A.N. Thank you to all of you for your kind words on the last chapter! I'm sorry I have not had the chance to thank you all individually, but thank you from the bottom of my heart! It's great to be writing again and thank you all so much for sticking with me. As a thank you, here's yet another long chapter that's even longer than chapter 11, and as a bonus, it finally delves into the hot call that's got Team One being so dysfunctional!
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!
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Libby swallowed a wave a nausea that roared through her, twisting her stomach and increasing the pounding in her head. She knew it was because of the heat, could already feel her skin burning as it went head to head with the beating sun and lost. Her mouth had long ago gone dry.
It scared her. Almost more than the gunman waiting to pick them off, and certainly more than her broken arm, which at this point was almost an inconvenient annoyance, due to her body being overloaded with adrenaline. Pain she could ignore. But this slow, inexorable loss to an unfeeling foe. Physically feeling herself begin to lose a battle she never had a chance at winning in the first place? That scared her. There was nothing she could do to stop the rising heat, the pounding, relentless pulse of her blood as it curdled. And if it was bad for her, it was worse for Sam. While she could feel sweat escaping, pouring down her body, taking with it precious fluids she needed, Sam was losing that and more. Losing fluid, losing blood that he couldn't afford to.
And that scared her more than her arm, more than the threat of violence hanging over them, more than the sun and heatstroke setting in. Because if things didn't change soon, she was going to lose him, right in front of her eyes.
In fact, she could tell that she was already losing him, though not to the gunshot—at least, not yet.
As he hung up the phone, having shared all he could and given them the best chance they had, his eyes closed, face going slack. Shutting down.
All throughout the call, he'd been "on," alert and doing his best to be clear and communicative. He'd tensed up as soon as Ed had butted in, and had been unable to relax, and it had clearly taken its toll. With his eyes closed, head resting against the wall behind him, he looked as if his world had just crumbled around him, as if someone he trusted had yanked the rug out from under his feet.
And maybe that's exactly what happened.
His team—his family, his support—had turned against him, and though that more than warranted Sam feeling angry and hurt, feelings that had flared in his eyes when Ed had said something just moments ago—she'd heard the other man's raised voice, though not the particulars of his words—now… now Sam just looked drained. Resigned. Like he thought he deserved what his team had done to him.
It was high time she got to the bottom of this, so that she could properly chew out the ears of all of the members of Team One who had turned their backs on a friend.
"Sam," she called, waiting until he opened his eyes and looked at her before continuing, "It's later," she pointed out, forcing a smile onto her face.
He stared at her for several long moments, face blank before confusion gradually replaced it.
"Before all this," she explained gently, "when we were sitting over there drinking our iced lemonades like our worlds weren't about to be changed forever, you promised you'd tell me about yesterday's hot call later today… well, it's later."
He gazed at her for a long time, looking for what she wasn't sure. He must have found it, though, because he sighed and nodded. "What do you want to know?"
"Just tell me what happened."
"Well… it all started when I showed up late…"
Admittedly, that was not what she was expecting. Had Sam ever been late to work a day in his life?
(…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…Flashpoint…)
29 hours earlier
For the second time in his career at the SRU, Sam was late to work. And seeing as the first time he'd been caught in a hostile takeover of a store and desperately trying to save everyone inside, he gave himself a pass on that one. Which meant he counted today as the first time he was actually late.
Well, technically he wasn't actually late, he just wasn't early, but it was an unspoken rule for Team One that even if you did not participate in the pre-shift workout—which was also an unspoken rule—you were to arrive at least fifteen minutes before shift so that you would be ready the moment the shift started. Which meant that as he rode his bike at full speed towards the Barn, watching the seconds climb to minutes, minutes that were past 6:45am when he was supposed to have arrived, minutes that were dangerously close to striking 7, he could feel a small wave of dread rising in him. He knew his team would understand once they heard the reason why, but it was the principle of the matter which made Sam grit his teeth. He hated being late to anything. He knew all too well that showing up late could very easily be interpreted as disrespect by other members of the SRU, ones who did not know Sam as well as Team One did. He knew no one in Team One would doubt his commitment to the job, to the team, but he couldn't say the same of anyone else.
He practically threw his bike into its lock on the bike rack outside of the building before rushing inside. Bursting through the door, he glanced at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief that it read exactly 6:58am—at least I'm not late by SRU standards, he thought gratefully—which caused him to almost run into Greg.
