had struck him as odd at the time, but with a horrifying clarity, he realized he'd been mistaken. Blood loss, not 'flood moss', you idiot! he reprimanded himself.

"Sam, are you saying you were shot?" he demanded, worry sharpening his tone. He looked up as the word 'shot' left his lips, just in time to meet eyes with Spike, who had returned unnoticed. The Italian's eyes widened but Jack turned away to regain at least the illusion of privacy. "Sam?" he prompted again.

Another sigh. "Yeah, unfortunately that's exactly what I'm saying, Jack."

He closed his eyes. So they weren't all headshots, then, he thought to himself, amending his earlier assertion. A single body shot seemed out of character with the subject, but he put his concerns aside to focus on Sam's situation. "How bad?"

"Libby would probably tell you I look terrible, because she's over protective and over dramatic sometimes," an indignant shout could be heard in the background, "but the truth is, it's bad enough. Shot to my mid-thoracic region, entry but no exit."

Despite himself, Jack couldn't help but try to lighten the mood. "'Mid-thoracic region,' huh? Going all surgeon on me, Sam?"

"Nah, just sounds a little better than some of the alternatives."

Alternatives such as, almost hit through the heart, punctured lung…

A hand rapidly tapping his shoulder caught his attention: Spike, gesturing frantically for the phone.

Jack hesitated, before cautiously broaching the subject. "I can appreciate that. You just hang tight, okay? In the meantime, I've got someone here who would like to talk to you—"

He didn't even finish his sentence before Sam's quiet but firm, "I'd rather not," echoed over the line.

"I really think you should reconsider—" he tried one more time.

"Well I don't. Just…" the other man paused, and there was a world of pain painted between the lines of his ragged breaths, "it's not a good idea."

"Okay, Sam, okay." Jack met eyes with Spike and shook his head, before walking away. "Can't say I get it or agree, though. Want to help me understand?"

"I don't want to have to deal with their anger right now."

"Why would they be angry?" he asked, pressing a little.

"They have their reasons," was all Sam offered.

Jack bit his tongue. They might have their reasons, that doesn't mean they're good reasons.

"Okay. Well you just sit tight—

"Hang on, Jack I need to ask you something," Sam interrupted.

"I'm all ears."

There was a brief pause, before, "Can you tell me how many victims there are?"

It was an odd request, but one that Jack could readily answer. "There are twelve confirmed fatalities—all headshots. Before we found out about you, we thought he'd only gone for headshots. To be honest it seems strange that the pattern deviated with you…"

"Yeah well it wasn't supposed to," Sam muttered. "The shot that hit me was supposed to be a headshot, I just kind of… got in the way."

"That makes more sense," Jack commented, wincing at how callous his words sounded.

"Twelve fatalities, and I make thirteen," Sam appeared to muse aloud.

"Hey, hey now, you are not a fatality!" he exclaimed, startled that Sam seemed to be so fatalistic already.

He heard a similar cry of dismay on the other end of the line, no doubt from Libby.

"No no, poor choice of words, I'm just… tr-trying to put all of the pieces together," Sam reassured faintly. "Something's just been feeling o-off, and I'm trying to figure out what it is."

Sam's keyed into it, too, then. But what is it, dammit? What's really going on?

"I agree that something weird is going on here, Sam. It's just a hunch, but one of our working hypotheses is that this was all set up to hit one target, someone they knew would be here… but that they missed."

There was a pause on the other end, before, "That would make sense then, why the subject's still here. He's looking for someone, waiting for someone's patience to run out."

"Exactly, so stay on your toes—metaphorically speaking I guess—and if something changes and we need to reach you, we'll call. If you need to reach us, call me on my cell." He rattled off the number. "We're going to get you out of there, Sam."

He hung up and walked back towards Spike, who was waiting a polite distance away, nervous.

"He's hit?" the other officer demanded. "How bad, and why won't you let me talk to him?"

"Yes, he's hit. I'm not sure the full extent, but it's not good. And I would have let you talk to him, but he didn't want to talk to you," Jack declared, holding Spike's gaze in a challenge.

But only confusion crossed the other man's face. "What? Why not?"

Jack shrugged. "You tell me. Something's going on in your team. I don't know what and I don't know who's at fault, though some of you clearly think it's Sam. All I can say is you all need to figure it out and fast, or you might not get the chance to," he told the techie unapologetically. If Team One didn't come together quickly, they might lose a member of their family forever.

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A.N.2.

Troy doesn't have a last name in the series (I think), so I gave him one :)

I'm not a trained law professional/police officer/etc therefore Jack, Troy and Ed's thoughts as to the situation being weird/analyzing the subject from his actions/the conclusions they draw are entirely my own and I recognize may be faulty in the real world, but they're entirely sound inside the universe of my story.

So Ed is stubborn and mad, Spike is confused and concerned, Jack's concerned and a little frustrated, and Libby's mad and concerned... and poor Sam's not doing well. So much angst! But I guess that's where this story is headed because the team (mostly Ed) need to get set straight and properly appreciate Sam! And Sam needs hugs.

The next few chapters will finally reveal what happened on the hot call, and Spike and Ed are going to have a much needed conversation. There's definitely going to be some timeline jumping around, but I'll try to keep it clear where we are. I swear it's necessary for suspense and storyline reveal :)