Greg glanced at him on his way to the front desk and shook his head. "You're late, Sam. That's unacceptable," he called in a firm admonishment, before continuing on his way in a clear dismissal.
"I know, Boss, I'm sorry," Sam called after him, but the other man just flipped through some paper work, back turned.
Sam frowned slightly at the obvious display of a cold shoulder, and moved to follow the man in order to straighten things out, but he was stopped when he heard a sharp, "Sam!" from somewhere behind him.
Freezing, he turned cautiously and squared his shoulders at the figure approaching him: Ed.
Sam eyed the hard set of the man's jaws, the subtle tension in his body, the lingering echo of his shout, and for the first time that morning, doubt crept into his mind. Doubt that his teammates, his friends, would actually understand why he was late.
"Ed," Sam greeted quietly, trying to understand why the other man seemed to have an air of hostility about him, why the Boss was just standing there like he didn't exist. Maybe he was reading it wrong? Had something happened? "Is everything okay?" he asked, thinking perhaps a catastrophe had occurred to put Ed and Greg on edge.
"No, Sam, everything is not okay," Ed snapped. "Because one of my officers decided out of the blue that his work wasn't important enough for him to even bother to show up on time. Wanna explain that?"
Sam nodded. He'd known he would have to explain himself. "I'm sorry, Ed, it won't happen again; something came up—"
"Damn right it won't happen again," Ed interrupted, arms crossed, "because if it does, you're going to be doing more than talking to me, you'll be walking out of here. Permanently. Minutes mean the difference between life and death, Sam, I shouldn't have to tell you that," he continued, disappointment lacing his voice.
"I know, Ed, that's actually—" Sam tried again.
Ed narrowed his eyes. "You trying to make excuses, Sam?"
Sam snapped his mouth shut. He knew that when Ed adopted that tone, there was no questioning the man. He flicked his eyes towards Greg, who was clearly within earshot of the conversation, but had chosen not to engage in it. Sam kept his expression carefully neutral as he returned his gaze to Ed, but internally his mind was racing, trying to understand what might have caused the other two men to be so angry at him that morning. Yes, he'd been late—or rather, he'd been just on time, but in their books he knew that meant late—and he understood that they needed to chastise him for his tardiness, but this was going beyond a friendly reprimand for a first time offense. If this were a repeat offense, he could understand getting the third degree as he was now, but with the exception of the Oakes incident, he'd never once been late before.
Not. Once.
Shouldn't that strike the other two men as odd? If Sam were honest with himself, he'd thought that his teammates would either joke about it for weeks—giving him no end of grief for the uncharacteristic behavior—or corner him out of concern because it was so unlike him. He had not been expecting to be grilled and dressed down, without even an acknowledgement that it was entirely out of the ordinary, which perhaps merited someone asking why he was late. He wasn't looking for a chance to provide an excuse—because no matter how good his reason for being "late," that's still what it would be, an excuse—but he was looking for his teammates, his friends to realize that it was not like him to be late.
The moment Ed had greeted him—or rather, shouted at him—Sam had begun to doubt whether his teammates would understand why he was late. It had never occurred to him, however, that they wouldn't even bother to ask, that they wouldn't even care.
Squaring his shoulders, Sam replied, "No sir, like I said, it won't happen again, sir."
Ed nodded, apparently satisfied. "See that it doesn't."
Once the other two men walked away, Sam headed for the locker room in order to clean up and prepare for the day, quickly writing off the incident as a once time thing, understanding that the heat must be getting to everyone and making tempers short.
Unfortunately, it was not a one-time thing, and if it was the heat that was causing Ed and even Greg's tempers to be shorter than normal, it did so in a very selective way, for only Sam caught the brunt of their discontent as the team ran through drills… no one else.
Sam refused to rise to the bait, however, and never responded to the continuous verbal reprimands that reminded him painfully of when he'd first joined the team and the members of Team One had been less than welcoming. He kept telling himself that it was just a bad day, that things would be better tomorrow, that this was not the start of a new pattern or the renewal of an old one. That couldn't stop him from feeling a little hurt by the actions and words of his teammates, and the fact that no one else seemed to notice the unusual, unwarranted treatment. Not Jules, not Spike, not even Wordy, who was usually very sensitive and tuned into these things.
Eventually, several hours into their shift, other members of the team started to pick up on the undercurrent, but instead of putting a stop to it or raising a voice challenging this abnormal behavior, they were swept up in it. During a simulated hot call, every decision that Sam made was questioned. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to make the right move. Everyone seemed determined to find fault with his behavior and actions, except for Spike. Only Spike seemed impervious to the atmosphere and still treated him normally. However the bomb-expert also appeared oblivious—or purposefully ignored—the targeting and did nothing to stop it.
As the day progressed, Sam was finding it harder and harder to just write it off, but he still did. Sometimes the team needed to blow off steam, needed an outlet, and apparently today Sam was it. He told himself it happened to everyone—even though it didn't. Told himself it didn't matter, so long as it didn't last longer than the day and didn't put anyone's lives at risk.
Unfortunately, it did.
They got called out to hot call at a small grocery store of all places, where a single subject was holding a handful of people hostage after an apparent robbery gone wrong.
When they arrived, Greg immediately assigned Wordy and Jules to interview witnesses, and Spike to set up a command center in the truck and get eyes in, while Sam started looking at blue prints, getting the lay of the land. Spike passed along where the subject was located within the store as soon as he a visual, and Greg and Ed crowded around Sam to get their own view of the layout. Sam had just started to ask if they had an ID on the subject and any ideas on potential motivation, when Greg cut him off and assigned him as Sierra One. Sam was so surprised that he forcibly snapped his mouth shut in order to keep it from hanging open. A Sierra? On this call? Spike's location of the subject showed that the man was nowhere near any windows, and the layout of the grocery was a single story, low slung building. A Sierra would not be able to get any vantage into the store.
"Boss, are you sure a Sierra is warranted?" he asked, voice carefully neutral, but the moment the words left his mouth, he mentally kicked himself. On any other day, maybe it would have been okay, but not today, not with how they seemed determined to fault him for everything. And he'd just left the door wide open.
"Hey!" Ed snapped, "Are you in charge? No! So don't question orders! You're Sierra One. Set up on the roof of that building over there."
Sam was shocked. He hadn't been told where to choose his Sierra perch in years; once the team had finally truly welcomed him into their ranks, Ed had always trusted him to analyze the situation and choose the best spot. And because Sam clearly hadn't fully adjusted to his team's attitude towards him today, instead of keeping his mouth shut and taking it, his mouth was moving again before he could stop it. "Ed, I think I should set up a building over on the second floor," he pointed to the structure next to the one Ed had indicated. Though a Sierra position seemed pointless, if they were going to make him do it just to get him out of the way—because he could see that's exactly what they were doing—he was damn well still going to take it seriously. "That flag's gonna be a problem with my sightline if a breeze comes in," he gestured to a pole that stood in front of Ed's building across the street, a flag hanging limply from it, "and the roof is going to put me too high in order to have any possibility of seeing into the building."
Ed narrowed his eyes, mouth shaping into a mulish line. "Sam, it is almost a hundred degrees out with what feels like a hundred percent humidity, has been for weeks and without a single breeze to cool it off. That building is directly across from the store, and will give you the best set up, so get your ass up to the roof," he pointed angrily at the first building, "or take off your gear and get out of here. I don't need someone on this call who I have to worry about following orders."
"Yes sir," Sam snapped, unable to keep the bite from his voice, before he forced himself to walk away so that he didn't say anything else he might regret due to the anger that was coursing through him.
He snatched his rifle from the truck and jogged across the wide street to Ed's assigned building. He considered using the exterior fire escape to make it up to the roof, but didn't like the look of it and instead made his way inside, found the interior stairs, and jogged the three stories to the roof. After setting up the rifle and getting on his stomach, he looked down the scope towards the scene. Sure enough, he couldn't see any indication of the hostage situation going on in the store, as it was taking place much too far back from the front windows.
"I have no visual on the subject or the hostages," he informed his teammates over the radio.
"Copy that, stay there and monitor the situation in case something changes," Greg ordered.
Sam settled down for a long wait, keeping one eye trained down the scope, watching for any changes, and one ear tuned into the actions of his team. He heard Greg using a megaphone to implore the subject to pick up the phone, heard Wordy and Jules report back that the subject was a well-known regular at the store, a father with two kids who was the sweetest person they'd ever known. No one could explain why he was taking such drastic actions against people he knew.
With the sun beating down on his dark gear and sweat began pouring down his neck and back, Sam frequently had to blink the moisture from his eyes. In short, he was miserable—for more reasons than the sun beating down on him, reasons that had to do with the hurtful actions of his teammates. But there was one good thing that came out of how miserable he was in the heat, because that was how he noticed the problem so quickly. One moment he was doing his best to listen as Greg finally made contact with the distraught subject, the next he suddenly felt the barest hints of cool relief from the heat as a wistful breeze whisked across his skin. A few moments later, it happened again.
Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, as Greg made very little headway with the subject, Sam watched with growing frustration as the flag, which once hung limply on its pole, began to flutter gently, then more vigorously.
Dammit, today of all days it had to get breezy? he grumbled to himself, now keeping one eye on the flag as it slowly crept towards its full extent. Do I say something? On any other day, the answer to that question would unequivocally have been yes, but on this day? He wasn't so sure… He knew he should say something as it could affect the situation if he lost a visual—not that he actually had a visual, since the subject was so far back in the store, but he could still lose the possibility of a visual—but he knew if he did, it would likely cause discontent amongst certain members of the team.
Screw it, they're already mad at me, how much worse can it get?
"Ed?" he called through the coms.
"Yeah Sam?"
"I'm losing visual on the situation," he stated.
He was met with a sigh on the other end, which was honestly better than he'd been expecting. "Copy that. I don't think a Sierra will end up being needed, but keep an eye on things up there until you completely lose a visual."
"Copy," Sam acknowledged, glad that facial expressions could not be transmitted over vocal coms, because Ed would not like his current one. He grit his teeth, clenching and unclenching his jaw in order to prevent himself from saying more.
Negotiations continued. And as Sam heard more and more, he did not like the direction that things were headed. The motivation for the incident still hadn't come out, but the subject kept circling back to his kids and how difficult it was being a single father when he knew he was about to lose his job, which would mean they would be at risk of being evicted from their apartment, no longer able to pay their rent. Ed had actually taken over negotiating, as he'd been able to make a connection with the man over the struggles of fatherhood. While that initially had helped things, and the subject had calmed some, he was now ramping back up and getting increasingly agitated and desperate. As Sam listened, it almost seemed like the man was trying to get angry, trying to keep his blood up. Why? Sam was beginning to have a guess as to why, and thought it might be the motivation for the entire incident. And if he was right, he was concerned that this day would not end well.
Deciding to try to figure out if he was right or not, he reached out to the one person who seemed most likely to listen to him today.
Muting his coms, he pulled out his cell and dialed.
On the second ring, it picked up.
"Sam?" Spike asked in confusion. "Why are you calling me? Something wrong with your coms?"
"Nah, nothing wrong with my coms, just… I have a hunch I'm wondering if you could maybe help me try to run down?"
There was a pause.
Please, Spike, just go with it, don't ask questions… Sam pleaded silently.
"Of course," Spike chimed moments later, "what can I do?"
"Any way you can find out if this guy has a life insurance policy?"
"Sam, I am injured. Are you doubting my abilities? Questioning if it's something I can accomplish rather than just assuming it is? Of course I can find out if this guy has a policy. Why?"
"It's just a hunch."
A noise of exasperation emanated over the line. "You said that already, Sam. What is your hunch expecting to find?"
"That he does have a policy, a good one."
Silence fell again.
"You think he's started this whole thing because he's trying suicide by cop?" Spike queried, but there was no challenge in his voice, only the desire to understand.
"It's a possibility that occurred to me that I'd either like to rule out or find evidence for. He's desperate, focused on his kids and his imminent lack of money, there was never really the possibility that he'd get a lot of money from the store, not to mention that he's threatening people who are his friends for no apparent reason, and the minute Ed starts to get through to him and he starts waffling, he immediately purposefully keys himself back up, like he's trying to work his way up to it. The whole vibe I'm getting from this situation reminds me of a…" he paused, unsure of how much detail to share, before continuing, "a situation I witnessed where that ended up being the motive."
Spike hummed. "Good points. I'll look into it and let you know what I find."
"Thanks. If you do find something, can you share it with the team?" Sam put a little extra emphasis on the word "you," hoping Spike would catch on without Sam having to be explicit.
Pause. "Sure thing, buddy! How's it going up there? You doing okay?"
For the first time since his shift started, a small smile slipped onto his face. It felt good to know perhaps not all hope was lost. "Doing fine, thanks, Spike."
"Hang in there, Sam!" the Italian encouraged before hanging up, and Sam got the feeling the other man was talking about more than just his current predicament as a Sierra, and more about the entire day's situation with the team.
Sam's smile grew.
In the next few minutes, however, that smile disappeared as things went from bad to worse. As the minutes dragged on and on, it became clear that negotiations were breaking down… and the breeze was picking up.
"Dammit!" Sam heard Ed swear over the coms, as the subject hung up once more. "I feel for this guy! He's been put through hell, and up until today he was trying to make the best out of a shitty situation, and I keep getting through to him but then he just slips through my fingers again!"
"I know, Eddie," Greg replied, tone one of sympathy and understanding for the difficult position the negotiator was in. "But given his behavior, I think it's time we consider our tactical options," Greg continued reluctantly.
"Ed, Boss, I may have some insight into the situation, or at least a hunch," Spike interjected. "Our subject, Brad Grayes, has a very good life insurance policy to his name… as of two weeks ago."
Thank you, Spike, Sam thought silently, ever appreciative that the Italian had figured out this information couldn't come from or be linked to Sam. Not today.
Explosive swearing echoed over the line, before Ed finally calmed and demanded, "You're telling me you think this guy is trying to get around the policy limits using suicide by cop? That's never a sure thing, and his kids are going to have to live with his death hanging over them forever! How can he do this!?"
"Ed," Greg broke in, "remember that this is just a man who is at the end of his rope who feels like he has exhausted all of his options, and this is the only one he thinks is left. He's not necessarily thinking rationally right now. And that would explain why you can't get through to him; he's deliberately trying to provoke us into action, but he hasn't worked up the courage yet to take action himself. We can use that to our advantage."
"You're right, you're right. Spike, Jules, Wordy, rendezvous with me and Greg at the back of the store, we're going to try our entry through there. Sam, stay as Sierra."
This time, despite his desire to protest, Sam held his tongue. Instead he watched and listened as his teammates, his friends, prepared to enter a volatile situation where the subject would likely try to do everything in his power to escalate and provoke Team One into action, either resulting in Brad Grayes' death, or the death of one of Sam's friends. Possibly both. And there wasn't a damn thing Sam could do about it from his current position.
So he waited, watched and listened. Heard his teammates enter the store, heard them confront the subject, heard Ed try to restart negotiations, and tried to put together a picture of what was happening from what he could hear. He could imagine his team, a wall of ballistic shields and guns trained on the desperate father, trying their hardest to convince him to choose to live, not to make one of them take his life that day. He could picture Ed as he pleaded with the man, could almost watch as the man's gun hand slowly lowered as Ed's voice grew more encouraging. He could practically see as Spike walked forward slowly, cautiously, in order to disarm the man as Ed continued to tell the man he was doing the right thing.
What he could not see, what he could only try to piece together from the shouting voices, the panic and chaos that flooded over the coms moments later, was a hostage taking her chance and going after the subject just as he was about to surrender, just as Spike reached him. Sam never could have imagined how those few seconds would utterly change the outcome.
All he could hear over the coms were yells of, "Put the weapon down!" and "Let him go, Brad, you don't want to do this!"
Gone were the few milliseconds of hope that had fluttered into being moments before when it had sounded like the subject would finally listen to Ed.
Sam tried to get someone to talk to him, to tell him what was going on, but no one could, too focused on everything that was going wrong right before their eyes.
The next thing Sam knew, his team was backing slowly out of the front of the store, guns trained on the entrance as Sam got his first glimpse of whom he could only assume was Brad Grayes. And it truly was just a glimpse, for the man was almost completely shielded by a hostage, a man he was forcibly holding in front of him, a gun to the man's head.
Spike.
"Brad, I need you to calm down," Ed called in a commanding voice, standing behind the shield Greg was holding, flanked on either side by Jules and Wordy, both of whom had their guns trained on Grayes.
As Sam analyzed the angles, assessing if he had the solution without endangering Spike, he realized with dawning horror that he did, but that if the subject kept stepping forward, he was going to lose his line of sight because of the damn flag.
"I have the solution, but I will lose it if you let him take two more steps forward," Sam told his teammates, doing his best to keep his voice calm despite the fact that his adrenaline was racing, not just because of the threat of an active shooter, but because Spike was directly in the line of fire.
"Sam, do not shoot," Ed commanded in a voice that only carried over the coms, and not to the distressed man in front of them. "Repeat, do not shoot. Everyone is walking home today, we are not giving this man what he wants."
With his gun's scope, Sam had a clear view of the subject's eyes and he could see the determination there, the resolve that had settled in as Grayes yelled at Team One, no longer listening to what Ed was saying. And more importantly, he could see the man clenching the trigger with ever increasing force and speed. "Ed," Sam hissed, "I know you want to save this guy, I get that, you've connected, but you are not going to be able to talk him down! Maybe you can't see from your position, but he has made up his mind, I can see him working up the nerve to shoot Spike right in front of my eyes! Look at his hand!"
"I can see just fine, Sam, well enough to see that the safety is still on," Ed growled, before raising his voice to call out to the subject, "You are not dying today, Brad! Put the gun down! We are not going to shoot you!"
The safety might still be on for now, but it won't be for long, Sam thought to himself, just as the subject took another step forward and disappeared from Sam's view.
"Dammit! I do not have the solution, repeat, I do not have the solution," he cried frantically through the coms, picking his head up and immediately assessing if there was anywhere on this roof he could reposition himself to regain a visual that would not put Spike in the line of fire. There wasn't. He was already positioned in the north-east most corner, in order to get any kind of visual he would have to go further east, to the building he'd originally wanted to set up on.
While he could no longer see the situation, he could hear it, both through the coms and echoing from across the street. The shouting voices grew ever louder, Grayes threatening to shoot and Ed promising that they wouldn't. Sam knew one way or another, this situation was going to be over in the next few minutes, long before he would be able to make it to the other roof if he ran down the fire escape to street level and all the way up the other building.
"Jules, Wordy, do you have the solution?" Sam demanded, rising to his feet and racing towards the edge of the building.
Two "negatives" echoed back over the line.
Damn damn damn damn damn!
There were only two options that Sam could see: let the situation resolve without a Sierra and the likely outcome would be Spike with a bullet to his head, or do something really stupid in order to regain his vantage and hope for the best.
Needless to say, there wasn't really a choice.
Slinging his rifle onto his back, strap slung over his shoulder, Sam backed away from the edge of the roof.
Yeah, this is a great idea… it's not going to hurt at all, his inner sarcastic voice hissed to him, before he took a few running steps and launched himself into open space, over the alley between the two buildings.
For a few moments, he was weightless. Then he felt his stomach flip as he began to drop, until his feet slammed into the fire escape of the next building over, a floor down, grateful that the structure didn't collapse or detach from the wall—given its rusting condition, he'd half been expecting it to.
While he didn't plummet to a painful landing on the ground, either from missing his landing or the stairs crumbling, his landing was still painful and he gasped as his entire right side slammed into the brick wall, grateful for the tactical helmet he was still wearing, otherwise he was certain he would have had a concussion. As it was, his knee, ribs and shoulder were less than happy with the treatment, and it took him a few precious seconds to gather himself and charge up the stairs to the roof of the building.
He reached the edge of the roof, swung his rifle around and looked down the scope at the scene, looking for the Solution or any solution to the situation.
Jules and Wordy had fanned out slightly in order to get better angles on Grayes, but had not taken a shot, not only because they were waiting for Ed's orders as the lead negotiator, but also because their angles were not ideal and Sam knew there was the concern that shooting the subject might cause him to squeeze the trigger of the gun that was still pointed at Spike's head. It was a concern Sam shared.
His own angle on Grayes was only slightly more ideal, as the man's shorter stature meant he was mostly covered by Spike's larger frame. It meant that the man's head and neck were only just visible and uncomfortably close to Spike's own person. Still, Sam could make the shot.
"I have the Solution," he reported.
"Sam for the last time, do not shoot, god dammit!" Ed yelled, finally loud enough for the subject to hear. "Brad is not going to make one of us live with shooting him, are you, Brad?" Ed stepped out from behind Greg's shield, hands in the air. "Because you want what any father wants, what's best for their kids, right Brad? Do you really want to make them live with the knowledge that their dad is dead?"
Sam watched the conflict rage once more in Grayes eyes, watched his hand pulse again on the trigger, then watched as his mouth moved in a quiet statement, read his lips as he breathed, "this is the only way," and saw the conflict turn to steely resolve.
Grayes shifted his aim. The safety came off.
Sam didn't hesitate.
.
.
.
.
A.N.2. A cliffie, I know... by now hopefully you're resigned to the fact that that is just how I do things :) But now we finally know all of what happened on the hot call! Or, almost all of what happened...
Team One's going to have a lot to make up for...
Also, I honestly can't remember if Sam was ever late during the run of Flashpoint, though I don't think he was... but if he was, oops, my bad! He wasn't in my universe.
And the unspoken rules of Team One regarding being early/late and the whole workout situation are entirely of my own version of Team One's rules, not necessarily directly from the show.